#the gordon part is from two months ago from when I originally wanted to do this joke | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luvdsc · 4 years

Text

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged.

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play.

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode.

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold.

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you.

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

3K notes · View notes

misssquidtracy · 3 years

Text

Noble Intentions (Part 2).

My slightly belated ongoing contribution to Gordo’s FabFiveFeb week. Apparently, this is now going to be a 3 chapter doohickey of sorts. My boi has made it quite clear that any plans I had about length matter very little here.

All credit for FabFiveFeb goes to the amazing @gumnut-logic 💚

Prompt: You did what?

Warnings: Mild strong language.

Genre: Humour.

Characters: Gordon, Scott, Virgil, John, Alan. Heavy on the Gordon.

-x-

Two months, seventeen hours, and eleven minutes earlier…

“You did what?”

Gordon winced as the mouthful of water Scott had been storing in his cheeks was spat clean across the table.

“What?” the aquanaut challenged, indignation creeping into his voice as he reached across Alan for another spoonful of sweet potato mash, “They were looking for models and I signed us up. It’s for a good cause!”

“A nude calendar?” John quacked, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, “Gordon, we’re a professional rescue organisation. We have a public image to maintain!”

“Not to mention better things to be doing with our time,” Virgil grumbled, scraping the last of his peas onto his fork, “What if an emergency call were to come through while we were…ahem…mid-pose?”

A scowl infected Gordon’s face as he metaphorically searched for a metaphorical shovel to metaphorically dig himself out of the metaphorical hole he was metaphorically digging, “I didn’t sign us up for all twelve months. Just our birth months.”

Another mouthful of water was ejected across the table, eliciting a gasp of disgust from John when he discovered that he was sat in the splash zone.

“You signed Alan up as well?” Scott all but squealed, “He’s a minor, Gordon!”

“Okay, okay,” the aquanaut sighed, wincing at the volume of his eldest brother’s voice, “I’ll take his place and do two sittings for both February and March. Problem solved.”

Disbelieving stares were exchanged across the table as Gordon polished off his dinner and traipsed to the sink to refill his glass.

“You’re off your onion!” Scott snapped, striding after the aquanaut and lobbing his plate in the dishwasher with more force than was necessary, “Well, we’re not going. You’ll have to go back on whatever promises you’ve made and cancel everything. And don’t think that order excludes you. International Rescue has a professional behaviour framework that we’re duty-bound to follow, and pasting our naked assess across couches and bales of hay doesn’t feature in it anywhere.”

Water was sloshed across the counter as Gordon rinsed his glass out and tried to contain his frustration. Typical Scott, always so hung up on appearances. He hadn’t even bothered to ask what the calendar was in aid of.

“We’ll send over a generous donation instead,” Scott placated, as if somehow reading Gordon’s mind, “Is it someone we’ve worked with before?”

“Children of Colombia,” Gordon replied, “They operate out of Bogotá and channel all their money into educational programmes and residential homes instead of advertising. That’s why I signed us up. I thought our ‘famous’ faces might help them a bit in that department.”

Moved by his younger brother’s kind hearted gesture, John opened his mouth to ask for more details, only to have his questioning tongue silenced by a glare from Scott.

If there was one thing that always made the eldest Tracy’s emotional kayak run aground, it was guilt.

“Well, they’ll have to make do with a fat-ass cheque instead,” Scott muttered, kicking the dishwasher shut and needlessly throwing a tea towel into the sink, “You can hate me all you want, but I wasn’t the one who made the rules. One day of disappointment isn’t worth us losing all of our credibility, plus our rapid response service would be redundant if all five of us were there at the same time. Nope, you’re going to have to tell them no, Gordon. And if I catch wind of you honouring the agreement beyond the aforementioned fat-ass cheque, I’ll suspend you from active duty for a week. Capisce?”

Without giving the aquanaut a chance to reply, Scott retrieved a banana from the fruit bowl and marched off in the direction of the lounge, his expression reminiscent of a pissed off camel.

“You saw that, right?” Gordon demanded, waiting until Scott was a safe distance away before stabbing a finger accusingly in the direction he’d walked off in, “I was minding my business, and he threatened to ground me! This is all because he knows I’d pull the whole thing off way better than he would.”

Both Virgil and John were smart enough to neither confirm nor deny their younger brother’s claim to nude fame. Alan had questions, oh so many questions, but was thankfully prioritising a text on his phone over his desire to seek answers.

“I’m telling you now,” Gordon continued, abandoning his glass and stomping off towards the pool, “If Poseidon appears before me and asks me to make a blood sacrifice, he’s gone. Gone, I say.”

-x-

“Hello?”

“Gabriela!” Gordon tried to keep his tone as upbeat as possible, “How are things?”

“Mr Tracy!” came the delighted response, “What a lovely surprise! I have some excellent news. We officially sold out of tickets for the International Rescue Calendar Class three days ago and, as a result of popular demand, will now be selling the resultant paintings off at a silent auction to raise money for a tutoring programme aimed at local women fleeing domestic abuse. Our forecasts show that we’re set to exceed our original target by almost eight five percent, and it’s all thanks to you!”

Great.

Lovely.

Wonderful.

Magnifique.

“Yeah, about that,” Gordon began, his tone hesitant, “You see the thing is, I now can’t make it. Something’s popped up and I’m kind of needed here. I’m so sorry.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone, “Okay…well, that’s not ideal. I won’t lie. But I’m sure we’ll be able to make do with four out of five. Which reminds me, do any of your colleagues have any dietary requirements or allergies that my team should be aware of?”

“Sorry, I wasn’t very clear,” Gordon clenched his fist as guilt began to gnaw at his insides, “What I meant to say is that none of us can come anymore. I’m afraid I was impulsive and signed us up before consulting with the rest of my team. I’m so sorry. We will of course compensate you for the losses you’ll incur in the form of a donation, plus an extra twenty five percent on top for the inconvenience caused.”

A silence that somehow managed to hurt Gordon’s ears descended over the line, punctuated by the odd stifled sniff.

“B-But I can certainly send a substitute over in our place,” the aquanaut gabbled, cursing the lack of a link between his brain and mouth, “He’s not an emergency responder per se, but he’s an integral member of the team and the one responsible for designing the Thunderbirds.”

The line crackled to life again as Gordon’s offer refreshed Gabriela’s composure, “Really? Oh, yes please. It’ll be a disappointment to everyone who’s already bought a ticket, but I suppose we haven’t technically misled them so long as there’s at least one representative from International Rescue there.”

“Perfect!” Gordon chirped, setting an immediate course for the hangers, “I’ll keep you posted. In the meantime, don’t cancel anything. See you on Friday!”

Of all the brothers, Gordon liked to think of himself as the most strategic when it came to picking his battles. He’d grown up watching Scott, Virgil and John jockeying for position, and had then had Alan to sharpen his own claws on. All in all, being the fourth born wasn’t as bad as it sounded. He’d been exposed to both subservience and dominance in equal measures, and was acutely aware of how far he could push each of his siblings before they tipped into Bitch Fit Canyon.

Alan was a cinch so long as no references were made to his height.

John was manageable if bagels were in the immediate vicinity.

Virgil could be tamed with tears of remorse, fake or genuine.

As for Scott…well, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

TBC.

37 notes · View notes

astonishinglegends · 3 years

Text

Ep 209: The Phantom Horse of Greensboro

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

– Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8, King James Version

Description:

Many of us have taken an adventurous expedition to check out some local, notorious spot to see if we could witness or sense some evidence of a past famous or infamous incident. Most of the time, one only returns with a minor anecdote or pictures of an ordinary location bereft of anything noteworthy. The more realistic purpose is not so much to find a ghoulish memento but to imagine what it must've been like to have been there when it happened. But what if such an outing starts with strange coincidences and ends with the adventurers enduring a paranormal event seemingly unrelated to the original incident? This is the sort of tale we'll hear from our good friend, graphic designer, and illustrator Tommy Beaver about the time some friends went to check out the scene of a horrific crime that happened in Summerfield, North Carolina, almost 13 miles northwest of Greensboro. On June 3, 1985, the incident in question occurred when at the end of a murder spree and police pursuit, Fritz Klenner and his first cousin, lover, and accomplice, Susie Newsome Lynch, ended their standoff detonating a bomb in their Chevrolet Blazer. Klenner and Lynch had blown themselves up along with Lynch's already deceased two sons who were in the vehicle rather than face arrest. The site of this shocking finale was what the friends were hoping to explore, but their souvenir was an unsettling experience they'll never forget. Strangely, a mysterious white horse suddenly appeared to encounter the group, except that this creature may not have been a horse at all. Many people have claimed to see a spectral white horse, and the ancient Britons believed a sacred white horse was one's ride to the afterlife. Yet these friends may forever wonder, as will we, what was the connection of this beast to the tragedy if there is one? And if this wasn't a horse as we know it, what sort of monster haunts the location of one of North Carolina's most ghastly crimes?

Location:

The intersection of Strader Road & North Carolina State Road 150 in Summerfield, near where Fritz Klenner and Susie Newsom Lynch blew themselves up in their Chevy Blazer after a crime spree and police pursuit on June 3, 1985, and where Tommy’s friends saw the mysterious “horse.”

Location Video:

Reference Links:

Illustrator and Graphic Designer Tommy Beaver’s website, tommybeaverdesign.com

“Summerfield slaughter 30 years ago ended in deaths of couple, two sons” from the Greensboro News & Record

Bitter Blood: A True Story of Southern Family Pride, Madness, and Multiple Murder, a novel by Jerry Bledsoe, 1988

The púca, pooka, phouka of Irish/Celtic folklore

The kelpie of Scottish folklore

“Horses in Celtic Mythology” from Transceltic.com

“Have ghost HORSES been captured on video? Teenagers believe they spotted ethereal equine scene at one of Britain's most haunted sites” from DailyMail.co.uk

“Phantom Horses” on real-british-ghosts.com

Related Books:

Please help out our good friend Stan Gordon, by purchasing his books on Amazon and Barnes & Noble – you’re gonna love ‘em!

At Barnes & Noble:

Silent Invasion: The Pennsylvania UFO-Bigfoot Casebook

Astonishing Encounters: Pennsylvania’s Unknown Creatures, Casebook 3

Really Mysterious Pennsylvania: UFOs, Bigfoot, and Other Weird Encounters, Casebook 1

SPECIAL OFFERS FROM OUR SPECIAL SPONSORS:

FIND OTHER GREAT DEALS FROM OUR SHOW’S SPONSORS BY CLICKING HERE!

Mint Mobile – After years of getting ripped off by “Big Wireless” providers, there’s finally a better option. Mint Mobile is the affordable, premium wireless service that you buy online. To get your new phone plan for just $15 bucks a month, go to MintMobile.com/AL

Squarespace – Have something you need to sell or share with the world but don't have a website? Or maybe that old website of yours could use a serious style and functionality update but you don't think you have the time or money to pay someone to do it? Well, now you can do it yourself, stylishly and cost-effectively in very little time with Squarespace! With their large gallery of beautifully designed templates, eCommerce functionality, built-in Search Engine Optimization, free and secure hosting, and award-winning 24/7 Customer Support to guide you along the way, you'll be up and running on the Web in no time, with flair, ease and a choice of over 200 URL extensions to make you stand out! So what are you waiting for? Go to Squarespace.com/LEGENDS for a free trial and when you’re ready to launch, use the Offer Code "LEGENDS" to save 10% off your first purchase of a website or domain.

The Great Courses Plus – There are so many benefits to lifelong learning, which is why we love The Great Courses Plus! Learn about virtually anything, now with over 11,000 lectures on almost any subject you can think of – from history and science to learning a new language, how to play an instrument, learn magic tricks, train your dog, or explore topics like food, the arts, travel, business, and self-improvement. And all taught by world-leading professors and experts in their field. Their app lets you download and listen to only the audio from the courses or watch the videos, just like a podcast. Switch between all your devices and pick up right where you left off. Available for iOS and Android. So what is your purpose this year? What new things will you learn? Don’t miss out on this great deal! Sign up right now for The Great Courses Plus to start your FREE TRIAL and find out! And for a limited time, our listeners can save 20% OFF the annual membership! But this limited-time offer won’t last long, and it’s only available through our special URL and you don’t want to pass this up, so go NOW to: TheGreatCoursesPlus.com/LEGENDS

Best Fiends – If you’re looking for a fun way to pass the time while engaging your brain and enjoying breathtaking visuals and a gripping story, your answer is Best Fiends! Best Fiends is a casual, matching puzzle game that the whole family can play, but really made for adults, and you don’t need to be a gamer to be great at it! You can also play it the way YOU want to, wherever you want, and as much or as little as you want! Collect cute and funny cryptid-like insect creatures while battling silly slugs as you advance through stages in the Best Fiends world. Connect with friends and family through Social Media and challenge them to beat your levels or help them along. This unique puzzle game doesn’t require the internet, so it’s great to play offline while traveling or commuting, and Best Fiends has thousands of levels already, with new levels, events, and characters added every month – it’s hours of fun right at your fingertips and it never gets old! With over 100 million downloads and tons of five-star reviews, Best Fiends is a must-play! Download for free on the Apple App Store or Google Play. That’s FRIENDS without the “R,” Best Fiends!

BetterHELP – Is there something interfering with your happiness or is preventing you from achieving your goals? BetterHELP will assess your needs and match you with your own licensed professional therapist. It’s not a Crisis Line, it’s not self-help, it’s professional counseling done securely online, and you can start communicating in under 48 hours. There’s a broad range of expertise available that may not be locally available in many areas, but this service is available for clients worldwide. You can login to your account anytime and send a message to your counselor. You’ll get timely and thoughtful responses plus you can schedule weekly video or phone sessions so you won’t ever have to sit in an uncomfortable waiting room as with traditional therapy. BetterHELP is committed to facilitating great therapeutic matches so they make it easy and free to change counselors if needed. It’s more affordable than traditional offline counseling and financial aid is available. BetterHELP wants you to start living a happier life TODAY! Read the testimonials that are posted daily. Join the over 1,000,000 people taking charge of their mental health with the help of an experienced professional. In fact, so many people have been using BetterHELP that they are recruiting additional counselors in all 50 states! This podcast is sponsored by BetterHELP and Astonishing Legends listeners get 10% OFF their first month at betterhelp.com/astonishing

Credits:

Episode 209: The Phantom Horse of Greensboro. Produced by Scott Philbrook & Forrest Burgess; Audio Editing by Sarah Vorhees Wendel. Sound Design by Ryan McCullough; Tess Pfeifle, Producer, and Lead Researcher; Research Support from the astonishing League of Astonishing Researchers, a.k.a. The Astonishing Research Corps, or "A.R.C." for short. Copyright 2021 Astonishing Legends Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

12 notes · View notes

olliepig · 3 years

Text

Scott-land Yard

So, as everyone knows, it was our wonderful Scott’s birthday yesterday. In honour of that fact, the amazing @willow-salix and I got together and this was the outcome.

It’s also available on AO3 here.

******

“Smile!” Gordon chirped as he and Scott posed for the camera that had been thrust in their faces. John managed something that looked more like a trapped wind grimace and resisted the urge to hide behind Scott.

“I hate this,” John whined. He'd deny it, but it was definitely a whine.

“You hate everything,” Gordon shot back, pausing and shifting to a new pose after only three steps when another passer-by spotted them and requested a picture.

“I do not, I just hate going anywhere public because it’s always like this,” he lifted a hand to shield his eyes as another flash almost blinded him.

“We’re International Rescue,” Scott reminded him. “It’s part of the territory.”

“Yes, because that’s the only reason they’re popping up like meerkats to invade my personal bubble.”

“What else could it be?” Gordon asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” John replied, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “It’s definitely not got anything to do with the fact that we’re dressed like we just fell out of a Jane Austin novel.”

“I think we look good,” Gordon argued, tugging his jacket back into place and smoothing it down.

“We do, quite dashing,” Scott grinned, preening for another picture.

“I think we look like idiots.”

“This is going to be a fun night,” Gordon sighed as they reached the door of the pub appropriately named ‘The Moody Cow’.

“Happy birthday to me,” Scott rolled his eyes, shoving his protesting brother inside.

Looking around the inside did not instil John with more confidence.

“This has to be at least six health code violations.”

“Just six?” Scott quipped.

“I was talking about the front door.”

“Oh stop complaining so much,” Gordon chided him, taking in the sawdust floor and wobbly looking tables. “I think it’s charming.”

“Exactly,” Scott agreed, making a beeline for the bar and ordering three beers. “If this is what the girls have planned, then who are we to argue?”

“I don’t know what their plans are,” grumbled John, reluctantly following his brothers into the bar, “but based on this, I do know I don’t trust either of them.”

“You might have a point there,” Scott conceded, as he waited for their drinks. “We’ve all seen what happens when we leave those two unsupervised, and according to Cat they’ve been planning this for months.”

“We’re doomed,” John groaned, taking an experimental sip of the beer he’d just been passed. “There’s no hope for us.”

“What even is this?” Gordon asked, making a face as he sipped whatever pigs swill had been glassed up and handed over to them. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s traditional, I believe,” John said, taking another cautious swig of his own, unable to decide if he liked it or not.

“Well I like it,” Scott declared, taking a big gulp of his own drink and looking around for a table.

“What is this?” John asked the barman, who fished a bottle out from under the bar, showing him the label. It turned out to be from an historical brewery that specialised in archeological brewing, with recipes taken from old texts and replicated. John raised an eyebrow briefly in what might possibly, somewhere in the outer reaches of space, be considered as appreciation, not that he’d ever admit that, before handing back the bottle and taking his seat with his brothers.

“What time did the girls say they’d get here?” Gordon asked.

“About now I think,” Scott replied, looking at his watch before fixing his eyes on the door in the hope of seeing someone who wasn’t one of his brothers. It wasn’t that he didn’t like spending time with them, but he had been promised a fun night out with some kind of activity that involved great secrecy and costumes, and he was very keen to find out what it was.

“They’re late,” John sniffed. “I’m not in the least surprised.”

“Since when has Selene been on time for anything?” Gordon laughed. “I’d have thought you’d have stopped complaining about it by now.”

“John? Not taking the opportunity to complain? Never!” Scott jested, giving John a friendly nudge.

John scowled in response. “I am perfectly aware of her way of doing things. I’ve learnt to accept it, but that does not mean I agree with it. Also, I do not complain, I state facts.”

“Can we leave him at home next time?” Gordon asked.

“Yes, please do,” John agreed, sounding far too eager.

“No, it’s my birthday and I want you here,” Scott declared. “Plus I’m not dealing with the girls on my own, this is supposed to be a celebration not torture.”

Before John could open his mouth to reply, their attention was grabbed by a door at the back of the room swinging open, revealing both Selene and Cat dressed as what could only be described as Victorian hookers.

“Oh god,” Scott choked as Cat sashayed towards him, swinging her hips as she went.

“I dread to think what this is about,” John sighed when his own woman reached his side, trying very hard not to lose an eyeball in her cleavage.

“Well hello there, birthday boy,” Cat breathed, sliding herself onto Scott’s lap with a wiggle that made him groan quietly as she slung an arm around his shoulder and placed a small kiss of his cheek.

“This is new,” John observed, skimming a fingertip down the laces of the corset he’d definitely not seen before. “I’d ask what the occasion was but you never need an excuse to go shopping.”

“I feel very left out,” Gordon bitched, his eyes still fixed on the door as if staring at it would reveal his date for the night.

“Is Penny not here yet?” Cat asked, looking up in shock as she finally tore her eyes away from Scott and realised that one member of their party was indeed missing. “I thought she’d have got here ages ago.”

Selene, who had been surprisingly quiet the whole time, now perched herself on John’s lap and lifted an arm to get the attention of the barman.

“You,” she called loudly in a demanding tone. “Da, you, you bring me vodka, big glass.”

“That’s new too,” Gordon laughed, hearing a very strange accent coming out of her previously quite common London mouth.

Selene took the glass with a nod of thanks and downed half its contents in one, slamming it down on the table, before spearing Cat with a warning look. “Nyet, remember what grandmudder say, they pay for grind or get nothing at all.”

“Da, but she also say need to show something to bring them in,” Cat retorted, her face reddening slightly as her awful attempt at a Russian accent grated in her ears.

“Minushka, she say, you show one apple, not whole basket of fruit,” Selene gave a little hip swivel that made John choke on his fancy beer in demonstration then got to her feet, avoiding his attempt to keep her on his lap and his dignity intact. “Like so.”

“And I’ve shown apple,” Cat replied, sliding herself up Scott as she stood, feeling his eyes tracking her every move. “Now he want whole basket.”

“Whole basket is extra,” Selene nodded. “We take to rooms now, da?”

“I can’t even pretend to know what’s going on here,” Scott cut in, clearing his throat and grabbing Cat by the waist, enjoying her shriek as he pulled her back down onto his lap. “But it’s my birthday and I’m very happy with having this ‘basket’ right here, thank you very much.”

He fixed Selene with a stare, daring her to deny him on his special night. Smiling in triumph as she huffed dramatically and looked away, allowing it for now, it was his birthday after all. Risking her wrath further, he placed a quick kiss on Cat's neck before continuing. “Anyway, shouldn’t we wait for Penny before we go anywhere?”

Selene rolled her eyes in Cat’s direction, clearly throwing her under the bus for her best friend being late. “Staff, you cannot get them.”

John’s hand took it upon itself to reach out and tweak the edge of the bustle pad type thing that was giving his woman a backside you could balance a tea tray on, unable to ignore it.

Just as Selene turned to admonish him for touching something he might not be able to afford, the main door to the bar opened and Penny swept in, looking every inch the Lady that she was. Dressed impeccably in what looked to be an original evening gown from the period, her eyes registered her shock at the low cut chemises, corsets and shortened ruffled bustle style skirts that adorned the other two women present.

“Did you not send her the brief?” Selene whispered to Cat, dropping the fake Russian accent she had adopted for a moment.

“Of course I did,” Cat hissed back. “But you know she likes to do things her way. I guess she just decided she knew better.”

“Then I guess that means we have a classy prostitute that’s just joined the ranks, best we got,” Selene whispered back.

“It sure does,” Cat shrugged. “We can make it work.”

“Not like we’ve got a choice,” Selene gripped her corset and hoiked it up, wiggling her boobs back into place then turned back to the boys. “Gentlemen, it is time, we have you now.”

“Is that supposed to be a romantic offer?” John asked, although he didn’t hesitate to offer his hand so she could drag him to his feet.

“In Russia we do not do the romance, we just do the bonk,” she told him, making Scott splutter with laughter. “We have not time for making nice. Time is money, friend.”

Penelope shot her fellow females a look of utter bewilderment with a dash of disdain but gamely moved to join them, running a judgemental eye around the bar and its less than pristine flooring. “I should not have worn great great great great Aunt Mildred’s debutant gown.”

“Yeah, probably not your greatest idea,” Cat laughed, giving her a quick hug in greeting before slipping her hand into Scott’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze as she led the way towards the door at the back of the room.

“What kept you?” Gordon asked, sidling up to Penelope in the hopes of stealing a quick kiss. Much as he loved his brothers partners it sucked to be playing the part of the third wheel. Penelope offered him her cheek, conscious of her perfectly applied lipstick, she might be completely over dressed and apparently out of character and her depth, but she was not about to let that stop her.

“I got held up at the Bureau, they’ve decided that everyone, regardless of experience or seniority, must now have a partner,” she snorted in disgust at the very thought that she might be counted among that number. My new recruit leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Sounds like a bad day,” Gordon winced sympathetically. “But you’re here now, so at least you can kick back, relax and have fun with us.”

Selene threw open the door and started climbing the stairs, stopping them all in a dark, dingy hallway which led off to more doors.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Penelope huffed, catching the lacy edge of her skirt on a nail that stuck out from a door frame.

“Money first, no kiss, no taking home to mudder,” Selene called out, laying down the rules. “Catya! Penya! Ladies to your jobs.”

Cat grabbed Penny by the hand and towed her forwards to the front of their little huddle.

Selene shoved a door open and walked in two steps before stopping and letting out the longest, loudest and most dramatic scream she possessed, the one reserved purely for kilt shots of sexy heroes or cute animals.

“Holy hell!” Scott yelped, having been directly behind her and therefore deafened the most.

“No,” Cat shrieked, throwing herself over the mannequin splayed out on the floor, using all the acting skills she possessed as Selene and Penelope tried to pull her back up again. “Anna!”

“What on earth is going on here?” Gordon asked, completely lost at the turn of events that the evening had taken.

“You not know?” Selene sobbed dramatically, burying her face in John’s neck to hide the fact that she was still dry eyed as she huddled against his side. “You are in Whitechapel and you know not of the murders? Are you not detectives sent to save us?”

“Ah, I see,” Scott declared triumphantly, feeling rather smug that he’d worked it out before anyone else. “It’s some kind of murder mystery thing.”

“I see nothing!” Gordon whined. “Someone explain, please?”

“What you mean ‘murder mystery’?” Cat sniffed as she looked pleadingly up at Scott, finding it very hard to keep a straight face. “This our friend. You help us please? We not want to be next victim.”

“You help, we pay with kind, da?” Selene did some weird kind of boob shimmy that almost popped the twins right out of the corset that was barely holding them in as it was. John resisted the urge to throw his jacket over her head and drag her away right there and then before she lost every last ounce of dignity she possessed. He was right, they could not be trusted to be left alone to plan anything.

“Well, if that’s what’s at stake, then I think we’d better help the ladies, hadn’t we?” Scott asked, trying very hard to tear his eyes away from Cat’s behind as she crouched back down over the body on the floor.

“Let me make sure I understand this,” Penelope started. “You told me that we would be playing some kind of escape room scenarios and that we had to dress the part, at no point did you tell me that I was supposed to act as a braindead lady of ill repute.”

“Women no work for police,” Selene told her. “Women have but one job, to please man.”

“Women cannot work for the police? There to please men? I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!” Penelope gasped, utterly horrified at the way her friends were apparently happy to set women's liberation back a few centuries. “Now let me tell you somethin-”

“C’mon Penny,” Gordon bravely interrupted her, gently taking her hand and pulling her away from the main group slightly as the others all exchanged worried glances, wondering how this would play out. “It’s just a bit of fun for Scott’s birthday. Nobody means any harm by it.”

“That may be so,” Penelope sniffed, “but I still wish someone had told me in advance.”

“We did,” Selene reminded her, dropping her fake accent for a moment. “We sent you the package with the historical notes and details, it’s not our fault you didn’t read them.”

“And it’s not my fault I didn’t have time!” Penny shot back, her eyes meeting Selene’s in a challenge that nobody wanted to see the outcome of.

Selene’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Gordon took a step closer in case he needed to dive in between them to act as a human shield, but she seemed to think better of it, obviously caring more about the reason they were there, that being her best friend's birthday.

“Well if you’re really not comfortable then nobody is going to force you to do it, Penny,” Gordon continued, trying desperately to keep the peace and allow the night to go ahead more or less as planned. “Tell you what, if we need to keep the numbers equal, why don’t I take your role and you can do mine?”

“Yes, that would do very nicely, thank you,” Penelope replied, brightening instantly and placing a small kiss of thanks on Gordon’s cheek before moving to stand with Scott and John.

John had been wandering the room, taking in everything there was to see, but now his eyes strayed from the crime scene to catch Selene’s, one eyebrow lifting in question. She shrugged in return, she had no clue what was going on either.

“So how does this work then?” Scott asked, trying to move away from the slight awkwardness that seemed to have sprung up in the room.

“How this work?” Cat repeated, trying to hide the smirk of amusement that Scott was finally bamboozled by something from showing. “You police. You investigate scene, go back to police station. Find who did it.”

“Examining body is usually good place to start,” Selene nodded, slipping back into character. “It has been so long since last victim, we thought him gone.”

“We try to help,” Cat added, gesturing to Selene and Gordon. “Can ask us questions. We might know answers, might not. But you not know if not ask us.”

“Anna, rest her soul,” Selene did a wonky cross over her chest and closed her eyes, bowing her head respectfully. “She was good to her mudder, she had three children. They were life. Now she will not have beets to feed her family, for she has been so slain.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” John whispered to her, unable to help the small smile that formed.

“Oh, you know you want me to bring this accent home tonight,” she whispered back, trying not to lose character too much. “You are clever detective, with big,” she looked him up and down seductively, eyes lingering just a second too long below his belt, “brain. You help and I reward, da?”

“John,” Scott called, managing to gain John's attention before his brother's brain short circuited. “We need a game plan here.”

“I’d try reading that note first,” John suggested lightly, pointing at the slip of paper that was half hidden under the victim’s bloody torso.

“Well, sure, if you want to go for the obvious option,” Scott shrugged as if he’d known the note was there the whole time. John and Gordon were not fooled.

Scott bent down to retrieve the blood splattered letter, noting there were fingerprints on it.

“Did you really think I was gone?” he read aloud. “My victims are many in number and miles apart, but now I am back in my original hunting ground and embarking on a series of murders worse than the last. And this time I’m upping the stakes. You almost caught me the first time but you did not succeed. Now you have no choice, find me or I will come for you next. Signed, Jack.”

“Well, that is rather distressing,” Penelope commented. “Based on that note, along with the location and time period, it sounds like Jack the Ripper has made another appearance.”

“Da,” Selene nodded, sidling closer to John to hang off his arm in what she hoped looked to be a suitably terrified way while still rubbing herself against him like an over friendly cat. “It is not safe for us to be on streets. We are honest working girls-”

“Ahem,” Gordon interrupted, clearing his throat and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I swapped with Penny, remember?”

“Honest working people,” Selene corrected herself. “All we do is the sex.”

“You needn't sound so proud of it,” Penelope sniffed, leaning over the body to examine it. “There appears to be a number of wounds to her body, all of which look to be consistent with a stabbing and slashing motion made with a knife, if my memory serves that is correct for the setting.”

“This is not game,” Selene snapped, her temper flaring just a little. They all had their roles to play and Penelope was not taking it seriously enough. The escape room usually had actors that fulfilled the roles that she, Cat and apparently now, Gordon, were playing, but she and Cat had decided that that would likely mean they had too many detectives and would reduce both the fun and the time they would be in the rooms. They had paid extra to hire the whole of the establishment for two hours and to take on the roles themselves to increase the fun. They had spent days researching, learning their lines and brushing up on the details of the case, now it seemed that, not only had Penny neglected to do her homework, she was reluctant to play along.

“A lady detective, I think that’s a bit of alright, I do,” Gordon leered in an attempt to defuse the situation, sounding like a mix of Parker and a bad Dick Van Dyke, Mary Poppins accent.

Cat sniggered to herself, clearing her throat and assuming her character once again when Scott glanced at her.

“Find anything interesting, detective,” she drawled, swanning over to Scott in an attempt to distract him from his mission.

John rolled his eyes, moving to join Penelope at the scene of the crime, although he had to drag Selene with him as she still clung to his arm. “Pass me that camera, will you?”

Selene handed him an old fashioned camera that looked exactly like a victorian era piece but it had been updated with some kind of polaroid technology so that a picture was printed out of it almost instantly in period accurate sepia.

“Huh, that’s actually quite clever,” John reluctantly admitted as he snapped a few shots and collected the photos that came out, handing them to Scott for him to examine. “Penelope, can you bag up anything that you think could be evidence?”

“I’m a little busy here, John,” Penelope answered, already rummaging in the murdered dummy’s clothes.

Scott picked up the slack and took the leather bag that Cat handed him, taking a bag out of it to pick up anything that John might consider evidence. He picked up a key from the ground beside the victim, while John took a photo of a bloody boot print and then laid a piece of paper from the detectives bag over it to make a copy of it.

Selene took it upon herself to delve into the bag too and emerged triumphant, an old fashioned pair of handcuffs dangling from her fingers. She twirled them for a moment, whistling to get John’s attention, then attached them to her belt.

“For later, you will pay extra,” she informed him, blowing him a kiss.

“Do I get toys like that?” Scott asked Cat. “It is my birthday, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that,” Cat answered with a wink. “You heard the lady, toys are extra, so you better have brought your big wallet with you.”

“Want to come find out?”

Cat looked him up and down appreciatively. “Is that a grapple gun in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Locked and loaded.”

“Can you smell something?” Gordon asked Selene, adopting a conversational tone.

“Da," she nodded." Uglichsky.”

“Huh?”

“The english, they call it cheese.”

“Yes, exactly right, something is definitely cheesy around here and I think it’s coming from the birthday boy.”

“Hey!” Scott protested. “Be nice to me, it’s my birthday!”

“And people think he’s the smooth one,” John sighed, shaking his head. “Can we get back to work now?”

Cat, Gordon and Selene shrugged their agreement.

“OK, you can start helping by telling us a bit more about the woman that was murdered and where you were in the hour leading up to the discovery of her body,” Scott suggested, although he soon wished he hadn’t.

What came next was a jumble of gossip of life on the streets, sordid tales of the woman’s past, each more outlandish than the last, a few too many details of her not so private life, some tips on love making in Russia that John was very sure Selene had made up on the spot and enough random information that all three detectives were more confused after than when they had started. Penelope had declared that they had all the information they needed and that they could relax until they were called for.

“Our work here is done,” Cat said, smiling proudly.

“Yeah, but look at them now, being all serious and shit,” Selene replied as she moved to join them, leaving the detectives to do their work.

“I wonder how long it’ll last,” Gordon grinned, lounging against a nearby wall.

“Longer than if you were with them,” Selene sniggered, nudging him gently when he feigned outrage.

Once Scott, John and Penelope had agreed that they had gathered as much evidence as they could from the crime scene, the girls, with Gordon trailing along between them, led the way to the room that housed the police station.

In the room there was a desk, a few chairs and some evidence boxes, along with piles of paperwork and notes. The walls were covered in photographs of the original Jack the Ripper crime scenes, case notes, maps and newspaper articles. There were also autopsy reports, witness statements and artistic renderings of potential suspects.

“Woah, this is actually pretty cool,” Gordon whistled, looking around the room.

“It does seem quite thorough,” John admitted, his eyes taking everything the room had to offer.

“I say we start with the first victim, work our way across the wall and then tackle the desk,” Scott decided, “that way if there is any hidden evidence on the desk we’re more likely to notice it.”

“Agreed,” John said, already calculating ways to catalogue the information they would discover.

“I’d rather start at the desk,” Penny cut in. “One often finds that the first place to look would be the last place someone sat, and they always leave things on desks.”

“Then, by all means,” Scott gave in graciously. “You know best, investigating is your job after all.”

“Scott and I can do the walls while you check the desk and then we can swap if that works for you?” John suggested. “That way we won’t be getting in each other's way.”

“That will do quite nicely,” Penelope smiled, moving to start rummaging through the desk.

“Make sure you don’t tamper with any evidence,” Gordon called cheekily to her, “you’re all supposed to be working together to solve this, not going for solo glory.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, Gordon,” Penelope huffed, firmly tucking an errant hair behind her ear that had dared escape the meticulously crafted hairstyle that was a perfect replica of a late 18th century style.

“I was just kidding,” Gordon assured her, earning a little smile in return.

Huddled together in a corner with Gordon, Selene and Cat watched as the detectives got to work and congratulated themselves on picking such a unique and fun activity. It was always a bit of a mission to find something to do on any of the boys birthdays. The kind of things that were considered to be once in a lifetime dream opportunities for everyday folk were just a standard Wednesday to their Tracys, so they often had to think outside of the box. Virgil was the next in line and they were already brainstorming, if they left it to any of the brothers they would never leave the island. No, it took their input to get anything done.

“I think we did good,” Cat whispered to Selene as they waited to be called upon as witnesses.

“We did,” Selene agreed. She glanced at Gordon as he bounced about between Scott and John, getting in the way. She couldn't help but smile at his antics, obviously they had expected the boys to be doing the actual detective work and for Penelope to be with them, but they could adapt.

“Has Penny said anything to you?” Selene had to ask, watching the serious way that Penelope was studying a letter she had found in a desk drawer. Their purpose was to both help by answering questions but also to hinder the detectives if they were motoring through the rooms too quickly. The whole experience was supposed to last for at least two hours, giving them time to work up an appetite before they ‘escaped’ and made their way down to the restaurant at the back of the building where they would have a slightly more upmarket atmosphere to eat and drink in.

“Not a thing,” Cat shrugged. “But knowing her as I do, I’m going to assume she had a bad few days at work and is a bit ratty because of it.”

“I guess so,” Selene sighed. “Bit of a shame though, this is Scott’s night and I’ll be pretty pissed off if it ends up being soured because someone is in a foul mood.”

“As would I,” Cat agreed, watching her man as he chatted quietly with John, discussing something they had found.

“They look like they are doing far too well at this,” Selene murmured, nodding at their boys. “I think we need to intervene.”

“You read my mind,” Cat grinned, rearranging her top to show maximum boobs.

“The things we do so they have a good time,” Selene sighed dramatically as she patted her bustled behind. “You know, this thing is kinda growing on me.”

Cat sniggered as they slunk their way over to start annoying to detectives. “Come on, Gordon, do your job.”

“On it,” he saluted, grinning wide.

For the next ten minutes they worked their hardest to distract the detectives with rude tavern songs, a slightly uncoordinated version of the can-can, seductive whispering in their ears and promises of demonstrating the tricks they had learnt on the streets of London.

Hands had to be stopped from sneakily wandering, pieces of evidence had mysteriously vanished only to be found hidden in slightly suggestive places upon their bodies and John had forgotten what he’d been thinking entirely when he’d found himself the recipient of a spontaneous motorboating as he got up close and personal with his girl's chest. Even Penelope had given up on her grumpy mood enough to be jollied into giggling along a few times, that was until the moment that Gordon’s hand came into contact with her behind in a gentle smack.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

"Enticing you into a dalliance, my lady," he grinned, sweeping his barrow boy hat off his head in a mock bow.

"Yes," she hissed, clearly fed up to the back teeth of the antics going in around her. "A lady. Your lady, and one does not smack a lady's bottom in a public place. And you," she pointed a finger of doom at Cat and Selene, "look at you both, look at how you're dressed and acting. It's all well and good playing a role but you're taking it too far, don't you think?"

"How we're dressed?" Selene glanced down at her outfit which, by her standards, was actually pretty normal, although it was in blue and white rather than her usual gothic black. "Should I be insulted?"

Cat just looked shocked, she hadn't thought that their behaviour had been that bad, they had simply been having fun, playing the part. Scott, John and Gordon seemed to be enjoying themselves too. Had she somehow messed up? It was true that she didn't know the family as well as Selene did, since she didn't live with them and was still a relatively part time member, but she had planned this with Selene and was taking her cues from her.

"Oh, come on, Penny, relax a bit, will ya?" Gordon groaned, rolling his eyes.

"I am relaxed," Penelope said, turning back to the wall she was studying.

Scott, who was at the desk studying some papers, caught Gordon's eye, nodding towards Penelope. It was his birthday celebration and he wasn't impressed. Cat and Selene had put a lot of effort into organising it for him and he didn't want their time to be wasted. Cat looked like she was about to cry and Selene looked like she was about to curse something or someone. Much as Scott knew that Gordon hadn't meant anything by his actions or comments, he had simply been joining in after all, it was obvious that something was bothering Penelope and it needed fixing.

Gordon nodded his understanding and moved towards his girl. His arm slipped around her waist and, while she stiffened at first, after a few whispered words she relaxed, allowing herself to lean closer to him for a moment before she shook him off.

"Stop trying to distract me, I'm trying to concentrate."

"It's my job to distract you," Gordon teased gently but it did little good.

"And I'm trying to do my job, so kindly let me do it."

"Dang, and I thought Tracys were competitive," Selene whistled, trying to defuse the tension. "OK, let's do this, boys against girls, screw the rules, you in?"

"I'm so in," Cat agreed, "who says prostitutes can't work with the law?"

The object of the escape room was to find enough evidence to point to a particular suspect that had been chosen by the escape room organisers. Almost like a game of Cluedo where there was a different murderer, room and weapon every time, the escape room team cycled through five of the most well known suspects of the original case. There was no telling which they had picked this time so the girls did their best to help Penelope as she worked to put together all the clues she had found.

Selene had spent a fair amount of time with Penelope, enough to feel like she knew the other woman quite well, but she realised now that she only knew one facet of her personality. Their interactions had mostly been on a casual, socialising level because, although Selene did work with the GDF on a freelance basis now and then working anywhere she was needed, she mostly found herself teamed with Kayo or Rigby. She told herself that this was because she was just that damned handy that they only put her with the best, she refused to acknowledge the fact that they were likely the only ones no longer scared of her. That wasn't it at all.

So, somehow she had managed to spend more than three years in the family and never had the opportunity to watch the Lady at work, now she was kinda glad that she hadn't.

Penelope was very much like John in the fact that when she had a goal in sight she was very bloody minded. She knew what she needed to do and she refused to let anything stop her. Selene tried three times to offer suggestions or to point out what looked like it might be an interesting piece of evidence only to be told, politely but firmly, that she was very wrong. Never one to waste her time flogging a dead horse she passed the baton over to Cat, tapped out with a fist bump and switched allegiance without a shred or remorse or a backwards glance.

"I'm out! You're on your own," she declared, defecting to the enemy camp, announcing her presence with a sneaky grope of John's behind where he was bent over the desk, Scott still in possession of the only chair.

Cat watched her friend go, unable to blame her. She had had the dubious honour of calling Penelope her best friend for more than half her life but that didn't make her any easier to deal with when she was in one of her moods.

A focused Penny was often a snappy Penny, the severity of which Cat had forgotten after years of not working with her on anything like a professional basis. Penelope, much like anyone that came from a privileged background, was used to getting her own way and having things done to their exact specifications. When you worked alone as much as she did, you often forgot that there were other ways of doing things other than your own.

Cat was well aware that just having Parker for back up had done very little to soften Penelope's edges, in fact it seemed to have sharpened them. Oh, she couldn't deny that her friend was excellent at her job, top of her field and still climbing, but that left her little time to waste on those that would potentially hold her back. She was of the mind that if there was someone considered better than you, that simply meant you had more to prove and harder work to do. You didn't stop until you had no one to surpass.

“What’ve we still got to do then?” Cat asked, knowing better than to just dive in and inadvertently mess with whatever strategy Penny was using to solve the mystery.

“You can look at those if you want,” Penny replied curtly, nodding towards a series of pictures beside her, her focus still on the paper in her hand.

Cat sighed as she picked up the pictures, managing not to recoil at the murder scenes depicted on them, as she desperately tried to work out the best way to talk to her friend. It wasn’t unknown for Penny to be prickly and difficult when things didn’t go her way, and it was something that they had fallen out about in the past, but she hadn’t expected her to behave like this at a birthday event for her boyfriend's brother.

“Penny, what's going on with you tonight?” Cat asked, deciding that the direct approach was likeliest to be successful. If experience had taught her anything, it was that Penny was far too good at evading questions and hints if they didn’t suit her.

“Nothing,” Penny dismissed, her eyes still firmly on the job at hand.

“Don’t start that bullshit with me,” Cat replied quietly but firmly, enjoying the look of shock in Penny’s eyes as they flew up to meet hers, clearly not expecting to be challenged. “I know you far too well for your own good and this isn’t like you.”

“What do you mean?” Penny deflected, trying to buy herself time, not liking the anger in Cat’s eyes but doubling down anyway. “I’m here aren’t I? I dressed up just like you asked and I’m even doing your little puzzles.”

“That’s not what I mean and well you know it,” Cat pressed, unimpressed but not surprised by the attempted diversion. “Yeah, you’re here, but you’re acting like you’d rather be literally anywhere else and I’m gonna need you to stop it before it ruins the night for Scott.”

Penny paused for a second, casting a glance around the room to ensure that nobody was in earshot before leaning in to Cat.

“If you must know, I’ve been feeling sick on and off for the last few days, so yes, I probably would rather be anywhere but here if I’m being honest,” she confided, feeling strangely glad to have unburdened herself on her friend.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry to hear that,” Cat sympathised, concern for her friend’s health diluting her anger somewhat. “Do you think you’ve caught something?”

“Perhaps,” Penny replied stiffly, sitting herself back upright again, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.

“You look after yourself tonight, OK?” Cat pressed, not wanting to let the opportunity go. “But can you tone down the grumpiness a little? It’s Scott’s birthday night and we’ve put a lot of work into organising this.”

Taking Penny’s curt nod as an acknowledgement of what she had asked, Cat decided that she had done what she could for the time being. Looking around the room before getting back to her assigned task, she was glad to see that Scott at least seemed to be enjoying himself, absorbed in conversation with his brothers as Selene hovered nearby in case she was needed. Throwing a quick nod to her partner in crime in confirmation that she had tried her best, she reluctantly picked up the pictures again and began scanning them for clues.

Selene had little to do but watch the two teams, content to stay out of the way for the most part. Gordon had slotted back in with his brothers as he always did, the boys working together seamlessly to get the job done, focused now on their end goal.

John had all the relevant information correlated and they had moved onto the floor to spread out their findings. Talking together in hushed voices they were soon busily discussing their theories, expanding on or rejecting as needed until they had narrowed down their suspects to just two.

They held one last, whispered conversation, huddling together even closer when Cat wandered a little too close to their workspace and made their decision.

"So, we're in agreement?" Scott asked.

"Yep," Gordon clarified, John nodding with him.

"Even though I'm the IT guy, I'll allow you to input it, since it's your birthday," John grinned, carefully folding the piece of paper in which they had scribbled their conclusion and passing it to Scott.

"How generous of you," Scott quipped. Taking the paper he crossed over to the old fashioned typewriter that had been set up on the desk.

"What are you doing?" Cat asked suspiciously, "you can't be done already."

"Oh, I think you'll find that I am," Scott replied with a cheeky grin as he started typing out their answer. The typewriter had been modernised so that anything typed on it would be automatically transmitted to the central computer that controlled the escape room, the one that would either release them, or condemn them to try again.

"You don't normally say that so proudly," Cat shot back, making Gordon howl with laughter.

Scott ignored her to continue typing. He finished the last word, hit return and waited.

Somewhere in the hall a buzzer sounded, along with the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking.

“Is that it? Did we do it?” Gordon asked, almost bouncing with excitement.

John stuck his head out into the hallway, ducking back in a second later.

“Gentlemen, we are victorious,” he announced in as serious a tone as he could muster.

“They won?” Penelope glanced at Cat, a look of utter disbelief on her face. Cat shrugged in return. She didn’t really care who won as long as Scott had a good time. "They beat us?"

“Yes!” Scott cheered, high fiving Gordon. “Team Tracy for the win! What’s our prize?”

“I don’t know about you, but I quite like the look of our helpers,” John grinned, sliding an arm around Selene’s waist to pull her in against his side. “Doesn’t the hero always get the girl?”

“Only if he have coin,” Selene shot back, yelping when his hand bounced off her padded backside. “But in this case, I shall make exception. We call it taste test, da?”

“Now I know how Julia Roberts felt in Pretty Woman,” Gordon grinned cheekily. “Here I am, turning cheap tricks on the street and I’ve nabbed myself a real Lady. Personally, I think we all lucked out.”

“Is that so?” Penelope drawled, but she allowed a small smile to flirt with her lips, one that got larger when Gordon followed his announcement up with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “You are impossible.”

“So they all say,” Gordon agreed, offering her his arm. “My lady?”

“Good, sir,” she acknowledged, slipping her arm through his with an accepting nod of her head.

“I’d certainly be very happy to accept our helpers as a prize,” Scott laughed, pulling Cat towards him and placing a quick kiss on her forehead. “Now, anyone got any idea of what happens next?”

Just as he spoke, a member of the escape room staff poked their head into the room. “Congratulations. You have found the killer. Thanks to you, London is safe again. Now, to whom should I give the hat of master detective?”

“Me,” Scott announced without hesitation, accepting the deerstalker hat and placing it proudly on his head before anyone could argue.

“If you’d like to follow me, dinner will be served downstairs in the restaurant. You must all be very hungry after all your hard work.”

“Oh thank God,” Scott declared, doing his best to ignore the stifled giggles aimed at his headwear coming from the rest of his family. “I’m starving.”

“Is there ever a point at which you’re not hungry?” asked Cat, genuinely interested to know the answer.

“Nope,” Scott answered proudly, yelping as Gordon swiped the hat off his head from behind as they walked.

“Gordon, you look ridiculous,” Penny giggled as he tried to put it on over the hat he’d forgotten he was already wearing. “Give it back to Scott. It’s his birthday after all,” she added, catching Cat’s eyes with a quick smile of acknowledgment as she tried to atone for her earlier outbursts.

“Seems unfair but OK,” Gordon grumbled good naturedly, handing the hat back as they entered the restaurant.

“Finally, somewhere that's not a total health hazard,” John muttered to Selene as they took their seats.

Totally ignoring him, not that he cared, Selene fussed around Scott, making sure that the birthday boy was comfortably seated at the top of the table with everything he could possibly need on hand if he wanted it. The start of the evening hadn’t exactly gone as they’d planned but she’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy what was left of the night.

There was something so rewarding about your first decent drink of the night after you’d suffered the stress of event planning and Selene was more than grateful to be able to slip into her chair between Gordon and John and pick up the vodka apple cocktail that had been delivered to her.

“A toast,” Scott started, holding up his beer.

“Isn’t one of us supposed to do that?” John asked as he grabbed his own beer bottle.

“Birthday rights,” Scott told him smugly. “I just wanted to thank you all for being here tonight, thank the girls for planning such a great activity with such pleasant eye candy and for joining in to make it fun.”

“Sure, why not,” Selene agreed, saluting with her glass. “To birthday rights and milking them.”

“Damn straight,” Scott grinned.

“To annoying older brothers on their birthday,” Gordon added.

“To brothers who aren’t safe to be left alone with your witch,” John grumbled goodnaturedly.

“Many happy returns to good friends,” Penelope continued.

Scott looked at Cat, one eyebrow raised in anticipation. “What have you got for me? Anything you wish to bestow upon me for the next year? Any praise that should be coming my way?”

“To my favourite dumbass in the whole world,” Cat grinned, raising her glass to join the rest. “May this year bring you health, happiness and as many enormous steaks as you can eat. Happy birthday, Scott.”

“Now that’s something I can definitely get on board with,” Scott laughed, raising his glass to his lips.

“Are you ready to order?” a waiter asked, appearing out of nowhere. He was dressed in period clothing, as were all the other staff members and a few patrons.

“What do you have here?” Gordon asked. He, like all of the Tracy family, enjoyed nothing more than a good meal and since there had been many years where such a thing was not always readily available, they had learnt to make the most of any time they were somewhere where food was cooked for them by someone who wouldn’t destroy it.

“Your meal tonight will consist of six courses,” the waiter started.

“Six!” Gordon yelped.

“There goes my waistline again, I’d only just found it again after Christmas,” Selene groaned, dropping her head into her hands. “I know this is supposed to be a traditional Victorian meal, but who thought this was a good idea?”

“You,” Cat reminded her.

“Shh, woman,” Selene growled but Cat just smirked, unbothered by the threat. She knew her far too well to take her seriously now.

“I think it’s the best idea you’ve had,” Scott grinned. “I’m so hungry I could eat my hat.”

“Even the ear flaps?” Gordon asked. Scott nodded seriously.

The waiter coughed politely.

“So sorry,” Penelope apologised, “do continue.”

“Your first course is a choice of pheasant or cream of asparagus soup, served with fresh bread. This will be followed with a lettuce salad with accompanying cheese fingers.”

A few eyebrows rose at this.

“Next you have your choice of fish course, consisting of either baked salmon with sauce hollandaise, oysters rockefeller or stewed eels.”

“Eels?” Selene made a face of pure disgust which was echoed by Cat and John.

“For your entree meats you have a choice of hunters style stuffed venison, roasted chicken, pan fried duck, lamb medallions or a sirloin of beef. You can pick any combination.”

“Any combination?” Scott was practically drooling.

The waiter nodded, clearly having seen the disbelieving faces many times before.

“All are accompanied by a choice of wild mushroom risotto, boiled new potatoes, potato croquettes or boiled rice, along with green peas and seasonal vegetables.”

“I’m in heaven,” Gordon groaned.

“For your dessert course we have a choice of a delicious lemon sorbet, chocolate mousse, sugar biscuits or a selection of petits fours. This will be followed by a cheese course and finally coffees,” the waiter finished with a flourish, clearly enjoying playing the part. He stood with his order pad, awaiting their decision.

Blank faces stared back.

“Clearly this is new to you all,” Penelope sighed. “You must excuse them. I’d like the asparagus soup and then the baked salmon, followed by the venison with boiled potatoes and the sorbet to finish. Thank you.”

“How the heck did you do that?” Gordon goggled. “I’m pretty sure even John didn't catch all that.” He looked at his brother for confirmation.

“I made it up to the meat selection,” John confirmed.

“I’ve forgotten everything before chocolate mousse,” Selene admitted.

“I got stuck on the eels,” Cat joined in.

“I’m still trying to decide which meats to pick,” Scott finished.

“It’s quite alright, sirs, madames,” the waiter assured them, producing a number of printed menu cards from somewhere about his person. “I shall give you a moment to decide while I fetch tonight's choice of wines and refresh your waters.”

“Thank you,” Cat called after him, already scanning the menu.

A lively debate broke out as everyone discussed the options, deciding what they would like and struck up bargains amongst themselves of who would get to try a sample of the others meal. Scott, of course, had pulled out his birthday card again to secure himself a taste of everyone's food.

Decisions finally made it was a better informed group that reeled off their choice of food to the waiter, who’s name they found out was Carl. He left them with four bottles of wine and didn’t even baulk at Scott ordering the sirloin, lamb medallions and the roast chicken. He was getting the biggest tip of the year that night.

-x-

“I can’t walk, I’m too fat, carry me.”

“My love, I adore you, but if you are indeed as fat as you claim I doubt carrying you would be good for my health.”

Selene paused to think about this, wondering just how her man seemed to be able to drink the amount of beer and wine he had and still form a coherent and slightly sarcastic response. It was one of the many things she found quite sexy about him. Hmm, sexy...

“I do like your body to be in peak health,” she mused, letting her eyes wander up and down his body, taking in the tailored coat, waistcoat, neckerchief and shirt combo that was sitting so well on him. His hair had been brushed back and styled in a close approximation of the era's popular side parted look and it suited him to perfection, though she missed that familiar curl she liked to run her fingers through. “I’ve heard that regular exercise is key, for which I’m always willing to lend a hand.”

One eyebrow rose at her assessing stare and blatant ogling of his person. “I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her, trying to keep his serious tone but only just managing it.

“Good, you do that,” she insisted, wobbling slightly on her heels as she tried to keep to a straight line. She sighed happily when his arm draped around her shoulders, helping to keep her upright. She slipped her arm around his waist, leaning closer. This was good. This was nice.

“Do you think Scott had a good time?” she asked quietly, watching Scott and Cat as they walked a little way ahead of them.

John rolled his eyes, having known this was coming. She always got like this when she had a few drinks in her. She would either be so over confident she thought she was a queen or she started doubting her very existence.

“You know he did,” John assured her. “You always manage to somehow dream up the best ideas for us, something we very much appreciate, and joining forces with Cat made it all the better.”

“Cat’s great,” Selene said, smiling dopily. “I love her, she’s the best.”

“You love everyone when you’re tipsy, I should be grateful that I’m getting any attention at all.”

“Oh hush, you’ll get more attention than you can handle when we get home.”

“I must admit, a night of peace and quiet alone in our little apartment, before we return to the madness of the island tomorrow, is sounding like heaven.”

“Just the peace and quiet?” Selene’s hand slid its way neatly from the small of his back to his right buttcheek.

“Not just that,” he admitted. He glanced at his brothers and their respective partners. “Can we say goodnight now?”

Selene followed his gaze, still feeling the need to check the situation one last time before she abandoned her duty of best friend for the night and concentrated on her man.

Scott and Cat were giggling so loudly she could hear it echoing around the quiet streets, that and the clack, clack, clack, skkerch noise of Cat’s heels as she stumbled now and then. Scott was trying admirably to keep her upright, just as John was with her, but it seemed that all of the ballerina’s balance and poise had abandoned her.

“They seem happy enough,” she murmured, her eyes searching out the other two. Gordon and Penelope were walking close together, though there was a lot less holding up than the other two. Gordon was a little winding in his walking but was holding his own, chatting amicably, clearly on his best and most charming behaviour. Penelope was the vision of a perfectly put together lady, she always was no matter how much she drank. Not that she seemed to have indulged much from what Selene could tell.

“Did you see Penny drinking much tonight?”

John paused, frowning lightly as he thought about it. “No, I don’t believe I did. We went straight up to the rooms when she arrived so she missed out on the first drinks and she said she wasn’t in the mood for those wines and, since she doesn't touch hard liquor and can’t stand the taste of beer, she’d stick to fruit juice.”

“Makes sense,” Selene shrugged, not bothering to think too much about it. “Gordon seems to be back in her good books now so I guess it’s safe to leave them all to their own devices.”

“Good enough for me,” he grinned, stealing a quick kiss before raising his voice to be heard. “Scott, Gordon! We’re heading home, don’t forget to be ready to go at one, any later and we’ll leave without you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Gordon called back. “And if I ask if we’re nearly there yet one more time you’ll dump me out at 5,000 feet.”

“Too right I will,” John answered, not even trying to deny the threat as being a possibility. “Scott?”

“One, got it,” his brother responded after a well placed elbow to the ribs from Cat. “Although you know you’ll have to wait for me, it is my birthday.”

“One more day, that’s all you have left to use that excuse,” Selene reminded him.

“And I’m gonna milk it for all it’s worth,” he assured her, opening his arms for a hug.

Selene pulled him into her arms, yelping when he grabbed her a little too tightly and tried to lift her into the air, holding her against his chest as he rocked her back and forth.

“John! A little help!” she patted Scott’s back ineffectively, dropping her bag which hit the ground with a suspiciously metal sounding rattling clunk.

“Alright, bro, that’s enough, give her back and go home,” John ordered, rescuing his girl from his brother’s limpet like grasp. “Go fling your own around until she throws up.”

“Good plan!” Scott, who had been on the verge of pouting when his cuddle buddy had been stolen, now grinned.

It was Cat’s turn to shriek as she was unceremoniously grabbed around the waist and hoisted up to drape over his shoulder as he took off running.

“Don’t drop her!” Selene called but they were gone.

“And people think I’m the one to watch out for,” Gordon mock sighed, shaking his head.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” John laughed.

“Night, Pen,” Selene said, giving the other woman a hug goodbye and then Gordon.

They waited until the pair had wandered off in the direction of their hotel, Penelope having given Parker his freedom for the night, before Selene allowed John to drag her to the tube station. Everyone was taken care of, the night had come to an end and now she could finally relax.

-x-

“Are you OK there?” Cat giggled as she threw her keys on the table, the amount of wine she had drunk with the meal making the sight of Scott sprawled on her sofa, looking very much like he might pass out any second much more amusing to her than it usually would.

“I’m absolutely fine,” he smiled up at her, grabbing her hand and pulling her down beside him. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason,” she laughed as she teetered dangerously on the edge of the sofa before losing her fight with gravity and slipping onto the floor with a bump. “Just that I’ve never seen anyone eat that amount of meat and remain conscious before.”

“Clearly, you’ve never been out for a meal with Virgil then,” Scott chuckled, undoing his belt and top button to give himself more room. Now that she’d mentioned it, he did feel rather full, not that he’d ever let her know that.

Cat spun herself around where she sat, threading an arm around Scott’s waist and resting her head on his chest, enjoying the peace and quiet her flat afforded them as he absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight then?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably as the bones of her corset started to dig in. How Selene managed to wear stuff like this on a regular basis was beyond her, although she did have to admit that it gave her a good figure which she had caught Scott admiring on more than one occasion over the course of the night, so perhaps she was onto something.

“It was awesome,” Scott declared, sensing Cat’s discomfort and making room on the sofa for her. “You did a great job.”

Cat let out a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as she hauled herself up beside him. “I’m so glad. It’s a bloody nightmare trying to think of anything for you lot.”

“Well, I really appreciate the thought that went into it,” he continued, flashing her a dazzling smile. “It was a great night and I think everyone had fun. Even Penny seemed to get into it by the end.”

“Yeah, she got there eventually,” Cat agreed, relieved that her friend’s behaviour hadn’t soured his enjoyment of the night. “Anyway, now we’re home, there’s something I want to give you.”

“It’s the handcuffs from earlier isn’t it?” he guessed, genuinely unsure as to whether that would be a good thing or not.

“No, I think Selene took them,” she giggled, enjoying the look of horror that passed over Scott’s face before he shook his head to clear unwanted thoughts of what his little brother and best friend may or may not be up to at that moment.

Jumping up from the sofa, Cat grabbed a small box that she’d carefully stowed on the mantelpiece earlier, handing it to him carefully. “Happy Birthday Scott,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly before retaking her place on the sofa beside him.

“Thank you,” Scott beamed as he started to peel off the wrapping paper, taken by surprise by the gift. They had talked about it beforehand and he had assured her that spending the evening together would be more than enough for him to be happy, so this was completely unexpected.

Cat just smiled in reply, taking a sip of her drink as she anxiously waited for him to open it. Buying the man who had literally everything he could ever dream of something for his birthday was a task that she had hated every minute of and a tight knot formed in her stomach in case she had somehow got it wrong.

“It’s amazing,” Scott gushed, finally opening the lid of the box and pulling an antique pocket watch out of its satin bed to examine it better, running an appreciative finger over the ornate filigree on the back. “I absolutely love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Cat smiled, relief rushing through her as he went straight back to scrutinising his new toy. “But your present isn’t just the watch though, it’s really what the watch represents.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me there,” Scott admitted, a small frown appearing on his face as he looked up in surprise.

“Time,” Cat explained, her grin becoming wider as she became more confident in her choice. “From today, I’ve arranged for us to both have seven whole days off from our jobs. We’re going back to the island tomorrow but then what we do is absolutely up to you. We can stay there, come back here or do anything else that you might like.”

For once in his life, Scott was speechless, unable to think of any response other than to grab Cat and pull her into a tight hug. “How?” was all he could manage when he finally let her go. “How on earth did you manage that?”

“John and Selene helped me sort it out,” Cat explained. “He’s going to stay down and let EOS run Five while you’re away so there’s backup if needed.”

“Wow,” he breathed. “I don’t remember when I last had that amount of time off in one go.”

“That’s exactly what Selene said when I mentioned the idea to her,” Cat smiled, relaxing back against the cushions now that she knew her idea was a success.

“Do you think we really have to go back tomorrow though?” Scott wheedled, nuzzling into Cat’s neck, trying to hit all the spots that he knew usually made her putty in his hands. “Can we not just stay here for the whole week, order lots of pizza and be really antisocial?”

“Nice try,” she laughed, using all her strength to shove him off. “Selene and I are cooking you a birthday meal for all the family so yeah, you do kinda need to be there for that. But after that we can absolutely just chill out here if that’s what you'd like.”

“Spoilsport,” Scott grumbled goodnaturedly, his smile giving away his true feelings about the prospect of having all of his family around him for a meal not cooked by his grandma.

“Yep,” Cat agreed cheerfully. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Nothing probably,” he shrugged. “Too tired and full at the moment.”

“Thought as much,” she concurred, nestling in and resting her head on his chest.

Silence descended over them as they lay, lost in their own thoughts. Turning his watch over in his free hand, Scott was unable to stop himself from fiddling with the clasp, repeatedly opening and closing the case as a smile crept onto his lips, the evening replaying in his mind.

“Is it time for bed yet?” Cat yawned eventually, the adrenaline from making sure the night ran smoothly finally beginning to wear off.

“Let me check,” Scott grinned, opening the watch case once more and squinting at it. “Yes. Yes, I think it is.”

“C’mon then,” she decided as she pushed herself off the sofa, somehow finding the energy to help haul Scott upright from where he was almost horizontal on the cushions.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sleepily, draping an arm around her shoulder as they made their way towards the bedroom and some well-earned rest. “This has been the best birthday ever.”

#Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Penelope Creighton Ward #selene tempest #Catriona George #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

peppersonironi · 4 years

Text

Batfam Whumptober Day Five

{Read on Ao3}

No.5: On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Summary: Damian is sent to rescue Red Robin from a sting-gone-wrong, but finds Tim more than a little roughed up. Damian panics at the sight of his heavily wounded brother, and strains to keep him alive long enough for help to arrive.

A/N: I think this might be my favorite work this month! It took way longer than expected, and I'm sorry for that, but I hope it's worth it. It actually has angst this time!

Tw: Light blood and injury (not graphic) and some torture (not graphic I think?)

Damian blinked down seriously at the Gotham warehouse. It was highly guarded, with twenty-seven security cameras in, on, and around the premises. There were also over a dozen guards with heavy machine guns patrolling the perimeter. Whatever they were protecting was important. Unfortunately, Damian knew what it was.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Drake?” He muttered to himself.

The assignment that Red Robin had taken upon himself for the week was supposed to be simple: an out of town drug trafficking ring. The criminals were newcomers, so they’d be easy to take care of. In theory.

Instead, the cave had received a distress call from Tim twenty minutes ago. Batman was off-world with the League, Grayson was in Bludhaven, Cain was in Hong Kong, Todd was off doing whatever the h*** he did with the outlaws. The only ones on patrol that night besides Drake and Damian was Brown and Aunt Kate. But they were handling a robbery in progress across the city.

And so, Robin being the only vigilante in the near vicinity, Damian found himself causing the origin of Red Robin’s signal.

He was not having fun.

But Damian was determined to save his idiot of a brother by himself. Otherwise Thomas would have to be awakened from his ‘normal’ sleep schedule and sent out. Damian didn’t need help.

“Robin, how’s it looking?”

Damian startled at the sound of Gordon in his ear. “Fine, Oracle. The adversaries are heavily armed and have high security for foreigners, but nothing I am unable to handle.”

“Alright, Robin,” she answered cautiously, “but alert me immediately if that changes. The Signal can be up and out at a moment's notice.”

Damian scoffed as he pulled out his grappling hook and made his way to the roof of the warehouse. “Signal is not needed. And I hardly think he’d appreciate being awoken.”

“He’s well aware that he’s on standby for emergencies,” Oracle replied, “especially when Bats is out of town.”

Damian grunted as he took out a few guards standing by the entrance to the roof. “Can’t talk,” he replied, “I’m going in.”

*****

Damian crept around the warehouse silently, starting with the upstairs offices. He found countless damaging contracts, and paper files. Pictures, and evidence. He recorded it all and sent it to Oracle, but there was still no sign of Red Robin.

That is, until he reached the stairs leading down to the main warehouse.

When Damian reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, he paused. There was something off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He strained his ears, searching for some out of place sound. He found it.

A moment later, a scream cut through the air, causing the boy to stiffen. He knew that Scream.

Drake.

He slowly eased the door open, heart pounding, Damian slunk in the shadows, approaching the source of the moans, grunts, and sounds of pain. He made his way atop the ctreates, and flew up into the rafters. Then ran along the beam towards the center of the building.

What Damian saw next rooted him in his place.

“I’ll ask you one more time, brat!” Bronte Jones, the Boston drug king in charge of the Gotham branch, yelled straight at Drake.

Oh, Drake.

Damian gagged at the state of his brother. Timothy Drake was tied down to a metal chair, his cape ripped off and tossed to the side. The rest of his uniform was in equal disorder, ripped, burned, and bloody. The exposed parts of his skin were bruised, cut, or in some other way harmed.His mask was mostly left alone, probably due to the anti-tampering measures built into every mask and cowl.

Tim coughed, and spit blood to the side. “Nope.”

Bronte growled, before launching forward and punching Red Robin in the jaw. Hard. So hard that the chair rocked backwards, and one of the goons needed to hold it steady.

“You will tell me the identities of yourself, and the other Gotham vigilantes. You will tell me the best drug parts in this town. Or else you will die in this warehouse. Wouldn’t want your little clan dealing with that, now would you?”

Tim grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Damian scowled. No, no, no! Don’t antagonize the kidnapper! It’s protocol!

But Drake didn’t hear Damian’s silent pleading. He only laughed.

Bronte didn’t seem to know what was so funny, so he continued on with his beating. A few punches later, and Damian found himself gripping the rafters. He should do something, he knew that, but he just. Couldn’t. Move. All he did was watch on in horror.

Bronte paused with his punches, taking a breath. “This clearly isn’t working,” he stated, “let’s kick it up a notch.

Jones walked over to a crate, atop which an array of tools lay on it. The man passed over newly quenched cigarettes - oh god, he’d use those on Drake, hadn’t he? The burns matched up - wrenches, knives, and garrotes. His hand landed on a batton that Damian recognised immediately.

“Oh no,” he whispered, his face going white.

Jones turned back to Red Robin, and shoved the baton into his ribs. Tim let out a scream at the sudden crackle of electricity that even Damian could hear from high up.

“How about we wait for the other bats to show up?” Bronte asked conversationally, still torturing Tim. “What do you think they’ll give to get one of their birds back?”

Tim laughed, though the sound came out more like a hacking cough. Blood leaked down his chin. “No one’s coming for me,” he said, “they’re all too busy. Or they hate me.”

Damian startled. What? No, that wasn’t true. He and Drake were past their hatred, weren’t they? Hadn’t he proven himself? Hadn’t he showed he cared?

Bronte growled, before signalling to his goons. “Fine, I guess there’s no reason to keep you alive then.”

Damian gasped. No, no this couldn’t happen! He glanced around, searching for something to aid his rescue attempt, there were too many men to handle on his own.

“Oracle, send Signal.” Damian muttered, knowing the microphone would pick his words up. He didn’t have time to listen for an answer though, it was time to act.

Robin leapt down from the heights of the warehouse, drawing his katana mid flip. He landed efficiently in front of Bronte Jones, glaring at the man who had dared to hurt his brother.

“Step away from Red Robin,” he said slowly, rising to his full height of five feet, two inches.

The man laughed. “You little brat. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

Damian tilted his head, radiating confidence that most definitely did not feel. “Very well,” he stated stiffly. “It is your funeral, as Nightwing says.”

A moment later, and he attacked. It was not as clean as he usually would, he was still fighting down panic, it was wild and desperate. But he still fought.

He downed four goons before he realised his current tactic wasn't working. He dodged a volley of bullets, he eyes falling upon Drake. The young man had slouched down in the chair, his eyes closed. Damian let out a curse in arabic. That idiot! He needed to stay awake!

Damian leapt forward, past the goons and Jones, past the table with horrid tools, past the downed bodies, and towards his brother. He threw down a smoke pellet to disguise his movements, and continued on his way. Once the area was completely covered, he attacked one more thug, intent on keeping up an illusion of his constant attacks.

Quickly, he made his way towards the out of commission vigilante, efficiently removing the rope bonds, and pulling him gently close. Damian could recognize broken ribs when he saw them.Once he was certain that Red Robin was secure at his side, he lifted up his grapple, and they rose swiftly out of the smoke. A moment later, along with a few more grapples, they were on an opposite roof.

Damian set his brother down, glancing behind for followers. The coast was clear.

“Red Robin?” Damian asked, leaning close. “Are you alright?” he cursed himself. Of course Drake wasn’t alright! Of all the times to act like Grayson, this was hardly it.

There was no response to his query, causing Damian to throw aside his self-flagellation.

“Drake?” Damian demanded more harshly. “Wake up! You are needed! You can’t die, that’s an order!” More silence. “Did you hear that? An order! From me! You hate me commanding you, so stick up for yourself!”

Damian breathed heavily, silently shaking. No, no no no! Drake couldn’t die!

“I…” Damian blinked, trying to figure out a course of action, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place. mHe closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose, trying to calm himself.

“Dami?”

Damian gasped ever so slightly and looked down at the beaten and battered form of his brother. “Timothy? You’re alright?”

Timothy let out a light cough. “Seen better. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Damian couldn’t bring himself to make a sharp comeback. He just blinked down at his brother. He was awake. He was alive. He would be fine.

“Kay,” Drake said, “good talk. I’m gonna go to sleep now…”

Damian stiffened. “What? No! Timothy, you can’t!”

But the young man didn’t listen. Damian scrambled forward, grabbing his brother’s shoulders in an attempt to wake him as hard as he dared.

“Timothy?” Damian asked again, unable to strain the worry from his voice, “You can’t die. Father will be mad, and Grayson will stop functioning, and Todd will go on a rampage, and Brown will hide away, and Cain will strain herself to help everyone else while still falling apart, and Pennyworth won’t be able to live much longer with another heartbreak, he’s ancient as is. And Thomas won’t be able to handle it all either. And I…”

Damian paused, taking a shaky breath, before letting out a sentence that brought him both anguish and relief.

“Ahki, I don’t want you to die either!”

There were shouts from the surrounding buildings, feet hitting pavement, and Damian knew it was only a matter of time before they found them.

He reached over towards Timothy’s throat, searching for a heartbeat like he should have done from the beginning. He almost cried from relief when he felt the thrum. But it was weak. Too weak. He needed medical attention immediately, and not the kind at the cave. They needed Dr. Thompkins.

Damian stood up and searched the roof for something that could help them out of this situation. The tiniest part of him, who still thought like a league member, told him to run. To leave Timothy behind and run.

“No,” he told himself, “Timothy is stuck with me. We’re both getting out of this, or neither.”

The sounds of footsteps increased, thundering and shaking. They were closer, most likely from the stairwell leading to the roof both Robins now inhabited.

Damian drew his katana immediately and ran back to Red Robin, standing guard over his limp body. He would go down fighting, there was no other way he knew.

The tousling limbs and marching feet seemed to be all around him now - a part of him knew they weren’t really, that it was just his mind playing tricks. He took a breath, steadying himself.

“You and me, Timothy,” Damian spoke strongly, more to calm his own fear than anything else.

Just then the door to the roof slammed open, and in rushed three hulking thugs. Damian inhaled sharply - in fear, not that he’d ever admit it - and steadied his shaking hands.

But something was wrong. Instead of the goons rushing the pair of birds, they slumped to the ground. Behind them, standing in all his bright yellow glory, was The Signal. He had both escrima sticks drawn, and a grim smile on his face.

“Hey Robin,” he said, stepping over the bodies, “you called?”

*****

They made their way down to the street, able to carry between the two of them, and into the awaiting Batmobile. Thomas took the driver’s seat, Damian for once quiet about his ability to captain any moving vehicle, while the younger boy stayed with Timothy in the back.

The ride had been quiet, Duke not knowing what to say beyond the usual “what happened?” Damian shook when the question was asked, so Duke let it drop. An official report could be made later.

They made their way to Dr. Thompkins clinic, and came in the back way. She was already waiting - most likely due to Oracle calling ahead - and quickly ushered them into an awaiting room. Timothy, however, was brought someplace else.

Damian had resisted at first, panicking at the thought of his brother going anywhere out of sight, but Duke had pulled him back, easily disarming him and settling both of them on a bench. Damian had struggled and pulled and scratched and screamed in indignation, but Thomas hadn’t stopped holding on. Eventually, Damian’s anger gave way to huge, choking sobs. He hiccuped and curled his way into Duke’s chest, holding on for dear life. Duke just hummed and wrapped his arms around the terrified bird.

After a long, slow hour, Damian finally settled down into quiet whimpers. Duke continued to rub his back soothingly, but Damian couldn’t seem to fully calm down.

“He thought we wouldn’t come,” Damian choked out suddenly, and felt Duke steffen in surprise. “He said no one cared enough to save him. But I was right there, I watched them …”

Damian bit his lip to hold back another whimper, and Duke softened. “He was probably just saying that to get his captors to let him go,” Duke reasoned.

Damian hiccuped and shook his head, still tucked into Duke’s armored chest. “No, no he was right!”

Duke rubbed a little harder on his back. “No, he was-”

“I just stood there and watched!” Damian cried, “I came in and I saw what was happening, but I Could. Not. Move. I just … I just watched.”

“Sounds to me like you froze,” Duke replied. “You’ve been doing this longer than I have Damian, you should know that everyone freezes at one point or another.”

Damian shook his head fervently, but didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply.

They remained silent for some time, every so often Duke offering soft reasurences that went unnoticed by Damian. Eventually, Leslie came into the room.

“He’s stable,” she said when Duke looked over. Damian didn't have the energy to raise his head. “With some bed rest, he’ll be alright. You’re lucky you got to him when you did.”

Damian shuttered at the last word. No, he hadn’t been lucky. He’d been stupid, and weak. He shouldn’t have roze. He shouldn’t have-

Damian was jostled from his bout of self loathing when Duke stood up.

“Can we see him,” he asked.

Leslie nodded. “Follow me.”

*****

They settled down in the private room where Leslie had placed Timothy, but Damian couldn’t calm himself. He kept looking at his brother, bandaged, yes, but broken. He should have acted quicker.

Duke sat on the chair beside Tim’s bed, still carrying Damian. At another point, the boy would have profusely protested at such babying, but now he had no strength. Now, the most he could manage was tuck himself into Duke’s arms.

After a while, Duke rose, leaving Damian in the chair. He promised to return soon, just leaving long enough to call Babs and Steph & Kate, as well as grab something to eat. Maybe get some clothes as well.

“There’s that tea place near here you like, right?” Duke asked, and Damian mumbled his assent. “You’ll be alright?” he added right before leaving. “I won’t be gone forever. Try not to beat yourself up too much, okay?”

Damian straightened, trying to summon courage. “I …” he sank down, nodding tiredly.

Duke sighed softly and went out the door.

Damian sat staring at Drake for a long time. His brother didn’t move.

“Just wake up, ahki,” he sniffled.

*****

Tim was warm and comfortable. He felt the light fluffiness of pain meds blanket his senses, along with an actual blanket pulled all the way up to his shoulders. It felt warm and safe.

Wait - pain meds?

Tim blinked his eyes open, and briefly surveyed the room. It was one of the private ones in Leslie’s clinic, where they went when someone was seriously injured. Why was he here?

Oh.

The warehouse.

Tim mentally cringed at the flashes of memory that came with the realization. He’s delt with torture before, and honestly this time wasn’t the worst - fun fact: Ra’s Al Ghul lives up to the title “Demon’s Head - but he’d still gotten hurt. Thank goodness he’d sent out his distress signal and had gotten out. But he’d left Damian all alone to deal with the -

Damian.

Tim briefly panicked. Where was his brother? They’d gotten out, right? Maybe Duke had been woken up and provided back up, or Steph and Kate had-

A soft sniffle came from beside him.

Tim blinked and turned his head to find Damian tucked into a chair. He looked small, curled up like that. His hands gripped tightly at his Robin uniform. His eyes were unmasked and red, staring down at the floor. He sniffled again and rubbed at an eye.

“Just wake up, ahki.”

Oh.

It must have been bad.

Damian rarely cried.

But crying was good, in a way. He was alive, at least.

“Dami?” Tim croaked, finding his voice dry.

Damian jerked his face up, staring at Tim. His eyes were wide, and filled with relief. But also fear and … regret? Oh no, what had gone wrong?

“Dami,” he said again, a relieved smile on his face. “I knew you’d come.”

This had the opposite effect than expected. Damian’s eyes widened even more, and he scrambled backwards in his chair. “What?! No! You said-”

Tim sighed, “That was kind of stupid of me,” Tim cut in, “I thought if Bronte thought no one cared about me, then he’d just leave me behind long enough for one of you to grab me.”

Damian frowned. “But I still didn’t come fast enough. You were right. And when I got there I froze, Father would be so disappointed, I didn’t keep my head, and i-”

“Damian.” Tim interjected. “Come here.”

Damian pursed his lips, glancing at Tim’s injuries. But a moment later he complied, gingerly easing off of the chair and coming over towards the bed.

Tim held out his hand, and after a moment, Damian put his hand in his. Tim then pulled him closer, and rested the young boy's hand on his own chest. Right over the heart.

“Feel that?” he asked, and Damian nodded slightly. “I’m alive because of you okay? You came. I knew you would.”

Damian blinked back tears, and Tim was struck by just how young and vulnerable Damian looked. It wasn’t often the twelve year old let his walls down, and Tim felt guilty for bringing this on him. He seemed drained and exposed. Tim made a split second decision.

“Come on,” he said, scooching over as much as he could and patting the bed beside him.

“But-” Damian began, but Tim shushed him.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Dami.”

Damian sighed and came back onto the bed. Tim pulled him closer, and the boy automatically curled into his side. Tim wrapped his arms around his brother and sighed into his hair.

“I’m alright, okay? And so are you. It’s alright now, Dami.”

Damian sighed, “Thank you, ahki.”

Tim smiled at the arabic word for brother. He liked it when they got along, no matter the circumstances. Tim bent down slightly and pressed a kiss to Damian’s head. The small boy let out a breath, and eased into soft snores. Good, he needed sleep.

Tim settled in and relaxed. A few minutes later Duke walked in in his Signal armor carrying a tray of drinks, the logo showing they were from a middleeastern tea place that Damian loved. He was followed by Kate and Steph, both in their respective uniforms.

“You guys alright?” Kate asked, walking past Duke and sitting on the chair.

Tim smiled softly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Great,” Steph replied. “Then get some sleep.”

Tim laughed lightly, but he was warm and tired - which may have something to do with the pain killers Duke was not so subtly putting in - and had his little brother willingly snuggling him. He smiled again as the darkness washed over him.

They were alright.

Tagging: @starrystories2

#whumptober2020 #no.5 #rescue #batfam #dc #fic #blood tw #injury tw #damian wayne #tim drake #duke thomas #hurt/comfort #angst #cuddling & snuggling #comfort #good brothers

29 notes · View notes

papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

Text

LUCY PLEASES PUBLIC

June 30, 1952

Incredibly, this newspaper has misspelled the author’s name. Louella (not Luella) Parsons wrote about Hollywood from 1914 to 1965. At her peak, her columns were read by 20 million people in 700 newspapers worldwide. Louella (or Lolly, as she was sometimes called) was mentioned on “I Love Lucy” and “The Lucy Show,” usually in the same breath as her rival, Hedda Hopper.

HOLLYWOOD.

Unless Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz will be in Honolulu as you read this story. (1) After an un precedented year on their TV show, "I Love Lucy”, which is seen by 30,000,000, they need a holiday.

“Do you think I’ll be criticized because I’m taking time off instead of doing benefits and personal appearances?”

That question is typical of Lucille, who tries hard to do what everyone wants her to, even at the risk of her own health. Her doctor, Mark Rabwin (2), who is also a close personal friend of Lucy and Desi, has insisted she spend week-ends in the hospital to rest because she is so close to exhaustion. Yet, here she is with a guilt complex because she cannot do the many benefits requested of her. Lucille is really the most completely uninhibited person l know. I have always loved Lucy, and I think I love her even more since I’ve grown to know her better these last few years.

In a town such as Hollywood, when an actress zooms to fame as great as that of Lucille, you re bound to hear a few catty, jealous remarks, but I've never heard one person express anything but happiness for Lucille.

Two years ago when I spent my vacation in Del Mar, Lucille and Desl were also there and we had many a talk. They were both praying so hard for a baby. Lucille had Just lost her first child. She said at that time, "I'm willing to give up anything - my career or anything - if I can just have a baby. Desi wants a child so much, too."

Then, one day after we were all back from Del Mar, she telephoned me.

"Oh, Louella, our prayers and yours are going to be answered. Desi and I are going to have a baby."

You'd have thought Lucille was a fragile Dresden China Doll the way Desi looked after her. As for Lucille, she rested and stayed home to be sure nothing happened, because she always felt she lost her first baby because she did so much traveling to be with Desi on his tours.

When the baby arrived finally, it seemed after months of waiting. Desi telephoned me at the crack of dawn. "You're the first to know, Louella," he said, "and we're telling you because you helped us pray for our wonderful little girl."

That little girl, Lucie Desiree, is now 14 months old and a darling, and never has a child been so loved.

Lucille and Desi work side by side, not only in their TV show, but In their Desilu productions. Not only do they do their own show "I Love Lucy," but they are producing Eve Arden's TV show (3) and others, including Red Skelton's filmed commercials.

All this success happened to a girl who wearily trod from agent to agent In New York, trying to get a foothold In show business, although she admits she never got a nickel's worth of encouragement.

"With me," said Lucille, "things always happen unexpectedly. I might never have come to Hollywood if a girl had not backed out of accepting an offer from the Goldwyn company for an Eddie Cantor picture (4). I had never been to the coast.

"I was coming out of an agent's office," Lucille reminisced, "when a Goldwyn representative grabbed me and said, 'How would you like to go to California?' He was desperate. Well, I had to get ready in a matter of hours, and you know the rest."

Yes, I have known Lucille since she came here as a blonde with those great big blue eyes. Then she changed the color of her hair and it's the pinkest hair in the world. She's been kidded a lot, and a Time article (5) describes her hair as "shocking pink and straw berry orange.”

“With all this television success, what about pictures?" I asked Lucille.

"Oh, I'm not giving up my motion picture career," she said, "but I don't know now when I'll have time. After all, TV Is like pictures."

"Don't you admit it's harder?"

"Yes, it is harder," she answered, "because it's like making a picture a week. But we love it."

"You and all the world," I said to her as we parted.

# # #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) Hawaii was one of Lucy and Desi’s favorite getaway destinations. They would travel there whenever time permitted. Lucy Ricardo never got to go to Hawaii, but Lucy Carter did!

(2) Dr. Mark Rabwin was honored to have a character named after him. When “Ricky Has Labor Pains” (ILL S2;E14) January 5, 1953, Dr. Rabwin is played by Lou Merrill. In the 1950s, doctors not only made house calls, but they smoked when they made them!

(3) Eve Arden’s TV show was called “Our Miss Brooks”. It originated on radio, also with Arden. Gale Gordon, Mary Jane Croft, and Richard Crenna, all joined Arden on television, where it ran from 1952 to 1956. In 1956, it also became a motion picture.

(4) The Eddie Cantor picture that brought Lucille Ball to Hollywood was titled Roman Scandals (1933). Lucille became a ‘Goldwyn Girl’ (the film was produced by Samuel Goldwyn) and wore a long blonde wig.

(5) The Time article was also a cover story, published just a month before this column.

#Louella Parsons #Lucille Ball #Time Magazine #I Love Lucy #Hawaii #Mark Rabwin #Roman Scandals #Our Miss Brooks #Eve Arden

3 notes · View notes

emilystoryspot · 3 years

Text

Bruces Bat Baby

This is a story I wrote about this post I saw this is my take on the Bruce part.

I originally posted this on my main right here I'm leaving it up but I'm posting the rest on this account

Bruce and I had met shortly after he had adopted Dick Grayson and quickly fell in love with him and everything about the Wayne heir. We got engaged around the time he adopted Cassandra Cain by this time Jason Todd had lived and died and lived again and the most recent Robin was Tim Drake. I went out most nights I also preferred to stay in and work the coms with Barbara Gordon. Then came Stephanie Brown she was a surprise to they the least but she wasn’t a shock like Damian was to the Bat family. Bruce had a biological son. Sure we weren’t married but we already had all these kids, it hadn’t occurred to me that he might want kids with me. Two years later we got married. We were at a calm and then the conversation of us having kids came back up two months after we got back from out honey moon.

I was sitting on the bed getting ready to crawl under the covers when Bruce came in and looked me in the eyes, “What about another kid?”

“Who’d did you find this time?” I asked wondering if he had found another kid on the side of the street, “Someone else try to steal the tires off the bat mobile.” I crawled across the bed, shoving my feet under the blankets and then the rest of my body. Bruce laid down beside me on top of the blankets, I cocked my head, “What?”

He smiled at me, kissed me on the head and then turned off the lights and the conversation wasn’t brought up again.

But two weeks later we had a gala event all the kids went a few of the titans came too, me and Bruce spent most of the night helping Lois and Clark on an article. That night Bruce and I had one too many drinks, we woke up that morning tangled in blankets with Bruce’s alarm going off.

He covered me up and kissed me on the head before he left for work, I had the day off. Dick came over from an off shift and after I got showered and changed he got into bed with me and we watched movies while Cassie, Steph, Damian , and Tim were all in school Barbra had work as a librarian. Luke and Duke also had work. So while Alfred cleaned the house Dick and I watched old movies and ate popcorn, Ace came to join us.

Dick fell asleep with his head on my shoulder and I think I fell asleep too because when I woke up to Jason who spent the day doing whatever taking the photo of the two of us, he saw I was awake and without having to say anything he got into bed laying down next to me and grabbing the remote and choosing the next movie. When I woke up again, Dick was gone and so was Jason in there place was Cassie and Tim who were crossed legged at the end of the bed Damian was curled up asleep, all three of them in their school uniforms.

Eventually we got up and moved to the dining room where I made the four of us lunch Alfred wasn’t too happy but he cleaned up.

A few days had passed and I was at work at Wayne Enterprises sitting in my office when suddenly a wave of nausea rushed over me. I raced to my private bathroom off from my office and threw up. I sat down on the floor with my head in my hands as another wave hit me.

I didn’t tell anyone about that. The sickness began to happen in the morning and Bruce caught on. For the first three or four days I had managed to get out of bed into the bathroom throw up and shower and change, but today Bruce followed me to the bathroom and held my hair back without a word. His large and calloused hands massaged my back as I leaned forward and heaved. When I was done I leaned into his embrace, he had a wet washcloth and wiped my face with it, folding it over he put in on my head as I caught my breath. “How long has this been going on?” Bruce left the washcloth on my head, i leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling, Bruce intertwined his fingers around me.

“A few days.” I went to lean forward and stand up but him hands caught me and with a wet slap the washcloth hit the floor. “Let me up.” it was a quiet whisper those last three words, “Its just the flu.”

“The flu?” He asked as I leaned forward away from his becoming embrace. Bruce placed one hand on my waist keeping me down and one on my forehead, I brought my hands up to his and kept the coolness of his skin on my head. “You’re burning up.” He began to make slow movements to stand, “Lets get you into bed.” with one arm on my back and one under my legs he picked me up and carried me to the bed. “ill call you off work and ill tell Alfred to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Go to your meeting” He kissed me on the cheek,

“Ill have Dick check up on you when he gets back.” Bruce leaves for work knowing that after his shift today he wont be going on patrol, he will be crawling into bed with me.

A few minutes later, Alfred walks into the room, I’m sitting up ready for a breakfast tray, and he sets it down, overtop my legs the first thing i do is unroll my napkin and a pregnancy test falls into my hands, I look up at Alfred with my mouth open in shock, ”Master Bruce told me your symptoms, it could just be the flu but it could be a child.” I look away from him and look down at the light blue and purple stick, “Now close your jaw you’ll catch a fly, Mistress Anne.”

I utter a quick thanks before he leaves the room and closes the door, I stare at the stick i left on the mattress next to me, outside the door I hear Alfred tell the kids I’m sick and not to bother me before school. I can hear Jason doing the crossword on the bench in the hall outside of my room, my eyes never stray from the stick until I move the tray and head into the bathroom. I pee on the stick and sit on the floor with a timer on my phone set for two minutes.

Me and Bruce always had a family when we started dating he had Dick and I was here when he got everyone else, his own children, Gordon’s daughter, i was here when the accidents happened, Babs lost her ability to walk and when Jason died. I was here for them, so maybe if that stick says what i think it says they will all be there for me, I’ve been apart of this family for so long that sometimes it feels like because they all have the hero thing and yea I do it to but they do it more often and they all have that bonding of shared trauma and because I was raised in a middle class family, I will never have what Bruce and the kids have. My phone begins to buzz without looking I click the phone off and stand up. I look at the little plus sign on the stick. I get in the show and change into new pajamas and by the time I’m coming back into my room to hid the stick in my bedside table, the breakfast tray is gone.

After tucking the stick away on my bedside table I walk out of my room to the kitchen where Dick and Jason are arguing, they both stop when they see me, “Don’t stop on my account.”

I open a cabinet but due to the fact that I’m normally waring heels when i’m out of my room and not dark pink bunny slippers I couldn’t reach the crackers, Dick saw and without hesitation he grabbed it for me. He then put a hand on my head, “Fevers gone, how ya feeling?”

“Thank you,” I pull the box of crackers out of his hand and head to another set of cabinets to grab the peanut butter, “I’m feeling better.” Trying to contain the smile on my face as I pulled the butter knife out of a drawer. I sat down at the table and the two of them sat with me, “What were you two fighting about?”

The two of them sit at the counter with me and begin to rant about what happened on patrol last night, we laugh together and the moment Alfred sees me he lets me finish eating before he ushers me back to bed, both Jason and Dick wish me good luck as Alfred tucks me in, the two of them go back out on patrol.

I sit in bed with Ace until Bruce comes home, His shoulders are tense so when he sits on the edge of the bed I crawl over to him and begin giving him a shoulder rub. “How are you feeling, Dick said the fevers gone.”

I smile, “Better.” I begin to crawl to my bedside table and I pull the purple and white stick with the faded plus sign out I set it down and go back to rubbing his shoulders. “Turns out it wasn’t the flu.”

“Hmm” Bruce just leans into my massage, “What was it? A cold?”

“No” I pull back and grab the stick i then wrap my arms around him putting the plus in his line of sight. “I think we should go to the doctor before we start telling people,” Bruce grabs the stick out of my hands and stands up before turning to look at me, “I know its a lot, I think Alf-” Bruce has the biggest smile on his face, he puts his hands on waist and spins me around the room.

He sets me on the ground, one of my slippers flew off, he kisses me hard, keeping that cheeky grin of his, “Ill call the doctor, we’ll drop the kids off at school, Jason and Dick will patrol again, we will go out to lunch than if its true.” He kisses me again, “We will have a family dinner in a few days.” I’m not sure how long we stood their and hugged and cried I also don’t remember going to sleep or driving the kids to school because next thing I know me and Bruce are sitting in the waiting room of the doctors office.

I don’t hear the nurse call the name or the doctor introduce herself I vaguely hear her explain what’s she’s gonna do I’m too busy thinking about when the baby was conceived, I think it was the night of the gala and so does Bruce that was a little under a month ago a little more than twenty two days, we should be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I put on the hospital gown and Bruce folds my clothes eventually the doctor walks back in.

She places cold gel on my stomach and Bruce’s hand is in mine. I turn my head to look at the screen and there it is a small looking peanut shape, “There it is.” The doctor points at the grey and white on the staticky screen and suddenly this is real, this is I sat on the bathroom floor when I knew the truth, I think I have known since that night that there was a baby inside me and I’ve always been a parent but now Ill actually be a mom, I didn’t know I was crying until Bruce wiped away my tears and then we heard it a small and tiny noise that whispered of love and screamed joy in both our ears a little heartbeat.

The doctor spoke to us some more, I got prenatal vitamins and other meds she thought I would need. She told Bruce about everything I would go through and then some, I got changed and we got lunch then headed home. Bruce showed the photos to Alfred before he even had his coat off. Alfred congratulated us, he was going to invited everyone to dinner next week. The two of them left me alone to go plan.

The next week goes by fast the only question I get are why I haven’t been out patrolling for the moment I’ve been shrugging them off but I think Damian is getting suspicious although he hasn’t said anything. Bruce has been getting up an hour early so that when I get morning sickness There’s towels and bottled water set up in the bathroom for me, He’s also been cutting back on his patrolling shifts and has been telling the kids that’s me and him are working on a project for work. When in reality we are working on plans for the nursery, we have kids but we’ve never had a baby before this was new territory, given we had eight months we had no idea what to do and we still are clueless.

Me and Bruce wore our dinner clothes to work, business causal we were in meetings all day, and eventually time was for dinner, we had made it so that only immediate members of the so called “Bat Clan” were allowed to dinner. Alfred cooked a chicken dinner with biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy there was corn and peas as well. Dick was in his police uniform and Jason wore his normal clothes but with a tie on top of everything. Tim, Damian, Steph and Cassie were all wearing school uniforms, Duke and Luke also were wearing business casual and Babs was wearing a blouse and skirt.

They brought up old conversations and family photos to Steph’s famous food Instagram page, and to the last meme Tim tagged Bruce in. Dick brings up a case he’s currently working on down at the GCPD and Jason says something inappropriate that makes everyone laugh. Cassie doesn’t say much but she nods and a smile appears on her face. As the conversation dies down Babs asks the question, “Is there a reason were having family dinner tonight, I don’t mind its just-”

“I’m pregnant.” I say the whole table is quiet, both me and Bruce are trying to take in everyone’s expressions.

“And during the remaining eight months i will be hanging up the cowl, the justice league doesn’t know yet why I’m giving up being batman.”

“This is real?” Jason says eyes wide.

Cassie lets out a laugh and signs congratulations.

“Baby names!” Stephanie pulls a pen out of her pocket and begins writing on her cloth napkin, I let out a laugh as Tim leans over to help her.

“You need boy names too!” Cassie leans over to read the names as Tim yells at Steph.

“Congrats you too.” Dick says nodding his head he then glances at Steph’s napkin that is upside down to him, “Does that say Dino Nugget?”

Jason leans over and reads the list, “I don’t think Batman is going ot name his child Baby Bat.”

The rest of the evening was spent it a cheerful mood and ended with Bruce showing everyone the ultrasound pictures.

The night was a success now came the hard part, preparation for the baby and the next nine months.

PART 2??? how was this

#bat family headcannons #batfam #bat fam #batfam headcannon #bruce wayne #love intrest #stephanie brown #pregnancy #dick grayson oneshot #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #damian wayne #writings #i really hope you like this #fanfiction #batfamily fanfic

17 notes · View notes

stilloutofmyvulcanmind · 4 years

Text

It Takes Two Part 1

Requested by @verdonafrost (I know it doesn’t seem like what you asked for, but it’ll get there, I promise!)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Female!Reader

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Reader, Alfred Pennyworth, Original characters

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: Drug deals, arguments, discussion of death, minor violence, threats of assault

Summary: Nearly a year ago you accepted the offer to work with Batman, to train under him, learn from him, be his partner. Yet when a seemingly normal drug bust on Christmas Eve brings memories back from the past, you find that partnership tested to its limits.

Part 1 of 6

Part 2 Part 3

A solid fist to your jaw sent you stumbling backward but failed in its job to knock you down. You grabbed the wrist, moving as you twisted the arm. The other fist came up, aiming at your stomach. You blocked it, using the momentum to swing yourself around, legs hooked around your attacker’s neck, and jerked them to the ground.

You rolled immediately back to your feet, grinning, believing you'd won.

A foot swept your legs out from under you then came up with the other, delivering a hard kick to your middle that sent you flying backward.

You hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of you. Your attacker was on you in a second, gun pointed at your forehead.

"Bang. Dead," they growled. "Never presume victory."

You lay panting, glaring up at Bruce. "Got it," you said, batting the hand that was holding the fake gun away. Bruce didn't move though, remaining where he was, keeping you pinned to the training mat. "I'd like to see a crook get up from that beating though."

"Maybe most won't, but there are some out there a lot more dangerous that won't hesitate to kill you." Bruce finally moved, knee leaving your stomach to let you actually catch your breath. He tossed the gun to the side and offered out a hand.

You refused it, pulling yourself back to your feet instead. “Good thing I have a partner to watch my back then."

Bruce hummed, frowning. He did that a lot. "I wouldn't say partners. You haven't fully earned that mask yet."

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you went to grab the water bottle instead. You'd been training with Bruce for months now, and still, he treated you like a child more often than not. Occasionally you regretted your decision to take him up on his offer to take you under his wing and train you properly, thinking that maybe it would've been better to just continue by yourself. But even though he was as tough as it got, the training had made you a better vigilante, and the new kevlar suit he'd had made for you was definitely an improvement. Both design and safety-wise. Plus it was just easier to work with the Batman than against him. You'd learned that the hard way.

"So what now? Another round?"

Bruce nodded as he picked up the fake gun again and took his position in the center of the mat.

You were just about to join him when Alfred appeared in the room. "Sir, the Batsignal."

Bruce dropped the gun and looked at you, "Suit up."

You landed silently on the roof behind Bruce, your cape billowing gently behind you. You'd been doubtful when he'd first suggested one, but you'd come to like the steady warmth of it on your shoulders especially in Gotham's harsh winter.

Gordon was on the other side of the roof, back facing the both of you as he looked out over Gotham.

"Gordon," Bruce greeted, voice coming out deep and gravely due to the voice modulator.

"Jesus!" He cursed jumping and turning around. "D'you think one day you could do that without giving me a heart attack?!"

Bruce said nothing, just walked forward into the light more with you shadowing him. "What is it?"

"Straight to the point it is then," Gordon muttered, glancing over Bruce's shoulder at you and nodding in greeting. He flicked the rest of his cigarette to the ground, letting it fizzle out in the snow. "We just got a tip that there's a drug deal going down at the docks tonight. I'd have sent some of my guys but what with the holiday we're already understaffed."

Bruce nodded, "We'll deal with it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Bruce turned, giving you a look that meant follow, and jumped off the edge of the building.

The tip-off was accurate. The warehouse Gordon had sent you too was crawling with armed goons patrolling the perimeter.

"How did we not catch wind of this?" You whispered from where you were perched in the shadows next to Bruce.

"We'll figure that out later. First, we stop it. Surveillance shows fifteen men outside, and another ten inside. I'll take the North-East, you the South-West and meet on the roof."

You nodded, "Got it."

The goons didn't stand a chance. Not one noticed you swoop in and take them down one by one quick and quiet. Not a peep came from Bruce's area either, not that you'd expected him to be spotted.

You grappled to the roof, landing silently a second before Bruce, boots crunching softly in the undisturbed snow. You exchanged a look and Bruce motioned to a small panel. A vent. He made quick work of getting it loose, and you followed him, dropping down and keeping your footsteps soft against the metal as you landed. Bruce had already undone the cover on the inside and crept out onto the rafters. Joining him, you found a vantage point to spy on the people below.

"Boss said to flog the green stuff first, keep the prices low 'til the kids get hooked, then sell 'em the blue pills. Better high, better price." One man said, talking to the others surrounding him.

"What's the deal when they can't pay?"

"Tell 'em they owe you a favor. Boss'll call it in soon enough."

Your hand balled into a fist on instinct at the conversation. Selling drugs to kids was bad enough, but you also knew that the 'favors' owed would likely end badly, that the poor kid in debt would be more than expendable.

Glancing over at Bruce, he was still looking down, observing. The moment they started to distribute the drugs, he pounced.

The smoke grenade landed smack in the middle, with both of you following immediately behind it. The first time you'd tried to fight in the smoke it had ended with Bruce taking you down immediately, but now you moved through the dense cloud with practiced ease, finding your targets and eliminating them from the fight.

Despite Bruce's insistence that you weren't partners yet, the two of you worked together near flawlessly. You were in-sync, knowing what the other was going to do before they did it. One tried to swing at you as you were fighting another, flailing near blind in the smoke but still coming close enough to land the hit. You swerved to the right, and the attacker was instead met by Bruce’s fist in his face. Another attempted to lurch at Bruce with a knife. In a second the knife was clattering across the concrete floor, and the crack of a bone-breaking filled the air.

The smoke began to clear and in the corner of your eye, you saw a masked goon grab a gun and aim it at Bruce. Without even needing to think, you threw one of your batarangs, the metal slicing through the air until it embedded itself in the man’s hand before he could even get his finger on the trigger. The gun dropped to the floor and you kicked it to one side before taking him down.

Straightening out, you looked around. Only the two of you were left standing.

“Good work,” Bruce said, and you had to resist the urge of fake fainting.

You simply nodded instead and turned to start securing the perps while Bruce contacted Gordon. It was a simple process until the sleeves of one of the crooks rose up exposing his wrist and the tattoo on it.

The small symbol, a dagger through a rose, turned your blood to ice. It had been years since you'd last seen it, but the image was scarred into your memory forever.

"I know who's behind this."

"Curt Roman? No, It's impossible."

You were standing in front of the Batcomputer with Bruce and Alfred, looking at several photos of a businessman.

"Bruce, it's him."

"I know Curt, he's a friend. He's donated hundreds of thousands to Wayne Foundation programs."

"And no one who does good could possibly have a secret?"

Bruce gave you a look. "He also has no criminal connections. Or a tattoo of a dagger through a rose."

"Of course he doesn't! He's being clever! Doesn't make him innocent!"

"Certainly doesn't make him guilty!" Bruce turned to face you, arms crossed over his chest. "What evidence do you have?"

"I don't have any. I just know it's him!"

"Not good enough." The words came out in a growl, and it was tough not to wilt away under the intensity of the glare. There weren't many people who could staredown Batman, but you were damned sure you were going to be one of them.

"It's. Him. Trust me."

"Give me proof and I'll consider it. Until then we're going to focus on what we actually know; that a gang baring this symbol is trying to flood the streets with drugs. Finding out who they are is more important than a wild goose chase."

"It's not-"

"Enough! Go home, Y/N."

"You're benching me?!"

"No. I'm giving you a chance to re-evaluate and come back with a clear head."

You wanted to argue. You were pissed and he was brushing you off. But he was also adamant, and arguing would be like talking to a brick wall.

"Fine."

"Good. Be here tomorrow for patrol."

You turned and stalked your way to the back of the cave where you could change back into your civilian clothes in peace. So maybe you tossed the discarded pieces of armor to the floor a little harder than was necessary, you didn't really care. You hated that Bruce didn't believe you, thinking that by now you'd at least earned some trust. And it wasn't like he never went on gut instinct. He often followed it until he found tangible evidence. But it seemed he valued his rich friend over your thoughts.

You looked down at the suit once you were done, and started to pick it up. You were mad at Bruce, not Alfred, and you weren't going to let him clean up your mess.

Like he knew you were thinking about him, Alfred appeared, hands clasped behind his back. "Are you okay, Miss Y/N? Master Bruce can be a bit too brusque sometimes."

Chuckling softly, you nodded. "I'm fine, Alfred, it's nothing I've not handled before."

"He can be quite protective of his friends."

You decided not to say how you thought you were his friend too.

"So it seems." Busying yourself with putting the suit back in its case properly, you hoped Alfred would drop the subject.

Thankfully, he did. "Before you leave, are you sure you don't wish to join us for Christmas lunch? There will be more than enough, and as they say, the more the merrier."

"They also say three's a crowd." Facing Alfred again you smiled. "Thank you, I appreciate the offer, really, but I do have plans."

Alfred watched you a moment, looking to see if you were telling the truth no doubt, and for a second you could've sworn he looked disappointed when he saw you were. "In that case, take this." He brought his hands forward, showing you the wrapped gift he'd had hidden behind him. "It's from both of us."

Meaning it was from Alfred, but Bruce had forgotten.

You took the gift, feeling the weight of it in your hands. It had give to it, so probably a sweater or some other item of clothing. Whatever it was, you had no doubt that it would be gorgeous. You slipped the item into your bag carefully, and kissed Alfred's cheek, feeling him smile. "I've left gifts for you and Bruce under the tree."

"Quite stealthy of you, miss. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Alfred."

The present was a sweater. A deep red cable-knit sweater that was almost too soft to be real. It was beautiful and warm and comfy, and Alfred definitely knew you well.

You wore it to lunch, laughing when the young girl that launched herself at you at the door commented on how soft it was.

"Wow, Wayne really goes all out for his employees, huh?" Chloe, the girl's mom said, hugging you in return.

"Not like he can't afford it." It wasn't a lie really. You had started to work for Bruce since you'd started 'working' with him, and he was a good enough boss to make sure everyone received a nice gift. Just maybe not that nice.

"True enough." She laughed, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

"Aunt Y/N! Come see what Santa brought me!" Mollie tugged at your hand, pulling you away from Chloe and over to the tree where a pile of presents sat. She started showing you each one, going on about it excitedly and making you look every individual item over before moving to the next one.

Glancing over your shoulder, Chloe was watching you both. She mouthed a 'thank you' and you smiled. You'd do anything for either of them. Including making sure Mollie had the best Christmas possible.

You helped Chloe make lunch while Mollie played and watched some dumb Christmas movie, and for a couple of hours, everything was perfect. Until you'd just finished clearing up and there was a knock on the door.

Mollie ran to answer. "Hell-ah!" Her yell had you spinning away from the sink, blood running cold as four masked men barged into the apartment. One had Mollie in his arms, pistol aimed at her head.

"Stay calm and no one gets it." Another said while the two remaining crooks aimed their guns at you and Chloe.

"Mommy!"

"Shut up!" The man holding her growled, pressing the barrel firmer to her temple.

The first one to speak and one of the others started grabbing everything and shoving it into bags, the fourth keeping you and Chloe trapped in the kitchenette with his gun trained on you.

"These two're pretty, boss. Whatcha say abou' lettin' us 'ave a little Christmas treat?"

Chloe shuddered next to you, sniffing quietly.

"Don't see why not. We can spare a few minutes."

Like hell that was going to happen.

You glanced down at the counter, weighing up your options. If you were suited it'd be easier to mount an attack, but as it was there was next to nothing separating you from their bullets.

There was a knife in the dish rack to your left, sharp enough to do some damage. To your right were some ingredients that had yet to be put away. Flour. It could cause enough distraction.

With one hand you pushed Chloe to the floor in the same instant as you tossed the knife across the room. It hit the guy holding Mollie square on the hand gripping the gun. He yelled, the gun dropping and his grasp on Mollie loosening. The girl reacted, jerking herself loose and dropping to the floor.

There was no time to make sure she was hidden. You grabbed the flour, tossing it over the man in front of you before he even knew what was happening. You caught the gun, wrenching it from him and tossing it aside. Using his body and the momentum, you shoved him forward, barging him into the other two.

A gunshot rang out, the bullet flying past your ear. You pushed the one you were holding hard against another, letting him go in favor of taking down the last one steady on his feet. Another shot and you felt the pain in your leg. A quick glance down saw blood on your thigh. Just a graze it seemed.

You moved again, disarming the one with the gun, a swift blow to the head with the butt of it knocking him down. The third went down seconds later. The only one left conscious was the one who'd grabbed Mollie. He was on his knees, knife still through his hand apparently not even taking notice of everything else.

Not taking the chance, you jumped over the table, and in a moment he was slumped on the floor with his associates.

You stood over him, panting. Sirens could already be heard in the distance, getting closer rapidly. You turned, facing back to the inside of the apartment. Your eyes landed on Mollie, hiding under the table. You opened your arms and she came bolting out, all but jumping into your arms as she clung to you.

"It's okay," you whispered, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head and you sighed in relief. "Good girl. You're safe now." Another set of arms wrapped around you. Chloe. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Y/N…thank you."

"I promised I'd look out for you, and I meant it."

Footsteps were approaching rapidly, and the three of you were still hugging when the police burst in, guns drawn.

This was going to be interesting to explain.

"Miss Y/N, are you alright?" Alfred asked the moment you stepped foot in the cave.

You shouldn't have been surprised, but you'd still hoped to avoid the conversation immediately. You smiled and nodded, "It was just a scratch. I've had worse."

"You were lucky," Bruce spoke from his seat at the computer, already suited up. "And foolish."

Biting back a sigh, you crossed your arms over your chest. "I suppose you would've done differently?"

"I wouldn't have risked too many questions being asked by showing off."

"No one asked too many questions. They barely even asked any questions at all. You seem to forget that I'm from a part of town where it's perfectly common for people to know how to scrap."

"Oh, so you come across regular citizens disarming four armed robbers often, then?"

"Not unheard of." Not wanting to argue anymore, you turned and walked away, heading to get changed and ready to go out.

The two of you went your own separate ways on patrol, sticking to your designated areas, and only communicated when necessary over the coms. Bruce thankfully kept any further comments to himself, only speaking when necessary for the job.

It was a surprisingly quiet night. You'd expected worse since half the police force was off with their families. It seemed even the crooks wanted to take Christmas off.

You got back to the cave tired and cold, but not entirely unhappy. Being out in Gotham at night was surprisingly relaxing, especially when it was quieter.

"We need to talk." There went your good mood.

"About?"

"Today. If anything like that ever happens again, wait it out."

"So I was supposed to just stand by and watch as they robbed the place?!"

"We could've tracked them down tonight."

"Yeah, that would've been real easy. Track down four amateurs who just picked the joint at random. Come on, Bruce, we both know that would've been a needle in a haystack!"

"It would still be a better option than risking yourself!"

"It's exactly what you would've done in that situation!"

"I'd have kept my head, and not needlessly risked my own safety if there was no risk of any harm actually happening."

You scoffed, shaking your head. Liar. "They had a gun to a child's head! I don't care if they weren't planning on shooting, the threat was enough!"

Bruce's jaw clenched. Apparently, he didn't know that. "You could've been killed."

"Worse things would've happened if I hadn't risked it." Bruce frowned, clearly not understanding. "They weren't planning on just leaving once they got the goods. They were going to stay for a little Christmas treat."

Now he got it.

"So don't stand there and tell me how I should've waited it out! For once get off your god damned high horse, and stop acting like I don't know what I'm doing! I know, Bruce. I know I could've been hurt or killed, that it was dangerous. Trust me, it wasn't my ideal way to spend Christmas day either. But I'm not apologizing for it. I'm not going to say sorry for protecting an innocent woman and her child, even if it had ended with me going down!"

"Y/N-"

"I'm going home. I've had enough of being treated like a child for one night." Turning sharply, you stomped away, not failing to notice how the night had ended this way twice in a row now.

You did love working with Bruce. Hell, you were fond of him in general, but he was infuriating recently. Maybe the two of you were just incompatible as a team. You wanted equal footing, but it always seemed that Bruce wanted someone to give orders to. And it wasn't like you weren't fine with listening to him. He had the experience. But when it came to the point that he was trying to order you about for every little thing? That was too much.

You were midway through stripping when you heard the footsteps approach the secluded changing area. They were too heavy to be Alfred's, and much louder than Bruce usually was, which meant he was purposely giving you a heads up.

You didn't stop. You'd been semi-nude around each other enough times over the last few months that it had long stopped being an issue. You finished taking off the outer suit and started removing the thinner layer underneath until you were down to the shorts and vest.

"Does it hurt?"

You glanced down at the bandage around your thigh. It had been hours since you'd taken pain meds. "It's fine."

Bruce moved to stand next to you, starting to pull off his own armor. "Are you okay? In general."

"I'm fine." You moved away from him, tugging your jeans and sweater back on.

"If you keep saying that, it might start sounding believable."

"Didn't think you cared much either way."

There was a long pause, and yeah, maybe that was a bit of a low blow. "Of course I care, Y/N." His voice was soft enough that you were almost inclined to believe him. "What we do is dangerous, and I don't want to see you get hurt unnecessarily. But you were right in what you did today. It is what I would've done."

That was probably as close to an apology as you were going to get. "I don't need you to babysit me, Bruce." You sat heavily on one of the benches lining the wall and looked at him. "I've been through more than even you know, more out of the mask than under it."

Bruce pulled a t-shirt over his head and frowned as he walked his way over to sit next to you. "Y/N-"

You shook your head, "I'm tired, Bruce. I don't want to argue anymore."

"I don't want to argue. I was just going to ask if you were okay again."

Oh. "Yeah," you sighed, "It's just been a day."

Bruce nodded, "Are they alright? The others?"

"Terrified, but not hurt. Wanted me to stay with them tonight, but I put them up in my place for the night instead." You'd been looking down at your hands, but glanced up at Bruce as you smiled, "They also kinda hate you now. I told them you had me working."

Bruce chuckled, "Thanks." He fell quiet and you didn't have the energy to muster up any small talk either. You were about to get up and leave when he spoke again. "Who are they? I saw the names on the report, and I know they aren't family."

"It's…complicated. I promised someone once that I'd look out for them."

"Someone who isn't around anymore I take it?"

"Yeah."

"You were close."

"Something like that."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"With some things, it doesn't matter how much time passes, it continues to hurt."

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got nothing better to do."

"Would've thought Bruce Wayne would be busy making the most of what's rest of his Christmas night. There must be parties going on still."

"Great. Rooms teeming with people who've had too much to drink and no longer know about personal space. My favorite."

“So you’d rather be here and share feelings? It’s a Christmas Miracle!”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I am. Surprisingly, I didn’t learn that from you.”

“Okay, so I’m not the best sharer. That doesn’t mean you should practice the same habits. I’m here to listen, Y/N.”

You sighed, fingers playing with the hem of your sweater as you debated just getting up and leaving anyway. That’s what a part of you wanted. But the other part wanted to open up. And Bruce was probably the only person you could trust enough to do so. If you got lucky it might even change his opinion on some things.

“His name was Dean. Grew up together. Same building. Same classes. Spent as much time in the other’s apartment as we did our own. Best friends. First dance. First date. First kiss.”

“First love?”

“First love. We didn’t exactly have it easy, but we were doing good for ourselves. Got into college and everything, and that was pretty rare for kids like us back then. There was an old warehouse nearby, abandoned. We used to sneak in and hang out there. About the only time, we actually got some peace and quiet for ourselves. We could stay there for hours, just sitting and...being with each other. No talk, no pretense. Just us. The night we found out we’d gotten into college, we went. It was late. Closer to the next day really. Didn’t matter. Not to us. I don’t know how long we sat there. We talked about dreams, the future, our future, everything two hopeful kids could talk about. It was perfect.”

Pausing a moment, you closed your eyes. “Then men came in. Six men. We were near the back so they didn’t see us immediately, and too busy making sure it was clear outside to notice us scrabble to hide. There were some beams in there, old, surprising they were still standing. We managed to hide behind them. One each. I thought maybe at first they were the owners of the place. Maybe someone had bought it and was checking it out, or something. But then they started to talk, and it was clear that if they did own it, they weren’t planning on doing anything legal.”

“Drugs mostly. How and where they were going to distribute it, you know the deal. We’ve heard it enough times. But one of them went on about something else. About leaving the country for a few years. He was their boss by the sounds of it, and he said that if he wasn't around suspicion would lay off him and that was what he wanted. It…was terrifying. We knew this shit was going on, but to actually listen to plans being made? We were out of our depth. I remember thinking that we just had to keep calm. Hide and wait it out then run and try and decide what to do. So simple in theory."

"Dean must've been leaning on the beam or something, I don't really know. But it creaked. Loudly. Or it seemed loud. They were on alert in a second. They found him. Dragged him out. I don't know how they didn't see me."

"They beat him. He told them what he heard, swore he'd never utter a word, but they beat him anyway. Couldn't really see much from where I was, but I could hear the hits, hear him cry. And then…then the boss ordered another to shoot Dean. Kill him. Said they couldn't risk him going to the cops. I couldn't see Dean, but I saw the gun. I watched it fire and I heard him drop. And they just left him there. They left him and walked out. Said no one would give a shit."

"I ran to him as soon as they were gone. He was still alive. Barely. His shirt was soaked and he was bleeding so fast. I didn't know what to do. He was scared. Knew he was dying. And he asked me to take care of his sister. I told him I wouldn't need to, that he'd be there, but he made me swear. Made me swear that I would and I did. He told me to go then. To get out before the cops showed up to investigate the gunshot."

"And I did. I ran. And I didn't stop running until I was home and locked away and scrubbing the blood off my hands until it hurt. I left him to die. Alone. Because I was scared. What's worse is that I let them get away with it because I was scared. Because I was too much of a coward to say anything. I let the cops brush it off, say Dean just got in with the wrong crowd, and drop the investigation. I just…made sure his sister was okay. Made sure his niece was okay. And…never said a word to anyone. Until now."

You stopped, taking a shuddering breath. Your leg was trembling, knee bouncing, your hands balled into fists so tightly your nails were close to breaking the skin of your palm. Bruce was quiet, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him and see what he was thinking. He was probably getting ready to tell you how you should've been braver. How you should've stopped them or helped the police, or done something other than run and hide.

Then his hand was taking yours, prying your fingers so he could slip his own under them. "You weren't a coward."

"I ran. Pretty sure that makes me a coward."

"It makes you smart. You were a kid, Y/N. A kid with no training. If you'd tried to do anything they would've killed you. And going to the cops with accusations like that would've gotten you killed too. You did what you had to to survive, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"Thank you." It didn't particularly change the guilt, but finally telling someone did feel like a relief, and Bruce saying you were right did mean a lot.

"Of course. Do you have any idea who they were? If they're still around? We can take them down."

You hesitated and nodded. "Yeah, I have an idea. The man with the gun. I saw his wrist. He had a tattoo." You met Bruce's eyes. "Of a dagger stabbing a rose."

"That's how you knew them. What else?"

"Not much. It wasn't much to go on, so I left it alone. For years. Just focused on Chloe and Mollie. Then one day, a couple of years ago, I was doing some laundry, had the TV on in the background. Some announcement for a new charity in Gotham. I was only half listening. The founder came on to give a speech. The moment he spoke…I was back in that warehouse all over again. It was exactly the same. It was him. The one who gave the order. The one who disappeared. The one who was now back."

"Y/N, are you saying… "

"It was Curt Roman, Bruce. He was the one giving orders in the warehouse."

Bruce looked surprisingly shocked. "You're sure? It was years…"

"I heard that voice in my dreams every night for years. I'm sure. And I looked into it. He left for Europe days after."

"This is why you started doing this."

"Yeah. I had…some more to go on, and I…I just couldn't let him get away with it again."

Bruce nodded but was silent. You thought maybe he was going to insist you were wrong. That it must be someone else. The trauma of the night must've messed with your memory. He'd be wrong, of course, but you weren't prepared to argue the point anymore. If he wouldn't believe you, you'd take Roman down by yourself one way or another.

"Then let's get him. Together."

That you weren't expecting. "You believe me?"

"I do. If you say he was there, that he's involved, then he is."

You smiled. Bruce returned it. "Thank you, Bruce."

"We're going to bring him to justice, Y/N. I promise."

Like what you read? Consider buying me a coffee! (I’ll love you forever!)

Tagging: @medicatemedrmccoy @thefanficfaerie @bkwrm523 @theweepingvulcan91 @wonhos-world @sagyunaro @verdonafrost @huntersstuff591 @notsohappysunflower @quoththe-raven @startrekstartrash @thatanonymouschocolate @malaanii @bookcaseninja

(If you want on or off the taglist for this series, let me know! :) )

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #dc imagine #DC #batman #bruce wayne

178 notes · View notes

renaroo · 4 years

Text

A Cass with Many Faces

About a month ago, specifically on Cassandra Cain’s fictional birthday, I made a few posts dedicated to one of the fictional characters that have had a visible, measurable impact on my life, and has continued to do so since I first picked up an issue featuring her in 2004. I was twelve years old at the time and the issue in question was the fifth of a six-issue arc starting off Superman/Batman. I picked up the issue because Superboy -- my then-favorite comic book character -- was on the cover including some other characters I was mildly familiar with. And the character that I came away with the most intrigue in was, of course, Cassandra Cain.

Next time I was at my LCS, I picked up an issue of her solo series that was still ongoing at the time [Batgirl (2000-2006) #47] and instantly fell in love.

I’ve made posts before about how a scattershot strategy can be a good thing when talking about characters in multimedia franchises. Characters are more likely to endure in these environments if they are given more presence, and more significance, when more voices are advocating for them.

In the past, I was speaking about my experience in seeing the opposite happen with Cassandra.

I can honestly say I would have never checked out Cassandra Cain had it not been for her minor appearance in a silly comic four years after her debut. I was twelve, and still fairly new to DC Comics having grown up with a Marvel loving family, and as the years went on and Cass was diminished by poor corporate decisions, I learned a lesson about strategy with characters in these franchises. If they are not seen outside of their lane, if people aren’t exposed to them outside of their one series no matter how fantastic and great it is, when that series is canceled and they are mishandled, there is not going to be any protection for them.

Bad comics happen all the time, bad adaptations happen all of the time, it’s the nature of the business. But for the thousands of terrible Batman stories that have been published and the hundreds of head-scratching Ninja Turtles adaptations, there have been, they continue to prevail and good things happen to those characters’ IP because there is enough material out there to keep people coming back.

[Superman/Batman (2003-2011) #5]

This is all a long introduction to get into saying that we are starting 2020 in one of the most unique and unprecedented ways we could start it as Cassandra Cain fans. There is, I’m pretty sure for the first time in the two decades of this character’s existence, an almost scattershot approach to getting as much Cass content out in a blitz as possible while aligning with the first time she has appeared in multimedia outside of video game DLC only a few hardcore fans will ever get a hold of.

But, as to be expected, not all interpretations of Cass are going to be the most helpful or similar to the character as we know her. And while I try to think strategically, it’s important to acknowledge these differences outright. Because if this is someone’s intro to her character, it can paint what they see and expect from her for the rest of their experience.

I can’t say how good or bad that’ll be, I am the fangirl who jumped on board when Jeff Loeb was writing and Ed McGuinness was drawing. My quality receptors will forever be in question to more purist fans! But I do want to start out by saying that most things are valid when it comes to starting out with a medium as ridiculous and unintelligible as comics, and we can destroy each other over the remaining 10% any day.

Let’s talk about some Casses.

Shadow of the Batgirl (2020)

If you or someone you know is at all interested in reading more Cassandra Cain and the 73 issues of her original series are intimidating, there is a simple solution that has been given to us by Sarah Kuhn and Nicole Goux, Shadow of the Batgirl.

In a very short first-reaction review I did the week this graphic novel came out, I mentioned that I was teary the entire time I read this graphic novel because it was just so darn impactful and endearing. And that continues to be the case.

This is a YA graphic novel aimed at introducing young new readers to Cassandra and a world that desperately needs her gifts to escape the shadows of her past and regrets in order to fully realize her potential for the future. And it is both heartwarming and gorgeous.

One of the things I have hit on for years when it comes to Cassandra Cain’s treatment in comics is that it has felt that for a good half of a decade if not more, what she lacked more than anything was a consistent advocate on the publishing side of things. Fans and decent sales -- which, to be clear, her meager appearances and even the majority of her solo did definitively have -- were never going to be powerful enough on their own to give her a publishing opportunity if there were not writers and artists there to provide good stories.

In 2020, more than any other year, I feel like we finally see the fruition of these things coming true. Sarah Kuhn’s blurbs and interviews have been filled with personal love and detail for the character and her importance, which only fueled how great it was when the Shadow of the Batgirl did come out and surpass almost all expectations.

This is a retelling and reinventing of Cassandra’s origin story told completely from her perspective from the beginning.

One of the lasting critiques of Cassandra’s beginnings in comics has always been her silence and lack of voice at the very start of her career. While sometimes these complaints grew to hyperbolism and would deny provably existent agency -- and to be clear, there’s still a lot of that to a concerning degree to this day -- there is truth to the criticism. Cassandra’s internal narration was not provided for almost a year after her first appearance which is an alienating tactic to use for a character meant to be latched onto by readership. Even when handled well, the thoughts behind this choice still deserve examination.

This was further complicated by later reveals that Cassandra’s difficulty with expression was in part due to her aneurotypical processing. These are not independently bad choices to make narratively, I have gone on for thousands of words before on how important I believe Cassandra’s dyslexia is, but the shakey start to giving the perspective of an aneurotypical character a definitive voice to tell her own story is right to be critiqued.

Shadow of the Batgirl completely circumvents this by giving Cass a clear voice from the start and focusing her central relationships on the power of expression and individuality while giving her plenty of characters of varying backgrounds and abilities to bounce her own understanding off of.

In some parts, this greatly enforced Kuhn’s take on making Cass’ story a teenage coming of age story that she has proven skillful at in YA novels. It also allowed her to directly correct many of the wrongs that have been long criticized about Cassandra’s original series, such as having Barbara Gordon (a physically disabled character who should and has shown more sensitivity and nuance outside of her terrible capital-M-Moment in Cass’ series) embrace and love Cassandra for her aneurotypical perspective.

[Batgirl (2000-2006) #54]

[Shadow of the Batgirl (2020)]

But, for those of us who adore and have attached to Cassandra for her disabilities and portrayals of mental illness in the past, there is also some nuance and representation that has been left on the cutting room floor for this new origin.

Namely, while Cassandra is shown to be perplexed by and struggling with books in the graphic novel, there is not the desperation and frustration that we actively see her undergoing throughout the original Batgirl (2000-2006) series. By issue #58 of a 73-issue comic book solo, Cassandra is actively struggling to read “It was,” and her insecurities toward it are used and manipulated by the villain by the end of the series.

However, Cassandra of the Shadow of the Batgirl shows some capacity to read from early on, and her struggles with reading are not the subject of conversation in the novel, so how much her limitations are a function of dyslexia and how much are a function of her childhood is left up to debate.

A debate with many questions that do require an answer since the form of her isolation and abuse by her far-less rounded character of a father in this graphic novel has been changed dramatically.

While I am giving these critiques and do think that we should be mindful and conscious of their removal for those fans who are seeking out those types of stories to read, I do not want to at all give the impression that this is a bad comic.

In fact, it’s quite the opposite. I would argue with just about anyone that this is the gold standard for Cassandra Cain stories printed in the last fifteen years, and for what I miss about the original iteration of Cass stories it can easily be exchanged for the new voice and new direction for her character this graphic novel provides for us.

Many of these critiques can be chalked up to the graphic novel being just that, a self-contained graphic novel and not a 73-issue monthly publication. And I believe its art and story are a great deal more consistent and appealing than many eras of the original series as a result.

I love its tributes, its characterizations, its purpose, and its focus above all else. There is also something just utterly charming about having Cassandra’s first well handled romance in comics come from a YA novelist who obviously understands the character and also understands what readers want in a non-toxic and adorable story.

I love the focus on Cassandra’s journey being on self-compassion, forgiveness, and the earnest belief that people can change. Including yourself, if you make the choice.

It is a good book, the best for Cassandra Cain in ages, and one I bought no less than three times already to show my support. And in just one week on my classroom bookshelf, I’ve already seen it be avidly read by five students. And those are just the ones I catch!

I would also be remiss not to mention that after complaining about this pet peeve of mine for years, that it’s happened. It took us twenty-one years but we finally did it, guys. We got a costume that Cassandra Cain got to make and design herself! And not only did she get one but she got two! An adorable (and hilarious) DIY Batgirl costume, and then ending on the high note of her official Batgirl costume to swing through the city in!

This book is precious and I hope it is the start of something new and exciting in the future. Even if that new and exciting is simply a sequel graphic novel, I will be HERE for it, and supporting it and Sarah Kuhn all the way.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)

Oh, boy. If there was one reason I was scared to make this post, it was because of this film.

Before I get too deep into this I want to first state my position on a few of the controversies that have cropped up online with concerns to this movie and its portrayal of Cassandra Cain.

First and foremost, I have no interest in telling people how they should or shouldn’t be offended on the grounds of representation and erasure. Not being able to or simply being unwilling to forego criticisms of tropes or insensitivities perpetrated by this or any other film are completely valid experiences. I have been that person in regards to other things, and I have also been someone whose first exposure to serious issues were the stances people took with regards to protesting certain media.

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) has faults and plays into certain erasures (one of which I’ll discuss more below) that people may be unwilling to let go of. If that is the case for people you know or see online, you should accept and support them. Listen to them.

But I do think we should also support people who love this movie for good reason. I enjoy this movie, but it’s not life-changing for me. I support it in the hopes of seeing more and better.

There are students I have who now are wearing merch and drawing fanart of the Birds of Prey, picking up the comics for the first time, because of their exposure to the hype and “girl power” of this movie. Some adults needed this movie to be some hopeful change for them and I support them too.

We’re lucky to be alive at a time where a superhero movie is so completely told from a feminine perspective, with a huge diversity of filmmakers behind it providing female voices at every level from acting to casting to scripting to directing. We’re lucky that there’s such a diversity of the cast. I want this to continue.

I hope that it continues to do better in theaters, and I know there are some murmurs of poor box office returns for it. I hope that doesn’t affect future projects. We’ll see.

All of that out of the way, we need to talk about its use of Cassandra Cain.

The joke I’ve made with my friends is that the best thing to do with this movie is to start getting in the habit of calling the young girl at the heart of this plot “Kassandra Kane” instead because the connection between this character and that of Cassandra Cain is fairly negligible. They are both young women of East Asian descent who pop up in Gotham.

I happen to like both characters, but there’s an obvious difference between one focused on as a main character and hero of her own story and one focused on as a supporting character who has plots happen to her. Neither is a bad thing, but my preferences obviously rest with the former.

It’s the fact that they were supposed to be the same character that seems to baffle most people. Myself included.

This may have been a move more suited for a character with less history and expectation on her before her big debut, like Sin who is Dinah’s adopted daughter in the comics and already connected to the Birds of Prey, or the character who clearly inspired Kassandra Kane, Ditto from the Black Canary (2015-2016) series.

[Black Canary (2015-2016) #6]

I also think that adaptation that dramatically changes Cass wouldn’t necessarily be a terrible thing either. With some rewrites and some more agency, a younger and more hardened Cass from the streets could have also worked with the movie they were trying to make -- perhaps have David Cain be Black Mask’s main enforcer rather than Victor Zsasz. Give Cassandra’s connection to the plot more character-oriented and have her liberation work in tandem with the liberation of the adult women.

The options were there, and there are critiques to be made, but the movie also knew what it wanted to be and spent its script and filming time focused on maintaining the continuity and integrity of the adult female characters who it probably could justify putting in the rated-R situations their fights got them in more than they could young Kassie Kane.

One of the no doubt unintended consequences of this has been that online discourse revolving around Cass vs. Kass has been in justifying the decisions one team has over the other in claims of racism and ableism.

Now, to be clear, my ability to speak with authority on either of those points is minimal. I’m an ally but not a voice of those communities and I want that to be as upfront as possible. I can only speak from personal experience in the realms of being a woman and being someone who lives with and has survived mental illness. And I can speak as a critic of media at large.

There are racist and ableist connotations in many things, and I am not going to deny that those conversations are relevant and need to happen in regards to Cass’ original portrayals or in this film. They do. I know even in my first viewing I wondered how it was deemed so unimportant and so uncritical to give even a moment where Kass could display dyslexia or any other form of disability when we had entire sequences dedicated to backgrounds of characters who appeared for half a second of screentime.

But I’m seeing a lot of discourse that is especially leveling claims of racism toward Cass’ original portrayals and not always looking at the voices of fans of color who debate that argument. But I also see people outright denying any critique of Cass’ original portrayals having overtones to them that are unsavory. The answer is to maybe settle for something less radical than both positions.

Like there is no ethical consumption under capitalism and we should murder the patriarchy. Just like Birds of Prey taught me.

I enjoyed the movie a lot, Kassandra Kane was a lot of fun, but it’s a 1/5 for adaptation which is bizarre for a movie that was firing on all cylinders for almost literally every other character that came on screen.

Batman and the Outsiders (2019-) #10

When it comes to consistent monthly comic publishing, the pickings for Cassandra Cain have been incredibly thin for years, arguably since the end of her own solo in 2006. But since the DC initiative “Rebirth” in 2016, an era has been entered where, with a few months here or there as the exception, Cass has been appearing in some comic each month.

That seems like a small thing to celebrate, especially when the quality of monthly content can vary so much depending on the creative team, but it has been a hugely important development that Cass has been put on a team book for over a year now.

Bryan Hill is a comic veteran at this point, publishing comics independently and from both Marvel and DC, making him quite busy, but one thing I’ve really appreciated as a Cassandra Cain fan is that he has consistently shown love and appreciation for her character.

The Cassandra that features in Batman and the Outsiders is arguably the closest the character is to her original solo series on paper, and Hill has weaved her origin story and relationship with Lady Shiva into the overarching plot of the entire series.

For me, Batman and the Outsiders has been a little slow in its story structure, and I worry about how that will affect the future of the book and whether or not it will continue as an ongoing after Hill’s planned departure, but his character focus is also my style of comics to read. And make no mistake that there is a plethora of character development and examination in every issue.

Cassandra is sharing her page time with her Outsider teammates, but this can be a good thing. Development is easier for characters who have consistent character interactions, and I have always been a firm believer that the Outsiders as a team concept works the best for Cassandra’s specific needs. This plays out and the team consisting of Bruce Wayne, Jefferson Pierce, Tatsu Yamashiro, and Duke Thomas all compliment each other and compliment Cass very well.

I do want to mention that I love this book and think it’s great reading for Batman fans, too, even with Bruce’s reduced presence. And I think the snub the Duke and Cass are receiving in other Bat titles like Peter Tomasi’s Batman: Alfred Pennyworth R.I.P. just last week is cruelly shortsighted.

But, hey, Tomasi being dismissive and backhanded toward members of the Batfamily outside of his preferred five. Guess it’s just another Wednesday.

Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey (2020-) #1 (of 4)

After the complete circus that has been made of the Black Label Birds of Prey title meant to tie-in with the movie -- one DC thought to give to Brian Azzarello who vocally despises Harley Quinn and is divisive (to say the very least) in his treatment of high profile female characters that he does say he likes -- I wasn’t expecting DC to come through in aligning movie buzz with their comic publications. To be clear, DC has always sucked at doing this and I really didn’t think it was special to the BoP movie.

When Conner and Palmiotti got to announce their own tie-in for the movie that was supposed to be more fun and use more of the same characters, I was intrigued but also a little concerned about how this team would handle it. I can like or dislike their work depending on the project.

But my god, were they absolutely on when it came to this first issue of their four-issue miniseries.

I didn’t think I’d be recommending fans go pick up the first issue of the Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey miniseries, but I am absolutely doing that for any fans of the movie who, like me, enjoyed it but wished a better Cassandra Cain adaptation had been woven into the plot.

Amanda Conner’s history with the character of Cass and with the Birds of Prey, in general, is actually interesting. While she is regarded for her art and her storytelling now, when she first started at DC it was art only in the credits, but those credits included a BoP arc and several fun covers for the latter half of Cassandra’s Batgirl (2000-2006). When she later had the opportunity to write comics along with doing their art, she even had Cass (albeit very chattily) feature in a rare team-up with Power Girl and Wonder Woman in the Wonder Woman (2006-2011) #600 special.

And, of course, the husband and wife team have become industry heavy hitters thanks to their smash hits with multiple Harley Quinn solo series.

This is a fun and cartoonishly violent miniseries that plays to their styles properly, but the characterizations in the first issue struck me as very true and very calculated. Cassandra Cain does not speak in this entry, but that allows Conner to stretch her artistic muscles in making Cass’ actions and expressions give a lot of character to her role. Which already shows more restraint and understanding for the character than many others have with Cass -- including Conner’s freshman efforts at writing Cass herself.

Cass isn’t alone in the little joys of this comic. There are overt references to Conner and Palmiotti’s Harley Quinn miniseries and solos that place this non-mainstream comic in a more nebulous space than the Black Label imprint would initially make you think, and the strong characters feel as though they walked off of the pages of their current mainstream efforts. All of which I greatly appreciate.

Not to mention on the front of queer representation, while Harley is a mess, I’m glad that I can unabashedly relate to her as a gay mess without obfuscation this time.

If there’s any comic that new fans brought on by the Birds of Prey movie are likely to pick up themselves, it’ll probably be this one. Which is a great thing because it seems like an honest effort with strong roots in the original comic source material for everyone -- including Cass this time.

Shame I can’t recommend it to my middle school students who are loving the movie. Though, I suppose, if they are watching a rated-R movie they’re probably sneaking to Black Label comics too. Little scamps.

DCeased: Unkillables (2020) #1 (of 3)

I cannot believe the wholesome Batfamily content I’ve craved for a decade needs the zombie apocalypse to happen.

While I read DCeased last year and didn’t hate it in the vein that I thought I was going to due to it being a zombie apocalypse AU in a superhero universe that seemed to keenly pull from the surprising successes of Marvel’s efforts, I never imagined that it would join the ranks as continued Cassandra Cain content vehicles.

It must be the sign of a good decade, right? Bats are lucky, indeed.

While DCeased proper dealt with the aftermath of the Anti-Life Equation that was Totally Not a Zombie Virus as they kept telling us over and over again, it was pretty closely tied to the most main of main DC heroes and heroines and their families as they attempted to survive and escape the hordes. We didn’t see many other fan-favorite but not quite A-tier heroes’ efforts until the tie-in comics began coming out.

I, as a Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and Mister Miracle/Big Barda fan adored A Good Day to Die, but I never saw DCeased: Unkillables coming. And even when it was announced I said to my dear friends “This will either be very good or very bad.”

I need to put more faith into Tom Taylor, he really hasn’t let me down just yet.

In Unkillables, we follow the days after the Anti-Life Equation is released on Earth now through the eyes of two teams -- one helmed by Deathstroke, whose unique physiology allows him to recover from infection and is now joining other supervillains in a doomsday cult led by Vandal Savage; one helmed by Jason Todd, whose unique position as the family rebel has apparently left him out of the loop enough to not die with Bruce, Dick, and Tim in the series proper, but not so out of the loop that he can’t access the cave and the heart monitors Bruce creepily keeps on track of all their other family and friends, letting him reunite with his estranged sister Cassandra and Jim Gordon. Who is just as confused as you are that Batman kept a heart monitor tracker on him without asking. Also, Ace the Bathound and I love it.

This is the first of three issues, but it fits a lot of character work and relationships into those pages, which if you’re paying attention, is the sort of writing that seems to be most helpful with Cassandra Cain's appearances.

I am hoping that everything continues to work well for this team, even knowing that we are going to have bloodshed and death along the way, but I think that the setting of making the last stand in an orphanage protecting children is the exact kind of thing these three characters would be united to do together in the zombie apocalypse.

This is a fun, albeit bloody and morbid, comic that is worth picking up for anyone who misses Cassandra being Batgirl as much as I do.

Also wow that family photo with Cass alongside her brothers and father. It took us this long to finally get one, huh.

Worth it. Suck it, Tomasi.

I have a lot of love for Cassandra, and a lot of opinions as well. Obviously! But what I love more than anything is to enjoy good stories with other people, and I’m hopeful and joyful that there seems to be more and more of those things intersecting on the horizon.

If you’ve enjoyed my take on any of this, I hope I can continue to point you toward content in the future. And even if not, if you want to share your takes with me, I hope I can provide some good conversation there, too!

Most of all I hope we all have something wonderful we can look forward to.

[Shadow of the Batgirl]

92 notes · View notes

aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

The Dark Knight: Why Heath Ledger’s Joker is Still Scary Today

https://ift.tt/2MFoX6l

It’s one of the great villain introductions in cinema history. Standing with a slight hunch at the center of a massive 70mm image, Heath Ledger’s interpretation of the Joker not so much dominates the frame as he commandeers it. He seduces the IMAX camera, which is still capturing vast amounts of Chicago’s cityscape around him, and draws it closer to his sphere of influence, and by extension us. Before this moment in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight, the director’s Gotham City functioned with clocklike precision. Even its greatest villains were slaves to the need of rationalizing everything in cold, utilitarian logic.

Not the Joker.

Within our first breath next to Ledger’s clown, one senses a malevolent spirit has been summoned, and he’s chosen to manifest out of thin air at this exact moment, on this exact street corner. He’s come to claim Gotham’s collective soul, but he’ll settle for any individual with delusions of virtue who crosses his path—including you.

This is of course just a fleeting moment in The Dark Knight; a brisk tease before Ledger’s shown his makeup-encrusted face or uttered even a word. In fact, Nolan and the actor dole out the character with impressive restraint: first as a masked Mephistopheles who is primarily a sing-song-y voice until he unmasks at the end of a bravura bank robbery. Later he becomes an actual narrative presence when he shows up again more than 20 minutes into the film, demonstrating for Gotham’s criminal underworld how to perform a magic trick.

As an isolated performance, there’s an argument to be made that none has ever been finer in the realm of superhero movies. Sure, there’ve been showy turns before and since in comic book blockbusters; there have even been great interpretations of the Joker before and after Ledger. Yet what the actor was able to do in 2008 transfixed audiences because he, like the character, had the freedom to bend the film to his will—even as Nolan prevented the movie from simply becoming merely a showcase for the performance.

With the grungy strung out hair of an addict who hasn’t showered in three months, greasy self-applied pancake makeup, and a grisly Glasgow smile that’s as unnerving as it is uneven (suggesting perhaps half of it was self-inflicted to make a matching set of scars), Ledger’s anarchist supervillain was a long way from Jack Nicholson’s hammy version of the same character in 1989. For audiences, and even comic book fans baying for something darker than Nicholson, it was abrasive in its time—and electrifying, like a punk rocker leaping into the mosh pit. Indeed, Ledger reportedly based the character’s appearance in part on the Sex Pistols’ Johnny Rotten, and there is more than a hint of Tom Waits’ gravel in Ledger’s cadence whenever the clown growls.

But more than aesthetic culture shock, the enduring horror (and not-so-secret appeal) of Ledger’s Joker lies in the effect he has on the film, both in terms of its narrative storytelling and its enduring pop culture standing. Speaking strictly about this Joker as a character, the villain is off screen for far more of The Dark Knight’s running time than he’s on it. Appearing in only 33 minutes of The Dark Knight’s epic 152-minute running time, the average length of a Hollywood spectacle passes without the Joker on screen. Yet he’s omnipresent in the film, a shadow that hangs over each of Nolan’s three relatively equal protagonists: vigilante Batman (Christian Bale), police lieutenant James Gordon (Gary Oldman), and district attorney Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart).

Nolan and his brother and co-screenwriter, Jonathan Nolan, have admitted the setup is somewhat inspired by another quintessential blockbuster, Steven Spielberg’s Jaws. In both films, three disparate, combative male authority figures band together for a mythic battle against a presence so malignant and evil, it transcends being simply a shark or a madman in makeup—or even a comic book supervillain. Like that beast, Joker has no arc, no psychological growth, he’s a force of primal evil unbounded. And as the heroes’ battle against him creeps on, it seems like the sanity of their entire community is being dragged into the abyss.

This framing allows Ledger’s Joker to functionally be a catch-all stand-in for many of the social anxieties that kept American audiences up at night during the Bush years. Some of them still do today. There are of course obvious implications to the Joker being the terrorist, the non-state actor who cannot be negotiated with, and who doesn’t play by preconceived rules or notions of fairness. There is also shading of the lone wolf, the usually male gunman who inexplicably pulls the trigger. Most of all though, the Joker represents the hole in which much of humanity’s irrational predilections toward violence is collectively stored and ignored by our cultural memory… until it can’t be.

As Michael Caine’s Alfred Pennyworth famously reasons, “Some men aren’t looking for anything logical like money. They can’t be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn.” That summation of staring into irrational, needless cruelty is what gives The Dark Knight bite. And what a sharp bite it is in moments like when Ledger’s Joker laughs manically at the Batman, our ostensible hero who’s resorted to pummeling (or torturing) the villain in an interrogation room. The clown gloats, “You have nothing to threaten me with, nothing to do with all your strength.”

This is why the Joker is such an effective villain for The Dark Knight’s parable about how best to use moral power in immoral (i.e. irrational) times—and perhaps why the thrill of Ledger’s performance was so strong on first glance that it powered him all the way to a posthumous Oscar in the Best Supporting Actor category seven months after the film’s release.

Still, Ledger’s Joker, more than any other movie villain in recent memory, continues to haunt well after that Oscar night. The mental image of the character slipping his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, like a cobra, and licking his scars—a tic Ledger invented to keep his prosthetics in place while upping the creep factor—has stayed with us like a subconscious boogeyman. Thirteen years on from The Dark Knight’s release, Ledger’s depiction of the Clown Prince of Crime has gone down in the annals of cinema alongside Anthony Hopkins’ Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs or, well, that shark in Jaws again. He’s an enigmatic and mysterious persona who is barely seen in his film, yet unmistakably casts a pall of evil over the whole proceeding.

We don’t know why Ledger’s Joker actually became the way he is, or what made him so obsessed with the Batman—to the point where he was inspired to put on “war paint” and declare his love for the Caped Crusader by saying, “You complete me!” The Joker gives multiple versions of his origin story in The Dark Knight, telling one mobster played by Michael Jai White that he’s a victim of an abusive father while later recounting to Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) that he scarred his own face to cheer up his similarly disfigured wife. Both tales are of course lies, transparent manipulations intended to prey upon perceived vulnerabilities in his victims. This touch was inspired by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland’s The Killing Joke where the comic book Joker provides the reader with a sob story flashback, and then confesses he probably made it up.

“If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice,” he says on the page.

Movies

Joker: 6 Actors Who Have Played the Clown Prince of Crime

By David Crow

Movies

The Dark Knight, The Joker, and Game Theory

By Ryan Lambie

The Nolan brothers understand the horror of this, and they keep the Joker a manipulative and inscrutable evil. Beyond obvious sociopathic tendencies, we know nothing about his inner-psychology and barely can ferret out his real motives beyond an odd devotion to maintaining Batman’s attention. He claims to be an agent of chaos who wants to “just do things,” yet his meticulously planned attacks belie this claim. In the end, he sees himself in a battle for “Gotham’s soul.” Like Amity Island’s Great White Leviathan, or the original incomprehensible nature of Thomas Harris’ cannibal serial killer in the earliest books, we never know the truth about why he is, and how he’s able to do what he does.

That mystery makes him live on in our own heads for years after the story ends and the credits roll.

It’s interesting to consider that effect now, after years of pop culture storytelling going in the completely opposite direction, particularly in comic book movies and other fanboy-driven media. Rather than find satisfaction in the inexplicability of evil, or standalone visions, we like to rationalize it and sympathize with it, even while glorifying it. Most of all, however, we insatiably seem to simply want more.

The need for endless content being generated by intellectual property has led to prequels, sequels, and even spinoffs that explore and too often redeem villains. Even the Joker himself is not wholly immune to this.

Since 2008, there have been two big screen versions of the Joker. Jared Leto and Joaquin Phoenix both had the unenviable task of stepping into Ledger’s shadow, with at least one of them being dwarfed by it. Leto’s attempts at “method acting” stunts on the set of Suicide Squad shows what can go wrong when scenery-chewing is mistaken with Strasberg.

Phoenix obviously fared better in his own Joker movie two years ago, making the actor the second performer to win an Oscar for playing the comic book villain. However, his film’s interpretation is diametrically opposed to Ledger’s enigma. Instead Phoenix’s film attempts to rationalize everything about the character, depicting the Joker as a mentally ill sad sack whose motivations are borrowed from other iconic movie screen villains and anti-heroes like the mother-obsessed Norman Bates (Psycho) and ticking time bomb Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver).

It still makes for a fascinating (if unoriginal) portrait, but one divorced from the terror of the unknown. We understand who Phoenix’s Joker is and why he is. Society, man. Phoenix’s Joker even outright states it before murdering not-Johnny Carson (Robert De Niro). “What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash? I’ll tell you what you get, you get what you fucking deserve!”

Technically, Phoenix’s Joker appears closer to our reality and our daily horrors. With clown makeup inspired by real-life serial killer John Wayne Gacy and preening self-pity parties resembling the manifestos of so many mass murderers, Phoenix’s Arthur Fleck is modeled as much off nightly news nightmares as comic book panels. Writer-director Todd Phillips is inelegantly blatant about it.

Nevertheless, whatever ugly truth there may be in that approach, it’s not as haunting, or exhilarating, to witness as what Ledger did in his own rock star interpretation of evil. Save for a blink-and-you-miss-it insert shot, we never see Ledger with the makeup off. And while he might indulge in mocking “society,” he is a character who says more by basking in the chaos of a city in terror, literally sticking his head out of a stolen police car like a dog with the wind in his hair and our horror on his face. It’s a more enduring image than a didactic conversation about insecurities with a father figure. Thirteen years later, Ledger’s version of the character continues to confound, horrify, and ultimately thrill. He still has the last laugh.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The post The Dark Knight: Why Heath Ledger’s Joker is Still Scary Today appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3e1mUol

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

5 notes · View notes

hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations - Ch6

This editions of Hedwig’s scribbles brings you a young TOS Jeff. I’ve come to the annoying realisation that my camera squashes things down so the original actually looks a bit longer and narrower than this picture. Unfortunately my scanner makes everything too white and you lose half the image. *Sigh*

@willow-salix has been her superstar self again with both the fic and the art, I don’t know what I would do without her as a sympathetic critic, putting up with all my wobbles.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Six

It didn’t take long for normality to return for Gordon. He had given one or two carefully selected interviews in the lull between his medal win and the closing ceremony of the Games but any requests by magazines had been vetoed by Jeff since his return stateside. Any approaches regarding sponsorship opportunities had been similarly turned away. Initially the reporters clamoured for the chance to speak to the elusive young star but in the face of continued rejections the requests tailed off. His obligations were decidedly minimal as he slipped from the public eye.

With no school making its demands felt Gordon was able to concentrate fully on his swimming; the World Championships and a national competition were both on the horizon and gave him something to aim for. He often found himself heading out for an additional run or putting in more time at the gym, this was partly to keep in peak condition and partly to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the apartment.

He had gone from being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Games with a team mate around every corner to home with its dwindling population.

First Virgil had returned to Denver claiming he needed access to the technical facilities, then John had gone back to campus and finally Alan had been sent off to summer camp to spend time in the great outdoors. If the messages coming Gordon’s way were anything to go by Alan was finding outdoors to be too full of bugs and too lacking in games consoles to be considered great.

Now it was just him and his father. Whenever they were in the apartment together he felt like he was under the microscope. Being judged. Being appraised. He tended to stay in his room to avoid the attention. With no one else around staying in his room was becoming a habit, even when Jeff was out at work.

He vaguely registered the click of the apartment door as his father returned but it was past dinner time and he had already eaten so he didn’t feel any need to emerge. His father would likely be reading files late into the night. He expected his contact to be limited to the standard ‘good night’ as he brushed his teeth before bed, he was therefore surprised when a sharp rap sounded on his door.

“Gordon. My study.”

The footsteps retreated down the corridor leaving no opportunity to ask questions and he couldn’t think of anything he had done to warrant such a summons. He also knew it didn’t do to keep his father waiting so he paused the film he was watching and made his way to the study.

The door was open so he went straight in. His father’s big desk faced the doorway and Jeff was already sat back down behind it by the time Gordon entered. He stepped up and patiently waited to be acknowledged, curious as to why he had been called for.

“Gordon, I have to go out of town for a few days.”

“Ok.”

“So you need to decide what you would rather do. You have two choices; either I can arrange for you to join Alan at summer camp or you can go and stay with Virgil.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine by myself for a few days.”

“You are not staying here alone,” Jeff’s voice was stern and intractable.

“I’m not a kid any more Dad.”

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one. It’s time you grew up and started planning for the future.”

The thought that his father didn’t trust him alone in the house for a few days stung, especially given the number of times he had been responsible for not only himself but Alan too when their father got held up at the office until late. He was seventeen, he had finished school and he had a gold medal. Apparently none of that was enough to afford him the privilege of staying home alone. The thought of being shipped off so his older brother could do babysitting duty was pretty bad but the idea of summer camp was much worse. Being surrounded by kids mostly Alan’s age and having to take part in enforced activities was not appealing.

“What about my swimming?”

“I’ve already spoken to your coach. There are no major competitions for a few months so you can afford some fallow time.”

The thought that Jeff had bypassed him and gone straight to his coach was even more belittling. It was like being ten years old again with the schedule of events stuck to the fridge and Jeff marking off which ones he could do based on the availability of a chaperone.

“And you might need to ease up on your swimming anyway. Now that high school is over you need to work out where you are headed in life.”

And there it was. The not so subtle reminder that his father didn’t consider swimming to be a viable career prospect. Even with an Olympic gold and a world record to his name, professional athlete was not on the list of Jeff Tracy approved jobs. Everything he had worked for just diminished and relegated to the status of hobby. That’s not to say that his father hadn’t been genuinely proud of his success so far but it was like he had reached the pinnacle and now it was time to move on. It was one thing to have an Olympian as a son but the next Games were four years away and there was no knowing if Gordon would maintain his position in the world rankings. World championships had their prestige in the sporting world but didn’t have the same gravitas as the Olympics to non-sporting folks.

Even if the uncertainty of future successes could be put aside Jeff had also made it abundantly clear that he disapproved of the selfishness of the sporting world. Athletic success didn’t improve the world beyond providing entertainment. It wasn’t a career that would make a difference. It wasn’t useful, and just lately usefulness had become an overriding theme in the Tracy household.

“I’m waiting, Gordon. Which is it to be?”

He wanted to scream and shout but if there was one way Gordon was a Tracy through and through it was in his ability to keep his emotions contained in the face of adversity, or at least repressed until he was in a safe space. Only Alan was yet to learn the skill; his youngest sibling wore his heart on his sleeve and Gordon often admired him for the way he could express himself freely, even if it sometimes led to blazing rows with their patriarch. His broad shoulders slumped a little. It was a done deal that he was being sent away for the duration of his father’s business trip. He knew there was no point arguing and antagonising his father.

“Denver, please.” Gordon’s normally cheerful voice was carefully neutral, a testament to the feelings he was keeping in check. He wondered if he would ever be afforded the privilege of being treated like an adult or whether he would forever be a child in his father’s eyes; a person to be managed and directed rather than trusted as an individual.

Having received an answer Jeff considered the interview concluded and turned back to his tablet to book the required flight. He might have a private jet at his disposal but he would need that for his own trip. Gordon would be flying commercial, as usual. An early morning flight was soon arranged and Jeff was able to return to his work, scrolling through the multitude of files related to his latest project. He looked up to reach for his coffee and seemed surprised that Gordon was still stood in front of him.

“Go and pack, Gordon.”

Summarily dismissed Gordon returned to his room. Clothes and toiletries were thrown haphazardly into a bag. He took his anger out on the drawers of his dresser, yanking them out and slamming them shut. The clothes hangers in his closet rattled and tumbled to the floor as he yanked down shirts. He looked at his Team USA kit; the formal blazer and whites covered in a protective dust jacket next to the tracksuit worn poolside between heats. The uniform was a painful reminder of his achievement that already seemed to be forgotten by the father he tried so hard to please. The garments were thrown to the floor of the closet to lay in a crumpled heap on top of his shoes.

Just a few short weeks ago those two outfits had symbolised his achievements. Proof that, as far as America was concerned, he was worthy. He remembered the thrill of pulling on the garments for the first time, the cut of the blazer emphasising his broad chest and shoulders. They were his uniform. His battle dress. After the Games he had carefully hung them up as a reminder of everything he had worked for, a sign that all the sacrifices had been worth it. Now they screamed failure rather than success. Failure to live up the narrow ideals of his father. He kicked out at a trailing sleeve that had flopped over the threshold of the closet then slammed the door on the rumpled mess.

Gordon flung himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he was acting the petulant teenager his father viewed him as but sometimes it was hard not to revert to type when you never had the opportunity to prove yourself to be anything different. Anger bubbled up inside him. Just because he wasn’t like the others with their perfect grades and traditional life choices it felt like he would never be allowed to make his own decisions. Even the career he had strived towards and made so many sacrifices for was being slowly taken away. How dare his father speak to his coach about training commitments. How dare he sideline the one talent Gordon possessed. In all other areas he was measured up and found wanting but the medal above his bed and the world record in the history books were irrefutable evidence that he could make his mark in the world and be an individual in his own right.

The seething injustice coloured Gordon’s dreams that night. His sleep was restless and more than once his legs became twisted in the sheets, dragging him back to wakefulness in order to free the constricting restraints. When the morning alarm marked the end of the night, disturbing his dozing form and forcing away the last vestiges of sleep Gordon felt distinctly unrefreshed. However, years of practice at taking himself to early morning swimming training meant he was able to resist the temptation to stay in bed and so he was ready, bag in hand, when the car arrived to take him to the airport. Evidently his father’s commitments were too heavy to allow him to perform this duty and Gordon was graced with only a brief goodbye before being handed into the custody of a driver.

xoxoxox

Denver was tiny compared to Los Angeles. It was still a sprawling metropolis compared to the backwater towns of Kansas but Gordon instantly felt more at home in the mid-western air. He felt like he could finally breathe again. He had never felt settled in Los Angeles with its inescapable traffic and permanent glow. A city that never slept.

When he had first been told of the move to the coast he had been excited at the prospect of living so close to the ocean that held his fascination. It was an odd obsession for a boy brought up as far from the sea as it was possible to get but Gordon had always felt drawn to water in all its forms. The few coastal holidays they had managed were filled with happy memories of rock pooling, snorkelling and learning the dangers of his beautiful aquatic mistress but in Gordon’s eyes the Los Angeles waterfront was a shallow imitation of what the barrier between land and sea should be. The sculpted beaches filled with sculpted bodies held no appeal. After one visit shortly after arriving in the city Gordon never went down to the waterfront again.

Virgil was there to meet him in the airport arrival’s lounge. Dressed in his habitual plaid he was easy to spot. Gordon soon found himself relieved of his bag as Virgil swung it over one shoulder with ease. It wasn’t that Virgil thought him incapable, it was just the way he was. Brother or not, Gordon was his guest and carrying your guest’s bag was a courtesy that had been instilled in each of them from an early age. A brotherly arm was draped across his shoulders and he found himself drawn into a brief embrace before they walked companionably towards the taxi rank.

It didn’t take long to reach Virgil’s apartment which was situated a short stroll from campus. The campus itself was still eerily quiet, mostly populated by faculty and a few postgrads like Virgil who had stuck around to work on projects. Term, and the influx of undergraduates that came with it, was yet to start. The streets surrounding the campus were free of the term time hustle and bustle created by the transient student population and the area had a calm serenity that contrasted sharply to the buzzing city Gordon had recently left.

The apartment was the epitome of masculine design, each item of furniture or decoration a clear reflection of its occupant. There was an eclectic mix of high end items and junk store finds, set off by hand crafted pieces made by Virgil himself. Comfortable, functional and strong, the whole ensemble coordinated perfectly. Virgil’s habitat had grown organically over his few years of occupation, it was now as warm and friendly as its owner and a place that you couldn’t help but relax in.

It felt more homely than the Los Angeles apartment which always had an air of echoing emptiness. Jeff had wanted to ensure that his older boys had a space to come back to and call their own and with money no object the city pad he had procured was obscenely large for a place normally occupied by just three people. The executive styling added to the cold and impersonal air of the place. It was an environment where people co-existed rather than lived and the extra rooms for absent siblings only seemed to enhance the feeling of loneliness. It felt good to be in Denver rather than Los Angeles, even if the reason for the visit stung.

Gordon sat down on the couch, bouncing slightly to test its springiness. The apartment was a compact, one bedroomed affair and he knew the couch would be his bed for the next few nights. The sound of a coffee maker and the chink of mugs from the kitchen showed that Virgil still had his caffeine addiction and the warm aroma of good coffee was soon filling the space, adding to the general air of comfort. Before many minutes had passed his brother was back beside him and two brimming mugs sat steaming the coffee table

“Hey, so you decided to come check out my school. It’s a great place here, you’ll love it. I can show you around all the labs and things while it’s still quiet, maybe introduce you to some of the faculty depending on what area you want to specialise in.”

Virgil’s enthusiasm was met with stunned bewilderment.

“Dad said you were looking at college, right?” he probed, tentatively.

Evidently this trip wasn’t just about Gordon not being trusted at home. Even from afar his father was making his intentions clear and pushing his own agenda of what he expected of his sons. Virgil watched as the teenager in front of him stiffened, a defensive shell seeming to rise up around Gordon and a sullen look appeared across the features which had seemed so relaxed and at ease until that point.

“No, Dad just didn’t want me staying home alone. Look, I’m sure it’s great for you but I’ve got no plans for college at all. In case you hadn’t noticed I’m not exactly college material.”

Witnessing the self-depreciation from his brother stung. Busy lives meant he hadn’t spent much time alone with Gordon in the last few years. The young man in front of him was clearly hurting and Virgil’s caring nature was screaming at him to make it better but he felt woefully ill-equipped to counsel the troubled teen.

“I’m sure that’s not true. You’d be able to go to college if you wanted to. You’re smart; you were hardly at school the last two years and you still managed to graduate with good marks.”

Gordon turned sorrowful eyes on his brother, he had never been able to be angry with Virgil and fighting with the gentle giant didn’t come naturally. There was something about Virgil that reminded him of Mom; something that invited him to open up, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged.

“And what if it’s not what I want? Sometimes it feels like I don’t have any say in my life. Dad wants me to stop swimming. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Truth be told, Virgil didn’t. He had only ever met encouragement for his plans, he had been supported and his passions had been indulged. Music lessons and art classes had co-existed with school, ensuring he had a therapeutic release from his more traditional studies. His desire to study engineering had been greeted with enthusiasm and a generous allowance. To hear that a brother was being expected to give up their passion was a surprise to him.

“I’m sure Dad only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, it always comes down to what Dad wants.” There was a snort of derision. “But news flash Virgil, I’m not like the rest of you. I’m never going to get into Harvard or Yale or anywhere else Dad would approve of. And I don’t want to. I have one thing I’m good at and now that’s being taken away.”

“I’m sure that’s not true Gordo, there are lots of things you’re good at. Look, maybe college isn’t the right place for you but don’t sell yourself short. It sounds like you and Dad just need some space apart from each other for a bit. He’s got a lot on at the moment, there’s a big project in the pipeline and you know how focussed he can get when that happens. You know, you are always welcome here if you need some breathing space. And I promise, no campus tour unless you want it.”

“Thanks Virg. Maybe a break will do me good. It’s all just so tense back home.”

Gordon felt a heavy arm slung over his shoulders as he was drawn in to a hug that held more meaning than the brief embrace of greeting he had received earlier. Virgil had always been the most free of the siblings in showing his love physically. With Virgil moved out Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he had received a hug from anyone other than Alan and those were becoming more rare and awkward as the pair aged.

His initial instinct was to push away but he didn’t want to hurt Virgil’s feelings. He could feel the beating of the larger man’s heart and he found the rhythm soothing. The tension he hadn’t even realised he was carrying began to slowly dissipate and he melted into the soft cotton of Virgil’s shirt. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before slowly pushing himself out of the embrace.

“Better?”

He nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak.

Gordon settled back and savoured the coffee. Perhaps the time in Denver wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #my art #high expectations #parental pressure #family relationships #Gordon Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Virgil Tracy

25 notes · View notes

the-trashy-phoenix · 3 years

Text

Supernatural season 2 review (part 1)

Link to part 2:

Here we are, we’ve already finished the second season of Supernatural (we’ve also already started the third to tell the truth) and it’s time for my second review. I have to say I’ve enjoyed this season more than the previous one, maybe because I knew the main characters (mainly Sam, Dean and Bobby) quite well, and also because I think the plots of all the episodes were really catchy and original.

The first episode is meant to be tragic, with all the issues connected to Dean’s apparently inevitable death, but I wasn’t worried at all because 1. Dean had already escaped death once , in episode 12 from season 1, when a healer kind of cured him; 2. one of the main characters can’t die in the second season out of fifteen; 3. Carly had told me they always seem to die but they never actually do, or if they do they suddenly resuscitate. Despite all that, seeing Sam so sad about his brother really broke my heart, not to mention all the things he’ll go through during this season, but let’s go in order. Of course the price for Dean’s life is high, but at least we finally get rid of John… I don’t want to be harsh on him, because at the end (by the way I’m not sure this is really the end for him) he does what every good father would do sacrificing his life for his son’s, but still I couldn’t help blaming him for how he treated the brothers when they were children (a lot of details from their childhood emerge in these episodes through flashbacks) and how he denied them a happy life, so that I don’t think this ultimate sacrifice is enough to repay Sam and Dean, also because it makes Dean feel so guilty even though he has no reason to.

John’s death gives the boys a new impulse to hunt the “Yellow-eyed demon”, which killed their mum and at this point also their dad, because Dean was saved thanks to a deal he made with the demon. In their search for this creature they find out there’s a complex net of hunters John belonged to, who gather in a bar owned by Ellen, wife of a dead hunter, and her daughter Jo. They seem to have some secrets but still help the boys in their hunts: especially Jo is willing to become a huntress herself and embodies the prototype of the young girl who wants to follow her own path and make her experiences break free from her mother’s control. But Ellen, helped at some point by Sam and Dean, just wants to protect her from a dangerous job, the same that killed her husband and which will end up killing both of them. A special mention to another character met by the brothers at the Roadhouse, Ellen’s bar, Ash, a really weird man who can find out whatever is needed in an impressively short lapse of time. He doesn’t talk much but he’s extremely helpful, and I think Sam and Dean never thank him enough for his work.

I’d say the second antagonist of this season (the first is of course the Yellow-eyed demon) is Gordon, a hunter Sam and Dean meet while hunting some vampires. From the very beginning it was clear to me that he was a real pain in the ass (do I have to start worrying about the fact that I constantly feel like using Dean’s expressions? And even if Sam is still my favourite one?), but Dean really liked him at first, maybe because he desperately unconsciously needed a strong figure to take the place of his dad. Sam immediately recognises him as extremely cruel, because he kills creatures instinctively supposing they will necessarily harm someone just by the fact they’re supernatural. But also the brothers, especially Dean, sometimes seem to be driven by this thought, so I think the episode about the “vegetarian” and harmless vampires (the same in which we meet Gordon for the first time) also demonstrates them not only that not all hunters are good people, but also that not all supernatural creatures are bad. That’s a good lesson, because it leads them to focus and argue more about the ethical aspects of their work and about how murder of whichever creature is a very problematic ground to which they must always pay attention, in order to kill less and try saving as many innocent creatures as possible. Going back to Gordon, after having tried to separate Sam and Dean, both mentally and physically, he gets arrested (but of course he comes back to bother them as the show goes on) and Dean finally understands he has to rely more on Sam’s judgement and accept the fact he’s an adult who doesn’t always need his supervision and who can also protect and help him if necessary, in every possible way.

One of the big deals of this season is Sam’s struggle to find his identity, solving the mystery about his psychic abilities. Everything can be related to the Yellow-eyed demon who wants Sam to be the leader of a demonic army. His meetings with other guys (such as Andy) who have similar abilities and lots of things in common with him make the episode’s plots quite interesting, but the ending was quite banal to me: even if you don’t know who’s actually dying or surviving, you still always know that Sam won’t die (or, at least, that if he will, he’ll also eventually resuscitate). I also found so unrealistic that Dean would kill his brother if he becomes evil. Of course that’s what John whispers to him at the very end (and we all know Dean would do anything to please his dad), but still it’s very unlikely to happen both because Dean would never kill Sam, even if it was the right choice to make, and because Sam would rather kill himself than becoming evil.

Another thing I have to point out is the constant breaking of the law. I do understand they always do it for the best, but the fact remains, and I think they could do better if they only wanted to. Starting with credit card fraud: I do understand they earn nothing from their job, but I still think deliberately stealing money just because your job is to save the world and you don’t get paid for that is wrong (not to mention they spend it to buy disgusting food…). Going on, I don’t understand completely passing themselves off as police officers or FBI agents: I know this way it’s easier to get information quickly, but if they really wanted to they could do it without this constant lying. But, you know, that’s just fiction… But also in fiction you get arrested! Sam and Dean know it well, but we have to say also the police knows them well (that’s easy if you are evidently involved in a bank robbery!) and keeps trying to catch and imprison them. Who can blame them? Without knowing the truth, the brothers make a lot of unexplainable crimes… And I think the fact the police is after them keeps the show on a field of realness, even if I can’t stop wondering how they figure out hiding from the police from very long periods of time (by the way police seems always to be quite stupid in series like Supernatural, that is when you see events from the “criminal” ’s point of view).

I’ll go quickly examining in order the episodes I liked (or scared me) the most. Episode 2 scared me quite a lot, but that’s just because I find clowns really really frightful: I can’t understand how a child could find them funny, to me they’re just terrifying. Episode 9 quite hit me because the story of the mortal virus reminded me how what we considered supernatural some months ago is now real and tragically near us. I also have to mention episodes 13 and 15. In the former, angels seem to order people to kill sinners and that’s a crucial point because it’s one of the first mentions of God, faith and religion in general in the series. I found it quite interesting because it’s unusual to have this kind of theological reflection in a fantasy story (Carly also pointed me out Dean’s lack of faith in angels, which is ironic considering his future close relationship with an angel, Castiel, but I was not supposed to know that). In the latter Bobby appears to help the boys: that’s important because he’ll be a permanent character and because both Carly and I love him. He’s literally the kind and caring and strict-when-needed father Sam and Dean never had and deserved, and I’m happy he’s always there to support them and make them feel like they’re not alone in doing their job. By the way, my favourite episode was the twentieth because it’s been involving to see Dean’s possible life if his mother wasn’t dead: it underlines this feeling Dean has in the whole season (and as far as I now in the whole series) of having wasted his life, which could have been happy and stable instead of constantly in danger. It’s been heartbreaking seeing Dean renouncing to a perfect life, the one he had always desired, in the belief his current life could never be perfect, but it’s the one he’s destined to and it’s the altruistically best choice he can possibly make.

In conclusion, the last two episodes are dedicated to the solving of the plot and the last fight with the villain of the season: after having kidnapped Sam and the other guys with superpowers he’s defeated, as that was predictable, and the boys can’t stop a horde of demonic creatures to come out from hell, whose doors the Yellow-eyed demon succeeded to open. Well, they could’ve tried to close them faster but they were too distracted by the epiphany of John Winchester who came out of hell to say hi and encourage them to keep fighting… But thinking about it, if they succeeded in closing the doors and preventing the demons from coming out from hell, who do you think they would have hunted in the next season(s)?

- Irene 💕

2 notes · View notes

fallenfurther · 4 years

Text

Lights out

This is a post Episode 6 Unplugged fic. I’m a little behind atm, another project is keeping me from writing, so I’m getting this done on my tea and lunch breaks. Enjoy.

*******

Penelope waved goodbye to Sally and Virgil as she slipped into the back of FAB1. Sherbet curled up in her lap, and one hand automatically started to stroke her companion. It was something that happened a lot when she was thinking, and right now she had something important to think about. There were more Luddites behind the blackout than those captured today, she was sure or it, but how to catch them was another thing. The blackout had proved how militant they could be, and although the Hood had played a significant part in that, she couldn't risk something similar happening again. Chance had played an important role in the day’s events. The right people were where they had needed to be at the right times. Penelope wasn't one to rely on chance, though. Chance was fickle. She knew her job had only just begun. As the car rolled up the driveway to her manor, Penelope started to make a mental list the various tasks she needed to complete to settle this matter, and the militant Luddites, for good.

***

Just over a week later Penelope was on Tracy Island to give them a debrief on the Luddite case. She had managed to track down five other key leaders and three other followers who had roles in the Blackout. The evidence had been collected, with John's help, and handed over to the GDF. Two days ago, simultaneous raids had been done, and all eight suspects were apprehended. The physical, court usable, versions of the evidence they had collected, was found exactly where the International Rescue report had eluded it would be. The GDF now had the militant side of the Luddites allow wrapped up and ready for an easy court proceeding. All she had to do was debrief International Rescue and the case would be closed. Penelope was certain that something else requiring her skills would materialise soon, but for now a small vacation on Tracy Island was in order.

Penelope lent back slightly, her legs still crossed and rolled her shoulders. She'd get a massage at her favourite retreat booked in for when she got back to England. Maybe invite a friend or two along to catch up on the gossip she had missed. People could be so forthcoming with information if it meant they could sully someone's reputation. Sally placed a plate of cookies on the table, which Penelope gracefully declined. Sally never forced her.

"They’re for the boys. It was a tricky one."

Penelope saw Scott flinch out the corner of her eye. The man was sitting at his father's desk doing the paperwork for the mission that had just concluded, preparing it for the debrief. He was forever the hardworker, trying to keep on top of the paperwork. Penelope did worry sometimes about how much the man worked but she had decided it wasn't her place to comment. As she was pondering, John appeared, floating above the cookies.

"Hello Penelope."

"Hello John. I hope the world isn't getting into too much trouble."

"Statistically, there have been less rescues this month, though...."

"Hi Penelope! Hi Parker!" Alan grinned as he threw himself down onto the sofa next to her chauffeur.

Penelope caught the eye roll from John and the chuckle from Scott, who pushed the chair back and headed over to the sunken seating.

"So, been up to anything interesting Parker?" Alan's mischievous smile allowed everyone in the room to understand the real question being asked. The young man often approached Parker hoping to pick up some of the skills Parker had acquired from his ‘misspent youth’. Penelope was curious about how much Parker had let slip to the boy.

"H'actually, Mr Alan, I have been..."

Parker stopped mid-sentence as John's hologram blinked out of existence. Penelope sat up straight. She knew John well enough to know that he wouldn't leave like that. Even if there was an emergency call, he would just silence the alarm. A glance at Scott confirmed the that he too was alarmed by John's disappeared. Something was wrong.

***

Gordon was rubbing his hair dry with a towel. His clothes were already on, he just wanted to get the worst of the water out his hair, so it didn't get his shirt too damp. He knew Lady Penelope was here. He couldn't look too shabby in front of a lady. Walking up to the mirror in his on-suite, Gordon let the towel fall around his shoulders as he grabbed his comb. As he started to style the wet hair the light went out. He finished the stroke before placing the comb down on the side of the washbasin. Curiously, he flipped the light on and off, with no results. Heading out into his room, he flipped his desk light on. It too stayed off. Gordon threw the towel over the back of his chair before heading out into the dark hallway. Seems like it wasn't just his room without power. Had Grandma short-circuited something in the kitchen again? It'd been a long while since that had happened after Brains had upgrade the electrics. Gordon pottered down the corridor and headed towards the utility room where the circuit breakers were installed. He tapped his comm as he went.

"Hey, Scott, has Grandma shorted something again?"

A baffled Scott floated above his wrist and opened his mouth to speak only for someone else to answer the question.

"I heard that! It's not just me who trips fuses, young man!"

Gordon pulled a face at Scott before continuing towards the utility room.

"I'm heading to the breakers. I'll let you know where the original break was so we can work out what caused it."

"FAB."

His brother disappeared as Gordon bounded down the stairs. He was almost at the door when the lights came back on. He winced slightly, eyes readjusting to the brightness, before continuing. There was no way he was going to let the culprit slip away that easily! Gordon stopped outside the room and waited for the door to open. It was a short wait and the shock on Virgil's face made it worth it. Gordon eyed up his older brother, noting the lack of shirt and wet hair. The sheepish expression on Virgil's face made Gordon grin from ear to ear.

"How'd you do it?" Gordon jeered.

"Hairdryer."

"Can't wait to tell the others."

Virgil groaned and pushed past Gordon, shoving him to the side. Gordon chased after his brother, knowing that Virgil already knew he was never going let him forget this.

"Seriously, you blew a fuse with your hairdryer?"

"Yes, I did." Virgil sighed.

They rounded the top of the stairs but instead of heading to his room, Virgil walked into Scott's.

"Scott'll kill you if you blow his up too."

"Shut it, Squid!"

Gordon grinned as he ducked into his room. He had hair to style quickly so he could head downstairs before Virgil and tell the others about his hairdryer mishap.

#TAGrewatch #thunderbirds are go #Virgil Tracy #Lady Penelope #Gordon Tracy #unplugged #hairdryer incident #post-rescue #fluff #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy #grandma tracy #parker

19 notes · View notes

halorocks1214 · 4 years

Text

the law of relativity

AO3 Link

Word Count: 9963

Summary: The Law of Relativity states that each person will receive a series of problems (‘tests of initiation’) for the purpose of strengthening the ‘light’ within. We must consider each of these tests to be a challenge and remain connected to our hearts when proceeding to solve the problems. This law also teaches us to compare our problems to others’ problems and put everything into its proper perspective. No matter how bad we perceive our situation to be, there is always someone who is in a worse position. It is all relative

Previous Parts (in order): Alan | Virgil | You are here! | Gordon

WHY 👏🏼 CANT 👏🏼 I 👏🏼 WRITE 👏🏼 FICS 👏🏼 IN 👏🏼 MO 👏🏼 DER 👏🏼 RATION 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 also just bluuuergh. dont ask about this fic. part of it was written in a dark auditorium, another was written in a different state, another was written on a frickin bus, this fic has been places ill tell you what. half the time i think this is hot garbage and the other half i think its actually decent so im posting this while my head is in a good headspace and then promptly yeeting myself off the internet for a few hours to wait and see what happens. this series is becoming less of a canon divergence AU and more of a straight-up AU because of certain details im trying to worm in there buT IM TRYING MY BEST

thanks once more to @gumnut-logic, because of the length, this time i used three prompts, them being "What do you mean?", crease, and dream (and they werent even used that much sksksksk)

Warnings for both graphic and non-graphic depictions of violence, as well as mentions of torture and other PTSD/panic attack related stuff. I went deep with this one fellas

Orphan.

The word tasted dirty in his mouth.

He can still see the footage in the backs of his eyelids from when he watched it exactly one year ago. He was the only other (living) adult at the time in the family outside of Grandma, so he was permitted to see it. He remembered they originally didn’t want to show him, mainly because of his age, but Grandma was fierce, and she put one hell of an argument on the table.

One Scott refused to let fall through the cracks by breaking down. If only Grandma knew how he cried his eyes out and screamed to high heaven that night in the hotel room after essentially watching his father be blown to bloody smithereens then she was a goddamn saint for keeping it a secret. It made sense, she was the mother to his father. She had quite the line up of stories from Jeff’s childhood. Scott sensed the early-greying of his hair came from her, heh.

The rest of his family eventually saw it, of course, they did. Scott couldn’t shield them forever. What he will protect, selfishly he might add, was how angry he was at how much better they took it than he did. They cried, yes they did, but they never fully broke down like Scott did. Later in life, he wondered if it was jealousy: jealousy at not truly being able to let go. Whatever it was, he made sure to swallow it along with whatever alcohol he chose for the weekend.

Just add it to the ever-growing pile of shit he had to deal with. Nothing new.

Suddenly he’s 20 again and seated in a plane to be taken to his first stint in the Air Force. He said his goodbyes to Virgil, Gordon, and Alan back at home while Grandma and John metaphorically held his hand all the way to the airport. John was… quiet, more so than usual, but Grandma was stuck right in the middle between being a sobbing mess and ecstatic at the fine young man he’s become.

You’re just like your father. He would be proud.

Scott was secretly glad she never physically said it. It gave him plausible deniability in thinking that those words weren’t laced behind her big, bright, prideful eyes.

The first time went well, maybe even great. He stayed for a couple of months, did some flight tests, and while the training was brutal, boy did he learn a lot. When he came back home it was to a family slowly stitching itself back together. Grandma was a full-time house member, Virgil had taken up painting, Gordon talked about potentially going back to his swim meets, and while Alan was still as silent as ever, he was perkier than when Scott last saw him.

It would be on and off for the next few years: a couple of months at home, slowly and painfully taking over the role their father had (he can’t remember when he essentially received joint custody of his younger siblings with Grandma, but hey, he’s not complaining), then a couple of months out at the Air Force base where he slowly climbed up the ranking platform. He became skillful, perhaps too skillful. When he got his rank of Captain he felt it was less of an honor and more of something they owed him.

He was getting cocky. Never enough to be a danger to his fellow men, but enough to be somewhat of an occasional annoyance. Charles smacked him upside the head more than once. It felt like the world was right-side-up for once. Scott made many-a-calls to John and Virgil, the former enjoying his first few rotations up in space and the latter squarely in the middle of college. Gordon was being offered sponsorships to hell and back, and Alan was quietly getting along with the other kids at his school. Grandma was on welcoming duty for Kayo, who was taking her slot in the Tracy family with grace, though, a warning that their family would take custody of her if something were to happen to her parents would have been nice, Dad.

Of course, nothing ever goes right for their family for too long.

Orphan.

Age 24, it was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission of civilians. Scott was put in charge of his squad and then some. At night, they rolled-- well, flew out to get the job done. Scott can’t even remember the country anymore when minding his own business. Australia? Finland? Perhaps Bangladesh? There was a place John was insistent Scott never do rescues in, Virgil tended to agree, and the eldest unhealthily let them banish him from ever stepping foot there without argument. He could never remember the name off the top of his head until John’s familiar International Rescue, we have a situation rung out in the living room followed by the name of the country.

He would immediately forget it later, trauma too strong, too volatile, but the way his heart stopped and his head shattered and the way he felt ice water rush down his back was a good enough reason to quietly leave the room and let John delegate the job to one of his brothers. Sometimes John found him retching in the toilet halfway through the mission. He made sure to always mute Scott’s wrist communicator, even if it was never turned on in the first place.

The plane touched down. Orders sent the ground team out. But then the ground team took longer than estimated. Scott tensely waited where he was told to. It wasn’t the first mission that took a little longer than predicted and knowing humans, it surely wouldn’t be the last. Then, words mixed with heavy static came over the radio. H--p. Co-- ---7--. --nd ba---p --me--at--y.

Scott sat tensely in his seat, remembering his orders and suddenly hating them. Radio back to home if the mission goes south. Well, it didn’t look like they had the radio anymore. Still didn’t hurt to try at least. Scott spoke the familiar protocol that was ingrained into him when trying to call base. Dammit. Nothing. Probably some kind of blocker of sorts. Sitting up straight as a board, Scott looked through his options.

… He was in charge here. If something happened to his team the fault would lie squarely on his shoulders. Going against everything but his gut, he went out to help his squad. He can’t really remember what he exactly did anymore, but he does remember that it made a noise. Like a Looney Tunes scene: he flinched, froze, waited to see if anything or one heard, breathed a sigh of relief, and continued.

He eventually stumbled across one of his closest comrades, Arnold Brigeets. Yes, the name was ironic and half the reason he joined the force in the first place. The guy was one of the people that actually trained Scott and also seemed to be one of the few that was genuinely proud when Scott became a higher rank. It’s why Scott was more appreciative of Arnold than others, that, and well… Scott thought his fatherly abilities were good. The guy did have three kids back home.

Orphan.

Ducking down behind the cover his older friend was semi-situated behind, Scott watched as Arnold jumped at the intrusion before sighing. Scott had run into some enemies that he swiftly took down-- nothing too serious, he didn’t have the time or weapons for such an act, but they definitely would be out of it for a while-- so Arnold must have too on his way to find cover as well, hence why he was so on edge.

“Thank God,” Arnold wiped his forehead, “Glad to see you join us, kid.”

Scott was breathing heavily, but the grin he attempted was still there, “Y-Yeah, so what happened? More threats than we thought?”

Arnold shook his head, “Yes and no. There were a lot more baddies than we thought, but that’s because the civilians weren’t civilians. It’s a tr--”

Boom. The familiar sound of a gunshot.

Arnold fell over. Never got back up. Dropped like a rock in a lake, never to come up to the surface again.

Scott was so caught off guard he couldn’t react to the gun that swiftly beat him over the head, knocking him out cold. The only thing on his mind was oh fuck oh fuck I messed up I shouldn’t have come I wouldn’t have made any noise that way why did I--

They had him for roughly two weeks. Scott always thought the plotline in movies where the villain vehemently denied knowing any important information was dumb as hell. We’re not stupid. We wouldn’t go after someone if they didn’t know something.

The things they did hurt and no amount of I don’t fucking know anything! would help. Those two weeks were lost to Scott in a sea of pain and torment. The only thing he remembered was being captured, then waking up in a hospital drugged up to his gills with his superiors staring at him like he cured cancer.

“You saved the rest of your squad from sharing the same fate as the first half.”

“I-I did?”

“You betcha, son. I only wish I was there to see it! People be saying you were like an animal in how you took ‘em all down.”

Scott’s never remembered, and he wanted to keep it that way.

He was given the highest honors, even the chance to skip a couple of ranks to be at the same level as the big boys, but the night they were going to share the news to the golden boy himself, they found him in one of the bathrooms with a bloody hand and a mirror shattered with no hope of fixing it.

He was honorably discharged to a family that was so thankful he was home. Words like missing in action and POA never stopped haunting their nightmares. Scott was too, God, of course, he was, but sitting around and doing nothing was the last thing his traumatized mind wanted or maybe even needed. After doing what he considered to be the biggest fuck-up of his life, he needed to feel important.

This isn’t the first time he’ll say this and it surely won’t be the last: thank Christ for Grandma.

“You want me to take over?...”

“Yep, it’s about time Tracy Industries received a new pair of eyes. The Board certainly thinks so.”

“But… they’d rather have a crazy, PTSD-infected veteran over you?”

A rough pinch to his ear, “Hey now, don’t call yourself that,” the gentle motherly tone was back as soon as it left, “Besides, that crazy might exactly be what they want. Half of their argument is that I “don’t take enough risks.” They’re getting tired of listening to an old fart like me.”

A moment of contemplation, followed by the cheeky raise of an eyebrow, “So you’re saying you want me to take so many risks they have no choice but to take you back?”

A bark of laughter, “Damn straight.”

He learned the ropes faster than normal (healthy, is probably the correct term), and he immediately won the hearts of both young and old in the company. Instead of flying planes every few months, he worked on business reports and vetoed new ideas every couple of weeks. It felt satisfying for the most part, and his family was just happy he was still alive to enjoy it.

However, there was a slight roadblock on his way to becoming a somewhat stable person.

He became prone to violent blackouts. It had to have started when he blacked out and saved himself from those two weeks of hell, which made the most sense. Something was always destroyed when he came back to life. John was the best at calming him down due to his own experience with panic attacks, however, John couldn’t always be there, and the next rotation for NASA was coming swiftly. Scott swore up and down he would be fine, he could figure something out. John went back into space with an eyebrow permanently raised.

It was just him and Virgil home (Grandma had taken Alan and Kayo to watch Gordon swim) when he, unfortunately, proved John right. Scott wasn’t sure what triggered it, but he vividly remembered coming back in Virgil’s extremely tight hold. The first thing Scott thought to say was damn, beanstalk, when did you get so strong? but then he laid his eyes upon the forming bruise on his younger bro’s face and hasn’t recovered since.

Virgil swore he never held it against Scott. Scott definitely thought he should have.

That night brought sudden clarity to Scott that he was doing this horribly wrong. He was a ticking time bomb, and it wouldn’t be long before something was damaged in a way that couldn’t be fixed. Scott needed an anchor. Something to ground him before he took it too far. John wasn’t going to be earthside forever, Grandma was busy with Kayo, Alan was just a kid, and Gordon was living the dream. None of them were viable.

Then, as he was thinking, he was suddenly aware of how calming Virgil’s arms were around him, how they were preventing the growing panic attack in his chest from getting even bigger.

It was easy.

For once in Scott’s life, his eyes were big and young as he asked Virgil, “Help me, please.”

After a few brief seconds, Virgil gulped, “Okay.”

From then on, Virgil was Stone Number One. Scott’s admiration for Virgil outweighed the guilt of putting the black-haired man in that position in the first place. Virgil was glad to follow his older brother’s leadership, but just as qualified to bring him the hell back when he went too far. From getting too sacrificial to preventing a good punching-out some of the idiots they dealt with, Virgil made sure Scott knocked that shit off.

Time went on, Scott was a top-notch CEO at Tracy Industries, John was having one hell of a time up in space, Virgil was graduated and had so many life opportunities to pick from, Alan was thriving at being a (mostly) stable kid, Kayo was 100% acclimated to the family, and Gordon--

Scott found himself gripping the wooden desk very abruptly. He was shocked he didn’t snap a chunk off in the process. Why was he thinking about this right after a giant business conference? Who knows at this point. If this giant origin story seemed jagged and jumpy, maybe even somewhat vague, good, that’s how it fucking felt.

Back to said story.

Scott always thought he and Gordon would have the least amount in common.

They do, but out of all the things they could have picked to be similar, why did it have to be the PTSD caused by military-related jobs? Scott was 24 when he got his, Gordon was just under 20. It may have been a few years since their respective accidents, but they’re never going to go another day without it feeling like it was just yesterday.

At this point, Gordon was up and walking again, mainly thanks to John and Alan while Virgil and Scott helped in their own ways. Grandma’s cooking was what probably motivated him the most though, ha, the need to get away from it… Scott smiled. Grandma was always a constant. Honestly, if it weren’t for her, the family might have fallen apart. Literally.

What has he been saying throughout this whole shindig? Thank Christ for Grandma.

One day out of the blue, Grandma reserved the entire family (yes, even Kayo and Alan) private plane tickets so they could spend some time on the mainland for a few days. Honestly, even if the island wasn’t getting major renovations, you hooligans need to get out more. Have some fun. Try not to kill anything, especially each other, she all told them while creepily grinning. John and Virgil smacked Gordon more than once on the plane for insisting that she finally snapped, dudes, she’s gonna kill us.

Most of the time during their little vacation, Scott heavily focused on his breathing. He was pretty sure he knew what she was doing. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but the same went for his excitement.

Dad showed him these plans the day after his 18th birthday. You’re a man now, Scotty, I need your help making this big boy decision with me.

As soon as they reset foot down on the island, Scott took a deep breath and felt relaxed at the salty taste in the air. It was weird, nothing on the outside was changed, and yet… it still felt different.

“Guys!” Virgil yelled out, “Stop playing in the water! We just got back, aren’t you two tired?!”

Blinking back to reality, Scott looked over to see his two youngest brothers doing exactly what Virgil was yelling at them for. Poor Johnny was a little damp too, which is what probably caused Virgil to shout at them in the first place. The blondes didn’t care. They continued to prance around in the shallow waves with their pants legs rolled up, acting as if they didn’t hear anything outside of their laughter. Gordon shoved his hands down into the liquid and threw some directly at Alan, nailing him right in the face.

Scott exhaled slowly. He couldn’t imagine them doing this 8 years ago.

Regardless, the artist was right, and they couldn’t waste too much time. Kayo was swift in grabbing both gentlemen by the ears and dragging them onto dry land. They all painstakingly trekked their way up to the-- what would you call Tracy Island? Mansion? Over-blown cabin? Well, whatever it was, Scott would always be willing to call it home.

Stepping inside, each brother took in the view, which was underwhelmingly not that much different, except for one tiny thing. John suddenly noticed a figure already standing in the living room and blinked, “No way… it’s--”

Gordon jumped in, both with his body and his words, “Brains?! Dude, how’s it hanging?!”

The scientist in question jumped at the voices before clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses, “O-Oh, hello again, T-Tracys. It’s good to see you all once more.”

Virgil slung an arm around his shoulder, ignoring the blatant squawk, “Man, how long has it been?! What made you finally decide to crawl out of your hole?”

Snickers came from all corners of the house. Brains stood up straighter, “W-Well, I was contacted b-by Mrs. Tracy over here with an offer I c-couldn’t turn down.”

Eyebrows tilted in all shapes and sizes. Someone cleared their throat. Everyone turned to look at Grandma once again, “I think if you all follow me, you’ll swiftly understand what I’m talking about.”

I already do, Scott thought matter-of-factly. John seemed to be understanding it now, Virgil was on the cusp of remembering what his father was hinting at for him, and Gordon was just as lost as Alan. It made sense, Jeff talked to all of them about it, but the oldest had seniority. The two youngest not remembering just by words was expected, especially since that was going to be rectified very quickly.

The hangar under the island was beautiful. Point blank. It smelt of iron and steel and grease and engine and that was the first time since Scott had been in the Air Force that he didn’t gag or flinch at the thought of flying something again. Scott had seen the plans his father drew. He assumed Jeff finished building it, but he never got to physically see it since…

In some ways, he was glad he didn’t. Now he got to experience it with (most of) his family, and that made it ten times better.

After letting them absorb the scenery, Grandma slowly turned around to look at them all, “You remember that dream your father had?”

The four oldest blinked, Kayo simply raised her eyebrows, meanwhile, Alan, being the teenager he was, didn’t read the emotion in the room, “Oh, yeah! Aunt Casey always talked about how he was going to “change the world” and stuff. What did he call it again?”

Scott felt way more confident than he had in a while, “International Rescue.”

Grandma nodded, gleeful at the happy look on her oldest and youngest grandsons’ faces, “Well, I’ve been thinking about some things. I know we don’t exactly worry about money, but after everything your father put into these girls… I’d hate for them to go to waste.”

The Tracy family jumped at that. John’s mouth was wide open in shock, yes, shock, “That station is still up there?”

Grandma sighed, “You mean ‘Five? Not for long. Not if we don’t send someone up there within the next few days.”

John blushed at the grin Grandma gave him. Clearing his throat, his big brain came to a startling conclusion, “Wait… you brought Alan along?”

The other big brothers in the room jumped at that. Kayo was the only one with enough balls to say the truth out loud, “Mrs. Tracy, I mean no offense, but he’s--”

“Just a kid?” Grandma smirked, “A kid that’s topped the VR charts for Intergalactic Fury for weeks straight while simultaneously getting nothing but A’s in his classes?”

Scott nodded slowly in comprehension. He remembered Alan talking about that game for a while. It was some kind of online racing simulator of sorts. Scott caught the prettiest string of words from Alan when going to bed one night. Nearly made him shit his pants. He made the kid promise to keep it PG-13 if he wanted to keep playing.

Still, the elders in the family slowly turned to look at the freckled boy with both shock and pride. Alan blinked with wide-eyed innocence, “But my English class is only at a B--”

“Shh, kiddo, I’m making a point,” Grandma rolled her eyes. The other brothers snickered. Yep, still Alan. Grandma sighed, “Now before you point out that video games are different, I know, but the difference between them and this is that video games don’t have some of the most talented older brothers in the world to guide him.”

Said older brothers jumped at the idea. Before any objection could be made, Grandma continued, “Besides, the GDF seemed to be okay with it. The Colonel was willing to oversee some of his training too.”

John flinched at that, “But IR is supposed to be independent!”

Grandma slightly frowned. She didn’t exactly like it either, “It still is, but in the world of business, compromises have to be made.”

Virgil huffed and crossed his arms, “Well, that’s… rough. Here I thought only Scott would have to deal with the bullshit of business.”

Grandma chuckled at the somewhat un-Virgil-like behavior, “It really is, Virgil. But about that Scott part,” she slowly turned to look at him and him only, “I hate to give you more work to do, but if you want to work within their restrictions?”

Suddenly every pair of eyes in the room was on the head of the family. Gulping, Scott looked down at his feet to think. It was a tense few moments, nobody sure what he was going to decide, least of all him, before the brunette cleared his throat and brought his face back up with a grin.

“Well then,” Scott turned to look at the bright tip of ‘One, chest fluttering with a feeling that became unfamiliar to him over the past few years, “I guess now it’s time to state the obvious.”

From then on, every time he loaded into that cockpit of his girl, he felt lighter than air.

“Thunderbirds are GO!”

Everything was okay again.

Mostly.

Orphan.

Scott took another sip of his whiskey and refocused on his reports.

---

Scott was in some kind of dissociative state the whole way home.

Alan doesn’t deserve this. He’s still a kid, barely an adult, and he’s going to go through utter hell because you screwed up. You were 24, Gordon was just under 20, Alan was barely 18. Alan’s going to get fucked up like you and it’s all your fault.

His movements were robotic and rigid. Anyone with a working eye could tell he was deep in shock and running on autopilot. Mostly Jeff. Especially Jeff. The rest of the brothers all noticed too, but they were also running on their own empty fuel tanks, so the only thing they could do was guilty send their older brother the occasional glance of pity and concern.

Jeff was going to need to talk to them about that. Somehow. Maybe he shouldn’t be the one to point it out since he feels just as bad. His sons were too much like him, sometimes, and that made his guilt burn all the same. He should’ve been there to warn his sons about the dangers of unnecessary guilt. Having that kind of guilt was a parent’s job, dammit, and maybe grandparents only occasionally.

But then he remembered where he’s been for the past 8 years and… who really was Alan’s parents anymore? His gut was screaming it sure as hell isn’t you, but he knew his sons would want him to step back into the role as soon as he was physically fit to do so, not just for Alan, but for themselves as well. They would deny it, but they probably just wanted to be kids again too, even if it was only brief, fleeting moments.

Who was to tell the protective, fatherly side of Jeff no to that? No better time to fix things like the present after all.

He saw Scott go up the stairs when they first stepped into the living room, so that’s where Jeff was going to go too. Footsteps light, Jeff retraced his eldest’s pathway to his bedroom. Only, he stopped before said bedroom. Unfavorable noises were coming from the closed bathroom door, and Jeff could only swallow whatever emotion it made him feel. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the (unlocked) door to the bathroom and laid his eyes upon the incriminating scene.

Jeff was met with the sight of Scott retching his entire stomach into the toilet, hands aggressively grabbing his sticky, hair-gelled hair and trying to make himself bald from the strain.

Jeff’s reaction was always based on autopilot, and it will never stop being so.

Ignoring his protesting body, Jeff kneeled and placed a hand on his son’s back, only to abruptly pull back like he touched a hot stove when Scott only got more hysterical at the contact. The brunette clenched his eyes shut even more (and they were already shut as much as possible) while his head became a special kind of crease. Like he was in pain, “God, I wanna go home. Why won’t they listen I swear I’m telling the truth! Please, I just want Dad--”

Jeff was frozen on the spot, heart stopping in the process. His brain shut down while he watched his son continue to mindlessly ramble and panic. His freaked-out mind barely registered footsteps from behind in the hallway, followed by a voice going what’s going-- holy--

Something thundered past him. Blinking once, Jeff guiltily watched as Virgil kneeled behind the eldest and wrapped his arms around the thin man’s shoulders while taking Scott’s hands in his in a protective blanket, “Scott! Jesus-- we’re at home, you’re safe and it’s June 14th, 2--”

Scott only struggled more, panicking at the fact he could no longer yank his hair out. Dammit, it was the only way he could feel in control, don’t take that away too! “No! I swear I’ve said everything! Please--”

Virgil immediately knew that this was one of those attacks that Scott wasn’t coming back down from with pure human intervention. Add-on the sight of his father’s big eyes signifying the man was at a loss at what to do, Virgil had no choice. He snapped loudly, remembering the comms were still on and only feeling slightly bad at the way Scott flinched in his arms, “Shit-- John! It’s Scott! Get the stuff! We’re in the upstairs bathroom!”

Muffled footsteps through a few walls in the house could be heard. Jeff’s mind was only starting to catch up when the brother Virgil called for came rushing into the bathroom (Jeff never remembered it being big enough to hold four of them) and ignoring Jeff (practically shoving him out of the way too, man, this was bad) on his way to the main problem at hand. Landing on his knees in a way that made Jeff wince, John gently grabbed one of Scott’s arms from Virgil’s hold and subsequently pulled a needle from nowhere and injected something into Scott.

The response was instantaneous.

Scott’s breathing, while still labored, got slower. He stopped struggling as well, and the way he sagged reminded Jeff of ice melting into a puddle. The two other brothers’ shoulders also sagged, relieved at the crisis averted. John stood up, knees cracking as he rubbed the back of his neck. Then, he froze at the sight of something in the doorway, “G-Gordon…”

Virgil snapped his head up from where he was looking at Scott. Jeff did something similar. Yup, in the doorway was the strawberry blonde, eyes wide, making him younger by about 10 years. The ex-Olympian in question inhaled, closed his eyes, and soon speed-walked his way out of the entrance to the bathroom. Dammit, neither Gordon or Alan have seen something like that and it probably spooked him more than anything. He’d understand with his own PTSD-related issues, but still, seeing the “never weak” big brother freak out in such a scary way...

John combed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. As he started walking out of the room, he whispered to himself, probably hoping no one heard him, “Dammit, this is all so fucked…”

Unfortunately, Jeff did hear, and the dirty language made the father flinch. John was always the best about making sure Grandma didn’t wash his mouth out with soap, and the fact that he so willingly didn’t care meant that everyone was at the end of their rope. Still reeling at the sight, Jeff couldn’t react to the gentle arms that picked him up off the floor and slowly led him out of the suddenly stuffy room.

With the click of the door shutting, Jeff realized what Virgil did, “W-Wait, Scott--”

“Will be okay for a few seconds,” Virgil finished for his dad, “I know it’s nearly been a decade, but the one part of you I definitely know hasn’t changed is the need to comfort us, just like we hoped.” The small grin that fell over the middle child’s face put Jeff a little bit at ease, but Virgil wasn’t completely done, “So, I’m going to let you take care of this, but I just want to make sure you’ll handle it with grace. Take this slowly, okay? Scott might be doped up, but he’s still… volatile, in a sense.”

Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly choking on the unneeded tension, “Okay, Virgil, I promise, just… what happened? That was… bad, and really bad at that too. I know Scott would never let something that severe willingly come out in front of his family.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not ready for this conversation, “Listen, Dad,” he inhaled sharply, cutting himself off before sighing in a way that said fuck it, might as well get this over with, “As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living. We all have lives and stories now, and this is Scott’s story to tell.”

Jeff was getting misty-eyed again. Back when he was just a kid, Virgil couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, mainly in part due to his insomnia-related issues (Jeff has to wonder if he still has them, more problems for the future) and general lack of filter because of sleep-deprivation. Now Jeff knew there was a starch difference between a kid who couldn’t keep his mouth shut and a man who genuinely knew how to respect another man’s privacy, but…

It just hammers home how much he’s missed with his boys. Gulping, Jeff made a mental note to talk with his mom about certain things he’s missed. She’ll know a lot more than he would, “Okay, Virge. Thank you, for stepping up there.”

Virgil’s shoulders relaxed at Jeff’s words, as well as his father’s hand patting him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Dad. Just… go easy on him. I know it’s a little late for this but none of us ever properly talked about things. It was very unhealthy, deep down we all knew that, but…”

“You just couldn’t get the proper emotions out?” Jeff finished for his son. At Virgil’s soft nod, Jeff exhaled, “I’m not going to say that it was a smart decision, but we’re all here now. We can move forward with this.” Jeff squeezed where his hand laid.

Virgil blinked before curtly going, “Yeah. Goodnight, Dad. Take care of Scott.”

Virgil stepped around his father and walked to where his bedroom most definitely was not, but Jeff could deal with that in a little bit. He had another son who he was pretty sure just had a violent PTSD attack of some kind, plus, Virgil seemed to sour at something Jeff said. The ex-astronaut wasn’t sure what it was, so he didn’t chase after him out of worry that--

Wait.

We’re all here now.

Dammit, Jeff. Out of all the sentences you could’ve picked...

Alrighty, just add that to the ever-growing pile of things that need to be talked about later. No biggie. Jeff found himself sighing and rubbing the back of his neck much like Virgil did a few minutes ago. Turning around, he was met with the bathroom door once more. Shaking his head, Jeff slowly crept into the room and saw that not much was different, especially with Scott.

His heart softly cracked, but, again, he can deal with it later.

Sitting down on the ground and grimacing at the way his body ached (was gravity always this rough?), Jeff leaned against the floor cabinets about 2-3 feet away from Scott, who made himself into a nice comfortable ball in the corner next to the toilet, his palm smushed against his forehead. Jeff waited a few seconds. Then minutes. Then he realized he would have to be the one to initiate the conversation. He probably should’ve realized that right when he came back in. He opened his mouth, but his wasn’t the one that words came out of.

“It was… Zambia.”

Jeff’s heart stopped and his mouth snapped shut. He couldn’t stop the way his eyes clearly showed his panic, but hopefully, he guiltily thought, Scott was a little too doped up to not realize it, “Scotty, what do you mean?”

Scott shrugged in a way that spoke he thought what he was admitting wasn’t a big deal. Yep, clearly not with it, “Mission went bad… caught for a couple of weeks.”

Jeff was hoping his first fuck back on Earth, spoken to himself like right now or otherwise, would have been a comedic thing, but the way nausea rose in his throat said this was anything but funny.

Scott wanted to be in the Air Force. Badly. Who was a father to deny his son’s want to be part of such a noble cause? He gave him tips, took him to meet friends in high places, sometimes even sparred with him when he turned 18, but then Jeff was suddenly thousands of miles away with no hope of ever having the chance of sparring with his eldest again. Despite it, Jeff hoped Scott went on to become the best pilot the world has ever seen.

Part of this looks like he did, but at what cost?

As much as it felt like it did, the world didn’t stop spinning because you… well, we had lives we somehow wanted to continue living.

Aw hell, “Jesus, Scott…” Jeff couldn’t tell if it was the brashness or the lack of a nickname that made Scott flinch and he hated it. He immediately softened his tone and brought his 27-year-old child into his arms, “Shh, shh, we’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Like father like son, old habits die hard, and as easy as it was to still be able to comfort his children, Scott seemed to just as easily take it as he used to 8 years ago, “Alan doesn’t deserve this kind of hell, God, he’s barely not a kid anymore! Why--”

Jeff tightened his hold to keep his son in reality, and because he didn’t like the tone behind those words, “Hey, you didn’t either--”

Scott somehow managed to fling himself out of the hug, focus incredibly on point for someone who was doped up to his eyelids five seconds ago, “But I fucked up! I made the wrong call and then suddenly Arnold was dead and he had a wife and kids-- shit, what the hell did I do?”

Okay.

First of all: way to put him back in that headspace when that’s the exact opposite you were going for, Jeff, father of the year. Second: dammit. Just… dammit. This was a big fat hand grenade in a giant handbasket that they didn’t have time to gently get out while simultaneously not yanking the pin clean off with the grace of a drunk elephant. Jeff was no stranger to Survivor’s Guilt, but there was a whole untapped pile of metaphorical C4 within his son’s head that was ready for someone to push the goddamn button.

He wanted it to be him, desperately, because it sounded like he already failed his family enough, it was all he could do at this point, but he absolutely hated that he couldn’t do it right now. This was going to take a lot of time, which they didn’t have, plus, Jeff thought he had a pretty good understanding of this new Scott and the rest of his kids. Jeff was aware that if he didn’t help his sons find their baby as fast as possible over everything else it’ll lead to a fate nobody wanted.

A shaky sigh, “Okay, Scotty, let’s get you to bed. We’ll talk strategy in the morning.”

Scott simply nodded as his father flung Scott’s arm around his broader shoulders and picked him up. Slowly and painfully but surely, father and son meandered their way to Scott’s room. With a thump a little harder than Jeff wanted, Scott flopped down on top of his sheets and immediately started snoring. Despite everything that just happened, the father couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Well, there was another thing Jeff gracefully passed onto his son.

Jeff only took Scott’s shoes off. He would’ve loved to pull the sheets up around him too, but the father didn’t want to take any chances at waking him up. Slowly tip-toeing out of the room, Jeff gave one last glance back at his son before finally letting him be and gently shutting the door. He had three other sons he needed to console, but his tired joints told him to selfishly take a moment for himself for right now unless he wanted to collapse and give his family more to deal with.

Jeff eventually made his way to his room-- which was sadly unkempt, he noticed-- and sat down on the edge of his unfamiliar bed to think.

He’ll figure something out. If he had to crawl through images of his son being brutally and bloodily tortured then by God he would with the fury of a thousand suns.

He was back and he wasn’t going to throw away any second or even third chance he was given.

---

“I got him.”

Virgil turned his comms back on, and with it, Scott’s heart restarted for the first time in a few weeks. Taking a moment for a breather, Scott leaned against the wall while practically wheezing. They have him back, holy shit, they have him back. Scott vaguely heard Gordon cry in pure relief and joy. He saw John’s side of the comms flutter for a bit before a bright flash happened. Blinking away the white spots, Scott looked at his wrist to see a fully detailed map of the compound.

Gordon spoke what they were all thinking, “Woohoo! First Allie comes back, then Johnny-boy gets us a free ticket out of here! We’re winning this race, baby!”

A very loud moment of silence. John cleared his throat, “Actually, I was going to say glad to see you in one piece, you little shit,” a playful gasp came from Virgil’s side. It was too high pitched to be from the pianist’s mouth. Scott chuckled, but the paranoid part of his brain said John wasn’t done. His brain was right, ‘“But guys… that wasn’t me. Or EOS. We still haven’t found a way to get past the metal they made these walls out of.”

That silence was even more deafening than the last, and before Virgil could utter out his typical what the fuck, a small logo appeared at the corner of their new map. One that was all too familiar. The Chaos Crew wasn’t the only one who could brand their awful deeds.

Son of a bitch.

Virgil’s order over the radio was meant for Alan, but Scott couldn’t help but listen to it too.

“Shit, Alan, you need to run.”

Making quick work of the compound once more, Scott, while booking it even quicker than last time, opened a private line between him and Gordon, “Hey, how would you feel if I said go help Virgil while I cover Alan?”

The first response was stuttering, which Scott expected, but then it was followed up by something completely out of left field for Gordon, “... Okay, just as long as you promise to bring Alan back in one piece.”

Part of Scott wanted to console Gordon, another was questioning why Gordon was so quick to give up, another wanted to say of course, I will, idiot, but the first part that made itself verbal was easy, “You know I will, buddy.”

Scott could physically picture Gordon’s tiny, little, somber nod clear as day, “Sounds good, captain. See you on the other side.”

With a click, Scott was back on the group comm. Suddenly remembering what exactly his job was, he pulled out the map so graciously given to them by The Hood. Looking at all the dots, one was heading towards a prone one (oh if that asshole did anything to Virgil…) while another one was heading right for Scott himself. Actually, in just a few seconds, right as Scott rounded the corner he would--

“Woah, look out there, Tigger!”

Yes, you heard that correctly: not tiger, Tigger. Tigger hadn’t been used since Alan was itty bitty. It always seemed like the kid had endless energy with the way he wouldn’t stop bounding off the walls and furniture. Even as a baby, Lucy had to sit with him for a few hours while he slept in his crib to make sure he would stay there. In fact, their mother gave Alan that nickname herself. She was quite the Winnie the Pooh fan, and the rest of the family figured it would be one of the ways they could keep her legacy alive for the tiny potato.

Wrapping his arms around said flailing potato, albeit much bigger than a baby, Scott thought he would collapse then and there. Alan was here, in his arms, and yeah, the sight of his dirty and somewhat ripped up IR uniform made him mad, but Scott, for once in his life, decided to focus on the here-and-now, aka his precious, alive little brother, who finally stopped struggling at the realization that hey, the person holding you is a good guy, time to turn off fight mode.

Smushing their foreheads together as much as possible, Scott desperately fought to keep the waterworks back, a smile from ear to ear hopefully taking whatever energy his tear ducts had, “You are getting such an ass beating when we get home, little bro.”

Alan jumped back with a look of What the hell?! What did I do now?!

Scott simply rolled his eyes, “Really? “Not important”? You graduated high school, tiny dude! That’s huge! You remember Gordon’s party, right?”

Alan’s mouth gaped before he closed it with slightly puffy cheeks. Those same cheeks tinged with a small blush. Alan wasn’t exactly expecting to be smothered so soon (well, he did cry his eyes out on Virgil’s shoulder, but that was different!). Shaking it off, Alan moved his hands rhythmically and rapidly, To be fair, we weren’t sure he was going to get one for a while.

Scott faltered a little bit at the ASL. Darn, he should’ve seen Alan’s lack of talking from a mile away. Scott carefully hid his disappointment from Alan. Lord knew what the kid would take it as, “Yeah, that’s what he got for barely making it. Imagine what you’re going to get!”

Scott assumed his semi-fake charm worked, as Alan seemed to play along without any kind of suspicion, Oh yeah. Fair enough.

This kid, man.

Then, slow clapping came from a dark corner, making Scott’s heart leap out of his throat as well as push Alan behind himself. Glaring as much as he could towards the invisible evil-doer, Scott didn’t have to think twice, “Alan, take my map and find Virgil and Gordon.”

The youngest looked like he was going to object.

“Go.”

He no longer did. Good.

Listening to the field commander’s orders, Scott felt his wristband slip off his wrist and a warm body leave his vicinity. An inhale. Also good. An exhale, followed by an even darker glare, “What more do you want?”

Short and straight-to-the-point and angry, two things Scott typically wasn’t. Regardless, like a cold gust of wind, footsteps started approaching him from the shadow. Once Scott saw the outline of a body, he tensed even more. Virgil would snap at him for clenching his jaw so much.

A dark chuckle reminded him of what was important. The voice that spoke reminded him of something completely different, “Now then, brother, let’s not be rude to each other!”

Scott’s pupils shrunk at the familiar sight of Gordon stepping towards him. Except it wasn’t Gordon, because Scott knew that Gordon knew better. He also knew Gordon didn’t cheekily smile like that, even after a prank, nor did he walk that straight. He always had a funny walk after WASP, and Gordon wore that fact like a badge of honor.

Oh no, Scott definitely knew who this was, “What the hell are you playing at?”

Fake-Gordon rolled his eyes, like it wasn’t obvious, “I mean if we want to go that route, why did kid insist you being in the military was the coolest thing he’d ever heard you do? Maybe I wouldn’t have been pressured into joining a branch myself in the end.”

Scott’s nostrils flared, and by God, his pupils might have actually slitted like a snake’s, or possibly even a dragon’s, “Excuse me?”

Scott blinked, and suddenly he was met by not-Virgil, “Plus, why was our conclusion after hearing a three-year-old wanting to see snow to go to a ski resort? It had to have been those big, selfish, beady eyes, right?”

“C’mon, Scotty, we gotta give you some kind of calming exercise. There’s going to come a time when neither me or John are going to be there.”

“Hmm… does yoga work?”

A snort, “Well, that’s not too bad of an idea. Maybe the person pissing you off will stop whatever they’re doing at the sight of you spontaneously doing downward dog.”

Laughter, an unfamiliar action, “Yeah, okay, but for real, those breathing exercises I’ve seen you do look okay. Let’s start there.”

Scott was not a liar by heart. He had to admit that those exercises were doing jack shit right about now.

Another blink, another brother. Familiar ginger hair was all Scott could see, “To continue that previous point, why did Dad start International Rescue again? And what led to his demise?”

“Sounds like a piece of work. Why do you keep dealing with these people again?”

“Someone has to pay the bills, Johnny. Grandma’s too focused on making the perfect poison for us.”

A roll of eyes, “Right, because the billions we have saved wouldn’t be enough to last a couple of families a few lifetimes. Glad to see your calming exercises are working at least. How’s that going for you, by the way?”

A pause. A flicker of vision around the room. Someone cleared their throat, probably himself, “It’s probably not as bad as whatever space is throwing at you. You handling it okay up there?”

Another pause, followed by a sigh, “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Scott wanted to deflect the truth so badly right now more than anything else. Telling him he couldn’t pilot ‘One anymore would be a much more enticing option than what he was hearing.

Suddenly, Scott was looking in a mirror, “Besides, I know more than anybody that he wasn’t wanted. A mistake. I thought we Tracys hated being imperfect?”

The Hood must have known their backstories from internet articles, and being the mastermind he was, it probably took him all of three seconds to see Alan had some hidden self-worth issues. By playing the biggest Guess Who? game of all time, The Hood was most likely able to figure out some less-than-positive ideals Alan thought about himself throughout his childhood and danced circles around his already weakened mind to string together some spineless blame to put on the kid by sheer evilness alone.

Knowing his kid brother, it worked.

Scott wasn’t thinking straight-- maybe even at all when the first punch was thrown.

Just like that, Scott blacked out and was running on terminator mode. John would be disappointed. Virgil would be horrified. Gordon might find it funny. Alan wasn’t here, and thank God for that. Scott wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. All his mind was telling him was make lots of pain hard and fast. His brain also blocked out any hit The Hood was giving him in return. Pain flared for a few seconds, then it was swept away in the puddle of rage his mind was currently being consumed in.

Soon, his out-of-it mind found its target and gripped his-- The Hood’s arm, no disguise would make him have an identity crisis, thank you very much-- nice and rough.

Scott heard the familiar snap of cartilage and felt only partially bad. If he was thinking more clearly, he would be disgusted with himself. Yes, even The Hood didn’t deserve this level of Scott’s fury. Oh, he definitely deserved to be hit by a truck, but not by Scott. It was mostly due to Scott’s sanity. If he could be this graphic and violent at all, even to the worse possible criminals, that meant he could be that way during other moments, and that was not a territory he wanted to cross into.

Welp, he was here now, and he’ll hate to admit it in the future, but the only thing that brought him out of it was a tiny gasp from a few feet away. Snapping his head up, Scott’s eyes landed squarely on a smaller-than-normal Alan, who was currently clutching his arm to his chest in an emotion Scott didn’t want to figure out at the moment. So much for going and finding Virgil and Gordon.

“Allie, help…” fake him grunted out, only making real Scott growl and tighten his hold (and probably making his case worse). Looking up from the person in his arms, Scott felt his heart split in two at the sight. There was fear and uncertainty in Alan’s blue eyes and boy did it hurt. Scott couldn’t tell if it was because even seeing a potentially-fake Scott being beaten up was bad or if it was because he’d never seen big brother be this brutal, even towards their enemies. Whatever the reason, it involved Scott being the main root of the problem.

Wait, that was The Hood’s plan. Shit… make Scott act past the point of no return in a way that was unfamiliar to Alan so the kid couldn’t be fully sure who was who, and Scott fell right into his trap, hook, line, and sinker.

Fuck.

Bloody well done, Scott, you absolute moron.

Scott faltered a little bit, “A-Alan, I--”

That falter was enough for The Hood to break an arm out of his grip and elbow him in the face. In the brief second of freedom he had, he tried dashing towards Alan, but Scott was too quick for everyone’s good and soon had the imposter back in his arms, both of them struggling in a way that made them look like they were tied into the weirdest knot in existence.

Then, an earthquake struck.

No, literally.

A big shake of the abandoned compound threw the look-a-likes about and subsequently off the platform they were on. The place was old; it didn’t take a lot of weight for that guard rail they made their way over towards while fighting to snap right off. With a yelp, the two of them gripped the edge as much as they could and held on. Crap, I know we talked with Fuse about potentially setting some stuff off, but--

Blinking, Scott saw a familiar mop of blonde hair come into view. Alan was rather panicked, clearly not sure which Scott was the real Scott. Not only that, he had little time to decide which one to save. Goodie, another reason to despise The Hood: not only has he put Alan through weeks of torment, now he’s forcing the kid to decide to either save his oldest brother and biggest hero or his personal torturer.

And Alan won’t know until he picks.

Holy hell, this was getting worse by the second. Hopefully, big brother charm can work its magic and get them the hell out of there.

“Alan, quickly, over here!”

“I can’t hold on for much longer, Alan, hurry!”

The two Scotts glared at one another in the exact same way, not making Alan’s job much easier. Another shake, another slip down the metal cliff, more screams, and Alan looked ready to tear his hair out. Scott watched as the kid looked around rapidly, probably praying for a miracle in the process. Suddenly, the kid jumped when he must have spotted something important. Within the blink of an eye, he was gone and out of their range of visions to retrieve it.

Whatever the hell he noticed better be important, because if just ended up wasting precious time then--

Another shake, probably the last one. Still, it was enough.

Both their grips gave away at the same time, screams identical (God, did he always sound that wimpy?) as they plummeted to their demises. Scott was briefly able to look up to see his brother pop his head over the cliff like a chipmunk again and grab the (albeit broken) arm of The Hood and save him. Dammit, Scott should have expected that, though, that display of anger was uncharacteristic to Alan. Probably terrified him even more than he already was. Fuck, Scott deser--

Suddenly, a rope wrapped itself around Scott’s left arm and stopped his descent. Hard. Hopefully, it was only torn stuff, they didn’t have time to deal with dislocation--

Wait.

Scott wasn’t dead if he could think about these kinds of things.

Blinking, he looked at his arm to see the familiar rope of his grappling hook around his forearm. Moving his eyesight to look past that, he saw the wide, blue eyes of his baby brother struggling to stay on top. The Hood was using his non-broken side to try and climb his way back up to safety. Huh, that’s weird. When did Alan get ahold of that? Scott must have dropped it during his scuffle with--

That’s when it hit Scott.

Alan saved them both.

And it would be all for jack shit if Scott didn’t get his ass up there to help.

Panicking, Scott gripped the rope and started to ascend. He had two working arms and a smother complex to boot; it wasn’t long before he overtook a struggling Hood, who could only use one arm and a weakened brother (that bastard was so lucky Alan had a literal heart of gold).

Flinging his arms over the edge and pulling himself up-- and shrugging off the extra help Alan offered. Save your strength, baby bro-- Scott was in a much calmer search-and-destroy mode. He yanked his evil look-a-like up, turned him on his stomach, pinned him down, and before he could even watch Alan blink, “Sign something.”

There, now he watched Alan blink.

Scott pulled out one of his best ‘big brother’ smiles ever, “Tell me something in ASL. I don’t think The Hood learned that kind of etiquette.”

The body beneath him growled, making Alan jump and Scott tighten not only his hold but his glare. Further prove big brother’s point, why don’t cha? He lost the angry look immediately to grin at Alan once more, who seemed to be slowly getting the picture. With a gulp, the blonde slowly strung together a sentence that Scott had to laugh at, just a little bit.

Damn, could you teach me to fight like that, Scooter?

Nodding his head, Scott had to concede, “Sure. Consider it a graduation present.”

Alan blinked again, and the immense relief that washed over the boy’s shoulders would be enough to banish nightmares for at least a couple of days. Suddenly, The Hood’s disguise blinked out of existence, making both brothers jump that time. Scott didn’t falter in his grip, however. This man was going down right here and now, Scott thought darkly, staring at the prone body beneath his.

Scott saw Alan continue to sign out of the corner of his eye, You know you look like shit, right?

Scott chuckled. Alan was always able to put a smile on his face no matter the circumstances, “Yeah, well, kindred spirits, little bro.”

Scott was probably as pale as Alan was with such lack of sleep and food. Running on what was essentially a prolonged PTSD attack wasn’t healthy in the slightest, and no doubt whatever kind of bruises and scratches The Hood gave him didn’t help, however, seeing hope fill those deep-blue eyes when Alan learned he was truly being saved drowned everything out, including the way those freckles were getting lost in those eye bags.

Yeah, their entire family probably looked like shit, and the recovery process was going to be even shittier, but they were going to suffer through it together as a family would.

That made it all worth it.

Shuffling himself so one arm was free while the other kept The Hood pinned, Scott held it out towards Alan. The flinch the youngest made tore a hole in Scott’s heart that was only slightly patched when Alan leaned into the warmth and safety of his biggest bro. Long recovery process, remember? Regardless, Alan still took to the hug like a dehydrated zebra did a pond, and that was good enough for Scott.

The Hood groaned underneath them.

Yep, good enough.

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #alan tracy #jeff tracy #grandma tracy #the hood #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #my post #my fic #series: rules of alchemy

33 notes · View notes

irnbraw · 3 years

Photo

On the Need to Preserve Freely Spoken Words in Scotland

Scotland is slowly boiling to death - like the proverbial frog in the pan of simmering water. Our civic life is already damaged to such an extent that Scotland seems more like Northern Ireland than the rest of the UK now. To which we can now also see the methodical disassembling of facts, history, free-speech and freedoms of person, belief and action.

The SNP is fundamentally illiberal. (See all the preceding pages of this blog). It, like all cultish entities, has a Dogma to which ALL must be sacrificed. Truth, facts, friends, even family. Nothing is more sacred than Dogma so public ethics, accountability, transparency, honesty - any and all can be safely and comfortably dispensed with if Dogma is furthered and the transcending goal of Dogma is advanced.

Into this vortex of lies have wandered a number of persons who are not a perfect fit. They are those who have failed to have their own moral compass overwritten. Certain people who, when they encounter corruptions or abuses of power at the highest levels do not look the other way - or mutter to themselves something about ‘the end justifying the means’.

This is alas rare - but therefore significant. One such instance is when avowed separatist, ‘progressive’, a scion of the Scottish nationalist cause - someone at the core of that maelstrom: Robin McAlpine - saw and experienced at first hand the kind of corrosive corruption that the SNP is now disintegrating Scotland with, he spoke up.

McAlpine was Director of “Common Weal” a social issues ‘think tank’, dedicated to the progressives’ view of a separate Scotland. But he is that no longer. For when he stopped in his tracks and lamented the detrimental impact of secretive, conspiratorial nationalist power (by penning a 3,000 word article)* he was invited to step down.

Given the direction in which Scotland currently drifts, aided by Covid and an overly sentimentalist and un-critical population, I believe the essay that caused the former Director’s downfall may not long survive. Therefore, I have copied and pasted it here.

Not much is now, in reality, safe in the hands of Big Tech. The clarion warnings of Rand, Huxley, Orwell and Bradbury have already been rendered moot by our illiberal and autocratic governments combined with the mob mentality of ‘wokeism’. So even reprinting here is no guarantee of anything. But we must all make an effort, and this small bit is my contribution to preserving words freely spoken in Scotland - while that is still a thing.

- Here is the Article -

(link to the original blog-post is above)*

THIS TIME almost exactly two years ago I sat in a cafe close to Holyrood in a state of what I can only call shock. The enormity of what I’d just heard was sinking in; over the preceding nearly three hours I’d been introduced to all the gory detail of the plot against Alex Salmond. The last two years has at times been surreal for me as a result.

To explain what I am going to write next I need to tell you something about my fundamental beliefs. I have worked close to the power of government my whole life. I have studied and read widely on power. I am also a strong believer in social change.

Everything I have seen has driven me to the same conclusion; nothing is more important than integrity in public life. That may seem anachronistic to some (given modern political culture) and not particularly left-wing. But the positive change I want cannot be built on anything but the firmest of foundations; when corruption or misuse of power creeps into those foundations, nothing good can be built on them.

Some on the right of politics are anti-state and for them a discredited public realm has its uses. For the left, nothing good ever, ever comes from it.

There is no doubt in my mind that there was and is a coordinated plan of action created by a powerful group of people, developed and executed in secret but using public resources, all with the sole purpose of forcing a perceived opponent out of public life in Scotland.

I then have no doubt that when this plan was at risk of collapsing and exposing those who perpetrated it, they instigated a wide-ranging cover up. My suspicion is that it was not initially the intention to seek to jail Salmond, and that this was a result of an escalation to distract attention as part of the cover-up operation. Yet that is the direction in which this plan proceeded, nonetheless.

There is no greater abuse of power than to use it arbitrarily to remove someone’s liberty. This is absolutely not the ‘rough and tumble’ of politics. It has no place in Scotland. None.

At this stage I need to make some more things clear. This is no longer anything to do with Alex Salmond, his reputation, his career or his future. He was investigated thoroughly, tried in a court of law and acquitted of all charges. It is worth adding that he was not acquitted because his actions were ‘dodgy’ yet failed to meet the threshold of criminality but because the jury believed his defence that none of them happened.

It is not about contentious political issues such as independence or the Gender Reform Act. It is not about crucial social and cultural debates such as the Me Too movement. I am open that I believe Nicola Sturgeon has run a poor administration and has repeatedly misled the independence movement in a way that has harmed our chances of independence. But it’s not about that either.

Nor am I any kind of Alex Salmond fan-boy. This is not about a personal squabble or some ‘psychodrama’. It certainly isn’t some spurious debate about ‘civic’ versus ‘populist’ nationalism. The sheer volume of dust being thrown up to obscure what this is really about is in itself telling.

So you must clear your mind of all of these issues and focus on the sole and single issue this is about; are there people in a position of power in Scotland who misused that power in a manner which makes them unfit to hold office or employment? (If this gives you difficulty, perhaps remove the names and think in terms of ‘Politician A’ and ‘Civil Servant B’.)

In what follows I will try, carefully and without emotive language, to take you through how I reached my conclusions. I will seek very hard to only state as fact things that are public record, and to make absolutely clear where I am introducing my own opinion and analysis.

(There are far, far too many references to include throughout as this relates to thousands of disclosed government papers available here. Gordon Dangerfield has gone through many of those forensically on his blog here. I know there are strong views about Wings Over Scotland but that is the best place to find a number of documents which are redacted elsewhere. I have never at any point had access to nor specific knowledge of material not in the public domain but have broad awareness of what it is believed to indicate.)

But yes, I am of the decided view that people in a position of power in Scotland misused that power in a manner which is not acceptable. I believe that it started when a complaints procedure was created and designed to target a specific individual and pushed through over strong objections from the UK civil service.

In a position of power, you should never create laws or procedures for a purpose related to the pursuit of an individual; it represents a gross misuse of those powers.

I am of the decided view that the same people merged this process with the ‘grooming’ of complainants against the same individual, and on this a ruling of the Court of Session strongly suggests I am correct.

There are then too many details concerning the fundamentally improper manner in which this complaints process was subsequently pursued to cover here, but it is all documented and will reach the public domain eventually. This too was a gross abuse of power.

It seems that at this point, those behind these actions became aware of their risk of exposure as a result of legal arguments they had become aware of, and I believe this is when the cover-up began.

The first crucial element of this cover-up was for the most senior of government politicians to arrange a meeting to discuss sensitive government business at her house, seemingly deliberately doing so with the express intent of excluding civil servants from documenting this meeting and then subsequently, when caught, to knowingly and repeatedly to mislead parliament about that meeting. I believe this is confirmed by existing information in the public domain.

I then believe that, aware their position was coming into substantial jeopardy, the participants in this operation sought to move the focus away from their actions by escalating the matter to a criminal one by reporting information to the police, information they had access to for at least six months previously but did not act on (done against the wishes of the complainants).

... seeking to jail someone for political expediency is something I did not believe I would see in Scotland in my lifetime. Pause must be taken here to take in the enormity of this ...

At this point we have moved into the territory of the kind of behaviour we seldom see in western Europe. Certainly, seeking to jail someone for political expediency is something I did not believe I would see in Scotland in my lifetime. Pause must be taken here to take in the enormity of this.

As part of that process, I believe that a leak of information which is probably criminal in nature was carried out from within the office of the politician and on this the investigation of the Information Commissioner’s Office strongly suggests I am correct. I do not believe that it is feasible this happened without the authorisation of the politician (though I am aware of no hard evidence for this).

The affair now moves into two strands. The first involves continued efforts to cover up what has happened through the repeated failure to produce documents, even in the face of a Court Warrant, and in this a judge at the Court of Session concurs (on fact, not motive). This appears to be, on the face of it, contempt of court.

This also involves what I believe appears to be pressure exerted on Government lawyers to misrepresent facts in court up to the point where they threatened to resign (this latter point is public record).

The Scottish Government continued this behaviour in the face of at least one (and probably more) legal opinion that it would be ruled against but only admitted fault when more damaging material appeared to be about to be exposed. The ruling on the part of the Judge in this case was damning and the award made was extraordinarily harsh on the Scottish Government.

From there the cover-up, I believe, is fairly apparent, ranging from refusing to reveal legal advice to doing everything possible to avoid document disclosure to creating the remit of inquiries deliberately designed to prevent proper investigation of what has happened to repeatedly evasive and factually incorrect evidence given to a Parliamentary Committee.

The second strand involved the criminal case, and while there was some crossover of participants this was pursued largely by the apparatus of the political party of which the politician is a member. Much less of this evidence is currently publicly available, so I will restrict myself to saying that staff of that party appeared to have sought to maximise the number of complaints and put pressure on the police.

These two strands recombine during the resultant criminal trial, where there may be a case to be made that the repeated refusal to produce relevant documents represents an attempt to pervert the course of justice and contribute to the imprisonment of a man by withholding evidence relevant to his defence.

Perhaps the pinnacle of this for me is the testimony of Woman H, by far the most serious of the charges presented (attempted rape). Here the prosecution led no properly admissible evidence that she was even in the building where the alleged attempted rape took place. The defence led multiple pieces of evidence including reliable eye-witness testimony that she was never there.

The circumstances around this testimony are deeply concerning and it seems to be clear perjury. I can’t comment any more, but for me it sums up this whole sorry affair.

I haven’t even mentioned what I find to be the difficult-to-understand decision by the Crown Office and Prosecutor Fiscal Service to bring this case to court, nor its (for me) subsequent chilling pursuit of supporters of the man tried. I also have some concerns about what I know of the actions of the police. The role of some publicly-funded agencies and the publicly-funded BBC in the aftermath only contribute to my unease.

There is so much more, so much that will come out and this will be worse still than what you’ve seen so far.

There is so much more, so much that will come out and this will be worse still than what you’ve seen so far. The damage I believe this is likely to do to confidence in the conduct of public life in Scotland is substantial.

That the politician is Nicola Sturgeon, the man Alex Salmond, the civil servants a group surrounding Leslie Evans and the party officials a group surrounding Peter Murrell (husband of Sturgeon) should play no part in affecting the details I have set out above.

I have never in my life called for someone to resign. If they should be fired, they should be fired; but resignation should be a matter of honour, so calling for it seems futile to me. But I can see no circumstances in which it should be acceptable for Nicola Sturgeon to remain in office. Any one of half a dozen the above acts perpetrated by a member of Boris Johnson’s cabinet would have the SNP demanding their head.

From there it seems to me to be a question only of how many of the civil servants and paid officials of the SNP should be sacked for misconduct. Some of the civil servants seem to me clearly to need to face contempt of court proceedings and there are a number of people involved who seem to me at least terribly close to ‘conspiracy to pervert the course of justice’ territory.

I want only to finish with a few thoughts on the ramifications of all of this, firstly for public life in Scotland.

I have made no secret of my growing concern about the state of democracy in Scotland nor the way public officials perform their duties. There seems to me now to be a messianic cult of impunity among far too many senior officials. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that this has rattled my confidence in the health of Scotland as a nation right now.

There must be reform of governance in Scotland and a root and branch review of the civil service and its agencies. I struggle to understand how the Lord Advocate is still in post (what exactly is the ‘correct’ number of malicious prosecutions he can admit to in any given year?) and his existence as an active member of Cabinet is clearly contrary to EU law (enshrined in domestic law) that the Executive (government) and judiciary (legal system) are independent of each other.

If this rattles the confidence of the public in Scotland then I can hardly blame them, and I can’t see what the option is other than (finally) honesty, full disclosure and reform.

Talk of continuity in government during the Covid crisis is neither here nor there. If continuity means failure to ensure integrity, we have a bigger problem. Surely someone else can do a press conference every morning and no-one is asking health officials to resign. The vast majority of the SNP’s politicians are good and honest people who had nothing whatsoever to do with this; there will be no problem forming a strong working government.

Finally, the cause of independence. I have said over and over to the small group of people whom I’ve spoken to about this that harm was inevitable from the moment the ‘original sin’ of this affair took place.

In the last week there has been much chatter from people who support independence of the sort ‘but she’s so popular, can’t we turn a blind eye to this, at least for a while?’. I of course have sympathy for the many grassroots activists I so admire and who have been let down by this, but I have two responses.

The first is simple; directly before the Watergate scandal Richard Nixon had approval ratings of 68 per cent, substantially better than Nicola Sturgeon’s – and this whole affair has remarkable parallels with Watergate.

This will out eventually. I wish dearly that Nicola Sturgeon had found a dignified excuse to fall on her sword long before now and it might actually have been possible to avoid this (for now, if not for the history books). But she didn’t. Every part of this traces back to her, her team, her husband and her close confidants. If you’re angry about this (you should be) that’s where to direct it.

We sure as hell can’t afford this to dominate the 2021 Holyrood election and there is a very real risk it will.

But to return right back to the beginning, while I have sympathy to those wishing we could ‘turn a blind eye’, in the end that is the Ted Cruz/Mitch McConnell position – and how is that working out for them?

It is almost explicitly to say that you are content for a new Scotland to be born from corruption, so long as it is born. But I can’t tell you how much of a mistake that is – there is no redemption for us from such a stance. Our future, our nation must be born from honesty and integrity or you should want no part of it. I certainly don’t.

‘Just this one corrupt conspiracy and no more, we promise’ can’t be acceptable

‘Just this one corrupt conspiracy and no more, we promise’ can’t be acceptable, can’t be how we carry ourselves into the future. Whatever price we pay for this we must pay, and we must then atone and rebuild. We can still win an election if we start right now.

I wish I had an alternative for you. I wish, I so deeply wish, this had never happened. None of it. Even now I wish I didn’t feel I need to write these things. But I do feel I need to, for my own conscience if nothing else. My silence would leave me feeling complicit and I can’t live with that. I would have written the same even for a leader I admired and supported.

And I have already lived for these two years with the knowledge of this wound deep into things I care very much about – Scotland, its future as an independent nation and its ability to be a much better place than one where a fifth of the people live in poverty.

We have been dragged here and whether it is now, during the election or in the months after when we should be moving purposely towards independence, this is all going to pour into the public domain like it or not.

And because it will poison all it touches, those responsible must remove themselves or be removed and rapidly be distanced from the cause of independence and Scotland’s public realm.

#SNP #Nicola Sturgeon #Corruption #Scotland #Common Weal #Alex Salmond #conspiracy #Robin McAlpine

1 note · View note