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whatgaviiformes · 2 years

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Fic: Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm - Part 14 (Chapter 8)

Summary: Alternate Universe. Gordon is a farmer. And he seems to have nothing to do with International Rescue. Now on AO3! Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family.*Warnings: phobias and panic attacks*

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Chapter 8 Ao3 Here

Emergency services departed with significantly less fanfare than when they arrived, the shrill sirens quieted and the lights devoid of flashing as they made their way back up the hill and away from the Tracy Estate. Virgil wished they’d taken Gordon with them on their solemn ascent, but his brother had argued: if it was calm and care the doctor ordered, he’d find that here on his Estate a lot easier than he would in a hospital. Too many memories.

Their scans had picked up no signs of any ongoing heart issues, but the paramedics had still felt it would benefit Gordon to be seen by a licensed professional, just to rule out the possibility. And Virgil agreed with them, though he understood Gordon’s haunted eyes and his shuddering recoil at even the word hospital.

What had kept him from forcing the matter was actually Scraps, the way she knelt beside him on the dock and answered questions about his medical history, with all the command of Scott on a mission in the sky. The two of them had been here before, and as horrible as Virgil felt about accidentally causing his brother a level of stress that literally had taken his breath away, it was nothing compared to the giant pit in his gut at realizing he also wasn’t the right person to help him, that - for all their history after his accident - the person who was best equipped to speak on Gordon’s behalf was not him.

He didn’t have the right answers this time, not for Gordon. And he’d certainly done enough damage already for one day. So he’d sealed his lips as Scraps took control of the situation.

He’d dropped down to sit on the dock himself, burying his face in his hands while Gordon’s vitals were being checked.

“Hey, you okay?” It had been Gordon’s voice, but a delicate, wrinkled hand that came to rest on his shoulder to catch his attention. Kai-san’s head had cocked towards the flurry of activity dockside, and Virgil pulled himself from his musings to catch his brother’s eye. Gordon had offered him a weak smile, through the rescue blanket curled his shoulders and the pressure cuff squeezing around his arm, and the team of medical responders surrounding him.

He remembered opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again. Nodding.

One of the EMT’s had knelt beside him, and he shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

He hadn’t been going into shock; he just… was shocked. And overwhelmed and scared and thankful and sad, all at once.

As emergency services had finished packing their equipment back into the vehicle, they tried once more to encourage Gordon to let himself be checked out in the hospital, this time emphasizing that he should be admitted at least for observation. Gordon had clammed up at the suggestion.

Long ago, his darkest moments after the hydrofoil accident had not been due to what had happened to him (though not every day was a positive one), but the strong emotions surrounding how he felt after - the adjustments he had to make to define his independence, the feeling of being watched, being an experiment. Being judged.

"I can watch him." Virgil had offered, scrambling for his identification. "I'm iR.” They all were certified paramedics as part of their rescue training. In this case he was just grateful there was something he could offer to make up for the nightmare of their excursion. He owed him that - to step back from his own opinions on what was best for his brother, and just listen to him this time.

He shook the paramedics’ hands and thanked them for trekking all the way out here, then watched them leave in their vehicles up the hill before he caught his breath and turned back towards the residents of the estate, clustered together. Scraps was kneeling in front of Gordon, keeping his view focused on her instead of the open water behind them, and Kai-san, glancing back toward the bobbing boat, as the dockside was her responsibility.

“Virgil.” His name carried a huge weight in Gordon’s lungs as he expelled it with a breath. “Thank you.”

It filled him with warmth to know that Gordon perceived his offer to monitor him from a place of trust and that, like it had been ages ago, Virgil’s care was the exception to the disgust Gordon felt at all the eyes. Virgil’s eyes, so like his own, had been welcomed.

He swooped down beside him. “Don’t thank me yet. Vigilant Virgil, and all.”

“I remember.”

They sat there briefly, their voices fading, the gentle hum of music from Virgil’s sound system carrying with the sounds of laughter from the party. And in between, the whoosh of waves lapping upon the shore close by.

“Can you move?” Virgil asked. “I think it’s time we get you dirtside and back home.”

“But our guests!" Even as Gordon glanced back up towards the activity above, he nodded and gripped their shoulders from either side to lift himself up, and Virgil slid his arm at the small of his back to help support him to his feet and left it there once he was standing.

Scraps pressed a gentle kiss to Gordon’s temple. Now that the immediate concern was over, Virgil saw in her a similar sense of relief, but the strain of being torn between two responsibilities, that of a host and that of a friend. She could not be in two places at once, and so she had to place an immense amount of faith in Virgil.

“I’ve got the party,” she told Gordon, speaking into his hair. “Listen to your brother, honey. You’re in good hands.” And, through the embrace, she pierced Virgil with a look so intense that he knew she’d break him apart with her gaze alone if he made a liar out of her.

He wouldn’t. He promised himself then and there.

He nodded, and she stepped back just as Kai-san came up with Gordon’s cane and their phones, having just finished securing the catamaran and retrieving the items they’d left aboard in the hustle to get to shore. Virgil pocketed the electronics, and Gordon led them back to the elevator that would take them up the hillside, accepting Virgil’s hand on his back but determined to walk back on his own power.

Though how his arm trembled in the silence.

He knew it was a sign of the utter concentration that had overtaken his brother. Learning to walk again had been much the same, quiet where all Gordon’s energy was focused on putting one foot in front of the other and vocal only once he knew whether it was a cheer for his success or a scream for his failures.

Virgil knew the farm well enough now that he was able to guide Gordon around where the party-goers would be congregating, and so they took the hidden trail that led them through the garden and to the back entrance of Gordon’s farmhouse where the wind teased a mild echo out of the bamboo chimes hanging from his porch ceiling. They scraped their shoes along the rough bristles of the welcome mat outside the entryway, and Virgil pressed the door open for his brother to walk through.

Virgil slipped his shoes off; they’d been rendered unrecognizable now that they had been dragged through the rougher trail, caked in sand and dirt where the piano key design had once been white.

His back was turned only briefly, but in the time his back had been turned, Gordon had walked past him and into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, he spotted Skipper peering at him from the light of the guest room where she’d skittered away from the noise and firelight, now curious about their return but tentative to leave the current safety of her space.

“C’mon, Skip-”

Her name was cut short by the sickening crunch of wood breaking from the other room, and Virgil flinched at the memory of splintering beneath his feet and beams cracking above him. The sensation of falling, then pain. The toll of a bell that existed only in his ears, his mind, as he faded.

But this wasn’t the sound of a building collapsing on him. It was a much smaller sound, more a shatter than the thunderous boom of foundations rumbling, but it shuddered through him with as much power as that day. It sounded like it could’ve been Gordon’s cane, or the wooden kitchen chairs, and either way, he feared his brother overbalancing. Feared him falling.

He ran.

Gordon stood breath heaving amidst the kitchen, pristine save for the mess below the refrigerator where a scattering of magnets and photographs had fallen to accompany the skeleton remains of the model ship that once was proudly displayed on the kitchen table.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” His brother sounded as far away and as lost as those swallowed by the deep. He did not turn when Virgil sprinted towards him; he could not look away from the debris on the floor, though he spoke like those doomed spellbound by siren song, “I always do that. Why do I always destroy everything?”

“You don’t.” Virgil clasped his shoulder, squeezed gently to pull him away. “You also create.”

Gordon shook his head, turning away, “That does not sound like me.”

“It is you,” Virgil argued. “Look around yourself, Gordon. Every slab of wood, every life here, all the laughter out there. You have a hand in all of it.” He stepped in front of him, blocking the view of the mess the way Scraps had earlier blocked the view of the sea, and he lightly lifted Gordon’s chin upward to encourage him to meet his gaze. It wasn’t until he saw dim amber that he shared, “This place has your heart all over it. Destruction and creation just go hand in hand sometimes, Gordo.”

He knew it well. The reign of fire that made way for new life, the demolition of the old to rebuild something new, the erasure of drawn lines to paint beauty overtop.

He led Gordon away from the kitchen, towards the couch in the living room where Gordon curled onto his side, and uttered a sigh as his body came in contact with the soft cushions. He offered to collect anything he needed, and after delivering a fresh glass of water, he stepped into Gordon’s bedroom with his permission to find the blanket at the foot of his bed.

He tucked it around him, feeling the additional heft in its structure, which gave it more weight as Gordon burrowed into it. By that time Skipper had come out from hiding at the noise they’d made, and spread herself out on the floor by him, eyes drooping. Gordon’s fingers curled around her fur. He massaged the area by her ear.

Content that he was settled and resting and that Skipper would alert him if she sensed anything, he turned back away to straighten the kitchen. He wasn’t sure if the model was salvageable or if he could recreate the boat with enough of the pieces, but he could certainly try.

Virgil’s back was to the front entrance and he was picking up bits of mast when a booming series of knocks at the door caused him to jump about a foot in the air. He recognized the force and rhythm to be that of Scott, and his brother barged in even as he turned to go open the door. Blue eyes darted between rooms, scanning with a military-trained level of inquiry.

“Scott! What are you doing here?”

“John heard your emergency call,” Scott told him, striding up to him. “Neither of you have been answering your phones,”

The accusation stung, but it reminded him that he’d tucked both phones out of the way. He fished them out of his back pocket, realizing both he and Gordon had been receiving multiple calls from their siblings. They must’ve panicked, and Scott appeared to have come right from a rescue, the sweat clinging to his hair and his suit covered in a layer of dirt and stone. Mountain retrieval, perhaps, or a cave-in.

“You’re right,” he said, glancing down at the phones in dismay they’d not checked in with them sooner. The frequency of calls, and their hastened cadence, spoke volumes. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

“Never mind,” Scott said, his tone softening. He pulled Virgil close, seeming to realize this was their first in-person conversation in weeks. Virgil clasped him tight. He’d missed his older brother, and he knew the farm retreat had helped heal his mind and body; he hoped it was visible and that Scott was proud of his progress. “You seem so much better, Virg. I’m glad.” And the glisten in his eyes proved he meant it. “Fill me in. Is he ok?”

“Yes, he’s ok,” Virgil assured him, pulling back and glad that he’d come. “This way.”

He had a feeling Scott understood more than Virgil knew; but, even still, there was little he could report without risking oversharing details that Virgil felt were Gordon’s to tell. The strands of trust between them were tenuous at best, and though he wanted to weave them together and make them strong - and it seemed Gordon did too - they were still fresh, new threads he wasn’t ready to test in case they broke.

He‘d left Gordon under Skipper’s capable supervision, and by the time he walked back into the room with Scott, the pup had wedged her way on the couch with him, and Gordon had shifted to give her additional space. He’d been drifting wearily earlier, but now he was staring at the woodgrains of the wall with his hand at Skipper’s head. She perked up at their footsteps, barking in confusion at the extra set of feet and alerting Gordon to their presence.

“Scott!”

“It’s me. Budge over, Squid.”

“You’re gonna get my furniture all dirty.” But Gordon made room for him anyway, and Virgil settled adjacent to them in a reclining chair since two humans and a dog were already too many on the couch.

“How are you?” Scott asked.

“I’m ok. Just memories.” Scott nodded like he knew what that meant, and Virgil noted the way Gordon leaned into Scott’s hand carding through his hair. “I didn’t think you could come.”

“They caught my call out earlier,” Virgil explained.

“Oh.” Gordon stared out towards Virgil, speaking softly. “That makes sense. I’m sorry I scared you, Scott. Everything’s fine here, though. If you need to head back.”

Scott’s hand stalled. His lips thinned, and the strain at the corners of his eyes reminded Virgil starkly of their father - countless business trips away during his son’s recital, or swim meet, or the “big” game. Torn between duty and family. But it reminded him not of the times his father left for a long mission or meeting, but the times he didn’t. The time he had made it home for Scott’s thirteenth birthday and John’s science fair presentation on quasars and Alan’s pre-school performance where he’d been cast as a shrub and Gordon’s career day.

For himself, it was the art gallery he’d been invited to display three of his paintings for. It was the expression his father bore when Virgil caught sight of him and called him over with the kind of joy that revealed he’d been surprised he made it: closed eyes with regret that his children had doubted him and that, in many ways, he understood it.

It was no secret between them that their father could never guarantee the fulfillment of his promises. It had taken him away from them in the end, the promise to never give up at any cost.

Gordon was unaware of the battle spilling over his brother’s face, but Virgil saw it, watching Scott steel himself before his very eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to. What if a rescue comes up? That’s important.”

“So are you.” Scott dropped his hand to Gordon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I should’ve been here in the first place. So I’m here, however you need me.”

Stunned into silence, Gordon swallowed.

Virgil cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah, I should finish cleaning up the kitchen.”

“Don’t. Please stay.” The sharpness in Gordon’s command halted him even before he was able to stand. To Scott, Gordon asked, “Right now, the best way to help me would be to help Scraps. Can you help with the party? Because I-I need to talk to Virgil.”

Scott glanced over to him, his expression unreadable through the array of emotions being quelled through his military training. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps pain, but either way, he hesitated in his response, his hand lingering on Gordon’s shoulder.

A beat, an exchange of glances between them.

“Of course, Squid. Can I shower first?”

“Yes,” Gordon seemed unaffected by the suggestion. “You know where your change of clothes is.”

“Sure do.” He peeled himself away from the living room, and after a minute or two they heard

the creak of the hall storage closet, followed by the catch of a showerhead in the washroom.

So effortless it had been for Scott to stride in, offering nothing and everything, just himself in whatever way Gordon needed him. The ease to which their older brother walked around the cottage and knew the people here no longer surprised Virgil anymore. It hurt instead, and he wondered how much of his father’s regret matched his own expression.

“I owe you an explanation.”

Virgil scowled.

“No, you don’t owe me anything.” After all the weeks dancing around each other, the conversations that had felt directionless, the pieces falling into place that left him horrified and embarrassed, the last thing he wanted was to approach this conversation from a place of obligation. Gordon owed him nothing. “But I can promise to listen if you choose to share it with me.”

“Come sit beside me,” Gordon reached for him. Eyes damp, Gordon gestured to the seat which Scott had vacated, and Virgil listened, resting a hand on Gordon’s knee once he settled. His brother gave a large sigh before he began. “So, I have a fear of the sea. Thalassophobia if you want a word for it. And it kind of changed a lot of things….”

#Gavii Scribit #Fic: TSOF #Chicken!Dad #Farming Estate AU #thunderangst #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #tw: phobia

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serenxtyinsxlence · 10 months

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Odette has a horrible case of Coulrophobia (Fear of clowns). She can't look at them, hear them, or even know that there is one in the vicinity or she will instantly go into fight or flight most of the time it is flight. If she gets anywhere near one or vise versa, she will immediately look for an escape.

#нυѕнє∂ ѕє¢яєтѕ [мυѕιηgѕ]#tw: phobia

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wanderlustqueen-writes · 1 year

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Alice, I’m wondering about number 8 for the Writer’s Asks? I know your ideas from other shows too but what about real life? Thanks!

Hey Terra! Nice to see you here :) thanks for the ask! Fanfic Writer Asks

8) Do you take inspiration from real life? If so how do you incorporate it into your fics?

When writing fics, I don't take much inspiration from real life for plot or characters (that's something I do more in my book). However, personal experience comes very much in handy when describing sensations.

For example, in Chapter 3 of the Levihan X-Files AU, there's a scene in which a character is having a very intense nightmare, and is overpowered by many feelings, fear included. I tried to think of a situation in which I felt overwhelming fear, so I would know what physical reactions would happen and how they would feel to the person experiencing them. I chose the time when I was a kid and a boy tried to prank me by throwing the object of my phobia on me, and channeled those memories into the actual scene!

IDK, hopefully, kid Alice's suffering helped build an immersive story LOL

#ask #ask game #tumblr games #dont-f-with-moogles #lovely moots 💕#levihan #levihan fanfic #levihan fanfiction #tw: phobia #phobia

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batwynn · 10 months

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I’m seeing a weird uptick in people commenting nasty stuff on people’s non-cat/dog pet stuff again and not so gentle reminder:

Your phobia or dislike of certain animals does not give you the right to harass and bully people who love and share them.

Use the blacklist tag like a normal human being, and leave people who love rats or snakes or bugs etc. the fuck alone.

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markscherz · 10 months

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Found your account from one of my mutuals reblogging that one mini frog post, could I learn about some fucked up frogs :D

Everybody is always banging on about Pipa pipa. Nobody is ever talking about how fucked up Hemiphractidae reproduction is

Like, they range from concealed carry, like this Gastrotheca orophylax

[src]

which they achieve with a pouch that has a weird ass opening (lack of hyphenation intentional) (not actually anywhere near the cloaca of the frog) (this has earned them the common name 'marsupial frogs' for a very obvious reason)

[src]

…to open carry, like this Fritziana goeldii

[src]

which hatch out but remain glued on until developing sufficiently, like this Cryptobatrachus boulengeri

[src]

Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.

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ilovemesomevincentprice · 3 months

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Vincent Price interview on the set of The Masque of the Red Death (1964)

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recurring-polynya · 9 months

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My kid asked me to explain blood types to her today, which made me remember the odd little fact that in the character profiles that appeared at the ends of the earliest Bleach volumes, there are blood types listed for the human characters, but not for the shinigami characters. Shinigami obviously have blood, we've all seen it, we've seen so much of it, honestly, but is it like blood blood? Is blood transfusion a thing they do?

I did not have any particular recollection of anyone ever receiving a blood transfusion in Bleach, but I looked up all the hospital scenes I could think of off the top of my head. Both Byakuya nor Hinamori have sort of a notable absence of things sticking out of them. I'm no expert and I don't even particular like doctor shows, but this is a situation where I would expect both of them to have IVs for hydration, if nothing else. Hinamori's got a respirator and some mysterious carts off to her far side, at least, and maybe Byakuya's just far enough on the upswing that he doesn't need it anymore.

Next shot was the famous Rukia and Renji sharing a hospital room scene.

Renji's respirator goes...under his blanket? Is this right? This doesn't seem right. Rukia doesn't seem particularly attached to anything, although there's kind of a bundle of wires? tubes? coming out of her right shoulder area. You can see them better in this shot:

That sure doesn't look like medical grade tubing, the lower one looks kinda like Hihiou Zabimaru, tbh. IVs usually work by gravity, no? Also those tubes are way too big to be going into someone's veins.

Finally, here's Kira, getting his dubious Squad 12 medical procedure.

More shady, giant, intestine-ass looking tubes that... go into him? wtf. They're attached to a computer. Maybe these are data cables?

The upshot of all of this is that I don't think shinigami have blood transfusions. I can't imagine that they don't know about them, so I imagine it's more of a case of their blood is just part of their soul, like, all of them is just soul all the way down, and it would be nearly impossible to accept a transfusion that was made of someone else's soul (soulmate-enjoying fanfic writers, take note). They do like sticking tubes in people, tho.

This sucks because when I was originally thinking about this, of course I was thinking about all the blood Renji has in his body and whether or not he's a universal donor, because, frankly, if he is, I think they would have a special framed painting of him at Squad 4 and let him have as much donuts and apple juice as he wants.

I think the main reason manga list characters' bloodtypes anyway is because Japanese people use it as a personality test, similar to horoscopes. For the record, here are the characters whose blood types we know:

Ichigo - AO Orihime - BO Chad - AO Tatsuki - AO Isshin - AB Uryuu - AB Don Kanonji (????) - BO

When I was trying to look up what they meant, I found this hilarious graphic, thank you verywellmind dot com

Looks to me like these blood types were definitely chosen to tie into personality at least to some degree (I'm not sure about Isshin, but he probably has fake Urahara Shouten-brand gigai blood-substitute anyway, so I am choosing not to read too deeply into that). Anyway, along those lines, judging from this chart, if we wanted to bootstrap Renji's blood type from his personality, I think he would, in fact, clearly fit into the idiot-on-a-skateboard quadrant. So he is a universal donor! (or at least he would be, if he were filled with blood instead of high-concentration ghost juice.)

#bleach worldbuilding #tw: medical #rukia feels like an AB to me??#i welcome the insight of people who are more medically literate than me #but i actually have a blood phobia which is why i didn't do very much research into that side of this post

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hellsitegenetics · 3 months

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my Valentine’s Day love letter is for chytridiomycota :D the grandmother of every single fungi on the planet, the chytridiomycota is somehow unlike any other fungus in varying ways

such as its environment. chytridiomycota are largely aquatic,yet they’re one of the most common land parasites :D on the same topic, their spores are flagellated in order to literally swim through the water, which is unique almost entirely to them.

Chytrids are also one of the only fungi that reproduce oogamously relating them closer to LAND ANIMALS !!!! Than any aquatic creature or fungi.

This makes me believe that they actually had a hand in the creation of humans during evolution, since fungus and human genomes are so incredibly close to each other. It’s one of the most simple fungi but it’s so incredible to me :D 🖤🖤🖤

String identified:

at’ a tt ctcta : t gat g g t at, t ctcta a t g ag a

c a t t. ctcta a ag aatc,t t’ t t c a aat : t a tc, t a agat t ta tg t at, c at t t t.

Ct a a t g tat c ga atg t c t A AA !!!! Ta a aatc cat g.

T a tat t acta a a a t cat a g t, c g a a g a c c t ac t. t’ t t g t t’ c t : 🖤🖤🖤

Closest match: Odiellus spinosus genome assembly, chromosome: 13 Common name: Harvestman

#tumblr genetics #genetics #asks #requests #sent to me #spiders #harvestman #i know harvestmen arent actually spiders but im tagging like it is #because technicality is not how phobias work #arachnophobia tw #bugs #insects #valentines day

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selectivechaos · 11 months

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do not laugh at people for uncommon phobias

your phobias are not embarrassing. people can have phobias of absolutely anything, and they can be really precise and something that other people would think is strange to be scared of. your fears are valid feelings. you shouldn't have to be ashamed, but many people do not know about phobias beyond the common ones.

if it's something you don't understand because you've never seen it before, don't laugh at it.

they're not "being silly",

they can't "just get over it"

they need actual help, rather than unprofessional exposure therapy

they're experiencing real real fear

people with common phobias get sympathy; people with uncommon phobias get ridiculed at the worst possible moment: when they're in a state of fear.

so i repeat: don't laugh at them. 🌹🌹

#fun fact: people with sm may have specific phobias/other anxiety disorders #sm tag #phobias #mentalheathawareness #mental health stigma #sanism tw #madpunk

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heuffopla · 1 year

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Comic for @eternalglitch and their terribly yet wonderfully painful fic "Like father like son" Ahah I am in pain :)

#Honestly I had a moment like that last year where I was basically a completely different person due to my phobias and. Stuff #And it felt like I was disappointing my past self and I could feel them staring and yelling at me that I ruined them #DOING A LOT BETTER NOW!!! TEEHEE!! but yeah this is inspired by this!! And obviously the mirror scene with Leo #Although it's not exactly how this scene goes #Like father like son #Lfls #Lfls fanart #Rottmnt #Scars tw #Scar tw #Tmnt #rottmnt leo #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rottmnt #LOVE THIS FIC!! I NEED LEO TO HEAL OR ELSE I'M GONNA EXPLODE!!!!!! OK BYYEEEEE💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💙💚💙💚💙💙💚💙💙💚💙💚💙💚

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uncanny-tranny · 6 months

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What I think is so important to learning how to truly appreciate life is learning how to appreciate the creatures and things we've categorized as "disgusting" or "gross."

When I learned to appreciate wasps, I realized how much they just... don't really care about anything, and they're not trying to be an asshole because they're uniquely cruel. If they have any wants, it is to live. Why would I punish that when I also want to live?

This isn't to say you need to fall in love with the creepy crawlies that stalk this world or to love what you cannot, but to recognize that in their arrangement of atoms, they are trying to persevere, and in the end... aren't we all?

#positivity #bugs tw #this is why i think science is a love language btw #learning to love and appreciate through study is still love and appreciation #i've always been fine with bugs which might make this ring hollow to somebody with a phobia #and this isn't saying that people who are phobic of bugs are Evil or dumb (quite the opposite- humans are Good at fearing things)#what this is saying is find something you don't appreciate and learn about why you should appreciate it - for whatever reason #i learned to stop being neutral about bugs when i learned how cool they are - how they live!#i stopped being neutral about this planet when i learned how ancient it is!#i stopped being neutral about humans when i learned about how we lived and survived and loved!#i stopped being neutral about these things because i started to love them because i saw just how intricate EVERYTHING is #when you learn to see things through an appreciative lens you sometimes direct that viewpoint inward #so now instead of viewing myself as outside the universe i see myself and every little bug as PART of the universe #i stopped believing that i almost... wasn't worthy of being Part of Nature when i realized just how big everything is in the scale of it al #you should see my google searches omfg #everything is an argument and boy does this world have the ability to argue so well

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whatgaviiformes · 2 years

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Fic: Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm - Part 13 (Chapter 7)

Summary: Alternate Universe. Gordon is a farmer. And he seems to have nothing to do with International Rescue. Now on AO3! Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family.

*Warnings have been updated to include phobias and panic attacks* Please be aware for this chapter. The section with the panic attack will be marked for you to skip, but note that this story will continue to explore the aftermath.

I do think this will answer some of those pending questions you all have. :)

New to this fic? Please be aware for this story that parts are posted in sections here on tumblr before I upload the chapter to Ao3. Chapter 6 has been updated on Ao3 and will bring you to caught up. Chapter 7 is long enough on its own, and we will likely continue with this length as this story continues and concludes, now that we are in the heavier material. I should probably tell you, the links below are right. When you get to Ao3, the prologue has thrown off the chapter count.

A/N: There’s still so much love.

It’s been awhile since I acknowledged thank yous - so to @gumnut-logic for the Virgil sanity check in this one and @the-original-sineater for having to keep this whole concept quiet for so long and providing feedback.

I’ve put this one on Ao3 directly again because it’s another 3 almost 4K words at once.

Gonna go hide now, so I hope you like

*****

Chapter 7

Virgil considered himself a rather level-headed guy in most cases, but that was only because he settled himself in his projects. Honestly, anyone would seem level-headed in comparison to Scott. But working had always helped him clear his mind, and he appreciated having a similar mind to talk to during his endeavors. At home his never-ending project was Thunderbird Two with her constant upgrades because she deserved the best. Meanwhile, Brains’ pragmatic focus was a blessing for re-grounding himself when he needed it. Here, Everett wasn’t necessarily an objective bystander, but he promised Virgil he could compartmentalize his loyalty to Gordon if it meant that Virgil could get his feelings off his chest. The radio had taken most of them, the tractor the last quarter (even Scott would say he was fine to work on the heavy machinery, and it had really needed its steering upgraded), leaving Everett to provide an ear for the last 2% of his frustration while they worked on the final preparations for the party.

Regardless of the tension between them, Virgil would never risk the success of the event when it obviously mattered so much to Gordon and the rest of the people who’d offered him their friendship and hospitality. He was determined to get the stereo working for them and for his own satisfaction, so though he had a plan B, it was not an option. He had his heart set on getting the rustic antique functioning.

How far he’d come.

And so much had changed.

He had not known what to make of Scott’s suggestion that he visit Gordon of all people to heal from his injuries. At first, he’d been resistant, happily blissful in his ignorance of the comings and goings in the other man’s life. His brother’s idea was insane and laughable at best. As far as he was concerned, they had the finest of care facilities on Tracy Island and on the mainland if needed, and what could Gordon possibly do for him anyway? And what did Scott know of Gordon? Virgil hadn’t wanted the glimpse beyond the curtain.

“You’ll understand.”

“No way.”

“It’s already arranged.”

“It’s not happening.”

But it had, and he hadn’t been happy. It took an ultimatum and wrangling by all three of his siblings to just - give it a try. Before he could think about it, the next time on terra firma was stepping onto land he’d never seen, of an estate his father’s son had apparently built in the wake of the quarrel that destroyed them. If you could call it that. It was more that Gordon had ravaged the heart of something that couldn’t be fixed or replaced, then left, like a coward, and never came back. The Gordon he once knew, even the one after the hydrofoil accident, could never be so heartless.

But the estate was magnificent.