5+1 Scott And Alan (Carrying) Part 2

Happy Thunderbirds Day!

I love these vids!

a very small guide about john tracy

For John's birthday week!

Scott is up next on the next week!

*****

More of this: [Squid] | [Lumberjack] | [Rocket Boi]

Helmet - A Mandalorian Story

Author: mae-the-4th

Fandom: The Mandalorian/Star Wars

Timing: A few weeks after Season 1 of The Mandalorian

Warnings: none, just a bunch of fluff and a bit of angst

Author's Note: It's about time I wrote a new story! Felt like doing a Mandalorian one. I hope I do these characters justice. Please feel free to correct anything I may have gotten wrong. Enjoy!

xXxXxXx

The Razor Crest was quiet, the humming of the engines the only noise. The kid was asleep in his box, and Din could finally have a moment to himself.

His helmet stood proudly next to the bowl of soup on the table, silently judging the walls and ceiling of the ship. It's owner sat behind it, bare-headed, sipping soup and thinking over what the Armourer had said just those few weeks back.

She had told him that the Child was a foundling - specifically, his foundling. He would protect it, care for it, perhaps train it someday.

In other words, Din Djarin, fierce Mandalorian warrior, fearing throughout the galaxy, was a father.

Din was certainly familiar with the Mandalorian foundling program - he had been one himself, many years ago. Any child alone and without a family, the Mandalorians would take them in as one of their own, no questions asked.

This is the Way.

Din rubbed his temples and sighed. He had always been aware that he might be in charge of his own foundling one day - but not so suddenly or under such circumstances. Yet he couldn't find any regret or reluctance in him faced with looking after the kid. The womp rat was useful in a tough spot - the fact that Din was sitting in his ship, alive, was proof of that fact. And, yes, the kid was cute. Din could admit he had a soft spot for the green creature, anyone could see that. In a recent hologram transmission with Cara, she had pointed out that exact fact herself.

The almost daily transmissions with Nevarro was a distraction both occupants of the Razor Crest looked forward to. Greef Karga would update Din on the latest events - constantly praising Cara on her job as his enforcer, even though she protested that she was just doing her job. Her modesty was definitely something Din liked about her. Usually, Din and Cara would take up the most time during the transmission, chatting long into the night about recent events, the kid, and past battles. Occasionally, when topics were particularly hard, they would both break out a bottle of spotchka. On one of those nights, Cara had admitted to Din that it was nice to talk about past battles with him. That it brought some sort of closure for her, in a way. After almost no hesitation, Din agreed. He told her that he trusted her, both with his life, and with his past. He told her things that he'd never told anyone before.

He told her about his family. He told her about his life before he put on his helmet.

And Cara, recognising his trust in her, replied with stories of her life on Alderaan. Of her dream to be a healer before she became a killer.

Any time these stories came out into the open, Din slept easy that night, knowing her could trust his comrade, his best friend.

Din sighed again, rubbing the stubble on his chin. It was late, or at least the clock that showed Nevarro time told him it was. Din quickly finished his soup, reaching for his helmet-

And froze. And stared.

The kid stared back.

Din's eyes flickered down to his helmet, the visor accusing. His eye jerked back to the kid, breath hitching. Wide brown eyes flitted over Din's features and his wrinkled forehead furrowed.

An eternity later, Din finally found a way to work his mouth.

"Kid," he croaked. "Um-"

His voice seemed to have jostled the kid from his scrutiny, because the child took a step forward, a big grin on his face and holding out hands to be picked up. Not knowing what to do, Din just stared at him - until he thunked his helmet down onto the table and flopped onto his chair, his head in his hands. Fingers gripped dark hair and Din realised his hands were shaking. The kid toddled over and grabbed his leg.

"Da?"

Din barely heard him. All he could think about was how he had broken his oath - how he betrayed the last few remaining members of his Creed. He had let a living creature see his bare face.

"Da?"

His whole life was now a lie. Every ounce of respect he had worked for was now gone. He could never place his helmet back onto his head. He could never call himself a Mandalorian again.

"Da!"

Din peered through his fingers down at the kid. Tiny arms clung to his leg and he stared up at the man. The grin that was there before had vanished, confusion and worry replacing it. Din slowly reached down and picked the kid up.

"Don't worry about me kid. You shouldn't have to worry. That's my job as a father."

Father.

He was the kid's father.

Din choked back a sudden laugh, a disbelieving smile adorning his face. The kid cocked his head.

"I'm your dad! We're literally family! No rules about helmets there." The kid gurgled. "That means I can put it back on, kid. That means I can still be me." Din looked over at his discarded helmet. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on his kid, hugging him to his chest. The little womp rat smooshed his face into his shoulder in reply, a giggle escaping him. Leaning back and reaching up, Din's kid ran a three-fingered hand over his father's face, feeling the stubble on his chin. His hand moved upwards to the mustache - and pulled.

"Ow!" Din laughed. "That hurts, kid. But honestly, I don't mind much. It's about time you saw the real me."

xXxXxXx

FIN

REBLOG THIS IF YOU BELIEVE ANYONE CAN COSPLAY ANY CHARACTER NO MATTER WHAT THEIR RACE IS!

This means that POC can cosplay white characters and white people can cosplay POC characters. Please reblog ONLY if you believe both.

Oh wow, Nutty, that one was a bit scary! Poor Virg and everyone else! :( Amazing writing as always! How you manage 4000 words in a day will always astound and inspire me.

I really hope your migraines gets better. I suffer from them myself and know exactly how horrible they are, so I’m completely sympathizing with the need to write while wallowing in self pity.

Sick

Now I had two migraines today, but either side of them, I managed to churn out over 4000 words of completed sickfic. Why I wrote sickfic, I’m not sure, but I think it was sparked mainly by this post. Not any of the prompts in particular, but more a whole feel of them.

Also, I plead predictable and anyone who knows me and what I write can probably predict the entire plot, but I plead sick myself and poke my tongue out you anyway. So don’t expect amazing writing.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight​ for reading through and being the wonderful person she is ::hugs her tight::

All the warnings on this. I know we are in pandemic times and this fic involves a nasty bug and hospital scenes. While the content is lightish and not graphic or anything, it does focus on a flu-like bug. So, if that topic might trigger you or hurt you in anyway, do not read. I don’t know why I wrote sickfic in the middle of a pandemic. Maybe I’m just an idiot, but it happened and I wanted to warn you just in case.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It started with Alan.

It often started with Alan. Of course, the poor kid blamed himself for what happened, but nobody else did.

Alan came home to the Island with a snotty nose. Within the day he had developed a fever and was down for the count.

Virgil, back from three consecutive rescues, ordered him to bed and went about monitoring him disguised as pandering his little brother.

They weren’t concerned, it was a cold, nothing more.

Until the next day when his fever spiked and Scott, who had been up all night with Tracy Industries business plus two of the same rescues Virgil had been entangled in the previous day, was found in the kitchen blowing his nose.

Virgil, who had taken five minutes for a bathroom break and a drink before going back to Alan - who he had dragged into the infirmary by this time - caught Scott red-nosed and glared at him until he joined Virgil with their little brother.

Within the hour, Scott was flat on his back with a fever climbing faster than Alan’s.

Virgil may have been heard to mention the words ‘overwork’ and ‘idiot’ in the same sentence, but considering they were both said with love and a bucket of worry, Scott let him have it.

Grandma, of course, was on the case, liaising with some mainland counterparts and the bug was quickly narrowed down the a very contagious flu…

That was merrily infecting half of Alan’s school mates.

Alan, being the youngest of them, was tough, and though his temperature stayed up and he felt absolutely miserable, he eventually stabilised and moved onto the hack up a lung stage which merely involved turning your body inside out trying to get the bug out of your system.

Not much sleep was being had by anyone at this point.

But Scott was older, overworked, and low on defences for all of the above and went down hard.

Keep reading

Let’s go Thunderfam!!

Reblog if you're a Thundernerd!

I’m just curious to see just how big our tiny, yet awesome fandom is! TOS TaG or both! I don’t mind!

Just imagine… sometime next year, we will be opening up Disney+ and seeing a big blue banner. We’ll click on it, the show’s description will appear, and that glorious button named ‘Play’ will sit innocently there. We’ll then cross our fingers, hold our breath, hope to Olympus that it’s true, click on that wonderful white button…and S1:EP1 ‘I Accidentally Vaporise My Pre-Algebra Teacher’ will play.

5+1 Scott and Alan (Carrying) Part 3

Ao3

Part 1

Part 2

-3-

“Alan!”

Silence.

“Mum!?”

No noise at all.

“Where are you?”

Nothing. Just dreadful white snow everywhere.

Scott never thought his youngest brother would ever be in danger. He was the oldest child, he protected his younger siblings.

That was how it worked, he thought frantically. That’s how it should be.

But Alan, only five years old, was missing along with his mother in the devastating aftermath of the avalanche.

Jeff was frantically looking for Lucille and Alan. John was busy irritating the rescue personnel, trying to tell them exactly how to treat Virgil. Virgil, who had been caught up in the slide downhill but was thankfully found after only two hours, cold and terrified with a broken leg. Scott was on his own. Each and every person along the slope were searching for signs of the fourteen people who’d been caught in the avalanche, but they’d been out here for well over five hours now. The instrument that scanned for life had broken ages ago, the wires inside freezing despite the manufacturing claims. Scott had been trying to ignore it, but the chances they’d find anyone else alive were steadily dwindling.

A distressed cry from behind a snow mound suddenly dragged him out of his thoughts. He sprinted over-

-to see his father hunched over, crying. A stiff, cold form was half-buried in the snow, a smaller form huddled in Jeff’s arms. His knees gave out at the sight, and he dropped beside Jeff. Scott stared at his mother, shock setting in. Her eyes were tight shut, and the life had already faded from her cheeks. Scott knew immediately that she was gone, never to come back to them.

He tore his eyes away to focus on his father. He’d only ever seen his dad cry once when Grandpa Tracy had died. This was the same, yet so much different.

Switching his gaze again to the surrounding snow, Scott blinked back his own tears. He had to be strong. For his dad. For Virgil, john, and Gordon, For his mum, For little Alan, who was still miss-

Scott’s eyes widened as he realised what was in his dad’s arms. Or rather, who. There, huddled into his dad’s chest, clad in the bright blue of his snow jacket, was Alan. His nose and cheeks were red, the skin around it deathly pale, tears and blond hair frozen his face. He didn’t move.

But even as Scott watched, a small puff of warm breath escaped from Alan’s mouth, hanging in the air or a second before dissipating.

He was alive.

Perhaps it was the shock, perhaps he had gone mad, but Scott nearly laughed out loud in relief. The world was cruel enough to take his mother from him, yet kind enough to leave his baby brother. Reaching forwards, Scott gently slid his arms under Alan’s knees and shoulders and lifted the youngest of his family from his unresponsive father, cuddling his brother tight. Alan’s lips were blue. Scott unzipped his own coats and drew then around him, wincing at the stab of frigid air. The little kid would stay warm until the rescue personnel arrived.

With a final glance at his mother and sobbing father, Scott stood and turned away to hide the scene from his youngest brother.

“I got you, Allie,” he whispered, “and I’m not letting go.”

-------

Part 4

*sigh* here I go...

1. John Tracy

2. Brenton Thwaites

3. Ewan McGregor

4. Karl Urban

5. Josh Hutcherson

6. Jeremy Renner

7. Hayden Christensen

...doofus

8. 

9.

10.

...weirdly I can’t think of anyone else! Huh. I probably will think of the others later.

ANYWAY

I tag @flyboytracy, @thunderskybird, @islandsandstars, @divergentgamer, @the-lady-razorsharp, @hedwigstalons, @willow-salix, @gumnut-logic, @myladykayo, and @keethus-arts.

Tag Game!

Thank you @louthestarspeaker! This was such fun <3

Name of the game is to list ten of your celebrity crushes and find yourself a gif of them! 

1. Gordon Tracy :3

2. Harrison Ford

3. Eddie Redmayne 

4. Ian Anthony Dale

5. Luke Bracey

6. Cole Sprouse

7. Jack Whitehall

8. Milos Raonic

9. Tom Felton

10. Ewan McGregor

Too much eye candy…*fans self madly* <3

I be tagging @weathergirl8, @mae-the-4th, @godsliltippy​ @vegetacide, @thunderbird-one-ai, @hedwigstalons, @hodgehegposts, @fictivekaleidoscope, @myladykayo, @ak47stylegirl, @islandsandstars and @such-a-random-rambler. Many more I’d like to tag, but my break ended three minutes ago…

Absolutely incredibly accurate. May I just add:

- *leans over* “Ooh, what are you writing?”

- Turning the brightness down as far as it will go

- Making the text so small you (and others) can barely see what you’re writing

- That tab switch

- People going “what the heck” when they see how much ‘work’ you have done

- People making t h a t face when they realise you’re writing fanfiction, even if they’re a fan

- That one rare person who actually knows what you’re talking about and gushes and fangirls with you (bless them. bless all of those people)

Writing Fanfiction Is:

Losing motivation when you have time

Getting motivation at ungodly hours of the day or when busy

Going back to your story trying to remember what the fuck you said

“Am I writing this character good or nah?”

“does the plot make sense?”

feeling guilty sometimes for absolutely no reason

waiting for comments on your fic from specific readers

writing something and thinking “oh yeah, thats definitely going to hurt them”

procrastinating on writing by writing other fics

having too many ideas and not enough time

never finishing your wips

debating whether to add the fucking dumbass joke in that scene or not

wondering if you should or shouldn’t add that angsty scene purely to fuck with the readers bc its not like its gonna kill them or anything

Hoping no one finds it while simultaneously hoping ppl read it

playing music for inspiration and zoning out

planning fics and never writing them

thinking its shit but ppl like it and suddenly ur imposter syndrome acts up LIKE A FUCKING BITCH

loving ur readers so so much