#For the first time I actually avoided looking at other gordons to design him. Just listened to his voicelines and I like where his design | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silenceofthecookies · 3 years

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Author san!!! Can I use my free pass for the Black bull team pleasee!! I am sure one piece requests will flood away but I wanna read about the black bulls team so much. Fluff/Romance HCs. It can be anything like first meetings or kiss idk what ever you wish and feel like writing. Its your choice. The black bulls, I love them so much especially Zora... I absolutely fell in love with his charecter design, his outfit and his personality. Sadly he is not that popular. Please do justice for him. Thankyou!!!

Hi Abhi! I’m so glad to see you requesting something for the Black Bulls, they are such an amazing squad! For this one I decided to go with first kisses, since I recently wrote more kissing headcanons and I think they’re surprisingly fun to write UwU Zora is up first, and since you mentioned him not being popular, I decided to put more of the less-popular Bulls in here! I hope you enjoy ❤

Zora Ideale

Behind his though exterior, Zora is actually a little bit of a romantic. He doesn't quickly grow attached to someone, let alone fall in love, but it happened. Zora believes you deserve someone better than him, but you picked him so he'll just have to be the best version of himself for you.

He'll make sure the setting is right for the first kiss. Some place away from people, some please you can relax. Probably one of your favourite places. A first kiss should be memorable, right?

He'll place his hand on your cheek and lean In slowly, giving you enough time to turn away in case you'd be uncomfortable. He half expects you to punch him in the face or something.

The kiss is soft, your lips just barely touching. Zora is a little worried he'd hurt you or make you uncomfortable, and his pointy teeth may or may not be part of that worry. He's not changing them though, he likes them this way.

When he takes his hand off your cheek after the kiss there's a stinkbug on there. Zora wouldn't be himself if he was a perfect gentleman, right?

Charmy Pappitson

Your first kiss with Charmy will be kind of spontaneous, a kiss that will surprise both you and Charmy. It will, however, also be a sweet one, in more ways than one.

You and Charmy will just be relaxing, eating something sweet Charmy has made. Cupcakes, donuts, anything. As you're both enjoying it and gushing over the taste, Charmy notices a bit of frosting/filling/whatever stuck just above your lips. She'll point it out, but instead of describing exactly where it is so you can remove it yourself, she'll grab her chance, quickly lean in and clean it up herself.

The kiss lasts about a second, it's over before you even realise what just happened.

Charmy herself is a little surprised at her sudden bravado and looks away with a blush on her face, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. She liked it alright, but what if you didn't like it?

She'll be so taken off guard by her own action, that you have the perfect opportunity to lean in and place a kiss on her lips, this time a proper one. Once your lips part, she will be laughing awkwardly, probably avoiding your eyes by looking at the sweets.

Asta

“Y/n! Can I kiss you?!”

It's Asta's typical stressed/flustered way of shouting and even though he asked you away from other people, you're pretty sure anyone within the vicinity has heard him yelling.

Once Asta falls in love, he wastes no time getting his feelings across. He has no problem proclaiming them to you, be in privacy or in front of others. Once he knows you return his feelings, he will be so ecstatic that he forgets everything else. Including that he wants to kiss you.

So somewhere between 30 minutes and 3 hours after he confessed, he will be asking you if he can kiss you. When you say yes, he'll step closer to close the distance between the two of you, put his hands, which you can feel are a little sweaty because of the nerves, on your cheeks and slowly closes the distance.

The kiss itself is very careful, Asta has no idea what he's doing and he doesn't want to do anything wrong either. First kisses are special, right? He keeps his lips pressed to yours for a few seconds before pulling away with a big grin.

Grey, Henry, Luck, Noelle, Gauche, Gordon and Secre after the cut!

Grey

Grey is just not doing it. She's way too embarrassed, and there's just no way she can get herself to ask you to kiss you. She'll consider catching you by surprise and just doing it, but what if you don't want a kiss? Or what if she does it wrong?

She's an absolute mess. She'll ask Gauche and Noelle for help, but their advice is simply ‘just ask it’ or ‘just do it’. It's no help to her, which only makes her believe even more that she's a lost cause.

She will make several attempts to ask you, but she just never can get any further than the word ‘can'. The stuttering already starts when she calls out your name to get your attention, and after a few attempts to ask ‘can I kiss you?’ the embarrassment becomes too much and she transforms herself into the big guy. She's not finishing that sentence and no matter how much you ask her about it afterwards, she won't complete it.

Ideally, she'll wait for you to kiss her first. It'll still be super embarrassing, but at least she won't be the one who has to make the moves.

Henry Legolant

Henry is a little hesitant about kissing you, he knows what effect he has on the people who come too close to him, but he really wants to! So he'll think about it for a good while before hatching a little plan.

On a moment when nobody is around, he'll call out your name, step closer to you slowly so you can step away if you become uncomfortable, slowly leans in when he's close enough and kisses you. He has his arms around you to support you, in case he's draining too much mana from you.

The kiss is soft and slow, and he stays close to you for a few seconds, not wanting to part from you too quickly. He tightens his hold on you a little, enjoying the rare feeling of being close, certainly this close, to someone.

He'll then hand you a little plate of food he had asked Charmy to prepare for him beforehand and step back to give you some space. It's Charmy's special food to restore mana. Of course Charmy was in on his plan, he had to tell her to get her to make something for him, and unknown to you she's sneakily watching through the keyhole of the door to see if their plan worked.

Luck Voltia

Luck didn't plan on kissing you today. Luck doesn't plan on anything. He always goes with the slow and his only goal is for the two of you to have fun. Aside from that, it really doesn't matter what happens. Though if fighting or pranks are involved, that's a plus! And that's exactly what put him in a good enough mood to kiss you.

The two of you had just played a huge prank and were running away from your poor victim, who seemed about ready to murder you. You were laughing like maniacs as you ran and you eventually lost them. The two of you now stood still, catching your breath and laughing.

That's when he does it, suddenly and unexpectedly. The kiss is story and sweet, gone as soon as you felt it. Just a little peck. Luck simply keeps smiling at you while you're trying to process what just happened. He'll start laughing at your reaction, and it makes you unable to stop yourself from laughing as well.

The whole situation is a little absurd, but there's no uncomfortable silences, no tension, no awkwardness. Just your boyfriend playing a little prank on you, one you certainly don't mind.

Noelle Silva

Noelle is going to do everything in her power to make you be the one to kiss her first. She's a royal, she shouldn't be the one making the first moves. Right?

She's tried to a few times, but she just gets too embarrassed every time and chickens out. Hence her new plan: make you want to kiss her. You're already attracted to her so it shouldn't be too hard, right?

She'll put some extra effort into looking pretty, and she'll try to bait you with things like a subtle with pretty lipgloss, or by leaving a little bit of food hanging on her lip. She's not the most subtle person, so her message should come across pretty easily. It's up to you whether you want to tease her a little about it and pretend to not notice, or to just give her what she wants.

If you keep ignoring her hints, she'll eventually find a moment to just tell you that you can kiss her. Mostly likely when you've gotten her something or done something for her.

“You did good, as a reward, you're allowed to kiss me.”

No, even though she said it, she's still not making that first move herself.

Gauche Adlai

Gauche is not a very subtle person. When he wants something, it's obvious. Usually he just makes sure he gets it too. You, however, are the one exception to that. The one person aside from Marie that he's careful with, about whose opinion he cares. So, instead of just kissing you right the moment when he feels like it, he waits a little.

He's not too worried about setting up a good romantic setting, that's not what matters anyway, it's the kiss that matters, but he does try to get some privacy for that moment. He doesn't need people commenting on him kissing you when he does, it's a pain in the ass.

But getting some privacy with the Black Bulls around is nearly impossible, and Gauche is struggling to even create such an opportunity. His patience runs thin pretty quickly, he just wants to kiss you already, so he pulls you away behind a corner, pulls you close to him and kisses you there.

The kiss is a little on the rough side, mostly due to Gauche's annoyance at the whole situation and at how long he had to wait. He calms down pretty fast though, now that he's gotten what he wanted.

Gordon Agrippa

Gordon usually goes with the flow, letting you take the lead, letting you set the boundaries. It was like that in his friendship with you, and it will continue to be like that in his relationship with you. However, you two have yet to have your first kiss and he's getting a little worried about it. So this time, he decides to make a move.

When the two of you are relaxed and away from prying eyes, he'll just talk to you about it. Not in a sad or an accusing kind of way, but in a way filled with curiosity. Were you shy? Were you uncomfortable? Did you just not want to? Were you waiting for him to make the first move? Despite the somewhat weird topic, it's a comfortable conversation.

Once you let him know you're comfortable with it, be it during that conversation or later, he'll carefully cup your cheek in his right hand, put his left hand around you to pull you close and then he'll kiss you in a soft yet sweet kiss. Nothing too overwhelming, just a relaxed and loving moment.

Mind the lipstick stains though. The other Bulls will have a riot when they see them.

Secre Swallowtail

Secre never really thought too much about kissing you. Sure, she loved you, but physical displays of affection are not really her forte, nor are they extremely important to her. She always figured that if you wanted to kiss, you'd come to her and kiss her, simple as that.

However, when Vanessa, be it in an alcohol-induced haze, informed her that kisses were needed to assure the other of your love for them, she got a little insecure. Was that the ramblings of a drunk woman? Or was there some truth in that and were you doubting her love for you?

She remembered Tetia and Licht, and how happy they seemed when they kissed, so there must be some truth in it at least, right?

So she asks you if it's bothering you. Expressing her emotions aren't her strongest point, but you can see some worry and uncertainty in her eyes. If you assure her you're fine, that's that. If you let her know in any way that you would like to kiss her though, she'll lean towards you and place a quick peck on your lips. The contact doesn't even last for a second, but Secre can't help herself from smiling. Maybe kisses were better than she thought.

#zora ideale x reader #charmy pappitson x reader #asta x reader #henry legolant x reader #luck voltia x reader #gauch adlai x reader #noelle silva x reader #gordon agrippa x reader #secre swallowtail x reader #grey x reader #black clover x reader #black clover imagine #cookie writes #headcanons #700 followers event #requested #vemuabhi #scheduled post

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houseboatisland · 3 years

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I'm rather curious for your own takes on Thom Thom~✨💙

Edit credit to @/ComradeOpThomas from Twitter, this is my ideal Thomas!

(Season 5 Thomas is the best Thomas, I don’t make the rules)

I started this hoping for it not to become a whole biography, but it just kept pouring out of me, so here's a very, very long post indeed lol

Thomas is NOT an L.B.S.C.R. E2 Class. He’s actually a unique design born to the North Western Railway in its earliest days… and in remarkably sad circumstances.

When the Railway Executive Committee first took over in August 1914, they were repulsed at the state of the Sudrian railways. Here were several argumentative companies operating in isolation from one another, with geriatric engines and stock, and one of them hadn't even run a train or maintained its permanent way since the start of the century. A key agenda item of the R.E.C.'s was a continuous, efficient railway system to quickly move men and materiel to the Island's eastern coast were Ireland to side with Kaiser Bill against John Bull. The existing standard gauge railways would have to be more or less torn up and rebuilt from scratch, and several new miles of track laid in to make for a single fluid network.

This required, among other things, many new engines. Several came over the Channel as and when could be spared by the Mainland, but as it became increasingly clear that the war would not be over "by Christmas," this wasn't an ideal long-term solution. The R.E.C. was especially upset that it had to put so many of its tender engines onto construction trains when their strength could be better used on other work. Two tank engines off the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, No. 1 "Short" and No. 2 "Stumpy" were by now nearing fifty years old, and exhausted mechanically.

The R.E.C., out to keep costs down and use resources to the fullest, ordered the N.W.R. to scrap these two engines and use the best parts of each to create one new engine. Measurements were taken, plans were hastily drawn up, and Short and Stumpy were quietly cut up in January 1915. Several fittings were made new for what odds and ends neither engine could contribute a usable part. The resulting new engine was "Thomas," who was put to work fresh off the shop floor.

Thomas at this point became the N.W.R.’s No. 1 quite by accident. He was the first engine to be built at Crovan’s Gate, and the REC misinterpreted this on his builder’s plates as an intention by the N.W.R. TO make him No. 1. So when Thomas gained his number, the R.E.C. and the N.W.R. both assumed this was deliberate by one another. And it was just too much of a hassle and too unimportant to change, so No. 1 he stayed.

As for his name, Thomas is named after Thomas Reginald Payne, the North Western Railway's first Chief Mechanical Engineer. Payne had made Thomas' construction a reality, from drawing up his blueprints to supervising his piecing together. Payne, who was CME from 1914 to his death in 1951, never forgot this connection to "his" engine, and often wanted to be on the shop floor whenever Thomas was in for repairs.

Thomas’ “infancy” was in a word, harsh. He was working around the clock, surrounded by engines who came and went, and did little if any socializing. Foremen were ordering him about at every turn. His first friend ever was the new N.W.R. No. 2, Edward, the former Wellsworth and Suddery Railway’s No. 5 and only tender engine, who knew his old crewmates were chopped up to make Thomas. Thankfully, Edward knew better than to let Thomas in on this, lest he give him some sort of existential crisis, and he made quick work of making himself a mentor to the little engine.

In these conditions, Thomas’ “cheeky” and anti-authoritarian streak took shape. His whole life thus far had been work and taking lumps from his superiors, most of whom were English and not Sudrian. This morphed into a disrespect for big engines, who wanted him to be their errand boy as construction work began to ebb and focus shifted to running trains. Ever the contrarian, Thomas only doubles down on his disrespect for tender engines when he finds out that that’s “the traditional order of things.” Edward is of course exempt from this attitude, but in his tensest moments Thomas can even lose patience with HIM momentarily.

The war finally ends. January 1919 sees the N.W.R. out to make an identity for itself as peacetime takes hold and Parliament quietly rumbles about Grouping or outright Nationalization. Thomas is the first engine to wear "Hatt Blue with Red Stripes," the company's planned standard livery. This isn't unique to him for long, however, and Thomas' new line of work from hereon is Station Pilot for Vicarstown. Needless to say this is upsetting to him. He's not moving up and down the Island like he was when building the railway. He's still rushed off his wheels. He's expected to be answerable to tender engines as he makes up their trains. Most importantly, he's still having as much difficulty as before to make time to make friends. This new job is in every respect everything Thomas could have wanted to avoid, and there's no telling if he'll ever even get out of it. January 1919 is thus where "Wants to See the World" Thomas begins.

Thomas still gets to see Edward regularly, and he is for a pinch joined by two other tank engines shunting at Vicarstown. They're also ex-Wellsworth and Suddery Railway, Nos. 3 and 4 "Edwin" and "Victor." Thomas befriends Victor, who is a friendly old joker, but dislikes Edwin who has become cranky in his old and as a 2-4-0T has a tendency to slip and not be of much help. They leave him too, in 1922, when The Fat Director relocates them to run other branchlines on the Island. So, 1922 onward, we meet Thomas as the sole pilot, thoroughly busy and thoroughly lonely.

This seems more or less canon, but The Fat Director probably sent Thomas to Wellsworth after his runaway with Edward's trucks in anticipation of giving him the Ffarquhar Branch once he was a matured engine. He didn't give Thomas the line just because he rescued James in fine style, that was really what made his mind up.

Thomas looks kindly enough on Henry as a big engine at this time, he and Edward as mentioned aren't necessarily the kinds of "Big Engines" he dislikes. He'll occasionally give him a tease or two, or lose patience with his health, (something he now deeply regrets years later,) but there's no real malice in it. Think of him as the little brother poking fun at his bigger brother for having one arm in a cast, but altogether still feeling sorry for him and accommodating him how he can. Henry for his part appreciates Thomas, but takes his teasing very seriously considering how sensitive and implicating it is to, you know, his whole existence.

My idea of Thomas' relationship with Gordon is heavily inspired by @/mean-scarlet-deceiver's: Thomas is initially awed by Gordon's arrival and finally confident the N.W.R. can survive, but quickly resents him when he shows his true colors as a "big engine" through and through. I wouldn't even call Gordon and Thomas "friendly" until their alliance at Toryreck Mine. From 1923 all the way up to then, depending on when you place it, they... legitimately dislike each other. There's no affection beneath all the ribbing and jibes, they ACTUALLY disliked each other that whole period of time.

I'm still hashing out my headcanon of 98462 and 87546, (just know that those aren't actually their numbers,) but it's safe to say Thomas hates their guts, and '62 and '46 hate his guts in return as a servant willing to speak up for himself.

Thomas and James were a couple from 1924 to 1933, when they broke up amid the Big Engine Strike. I'd really rather reserve this for a post of its own at a later date.

Thomas and Percy are good friends, but I wouldn't go so far as to call them "best friends" like the TVS has so often hammered in. They clearly come to blows whenever the tension's too much. I like to explain that away as a shift in Thomas' character. With him doing more passenger work as Percy and Toby handle the stone trains, and his increasing fame, Thomas begins looking down on Percy, not long after he transferred to Ffarquhar in 1955 in fact. This might also have to do with unresolved feelings between them both. (Hey, remember that little green engine you kissed once just to try it over twenty years ago? He's your roommate now, probably forever. Play nice!)

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gumnut-logic · 3 years

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Callisto - Part Five - Orientation

Things actually start happening now :D

As always, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight for all their amazing help. We’re deep into the hard slog now, but I am still enjoying this so that is a good sign :D

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this and cheer me on. The hard slog of the middle of a long fic can be as bad as the hard slog in the middle of a painting, so all cheering is always welcome. But ultimately, I’m hoping you are find this enjoyable and not boring :D Nutty is learning here, so big L plate on my forehead.

Let the antics continue.

-o-o-o-

Virgil stared at his father’s broad back as he walked the length of the gantry toward the elevator. Scott paused a moment and Virgil placed a hand on his back in support. Muscle beneath many micro layers of spacesuit rippled as his brother loosened his shoulders. A glance of fiery blue and Scott followed his father.

As was the way of things.

Virgil followed Scott.

As was the way of things.

The cavern was a large one. It had to be to fit Three beneath its airlock doors. His heads up display confirmed pressurisation of the bay to Earth normal and his mind did the calculations on the infrastructure required to pump that much atmosphere into such a large space so quickly. He couldn’t help but be impressed.

The gantry led to an elevator platform and they crowded onto it. Gordon brushed up against him as if to catch his attention and a worried frown was shot in Virgil’s direction.

As the gantry retracted and the platform lowered, Virgil let a hand brush against Gordon’s side. If he did the same to Alan, well, they were his brothers and he may have needed the connections a little himself.

The ride down gave them a great view of the heavy equipment available in the bay. Virgil had accessed all the information he could get his hands on during the trip out, needing to know how he was going to deploy their own equipment.

He had known this was going to be an underground job and had packed accordingly. The problem with underground was initial deployment - how to get the equipment under the ground.

The backup was always to make their own holes. But that could be unnecessarily messy and a last resort. So Virgil was quite happy to see the set up included all the heavy-duty crane and hover support he could ever want.

TI had equipped this expedition exceedingly well.

Walters met them at the bottom of the bay. The rock had been ground smooth down here, filler shone in places where ice had obviously been removed, making the floor a patchwork of white and dark grey, human ingenuity and raw moon.

The Commander nodded to Scott, but it was their father whose hand he grasped solidly before pulling him into a hug. “Space Jockey, it is so good to see you. Thank you for coming.” Walters stepped back and held Jeff at arms’ length. “You’ve gone grey.”

“And you’re bald. Your point?” But their father was grinning through the plasiglass of his helmet.

“We’re both a little crunchy around the edges.” He turned to Lee. “Hey, Scrappy.”

“Graeme, I may be old, but I can still kick your ass over that.” Despite the threat, Uncle Lee grabbed the man’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm.

“These are my boys.” Dad gestured at them in turn. “Scott, Virgil, Gordon and Alan. John is still aboard the Excel and will be liaising from there.”

Walters nodded at each of them in turn, his white-grey spacesuit wrinkling with the movement. He had his helmet on just like the IR crew did. Best chance to avoid contamination or some random bug the Tracys might had inadvertently brought with them.

Of course, Virgil and John had run the decon protocols before departure and it was obvious Callisto had its own methods, but the risk was there. Helmets on unless they had no choice.

Another thing about space that was annoying - listening to your own breathing in a confined container. Okay for short term, total annoyance long term. Especially if your nose got itchy.

It was a sign that Virgil really needed more sleep when he managed to miss a chunk of what Walters was saying simply because he was designing an in-helmet nose scratcher in his head. Well, it could be multifunctional if he gave it enough reach. Head scratcher, chin scratcher-

Gordon nudged him.

Unfortunately, right in his bruises. “Ow.” He glared at his brother only to find the fish gesturing with his eyes.

Commander Walters was looking at Virgil with a question on his face. Both Scott and Dad were frowning at him. Oh shit. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“The Commander asked if we would like to survey the entrance to the caves first or deploy our equipment.” Dad’s voice was very...patient. “Scott said it was your decision.”

Virgil didn’t hesitate, regardless of the embarrassment. “I’ve scoured your maps, Commander, but I would be happier if you could show us the entrance to the cave network. It’s not far?” maps and diagrams were one thing. Reality was another.

Walters eyed him a little curiously. “Sure. Follow me.” And he led them towards a set of massive doors.

For a moment there, Virgil expected some grinding machinery to split the doors wide like some grand movie entrance complete with cinematic music, but no, Walters led them to a small airlock embedded in the left door and ushered them through.

It was kind of disappointing actually.

“We keep the Garden isolated as a precaution and as a way to monitor the function of the ecosystem.

“Garden?” Alan had obviously not had time to fully read up on the Base like the rest of them.

Walters’ eyes lit up despite everything. “You are in for a treat. The Garden is our horticultural team’s ultimate triumph.”

The doors opened and sunlight flooded into the airlock. And it was sunlight enough for Virgil’s jaw to drop. They stepped out into an environment so familiar, they may as well have stepped out the back door of the villa.

Except it wasn’t. The plants were recognisable, yes, but their growth most definitely was not.

This was not in the briefing notes.

“This looks suspiciously familiar.” It was Gordon who stepped to the front of the group.

Walters frowned. “Excuse me.”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed in on the man. He pointed at a nearby tree. “Pokey trees don’t get that big in five years, Commander. What’s in the water?”

It was Walters’ turn to frown. “Pokey trees?” A blink. “Oh, pohutukawa. No, they do not. However, with some special treatment and the lack of strong gravity, they can.”

Virgil stared up at the giant tree. It was far too thin at the base for the spread of the massive branches and it seem wrong somehow. Everything was too long and looked as if it was going to fall. What was even more odd was the sound of a honeyeater argument in those branches. A scuffle, a ruckus of squawks and a flash of grey and yellow flew out from amongst the leaves and darted over the rocky hill in front of them.

“You have birds?!” Gordon sounded caught between amazement and outrage.

Walters stared at him a moment longer. “We have much more than that.” He turned away and led them away from the tree and up a winding path. Virgil’s boots crunched gravel that glittered as it moved. He frowned at what was probably nothing more than ground up moon. It was pale and sparkling like some set prop out of an early science fiction show John might have watched.

But he was soon distracted by much more fascinating sights.

The path led up a small hill and soon he realised that they were in a massive cavern, bigger than all the hangars beneath Tracy Island combined.

And it was full of life.

Birds of several different kinds flew about the ‘sky’. A sky dominated by a number of extremely bright lights hanging from a ceiling so high it couldn’t be seen for the brilliance. Oddly growing foliage was everywhere. The lone pokey tree by the door was scarlet in blossom, but it was not alone. Flowers sprouted from wonky stems and too tall grass. The little hill they were standing on was the highest point in the cavern, the ground sloping down into the distance. At the far edge, a lake had ducks swimming in it.

“How the hell?” It was Gordon, but Virgil’s questions were not far behind.

Several physical requirements clicked into place. The cavern was obviously heated and pressurised with an Earth level atmosphere just like the hangar, otherwise those birds wouldn’t be able to fly beyond bouncing in the gravity.

While Gordon’s head seemed ready to explode, Virgil managed one word. “How?”

Walters had a quietly confident smirk on his face. “A combination of research, applied science and a whole pile of luck.” A sigh. “This is Ju’s baby.”

Scott shifted where he stood. “Where is the access to the cave network?” Virgil glanced at his brother. There was an intensity in his eyes that spoke of both mission urgency and further questions that would need asking once that mission was complete.

Walters exhaled and nodded. “This way.” He led them down the other side of the hill to what eventually proved to be another set of massive doors. “The caverns were here when we arrived. We knew of them before we left Earth, but what we did not realise was their extent.” Walters stopped in front of the doors. He gestured at the cavern. “To create all this, we only needed to seal the cavern entrance overhead – which the Base did nicely. We installed a series of atmospheric inducers, the heating and the lighting. The rest we grew from seed or egg.” The man was obviously proud of their achievements.

“Sir, the caves?” Scott was getting rightfully impatient.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” He swallowed and hurried over to yet another small door within a door.

Virgil took another step forward, intending on seeing how the door was unlocked when his world suddenly doubled. His stomach rolled over with that familiar nausea ever so reminiscent of their trip out here.

He swallowed and closed his eyes a second.

“Virg? You okay?” Gordon was whispering on a closed channel.

Virgil cranked his eyes open, lack of sleep suddenly piling on top of him. His fish brother was frowning at him. Scott, their father and Uncle Lee were walking towards Walters and the door.

The sudden vertigo had him fearing an incident inside his helmet.

But then as he took a step towards Gordon, the nausea faded away, a single last cramp dissipating as his little brother approached and put a hand on his arm.

“Virg?”

“I’m okay. Just felt dizzy for a second there.”

“T-drive?”

“Probably.”

“Meds wearing off?”

“Didn’t think I would need them.”

Now Alan had stopped following Scott and was looking back. Any minute now and he would have not only Scott on his ass, but Dad as well. He straightened his spine. “I’m good.” But whatever it was had triggered the beginnings of a headache.

Damn.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d completed a rescue with a headache. He’d throw back some paracetamol when they went back to Three to source their equipment.

“You sure?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Gordon held up his hands. “Just checking, bro. Don’t get your pants in a twist. Hard to unknot them out here.”

But Gordon was still frowning at him.

Alan was turning back...

Move or get smothered.

He flexed his shoulders and strode off to join the rest of this family.

-o-o-o-

Gordon stared after his heavy lifting brother.

Damn that T-drive. His own stomach hadn’t fully recovered either and Virgil was obviously still feeling it.

Gordon pondered whether Virg could knock him out for the voyage home. Maybe knock both of them out.

Alan was frowning and gesturing for him to hurry up. Scott and Dad had already entered what turned out to be yet another airlock.

Space was hard work.

He kicked at the gravel as he trotted after his brother and darted into the huge airlock with his brothers.

Walters was talking again as he sealed the door behind them. “The cavern appears to have been a terminus for this branch of the cave network.” Walters should seek a job as a tour guide. “As I said earlier, we knew about some of the caves before we arrived, but it became increasingly clear that our sensors weren’t telling the full story when we discovered exactly how many tunnels are under the surface here.”

Gordon felt the room depressurise and his HUD declared the atmosphere had become almost nothing. He frowned. It was still something though and he remembered that Callisto was one of those odd places that had the bare minimum of a bunch of gases clinging to it.

He was pretty sure that if he pinged Johnny, he could give him an essay on it, Jupiter luny fan he was.

Walters opened the other side of the airlock and led them through.

Oh, wow.

They were once again in a cavern, a smaller one to the one they had just left and it was obviously more in its natural state. The big doors were sealed into one wall and a lighting system had been deployed running off into the distance.

And there was a lot of distance. The cavern was definitely a tunnel, a good twenty metres wide and high. But that wasn’t all that had his jaw dropping.

The walls were sparkling in the light.

Walters must have seen his reaction or the reaction of his family. “Pretty amazing, huh? The walls are full of a mix of ice and rock. The ice catches the light, but there is also an unusual amount of mineralised crystal as well. We’ve found several types of quartz along with precious metals.”

Gordon was only half listening to him. He wandered over to the nearest wall and examined it. Ice. Water. But in a way it was rarely seen on Earth. Kinda interesting. He ran a hand over the wall and frowned. “You say this is natural?”

“Other than stringing up the lights and installing the doors, from here on, it is pure Callisto.”

“This was made by running water.” Even Gordon knew how impossible that was in the current environment. He looked up to find everyone staring at him. “Hey, I know my element when I see it. This wall has been eroded by running water.”

Walters slumped just a little. “Thank you. Ju has been saying that since we got here. Unfortunately, we can’t work out how that can possibly be a thing, but yeah, all the tunnels, if we were on Earth? Water made. Like limestone caves apparently.” A snort. “Ju has been very adamant about it.”

“Have you reported this?” Dad’s voice startled Gordon a little.

“Reported? Sure. But all her peers are less than accepting. All signs point to Callisto as having had no crustal movement since it formed, minor atmosphere, and certainly no running water at these pressures.”

“But this is a fact.” Gordon frowned again. “What about the reports of an ocean on Callisto under the crust.” Yes, he had checked that out. This wasn’t his first Jovian moon after all. It was why he had brought Four with him.

“Too far down. We can’t reach it. And besides, it is impossible for water to exist as a liquid on the surface, there is not enough atmospheric pressure. We’re barely five hundred metres down here. We haven’t been able to explain it, and until we do, it is considered only one possible and likely doubtful explanation.”

Gordon turned back to the wall. It glittered at him as if daring him to discover its mysteries. “Virg?”

“Hmm?” His brother’s voice was distracted enough to distract Gordon. He flicked over to a private comm. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Gordon. What did you want?”

Gordon grunted. “You got something to test the rocks?”

“If needs be. We have a rescue to complete first.” Virgil killed the private line and turned to Walters. “I’m satisfied. Scott, we need some recon. I recommend we get two dragonflies down here.”

Scott nodded. “Okay, we are go. Alan, you’re with me. Gordon, you’re Virgil’s wingman.”

As it should be.

Besides, Gordon wanted to keep an eye on their resident lumberjack. He was acting weird.

“Dad, you and Uncle Lee are our liaisons with Base.”

Gordon bit his lip.

“Scott-“

The Commander of International Rescue held up his hand, fire in his eyes. “No, arguments.”

Dad’s eyes latched onto Scott and flared, but Uncle Lee grabbed his arm. “Space Jockey...”

Grey eyes flickered to his best friend and got a dose of determined Lee Taylor for the effort.

Their father’s lips thinned as nobody moved for a whole moment, Scott emanating commander vibes all over the cavern. If Dad didn’t obey, all hell was going to let loose.

“Thunderbird Five to Callisto.” John’s voice echoed over multiple comms, a faint and unfamiliar hiss and crackle in the background.

The moment snapped and Scott tapped his comms. “We read you, Thunderbird Five.”

“There is considerable interference on comms, you should be aware. I cannot guarantee service at all times. Source is unknown.”

“Noted.”

Damn, that was going to make this even more difficult. They could get lost down here themselves.

But then this wouldn’t be the first time Gordon had worked without contact with his brothers.

First time in space, though.

“Scott, we have located two life signs.”

“What?!” Walters took a step forward and looked ready to climb into Scott’s commset to get further information.

The commander ignored him. “Details, Thunderbird Five.”

“Eos and I were able to work around the majority of the interference and we have two faint lifesigns registering to the north of Callisto Base, almost directly under Burr crater.”

“Only Two? We have five missing persons, Thunderbird Five.”

“I know, Scott.” John’s voice was calm but sad. “Eos is still working on that interference, but at this point I don’t expect to find more. We’ve been able to map the caverns and tunnels within a thousand-kilometre radius. Sending the data to your comms now. Other than those two, I’m reading nothing. I do not have enough resolution to locate anything more specific.”

Like dead bodies.

All of them shifted where they stood, caught between the positive of a location and the negative of three missing rescuees.

“Keep looking, Thunderbird Five.” Scott’s voice was empty of emotion.

They had a mission and now they had a target.

“FAB.”

The line cut out.

Virgil had already pulled up the map John supplied on his wrist ‘projector, his eyes combing the holographic maze of tunnels. Even from here Gordon could see they were massive. If these had been eroded by water, the rivers had been big.

But their history would have to wait. There were lives at stake and Scott was already moving back to the airlock, Virgil and the rest of the group hurrying to follow.

Gordon hesitated just a second, lured by the thought of water flowing through the rock in such a low-pressure environment that the liquid should be ice.

The walls sparkled at him.

But the mission...

He took a step forward and his foot kicked something tiny that bounced ahead of him. Frowning, he bent to pick it up.

The crystal was no bigger than his fingernail and sparkled pink in the lighting.

“Gordon!” Scott was glaring at him from inside the airlock.

The aquanaut shoved the stone into his kit and hurried to catch up.

Perhaps space was a little more interesting than he thought.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy #lee taylor #callisto

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

One the angsty prompt ideas I’ve been thinking about is Kells practicing how to cook for weeks so he can surprise Em by cooking him dinner, maybe for an anniversary or something, and on the day Kells has planned to surprise him, Em is hours late, leaving Kells alone for the evening. If you’re interested maybe you could write something like this? 🥰

3 years together. One thousand and ninety five fucking days between him and this old dorky man.

It's insane. Downright impossible to believe but Colson knows it's as real and true as the 2 year sobriety chip he's got hung around his neck on the gold chain Marshall gifted him with it this morning.

Both their relationship and his sobriety are as intertwined as their lives are now. Marshall's like the glue that holds all of his pieces together. Picking Colson back up, time and time again whenever he shattered in the beginning and filling in the gaps with his own loose pieces until it was Colson's turn to do the same. Which, by then, it only made sense to combine their puzzles and broaden the picture.

Now Marshall swoops in for Casie's PTA meetings he can’t make during tour. Holding the phone and helping him FaceTime for soccer games and school conferences when flight delays or bad luck keeps him late.

Colson tags along to Whitney's first few dates out in LA, weaving through the public spaces Marshall never could without drawing attention just to make sure she's safe and respected.

They tag team any situation involving the girls, even though Alaina and Hailey both still snicker at him from time to time, and Casie rolls her eyes at Marshall's rules. They're more than just dating now.

They're family.

And even just thinking about that brings tears to Colson's eyes.

Or maybe it's the onions. Baze said chewing gum helped mitigate this fucking problem but goddammit does it burn-

"Fuck!"

He has no idea how he got it in his mind that he could actually cook a meal, let alone a full anniversary dinner for Marshall but here he is. A pot and pan already cooking on the stove and his fingers knicked a dozen times in his rush to cut up more veggies for the sauce.

It's insane.

But Colson's following through with it anyway, because he fucking loves Marshall and that bastard cooks dinner for them every single holiday or occasion so it's about time he stepped up to the plate and did it himself.

Plus he's been secretly practicing for weeks with Baze over both FaceTime and a few in person lessons. Perfecting his simmering styles and meat seasoning to make the tastiest meal he can manage all on his own.

So far the last three times he's made the dish his bassist had given stellar reviews so there's little chance he'll somehow fuck it up tonight knowing it's for Marshall…..at least, he hopes.

The minor setbacks his butchered fingers have brought aside though, so far everything was coming along perfectly. His noodles are boiling (never over the rim, thank you wooden spoon trick), his meats marinating, and as soon as he tosses these sliced onions in his sauce will be cooking down beautifully.

All in all the night is starting to look like it just might be perfect.

Until 6 o'clock passes by and Colson's ears never pick up the click of the front door knob, or the hum of Marshall's escalade pulling up front outside.

The food's still simmering, minutes away from being actually done so he doesn't worry too much. Sure he was hoping to have a sweet moment where his boyfriend comes home and catches him cooking at the stove like a traditional housewife, but seeing his face when the food's done and plated promises to be just as cute.

Besides, Marshall has always fit the housewife role so much better than him anyway. Even the apron Colson's wearing is one of the older rapper's, stolen from his small collection in the pantry to protect his designer sweater.

Colson doesn't start to worry at 6. Traffic can be a bitch.

7 though? And then 7:30 when his texts go unread and his calls ring all the way through to voice-mail? That's when the blonde starts to fret.

He's luckily put off plating because some brief flash on uncertainty had run through him after the food finished so it's stayed warm and simmering on the stove. But even that had to come to an end before 7:30 because his sauce would singe or his noodles might squish, so now Colson's trying to keep busy by perfecting the presentation. Shaky fingers swiping around the edges of Marshall's plate to clean up a splatter of sauce. Every Chopped Judge rambling off feedback in his head until he has it looking like something he's certain even Gordon fucking Ramsey would ask for a bite of.

By 8 the dinner table is set. His plate, Marshall's, the bucket of low alcoholic wine they both love chilling as a centerpiece. Colson even lights a few candles and adds some flowers from this mornings gift exchanges to keep himself from screaming.

There's a pit in his stomach that's steadily been growing though. Every passing minute and glance to his phone where he finds no change only carving it deeper.

Marshall should be home. He never runs this late at the studio without a call, let alone without a message. He's treated his work like any other 9-5 job since before they ever even got together, always strict about his routine and careful to make up for over run hours by leaving earlier the next day. Usually Colson likes to bust his balls and insist he live a little more spontaneously but tonight isn't the one to pull that.

Especially not if it means Marshall's going to completely forget to check his fucking phone and leave him trying not to think the worst.

Colson only males it another 5 minutes before he caves and texts Paul. Fingers tapping fast across his screen to draft multiple desperate sounding messages before he finally settles on a "Em bust his phone again?" That feels just casual enough to not embarrass him in the off chance Marshall decides to burst through the front door seconds after it sends.

The door stays closed though and Paul doesn't open the message at all.

Now Colson can't even start passive aggressively eating dinner on his own if he wanted too. The pit in his stomach has torn itself open wide into a nauseous chasm. Every scary possibility he wanted to avoid thinking about spilling forth from the dark trench like ghouls.

He's dead. Some crazy fan broke into the studio and shot the whole place up. No one's gotten around to tell him yet, that's all. They're too busy dealing with the fallout.

No, Em's security is beyond top tier, and with how close Colson and his current bodyguard are he knows the guy would call him immediately. Marshall's fine.

Unless… what if he was in a car accident? Or some road rage incident gone fatal? Colson's seen Marshall's short temper flare up while driving. They've made dozens of jokes about it in the past, so is it really that unreasonable to believe?

Colson's pacing in the front haul when he calls Porter. Phone tucked between his ear and shoulder while he fights his shoe laces, heart racing in his chest. Prepping to fly out of the house the second Denaun tells him what fucking hospital Marshall's staying in, praying it's at the ICU section and not some fucking morgue.

"Kelly?" The older man sounds confused when he finally answers. Voice high and tone light like he's expecting this to be a butt dial. "What's up man?"

The lack of rush or worry in Denaun's voice almost soothes Colson's panic right on the spot. Surely he wouldn't sound so casual if something had happened.

It's enough to keep Colson from immediately pleading for Marshall's safety at the least. "H-hey, uh nothing really-" Maybe Marshall is even with him right now, realizing how fucking late its gotten and how shit of a boyfriend he's been and that's why Denaun sounds awkward too. "Just uh, waiting for Marsh to get his slow ass home ya know? Sorry, aheh, I'm probably sounding like a fucking needy girlfriend right now, calling his friends and shit-" the longer Colson rambles the more embarrassed he actually feels in the moment.

God he must sound pathetic right now. Panicking over Marshall being a few hours late.

"Waiting? Didn't Marshall head out like 2 hours ago?"

"W-what?"

Colson's blood feels like actual ice in his veins.

"He isn't home? I mean, I know he was gonna stop at- fuck is it already half past 8? Marshall seriously isn't home?" Denaun's sudden panic only heightens Colson's own, but he can't get any more words to come out. Not with how a rock feels like it's jumped up his throat. "Shit, Ryan are you getting through to him? Try Paul-"

Ryan's there too?

"What? Paul's gotta fucking answer-"

They can't get ahold of Paul either?

"Kelly have you-"

Marshall's missing. Colson's been standing around making dinner for hours, worrying over the portion sizes and appearance of his plates and Marshall's been fucking missing. What kind of partner is he? What will he even tell Hailey? Alaina? And fuck Casie is supposed to be coming up this weekend so they can all go vacation together before his next tour-

The front door bumping into his shoe startles Colson out of his frozen panic. Denaun's angry shouting dropping from his ear, as he twists and meets a pair of sheepish blue eyes peeking around the hardwood.

"Hey."

Marshall's…..

"Is that my apron?"

So fucking dead.

"Is this your--" Colson's fingers are curling around the edge of the door so fast he doesn't even care that it makes his phone fly to the floor. "That's what you want to fucking say to me!?" His anger is boiling fast, replacing the cold in his veins with lava. "You fucking piece of-"

Marshall stumbling inside with the yanked door is expected, but the flash of bandages and a sling douse Colson's flames like a bucket of water. "Ow, fuck just give me a second to explain-"

He's hurt.

Now with all of Marshall visible Colson's hyperaware of dry blood splattered on his white graphic tee and scratches partially hidden within the rapper's beard along his cheek. "I got in an accident out on the M-8, it was minor but-"

Colson really can't handle all these rapid mood switches Marshall is putting him through today.

“You fucking idiot-“ Tears are bubbling up in his eyes and it’s like his hands can’t reach his partner fast enough. Pulling Marshall into his arms for a tight hug despite the pained noises his actions inspire. “Stupid, old asshole-“ Marshall’s hurt, the cars probably wrecked, but he’s home and that’s enough of a relief to finally smother that pit weighing down his stomach. “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

A moment passes before he’s hugged back, shock more than likely freezing his partner up but when Marshall does loop his good arm around Colson he pulls him close. So close Colson is the one who’s bones feel like they might ache. “Can’t make any promises about that,” The older rapper’s palm feels warm when it climbs to cup his neck, Marshall’s face turning to press a kiss into Colson’s throat.

That brush of lips is the final crack to release the flood gates.

"I love you."

"I know."

"I really really fucking love you."

"I know baby."

"I don't care how old your ass is, you better hold out and fucking die after me like a proper goddamn boyfriend, you hear me Marshall?" He's getting snot all over the older rapper's shirt. Full on smearing it across his own cheek and the fabric with every pointless rub of his face. "I love you so fucking much. Can't do this without you."

"Told you I'm not dying after you unless you kill me first, and I'm chasing you into the afterlife once you do go too. Fuck all the marriage shit, death ain't parting us either you brat." Marshall's tone is light and his palm is doing wonders to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back. It's enough to slow his hiccupped breathing down a few notches. "I dunno if you noticed but, I'm a little obsessed with you."

That drags out a wet snort. "Y-yeah?" When Colson pulls back to meet Marshall's eyes he swears he can see a wet shimmer starting to glaze over his partner’s as well. "Prove it then."

There's a flicker of something in blue eyes, so fast that Colson almost thinks he hallucinates the emotion altogether. But then Marshall's wrapped up arm wiggles between their bodies. The dark blue of the sling catching and sliding so his scratched up fist can shimmy its way partially out. "Planned on it-" There's something clutched tight there, black peeking out from between Marshall's finger and thumb. It's got Colson's heart dropping down into his stomach all over again. "What do you think I was driving so late on the M-8 for?"

"Marshall-" It can't be.

"Colson." But his shithead of an accident victim boyfriend is pulling back, both his good arm and slung arm awkwardly flailing in the air for a moment as he drops down on one knee. The visible wince not hidden as well as Colson imagines the man wants it to be. But Marshall's eyes are softening, and the blonde feels completely cemented in place. The only part of him moving being the uncontrollable shaky quiver of his bottom lip. "I had a whole moment planned, there were flowers, balloons, and those stupidly expensive alcoholic chocolates you love, but they all got absolutely trashed in the crash. Like, half of Detroit is probably going to think the Macies Thanksgiving parade started early. Paul called to have it all replaced, and honestly some intern is probably going to come banging on the door in about 20 minutes but I don't want to wait-" There's a flash of genuine worry that's furrowing the skin between Marshall's brows as he continues. "So I'm sorry this isn't gonna be that fancy perfect proposal you've always dreamed of-"

"Shut up." Colson's voice can't go above a whisper. His tone quick and clipped from how anxious he is to hear the man finally finish. "Just- shut up, ask me. Ask me Marsh, please-"

"Fine, always need to rush me."The rapper's lip quirks at the corners. Hands transferring the small box between eachother with a bit of fumbling. "Will you, Colson Baker-" Until Marshall can finally get it open with an audible clunk. "Legally commit to being with my annoying old ass forever?"

#sorry i had to give it a happy ending #i hope thats okay #🥺🥺#kells totally snots all over Em's shirt even more #and they end up sitting there at the dinner table #Em shirtless and Kells grinning like an idiot #eating cold food and being utterly inlove until the intern finally shows up #em slipping him a good couple hundred dollar tip #emgk #asks

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willow-salix · 3 years

Text

The Shirt

This little thing is for @misssquidtracy and @soniabigcheese and was supposed to be a ficlet (tell that to the 2.5k that came out). It came about after a throw away comment to Sonia last night and then John ‘helpfully’ dropped the whole thing in my head fully formed. Enjoy!

Thanks to the awesome @myladykayo for the gorgeous shot of this dude!

"I don't need any new clothes, I told you that."

"And I didn't listen. Come on, John, you haven't bought anything new since college."

"And I'm happy with that, all of my clothes are perfectly serviceable," John continued to argue as Gordon towed him into yet another shop.

As always they drew attention, Gordon because of his loud voice and, according to him, his swimmers body that the women loved. Gordon had always loved to be the center of attention, he'd reveled in it back in his Olympic days, proud of the knowledge that his promotional pictures had graced many a teenagers phone backgrounds and lock screens.

John, on the other hand, had no idea what people saw in him and why they still watched him even when he was with his brothers. He knew his hair always drew looks and over the years he'd heard more than a few people whispering something about checking if he was a natural redhead, although he'd never wanted to stick around to listen too closely and had gotten out of there sharpish. He'd much rather just be left alone to fade into the background where his introverted wallflower tendencies could be appeased.

"Well, I need new clothes and you can't leave a man to shop on his own, it's just not done," Gordon continued.

"I'm pretty sure there's no such rule."

"I'm making it a rule, it's part of the bro code now," Gordon shot back, flicking through yet another rack of eye-wateringly bright shirts that even Hawaii would have disowned.

"I reject your rule."

"You can't, I'm your baby brother, you have to be nice to me, that's in the bro code too."

"I demand to see written proof of this rule book that you seem to keep pulling things from whenever it suits you."

Gordon glanced at his brother, seeing his lips twitch as he fought valiantly to keep any display of amusement firmly at bay. John didn't often get the chance to hang out with his younger brother but he always enjoyed it, not that he'd ever admit that out loud, that would only encourage Gordon to up his annoyance level by at least five points.

"Ha! You smiled, I'm off the hook!"

"I did no such thing."

"You did, I saw it! The robot had a feeling- ow!" Gordon ducked out of the way, avoiding another cuff around the back of the head from his, far too lanky for his own good, brother who apparently had the reach of an orangutan.

"I'm not a robot, you little jerk. Stand still so I can hit you properly." And there went the warm fuzzy feelings. Back to reminding himself just why said hang outs didn't happen more often.

"Yeah, right! Like that's gonna happen." Gordon shimmied backwards through the rack of shirts that made the sun look dull and out the other side to freedom. "Too much time in space has made you slow, bro!"

"What? HOW DARE YOU!" Without thinking John dived around the side of the rack, stretching out to grab at his grinning brother. "I'll show you who's slow!"

"I am lightning, I am the wind!" Gordon dodged aside with perfect ease, avoiding the grasping fingers of his brother.

"Full of wind, more like! Stand still!" How was the squid so fast?

"Come on, old man, keep up!"

John made another grab at the back of Gordon's shirt but the little shit wiggled out of his grasp like an eel.

"Ha! Victory is mine!"

"I wouldn't be too sure about th-" WHUMP! John spluttered, screeching to a stop as he got a face full of fabric, evidently thrown by Gordon who'd decided that weapons were now in play.

He flailed, tripping over the leg of a clothing rack as he stumbled blindly. He made a grab for the first solid feeling thing he could find, although his judgement of solid was woefully inadequate. He landed on the floor in a tangle of limbs, both his own and plastic, as the mannequin he'd inadvertently grabbed fell with him.

"Gordon," he gasped, winded from his tumble, but the sound of his brother's hysterical laughter was all that he received by way of an answer.

He yanked the material off his head, a shirt of some description by the looks of it, and staggered to his feet, dragging his dance partner up with him.

He managed to get her upright and back on her stand after a great deal of huffing and many swear words muttered under his breath as Gordon continued to howl like a hyena, hanging onto a mirror to stop his own downward descent.

Yanking her skirt back up where he'd accidentally yanked it down, John finally got the mannequin back in place and decently covered up.

"Gordon stop laughing!" he ordered as he bent to pick up the shirt that had assaulted him before angrily turning to face his brother.

"What a clumsy idiot," he heard someone whisper a few rows over, stopping him in his tracks. "Keep out of the way, he'll take us down with him next."

John ducked his head, his cheeks as red as his hair, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He hated being the center of attention and now, he risked a peek to confirm his suspicions, yep, now the whole store was looking at him. Great, just perfect.

"I'm never coming shopping with you again," he hissed in Gordon's direction.

"Too right. Did you see the shirt he's holding?" the woman's friend whispered back. "Anyone that picks out something like that should be avoided at all costs."

"He's looking, quick, pretend you haven't seen him!" Both women quickly looked away, suddenly extremely interested in a nearby coat.

What were they talking about? John glanced down at the pile of fabric still clutched in his clenched fist. It was definitely a shirt of some description, beigey-brown in colour, but not just one shade, oh no, this monstrosity had at least four other shades of brown thrown in for good measure, all coming together in wavy lines of what-was-this-designer-thinking to form some kind of texan nightmare, complete with gaudy gold piping. It truly was hideous, quite honestly the most disgusting thing he'd ever laid eyes on and he'd trained with astronauts who didn't have control of their digestive systems yet.

He looked around desperately to find somewhere to hide it away from his sight, ignoring Gordon who was taking deep breaths in an effort to calm down.

There! He spotted a convenient looking pile of sweatpants on a shelf and moved over to stuff the offending article back into the depth of hell from whence it had crawled when a single, solitary thought tickled at the back of his brain.

He paused, thinking, his brain hamster now awake and racing at top speed around its wheel. He glanced from the shirt to the women who had spoken before, then back down to the shirt.

"I'm going to try this on," he announced to his stunned brother, marching past him to the changing rooms.

He quickly stripped off his T-shirt, the one that declared that he was a communications engineer not a magician, and pulled on the horror shirt. Surprisingly enough it was actually made of quite a soft material, something his overly sensitive, due to time spent in low gravity, skin really appreciated.

He pulled it closed and buttoned it up, rolling his shoulders to allow it to settle into place. It was remarkably comfortable, actually long enough in the body. He stretched out his arms, pleased to see that the cuffs didn't immediately hike up to his elbows. All good so far, but only one thing would assure its purchase…

He pushed open the changing room door and stepped outside. The effect was immediate as two men, three women and a toddler that had been independently milling around near the entrance took one look at him and, as one, turned as quickly as they could in the opposite direction.

Grinning to himself he tugged the tag off the sleeve, grabbed his T-shirt from the changing room and headed to the counter.

"I'll wear it out," he informed the cashier, loving the way he not so subtly averted his eyes, unable to look at him. "And I'll take as many as you have in stock in this size and the next one up too." The cashier rushed to do his bidding, desperate to save what remained of his eyesight.

"See, I told you coming shopping with me was a good idea," Gordon grinned as they made their way back to the parking lot, their arms filled with bags.

"I will admit that it had its advantages," John answered as they strode easily through the crowd that parted like the red sea, unwilling to risk being contaminated by their fashion flu.

John breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like he could relax for the first time since they'd gotten there three hours before.

"That shirt is magical," Gordon declared, watching in astounded awe as eyes all around them shifted to avoid looking in his brother's direction. "It's like a people repellent in clothing form, it's….it's…" he groped around for the right words.

"It's perfect," John declared, lovingly stroking a sleeve like one would a beloved pet. And it truly was. It was like people had a filter, an ugly shirt firewall in their heads that made them avoid it at all costs.

He couldn't remember a time that he hadn't been stared at since the year he'd turned seventeen and hit his second growth spurt. In that year he'd shot up six inches, his lanky frame had filled out a little, his weedy arms turning into tightly packed muscles and he'd developed abs and a voice that had deepened a few octaves. Then, for some reason, his anxious aura with its go away vibes had become nothing but a challenge for most people, acting as a kind of siren call for them to latch on to him and decide that he needed to be included, chatted to and made the center of attention.

Now it was like he was practically invisible and it felt amazing. Even with the neon orange shirt Gordon was wearing, people were mostly ignoring him.

"I'm never taking this thing off again."

***

"Why am I always the one doing the laundry for you lazy arses?" Selene bitched as she dragged a massive basket of assorted Tracy clobber into the lounge where the assorted Tracys owners sat around in various states of lazy.

"Because you love us?" Gordon answered, grinning cheekily.

"Nope, that can't be it," Selene retorted, sitting down on the steps of the seating area to begin the mammoth task that was sorting and folding. She dragged out one of Virgil's plaids and folded it into some semblance of order and dropped it on the floor to start his pile.

"Let me help," John offered, moving to sit beside her and take some of the pile from her lap.

"Thanks, gorgeous."

"Whipped," Scott teased, reaching for his coffee cup. "Hey, Sel, if you're the only one doing the laundry as you claim, how comes you haven't managed to wreck John's ugly shirts?"

"Why would I?" she shrugged, balling up a pair of Scott's socks.

"Because I know you. Any excuse to shop, right?"

The socks made a handy projectile as she threw them at his head.

"Thanks!" Scott grinned, effortlessly plucking them from midair. "Seriously though, look at it."

Selene looked at the shirt that was currently hiding the delightful chest of her even more delightful husband.

"I fail to see the problem with it."

"Really?"

"Hey, leave my shirt alone, it's perfectly serviceable, thank you."

"It's old, it has to be at least seven years since you bought them," Gordon joined in. "They probably don't even make them any more."

"They don't," John said, concentrating on folding one of Alan's T-shirts into a perfect square. "So nothing had better happen to the ones I have left."

"Now's your chance," Alan whispered to Selene. "Kill them with fire and you'll never have to see them again."

"Yeah, you know that he's got much nicer clothes in his wardrobe," Scott added.

"I've actually grown quite fond of them," Selene answered, carefully folding one she'd plucked from the depths of the pile, smoothing it out like it was something precious.

All three Tracys, minus one Virgil who was down in the hangars no doubt creating more washing for her to do by getting covered in grease and muck, stared at her like she'd just announced that she was going back to blonde.

"What? How? You said that he's never looked better than when he's wearing a decent shirt, I had to give you a drool cloth at your wedding."

"All true," she shrugged, folding one of Virgil's vests to the best of her ability.

"Yet you continue to let him walk about in, what was it you called it, his rodeo clown shirt?" Gordon asked, completely bemused. "Are we missing something here?"

"I'm a witch," she started by way of explanation.

"Duh," Alan snorted.

"And I have a healthy respect for glamour magic, and that right there," she continued as if she hadn't just been rudely interrupted, pointing at the shirt that John was wearing, "is the most magical thing I've ever seen in my life."

All three of them burst out laughing, unable to believe what they were hearing. Selene waited patiently for them to finish cackling like they had just cursed Macbeth.

"Allowing the shirts to live is doing the world, and my arrest record, a huge favour. Now, if you'll excuse us…" she got to her feet, relieved John of the socks he was busily matching and dragged him to his feet.

"OK, OK, I'll bite," Scott continued to chuckle, wiping the tears from his eyes. "What makes you think it's so magical?"

"That should be obvious, nothing short of a miracle could hide that amount of sexiness. Why do you think I'm good with him hiding in Five when he's wearing that space suit?" She dumped the half folded pile of washing back into the hamper.

"I've decided that you lot can sort your own laundry, because I've got the sudden and overwhelming urge to see that shirt on our bedroom floor. Later, fashion rejects."

John put up zero resistance.

"I love this shirt," he grinned, waving a cheerful goodbye to his stunned brothers as his wife yanked on his hand, towing him bodily from the lounge and on to far more pleasant things than chores.

#we need more squidboy and spaceman #SquidMan #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction

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dweemeister · 3 years

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Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (1993)

In American animation outside of Disney, no other studio inspires as much reverence as Warner Bros. The Merrie Melodies and Looney Tunes shorts precipitated into worldwide recognition for those series’ stock characters. Despite this success, Warner Bros. did not release an animated feature until the musical Gay Purr-ee (1962), in association with United Productions of America (UPA). Animators at Warner Bros. from the 1930-1960s knew they were not making high art, nor were they pretending to. Warners, since the 1930s arguably the most financially stable of the major Hollywood studios, has historically seen little need to bankroll animated features. With that in mind, it might come as less of a shock that Warner Bros.’ first in-house animated feature is Eric Radomski and Bruce Timm’s Batman: Mask of the Phantasm. Originally intended as a direct-to-home media release, Mask of the Phantasm – based on and made by the production team behind Batman: The Animated Series (1992-1995) – transcends those modest intentions. It is among of the best superhero films ever made.

In the wake of Tim Burton’s Batman (1989) and Batman Returns (1992), Batman: The Animated Series, unlike Burton’s efforts, affords time to characterize Bruce Wayne rather than surrendering ample screentime to thinly-written but scene-stealing villains. For that and many other reasons including the looming, vertical art deco-inspired production design of Gotham City; the distinctive and moodiness of its black paper backgrounds; and its balance of dark and lighter tones, BTAS remains a high-water mark among Batman fans – perhaps the best adaptation of the character there is. Mask of the Phantasm builds upon that foundation, in addition to crafting its own unique contribution within the DC Animated Universe (DCAU). As tired as origin stories are, Mask of the Phantasm is part-origin story for the Dark Knight – something largely avoided in BTAS – and somehow integrated here without distracting from the present-day scenes. Rarely is any Batman media a character study of Bruce Wayne, but Mask of the Phantasm proves itself a wonderful exception.

One evening, Batman/Bruce Wayne (Kevin Conroy) attempts to stop a gaggle of gangsters led by Chuckie Sol (Dick Miller) from laundering counterfeit money from a casino. Amid the scrum, Sol escapes from Batman, but immediately confronts a shadowy figure later known as the “Phantasm” in the parking garage – Sol dies in the confrontation. Batman receives the blame for the killing and the concurrent property destruction from Gotham City Councilman Arthur Reeves (Hart Bochner), who just so happened to be profiting from Sol’s racket. Across the film, Bruce reminisces about his courtship with Andrea Beaumont (Dana Delany), their breakup, and the lead-up to the creation of his Batman alter-ego. Juxtaposing Bruce’s past and present, we see how he channels his regrets and profound loss into being Batman. The past haunts him still, overhanging the high roofs of Wayne Manor and the ledges of Gotham’s skyscrapers. Back in the present day, the Phantasm has murdered another crime boss; a third murder involves the Joker (Mark Hamill), initiating an emotional dénouement that, because of the intricacies of motivation that the film develops, elevates the film beyond what might otherwise be sloppy storytelling.

The dramatis personae also includes crime boss Salvatore “The Wheezer” Valestra (Abe Vigoda); Andrea’s father, Carl Beaumont (Stacy Keach); the Wayne family butler, Alfred Pennyworth (Efrem Zimbalist Jr.); GCPD Commissioner James Gordon (Bob Hastings); and GCPD Det. Harvey Bullock (Robert Costanzo).

The screenplay by Alan Burnett (producer and writer on various DC Comics films and Hanna-Barbera productions), Paul Dini (head writer on BTAS and Superman: The Animated Series), Martin Pasko (a longtime DC Comics writer), and Michael Reaves (head writer on BTAS and 1994-1996’s Gargoyles) keep the film’s attention on Batman/Bruce Wayne, despite the introduction of various subplots and Joker – whose somewhat-questionable presence might seem to indicate a project going off the rails. Shadow of the Phantasm’s placement of flashbacks stems the awkwardness that Joker’s inclusion brings, assuring that the film stays grounded into Batman’s psychology. In past Bruce we see a charming young man with time, money, and looks to spare. His romantic side with Andrea is an element of his life, one that connects – inevitably, tangentially – to the trauma his parents’ murder. His most personal motivations – that which a younger Andrea could never see, and privy to only Alfred – are stuck in the past, circulating around that childhood loss.

The occasional reflections from Bruce Wayne on what his life has become make Mask of the Phantasm the most introspective piece within the BTAS continuity, freed from the constraints and expectations inherent of episodic television. No BTAS episode forces its eponymous character to confront himself to such extents. What Bruce Wayne and Batman have become in the present-day treads perilously close not to his style of vigilante corrective justice, but vengeance. The tragic paradox that lies at the heart of this tension is the soul of the Batman mythos. Anyone with the most basic understanding of who Bruce Wayne/Batman and the Joker are will at least have a glimmer of understanding of that paradox. This portrait of what Batman stands for is more maturely handled than any of the twentieth century live-action Batman films, and with less sensational filmmaking than Christopher Nolan and Zack Snyder could produce. But with the film’s screenplay and Kevin Conroy’s iconic voice acting as the Caped Crusader, it becomes an inquest into Bruce Wayne’s tortured soul.

If Mask of the Phantasm ran longer than its seventy-eight-minute runtime, Andrea Beaumont, too, might also have received similar character development as Bruce Wayne here. Even within those seventy-eight minutes, Andrea – with a great assist from Dana Delany’s voice acting (Delany so impressed Bruce Timm here that she was given the role of Lois Lane in Superman: The Animated Series) – is a nevertheless fascinating character. In a cruel irony, her ultimate role in Mask of the Phantasm is to be an incidental mirror to the violence that occurs in this film. Her decision is not an imposition, whether conscious or unconscious, from someone else, but hers and hers alone.

In this drama fit for opera, this Batman occupies a world of operatic proportions. The background and character animation are not as pristine as the best examples of BTAS due to some scattered bits of animation outsourcing. The animation of BTAS might seem stiff and janky to modern viewers expecting Flash hand-drawn animation or hand-drawn/CGI hybrids. However, Mask of the Phantasm retains the gravity-defying art deco of the animated series that somehow does not clash with the ‘90s-influenced and futuristic elements it integrates. Its primary inspirations are of film noir and the Metropolis seen in the Fleischer Studios’ Superman series of short films (1941-1943). The black paper backgrounds provide Gotham’s street corners and rooftops a nocturnal menace, immersing the viewer into the city’s seediness.

Composer Shirley Walker (orchestrator on 1979’s The Black Stallion, conductor and orchestrator on 1989’s Batman) was one of the few women composers in Hollywood at the turn of the twentieth into the twenty-first century. A pianist (she played with the San Francisco Symphony as a soloist while still in high school) who studied music composition at San Francisco State University, Walker would later become one of the first female film score composers to receive a solo credit for composing the music in John Carpenter’s Memoirs of an Invisible Man (1992). But it is her work in the DCAU that distinguishes her – of particular note is her arrangement of Danny Elfman’s theme to 1989’s Batman for BTAS and a wholly original main theme for Superman: The Animated Series. Though Walker could adjust her style to suit a more synthetic sound, she specialized in composing grand orchestral cues. That style was apparent in BTAS and is adapted here from the opening titles (the lyrics here are actually gibberish and are the names of Walker’s music department sung backwards). The foreboding brass and string unison lines seem to reverberate off the animation’s skyscraper-filled backgrounds. Numerous passages in Walker’s score, as if taking hints from Richard Wagner, elect not to resolve to the tonic – setting up scenes where tension escalates alongside the music, forestalling the dramatic and musical release.

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One stunning exception to Walker’s ominous, atmospheric score is the gentle cue “First Love”, an interplay between solo oboe and synthesizer. Bruce’s flashbacks are not only a balm to the grimness of his present situation, but a musical reprieve from the intensity of the action scoring. That Walker can navigate between such differing moods exemplifies her compositional dexterity and overall musical excellence. Walker, who cited Mask of the Phantasm as her personal favorite composition for any film or television production, was one of the DCAU’s greatest under-heralded contributors. And how I wish she was given more chances to score different sorts of films.

Warner Bros.’ last-minute reversal on Mask of the Phantasm’s release strategy – abandoning the direct-to-home media debut for a theatrical release – meant minimal marketing for a low-budget film that made barely a dent at the box office. The film’s home media release would more than make up for the film’s theatrical release failure. Upon the success of BTAS and the critical acclaim lavished on Mask of the Phantasm, Warner Bros. kept the DCAU on television for another thirteen years, with infrequent direct-to-home media movie releases as recent as 2019.

For numerous DC Comics fans, the DCAU is an aesthetic and narrative touchstone. The limited animation is sublime for this period in animation history. In addition, one will overhear fans remaking that a certain superhero’s definitive portrayal might be thanks to the DCAU. The superhero benefitting the most from the DCAU’s characterization and storytelling is unquestionably Batman. And justifiably so, as Mask of the Phantasm shows due respect for Batman and Bruce Wayne – what molded them and how each persona intertwines with the other. The mythos behind any superhero is found not in fight scenes. Instead, it resides in the psychology and rationalizations that forces a person to directly confront another’s wickedness. Mask of the Phantasm realizes that such confrontations test Batman/Bruce Wayne’s remaining vestiges of humanity, and braves to ask moral questions that too many figures of superhero media would rather not think about.

My rating: 8.5/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Batman #Batman: Mask of the Phantasm #Bruce Timm #Eric Radomski #DCAU #Kevin Conroy #Dana Delany #Hart Bochner #Stacy Keach #Abe Vigoda #Dick Miller #Efrem Zimbalist Jr.#Bob Hastings #Robert Costanzo #Mark Hamill #Shirley Walker #Glen Murakami #My Movie Odyssey

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 12

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Watch me forget to update again last week, whoops. This is also the final chapter of this ‘arc’, so we’ll be taking another break for a while because uni means I don’t have time to keep writing at the moment (and a certain character is being awkward in the next chapter). Still, I hope you’ve enjoyed this pile of Scott&Other-Gordon, and I’ll get back to work on this when I’ve got the time.

For now, enjoy!

<<<Chapter 11

The subject wasn’t broached until they were back in the car, Scott feeling comfortably full as the food settled in his stomach.

“I guess there’s nothing I can say to persuade you to finish the trip now?” Other-Gordon sighed.

“I’m not quitting,” Scott said firmly. “It’s just some sneakers. I’ll try them on, find the ones that fit best, and we’ll be done.”

He half expected Other-Gordon to contradict him and tell him something was different about buying shoes in this universe, but he didn’t.

“That’s the spirit,” he said instead. “I’ll keep them talking, like the last shop.”

“Thanks.” Scott appreciated the thought; if they were distracted with Other-Gordon, then they’d be focusing less on him.

He was looking forwards to being able to wear comfortable shoes. Other-Scott’s fit well enough, but after several hours in them he was starting to feel the rub of an unfamiliar style.

“Mr Tracy!” he was greeted as they stepped through the door upon arrival. “Is there a problem with your last purchases?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Other-Gordon cut in, inserting himself slightly ahead of Scott and into the flustered-looking man’s line of sight. “You’ll have to forgive Scott, he’s gone and lost his voice, but he really liked them, so we’re here to get a couple more pairs,” he assured them.

The fluster turned to relief and then delight as the man no doubt realised he was going to be making another expensive sale to round off his day.

“Of course!” he beamed. “If you’d like to follow me.” They were chivvied along to a section of the shop lined with various designs of sneakers all along the wall, which Scott immediately started to eye up. The designs were varied, and none of them looked exactly like he was used to, but he could definitely see a few that looked hopeful.

Ignoring both Other-Gordon and the salesman, he walked over to the wall to get a closer look. You’re Scott Tracy. He just had to take the initiative instead of hovering awkwardly and waiting for a cue, and then it would be fine.

No-one would suspect he was the wrong Scott Tracy.

Behind him, Other-Gordon was talking a mile a minute, playing the distraction he’d promised, and after the day they’d had it was almost effortless to trust him. The other man had proven time and time again that despite the bizarre nature of the situation, he cared and wanted Scott to be as comfortable as possible.

It wasn’t even a case of just trying to preserve his brother’s reputation. Just as he was Scott Tracy, Other-Gordon was Gordon Tracy. They might not be each other’s brother, but they didn’t need to be related to care. The man that had guided him out of two panic attacks and subtly grounded him at the first sign of other ones had done it because he cared about him.

Scott was used to being the rescuer. He was used to being the one picking up strangers, helping them find their feet and offering whatever aid was needed until they were safe. He’d never been so thoroughly on the other side before. It was terrifying, he realised as he picked up a hopeful looking sneaker for a closer inspection. Putting all your trust in someone you knew of but didn’t know was much, much harder than he’d ever realised.

What Other-Gordon was doing for him wasn’t quite the same – his life wasn’t in danger; he didn’t need snatching from the jaws of death – but the parallels were there. Scott was lost, and there was no denying that he was scared of what had happened, why it happened, what it would be doing to his brothers right then, and Other-Gordon was offering a life line. Something he could cling to while he found his feet, and caught him when he stumbled.

“Scott?” the man in question asked, appearing beside him. “How are you doing?”

Scott looked at him, the heart-achingly familiarity of his face even though it wasn’t the same, and the searching amber eyes that were exactly the same, right down to the concern shining through, and nodded. He’d only known him for a few hours, but Scott trusted him, and that was enough to keep what-ifs and concerns about recognition at bay.

He could do this.

The sneaker in his hand looked like a good start, so he held it up, drawing attention to the selection.

“Would you like to try that pair on, sir?” the salesman asked. Scott nodded confidently, and handed it over so he could bustle over to the store room to retrieve its partner.

Other-Gordon didn’t say anything, even after they were left alone, so Scott continued looking around, searching for another design that looked hopeful. He could feel the other man’s eyes watching him, but he wasn’t asking if he was doing okay, or attempting to provide other reassurances, and Scott wondered if he could tell that he was, as much as he could be, relaxed.

He probably could.

By the time the salesman returned – this one called John, it transpired, but with black hair and brown eyes it was just another man with a common name, and not a painful reminder of his younger brother – he’d found another three to try on.

Four times pacing and then jogging around the room, jumping up and down and feeling a rush from being active, even if it was just rather aggressively putting through sneakers through their paces, and he ended up walking out the shop with all of them. It was easier than picking two when they all felt right.

There was also the nagging feeling that Other-Scott didn’t test shoes quite the same way he did, judging by the look on salesman-John’s face, and the panic had started to bubble up when he abruptly remembered that Other-Scott had only been there recently. Grabbing all four pairs and nudging Other-Gordon into paying for them so that they could leave – a nudge that, yes, might have comprised of four smaller ones that instantly sharpened amber eyes – had been the easiest way to avoid questions and quell the panic.

Other-Gordon didn’t outwardly hurry them out of the shop, but Scott felt the underlying determination as he quipped about getting late and the flight home as an excuse for their departure. The amount of money the quartet of sneakers cost definitely went a long way towards distracting the salesman from anything else.

“Are you okay?” the ginger asked once they were settled back in the car. He didn’t mention that Scott had been fine for most of the time, but the unspoken observation hung between them.

Scott took a deep breath and pressed his head back against the headrest, feeling the hat digging in. He was looking forwards to taking it off. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Too much cooped up energy?” Other-Gordon asked, clearly determining that he wasn’t about to panic and turning the engine on. “You were mighty energetic in there.”

“They’re nice sneakers,” Scott defended, not responding to the secondary observation.

“So it seemed,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “Well, unless there’s anything else you need, I’d say it’s time to head back to the airport.”

Scott glanced at the backseat of the car, where a small pile of bags nestled.

“That should be enough,” he agreed. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to let me pilot back?”

Other-Gordon did a double-take.

“What happened to ‘different technology’?” he asked. “You’ve not understood anything here. I saw you looking at the car earlier.”

Scott shrugged. “Apparently the only thing that is the same are plane controls,” he admitted.

Other-Gordon groaned. “You mean you actually were judging my piloting?” he whined.

“I didn’t say anything about your piloting,” Scott defended. Other-Gordon huffed.

“You didn’t need to, but I figured you were just comparing it to what you were used to,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me that you knew exactly what I should have been doing when.”

“So you’ll let me pilot back?” Scott tried hopefully.

“Sorry, fella.” He couldn’t stop his shoulders slumping in disappointment at Other-Gordon’s firm answer. “Look, I would rather you piloted, because I’m not daft enough to think you’re not better at it than me, but you don’t have a pilot’s license here, and it’s not my call whether you sneak by on Scott’s.”

The argument made a frustrating amount of sense, and Scott sighed. “Can’t we ask him?”

“He’ll say no,” Other-Gordon said confidently. “Unless you’re telling me you’d let someone pilot on your license with only his word he’s as good as he says.”

The ginger, annoyingly, wasn’t wrong. Scott wouldn’t.

“We can add it to the things to talk to him about when we get back,” Other-Gordon pointed out. “Still, if planes aren’t so different, maybe that’ll make the training easier.”

He had a point. Scott hadn’t considered that the Thunderbirds might have the same controls, when the jargon seemed so different. “I saw a few external differences,” he said. “Didn’t get a good look at the cockpit, and her engine makes a different sound.”

“Why aren’t I surprised you took all that in?” the ginger asked rhetorically. “Then again, I suppose in a way she’s ‘yours’,” he mused. “Good luck fighting Scott for her.”

Scott groaned, well aware that no matter how good a pilot he proved to be, he was never going to wrangle primary pilot of this universe’s Thunderbird One.

“I don’t think I’ll bother,” he muttered. “He won’t give her over unless he has no other choice.”

“Voice of experience?” Other-Gordon asked, amused. Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“The last time I let Gordon near her he tried to turn her into a submarine. Virgil hates piloting her, Kayo is banned from going near the pilot seat, John prefers being a passenger in Two if he’s down from orbit and Alan’s too inexperienced,” he listed. “No-one pilots my girl except me. No exceptions.”

Other-Gordon laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me; Scott’s the same,” he confirmed. “But who’s Kayo?”

Scott had forgotten he hadn’t mentioned Kayo to anyone except Tin-Tin yet.

“My Tin-Tin,” he said. “She’s a hell of a pilot, but her ‘bird gets damaged even more than Three. Too many stunts.”

“Hold up.” Other-Gordon even raised a hand to emphasise his words. “Her ‘bird? Do you have six or- but Three? No, you said more than Three. Who pilots Three?”

That was entirely too many questions, and Scott dodged most of them.

“Tin-Tin doesn’t have her own?” he asked in return. “I know she’s an engineer, but so’s Virgil.”

“Tin-Tin co-pilots Three sometimes, but otherwise she stays on the island,” Other-Gordon told him. “Your- Kayo goes out?”

They think we’re delicate flowers, Tin-Tin had more-or-less said. Scott hadn’t made the connection with participating on rescues.

“I get the feeling Kayo would give you all a heart attack if you ever met her,” he said. “There’s no stopping that girl when she gets an idea in her head.”

He should know. He’d tried. It normally ended in shouting matches and her doing whatever she wanted anyway. Sometimes he wondered if building Thunderbird Shadow for her had been a mistake, but then he remembered how miserable she’d been without her own reliable transport.

Other-Gordon eyed him. “There’re more differences than technology and fashion, aren’t there?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “I haven’t decided if more is the same or different yet. Most of it seems to be small things. Just enough to be off from what I’m used to.”

“Like us,” Other-Gordon sighed. “Sounds like we were too hasty with this trip,” he added. “Even if you needed new underpants.”

Scott shrugged. “We were never going to know all the differences.” He wouldn’t have thought to ask about the minor details, and none of them had even considered that the family business – the actual one – would have a different name.

“I guess that’s true,” Other-Gordon conceded. “But we should still have given you a little longer than a few hours before taking you off the island. Sorry about that.”

He wasn’t wrong, but, “what’s done is done,” he said. “I survived.”

“Get yourself straight in the Ladybird when we get to the hangar,” Other-Gordon said. “If anyone tries to get in your way, ignore them. I’ll get Scott to soothe any ruffled feathers later.”

“I can handle it,” Scott protested. “Jones, right?”

“You don’t have to handle it,” Other-Gordon told him firmly. “It’s been mighty awful day for you, and the last thing you need is Scott’s airfield buddies bothering you. Those fellas know Scott better than anyone else we’ve seen today.”

Scott had almost forgotten that. Other-Gordon was right; returning to the Ladybird was when someone was most likely to notice something wasn’t right. The sandwiches from earlier felt uncomfortably weighty in his stomach all of a sudden.

He couldn’t afford a panic attack in the hangar; Other-Gordon wouldn’t be able to take off, so they wouldn’t be able to get away from Other-Scott’s so-called ‘airfield buddies’.

It would be an absolute disaster.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But I’m not leaving you to load her alone.”

Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s different where you’re from, but here we have valets for that sort of thing. Appearances and all that – although Dad’s got them trained to be extra vigilant if it’s me. They won’t let me pick up a single bag, just you watch.”

Other-Gordon’s back hadn’t even occurred to him, but if even his family were treating him like glass, Scott supposed it was no surprise there was hired help to stop him straining himself.

“I don’t know how you stand it,” he admitted.

“Aw, it’s not always so bad,” Other-Gordon admitted. “Helps with the cover. No-one would expect poor, crippled former Olympian me of still being an active aquanaut, let alone be capable of pulling the stunts those fine young men in International Rescue manage.”

That was true, Scott supposed.

“Look,” the ginger said. “If it makes you feel better, you can run through her pre-flights while I’m dealing with the chaps on the ground.”

Scott startled. “You trust me to do that without supervision?”

“I know you were watching me when we left the island,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “I figure if you do come across something unfamiliar, you’re not daft enough to let me take off without getting it double-checked it first.”

Scott could accept that.

“Besides, no-one’ll find that strange around here. It’ll look more strange if Scott Tracy isn’t doing all the checks himself.”

“You could have just said that in the first place,” Scott pointed out. Other-Gordon scoffed, but said nothing.

Jones wasn’t amongst the men that seemed to be waiting for them when Other-Gordon rolled the car up behind the hangar. Scott supposed his shift was over for the day, and in a way that made it easier to reluctantly leave the car and head straight for the hangar. The T.A. was a beacon, and once the door opened, the red of the Ladybird stood out amongst the many planes housed inside.

“Hey, Scott!” an unfamiliar voice called. He ignored them, remembering what Other-Gordon had said about them all knowing Other-Scott and knowing he couldn’t handle trying to interact with any of them without the ginger to act as a buffer without making them suspicious.

Pre-flight checks. Those, he could do.

He slipped into the cockpit, taking the pilot’s seat for the moment although Other-Gordon was doubtless going to shove him over when he arrived, and immersed himself in the blessed familiarity of flicking switches and running all the checks that had long since become second nature to him. While the Ladybird was a far cry from Thunderbird One, she wasn’t so far from more conventional aircraft that he couldn’t work her out.

Engrossed in the task, he barely noticed the ground crew flitting around as their shopping was loaded into the cargo hold under Other-Gordon’s supervision, or the questions about him being fired the ginger’s way, only to be expertly deflected.

He did notice the jab in his shoulder when Other-Gordon clambered up to join him.

“Finished?” the ginger asked. Scott ran his hands over the controls one last time, before reluctantly pronouncing himself satisfied.

“She’s good to fly,” he said.

“Then budge over,” Other-Gordon retorted. Scott reluctantly shimmied over into the passenger seat. “Everything’s fine?”

“Just like our training jet at home,” Scott promised. “I taught Alan to fly with controls like this.” He glanced over at the ginger settling himself into the pilot’s seat. “Gordon, too.”

“You’re calling the Ladybird a training jet?” Other-Gordon asked. “I’d like to see you tell Tin-Tin that.”

Scott chuckled. “Anything’s a training jet compared to my usual ride,” he pointed out.

Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you tell Virgil that.”

“His girl’s not a jet,” Scott retorted. “Not unless that’s got a very different definition here.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Other-Gordon conceded, before reaching for the radio. “Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. We’re ready for take-off, over.”

Static crackled for a moment.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird,” the radio responded. “Clear to proceed to runway three-bravo, over.”

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. Understood. Proceeding now, over.” The hangar door opened and Other-Gordon taxied them out onto the tarmac. Scott occupied himself with looking out at the other planes as they travelled past. Some designs were instantly familiar, while others looked very different to anything he’d seen in his own universe.

Other-Gordon made a few more calls over the radio as they finished taxiing into position, and Scott settled back in the seat comfortably as they waited for permission to take off.

He had to admit he didn’t miss all the bureaucracy with Thunderbird One, and John acting as his ATC wherever he was in the world. VTOL launches helped.

After another half a minute or so, the all-clear was given, and the Ladybird rumbled to life, surging forwards and up under Other-Gordon’s hands.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird, your route is clear,” the radio crackled again. “Have a safe flight. Over.”

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control,” Other-Gordon replied. “Thank you. Over and out.” He fiddled with the radio for a moment. “Ladybird to Tracy Island, come in.”

“Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird,” Not-Dad’s voice filtered through. “How’s it going, Gordon?”

“We’ve just left Auckland, Father,” the ginger said. “Estimated ETA in two hours.”

“I’ll let your grandmother know,” Not-Dad replied. “You boys didn’t have any problems?”

“No, sir,” Other-Gordon said, to Scott’s relief. “No problems.”

“Well, I expect to hear about your trip when you get back,” the man told them. “I’ll see you then. Tracy Island out.”

“Thanks,” Scott said after the connection ended.

“I’m still telling Scott,” Other-Gordon reminded him. “But you can thank me by not judging my piloting the whole way back. Stare at the clouds or something.”

Scott chuckled. “I’ll do my best,” he said. Other-Gordon just groaned.

“I am never piloting you anywhere ever again,” he swore. “Cloud watch. Don’t you dare look at what I’m doing.”

Scott rolled his eyes but obliged.

Like the outward journey, their return one passed in mostly silence, Other-Gordon focusing on piloting and Scott doing his best not to make idle comments whenever he didn’t react to changes in the air currents the same way he would.

He liked to think he was successful at it. The aquanaut would no doubt disagree.

“I can still feel you judging me,” Other-Gordon grumbled eventually. Scott wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like they should be nearly there.

Up ahead was a small, rocky island. It looked utterly unfamiliar, but Other-Gordon was straight on course for it.

“Home sweet home,” the aquanaut commented when he caught him looking at it. “The same?”

“The only similarity is that it’s volcanic,” Scott answered. “Ours has twin peaks, to start with.” This Tracy Island seemed to have some sort of plateau mountain, rather than the jagged peaks he was used to. It also seemed less like it was making up part of the lip of a caldera.

“That’s interesting,” Other-Gordon hummed. “Your house is nothing like ours either, is it?”

Considering he’d needed a map to find Other-Scott’s room earlier, Scott thought that was rather obvious.

“Not at all,” he said. “Even the pool’s a different shape. Ours is a regular Olympic-size pool.”

“Really?” Other-Gordon asked. “I suppose that makes it easier to retract, though. Easier to pilot through, too?”

“If I ever get the chance to compare, I’ll let you know,” Scott replied. Other-Gordon laughed.

“I should let them know we’re on approach,” he said, reaching for the radio again. “Ladybird to Tracy Island.”

“Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird.” It was Other-Scott on the line this time. “You’re clear to land.”

“F.A.B., Scott,” Other-Gordon acknowledged.

“How much damage control have you left me with?” Other-Scott continued. “Dad says you said there were no issues?”

“I’ll give you the run-down once we’re down,” the aquanaut told him. “There was paparazzi.”

“If I don’t like what they publish, you’d better watch your back, Gordon,” Other-Scott warned. “I’ll meet you two in the hangar. Tracy Island out.”

“Well, no sense in putting it off,” Other-Gordon commented as the line went dead. “You want to hang around for the debrief?”

Scott shook his head, having no wish to stand around and listen to an account of what he’d already lived through. “Just him,” he reminded. “I’ll get changed while you do.”

“You finally get to change underwear,” the ginger commented, and Scott rolled his eyes. “Coming up on the landing now.”

Sure enough, there was the runway, protruding out onto a pier and lined with palm trees. Definitely Thunderbird Two’s runway, and now that they were approaching it, Scott could see the cragged rockface that no doubt moved somehow to reveal the giant cargo plane. A little way up was a white building, built into the cliff.

He filed that away to ask about later, not wanting to interrupt the aquanaut as he brought them down onto the tarmac with a slight bump, decelerating until they were taxiing towards an open hangar door. It wasn’t quite central to the runway, further cementing Scott’s conclusion that Thunderbird Two was just behind the cliff face.

To his relief, Other-Scott seemed to be alone, standing next to the blue beauty he’d spotted earlier, as Other-Gordon brought the Ladybird to a stop and started the post-flight checks. Wherever the rest of the family were, it didn’t seem like they’d planned a welcoming committee, at least.

“So?” the older man asked once they left the cockpit, already at the cargo hold and looking at the bags. “Dad seems convinced everything went fine, but you didn’t tell him about the paparazzi, did you?” He was clearly talking to Other-Gordon, but his eyes flicked to Scott.

Scott shrugged and reached past him for the bags. “Gordon’ll give you the run-down,” he said. “I’m getting changed.”

“Don’t forget the underpants!” Other-Gordon chirped at him. He rolled his eyes and walked away, but not fast enough to avoid overhearing the start of the conversation. “I’m sworn to silence to everyone except you, and you’re only the exception because he’s your clone, so don’t even think about telling anyone,” the ginger said, quietly but not so quietly Scott couldn’t hear while he waited for the elevator to swallow him up. “Which definitely includes Dad, by the way, but-”

The elevator doors clanged shut, cutting off the conversation. Scott jabbed the button labelled second, which was also the highest option, so he assumed that was the bedroom level.

It was, and to Scott’s private delight there was no-one in the landing, so he managed to slip past the door to the lounge – out of which piano music seemed to be coming – and into the guest room designated as his without being intercepted.

Once there, he upended the bags over the bed, letting the neatly-wrapped parcels of clothes fall out haphazardly, before picking up clothes to get changed into.

It was a relief to finally get out of the waistcoat, shirt and slacks belonging to his counterpart, and even more of a relief to find himself wearing something that much more closely resembled his idea of casual.

Setting the discarded clothes to one side, he rummaged through the rest of the new clothes and set about hanging them up in the closet. His uniform was where he’d left it, he was pleased to see. No doubt Other-Brains would request it at some point, but Scott intended on supervising his investigations. It was good that it hadn’t just been taken while he was out.

A knock on the door startled him just as he was hanging the last pair of jeans.

Who would that be? It could have been anyone on the island – although he suspected Other-Alan might be less inclined to seek him out, and Other-Gordon would probably announce himself, if he didn’t walk straight in.

It was honestly weird having anyone knock rather than just walk in. His brothers had long since stopped waiting to be invited in, although Virgil and John did at least announce themselves with a knock most of the time.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

Other-Scott.

Scott supposed he should have expected that one. Did he want to talk to his doppelgänger? Most of the island’s residents he could probably predict how the conversation was going to go, but ironically, Other-Scott seemed to be the hardest to read.

He guessed it was because he had no idea how he’d react if things were the other way around, and Other-Scott had ended up in his universe.

His gut told him he probably wouldn’t give up trying to have a conversation if he was going out of his way to initiate it.

“Yeah,” he called back, closing the closet door. The door opened and Other-Scott walked in, closing it behind him.

“Is that what you wear at home?” he asked, blue eyes scanning the clothes Scott had changed into.

“As close as I could get,” Scott shrugged, sitting on the bed next to Other-Scott’s discarded clothes and folding them up, mostly for something to do with his hands.

“Dad’s not going to approve,” Other-Scott warned him. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I don’t see the problem.” He picked up the hat and discarded sunglasses. “You’ll have to stay out of sight whenever we have visitors anyway, so no-one’s going to see you.”

There was an awkwardness about the other man that Scott thought was uncharacteristic of himself, until he realised it was the same awkwardness he was feeling, because there were no guidelines in any training he’d undergone about how to interact with an alternate universe version of yourself.

“Are you checking up on me?” he asked abruptly. It made sense if he was, after getting Other-Gordon’s account of the day, and Scott thought they’d do a lot better if they stopped trying to test the waters.

From the quirk of Other-Scott’s lips, it was a shared opinion.

“I heard what happened,” he confirmed. “Gordon was adamant you don’t want anyone else to know, and I can understand that.” He sighed. “This is weird,” he said, and Scott gave a wry smile in agreement. “And maybe, considering you’re literally another me, I’m not the best person to talk to, but. I’m here. If you have questions, or want sane conversation.”

“After a day with Gordon, sane conversation is sorely lacking,” Scott quipped, and Other-Scott laughed.

“I owe him a billiards match or ten now,” he said. “Remind him he can’t actually beat me.”

“Little brothers,” Scott shrugged. “Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”

“Some things don’t change wherever you are,” Other-Scott agreed. “Gordon said you recognised the Ladybird’s controls?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “We’ve got a plane like that at home.”

“I’ll talk with Dad about taking you for a flight,” Other-Scott said. “Once we’ve established how much is familiar, we can figure out anything else.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Scott agreed. Other-Scott grinned.

“I wonder which one of us is the better pilot,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you fly.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Scott. “Best pilot gets primary dibs for Thunderbird One?” he dared.

Other-Scott laughed. “If it’s my ‘bird on the line, I’m not going to go easy on you,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Scott replied, and they both laughed.

“Well, I’m going to go teach Gordon a lesson or ten now,” Other-Scott said. “You’re welcome to join us if you’re not sick of his company by now.”

Scott chuckled. “I’d like to see that,” he said. “He might be better at chess, but if he’s anything like mine, billiards is not so much his territory.” He stood up, gathering the dirty clothes. “Where’s the laundry room? Might as well drop these off.”

“I’ll show you,” Other-Scott said, opening the door again and stepping into the hallway. “It’s next to the games room.” Scott followed him, letting the door close behind him.

Chapter 13>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #gordon tracy #jeff tracy

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vamonumentlandscape · 3 years

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Poplar Forest & Bedford

When we first arrived at Poplar Forest that lies on the outskirts of Lynchburg in Bedford County, we were blown away by the beautiful landscape that surrounded Thomas Jefferson’s retreat. Our team had heard such good things about the historic site from those who work there, our professors, and fellow students, we knew it was a must see spot. When we walked into the visitors center, we were greeted by the most kind staff member that we have encountered at any historic site. He was helpful, sweet, and even asked us about our research. We felt very welcome as soon as we walked through the door. To begin the tour, we started with a fifteen minute video introduction to Poplar Forest. Before the tour began, we realized our tour guide seemed to have little enthusiasm when one man asked her if she was our tour guide and she responded with a flat “yes.” After that odd encounter, we watched the wonderfully done film on Jefferson’s retreat home. The short video captured the stories of Jefferson, the enslaved people who worked there, and the importance of the architecture of the site. We were all looking forward to the tour of the historic home and the rest of our day at Poplar Forest after this.

We began the tour outside of the octagonal mansion with our tour guide explaining the symmetric architecture that Jefferson wanted to experiment with. By combining all of the techniques he had seen in Europe, he created this small, yet grand mansion as his getaway. But, he is not the one who put the physical labor into creating this architectural masterpiece. The enslaved people of Poplar Forest are the real champions of constructing the illustrious home. Our tour guide made that clear when she described much of the back-breaking work the enslaved people, like John Hemings, put into the building. She pointed out the only asymmetric detail, the wing of the home, where the enslaved people spent most of their days cooking, cleaning, and keeping the home the way Jefferson wanted. Unlike other Jefferson designs, there was no other wing to complete the symmetry. As Travis McDonald would explain to us later, “the second wing is the million dollar question.” Speculation from staff who have greatly studied the wing says it was just unnecessary to add another space to the home. We walked a little further to see the newly reconstructed carriage turnaround to what it would have looked like in Jefferson’s day. At Poplar Forest, the staff has taken huge steps to ensure the complete correctness of their rebuilding of the home. Our tour guide made sure we knew this once we entered the home. We were all impressed by the moulding, exact replicas, and specificity of the measurements for the rooms. Not only is the representation of the home wonderfully done, but the interpretation was wonderful. Though our tour guide was a bit quiet and unenthused, she did not refrain from allowing Jefferson to be talked about as human and did not glorify him. She was able to express his architectural genius all the while letting us know he did not build one piece of it. He was wholly dependent on enslaved laborers to have his elitist lifestyle. It was encouraging to see a second site where Jefferson was able to be learned about earnestly and not in a God-like manner. Our tour guide also explained to us in the parlor room how he had a more familial side with his granddaughters who frequently accompanied him at Poplar Forest. In the last room, we got to see the room that mirrored Jefferson's bedroom. While his room was fully restored, this room was used as a progress room to show how the staff at Poplar Forest worked to recreate the Jeffersonian home after it had undergone fire and renovations from other residents. Also in this room was an original John Hemings door. This was a site to see as we all know that he was responsible for most of the ornate mouldings and doors in the original home. We all enjoyed the house tour and were incredibly impressed with all the work the staff at Poplar Forest has done in the short 40 years they have been a museum. In the grand scheme of things, 40 years and starting from scratch is not long for the project that they had ahead of them.

In the basement and the wing of the mansion is an exhibit dedicated to the enslaved workers of Poplar Forest. This was not a part of the house tour, but we made sure to see all that was displayed on our own. We saw the familiar name of John Hemings featured throughout. Without his tireless efforts, the home would not have been able to feature such unique architectural details. Though Thomas Jefferson was a master architect, he was never doing the hard work of actually building what he designed throughout his life. It was enlightening to see what archaeological finds have been discovered at the site. There was one display case that featured a series of items collected by rats in the attic of the home between 1846 and the 1960s, which was far beyond Thomas Jefferson’s ownership of the property. There were fragments of book pages, newspapers, clothes, and more. We walked over to see what was displayed in the wing between the east side of the home and the east mound, and we were amazed to find the kitchen with fireplaces, hearths, and a cook’s quarters. On display in one of the rooms was a letter from Hannah, an enslaved woman, written to Thomas Jefferson. In the letter, she expresses sadness about his inability to visit Poplar Forest that Fall and she also paraphrased the Bible - “we ought to serve and obey his commandments that you may set to win the prize and after glory run.” We believe this letter clearly shows a level of hopelessness and despair within Hannah, but it also depicts a unique dynamic of an enslaved person being allowed the ability to write. This must have been a unique circumstance. We are extremely pleased with the archaeological excavations done to bring the Wing of Offices back to their original form. Past the East mound are structures of the era beyond Thomas Jefferson’s ownership of the property and contained the living quarters of enslaved people during the antebellum era up through emancipation. There was a small exhibit in one of the spaces that allowed further learning about the enslaved. Down the hill and near a modern residential community is a reconstructed enslaved person quarters known as the North Hill site. It was built with logs and had a chimney lined with clay to avoid the spread of fires. A small garden likely existed since food rations were so limited. It was amazing to see the basic shape and size of what the enslaved lived within and is a stark contrast to the extravagance of the mansion. Reconstructing such structures allow sites like Poplar Forest to share the hard, yet necessary, truths of what enslavement looked like.

Our last stop after the gift shop at Poplar Forest was to Travis McDonald’s office. McDonald is the Director of Architectural Restoration at Poplar Forest. He has been with the foundation from the very beginning. His skills of being an architect, a restorationist, and a historian in his own right made him the perfect candidate for the position he has held for over 30 years. We were all so thankful that we got the opportunity to speak with him about Jefferson’s historic retreat. As we sat down in his office, the walls were lined with shelves encasing what seemed to be hundreds of books. On his desk and floor there were even more. The books that caught our attention were the Annette Gordon-Reed books, The Hemings of Monticello and Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings. His devotion to the ever evolving story of Jefferson was told to us before he even began talking. He told us right off the bat that Poplar forest “strives for historical accuracy over idealistic perceptions.” Since we have been to many historic sites across the state this summer, we have seen a few places that do the opposite. It is so impressive that the foundation has wanted to do this from the very beginning. They have cut no corners in perfection - literally. He explained to us that Jefferson was not the originator of his own ideas, but a master of self-education. He was able to learn and combine many pre-existing cutting edge architectural techniques. From masters of the art like Andrea Palladio, Jefferson was able to utilize his knowledge and European ideas to create his own style. McDonald continued to give us wisdom when he connected his specialty of architecture to history. “Architecture is a lot like history. It gets reinterpreted as new evidence is found and progress can be made.” Our last question for McDonald was about his feelings towards the current issues of Confederate monuments. His answer blew all of us away as it contained sincere emotion and toiled thought. “I had to separate myself from seeing them as art and architecture. As a professional architect and restorationist, that is how I saw and appreciated them for a long time. But now, I have been able to separate myself from that and see what they truly mean.” It was enlightening to hear a professional who has been in his field for decades to share his feelings with us. Travis McDonald was so welcoming and we are so thankful to have had the opportunity to gain insight from him.

We ventured into the small town of Bedford after visiting Poplar Forest. In our earliest research, we found an article on “The War Between the States Museum'' at the Bedford Museum and Genealogical Library. Just from the title, we knew we needed to go see whatever it was. Of course, “the war between the states” is a lost cause term to amplify that states rights was the reason for the Civil War instead of the obvious cause: slavery. We went in and it was a dark, dimly lit place. There were a few staff members and they were kind to us when we asked for admission in the museum. The gift shop was filled with outdated books, old postcards, and Confederate memorabilia, so we gained more insight onto what was ahead in the exhibit spaces. We took what the museum employee called the “slowest elevator in the county” up to the top floor where the exhibit on the “war between the states'' was displayed. We walk in and it is a large room with many glass cases. Again, very dim and not well lit, we strained our eyes to read the exhibits. The first exhibit you see in the space is on “Blacks Service.” All of our mouths dropped. It was an exhibit amplifying the myth of Black Confederates. Yes, Africa Americans served in the Confederacy, but not by their own will. They served as enslaved persons to those in the war. None of us could barely stand to be in the museum any longer after this, but we pushed through. Confederate flags were everywhere, the use of the word “Yankee”, and an exhibit on how Jefferson Davis’ release from prison was “a way to heal the deep divide between the U.S.” was on display. It was mind blowing to see this shrine to the Lost Cause only thirty minutes away from Randolph. At the end of the exhibit, we noticed a little sign on the wall that said the Sons of the Confederate Veterans still meet at least once a month in the room. We were all in disbelief from the complete bias and shrine-like nature of the museum. We traveled downstairs to see the other exhibits on local Native Americans, local African Americans, WWI, and WWII. The Native American exhibit looked like it was a project that the local middle school students put together. The information was not terrible, but the display was embarrassing. The information was presented at an education level for 5th graders, yet there was no signage dictating that it was a children’s exhibit. In the local African American exhibit, there were artifacts from the former all-Black high school, the African American sheriff who just retired, and Carol M. Swain, the African American conservative political science professor and Republican advocate. It was nice to see the information displayed about successful locals, but the message was clear. Overall, the museum experience was subpar. We all knew what we were walking into, but somehow it was worse than we could have imagined. We hope one day that the staff at the Bedford Museum and Genealogical Library will improve their interpretation.

Before we left the town of Bedford, we took a close look at the Confederate monument that stands in front of the Bedford County Courthouse. The text at the base of the high obelisk below a carved battle flag says “Bedford honors her heroes; proudly rejoicing with the living; sincerely mourning the dead. Their history is its brightest pace...This stone is erected to keep fresh in memory the noble deeds of these devoted sons.” Obviously, this monument reeks of the lost cause and does not honor a piece of history that all can be proud of. Taking down such a problematic statue would not be “erasing history,” as Bedford supervisor candidates stated in 2017. The public should play a role in discussions of what to do with the obelisk, but it certainly does not belong in front of such an important government building. Once again, the United Daughters of the Confederacy supported the construction of a heinous monument at a time (1909) when African-Americans faced acts of discrimination and bigotry. If people were able to put themselves in the shoes of those most affected by the presence of such an awful monument, then we would finally be able to make lasting changes for the betterment of us all.

#bedford #virginia #history #monument #civil war #confederate #poplar forest #Jefferson #sally hemings

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

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High Expectations - Ch9

This was meant to be just a quick bit of practice at freehand drawing so I could work on doing neat straight lines and circles. Then I found my old glass paints that have been in a box for...8 years (?) and suddenly I now have a WASP suncatcher. I’m a bit wobbly with the relief edging, probably not helped in that the tubes had gone a bit firm and funky, but I’m predicting more sun catchers and maybe a few candle holders will appear soon.

Many thanks are due to @willow-salix who has provided much hand holding and head pats.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Nine

Gordon fell into line amongst the other hopefuls. For the next few days he wasn’t Gordon Tracy, Olympian and heir to one of the largest fortunes in America, he was Number 14 and the anonymity suited him just fine. The elastic armband around his bicep was the sole identifier to distinguish him from the other candidates as the assessors marked down their observations. Only the course leader had the information that linked names to numbers; each stage of selection was kept separate to avoid bias.

“Atten...shun!”

The command was barked out by the officer placed in charge of his group and Gordon found himself jumping to the alert and snapping his feet together automatically. Evidently something had remained buried deep in his memory from all the times watching Scott being taught drill by their father or practicing out in the yard in Kansas all those years ago. The rest of the group also snapped to attention with varying degrees of success.

“Group C, your first test is pool fitness. You have two minutes to fetch your swimming kit and fall back into line. Go!”

There was a mad scramble towards the door of their temporary accommodation as Gordon and the other potential recruits allocated to group C raced to retrieve their kit from their bunks. They had barely been on base for an hour but had already learnt that failure to meet a time limit or just being last to complete a task would result in being given punishment press ups. By the time they had reassembled groups A and B were nowhere to be seen, evidently separated off to undertake one of the other selection tests.

As they marched across the base to the pool Gordon couldn’t help but feel slightly pleased that his group was getting to swim first. This was his natural environment and he justifiably had every confidence in his own abilities. It would also give him a good chance to stretch out his muscles after sitting around in the airport and then being cramped in an airline seat; domestic flights were always taken in coach class for a Tracy son travelling solo.

Once within the pool building more orders were barked giving a time limit to get changed. Gordon quickly found a space on the bench and started stripping. Some of the other recruits seemed a little uncomfortable about changing in the communal space but Gordon figured that privacy would often be hard to come by within the submarine service and now was not the time to be worried about modesty. After years of completing the action several times a week he could be in his kit almost as quickly as he could swim 200m and he was one of the first ready.

He snapped on his sunshine yellow swimming cap drawing a few strange looks but Gordon shrugged them off; so what if only a couple of candidates in his group were wearing them? To Gordon the cap was just a standard part of his kit, however he was glad he had decided to leave his Team USA branded items at home and opt for his plain training set; there was no need to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary.

Out on the poolside the elastic armbands were replaced by numbered stickers slapped on shoulder and thigh. From the way the sticker pulled tightly at the skin Gordon just knew that ripping it off later would be a painful experience. Once numbers had been applied everyone lined up expectantly, awaiting further orders.

“Right, I want two circuits of the pool as warm up. No cutting the corners. No touching the wall. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir!” the chorus of voices responded in unison.

“Into the water, in number order. Go!”

One by one the men allocated to group C were counted into the water to complete their circuits around the perimeter of the pool. The pace was frustratingly slow for the Olympian whose number placed him towards the rear of the pack and it took a lot of self control not to stretch out and overtake those ahead of him.

The slow pace allowed Gordon plenty of opportunity to look around the facility. WASP evidently invested in its sporting areas for the pool itself was up to Olympic standards even if the viewing and changing areas were a little more basic than Gordon had encountered at some of his competitions. If he was given the opportunity to continue his swimming training, and it wasn’t unheard of to encounter military participants released for competitions, he would have no complaints about the standard of the Marineville pool. Unfortunately his appraisal of the facilities nearly earned him a kick in the face, he hadn’t realised how close he had got to the swimmer in front and had to drop his pace yet again to maintain some distance. For him the actual tests and the chance to stretch out his limbs couldn’t come soon enough.

With warm-up over the first eight swimmers were allocated their lanes. Gordon watched the action even more closely than the assessors, critiquing the style of others was all part of his ingrained training and he winced at some of the sloppy dives and mangled turns. Still, the tests were about meeting a minimum standard rather than being competition ready.

Soon enough it was time for swimmers 9 through to 16 to claim a lane. It didn’t escape Gordon’s notice that his number placed him in lane six and the coincidence struck him as lucky. If you had asked him just a few months ago what his favourite lane was he would have promptly answered four but after his Olympic success he has developed a soft spot for his current position, after all it had been good enough to earn him gold and a world record. He adjusted his goggles and wiggled his toes on the edge of the pool, he would have preferred to use a starting block but he could adapt.

The sound of the whistle had him launching into the water in a clean dive. There had been no stipulations on the stroke to be used and Gordon automatically found himself using his preferred butterfly, unaware of the raised eyebrows this was causing among the onlookers; his rejection of freestyle making him stick out almost as much as the yellow hat. That and the fact that he left the other candidates in his wake. He shot through the water, powerful muscles propelling him towards the finish at a rate that far exceeded expectations.

Less than 2 minutes later and Gordon had completed his fourth lap and finished the test. He had taken it easy, or at least he thought he had until he turned and realised the next nearest swimmer was almost a full lap behind him. He returned bemused stares with a shrug and a smile before placing his hands on the poolside and launching himself out to sit on the edge and wait for the others to finish.

The remainder of the pool tests passed in much the same fashion with Gordon easily outstripping his cohort. He could swim faster, dive further and hold his breath for longer than any of the others. His techniques were sharp and in the water he moved with a strength and grace that were enviable. Even skills like casualty towing, which wasn’t part of his usual repertoire, came naturally to him and he aced the tests with ease. The assessors scribbled some hurried notes on their pads; when it came to the water based activities at least candidate 14 was marking himself out as someone to watch.

xoxoxox

The first day drew to a close and Gordon was thankful when his group were released to the freedom of their dormitory. The pool session had been swiftly followed by a run then a drill lesson in one of the large parade squares dotted around the base. His muscles were weary and clearly grumbling at the lack of deep stretching after his swim but he was in a better shape than many in the room. WASP only accepted the very best to join its ranks and the selection tests were designed to weed out those not up to standard. Already three beds in his room were empty after their allocated occupants had withdrawn, either having had a change of heart or to avoid the shame of being rejected at the end of the course having already failed too many of the test elements.

Tempting as it was to just flop down onto his bunk Gordon knew from painful experience that he would regret it the following day. He settled himself on an empty patch of floor and started running through some yoga poses to try and work out the tension in his back and legs. Just because the instructors hadn’t given them much opportunity to stretch didn’t give him the excuse to neglect his body. It also gave him something productive to do while waiting for his turn in the showers.

His activities drew some curious looks and half-sniggered comments from the others in the room but he zoned out and ignored them, instead focussing on his form until the showers came free. He didn’t have long to wait, two showers came free at the same time and both he and Number 13 grabbed their towels and headed through to the wash rooms.

He stripped down to his shorts and picked experimentally at the stickers left in place after the pool session, the glue was strong and part of him was tempted to leave them except the edges were just beginning to lift and annoy him. He gritted his teeth, pinched the loosest corner and ripped back sharply. He swiftly repeated the action on the second sticker then rubbed briskly at the angry red patches left on his skin.

“That looked painful. Not too sure I want to do that to myself”

He looked up, met the eyes of Number 13 and grinned.

“It’s just like pulling off a band-aid. Nothing to it.”

“Rather you than me. I think I'll try and get mine in the shower.”

They went their separate ways into the empty cubicles and Gordon turned the shower up high. The accommodation might be spartan but he was glad the water was hot and plentiful. The powerful drops blasted away the sweat and chlorine that had built up on his skin and he turned his face into the stinging stream. Much as he would have liked to stand there for longer he knew others were waiting their turn and it wouldn't be fair to hang around. The temptation was strong but he hadn’t been impressed by the amount of time some candidates had taken and it wasn’t fair to keep the last few waiting longer than they had to.

All too soon he was back in the chilly dorm room, hauling himself onto the bunk that had been marked out as his. Eight sets of bunk beds lined the room, with thirteen of the individual beds now filled. He wondered how many more gaps would appear as the selection course progressed. Murmurs of conversation broke out around the room as the participants made use of the first real chance they had to get to know each other since arriving. The instructors had kept them busy all afternoon and unnecessary chatter during the tasks had been swiftly quelled by punishment press ups, but now, with no instructors around, the candidates could speak more freely.

Gordon lay back and listened. It was the usual first-night whispers he remembered from some of his swim camps; name, city but unsurprisingly not their favourite distance and stroke. The introductions travelled around the room; it seemed Marineville saw applicants from the west coast right through to the central states. Gordon knew it would soon be his turn and he resolved to say as little as possible, he was enjoying being just another person in the crowd.

“So what about you 14?”

“Gordon, I'm from LA.”

If he thought he was going to be able to get away with the bare minimum he was sorely mistaken.

“So what were you doing before you decided to try out for WASP? You're built like a tank and you swim like a fish. You some personal trainer or something?”

“Me? Uh, I've just high finished school. I do swim competitively though.”

Thankfully the candidate doing the questioning latched on more to the school part than the swimming.

“Only just left school? You don't act like some kid, I thought you were at least 20, maybe 22.”

“Nope, only 17.”

“Jeez, that makes you the baby of the group. So what do your family think of you heading off to sea first chance you get?”

Thankfully Gordon was spared answering by a bellow from the doorway.

“This is a military base, not a holiday camp. If you lot have enough energy to gossip you obviously aren't working hard enough. Now if I hear another sound from this room I will have you outside running laps until you drop. Do you understand me?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” rang out before the room descended into total silence.

Gordon rolled over, wondering what challenges tomorrow would bring.

xoxoxox

The second day of selection started with the sound of drums at daybreak. Sleepy heads were raised in confusion. Others who were quicker on the uptake, Gordon included, leapt from their beds and started throwing on clothes. He was glad he hadn’t skimped on the stretches the night before, some of his contemporaries were looking decidedly stiff after the exertions of the previous day.

The now familiar sound of shouting filled the room.

“Up! Up! Sports kit on and outside for PT before breakfast. Move!”

Gordon was no stranger to early morning training. As the first beats had sounded from the speakers in the corners of the room he had been on his feet, all shreds of sleep disappearing in an instant. It was an enviable skill and obviously not one possessed by all in the room. To the observing instructor in the doorway Number 14 shone through yet again as one of the stronger candidates.

There was no denying that WASP selection was a taxing experience. The group was whisked from one set of tests to another. If it wasn’t their bodies being tested it was their minds as they sat exam papers or explored leadership scenarios. By lunch time another member of his group had dropped out, and judging by the numbers sitting down to eat groups A and B were now similarly depleted. Even those that lasted the distance had no guarantee they would be accepted to wear the prestigious grey uniform; the standards might have an absolute minimum but it had been made clear that if more met the standard than was needed then only the very best would be made an offer.

While many were struggling Gordon was relishing the challenge. It was as though he had found his niche. Even the written tests, which he had approached with some trepidation, had been well within his comfort zone which helped his confidence soar. Theories and concepts which had seemed so abstract at school seemed to make more sense when applied to a real life scenario and for once in his life Gordon walked away from a classroom without feeling a failure.

After lunch group C were to take their turn on the obstacle course, a gruelling array of beams, walls and aerial wires that would require both strength and agility to navigate. To Gordon the course looked like a massive playground and he couldn’t help but grin at the prospect.

The instructors divided the group into smaller teams of four and Gordon’s team set off onto the course first at the sound of the whistle.

The group raced along, leaping over pits using rope swings and stepping along narrow beams as quickly as their balance allowed, each candidate aiming to be the first to reach and therefore clear each piece of equipment. It was every man for himself. That was until they were brought up short by a 10 foot wall. Number 6, who was keen to keep his early lead, took a running jump at the obstacle. His fingers caught the top edge but he was unable to keep a good enough grip to climb over and he soon fell back down again.

To Gordon the solution was obvious; it was quickly becoming apparent to him that this test was different to those that had gone before and if they were to have any hope of making it through successfully then teamwork would have to be the order of the day.

“Look, if any of us are to stand a chance of getting through this course we are going to have to work together.”

Number 6, after a second failed leap, was quick to agree. Numbers 3 and 10, arriving a moment later, could also see sense in the plan.

“Sure. So how are we going to tackle this one.”

Three sets of eyes turned to Gordon expectantly. Having been the one to voice the idea the others were evidently expecting him to come up with the solution. He thought for a moment then turned and planted his back against the wall, bending his knees to make a step.

“6, you’re tallest, you go first. Use me as a ladder to get up but stay on top of the wall, don’t drop down the other side. You can then help up 3 and 10. Once you’re all on top you can reach back down and haul me over. Got it?”

There were three nods of agreement.

Gordon braced himself as first his legs then his shoulders were used as steps. Once. Twice. A third time. His clothes became marked with muddy footprints but he didn’t care, the plan was working and he was soon being bodily lifted up and over the obstacle by the team he had helped up first.

Having made the decision to work together the group soon found themselves speeding through the course. Many obstacles, while able to be attempted solo, could be cleared much quicker with careful cooperation and support; Gordon had evidently read the situation correctly.

Despite being the youngest the others seemed happy to defer to him as their leader and Gordon found himself naturally assuming command of the team. He directed the group to make the best use of their combined talents. Before long the band of four found themselves at the far end of the course, just one final obstacle to navigate their way over then the run for home.

Using their now tried and tested method the team were soon atop the final wall despite it being the biggest yet. From here they could look back over the whole course, the other candidates and their assessors were indistinct figures in the distance.

“Wonder who that is come to visit? Probably from the World Navy. Best make sure we put on a good show, they might be important.”

From his lofty vantage point Gordon looked back towards the start point. Number 6 was right, someone new had joined the cluster of watching assessors, the dark blue of their uniform a stark contrast to WASP grey.

“No idea. Come on, let's finish this as a team.”

The group jumped down from the final obstacle and began the mad sprint back to the beginning of the course and their waiting assessors. As they closed the gap between themselves and the waiting officers, making sure no one was left behind, the mystery figure resolved itself into a familiar form for Gordon

Recognition led first to confusion and then to anger.

Scott.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #Gordon Tracy #WASP #sun catchers #military selection

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #306

i’m v talkative today so pardon my jabbering below.

What is the strangest type of candy you have eaten? I think I've had one of those lollipops with a bug in it before as a kid? I don't remember. What would be your most ideal profession? A freelance photographer. But I'm honestly starting to lose hope. Have you tried those coloring books for adults? Yeah; it's funny you mention 'em, 'cuz a family friend got me one for my birthday earlier this month. What is a topic you definitely don't want to talk about with anyone? I don't like talking about my sexual history, doesn't matter who you are. It's just uncomfortable. What was your first gaming console? An Atari. Is there something you're eagerly waiting for? What is it? *SLAMS FISTS ON TABLE* MAY NEEDS TO FUCKIN' HURRY. My tattoo appointment is set then. :''') Do you/have you ever belonged to an organization? If so, which one? I was a Girl Scout when I was young. What is something you're very passionate about? Nature conservation, gay rights (equal rights in general, really), the pro-choice movement, and then there are less "important" things like certain hobbies interests and such. I'm sure there are more big ones that are just slipping my mind right now, considering I feel passionately for a shitload of stuff. What are you studying or what was the last thing you studied? I majored in Art & Design with a focus on Photography in college. But guess who dropped out. What was the last present you gave someone? I don't know... I mention enough that I don't have a source of income where I can really buy anything. I think the last thing I did was a Christmas gift for Mom a year or two back of a drawing I did of our late dog Cali, whom she absolutely adored. Do you enjoy plays? If so, what was the latest one you saw? Not really, no. What was the last thing you achieved? PHP has helped me focus on little victories, so prepare for an underwhelming answer haha, but it's something. I Facebook messaged an old friend I really wanted to catch up with, and everyone in group cheered for me. :') It was really heartwarming. What a shocker that this program is really helping me once again. What is something you would like to achieve at some point in your life? I would love love love to take at least one "famous" or award-winning photograph. It'd be such amazing validation that I'm talented at something I love so much. What is one philosophy you have regarding life/living/purpose? That's... difficult to answer seeing as I'm trying desperately to find my purpose. I do try to live by this old quote a therapist said once: "Deal with life, or life deals with you." I think it holds an incredible amount of depth and meaning in such a short phrase. How would you design the inside of your own home? I don't know the details of it, really, besides that shit is gonna look like a Halloween house year-round. I can imagine wanting black furniture, too, and having loooots of decor expressive of what I love and find comfort in. Gotta make a house feel like a home just for me. What is a band you remember liking from your childhood? Backstreet Boys, duh. Do you ever get mad at people for not having the same opinion as you (i.e. abortion being wrong/right, meat-eating being wrong/right)? Two things: it depends on the topic, and "get mad" is the wrong term for what I feel. It's more disgust; ex., I'm repulsed by anti-gay rights people and want absolutely nothing to do with 'em, but I'm not like, mad at them. Do you edit any of your pictures? In what ways? Oh yeah, and it definitely depends on the raw photograph. I edit depending on the mood it emanates; like if you've seen my roadkill photography versus nature shots, there is an extremely distinct difference in editing style and vibe. I'd say in general though, I tend to like to brighten my photographs and add more vibrance. If you like to take pictures, what is your motivation? God, I could write an essay on this. I just love and am so thankful for the fact we can literally freeze time forever with the click of a button and look back on fantastic sights, beautiful moments, memories... It's just magical to me, and I adore contributing to that art. Would you ever consider living anywhere cold? Well yeah, that's my preference, actually. What is your absolute favorite food? The spicy shrimp fritas from Olive Garden, jfc. Would you ever wear snake-skin pants, or other animal clothing? Fuck to the absolute hell no. What foreign country would you like to go to for a shopping spree? Idk, considering I'm not well-versed in the artistic creations of other countries. Perhaps India? Japan? I dunno. If you met your favorite musician, what would you ask him/her? I'm asking for his fucking autograph and a hug while I smile my face in two AND cry lmao. What do you spend most of your day thinking about? I ain't gonna bullshit nobody, my PTSD. In some way or another, he's lurking in that head of mine through memories, flashbacks, wonders of what could have gone differently... but thank God it's no longer in the forefront of my mind after my first PHP. I've come very, very far, but especially when trying to blank out my mind to fall asleep, parts of PTSD strangle my brain until I'm just finally out. I really hope that changes someday. Where is a busy place you would like to go to? Yikes, nowhere, really. I like to avoid busy locations. Do you think video games cause people to become violent? Absolutely not. You are responsible for the decisions you make; music, games, movies, etc. have no deciding voice in stupid shit you do, and it's bullshit that people blame art and entertainment for such things. Vocabulary: What was the last word you learned? I'm unsure. Have you or could you build your own site? Absolutely not from scratch. The closest I've gotten to that is my photography website, but it was through the assistance of Wix. What's the best thing you can cook yourself? Scrambled eggs, haha. I do make some bomb eggs at least. Are there a lot of graffiti around your neighborhood? No. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? Nature photography. Would you stop eating meat, if you had to raise and slaughter it yourself? Absolutely. God, I want to go vegetarian again... Besides English, what other languages can you speak? I can speak a very little bit of German. Took four semesters of it in high school and became very good at it, but lack of practice has pretty much ruined that. Besides English, what other languages can you read? I can read German well; as in, I can pronounce most words I see, but that doesn't mean I understand what is written. Do you think you could make it as a chef? Gordon Ramsey would deadass kick me off his show on day one, lmao. What's your favorite kind of tea? It marvels me JUST how many tea and coffee questions are in surveys. Anyway, I don't like tea. I am an embarrassment to NC culture. What thing/person/happening has made you the happiest you've been? lask;dfjal;wekrjwe What's the most freeing thing you've ever done? Stealing my happiness back from someone who had no right to hold it all in its entirety. That shit's mine. Do you think today's kids are really impatient? Most, probably, but in some ways I can understand it - at least, in the sense that with the assistance of modern technology and advancements in satiating our wants so quickly, kids just expect it. I definitely believe that patience is something to try to be deeply instilled in everyone, though. I don't have an ounce of it (in most situations) and wish I did. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No. How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? One of my favorite Southern experiences is finding a bunch of honeysuckles and tasting the honey (is it technically even honey??). Tastes amazing. My family's hairdresser lives down a beautiful path that sprouts a massive amount of them, and as kids, my sisters and her two boys would go tasting them while our parents talked for so long, or if we were waiting our turn. Good memories. What has been your worst restaurant experience? I'm not sure, really. What's the most immature, adolescent thing that still makes you laugh? "Inappropriate humor type jokes." <<<< They can get me sometimes, too. Have you ever had a life-threatening condition? If so, what was it? No, thankfully. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? I don't believe so, no. Besides making a tye-dye one in HS with our school colors. Wasn't my idea and never wore it, haha. Do you ever read other people's survey answers? It depends on the person. If it's a friend, absolutely, because I love learning usually obscure things about them I wouldn't have known otherwise. If it's a user I don't know from wherever I got the survey, sometimes, depending on how short the answer is and my eyes kinda just scroll over it. Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Daytime, especially mornings. I'm generally happier when there's light around. What's your highest level of education so far? Some college. Describe your ordinary day: My average day is embarrassingly uneventful. It's sitting on the laptop doing shit on various sites, none of which are actually important, and playing WoW, which is also without true substance, save for social interactions with my friends on there. I spray Venus' terrarium everyday multiple times as well to keep the humidity up, and obviously eat and handle that kinda bodily needs stuff. Would you ever have a UV tattoo? Ugh, that'd be so dope. I've seen some awesome ones, but idk if I'd get one, considering when am I actually going to be under UV light?? Like I wanna be able to see my tat. What is the brand and color name of your favorite lipstick? I have one black lipstick, but it comes right off so I don't even like it. I only ever put it on to take pictures. What do you like on your tortilla? Just ham and cheese. How about inside your pita bread? I've never had pita bread, actually. What do you like in your burger? It depends on where I'm getting the burger. My basic is cheese, ketchup, mustard, a bit of mayo, pickles, and a light sprinkle of diced onion, but sometimes I add bacon and take away the onions. How about on your pizza? I have three I tend to pick from: pepperoni, jalapeno, or meat lovers. Do you work better alone or in a group? Alone, definitely. Which body part would you not mind losing? I'ma be extremely honest, with just how horribly weak my legs are, I could live without them, I guess. Not saying I want to by any means, it's just exhausting using them. Ideally, I'd take away something minor, like a finger or something. What common saying people use is absolute BS to you? “'Everything happens for a reason.'” <<<< Fuckin' colossal "same." I won't rag on people who believe it, especially if it gives you courage to keep moving forward, but I don't believe it in the slightest. If it were so, I'd like to talk to whoever is in control of those "reasons," please. What is the most interesting thing you’ve read or seen this week? I had no idea elephants were pregnant for two years, like holy shit, can you imagine. It was in an article I saw on Facebook about a mother and daughter elephant who are both expecting and doing well. Wonderful to hear. What’s the most useless talent you have? Ha, I'm a master in the arts of catastrophizing and jumping to conclusions involving people hating me in one way or another. What’s something everyone looks stupid doing? I'm one of those people who hate dabbing done by anybody, like you look like you're just smelling your armpit. Which kids’ movie scarred you for life? I wouldn't say "scarred me for life" by any means, but when I was little, I was terrified of the Wicked Witch from The Wizard of Oz and even had nightmares about her. It sucked because my little sister was obsessed with that movie, haha. In one sentence, how would you sum up the Internet? A source of incredible knowledge but also hate and misinformation. What would be the most ridiculous thing for the government to make illegal? I literally dread the idea of Roe vs. Wade being reversed. Banning abortion would kill so many people with operational uteruses and cause absolute pandemonium. How many friends do you have on social media and how many of them do you know for real? On Facebook, I have 124 friends, and I'd say I know most of them "in real life." However, having been on the Internet since I was so young and befriending loads of incredible people, a good chunk are "online friends." Hell, I'm more interested in their lives than most "real" ones. Long-distance friendships are so valid. What fact amazes you every time you think of it? Lots of things, generally regarding the stupidity of humanity. What’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done? Probably going to the beach w/ my old friend Colleen. We had zero plans of doing it, but she just called me one morning and asked if I wanted to go, and off we went. It was a fun day. What has taken up too much of your life? I'ma be real, WoW. I don't think I'm addicted to it like I once was seeing as I go through spans where I barely want to play it at all and don't, so I truly am capable of not playing it, but rather it's just the most entertaining way to kill time in my life. I just don't like how much time I've invested into a game over six or seven years regardless. Where do you not mind waiting? Uh, nowhere lmao. Is there an app you hate to use, but still use every day? No; why would I use it if that was the case? Who is the funniest person you know? My friend Girt is fucking hysterical. What three words describe you best? Complex, passionate, and creative. What makes you think you’re smart? Lol who says I think I'm smart? Who inspires you? Korean Jesus. Okay on a serious note, not just him, of course, but he's #1 in an entire universe of ways. Do you aspire to be like somebody else? If so, who? No; I want to be my own authentic self. How did you meet your best friend? YouTube, back when it had more social aspects. Which one of your accomplishments are you the most proud of? I want to say my recovery, but like... I wonder a lot if it's "enough" to be proud of with how scarred I still am? I still struggle with a lot and feel like I could be so much better by now if I tried harder. If I'm completely honest with myself, I think it's finishing high school in the top percentile of my graduating class. There was a ceremony for the handful of us and all, and I cherish my plaque probably too much. Reminds me of a time when I knew what the fuck I was doing. What's the strangest thing you ever did as a child? Thinking I had "animal powers" where I could invoke the traits of certain animals at will, like what the actual fuck, Brittany. What did your mother teach you? Christ, a lot. Dad didn't do a lot of the raising, honestly, so much of my core values and whatnot were instilled by my mother. She taught me to care for and be nice to others, respect myself, try my best in everything, and most importantly that she is always there for me and my sisters no matter what and can tell her absolutely anything. She was very serious about us going to college and saving sex for marriage when we were younger, but she diverged from those ideas as absolutely necessary with experience. I'm extremely lucky with who I call my mom, overall. What did your father teach you? Eek... Read above. Not a lot as a kid (save for riding a bike and playing softball); most he's taught me has come following reuniting with him after my parents' divorce. I remember we went to lunch once and talked about my breakup, and he talked to me about sometimes, you just have to let people go in order to be happy, like with him and Mom. He's very serious now about ensuring us girls know that he is always there for us and will help us in any way he's capable. What makes you feel powerful? "Powerful" isn't something I really feel, if I'm being real. What are you ready to let go? It would be inexplicably fantastic if I could let every speck of Jason go in both my head and heart. What is your most bizarre deal-breaker? I don't really find any of my expectations and limits as "bizarre?" They're all valid to me. Well wait, idk if you'd find it strange that I absofuckinglutely would not date someone who hunts, but it's not to me. That's a difference in a very serious value to me. Would you rather be hated or forgotten? Hated. God, I don't want to leave this earth having given just nothing. I can live with some people hating me for whatever reason. What’s the biggest personal change you’ve made? Accepting my bisexuality, probably. That's something that I consider pretty big for two reasons: 1.) I could end up with a woman forever, and especially 2.) I was originally homophobic. I still have difficulty in fathoming how I ever was. What are some of your short-term goals? PHP is finally starting to make me build these again. I want to get better at selfcare, draw, write, and read more, I want to drink a lot more water, exercise way more... Lots of things, really. What is the weirdest thing about you? Uh. I dunno. Probably that I RP meerkats, which is a very obscure RP niche for sure.

#survey #surveys #questions

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sonatanotwo · 4 years

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This suddenly seems much shorter than how it feels in Quoll writer... huh. Um. Anyhoo. Oh man. I can post rp np, but posting a fic has me anxious as all heck. XDDD SO. YEAH. I started this like.... so long ago... Sometime in July of 2015... Yeah. I. Suck at this. XDDD Um. Anyhoo. This chapter could still end up changed in the future... but I think it’s fairly locked in at this point, but who knows. lol I should stop stalling.

So. Here is the first chapter of this... thing. The title it has is only tentative so I’m gonna... not mention it. XD //drops it and goes to like... hide// /)__(\;;;;;

"Thunderbird 2 to base... Mission complete, I'm on my way home."

"F.A.B. Thunderbird 2. ...You okay, Virgil?"

"Yeah, just tired," Virgil replied Gordon over the comms as he flew towards Tracy Island—home. He'd been out on what had meant to be a simple mission, but of course, it had been anything but simple, in the end. Exhausted, Virgil was incredibly glad to be on his way home, though he still had one obstacle to deal with.

"Ah, one of those, huh?"

"Yeah, one of those," Virgil replied, unable to not crack a small smile, in spite of it all. "I'll tell you about it later. How about that tropical storm? How're things looking from the ground?"

Thunderbird 5 had been monitoring a tropical storm forming for quite a few days now. While it didn't look like it was going to be upgraded in strength, it would still pack a pretty good wallop on their island. Virgil had expected to be home long before then, but of course, it wasn't going to work out that way. John had kept him informed of the status from above, but that didn't exactly tell him what he needed to know.

"Not too good. The sky is looking pretty dark and the waves are really crashing against the island. Think you'll beat it?"

"It's not looking too likely, but I should be okay as long as the runway stays clear. Keep an eye on it for me, would ya? If it'll be more like taking a swim than a landing, I might have to have a change of plans."

He had a few options if going home wasn't viable. He could keep above the storm and just wait it out or see if Lady Penelope wouldn't mind a visitor for a day or two. Neither were as appealing as getting home and falling into his own bed, however. There was little else he wanted more right now.

"Sure thing, Virg."

"Thanks, Gordon. Keep me informed. Thunderbird 2, out."

Once Gordon's hologram vanished from his dash, Virgil returned his full attention to the various indicators in front of him and the darkening sky through the cockpit windows. Well, there were those storm clouds. Things were about to get a whole lot more bumpy.

As if on cue, Thunderbird 2 shuddered from turbulence as she flew into the storm. This was hardly the first, nor would it be the last time Virgil flown through such weather. Thunderbird 2 was designed to handle harsh storms, but it didn't mean it was easy flying, by any means.

Gripping the yoke, Virgil did his best to keep her steady. It made no sense to climb up above the storm considering he was coming up on being only minutes from Tracy Island. At least, it made no sense unless he heard otherwise, although he was starting to wonder if his plan to land hadn't been his best idea. Even this, however, would be easier than his last tricky landing, so he wasn't inclined to abort at this point

Intending to call in again that he was about to land, the comms crackled to life before he could activate it. It was definitely Gordon contacting him again, but Virgil couldn't make heads or tails of anything that was being said. As harsh as the storm was, Virgil wasn't sure why the signal had suddenly distorted so badly. Perhaps the island comms equipment had taken some damage? Reaching up to flick a switch on the comm controls, Virgil quickly returned his hand to the yoke.

"Gordon? You're going to have to repeat that, for me," he replied distractedly, eyes on his instruments, as he was starting to descend to make an attempt at landing.

"Th—nde—"

The signal this time dissolved into nothing but static, much to Virgil's frustration. Reaching up again, Virgil stopped short of the buttons he'd intended to press as something happened.

Every indicator on the dash suddenly spun madly, as Virgil felt a violent shudder run through his ship. Lightning? No, he had the new and thoroughly tested lightning shield up—it wasn't a lightning strike. The lights in the cockpit flickered and then suddenly, blinding white light filled his vision, forcing Virgil to close his eyes.

For a moment, it felt like the world had gone completely topsy turvey around him. He felt disoriented in more ways than one by time he pried his eyes back open. How long had his eyes been closed? He couldn't say. It was like he'd completely zoned out which was easy to believe as his head was absolutely spinning. It even took a moment to realize the shrill sound of a warning alarm really was blaring in his ears.

It had to have been pure instinct that made him cut the rockets and fire the VTOLs, pulling Thunderbird 2 into a sharp turn, just narrowly managing to avoid crashing into the island cliff face. The proximity alarm fell silent.

Allowing Two to hover on her VTOLs, Virgil sat back, releasing a breath of air he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. His head was spinning and his knuckles white, still clutching onto the yoke for dear life. It was rare that Virgil was shaken, but whatever the heck had just happened, had him literally trembling. Nothing like that had EVER happened in the hundreds, upon hundreds of times he'd come in to land, even in bad weather. He could not think of any explanation in the slightest for what had occurred. It wasn't like he'd blacked out. He knew what that was like and that sure hadn't been it. Not to mention, whatever it had been, it had definitely affected Thunderbird 2 as well.

His thoughts were interrupted as the comm suddenly sprang to life, the signal once more clear and a frantic voice on the other end.

"Thunderbird 2! Base to Thunderbird 2! What just happened? You nearly crashed into the island, Virgil!"

Okay, maybe the signal wasn't so clear. Either something was wrong with the comms or his ears, because something sounded decidedly off. Then again, considering what just happened, was that really so strange?

"I don't know... I..."

"Whoa, Virg. You don't sound so good. You better land."

"Y-yeah... F.A.B."

Virgil purposefully killed the comms, wanting to ensure a moment to himself as he rubbed his face with both hands. He was feeling worse, rather than better. What was wrong with him? Maybe something really was up with his hearing, given his head was spinning. A concussion? Although, he didn't remember hitting his head on anything and he didn't seem feel any bump on it either. Virgil also was fairly certain he didn't have near enough a rough a jolt to do it either. Did he have a migraine, perhaps? His stomach was definitely starting to feel rather nauseous, which certainly gave the thought merit, but what about what happened to Thunderbird 2? It had been affected just as much as he had.

Well, he figured he would try to work out what just happened later, for now he just needed to land, given he didn't know if anything was wrong with his ship and that storm was only getting worse.

He started to circle Thunderbird 2 around to make a second approach, but found himself bringing his the large craft to a stop midair once more.

"What the...?" he muttered aloud, staring through the narrow windows at the island below.

Even through the rain, he could see the island wasn't Tracy Island. It bore a resemblance, sure, but this wasn't it. Beyond puzzled he brought up the GPS and ended up looking even more stumped. No, these were exactly the coordinates. This was where it was meant to be it. This was meant to be home, but it just wasn't.

Had something happened to his GPS? It didn't seem to be malfunctioning, but surely it had to be. What other reason could there be for this?

What was going on?

There was a runway below, however and given his head was spinning even worse now and he was struggling to keep Thunderbird 2 steady, he really had no choice—he'd have to set her down there. Aiming to set her down as inland along the runway as he could to get as much shelter from the incoming storm as possible, he somehow managed it.

Almost feeling like he would actually be sick at this point, he decided he needed at least a moment of fresh air. As soon as he at least felt a little better, he'd contact Thunderbird 5. John could then get a fix on his location and they could try to figure out just where he really was and how broken his GPS was.

Virgil practically stumbled from his seat onto the elevator. Stepping onto the runway, he was met with sea spray and wind. Rain hadn't started yet, but it would only be a matter of time. Unfortunately, the fresh air didn't seem to be helping at all. Leaning back against one of his ship's landing struts, he stared down the runway, noticing several figures had appeared and were running towards him. Was that good? He wasn't even sure, but he didn't take a chance, touching his wrist controller to have the elevator ascend.

For a brief moment, Virgil even thought he heard his name being called, but he couldn't stay on his feet any more, his head was just swimming. He let himself sink down onto the runway and closed his eyes, despite hearing voices now above him. He just couldn't pry them back open.

#~OOC Post #Thunderbirds Are Go #~Not RP #~Virgil Mun Writings #ohgodi'mdoingthis #finally actually posting some of it #askdalksdalksjdam #I feel like I'm forgetting something I should be adding about this #...oh well #i have no idea lol

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darkestwolfx · 4 years

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High Strung - Re-Review #36

I almost forgot it was Monday... Today is my only day off, and I’m still playing a little bit of time zone catch up (haha, by that I totally mean a lot), and so this might be a little short.

I love how we get to see a delivery to Thunderbird Five for once, with a double cheeseburger with extra pickles, of course.

“Pilot of high altitude balloon, you need to pull up! Are you reading me?”

Clearly not... That bear is kinda cute, but also a little tacky for a logo - and why is that the logo of someone thrill chasing? You know I was expecting like a shark or something... something less cuddly, let’s put it that way.

“I don’t like the look of that thing.”

See, I was already with you on that Scott!

Also, blue and white stripes? Who are they trying to make it look like they are?

“I can think of only one person who would spend that much on a big balloon just for fun.”

“Francios Lemaire.”

Oh... him again? He was only last in episode 8! Give our headaches a rest please!

“If we had a frequent rescue program, he’d be gold status by now.”

Hmm... the New Zealand Southern Alps. Never actually been there, yet. Based on this episode, I might avoid it, they look cold and dangerous. Anyone who wants to correct my view, feel free. I do need to go to Australia at some point, so I could just extend the whole trip (you know, whenever the world ends up turning again)... although maybe I’ll do it by boat? Terrible idea considering I get sea sick, but more environmentally friendly. Oh well, I have time to toss that up.

We, the fans, have answered you Virgil. We’ve already done it for you.

“Won’t take long for Thunderbird One to reach him.”

“I’m on my way.”

“FAB.

“FAB.”

“R.A.D.”

“R.A.D?”

“That’s my catchphrase, remember?”

Yes, Brains, sorry, but no one remembers that you said it in Series 1. Sorry.

And here’s a lovely picture of Thunderbird One in flight for you all - because we don’t get all that many which I can clearly copy, so here it is!

“Er, Scott, you do see the big mountain you’re heading right towards, don’t you?”

Yeah, little tricky to miss that.

“I need to land Thunderbird One!”

I think that was probably the most untidy landing we have seen from Scott so far... and I thought Alan had some untidy landings in TOS ‘Atlantic Inferno’.

“Don’t do anything stupid down there, Scott.”

“Define stupid!”

Yep, definitely where Alan gets it from.

Oh look everyone! Halloween has come early! This is Scott pretending to be a bat (or maybe a Sugar Bat as they glide better).

Definitely a stupid move in my books though, sorry Scott.

“Someone needs to give this guy some flying lessons.”

Are you offering there, Scott?

Looky at more Behind the Scenes footage! This one has always intrigued me... Don’t really know why either.

“Hey, you can’t leave that there!”

“What are you going to do? Give me a ticket?”

If only we could all get away with parking that easily, Kayo.

I love how she comes rolling in only to find Lemaire looking like a mummy

“That’s the last time he’ll try rollerblading on the deck of his yacht. In a force ten storm...”

Oh my god, that man is an idiot. Who ever thought that was a good ide- oh, sorry, my mistake, his name’s Francois Lemaire. You know, I think I liked him more in TOS as the overly paranoid (and a little unintelligent) fashion designer.

“What have you got, Scott? Pirates? Balloon rustlers?”

“It’s way worse than that, John. It’s a teenager.”

Oh, you can count on Scott. A teenager? Cause of the end of the world right there! I like to imagine that Scott thinks that the worst option because he’s thinking back to himself as a teenager... I bet he was just as desperate to fly.

“Didn’t you do anything crazy like this when you were my age?”

“What? Me? Uh... maybe.”

“Knew it. Peas in a pod, dude.”

Yeah, I knew my assumption was going to prove correct.

“And then I thought ‘hey Brandon’.“

This is going to get tedious fast, is what I thought...

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could hit a mountain?”

“Oh yeah, other than that.”

“We’re right on the edge here!”

“Yeah, we’re on the edge!”

“No, I mean we’re on the edge of the... Never mind.”

“Hey, Brandon here. This is so cool. Me and Scotty are like exactly the same! Thrill junkies man!”

“Yeah, I think the kid’s right, bro. You’re like two peas in a pod!”

“Yeah well this pea wants out of this pod and off of this mountain.”

The brotherly banter is so worth it, let’s all admit. And this is one of my absolute favourite lines. I think it might be the delivery more than the line itself as well.

“Virgil, wait, wait!”

“Huh? What is it, Brains?”

“RAD, Virgil, RAD!”

“Brains, please tell me you didn’t interrupt my launch to say your catchphrase?”

Honestly, the first time I saw this episode, I thought that was exactly what he was doing.

“What? No! That’s R.A.D. I’m talking about this. (MAX, hurry up!) My new prototype; RAD. Rapid All-terrain Descender. This is the perfect opportunity to test it out.”

“That’s great, Brains, but let’s speed it up shall we?”

Yeah, Scott’s waiting to get off that mountain after all!

“Brains gave me something that might help you get down the mountain.”

And then more cross-talk on RAD and R.A.D. which was actually really well written.

“You up for a little mountain climbing, Brandon?”

“Y...Y...Y...”

“Just nod.”

I bet they’re kinda wishing it had been Lemaire now...

“It’s voice activated. All you need to say is ‘deploy’.”

“Deploy.”

“Oh, and remember to step back quickly before it opens up.”

Yeah, that needed to be warned beforehand I think...

“Oh, oh! Scotty, can you do a commentary for my ‘BeExtreme’ followers? And make it cool!”

“Uh, this is Scott Tracy, International Rescue, piloting the RAD. And it’s uh... pretty RAD actually.”

Yep, I think I have definitely heard RAD enough times for one episode now!

Good to see Virgil retrieved Thunderbird One. Scott will be thankful for that at least.

Although he had to go and do something stupid again, didn’t he? You know, I really think Scott wanted to be a bat based on this episode. Really I do.

“You’re promoted to Chief test pilot!”

“What?”

Scott’s face and the fact he walked off said it all, like he totally knew they’d end up seeing Brandon again. Which is of course correct.

“Scott? Scotty! I don’t think he heard me. I’ll just go talk to him!”

“This is nice. We should invite that kid over.”

“That would drive Scott up the wall.”

“Exactly. Hey Brandon, how would you like to ride with me?”

“In Thunderbird Two? Epic!”

I still would love to read more works based on that! It must have been a nightmare for Scott. Virgil really can be a cruel manipulator when he wants to be - definitely the only one who can rival Gordon.

Right, so I know this scene was like four and half minutes in or something like that, but I left discussing it until the end, because there was plenty to comment on and it interrupted the flow of my rescue commentary.

So, there are 3000 channels,

“And nothing to watch”

We all know that feeling Brains

and Kayo and Brains can’t find Lemaire on a single one (for reasons we now know). In the meantime however, they do scroll over a load of reusable footage! Yay!

So the first thing to make it onto channel #whatevernumberKayo’son is;

A scene from TOS episode ‘City of Fire’ which was reused and recoloured in ‘The Imposters’

The opening setting scene (Japan) from TAG episode ‘Runaway’

Potential alien/deep sea footage that Gordon and Alan have both been seen watching in ‘Deep Search’ and ‘Colony’.

The Mars Ship passing through from the TOS episode ‘Day of Disaster’

Ned Cook - a reporter from TOS; the scene is from ‘Terror in New York City’

The launch of the Sun Probe from the TOS episode ‘Sun Probe’

And possibly most importantly, the last (featured below);

A shot of Colonel Tim Casey and Tin-Tin from TOS episode ‘Edge of Impact’

Then they briefly flash back to footage from ‘City of Fire’ (I could rant about the misogyny of that episode, but like I said, I’m tired, so I’ll save it for another time).

You know what, I’m surprised I was awake enough to notice all of that! Yeah, so I am going to catch up on a little bit more sleep, and then tonight I will upload the promised irrelief work. I planned to do it yesterday, but I ended up sleeping... so uh, sorry? Hopefully tonight I will be able to string sentences without having to constantly re-edit my spelling mistakes! If anyone finds any that I’ve missed, just let me know, but for now.

P.S. I know this is scheduled for 6:45, so by the time you all read this, I will be waking up ready to give you said work of fanfiction, but I actually wrote this at 6 in the morning when my internal clock was still, clearly, very out of whack, so hopefully that explains the state of my notes! See you all in a little bit!

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tracybirds · 4 years

Text

Crosspost for Love Languages: Gordon

[Alan] | [John] | [Virgil] | [Scott]

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

John was so rarely on Earth these days and Gordon could feel a grin threatening to crack his face as he raced towards his brother. He reached out to grab his brother’s arm, to drag him down to his level and show John how he’d been missed. John wasn’t prepared for Gordon’s weight, fresh out of orbit and peering blearily around the room, so instead they crash to the ground together. Gordon didn’t mind and he laughed at the squawk he managed to pull from John on the journey down.

“Get off me,” said John irritably and he pushed Gordon away.

Scott reached down and hoisted John up with an easy-going laugh and an outstretched hand. Virgil clasped John’s shoulder in friendly greeting and Gordon felt a twinge of jealousy from the floor as John reach out and ruffle Alan’s hair.

When John had stumbled his way towards his room and his siblings wandered off to other areas of the house, Scott sat down next to Gordon who hadn’t moved.

“Come on squid,” he said with a sigh. “You know not to crowd John like that on his first day.”

Gordon could feel a pout start to form and swallowed his indignation. His jaw jutted out and he carefully avoided Scott’s gaze.

“Yeah, my bad,” he muttered, trying not to play back that moment when John was willing to tolerate everyone’s touch but his own.

Later, John will creep into Gordon’s room with a Celery Crunch Bar and an unformed apology on his lips, and Gordon will accept them both. John will sidestep the proffered hug and neither of them will speak, each as bewildered as the other by the actions they observe.

***

Gordon might have accepted John’s apology, but he hadn’t let the matter go just yet. He was well aware of the differences between himself and his older brother, the two polar opposites of personality on their family’s spectrum. He knew it shouldn’t irk him that John had now brushed off contact with him twenty-seven times in the last week. But Gordon had also been watching him closely and he’s seen John tolerate, if not outright welcome Virgil and Brains’ intrusion into his personal space. When Scott sat on top of John’s long limbs, dangling off the end of the couch, John had merely rolled his eyes, pulled out his legs and casually propped his feet up on Scott’s shoulder. He’d flicked the page of his book and continued reading, unaware of Gordon’s mounting envy. And when Alan had fallen asleep in the middle of breakfast after a long rescue, it had been John who had volunteered to put him to bed. Gordon had snuck up and watched, as John serenely stroked his little brother’s hair through the tossing and turning, with a melancholy ache in his gut. When Alan shot up with a gasp and instinctually clung to John, Gordon found himself having to turn from the unbearable intimacy of John holding Alan close.

So, Gordon had plenty of evidence the despite everyone’s belief, John didn’t actually have an invisible bubble surrounding him to deflect all forms of physical contact. Gordon flipped over in the pool and floated gently in the water. He sighed and closed his eyes. Just a problem with me then, he thought gloomily to himself. It would be typical that his siblings wouldn’t even recognise that he’d been shut out without any hope of entry in their brother’s life.

“What are you moping about out here?” asked a voice from the pool side.

Gordon opened his eyes to see Virgil silhouetted by the bright sunlight above him. “Nothing,” he said as he manoeuvred himself into an upright position, treading water casually.

Virgil snorted. “Don’t give me that, I’ve been watching you floating and sighing for the last fifteen minutes.”

“That’s a little weird Virg,” said Gordon.

“Got it,” said Virgil. “Classic avoidance technique, do not engage, not my problem.” He splashed water at Gordon as he sat down at the pool’s edge, hoping for a rise.

Gordon swam to the other side of the pool.

“Real mature,” called Virgil. “Get your ass over here before I haul Scott into this.”

Gordon groaned and propelled himself back towards Virgil. “Low blow bro,” he said, hauling himself out of the pool and staring moodily at the water.

Virgil waited, humming a little as he watched the gulls soaring overhead.

“It’s John, okay?” said Gordon.

“Mm hmm,” said Virgil. “What did he do?”

“He,” Gordon began before pulling himself up short. He knew John hadn’t actually done anything, that was half the problem. “He’s just being John I s’pose.”

Virgil looked at Gordon strangely. “I thought you were both getting on pretty well actually. You’re mad that you’re not arguing?”

Gordon shook his head. “Well, no, obviously not, I like that we’ve been getting on better. Or at least I thought we were.” He sighed again, well aware that his bout of self-pity would not garner any sympathy from Virgil. “He barely even gives me the time of the day. It’s like he’s decided he can’t be bothered to deal with me and I’ve been relegated to a problem for a future John to puzzle out.” He kicked at the water suddenly. “It just feels like he’d be having a better holiday if I weren’t around.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Virgil. “It’s John. It’s a mandatory holiday and I know for a fact that as much as John loves us, he’d rather be back up on Thunderbird Five. He’s always antsy down here, he’s never been one to sit back idly while we head off to do rescues.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Gordon. “At least he can stand to touch you.”

A great chasm stretched between them in the silence, its immensity weighing on Gordon until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Virgil reached across it like the gap wasn’t even there to pull Gordon in close. Gordon closed his eyes and breathed in the certainty of a brother who stood with him and knew what he needed.

“You need to talk to John,” said Virgil quietly. “I know its not your instinct, and it’s not his either. But he’ll listen to you if you tell him what you need.”

***

In the end it’s John who finds Gordon, wandering down to the hangar to see if he needed any help with the maintenance checks of Thunderbird Four. Gordon gives him a running list of tools and to his surprise, John doesn’t argue. They work in companionable silence for a time, Gordon calling out a name and John handing him the corresponding tool.

Gordon breaks first as John must have known he would.

“Are you here for a particular reason John?” he asks, straightening up and stretching.

John shrugged and avoided his gaze. “Not really. Just thought you could use a hand.”

Gordon waited expectantly.

“And we haven’t hung out much and I’m heading back into to orbit soon,” said John. “And contrary to popular belief, I do actually miss being around you guys when I’m up there.”

Gordon’s mouth thinned. “Virgil put you up to this,” he said flatly.

“What?” said John, looking genuinely startled. “Not at all.”

“Yeah, that’s really funny John,” Gordon said, a bitter tone creeping into his voice. “That bastard is such a meddler.” Gordon shook his head and turned to stomp towards the door only for a hand to reach out and grab his sleeve.

Gordon and John both looked at John’s hand in surprise and then at each other. John lightened his grip and gestured to a couch, nestled in the corner of the hangar.

“Let’s talk,” he said before flopping onto the couch.

Gordon followed him hesitantly and perched on the arm by John’s head.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” said John without preamble. “You’re normally a lot more you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Gordon. “You’re the one avoiding me!”

“On every other visit home, you’ve planned out my entire holiday and been in my space virtually all day every day,” said John. “This time, I’m lucky to see you once a day. Avoidance.”

Gordon kicked his leg along the side of the couch. “You’ve been busy,” he said.

John suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, real busy,” he said with a familiar note of sarcasm. “Did you know Scott won’t even let me listen to mission comms during rescues? And no one will let me do anything because ‘I’m on holiday’. Virgil actually locked me out of the workshop because I was apparently getting underfoot.” John looked over at Gordon. “It’s been a nightmare.”

Gordon cracked a smile, but it was fleeting.

John nudged his knee. “And then there’s that.” He said. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not very happy.”

“It’s stupid,” said Gordon automatically.

“But it is something,” said John quietly. “I know I’m not the first choice of brothers, but you can talk to me.” He gave a wry grin. “And with my access to virtually everything of interest revoked, you even have a decent shot of having my full attention.”

Gordon deliberated for a few minutes, and John lay still and quiet.

“Everyone says you don’t do physical contact,” Gordon says. “You definitely don’t with me. But I’ve been watching and that’s just not true so it feels like I’ve upset you in some way. Have I?”

John is silent for a few seconds. Gordon knows his brother, knows he will be carefully planning his next few words.

“I don’t do physical contact like you do Gords,” he says slowly. “But I would have thought you were the first to understand that not everyone does things the way you do.”

“Well, yeah,” says Gordon. “But you’ve not touched me at all, and I’ve seen you with the others. Virgil is in and out of your space constantly, Alan after that rescue. It just makes me feel,”

“Lonely,” finished John. He sighed and tilted his head up to look at Gordon. “Do you know what Earth feels like after an extended period in space? Do you know what it feels like on your skin?”

Gordon shook his head. Oh, he’s gone into space, but not for the sort of time that John is talking about.

“When your skin doesn’t have to resist against anything, not even your clothes, it weakens,” said John. “Part of the reason, I don’t like coming back is because even with all our technology, we can’t beat the fact that humans are not designed for space. I have rashes all over just from wearing clothes, and every unexpected touch makes my skin feel like it’s on fire because my nerves have forgotten how to react properly.”

“That’s horrible,” said Gordon. He reaches out for John and then freezes.

John looked at his outstretched arms with a sad smile. “And look at your instincts,” he said. “No wonder you think I’m upset with you.”

He reached up an arm and gently pulled Gordon’s hand down to rest lightly on his shoulder.

“I’m not upset with you Gords,” he said quietly. “It’s just that you’re like the sun, never do anything by half, and I can’t always handle that. But you and I can teach each other about what we need, right?”

Gordon nodded and slid down to the floor. He rested his head against John’s arm and exhaled slowly. “Is this alright Johnny?”

John said nothing and smiled.

“Good,” said Gordon. “Because I don’t want you flinching away from me for the rest of your holiday.”

John yawned. “Just give me a heads up and listen if I say to back off. That’s what the others do.”

“Even Scotty?”

John swatted at him in response as Gordon laughed.

***

Gordon looked up at the sound of the siren indicating the approach of the space elevator.

“John’s home,” called Alan as he raced past the door.

Gordon grinned and followed him to meet their tall, tired brother.

“Hey guys,” he says, allowing Scott to shake his hand and reaching out to ruffle Alan’s hair. He spots Gordon hovering in the doorway and strides over to him. Gordon stands perfectly still as John reaches out to lightly touch his shoulders and grin affectionately at him. “Good holiday planned out for me?”

“You bet,” said Gordon with a grin.

#gordon tracy #john tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #sometimes i fic

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bluboothalassophile · 4 years

Note

Hey who would you pair up Mar’I, Lian, terry and Helena with??

Hello,

Team ups you mean or actual ships? Because I do have a team line up all set up to go in the HfaB Universe…

Below the cut are MASSIVE SPOILERS for Hopes for a Bastard Universe.

Terrence ‘Terry’ McGinnis - Robin, Nightwing, Batman; team leader, tactical leader, thief, expert hacker, escape artist, forensics expert, undercover operative, detective

Terry is the team leader, starting his career into the vigilante world as Jason’s Robin. He is very close to his older brother, Jason, and takes a lot of Jason’s tactical advice. However, he does stick closer to his father, Bruce’s, rules and ideals, but he’s more realistic and pragmatic about the roles he assumes and grows into. He is very close to his entire family, his best friend is Max Gibbson who has assumed the role of Oracle. He frequently complains about being surrounded on all sides by women; his childhood friends were all girls, and he’s surrounded by sisters and nieces for his long time age companions; Lian, Helena, Mar’i, and Max all take great glee in tormenting him about this. He’s also the JL resident ‘advice on girls’ man, though he has no idea what to do about his own love life; for which Mareena torments him for.

Mar’i Ervin-Grayson - Nightstar; second in command, she’s the QRF and heavy fire power too

Mar’i is Terry’s second in command, she is their heavy fire power when they are trapped and she always down plays her abilities and power levels so people underestimate her. She’s very close to her younger brother, Jake, her step-brother; Amistad Ervin-Grayson. Despite many years of unease and distrust between herself and her father, Dick Grayson, they have become close, though she still feels a very special bond with her Uncle Jay. She is also very close to her step-mother, Raquel Ervin-Grayson; however, she is very close to her mother, Koriand’r Grayson. She is frequently the flamboyant distraction when need be on missions, and doesn’t do much undercover because she’s so recognizable between her modelling and acting careers as a civilian.

Helena Wayne - Robin, Catgirl, Catwoman, Huntress; thief, expert hacker, escape artist, forensics expert, undercover operative

Helena is the wild card of the team, frequently following in her mother’s and older brother’s ambiguous morals of right and wrong and is known to frequently operate outside her team. A highly trained, skilled and dangerous young woman, she’s known to take down crime syndicates on her own with little to know help, but when she does operate on a team she works closely with her older brother; Terry. She has a very close relationship with her parents and siblings. Helena is very close to former MI6 member, Julia Pennyworth, and has learned many espionage tricks from Julia.

Lian Thea Harper - Speedy, Overwatch; over watch and weapons expert, sniper, long range cover frequently

Daughter of Roy Harper and Jade Nguyen, raised by Jason Todd and Roy, and Roy’s wife, Queen Donna Troy, Lian is the tactical expert of the team and frequently the overwatch. She is an expert marksman, brilliant tactician and revered hand-to-hand combatant. She is very close to her families, both the Queen and Wayne families, and considered Amazonian royalty through her step-mother Donna.

Amistad Augustus Ervin-Grayson - Rocket; engineering genius

Son of Raquel Ervin-Grayson, he is a brilliant engineer, frequently improving upon all the tech the team has. He is responsible for suit designs and life support systems of his teammates. He is also known for his hero work, frequently on the position of the team to run interference between the battle and civilians. He is very close to his family; his mom and step-father, and his step-siblings, Mar’i and Jake, while also holding a close relationship with his adoptive grandfather; Augustus Freeman.

Max Gibbson - Oracle; hacker and tech support, completely behind the scenes; only Bats know who she really is, rest of the team just calls her Oracle

Max joined the team when she was very young and tried to help Terry piece together the murder of his father, Warren McGinnis. Has been Terry’s best friend since they were ten. Max is not very close to the Bats, outside of Terry, Lian, Helena, and Mar’i, having grown up with them. She assumed the mantle of Oracle after Barbara Gordon-Fox’s death when she was twenty and has furiously avoided becoming a true Justice League member, only working with the team through the comms.

Princess Mareena Curry - Aquagirl, Aquawoman; usually the team diplomat, if that doesn’t work, first one to start the fight

Not the first in line for the throne, Mareena is the younger sister of Arthur Curry Jr ‘AJ’. She is the Atlantean diplomat, and the team frequently sends her in to negotiate before fighting. Mareena is a master of 360 degree combat, while also possessing her mother’s skillset with hydrokinesis, and a master of triton combat. Unlike her brother, Mareena also possesses their father’s rare ability to communicate with all the sea creatures, her best friend is Beth, the depressed dolphin who she personally liberated from Sea World. She is a close friend with Terry, and looks up to Kaldur’ahm.

Lara Lane-Kent - Supergirl; back up usually and team PR person; public thinks she’s the team leader

Clark and Lois’ daughter from the same world as Tommy Gordon-Grayson, Lara barely survived the collapse of her universe and making it to this Earth. She is the public face and publicly acknowledged team leader of the Justice League and this team, given that the Bats do not like to be seen in the spot light. She is best friends with Nora Allen, fellow refugee of a collapsed multiverse system. She has developed close and yet strained relationships with the Kent family.

Nora Allen - XS; recon and speedster

Nora is a survivor of a collapsed multiverse universe, having unwittingly been written into this universe by her father and mother; Barry and Iris Allen. She is a fast speedster, one of the fastest, but acknowledges that her cousin Irey West is the fastest known speedster. She is very close to Lara Lane-Kent. She is also the recon person of the team, because of her speed, she is also very close to Lian Harper because of the Arrow-Flash family alliances, and will frequently team up with Lian when they do small team missions.

Rex Stewart - Warhawk; usually recon and voice of reason

Son of John Stewart and Shayera Hol, he is retired USMCs, having served his time and following in his father’s footsteps. He was raised by his father after his mother was murdered by her ex lover, Cater Hall. Rex works closely with Terry’s team, and is a good friend of Terry’s; Terry’s guy best friend according to Terry who’s surrounded by women. Rex rejected going to the Green Lantern Corps and adopted his mother’s culture as a Thanagarian to become known as Warhawk.

Jacob Free - Mr. Miracle; escape artist

Son of Scot Free and Big Barda; Jacob grew up in Australia with his three foster siblings; Melvin, Timmy and Teether; and is very close to his ‘aunt’ Raven who is akin to a mentor when he joined the Justice League. Jacob is a big animal lover, and took after his father as an escape artist. He is not a fan of fellow New Gods, having been abducted by his grandfather to be groomed as a member of Darksied’s personal guard. He is a massive fanboy of the Flying Graysons, the other members of the Justice League, and is the resident geek of Terry’s team filled with obscure pop culture references.

Tai Pham - Green Lantern; galactic expert

Tai is the youngest member of the team, and the resident Green Lantern. Creative artist, and aspiring comic book writer, Tai is a close friend to Lian Harper, and Jacob Free while also being the Team’s galactic expert. He was trained by his grandmother and Kyle Rayner; he is considered one of the greatest Green Lanterns. A quieter member of the team but a crucial member; he frequently clashes with fellow Green Lantern, Kai-Ro.

The only ship I have set in stone for the future though for any of these characters is Terry and Mareena.

#bluboothalassophile #hello reader #ask me anything #ask me questions #feel free to ask me anything #hopes for a bastard universe #hopes for a bastard spoilers #spoil me

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