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astranite · 2 months

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Notes- Christmas TAG secret santa fic.

Because of this post and @janetm74 and @edutainer2022 here are my additional notes for my 2023 thunderfam secret santa fic.

It contains brainstorming that became part of the og fic and notes as a continuation for the car ride. It was actually these that I came up with first and intended to write but got side tracked with explorations of getting ready, especially given the prompt i was given was “Every day is a school day” with Jeff and Lucy. Also deadlines!

Mind that this is pretty much as is from my notes in its entirety, complete with spelling errors, partial sentences and utter lack of cohesion as I jumped between ideas.

Link for the fic proper on ao3.

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“Every day is a school day” Jeff and Lucy. And everyone.

Car drive to spent christmas with Grandma and Grant at Gran Rocha. The preparing and road tripping shenanigans.

getting all five kids plus themselves and luggage into the car on time as chaotic as a school day. Jeffs line?

S15, J13, V12, G 6?7, A3

Wake-up call. Alarm going off Lucy tired and grumpy where Virgil gets it from. I’ll get the kids up and you can head straight to the coffee. Jeff fooling around like mock drill sergeant. Scott’s grumpy teenness and chucking a pillow at him with surprisingly good aim for supposedly asleep. Scott getting up. Bed hair mess that Jeff runs a gentle hand through pulling him into a hug. Virgil and John. John and Bagel the cat curled up together. Both hissing at him in unison. Virgil needed to be hugged and woken up more slowly.

Down in the kitchen. Jeff kissing Lucy and trying to steal her coffee. No you cannot steal my coffee Jefferson Tracy, you have your own. Lucy’s massive science pun mug. Hair in her face looking like little Virgil.

HURRICANE LUCY. Time skip to about to go?

packing- John wanting to fit telescope. Or “But I did leave my telescope behind” but bag full of books.

Last min shoving presents in. Neighbour to feed the cat.

Scott nabbed the car keys first on massive ** many different keychain so neither Lucy nor Jeff could lose them. Swinging them around his finger, “can I drive” Parental chorus of “No!” Doesn't have license yet but is learning to pilot. argument of Grandma lets me drive on the ranch. Thats the beat up old ute and theres nothing much out there to hit any way.

And they were done. Bags were in the car, kids were in the car, last final bathroom stops had been had. Lucy patted down her pockets. Keys! She didn’t have them, so Jeff must except that he didn’t. Surely the couldn’t have lost them with the neon pink rocket ship key chain attached to prevent this. Until they both spied Scott leaning against the drivers side door and swinging them around his finger.

“So, can I drive?” Scott asked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question.

“No,” came the parental chorus.

Then the other kids repeating them, picking up on it slightly behind.

Scott grinning and tossed the keys in the air one last time then caught them. He passed them to Lucy’s waiting hand prompted by a stern eyebrow.

7 seater beat up car. Drive- Kansas to Texas. approx 9 hours to 8 1/2. Lucy english thinking its ages. at least america had good highways. and from her mothers tales at least kangaroo spotter was a redundant position.

Panic at dress clothes for Christmas day

someone packed no underpants. Gordon only packed underwear and swimmers. Trying to sort laundry at last minute. Jeff’s haphazard packing of his own clothes with getting everyone else in military order. Lucy remarking jokingly, “Mightve gotten to mars adn forgot your space suit.

Jeff the nerd, calling Grandma to tell on our way, “Houston we have take off”. Kids dramatic countdown. A “finally”. FOnd eye rolls.

John and Virgil at back seats. Johns already long limbs folded up.

Scott getting the dubious privelige of the middle row. but centre seat between Alan and Gords car seats and on big brother duty.

Lucy hoping but not expecting to get some rest on the trip. Up all night getting ready. has mystery novel to read. but trying to wrangle kids. Putting Jeff’s cowboy hat over her face to keep the sun off as she sleeps.

Stops for toilet breaks. Lunch fast food. “Do not let gordon have soda.” Johns burger order. Virgil picking pickles out to give to john. The chips stealing. Trying to eat and drive. sending older ones in to fish younger out of the play area. losing Scott to it too, send in John planning it like a mission.

Jeff adn Lucy discussion over what coffee is supposed to do. ADHD Jeff. starting with Scott asking for coffee, cheekily. No, we dont need you any more hyper. Jeff’s confident, “Coffee doesnt do that” Even same with Aa. spirited debate. JSSo that means I can have some? eff still saying no coffee for Scott.

Lucy driving at some point.

If Lucy had to hear one more rendition of baby shark she was the one who was going to get out and walk.

music and Lucy and Virgil comparing synesthesia.

John reading massive heavy text book, splayed out across knees. not getting car sick, serve well for astronaut. for fun, reminded he didnt need to study.

Scott bored and restless. tinies asleep. no phone signal. twisting around, being told off for seat belt, trying to see what Johns doing. seat swap and he and John are in the back doing maths and physics, heads bent together. virgil eyes closed but awake or leaning around car seats to look out the windows, bobbing head to music through headphones.

when John adn Scott get stuck, calling questions out to Lucy. Jeff snoring in front seat, head on lucy;s jumper, went from wide awake to clonked out even after the coffees.

Virgil using breath on fogged up windows to draw. Scott and John used it for math.

Gordon are we there yet. Alan copying him.

naming animals and animal sounds. then naming sea creatures. then sounds of sea creatures. some known, some gordon happily making them up.

car sickness. Scott getting car sick, in spite of crazy spins and flips but then hes in control. another reshuffle, Jeff wedged into the middle seat, Lucy laughing and looking in rear view mirror at tall, broad shouldered husband folded awkwardly into the back. John and Virgil back-back. Scott getting shotgun, window open and nauseous. Vomit bags in glove box because learnt from past fiascos and puke in hat story. Scott grumps would be fine if I was driving

some point tinies and Jeff all asleep. John and Virgil happy together. Lucy getting to check in and chat to scott.

on destination. everyone there, big family. Lee? Kayo adn Kyrano and Kayo mother. Jeff brothers? packed into the big ranch house. noise and merriment. hot dry texas air. smell of good food cooking. some slight odour of burnt.

explain lucy parents farm????

“The eagle has landed” finding rooms, unpack car. eldest three in together. youngest.

John overwhelmed after trip, not wanting to talk to anyone. near tears at thought of going into party. going to stable to spent time with horses.

Virgil running up to Grant and talking his ear off, to much delight of both parties. Grant, still broad shouldered and strong from farm work, charcoal black hair now salt and pepper grey.

Achievements getting caught up with. Jeff telling grandma about scotts, Scott proud but a bit uncharacteristically shy, leaning into a side hug.

the comments of how big the kids were all getting, and theyd better not be having more. Lucy laughing and very nope five is plenty enough.

somewhat tired cranky, sticky dusty kids. Gordon spilling something sticky on him in the last hour, waiting to get there to wash him off. Recovering excitement at bath.

grandma’s welcome cookies.

——- other fic. Graduation. car crash. Injuries—the bruises. Scott burst into tears with brothers because he wants mum

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #astrawrite #jeff tracy #lucy tracy

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weathereyehorizon · 2 years

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Thank you @saraminia and @blackandwhiteandrose for tagging me!💛

Favourite Season: Summer. Hands down. I'm a tropical people, and it's a cruel twist of fate that I live somewhere that experiences winter for 10 months of the year.

Favourite Holiday: Christmas. Which always amuses me as an atheist.

Favourite Animal: Cat

Favourite Colour: Yellow.

Where are you from: Canada

Have you met any celebrities: I've met Jim Cuddy, who you will only consider a celebrity if you too spend your days primarily enjoying Canadian folk/country/rock

If you could meet any celebrity who would it be and why: Noah. But I simultaneously never want to meet him. I will be such a hot mess if I ever have the occasion to.

Current favourite song: My all-time favourite song is Sleeping Sickness by Gord Downie and City and Colour (see my afore mentioned penchant for Canadian music). Right now I can't get enough of Michigan, which is the Noah song that was accidentally released a few weeks back.

Favourite Scent: Clove

What makes you happy: My found and made family, music, writing, reading, and being outside.

I think most have been tagged, but anyone reading this, please consider yourself tagged, and play along.

#about me #tag game

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tylerfreshcorn · 1 year

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With New Year’s Eve ending and 2023 here, here’s my post on my 2022.

2022 was the year I made for bettering myself, physically, mentally, emotionally, etc.

After the literal fire that was 2020 and the downward spiral that had happened in 2021. With all that happened then I was in a very dark place that I hadn’t been in almost a decade. In that time I was unwell and had contemplated about ending it and hoping that would ease everything.

It wasn’t until the beginning of 2022 where I felt something make me open my eyes after an annual health visit that I can, should, and must make the new year a time for me, get myself better than I had then & accomplish something’s I’ve wanted to do, either in the moment or planned out & work to achieve it. If I may indulge I would like to list off some said achievements, in no particular outside of the first one;

- My big goal of the year was to work on my weight. Had no particular set goal in mind, just to ‘lighten the load’ for lack of a better word. I started 2022 at 435lbs. and at the end of 2022 I have fluctuated between 355lbs. - 365lbs., losing approx. 80lbs. this year alone.

- Said weight loss has done a lot too. From no longer feeling winded just going on stairs, going down clothes sizes (4-5XL to 2-3XL’s), partaking in outdoor activities, and feel a bit more confident in how I look & taking photos.

- I’ve gotten back into doing Cosplays again, having lost interest in the similar time period. Having done Kingpin (both regular & Family Business variety), dusted my old Wario outfit for Halloween, and making a Ghost of Christmas Present for my Holiday cards this year.

- I went and traveled out of state and ghost hunted with a friend, enjoying the views of West Virginia and catching a ghost on camera.

- I got back into going to Conventions again after missing out on them for a few years and felt like home again.

- I attended my 1st concert in several years, seeing Slipknot live, who I haven’t got to since 2015, and got to hear my favorite song Snuff performed live.

- I got to meet, get autographs & talk to several actors and performers that I have admired and enjoyed in my life. From horror legends Lisa Wilcox & Kane Hodder, to voice actor Colleen O’Shaughnessey, performer Carey Jones, Scut Farkus, aka Zack Ward

- Special shout out to puppeteer Dan Garza for being not only a great guy, but also someone great to talk to, giving words of encouragement, especially to me during my journey, for help making Twitter tolerable, and for his excellent performance as Jr. Gord being so delightful & reminding me of my childhood.

- I replayed Crash Team Racing: Nitro-Fueled and finally beaten the time trial ghosts to unlock the Dr. N. Tropy costume that I use to never be able to get.

- With only 2 openings spots left, I nearly completed my MCU poster wall.

- And lastly at my final Convention trip of the year, it became one of the best moments of the year & my life getting to meet Vincent D’Onofrio, do a photo-op, do so in my Kingpin cosplay, and autograph with him as well!

2022 was overall a really good year for me and here’s to 2023 continuing it. My main resolutions are continue with my weight loss journey, being open to try new things and work on bettering myself still.

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tagsecretsanta · 2 years

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From @such-random-rambler

By and from @such-a-random-rambler to @onereyofstarlight

I tried to combine two prompts, and used both 'A logistical nightmare' and 'Gords and John having a fight/argument of some kind. '

Happy Chrimbo

- - -

International Rescue are experts in all manner of emergency situations, and work as one very well oiled machine. Some situations test them more than others, and none so much as when they have a small window for Christmas preparations, when it’s all hands to the pump.

“I’ve sent you a revised path Scott.” John flicks the hologram off screen in the direction of his brother’s symbol, for him to load up. “It will be at least ten minutes quicker.”

“I thought you were meant to be resting.” Scott’s image appears instantly, a worried frown adding to his generally harried expression.

“I am.”

“You’re sitting at the desk, planning out routes, looks like working to me.”

“If you think this is me working, we have to have a discussion one of these days because I need a pay rise.” John says, wry smile on his lips.

“You don’t get paid.” Scott snaps back, but he’s mollified, and looks a little more relaxed. “How’s the arm? Not straining it?”

“Stop worrying. I can - and am - doing this this with one hand tied behind my back.”

“Fine, be stubborn. Make sure that you’re using the sling though, take pain killers if you need them. I‘ve got to concentrate now, coming up to the tricky bit. Call me if you need anything but see if you can get hold of Gordon will you, he’s not answering and I worry he’s in over his head.”

John gives a little jaunty salute and Scott’s image disappears. John slides his other arm back into his sling because big brothers can be annoyingly right sometimes and cracked collar bones did need support. The ache isn't too bad though, which is just as well because he still has work to do, no matter Scott’s opinion on the matter. His brothers have a lot of skills, can keep their calm in virtually every situation, but everyone has their limits.

With a wave of his non-broken arm John briefly checks in on Virgil, but he’s right on schedule, heading back to the rendezvous point, grocery shop complete. No cause for concern there.

“This is Thunderbird Five to Gordon, come in please. Don’t ignore me like you’re doing to Scott or I’ll re-order your documentary playlist.”

“I’m not ignoring him.” Gordon’s voice crackles in, responding to the threat just as John knew he would.

“That’s not what he said.”

“Well, some of us aren’t superhuman multitaskers and actually need to do one thing at a time.” A flare of static threatens to swallow Gordon’s last words, but John manages to clear it up enough to hear the bite in his tone. “So why don’t you just relax and let the rest of get on with it.”

“You really want me to leave you to it?”

“Go on, put your feet up.” Gordon almost snarls. It might be the stress, or the thumping of his heartbeat echoing in his shoulder, or just that Gordon knows how to provoke him, but John feels his hackles rising.

“You do know that if I had a choice I would be out there with you, right? This isn’t exactly fun for me either.“

“Sure, sure. You wouldn’t at all be hiding up in space.” That was a low blow from Gordon. He doesn’t hide - it’s just that Five is the best place to co-ordinate from, and it sparks the sarcasm in John. “Well, I’m sorry that I fell off a building.”

“You milking the sympathy now? Typical.”

“You want to try sitting in my position? You wouldn’t last an hour.”

“Would be a walk in the park compared to this.” There’s no need to shout to be heard, but they’re both getting louder.

“You learned another four languages while I wasn’t looking?”

“Because translation programmes don’t exist? You just like to know more than anyone else.”

“You’re calling me a show off? That’s rich.”

There’s some sort of dull thud from Gordon’s end, and distant yelling.

“Gordon?” John’s irritation is gone, replaced with concern, arguing forgotten.

“I’m here. It’s. It’s bad out here.” For a moment Gordon sounds like a kid again, and it riles something protective in John’s chest.

“You somewhere safe?”

“For now. I’m only half way done though, and I won’t be able to stay here long.”

“I’ll find you a way.”

John slips his arm out the sling again, he’ll need both arms for this – he'll just need another painkiller later. The tension leaches away and he focuses completely on the task in front of him. The map of the shopping mall springs up in front of him, a flashing yellow dot marking Gordon’s position, tucked in an alcove behind a bank of elevators.

A flick of his lithe fingers and a timer appears, with a ninety-minute countdown. On one side is a list of Gordon’s tasks and he’s about two thirds of the way through. Yes, it’s an advantage to have someone remote overseeing the operation, but John feels a twisting of guilt because if he hadn’t broken a bone three days ago he would be out there with them, and one more set of boots on the ground might make all the difference.

But that’s not what they have.

John scans the mall, accessing the companies record of footfall patterns and overlaying them on the current occupancy of the shops. He sets up a quick program to extrapolate those patterns onto today's data and leaves it running in the background. While that’s working, he highlights the location of Gordon’s last six stops that will complete his list. He’ll need to double back a bit, as one shop closes a lot earlier than the others, and one - listening into the radio comms between shop and warehouse – is going to run out of stock of a few key items very soon. The foot traffic data shows the areas that are less busy, and Gordon will save almost ten minutes by going up two floors and coming back down again.

“I’m sorry.” Gordon clicks back onto the channel, now much calmer. ”I didn’t mean what I said. I know it’s not easy watching and I know I don’t have the focus that you do.” He sounds genuinely contrite, and there is a big difference between Gordon when he thinks he should be sorry and when he genuinely is.

“I’m sorry too, I’m a little snappy today. I’ve got an early Christmas present for you though.”

“You found me a way out of here?” John smiles at the hope in Gordon’s voice.

“Yep. I’m ordering a couple of items ahead for pick up, so you should be able to just walk in. If you get a move on you should be done in an hour, max.” John finishes the order, filing away the order confirmation to be cross checked on the bank balance at the end of the month.

“Did I ever tell you, you were my favourite brother?”

John grins, sending the new route over to Gordon. It only takes a moment for his marker to start moving at a brisk but steady pace. “Only every time you want something.”

“Well, you are. I’d better get going, don’t let Virgil leave without me.”

“As if he’d dare.” John signs off. He resists rolling his shoulders as he usually would after a dispatch in fear of the ass-kicking he’d get if it needed resetting. He does stand and stretch his back though before repositioning his arm in sling and heading off for painkillers and a nap. They’d be back before too long, with the presents to be wrapped, food to be stowed and decorations to put up.

This had been the easy part.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy #@such-a-random-rambler

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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We’ll Be Home For Christmas 5.3 (Bit 2) + Epilogue

From here | 5.2 Bit 1 | 5.2 Bit 2 | 5.2 Bit 3 | 5.3 Bit 1 | 5.3 Bit 2 + Epilogue

IT’S FINISHED!!!!!!!!!!!!

::dances around the room like a loon::

Finished before next Christmas! Woohoo!

This fic is my @tagsecretsanta fic for 2019 and it is for @scattergraph .

AND IT IS FINISHED!!!! 68,000 words! My longest Thunderbirds fic!

Many, many thanks for @onereyofstarlight who geeked out with me major league on this fic and helped me with research (oh, there was soooo much research for this fic - so much I plan to post about it all in a separate post once I’ve archived this monster) and reading through whatever I came up with and cheerleading :D Also, many thanks to @scribbles97 @i-am-chidorixblossom and @vegetacide who also put up with all my crazy and wibblies and for reading through when I scream at random times ‘Does this work or it is crud?’ And, of course, to Thunderfam, who have taken this crazy whale fic on and cheered me to the finish line. Thank you alll sooo much ::hugs for everybody:: Yes, I’m a little excited. To start is fun, but to finish is ecstacy - I had that on my studio wall for a long time :D

Spoilers and warnings: A little Virgil/Kayo, a little Scott/Mel and a lot of brotherly fluff.

I hope you enjoy this last bit of the Kermadec Fic :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon had half expected Kayo’s call. Virgil had been fidgety all day. Scott had pulled Gordon aside at one point and expressed his concern, but there was nothing they could really do until Virgil made his move. Pushing him into anything would have gotten them nowhere. Virgil could be the most stubborn of them all. So, they sat back and waited, gave Virg his space and watched.

Trust Tin to kick his ass into shape.

From the moment Tin kissed Virgil it was a matter of countdown. Gordon had even dragged himself out of the pool, downed a coffee and poked Sam awake.

It wasn’t planned or conspired, just inevitable.

Sam guzzled a coffee beside him.

“You think he’ll talk to us.”

“I think he won’t have a choice. You don’t say ‘no’ to Kayo.”

“So, they’re a thing now?”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know he has a thing for her. He tries to hide these things but we’re family.” Which was why Gordon and the rest of the family knew there was something not right with the second eldest. He had been foggy, daydreaming and not-all-there since he had walked in so late this morning.

So, it was with both eagerness and a little dread that he stepped out onto Two’s runway, tablet in hand, and with a little hope that this could be the start of a healing process for his brother.

Tin was standing close with Virgil and Gordon’s heart warmed at the sight. His brother didn’t stand a hope.

That heart stuttered a moment later as his sister made her departure with those three words that implied possible death if Gordon didn’t look after his brother.

“Now, that’s a little scary.” And somewhat terrifying. Pranking Virgil from this point onwards may include having to cater to Kayo kicking his ass in retaliation.

He swallowed. Well, whatever made his bro happy.

Virgil straightened where he stood, determination in every line. “We need to talk.”

Gordon reflexively parroted his brother’s stance, his spine whipping to attention. Virgil may not be military, but his passion demanded respect.

“Then speak to me, bro.”

Virgil sighed and despite that determination, his shoulders shifted down a little. “I need information.” He turned to Sam. “Can you help me?”

“I can certainly try.” Sam had none of his usual bouncy enthusiasm. Something in Virgil’s agitation was communicating the seriousness of the situation.

“How do whales communicate?”

Sam opened his mouth and there began Whale Communication 101 with a minor in whale anatomy.

Sam was concise, but comprehensive. He’d obviously refreshed his knowledge overnight and even Gordon learnt a few new things.

They ended up perched on a circle of rocks under one of the palm trees, Virgil’s dark eyes fixated on Sam as he answered every question Virgil threw at him.

And there were many. How did their sonar work? What frequencies did humpback whales use to sing? What research has been done in this area? Had anyone been able to actually communicate before?

“No.” Sam’s voice was firm.

“Not even other musicians?” Virgil stared at him.

Sam shook his head. “They were all ignored.”

“What about using the right frequencies?”

Sam shook his head again. “You’re the first.” His friend bit his lip. “What is it like?”

There was suddenly a vulnerability in Virgil’s eyes that had Gordon wanting to stop this, stop this immediately, and he had to restrain himself. Virgil needed to talk it through.

“I…it’s…hard to describe.” An exasperated exhale. “In fact, that is the hardest of all of this. I can’t…express it. The colours, the shapes, the emotion…it’s all there, in my head, but I can’t articulate it, I can’t understand it, it’s just…a mess.”

Gordon’s eyes widened as Virgil waved a frustrated hand at nothing in particular, his focus drifting for just a second as his thoughts turned inward. The hand landed on his thigh and Gordon eyed those fingers as they desperately tapped out a beat on his brother’s jeans.

“Colours? Whales don’t see in colour. They don’t have the physical capability.” Sam’s eyes were as wide as Gordon’s, staring at Virgil.

His brother’s head snapped up. “Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. They don’t have the required cone cells in their retinas. They see in monochrome.” Sam was leaning forward.

“No, they see colour.” Virgil’s eyes focussed inward again. “So many shades of blue, green, the hot pink of exuberance, the yellow of warm sunshine, the deep midnight of sadness, the rainbow of sunset on cooling skin, white of pain, grey of threat…the black of loss. So many colours.” Virgil turned away and looked out into the caldera a moment before turning back and pinning Sam with his eyes. “It’s in the sound. You have to listen to the music.” To Gordon’s astonishment, Virgil sung a handful of notes only to break off and frown, yet again in frustration. “But I can’t…!” Virgil’s hands balled into fists.

Sam was staring wild eyed. “You can understand them?”

“Yes! No! Hell, I don’t know!”

Gordon reached out and placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Hey, take a breath. We have time. We can work this out.”

Troubled brown eyes latched onto his. “It’s in my head, Gordy, and I can’t get it out. I can’t sing it, I can’t paint it, I can’t express it, I can’t even understand it! It’s just…argh!” He clutched at his face, his fingers tangling in his hair.

“Virgil!” Gordon grabbed his brother’s arms and gently pulled them away from his head. “We’ll work this out. You’re not alone.” He drew in a breath. “Never alone.”

To Gordon’s horror, tears glistened in Virgil’s eyes as he stared back at him. The whales suddenly became a threat to Gordon’s family and he had the urge to protect his big brother from whatever the hell it was they were doing to him.

A window into Scott’s world was never clearer.

But Virgil composed himself. Voice rough. “It’s okay, Gords.” A dragged in breath. “I’m okay.”

Gordon’s grip on Virgil’s wrists just got tighter. “Are you kidding me? You have the t-shirt, but that is total bullshit.”

“Gordon-“

“No. They’ve gotten into your head and good or bad we are going to work through this until you are ‘okay’, okay?”

Virgil sighed and looked down before frowning at him again. “How?”

Sam cut in and Gordon startled. He had almost forgotten his friend was there. “Talk to the whales.” Virgil’s eyes hit the man and Sam’s voice became pleading. “Explain it to them. Ask them. Learn from them. Get more information and we can work it out. The more information we have the better we can understand it.” Sam’s passion rose to the surface. “This is a massive breakthrough, Virgil. You can interpret another species language.”

“No, I can’t. That is the problem, Sam.”

His friend’s pale blue-green eyes didn’t back down. “Yes, you can. Partially at least. You’ve said the words yourself. You’ve labelled colours. You’ve spoken of emotions and intent. You are communicating, Virgil.” If it was possible, the intensity in Sam’s eyes just lit up more. “And they know it. They sought you out. They responded. They know you. You’ve made a connection.”

Gordon let Virgil’s wrists go and his brother dropped his hands in his lap. “Virg, we’ve got this. John is on it. We have the technology; we have Sam and Mel and you have all of us. We can do this. Give yourself the chance.”

Those brown eyes fixated back on Gordon and the vulnerability was back. Hell, Gordon would do anything to protect his brother. Anything. “We’ve got this, Virg. Trust me.”

“I do, Gords. Always have.”

“Then let’s do this.”

The familiar phrase rang between them and Virgil responded, his body straightening where he sat. Voice still rough. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Scott stood on the end of the main balcony peering out towards Two’s runway at the three figures sitting under the palm trees.

He bit his lip.

Mel was still asleep on the lounger. He should have stayed with her, but he was edgy and worried about his brother.

Kayo had walked through the comms room sometime earlier and the expression on her face made it plain that Virgil was speaking to Gordon and Sam. A long due discussion.

His brother, the whale whisperer. The whole concept was ridiculous, but apparently a thing.

“What the hell?!”

Scott jumped and Mel rolled over and off the lounger she was lying on. Scott hurried over to help her up. “Alan!”

But the young astronaut ignored him, shooting up from where he was sitting on one of the couches and dashed to end of the balcony where Scott had been standing a moment before. His game console hung from one hand. “John, you are dead!”

“What?” John’s voice wafted up from the pool deck below. “What did I do?!”

“You strip mined my sun!”

“What? No, I didn’t. How do you strip mine a sun?”

“What’s going on?” Mel frowned up at him. She was adorably mussed and dopey looking. He couldn’t help but kiss her hair.

“Hey, Dimples. Focus.” She smiled up at him.

“Oh, okay.” So, he focussed on kissing her thoroughly.

Her hand fluttered against his shoulder a moment before he gained her full attention and…hmmm.

Another squawk of anger from his youngest brother. “A black hole?! You ignited a black hole! You asshole!”

“Alan!” Grandma’s voice stabbed in from below somewhere and snapped Scott out of his pre-occupation.

Mel grinned up at him as he pulled away in automated embarrassment.

“It’s not fair, Grandma, he cheated!”

“That does not excuse your language, young man. We have guests!”

“I did not cheat.”

Really, did they have to yell across levels?

“It’s a black hole, John! You sucked in my entire solar system. If you don’t stop it, you’re going to take out the whole damn galaxy!”

“Alan!” This time it was Scott admonishing him.

“It’s not fair!”

John’s voice was puzzled. “I didn’t do that.” A scuffle of shoes on concrete and the scrape of a lounger. “Hell, I didn’t do any of that. Alan, did you set off a supernova in sector seventeen?”

“Seventeen? I haven’t even been to seventeen.” Alan glared at his game console. “You’re in seventeen already?!”

“I was. A supernova obliterated my base.”

“Well, I didn’t do it.”

Scott bit back an emerging grin. Oh, shit.

“This is impossible.” It was distracted and a sure sign John was poking into code.

He let the grin out and gave it a countdown from five.

“Virgil!”

-o-o-o-

The discussion about whales came to an abrupt and yelling-infused end as Alan jumped on comms and gave his engineer brother a piece of his mind.

John was less exuberant and ever so curious as to how Virgil had managed to not only enter the game without either John or Alan noticing, but then catch up, overtake and obliterate, all within the rules.

Virgil was glad it wasn’t initially a visual signal and only Gordon and Sam got to see his smirk when he answered that it was ‘for him to know and his space brothers to find out’.

John would, no doubt, take that as a challenge.

Alan would probably just take a note out of Gordon’s book and stick jello in his bed sheets in revenge.

The arched eyebrow on Gordon’s face was amusing.

But most of all, at John and Alan’s expense, Virgil felt the pall lifting. It was a pall he hadn’t even been aware was there. Sure, he was tired and the whale song was frustrating, but it had been a good day.

It was the heavy conversation, the focus on the issue and the confusion in his head.

It was Christmas, for crying out loud.

Theoretically, he had just kicked both his space brothers’ butt at the game they were all so cocky over. Well, technically he had simply asked Eos to act in his stead. He had taken one look at the game on his tablet that afternoon on Raoul, worked out a basic strategy, then asked Eos to sneak in and execute it for him.

He hadn’t asked her to hide it from anyone. Just to not mention it unless someone asked.

Eos really did love a good game after all.

And it wasn’t cheating if he was just smart enough to appoint a proxy who could do the job for him.

He’d even asked Eos to backup the game as it was before she entered so the entire scenario could be saved for his brothers to tackle again once he and Eos had taught them a lesson.

Virgil was quite chuffed when it took John a whole fifteen minutes to decipher exactly what had happened.

“Virgil!”

His red-haired brother was glaring at him across the comms room, fit to blow a circuit. “You coerced Eos?!”

A shrug. “No? She was bored. Gave her something to do, that’s all.” He relaxed back against the lounge. Kay found an excuse to join him and he was ever so appreciative when her hand crept into his.

“Eos!”

“I don’t know what the problem is, John. It was fun.” She snorted. Apparently, their AI could snort. “It is what you programmed me to do, after all. Virgil asked and I agreed.”

John opened his mouth, but nothing further came out for a full five seconds. Then, determinedly at the ceiling. “We will be discussing this.”

“We will? I’m looking forward to it. You should see how easy it is to strip mine a sun. The amount of energy I gained was extremely efficient and it allowed me to advance at a pace neither of you seem to have achieved. I have also developed some real-world models that you might be interested in. Application would have to be postponed until interstellar transport has been achieved. Though I have some thoughts on that as well. I would be very interested in what you think of these equations.” A bunch of numbers and symbols appeared in the centre of the comms room. “I’m not sure the energy expenditure variable is viable, however we could leverage this with some assistance from our own sun.” And she kept throwing out ideas that widened John’s eyes enough to dry them out and send them bloodshot.

Eos stopped eventually, possibly sensing an imminent explosion from her father. John was glaring daggers at Virgil.

Virgil shrugged. “She enjoyed it.”

John’s expression was somewhat comical and it was enough to set off Alan, who burst into laughter. Gordon was grinning like a loon as was Scott and Virgil found himself joining them.

John glared at all of them before settling into one of the lounges, tablet still in hand with more amused disgruntlement than anger on his face.

Maybe Virgil had to worry about jello from John’s direction rather than Alan’s?

-o-o-o-

The evening meal was a relaxed one.

Scott dragged out the barbecue and a variety of meat was charred on its hotplate. Virgil stood up to cook, as that was usually his task, but Sam shoo-ed him away and after taking one look at what Scott was attempting to do with the food, kicked him off the Tracy grill as well.

They were all the better for it.

Salads, desserts and even a bowl of marshmallows found their way out onto the patio.

Good food and good company, it was a lovely night as the sun headed towards the horizon on the other side of the Island.

Virgil sat on the edge of conversation, willing to just watch his beloved family. His brothers who had done so much just to get him home. God, he loved them.

Scott sat with his arm around Mel more relaxed than he had seen him in months. Gordon had tinsel in his hair and was chasing Sherbet around the pool, apparently trying to decorate him, too. Alan had cornered Elspeth again and was chatting away a mile a minute. Regardless, she appeared fully invested in what he was saying.

John was glaring at his tablet, no doubt attempting to out thwart Eos. Now that would be the match of the millennium. Genius father versus AI daughter. Virgil had the urge to step back just in case something exploded.

And sitting beside him was Kay, who wasn’t interested in Wayne Rigby. Kay, who smiled at him with her beautiful green eyes.

Again, the song for that colour danced in his mind.

He squeezed her hand, rolled himself off his lounger and stumbled to his feet.

Oh, so elegant, Virgil. An internal sigh as every eye in the room targeted him.

“I’m fine.”

Scott grabbed a marshmallow and threw it at him.

It left a puff of icing sugar in the middle of his chest.

Gordon snorted and Alan giggled.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “The bathroom, guys, yeesh.” He turned and trundled himself back towards the house.

“Have fun!”

He didn’t even bother to turn around. “Hilarious, Gordon.”

“You’re welcome.”

He didn’t bother to even acknowledge that.

He didn’t return to the party immediately. The ocean caught his eye and he had the irresistible need to climb down to the shore.

His brothers didn’t comment as he walked straight past them and down towards the huts, but he felt their eyes.

Really, he couldn’t blame them. He had scared them and then done a number with the whales. He owed them so much.

Something lodged in his throat and he had to swallow emotion.

His feet hit volcanic sand and sunk, grains slipping between his toes. The lagoon lapped gently at the edge of the beach. It was such a contrast to the roaring ocean of Oneraki on Raoul. There were no hot springs here, the Tracy Island volcano was long dead, thankfully. This beach was his beach. Volcanic sand marbled with coral sand and he traced the pattern with his toe.

There was a sound for sand and it was both beautiful and terrifying.

The colours were a kaleidoscope of meaning.

He let a breath out and raised his eyes towards the darkening horizon.

“Virgil?” Are you okay?

He closed his eyes.

Scott.

Another breath and he turned to face his brother. “No. I’m not. But I will be. I promise.” A half smile. “In the meantime, I’m thankful, grateful and ever so lucky. My family is more than I could ever ask for.”

That stopped his brother in his tracks and Virgil found himself smiling.

“Uh, John wanted me to give you this.” Scott held up a tablet.

John’s tablet.

John never let that out of his sight.

Scott approached and touched the device. A world globe appeared above it. Another twitch of fingers and it zoomed into the map far to the south of Tracy Island where a dot blinked. “John wanted you to know that he and Eos are tracking the mother and calf.” A swipe and Scott zoomed in even further, the tablet obviously connected to Five.

Sunset lit waves were interrupted by a spout of water and he watched as ever so far away, Mamma Whale took a breath followed by her daughter before dipping below the waves.

Virgil sucked in a breath and looked up at his brother.

Scott’s smile was soft but said everything.

God, he was ever so lucky.

Virgil turned away towards the lagoon and its gentle waters and blinked.

“Thank you.”

Scott didn’t answer, but a hand did land on his shoulder and Virgil took the opportunity to just exist beside his brother, on his beach with his family…

Here on Tracy Island.

-o-o-o-

Epilogue: The Skipper

It was late at night on Christmas Day and most of the family and their guests had retired to bed. Scott was intending on doing the same when he noticed light under the infirmary door.

Concerned that Virgil might be hiding something, he nudged the door open.

He was surprised to find Grandma staring at a hologram, her back to him.

“Grandma?”

She jumped. “Oh, Scott. Give me a heart attack why don’t you?”

The hologram disappeared.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned at her. His grandmother had been acting odd all day. Not obviously, but he knew his grandmother, something was worrying her.

To find her here, of all places, past midnight on Christmas Day…

“It’s nothing, dear. Just looking for some paracetamol for a bit of a headache.”

He stepped inside the room and shut the door behind him. “Grandma, you are as bad at it as Virgil is.”

“At what?”

“Lying.”

“Scott Tracy, how dare you.”

He narrowed his frown. “Grandma…”

She glared at him for several seconds before his glare won out. Her shoulders dropped. “You are far too much like your father for your own good, Scott.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” When she still didn’t answer his initial question, he repeated it. “What is wrong, Grandma?”

She sighed. “It’s probably nothing.”

Why was she so reluctant? “Grandma…”

Another defiant glare, but she poked at the holographic controls. “This is between you and me or I’ll cook for you exclusively for the next three years, you hear me?”

“Yes, Grandma.” But his eyes were already tracking across the hologram. A mass of wriggly lines hovered in front of him. It reminded him of a seismograph readout or one of Alan’s games stats graphs he liked to show off. It meant about just as much to him as the latter.

It had Virgil ‘s name written above it.

He didn’t have to ask.

“I did a brainwave scan when I assessed Virgil yesterday. This was the result.” She pointed at the mess of lines. “I compared it to his last scan.” She poked the hologram again and another bunch of wiggly lines appeared beside the first. It meant little to him, but undoubtedly something to his medical grandmother.

“And?”

She eyed him a moment before prodding several of the lines to highlight them. “There are differences.”

“Fluctuations?”

“No. Differences. Something has changed.”

“What has changed?”

She didn’t answer immediately and he received the impression that she didn’t want to commit to answering. “Grandma, if this is something to be concerned about, I need to know. Virgil needs to know.”

She turned to look at him. “It may be nothing.”

“But it is bothering you.”

She sighed. “There are changes in both his delta and beta wave production.”

“What does that mean?”

“Not much.”

“Grandma!”

“Scott, changes can be perfectly normal.”

“Then why is this bothering you?”

“Because John sent me Eos’ research.” She swiped at the hologram again and Eos’ graph detailing the similarities between Virgil’s delta wave production and that of the binaural beat produced by the whale song. “The delta waves matched, which leads me to believe where it started, but look at the beta wave production before the whales and after.” She highlighted the data and Scott stared at it.

The changes were obvious.

“What does it mean?”

“I’m not a neural specialist, Scott.”

“Then why aren’t we sending him to one?”

“It may be nothing.”

“It is obviously something!”

“Scott. There is no sign of impairment.”

“Except he’s talking to whales!”

She held up her hands. “Calm down. It is minor.”

“It doesn’t look minor.”

“And this is exactly why I haven’t mentioned it. I need to do some further investigation before I alarm anyone.”

Too late.

She might as well have heard as she turned to look up at him. “Scott, trust me. I will investigate. I have contacts. I will be discreet.”

He stared at her. “Grandma…”

Her glare was firm. “Trust me.”

Why was everyone asking him to do that lately? It was so damn hard to give the reins to others.

Her hand landed on his arm. “I love him as much as you do.”

Damnit.

He deflated just a little. “I know.”

“I will ask some questions. The answers will let us know if we need to investigate further.”

Her hand squeezed his arm and her eyes held his that moment longer.

He had no choice. “Yes, Grandma.”

“I will keep you advised.”

“Thank you.” He held her eyes a moment longer and he saw the worry in their depths.

“Go to bed, Scott.” He felt her urge for him not to worry, but her lack of saying proved she knew she would be wasting her breath.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She squeezed his arm again before pulling him into a gentle hug. “It will be okay, honey.”

He bit his lip and held her. He closed his eyes for just a moment.

“Yes, Grandma.”

She let him go and gave him a nudge towards the door.

His fingers drifted over her arm. A glance at the blasted hologram and he turned and left.

Mel was smiling at him when he arrived in his room and for a few moments he lost himself in her embrace.

“What’s wrong?” She frowned up at him.

He smiled. “Nothing.”

Her fingers ran tracks through his hair and she challenged him with her eyes. “Dimples?”

He smiled again and took her lips with his own.

He didn’t want to talk.

At all.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Grandma Tracy #Sally Tracy #kermadec fic #virgil/kayo #Kayo Kyrano #scott/oc

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tracybirds · 4 years

Text

Final!!!! PART!!! still can’t believe I wrote a full proper multichapter fic on the fly :DD what a month!!! The final scene was what I’ve been seeing in my head and working towards ALL ALONG so I’m so happy that I finally got it written :D

Previous Parts: [1] | [2] | [3] | [4] | [5]

Now if you’ll excuse me, I told myself I wouldn’t watch SOS onwards until I finished this fic because I just KNOW I’m about to have my world flipped upside down and spend a few days yelling about Gordon and reevaluating my life so.... I guess that’s what I’m doing for Christmas!

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“Virgil, I need you.”

Gordon was standing in the open doorway, bouncing from one foot to the other. His brother looked up in surprise at the interruption, glancing at Brains as he did so.

“Sure Gords, what’s up?”

“Umm,” said Gordon, looking uncomfortably at Brains. “Personal problem.”

Brains took the hint, graciously picking up the tablet he and Virgil had been poring over together.

“Come on, M-MAX,” he called cheerfully over his shoulder. “We need to upgrade the kitchen p-programming.”

“See you in a bit, Brains,” called Virgil. He stood up straight, stretching out his shoulders and flopping down on the old and stained couch tucked into the corner of the workshop. Gordon follows suit and finds a mug of coffee pressed into his hands before he can say a word.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No worries,” said Virgil. “Now, seriously, what do you need?”

Gordon took a sip of the coffee and pulled a face. He doesn’t drink coffee, finds the taste overpowering and bitter. It does have one advantage – it buys him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Okay, so Penelope kissed me,” he began, “and I thought it was just friendly, because she does that right? But I felt all weird about it and I told John and he says they aren’t dating and I needed to talk to Penelope and I can’t work out if he’s being obtuse or cryptic and now I keep thinking about every time we’ve talked and maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t, but fuck Virgil, what am I gonna say?”

So perhaps his thoughts weren’t very collected in the end.

Virgil considered for a minute, eyeing how Gordon ran his right hand through his hair, how his left knee hadn’t stopped bouncing since he sat down, and how his eyes were wide despite the way his brow is furrowed over them.

“So Lady Penelope and John aren’t dating?”

Gordon stares at him.

“How is that the only thing of value you got out of that? No, they’re not dating.”

“Excellent,” said Virgil, leaning back with a pleased smile. “Scott owes me fifty bucks. So yeah, that was pretty valuable, thanks.”

“Virgil!”

“Sorry, sorry!” He doesn’t sound sorry in the least, but Gordon is too impatient to draw attention to this fact.

“Okay,” said Virgil. “You like Lady Penelope, and you know she’s unattached, and now you want to see if she’ll go on a date with you?”

“Yes!”

“Have you considered talking to her?”

Gordon let out a pained groan. “Have I considered – yes, I’ve considered that! How, Virgil, how?”

“Well, I can help herd everyone away from you after dinner if you want to speak to her alone,” Virgil offered. “Tell everyone that Brains and MAX have made a new friction stir welder that can be used out in space? That’ll get Alan and John out of the way, and you know how Scott loves to play with new toys.”

“Yeah,” muttered Gordon, “yeah, that’ll work.”

“And then you just rip the band-aid off,” said Virgil, cheerfully.

Gordon pictured it in his head. He could see Virgil and Brains discussing gear over dinner, dropping hints that were really an expectation that the family should follow them to the hangar. The glint in Kayo’s eye as he held back, because if Virgil knew what was going on then Kayo would find out soon enough. Him calling softly to Penelope to stay behind. Only, he could see where this ended, Scott telling Gordon to hurry up, the family stopping to look back at them, feeling helpless and caught and embarrassed.

“Thanks Virgil,” said Gordon. An ice cold feeling had crept into his heart as he imagined the event and he shuddered slightly. “But yeah, no, that’s not gonna work for me.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll all know,” he said and just like that, he can feel the ice rising again. “I’ve sat on this for eighteen months Virg, and it’s been a secret this whole time.”

“And up until now it’s just been an idle fantasy with no real consequences?” asked Virgil shrewdly.

“Exactly!”

Gordon was leaning forward, staring down at his shoes, coffee long abandoned in favour for fidgeting fingers. Virgil shoved his knee lightly with his foot.

“Hey, listen to me,” he said, waiting for Gordon to look up at him. “I know this feels awful but it’s a good sign. Imagine if you went rushing into this without worrying, without caring. You know this is important, not just for you and her, but for all of us.”

“I just want it to be perfect,” said Gordon. “Prove to her this is for real, you know?”

Virgil nodded. “You know that she’s not expecting perfect, right? If she likes you back, then she’ll just want to see you have the courage to be vulnerable, to put yourself in her hands and trust her.”

“Well that’s horrifying.”

Virgil just laughed.

***

It happens like this.

Virgil and Brains corralled the family after dinner. Scott saw the way Gordon hung back, but was pulled away by their father before he can open his mouth. Kayo’s eyes did glint, but she wasn’t looking at him, staring delightedly at Penelope instead. He didn’t need to ask her to stay because she was already taking him by the hand and leading him outside.

“Gordon Tracy, we need to talk.” Penelope spoke first, decisive, calm, and with a warmth that collected in Gordon’s chest.

“Yeah, we do,” he said, suddenly shy and looking very deliberately at her nose instead of her eyes. He smiled as it crinkled and she gently tips his gaze upwards.

They stared at each other, both aware of the change their next words will bring but holding back all the same. The day seems too commonplace to Gordon, too ordinary to contain the grandiose of this moment.

“I spoke to John,” said Gordon at last. “Turns out you’re not together.”

“No, we’re not,” said Penelope. “I was rather thinking you would never catch on.”

“You must’ve thought I was a right idiot,” he said sheepishly, but Penelope shook her head.

“Not an idiot,” she said. “I simply never understood why you didn’t do anything when you were so obviously interested.”

"Was I really that obvious?”

Her eyes brightened and he saw for the first time the way she always ducked her head when she smiled.

“Gordon, darling, I think the only way you could have been more obvious would have been to write it in the sky.”

“Do you think Dad would let me borrow a plane? I’d give it a go.”

“Would you really?” Penelope asked, sounding entirely too pleased by the prospect.

“Heck Pen, I think I’d do just about anything you asked me,” said Gordon, his voice soft yet earnest.

“That’s a very dangerous idea to be sharing with me.”

“Don’t you know? Us Tracy’s always run towards danger.”

“Yes, you’re all very noble.”

“You love it though.”

“Yes,” said Penelope, looking thoughtfully at him. “I suppose I do.”

She shone in the evening sun and Gordon carefully reached out a hand to run his fingers though her hair spun like gold. She didn’t notice the slight tremble in his fingertips but instead lifted her own hand to meet his, guiding it down to rest upon her shoulder. She pulled him closer.

Gordon reached behind Penelope and plucked a flower from the overgrown shrub, branches hanging over the balcony. Gently, he tucked its long stem behind her ear.

“Oh,” she whispered, feeling for the flower with wide eyes.

“I’d like to take you out some time, Pen,” he informed her gravely. “Just name the date.”

He doesn’t relax until she smiles, bright and brilliant.

“Next Tuesday. I’ll be waiting.”

#gordon tracy #virgil tracy #penelope creighton-ward #pen and ink #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic #thunderbirds #and NO I STILL HAVEN'T SEEN SOS BUT I MAY NEED COMFORT FIC TOMORROW #or maybe the day after i have no idea what my Christmas looks like #bc my parents have told me nothing except a time to turn up xDD

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bullworthpunk · 5 years

Text

Help Me

Characters: Sam Peterson, Vance Medici

TWs: Mentions of depression, thoughts of suicide

This is a short fic that I wrote a couple of weeks ago. I wanted to post it, because it gives a little more insight to the demons Sam battles on a daily basis, before I get into the Christmas-themed stories. I imagine he sometimes feels so depressed, he turns into this manic, numb being that will do anything to get rid of the feeling. This is what happens when his demons get the upper hand. Fair warning, this is relatively dark, even for my doing.

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

It was dark and windy along the dirt road behind the school, the moonlight being the only source of light for Sam Peterson to see where he was going. He wrapped his leather jacket tightly around him, but it was no use.

Not that he was really cold anyway, it was more so annoying to have his jacket flailing around him aimlessly. No, he felt nothing. Just numbness. And determination.

He was going to do it tonight. Normally, he’d always chicken out at the last minute, or he just wouldn’t succeed. But this time he was determined to make it work. He was going to kill himself.

He arrived at the bridge that led to Blue Skies, and he clumsily climbed on top of it. It really was a beautiful night. It relaxed him a little. He decided to light one more cigarette, his last one, and enjoy the moment for a bit.

Whenever he made up his mind about ending it all, he always felt so serene, like everything just made sense. A melancholic, cynical smile crept onto his face. If only he could always feel like this.

He thought about what he was leaving behind. His boys, they would be fine without him. They had done so before he came to Bullworth. Maybe Vance and Peanut would mourn him, but they’d survive. Vance’s got Vendome and Peanut, well… Peanut’s Peanut. Peanut could do anything. He’d always sort of admired Peanut for the way he handled things. He obviously pined over Johnny, but he never let that ruin his happiness. He was still always there to take care of Johnny and he gave such great advice. Not that he hadn’t admired Vance, he truly did. From the moment they’d hooked up that night when they first met, a great friendship had blossomed from there. He felt a pang of guilt when he thought of Vance. He should’ve told him he supported his relationship with Gord. Sam hated the kid, but he made Vance happy, and that’s all that mattered to him.

He dropped his ashes in the water underneath him and continued reminiscing. He was also thinking of Erin and Dorian. The three of them got into some intense shit together. Wild parties, exciting gigs of Dorian and his band, make-out sessions between the three of them when they were drunk.

He sure hoped that his passing wouldn’t affect them too much. He’d hate it if his leaving would make Erin stop being the fun, lovable girl that she was or make Dorian stop smiling that wide, bright, cheeky smile that Sam loved so much whenever he did something or talk to someone he loved. That would suck, Dorian had the best smile.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, they’ll be fine.”

No one would miss him. He genuinely didn’t believe he was worth that much to anyone.

He had finished his cigarette, it was time to go.

He stood up and climbed over the worn-down railing, so that he stood on the edge of the bridge.

The wind blew softly through his hair, almost comfortingly. As if the universe was telling him it was alright to let go. He just didn’t want to feel like this anymore.

“Sam? Mio Dio, Sam what the fuck do ya think you’re doin’? Get down from there!”

Sam was shaken from his thoughts by the voice of his best friend. He turned around, sighing softly. “Go away, Vance, please,” he begged. “I need to do this.”

“Don’t tell me you’re plannin’ on doin’ what I think ya plan on doin’.”

“I need to end this, Vance. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’ve tried and tried, but never succeeded. But tonight, I’m gonna make it work. I need it to work.”

Vance’s voice quivered as he spoke. “Ya can’t be serious! Don’t leave! I need ya, Peanut needs ya. There are so many people that want you here!”

Sam had turned back towards the water, not noticing his friend slowly, carefully approaching him. Vance continued, “Just imagine the guys not havin’ ya around. Who’ll lighten the mood when Johnny goes out rampagin’ again? Who will get my jokes? And think about Erin and Dorian. Don’t ya think they’re gonna miss ya? Do ya really want to go out not havin’ told Dorian how ya feel ‘bout him?”

“How did you-“ he turned back around and looked straight into the worried, tearful eyes of Vance, who now stood right in front of him, hands slightly outstretched. Sam chuckled. “I’m sure he already knows. And if he felt the same, I would’ve known by now.”

“Ya can’t be sure. But that doesn’t matter. I’m beggin’ ya, Sam! Don’t do it. Please.” His voice had a level of desperation that Sam had never heard his best friend have. “I don’t want to lose ya.”

Silent tears ran from the redhead’s eyes and Sam was shocked when he felt a tear fall from his own eye, too. He never cried when he planned on killing himself, he always felt too empty. Too run out of tears.

But Vance knew where he was. He was looking for him and knew this was his favorite place to be. He came. That had to be a sign, right?

Suddenly, more tears welled up and fell from his eyes, and he started crying. “Help me, Vance. Please,” he choked out.

Vance grabbed his hands and pulled him back over the railing. They fell onto the bridge, both crying. Vance stroked Sam’s hair. “Please, hold on for a little longer. Try to survive. If anyone can, I know it’s you.”

Sam had never actually had the feeling that he was loved, until now. Vance would care if he was gone. And if he did, maybe others would, too.

He didn’t know. Maybe he’d try again another time, when he had regained his courage. Maybe he wouldn’t. For now, he enjoyed the feeling that someone wanted him here.

Wanted him to stay.

((I know it may seem a bit rushed, but I just wanted to put it out there. I’d love to think what y’all think of it, and if the emotions I tried to convey came out!))

#tw suicide #tw depression #Sam Peterson #fanfiction #bully #bully: scholarship edition #canis canem edit #self-insert

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nonbinarycinderella · 5 years

Text

Hero’s Cuties 12 Days of Christmas: Christmas Day Bonus - White Christmas: Part III

Hello again! I would like to wish you all a merry Christmas and gift you chapter two of my White Christmas rewrite for @heroscuties and I’s Christmas event. There will be more probably early tomorrow but yesterday and today have been very busy, so I didn’t quite finish.

Thanks for reading and reblogging!

White Christmas: Part II

“You ought to get married, you know that?” Shank declared, tossing a necklace to Calhoun. The veteran caught it effortlessly, clasping it on with practiced ease. “And why’s that?”

“Well, if you married, you ought to have kids, you know? And if you only spent ten minutes a day with each, well.” Shank snatched a slim, shining pendant from the air, Calhoun having flung it from her suitcase. “You might have six kids, and ten minutes a day with each would mean an hour. An hour without you would be an hour of bliss for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she teased, and turned to her partner. They’d dressed in matching ensembles, the striking difference in their hair color the only thing that set them apart. Suddenly, a short, pudgy purple man stepped into the room. “Girls! I have your train tickets for tonight.”

“Thanks, Knowsmore,” Shank tucked them into her still-ajar suitcase. He grinned. “I wanted to thank you both. The whole musical’s off for Christmas? I’ve not had Christmas off since I got into the business!”

“Well, after a couple of Christmases away from home,” Shank said with a grin. Calhoun laughed. “No one should work on Christmas. We just want the whole crew home with their families.”

“Well, thank you,” he nodded and handed Calhoun a green envelope. “This is from a man named Spamley. I seem to remember he was in your unit during the war.”

“Oh, Spamley!” Shank said with a smart nod. “Good guy. Not much to look at, but he was really funny.”

“Yeah, well, this is a letter about two people he’d like us to meet,” Calhoun pored over the paper. “Yesss and Felix. They’ll be performing at this hotel tonight, after we get back from our show.”

“Oh,” Shank leaned in. “Well, we should go see them. For old time’s sake, you know?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure we’ll be tired after tonight’s performance.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. The old shoulder’s acting up again,” she said, nodding to Knowsmore as he made his exit. Calhoun rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. “I never should’ve let you save my life. You’ll never let me forget it!”

Hours later, in a smaller, less elegant room, the hotel performers prepared for their act. A side table had been cleared of its centerpiece as a fetching young woman ironed a blue dress, a feathery boa draped over the bed beside her. Her partner, in a sharp suit to match, was brushing his hair with a golden comb in the mirror across the room.

“Are you ready, Yesss?” He set the comb back into a tiny suitcase, clipping it closed. She nodded, replacing the table’s decorative fabric and flower pot, and tossing the boa around her shoulders. The blue feathers drifted down to settle over her pale shoulders. “Absolutely. I heard that Calhoun and Shank might be in the audience tonight!”

“No,” Felix gasped excitedly. She whirled, zipping up her dress, and held a hand out playfully to him. “Why, Miss Shank, you’re looking excellent tonight.”

“I don’t believe we’ve met, Miss Calhoun,” he said with an excited smile. They both burst out in giggles, laughing until a voice in the hall yelled, “Curtain goes up in ten!”

Yesss grabbed two fluffy fans from the vanity, and they made their way into the hall, but were stopped on their way to the stage. A pudgy, aging man with thinning blonde hair held a hand out into the doorway. “Hang on a minute.”

On the other side of the hotel dining area, the guests of honor were escorted to the best table in the house. Calhoun tossed her coat around the back of a chair, and Shank settled into the spot opposite. “Well, isn’t this cozy!”

“A bit overcrowded,” Calhoun muttered, but gazed up at the red curtained stage as the band began to play. The starry-eyed performers began to sing pleasantly, dropping their feathery fans to reveal matching blue eyes. “Mister,” Yesss began. Felix continued, “sister!”

“Ah,” Shank marvelled, and even Calhoun was taken aback. “They’re quite melodic.”

“Caring, sharing,” Felix sang, and Yesss finished, “Up to the things that we’re wearing!”

“In all kinds of weather.”

“We stick together.”

“The same in the rain or sun!” They sang together. “We think and we act as one.”

Those who’ve,” the siblings leaned against each other as their duet came to an end. “Seen us.”

“Know that not a thing could come between us!”

“We ought to invite them over,” Calhoun suggested. “I think you were right, for once in your life. This was a real treat.”

“Wasn’t it?” Shank asked excitedly, calling a waiter over. She gestured toward the stage. “Would you mind asking those two lovely faces to join us for a drink?”

“Of course, ma’am,” he scurried off. Shank gazed up at the woman in the elegant dress, leaning on her hand absently. Calhoun shook her head. “You can’t tell me you’re in love again.”

“She’s got such a good voice, Tammy,” she murmured, watching the starlet and her brother disappear behind the red velvet curtain. Shank looked up just in time to see Calhoun’s interested gaze watching the male performer leave. “Don’t tell me! You’ve got a bite from the love bug.”

“Mod, no,” she shook it off. “Just a good song, and that’s it.”

“Sure,” Shank grinned, and slipped off her coat, artfully slipping the fabric around the chair’s back. The performing siblings joined them a minute later, pulling the empty chairs out to settle into. Felix shook Calhoun’s hand. “It’s very nice to meet you both!”

“Likewise,” Shank replied as Yesss kissed her hand. “You two are bound to hit it big singing like that.”

“Oh, thanks,” Yesss smoothed her skirt, and glanced across the table at her brother. He was watching Calhoun from the corner of his eye. The band began to play a slow, romantic song, and Shank glanced toward the shining dance floor, where couples were gathering to twirl. “Care to dance?”

“I’d love to,” Yesss murmured, and took her outstretched hand. They moved toward the floor, and Yesss led them as they waltzed among strangers. “You know, I’ve never met a celebrity before.”

“With that voice of yours, I think you’ll be one soon.”

Yesss laughed and twirled her. “You know, they say the best things happen while you’re dancing.”

At the table, Felix and Calhoun sipped drinks together. Felix had elected for something sugary with cherries in the ice cubes, while Calhoun was swirling a glass of something heavier. Felix shook his head. “Spamley’s been away for quite a while. He’s been working in some Vermont lodge. He and his friend Gord do the housekeeping.”

“Good to know he’s well,” she murmured, gazing across the room absently. “Well, ah, tell me a little about you and your sister. What’s your angle?”

“Angle?” He asked, tilting his head. “We just sing and write. We don’t really have an angle, I don’t think.”

“Don’t kid yourself. Everybody in show business has an angle,” she looked him over. “What’re you singing for? Money? Girls?”

“What do you mean? We just sing,” he asked. “Are you accusing us of just being in this for the money?”

“No, that’s- that’s not what I mean at all!”

Across the room, Yesss and Shank twirled out the door, onto the seaside seating area. The boardwalk beneath their toes clicked and creaked, but they turned the starry twilight into a beautiful Broadway scene as they sang and danced with quickly established harmony.

“The best things happen while you’re dancing,” Yesss spun Shank out on her arm, where she threw out her skirt with grace and circled back into Yesss’s chest. “Dancing soon becomes romancing.”

“Only when you hold a girl in your arms that you’ve never held before,” Yesss leaned in close and then threw her arm out again, and they chased one another down the shoreline. They mirrored one another as they tapped their feet, swung their skirts, swayed their hips. “Even girls with two left feet come out alright if their gal is sweet.”

“If by chance their cheeks should meet while dancing,” Shank finished, and swung Yesss into her chest for a moment, breathlessly, and smiled. “It’s been very nice to meet you.”

“You too,” she sighed with a small, pleasant smile. “You too.”

Later, a disgruntled Calhoun and glowing Shank led the siblings back to their room. The balding blonde man stopped the group in the hall. “Remember, you two, you owe me money for that rug you burnt!”

He hurried off, but Calhoun shook her head at his fleeing back. “Not that old burnt rug routine.”

“We didn’t even have a rug in our room,” Felix murmured. “He says he’s going to have the cops in after us if we don’t pay him back for it.”

“No he won’t,” Yesss shook her head vigorously. “We need to get out of here before morning. We can snooze at the station, our train comes early enough.”

“Absolutely not!” Shank crossed her arms determinedly. “I have a little something in my suitcase. A gift! You can get on an earlier train.”

“Oh, thank you,” Felix piped up happily. Yesss nodded. “Thank you so much!”

Calhoun quizzically glanced at her partner, but just headed on back to their room. She kicked off her shoes while Shank rushed a paper from the top of her suitcase back down the hall. Calhoun was asleep by the time she returned.

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medicatedcretin · 7 years

Text

It's all over, boys - Sat 21/01/2017

We can go home now. I think I’m finally starting to see the end of this withdrawal. It’s been about a month since my last dose of 37.5mg Venlafaxine, and it’s been a rough last couple of weeks. Rough, but tolerable. Made a lot easier by the Christmas break at the start, the New Years break a few days later, and a week off a week and a bit later again (where Jono and I went up to Paihia and stayed in a motel on the beach. It was epic). I was a mess, of course. An angry, tetchy, impossible son of a bitch. But Jono was amazing. He let me off the hook so many times i lost count. And just when I thought I couldn’t handle it anymore, I’d go mad, I was just too much of a handful to expect anyone to suffer with me with the future so uncertain, he’d be there egging me on, telling me I can do it, I’m not a piece of shit: I’m doing just great, and we’d just power through it. He was my little shoulder angel when I thought my self worth had abandoned me, and I could not have done it without him. I’ll level with you here: I almost broke up with him. I was fully prepared to cut him loose because I really thought it wasn’t fair. I was too much hard work, and my ex was right: nobody would ever be able to tolerate my bullshit. But, bless him, he straight up told me he wouldn’t give up on me. “We are in this together, dammit” he said, “and damned if I’m gonna quit on you now. Not now, not ever.” I tell you, when he said that I cried until I thought I’d shrivel up from dehydration. I don’t deserve this person. It’s getting better. I’m less angry, I barely ever have to take my DHA supplements for the brain shocks: only when I get really tired or stressed. My heart rate is a bit all over the place, but the doc said that’s to be expected. He said my adrenaline supplier gauge is a bit out of whack now that my seratonin levels are getting levelled out and so it’s pumping me full of excess all the time, giving me nasty palpitations and tachycardia. My mum says that this actually runs in the family but good old Egor says I just have to take a couple of beta blockersa day for a week or two and my gauge will reset itself and soon enough, i won’t even need those anymore. I’m on half a seroquel at night for sleep but after a few days I’ll be off those, too. Just on my daily patroptazole for my GORD. I don’t take Strattera every day now. If I’m tired or need to be extra into it at work, I can take one but they don’t seem to be doing much. I can function fine without them, and there’s no nasty side effects if I stop taking them all of a sudden. If you’d like to know how I got through it, here’s a list if the advice I was given, and that actually helped make a difference. I hope anyone wanting to get off medication will be helped by this.

1 - TALK TO YOR DOCTOR BEFORE DOING ANYTHING. I was an idiot and tried to do it myself, over my holidays, before discussing it with Egor. I know, I know. I got the pep talk from him, too. Don’t try to be a hero. Your doctor knows his shit. Sometimes they fuck up but they know a hell of a lot more than you or mr google does about these things. Tell him your plans and let them help you. It doesn’t have to be a time of immense suffering. It’s always going to be shit, but there are ways you can make it less shit, and talking it through and planning it with your doc is one of them.

2- Routine. Most important thing. This was exactly why my doc told me off for trying to do it during a holiday. Not only do you need your network of support open for business (ie, your doctor, pharmacy etc) but you need a structure to your day that stems from the regular and expected. Wake up at the same time. Activities, boom, boom, boom. Regular bed time. It helped me SO MUCH.

3 - Sleep aids. Boy, will you need these. Insomnia is the quickest way to derail your progress, and it will happen. No sleep, feel shit. Feel shit + feel shit = disaster. It just makes everything seem impossibly hard. Your doc will recommend the best type, but don’t fall for herbal crap. Times like this, you’ll need the heavy duty shit. Usually for a couple of nights to get you back into the real world, then you can use things like magnesium, melatonin, rescue remedy. At first, use what your doc prescribes.

4 - EXERCISE. A walk isn’t enough. Get those endorphins going, every day. At least 30 mins of your heart rate going 1/3 a above its usual. You should be sweating and gasping by the end. Then have a shower, hot or cold (weather and desire dependant). You’re welcome.

5 - Keep busy. I can’t stress this enough. You can’t be sitting around “relaxing”. Nu-uh, not now. Not good. You gotta keep everything moving around in that head of yours, all the time. Simple things. Make a list if you get stuck. Do the washing. Clean the house. 2 minutes breathing exercises. Walk the dog. 1 episode of a good TV show. Go to the library, read a book. Go swimming. Don’t feel like doing anything? too f*king bad. Make yourself. This is where having a relentlessly helpful partner is useful. Annoying af, but you’ll bless him later. You’ll probably be the most productive during this time than ever before in your life.

6 - Pick something you would enjoy doing and schedule it for at least once a week. Look forward to it. If you don’t end up liking it, try something else. An art class, dancing lessons, riding lessons, learn a language, creative writing course. Anything. You don’t have to socialise at it, there’s no pressure to “make new friends” or whatever (if that freaks you out) just pick something you’ll like, and do your best to get a kick out of it. It also has the bonus that its homework is another thing to add to your list of Things To Do.

That’s really it as far as my experience went. I’m still working through it, but the mess I’m wading through now doesn’t feel as thick anymore. I feel like it’s receding. The hardest part is flying headlong into the unknown. Up until now, I’d never had a single day in my adult life living unmedicated. The hardest thing was during the really shitty times, never being 100% sure that it would pass, that things would get better. This was …is… totally uncharted territory. I’m just making this up as I go along. But, I guess, so are most of us. All of us, really. And, for the most part, my days of depending on the familiar are over. I still don’t know who I am, but I’m getting to be okay with that. It’ll come. Peace out, guys.

#quitting medication #cold turkey #venlafaxine

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argocitycosplay · 5 years

Text

Slimer watched the sad clown join H.P. Lovecraft as he was chatting up Captian Marvel. Behind us, drunk furries chased each other. This is the sort of thing that can really only happen at ConCoction.

I got out of work later than last year but still had hopes that i could make the opening cermemoniesif I stepped on it. When I rushed into the Bertrem I saw to my dismay that the line for registration was almost out the door. A man worked the line with a bowl of choclates, handing out Dove mins to everyone.

“Long line triggered the candy bonus,” he explained.

I got my badge too late to make the Opening ceremonies so I headed back to the car to pull on my Ghostbusters coveralls. I shrugged the proton pack on and tossed the gloves and goggles into the monkey head. I noticed that breathing was difficult due to the poor ventlation in the large mask and didn’t want to get into it until I’d gotten inside the building. Knightmage sotted me as I was wandering in and headed over to greet me and look over the costume.

“Tracy the Gorilla,” he said shaking his head. “Man, that’s obscure. Did you just see the monkey head and think Tracy?”

“It was in the back of my mind,” I admitted. “But a gorilla suit is also one of those things you should just HAVE in your closet – like a little black dress.”

Tracy of course was the third member of the original Ghostbusters from the 1975 TV show starring Larry Storch (Who I met a year or so ago) and Forrest Tucker. When Filmation made thier Ghostbusters cartoon, they stated that the characters were the grandsons of Storch and Tucker, but that Tracy was the same gorilla. I wanted to mash it up so I decided to up Tracy in a proton pack and coveralls from the ’84 movie (though I added a t-shirt with the filmation logo under it, one extra touch), integrating him into the Columbia Ghostbusters as well. ‘Mage circled me to check out the pack as I pinted out the christmas lights and laundry detergant caps that made up the prop. He laughed as I excused myself to head inside.

Living inside the Gorilla head was similar to wearing Mr. Freeze. I had to keep moving to keep circulation going in the mask otherwise air would get stagnant. I was right to make Concoction the premire for this suit though – it’s one of the few places that would really get the gag, and boy did they. I caught my buddy Jason as well as connecting with Nicole and spotting Annye and her husband Zeke on the other side ofthe hall. Wandering in to the art show I head Vanessa’s voice pipe up “I know who’s in that costume!”. It’s always good to be at Concoction. Much like Cinema Wasteland, it’s home. Even if there’s no familiar faces around, yo ucan talk to anyone. It’s one of those very few places where the words “Mind if I share your table?” dosen’t fill me with dread. I ate with strangers several times in the con suite chatting abotu the day and the goings on. In the corner, a rack full of battered old sci-fi paperbacks was available to browse. That’s one of those things I love about Concoction – the books. That heavy literary focus helps it feel a lot like the Star Trek conventions of the 80’s. Roger Zelazney ut it best in Nine princes in Amber – “It makes me feel comfortable and secure to have walls of words, beautiful and wise, all around me. I always feel better when I can see that there is something to hold back the shadows.”

I had my own book with me, a copy of my battered old “Dreams ofthe Raven” by Carmen Carter, but honestly, I barely touched it. During lunch, my table mate and I listened to the energetic conversation going on next to us.

“See, Scooby Doo dosen’t ever interact with anyone else on the team. That’s because he dosen’t actually talk – it’s just that Shaggy is high off his gord the entire time! And anyone who thinks Daphne and Fred are together is nuts. Fred is asexual – he’s totally oblivious. Daphane is one of those spoiled rich girls – she’s just there to play with him and break his heart. He looked like someone she could manipulate like that. But man, she HATES Shaggy…”

The volume occasionally elevated to near shouting. I looked over at my tablemate. Like mine, her eyes were wide in disbelief behind her tablet.

“This is the best panel of the weekend!”

Back in the actual programming, I sat in on Knightmage’s Cosplaying for Charity panel. Halfway he paused to shake his head laughing at me, sitting in the back.

“The gorllia just keeps…STARING at me!”

“I can fix that!” I exclaimed and brought down the Ecto Goggles, covering the unblinking gorilla eyes.

“That’s not better!”

As the evening wore on I wandered over to the comedy showcase. Concoction is the only other convention I know of besides Monster Bash that includes stand up comedy and I always dig it. Two of the comics were late so the host kept us entertained with cat videos on the projector. About twenty minuets late, the set started. I whipped out my camera hoping to livestream the set (So I could save it later) but once t he material began to involve graphic depictions of The Simpsons knocking boots, I thought better of it. The show started to slow down with the second preformer.

“You know what? Let’s talk about some stuff that you guys are intrested in. What do you want to talk about?”

He pointed at me. I comically looked behind me, making sure he wasn;t refrecing another gorilla. and then pointed to myself in exaggerated motions.

“Me?”

“Sure!” What do you want to talk about? Bananas?”

“That’s a very hurful stereotype,” I deadpanned. The room lost it.

Before I snuck out later the host walked by me and clapped me on the shoulder, telling me I got the biggest laugh of the night.

After five hours in the monkey suit I’d had enough and shed the Ghostbuster look before returning to catch the Confused Greenies do improv games. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay fo the Saturday night show so I wanted to make sure I got to this one. They started out with a skit about aliens arriving on earth during Carnivale, then went into Whoose line type comedy. Close to midnight, I decided wisdom was the better part of valor, and popped out early, skipping the barfleet party to brave the hour drive back home.

I was back around ten the next day, this time clad in my cumbersonme Slimer costume.I always seem to do themes at Concoction. It’s something that was coincidental at first but now has pretty much become intentional. As much as I like Tracy, I didn’t feel good about entering him in the costume contest. He’s mostly assembled. It’s a wierd assembly, but other than the proton pack, feet and googles it’s all stuff I bought. Slimer on the other hand, is 100% made from scratch -and he’s not been out nearly as much as I’d like. Still, Slimer wasn’t the costume I was really looking foreward to. I couldn’t wait to see my friend Annye’s Iron Marvel. She’d crafted the Captian Marvel suit out of foam insted of leather and the result was nothing short of spectacular.

We were stked to discover that Guy Allen was set up again in the Annex and headed over there to get some professional photos done (I so rarely get that opprutunity).

I managed to catch some of Jim O’Rear’s panel on horror before stopping over at his table and getting my Dawn of the Dead poster signed. He asked me if I was a Romero fan. I nodded. O’Rear expanded on how Romero was such an influence on him.

“Man, I saw Night of the Living Dead, and it changed everything for me. I was like – this. I can get into this.”

O’Rear ended up at the table with Jason, Tina and me for lunch.

Saturday consisted of the Doctor Who panel, the costume contests and picking up dragons for the kids. I made sure to grab a photo with Mogchelle who was dressed as Sabrina – my daughter Maddie is a huge Sabrina fan and just discovered the old mangas coming off the new TV show. I found her an old Archie with Sabrinia in it as well. Even the Cat got something. I found an adorable catnip Cthulu for Sparky. It was to my great reluctance that I had to cut out early, but Clue was screening at the Cedar Lee at 9:30 with a live shadow cast and I couldn’t miss it. But I’ll tell you this much; I’ll be back at Concoction next year!

ConCoction 2019 Slimer watched the sad clown join H.P. Lovecraft as he was chatting up Captian Marvel. Behind us, drunk furries chased each other. 1,492 more words

#Captian Marvel #Cleveland ConCOction #cosplay #Ghostbusters #Slimer #Tracy the Gorilla

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tagsecretsanta · 2 years

Text

From @tikatu

By and from @tikatu for @sivan325

- - -

Promises, promises

The Tracy farmhouse was all dolled up for Christmas. Colored lights festooned the edge of the porch roof, outlined the wide front window, and bright nets covered the thick, well-trimmed evergreen bushes beyond the porch rails. A wreath of frosted pine cones hung on the front door. Inside, a fragrant pine, well-watered and adorned with strands of white lights, bead garland, and just about every ornament the family owned, stood in a corner, away from the fireplace. Fake evergreen garland, threaded through with fairy lights lined the mantle, while the many Christmas cards the family had received covered its surface. Above the fireplace hung a small Log Cabin quilt, the colors of which made it look like a wreath. Everything felt festive and cozy--if you didn't consider the storm brewing outside.

Scott found himself looking out the window again. Snow, blown about by the whistling wind, looked like a blizzard in the farmhouse's security lights. The lights on the bushes were barely visible. He shivered; the snow on the porch rail was getting deeper by the minute—at least, that's what he figured.

“Is he here yet?”

Scott let the drapery drop, sighing as he turned away. “Not yet, Gords.”

“You promised he'd be here.”

Scott closed his eyes, counting to ten silently at Gordon's folded arms and mulish expression. He promised me! he wanted to shout.

“I know what I promised. But I can't do anything to make him come faster.”

“I'm hungry!” Alan, sitting on the sofa, feet drawn up, arms wrapped around his favorite bear, whined. “Can't we have a snack?”

Scott glanced at the clock. Their regular dinner time was past; they were supposed to eat the meal Grandma had left when Dad arrived home—which was supposed to be hours ago. He exchanged a questioning look with John, who shrugged.

“We should eat something. No one figured Dad would be this late.”

Virgil huffed. “Do you really want to eat Grandma's meatloaf surprise?”

“Or the cookies she left?” John's eyebrow went up as he turned his gaze on Alan,.

Alan's face soured. “No. But I'm hungry.”

We need a distraction... and some food. Scott squared his shoulders. “Tell you what; I'll make some mac 'n' cheese... but you all have to help. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me!” Virgil hopped off the piano bench. “What can I do?”

A smile spread over Scott's face. “Virgil, you get the ingredients out. John, put on the oven and get the deep casserole down from the cupboard. Gords, pull out the dutch oven and the sauce pan. The cutting board and colander, too.”

“What about me?” Alan dropped his teddy bear on the sofa.

“You get the best job! You get to crunch up the crackers!”

“Yay!” Alan threw his arms around Scott's waist, squeezing hard.

Gordon groaned. “I wanted to do that!”

“You did it last time,” John said. He climbed carefully down from the step stool, laying the deep ceramic casserole dish gently on the counter. “Want me to spray this?”

“Please. It'll make cleaning up easier.” Scott took the butter stick from Virgil and deftly cut it in half, right through the paper. He peeled the paper off and dropped the half stick in the saucepan. “Hand the dutch oven over, Gords.”

“I can fill it.”

Scott opened his mouth to respond and closed it again as Gordon set the pot in the sink and turned on the water. Virgil plunked the box of elbow pasta on the kitchen island, stepping up beside his next youngest brother.

“Can I help move it to the stove? It's going to be pretty heavy.”

Gordon shrugged. “I guess.”

Scott measured out the flour, keeping half an eye on Alan as John emptied a sleeve of butter crackers into a heavy-duty plastic baggie. Alan wielded the meat tenderizer in one fist, bouncing up and down on the breakfast bar seat.

John pressed as much air out of the bag as possible, zipped it closed, and slid it across the island to the youngest. “Have at it, Sprout.”

The water pan was now on the largest stove burner, ready for heating, and Scott—the only one allowed to use the stove at the moment—turned it on high. He turned back to the island where two open blocks of sharp cheddar waited. He drew a knife from the knife block, wincing as Alan missed the baggie and hit the island's wooden surface. He raised his voice over the hammering. “Virge, are there any more cheese blocks in the fridge?”

“I think there's some Colby-Jack.” Virgil ducked back into the refrigerator, returning triumphantly with the mottled white and yellow block.

Scott grinned. “Hey, John? Can you...”

John pulled out another cutting board. “Slice this up as a snack? I'm on it.”

“I've got the crackers.” Virgil pulled a second sleeve from the box.

Alan put the hammer down. “Can I have some?”

“You have to finish your job first.” Gordon snatched up the first cracker and piece of cheese, stuffing both into his mouth at once.

“Scotty? Do I have to?” Alan's plaintive voice held a slight wobble, warning of a pending meltdown.

Scott turned from the stove. He'd just added flour to the melted butter to make a roux. “You can have a snack and go back to your work when you're done eating. Virg? The usual rule; one piece per year. Don't want to get filled up before supper.”

Virgil slid a paper plate with five crackers over to John, who added five slices of cheese before pushing it over to Alan. “Take your time with that,” Virgil said as he counted out crackers for Gordon. “You won't get anymore.”

“Hey!” Gordon counted his crackers, adorned with slices of cheese. “How come I only got six? You heard Scott: one for every year!”

“You snagged the first one.” John didn't even look up as he counted eleven slices of cheese for Virgil. “That counted against your seven.”

Scott smiled as he added the milk to the roux and stirred. The cubes of sharp cheddar sat on the cutting board to the right of the stove, ready for melting. The water bubbled in the pot on his left. Virgil placed a paper plate of cheese and crackers beside the cutting board.

“Why don't you use the shredded cheese from the fridge instead of cheese cubes? It would probably melt faster and take less time.”

Scott glanced at him. “Hand me the box of elbows, please?”

Virgil turned, grabbed the box, and laid it beside the bubbling pot. Scott was busy scraping the cheese into the saucepan. Once that was done, he opened the box and dumped the elbows into the water, taking care not to make too much of a splash. The bubbling subsided as Scott gave it a quick stir.

“I don't use the shredded cheddar because Mrs. Parkhurst said it's coated with something to keep the shreds from sticking together. Whatever that stuff is, it thickens the sauce too much and it dries out when baking.” He returned to the saucepan and stirring the cheese in. “I suppose I could shred the cheese myself. I could even use the food processor to do it fast.” He shook his head, lips twisting in a disgusted expression. “But that means more dishes to do. Cutting it up myself ends up being faster with fewer dishes.

“I get it now.” Virgil crunched down on one of his crackers. “I didn't know you had to take Home Economics in high school. I want to take woodworking.

Scott's cheeks flared an embarrassed pink. “Ah, well, I kinda wasn't given a choice. My counselor signed me up for 'Bachelor's Survival'.”

Behind them, John snorted. “A bachelor? You? The most popular guy in school?”

Scott's face went red. “Well, he might have thought Dad could use the help.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” John set the metal colander in the sink. “I think the elbows are probably done.”

“Test one for me, please?”

“Sure.” John pulled out a spaghetti server and pulled out a couple of elbows. He rinsed them with cold water over the colander and popped one in his mouth. “I think they're done. Here, you try one.”

Scott took the remaining pasta and ate it. “Yeah, that's done.”

“I'll drain it.” John turned off the stove. He reached for the pot holders, only to find Virgil had beaten him to them.

“I've got this. I'm stronger than you.”

“But I'm taller than you,” John argued, standing beside Scott and blocking Virgil's way. “You'll have trouble dumping the noodles.”

Scott sighed. He held out a hand to Virgil. “The pot holders, please. John, keep stirring the sauce.”

Virgil's eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a stubborn line.

Scott raised one eyebrow. “Do you want mushy elbows?”

Virgil held his ground a few seconds more, then his shoulders dropped. He handed the oven mitts over. Scott donned them, lifted the pot, and poured it out into the strainer. Clouds of steam rose from the sink. He rinsed it down with hot water, let the water drain, then dumped the noodles into the prepared casserole dish.

“Can I at least stir in the cheese sauce?”

“Let John pour it in and you can stir.”

John dug out a silicone scraper. He poured the sauce over the noodles and scraped the remains from the sauce pan. Then he turned off the stove.

“Let's move this over to the island. The little guys will want to put the crackers on.” Scott carefully carried the casserole to the center island. Virgil climbed into a breakfast stool. He took the spoon Scott had used and began to stir.

“Keep an eye on him,” Scott muttered to John. “I'll scare up the little guys.”

“Gotcha.”

Scott found Gordon and Alan in the living room, watching a Christmas cartoon. “Time to put the crackers on!”

“Yay!” Alan jumped down from the couch, hurrying into the kitchen. Gordon stayed put.

Scott took a minute to look out the window. The snow on the porch rail looked deeper; the wind was blowing harder, whistling around the front door.

“Is he gonna make it?”

Scott turned, sighing. “I don't know, Gords. I know I promised you he'd be here for Christmas; Dad promised me the same thing. But if he doesn't keep his promise to me, I can't keep my promise to you. Do you understand?”

Gordon hung his head. “I guess.” He huffed. “I even asked Santa to get Dad home for Christmas. Figured he could guide him home with his sleigh or something.” His shoulders hunched up nearly to his ears. “Dad's not very good at keeping his promises.”

Virgil popped his head in. “How long is this supposed to bake?”

“Twenty-five minutes.”

“Thanks.” Scott could hear Virgil repeat, “Twenty-five minutes!”

He turned to find Gordon looking out the window. He joined his younger brother, putting an arm around Gordon's shoulders.

“I know you were disappointed he didn't make your final race of the year.”

“I just wish he'd kept his promise.”

“I know. At least we were there to cheer you on. And Grandma took us out for pizza afterwards.”

“Still, it wasn't the same.” Gordon leaned into Scott's embrace as they both gazed outside at the swirling flakes.

“That's a lot of snow.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“ Are they gonna get it plowed in time?”

Scott shook his head. “I don't know. With storms like this, they usually clear the main roads first.

Gordon stared out at the storm. “We don't live on a main road, do we?”

Scott turned to look at his younger brother. A tear slid down Gordon's cheek, and Scott drew him closer.

“I'm afraid not,” he murmured.

The smell of cooking food wafted into the living room. “We'd better set the table. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Gordon wiped his eyes, nodding mutely. They headed toward the kitchen and the corner nook.

A half-hour later, the casserole dish was empty. John had the foresight to dish out a healthy helping for their dad to eat when he arrived.

“Can we have dessert?”

“Are you a bottomless pit?” Virgil asked, eyes wide. “Do you have a hollow leg?”

Alan shook his head. “No, but we usually have dessert...”

“There are Grandma's cookies...” Gordon suggested, his tone facetious.

Alan's face screwed up in disgust. “Ew! They taste like feet!”

Virgil got up from the table. “I have an idea.” Everyone turned to watch him as he opened a corner cabinet, one that swung inward as a lazy Susan. He hummed as it swung around. “Ah, here we go!” He retrieved two small boxes, holding them up. “Instant pudding!”

“That'll take a bit to solidify properly, even with cold milk.” Scott joined Virgil in the kitchen. “But it's better than Grandma's cookies.”

“We can even leave some for Santa! Don't want to saddle him with those cookies.” Alan grinned.

“Yeah. That works. We can put the pudding in individual containers. They'll chill faster.” John picked up his plate and opened the dishwasher, setting his dishes inside.

Gordon followed his example. “What flavors do we have?”

“Both chocolate!” Virgil set the small dessert bowls on the island, then cleared both his and Scott's plates. Scott pulled out a mixing bowl, a whisk, and a measuring cup.

That's when the lights went out.

The house fell silent. The fridge stopped running. So did the furnace blower. The outdoor lights, both decorative ones and security, went dark. The only lights still shining in the living room were the battery operated ones on the mantle.

“What the hell?”

“Language, John.” Scott sighed. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight.

“This is no way to be celebrating Christmas Eve,” Virgil groused. “Shouldn't the back up generator have gone on by now?”

“Yeah. It should have.” Scott hurried into the mud room. He found the junk drawer in the cupboards beside the washer and felt around for a flashlight. Turning on the one he found, he pulled out more and passed them on to his siblings. In the next drawer, he pulled out a long, butane lighter.

“I'm going to get the oil lamps down, too. John, can you find some candles, preferably ones in sturdy holders? We need light.”

“We're going to need heat, too.” John rummaged around in the lower cupboards as Scott opened an upper one, pulling out two antique oil lamps with glass chimneys. He lowered them with care to the counter.

“Heat isn't a problem. I know how to start a fire in the fireplace. What concerns me is the generator. With the wind outside, it should be fully charged.” Scott used the lighter to light the lamp wicks, setting them at a good height before replacing the delicate chimneys. “Virgil, take this one in both hands—carefully--and set it on the kitchen island. I'll carry the big one.”

“Okay.” Virgil wrapped both hands around the floral porcelain oil reservoir, walking with deliberate care back into the kitchen. The frosted chimney rattled a little as he moved; he drew in a sharp breath and slowed. Finally, he reached his destination. Setting the lamp down as gently as he could, he slid it to the island's center and let out his held breath.

“Good job!” Scott swept by with the larger lamp. It had a pedestal that allowed for an easier grip. He brought it into the living room and set it on an end table. “That will help.”

“Here are the candles.” John dumped a pile of tea lights on the end table. Gordon brought along some votive-sized candles, while Alan carried a scented triple-wick in a glass jar.

“It's winter berry,” he explained. “Can I light it?”

Scott shook his head. “I don't think you're quite strong enough yet. Even I have trouble with the lighter.” He clicked the lighter three times before it ignited. “See what I mean?” he said as set each wick aflame. “Now where should we put this stinky candle?”

“Can I choose?”

“Yup. But I carry it so you don't burn yourself.”

Alan guided him to the powder room next to the mud room.

“I think this is the best place for a stinky candle with three wicks. It'll burn for a long time and we can follow the smell, too.” Alan set the jar on the vanity.

“I agree. It's a good spot. Now, let me just turn the faucet on to a drip.” He opened the spigot just a little. “There, now the pipes won't freeze. I'll have to do this in the kitchen and upstairs, too.”

“Why?”

“We don't know how long we'll be without power. Busted pipes can ruin most of the house.”

“Okay.” It seemed Alan had only one thing on his mind. “Now, can we have dessert?”

Scott stifled a sigh as he guided his little brother back to the living room. “'Fraid not, Sprout. We need the fridge to make the pudding cold and with the power out, we can't use the fridge.”

Alan stopped in his tracks, taking Scott's sleeve, “Can't we put it out in the snow? That'll get the pudding cold.”

Scott's forehead creased with a thoughtful expression. “Y'know, Sprout. That's not a bad idea! We wouldn't put the pudding out in the snow, but we could bring some inside or even use the ice from the ice maker.” He nodded sharply, grinning at Alan. “Let's tell the others!”

As Alan explained his idea, John sidled up to Scott. He rubbed his arms; his shoulders were hunched up as he tried to keep himself warm. “I tried calling Dad but I couldn't get through. Left him a voice mail. Tried texting, too, but no reply. I think we should try Grandma next.”

“She's not home; her flight was at seven.” He glanced at the antique grandfather clock; its analog face indicated the time as eight-thirty.

“I know. But she could give us advice on how to get the generator working.”

Scott considered the idea and nodded. “We'll call—after I light a fire and everyone gets some more layers on.”

“And brings down their blankets and pillows so we can sleep down here.”

“Right! You go first; I can tell you're cold.”

John nodded and headed for the stairs. Scott hurried to the cold fireplace. It was clear of ash and the damper was closed when Scott pulled the glass fire guard away to check.

“Open the damper,” he muttered as he worked. “Prime the flue.” He took some rolled up newspaper and lit one end, holding it up to the damper for as long as he could. Dropping the remainder of the paper to burn, he let it finish then added more to the space between the andirons.

“Ooh, can I help?” Gordon stood over Scott's shoulder, reaching for a ball of newspaper.

Scott snatched the ball away. “Not until you learn how to do this properly. It's dangerous and I was twelve when Dad taught me.” He turned to actually look at Gordon. “Have you gone upstairs for extra layers of clothes?”

“No. Was I supposed to?”

Scott spotted John coming up behind Gordon. He looked twenty pounds heavier. His red quiff stuck out of the wool cap he wore, and he carried both his pillow and the sleeping bag he used at their last Rescue Scouts camp out.

“How many layers are you wearing?” Scott asked, eyes wide.

“Five, if you count underwear and t-shirt. Flannel pajamas, sweats, jeans and long-sleeve corduroy shirt, with a hoodie over it all.”

Scott rose and folded his arms. “That looks like one of my hoodies.”

John looked sheepish. “Yeah, well. None of mine would fit over all these layers, so I borrowed one of yours. I'll make sure it gets washed.”

“You'd better, or...” He stopped and looked around. “Where'd the Squid go?”

“I think he headed upstairs.” John dropped his pillow on the sofa. “How does he do that? I had a good grip on my flashlight!”

Scott groaned. “I bet he comes back down wearing his board shorts over... only God knows what. Can you get Virgil and Alan to layer up and supervise the Terrible Two? Take my light; the oil lamp will do for me. I'll have the fire going before you get back down.”

“Okay.” John dropped the rest of his bedding on the sofa and turned. As he climbed the steps, he muttered, “Man, climbing with all these layers on is tough!”

His oldest brother stifled a laugh as he resumed his task.

When John returned, herding his youngest brothers and followed by Virgil, not only was the fire going merrily, the sofa had been unfolded into a bed and covered with a sheet.

“Do we get to sleep down here tonight?” Virgil threw his pillow on the queen-sized mattress.

“Yep! It's the best way to keep warm!” Scott made his way carefully down the steps, his arms full of bedding. “John, Virge, unzip your sleeping bags. Everybody climb on the bed!”

“Do we have to go to sleep right now?” Alan's whine told his brothers how much he really needed to go to sleep.

“Can't we wait up for Dad?” Gordon wasn't whining but he was displeased and showed it by jamming his hat nearly down over his eyes.

“You don't have to go to sleep right away. We can watch something on my tablet; it has enough charge. I have some old micro SDs with Christmas shows on them.” While discussing the matter with his brothers, Scott took the blankets and spread them out over his brothers, making sure the younger ones were in the center and overlapping quilts so no one was uncovered—even though all of them were seated against the sofa back. Then he spread a huge comforter over the entire bed.

“Here, John. My tablet and the recordings. You all can decide what to watch.”

“Aren't you going to watch with us?” Gordon asked, clutching his favorite stuffed squid.

“Aren't you going to sleep with us?” John asked, frowning.

“I need to call Grandma,” he said, taking another, smaller wad of bedding to a recliner by the window. “There's not enough room for all of us on the bed so I'll take the recliner. That way I can watch out for Dad. Be right back!”

He hustled into the kitchen, phone in hand. He slid it into the hoodie he'd borrowed from his father's wardrobe so he could take the porcelain lamp with him to the dining room. He really didn't want his brothers hearing his conversation with Grandma—if he could reach her.

The phone rang several times; Scott was afraid he was going to have to leave a message. Finally, a gravely voice answered.“Hello, Scott! Is everything all right?”

Scott frowned. “Grandma? Why do you ask that question whenever I call?”

“Because you only call when something's gone wrong.”

He snorted. “Fair enough.” Pausing, he gathered his thoughts. “Might as well be blunt: the power's gone out and the generator hasn't kicked in. Dad isn't here yet and we can't get hold of him.” He glanced out the dining room window; the reflection of the lamp was all he could really see. “It's been snowing hard since you left which may be why he's not yet here.”

“Hmm.” Grandma's one syllable sounded serious. “ I see. First off, have you eaten?”

“Yes. The power went out after dinner.” He was glad to give her that good news, even if it hadn't been her food.

“Good. Very good. What have you done so far?”

“Found the flashlights, lit the oil lamps and candles. Lit a fire in the fireplace. Everyone is dressed in layers. I opened up the sofa bed; the guys are snuggled in under layers of blankets. I'm taking the recliner. John has my tablet so they're distracted.”

“It all sounds good, Scott. But you haven't done anything about the generator, have you?”

He sighed. “I don't even know where to start, Grandma.”

“Well, first of all, what's the temperature outside?”

Scott picked up the lamp again, taking it to the back door weather station, tucking his phone in the hoodie pocket. The station was battery operated but the digits were black on gray and hard to read in the dark. He squinted at them in the lamp's golden glow, noting the humidity and barometer reading as well before drawing out the phone again.

“Twenty-one Fahrenheit.”

“Okay, below freezing. What's the snow like? Is it light and fluffy? Wet and heavy? Does it have an icy crust? Don't get your feet wet!”

A pair of his father's garden shoes sat on the boot tray by the back door. They would be too big, but easy to slip on. Scott did so, and having set the lamp on the counter by the washer, he stepped out just far enough to grab a handful of snow.

“It's icy. Not really a crust on it but not heavy and wet. And it's deep. Really deep.”

“Okay, last one. Can you hear the windmill?”

The generator in question was powered by a windmill. The household was on the local electric grid and when the power went out, the generator stepped in, usually either by using wind power directly or drawing on the battery charged by the windmill. As Scott strained his hearing over the wind, he realized the rhythmic “thunk, thunk, thunk” from the blades was missing.

“No, Grandma. I don't hear it.”

“Get back inside.”

Scott did as he was told. He tucked one hand under his arm once the door was closed behind him.

Grandma cleared her throat. “I think the generator is beyond you. The blades may be frozen up; it's happened before. It may be the power went out earlier and the generator batteries were drained. Then the lights really went out for you.” When Scott hesitated, she asked, “Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes, Gr-Grandma.”

“Oh, Scotty! Get back to that fire ASAP!”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.” He slid off his father's shoes, left the lamp where it was, and padded back to the living room.

“Now, you listen to me! If the power isn't back on by daybreak, you call Emergency Services. They'll come out and take you all to a warming station or an emergency shelter. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Do you have enough firewood inside to keep that fire going?”

Scott did a mental tally. “Yes. There's enough.” I hope.

“All right. Call me in the morning, or when your father gets home. Better yet, have him call me when he gets there!” She paused. “I love you, Scott. Give my love to your brothers. Now, go get warm!”

“Yes, Grandma. I love you, too! Talk to you soon. Goodbye.”

Scott set his phone down near the living room lantern. John glanced up at him. So did Virgil. The two of them leaned toward the two lumps between them, all but buried under the layers of blankets.

“Whatchya watching?”

“Home Alone—the original. The Squid thought the title was appropriate.” Virgil shook his head. “If he'd watched it before, maybe he wouldn't have.”

“Yeah, the idea of a mom leaving a child behind was... too close to home, especially for Alan. Hopefully Gords didn't watch enough to get any, uh, ideas.”

“Ugh, yeah.” Scott checked the fire, putting his hands up before the fire guard to warm them. He'd stacked two logs against the inner corners of the fire box; when he needed to, he could drop one or both with a poker.

“So, what did Grandma say?” John watched his brother settle into the recliner, pulling two heavy blankets and a comforter over himself. Scott tucked them around his legs as he leaned back and put his feet up.

“She sends her love. Told me we were doing good. Made me check on the weather and concluded the windmill is likely frozen. Said the power may have gone out earlier and when the battery gave out, our lights went out.” He shrugged, pulling back the curtain to look outside. “I bet she's trying to get hold of Dad right now.”

“What do we do if Dad doesn't get home tonight?” Virgil lowered himself to his pillow, watching Scott replace the curtain.

“If the lights aren't on by daybreak, we call Emergency Services for a ride to a shelter.”

“But then Dad won't know where we are! And it's Christmas!”

“I know, Virge. But without power, there's not much we can do to keep warm. We can't cook. Stuff in the fridge will go bad...”

“Oh!” John got up and grabbed something from the table beside him. He handed it to Virgil, who sat up to hand it to Scott. “We had dessert.”

Scott chuckled as he dug a plastic spoon into a clear plastic cup and pulled up some chocolate pudding. The flavor hitting his tongue was the best chocolate pudding he'd ever had.

“We let the twosome have an extra and put more ice around the one for Santa.” John explained. Virgil was snuggled back under the covers, his back toward Scott. “I saw you in the mudroom when I went to pick up the dessert cups. Didn't want to disturb your call with Grandma.”

“Thanks.” Scott finished his pudding, sighing contentedly. He put the cup on the floor. “You should get some sleep.”

“So should you.” John set aside the tablet. “There's room over here, y'know. There always was.”

“I just didn't want to wake anyone getting up to tend the fire.”

“Huh. I didn't think of that. I just figured you wanted to keep looking for Dad.”

“Well.” Scott's voice sounded reluctant. “I'll admit that had crossed my mind, too.”

John chuckled. He settled down under the covers. “Let me know when he shows up.”

“Sure.”

Virgil's snoring started, thankfully muffled by the covers. The fairy lights on the mantle winked off; the timer saving the battery power. Lamplight dimmed as the wick burned down, leaving only the fire to give light—and heat—to the room. The grandfather clock stopped its ticking long enough to chime a quiet ten times.

Scott glanced out the window again. The sky was far from black; it was more the gray-white of snowstorm clouds, made even brighter (if it could be called that) by the snow in the air. But there was still the contrast between the sky and the snow on the ground. John called it “albedo” when he was in his meteorology phase. The wind still whistled outside; it sent a shiver down Scott's spine. The shiver prompted him to get up, moving his warm covers back over the chair to preserve the heat. He used a poker to pull the fire guard back as quietly as possible and drop the two waiting logs onto the andirons. Sparks flew up as he quickly slid the glass back into place.

The job done, he hurried back to his warm blankets, but paused. Up until now, he'd been more worried about his brothers. Now that they were warm and settled, maybe it was time to figure out what happened to his father. His phone still worked. He could check the news and the weather. See if Dad's plane made it to the airport. Find out what the road conditions were on the way home. He had the SUV, after all, the one with four-wheel drive. That could take on most any road conditions!

Without a second thought, he snagged his phone and brought it with him as he settled into his nest.

First, the weather.

The radar on his weather app made Scott's eyes get wide. Kansas was covered in blues, from almost white to nearly navy and as he zoomed in to where he lived, the darkest of colors swirled around. He set the radar progression going, starting from five in the afternoon, and zooming back out. The town Dad was supposed to fly into was just starting to get snow but the storm moved really fast. He probably landed but getting out of town was likely tough. Let's see what the news has to say.

The local news was full of weather stories: accidents, power outages, house fires—Scott's heart sank with each new revelation. How many tractor trailers jackknifed on I-70? Traffic backed up how far? Dad'll be lucky if he gets home before Christmas night! I'd better find out when our power is supposed to be restored. Where's the power company's website?

He found the site and entered their address. No data? What's that supposed to mean? Usually they have at least an estimate! I can't even find out what caused it!

Frustrated, he dropped his phone in his lap. We may need to pack up in the morning, unless the power goes back on. What a crappy way to spend Christmas!

Scott took one last look out the window. If anything, the snow seemed even deeper than the last time he'd looked. With a huff, he went to the Emergency Services website to figure out where the nearest shelter was and to add the phone number to his favorites. Then he opened a notepad and started to make a list of what they should take with them.

He had no idea just when he'd fallen asleep but he was awakened by a scraping noise and a set of headlights passing by the window. He sat up, lowering his feet in a hurry as a second set of headlights shone in, stopping at the end of the porch.

A car door opened and Scott peered out.

He'd know that silhouette anywhere!

“He's here! He's here!” Scott gave no thought to his brothers in his excitement. He hurried to the door, unlocking it and flinging himself outside, shoeless. “Dad! You made it!”

The other boys crowded around inside the door as Jeff, looking tired, wrapped snow-sprinkled arms around his eldest. At that very moment, three things happened.

The grandfather clock began to chime twelve times.

The lights went on.

And a pick-up truck with a snow plow attached stopped in front, heading in the opposite direction of Jeff's SUV. The driver got out.

“Santa!” Gordon and Alan both shouted. They surged forward, only to be scooped up by Jeff, one son in each arm.

“Whoa there, boys!” He beckoned to the driver. “C'mon and meet my sons, Nick.”

Nick stepped up to the porch. He had a pot belly and kept his jeans up with red suspenders over a black-and-red-checked flannel shirt. Long sleeves of a red thermal shirt stuck out below rolled up cuffs and his jeans were securely tucked into heavy work boots. His round, rosy face sported a curly white beard and on his head, he wore a traditional, fur-trimmed Santa hat.

“Nick, these two monkeys are Alan and Gordon. The one with the dark hair all sticking up is Virgil. My carrot-top is John, and the tall drink of water with the wet feet is my eldest, Scott. Boys, this is Nick Kringle. He lives a few miles down the way and helps the county keep some of the back roads clear. He also clears driveways after storms like this. He found me spinning my wheels in a drift and offered to guide me home.”

Mr. Kringle shook hands with each boy as they were introduced and when the introductions were done, Jeff shooed his sons inside. “Come on in, Kris, and I'll get you that cup of coffee.”

“And you can have Santa's pudding!” Alan said. “I don't think he'll mind!”

“Pudding for Santa?” Kris asked, amused.

“Well, we didn't want to give him Grandma's cookies. They taste like feet.”

As Jeff and Kris followed some of the boys into the kitchen, Gordon sidled up to the recliner, where Scott peeled off his wet, cold socks.

“What's up, Squid?”

Gordon wrapped his arms around Scott's neck, pushing him off balance in the middle of removing the last sock.

“Aaugh! What's that for?”

“You kept your promise. Dad is home for Christmas.”

“Dad kept both my promise and his—with a little help from 'Santa'.” He wrapped his arms around Gordon, smoothing his hands over the layers of warm clothes. “Merry Christmas, Gords.”

“Merry Christmas, Scott.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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Throws hands up in the air and stalks off.

Many thanks to @scribbles97 for the read. For @soniabigcheese

-o-o-o-

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Gordon-“

“No, Virgil, this sucks ass and it’s bullshit. You’re telling me we’re back to needing a hall pass? I thought Aunt Val told them to shove that idea where the sun don’t shine.”

They were standing in Lady Penelope’s parlour.

All of them - Scott, Virgil, John, Gordon, Alan, Grandma, Kayo, Brains, Penelope and Parker. It was like Christmas in July...or a perfect storm. The missive had come stamped and sealed not long after Aunt Val had signed off. Virgil had no doubt that she knew it was coming and her urgent communique was the best heads up she had been capable of.

Scott had ordered everyone...well, except Grandma, no one ordered Grandma...into Thunderbird Two and to London. Kayo had secured Tracy Island, the villa stark under its storm shutters. They would be back, but first they needed to discuss the situation without the need for comms.

“Gordon, language!”

“I’m sorry, Grandma, but I think the situation warrants it.”

His grandmother walked over to Gordon and placed her hand on his arm. “Honey, what the situation warrants is calm and clear heads so we can work out a way to cram this order down their throats.”

Russet brown eyes stared at her for a moment before the aquanaut sagged just a little. “Sorry, Grandma.”

She reached up and gently cupped his cheek. “We’ll work this out, honey. It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Scott’s voice was firm, but his eyes held that hint of apology. “And we will work it out.” He turned to Penelope. “What is the situation?”

“Somewhat alarming, I’m afraid. Rumour has it that there has been some serious shuffling in the upper echelons of the GDF. Certain world councillors have been asking questions and demanding answers that they want to hear.”

Gordon bristled. “You mean they don’t want the truth.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Motivation?” The blue in Scott’s eyes was almost electric with energy.

Parker stepped up. “I believe it’s the oldest one in the book, Mr Scott, sir. Power.”

Penelope’s lips thinned. “With a side order of money.” A delicate sigh. “I’m sorry, Scott. It is not the best of news.”

Lips thin, Scott glanced at Virgil a moment before returning his gaze to Penelope. “Do we know who is responsible?”

She straightened her shoulders. “My father tells me there is a new player on the World Security Council. Elsa Wainwright has replaced the retiring US representative.”

Beside Virgil, Gordon startled. “Wainwright? USN Sentinel Wainwright?”

Penelope arched an eyebrow. “Precisely.”

“Oooh, that’s not good.”

“Would you like to share with the class?” Alan’s sarcasm was a physical thing.

A narrow glare at Alan, and Gordon twisted his lips in distaste. “US Navy Admiral Wainwright was the principle lead in the Sentinel program.” Virgil wasn’t sure he had heard his brother say something with such distaste. “A fleet of extremely fast warships commanded by a hand-picked collection of trigger-happy commanders. WASP Command was not impressed. Brandy knew some of the officers killed in the mistaken identity screw up two years ago. Wainwright got off scott-free. That woman is dangerous. She has her own agenda.”

Brandy was Gordon’s former commander in WASP. After the hydrofoil accident, the entire Tracy family grew to know the brusque but loyal WASP officer.

Gordon may have been given an honourable discharge, but Brandy McGee had left a swath of kicks up the ass for those responsible. The initial accusation of pilot error had been swiftly crushed under her military issue boot.

Her opinion was worth an ear.

As for Penelope’s father, he was a long-time friend of their father’s. Hugh Creighton-Ward was the UK representative on the World Security Council. Cool, calm and calculating, his opinion was close to fact.

Scott turned back to Penelope. “Any word from the agent network.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes, Penelope’s calm, much like her father’s. Scott’s fiery, all his brother’s energy just beneath the surface.

“My mother is investigating.” And that was the obvious end to that line of questioning.

There were aspects of International Rescue that the GDF were not aware. In her corner, leaning against a book case, Kayo’s green eyes glittered over the smallest of smiles.

“So, what are we going to do?” Alan was obviously frustrated, if not a little frightened.

Virgil didn’t blame him. There were so many questions. What could they respond to? What was forbidden?

How many people were going to be lost who could have been saved?

He set his shoulders. “What do we do if we are barred from launching?”

John’s movements were graceful as he rose from his seat in the corner. He was finally wearing the new shirt Virgil had bought for him. A deep turquoise, it still had the necessary piping to provide the gravity support tech his brother often needed, but at least it wasn’t that godawful beige brown. Virgil considered finding the other shirt and burning it when John wasn’t looking.

As if John knew what he was thinking, those equally turquoise eyes caught Virgil’s. A copper eyebrow arched.

Who was he kidding? John saw all. Virgil would never get away with it. Eos would probably end up torching his music collection or something.

John’s lips quirked and Virgil stared at his brother.

Neither of them said a thing until John turned to Scott. “Eos is in the nets. We’ll let you know if we discover anything. As a precaution, I have alerted all the local emergency services that there may be an issue. Our priority must be to save as many lives as possible despite these restrictions.”

“It is so frustrating!” Gordon was almost vibrating with aggravation. “We didn’t do anything!”

Virgil took a step closer to his brother and placed a hand on his arm. Grandma who was on the aquanaut’s other side, caught Virgil’s eyes with a worried frown.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Gords, we will work this out.”

“And how many people are going to die in the meantime?!”

Virgil’s fingers tightened just a little around Gordon’s arm. “We will do what we can.”

“What if it is not enough?” Alan took a step forward.

“It will be enough.” Scott’s voice was cold. “We will not stand by and let people die because someone has a political agenda.”

Virgil let out a breath. “Scott-“

His brother’s eyes hit him like a pair of laser beams. “They tried this on us once before. It didn’t work for Janus and be damned if I’m going to let this Wainwright walk all over us either.”

“Scott-“

“No, Virgil. Dad wouldn’t stand for it and neither will I.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #Alan Tracy #nuttys fandomversary

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flauntpage · 5 years

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Flyers Should Still Sell At Deadline Despite Their Recent Hot Play

So, you’re on board with the Flyers getting back in this playoff race, eh?

I understand why. The team is 11-2-1 in their last 14 games. They shrugged off a pivotal home loss to Pittsburgh and a terrible first period the next night in Minnesota to come back and beat the Wild.

They are once again just six points behind Pittsburgh for the final playoff spot in the Eastern Conference with just 25 games to go. Pretty remarkable since a month ago they were the worst team in hockey.

But the odds of making the playoffs remain long.

Don’t believe me? See for yourself:

Odds of the Flyers making the playoffs as of 2/13/19

HockeyReference.com – 3.4%

SportsClubStats.com – 1.5%

The Athletic – 9.0%

PlayoffStatus.com – 8.0%

MoneyPuck.com – 5.1%

So, unless your name is Lloyd Christmas, your focus should be on the 2019-2020 season already.

The reason being, it’s really hard to expect the Flyers to maintain the level of the Tampa Bay Lightning (they’d have to finish the season roughly 14-7-4 in those last 25 games, making it 25-9-5 over the final 39 games of the season) AND have three of four teams falter to the tune of .500 records or worse the rest of the way (Columbus, Pittsburgh, Carolina and/or Buffalo).

It’s really asking a lot. That’s why their odds are so long no matter where you look.

So, with the trade deadline now less than two weeks away, General Manager Chuck Fletcher needs to concentrate on next season.

This Flyers team is close. You are seeing what kind of a difference a consistent goaltender can make. You are seeing what kind of a difference good team defense can make. Fletcher doesn’t need to tear it down, he just needs to fine-tune it.

Which is why he wasn’t lying when he said the Flyers will be both buyers and sellers at the trade deadline.

Fletcher could move players on expiring contracts. He could move players that may have term left but could bring valuable return. And he could put the Flyers in a great position heading into the draft and free agency with extra picks, a stocked cupboard of prospects and plenty of cap room.

So, who could go? I’ve been sniffing around as best I can and I’m hearing some things that are interesting some things that are not a surprise and am being left to speculate in other areas. So let’s tackle this after the jump:

1. Wayne Simmonds

Everyone in the NHL is talking about Wayne Simmonds, and his case is certainly an interesting one. There’s no doubt Chuck Fletcher has put him out there for trade discussion, but will he find a deal that makes sense? My inkling is he will, but the Flyers are making it tough on him right now.

That’s because to a man, everyone in the Flyers locker room loves Simmonds and what he brings to the team. Yes, his point production is down and yes, there have been times this year where he’s looked like a shell of himself. But the guy plays the game with his balls to the wall. He’s got one of the great motors in the sport in the past decade and he definitely can be a difference maker on a Cup-contending team.

I’ve been told that each of the following teams has expressed interest: Tampa Bay, Calgary, Nashville, Vegas, Boston, Winnipeg and Toronto.

Considering the Predators had to trade a second round pick for depth forward Brian Boyle last week, the Flyers are poised to do much better than that with Wayne. He’s going to net them at least a first rounder. I say “at least” because if Fletcher is able to get desperate teams into a bidding war, he might be able to procure another prospect or even NHL player in return as well.

I think this price tag will be too rich for Toronto, Calgary and Nashville, who are already limited by what they can trade, but I’m thinking Simmonds can be the missing piece for Tampa as they try to net their second Cup.

And the other bit of tea leaf reading on Simmonds is this – because he means so much to the organization, and the players in the Flyers locker room, he could certainly be a candidate to be moved at the deadline, make a run somewhere else, and then come back to the Flyers as a free agent in the offseason if he’s willing to sign a shorter-term deal.

That could well be the best play for Fletcher and I wouldn’t be surprised if that conversation has come up with Simmonds and his agent.

2. Michael Raffl

Another unrestricted free agent, the Flyers could look to get something for Raffl who could be a valuable depth piece for a playoff team who needs to add to their penalty kill.

Raffl is mostly a fourth liner these days for the Flyers, but has shown the versatility to play any forward position and anywhere in the lineup. Not to mention he’s hard to knock off the puck, making him desirable to teams who need a little size and possession skill.

Pure speculation here, but St. Louis would be a nice fit for Raffl now that they have worked their way back into a playoff spot.

3. Brian Elliott

He hasn’t played in three months, but the Flyers might want to get Elliott a game or two of action before the deadline as he is the kind of veteran goalie with playoff experience that can come in handy for a team down the stretch and as insurance in the postseason.

Because he’s also an unrestricted free agent, Elliott could be of interest to a team like Dallas, who is dealing with an injury to Ben Bishop, or Vegas, who might want a reliable backup for Marc-Andre Fleury.

But, it’s important to prove he’s healthy first. So, don’t be shocked if he gets a couple starts instead of Carter Hart. Hart is the future for the Flyers. Elliott can bring a return to add to that future.

4. Radko Gudas

He has been the Flyers’ most consistent defenseman all season – and I’m sure that’s noticeable around the league.

What’s also notable around the league is, he’s a stay-at-home defenseman, he’s a right-hand shot, he plays heavy, he blocks shots and he kills penalties – all desirable traits at the trade deadline.

He’s signed for one-more season at a $3.35 million cap hit, which is certainly manageable for the team acquiring him, and it increases his value.

Think Tampa would like him back as a third pair defenseman, especially with Anton Stralman, Braydon Coburn and Dan Girardi all set to hit the free agent market at season’s end?

Or how about Winnipeg as an upgrade to Ben Chiarot or Joe Morrow? The Jets are willing to trade their first round pick, could they put together a nice package for both Simmonds and Gudas?

The Flyers have depth on defense going into next season, so this is a place where they can trade from to improve elsewhere – namely scoring depth. Which brings us to the biggest debate:

5. Shayne Gostisbehere

There is certainly a polarizing argument going on about Ghost on Flyers Twitter. Should the Flyers trade him, or not?

Those saying hell no will point out that he was runner up for the Calder Trophy four seasons ago and that he garnered some Norris Trophy votes last season.

They argue that you don’t just bail out on a young, highly-skilled defenseman because of one bad season.

It’s a salient argument.

But so is this:

Gostisbehere is almost 26. It’s not like he’s 21 or 22 like Ivan Provorov and Travis Sanheim, both of whom are ahead of Gostisbehere on the Flyers depth chart.

And it’s not like he’s a rookie or in his second season and still feeling his way. He’s approaching 250 games played in the NHL. He shouldn’t be having an “off year” at this point in his career.

Yes, guys go through rough stretches at any age, but good players find a way through them. Gostisbehere was not a fan of Gord Murphy, who was the Flyers assistant coach in charge of defense during Ron Hextall’s regime as GM.

So, the Flyers made a change there, brought in defenseman whisperer Rick Wilson and have watched Provorov re-find his game and Sanheim flourish. Yet, Gostisbehere is still floundering.

He had a solid game Monday against Pittsburgh and after a brutal turnover against the Wild on Tuesday he was able to get two shots through to the net on the power play that resulted in a pair of Flyers goals, including the game-winner.

It’s those things that he hasn’t been able to do with any consistency this season but has flashed in the last two games.

Still, not being a top pair guy, the Flyers having a guy in Sanheim who could replace him on the power play, and with some depth coming behind him (Phil Myers for sure, and maybe a couple others), Gostisbehere is more expendable than one would think.

Another fallacy is the Flyers would be selling low, but that’s not true. He has a team-friendly contract for any team in the NHL and because of that, not just contenders would be interested – a rebuilding team would likely give up some value for him to see if he can re-find his game in the less-pressurized atmosphere of a rebuild.

Finally, I have been told from a few places in the organization that there is a concern about Ghost’s game internally and that the concern stretches beyond just one bad year. Also, if he didn’t like the old coaching staff and it affected his game, why can’t he get going with a new coaching staff?

I’m just not sure he’s giving Fletcher a good impression.

Yet, as I said on the Press Row Show, I think Gostisbehere can be moved in the offseason – when all 31 teams have a more optimistic view.

The Flyers just need to decide if he should be part of their future – which should start hitting it’s stride as soon as next season – or if they can still get there without him and if he can be an asset that can help fill gaps in other places.

It’s a bit of a conundrum, but I’m thinking it’s ultimately going to be the latter – even if it doesn’t happen until the summer.

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