livelaughlove

Hiya, I'm TC. I'm addicted to multishipping and I'm a multifandom blog. My blog is a love only zone, no hate allowed.everything tagged for your viewing (or not viewing) pleasure

[multishippinfool]

www.nokings.org

and

generalstrikeus.com/strikecard Can we make these happen on the same day? Think about how many more people could be on the streets protesting if they're also not working.

impeachtrumpagain.com

Please, please share. The number has barely moved since I signed up last night and we need so many more eyes on this.

[thescoutpilot]

As inspired by @thebirdfantasy and @coco9728 .. the sequel to the TB1 edit.. TB2!

I spent all day on this I hope people enjoy..!

[mariashades]

Wow!

[exhuastedpigeon]

Sometimes you hear a song and a fic pops into your head full formed. This is a trap. The fic may be fully formed in your brain, but you still Have to write it down. This is an important step that most people forget about.

[multishippinfool]

What if along with their normal rescues, International Rescue also saved supernatural creatures? Under Mateo is a complex used to house ones that either need special care or are too dangerous to run free. There was a Syfy show called Sanctuary, if anyone has seen it that's what I'm thinking.

[multishippinfool]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[lenle-g]

Inspired by this WIP by @melmac78:

John was near the stern, looking out to sea. He had enjoyed looking at all the planes on board as well as the ships sailing by - business and pleasure, but this too was a sight to see. Especially as he had grown just a smidge annoyed of hearing Scott talk about the T-34 Mentor to the Scouts, so he had a bit of peace to enjoy it. John was amazed at how the light and clear blue sky would reflect off the Gulf of Mexico, turning the normally brownish waters the same beautiful color. Out in the distance, some offshore oil rigs still dotted the distance. While biofuels and renewable sources were finally being produced with an even lower waste footprint, there still was the need for some oil products. He was feeling a bit tired and warm from the sun as he leaned over the side to look at what appeared to be a pod of dolphins swimming by... or were they those blue men-of-war that Gordon said don't touch? There were others sounds, but they seemed distant and blurred. John watched the pod seem to double and triple in size, confusing him. Then his head started feeling light. "Oh no." He thought vaguely, as a few moments later as he hit the rail at his waist. The pilot gave a faint yelp as he tilted over, the vertigo getting worse as he saw thick netting and a more angry water churning by the hull. His vision started to swim as he kept moving forward. He tried to grab the rail, but caught air instead... A pair of rough hands grab his baldric and pulled back. John stumbled from the course correction and fell back, still feeling as though the world was going down a drain... The same hands cradled him under the arms now as he was then set on the ground. The person was propping him up against their legs and chest. There were running sounds on the deck toward them, but they sounded about the same as the waves - ocean or his ears John wasn’t sure. The person holding him had a hand on his jaw, trying to get him to look at them. He could see someone, even though the image was slightly blurry as grey edges flickered in his blind spots. John just couldn't speak. There were more muddled sounds nearby, vocalizing a sound similar to a distant flock of seagulls. That was until louder bass timber - a voice John reminded himself - shooed them away. The same voice then tried again to get John to speak. He tried this time, but all that came out was a soft moan. John then felt the other person's hand run through his hair, who also assured him he was all right. Between the hand and then a light kiss on the top of his head, John realized he was indeed conscious and being held by a brother. Otherwise, he'd be stretched out on the deck - and admittedly the kiss would be a little odd. Then the same gentle hand was at his throat, checking his pulse. "John - can you hear me now?" said Virgil as he leaned into John's view, gently lifting his chin again to check the redhead's eye reaction.

[lenle-g]

[lenle-g]

Thoughts on pirate!John?

we all know I love a pirateAU, but please consider for me: 17th Century International Rescue AU

No man alive knows the stars like John Tracy, Navigator of the good ship Thunderbird. She's the only twenty-gun sloop in the world to carry no armaments, and she's fast as a whistle in the hands of her crew. Their mission: search and rescue, pure and simple. Flying no country's flag, they offer assistance to anyone in need, regardless of origin or affiliation - tied only to international waters and each other. John couldn't be prouder, living his life beneath her sails. He does spend most of his days below deck, though, away from the strong, harsh sunlight reflecting off the waves (as, personally, he'd rather not become just one big freckle, thank you). His place is in the dim candlelight of the chart room, surrounded by compass, sextant, parchment and birdseed. He's the quiet voice guiding their every voyage, highly attuned to the stars, charts and the shifting moods of his Father, Captain Tracy, and his eldest brother, First Mate Scott. If someone sends up a smoke signal, flare or coloured flag, John will have their location pinpointed with an almost scary degree of accuracy before either of them has even thought to ask. (As for his round little bird, John picked her up early one morning on a tropical island in the South Pacific and, after she refused to leave him, named her Eos, after the goddess of dawn. Gordon likes to tease him that he sure picked a strange parrot, but John wouldn't change her little chirps for the world.) At night, though, John often climbs the crow's nest to take watch shift from their cabin boy, Alan. They're training their youngest brother in helmsmanship and, though Sprout has a natural aptitude for it, he's simply had less time on the open seas than the rest of them. John's caught the poor kid dozing off at his post more than once, well in need of a good night's sleep, but... if he's honest, he also has ulterior motives. John's not just watching the waves for ships in need of assistance - he's up there for the great, glittering tapestry of constellations above their sails (and Alan's billion questions for him about them).

[lenle-g]

Looking through your amazing art for Scott and John hugs it occurs to me that you have at least two excellent ones of Scott with an arm around John!

And I love them!!

But…

Can I possibly ask for one where John’s arm(s) are around Scott?

Pleeeeeeaase…

“He's going to be alright, you know.”

Scott, who'd been staring dispassionately at the grey hospital lino between his feet, takes on the monumental task of removing his head from his hands to squint up at… John. The spaceman looms, beanpole tall and haloed in the clinical white of the LED bulbs above him, with both arms folded across his chest and a frankly irritatingly calm expression. He’s been on the ground all of twelve minutes and, though he’s had time to get changed out of his IR Blues, he’s also looking distinctly pale and wobbly. But that's what you get when you decide an emergency disembarkation of Thunderbird Five via the Space Elevator is the best course of action to get yourself on the ground in good time.

“John-” His brother’s name comes out as more of a disparaging sigh. They’re taking twenty-minute rotations in the room with Gordon, and, though Alan had been Scott’s partner, the kid has wandered off in search of a snack machine. So it’s just him and the new arrival.

“CT looked clean around his spine.” John recites analytically, like that stands in for a greeting, and Scott gets the urge to give his brother's skinny ankles a good, hard kick. “BP averaging 94 over 62 on my last check, and blood oxygen has been slowly coming up since rescue.” He’s clearly been accessing the hospital records, watching Gordon’s progress. “Ulna fractured in-”

“Not helpful, J.” Scott dumps his head back into his hands, groaning, but John just blinks at him. “I really don’t want details right now.” It might make John feel better to have all the facts, but for Scott, it’s exceptionally overwhelming. He's always responded better to physical comfort than words, however well-intentioned.

There’s a beat of a moment, then, to Scott’s immense surprise, a cool, pale hand rests itself on his shoulder.

“...he really will be ok.” John says, much softer, and Scott’s fingers rake backwards through his hair, either side of his head, as he jerks back up to look at him. “I’m no doctor,” The ginger head tilts, “and I’d like to run these by Virgil or Grandma if their official report takes much longer, but his stats are looking much better, I promise. No major, lasting trauma this time. He is going to be fine.”

Scott lets all the air in his lungs leave at once, in one great huff.

"Yeah." Big brother echoes, a little numb. "Yeah, of course..." He thinks that it’s easier to believe John when he says things like that, over other people, even actual doctors. Thunderbird Five is always a realist, never an optimist, and he’s always so irritatingly calm and certain and-

And Scott finds himself watching the minute flexations of his brother’s fingers. A tiny, telltale stress tick.

Ah.

He feels abruptly aware that John has not only just thrown himself through the atmosphere, but he’s been on the line for them all, listening in for hours. From before the Calypso even went down. Five had watched as Braman was recovered, Gordon was fired upon, and Thunderbird Four had been crushed. He’d been right there as the Chaos Crew had taken their spoils and left their brother for dead.

If John were to admit it (and he would never), receiving the first half of Gordon’s emergency code and then... nothing had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life. He’d stayed on the line the whole time, even letting their Grandmother dispatch his brothers and guide the Lady Penelope to location in his stead. John had been busy listening to their younger brother's every pained gasp, fixating on each fluttery beat of his heart - unable to do anything but whisper soft reassurances down the line, desperate for the slightest sign that Gordon might be hearing him.

He’d even left the heavy decision to send Alan down with Scott and Penny to his brothers on scene, and, despite not knowing what they might find, the kid had done it with exceptional professionalism. He needs to make sure he tells Alan how damn proud he is when he sees him.

At the time, Thunderbird Five had been busy preparing for emergency reentry - ready to meet his family at the hospital he was diverting them to. West Fairbank. The same place that had fixed Gordon’s spine after the Hydrofoil. Sure, there were closer places with emergency rooms that would probably have been perfectly adequate, but the doctors at West Fairbank know Gordon’s vertebrae better than anyone.

If the prognosis is… bad, this is where they’re going to want him to be.

For the whole (admittedly shorter than protocol) trip in the Space Elevator, John had been crazing himself: playing and re-playing the holofeed from Thunderbird Four, watching as replicas of tiny grey missiles shoot past his fleeing brother and impact with rock, triggering the underwater avalanche. John’s done a thousand calculations - turbines, velocity, depth pressure - and he knows there was no possible vector angle Gordon could have manoeuvred Four at to escape the rubble. The shot had been to kill, and the kid was lucky to get his helmet on in t-

John is abruptly startled out of his thoughts by the hollow thud of Scott dumping his forehead flat against his chest.

"Uh-" John, abruptly, has no idea what to do with his hands. They scrunch, then flail, then settle themselves awkwardly on Scott's shoulders. It's been months since he last saw any of them in person and this is- geez, it's a lot.

But then he hears big brother suck in a distinctly shuddery breath, and it's like all the stress of the last 24 hours hits him at once. The adrenaline sends him shaky and short of air, and John's heart twists in his chest as he feels Thunderbird One try very hard not to lose it.

“Scott?” John prompts, his resting fingers give his brother's shoulders a surprisingly tactile squeeze. "Here," He adds, softly, "Look."

Scott doesn't move, but John flicks a hologram of Gordon's vitals from his wrist into the air anyway. A fine, golden thread marks their brother's pulse, bleeping away as a minaturised, constant lub-dub, lub-dub. He knows Scott can hear it. Another precise flick of his finger scrolls through chart data beside it.

“The neckbrace is precautionary, given the history with his spine," John notes, letting Scott get his breath back against him, "and his arm and leg were clean breaks. He’ll have a nasty headache from the concussion, but there’s minimal swelling, and doctors see no reason he won't be awake and annoying us all in no time.” 

“He got lucky.” Scott sniffs, fingers curling in the stiff fabric of a shirt that John's not home often enough to have worn soft.

“No.” John shakes his head, and Scott feels the movement against the top of his own, “He had you guys there to pull him out.”

And then Mr. I’d-Rather-Die-Than-Get-All-Touchy-Feely does something miraculous: he shoves his own comfort aside and submits to Scott’s preferred method - wrapping both arms suddenly around his trembling big brother and squeezing tight.

Scott can’t even begin to explain why it’s this that breaks the last hypothetical straw, and makes him burst into tears. Big, silent sobs begin to shake his whole frame, dampening that damn shirt, but John, with all the quiet patience he'd inherited from their mother, simply holds on while Scott tries to get himself together again. It's... easier than he expects, with John's arms around him. Five always has his back, after all. Never judges. Just puts practical steps into motion to make things right.

“We- We should get the kid a blanket.” Scott decides wetly, against John's sternum. “That room- it’s so cold and clinical. He’s gonna hate it.”

“I’ll add it to my list.” Scott feels the quirk of John’s mouth against his hair as the spaceman smiles, “Along with snacks and a tablet with every episode of Buddy and Ellie downloaded.”

“How do you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

"Anticipate everything we’re going to need before we even realise we need it?” 

John huffs out a laugh at that, and Scott can feel it reverberate through the chest beneath his cheek. 

“Practice.” John admits, easy and light, “It’s not like I haven’t been chasing you round with the things you’ve forgotten since we were boys.”

“You always had my kit for gym when I’d left it at home." Scott sniffs, "Or my sandwiches.”

“And I always will.” John gives his big brother’s shoulders a good squeeze, then lets go. His cheeks are a bit pink, and he’s pointedly avoiding eye contact.

“Thanks, J.” Scott says... and he means for an awful lot more than the hug. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

feat: a bonus bc I loved the second sketch layer more than the clean lines XD

[teapotteringabout]

So I had this vague fantasy warrior fighter au thingy in my head for years, did the sketches for these like 2 years ago, and didn't think about them again until I watched KPop Demon Hunters and its cool fight scenes 😌💥

[multishippinfool]

www.nokings.org

and

generalstrikeus.com/strikecard Can we make these happen on the same day? Think about how many more people could be on the streets protesting if they're also not working.

impeachtrumpagain.com

Please, please share. The number has barely moved since I signed up last night and we need so many more eyes on this.

[multishippinfool]

www.nokings.org

and

generalstrikeus.com/strikecard Can we make these happen on the same day? Think about how many more people could be on the streets protesting if they're also not working.

Please, please share. The number has barely moved since I signed up last night and we need so many more eyes on this.

[multishippinfool]

impeachtrumpagain.com

[multishippinfool]

I WILL DIE BEFORE I GIVE MY COUNTRY TO THOSE TRAITORS!

[homoquartz]

hearing that your characterizations are good is like. the best thing to hear as a fic writer.

[crimeronan]

people who let me wake up to this get a special place in heaven. firefly_fox how does it feel to hold my life in ur hands....

[crimeronan]

my favorite thing about this post is that a handful of people have gone "oh wait! this is tangible proof that i don't need to be embarrassed about leaving a lot of comments!! i'll stop being so ashamed!" YES!! ao3 authors basically universally will die for people who comment spam. we love to see it and we do not find you weird or annoying At All.

think about it this way: we ourselves are weird enough to have spent several hours, days, or Months writing down this story. we are weird enough about the content to do that! why on Earth would we be mean and judgmental toward people who care enough to get excited about reading it?? we shared it Specifically For You To Get Excited About!

[streetmusclecars]

[misctony]

[bearcat9193]

Absolutely!! 🙏🇺🇸🙏🇺🇸🙏🤠

[howapiratelooksat50]

🙌🏼🇺🇸🏴‍☠️

[multishippinfool]

I wonder if my MAGA vet brother was still serving if he'd deploy against me, his family, his friends.