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maccreadysbaby · 3 days

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Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

we are LEAPING INTO IT FRIENDS! if you’re new here, this is the third fic in the series! the first is linked above :) I’m so excited!!!

part one

❝ IN THE SHARK TANK ❞

SATURDAY — JULY 14 — 8:27PM

BENTLEY STOOD USELESSLY OUTSIDE THE BALLROOM DOOR.

Weren’t Wayne kids supposed to be good at galas? From everything Bentley had heard, they were really good. Extremely good. Dick had the charm, Jason had the sob story, Tim had been doing it since he could walk, and Damian had the luxury of being Bruce’s biological son. Even Duke and Cass and Steph were naturals, able to saunter around and make comments and control the party at will.

It was like they all had an on switch. Every Wayne knew how to deal with the media, the press, how to impress people and hide secret identities and work them and charm them and Bentley… well, he didn’t know how to do any of that.

Bentley was, in fact, not good at galas. No, actually, it was just stressing him out — and he wasn’t even inside yet. It had been going on for maybe an hour already and he couldn’t bring himself to do as much as go through the door.

So much had happened since Nico left. Two full years of homeschooling, a formal adoption, the change of Asten’s emergency custody into an official foster child. They’d both graduated from middle school, Duke graduated from high school and was now attending a university, Steph was in her senior year of college, and Damian was about to be a Sophomore. They’d been on websites and newspapers and magazines at every turn, pictures Bentley didn’t even know had been snapped, things he didn’t even know people knew. How did they find out he was a Wayne now?

Better yet, how was he supposed to live up to the Wayne name? After all, it was literally his now — Bentley Whittaker-Wayne. He’d hoped, when he was formally adopted, that he’d magically acquire some of the qualities that made a Wayne. For example, the Wayne superpower of nailing every single gala they went to.

It must’ve been wishful thinking, though. Because there he was, still anxious, still jittery, and still kind of nauseous about being in a room with so many formal people. With so many eyes. Eyes that would all be on him; it was the newest Wayne kid’s first gala, after all. Whose eyes wouldn’t be on him?

With a deep inhale and exhale, he shook his hands out by his sides. He was wearing freshly pressed dress pants and a white button-up that fit near perfectly, strangely reminiscent of what his father used to make him wear, but with a different feeling he couldn’t place. (He’d outgrown every single clothing item he owned in the almost three years since he had life-saving surgery. He’d moved into a new size of hand-me-downs and had to go shopping with Steph not too long ago. Which was… fun?) He had a sleek wristwatch Tim had gotten him for his thirteenth birthday on his right wrist, and was wearing some of Jason’s old dress shoes that still looked spotless. His unruly red hair had been slicked and shaped to the nines by Dick, who insisted he knew just the way to do it. He really was picture perfect.

For the moment. If he didn’t puke on himself before going into the ballroom.

He was the youngest, fresh off the press Wayne. He had to do perfect, and he had to be perfect, and everything had to go perfect because he was a honest-to-goodness Wayne now. He was one of them; a member of the family that took Gotham by a storm year and year again, that no one ever stopped talking about, that no one ever stopped looking at.

No one told him being a Wayne was so stressful.

Asten had it lucky. Seeing as he wasn’t a Wayne, he was merely a foster child, he wasn’t expected to come to galas. (Not that Bentley was forced — there had been a very long conversation about whether he wanted to attend or not. He just kind of wished he’d said no.) Asten was just living it up on the other side of the Manor, the side closed off to the public, while all the other Wayne’s forced themselves into a shark tank of social butterflies. (Save Jason. Y’know, being legally dead and all, he wasn’t really one you’d expect to see frolicking around at a gala.)

Yeah. Bentley just really wished he’d said no.

He lifted his head and glared at the stupidly big, stupidly intricate, stupidly impressive wooden doors that led into the ballroom. There were probably half a dozen matching pairs along the walls that all led to the same place. Why was it, when Bentley was so nervous, that it was always thanks to some really intimidating doors?

He’d been given tips by almost every Wayne family member, but not a single one of them was still present in his mind. He was blank; empty. The only advice he could remember was Asten’s snarky comment of just pretend you’re Johnny Cash, and Nico’s corresponding text that said no, Elvis Presley. That might have been helpful if Bentley knew who Johnny Cash or Elvis Presley were.

All he had to do was walk in. It wasn’t that hard. Walk in, find Bruce, and stand with him for the next, like, two hours until the dreaded thing was over. That was all. (But what if he couldn’t find Bruce? What if he couldn’t find anybody? What if he got lost in a sea of rich Gothamites and had a mental breakdown and people all over the world started stomping on the Wayne name because of him?)

“Nervous?”

Bentley flinched when a voice came from his left, whirling around just quick enough to come face to face with Dick Grayson.

He was in nearly the same outfit as Bentley, but with a blazer jacket on top. His black hair was in a (somehow classy looking) mop on his head, per usual, and he had that famous Dick-Grayson-shine to his crystalline ocean irises. His twenty-eighth birthday had been not too long ago, but, in true Dick Grayson fashion, he still looked twenty. (Bentley was convinced he found a way to de-age, because, honestly.)

Bentley blinked a few times, blowing air out of his mouth. “I thought you were in there already.”

“I was,” Dick replied, taking a few final steps and settling next to Bentley, facing the doors, too. “Then I noticed that B kept glancing around all worried-like, so I told him I’d go looking for you so he could, y’know. Stop being a helicopter dad.”

Bentley snickered lightly, emptily, looking down at his hands. “I think you’re gonna have to do a little more to get rid of the helicopter dad thing.”

Dick said nothing, but his expression changed slightly. He clapped Bentley on the shoulder and squeezed it. “What's up, babybird?”

The Babybird shrugged unconvincingly. “I dunno. Just don’t want to screw up, I guess. I keep psyching myself out.”

Dick snickered to himself, shifting his weight to one side. “You know, we’ve all pretty much ended a gala before, right?”

Bentley looked over at him, scrunching his face up, searching Dick’s face for a meaning. “What?”

“Oh yeah,” Dick started. “I was nine at my first gala. Broke a chandelier. Cracked a man’s ribs. It was great.”

“Seriously?”

“Hundred-percent,” He replied, turning and leaning up against the heavy doors. “Jason cussed out a lady at his first gala who kept insisting he was a disgusting street rat that should go live back in the alley. Justified, of course, and hilarious, but it ended pretty soon after that.”

Bentley smiled lightly. “That sounds like Jason.”

“The lady never came back,” Dick added, shrugging. “Tim had been gala-ing since he was born, but come the day of his very first gala with Bruce as his guardian, he was sick as a dog. He didn’t want to let B down, so he passed out right in the middle of it instead.”

“That also sounds like Tim,”

“Hey — he’s been doing better,” Dick argued, chuckling lightly.

It was true — there had been a drastic change in Tim from the mere ages of nineteen to twenty-one. It was like he finally found his life balance. How to coordinate patrol, and work, and everything else. He had a new apartment in Gotham that Bentley hadn’t even known about until, like, a week ago, and it was great. Like he finally realized he needed to prioritize himself in order to do all the other things that needed done. (And it was so nice. Bentley was proud of him.)

Dick breathed in and out. “You know, you really don’t have to go in if you don’t want to. The last thing Bruce would want is for you to be uncomfortable.”

“But I told him I would,” Bentley replied, shoving his hands down in his pockets. “I can’t chicken out now.”

You do what you say you’re going to do, Bentley Whittaker, or so help me.

He shook his head side to side in an attempt to push his father’s voice away. (How he wished he could block it out of his mind forever.) It was strange even imagining his voice now — Bentley hadn’t seen him since the time he’d gone to the prison with Jason. He’d tried to call for Bentley a handful of times on Bruce’s phone, but Bentley never answered. He couldn’t. What was he supposed to say?

“You wanna come in with me, then? You can learn gala-ing from the veteran,” Dick smiled a patented Dick Grayson million dollar smile that brought Bentley out of his trance.

Well, who better was there to learn from? And he should probably go in. Y’know, because he said he would.

Bentley shook his hands out by his sides again. “Sure.” What better option did he have?”

So, armed with gala-veteran Dick Grayson and a whole lot of nerves, Dick opened the doors, and Bentley went through them.

He’d seen the ballroom on occasion, empty and pristine and perfected. But now it was packed to the gills and pristine and perfected. There were people — so many people — everywhere. All dressed to the high heavens, in sparkly dresses and suits and blazers and ties and heels and Bentley had truly never seen anything like it before. Nearly everyone was holding a glass of champagne, and the ballroom was filled with a not-loud-but-not-exactly-quiet overlapping chatter, and if you listened close enough, there was even quiet classical music. In the background sat the wainscotted walls, velvet drapes, and nighttime starry sky that was visible through the windows.

Bentley spotted Bruce on the far end of the room talking to a middle aged couple, holding a glass of champagne that didn’t even look sipped out of. He also thought he might’ve caught a glimpse of the infamous Timothy Drake gala persona talking to someone, but it was hard to tell through all the people.

Speaking of people — several looked Bentley’s way when they came in, a few eyes lingering and crawling all over him like ants.

It only took half a second for Bruce to look over at him, too, and do that smile he always did.

“Go ahead, kiddo. He’ll probably introduce you to, like, fifty people,” Dick said, shaking Bentley’s shoulder and winking right after. “It’s just ‘cause he loves you.”

Bentley smiled back at Bruce, exhaling tensely. “Do I just… walk over there?”

“Yeah,” Dick shrugged, leaning down closer to his height. “Unless you’re feeling really confident — then you can skip.”

Bentley snickered, throwing an amused glance his brother’s way. “I think walking is good.”

“Whatever you say,” Dick stated, and then proceeded to actually, literally skip off into the crowd.

Bentley was sure his face flashed with a mixture of amusement and horror at Dick’s behavior, but he quickly squared himself away and began walking over to Bruce in the most normal, not attention grabbing way possible… Even though it felt like everybody was staring at him and he was walking like a baby deer. But he made it to Bruce anyhow, even without falling. (Which was a win.)

“Hey there, chum,”

“Hey,” Bentley said as he drifted up to Bruce’s side. Bruce smiled and put his hand on Bentley’s shoulder.

“This is my youngest,”

Bentley looked up at the couple in front of Bruce, completely competent, completely pleasant, completely normal-

And then he choked on nothing.

Standing in front of him was a man and a woman — the man in a fresh pressed suit and the woman in a tight red pencil dress with floral designs Bentley knew he had seen before. Her hair looked like a giant bee-hive sitting on top of her head, and hooked on her arm was a massive black purse with the ugliest dog he’d ever seen sticking out of it.

It was his father’s old business partners.

Whatever poor attempt at a gala smile™︎ he had going on dissipated, and he ended up just diverting his gaze to the shiny marble tiles under his feet.

They wouldn’t remember him, right? It wasn’t like they saw him every day — only a handful of times. And he was older now. A lot older, four years older. It wasn’t like he was an absolute spitting image of his father or anything…

“Bentley Whittaker,” The woman sneered, a strange look of distaste crossing her features. She looked over at the man, vaguely amused. “Yes, we know. John was our business associate.”

Bentley said nothing, but fought the urge to fidget around by biting the inside of his cheek.

“I’m still not completely sure why a man as upright as John Whittaker would get sent to prison, and have his child taken away,” She continued, eyeing both Bentley and Bruce with narrowed eyes. “Let alone have his child given to an extraordinarily rich man in another city who seems to have a never ending supply of little boys at his disposal.”

Bentley didn’t really get what this lady was trying to say, but he definitely did get her tone; something along the lines of accusatory, and disgusted.

Bruce didn’t so much as make a face in return. Instead, he asked a level: “What are you suggesting?”

The woman shrugged, tilting her nose up disapprovingly. “I’m not suggesting a thing, Mister Wayne. It’s just interesting how you simply seem to… acquire other notable families' young sons year in and year out, is all.”

Bentley kept staring at the floor, having to literally fight to keep his hands still. He was thirteen, he should be over the fidgeting by now. But he wasn’t. Per usual. Why were these people even here? Why come if they were just going to criticize Bruce?

And suddenly, it hit him.

No, like something literally hit him — right in the side of the head with a bonk.

A pink bouncy ball bounced out in front of him.

He bent down and picked it up, then scanned the ballroom. Through the crowds of posh adults, there were two girls on the far side — like, all the way across the room — staring at him like a pair of deer in some headlights. They had to be around his age, at least.

“Why don’t you take that back to them, Bentley?” Bruce questioned, and he gave Bentley a look, a look like he was giving him an out to escape the strange conversation. Like something wasn’t right with what the woman was saying and he shouldn’t hear anymore.

Bentley obliged.

So, he endured another sort-of-very-awkward walk across the ballroom. Not to mention that he could feel that those girls were definitely, definitely staring him down. But, more than the eyes that were crawling all over him, he really wondered what that lady had meant. She seemed appalled that Bruce had so many adopted sons, but Bentley couldn’t work out why. Wasn’t it good to adopt kids? Her meaning had to have had something bad to it, since Bruce had openly given Bentley an opportunity to leave. But what was it?

He didn’t have time to figure it out. Because as quickly as he’d walked away from Bruce, he made it to the girls.

He’d literally never spoken to a girl his age. (Was that embarrassing?)

The girl on the left had to have been the one to throw the ball — seeming as she had a borderline horrified look on her face. She had short, blonde hair that barely reached her shoulders, and grayish eyes — kind of like Bruce’s — that sort of looked like she might start crying if Bentley said one negative word to her. She was wearing a boxy white dress and flat white shoes that starkly contrasted all the dark, moody outfits in the room.

The other girl, however, was the total opposite. She had long black hair that might’ve had some dark purple streaks in it, and her eyes were a deep brown, almost black. She was staring at Bentley like somewhat of a feral animal, waiting for him to screw up, and her dress was tight and black, covered by a massive brown bomber jacket with patches all over it. She was wearing brown combat boots.

(It was like he was looking at Asten and Nico but… girls.)

Bentley held the pink bouncy ball out toward the blonde girl, resting in his upturned palm. “Here’s your ball.”

She just stared at him, blue eyes wide, with this absolutely gobsmacked look on her face.

Bentley blinked. “Uh…”

Suddenly, the other girl’s hand hit his with a slap, and she took the ball from his palm.

“Sorry. She didn’t mean to hit you in the face,” She deadpanned, staring at Bentley with this strange, empty glower that made him immensely uncomfortable. She shoved the ball in her jacket pocket.

“It’s fine,” He replied, glancing over at Bruce, who was still talking to the same couple. He did a scan for Dick or Tim or Damian (who he knew were all here.) but came back with nothing.

“You lost?”

Bentley looked back at the pair of girls, both of which were staring at him, one still horrified looking, the other like he was some kind of bug crawling around on the floor.

(He hated this.)

“No,” He replied shortly, shifting his weight. “Just checking for someone.”

The girl with the black hair snickered. “Okay, Bentley.”

He glanced up at her, and she gave him a cheeky smile. “Everybody knows you from the internet — don’t look so shocked.”

Bentley said nothing, but instead, looked down at his shoes.

“I’m Vera,” She spoke up again, and then jammed her black-painted thumbnail toward the blonde girl. “That’s Layla.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you in the head!” Layla blurted, her face turning nearly the color of a tomato.

Bentley blinked. “It’s… okay. I’m not mad?”

“Oh... Okay,” She continued, visibly relaxing, the tension leaving her shoulders. “Then, uh… hi!”

“…Hi?” Bentley replied. Vera crossed her arms and kept eyeballing him in a way he didn’t really appreciate.

Oh my God, why was this so terribly awkward? It would probably be less awkward if he whipped out his superpowers and started using them right in the middle of the gala.

“You’re a meta, too?”

Bentley locked eyes with Vera again, and she was staring, her expression less disgusted and more intrigued. Layla reached over and punched her arm. Had he said that out loud?

Vera snickered. “No, you didn’t say it out loud. I’m telepathic, genius.”

Layla whacked her again, her blonde hair spinning in a circle around her at the speed she turned her head. “You’re not supposed to talk about that!”

“Oh,” Was what Bentley replied. He’d heard the word telepathic before, when The Secret Keeper was around, but he never actually knew what it meant.

“It means I can read your mind,” Vera’s voice spoke in his head, but her mouth didn’t move. She just smiled in a sort of creepy way. “Don’t worry — I can’t see anything besides what you’re thinking about right now.”

Everything about the situation — the disembodied voice, the creepy smile, the Don't Worry — it all reminded him of The Secret Keeper. Too much of the Secret Keeper.

Bentley made it a point, then, to make his mind blank. “Stop.”

Vera held her hands up next to her head in a surrender. “Touchy.”

Bentley looked away, scanning the room for Dick or Tim or anyone? Literally anyone would be good, but he didn’t just want to go walking around the ballroom to find them. He wanted to desperately to go back to Bruce, but it was apparent Bruce didn’t want him hearing the conversation anymore — what did he need to do now?

Vera snickered. “Your brother’s name is Dick?”

Bentley turned just to glare at her, blankly, with a huff. “I told you to stop.”

“Leave him alone,” Layla muttered, nudging Vera’s arm. It was just then that he realized Layla was a little taller.

Vera breathed in and out, slowly. Then she pointed behind him. “Your Dick’s over there.”

Layla’s face turned beet red again, and she refused to look at Bentley, choosing to glare hard at her counterpart instead.

Bentley followed her finger, and indeed, Dick was there, talking with his usual sparkle to a gaggle of young women. (Not skipping anymore, thank goodness.)

Something didn’t feel right about going over there, either. Not with the way all those girls were looking at his oldest brother. Dick was being his typical Dick-Grayson self, loud and charming and bubbly as ever, and the ladies were absolutely eating it up. (It reminded Bentley, sort of… of sharks.) Bruce was still with the rude couple.

Vera snickered one last time, and Bentley turned to look at her, a deadpanned look on his face.

“I know you told me to stop, but I had to see your reaction to that,” She snickered, smiling a slightly real-er smile than before. “Looks like you’re stuck with us, Wayne.”

Bentley sighed heavily. “Fantastic.”

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld ❤️

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

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astranite · 2 days

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Static Does Not Mean Still

Scott and Virgil go on a run in a nearby park to burn off some energy after an easy rescue, and the prompt 'Static electricity' is also involved in here somewhere thanks to @gumnut-logic's Unusual Whump List

This is about fluff and joyful brothers getting to run around in the sunshine. And a bit of ADHD Scott and the Hyperactivity. They are having fun and I had fun writing this.

Also thank you to @edutainer2022 for talking about this as a wip, and about Scott getting to put down his burdens and the weight of responsibility for a while to be carefree with his brothers.

---

Any rescues where no one came away bruised, bleeding and/or catastrophically exhausted were always a win in Virgil’s book. This was one of them.

The engineering foam deployed from Two had stabilised the overpass bridge structure exactly as it was supposed to before further infrastructure damage could be caused, especially to the railway line below, the main concern which had resulted in International Rescue’s call out.

Virgil had got to put his engineering degree expertise to good use, handover to the local authorities was smooth and professional with plenty of admiration on both sides for how the incident was handled, and no fancy jetpacking was even required to Scott’s disappointment.

It was a great day all in all to be finishing at noon on a Tuesday. The sun was shining, their work for now was done and everyone commuting would be able to get home safely when the rush hour hit in the evening.

Virgil took off his helmet to put it away with the gear and ran a hand through his somewhat sweaty hair, grinning at Scott as he walked up to him.

“Hey Scotty.”

“Virge!”

Scott had ditched his helmet as soon as the rescue was over and he got the all clear from Virgil which was a big improvement on protocol following and not taking unnecessary risks.

In the meantime his hair had fallen into disarray but Scott didn’t seem to mind. He put an arm around Virgil’s shoulders to give him a squeeze before going back to pacing circles on the module floor, gesturing wildly at John’s little hologram as they talked rapid fire. Something, theoretical mathematics, something. Virgil, unlike other members of the family preferred the more concrete and applicable to what was in the world in front of him branches of engineering.

Virgil did also have big brother jittering at his side with pent up energy and a flight home in his green girl that was apparently ‘not nyoooomy enough’ for Scott’s liking to get through without anyone exploding.

Scott’s hyperactivity wasn’t a bad thing, never had been when it was just how Scott was. Virgil was far happier that Scott was letting it show instead of turning it to inwards frustration and internal stress, but they did have a flight to get through which would be a lot more comfortable for them both without Scott’s frenetic energy vibrating the whole cockpit as he eyed the flight controls like he wanted to tackle them from Virgil’s hands to do aerobatics in a cargo plane.

Thunderbird One was in for maintenance as Brains and Virgil worked on replacing burnt out engines which meant Scott couldn’t go for the mad loop the looping he favoured to let off steam. Virgil’s ‘bird was a Thunderbird: she was extremely capable and manoeuvrable for her size, but stunt jet she was not designed to be.

Pulling up a map on his wrist controller, Virgil turned to Scott. “How about we get out for a bit, go for a walk? There’s even a park nearby.”

It’d be a good opportunity to burn off some energy, even if the walk would turn into a run when his brother was involved. Virgil was happy to follow him though.

Scott changed track mid-sentence, charging for the module door as he continued to chatter to an amused John. There was no eye roll from him, only the softest fond smile.

Virgil blinked and Scott was calling back to him. Alright, they were going suited and booted in IR uniforms then.

“Okay, I’m coming, Scooter!” Virgil had to jog to catch up with those long legs. Predictably.

Scott noticed, of course he did. He was stopped to bump shoulders with Virgil, bouncing on his toes to stay in one spot.

“Short stuff,” he sung out affectionately.

Out under the blue sky, with plenty time to spare and no where to immediately be, Scott was cheerful. John could call them back to Two if they were needed elsewhere but right now they had this.

Scott spun around laughing his head off when they reached the open park. Virgil couldn’t help but join him, as where else would he want to be but by his brother’s side?

Then Scott set off sprinting down full tilt down the gently sloping grassy area, as Virgil ambled along at a more reasonable pace that gave him the opportunity to look at the native trees in blossom, so different from the ones at home but equally beautiful in his mind. Okay, now he was by his brother’s side metaphorically, even if not physically.

Still, he began to run too as Scott looped back to return to him, meeting him halfway. Moving his body felt good, even if he wasn’t a compulsive early morning runner.

Scott crashed into him, catching him in a tight hug. Virgil returned it with the same enthusiasm until he lifted Scott’s feet off the ground to spin him around just to show big brother that he had it. The big brother in question cackled with delight.

He leant into Virgil and said quietly, “Thank you. I really needed this.”

Virgil held him close for that moment. “Anytime.”

Then Scott was ready to be off again, or not quite. He bounced from foot to foot, waiting for Virgil to follow as he eyed the empty playground equipment longingly.

Virgil made a shooing motion. “Go have fun, I’m coming.”

He shook his head fondly as Scott dashed towards the brightly coloured construction. Ever since they were kids, Scott had never been able to resist a climbing frame, or scratch that, any opportunity to climb whether the structure in question was designed for it or not.

Virgil sent a quick photograph of a joyful Scott mid-flight to John.

In the seconds it took to do that and read John’s reply of orange hearts, Scott had scaled the towering rope structure, perching himself at the very top, one casual hand wrapped around it to hang on as he waved to Virgil.

John got another photo as Virgil made sure to zoom in far enough to capture Scott’s broad grin.

It would make John’s day; just like him, his space brother treasured every moment of happy Scott. Those photos would find their way into the shared family album sure enough.

Scott’s joy was precious because it was too rare for him to be able to let go of the burdens he carried for long enough to indulge in carefree happiness. That he was simply allowed to, that his brothers and everyone in his life wanted this for him was a novel concept that Virgil watched Scott still struggle to believe in.

As Scott swung his way around the climbing frame, Virgil settled on the swingset, rocking himself slowly as he scuffed out the beginnings of a drawing of One and Two in the dirt with his foot, his hands tapping the notes of an entire orchestra out on the chains. Unlike John, he didn’t try to swing high enough to launch himself into orbit, but Virgil did enjoy it.

Sharper marks from the edge of his boot formed the action lines streaking away from the wings of a certain rocket plane. The rounder toe was used to sketch out Two’s curved fuselage. He used the tread to add some extra patterning around the Thunderbirds to stand in for blocky clouds streaking by. It was coming along well.

This was how Virgil wanted to spend his time: making art because he felt like it with Scott close by and having fun where he didn’t have to worry about him.

Or only a little. A sudden yell of, “Ow!” came from the slides.

From the volume and the high pitch, he judged Scott was surprised, not injured.

Virgil had to check though, but sure enough Scott was rubbing his forehead with a dramatic frown as he glared at a bar near the entrance of the slide.

“You alright, Scooter?”

“These are designed for short people,” Scott grumped.

If he was complaining, that meant it really was a minor bump so Scott wasn’t worried about worrying Virgil with it.

“Anyone’s short next to you,” Virgil teased.

“Hey!” Scott’s indignant cry echoed through the slide tube.

So did the mutter that followed. “Easy to say for someone who’s not even average height.”

Virgil hummed. He wasn’t going to immediately launch himself off to grab Scott in a headlock. He finished off his drawing, took a photo of it to send to John and so he could keep it, then jumped off the swing carefully to land on clear ground. But they were brothers and he wasn’t going to let the insult to his pride stand uncontested.

Scott was oblivious, already having turned to climb the tower again to take another turn on the slide, already over his own bump. Virgil followed, clambering up after him, wary of the low bars too ‘cause he wasn’t that short .

At the top, they met and Virgil grinned at Scott, gesturing for him to go first. Somewhere along the way, probably after getting too hot gambolling about, Scott had rolled down the upper half of his flight suit and tied it around his waist, leaving him in a wrinkled Denver college t-shirt. Virgil’s shirt, but that didn’t matter. The important detail for Virgil’s plot was that his arms were bare and in easy reach.

Scott disappeared down the slide with a whoop. Virgil went after him, not even pausing to admire the view from the top of the tower over the bright green parklands. He was on a mission.

Hunching his shoulders in was a precaution as he sat at the beginning of the slide, a just in case as the memory of Gordon’s laughter rung in his ears over the one time Virgl had gotten stuck in a building rubbish chute at demolition turned rescue site trying to slide down it in a ill advised, Scott-like move. Scott probably would’ve pulled it off, he was far too good at insane stunts, but Virgil with his broad shoulders plus his exosuit… hadn’t quite managed it.

“Virge,” Scott called up the slide, laughing, “Do I need to come rescue you this time too?”

Virgil hmphed. By staying right at the bottom, Scott was going to make this very easy for him. Big brother did totally deserve it.

Pushing off, Virgil slid down the slide, leaning into the twists and turns, all the while dragging his gloved hands along the sides. The colours flashed by and he was in all likelihood doing the ‘plotting evil eyebrows’ expression his brothers always caught onto before he could prank them.

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have a poker face! But this time it would be far too late for Scott to do anything about it. Never let it be said only John was capable of devious plots when Virgil could plan them out with an engineer’s precision.

Virgil leapt out of the slide, then he innocently tapped Scott on the arm.

Scott jumped a foot in the air and shrieked, “YOU ZAPPED ME VIRGIE!”

The urge to giggle overpowered him as Scott threw his arms around him in what was half-tackle, half-hug.

“I got you! I got you good! ”

Scott gaped, twisting to look from Virgil to the slide and back again. “You static shocked me.”

“Wouldn’t’ve worked if you were wearing your suit properly, it would’ve dispersed the charge.”

“Oh come on!”

“You called me short.”

“‘Cause it’s true, short stuff. Always has been. And your hair!!” Scott’s smile spread across his face, big and toothy—

Virgil pouted in an attempt not to grin along. “I’ll zap you again.”

—and most importantly happy .

“You’ll have to catch me first!”

Scott ran off into the sunshine, watching over his shoulder to make sure Virgil was following. Ever the big brother. Ever there for Virgil, now with more care to make sure he wasn’t going too fast to keep up with, not just for their sakes and admittedly shorter legs, but for his own too.

Virgil followed, of course he did. But he did so laughing, not out of fear he’d be too late.

The afternoon was spent chasing joy under blue skies, surrounded by the green earth, until they both flopped down onto the grass together. Even Scott’s frantic energy had completely dispersed. This time, today, it was because of messing about like they were kids again instead of bone-deep exhaustion from hopeless rescues over too long hours in hostile conditions. Virgil treasured it.

He treasured every second with Scott, from pulling him eagerly back over to the swings to show him the slightly smudgy sketch of their Thunderbirds flying together as Scott adored them, to stopping to get icecream and waffles in lieu of a proper lunch on the walk back to Two on John’s suggestion.

The flight back home to the Island was carefree, with a take away container of icecream in the module freezer for the others and a cheery Scott by his side, both of them humming then along to the upbeat music playing from the speakers. No attempts to squish his staticky hair back into its usual crest had worked in the slightest, but that didn’t matter when Scott’s was just as ridiculous.

Virgil even let himself get convinced into guiding Two through a few loop the loops. And maybe also a couple of dives. Then some barrel rolls. Only because it amused Scott though; Virgil was not going to give him the fuel for future stunts by telling him that just maybe Virgil loved the adrenaline rush of doing aerobatics in his ‘bird like his brother did too.

---

Hope you had fun reading this :D

Now i feel like I need to go find a slide or some swings and some sunshine too!

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #earth and sky #thunderfluff #ADHD Scott Tracy #neurodivergent tracies #(Im working on the fishtank but this wip decided i was going to finish it first!)

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hoplessartist · 4 months

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Here today to show off this project i have been collaborating with! This videogame is my best friend's school project for "Basic of Computer Game Developing "

I have offered her a small assistance by drawing the sprites for the characters. This is still just a school project but one day could become an actual project for an indie game!

The story follows Oka, a middle aged village woman that after the disappearance of her son, she ventures into the forest convinced that he has been kidnapped by the creatures inhabiting it. But not all is as it seems....

Here is the trailer

youtube

If you want to show support for the project You can go to Gamejoilt and itch.io to download it!

The game is in Russian so sorry for that, she is working to make an English version.

Here are my designs for the sprites!

#indie games #indie #slavic #slavic folklore #slavic folk #russian #russia #russian folklore #art #this was an extremely fun project to be on #i can't wait to help out more #russian folk #slavic gothic #Youtube

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lilbitofmac · 1 month

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Forgot to share my pieces from the @iamironmanzine!!

Third piece was a wonderful collab with Zee! ( @pixelladium over on Twitter and Insta )

#tony stark #iron man #mcu #marvel #my art #This was seriously such a fun project to be a part of!!#still extremely proud of these pieces 🥺💕💕

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faragonart · 2 months

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We interrupt this program to bring you...

Echo

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derpiedoxie · 1 year

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Tw: eye contact

I paint what I see

#HEEEEEEEELP I HAVE BEEN DRAGGED INTO HOME AND I CAN’T GET OUT #A NEE HYPERFIXATION HAS BEGUN #EVERYONE WHO HAS FOLLOWED ME FOR FNAF BE WARNED #I had so much fun with this drawing-#it was an extremely fun experiment!#and to anyone who doesn’t know who this is: His name is Wally and he’s from an ARG Project called Welcome home!#Hightly recommend you check it out #derpiedoxie #digital art #fanart #welcome home #welcome home wally #welcome home fanart #wally welcome home #also I actually recorded the progress for this one so I’ll be linking the speedpaint in a reblog as soon as I’ve posted it!#edit: aaaaaa I should’ve put the trigger warning there earlier I’m sorry I forgot :’)

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skitskatdacat63 · 5 months

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Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(