Welcome to my lair. Filled with my favourite fandoms, current obsessions, plus a load of random stuff I find interesting. * Fanfiction Side Blog: @CG29Fics * A03 Account CreativeGirl29
people will say ātheyāre only friendsā and then show me two people who would crawl through broken glass to hear the other laugh once. two people who have memorized each otherās coffee orders, fears, childhood stories, and emergency contacts. two people who would haunt each otherās houses as ghosts. be serious.
Just an FYIāthe original intention of this post was to challenge the way people say only friends, as though friendship is somehow lesser than other forms of love. As if being deeply known, cherished, and chosen by another person could ever be a small thing. Normalize profound platonic love. Some of the most fulfilling, transformative, and enduring relationships we will ever have are friendships. š«¶š¼
(Scott is getting rescued after a mission gone awry)
Scott: How did you find me?
Virgil: Oh, I saw this huge explosion in the distance and wondered, 'Now, who could that be?'.
Scott: Huh. A bit of a giveaway...
Starting to look through unfinished fics - I wrote this 2 years ago and shared here but still not posted to A03 š Hopefully soon, but for now will repost here for motivation š
Inspired by a prompt - June/July 2022 from @aliceinwhumperland āGood newsā¦ How would you like to go home?ā
Vae Victis
Virgil raised his head, his eyes meeting that of his tormentor. The one who had beaten him repeatedly then left him bleeding in his dark damp cell. The one who had deprived him of food until he begged for nourishment. The one who had whispered those words to him every day he had held him here.
At first he had hoped that theyād meant that he could return to his family. However, each time the hope had been met with a sneer of delight and the mocking words that he would never return home. Now, eight hundred and two days later all hope that those words were true had faded.
Iāve seen a lot of people headcanon that his hair is curly when heās got no products holding the locks up together, and Iāve adopted that one myself.
As for shaving, I reckon he probably has to deal with it every day considering how his dark hair would make a small stubble stand out in contrast to his fair skin.
It was a fun idea for Virgil to have curly hair under the hair gel š
Thoughts on Virgilās hair that I have used on various occasions:
It is naturally curlyā¦and he dislikes the curls for some reason so is rarely seen with them. Scott misses them sometimes.
As a teen/college student he went through ALL the hairstyles including punk and various shaved designs. He also had it dyed purple at least once. There were also various piercings. Scott watched in horror but let him be. There was relief when Virgil finally settled on his current style.
It is styled the way it is because between the boots and the hair he is taller than Gordon. In his head, because he is actually just a little bit shorter. Scott has noticed and bit his tongue. Gordon doesnāt appear to have realised and Virgil rues the day he does. Gordon does know, but like Scott has decided to let Virg have his fantasies š
I may or may not have too much of a fascination for Virgilās hair š¤Ŗš¤Ŗš¤Ŗ
I have read through every one of your Virgil-centric fanfics (and oh my, your ff.net is a goldmine!) and loved every headcannon youāve made for him š
Althoā¦ the only reason they are the biggest is because Virg spends hours shaping his. When the hair is that pristine he wouldnāt be happy with rogue brows messing up the lookā¦
I also had the thought that if the power of the eyebrows could somehow be harnessed then the rockets would have environmentally friendly energy to burn!! (So to speak).
There's definitely an entire language to be explored in the various deployments of the Tracy eyebrows.
I also can imagine if any of those boys were to have an errant eyebrow hair growing wild there would be no shortage of siblings volunteering to (sneakily, and without warning) pluck the offending hair.
(My hubby used to be able to sprout a single eyebrow hair that would grow in completely the wrong direction compared to all the rest, which would appear seemingly overnight at twice the length of all the others! Whenever I noticed it I would tell him, he would tell me to rip it out, then he would yelp in pain when I did.)
Perhaps proof of concept would be if they fall out of the sky without their eyebrows.
Could Virgil still fly Two when his were burnt off?
Hmm, thatās a fic that needs to be writtenā¦though poor Scotty would have some kind of seizure.
Also, @flyboytracy has all da skillz. They be like Johnny and terrifying if they go darkside š We should tremble in terror lest they wield the eyebrow clippers with dark purpose.
If you havenāt heard, today PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome has been renamed to Polyendocrine Metabolic Ovarian Syndrome. This change reflects that this is not a reproductive āproblemā but a whole body disease.
(Text: PCOS affects an estimated 10-13% of reproductive-aged women. It is estimated that up to 70% of women with PCOS worldwide do not know they have this condition.)
The Lancet link about shift to PMOS. Spread this to everyone who works in health care now. People with uteruses and ovaries are in agony - yes, the whole body suffers a crisis every fkn month - and health care should help
may i humbly request a virgil fic... big soft man with big brown eyes... comfort me.
if you do so just know i will walk about with a fic shaped lump in throat
Soft
With thanks to @mariashades
~
I wince.
I canāt help it.
Despite the care, the tenderness and gentleness the man in front of me is displaying, it still hurts.
His eyes swim with concern for me and he pauses in his treatment. I wiggle to try and get a little more comfortable and he takes my uninjured hand in both of his.
āTake a breath.ā
I blink. He nods encouragingly at me and breathes in, a very exaggerated breath. He holds it a little before breathing out. Itās quite ridiculous and I find myself smiling.
We breathe together for a while. The panic recedes. The pain too, a little anyway. It will never go away completely ā Iām too disabled for that ā but the breathing exercise does help me.
He releases my hands gently and picks up the wipe heās using to clean the new cuts Iāve picked up from being thrown from my chair during the earthquake.
The earthquake.
I look around in a little bit of a panic. Surely there are more people to be rescued, more important injured that he should be paying more attention to, and I try to pull away from him but he gently but firmly holds my hand.
He doesnāt let go but he does frown at me.
āAre you alright?ā
āIām fine.ā
At that he snorts a laugh and his face breaks out into a smile. At my raised eyebrow he looks faintly embarrassed.
āSorry, you just sounded so much like someone else I know.ā
āItās only cuts and bruises. Surely you have others to attend to?ā
āNope. You are the last one.ā
āOh.ā
The shock of that statement melts away any of the resistance I had been feeling, and with a broad grin he releases my hand and continues his ministrations.
I just sit there, perched on the infirmary bed in the massive green Thunderbird, and watch him. Every now and then he glances up at me to make sure Iām ok.
Thereās somethingā¦compelling about those brown eyes.
They are full of vibrant emotions. Care, of course. Amusement certainly. A depth that I cannot quite put my finger on.
And then heās finished fixing me up and he turns to my wheelchair.
One wheel has buckled. The other has lost its tire. Itās a mess but as I sit there and watch heās pulled a drawer open and taken out some kind of multitool and heās fixing it.
He wrestles the tire back on first before turning his attention to the other. Itās not budging though, even when he applies his (not inconsiderable) muscles to it. He drops the tool and frowns before hitting his green baldric.
āThunderbird Five?ā
āYes, Thunderbird Two?ā
āI need a new wheel for this chair.ā
āScanningā¦I think I can organise something. Give me 10 minutes.ā
āFAB.ā
Putting my chair down my rescuer turns to me. Ten minutes feels like a very long time to sit here with a complete stranger. A nice one, to be sure, but stillā¦
āDo you like coffee?ā
āIām sorry?ā
āCoffee. Would you like a cup?ā
āOh. Oh, sorry! Yes, Iād love a cup.ā
He grins again and moves to the other side of the room. I watch as he seems to create two mugs of steaming coffee from nothing and he returns, hands one to me and sits on the bed opposite me.
āThank youā¦Iām sorry, I donāt know your name.ā
āIām Virgil.ā
āThank you, Virgil.ā
He smiles warmly at me and once more I am drawn to those gorgeous brown eyes.
We drink. We make light conversation. I tell him about my three cats at home and my love of a decent coffee. He tells me about his brothers.
Just as heās finishing telling me about Scott, the one who also says āIām fineā the way I do thereās a knock on the door. It opens to admit a shorter man in the same uniform but a yellow baldric.
āHi! Iām Gordon.ā
But Iām not really listening to him. All I have eyes for is the chair he has brought with him.
Itās not my chair. Itās not even the same model of my chair. No ā itās the top-of-the-range wheelchair, one I could never ever hope to afford.
I am aware I am sitting there, staring and my mouth is hanging open.
Gordon grins, positions it beside my bed and leaves. But not without a wink at his brother that has Virgil blushing.
Itās endearingā¦
And then Virgil puts his cup down and takes mine. He helps me up, his hands on my hips and assisting me by taking my weight and letting me press down on his arms as he helps me into his chair. I wiggle around again, this time to get a feel for the chair and the new cushion.
āWould you like us to take you home?ā
āThank you, but thatās not necessary. Iām not that far away and itās in the opposite direction from the quake zone. Iām sure you have more important things to do.ā
āWould you like me to help you outside?ā
āPlease.ā
Virgil wheels me outside. The devastation is not as bad here, away from the epicentre, and he takes me over to a nice flat area.
He watches as I try my new chair out, turning in circles and left and right before finally pulling sharply back and into a wheelie.
Ohhh this chair is amazing and I canāt help but let out a whoop. I turn to face him and Virgil is grinning widely.
He waves and then heās gone.
I watch the ship lower and then turn and trundle away from me before it takes off straight up.
I never thought Iād ever see a Thunderbird, much less be rescued by one.
And Iāll never forget those soft brown eyes and gentle handsā¦
$50,000 immediately dropped into my bank account wouldn't improve EVERYTHING but boy it sure would be a grand, sexy little start to a good, happy life path, don't you think
