#Mr Lemaire

[idontknowreallywhy]

This is kinda niche but for the 2024 reading challenge I need to read a fic where the characters have the same profession as me… so err…

Does anyone know of any good Thunderbirds, HTTYD, Nevermoor, LOTR, Potter, Eragon, Good Omens fics where the main characters are *cough* *whispers* lawyers? Ideally criminal ones… specifically barristers / trial attorneys if I’m honest because I can’t be doing with the desk-bound stuff…

If not I’ll just have to write it. I imagine it could go something like:

Mr Tracy?

May it please your honour, I prosecute this matter and am ably assisted by my learned junior, Mr Tracy.

The first defendant, Mr Fischler is represented by Mr Tracy and Mr Tracy and the second defendant, Mr Lemaire, is represented by Mr Tracy and Ms Kyrano.

I believe I speak for all parties when I say we are ready for the Jury.

🤣 ah I crack myself up…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #httyd fanfiction #nevermoor fanfiction #lotr fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #Harry potter fanfiction #Eragon fanfiction #fic recommendation requests

[edutainer2022]

I was confronted with the issue of adult friendships lately - how hard they are to maintain or to start from scratch. Or any relationship, really, in a full-time adulthood. And I'm really amused by Tycho Reeves befriending Scott Tracy. Or maybe it kinda going somewhere, sometime. So! Scott's mind, per usual, is telling him lots of angsty lies. Scott's family love him beyond measure. And on occasion real geniuses could be real idiots. @janetm74, that little headcanon of John being his brother's keeper and secret avenger gets to feature.

LEAN ON ME

This was stupid. It was nothing, but, mostly, it was stupid. He was stupid. He should have known better by now - people just... didn't choose him. If there was a choice at all, if they didn't need anything from him or didn't rely on him in some way, if they were not lumped together by circumstances or under his command - they cast a vote elsewhere. On particularly bad days he would wonder in passing if his brothers even would, were they not stranded with him from birth. Would they ever be friends? As adulthood course corrected, he saw his brothers, and Kayo, and Brains, develop social connections and loyalties of their own, or just quietly drift away to other alliances within the family, leaving him outside looking in. He certainly knew he needed to have been on his toes, above and beyond his best to earn merit with Dad. He still did. As much as he knew for a long, long time he wasn't Grandma's first choice. He was okay with that, mostly. He chose all of them, would ALWAYS choose them - nothing could ever change that. It was enough for him. Sort of. But this? He didn't know what he was thinking or expecting, really.

Friendships, beyond networking or acquaintances, stopped being effortless some time around university or basic. The brotherhood and camaraderie in his Airgroup was on par with his birth siblings and extended family, but not much went ahead that way after his stint in... THAT PLACE and early discharge, after Dad launched IR, after everything else happened, pulling him in a million different directions. Now, Gordon's mandatory jokes about a "boring old man" aside, he was self-aware enough to understand that beyond Thunderbird One or Mr. Tracy (no, not Jeff Tracy, sorry) of Tracy Industries, he was just Scott. Nothing special. Nothing particularly interesting. Certainly not enough time in his days (and nights) to accumulate catchy topics for conversation - a fact Lady Penelope never failed to reprimand him for over seemingly endless functions that somehow always ended up with him talking shop with World Council big wigs, financiers or investors, or even competitors. It was that or mind numbing chatter about yachts and villas, and resorts, or self-aggrandizing "endeavors". He left that to Lemaire. And he really should have known better than to earnestly hope to befriend a genius. Per his original point - John and Brains knew him since birth or childhood and didn't have a choice but to put up with him. Tycho Reeves did. And chose not to. Figures!

It seemed like a fairly straightforward arrangement. A Science and Industry Council was to start a session Monday in Geneva. Brains did not object to the opportunity to fly in earlier and stay at CERN over the weekend to go over something or other with Dr. Moffat. The sniggers of the Tinies were sternly dismissed, thus encouraged,  not suppressed. Tycho Reeves was on a secondment at CERN, working on something Scott strongly suspected was GDF funded particle acceleration research for another go at a T-drive, heretofore abandoned after the fateful day of the Zero-X launch. The whimsical scientist never quite failed to loose touch after their ordeal in the Hypercar, chatting away about the most wayward ideas and the most mundane things that caught his fancy - much to Scott's amusement - in messages or over occasional holocalls. Especially if a particularly dramatic rescue made it to the Global News. Since Scott was on the SIC board and expected in Geneva for the week, booked to capacity with panels, a quick and surprisingly pleasant plan was concocted: he volunteered to take Brains over in One (or, rather, volunteered Brains to take One with him, the engineer's greenish hue notwithstanding) on Friday, they'd grab a coffee with Dr. Reeves and see what Geneva scenic area had to offer for the weekend of some friendly catching up. Scott would have One on hand in case of a major emergency. He'd never seen John take him off roster faster. Yet here he was, back on the island that same Friday, making his way back to the lounge to busy himself with... anything, really, other than thoughts in his own head.

The sight greeting him, once he made it up from the hangars, would have been more than welcome on any other occasion. He truly never was NOT glad to see his brothers. And John planetside, down from Five early, acclimatizing to gravity before his own trip to Geneva with Virgil for the relevant panels next week, was a rare and precious treat. But right now Scott would have strongly preferred to be alone and dodge questions for as long as he could. Of course, John and, by extension, Virgil would have known the moment One took off from the CERN landing pad, so now his brothers were camping out in the lounge, waiting for him. Maybe he should have banked for Gran Roca and holed up there till Monday morning.

Virgil was seated on one of the sofas, reading. John was leaning on him sideways, his long legs hooked over the armrest at an angle that could have appeared uncomfortable to anyone who didn't know the Ginger Spaceman well. John was flicking through screens on his tablet and typing away, atmospheric glasses perched on the tip of his nose comically. They looked settled quite cosily for a quiet and (hopefully) uneventful evening. Kayo and the Tinies were probably out and about, soon to join them on the couches. Scott's heart ached. He really didn't want to be a distraction of his loved ones' priceless downtime with his moping. But it was probably too late to turn the corner and sneak into Dad's office or up to his rooms. It probably wouldn't help either, if he knew his family at all. Both John and Virgil looked up at him simultaneously. John sat up wordlessly, making room for Scott to insert himself between them. Virgil shifted his arm to the back of the couch, making a flannel bracket for Scott to lean into. As usual, Virgl's eyes and expression asked everything his voice didn't - he gave the eldest brother a soft and slightly concerned once over, leaving worry hang in the air should Scott choose to elaborate. Scott was grateful for that, settling himself into the slot on the couch, his eyes steadily trained on the carpet. If asked what went wrong, he probably wouldn't be able to explain anyway re: being stupid and unable to maintain meaningful adult relationships with acquaintances. John flopped back, using Scott's shoulder now as a headrest and making a little show of finding a comfortable spot, as Scott's was not as coushonie as Virgil's. Virgil reached around Scott's shoulder and gave the ginger head a light cuff. Scott found himself smiling a bit at that. God, he loved them so much!

The silence was comfortable and Scott let himself to just be wrapped up in it. John kept tapping at his tablet. At a certain point it pinged back and John seamlessly forwarded the message to Virgil's comm. Scott trained his eyes sideways to catch that it was from Dr. Moffat:

"Dr. Reeves invited his ex husband to assist in experiments for the weekend."

Scott could feel more than see Virgil's face fall with a stifled sigh. Yeah, that... He really hated being a spoilsport for his brothers, who had a thing going on about him needing enrichment and fulfillment. And an emotional burden. Now Virgil was visibly upset on his behalf on an otherwise perfectly nice Friday night. Scott felt the muscles in his neck and back tense and tried to deflect. Maybe they'll drop it all till Monday? Then he'll be safely gone for a week and after that this whole fiasco would be forgotten. He shifted a hand to tug at John's sweatpants lightly:

- How do you know Moffie, anyway?

- Oxford.

John shrugged noncommittaly, but, surprisingly, slipped a hand from his lap and linked with his. It had always been their thing - a silent gesture, usually offered by Scott, free for the taking if John was feeling overwhelmed or down, or didn't feel like more physical contact. His brother's palm was cold in his own. As if on queue, a stronger, warmer squeeze reached his shoulder. Virgil threw in a little headbutt too. Their own Morse code for "I'm here. Are you okay?" Truth be told, he was getting a lot better by the minute. Maybe it didn't gave to be a bad day, after all.

- So, do you want me to debunk his scientific credentials or to block funding of his next hyper-rail?

Scott must have zoned out for a moment, as he nearly jumped at the non sequitur.

- Come again?!

John sighed and, Scott was sure, rolled his eyes:

- I can go over every one of his published papers with a comb and call every result into question. Hypercar had faulty calculations, for one. Or I can freeze his funding. Or both.

- What?! Why?!

Scott was not holding up a very intelligent end of this conversation, but he was shocked. He felt John shrug once more against his shoulder.

- Nobody hurts my brother. Nothing I haven't done before.

- Huh?!?

Scott was beyond coherent communication at this point and looked at Virgil for help. Virgil appeared a little bit too amused to his comfort. John perched the tablet on his lap and went on, like explaining to a five year old:

- I got Stacy Sims un-admitted to college after she dumped you two weeks before the prom. She lied about her extra-curriculars in the application, anyway.

Scott resigned himself to interjections and an appalled grunt. What he didn't expect was for the sweetest, kindest Virgil to chime in:

- Didn't you have Erin disbarred too?

His ex-fiancée of the ill-fated Big New Year's break-up Erin? The hot-shot corporate lawyer Erin? Scott felt his ears ring. Maybe he overdid it with Mach 19, hightailing from CERN? And here he thought she dropped out of the New York City scene having moved operations to Europe. John was speaking up again:

- That's right. Disbarred and prosecuted for corporate espionage.

- Seriously?! That bitch?! Cool!

There was a slap of bare feet on the floor. In a moment Gordon flopped backwards across both Scott's and Virgil's knees. Scott's feeble "Language!" was buried in the rustle of fabric and the crunch of a celery bar.

- Sorry, *the* Bitch! Allie and I were legit afraid the Evil Almost Stepmother was gonna Harry-Potter us into the broom closet.

- She wanted to send the Tinies away to a military boarding school, find a loophole in Dad's estate and strip Virgil and I of inheritance. And build a wellness resort at Gran Roca. I hacked her DMs.

John adjusted his glasses primly to sit higher on his nose and focused back on the tablet. Scott groaned out loud and turned to Virgil again, keeping his voice a whisper this time:

- Why didn't you tell me any of this?

Virgil's smile was genuinely contrite and Scott felt his heart crack once more.

- You seemed into her. We always want you happy.

He really shouldn't try and meet people again. Ever. This was too much. Scott let his eyes rest for five seconds, then tapped John's hand, still resting in his:

- Please, don't do anything now!

John tilted his head to look at Scott upside down. Turquoise eyes were serious.

- Noone hurts my brother. Not even said brother, if he's being an idiot. Let the record show I'm fully prepared to have you admitted for psych eval the next time you jump off a cliff with a jetpack on bingo fuel, or fall for a narcissistic egomaniac.

Gordon was snorting at that. Too stunned to approach the statement from any number of meaningful angles, Scott went for the tried and true Scandalized Big Brother.

- Awwww, Johnny, that's so thoughtful of you! If you wanted control of my assets, all you had to do was ask - I'd write everything off to you in a heartbeat!

John put the tablet down again - a paragon of composure.

- Let the record indicate further that I have no vested interest in your collection of rare mismatched socks, brother mine.

Gordon full on hollered at that, limbs flailing every which way. Scott reached his free arm out instinctively, stopping the Fish from rolling down on the floor. He couldn't help his own grin. An extra nudge of soft flannel from the other side sent a warm, fuzzy wave all over.

That was the moment Alan and Kayo stepped out of the elevator, hands full of stacks of pizza boxes. If Kayo raised a quizzical brow in the general direction of the couch and exchanged glances with John - it was lost in the ensuing mayhem of passing over pillows and blankets for a proper puppy pile, batting somebody's hand off the *perfect* slice of pizza, popcorn fights, tickle fights, untangling the Squid, poking the Bear, rock-paper-scissoring to choose the movies and the watching order, having Eos calculate the statistical average of Alan being sent to fetch drinks, the works. Scott let himself sink deep beneath the surface of the white noise of people he loved most in the world, and feel the coil in his gut unwind a bit. Maybe it didn't have to be a bad day at all.

TBTBTBTB

Dr. Tycho Reeves found a rubber glove blocking his vision. The large, heavy-duty one, usually used in the labs when working with hazardous substances. He looked up from the calculations. The glove didn't move away, just shook a little in a lightly trembling hand of his usually quiet colleague.

- What is that?

- I-it-t's a g-gauntlet.

Tych drew his eyes up to the sight of Dr. Hiram Hackenbacker pretty much reeling with fury and Dr. Moffat by his side, arms crossed in indignation.

- A gauntlet?

He didn't know what else to say.

- Ye-es. You up-pset m-my f-friend. I will h-hereb-by ch-challenge every d-disc-covery you m-make.

Tycho sagged, lowering his eyes back to the floor. That allowed Dr. Moffat to reach up on her tiptoes and cuff him up the head. That'd be the second one he got today. The first was from Simon, his erstwhile research partner and ex, as he left CERN to go back to enjoying the weekend with the new family before the start of the Science and Industry Council sessions. Moffie was not done yet.

- What the HELL were you thinking?!!! The most incredible guy on the planet is not opposed to having coffee with you and you sabotage it with inviting an ex over?!!!!

Well, about that... The truth of the matter was - Tycho Reeves had no idea how to deal with the most incredible guy on the planet being not opposed to remembering his name, let alone having an actual meet up, coffee and small talk, and all. How soon would it be till Tycho shot himself in the foot with some awkward eccentricity, or rambled on a mile an hour till Scott was barely following with polite boredom and checking his watch. Or, worse, invented an emergency to get out. Tycho knew he was a genius, but he was quite aware of being a nerd too. And there were only so many nerds someone like Scott Tracy could tolerate in his immediate company at any given time. Brains was a long-time partner of Scott's father and knew him, supposedly, since childhood. Tycho was passably familiar, and thoroughly impressed, with Scott's other brother's work on Astrophysics. Dr Reeves himself would be one nerd too many. Besides, he didn't fit the bill of familial affection. Or any other affection, for that matter. So, in pursuit of self-preservation, Tycho maybe overreacted, inviting a rather perplexed Simon over for the day at CERN. And now Dr. Hackenbacker was up in arms and the most incredible guy on the planet was upset or, more likely, outraged. Maybe he did shoot himself in the foot after all. Tycho dared to peek up at Brains, still staring daggers at him.

- What do I do now?

It was Dr. Moffat's turn to give him a Look and to throw her hands up in the air for an unvoiced "I can't believe you!". Brains furrowed his brow, actually thinking over some options.

- You c-can, AX-SID-DENTALLY c-come over to m-my p-panel M-monday and st-tay for c-coffee. Sc-cott always keeps m-me c-company after b-big p-presentations. He's a v-very g-good friend and b-boss.

A coffee-break after the first panel meeting of SIC Monday. Tycho Reeves could do that. He was sure he'd be watched like a hawk and would regret it if Scott as much as frowned. But it was worth a shot. The most incredible guy on the planet was worth a slim chance to make things right. Tycho Reeves had a feeling he was facing the longest two days and the most terrifying fifteen minutes of his life.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #thunderbirds 2015 #virgil tracy #john tracy #tycho reeves #gordon tracy #brains #moffie #methinks i have astronomy #my fic

[ozkar-krapo]

Danielle LEMAIRE

"Dear Mr. Lynch"

(CDr. Inner Landscapes. 2010) [NL]

#danielle lemaire #2010 #netherlands #diy #alternative #field recordings #abstract #minimal #cdr

[salieri27]

Rules tag ten people you want to know better Repost do not reblog 

Stolen from @poetegringoire 

Name Maria 

gender: Female. 

 hogwarts house: Ravenclaw.

favorite color: Blue.  

fictional character I’d like as a sibling: Dewey Finn from school of rock .

number of blankets I sleep with: One 

dream vacation: Paris and Montreuil 

What  I post: Les Mis sometimes opera and Big Nate content sometimes my ValJerk AU fics 

do you get asks on a regular basis  yes my askbox is wide open 

 star sign: Libra 

last thing googled: School Of Rock Nickelodeon 

  favorite music artists:  Three Days Grace Evanescence 

. do you have any other blogs: Yes 

My Madeleine ask blog @ask-lemaire

My ValJerk RP blog @madeleine-the-mayor

My Valjean RP blog @monsieur-madeleine

My Thenardier RP blog @monsieur-jondrette-thenardier

My blog for a novel I’m writing @the-rabbit-and-the-lark 

why did you choose your URL: I used to be obsessed with the movie Amadeus and Salieri is my favorite composer 

average hours of sleep: 6-8 .

lucky number: 7 

favorite character(s): ““inhales” Leporello ( Don Giovanni ) Don Giovanni Don Ottavio Mr Rosa (Big Nate) Mr Galvin (Big Nate) Madeleine (Les Mis) Javert (Les Mis) Dewey Finn ( School Of Rock) Seventh Doctor (Doctor Who) Kat Kommander ( Kid vs Kat) Steven Boxlitener (Wordgirl) ““exhales” 

. dream job: opera singer 

. following:  589 

tagging @catdemontraphouse @barb-animation-fan18 @until-another-one-comes @madmozarteanfelinefantasy @vodkasquip @spaaceeboyy 

[florraisons]

find the word tag

Thank you for the tags @pinespittinink, @sentfromwolves and @isherwoodj - between you all i had 16 words to find HAHA but this is what happens when i try to catch up to tags once every two months

anyway i filtered out what i didn’t have and tried to keep it short - assorted excerpts from forget me not here we go:

blunt: Adeline huffed. “I’m not asking about him, Ezra, I’m asking about you,” she said bluntly.

break:  Reputation was all girls like her had in towns like this, and Nico was trouble. But he was also the first friend she’d ever had. Expectations couldn’t break bonds like that, she wouldn’t let them.

bend:  The magic that ran so strongly in this house would bend to the whims of its master, and Ezra did not know if it would care that the title had been procured unjustly.

blame: No matter what route you choose to walk, the path always comes back to the same one: worn out from how many times it has been tread. It is easy to lay blame, but what could you have done to stop it?

mind:  “Dissatisfied that you couldn’t keep me locked up? Out of sight, out of mind, out of this very world if you would have had your way?”

open:  He checked Adeline’s house first, but saw no sign of open doors or broken windows; he could not bring himself to look inside.

cruel:  Nico wondered if it was alright because it was really alright, or if it was alright because he was a little broken on the inside and Ezra couldn’t bear to be cruel to broken things, no matter how they treated him.

sink:  His thoughts kept cycling back to the way Nico had looked standing over the sink: with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, a walking corpse.

drop:  They would have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed.

dark:  The closet was dark and suffocating. Adeline inhaled dust, magic, and the smell of mothballs and closed her eyes.

face:  If one’s faces could be used as a sign of guilt, Mr. Lemaire was guilty.

curl:  “We can do this more often, if you would like,” Ezra offered. His dark curls had been plastered to his forehead, but he didn’t look unhappy about it at all.

#g: tag #wip: forget me not

[zagrebjavniprostor]

Tribina: TROMOSTOVLJE

Gradska knjižnica, 16. travnja 2024. u 19 sati

Gosti: Igor Ekštajn, Zoran Hebar, David Kabalin

Urednik i voditelj: Saša Šimpraga

Zona Tromostovlje svojevrsni je zagrebački paradoks. S jedne strane jedna od najvažnijih povijesnih točaka izlaska grada na Savu, a danas i najfrekventnija lokacija na zagrebačkim riječnim obalama uopće, a s druge strane prostor je to koji nikad nije smisleno i sustavno uređen. Samo prema procjenama ZET-a, frekvencija putnika na okretištu Savski most kreće se od 20 do 25 tisuća dnevno što ga čini jednim od ključnih zagrebačkih terminala. No, umjesto plana, tu su lokaciju i njenu zonu odredile potrebe, a oblikovala improvizacija. Takva je praksa nastavljena i nakon recentne, u mnogočemu kontroverzne, obnove Savskog mosta.

Na tribini koja stavlja u fokus mjesto čija je „ljepota u mogućnostima“, govorit će se o tome je li upravo to pravo mjesto za prvi zagrebački trg na obali, zašto npr. na mjestu koje ima stoljetni kontinuitet veslačkih sportova nema nijednog uređenog pristupa rijeci, da li je za novi prometni terminal bolja sjeverna ili južna obala, koje su perspektive povratka kupališta na Savu, kako su izgledali prijedlozi uređenja kroz desetljeća maštanja o zoni i zašto na jedinom zagrebačkom pješačkom mostu najmanju površinu imaju pješaci?

O svemu tome Saša Šimpraga razgovarat će s arhitektima Igorom Ekštajnom (video-vezom iz Bostona) i Davidom Kabalinom te arhitektom i urbanistom Zoranom Hebarom.

Dr. sc. Igor Ekštajn predaje povijest krajobraza na Sveučilištu Northeastern u Bostonu, SAD. Doktorirao je u polju arhitekture, krajobrazne arhitekture i urbanizma na Sveučilištu Harvard, gdje je i istraživač pri Davisovom centru za ruske i euroazijske studije.

Zoran Hebar je arhitekt i urbanist. Radio je u Urbanističkom zavodu grada Zagreba kao autor i voditelj niz urbanističkih planova i idejnih rješenja za područje Zagreba i drugdje. Autor je knjige ''Revitalizacija prostora uz rijeku Savu u Zagrebu s osvrtom na uređenje toka u cjelini''. Zajedno s Nadom Šilović, 1985. godine u sklopu sekcije „Prijedlog“ Zagrebačkog salona, izradio je prijedlog za uređenja prostora okretišta kod Savskog mosta.

Mr. sc. David Kabalin magistrirao je zaštitu spomenika i lokaliteta pri Međunarodnom centru za konzervaciju Raymond Lemaire u Leuvenu, Belgija. Radi kao samostalni arhitekt i asistent - istraživač na Filozofskom fakultetu Sveučilišta u Ljubljani. Autor je dvije privremene intervencije u zoni Tromostovlje.

Tribina se održava u sklop projekta „Više (od) mosta“ koji tematizira Savski most i njegovu zonu te mogućnosti sadržajne nadogradnje jedinog zagrebačkog pješačkog mosta.

Tribini će prethoditi privremena umjetnička intervencija na plohi Savskog mosta koju će 15. travnja 2024. izvesti umjetnica Cicko. Program prati i incijativa platforme 1postozagrad da se ploha mosta reorganizira u korist pješaka te postave klupe i zelenilo.

Kao dio kampanje za „popravak“ mosta, na tribini će biti najavljen i natječaj za crtež na temu Savskog mosta i to u kategoriji za djecu.

Više (od) mosta projekt je Goethe-Instituta Kroatien, a podržan je i od Grada Zagreba / Vijeća gradske četvrti Novi Zagreb - zapad. Partneri su Knjižnice grada Zagreba/ Gradska knjižnica, Knjižnica Savski gaj, Knjižnica Jelkovec i 1POSTOZAGRAD.

[music-crush]

Mr Kitty

Happy birthday, Forest Avery Lemaire aka Mr Kitty!

#Mr Kitty #Synthwave #Happy Birthday #Music Crush #Youtube

[wikiuntamed]

On this day in Wikipedia: Wednesday, 23rd August

Welcome, Benvenuta, 你好, أهلا وسهلا 🤗 What does @Wikipedia say about 23rd August through the years 🏛️📜🗓️?

23rd August 2021 🗓️ : Death - Elizabeth Blackadder Elizabeth Blackadder, Scottish painter and printmaker (b. 1931) "Dame Elizabeth Violet Blackadder, Mrs Houston, (24 September 1931 – 23 August 2021) was a Scottish painter and printmaker. She was the first woman to be elected to both the Royal Scottish Academy and the Royal Academy. In 1962 she began teaching at Edinburgh College of Art where she continued until..."

Image licensed under CC BY 2.0? by Scottish Government

23rd August 2015 🗓️ : Death - Augusta Chiwy Augusta Chiwy, Congolese-Belgian nurse (b. 1921) "Augusta Marie Chiwy (6 June 1921 – 23 August 2015) was a Belgian nurse who served as a volunteer during the Siege of Bastogne in 1944. She worked with U.S. Army physician John Prior and with fellow Belgian nurse Renée Lemaire, treating injured soldiers during the Battle of the Bulge...."

Image by Embassy of the United States in Brussels, Belgium's official Facebook

23rd August 2013 🗓️ : Event - 2013 Palmasola prison riot A riot at the Palmasola prison complex in Santa Cruz, Bolivia kills 31 people. "On August 23, 2013, a prison riot broke out at Palmasola, a maximum-security prison in Santa Cruz, Bolivia. The riot started when members of one cell block attacked a rival gang in another, using propane tanks as flame throwers. Thirty-one people were killed, including an 18-month-old child who was..."

23rd August 1973 🗓️ : Event - Norrmalmstorg robbery A bank robbery gone wrong in Stockholm, Sweden, turns into a hostage crisis; over the next five days the hostages begin to sympathise with their captors, leading to the term "Stockholm syndrome". "The Norrmalmstorg robbery was a bank robbery and hostage crisis best known as the origin of the term Stockholm syndrome. It occurred at the Norrmalmstorg Square in Stockholm, Sweden, in August 1973 and was the first criminal event in Sweden to be covered by live television.Jan-Erik Olsson was a..."

Image licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0? by Tage Olsin

23rd August 1923 🗓️ : Event - Captain (United States O-3) Captain Lowell Smith and Lieutenant John P. Richter perform the first mid-air refueling on De Havilland DH-4B, setting an endurance flight record of 37 hours. "In the United States Army (USA), U.S. Marine Corps (USMC), U.S. Air Force (USAF), and U.S. Space Force (USSF), captain (abbreviated "CPT" in the USA and "Capt" in the USMC, USAF, and USSF) is a company-grade officer rank, with the pay grade of O-3. It ranks above first lieutenant and below major. It..."

23rd August 1819 🗓��� : Death - Oliver Hazard Perry Oliver Hazard Perry, American commander (b. 1785) "Oliver Hazard Perry (August 23, 1785 – August 23, 1819) was an American naval commander, born in South Kingstown, Rhode Island. A prominent member of the Perry family naval dynasty, he was the son of Sarah Wallace Alexander and United States Navy Captain Christopher Raymond Perry, and older brother..."

Image by Jane Stuart

23rd August 🗓️ : Holiday - Umhlanga Day (Eswatini) "Umhlanga [um̩ɬaːŋɡa], or Reed Dance ceremony, is an annual Swazi event that takes place at the end of August or at the beginning of September. In Eswatini, tens of thousands of unmarried and childless Swazi girls and women travel from the various chiefdoms to the Ludzidzini Royal Village to..."

Image by Amada44

#OnThisDayInWikiHistory #WikiUntamed #WikiWonderland #WhatDoesWikiSay

[monsieur-madeleine]

Rules tag ten people you want to know better Repost do not reblog

Stolen from @poetegringoire

Name Maria 

gender: Female.

hogwarts house: Ravenclaw.

favorite color: Blue.  

fictional character I’d like as a sibling: Dewey Finn from school of rock .

number of blankets I sleep with: One

dream vacation: Paris and Montreuil

What  I post: Madeleine content sometimes threads 

do you get asks on a regular basis  no but  my askbox is wide open

star sign: Libra

last thing googled: School Of Rock Nickelodeon

 favorite music artists:  Three Days Grace Evanescence

. do you have any other blogs: Yes

My Madeleine ask blog @ask-lemaire

My ValJerk RP blog @madeleine-the-mayor

Main Blog @salieri27

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why did you choose your URL: it just popped in my head 

average hours of sleep: 6-8 .

lucky number: 7

favorite character(s): ““inhales” Leporello ( Don Giovanni ) Don Giovanni Don Ottavio Mr Rosa (Big Nate) Mr Galvin (Big Nate) Madeleine (Les Mis) Javert (Les Mis) Dewey Finn ( School Of Rock) Seventh Doctor (Doctor Who) Kat Kommander ( Kid vs Kat) Steven Boxlitener (Wordgirl) ““exhales”

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tagging @songandflame @itisweselton @streetwisetemptress 

[scribbles97]

Scribbs rewatches TAG season 1- Comet Chasers

UNDER the cut for length and spoilers

OOO there’s people outside by the pool… will we get someone in the pool one day?

Alan are you dreaming?

Alan don’t deny it both Grandma and Scott saw you

Alan you little space nerd

Scott have patience

Ahh so you do have space knowledge Scott

What Alan said Scott, he can’t hear you

What a surprise John that you have a situation just as lemaire’s feed cuts out

Alan’s little fidget with his hands as they go down to Thunderbird 3

I don’t think alan really cares about the rescue Scott he’s more interested in the comet, let the boy be excited, you know he’ll still do his job

Why didn’t you hit the emergency beacon a while ago Lemaire?

Ahh he’s part of the frequent rescuee programme

Scott you don’t deal well in space do you?

Huh, telling Alan everything’s okay… I think Alan knows better

Lemaire you are completely insufferable

Ahh of course screaming is really gonna help!

Ouch

How’s the head Scott?

Who’s in awe now Scott? Don’t make Alan jealous

If you have more than one place to call home to go to you’re too spoilt

Scott are you shielding yourself from the light or hiding your face from the camera?

Ahh yes frequent rescue programme

I don’t think IR is going to pay any bills you send them lemaire

Grateful now that your ship’s been blown up lemaire?

Very nice shot of Scott there right before he jumps

I don’t blame you at all Alan

Sure call scott and then jump Alan

Way to panic your big bro

Scott… Alan is way better at all forms of space flight than you are

She’s his WIFE… how does she put UP with him???

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds series 1 #thunderbirds 2015 #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #Mr Lemaire #Comet Chasers

[follower-of-romcommunism]

Ted Lasso Appreciation Week - Day 2 - Favorite Dynamic/Relationship - Roy and Keeley

@tedlassogif​

The steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall rang in Keeley’s ears, right alongside the pounding of her own heart, though the latter’s tempo was much faster. She chewed her thumbnail and bounced her leg, her eyes flicking between the clock and the doctor’s empty chair behind the desk in front of them. Casting a look at Roy, she wondered how he could remain so stoic. He sat upright in his chair, looking straight ahead, hands on his knees, in no obvious distress. He caught her eye. Upon seeing her torment, he offered his hand. His wedding ring caught the light and gleamed before her own hand covered it as she took hold of his fingers. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah?” she questioned, her doubt evidenced by the tightness in her throat. 

“Whatever happens, we’ve got each other,” he replied. 

She nodded and blinked away the mist in her eyes. “I think that’s the longest you’ve ever gone without swearing.” 

He smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. “I fucking love you, babe.” 

“I love you too,” she returned through a giggle. 

They both turned their heads when the office door popped open and the doctor walked through. Keeley’s breath hitched. This was it. After a year and a half of disappointment, they would finally understand where to go from here. Could they have a baby naturally or was it time to consider alternatives? 

Dr. Lemaire cleared her throat as she took a seat, setting down a manila folder with a soft flop onto the surface of her desk. She slid her chair forward and interlocked her fingers over the folder. Keeley felt like she was watching the worst slow motion action sequence of all time. 

“Well, Mr. and Mrs. Kent, I’ve got good news,” she said. “You’re both in perfect health as far as fertility.” 

Roy let out a low breath and Keeley felt a surge of gratitude for him. That sigh was completely unhindered relief. He’d been staying calm for her sake. She looked back at the doctor with a faltering smile. 

“Well…what’s taking so long, then?” Keeley asked. “We’ve been trying for -” 

“I know,” Dr. Lemaire cut across her kindly. “And it’s paid off. You’re already pregnant, Mrs. Kent.” 

Keeley blinked, stunned. “Fuck, you’re good.” 

Dr. Lemaire chuckled. “Now, I’m not able to tell you exactly how far along you are or the health of the pregnancy, so you’ll need to make an appointment with your OBGYN as soon as you can, alright?” 

Keeley nodded excitedly as a smile began to part her lips. Dr. Lemaire grinned back and got to her feet. 

“I’ll give you two a moment,” she said. “And congratulations.” 

With that, she left. Keeley and Roy were already standing and in each other's arms by the time the door clicked shut. Keeley sniffled. The tears that had been threatening the corners of her eyes finally leaked out. She shuddered against him, and he held her tighter. Minutes stretched by. They remained in their embrace until a quiet sob made Keeley drawl back to look her husband in the face. 

“Are you -” she began to ask, but stopped short. Roy had tears all down his face, and he made no attempt to rub them away. He pulled Keeley close again and pressed a shaky kiss to her forehead. 

“I’m so fucking happy,” he breathed against her skin. “It’s finally happening and I -” he choked on the remainder of his sentence. 

Her eyes searched his, and she found what she always did - adoration. But this time was different. Roy had not been this emotional since his retirement from football. She smiled in spite of herself. Seeing how much it meant to him made her chest grow warm. 

“We’re having a baby,” she said excitedly, and she reached up to cup his face and gently rub the wetness off his cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he returned, voice extra gravelly. “It’s fucking incredible.” 

He accentuated his point by taking her hands and bringing them to his lips. 

Her brows furrowed over her eyes. “Does it scare you?” 

“Fuck no,” he shook his head. “Not with you.” After a beat, he volleyed it back to her. “Are you scared?” 

“A little, yeah,” she admitted. “Mostly that I’ve got to do the giving birth bit… A lot can go wrong.” Her eyes went wide. “What if I go into like, cardiac arrest or something and -” 

“Let’s talk to a doctor first, alright?” he suggested, amusement tugging at his lips. “Before we both lose our shit.” 

She took a deep breath and settled back into his arms, resting her head on his chest. “God, I’m so happy I’m doing this with you.” 

Roy swallowed, deeply touched. Even though she’d married him, he sometimes still doubted he deserved Keeley, and all the wonderful things she brought to his life. It had been Keeley who showed him there was life after football, and now he was seeing it in the most literal sense. But to know it gave her comfort that he was her partner in this - him, Roy Kent - made him feel like a goddamn hero. 

“I’m happy it’s you too,” he returned with a swift peck on her cheek. “I won’t lie, I’m fighting the urge to pick you up right now.” 

“It’s probably fi-” 

“No, we gotta be careful,” he cut across her. “We can’t have her coming out all dizzy and shit.” 

Keeley blinked, her expression softening. “Her?” 

For the first time, he looked away from her, a bit of color rising to his cheeks. “Yeah, I’ve always thought you and I would have a fucking badass little girl.” He paused and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Just like her mum.” 

A slow smile overtook her trembling mouth. “Yeah?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.” 

She stood on her toes to reach his lips with her own. Their grins ensured the kiss was short-lived, though much appreciated. She held his gaze once more. Love remained there, but she found a reflection of her own growing confidence. He believed in her, and she believed in him. His own words from moments ago felt more relevant now - whatever came on this new journey of parenthood, they would have each other. And that was everything they would ever need.

#ted lasso #tedlassoweek #tedlassoedit #roy kent #keeley jones #reeley #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #reeley fic

[spaceokase]

Decisions

Decision

“Wait, I’m sorry, you want to... what?”

Keriah Auclair peered at the figure in the doorway, a bemused expression on her face.

"I said ‘I want to join the circus!’" Zephrine huffed, hands on her hips, “You know, the one that’s in town? Maman, were you even listening?”

Keriah had barely looked away from the flower arrangement she’d been working on when her daughter had very dramatically entered their home, slamming the door just a little too hard. Now though, she was looking at Zephrine, her attention undivided, brows knit together, her lips pursed.

“No, I heard you, what I mean to ask is…why?”

Zephrine blinked, her face no longer scrunched in indignant irritation. Keriah gestured to the seat across from her on the kitchen table, and slowly she took her place there.

"Oh.. um.” She wrung her hands together, uncertain until she suddenly wasn’t, and her posture and disposition perked up immediately.

“Okay! So, I went over there today, um, after my shift,” She lied, a little, as she’d actually left in the middle of it, “And I was able to talk to some of the performers!”

“I see.” Keriah acknowledged her daughter, and let her continue. If she picked up on Zephrine’s lie, as she was often able to, she made no indication of it.

“And they were really, really nice. And so, so cool! They actually showed me some of their tricks they were working on, and,” She paused her increasingly excited gesturing to smile a bit sheepishly, “And I may have shown them my magic, which, I know, I’m not supposed to because it scares people and sometimes people turn blue or grow wings or things explode but, well, nothing bad happened and they were really impressed!”

Keriah bit her lip, and Zephrine continued.

“And they introduced me to their ringleader, Mr. Lemaire, and he was really nice too. He said he was really impressed, and I had potential! He said I could join, if I wanted!” Zephrine exclaimed, hands balled into very excited fists, before remembering the caveat he’d mentioned.

She grew quieter at the memory, her clenched hands moving to wring around each other again.

“Um, well, if you were okay with it, that is.”

Before Keriah could speak up, Zephrine leaned forward, and pleaded with her.

“Please, Maman, I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never seen such a variety of people. Mr.Lemaire is a halfling, and I think I saw a goliath, and even a cat person!”

“A tabaxi,” Keriah interjected, distantly.

“Yes! And I think they’d actually be okay with.. You know. Me being a dragonborn. I wouldn’t have to look like this-” She gestured towards her half-elven form, a form that was as familiar as it was foreign, “I wouldn’t have to hide all the time. I could see new places, meet new people. I wouldn’t die alone in this town having never seen anything different! I could belong somewhere, for a change!”

As Zephrine pleaded, Keriah looked at her. She bit her lip, hit with a swirl of emotions both new and old. The mild amusement at her exuberance and youth. The fear of what dangers could spring from the shadows. The grief at the mere notion of possibly losing the young woman who she loved and was undoubtedly her daughter, lack of blood relation be damned.

What stuck out most, however, was the pain Zephrine had expressed. The pain her lies had ultimately caused her child, and the bittersweet realization that for her to flourish, it perhaps actually was best for her to see more of the world. She couldn’t protect her forever, as much as she wanted to. Not if Zephrine was to lead a happy life.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled.

“You’re not going to die alone here, Zephrine. And you always have a place here, with me, and the people of this town.”

As her mother’s words sunk in, Zephrine’s expression started to grow crestfallen, but before it could fall completely, Keriah stood up and walked towards her. She gently brushed some stray strands of dark hair from her daughter’s forehead, giving it a gentle kiss.

“But, I will speak with this Mr. Lemaire, and if he is a good person like you say he is, then you can go with him, when the time comes.”

Zephrine stood up abruptly, an exuberant beam of sunshine, and she showered her mother in affection both verbal and physical. Keriah hugged her daughter tight in return, silently afraid that soon she may never do so again.

#dnd #dragonborn #half elf #draconic sorcerer #entertainer #Okase writing #keriah #zephrine #Zeph is like... 17ish here? which is a bit younger for dragonborn #she was very baby #some lighter fare after the previous stuff

[tsarisfanfiction]

Long Way From Home: Chapter 10

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

Well, the last chapter ended with some really lovely trust-building... so I decided that’s more than enough generosity from me for Scott and the panic attack warning is back!  What, you didn’t think I was gonna let him off that lightly, did you?

Still shopping, still Scott&TOS!Gordon everywhere, and more hoodie shenanigans!  You know, that hoodie’s given me a real headache (and is half the reason this shopping trip’s got so long; TOS why no hoodies?  Scott wanting a hoodie was only supposed to be a throwaway line, not an entire plot point)...

<<<Chapter 9

Silence lingered between them, Scott focusing on the touch on his shoulder to keep himself grounded, before the younger man broke it again.  “Say, George is taking a while.”

“Taking a well-deserved break,” Scott retorted, and Other-Gordon chuckled.

“I wouldn’t blame the fella,” he agreed.

There was a knock on the door and a new man entered, George immediately behind him.

“Mr Tracy,” he greeted.  “Mr Tracy. I am the manager of the store, Jeremy. My man tells me you’d like to order a custom hoodie?”  The newly-introduced Jeremy was looking at Scott, presumably because he was the oldest and therefore the assumption was that he was in charge – or the one with the money – and he really hoped his discomfort at Mr Tracy didn’t show.

“That’s right, Jeremy.”  Other-Gordon pounced, immediately drawing the attention towards him.  “And there’s no need for formality.  Just call me Gordon, and he’s just Scott.”  Jeremy, Scott was pleased to see, didn’t appear to be anywhere near as overwhelmed as George.  The other man was lingering back somewhat uncertainly by the pile of jeans and polos they’d already chosen, clearly content to let his manager deal with them.

“Very well,” the manager said.  “We are, of course, more than happy to oblige.”  He presented Other-Gordon with a stack of catalogues, which the ginger immediately started flicking through.  Scott peered over his shoulder to see pages and pages of what apparently got classified as a hoodie in this universe.

So far, none of them looked at all appealing.

“If you’d like to select a basic style, we can then discuss the desired alterations and take your measurements,” Jeremy continued.  “Typically we should be able to complete it within seven working days.”

“That sounds good to me,” Other-Gordon shrugged.  He glanced up at where Scott was still peering over his shoulder.  “Should I let you pick?”

Scott assumed that was just to keep up the ruse, but he took the invitation to pluck the catalogues out of the other man’s hands and flick through them. Knowing that it would be modified to specifications helped, but as he couldn’t actually say what he wanted, he wanted to find something as close as possible to work from as a base.

Other-Gordon struck up a conversation with Jeremy while he looked, but Scott didn’t bother to listen in.  Anything important, the ginger should recap for him when it became relevant.

Eventually, he found the section that focused on the top and the hood separately, and realised that all of the previous examples were a complete waste of his time when he could basically pick and choose from options, much in the same way they constructed Pods to best suit the rescue.

With that mindset, the whole task suddenly became much less intimidating. Scott perused the individual sections intently, occasionally jabbing at the page and flicking his finger up as though he was selecting something on a holoscreen, only to blink when the image didn’t move.

Printed paper.  Not a hologram.

Hopefully, Other-Gordon was keeping Jeremy distracted enough that his habitual slip-ups didn’t catch any attention.

“Is everything alright, M- Scott?”

George.  He’d forgotten about George.

The man had come up next to him while he was looking at the options, and was eyeing him with something that looked a little confused and – oh hell, was that pity?  What had he done to get that?

He opened his mouth, remembered he wasn’t supposed to talk, and shut it again before giving a firm nod.  No, things were not alright, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone, let alone a sales assistant he knew nothing about.

George retreated, but hesitantly enough that Scott knew he wasn’t convinced. Dammit.

Other-Gordon hadn’t come to his rescue this time, still talking with Jeremy, so Scott shoved the incident away and tried to focus on the catalogues in front of him again.  It didn’t work; he could feel George watching him, and the same emotions he’d experienced at Lemaires’ started to bubble up.

That was not good.  George was watching him, George was suspicious that something was wrong, the bandages around his knuckles felt all too visible, and Scott could feel the walls around their minor deception crumbling away.

He needed George to stop watching.  He needed Other-Gordon to step in and catch his attention, get the spotlight off of him so he could ground himself again.  He needed to pull himself together, and he couldn’t do that while George was watching.

He turned a page, more to do something than because he was paying any attention to what was on it, and it rustled.  His hand was shaking.  The instinct to turn it into a fist was strong, but there was paper in his hand and that would make a noise and then everyone would know something was wrong.

He couldn’t retreat into the changing room with clothes to try on because there were none left.  He couldn’t leave the room without drawing attention to himself.  He couldn’t even catch Other-Gordon’s attention without George noticing that.

Other-Gordon was out of arm’s reach.

Four for Four.

Normally, Scott would never even consider it.  Normally, Scott would be somewhere where everyone knew exactly who he was and he could talk and walk out of the room without consequence. Normally, it wasn’t someone else’s reputation on the line.

It was that last one that tipped it.  Scott didn’t care about his own reputation, but it was Other-Scott who would take the hit and Scott could never, ever, let someone else take a hit that should be his.

But…

He didn’t need to get out, he just needed George distracted.

Four for Four.

Other-Gordon was out of arm’s reach.  He couldn’t poke him once and be done with it.

George was still watching.  His chest felt like someone had constricted it with a rubber band.  Breathing normally was becoming more and more of a battle.

He scuffed his foot against the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

He couldn’t do the fourth.  Fourth meant get me out of here and it was less him that needed to leave and more George that needed to stop watching.

Three wasn’t an arranged signal.  Would Other-Gordon notice it?  Would he understand it?

Scott glanced at the ginger and saw that he was still talking to Jeremy. No change.

Dammit.  He turned another page, not seeing what was on it.  The rustling was louder.

“-won’t take up your valuable time,” Other-Gordon was saying.  “Once we’ve decided on the pattern, we’ll call for you.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Jeremy replied.  “Please, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“As soon as we’ve decided,” Other-Gordon repeated.

“Very well.”  Scott was too busy trying to keep his breathing even to pay much attention to what Jeremy was saying, but when George was uttered, he forced himself to listen. “-leave Gordon and Scott while they decide.  If you could help me gather a collection of material samples in the meantime-”

He stopped listening again as the invisible rubber band around his chest squeezed tighter.  Beneath his fingers, he could feel paper crumpling, and then there were hands coaxing him into letting go.

“Scott, can you hear me?”  Warm hands grasped his and he nodded.  Keeping his breathing even was all but impossible now, lungs stuttering and chest heaving.  “Okay, do you think you can match my breathing?”  One of his hands was pressed against a shirt, only it was rising and falling in an exaggerated fashion.  Other-Gordon’s chest, his brain supplied.  “In…” The chest rose slowly and steadily. “And out…”

Scott tried, latching onto the steady count and the steady rise and fall against his hand, but then he was hiccupping and any attempts to keep control over his breathing were destroyed by the interruptions.

Other-Gordon didn’t let go.  “Tell me five things you can see,” he said instead.

He was in full calm rescuer mode again.  Scott recognised that, just like he recognised the task.  Normally, he was on the other end, coaxing someone else through the routine.  Normally-

“Scott!  Five things.”

Blinking, he dragged the world back into focus.  Other-Gordon was right in front of him, exuding calmness even though he was clearly worried as well.

“You,” he gasped, forcing the word out past a hiccup.

Other-Gordon rewarded him with a reassuring smile.  “What else?”

What else?  They were in a room, there was a- “Door.”  It was shut. Nearby was a pile of- “Clothes.” The ones they’d already chosen. Mostly blue.  Blue was the best colour.

“That’s three,” Other-Gordon counted.  “Two more, Scott.”

Two more.  Right. He moved his head around to the side. “Rack.”  The rejected clothes were still hanging on it, where it was pressed up against the wall.  “Wall.” The wallpaper looked like someone had taken one of John’s shirts and decided it made good décor.  It really didn’t.

“Okay,” Other-Gordon said, still calm.  “That’s good.  Four things you can feel.”

He was still holding his hands.  They were warm.

Scott squeezed one lightly.  “Hand,” he listed.  Beneath his other hand, where Other-Gordon’s chest was still rising and falling like clockwork, he could feel the silk of the other man’s clothes.  “Shirt.  Bandages.” They were still tight across his knuckles, linen brushing against his skin in a way he was suddenly hyper aware of.

Another stream of hiccups interrupted him, his diaphragm lunging awkwardly inside his chest.  Other-Gordon held him steady, not moving but keeping his presence there.

“One more,” he coaxed after they passed, and Scott took a deep breath in.

Something else he could feel – hand, shirt, bandages.  Around his wrist there was a weight, barely there but different. “Watch.”  Other-Scott’s analogue watch.  He still hadn’t returned it.  Was he supposed to?

“You’re doing great,” Other-Gordon assured him.  “Three things you can hear.”

“You.”  Gordon was always making noise and Other-Gordon was doing the same.  If he wasn’t talking, it was the steady in and out of his breath.  It was the noise that promised he wasn’t alone.  “Me.”  He could hear his own breathing, stuttered and slightly wheezy.  His heartbeat, sounding out a rhythm that was starting to slow down.

Other than them, the room was silent.  Jeremy and George were gone, a fact that he only just registered, leaving just him and Other-Gordon.  Scott closed his eyes, trying to find another sound.

Their watches were perfectly synchronised, the tick, tick, tick, of the seconds emitting from both their wrists.  Scott wasn’t used to watches that made noises – at least, not the regular clockwork ticks of seconds passing by – and in the silence they seemed loud.  “Watches,” he said, before Other-Gordon could prompt him again.

He opened his eyes again to see Other-Gordon wearing something that looked a lot more like a smile than earlier.  Absently, he noticed that his chest wasn’t being compressed any more.

“Two things you can smell.”

Focusing was easier now.  This close, and paying attention to it, Other-Gordon’s aftershave was easily detectable.  The room itself smelt of some sort of furniture polish, no doubt coming from the desk he now remembered was behind him.  He offered both to the waiting Other-Gordon, and got a proper smile from him.

“Okay, one thing you can taste.”

It had been hours since he’d eaten anything, the last thing being that apple pie Other-Scott had also descended upon.  Unfortunately, the residual taste had long gone, leaving him with nothing but the usual bland saliva inside his mouth and the taste of indoor, slightly-furniture-polish tainted, air.

Other-Gordon chuckled when he mentioned that.

“We’ll find some food before the return flight,” he promised, grin just one side of cheeky, before the more serious expression settled back on his face. “Are you good to talk?”

Ideally, Scott wanted to pretend that hadn’t happened and carry on with the shopping, but he knew better than to think Other-Gordon was going to willingly drop the subject.  His hand was still pressing against the other man’s chest, and he pulled it back, although he didn’t let go of the warm hand.

“As good as I’ll get,” he admitted begrudgingly, and Other-Gordon nodded.

“I’ll keep it brief,” he promised.  “Why three times?”

He had noticed.  Noticed and acted upon it, despite it not being an agreed signal.

“I didn’t need to get out,” he said.  Amber eyes narrowed at him, Other-Gordon’s disagreement palatable. “I needed them out.”

“What was the difference?”

What was the difference?  Scott frowned.  At the time it had been so clear, but the other side of the panic attack, putting his finger on precisely what he’d wanted was harder.

“If we left, coming back would be odd,” he settled on.

“Okay,” Other-Gordon accepted, although Scott didn’t think he was entirely happy with the answer.  “You still want to keep shopping?”

“I’m not quitting,” Scott said firmly.  There was the hint of an eyeroll from the younger man.

“Well, no-one’s ever accused Scott Tracy of being a quitter,” he commented, clearly amused, before the seriousness returned.  “When we get back to the car, we’re creating a full set of signals,” he promised.  “And I want you to tell me if you’re seeing a pattern.”

Scott saw the sense in both of those, even if needing to do it rankled. It was to make sure he didn’t inadvertently throw Other-Scott under the paparazzi bus, he reminded himself, well aware that Other-Gordon’s motivation was not that but refusing to face that one.  As long as he focused on it being for Other-Scott’s benefit, he could do it.

Begrudgingly, he nodded.

That seemed to satisfy Other-Gordon enough, as he stepped back, out of his personal space, and let go of Scott’s hand.  Scott let him.  “Did you see anything you liked in the catalogue?” he asked, retrieving it from wherever he’d put it earlier.  One of the pages was crumpled.

“I was getting there,” Scott admitted, plucking it from his hands and trying to ignore the crumpled page as he quickly flicked back to the customisation section at the back.  “This,” he pointed out, finding the right page.  “With this, this and this.”

His fingers automatically swiped again, and he grit his teeth.  With only Other-Gordon as witness it didn’t invite the panic to surge back up, but he could feel calculating eyes on them. There was no comment, though.

Instead, the catalogue was whisked from his hands and the other man repeated his selection back at him.  Clearly, he’d been read again, but if it kept their secret then he’d accept it.  Other-Gordon was simply trying to help, and if he was using his knowledge of his own brother to help him read Scott, then that was fair enough.  He was doing the same, after all.

“You looking for more blue, or some variety this time?” Other-Gordon asked. “The fellas’ll be back with fabric and colour samples in a minute.”

“Probably,” Scott shrugged.  There was always a chance he’d see something else he’d like better, but blue made for a safe default.

Oher-Gordon made an amused noise.  “You ready to face them again?”

“I’ll be fine,” spilled out of his mouth automatically, and a ginger eyebrow raised at him.  He sighed. “I should be fine,” he corrected. The eyebrow stayed raised.  “Can we just get this over with, please?”

“Four for Four,” the younger man reminded him in an obvious concession, before strolling over to the door and opening it.  “Ah, Jeremy!  Good timing; Scott finally settled on something.”

Scott had a sudden fear that the manager had been standing outside the door long enough to hear what they’d been saying, but squashed it ruthlessly. Other-Gordon would handle it if he thought it was a problem.

Jeremy entered as Other-Gordon stepped aside for him, George appearing behind him.  Both men were carrying fabrics with different patterns and colours.

“Wonderful!” the manager beamed.  “Here are the fabrics we have available in stock at the moment.  If none of these suit, then we do have a wider selection, but we will need to contact the suppliers for a shipment.” The two men settled their armfuls onto the table, and without prompting Scott headed over to start sorting through them.  “Would you like assistance?”

Scott waved both men off as they started to hover, no doubt intending on pitching their most expensive options, although that was less of a concern than the fear one of them – particularly George – was looking at him too closely.

Other-Gordon swept them both up in conversation about the selection he’d chosen, pages of the catalogue turning as he gestured, and Scott tuned it out as he rummaged through the fabrics in front of him.  Judging by feel, he discarded all the ones that weren’t cotton or similarly soft – hoodies were for comfort, and that was what he was going to prioritise – before critically eyeing the patterns on the remaining ones.

There were several different shades of blue, which he automatically headed for, before pausing.  At the bottom of the pile, in amongst a cluster of loudly patterned monstrosities better suited for Gordon’s tastes, was a flash of red.  Pulling it out to look at, he swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat.

Red and black chequers greeted him as he shook it out.  It wasn’t an identical pattern to Virgil’s favourite flannel shirt, but it was close enough to have his fingers trembling as he held it up.

The pile of blue, varying shades and patterns and his automatic go-to, was instantly forgotten.  He didn’t normally wear those colours, unless he was borrowing Virgil’s flannels for some reason, but here, in another universe, it felt a little bit like home.

The lump in his throat felt tighter, and he was glad no-one expected him to say anything because right then he wasn’t sure he could.  Still, he gave himself a moment, because Other-Gordon was still talking, still distracting, and he refused to have another breakdown. Especially over this.

He didn’t even bother looking at the other patterns.  There was nothing else there, not even any of the blue ones, that could possibly change his mind.

After half a minute or so, he turned around to face the other three men in the room, red and black chequered fabric in his hands.

Other-Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise, and Scott felt a little smug that he wasn’t completely predictable.

“A fine choice!” Jeremy beamed, and Scott got the suspicion he’d picked one of the pricier patterns.  “Will that be all?”  The question was, mercifully, directed at Other-Gordon, who had slipped back into his analytical expression and was clearly revising some earlier conclusions.

“That’s all, Jeremy,” he confirmed.  As well as it being the conclusion of everything on the list, Scott was fairly sure that despite their earlier conversation and his own claims that he’d be fine, Other-Gordon thought they needed to leave the shop sooner rather than later.

“In that case, I’ll leave you with George to take the measurements while I calculate the bill,” the manager declared, and Other-Gordon nodded.

“That sounds excellent,” he agreed.  “Thank you for your help, Jeremy.”

“It was no problem at all,” the manager replied.  “Thank you for your custom.”

Something about the way he said it put Scott on edge, but Other-Gordon continued to grin delightedly until the man left.  Without the barrier of his manager, George immediately looked a little flustered again.

“If you’d like to follow me, M- Scott,” he invited, pulling a measuring tape out of a pocket as he headed for another door.  Ah yes, the fitting bit.  Why couldn’t Other-Scott have agreed to swiping one off the shelf? Still, he reluctantly followed, Other-Gordon keeping pace by his side, entering a small room with a stool in the centre and mirrors surrounding it.  While nowhere near as lavish as Lemaires’, it was still clearly a fitting room.

He barely waited for George’s instruction before stepping up onto the stool, hoping this wasn’t going to take too long.

It didn’t, although it was still longer than Madeleine’s quick and nimble fingers.  Scott felt like a puppet on a string as he was asked to turn, raise his arms, lower his arms, and the rest of the seemingly-ridiculous contortions required for accurate measurements.  The neckline measurements were not fun – Scott was not a fan of things wrapping around his neck, even if it was a measuring tape wielded by a tailor – but he held still and hoped neither of the other men in the room noticed.

Other-Gordon almost certainly did.  Those amber eyes hadn’t left him the entire time since Jeremy had left.

George finally stepped back and let him off the stool, coiling the tape measure back up and making one last scrawl on the clipboard he’d been using to record.

“Thanks, George,” Other-Gordon said before he could say a word. “That’ll be everything.  How about you go on ahead and give those numbers to Jeremy?”

His tone was friendly enough, but George jumped and nodded before all but fleeing from the room.  It was Scott’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  The dismissal of their sales assistant might as well have screamed that Other-Gordon wanted a private word.

“If Jeremy hasn’t called the paparazzi I’ll eat my hat,” the ginger said without preamble.  “If his shop gets in the papers with our name attached, he’ll get good business.”

So that was what the manager had meant earlier.  Scott supposed he should have seen it coming, although with social media back home it was usually a case of someone snapping a single photo and loading it online for everyone to see, rather than calling the press.

“The Tracy name makes good advertising,” he commented dryly.

“That it does,” Other-Gordon agreed.  “Remember, no talking.  Don’t let the sunglasses or hat fall off, because Scott will murder me if the press suggests he’s going grey, and keep your hand in your pocket.”

His hand?  Scott glanced down and saw the bandages wrapped around his knuckles.  He stuffed it in a pocket.  “They’d have a field day with that, wouldn’t they?” he observed grimly. Other-Gordon shrugged in agreement.

“Most likely.”  Amber eyes looked at him seriously.  “And remember, four for Four.  We’ll have to give them something, but we’re absolutely not giving them a panic attack to gossip over.  If you need out, tell me.”

Scott nodded.  He knew what paparazzi were like, and he was mostly certain he’d be fine, but he was well aware it wasn’t his reputation on the line.  For Other-Scott, he could ask for help.

“Any questions?” Other-Gordon asked, and Scott shook his head.

“I know paparazzi,” he assured him.  “They might not be identical here, but I’ll be surprised if it’s too different.”

Other-Gordon grinned.  “In that case, let’s get this over with.”

There was no paparazzi in the main shop, it transpired as they left the side room to re-enter the shop floor, but Scott could hear a crowd of people outside. He did his best to ignore them as Other-Gordon chatted with Jeremy, making the payments while side-stepping any promises to promote the shop and arranging for collection of the items that weren’t ready to be taken away.

Scott was delighted that at least some packages – tied up in brown paper and string before being deposited in bags emblazoned with what had to be the shop’s name – were ready to go; it meant he’d have something that wasn’t Other-Scott’s to change into as soon as they got back to the island.

“Do you need someone to carry the bags for you?” Jeremy was asking, and Scott rolled his eyes, taking advantage of the dark shades Other-Scott had insisted upon.  His motives couldn’t be more transparent if he tried, with the paparazzi buzzing around outside.  Still, Other-Scott had told him to leave the paparazzi nonsense to Other-Gordon, so he kept his body language neutral and waited for the other man to respond.

“Thanks for the offer, but Scott and I can manage just fine,” Other-Gordon grinned.  “I’d say we’ve taken up quite enough of your time today, Jeremy.”

“It really wouldn’t be a bother,” the manager insisted, but Other-Gordon remained firm, handing some of the bags to Scott – specifically his right hand, in a less than subtle reminder that his bandaged left was to stay hidden in his pocket – and taking the others himself.

“Thanks for all your help,” Other-Gordon said.  “Scott’ll be back to collect the other items later, as we agreed.”

Scott wondered what Other-Scott was going to have to say about being forced to pick up the hoodie he’d clearly been reluctant about.  Then again, he’d been the one to insist on the custom, so maybe he was already aware Other-Gordon was going to pull that.  He wondered what the contingency plan was if Other-Scott was caught up in a rescue, as their continued secrecy in this universe meant he couldn’t turn up in Thunderbird One and IR uniform.

Other-Gordon turned and started walking towards the door, dismissing Jeremy’s continued attempts to help them carry the bags – or rather, to get involved with the paparazzi.  Scott followed him, and hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a total disaster.

Cameras flashed the moment the door opened, and Scott found himself very thankful for the shades as they stopped him from being blinded.

The different technologies were immediately obvious; instead of small, sleek cameras, there were big ones with large mirrors and bulbs for maximum subject-blinding.  Scott never thought he’d miss the paparazzi, of all things, but he found he vastly preferred not being blinded while they took his photograph.

The noise, however, was the same.  Voice after voice clamouring for answers, parroting questions at the speed of light as microphones were shoved in his face.  Immediately ahead of him, Other-Gordon had stopped, and sensing which brother was willing to talk, the reporters flocked straight to the aquanaut.

“Gordon Tracy!” they were all saying, talking over each other.  Scott made out snatches of words like “clothes” and “shopping” and “unusual”, but focused on doing his best to not be the centre of attention – which was much harder than he thought it would be.  Then again, he was used to being the one the rest of his brothers hid behind, rather than being the one doing the hiding.

He kept his gaze firmly focused on the ginger hair in front of him, and tried to ignore any stray microphones or occasional calls of his own name as he was noticed.  The problem with paparazzi was that they didn’t know how to give up, and the fact that he wasn’t even saying ‘no comment’ was drawing more and more of them like flies.

Other-Gordon was talking to the majority that had flooded him with microphones and notebooks, and Scott was fairly sure he heard the word bet at least once.  Unfortunately, that appeared to get more of them swarming over to him.

“What do you think of your brother’s choice of forfeit?”

“Do you think these might be a permanent addition to your wardrobe?”

“What does your father think of this?”

That last one hurt, and Scott had to fight not to let his reactions show on his face.

“Scott Tracy!”

“Scott Tracy!”

“Scott Tracy!”

He was sorely tempted to walk to the car to try and shake them off, except paparazzi were entirely unshakeable, and if he tried that without Other-Gordon, there would be a problem.  Thankfully, he wasn’t feeling anything beyond the usual annoyance at being hounded; whatever the reason might be, it wasn’t panic inducing – at least, not yet, although he was hoping it was going to stay that way – but Scott still wasn’t enjoying the ordeal.

Other-Gordon was moving, stepping backwards towards his side, and Scott looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he put his hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said loudly enough to catch their attention.  “I’m afraid Scott’s lost his voice, so he can’t answer your questions today.”

That, of course, sparked a whole new set of questions.  What had happened?  Was he ill?  Why was he out and about if he couldn’t talk?  Other-Gordon defected all of them, somehow managing not to answer anything specific while also not contradicting the earlier tale he’d spun for Madeline after the first panic attack.

For his part, now that the attention was on him, Scott plastered a grin on his face, like the ones he tended to pull when he was ‘no comment’ing his way through crowds of them at home, and prayed the hat and shades were doing enough to hide the few differences in his and Other-Scott’s appearances from eagle-eyed paparazzi and – once the photos were published – the rest of the world.  Other-Gordon, doubtlessly by design, had come to stand on his left, close enough that it would be difficult to extract his hand from his pocket on purpose, let alone accidentally.

He was also close enough that Scott would have no problem doing four for Four if need be, something else he was certain Other-Gordon had done on purpose.  Scott didn’t take the offer; as he’d hoped, the paparazzi crowd wasn’t enough to send him into a panic, so he stayed quiet and let the younger man handle them with an ease that belied practice.  Of course, this universe’s Gordon was an Olympic Champion, too.

“I think that’s enough questions for today,” Other-Gordon finally said, pressing on the back of Scott’s shoulder in what he assumed was a signal to walk forwards.  “Thank you for your time, but we’ve got more shopping to be doing, so this’ll be all.”

Of course, they didn’t just accept that and leave, but Scott kept walking forwards, towards the car, with Other-Gordon at his side now saying “no comment” to the questions still hurtled their way, and the crowd unwillingly parted to let them through.

The bags were placed in the footwells of the back seat, and Scott clambered into the passenger seat as quickly as he could without looking like he was trying to flee – or letting any of them catch a glimpse of his bandaged hand. Other-Gordon wasted no time in putting the car in drive, and then they were pulling out of the car park a little faster than Scott suspected they should.

“You endured that longer than I thought you would,” Other-Gordon commented once they’d left the shop and its hovering paparazzi’s sight.  “I thought for sure you were going to bail when they asked about Dad’s opinions.”

That was a little too close to their agreed-upon taboo subject, but Scott let it slide.

“I’m used to difficult questions from them,” he admitted.  “And I’ve got a lot of experience in ignoring persistent questions.”  He paused for a split second before grinning.  “I have four younger brothers, after all.”

Other-Gordon laughed.  “I suppose that’s true,” he agreed.  “Still, they didn’t seem to suspect a thing, so I’d say it was a success.  Scott’ll have to deal with the fallout of being ‘seen’ out and about without a voice, but he can handle that.  He’ll just charm everyone until they forget about it.”  He sighed.  “In a way it’s a shame you can’t interact with everyone.  It’d be interesting to see how you differ from him socially.”

“How’s your analysis coming along?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I know you’ve been watching me.”

“Well, it’s a lot harder when I’ve only got your body language to go on,” Other-Gordon admitted.  “Difference in fashion aside, your tastes are mostly similar, except for that hoodie. Why red and black?”

Scott shrugged, not quite willing to admit the truth on that one.  “Wanted to catch you out,” he grinned instead. “It’s weird how easily you’re picking things up, even if it’s because you’re basing it on your actual brother.”

“Scott goes for white or brown first if not blue,” Other-Gordon frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him go for red, and definitely not over blue like that.  There were some very Scott-favoured blues in the pile.”

Scott smirked.  “Maybe we’re not as similar as you thought.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Other-Gordon promised, eyes narrowed in the same way Gordon did when he’d spotted a challenge.  Scott hoped he didn’t, but at the same time much preferred him focusing on that rather than everything they’d been discussing earlier that day on Tracy Island.

Chapter 11>>>

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

[florraisons]

[image description: a picture of forget-me-nots. in the middle, in a bold white garamond font on top of a blue rectangle reads “excerpt” in lowercase. /end id]

forget me not: an excerpt

Ezra didn’t fight him. He would take only what Nico was willing to give and nothing more, but he wanted to have this too. So they remained tangled up at the piano bench and lost in each other, and it was like they were at university again; where no one would look twice at two boys who were more in love with each other than they were with the rest of the world. There was no revenge or family or magic too powerful to understand when they were like this. It was just Nico and Ezra, Ezra and Nico, the way things were supposed to be. 

A soft knock interrupted them, and Ezra startled when he turned and found Mrs. Lemaire waiting for them. Nico stiffened next to him, but did not remove his hand from where it rested on Ezra’s leg. 

This chapter, and this moment more particularly, is important because it’s a turning point of sorts. It’s the last moments of calm before the storm, and especially when viewed in retrospect, even more precious because of that. 

taglist under the cut! (ask to be +/-)

forget me not ↠  @spencers-tomes​ @dallonswords​ @isherwoodj​ @ryns-ramblings​ @kitblogsthings​ @aetherwrites​ @bijouxs​ @aphaimaniis​ @alicewestwater​ @goose-books​ @ziyin​ @hausta-writes​

#atlastracking #wtwcommunity #writeblr #my writing #original writing #wip: forget me not #oc: ezra #oc: nico lemaire #saum writes

[kissjane]

It’s Writer’s Choice Wednesday - but read at your own risk today.

This is so sad the writing is going very very slowly... But the happy end will come. One day.

When Lucas reached the town, he still felt like he floated rather than walked. He could still taste Eliott on his lips, and his skin burned where Eliott had touched him.

But when he passed the first houses, something like fear gripped him. At first, he thought it was irrational, just a reaction to the overwhelming feelings of today, but when he walked on, the dread hung heavier and heavier over him, and he sped up.

Then Mrs. Lemaire spotted him, and she hurried up to him.

“Lucas! Your mom is in the hospital, the mayor drove her there, you can ask him for more information… The fire brigade is at your house, I don’t think they managed to save a lot, but –”

Lucas just stared at her, not understanding, before he left her standing there as he broke out in a run. The fear had morphed into terror, and he didn’t hear what she yelled at him.

He stopped dead in his tracks before their old cottage.

The first thing he spotted was his mom’s rose bush. She had ignored it mostly these past few years, but still it would bloom every spring, and Lucas would put a bloom near her bed almost daily, until late in autumn when the last one died. She always seemed to like them. In winter it was even harder to coax her into a smile, or even to get her to eat. Now, it was black and broken, the leaves dry and crumbling before his eyes, the pink petals dusty with ash.

The fire brigade was busy trying to get some of their possessions out, but it was clear there wasn’t much left to save. There was just a skeleton left – bare bones of what was once Lucas’ home. He sank to his knees, and he barely noticed when somebody threw a blanket over his shoulders, or that the firemen were bringing out some of his stuff – it seemed his room was the least damaged of all, and somebody piled up some of his clothes, his laptop, a few books in a box near him as Lucas started to weep.

#I write things #Writer's Choice Wednesday #elu #sadness all around #not sure if I should tag the AU

[neuroticphysiologist]

scott being extra for five consecutive days

For FabFiveFeb 2021 - Scott

Prompt: "Are you kidding?"

This might be the roughest FabFiveFeb fic I've ever written... I think...

More: [John]

****

Alan

Gordon and I have been laughing since we were heading for home.

For the past five days, Scott has done a lot of extras during missions. Was he in a good mood after all the pressure he had before? Was he enjoying himself being an adrenaline junkie?

This is one of the rare times I've seen Scott like this. His serious side wasn't shown much today. Virgil was right about him. Well, of course, he knows his big brother a lot more than me and Gordon.

This is how it went.

On the first day, Scott had to rescue a trapped climber. Thunderbird 1 couldn't go through the mountains because it was too narrow, so he had to fly to the climber. He doesn't use both his jet pack and wings so much, and while he was flying, he seemed to enjoy it. He was even doing some stunts! I heard John talking about it with Virgil. "Well, he seems to be having a good time, finally."

Anyways, he still got the rescue done on time.

Second day, Scott had to go through the booby traps to rescue a guy trapped on the other corner. It's more like Kayo's job based on the skills required, but Kayo was in the other room with Lady Penelope confronting a suspect.

Now fully equipped with the skills Kayo taught him (we all do), Scott goes through the traps with extra stunts on the side. The guy had his jaw dropped.

"International Rescue. Don't worry, I'm here to get you out. Follow me."

"Are you kidding? You know my legs couldn't keep up with that, mate!"

Mr. Scott the Showoff mode on.

Day three, it was only him and Virgil. They went out with two Explorer pods and Scott was going for a race. Virgil just sighed and went on his way.

Yesterday, man, I don't know much about what happened yesterday, I was stressed during my mission. I had to deal with a space engineer who, I think, gives off Fischler and Lemaire vibes in one. I mean, that's all I can describe him. I don't quite remember how many times I had to rely on John. While on Earth, Scott, Virgil, and Kayo rescued a bus full of children, and after that, they spent some time with them.

And earlier today, Scott was flirting with a copter pilot. He forgot that his comms were on, so we were listening in Thunderbird 2. Man, Gordon and I felt like we lost ourselves because of the way our eldest brother flirts. If Gordon and I were in that girl's shoes, we would've walked away after that one super cheesy pick up line.

At his age, men are either engaged or married with someone or have family of their own. But of course, Scott has a top priority than that. He leads International Rescue, reliving Dad's legacy. And he takes care of us. But in my perspective, he's almost like Dad to me. It's sad sometimes that I spent my teenage years with my parents not around to support me, but my family's still here, my siblings, and Grandma.

Going back to Scott being in a good mood and enjoying himself for five consecutive days, well, it's good to see him like this. On the day after I got stressed during my mission, he sat beside me for a little chit chat. I told him what happened, and he cheered me up. It's like we have switched.  Scott was happy after his mission that included some fun time, while I was hella frustrated when I dealt with that engineer. Well, it happens.

Anyway, that's all I can say. Tomorrow, we're going for a barbecue night and we'll be spending time with each other as a family.

Oh, and a post note: John told me I was being extra too, with my astro board one time. I think I was jamming to District 9 when I was in flight with the ion engines doing it's job. So yeah, I think it's one of the truths about me being influenced by Scott.

#fabfivefeb2021 #fabfivefeb #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #alan tracy #scott tracy #neurotic phys tag #too rough i'm sorry