#tiny tracys holiday time

[tinytracys]

SAND

Thundertober 2024 Day 19

An idyllic afternoon by the seaside. The family are playing nicely together… honest…

Brains and Alan are discussing the creation of advanced domestic chores robots and resolutely ignoring the kerfuffle occurring around them.

Virgil was… unprepared for the intensity of Kayo’s self-defence training session.

Scott had been enjoying the view and was unaware he and Gordon were taking part at all…

Much like a son of Neptune, Squid Boy has superhuman strength when so close to his element. Scott resolves to drop him out of a plane very soon.

Meanwhile John has finally found somebody he can have a sensible conversation with…

@thunder-tober

[astranite]

Bringing in the Waves

Gordon Tracy, the ocean and being disabled. Gordon-centric but John is important here too and to each other. There are starfish. This has Gordon's hydrofoil accident, John's space issues and a bit of them being excited about science together. I'm drawing a fair lot on my own experiences with being disabled and that to me Gordon and John are too matters so very much.

~~~

The ocean could swallow you whole, Gordon knew this, it was his whole life’s work to know the ocean. But it could also cradle you and it would try.

The ocean was his biggest love, ever since he could remember, bubbling up to fill his entire being, shore to shore. Or second biggest: he had his family and then he had the ocean. His brothers were right there in the water with him from the start.

Before he’d ever seen it, the ocean was a part of his life, ebbing and flowing as he grew, in the illustrated stills from picture books, in animated stories people told of beach holidays, in the echo of waves in the local swimming pool or an overfilled bathtub or splashing out of the kitchen sink when he was supposed to be helping with the washing up.

The sound of the waves seeped into his dreams from before he was old enough to remember. Mum had played waves as white noise for him ever since he was a baby, it had been the only way to get him to settle then he was out like a light. He had a memory, fuzzy as if seen from underwater from how long ago it was, of climbing and tumbling from his cot, drawn to find out where the waves were. When he knocked Mum’s old phone with its cracked screen off the shelf left in his room, a tiny picture had lit up the screen with blue waves slooshing in time with the sound. Gordon had been in love. 

He didn’t actually know whether it had happened or if it was something his brain had put together from stories his brothers told about wrangling him as a troublesome toddler and the rarer ones about Mum knitted together into one by the ocean.

Even now, he didn’t sleep well if he couldn’t hear the sea. Luckily their island was surrounded by it, with nowhere on land, not even the highest of volcanic peaks where you couldn’t hear it. The hangars deep below the earth didn’t count, no matter that the ground insulated them from everything up to the rocket engines shaking the place from within. Surrounded by towering rocky walls, it was impossible to forget that this place came from the ocean and would once day return to it. 

Gordon’s bedroom window was perpetually cracked open to let in the breeze and the smell of the salty air, to hear the sound of his home outside. 

It had been John who had brought the waves to him in the early days in hospital. The ocean had nearly swallowed him, broken body and soul, but it had cradled him instead. Gordon to this day didn’t understand why. He’d floated on his back, as he’d first been taught when it became clear he couldn’t help but seek out the sea, conserving his energy and letting the ocean hold him long enough to be dragged from the water when the rescuers came. He’d died a bit after that, technically, as soon as they brought him onto dry land. Not that he actually remembered much of that either but he’d heard the story told over and over again because he had to know, to understand , somehow.

Sometimes he wondered how much he had bled into the ocean over his lifetime. Of the total, in litres inextricable from cubic kilometres, what tiny fraction of the whole was Gordon ? Sea water was salty, so was blood. Tears too should count.

Gordon had kept his tablet lying next to his head on the bleached white sheets, volume turned up to maximum to drown out the rest of the hospital screaming at him. John had remembered, even from as far away as space, that he needed the ocean to sleep. Gordon had later put together it was from as far away as NASA mission no amount of pleading could cut short even though this was his little brother that John had found his way to be with Gordon. John, calm, sensible, rational John had been ready to throw away everything to be there for him and the only reason he hadn’t was that it hadn’t been his choice. 

Of all his brothers, John was the most similar to the ocean. You couldn’t always see the currents from the surface but you could read the patterns in the water if you learnt how, if you observed: the centre of a rip—gently rippling, wave-less and perfect azure in the sunlight—was mistaken as harmless by too many, yet the water flowed deeper and strong, inevitably out to sea. 

Space and the ocean were reflections of each other if you thought about it, environments wondrous and inhospitable at the same time, and ever so necessary for life here on Earth. They’d tear you apart if you didn’t respect them. If you did, there was so much joy in loving them.

As a child, even knowing the facts from nature documentaries played on loop, Gordon had never imagined something so endless could exist. In the pictures, he’d never quite believed it didn’t all stop at the horizon line. He and John both chased their own infinities. 

Gordon let himself drift, staring upwards at the gaping, blue sky. Sea birds whirled ever so high above him and the sun was the only star they could see in the daylight because its brightness outshone all the others.

So often with the nature of what he did, he was alone out here. Though not really when it came down to it. Even when he couldn’t see them, the fathoms below him were full of an endless cycling of lives, great and tiny and every blip in between, from great blue whales to the minuscule plankton they ate. He was a part of the ocean too, his body and breath affecting the world as much as other creatures. More than them, he was aware of his place, of how he was so very human and would be even if he wasn’t in charge of the massive machinery that was the bones of International Rescue. 

No matter how well designed their ‘birds were, he was ever so aware of their potential to destroy life if they were careless. A knock to a coral reef or a scorching landing amidst prairie grasses could wreck that ecosystem. They saved human lives, that was their priority and it always would be but the need to balance out and reduce damage to the environment wherever they could was always on Gordon’s mind.

He guarded the whole world, Earth and beyond it, as best as he could. He taught others so they could lend their hands to help with this mission that wove between every other. He was only one person and drifting in the sea, rocked by waves, never made him so aware of his place in the world.

It was so big . Every time someone tried to tally up an idea of infinity, they always compared it to counting the grains of sand on a beach but to Gordon it was more like the drops of sea water that formed the ocean. Individually they were so unspeakably numerous yet together they formed a cohesive whole. One or many? singularity or a phenomenon? Gordon loved the contradictions, he was contrary like that.

He guarded their island, their home with an equal ferocity, though perhaps with more because it was so clearly theirs and so extra vulnerable to be affected by their actions. A single invasive species could ravage their ecosystem. Gordon had seen it happen before and helped with the recovery efforts, so he did his upmost to prevent the first hand devastation happening here. They all did. The protocols about cleaning down their Thunderbirds, especially of mud and plant matter, of showering straight away in the locker rooms attached to the hanger and ditching their uniforms to be cleaned and disinfected right down to their boots every single time were there for a reason. Their world was precious and hardy but also unspeakably fragile.

Water lapped at Gordon’s body, cradling him. It was easier to float here than in the pool. Whether the salt of the ocean’s embrace had been the deciding factor for why he was here now, he would never know. There were plenty of other times he was pretty sure the ocean had tried to kill him: a powerful storm burning at the back of his throat, the crushing pressure a human body was never meant to withstand, in simply clinging to him below the surface when he was running out of air. He respected the ocean, that was key if you wanted survive anything to do with it, but loving something didn’t change its nature. He wouldn’t want it to. He was here, scars, olympic medal, IR aquanaut and all because of it.

Gordon shook his head, splashing water around him in flying droplets. He wiped it out of his eyes with a hand from where it pooled on his face and stuck to his eyelashes. Enough thinking, enough retreating into his head. He had the whole day ahead of him.

He squinted upwards, blinking away the salty ocean in the bright sunlight. It seared the backs of his eyes. He was here and alive and that’s what mattered.

Folding in on himself and exhaling bubbles through his nose, Gordon sunk beneath the surface into the cooler, bluer, rippling world he loved. A duck and a tumble had him swimming on his front, arms stretched out in front of him, the familiar twinge of his back echoed in every movement.

Never again would he get to wake up and go about his day without hurting, without having to think about it all. He constantly made the calculations of what he could handle, how he moved, whether he’d slept enough, when his damn meds needed to be refilled at the pharmacy. He didn’t get a break from it or the luxury of ignoring that stuff with consequences he could live with. It’d hurt too much. That other people lived from a pain free baseline didn’t quite seem real anymore.

Except the world still turned. When he swum, none of it drifted away but sometimes it muted for a while. Even if it didn’t, he was still here. The world was beautiful and with water gentle against his skin as he slipped through it the same as the silvery fish he chased in the dappled light, it was easier to see it. 

Joy and pain weren’t irrevocably incompatible, he’d learnt over the years. On his hardest days, the small things he loved would be there when he couldn’t make it to the biggest. They’d be there when he was stranded in his bed in a spikey ball of pain, aching so deep that no matter what he did nothing would make it stop, so far from the sea. He could hear the waves through his open window though. 

Gordon kicked to propel himself down to the seabed to run a hand through the fine, gritty sand. One of his hips was acting up and swimming felt good, those sensations intertwined in the experience of being vividly part of the currents around him. Of being so vividly alive . That didn’t stop either, no matter what he did.

And his brothers, his family, they loved him and they stayed. 

Virgil helped him manage the endless medical bullshit that came with keeping his smashed up body running, not smoothly exactly but bumping along the road as best he could. The specialists appointments, the perpetual physio exercises and the post-mission injuries would be so much harder to handle without Virgil’s steady presence by his side. Gordon was still shit-scared of hospitals, yay medical PTSD, so super fun times, but not being alone made a difference. 

Virgil was one of the few people in the world who could get Gordon to smile when he was wearing a hospital gown, and one of the fewer he’d willingly let see when he couldn’t.

Alan brought his video game controllers and consoles to set stuff up so they could play together, lying down on Gordon’s bed, often enough to become their after mission routine. It was a distraction from the pain and it meant he got to be a big brother too when he couldn’t do much else. Alan had grown up a lot over the last few years. By the way he showed up when Gordon needed him most, Gordon knew Alan got what it meant. 

Those were the times they’d talk about the tough stuff that as the youngest they both found it hard to take to a big brother and not feel like a little kid again. Gordon was the best at getting Alan to admit to physical injuries too when they were at the ‘feels weird’ stage instead of the ‘needs months of rehab’ one. They were also the times they wouldn't talk about the tough stuff because Gordon was so fucking sick of thinking about his fucking back. Then they fooled about in game, messing around and laughing together easier than breathing was for Gordon.

With Scott, he’d let Gordon scream and swear and grip his hand far too tightly when the pain got too much. He’d wipe the tears and snot off his face afterwards without needing to say a word. 

In the early mornings when it was only them awake on the island, it was both their own time and their time together. Scott got how missing his morning swim threw his whole day out of whack and Gordon got why Scott was so frenetic about his runs. 

Gordon’s back was the most cramped up after it got stiff from not moving in his sleep, or from moving and fucking it up that way, before he got to stretch it out in the pool. Sometimes the short distance out from their rooms had him whimpering in pain and from the sensation of his bones clicking and grinding out of place how they very much shouldn’t be. Scott would be there whether he needed a hug and a supportive arm around him until he got into the water or to be left to it with somebody in reach to pull him out if needed, as Scott did his warm up stretches on the pool deck. That mean Gordon also got to see Scott did ‘em because Gordon had got on his case with Virge after injuries from not doing so.

His relationship with John had grown over the years, the more they worked together trusting each other’s judgement and the more Gordon got his footing on the level of his bigger brothers. As John’s space issues got steadily worse with the hours he racked up in orbit, the occasions John was down on Earth and they were both knocked out from a bad day at the same time became more often. They’d hang out lying on one another’s beds or the couches if they made it that far and the guilt over leaving IR so understaffed existed side by side with how good it felt not to be alone. 

When Gordon read up on the latest oceanic and biodiversity surveys for his environmental research, trying it concentrate in spite of the pain, it was a comfort to have John writing about his stars with him, even if it was because John was too dizzy to sit up for long, much less go out on a mission.

John had come to him, over Scott, over Virgil, when he didn’t know how to cope with being sick so much and not being able to do things like the others or like he had before. Gordon had held his brother in his aching arms when John dissolved into tears. John had never let him see him cry like that before. Gordon didn’t have any magical fixes to make everything better when John asked how in the universe he did it, and by it meant lived , but he had a few more years of learning to work with his body instead of against it under his belt. He’d been where John was too.

Some days meant trying to do everything knowing you’d pay for it later. Others meant resting up before it got to that point because that was a far better way to go on. After a while you figured out a balance, though Gordon was still working it out with each new curveball his body threw at him. That was just how it went. He’d be there to help John as he figured it out for himself too.

Gordon surfaced into glorious, sparkling sunshine as he ran out of air, breathing deeply. 

On the shit days where they were still up and at it going out on rescues but everything was so much harder when you had to work through feeling like utter crap too and it felt like they were dragging themselves against the current, they had each other’s backs too. Sometimes that meant soft reassurances over comms that were comforting because the person on the other side got it , and other times it meant a joint bitching session, gallows humour and the freedom to swear as much as they wanted, regulations be damned, when it was just them.

Lying side by side on worse days, they’d listen out for the engines of each Thunderbird taking off and coming back home. On Gordon’s bed, they’d be surrounded by sea creature soft toys and posters of the ocean and on John’s they would look up and see constellations of glow in the dark stars. Sometimes they gave each other space when they needed not to touch when everything was too much but existed in nearby orbit, and sometimes they curled up together and cuddled even though they both ached. 

Gordon dove underwater again.

He and John shared pain and worry over the their brothers, but they took care of each other. The wait alone would be excruciating: that they were together was what mattered in those moments. They did their best to find joy too, even when they had to rest.

The sun was rising higher in the sky as it pierced through the ocean above and splashed gold over the sea floor. He’d have to go in soon but he had a few minutes more he could hold onto in the world.

There were starfish on the reef. The Earth was filled with so many horrible things that could happen—freak accidents, loss, and the aftermath of what people did to each other— but there were also starfish on the reef. They existed too and they proved continuing on was worth it. Moments like these were what Gordon lived for.

He should call up John. He’d want to share in this. The Star and the Fish, that was them too.

The reef had been broken down and built up from the rubble, through Gordon’s efforts to restore the biodiversity that had been swept away by pollution and warming ocean temperatures and plain old human carelessness. Since they’d first come to the island, John’s satellite imagery had tracked the years of slowly healing and work put in as he and Gordon pored over the surveys.

Now Gordon rode the waves back in to shore, body surfing them as he moved in a rippling butterfly kick propelled within the water. He loved piloting Four, he loved to sail and surf, but secretly it was his favourite when it was only him and the waves. He revelled in them, in the wake of all the things he could never do again. He had this joy so he seized it, hanging onto the opportunity whenever he got to.

The last one took him right in, carrying him close enough his stomach brushed the sand. He clambered up to stand in the shallows, stumbling over his own feet as his back disagreed with him when he twisted wrong. He cussed and cursed himself for being careless then tried to be kind. He was trying his best and so was his body. It was an accident, he would be okay.

Gathering his towel from further up on the dry sand, he rubbed it through his wet hair, causing it to stand on end before he jammed his hat on. Then he started on the walk back along the beach home. He tipped his head back to take in the bright blue sky, laughter welling up with the sheer, giddy delight being by the sea brought him even as he pressed a hand against his hip as it refused to stay in place, grinding, clicking and locking up with each step he took. 

He limped along. Right now the gentle movement was the best thing for him so he could warm up his body and stretch it out before he was running around on rescues.

Gordon watched the waves rolling in from the ocean, walking on the more even wet sand to make it easier on himself. With John on his mind, he tapped his wrist comm to connect a call with Thunderbird Five far above him.

A tiny blue-tinted hologram appeared, washed out pale in the sun until the brightness automatically adjusted. Now Gordon could see the orange. He could see John.

“International resc—”

“Heya bro!” Gordon gave him a little wave with his other hand.

John grinned as soon he saw it was Gordon calling him, mimicking the wave as he dropped the mask of Thunderbird Five until all that was left was John. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a genuine smile. The dark circles remained smudged purple on blue beneath them.

Gordon grinned back. “How’s shit?”

Sometimes a ‘how are you’ didn’t cut it when people constantly expected you to be okay fine good great in answer because that’s all they wanted to hear. Or to ‘get better soon’ like this wasn’t something you’d lived with for years. You learnt pretty quickly who would rather hear when things were terrible because they cared and wanted to be there for you, and you would rather you just lied.

“Shit’s y’know fantastic .” John’s signature sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Got a splitting headache I can’t shake and I still have to deal with Fischler-esque fucking idiots and their fuckups.

“Damn, I feel that.” Gordon did, he really did. John’s sheer patience astounded him but even he needed to vent. He probably needed the space to more so actually, with handling the calls he did.

John sighed, dragging a gloved hand across his face. “Unfortunately my circus, unfortunately my monkeys when lives are at risk. 

“That should be our new motto for International Rescue. Let’s tell Scott next debrief and put it on all our merch,” Gordon said.

John snorted. “How do you think that’d go down with Commander Tracy?” He looked far too amused at the prospect.

“What if we put it on a coffee mug big enough to drown in?” 

John gave a signature Scooter facepalm. “Don’t make him worse. Scratch that, don’t make me worse either, I’m tempted by it and he gets on my nerves about my caffeine intake enough.”

They were both kidding. Mostly. They’d bring it to Scott though anyway, when big brother most needed the laugh.

“So how’s the surf?” John said casually, no matter that Gordon hadn’t actually told him where he’d been nor were the comms transmitting anything other than his disem-backgrounded image. 

Not that the beach was an unusual place to find him in the mornings. But still, John had figured him out.

“Water was beautiful as always, though particularly with the sun today. Surf was pretty gentle but that’s kinda what I needed. How’d you know though?” Gordon asked curiously.

“Despite the whole swimmers and towel get up, it was the waves.” John relaxed as he went through his observations, floating freely within Five. “They sound closer when you’re walking along the beach right next to them versus when you’re up at the pool.”

For a moment after that, they both listened to the waves together, near and far.

“I think I should come down to Earth after today,” John said quietly. “I’m not feeling so good and I want to see you guys.”

“I’ll be right there when you get here,” Gordon replied, just as quiet. Admitting stuff like this was hard for John and making a big deal over it wouldn’t help. Gordon really wanted to hug his big brother though. He would.

“How’s shit for you though, Gords?” John asked, the focus of those sea green eyes made bluer by holographic distance switching back to him.

“I’m sore but I suppose okay enough?” Gordon paused to consider. “The whole back, hips, legs, everything that’s connected to each other shebang isn't really doing it for me today.” The emotion bled into his voice. “It really fucking isn’t. Swimming helped with me feeling like me but the rest is complaining.”

John took it and quietly nodded. John got him.

“Buuuut I saw some starfish on the reef!” Gordon swung back to grinning as he reached out to grab onto that joy and keep on clinging to it in spite of his whole life.

John lit up, hands flickering as he caught Gordon’s excitement and swam with it. “Cool! Which species were they? What did they look like? Was it on the part we surveyed together last month?”

John just got him.

Gordon loved some rapid fire questions about his area of expertise in the family.

“To answer the last one first, yes!” He raised his hand to his watch for a high five.

John hadn’t stopped grinning either and he held out his tiny holographic hand to high five Gordon. 

Starfish were John’s favourite creatures, with the star thing he had going you’d totally never guess why, but he loved them all the same. Gordon was glad to share this. He always was.

So Gordon, with his ocean sounding in a perpetual background to his life, limped along the beach and rambled on about starfish to his brother who loved him for exactly who he had become.

[scramjettracy]

Ok here goes…

GORDON

Where did we meet, and how?

At the hospital. You were kinda early and really tiny and so I wasn’t allowed to hold you the first time I saw you as you were all sleepy and snuggled in a UV blanket in an incubator. John didn’t understand what was going on and asked why his little brother was living in a fish tank and I’m pretty sure his words turned out to be some kind of spell or something because well… look at you. Second time we visited we met properly because I got to hold you and you looked at me and grabbed my thumb super hard. Obviously the squid hug powers came in early… you were so small though and I knew I’d do anything to keep you safe.

What’s my middle name?

Seaweed-for-Brains.

Who in my family am I most like?

Um… I don’t wanna answer this because you’ll probably hate it. But you have a lot in common with one of your brothers, in temperament if not special interests, and it can make things… sparky… sometimes. But he loves you a lot.

Who do I look like most in my family?

Mom. Not like you’re the spitting image or anything, but I see her in you a lot.

What is my nickname?

“Squid”, “Fishface”, “Guppy”, “Fishy” (I think that’s just me), “Gordon-Cooper-Tracy-When-I-Catch-You-I-Swear-I’m-Gonna-Remove-Your-Spleen-And-EAT-It” (possibly also just me but I’ve heard variants with similar sentiment from other family members)

Am I the favourite Grandchild?

You were of Grandpa - Mom’s Dad. He loved diving so you guys chatted fish a lot when you were little and he showed you all his underwater photos which the rest of us took shamefully little interest in…

If I had to choose a place to live, where would it be?

The reef I reckon. Although absent the gills, maybe one of those cool underwater houses with glass walls and roof where you have to dive to get to them but then can actually breathe and sleep and stuff because they have air. I would freak out about you being down there in case it cracked but you’d call me a smotherhen and do it anyway.

What makes me laugh?

Your own pranks. And you’re the only one laughing you tentacled menace…

Pfft, actually? Pretty much everything. You laugh a lot, and it’s great because it helps the rest of us laugh more too.

What is my favourite flavour of icecream?

I… I should know this! But… huh. Some big brother!! In my defence as long as it is vegan you tend to inhale it so… I’m gonna hedge my bets and say “the icecream you can reach”.

What is my favourite fruit?

Hmm, again, you have a seemingly unending appetite for fruity things of all kinds. I’m gonna say mango because they seem to feature in the majority of your smoothies / salads and you liked that pancake syrup I made with it quite a lot…

What am I scared of?

Thunderbird One 🤣

What’s my favourite colour?

I think most people will say yellow, and you do pick yellow things a lot. But for all your eye rolling about my favourite colour, I reckon deep down your fave is somewhere here:

What is my favourite holiday?

Christmas. Or possibly Halloween? Easter. Hmm. Essentially any excuse you have to dress up and act even more like a hyperactive child than usual?

What’s my #1 thing on my bucket list?

Clean oceans. The achievement thereof.

What makes me happiest?

Being in the water? Or hugs?

Being hugged in the sea.

How do I take my coffee?

Rarely. But when you do it’s some kind of hideous syrup-filled frappe concoction which hardly counts.

Where is my happy place?

The sea? Or… perhaps on the couch under a pile of brothers because somehow you seem to engineer that rather a lot… not that this one minds that at all.

Note to self… establish definite fruit and icecream preferences of all brothers as lack of certainty in this area is unacceptable for a big brother

post this and let your friends and family answer! 💫

Where did we meet, and how? 

What's my middle name? 

Who in my family am I most like? 

Who do I look most like in my family? 

What is my nickname? 

Am I the favorite grandchild?

If I had to choose a place to live, where would it be?

What makes me laugh? 

What is my favourite flavour of ice cream?

What is my favourite fruit?

What am I scared of? 

What’s my favourite color?

What is my favourite holiday?

What’s my #1 thing on my bucket list?

What makes me happiest?

How do I take my coffee?

Where is my happy place? 

… this will end well, inevitably, but sure 😏

[aziraphales-library]

Hello.

Can you recommend me a domestic fic where they have a baby?

Hi. We have an enormous amount of recommendations on our #kid fic tag, so do check those out. Here are some domestic kid fics to add to the collection...

Happy Little Accident by Supergeek21 (T)

Crowley never thought his reproductive system was functional, little did he know it just doesn't function like a human's. He learns a lot one morning when he wakes up to a big surprise in a very small package.

(Do not let the tags scare you! This is really very soft, all pregnancy/birth elements are referenced very passively with limited, non-graphic details.)

Fever by what_a_writer_wields (G)

Crowley and Aziraphale's daughter has the flu.

thou little tiny child by missgiven (G)

Someone suggests to Aziraphale that there might be a need for foster carers in their community. And Crowley's never met a child in need that he wouldn't try to help.

"Crowley had leapt into the preparations for their tenure as foster carers like a man possessed. He filled in paperwork with greater accuracy and speed than he had ever done before in his long existence. He organized meetings and home visits and further home reno (which he hated) to get the cottage up to snuff. When they went to their required trainings, Crowley insisted on getting there early and staying late, visiting with the instructor and other prospective parents.

'It’s about community,' he explained to Aziraphale."

Third Time's a Charm by dsaun (NR)

After coming together and unexpectedly starting a family of their own, Aziraphale and Crowley are enjoying domestic bliss in their little cottage tucked away in the South Downs. Maybe too much bliss. They carefully approach the subject of birth control one morning at the breakfast table. Starting the conversation is easy, navigating the topic with their toddler and infant son present gets a bit tricky.

Quicken To The New Life by handlebarstiedtothestars (T)

They really hadn’t expected this.

“I – bu– w– I – how??” Crowley stumbled over syllables as he stared at the baby in his arms.

Written for the Good Omens Holiday Swap. Snapshots of Crowley and Fem!Aziraphale's life together raising kids in the two decades after Armageddon't. Featuring pregnancy, babies, toddlers and teenagers, a little everyday family drama but predominantly cuteness and silliness and domestic family fluff. Including 3 family Christmases over the years. Cameos from grown up Adam and Warlock, and elderly Shadwell and Tracy.

tending thy well-feathered flock by blackeyedblonde (M)

An ongoing collection of small ficlets and snippets dedicated to Crowley and Aziraphale enjoying their shared life and roles as Ineffable Parents. Contains standalone pieces and short stories excerpted from within some of my established verses 💖 Domestic fluff, love, kidfic, romance, comfort reading nonsense galore.

- Mod D

[gumnut-logic]

It was a beautiful evening. The day had been hot, but the sun was waning and a breeze had picked up enough to disturb the cloying heat, prologuing the cool desert night.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped off the decking in a suit with a champagne glass in his hand, perhaps he should have left his explorations for another night when he could have been dressed appropriately, but Virgil was used to grabbing the moment and the inspiration when he could. Tomorrow was never guaranteed.

Tonight was a rare case. Lady Penelope had invited the Tracy family out to her station in the outback for an evening of entertainment. There were a number of notables there and Scott had been heard to mutter something about working holiday, but Dad had shushed him and promised to take some of the networking load.

It was times like these Virgil felt a little guilty. While he didn’t mind a party and it was certainly fun to socialise, he felt he didn’t have that suave business sense like Scott, his father and even to a certain extent, John, who hated parties at the best of times. Though if you gave John a long distance communication method and he could have anyone eating out of his hand. A skill Scott deployed on many a business occasion.

No, Virgil was more of the practical sense. Something broken, he could fix it, someone hurt, he could tend to them. Juggle the fallacies of business and the underhand agendas? He had no patience or tolerance. Besides, he had reliable feedback that he couldn’t lie to save his own life.

But whatever, he was good at what he was good at.

So, sometimes the quiet desert evening was more attractive than the bustling social scene inside.

He eyed a bird of prey circling far above and wondered vaguely what type it was. Thoughts of different birds on a different farm came to mind.

A sigh and he swallowed a sip of champagne.

The bubbles popped on his tongue.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have stepped out, dressed in a suit, carrying a glass of champagne, but the evening was picture perfect and the quiet so alluring.

He didn’t go far. While Australia had become more familiar since they had moved to Tracy Island, it was still vast, still had a reputation of being deadly to the unwary, and this was no Kansas farm.

The red sand under his feet glowed in the evening sun.

Sharp grass - learnt the hard way - grew in tufted spikes along the path, tiny flowers dotted between the rocks. Penelope had said that spring was on the region and that they might see some lovely flower displays.

Virgil fully intended on investigating as soon as possible.

The path rose a little as he climbed a hillock and he couldn’t help but look back over the ranch buildings to the glowing presence of Thunderbird Two parked on the far side.

He had brought her with him for two reasons, the first being in case of a callout. The second was more related to that business manoeuvring thing. The overt presence of an International Rescue vehicle, while never explicitly used in dealings, was useful as a reminder to those who may forget exactly who the Tracy family were.

Virgil’s lips thinned as he stared at his ‘bird. It was a Dad thing. One of the many new things his father’s return had introduced. Scott had never used IR as a business tool and Dad technically wasn’t, but there was a contrast between how Scott worked and how their father worked and there were lots of little things like this that made that obvious.

The fact the Thunderbird was high up on her struts and towered over the landscape was functional and strategic at the same time.

A sigh and Virgil took another sip of champagne before turning to once again follow the path up the hill.

He didn’t see what he stepped on, but he felt it.

Soft, moving, he had that split second of realisation that his foot had encountered something alive, a stumble to try and avoid hurting whatever that was, and he overbalanced, only managing to not faceplant in the dust due to many years on the training mats with Kayo.

He still landed in an uncoordinated mess in the middle of one of those spiky grass tufts.

It stabbed him through expensive fabric.

Ow.

And rocks. There were rocks.

Damnit.

Red dust coated his pants and suit jacket and there was a definite scuff on one shoe.

Whatever it was he had nearly squished, slithered off into the grass on the other side of the path.

It only took him a moment to connect the dots.

He’d stepped on a snake, apparently, a little one, but a snake.

In Australia.

The continent renowned for such deadly reptiles.

Aw, hell.

But Virgil was an experienced responder. There was no need to panic. He rolled himself off the grass, his eyes pinned to where the snake had disappeared.

The grass complained and stabbed him a few more times through his clothes, but he got onto his hands and knees.

Nothing obvious was hurting, other than all the needle pricks, so that was a good sign.

His dress shoes were more red than black, along with the nice charcoal suit pants. The sooner he got off the ground, the better, but the medic in his head was yelling at him.

He yanked up both pant legs and poked around his socks, examining his skin for breaks. Even then, he almost missed it.

Two tiny little pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Shit.

The current locations of his family members flitted through his head.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was going to be absolutely fabulously newsworthy to have one of the Tracy brothers carted off in his own ‘bird simply because he didn’t look where he stepped.

The setting sun was still calmly gazing over the landscape, lighting everything up in gold. But it felt far more sinister now.

The breeze ruffled his hair.

Sitting in the dirt, knowing he shouldn’t move, Virgil sighed and thumbed his comms. Maybe he could minimise the damage.

“Gords, you got a minute?”

-o-o-o-

Gordon was having a great time.

If there was something he missed living on an island in the middle of nowhere, it was this.

Penelope had one soft hand on his arm and was smiling at him as several of her friends laughed at one of his jokes. The fact the stuck-up toff, Duke Butterfingers, looked less than pleased was just icing on the cake. He was definitely on Gordon’s scorn list after his snide remark regarding Sherbet versus his ‘real dog’ wolfhound blah-blah.

It appeared the dog was smarter than the owner.

But Pen’s girlfriends were great conversationalists and it was nice to talk to someone other than family or those with their lives at risk for a change.

Yes, it was proof that he needed to get out more.

The subtle twitch of his collar comms against his skin wasn’t to be ignored, however.

A hand on Pen’s hand. “Please excuse me a moment. Duty calls.” He did not bow. Well, not really, but the amused smile and the sparkle in Penny’s eyes made it worth it anyway.

Her hand squeezed his arm and let go gently. Her eyes didn’t leave him immediately. “Felicity, do tell me about your new parlour. I hear it is being featured in Great Homes of Britain?”

If her blue eyes hadn’t turned away at that moment, it would have been questionable as to whether he would have been able to leave. But leave he did, wondering which family member he had to torture in the future in revenge.

Finding himself a polite corner, he opened his comms and frowned at his brother’s worried voice. “Virgil? What is it?”

It took a moment, enough to grab Gordon’s attention a little more. “Virg?”

“I’ve been bitten by a snake.”

“What?!”

“I’m up the hill at the back of the ranch. I stepped on a snake.” I need your help. It wasn’t said, but it was obvious. “Don’t tell Scott or Dad. Yet.” That last was said a little tentatively.

But Gordon was already moving, running the list of dangerous snakes that could likely be found out here through his head. If anyone noticed him dash from the room, he didn’t really care.

Compression bandage. Immobilisation. “You stay absolutely still, you hear me?”

“I’m aware of the procedure, Gordon.”

The location of first aid kits in Penelope’s house was quickly overridden by the vast store of equipment out in the carpark in Two.

Gordon was in a full out run before he realised it.

The evening was cooler but still warm from the day as the sun still hadn’t gone down. Two loomed over everything as Gordon dashed between cars and dodged guard rails. Two parking attendants stared at him as he tore past, but he ignored them.

Reaching Two, he swiped a dance of finger code over his left jacket sleeve and a control hologram leapt up from the fabric. The keys to his brother’s ‘bird were a necessity he was ever grateful for in this moment.

The great green Thunderbird hummed to life and lowered on her struts, smooth as ever, down enough for her forward hatch to reach him. He jumped on board and was in the first aid lockers without a second thought.

The countdown in his head was predictably short as his comms went off only a few seconds later. That would be John.

Gordon ignored it and switched back to Virgil.

“Any idea what type of snake?”

“Small and brown. It’s all I got. Didn’t see it. Stepped on the poor thing.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Gords.”

“It happens.” He slammed the locker shut, grabbed a hover stretcher and linked it to his comms. He cursed the lack of his uniform and all its inbuilt necessities with it. The essentials woven into his suit jacket and collar comms were barely minimal.

A brief thought of moving Two to his brother faded quickly as he poked the pilot’s dash and Virgil’s location lit up. He wasn’t very far away at all and there was no room to park Two anyway.

No room in the Australian Outback? An oxymoron, but it would be faster to just grab his brother and throw him on Two.

It was going to be bad enough lifting off once.

He jumped back onto the hatch and lowered himself. Securing Two he broke into another run. “You know you’re not going to be able to hide this from Scott, Dad or anyone here? You’re going to hospital, bro, and Two’s the fastest way. No one is going to miss her launching.” He leapt over a fence, the hover stretcher darting to follow.

“I know.” It was a quiet and sad answer.

“Medical status, Virg. How are you feeling?” He peeled around the corner of the main building and fixed his eyes on a figure part way up a hill in the distance.

Virgil waved.

“Gordon, report! John says it was you who accessed Two. What are you doing?” Scott, as commander as ever.

A harsh breath as his feet hit the bottom of the hill. “Thunderbird Four responding to a medical emergency. One of Penelope’s guests has been bitten by a snake. Evac imminent.” Another breath as he finally made it to Virgil’s side. The expression on his brother’s face could only be considered despair. “Scott, we will need media management. Victim is high profile. We need to keep this on the downlow.”

A pause as Gordon set down the first aid kit. Virgil’s lips were tight as he pointed to the red and swollen twin pin pricks on the inside of his right ankle.

Gordon shoved open the kit and, without another word, grabbed bandaging.

Scott’s voice was sharp. “FAB. John is accessing Five. Victim identity?”

Virgil sighed and his shoulders dropped before he thumbed his comms. “Scott?”

“Virgil?”

“It’s me.”

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy loved a challenge.

He preferred the challenge to involve rockets and miles and miles of blue sky, but he could garner a little excitement out of most challenges, no matter the format.

Business challenges were often tough and required subtlety. Scott had always taken them from a tactical perspective and deployed his assets in the same way he deployed International Rescue - efficiently and showing strength.

It worked. Tracy Industries was twice the entity it had been ten years ago and he took just a little pride in that accomplishment.

Of course, that accomplishment paled in comparison to what his father had achieved in the fifteen years prior to that, building the business on fame and faith alone from scratch.

And it was never more obvious than right now.

The flow of Japanese between his father and the head of Sato Enterprises, the leading engineering firm in Japan was cutthroat.

Scott could speak a little Japanese, but nothing like this. John was the expert and could slice and dice with the language, but Scott had forgotten, or perhaps never realised in the first place, exactly how smooth his father was on the business scene.

In a matter of minutes, Dad had removed the original offer off the table, replaced it with his own and then cut down the opposition with a verbal chainsaw.

Scott could barely keep up.

And to top it all off, Sato-san wasn’t glaring or angry. The man was smiling as Scott’s father achieved the deal he had been after from the beginning.

How the hell?

It made Scott feel a little inadequate.

He swallowed it down. It shouldn’t surprise him. Dad was Dad after all.

He could go over the conversation with John later and dissect it to work out exactly how Dad had managed to get exactly what he wanted.

So easily.

Scott smiled and bowed respectfully as the business director backed out to apparently get himself another drink and attend to his wife. The faint smirk on Dad’s face as soon as the man’s back was turned gave more credit to Scott’s suspicion that Sato was fleeing before his father took the rest of his business and flushed it down the toilet.

“Dad?”

His father blinked and turned, his cane tapping on the floor just once. “Oh, just an old friend. Still thinks he can pull one over me.” A glance at the walking stick. “Probably thought I had lost it in space.” A snort.

“Sato Enterprises has been a major supplier of baseline processors to our ICT production lines for some time.”

His father nodded. “They make a good product. But Sato over-inflates the bottom line and has a little too much arrogance for his own good.”

Scott blinked. That wasn’t quite the impression he had of the man. Sato had gone through some nasty personal stuff a couple of years ago and Scott had gotten to know him quite well, though admittedly at a distance the width of the Pacific.

It was a Tracy Medical drug that had saved his daughter’s life.

Scott shifted his feet. “It’s been a tough time for him and his family recently.”

Grey eyes turned and pinned him. “This is business, Scott, not personal.”

Scott straightened his shoulders. “I’m aware of that, but I have had a different relationship with the man and our business dealings have been satisfactory. Why you would want to shake that up?”

An arched eyebrow. “The key word is ‘satisfactory’. We can achieve so much more if we push the limits.”

Blink. Scott was suddenly thrown back to a tent on an ice plain and a younger brother pleading with him to stop pushing the limits.

He shook himself.

And was interrupted as John stepped up beside them, emerging from the crowd like a spectre.

“Gordon just accessed Thunderbird Two.” John was frowning.

“What? Why?”

“Unknown. He refused to answer.”

Scott arched an eyebrow at his brother. John was still ticked that he had been dragged along to this shindig. The list of excuses had been very long, but Dad had brushed them all aside, insisting they all attend as a family.

Scott hadn’t needed comms to hear the swearing from orbit.

A thumb to his collar. “Gordon, report! John says it was you who accessed Two. What are you doing?” His whole tone dared the aquanaut to ignore him and live.

Gordon was clearly running and his short and sharp summary of the situation cleared all humour from Scott’s mind. John was talking to Eos quietly.

“Victim identity?”

There was hesitation at his question and Scott’s heart sunk as a suspicion grew in his mind.

No…

Virgil’s voice dropped Scott’s heart into his left shoe. “Virgil?” But he was already moving, John at his side, pulling up their brother’s location on his ever-present tablet.

“It’s me.”

No.

He hurried through doors, John’s soft directions leading him out onto the back patio. His brother pointed and Scott spotted two suited figures halfway up a hill in the distance.

He was running before thought.

-o-o-o-

The sun was going down, but it was still hot. Or perhaps it had more to do with whatever that snake had pumped into his system.

“Virg?” Gordon was manhandling him, literally swaddling his legs with a pressure bandage. Virgil stared at his brother’s arms as they expertly splinted his legs together.

Fingers suddenly clicked in front of his eyes.

“Virg? You with me?” Gordon was frowning at him.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

Gordon’s lips thinned. The aquanaut had propped Virgil’s back up with the hoverstretcher but refused to let him climb onto it. “Scott’s coming. We’ll get you moving asap.”

“Yeah.”

Scott.

And Dad.

He squeezed his eyes shut

“It could have happened to anyone, Virgil.”

He winced as his brother accidentally nudged the bite site. “Yeah, I guess.” But it didn’t make it any less stupid.

“We’ll get you to Auckland and you can say hi to Ellie again.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Gordon, we don’t have a thing, okay?”

“A thing, huh?” His brother grinned. “Does she know that?”

“Gordon.” He sighed. “We are friends, that’s all.” He wrinkled his nose. “Hey, it was you she picked off the floor, not me.”

His little brother grunted. “Don’t remind me.”

“You started it.” And Virgil hissed as pain shot up his leg.

“Virg?” All humour disappeared from Gordon’s face. “Talk to me.”

A deep breath. “Just my leg.”

Emergency responder eyes raked the limb responsible. “Keep it as still as possible.

“I know, Gordon.”

“Yeah, more than me, so that means no excuses for doing anything stupid.”

Virgil let his eyes close and he sagged back against the hover stretcher with a grunt.

As if on cue, hurried footsteps pounded up the dirt track. Virgil didn’t need to open his eyes. He knew who it was.

“Virgil?” A warm hand landed on his shoulder.

“It was an accident. I’m sorry, Scott.” Virgil still didn’t open his eyes. His guilt was enough without seeing the exasperation on his big brother’s face.

The hand squeezed his shoulder gently. “Gordon, report.”

His little brother rattled off vitals and Virgil found himself impressed at the professionalism and accuracy in Gordy’s voice.

John said something. Oh, yes, John was down from Five. It was so good to have him back. Virgil missed him. Always did when he was up there. Sometimes commed him just to hear his voice. Check up on him. But Johnny loved it, so Virgil was happy for him.

Still missed him.

“Virgil?”

He frowned. He had three brothers with him. Where was the fourth? Where was Alan?

A snap of fingers startled him and he flung open his eyes. Only to be pinned by worried blue. “Virgil, you need to keep awake.”

Virgil grunted. “Was awake.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “We are going to lift you onto the stretcher. Do not move.”

“I know.” It came out tetchy, but he knew the procedure for snake bite. He had helped train them and keep them up to date. He frowned and closed his eyes again.

“Vir-“ But his big brother was interrupted by an exclamation in another language.

Virgil’s frown increased. Japanese? The Asiatic languages weren’t his strength. He could spout several European languages, but languages in general were better left to John.

As if his thought called his little brother forth, John started rattling off Japanese as if he was born to the language.

Hands gently wrapped around Virgil and, on a count of three, lifted him. His stomach rolled a little at the movement, but the stretcher was so much more comfortable than the dirt.

His butt hurt.

If Scott held him a moment longer than he needed to, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

The Japanese suddenly became strident, John’s voice urgent and pointed. Scott’s hands slipped away.

Virgil opened his eyes and turned his head just as Scott walked up to a group of suited men, several probably Japanese, but there was at least one European and another of possibly Polynesian descent. Virgil blinked slowly.

Scott was speaking Japanese as well. It wasn’t surprising. Japanese was a business language after all.

But he had known Scott spoke Japanese, hadn’t he?

“C’mon, Virg, let’s get you to your girl, hey?”

Gordon. Virgil turned his head to find his little brother. He was so proud of Gordon. The little fish. The stubborn survivor who fought with everything he had to come back to them. He knew Gordon still felt the effects of his medical history. He had seen him on his bad days. Helped him when it all just hurt.

It hurt to see his little brother hurt.

“Virg, you with me?” Fingertips on his cheek.

“Proud of you, Gords.”

“What?” A frown. “Virgil, you focus on me, okay?” He waved fingers around indicating eyes. “You stay with me, you hear me?”

A slow blink. “I’m here.”

“You stay here. We’re going to your ‘bird. We’ll get you on board and in the air asap.”

“I know you will.” His body twitched.

Scott’s voice became louder and more forceful.

Gordon ignored him and starting moving the hoverstretcher down the hill.

Until it was stopped suddenly, the jolt triggering an ache than ran the length of Virgil’s body, climbed up into his head and sat there throbbing.

“What the hell? This is an emergency. Out of my way!” Gordon’s hand landed gently on Virgil’s chest.

He looked up to find two men facing off his aquanaut brother and blocking their descent down the hill.

What the-?

The hand on his chest held him down as he instinctively tensed to get up.

Gordon’s voice dropped an octave closer to Antarctica. “This is an emergency. Get out of my way.”

-o-o-o-

[katblu42]

Tie Me to the Moon

Installment 4 (of 5) in my Whump Wheel spinning experiment. This spin was for John and gave me Cuddling For Comfort and Cemetery.

It is another Young Tracys fic, but it requires some WARNINGS as it deals with grief/mourning, funerals and of course a cemetery. I'm also tagging for social anxiety, sensory overload and panic attack, although I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm putting John through. If there's any additional warning or tag I need please let me know (or if these ones don't hit the mark).

Possibly more angst than whump.

The day started early. Scott had spoken with John and Virgil the night before about how much he was relying on them both to help get Alan and Gordon ready, since Grandma and Dad would both have a lot on their plate. So, John had set the alarm for 6am to give them time to wake themselves up before tackling the tinies.

By 9am all five boys were awake and fed and dressed in their Sunday best, shoes shined and hair combed awaiting final inspection before the cars arrived to take them to the church. Normally it would have been Dad who inspected the troops before such an important occasion but, like many other things over the last week or so, today the job was taken on by Scott. He left no stray hair or speck of lint unscrutinised, while their father was barely able to do more than glance at his boys and give Scott a pat on the shoulder as he passed on his way out the front door.

Scott decided it would be best if he went in the lead car with Dad. It was the one that had been fitted with the kiddie seats for Gordon and Alan, and Scott could sit between them and keep them settled. That left John and Virgil to ride in the second car with Grandma. The car trip was mostly silent, but Grandma told them they both looked very smart and did her best to smile despite clear indications she was holding back more tears.

As they neared the church it was impossible not to notice the large number of parked vehicles, some still offloading passengers. John let out a large sigh as their car pulled up in front of the chapel. The soft murmurings and general bustle of the gathering crowd penetrated their insulated little bubble even before the driver opened the door to let Grandma out. Virgil waited until he’d caught John’s eye and received a nod before opening his door so both boys could exit on the same side of the car.

The kindly young driver from the funeral home seemed to be keeping most of the well-meaning mourners at bay as the family gathered and were solemnly led into the church and ushered to the front pew. John tried to focus on the flowers, the quiet organ music, the soft glow of sunlight filtering through stained glass rather than the coffins or even the photos of Mom and Grandpa, and definitely not the endless stream of people filling the rows of seats behind them. It was a slightly tight fit getting all seven of them in the one pew, even with Alan on Dad’s (and later Scott’s) lap, but John was glad of the warm press of Virgil on his left and Gordon on his right.

The service was a simple, no-frills affair with the Minister officiating, but friends and family doing most of the talking. John listened through Dad and Grandma retelling stories he’d heard before, but there were little details revealed that he had never known. The anecdotes shared by the others who stepped up to the pulpit microphone – one of Grandpa’s farming neighbours, and an old friend of Mom’s from school – almost felt like stories about other people. It didn’t feel like they were talking about the people John had lost.

For John losing Grandpa was like a constellation of stars going missing from the night sky. It was Grandpa that had told him people are all made of the same stuff as the stars. He had been a quiet, watchful presence in his life, providing light and joy whenever he looked up and saw that twinkle in Grandpa’s eye. Like Ursa Major and Polaris, Grandpa was always there guiding him, giving direction when needed, but never wanting to overstep or overshadow his parents. Not the brightest light in his orbit, but an important, comforting presence that meant John always knew his place in the world.

Mom had been the sun at the centre of his life, his family, his everything. Without her all the light and warmth was gone from the world. Instead of a regular (though slightly wonky) orbit his world now felt like it was tumbling through space and gravity was constantly shifting. One moment he was too heavy to move and the next he was so light might be flung out into space. Night and day and seasons, years and everything he measured his life by had been connected to his Mom – waking him and tucking him into bed, making sure he dressed warm enough or wore sunscreen or had his raincoat, keeping track of birthdays and holidays and school excursion days were all her.

During the service no one spoke of Mom and Grandpa like that.

There was music. One of Mom’s favourite piano pieces. Virgil had wanted to be able to play it today, but hadn’t been able to bring himself to even sit at the piano, much less play at all since the accident. So a recording had been found and it was played as a backing track to the slideshow that flickered through image after image of happy memories telling part of two life stories.

There were prayers. Reassuring words from the minister about heaven and God’s love, and the love we should all share with each other. John wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about heaven, or God calling Mom and Grandpa home to his kingdom.

There was a poem read out by one of Mom’s work colleagues. It was something about not crying or being sad because they were gone, but being happy because they had lived. Many of the people in the room were obviously ignoring the advice – his immediate family included. There were a good many wet handkerchiefs and tissues in hands, a great deal of suppressed sobs and eye rubbing, and a few sleeves swiped across cheeks before the service was over.

Scott and Dad were among the pall bearers who carried the coffins out of the church and onto the waiting machinery that would take care of their final movements. John and his brothers and Grandma were the first of the mourners to follow in the sombre procession. Only a small number of people were permitted to follow the hovering gurneys across the grass and through the little cemetery to the waiting square-sided pits. Just family and a few close friends to witness the way the machinery slowly and smoothly lowered each coffin down into the earth, hear the minister recite the final ritual words, and each place a flower or a sprinkling of dirt atop the coffins in a last goodbye.

The rest of the large crowd had been encouraged to make their way into the Sunday School hall where the wake was to take place. Refreshments had been generously laid out on the tables inside. More photographs of both lost loved ones were on display throughout the room, along with so many more flowers and a large number of cards. But many of the people in attendance that day were still milling about outside the church buildings when John and his family returned through the cemetery for the wake.

John’s feet dragged as he approached the gentle hubbub of mingling friendly faces with sympathetic expressions. He could pick out people he knew well if he let himself concentrate, but the sheer number of individuals he was heading towards was a little overwhelming. They didn’t make it inside the hall before the onslaught began. Almost everyone wanted to say something, speak of sympathy, tell a story, offer “any help you need.” So many wanted to reach out, hold a hand or squeeze an arm, some came in for full-on hugs, cheek kisses and loud, teary exclamations of how sad it all was.

John lost his Dad and Grandma to the throng faster than he thought possible, but before he could be swept up in it himself he was thrown a lifeline. There was a familiar presence by his side, a brush of hand against hand, or specifically pinky against pinky – a request and an offer. John grabbed hold of Virgil’s hand and held fast, tethering himself to his brother like an anchor.

He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened or how long it had taken, but eventually they all made it inside the Sunday School hall. John was only aware of Virgil’s hand in his, the rest was a blur of faces, voices, bodies. Virgil dealt with anyone who stopped them to offer their personal condolences, listening to what they had to say and responding politely but managing to keep the interactions brief and shielding John from most of the attention. Somehow they made their way to a cluster of chairs where Grandma and Dad were seated, Alan in his father’s lap, still accepting condolences from well-wisher after well-wisher.

John was aware of sweat beading on his forehead as Virgil told him to take a seat next to Grandma for a bit, and then his brother disappeared into the crowd to go and fetch Grandma a cup of tea. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers as he tried to look around the room. His eyes fell on Scott standing a few feet away, taking all the sympathetic social interactions in his stride, nodding, smiling, shaking hands, accepting embraces.

John’s mouth was dry and he wondered if he could make it across the room to grab a drink from the trestle table against the wall, but there was a sea of bodies he’d have to negotiate in between. For a moment his vision blurred and the vague images of people swam in a dizzying fashion before he could find something to focus on. Alan had obviously grown tired of the hair ruffling and cheek pinching and wriggled free of his Dad’s grasp, and was now trying to run through the small gaps between grown up pairs of legs. Gordon was keeping an eye on him – in between snaffling more cakes and cookies from the food table. John watched the terrible two until they were obscured by too many featureless figures.

Despite the late-winter-cool of the day, the church hall felt uncomfortably warm. The large space with its vaulted ceiling, tall, wide windows and polished wooden floorboards felt dark and gloomy and so very crowded. And the non-stop undercurrent of murmuring voices appeared to build in an unbearable crescendo John could not shut out. Too many bodies, too many voices, too much, too close . . . he needed space, he needed air, he had to get out!

Virgil saw his brother get up and hurry a little unsteadily to the exit as he came back with Grandma’s tea. He tried to keep an eye on the red-head so he could follow, but he had to excuse himself to Grandma and Dad, make his way over to Scott, politely interrupt the conversation and whisper in his big brother’s ear.

“John’s bolted. I’m going after him.”

Scott acknowledged with a nod as his eyes darted to the door, already closed again after John’s escape. Virgil wasted no more time in following, but once outside it took him a moment to figure out which direction John had taken.

John had no particular destination in mind, he just needed to get away. His feet carried him across the gravel driveway and through the grass without him registering the change of surface. He ran through the little cemetery without seeing the tombstones he passed, slowing only when he approached the boundary marked with a low stone wall before a neat, tall hedge. Unable to go any farther he turned and wobbled dizzily. His vision narrowed leaving dull blurred impressions of light and shadow. He heard nothing but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, and he sank down to the ground, sitting heavily, knees bent and pulled up towards his chest. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed and slammed his hands over his ears, trying to block it all out.

Virgil approached slowly, but without trying to hide the sound of his footsteps. He lowered himself to sit facing John, resisting the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Seeing his brother in such distress clawed at his heart. He couldn’t let him struggle through this alone.

“John?” He kept his voice quiet and hoped he could be heard despite the hands staying firmly pressed against ears. “I’m here with you. Just me. No one else is around.”

There was no noticeable response.

“If you can hear me, I need you to try and slow your breathing down a bit, John. Deep breath in,“ and Virgil inhaled, “and out nice and slow.” Virgil waited for a second, watching John’s shallow, ragged breathing for any change. “In,” another inhaled breath, “and out.”

As Virgil continued repeating the instruction like a mantra John’s breathing gradually began to even out into slower, deeper, more controlled breaths. He wasn’t sure, but he thought John’s vice-like grip over his ears might be relaxing a little too.

“You’re doing great, John. Keep focusing on your breathing. Keep listening. Hear the breeze whispering through the leaves? Did you hear those birds?”

John did hear the cry of a bird overhead, and an answering call a little farther away as his hands drifted away from his head. As he lowered them to limply rest on the ground beside him he heard a gentle gust of wind rustle the hedges, and he registered that it did indeed sound a bit like a whisper.

“The sun’s broken free of the clouds. Can you feel it on your face, John? Can you feel the wind in your hair? You do realise there’s dirt and leaves beneath your fingertips, right?”

John turned his focus where his brother’s voice directed it, feeling the warmth on the left side of his face, and the breeze toying with his hair. There was indeed leaf litter and slightly damp dirt beneath his flexing fingers.

“If you’re ready to open your eyes you’ll see the moon’s out. I like the way the moon looks in the day. Against the blue of the sky the shadows make it look almost see-through.”

Translucent. That would have been a better word for what Virgil was trying to say. The thought flitted through John’s mind as he let his eyes drift open and scan the sky until they latched onto the gibbous moon framed by scattered cumulous clouds. He was also aware there was irony in the way his brother was effectively using the moon to anchor him, to bring him back to earth and ground him in the here and now.

Virgil had stopped talking, leaving the wind and occasional twitters and cries of the birds to fill the silence as John watched the clouds dance around the moon. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him almost as tangibly as he could feel the damp earth he was sitting on and the cool stone of the wall at his back. Now feeling much calmer he took a deep breath and brought his gaze down from the sky to meet the concern and compassion contained in those warm, brown eyes.

“Welcome back.” A hint of a smile played across Virgil’s face as he spoke.

A quiet moment stretched between them. No words spoken, but information passing from brother to brother through eye contact alone.

Content that John was no longer caught in a spiral he couldn’t escape on his own, Virgil glanced over his shoulder towards the Sunday School hall.

“I should go back, but you can stay here if you want. I’ll come and find you when it’s time to go. Just don’t wander off or anything.”

John didn’t speak as he chanced his own glance back toward the ongoing wake. Then, as Virgil made a move to get up and leave, John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay. Please?”

Virgil stopped and stared first at the fingers digging into his wrist, then into pleading, desperate aquamarine. He simply nodded and adjusted his position so he was sitting next to John, their shoulders touching. John loosened his grip on Virgil’s wrist but didn’t let go, so John’s arm looped around his knees and Virgil’s arm crossed his body to keep the connection. There was an almost imperceptible hesitation, but then simultaneously John leaned in towards his brother and Virgil wrapped his arm around John, pulling them into a secure embrace.

John finally let go of Virgil’s wrist, bringing his arm in close, grabbing a fistful of Virgil’s suit jacket and snuggling closer into his brother’s chest. This enabled Virgil to employ both arms in the hug. John rarely cuddled up like this with anyone, but all the times he could remember doing so were with Mom. His next intake of breath hitched at the realisation, and Virgil held a little tighter. The threat of tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he was grateful that, while not the same as a cuddle from Mom, he was still able to find this level of safety and comfort in the arms of someone who loved him.

“I want her back,” he sobbed, letting the tears flow and drip onto Virgil’s jacket.

“Yeah. Me too.”

John heard the tears in Virgil’s voice, but he already knew his brother felt the same absence in their hug.

Neither boy could say how long they stayed out there, huddled together, holding tight while hot tears streaked their cheeks. Time may as well have stood still for all it mattered. Nothing else was important, just the feeling that this moment, however sad, was there’s alone to share until Scott came and found them to tell them it was time to go home.

[encvnto]

◝     ♡    .   𝐋𝐘𝐋𝐀&𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄   ;;   via spotify  !!   ❜    ❫

                              everybody       wants     to      have     their      taste                               i’m    no     different,     i     am      just    the    same                               but  she  helped  me  find  a  different  kinda  love                               made     me    feel   like    I   was    finally    enough                                                                 ━━    a  playlist made for @everlynhugo​​​​

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐍, pale waves   —   but there’s more going on behind the scenes, she needs this love just as much as me   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟐. 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔, billie eilish   —   we fall apart as it gets dark, i’m in your arms in central park. there’s nothin’ you could do or say, i can’t escape the way I love you   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟑. 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐒, one direction   —   they don’t know how special you are, they don’t know what you’ve done to my heart, they can say anything they want'cause they don’t know about us   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟒. 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇, harry styles   —   the way that she’s whispering, the way that she’s pulling you in. god knows I’ve tried, i can’t get her off my mind   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟓. 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄, maz lovella  —   evangeline, you’re the girl in my dreams, evangeline, since i was seventeen and i will wait till the wind blows south. feel your embrace when the sun draws out, sleep on sleepless nights for you until i wake by your side it’s true   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟔. 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, hey violet   —   ‘cause there’s something about it that brings me to life, yeah, I know all the consequences, I don’t mind. this holy redemption tears us in two but I can’t turn my back to you   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟕. 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐈𝐓, ariana grande   —   why don’t we face the danger just for the night and forget? baby, let’s just forget. remind me why we’re taking a break, it’s obviously insane ‘cause we both know what we want so why don’t we fall in love?   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟖. 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄, angel olsen   —   even if you walk around as though you think you’re right at your worst you still believe it’s worth a fight   ;;   𝟎𝟎𝟗. 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 & 𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒, troye sivan   —   and even if I run away, give my heart a holiday, still strawberries and cigarettes always taste like you   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟎. 𝐈 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐇, hayley kiyoko   —   we butt heads, 'cause you don’t pay me no attention and you’re selfish with your affection   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄, idina menzel and traci thoms   —   take me for what I am, who I was meant to be and if you give a damn, you better take me, baby   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟐. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔, taylor swift   —   breakin’ down and coming undone, it’s a roller coaster kinda rush and I never knew I could feel that much and that’s the way I loved you   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟑. 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 , lauv   —   feelings are hard but i feel 'em in my chest a tiny war within but when i pull you closer, girl, I can’t explain but i, i wanna do whatever you wanna do. if you wanted to, girl, we could cross that line   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟒. 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍, troye sivan   —   went out looking for love when I was seventeen, maybe a little too young but it was real to me   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟓. 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, madison beer   —   you make me feel like a teenager in love and you make me feel like i’ll be forever young and i don’t want no, nobody else   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟔. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, alyson stoner   —   didn’t expect, falling like that. doesn’t make sense, never done this but i don’t wanna ever change this   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟕. 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 , taylor swift   —    there is an indentation in the shape of you, made your mark on me, a golden tattoo    ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟖. 𝐋𝐘𝐋𝐀, oasis   —   if you can’t hear me call then i can’t say lyla: heaven help you catch me if i fall   ;;   𝟎𝟏𝟗. 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘, king princess   —   'cause i could lose it all, can’t watch it fade to black, can’t let it end like that   ;;   𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄, harry styles and kacey musgraves shania twain   —   ain’t nothin’ better, we beat the odds together. i’m glad we didn’t listen, look at what we would be missin'   ;;   𝟎𝟐𝟏. 𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓, ashe and finneas   —   if the tide takes california i’m so glad i got to hold ya and if the sky falls from heaven above, oh, i know i had the best time falling into love

[tagsecretsanta]

from @Little-old-rachel

to @misssquidtracy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Part Two: Second First Snow

After they lose Mom, Gordon finds he can’t stand the snow, unable to marry that wonderful day with the same substance that leeched life from his mother. 

And he’s not alone. Virgil can’t even bear to be cold, takes to bundling layer upon layer in winter, long sleeves even in summer. John watches weather forecasts anxiously, cross-examining different stations’ reports and awaiting the first signs of black ice. Even little Allie learns from Scott’s fretting that snow = bad. Gordon can’t help but wonder if they are all following their father’s lead - a man who increasingly finds any excuse to reach for the whiskey bottle, but especially when the cooler weather closes in. 

It doesn’t snow again, or at least, not enough to blur road and field into one endless white landscape. Instead the tarmac becomes a slushy stream, refreezing into deadly ice runs (or incredible tobogganing slopes, if only Gordon could bring himself to join the other kids without intense anxiety of what it might bring). 

And then - all at once - they’re living on a tropical island (“really, Dad, that’s a little bit extreme even for you,” Gordon smirks at his father, receiving a Look in return), and Gordon thinks he’ll never have to worry about snow again. His experiences with it are now strictly limited to rescues - because people will insist on attempting skiing in a blizzard. As much as they all love what they do, rescues aren’t exactly the place to form happy new memories and so Gordon never quite loses his dislike of snow, even as he grows old enough, smart enough, skilled enough to know a thousand different ways to save lives from it. 

(It’s in the same way that Virg has now shed most layers, even if he still wears a plaid shirt and undershirt in tropical heat. Or how John still tracks snowstorms obsessively when he thinks nobody notices - well Gordon’s on to you, Johnny. Or how Scott insists that snow rescues are done in pairs or not at all.) 

(They cope as best they can. Because they’re International goddamn Rescue.)

(And the world needs them to be coping). 

****

Except this year, apparently. 

They’re fast approaching the end of a second year without Dad, preparing to stagger through their second Christmas without him. 

And then all of a sudden, John gives himself a concussion - he won’t tell them how and EOS mournfully says that she’s sworn to secrecy - up on Five, and has to be dragged down to recover. In the same twenty-four hour period, Scott misjudges the speed at which he could hit the ground and fractures his wrist, much to Virgil’s consternation (“I was right behind you, Scott, if you had just waited twenty seconds-”). Except then it was Virgil’s turn to eat humble pie, because he nearly passed out in the middle of flying back to the island, because! Turns out you shouldn’t keep quiet about having the flu!

And then Alan slips off a cliff in the midst of a tropical storm, and whilst he’s fine (“I’m okay, guys, really - see, not even a scratch”), he’s understandably shaken up, and the Smother Brothers descend full force to take him off rescues.

And so, as brilliant as Gordon is, he’s not quite up to the task of single-handedly running International Rescue, even with Kayo picking up the slack - they’re only human. 

All in all, tensions are running high. 

Grandma’s all: the-world-won’t-fall-apart without-you-watching-over-it-Jonny, humankind-can-get-by-without-International-Rescue-for-a-week-Scott, so-help-me-God-Virgil-get-back-into-bed, taking out his older brothers in one fell swoop as only she can. She doesn’t so much pose the idea of spending their week off somewhere that isn’t Tracy Island, rather she tells them to pack their warmest clothes and be ready to leave that afternoon “or so help me God.”

****

The Squad descend on Kansas with subdued hearts and confiscated paperwork (“you’re on holiday, Scott”). They have happy memories here, of course - almost all of their memories involving Mom took place in this rickety house and its surrounding fields. Every room contains echoes of her singing, ghostly brushes of her forehead kisses, the smell of hot cocoa.

Which is why it’s also so very painful to be here again. 

They haven’t come here since Dad’s disappearance - because he’s disappeared, he’s not gone. So why can Gordon also feel the ghosts of his Dad’s arm around his shoulders? 

That first day, Grandma recruits the non-incapacitated members of the family (Kayo, Gordon, Alan and herself) to decorate the house, whilst Scott stomps about, lamenting that he can’t join in properly. The four of them make short work of the job, and before long, the lounge is lit with the soft glow of golden fairy lights. They’ve dragged the artificial tree from the loft, and Gordon feels oddly nostalgic for the cheap plastic baubles they’ve strung around it. 

Kayo has just thrashed Gordon in a race to make paper chains quicker when John says quietly, “hey. Snow.”

Virgil staggers up from the couch, cloaked in blankets and waving off Scott’s hovering hands. He makes his way to John’s window seat at the same time as Gordon. 

Light snowflakes are indeed falling from thick white clouds, pirouetting gently downwards to settle in dusty heaps on the frost-tipped yard. The landscape turns slowly whiter around them, and the snowfall gets heavier. 

Alan ducks under Scott’s non-injured arm to peek out too, and Scott swallows hard, likely remembering the last time they stood here and watched the snow fall in this way. 

They all feel the ache of the two missing family members like a physical wound. Gordon finds himself having to blink hard to shake off the visions playing tricks on his eyes. A tiny Gordon, gloveless, clueless, but joyful, rushing towards Mom, whose arms are outstretched. Virgil’s face as he concentrates on positioning the snowman’s features. John flopping his limbs into the snow to make angels. Dad and Scott, hurling snowballs at one another battling it out to the bitter end.

Virgil wraps an arm around Gordon’s shoulders, and with a start, Gordon realises he’s crying. 

Only they aren’t tears of grief or anger or pain - though he’s definitely felt all of those things. 

These are tears of a man overwhelmed. 

But the memories are good ones, they nestle in his chest, temporarily defrosting the icy tendrils of anxiety that have taken root there. They pour warmth and love and belonging into his chest, filling the pit of sorrow in his stomach and rushing to overflow in every small, aching part of his body. Gordon tips his head against Virgil’s shoulder, takes a shaky breath, and smiles. 

John is tucked against Gordon’s other side, Kayo’s fingers laced in his own. Alan is nestled into Scott’s chest, who has a hand on Virgil’s back too. 

United. As they always are. 

Outside, the temperature drops to freezing and the roads become treacherous. But the snow also dances in mesmerisingly beautiful patterns, and the trees sway as they gather their fine trimmings.

And here, in the centre of it all, is his family. 

His wonderful, loving, giving, crazy, ridiculous family. God, he’s the luckiest man alive. 

Maybe towards the end of the week, when John’s able to stand without wavering, and Virgil’s stopped mumbling deliriously, they’ll go tobogganing near the quarries. Hell, if they time it right, Scott will probably try and join them - the jury’s out on whether or not they can sneak that past Grandma. 

But for now, Gordon’s perfectly content to stand with his family, and watch the snow fall.

[florvinhara]

my detectives (part 2)

celebrating the end of this semester w infodump part 2 ft luna! (part 1)

Luna [redacted] Kingston

Romances A or M

Age: 27

Birthday: September 12

Star sign: Virgo

Height: 5'3"

Hair: black, wavy and shoulder length w choppy front bangs

Eyes: dark blue

Other appearance details: eyesight is bad enough that she usually wears glasses but she can still mostly see w/out them. long scar on neck from the murphy attack. old scars on knees and elbows (the Klutz special).

Languages: Conversational fluency in lots of them!

Stats:

Charming/Intimidating

Impulsive/Cautious

Sarcastic/Genuine

Friendly/Stoic

Easygoing/Stubborn

Heart/Mind

Optimist/Pessimist

Team player/Independent

Primary skills: Deduction & people

Strengths: Outgoing, kind, trusting, creative thinker, jack of all trades, open-minded, thoughtful, devoted, loyal, strong-willed

Weaknesses: Guilty, flighty, overactive imagination, clumsy, low self-esteem, unfocused, nervous, dishonest, impetuous, irrational at times

Personal:

her middle name is currently [redacted] bc im pretty sure rook's sister is Evil and for the Drama im gonna make luna's middle name the aunt's first name ;) if it turns out the aunt isnt a villain then.... idk maybe she still will be in my heart <3

she's worn glasses since she was 12, but her vision is. Technically good enough that she can mostly get by without them, leading to her always putting them on top of her head and subsequently losing them

in my heart she's an investigative journalist who moved back to wayhaven after sm things went down at her old job that made her want to find out what really happened to rook and reconnect w rebecca, but then got caught up in the murder plot with UB starting book 1, but in the vein of canon, she joined the force to follow in rook's footsteps etc.

she was kind of a weird kid, always daydreaming and making up her own very in-depth games and stories in the corner- she was pretty shy! sometimes she wld write them down and that's what first got her interested in writing

the car is named Tracy and she is a LADY who is doing her best!!!! at this point tracy is a cherished friend, jokes about her being bad will Not be well received >:(

she's very much in her head all the time, smtimes her sentences sort of meander and just go off on tangents and then kind of drift off at the ends

rebecca sent her to boarding school for a while following an Event in luna's childhood that made rebecca feel like wayhaven wasn't safe for the time being, she had lots of fun but that's kind of the time when luna started to worry she'd done smth wrong and that's why rebecca didn't want her around, since she'd kind of blocked out the Incident

many nervous habits! including but not limited to: cleaning her glasses, braiding small strands of her hair, jostling her leg, cracking her knuckles

she is actually v smart! in a book sense at least :0 she's clever and good at solving puzzles, and she remembers a lot of rlly obscure info abt lots of things- look into her eyes and you can basically hear the mii music playing, but she is intelligent!

she loves animals :') walking anywhere with her takes Ages bc she wants to stop and look at birds and if there's a worm on the sidewalk everything comes to a Halt while a rescue operation is performed

rocks!!!!! she's a huge geology nerd and she Loves them sm, fun crystals and pebbles alike :) she collects them all and if you picked one up and asked her abt it she wld know exactly when and where she got it

she hates seasonal music!!!! halloween songs and Especially christmas songs!! she cant explain why but it drives her up. the. wall. during the last few months of the year she's like that gif from community of the woman hitting the guy with a candy cane like "its December 10th!!!" its the one thing about the holidays she doesn't like

lots of her favorite books are from the golden age of detective fiction! she also reads a lot of poetry and history books, and loves nonfiction :D she's a sucker for any book with really in depth worldbuilding and/or a map on the front inside cover- she DID read the entire silmarillion AND enjoy it! she loves animated and stop-motion movies, laika is her Favorite studio and she owns every studio ghibli movie

she loves any food or drink where the main ingredient is sugar <3 catch her eating lucky charms dry straight from the box! she'll only drink coffee if it has like. vanilla or sm other sweet flavoring added to it along with 12 packs of sugar

her sleep schedule.... oh no! she had insomnia even before murphy, and now with the nightmares, it's even worse :( it's ok though! she uses the nighttime to work on art or baking or writing etc.

she listens to lots of indie/folk music- the oh hellos are one of her favorite bands! also she's a big fan of fun pop music- carly rae jepsen, bleachers, hayley kiyoko, HAIM, etc. also smdfnsj she Does listen to lofi music

she's loved chess since she was a kid and often plays against herself or another opponent- she also usually has a puzzle she's working on, and really likes crossword puzzles/sudoku games!

background noise is a Friend <3 it rlly helps her focus!

she loves her potted plants a lot! she has very detailed instructions on how to take care of them and she does talk/sing to them to help them grow

her house Looks minimalist? she values the aesthetic but she cannot commit- open any drawer in her house and you'll find like 7000 receipts she hasn't thrown out yet

she is Sweet but! untapped Rage is there... she has a tendency to bottle things up until one tiny thing makes her Go Off with all the stress and anger she's been holding back :( she Will cry and yell and then be completely horrified and spend the next 3-4 weeks apologizing profusely

she feels bad about. Everything :( she blames herself a lot,, it's easier to tell herself that things are going wrong bc it's her Fault and she did smth wrong rather than accept that it's out of her control

on that subject things with rebecca are Awkward!! they kind of drifted apart and luna feels like she shld have tried harder to keep in touch

her primary love language... probably words of affirmation or physical affection! she's very open w her affections and telling/showing people she loves them (to the extent they're comfortable with it! she prefers to let whoever she's with dictate the pace of the relationship)

if you see her Sleeping on the floor.... just leave her be,, she's sleepy

she is. weirdly lucky at small things and games of chance? catch her being dealt a full house right out of the gate during card games or finding quarters on the street all the time! she wins carnival games like nobody's business <3

absently she knows all the Lucky things to wish on! shooting stars, ladybugs, eyelashes, pennies, 11:11, etc :)

she dresses like. a very specific kind of influencer lowkey, w the oversized t-shirts and jeans ksdfm, the Sweaters/coats, etc.

hot weather does Not spark joy- she owns like 700 fans and loves getting to wear all her cute winter clothes :)

she's not allowed to watch cooking/baking shows unsupervised anymore, following the Incident where she watched one and then spent the entire night building a Giant gingerbread mansion spreading across the floor of her apartment

she deflects. a Lot! not even intentionally really but it just Happens :/ she's naturally a pretty open person but smtimes she just naturally is Not Talking abt it and tries to play things off, especially personal things abt her feelings/reactions to things <3

she is Nervous,, her base level of stress is. kind of up there! surprises Do Not work bc she will just Shriek and drop what she's holding sndfsjn.... it was like that even before murphy but. you know. it's more pronounced now :/

in her heart she is like. a human golden retriever! she's excited!! she wants to be friends!! she's roaming around,, take her for a walk and maybe she will find a cool stick to carry!!

she walks with a little bit of a skip in her step! on her toes a bit so nobody can tell she is Short... (it doesnt work)

[artblogofanekophile]

All the uneven numbers for Seph.

Thank you so much for the ask, dear! And what an interesting angle to go about it; I’ll gladly illuminate you a little bit more on Persephone!

What makes them laugh?

I’d wager a great deal of things; being the sort of outgoing and laid-back person she is, I think Persephone would laugh a lot and laugh very loudly. She wouldn’t be too shy to wheeze so hard she’s left dabbing her eyes, nor would she hold back practically howling with raucous laughter in response to a joke. Perhaps to the annoyance (and disdain) of her more reserved classmates.

As to what would make her laugh, though, I think a good amount of her humour would be around cheesy wordplay. At least, those are the jokes I could see her cracking herself most of the time. I also think that whatever the equivalent of vines are in the Twst universe would make her laugh. Short, punchy, instant pay off as opposed to long jokes that require more build up. Sheer absurdity probably especially gets her. Picture the lawnmower vine; she’d be shrieking.

Persephone probably also follows Cater on Magicam.

What song would they sing on Karaoke night?

I think if she’s in a particularly confident mood, Say So by Doja Cat with a certain lyric redacted, of course.

If she isn't, I could see Baby Can I Hold You by Tracy Chapman as a more sombre song for her to sing.

Where do they see themselves in five years?

Hopefully, a permanent resident of Twisted Wonderland with her own little florist shop. Persephone longs for independence and freedom from her sheltered life under the smothering rule of her mother, so to have a business of her own is the perfect balance of freedom and personal responsibility that she craves.

Persephone would likely make most of her money by growing plants that are commonly used as ingredients in potions by the more alchemically inclined residents, but I could see her also offering bouquets for special occasions and holidays as well.

No doubt she would go off on long tangents about the symbolism attributed to each particular plant, how they’re cultivated and their many uses (the intended purpose of their purchase aside) and how best to care for them with as much bright-eyed enthusiasm as ever. She might also find herself softly conversing with the tiny potted succulents tucked to one side of her desk during particularly quiet periods of the workday.

What’s the longest time they’ve gone with no sleep?

I could see Persephone having snuck out of the house until the late hours and then realised, “Shit, I had homework” and then pulled an all-nighter to get it finished in time for school in the morning. So that’s a solid day or two!

Since she came to Twisted Wonderland, however, her sleep has become more regular.

What’s the wildest thing they’ve done for their S/O?

Idia isn’t exactly the most outgoing person out there, so I can’t see him trying to pull her into anything too crazy. However, I think something she’d do that would take him off guard would be cosplaying one of his mains from one of the many games he plays. I’m sure he has at least one cute female avatar that he uses. She wouldn’t say anything about it; Persephone would just happen to notice it when he’s playing one time.

Then one day - perhaps after he excitedly announces a special event going on in that particular game - she offers to come join him for a marathon of it and arrives in full cosplay, much to Idia’s surprise and embarrassment. She refuses to return to her dorm and change, so the poor boy’s game is terribly off for how distracted and mortified he is…

Who was their first crush?

Persephone is a pretty outgoing person; I think she would have definitely had a crush on someone before Idia back in her own world. A boy in one of her middle school classes - it never really went anywhere, as middle school romances rarely do. At most, the two of them probably held hands on their way to the school bus and feelings faded once the summer had come and gone.

As she got older, her mother became even more protective of her, especially as she started developing into a young lady, due to her own paranoia. Persephone wasn’t really allowed to socialise - nor could she sneak out of the house enough times - to form a close, interpersonal, romantic relationship besides crushes from a distance. She probably had a crush on a few girls at school in her home world, but nothing ever really came of them.

What animal would they pick if they had to describe themselves as an animal?

My first instinct was to answer with doe, since Persephone is based on the goddess of spring, and female deer tend to be more active in the springtime. However, I don’t know if Persephone herself would see herself in one. Indeed, aside from sharing an association with new life and springtime, Persephone doesn’t really suit the usual skittish and docile traits that most attribute to deer.

So then, I thought in terms of assisting the growth of flowers, which sent me onto bees. But then, I remembered the social hierarchy of bees. Didn’t really think Persephone would vibe with it.

Then I thought, perhaps butterflies? They too pollinate plants after undergoing metamorphoses, breaking out of a shelter to become their realised selves.

But then I realised that those are insects and not animals. XD Perhaps I’m putting a bit too much thought into this…

How would they spend weekends?

Persephone can go either way when it comes to weekends. She likes to go out and be social, organising group outings with her friends. Usually, it’s outdoorsy stuff. Hiking, camping, trips to a botanical garden. She also enjoys going to theme parks and attending concerts. If Persephone could drag Idia along, she would even consider going to a gaming convention just to see his eyes light up at all the cool new tech and merch.

However, extraverted she may be, everyone needs to take a breather and have time to themselves every now and again. Some weekends she’ll barely respond to messages and just enjoy idly spending her time gardening, reading and listening to music, just decompressing from the events of the week in general. In a world like Twisted Wonderland where the most unusual circumstances can drop without a moment’s notice, you’d need to!

Do they have an item that has a special meaning to them?

Her flower hairpin. Initially, it was just a design choice to try and give her a tiny bit more flavour, but once I fleshed out her backstory a bit more and decided that her parents separated pretty early on in her life, I think it would be nice if it was a present from her father who she rarely ever sees thanks to her mother’s interference. It’s the last connection she has to him, so I think she would be pretty devastated if she lost it or it got broken.

Who are they closest to?

I think Idia, but that would take a long time and a lot of endurance on her part. Idia is not someone who is keen to open up to outsiders, and especially not ones that are (initially) as forceful as Persephone. I think the only way for them to get close is for her to attempt to meet him somewhere in the middle, because forcing the matter - while it might help to kickstart their friendship - it doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s going to aid in its endurance, or its progression into a romantic relationship. I think her trying to meet his needs while also not ignoring her own will ultimately work out for the better in the long term.

Beyond that, I think she would actually be really close with Ace and Deuce.

Ace, I can see her getting off on the wrong foot to start with. There are two very confident and self assured personalities at play and that will likely result in a clash thanks to Ace’s arrogance (and Seph’s refusal to put up with it). However, I think after a situation forces the two to set their differences aside, they’d find equal ground and she’d suggest starting over. Overcoming that initial friction would make their friendship stronger, I think.

As for Deuce, I think the two of them would get along just fine from the start. Though she tries to be patient with him, his more… let’s say “absent-minded” moments can prove to be frustrating for her, even though she knows he means well. That being said, when she finds out that he used to be a delinquent and can and will throw a mean punch, she is absolutely down and ready to kick some ass right along with him. The beating they deliver will be more than worth it when the two (or three, if Ace finds himself caught in the crossfire, which he usually does) end up sitting next to each other in detention as Crowley berates them for the hundredth time.

[idontknowreallywhy]

I helped…

Kayo and Brains put the world to rights over a mojito slushy.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Sweet De-feet” (Rated PG13)

Summary:

Twas the night before Christmas, And all through the house, Not a creature was stirring 'cept two grown men And about a thousand ants ... Or, the story about why the thought of his daughter growing up made Blaine pour icing sugar all over the floor. (1131 words)

Notes: Written for the @klaineadvent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'careless'. Sort of follows the one-shot I wrote for @klainetober "Scorched Earth". You don't have to read that one to understand this one. It just happens to go into the start of the 'ant war'.

Read on AO3.

“Blaine …!”

Fssst!

“I know, I know!”

Fssst!

“If you know, why did you do this?”

Fssst!

“I saw it on Pinterest. It looked like a fun idea.”

“There’s your first mistake,” Kurt grumbles, swatting at his arms when he feels tiny feet race along his skin. "Pinterest is evil."

“It’s Christmas Eve! I got excited!” Blaine turns abruptly, burying his head into the crook of his arm when the cloud of Raid Kurt sprays sends him into a coughing fit. “I may not have been thinking very clearly.”

“You think!? We still have an entire FAO Schwartz worth of presents to wrap! Instead, we’re in the kitchen battling ants because you invited their buggy asses in!”

Fssst!

“It’s not like I scooped them up by the handfuls and carried them inside!”

“No, you did the next best thing! You poured icing sugar all over the damned floor! Sugar, Blaine! That’s pretty much all ants eat!”

Fssst!

“It’s not all over the floor! They’re footprints. They’re supposed to be … Santa’s … footprints …” Blaine explains, backing down in the face of his husband’s rage.

His completely reasonable rage.

“We have been fighting ants all summer! There are a dozen things in this house you could have used instead of sugar! What possessed you to do something so … so careless?”

Blaine sighs. He sets his can of Raid on the kitchen counter, then leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest like an embarrassed kindergartner. “Tracy.”

“What about Tracy?”

“She’s six.”

Kurt puts his own can down, waiting silently for the rest of it. He’s already reached the end of his rope. He’s hanging on by his fingernails. It’s too late at night … correction - early in the morning! … for this conversation. “Yes, and …?”

“And she’s not going to believe in Santa for too much longer. In fact, I’m not entirely convinced she does now. She probably writes her letter every year and puts out cookies to humor us.”

Kurt nods, joining his husband against the counter. He’s gotten that feeling as well. Not for any big reason. It’s not like she’s sat him down to have “the talk”. Her eyes still light up at the mention of Christmas, she’s still as excited as ever to partake in all of their holiday rituals. But it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. It doesn’t have the same energy. He doesn’t know if someone at school clued her in or if she figured it out on her own. 

But something has changed. 

“That’s a possibility,” Kurt agrees.

“Cooper’s the one who ruined Santa Claus for me,” Blaine says with the subtlest of sniffles, the slightest brush of a fingertip underneath his eye. Whatever he’s feeling - fear, nostalgia, melancholy - he’s hiding it from Kurt. Badly. “Told me about him when I was four.”

“I thought Cooper might have something to do with this,” Kurt teases, even while, deep inside, he seethes. They won’t be seeing Cooper or any of their family this year because of the pandemic. It’s going to be a Very Merry Facetime Christmas for the Ander-Hummel household and their extendeds. But next time they get the chance to see one another face to face, Kurt plans on spiking Cooper’s whiskey sour with something that will give him the shits for a week.

“Did you?” Blaine says dryly. “And why’s that?”

“Because Cooper’s an ass, that’s why! You’re a saint for putting up with a third of his crap!” 

Blaine snorts humorlessly. “Weren’t you the one with the huge crush on him in high school?”

“Yeah, well, that was before I met him, talked to him for longer than a minute. The shine of the whole Free-Credit-Rating-Today-dot-com-slash-savings thing wears thin after a while. I’d say I ended up with the better of the Anderson brothers. Definitely the one with the nicer rump.” Kurt bumps Blaine with his shoulder, trying to coax a laugh out of him. He doesn’t get one, but he gets an arm around his middle, accompanied by one of Blaine’s lingering squeezes. And despite the fact Kurt imagines the two of them are being scaled like a monolith by microscopic intruders, he’s willing to stay as long as possible in the warmth of Blaine’s embrace.

“I just want her to be a kid for as long as possible,” Blaine says. “That’s all.”

“She’s six. She’s not going to get a job tomorrow and move into a high rise. We have time.”

“But it will happen. Everything is going by so fast. I feel like I blink and she’s another year older, another foot taller. I don’t want childhood to be one of those things that disappear in the blink of an eye while I’m racing to catch up, wondering where it all went.”

“I know.” Kurt curls into his husband’s side and kisses him on the top of his head. “I understand. I feel that way, too. Tracy and I … we’ll sit down to play together ... we’ll talk and laugh, and before I know it, an hour has gone by. And I start thinking - is every moment with her going to be like that? Just fly by? Then I take a deep breath, close my eyes, count to ten. I try to slow down and take it all in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s just like that.”

“You and I are in the privileged position to take a break from life during these hectic times and focus on our little girl. So let’s remember to do that a little more often. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blaine says with another sniffle.

“Okay,” Kurt repeats. And as much as he would love to stay snuggled in this moment with his husband all night, he feels something scurry up his inner thigh, in danger of becoming too intimately acquainted without the courtesy of buying him dinner first. “Come on, Saint Nick,” Kurt says, smacking his leg. “You sweep up the sugar and the ant corpses. I’ll get some Plaster of Paris from the closet, and we can re-do these footprints.”

“Really?” Blaine says with relief, as if his husband offering his help in this matter might push back the clocks, halt the outcome he feared, for one more year.

“Really. Let’s save the icing sugar for decorating dessert.”

“That’s right,” Blaine says, wiping a few traitorous tears on the shoulder of his shirt, hoping his husband doesn't notice the dark marks. “I can't stop thinking about all the cookies you made, and that three-tiered cake …”

"You know what I can't wait to put icing all over and devour?"

"What's that?"

Kurt grabs his husband by the waist and pulls him close. He kisses him on the cheek. Then he pinches his butt. "You.”

[scribbles97]

February 14th (Part 2)

And of course there’s a continuation, Scribbs can’t do just one tiny bit of fic can she?

I borrowed Em Harris from @gumnut-logic for this one, thank you for letting me play with your characters Nutty :D 

You can read PART 1 here

Of all his brothers, Scott knew he was the one to buy into the Valentine's day crap the most. Of course, he knew as well as the rest of them that it was just an opportunity for corporate greed to rear its ugly head as were most holidays those days. But, he was a sucker for the chance to show off, to flash the cash and spoil a beautiful lady. 

It was just fortunate that, five days out of seven, the day landed on a work day. 

Given, being part of International Rescue meant every day was a working day, but Monday to Friday were business days giving him an excuse to fabricate some meeting or another with the board. John was totally onto him, his younger brother was too smart not to see the pattern even if it didn’t happen every year. After all, he had to be home for Gordon’s birthday sometimes. 

Except this year, Penelope was whisking the resident fish off somewhere for a romantic birthday extravaganza. All of it was, in no small part, thanks to their father’s return. There had apparently been too much of a lack of romance on the Island for his liking and had been working with Aunt Val since to get them all more time off. 

Scott wasn’t complaining. 

If there were a few extra trips across to Auckland in his free time, he wouldn’t deny that it had one hell of a lot to do with the Doctor that had saved his life. 

If he used the excuse of a business meeting to take her over to LA for a long weekend, well, he could just blame the old romantic he was. 

“You finished early.” Was Em’s first comment as he walked into the hotel room, shucking off his jacket and making a beeline for her. 

A whirr of hoverjets and she was up to meet him, her lips warm and soft against his, with the slightest undertone of strawberry lip balm. 

“Couldn’t wait to see you.” He grinned, pulling his lips from hers so he could look at her, “How was your morning?”

Really, he didn’t need to ask, he could see the shopping bags on the bed. 

“I went shopping.” She whispered, her tone and face full of conspiracy. 

“Mmm,” He hummed, distracted entirely by her simple presence, “Buy anything nice?”

Her grin shifted to something wicked as she raised her eyebrows, “Perhaps you’ll get to find out later.” 

Which only confirmed it for him, he thought he had recognised the discreet logo on the corner of one of the bags. 

“Ms Harris,” He sighed, shaking his head at her, trying and probably failing to look disapproving, “You are an absolute tease.”

Her grin was hardly guilty as she pulled back, “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

He wasn’t going to tell her about the afternoon he had planned at the botanical gardens, followed by dinner at the best spot in town, and then an evening in just to themselves. No, surprise was part of the romance. She would find out as they went along, and he would get the pleasure of seeing her face light up as she did. 

“What?” She laughed, looking down herself, “Did I spill…”

“No,” He chuckled, reaching out to pull her into him again. 

She looked up to him, tilting her head slightly in question as he looked down to her. 

“I love you, Em Harris.” 

Her smile softened as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hoverjets whirring as she gained enough height to level with him. 

“I love you too, Scott Tracy, and whatever you have planned doesn’t matter, if I’m with you that’s all I could want.”

It was soppy and he knew she knew it, but it still made him smile as he leant in to kiss her, hesitating just a breath away from her lips, “Happy Valentines day.”

[summerofspock]

Day 1: Mistletoe

On AO3

Tracy loves hosting Christmas parties. She loves them because she gets to make little almond cookies and wrap tiny presents for all her guests. She loves them because she gets to spike the punch with an unholy amount of booze and watch all her guests get far too drunk.

She’s a holiday party sort of person, Madame Tracy.

Though, technically, she’s hung up the Madame title for good.

Mr. Shadwell comes over early and begrudgingly helps her set up for the party, opening up her fold away table and setting out the snack plates. Eventually, Shadwell’s little apprentice Newt shows up with his nice young girlfriend who is far too pretty for him. Not that Tracy would say that to him. They seem very happy and that’s good enough for her.

Tracy’s other favorite thing about hosting a Christmas party is the two sprigs of mistletoe she hangs in her flat. One in the hallway by the loo and the other in the kitchen. The two most likely places where people will congregate.

Tracy finds that a little kissing always livens things up a bit.

She’s invited everyone who lives in her building and a few old clients from the still thriving clairvoyant side of her practice and by the time 8 o’clock rolls around, her flat is lively and full of people munching on pretzels and drinking cranberry punch that’s steadily becoming more vodka than cranberry.

She’s chatting happily with young miss Anathema when she feels a very familiar presence at her shoulder and she turns, already smiling. “Mr. Aziraphale,” she says, reaching out and pulling him into a hug.

He makes a surprised noise but returns the hug delicately. She can feel some of his glowing spirit at this distance and it reminds her of why she invited him in the first place. “Oh, love, I’m so glad you came.”

“I was quite surprised to receive the invitation, but, you know, it seemed the time of year to reunite with old friends,” he said with a kind smile before turning to look behind him.

As expected, the thin man from the airbase, all in black, saunters up behind him, just a touch too close and says, “Angel, you said this would be a small shindig.”

Tracy wraps her hand around her cup. She remembers how her body had reacted when Aziraphale had been inside it and they had seen this man for the first time. It makes her stomach squirm in anticipation just thinking about it.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll thin out,” she says reassuringly even though it’s a lie. Whenever she has these parties, more and more people inevitably show up. People who weren’t even invited. It’s why she makes extra cookies and wraps extra little gifts. And buys extra vodka.

The thin man—Crowley, she thinks—looks at her dubiously, an expression she can read even though his eyes are covered by big reflective sunglasses. 

“Enjoy yourselves,” she says magnanimously. “There’s punch on the table.”

The two of them wander off and she calls after, “Oh, and don’t forget to take a gift with you before you go.”

Crowley gives her a little acknowledging wave before trailing after Aziraphale. Those are two people who desperately need to shag if she’s ever seen it.

She turns back to Anathema who has developed a cute little crease between her eyebrows. “Was that those men from the airbase? The angel and the demon?”

Tracy nods. “I thought perhaps we should keep in touch. Handy sort of friends to have, don’t you think?”

Anathema nods thoughtfully as she stares after them. 

The night devolves the way the best parties do. Shadwell challenges Newt to a drinking contest and some people Tracy doesn’t recognize try to join them, giving up after a third shot. Eventually, Anathema coaxes Newt down and he bows out, much to Shadwell’s pleasure.

Tracy goes into the kitchen to grab the third litre of vodka she has stashed under the kitchen sink. There are a few neighbors milling about as well as Aziraphale and his young man. 

Mr. Crowley is clearly drunk, gesticulating with a cup as he argues about something with Aziraphale. It doesn’t seem to be a real argument so Tracy ignores them.

Or she would if they weren’t standing directly in front of the sink.

Which besides holding her vodka is also under her tactically placed mistletoe.

“Yoohoo,” she says, coming up to them and waggling her fingers. Aziraphale looks at her and she realizes he might be a bit drunk too. She feels a flash of pride at that. An angel and a demon, drunk at her Christmas party!

She points up to the ceiling and Aziraphale tips his head back before looking at her with comically wide eyes.

“Tradition, boys,” she says in her most chiding voice. 

The demon’s sunglasses have slipped down his nose and even though Tracy has seen his eyes before they still shock her. 

Aziraphale looks at his feet. “Well, tradition.”

“Yeah, tradition,” Crowley says, licking his lips.

Tracy really should look away but she’s a woman of a certain age who used to be in a certain line of work so she has what she’d like to call professional curiosity.

Aziraphale rises up on his toes and brushes their mouths together. It lingers for a bit too long for a friendly mistletoe kiss and Tracy thinks both of them know it.

Anathema bursts into the kitchen and the two pull away from each other. She looks at Tracy and says, “I need some water for Newt.”

“Ah, right, yes,” Aziraphale says, tugging at his waistcoat and stepping away from the sink. "I suppose that means you need...right.”

Aziraphale bustles out of the kitchen and Mr. Crowley stares after him for a moment before draining his cup and murmuring, “Fuck.”

He disappears through the door, following after the angel.

“I guess that’s what prophecy 286 meant,” Anathema says, half to herself as she turns on the tap.

“What’s that, dear?”

“Oh just: the angel on yuletide eve shalle kiss the serpent,” Anathema says. “We thought it was one of the weird ones. Or something about Christmas decorations.”

Tracy laughs a little. What a strange young lady.

[gumnut-logic]

Wire (Bit 20 - Epilogue part 2 - The End)

Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 | Bit 6   | Bit 7 | Bit 8  | Bit 9  | Bit 10

Bit 11 | Bit 12 | Bit 13 | Bit 14 | Bit 15 | Bit 16 | Bit 17 | Bit 18 | Bit 19 | Bit 20

That’s it. I’m calling it. One quick fic that lasted weeks and nearly 15,000 words...you hear me? You’re finished :P

-o-o-o-

A hand landed on his shoulder and suddenly he was being pulled into a blue cotton hug.

“I’m okay.” It was muffled into Scott’s shirt. “Just needed to...come out here...with you guys.” He pulled away, hands going to his brother’s shoulders.

Worried blue eyes pinned him there asking the obvious questions that Virgil wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. He hadn’t intended to mention what happened to his brothers, they didn’t need to be reminded of...the hurt.

He drew in a ragged breath. “Thank you for pulling me out from under that building.”

Scott blinked. “Virg...”

He squeezed his brother’s arm and suddenly felt the need to sit down.

The grass beckoned, seed heads waving in the breeze.

Grandpa pointing out which were good weeds and which were bad. Which would help the sheep and the cows and which would harm.

“Whoa! Virgil!”

Hands were suddenly lowering him to the ground, his back against a fence post.

Four hovering brothers.

“That’s it, I’m calling Grandma.” Scott reached for his collar.

Virgil threw up a hand. “No! Scott, I’m good. I just needed to sit down and...” And, yeah, horizontal movement was okay - up and down, not so much. “Please just sit with me. I’m okay, I promise.”

Scott’s narrowed blue eyes were backed up by aquamarine and a russet brown. But it was the scared blue a little behind them that broke Virgil’s heart. “Allie, I’m okay, honest.” He held out an arm, beckoning.

Alan edged closer, frowning, before folding down beside Virgil. “You are scary as shit, Virg.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Sorry.”

“You’re sitting in the dirt.”

“Don’t care.”

“Typical.”

He slipped an arm around his littlest brother. “Our grandpa looked a lot like John.” Virgil smiled fondly up at his space brother. “But with a lot more freckles. Probably why Mom and Dad were so neurotic about John and his sunscreen.”

John arched an eyebrow, softening the concerned frown. Scott glanced at him and Virgil achieved the distraction he was aiming for.

“Sounded just like Scotty though.” Virgil’s arm tightened around Alan, ever so aware that his little brother had not had the opportunity to really meet his Grandfather Tracy.

“Oooh, double barrelled then, huh?” Alan grinned at his two brothers.

Scott snorted. “What Virgil is neglecting to mention is that Grandpa always managed to get just as grotty as Virgil. The pair of them were notorious. Grandma had to buy extra cleaning products every time we visited in the school holidays.” Scott’s eyes barely left Virgil, but he did fold his long body down beside him, shoulder and leg brushing gently against him.

John stared a moment longer before origaming himself onto the grass. Honestly, the man folded up ever so neatly, back straight, legs crossed.

He didn’t notice the butterfly mistaking his red hair for something needing pollination.

Virgil smiled.

Only Gordon refused to relax. The fish was obviously agitated. No doubt, his brother’s memories of Grandpa were distant and foggy having only been six at the time of his passing.

Passing.

Virgil closed his eyes.

The breeze ruffled his hair, Alan burrowed into his side and Scott was just there, ever present.

“I helped Grandpa fix this fence when I was seven. Always been a good memory. He let me drive the tractor, taught me a bunch of stuff...” The breeze lifted familiar scents off the land and the memory became dimensional again. He drew in a breath. “I held the fencing wire for him.”

“But how does that relate to being stuck under a building?”

Virgil opened his eyes and caught Gordon’s. “Two years later a little fish was born. Early. Scott, John and I were sent here while Mom and Dad managed your needs.” Another breath. “You were so tiny, Gords. So fragile.” His voice hitched as Gordon’s eyes widened.

“I’m not anymore.”

“No, you’re not. But I’m still going to look out for you.”

Gordon froze. “You thought that little boy was me.”

Virgil shrugged. “Maybe. Wasn’t really thinking straight. I was, after all, seeing my long dead grandfather at the same time.” He attempted a smile and didn’t quite succeed.

Gordon didn’t quite answer either. Instead, he curled up and sat down beside John.

There was silence after that, only the breeze teasing the grass and the trees along with the occasional bird.

Virgil closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the fence post. It was nice really, to have his brothers with him. Nothing was being said because nothing needed to be said. He could sit here with them and just be.

The wind teased his hair, bringing with it the scents of the far off cornfield...

And his mother whispering his name.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[kellykadesperate]

Father Christmas’ grotto

Part 1/5 of my 5 days until Christmas Day AU Fics, AO3 link:

Robert’s not sure how much more he can take of the Christmas music in this shopping mall but he’s trying not to show it. He’s got fairy lights shining in his face and he’s pretty sure he’s left hand is numb from holding all the bags he’s got.

There’s also a four year old tugging down on his arm like he wants it to pull off.

“Seb, it’s home time. We said.”

They said, because Seb’s eating a gingerbread man he so desperately desired and Robert had made sure he understood that it signalled home time. He’s not sure how much a four year old knows about consequences of actions but he’s trying to teach him what he failed to know until he was suddenly a dad.

Seb just looks up at him like he’s mad, like the thought of leaving this Christmas filled Hell hole is inconceivable.

“We said.” Robert says, again, but then he’s completely lost to the sight of an elf coming his way. Not an elf, of course not an elf, it’s just some blond with green eyeshadow on and her hair in pigtails.

“Oh. Who do we have here?”

“Seb. Sebastian.” Robert’s surprised he’s not handed over his actress too because Seb has no idea what not speaking to strangers actually means. He steps forward, almost gives her a little twirl and it makes the elf’s eyes flutter.

“Would you like to go see ...” Robert can feel it coming, he knows, he knows she’s going to mention Father Christmas and he wants the ground to swallow him up.

“He’s fine.” Robert misses the way he could easily chuck Seb over his shoulder and power walk in the opposite direction. Now Seb protests, asks why about ten times and tries kicking Robert’s back in to make his point clear.

Seb’s not fine until he sees the back of some bloke in a big red costume and a stupid hat on his head. He gasps, like he genuinely believes it’s all real and then he breaks out into this run that has Robert chasing after him.

Seb’s little legs get him right up towards the poor sod until he’s pulling on his leg and looking up at him like he’s everything.

“Are you really him?” Seb’s mouth is wide open, his gingerbread man is half eaten and soggy from the way he refuses to eat the head. He holds it in his mouth and thinks he’s hurting him. He’s sensitive, he blames Rebecca fiercely.

The guy in the suit looks down at him and Robert focuses on his eyes. He looks young, almost stupidly young to be having to do all this. He has creases around his eyes, deep and soft and then he looks at Seb, leans right down to him after a second.

“What do you think mate?”

“Yeah. Of course you are.” Seb shrugs and then leans to drag at the bloke’s beard. “See. It’s real.” He looks up to Robert. “Daddy, it’s really real.”

The man almost laughs, tilts his head up towards Robert. “Does daddy not believe?”

Robert shakes his head. “Daddy doesn’t think there’s any need to tell stories.” He never has, he’s always been that guy who said he wouldn’t tell his kids about Father Christmas because there’s no need to.

“It’s the honest truth.” Seb says, he stamps his foot and sends his gingerbread man towards the floor.

Robert sighs, bends to pick it up as pretend Father Christmas goes to do the same. For a second, a hand brushes over his and the guy looks right at him. There’s this sudden and very real feeling of something that makes Robert stumble back to his feet.

He’s holding a wet soggy biscuit and he looks like an idiot but he doesn’t look away from the man until the elf is back and asking if he wants to sit on his knee.

“Do I what?” Robert clams up, absolutely has no idea why he’s getting into such a state.

“Think Tracy meant the kid.” The bloke’s happy and friendly voice is out the window as he looks at Robert, smirks. “Would you like that?”

And it costs him, of course it costs him, to watch Seb sit on some random bloke’s lap with a hat on and a fake beard. Only Christmas.

Robert watches from the side, sees how animated Seb is as he talks about what he knows he’s going to get. It starts with a toy tractor and then somehow gets all the way up to a puppy.

“A puppy?” The guy’s voice is back, all soft and sweet and Robert stares a little too fondly at the way he’s supporting Seb’s back as he bounces him. He’s probably done this hundreds of times, he’s probably a natural.

“What would mummy and daddy say to that?”

“Daddy would say no.” Robert chimes in, arms folded as he watches and leans up from the glass window.

Seb rolls his eyes, and Robert is certain that’s Vic’s influence over him. He plays with his hands for a second like he’s really thinking. “Mummy and Tom could both say yes.”

“Tom?” Not so Father Christmas asks. “That your brother?”

Seb giggles, deep and playful and he shakes his head. “That’s mummy’s boyfriend.”

Robert watches as the man looks right at him, he’s sure he sees a smirk, he definitely sees something and it makes him tilt his head down like he’s a little girl. He’s all shy and stupid and the guy is still wearing a stupid white beard.

“Well. How about ... I see what I can do.”

It’s enough for Seb to throw his arms around the man’s neck, squeeze tight like he’s never going to let go. The elf comes back to take a picture and that’s when he eventually pulls away. Just in time to flash a smile at the camera and wave his arms out for Robert to join them.

He does, painfully. He fakes a smile and watches pretend Father Christmas throw a glance his way.

After, Seb’s nearly in tears about having to go and the man runs a hand through his hair, tuts like he’s sorry. “It’s alright mate, you can come again soon can’t ya?”

Seb nods, thinks it’s completely normal to hug the man’s poor leg and Robert apologises.

“You don’t have to ...” He stammers, all bright red, sounding nervous and like the Father Christmas in him has faded out. “It’s fine. Kids are kids aren’t they.”

Robert nods, manages to wave as he puts Seb on his shoulders. “Thanks.” He says, for some reason. It’s not like Seb’s not a happy kid but there was something about him chatting away to a pretend Father Christmas that made him seem happier.

The guy tilts his head. “Bye.” He says, and then he’s being summoned by the elf again.

Robert watches him turn back and knows he has to run towards the bakery again to keep Seb from having a breakdown. He gets him another gingerbread man, watches him wince as he removes the legs like the things about to come to life.

“After this it’s home time. OK?”

Seb just nods like he knows it won’t be and Robert has really raised an absolute tyrant. He even smirks. Robert shakes his head at him before he stops and looks at the man ordering at the till. He knows who it is almost immediately.

The man seems to know as well, cautiously steps forward towards them both.

“You’re ...”

“FC?” The man nods. He’s wearing normal clothes, a green jumper and a pair of jeans and absolutely no white beard in sight. He looks a lot like someone Robert could want.

Robert takes a second before nodding. “Right.”

“Aaron.” Aaron gulps hard, skirts a finger around the rim of his coffee cup and then smiles. “When I’m not ...” He looks at Seb. “Him.”

Robert smiles. “Robert.” He looks at Seb, fully engrossed in how to tackle the head of the gingerbread man. “This is Seb.” He says, realising the elf might not have said.

Aaron’s eyes almost light up in this really soft way.

“Seb, say hello.”

Seb looks up, offers a curious look. “Me and daddy saw Father Christmas.”

“Did ya?”

“Yeah. We even got a picture.” Robert suddenly remembers how they didn’t get it printed and then Aaron seems to produce it from his pocket. It’s some Christmas decorated envelope and Seb’s eyes widen.

“Left it behind.” Aaron passes it to Robert.

“How’d you’d know we’d come back for it.”

Aaron’s nose is pink now. “I didn’t.” He says. “Maybe I saw you come in.” He shrugs. The way he looks at Robert is definitely something, he stares and stares until Seb pipes up.

“Santa’s getting me a puppy.”

Robert closes his eyes for a second. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He says, but he’s smiling. He’s actually smiling.

Aaron pulls a face, bends down to Seb. “Maybe he’ll get you something he thinks you need more.” He says. Seb looks at him and then smiles.

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah. Of course I do.” Aaron says, he puffs out his chest and he’s so easy with them. “I’m one of his lead helpers.” Seb frowns and then Aaron goes and pulls out a bell from his jean pocket, it’s tiny and jingles and Seb looks like he’s in awe again.

“It’s from his sleigh.” Seb says, with so much confidence that Aaron laughs.

“Sure it is.” Aaron looks at Robert, then back at Seb. “Why don’t you keep it.”

Robert shakes his head. “No, it’s ...”

“It’s fine.” Aaron shrugs and looks at Seb. “But take care of it OK?” Seb nods and then he’s getting up and holding Aaron’s leg for the second time in the space of an hour. Aaron holds the back of his head like he doesn’t know what else to do and then Seb’s running around the place shaking the bell.

Aaron stands over Robert until Robert stands. “That was really ... nice.”

“So’s he.” Aaron says. “Not all kids ...”

“Talk so much?”

Aaron just pulls this face. “Make me not actually hate doing the whole Ho Ho Ho thing.” He almost laughs again and Robert stares down at the ground feeling like something inside him is bursting.

“Holiday job then?”

“Doing a mate a favour.” Aaron settles on saying after a second. “A big one but ...” Aaron gulps hard and then stares into Robert’s eyes. “Wouldn’t have met you otherwise. Can’t be all bad.” He flushes completely red and Robert bends his head to stifle a laugh. “I mean ...”

“I know what you meant.” Robert says, looks up at Aaron again and sees this kindness he’s never known in someone before now. “Maybe I could ... take your number or something.”

The or something hangs in the air until Aaron’s saved on his phone under FC.

“Cool.” Aaron says, “Sound.” He itches an eyebrow and then steps back, almost hits a chair as he waves to Seb and then turns to leave before stopping. “You did mean ... for like a date yeah?”

Robert has shared custody of a four year old boy, lives in a dingy flat and really had decided to write off Christmas until right this minute. He nods, breathes out a yes.

FC is changed to Aaron on his phone only a week later. They date or whatever and Aaron really is he kindest person Robert has ever met. He’s also not bad in bed. He’s round for Christmas, makes Seb really think Father Christmas has personally visited him this year.

Two years later, it’s Robert’s turn to don a not so stupid anymore white beard and watch Seb gasp at the present his dad’s holding as he sits on Aaron’s shoulders. There’s a puppy licking Robert’s palm but he doesn’t really care because Aaron’s still here, and his and kissing him on the lips and he’s happy.

So Christmas shopping with a four year old can have its perks.