#tintin takes the tube

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

“You see, Tintin, Londoners are a particularly miserable subspecies of Englishman. Subterranean, anti-social, you could kill one with eye contact alone-”

“Captain, now is really not the time.”

It’s 1940. London is getting firebombed by Nazis. For the past few years Tintin and Chang have been out of work, having been outed as a couple by the press. They have spent some time travelling around with an ageing Captain Haddock to foil various fascist plots. Upon hearing about the bombing runs on London they go up to check on Chang’s uncle, who has an antique shop in Limehouse.

More story details under the Read More. Let me know if there’s anything you wish for me to tag, cw for mentions of racism:

Chang’s London cousins have since been evacuated to Kent. While trying to get what remains of Mr Wong’s possessions together they run into one of them, the boisterous Wendy Wong. She ran away from her countryside guardians back to London, revealing to have suffered a lot of racial abuse. Being the bravest of her siblings, she and her siblings planned for her to go back to London to find their dad. She’s distraught at her home’s destruction and feels frustrated and powerless. Her father is less than thrilled, and demands Chang take her back up to Kent. 

Tintin is really trying his best to help Mr Wong and get on his good side, knowing full well he doesn’t approve of him and Chang. While searching through rubble Haddock gets talking to some community organisers and learns about locals planning on using the local Underground stations as shelters and agrees to help. One evening he stumbles across a disused service tunnel and overhears some German spies discussing suspicious plans.

Tintin offers to escort Wendy to Kent. A worried Captain Haddock informs Tintin of what he witnessed last night. Wendy overhears and wants to help, wishing to be a hero like Tintin and Chang, and emboldened by a sense of responsibility for her home. Chang, having previously lost family members to war, is sympathetic to her and believes she should be allowed to help. Tintin is reluctant to let Mr Wong down. Haddock feels like he’s herding cats.

TL;DR: Trains! Anti fascism! A story about finding common ground to fight back against nazis.

#tintin #Adventures of Tintin #Fanart #animation #2d animation #Chang #milou #snowy #captain haddock #archibald haddock #gif #gifset #london #the blitz #london underground #trains #racism cw #nazism cw #my stories #tintin takes the tube #i was pretty ill when making this lmao #so some animation here isnt super great but i am pretty happy with the first gif #and yes i did come up with the title first

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 31 - Bedside Vigil

Thirty One: Bedside Vigil

A/N: Follows up from my day 2 prompt ‘Caged’, but can be read as a stand-alone. Set as an alternate ending to ‘Alph Art’.

If only he’d gotten there sooner.

He stared at the battered and burnt body of his best friend, currently surrounded by a labyrinth of tubes, lines and wires, each playing a vital part in the grand scheme of keeping him alive.

He’d been too scared to hold his hand for the first day, only doing so when a doctor had reassured him that he wouldn’t feel it, and it wouldn’t cause any further damage: “We’ve wrapped it in lots of gauze and bandages, so it’s not going to hurt him.”

Despite the reassurances, it had taken a few days before he worked up the courage to clutch his friend’s hand as he prayed for a miracle.

He counted each mechanical breath the ventilator pumped into Tintin’s body, and continuously begged to whatever power was listening that he would be able to do it on his own again.

They hadn’t been sure he would survive the first night. As soon as they’d arrived in the ambulance, a giant team of doctors and nurses surrounded Tintin as they whisked him into the depths of the hospital for surgery, leaving Haddock stranded in the surprisingly-empty emergency department. He’d taken up residence on an uncomfortable waiting room chair for several hours before the surgeon came to inform him of Tintin’s critical condition.

Haddock had never seen an intensive care unit before, but it was a experience he was eager to never repeat. He’d felt much smaller than what he actually was as he was led through a maze of beds, surrounded by alarming monitors and machines as tall as the ceiling.

He’d nearly fallen to his knees when he saw Tintin for the first time. 

The young man was completely dwarfed by the array of devices plugged in around his bed. Bandages and gauze seemed to cover every spare inch of burnt skin; his face was puffy and swollen to the point of being almost unrecognisable.

It took a few minutes before Haddock gained enough composure to take a seat at the young man’s side, though he spent most of that night wiping away his tears and gratefully accepting cups of tea from the nurses. If you die, lad, I will never forgive myself.

If he’d thought the first night in hospital was the longest, he severely underestimated how long the coming days would feel. He barely moved from Tintin’s side as the young man remained in an induced coma, his body desperately trying to repair itself from being submerged in polyester.

The nurses continually tried to send him home for sleep and personal hygiene, yet he’d continued to push back until they ultimately called security to throw him out. “He won’t be waking up anytime soon,” One of the nurses had said after checking Tintin’s vitals. “He’s got more sedation pumping through him than what we would be using for an elephant. Go home and look after yourself.”

Haddock had reluctantly obeyed, though he made sure to return to the hospital when he knew the next shift of nurses would be starting..

The Thompsons had visited during the first week to inform him that Rastapoplos had fallen from a cliff when police pursued him, and that he had been pronounced dead at the scene. Haddock knew he would never believe it unless he saw the slime ball with his own eyes. They’d removed their hats in respect and spoke some kind words to Tintin, though it was blindly obvious to Haddock that they were convinced he was dying. He can’t die…he won’t die. He’s Tintin!! He always survives.

His firm belief in Tintin’s longevity was tested when they informed him that despite their best efforts, an infection had begun to spread throughout the young man’s left arm. The surgeon had come by to request his consent for an amputation if it was ultimately required.

Haddock had thrown the torn-up consent form in the bin. “Put up some damn medicine and get it started! He is NOT losing an arm!"

The antibiotics had been attached to Tintin’s intravenous line within a matter of minutes, and did not stop running for a considerable number of days.

By the end of the third week, the room was beginning to look like the inside of a florist shop. The Professor had continually dropped in with fresh cuttings from his rose garden, replacing them more frequently than the Captain had thought was necessary, though he still appreciated the gesture. It does make me wonder how many roses he’s got left in that garden of his…

Nestor came by every couple of days to inform Haddock of his progress with maintaining the estate, as well as to produce yet another bunch of flowers that had been delivered to Marlinspike from almost every organisation one could think of, all of which were addressed to Tintin. Haddock’s eyes never failed to water at the sight of one of these bouquets, for they served as a perfect reminder of how much Tintin had achieved at such a young age.

“That’s something you’ve got to fight for, lad,” Haddock had said to him one night. “Think of all these people you’ve helped! They’re sending you the equivalent of a thundering botanic garden because you cared enough to help them!”

Yet despite his enthusiastic speeches and passionate begging, Tintin continued to remain motionless, completely reliant on the devices breathing for him.

Haddock’s patience began to waver as the days continued. 

Three weeks turned into four weeks. 

Four weeks turned into five weeks. 

The medical staff continued to ensure him that these sorts of injuries did take time to recover from. “Second and third degree burns are nothing to sneeze at,” The surgeon said on his morning rounds. “Remember, it’s a miracle he survived the surgery at all. There was a lot of cleaning up we had to do. Plus, he’s already had one infection; God only knows if he’ll get another.”

They slowly weaned back his sedation, yet Tintin continued to remain stubbornly unconscious.

Day thirty-two swiftly turned into day thirty-three, and Haddock was exhausted. 

Although he was never the most diligent in maintaining his appearance, he finally acknowledged how dissolved he was looking. His beard had grown incredibly scruffy, and it itched relentlessly throughout the day. He’d begun to start shoving his hair underneath his hat, otherwise it completely obscured his vision. Heavy, dark bags had settled under his eyes, and his skin was incredibly pale. I could pass for a lighthouse at this point…

He gazed at the clock, sighing as it only read ten thirty. The doctors had already finished their morning rounds, reiterating to him that it would probably be a while longer before Tintin would regain consciousness. 

And as usual, Haddock had retorted and said they underestimated this particular patient. He just hoped he would be proven correct.

The Captain hung his head as he reached for Tintin’s hand, his fingers curling around the bandages. It had been a strange sensation at first, as though he was trying to clutch a hand through a baseball glove, but now he’d become used to it.

He felt the fingers clutched in his hand twitch, and nearly jumped out of his chair in shock. “Thundering typhoons!!”

Haddock’s eyes darted to Tintin’s face. A smile quickly grew as he saw the young man’s eyelids beginning to flicker. It took a few attempts before he was able to force them open, but he blearily gazed around the room before settling on Haddock, a distinct look of recognition visible in his weary eyes. …Captaine?

“Tintin!!” Haddock’s voice broke as he wiped away tears of joy. “Oh, heaven be praised!…You’re alive! NURSE! NURSE!! HE’S AWAKE!! HE’S ALIVE!!”

Although he had enough awareness to give the Captain’s hand a reassuring, albeit weak squeeze, Haddock could tell that Tintin was still very much away with the fairies, for he didn’t try to fight the ventilator or pull out any of his lines. Every other time he’s woken up in situations like this he’s usually falling out of the bed by now…

But to him, it didn’t matter. 

He was alive, and he would recover, even if it took a while.

A/N: And that concludes my first Whumptober! Thank you to everyone who has been following this throughout the month - really means a lot to me to see people enjoying my work :)

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober #whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022

[callonpeevesie]

No one asked but here's the Bengali version of dni

Dni if you didn't read sahaj path and barna parichoy as a kid, pronouce Satyajit Ray as sut-ya-jeet ray, don't think Soumitra Chatterjee was the best Feluda, don't own translated copies of Tintin, don't quote ha ja ba ra la, have never done and hated K C Nag's maths exercises, don't take Tenida very seriously, are not weirdly attracted to college street, didn't mourn fuchka in lockdown, don't say "lyad lagchhe" way too often, like Arindam sil's Byomkesh movies, don't call the radio program mahalaya even though you know it's actually called mahishasurmardini, aren't permanently scarred by potolkumar ganwala, can sit through Amazon obhijan, throw away boroline tubes or shampoo bottles without using every last bit, never solved ray o Martin or chhaya prakashani question banks,

#this is (mostly) a joke #but please don't say sut ya jeet ray wtf is that #bengali #dni meme #dni #original content #please appreciate this #bangla tag #bengalis tell me how many apply to you #that oughta be fun #for the record #this is mostly kolkata oriented #peevesie speaks #meme #shitpost

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

BLOG DIRECTORY AND ABOUT - Check Read More! 

this is a fanart blog! I’m not affiliated with Moulinsart or anything official, and I don’t make any money from this blog. It’s entirely for laughs, even when the posts aren’t funny. I try and keep the content on this blog safe for work, there will be swearing and mild injuries every now and then. Let me know if you want anything tagged.

pronouns are he/they. I’m British Chinese, and I’m an animator. I will always leave asks on for this blog, but I might not be able to reply to all of them! I will try my best to respond to as many as I can.

I know a lot of right wing weirdos use Tintin imagery to push their shitty politics so if you’re one of those people kindly fuck off! I’ve also seen people repost my art to other platforms, if you want to share my stuff outside Tumblr please ask first, wait for explicit permission and link back to my blog.

I also never post anything shipping Haddock and Tintin together romantically. I have the tag blacklisted too, I don’t mind interacting with people who ship this but I’m just not interested in interacting with the pairing as I find it super uncomfortable.

Instagram (@professorcalculusstanacc)

Animation

Comics

My Stories

French Translation of My Comics by ironiebd

Post-Canon Characters - Where Are They Now?

- Archibald Haddock

- Chang

- Tintin

- Martine Vandezande

- Zorrino

The ProfessorCalculusStanAccount Post-Canon Timeline (in chronological order):

- St Benezet’s Basement

Tintin and Chang go undercover in a Catholic boy’s college to investigate a series of student disappearances.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Golden Palm

Tintin goes undercover at a film festival disguised as Hollywood starlet Marlene Katz to fight off the mob.

(X) (X) 

- Call of the Songbird

On a backstage tour of the Museum of Art and History, Tintin steals an ancient Chinese whistle to return it to its place of origin after Chang laments how European museums are full of stolen artefacts.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Beast of Loch Broom

After falling out with Tintin, Captain Haddock decides to take Chang under his wing to go monster hunting at a loch he used to visit on childhood holidays.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- The Gypsum Maw

Tintin is sent by his editor to interview a caver who is stuck in an unregulated cave.

(X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X) (X)

- White Boy Goes Dancing

tintin finally goes to the club with chang

(X) (X) (X)

- The House of Glass

Calculus is the judge of an international flower show where the plant used to make Rajaijah madness juice is on display.

(X)

- Tintin Takes the Tube

During the London Blitz, Tintin, Chang and Haddock go to check on Chang’s uncle in Limehouse. Haddock uncovers a Nazi plot in some London Underground service tunnels.

(X)

- Unnamed Area 51 story

Chang and Tintin have a midlife crisis and decide to break into Area 51 after a bunch of alien sightings flood the tabloids, and get into trouble with the US government.

(X)

- The Goddamn Moustache Saga

Haddock really fucking hates Tintin’s new look. Bullying ensues

(X) (X)

#Fanart #animation #2d animation #gif #gifset #professor calculus #cuthbert calculus #captain haddock #archibald haddock #tintin #Adventures of Tintin #pinned post

[dragonsarecool]

Whumptober Day 24 - Blood-Covered Hands

Twenty Four: Blood-Covered Hands

A/N: Set during ‘Destination Moon’.

If there was one career path he knew he was never destined to walk down, it was the one that lead to becoming a nurse.

Not only would it involve an impractical uniform - despite his multiple hospital admissions, he could never work out the logic behind making nurses wear white uniforms when they were likely to come into contact with some sort of bodily fluid that would leave a stain - but it involved dealing with all sorts of illnesses and diseases that he had no desire in learning about from firsthand exposure.

Despite his misgivings about the profession, Tintin had always held the highest respect for nurses, sometimes even more than the doctors who told him for the hundredth time how lucky he was to be alive. After all, the doctors were never the ones who helped him from his bed for the first time in days to stumble to the toilet. They never cleaned up his vomit or gave him the bliss-inducing morphine when the pain became too much.

He was therefore quite displeased, however, when the nurse simply gave him the materials to change his dressing instead of doing it herself. “If we kept you in here to change them,” she had said, “you’d be here for another six months. You’ll have to start doing them on your own.”

Tintin had grumbled internally, but maintained a polite façade as he was discharged. It was strange to be sleeping somewhere on the base that wasn’t a hospital bed for the first time in weeks, and he found himself missing the constant bustle of the hospital ward. He hadn’t realised how used to the noise he’d become.

Lying on his pillow in complete silence quickly became irritating. He’d given up on sleep at around one thirty, throwing himself out of the bed in annoyance. The cold temperature of the room assaulted his body as soon as he’d removed the covers, and he couldn’t help but shiver. And these damn painkillers are supposed to make me sleepy, too! Very inconvenient. 

His eyes squinted as he turned the lamp on, blinking furiously as they adjusted to the dim light. With one hand leaning on the bedside table, he rubbed his face as he sighed wearily. A strange discolouration out of the corner of his eye quickly caught his attention, and he groaned as he noticed the dried blood patch that now decorated his pillowcase. “Putain d’enfer!! This will take ages to come out…”

Tearing the pillowcase away, he clutched it furiously as he marched into the bathroom, instantly turning the tap on full blast. He scrubbed at the blood vigorously, grabbing the bar of soap and rubbing some into the stain, though it did little to make it budge from the fabric. The housekeeping staff are going to have my arrière for this.

Turning the tap off, he draped the pillowcase over the edge of the bath, deciding he would leave it up to fate as to whether it the blood would disappear. He dried his hands with a clean towel before deciding he needed to investigate the source of the blood. 

Although the surgeons had done a fantastic job in stitching the bullet graze, he would still be left without hair in that area for some time. He unravelled the large bandage that stretched around his head, taking some comfort in the fact that part the shaved area was starting to grow back, though the section underneath the dressing would remain hairless for the time being.

Fiddling with the edges, he hissed in pain as he tore the dressing away from his scalp, cringing at the site of his shaven head and deformed skin. The stitches had been removed a few days before his discharge, though the nurses had warned the wound would still be oozing for a while. It seems they were proven correct.

He opened the cabinets underneath the skin and retrieved a gauze packet and small container of saline. His fingers struggled with the packaging as he opened the gauze, depositing it on the counter and splashing it with the saline. He swore as he accidentally squeezed the saline tube with too much force, sending most of it flying into the sink. I really shouldn’t be doing this…Why can’t the nurses do it?!

A quick inspection of his supplies revealed he had just opened his last saline packet. I’ll have to visit the ward tomorrow and collect some more. I’m sure they gave me more than that! Grasping the gauze with two fingers, he gingerly pressed it to the wound, gasping through the pain as he cleaned the area. This is so ridiculous. I wasn’t even actually shot, for God’s sake!! Why did that bullet have to get so damn close!!

Releasing a grunt of anger, he threw the gauze aside and smacked his hand on the counter, ignoring the pain that shot through his palm as it collided with the cool surface. I didn’t mean to get shot at!! I was just trying to protect the Professor.

Tintin took a few minutes to calm himself before grabbing the bar of soap, scrubbing his hands aggressively as his mind began to wander. His memory of that night was still hazy, and the doctors weren’t sure if he would ever remember it in full - it was a serious concussion, after all - but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to think it over. I know that I stopped them from getting most of the information about the rocket. The question is, how much do they know? I’ll never forgive myself if the Professor’s lifework is stolen by the Bordurians, just because I couldn’t stop that man-

His attention was suddenly drawn away from his thoughts, as he realised the tap water had grown unbearably hot. Cursing quietly, he shut the tap off and instantly ran his hands under cold water in the bath, frustrated at the fact that he hadn’t gotten all of the blood. This stuff definitely sticks to you.

When he felt his hands were appropriately soothed, he turned the bath water off, cringing at the pain in his back from having leant over for a period of time. He sat on the edge of the bath, his eyes focused on the blood that remained under his fingernails. It seemed as though it had buried itself into the nail beds themselves, for it didn’t budge when he tried to pick it away.

Maybe I need to start investing in surgical-grade handwash…

Though I think I should put on a new dressing first.

A/N: Putain d’enfer = bloody hell

Arrière = backside

#tintin #the adventures of tintin #adventures of tintin #fanfic #fanfiction #whumptober2022 #whumptober #whumptober 2022