hebuiltfive

[hebuiltfive]

@ Everyone here ever

[hebuiltfive]

My friend from Belgium is visiting me again today which is exciting but also a bit anxiety inducing.

I've not been having a great couple of weeks but I'm hoping it's more of a me-being-anti-social-recently thing rather than actual anxiety. She's here for 10 hours, leaving at 8 tonight (which I am kind of stressed about because that is a looooong day for me) but I'm determined to have some fun!

We're going to ignore the anti-social creature in me that would rather spend my day writing and editing instead—I can work on Pandora's Box again tomorrow at some point—it's important to be social and to try and have fun... Or so I'm trying to remind myself.

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Ohhhh! Ohhhh, I love this! This is so wholesome! I know John is being comedic to try and distract Scott, and keep him at ease, but I can definitely see him throwing croutons!! 😂

Also - yes to the idea of Scott and his PTSD flaring up at even the mention of something Bereznik related. I love the idea of him being fine 99% of the time, being able to push past and manage his trauma, but that 1% can be nasty and it can catch you off-guard. Especially if he hasn't been sleeping (Scotty, what are you like? 😂)

A lovely discussion with @janetm74 based on this prompt brought forth a little amusing (hopefully) Scott and John thing. Scott's brothers love him a lot and look after him discretely.

TELLS

"You don't wanna be here!"

"Au contraire, mon frère! There's nowhere I'd rather be right now."

"Really? Not even up on Five?"

"Okay, fair enough, let's say today's outing ranks second on the list of places I'd rather be, but it doesn't mean I can't enjoy it."

"You HATE social anything! Especially big flashy benefits!"

"A Nobel Prize winner is gonna give a speech in support of a food shelter charity. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

"It's a Nobel Prize laureate in literature, and I remember you having OPINIONS about his writing. Colorful opinions. In Marseille sailor French."

"I had to set the record straight after you tried to rationalize the poetic merit of that shlock through a meta-modernistic critique."

"Sure you did!"

"I'm a scholar, brother! I need more firsthand data that he's a pompous idiot to adjust my initial assessment. I don't think I would, though."

"John! Seriously! I know what you're doing. You don't have to."

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"You think I might snap at the gala. So you decided to chaperone your big brother."

"It wasn't much of a choice with Virgil down with his ankle and Gords on call with Kayo. I think we can both agree we need not have Allie in on this. You've been up for almost 36 hours in a row through that rescue. And the week before the Board nearly got you to blow an aneurysm."

"It's fine, Johnny! It's what I do."

"Not when there's gonna be noise, sparkle, and flashing lights. And talk of the recent Katania* Treatise..."

"John... I'm OK! I can handle it!"

"Of course you can! And I'm here to throw croutons at that phony author and to make sure you got a friendly face IN CASE things get a bit much."

"I got Kayo's team on my detail."

"Pfffft! Kayo's team are trained to look out for external threats. Besides, they don't know you well enough or love you enough to look for trauma tells. And you, dear brother, are notorious to have smiled, sipped skotch, and small talked your way through an ongoing PANIC ATTACK."

"John! .... Thanks!"

"Always, brother, always! And for the record, I'm never NOT enjoying spending time with you. Social anything or not."

"Even when I wax about meta-modernistic critique?"

"Tu es mon idiot préféré, mon frère!"

*boink*

"Hey! Not fair! No throwing croutons! You're a better aim!"

----

*Katania - Bereznik capital.

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Headcanon:

Virgil got really into The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross after their mother passed away and that’s why he paints so much. It was how he coped with the loss and part of why he’s such a sweetie

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“It’s ok Virg, honestly. It’s not… not even that bad…” John manages numbly around his split lip; only his eyes are blank and dead and John’s got a bruise splashed out like split ink, raw and split and already darkening purple across one of his cheeks. It deepens at the ridge of his eye socket where he’d been punched and where the bully’s thick ring had sliced a bloody gash into his skin. The aspiring astronaut is pale; swamped under the billowing tent of Virgil’s checked shirt that his little brother had draped over John’s skinny shoulders upon finding John’s smart Harvard polo was ruined. The younger boy’s shirt hangs down to John’s hips, about four sizes too big and it has blood that’s not either of theirs splattered across the collar. Virgil had gotten angry when he went to pick John up after the Harvard Science Conference he’d been attending and had found his brother grey and shaking with blood pouring from his nose and his books, as ruined as his clothes, spread around him. They’d shredded paper and skin alike and Virgil is not one who takes such a scene lightly.

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Who is shooting? Why are they shooting? Where is Scott? Who is the mystery person? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!

I am seated 🍿

*throws WIP snippet at you and runs*

Virgil scrambled frantically down the slope, stumbling under his own and Alan's weight. Behind them, the voices yelled in rage, shrubbery stomped down and destroyed. His mind raced with one frantic plea; please don't trip up, don't trip up…

If they tripped, they were dead.

"Lights…trees… car!" John's voice cracked as the redhead hurtled over roots, one skinny hand clutched tight around Gordon wrist, and Virgil stomach churned as the crack of something else reached his ears.

Oh crap, oh crap. They have a gun.

This was it. It had to be. They were going to die. They were all going to get shot and die and no one would ever find them and Dad would be all alone. No one would find them. Was this what happened to Scott? Did he feel like this? No, no Scott was alive, but they'd never find him because they were going to-

Light burst into his vision, and Virgil faltered, eyes straining. He could hear an engine, and… a voice? A familiar voice.

"GET IN, KIDS! NOW!"

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We're going to ignore the fact that I just liked this on the wrong account and push away that deep-rooted and unnecessary embarrassment I feel because of that 🙃

OHMYGOD?! EXCUSE ME?! I HAVE EMOTIONAL DAMAGE! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO POOR SCOTTY?!

This is wonderful! Such a small snippet yet there's so much tension. It's dripping with that sweet, delicious angst! And Virgil just dives straight into the very dangerous danger zone to get to his brother as he's dying... Again: EXCUSE ME?!

👏👏👏

WIP Wednesday

I found this unfinished continuation of a CSaTM x TAG fic I wrote a long time ago.

I never finished it so I thought it might as well be worth posting for WIP Wednesday ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is just the opening of the oneshot, I wrote the rest of it in present tense but maybe I’ll show that off on another Wednesday.

[hebuiltfive]

Thank yooooou 🥹 Jeff hasn’t been entirely honest about certain situations and it may come back to bite his behind 🤭

WIP Wednesday Monday!!

Ploughing ahead hehe farm pun not intended with Pandora's Box, woop! I had planned on putting out a chapter a week because consistency feels nice but, as always, it's taking me longer to write everything than I'd like, so I'm not sure when I'll end up posting Chapter 2... Maybe this week, maybe next. I'm going to see how it goes.

For now, though, here's a little snippet from the an almost completed Ch 5! 😏

Jeff arched a brow at Scott. Then he frowned when he noticed the picture his son was holding. “Where did you find that?”

Scott’s heart dropped. No question of what the photo was, no question surrounding why there was a man who looked like him on it, only a question of where Scott had dug up the evidence.

“Does it matter?” He felt betrayed. There wasn’t another word for it. The house had been a no secrets house throughout his whole youth, yet the man who had enforced that rule had been lying to all of them. Scott couldn’t help but glower at his father. “It’s true, then? This is you and Gaat.”

Looking mortified, as though he’d seen a ghost, Jeff quickly ushered Scott into his bedroom. He closed the door behind them, hands finding his hips, his head bowed low. He didn’t turn to face Scott, who stood at the foot of his father’s bed. Scott’s eyes trailed over to his mother’s side. Her bedside cabinet was exactly the way it looked the last time he’d seen it—would that have been three or four years ago now? He couldn’t remember—with the family portrait (sans Alan who was in a heavily pregnant Lucille’s belly at the time) displayed in a dark oak frame. The table lamp was still the same, as were the reading glasses and the book she’d been reading. Even after all those years the bookmark was still in the same place.

A lump formed in Scott’s throat. Jeff still hadn’t turned to face him. He cast his vision back to the photo. “Who was the other man in this photo?” He asked, voice barely loud enough to be considered anything but a whisper. “I don’t recognise him. Should I?”

Without turning to face his son, almost as though he couldn’t, Jeff stretched a hand backwards—a silent request to see the image. Scott obliged, handing it over without issue.

After a moment, Jeff inhaled deeply. “Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker. No, I don’t think you should have recognised him. Our contact has been… limited. And on purpose, too.”

“Who was he? To you, I mean. To whatever messed up scheme you were involved in.”

[hebuiltfive]

Hey, it’s Belemir 💚

I just wanted to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone who reblogged, commented, or liked my intro post. I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome — you guys made my day (and week, honestly).

I feel like I’ve finally found my people. 🥹💚As someone who loves drawing, writing, and quietly obsessing over a certain green Thunderbird pilot 😌🚁, finding this corner of the internet feels like home.

I couldn’t reply to each RB (Tumblr was being dramatic 💅), but please know I’ve seen and appreciated every single one. You all rock! 💥Let’s keep this fandom alive, weird, and full of feels.🛠️💚

Much love from Türkiye 🇹🇷 🤍

Artwork by me :⁠-⁠)

[hebuiltfive]

I love it! 😈

Scotty learning the hard way why you shouldn't make promises you don't know you can keep. Though, in fairness, he probably did think he could keep that one at nine years old. Poor, poor flyboy 😭

I do have an idea... and if I'm right, and you're jumping forward to a specific event, then you are wonderously evil (and if not, you're still wonderously evil simply because of the hell you've put little Scotty through here 😏)

WIP Wednesday

Finally made a proper start on something @tracyislandinmymind and I have been plotting…

🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅

Nine-year old Scott looked down at the tiny figure, barely recognisable as human behind the eye mask and the big tube in his mouth and all the other smaller tubes and wires… not to mention the eerie blue glow from the edges of the blanket that enshrouded him… and suddenly the constant beeping and clicky-hissing was so loud he couldn’t remember any other sounds. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. Fear flooded through his veins, cold and sharp and sickening: It was worse than he’d thought. How could his new brother be so small and so sick and still be a Tracy? What if he didn’t get better? What if Scott could never hold him? What if he couldn’t come home? What if… what if…

This wouldn’t do! He’d promised he’d be brave! He’d promised he was grown up enough to come and to see… but… couldn’t help the tiny huff of a whimper as he tried to catch his breath and all the frantic blinking was doing nothing to stop the wet in his eyes escaping over the edges and on to his cheeks where it tickled and made him sniff. No! He was the biggest and he was supposed to be the strongest! He couldn’t let baby Gordon see him cry!

He raised an arm to scrub crossly at his face and then startled as he felt warmth surround his left hand. Mom. Scott cleared his throat and tried to seem brave as he looked down at her, unused to her being lower than he was as she sat in the hover chair. Her eyes met his and they were wet too but shining with love as they always did. She squeezed his hand and gave him a smile as the weight and warmth of Dad’s landed on his other shoulder.

“It’s ok to be scared honey.” He could barely hear her voice over the cacophony of beeping and clicking but he strained to catch her words. “It’s scary. It’s ok to be sad because… it’s sad. But it won’t be sad forever because he’s getting looked after and he’ll get better - I promise.”

Scott nodded and wiped his eyes again before straightening his spine and turning back to properly welcome his new brother to the family.

“Hello… Gordon Cooper Tracy.” His voice sounded low and formal, unlike his own. He reached out a finger to stroke a small spot of exposed skin on the tiny baby’s cheek, his chest relaxing a little as he did so. Clearing the lump out of his throat he tried again: “Hello Gordon, ‘m Scott ‘n I’m your biggest brother ‘n I love you and I’m so happy y’here.” Dad squeezed his shoulder and he continued “You’re a Tracy Gordon so you gotta grow up big ‘n strong, ok? You gotta fight hard ‘n get better cos I wanna introduce you to Virgie and Johnny and they are gonna love you too.”

He moved his hand to stroke the little patch of blonde fuzz peeking out of the front of the little hat. “I’m gonna look after you always and I’ll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you. I’m gonna keep you safe li’l Gordy, I promise.”

🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅

[hebuiltfive]

Gordon is being whumped from birth?! Makes sense! 😂

Poor little Scott. This is so beautiful! And that last line? Ohhhh the foreshadowing. Excuse me while I go sit in the corner and weep for a second 😭

WIP Wednesday

Finally made a proper start on something @tracyislandinmymind and I have been plotting…

🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅

Nine-year old Scott looked down at the tiny figure, barely recognisable as human behind the eye mask and the big tube in his mouth and all the other smaller tubes and wires… not to mention the eerie blue glow from the edges of the blanket that enshrouded him… and suddenly the constant beeping and clicky-hissing was so loud he couldn’t remember any other sounds. He couldn’t remember how to breathe. Fear flooded through his veins, cold and sharp and sickening: It was worse than he’d thought. How could his new brother be so small and so sick and still be a Tracy? What if he didn’t get better? What if Scott could never hold him? What if he couldn’t come home? What if… what if…

This wouldn’t do! He’d promised he’d be brave! He’d promised he was grown up enough to come and to see… but… couldn’t help the tiny huff of a whimper as he tried to catch his breath and all the frantic blinking was doing nothing to stop the wet in his eyes escaping over the edges and on to his cheeks where it tickled and made him sniff. No! He was the biggest and he was supposed to be the strongest! He couldn’t let baby Gordon see him cry!

He raised an arm to scrub crossly at his face and then startled as he felt warmth surround his left hand. Mom. Scott cleared his throat and tried to seem brave as he looked down at her, unused to her being lower than he was as she sat in the hover chair. Her eyes met his and they were wet too but shining with love as they always did. She squeezed his hand and gave him a smile as the weight and warmth of Dad’s landed on his other shoulder.

“It’s ok to be scared honey.” He could barely hear her voice over the cacophony of beeping and clicking but he strained to catch her words. “It’s scary. It’s ok to be sad because… it’s sad. But it won’t be sad forever because he’s getting looked after and he’ll get better - I promise.”

Scott nodded and wiped his eyes again before straightening his spine and turning back to properly welcome his new brother to the family.

“Hello… Gordon Cooper Tracy.” His voice sounded low and formal, unlike his own. He reached out a finger to stroke a small spot of exposed skin on the tiny baby’s cheek, his chest relaxing a little as he did so. Clearing the lump out of his throat he tried again: “Hello Gordon, ‘m Scott ‘n I’m your biggest brother ‘n I love you and I’m so happy y’here.” Dad squeezed his shoulder and he continued “You’re a Tracy Gordon so you gotta grow up big ‘n strong, ok? You gotta fight hard ‘n get better cos I wanna introduce you to Virgie and Johnny and they are gonna love you too.”

He moved his hand to stroke the little patch of blonde fuzz peeking out of the front of the little hat. “I’m gonna look after you always and I’ll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you. I’m gonna keep you safe li’l Gordy, I promise.”

🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅🐠 🦅

[hebuiltfive]

Always the writer, never the reader.

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I wrote it thinking is Jeff coming off as the bad guy too much here? because this is Jeff we're talking about and he isn't actually evil (at least not in this AU!) but then I realised that it just adds to the angst so we're rolling with it 😏

WIP Wednesday Monday!!

Ploughing ahead hehe farm pun not intended with Pandora's Box, woop! I had planned on putting out a chapter a week because consistency feels nice but, as always, it's taking me longer to write everything than I'd like, so I'm not sure when I'll end up posting Chapter 2... Maybe this week, maybe next. I'm going to see how it goes.

For now, though, here's a little snippet from the an almost completed Ch 5! 😏

Jeff arched a brow at Scott. Then he frowned when he noticed the picture his son was holding. “Where did you find that?”

Scott’s heart dropped. No question of what the photo was, no question surrounding why there was a man who looked like him on it, only a question of where Scott had dug up the evidence.

“Does it matter?” He felt betrayed. There wasn’t another word for it. The house had been a no secrets house throughout his whole youth, yet the man who had enforced that rule had been lying to all of them. Scott couldn’t help but glower at his father. “It’s true, then? This is you and Gaat.”

Looking mortified, as though he’d seen a ghost, Jeff quickly ushered Scott into his bedroom. He closed the door behind them, hands finding his hips, his head bowed low. He didn’t turn to face Scott, who stood at the foot of his father’s bed. Scott’s eyes trailed over to his mother’s side. Her bedside cabinet was exactly the way it looked the last time he’d seen it—would that have been three or four years ago now? He couldn’t remember—with the family portrait (sans Alan who was in a heavily pregnant Lucille’s belly at the time) displayed in a dark oak frame. The table lamp was still the same, as were the reading glasses and the book she’d been reading. Even after all those years the bookmark was still in the same place.

A lump formed in Scott’s throat. Jeff still hadn’t turned to face him. He cast his vision back to the photo. “Who was the other man in this photo?” He asked, voice barely loud enough to be considered anything but a whisper. “I don’t recognise him. Should I?”

Without turning to face his son, almost as though he couldn’t, Jeff stretched a hand backwards—a silent request to see the image. Scott obliged, handing it over without issue.

After a moment, Jeff inhaled deeply. “Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker. No, I don’t think you should have recognised him. Our contact has been… limited. And on purpose, too.”

“Who was he? To you, I mean. To whatever messed up scheme you were involved in.”

[hebuiltfive]

WIP Wednesday Monday!!

Ploughing ahead hehe farm pun not intended with Pandora's Box, woop! I had planned on putting out a chapter a week because consistency feels nice but, as always, it's taking me longer to write everything than I'd like, so I'm not sure when I'll end up posting Chapter 2... Maybe this week, maybe next. I'm going to see how it goes.

For now, though, here's a little snippet from the an almost completed Ch 5! 😏

Jeff arched a brow at Scott. Then he frowned when he noticed the picture his son was holding. “Where did you find that?”

Scott’s heart dropped. No question of what the photo was, no question surrounding why there was a man who looked like him on it, only a question of where Scott had dug up the evidence.

“Does it matter?” He felt betrayed. There wasn’t another word for it. The house had been a no secrets house throughout his whole youth, yet the man who had enforced that rule had been lying to all of them. Scott couldn’t help but glower at his father. “It’s true, then? This is you and Gaat.”

Looking mortified, as though he’d seen a ghost, Jeff quickly ushered Scott into his bedroom. He closed the door behind them, hands finding his hips, his head bowed low. He didn’t turn to face Scott, who stood at the foot of his father’s bed. Scott’s eyes trailed over to his mother’s side. Her bedside cabinet was exactly the way it looked the last time he’d seen it—would that have been three or four years ago now? He couldn’t remember—with the family portrait (sans Alan who was in a heavily pregnant Lucille’s belly at the time) displayed in a dark oak frame. The table lamp was still the same, as were the reading glasses and the book she’d been reading. Even after all those years the bookmark was still in the same place.

A lump formed in Scott’s throat. Jeff still hadn’t turned to face him. He cast his vision back to the photo. “Who was the other man in this photo?” He asked, voice barely loud enough to be considered anything but a whisper. “I don’t recognise him. Should I?”

Without turning to face his son, almost as though he couldn’t, Jeff stretched a hand backwards—a silent request to see the image. Scott obliged, handing it over without issue.

After a moment, Jeff inhaled deeply. “Doctor Hiram Hackenbacker. No, I don’t think you should have recognised him. Our contact has been… limited. And on purpose, too.”

“Who was he? To you, I mean. To whatever messed up scheme you were involved in.”

[hebuiltfive]

Lots of Lucille talk in the thundersocials and my hand slipped

(+ an older version because our girl shoulda LIVED)

[hebuiltfive]

Muse struck me to do some more for this story. Let’s see if I can muster enough up to actually update it (one year and a half isn’t too long a wait, is it?)

Debating creating a series for this Bereznik headcannoned-universe so I can post little snippets like, possibly, scenes of Scott’s capture and his recovery as a backstory to everything else happening in the actual, main story. There were at least three scenes I’ve written that don’t fit into the timeline of what I’m trying to write here but they’re fun (in the angst sort of way) and I like them so I want to post them somehow? Idk, we’ll see.

For now, wish me luck. I’m diving back into this behemoth of a story! 🫡

What Should Have Stayed Buried - Chapter Five: Uninvited Guests

(Chapter Four here)

Thanks to @idontknowreallywhy for talking me through a couple of bits for this one! 💙 This is another long-ish one, so grab a hot drink and snacks!

----------------------------------------------------

The Vikna archipelago wasn’t always drowning in snow. Although temperatures rarely rose above the minus numbers, the storm that was currently raging across the islands wasn’t a normal sight to behold in the region as one might have believed.

Scott had seen winter storms during past visits to Fred, but none were ever as violent as this one was currently proving to be. He knew of the general advice that was offered during the more perilous weather seasons like the back of his hand, usually relaying it during rescues when International Rescue were battling similar elements. The advice was always the same: wear high-grade winter clothing if venturing outside into the storm; only go out if absolutely necessary and avoid being out in the storm for too long; make sure you’re aware of your surroundings and don’t get lost, take a map or compass with you if needed; always let someone know where you’re going and how long you expect to be so they can look out for you.

It was all well and good knowing of the advice but only if action was going to be taken. As it was, Scott paid no heed to any of those warnings as he hastily left the safety of the cabin and rushed to catch up with the intruder.

Continue reading on AO3 here.