#gordon parks foundation

[garadinervi]

Gordon Parks (photograph), Stokely Carmichael in SNCC Office, (gelatin silver print), 1967, Edition of 15 [Rhona Hoffman Gallery, Chicago, IL. © Gordon Parks / The Gordon Parks Foundation, Pleasantville, NY]

[notchainedtotrauma]

Gordon Parks, Tenement Residents in 1950

[beenetworkmedia]

TRENDS, TRAVEL, HISTORY, FILMS AND BOOKS

Trends, Travel, Film, History and Books provide readers with information that might be off the beaten path of their traditional news sources. Whether its innovation, unique travel, classic or new age films, books and documentaries, looking at history from a different perspective or discovering new and established authors, it brings a fresh look to things that are either old or new…

[padawan-historian]

Watering Hole in Fort Scott, Kansas by Gordon Parks (1963)

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Fashion shot on Park Avenue, 1956.

Photo: Gordon Parks via The Gordon Parks Foundation

[charliehoennam]

forever home

a/n: i rewatched the office and it was that episode where jim buys pam a house 🥰

pairing: william miller x f!reader

warnings: none (i think. i suck with tags, sorry), just fluff, not proofread so sorry for any typos

It's almost 11 p.m.

You're sat on the couch, trying to keep your tired eyes open as you watch a rerun of Hell's Kitchen.

With Gordon Ramsey's yelling and cursing in the background, you lift your phone once more to check for any new messages but there aren't any. You open up the chat with Will on the messaging app and reread his last text.

"Having one for the road. Be home in 20. Love you 💚"

You don't want to be one of those nagging fianceés, but the urge to text or call him is just bubbling inside. That was almost an hour ago and you're starting to get worried.

What if something happened to him on the drive home? What if he got into a fight at the bar?

It would be a surprise, but it wouldn't be the first time. Despite the progress he's had through therapy, you know how he can be impatient at times and a little hot-headed too. And maybe a little cocky too, although he would only let that side shine through at Benny's matches.

The trust you have in each other is the one of the main foundations that you've built your relationship on. Opportunities like these are essential to remind, not only you, but also himself of how far he's come.

You remind yourself of that when you hear a car pulling into the condo's parking lot downstairs. It takes all of your willpower to refrain from racing to the window to make sure it's really him. Truthfully, you just want to know if he's alright.

Will's tired legs slowly his heavy body up the single flight of stairs that led up to your small and shared condo apartment. His arms are so sore that he can barely hold the keys in his hand as he unlocks the door. He's never felt so tired, even on his deployments.

For the past 3 months, Will and his team have been working on a new house. He'd gotten into the business of buying and flipping houses which has been working out really well for him.

He loved being able to work with his hands and there is something just so gratifying to him about seeing something come together so beautifully after lots of sweat, work and a little bit of blood whenever he's accidently hurt himself. Will was usually very cautious, but accidents can happen to anyone.

You always supported him and his career since he'd expressed his desire to get into the business. You're thankful he did. Will's really good at what he does and he genuinely loves being so handy.

One of the other perks is getting to watch him in action. There's something so attractive about watching your fiancé slam a sledgehammer to a wall. Will knows you like watching him too, so he'll flaunt his muscles off whenever you come around to bring him some materials or sweet treats for the team.

However, this specific project has really been taking up most of his time and you just cannot wait until it's done and sold.

As usual, Will and the guys get together every Friday night to catch up, watch a game and shoot the shit. It's their own way of making sure everyone - particularly Tom ever since the divorce - are still hanging in there.

Opening the front door to the apartment, he steps inside and locks the door with a tired sigh before near the open plan kitchen to set his wallet and keys on the breakfast counter.

"Hey, baby. Sorry I'm late. Tom got a little carried away with the beers and I had to give him a ride."

"It's alright, honey," you yawn. "Did the guys get home alright?"

You look over the back of the couch and watch him kick off his dusty work boots at the door. His work jeans are tattered, splattered with dried old paint and wood varnish. The faded tan jacket is peeled off his body and hung up on a hook.

A mental note is made in your mind to convince him to buy new clothes when you go out the next time, although you know that'd be a bit of hassle since he's too stubborn to waste money on himself. It's nothing a batting of eyelashes can't handle.

"Yeah, sweetheart. The other guys just had a couple beers, but you know Tom," he struts over as he shares with you, bending down to kiss you hello and plops himself on the couch beside you, manspreading his legs as a arm drapes of your lap, hand stroking your thigh. "He's really going through it."

"I can imagine. You been talking to him?"

"I have, yeah. Invited him to the support group, but you know how he can be."

You nod adjusting to lean closer and thread your fingers through his hair. His blonde eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes, instantly melting under your touch.

"Yeah, I know, baby. But don't give up. You never know. He might just show up one day."

"I know, sweetheart," he smiles before opening his eyes as his head turns to face you with a gentle squeeze to your thigh. "How was your day, beautiful?"

"Just the same ol'. Made your favorite for dinner though" you smile watching the exhaustion in his eyes slowly fade.

"Pesto chicken alfredo pasta?"

His blue gleam with hope. His pretty pink lips stretch into a wide smile behind the golden whiskers of his beard. You chuckle at how happy he gets when it comes to food.

You know it stems from the lack of indulgence during his deployments. Will's no fussy eater, but when he's home, he indulges when he can to make up for the barely edible chow he and the guys had to eat. Although tasteless and sometimes expired, Will never had any problems with it because he knew the purpose wasn't to be good, but to keep him alive.

That's why he quickly back up on his feet and striding towards the kitchen to heat a plate up for himself, leaving you to snicker at his excitement. If there's one thing that the Miller brothers share, it's their appetite for food.

"How's the house coming along?"

"We finally fucking finished, babe," he grins plating the cold food. "It looks so good though. I cannot wait for you to see it. You are going to love it." Of course. He built it with you and your tastes in mind. "Tomorrow, I'm taking you to see it."

"Really?" you grin.

Your opinion is very important to Will and he always comes to you when he's got doubts and is in need of a feminine point of view, so it's not exactly uncommon for him to bring you to his projects for a look-around.

The next morning, you find yourself in his car listening to No Excuses by Alice In Chains.

With nothing else to do, you sing along to the song as Will drives steadily

“Can I please take this thing off?” you ask adjusting the blindfold he’s got on you. “I don’t want cops pulling us over thinking you’re kidnapping me.”

“Baby, no one’s gonna pull us over” he chuckles at the thought. “We’re almost there.”

You try to focus on the sounds beyond the car in an attempt to locate where you are, but the catchy tune playing from the stereo makes it impossible. The only thing you know for certain is that you’re not in the city. The familiar salty scent strikes you as clear as day.

“Are we at the beach?” your voice fills with excitement.

“You’ll see soon enough. We’re here. I’m gonna help you out of the car, hold on.”

You can hear the smile he’s got plastered on his face. Will finds it cleverly adorable how you figured part of his surprise out already. it's not enough to ruin it though.

Just as promised, he opens the car door and takes your hand to carefully help you out of the car with kind instructions. You hold onto his hand as you settle on the stony driveway. Although from a distance, you can still hear the ocean waves quietly splashing on the shore.

"Take a look," he grins anxiously untying your blindfold.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright light of the blue sky but, once it does, you freeze in awe of the house before you.

The mediterranean-style house is simple but large and elegant. Red Italian tiles and cream-colored paint exude a rustic and mysteriously familiar feeling that makes you feel at home.

Colorful flowers strategically planted grow in the grassy front lawn. Behind it, potted flowers sit on the low wall that encloses the small garden along the gated pathway to the door.

You and Will had talked about buying a house for a long time. Little did you know, Will had made a list in his precise mind of every little detail that you desired in your forever home.

"Will, this house is beautiful. You might have finally outdone yourself!"

He chuckles filled with relief and joy as he listens to you swoon over every small and carefully thought out detail of the exterior.

"C'mon, let's take a look."

He takes your hand and leads you up the pathwalk to unlock the door. You step inside the empty home and marvel at the space.

"Wow... It looks small from outside, but it's pretty big huh?"

"I thought so too. I kinda liked that about it."

"I love it! It's like a little illusion and then, you come in and it's just so much space," you grin roaming around each room slowly to take everything in.

"Do you like the windows?"

"Yeah, they're lovely. They really add to the mediterranean/contemporary vibe you got going on here. Can we see the kitchen? You know how much I love kitchens," you giggle excitedly.

"Of course. It's right over here."

"The floorplan is really nice and open too, huh? Oh, the sink! You installed the farmhouse sink! Undermount, too! The owners will love that."

Will smiles as he gazes at you, watching your reaction lovingly as you wander around the house and notice every tiny detail that Will spent countless hours pondering over to ensure you would have the house of your dreams.

The project cost him a pretty penny, but every single cent and drop of sweat he had spent investing into this home was certainly worth to see your eyes light up with every nook and cranny.

He led you to the backyard compete with a pool and beautiful stones and bright green plants that made it feel like your own little personal lagoon, with a wooden pathway that leads to a private gateway to the beach behind the house.

In truth, you feel like you're in paradise. You could spend every day in this house without the urge to leave it.

"So? What do you think?" he smiles holding your hips.

"I think this is your masterpiece, babe" you grin holding his strong biceps. "Do you have any buyers yet? I bet this will be the most expensive house you've sold yet."

"Actually, someone's already bought the place... This is ours."

You stare up at him in shock.

"A-Are you serious? You bought this place for us?"

"Mhm," he nods with a shit-eating grin. "The farmhouse sink, the red italian rooftop tiles, the little garden... It's everything that was on your list."

As tears fill your eyes, you hug him tightly and sniffle as your arms tighten around him. You want to thank him, but you're too speechless to say anything although your reaction says everything he needs to know.

You think back to all the long pillow talks you've had, where he'd casually asked you about little bits and pieces he should add to the project. You would have never guessed the project he'd been working on was your new home together.

The mere fact that Will had gone through so much trouble to make this house perfect to every desire makes your swell. Being designed by the love of your life is the finaal cherry on top.

"Thank you, Will," you mumble still stunned as you stare at your new backyard.

"Welcome home, babe."

[phantoms-world-and-more]

An idea I'm currently playing around:

Basically, what if the GIW changed management and instead of being hindrances to Phantom and Amity Park, they decided to help around. Instead of capturing Liminal People, they train them to control the extra abilities that started appearing. Out of everyone else, the most liminal was Danny's Class who apparently have a lot of secrets.

Now enter the Batman Fandom.

What if the Class became Danny's Court and they're rather well known in school as "The Class that always have a messy field trip", then their class managed to win the Martha Wayne Foundation despite making a mess of it. The Head of the Foundation visited, and secrets unraveled.

Like for example:

Star is apparently Star Al Ghul, Ra's Favorite Grandchild (and by extension, Ra's gained many grandchildren much to his delight and Talia's exasperation)

Paulina is a Luthor

Tucker being related to Commissioner Gordon

Sam being Poison Ivy's little sister (half-sister)

Gotham won't ever be the same once the class is finished with their trip

.

[yama-bato]

Gordon Parks (American, 1912-2006) Shoes, Fort Scott, Kansas 1950 Courtesy and © The Gordon Parks Foundation Courtesy Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

[paolo-streito-1264]

The Gordon Parks Foundation. Morocco Untitled 1967.

[fyeahusheraymond]

USHER getting ready for the Gordon Parks Foundation Awards Dinner photographed by Tomás Herold (2024)

[cartermagazine]

What an EPIC night, Brother Jamel Shabazz received the prestigious @luciefoundation Award presented by Peter Kunhardt, Jr. Executive Director for The Gordon Parks Foundation at Carnegie Hall… So well deserved.

Jamel Shabazz is best known for his iconic photographs of New York City during the 1980s. A documentary, fashion, and street photographer, he has authored 12 monographs and contributed to over three dozen other photography related books.

His photographs have been exhibited worldwide and his work is housed within the permanent collections of The Whitney Museum, The Brooklyn Museum, The Studio Museum in Harlem, The Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture, The Fashion Institute of Technology, The Art Institute of Chicago and the Getty Museum.

Over the years, Shabazz has instructed young students at the Studio Museum in Harlem’s “Expanding the Walls” project, The Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture “Teen Curator’s” program, and the Bronx Museum’s “Teen Council.” He is also the 2018 recipient of the Gordon Parks award for excellence in the arts and humanitarianism and the 2022 awardee of the Gordon Parks Foundation/Steidl book prize. His goal as an artist is to contribute to the preservation of world history and culture.

It is an honor to collaborate with Brother Jamel Shabazz on the @albeesquaremall book that has been years in the making.

Another one of Brooklyn’s Finest 👑🏆🫡 @jamelshabazz

CARTER™️ Magazine

[garadinervi]

Gordon Parks: Stokely Carmichael and Black Power, Edited by Lisa Volpe, Steidl Verlag, Göttingen, 2022 [© Gordon Parks / The Gordon Parks Foundation, Pleasantville, NY]

[cosmicanger]

Gordon Parks, Watering Hole, Fort Scott, Kansas, 1963

archival pigment print, 24 x 20 inches (print), edition 1 of 7, with 2 APs (© the Gordon Parks Foundation, image courtesy the Gordon Parks Foundation and Jack Shainman Gallery, New York)

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Variegated

Summary: They shared a craft, but approached it differently. Crafty!FishTank

Characters: Gordon, Virgil

Words: 3,300

A/N: This is what happens when you start to explore what kind of crafters these two are. Let's be honest, I wrote this completely self-indulgently, but if for some reason this inspires you, 1) please enjoy the image of Gordon and Virgil with bags of yarn and 2) know there's absolutely no right way to craft. The most fun thing to do is to do what makes you happiest.

Single day write, so be warned.

I'll do an AO3 post eventually, but for now just for you, tumblr.

****

Variegated

“You know you want to.” 

“No, Gordon. Not right now.” His brother was incessant. Though they were busy finishing up a rescue, he wouldn’t leave Virgil alone about the strip of stores across the street from where they’d parked Two. International Rescue was known to occasionally take a detour to collect takeout after a mission, but it was not time to shop. They still had work to do, and Gordon was the worst distraction. 

They were finishing a rescue at a mall complex, which for entirely avoidable reasons had been about to collapse with two thousand occupants inside. The design flaw in its foundations frustrated Virgil to no end. The lack of safety protocols was enough to rival Fischler. Except there were tried and true blueprints for super structures like the one they’d just evacuated, so there was no excuse. Fischler was annoyingly careless; this was just deliberately built to be unsafe. 

Even though they’d saved all of the families inside, Virgil’s blood boiled knowing just how many people had been put in danger. And, for what! Nothing but a money-saver. 

Scott had been amazing coordinating with the local emergency services, while John and Eos had worked on comparing their scans of the building to the final designs that were filed, identifying the weak spots for them to secure. Gordon and Alan had made quick work of that at Virgil’s direction, and once the three of them were done they joined Scott for the evacuation efforts. The seals would only give them more time, not hold the building forever, so time was of the essence still. 

His brothers were awesome today. Yet, Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to be happy over the job well done. Not when people like that were still out in the world, making irresponsible decisions, making it just that much harder to be available for the unavoidable whims of the planet. 

“You know John’s going to find them, right?” Gordon slid up beside him, wiping his hands on a rag before wiggling his way into Virgil’s space at the pod controls. He selected the disassembly button, and turned towards him, knowingly. “I’d be surprised if their license isn’t already revoked.”

Virgil grunted, but it was swallowed all too quickly by the thundering shriek of metal as the building gave in to its final shudder. Onlookers were taking video in awe, shop owners whose wares were still inside were watching with fear and horror, emergency services were turned away to keep the crowd back but still jumped in surprise at the sound, and the International Rescue operatives observed solemnly from their positions at the inevitable. 

Virgil closed his eyes at the echo. No one had been hurt. 

“Al, do me a favor and go shadow Scott in One.” Gordon’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. 

“F-A-B.” Alan’s footsteps faded away quickly.

And they were alone. Not only that, but Virgil also realized, once he opened his eyes, that he felt the floor of Two’s cargo-pod under his backside. His legs must’ve given out on him. 

“Are you ok?” Gordon, sitting beside him with his arms extended behind him to prop himself up, nudged his shoulder lightly. “Talk to me, big guy.”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I’m angry.” 

“I can tell.”

“People are terrible.”

“Oh, come on now, V. You know you don’t believe that.” His gaze was locked away from him, and Virgil followed it towards the crowd of people hugging each other after their ordeal and comforting the shop owners whose livelihoods had been devastated. 

He breathed deeply, feeling the dust settle in his heart as it fell towards the ground safely away from them. “No, I know,” he sighed. 

“I think we’ve both seen enough destruction for one day.” He hopped back onto his feet and offered Virgil a hand up. “What do you say?”

Virgil accepted it. “About what?”

Gordon waggled his eyebrows at him. “You know. Creating.” The blond pointed across the street towards the row of shops where patrons were starting to head back inside after the excitement outside. “I’ve been trying to get you to go with me, but you kept blowing me off. You know you need it.”  

He shook his head. They couldn’t just shop after a rescue. There was debrief; he needed to get the dust off his girl. “Gordon, I don’t think-”

“I need it too, Virg.” Gordon bounced on his feet. It was the lack of begging puppy-dog-eyes that convinced him of the sincerity, the sigh of relief when Gordon noticed Virgil’s expression soften. 

Twist my arm, he thought. The frown that had forged creased into his forehead eased as his smile lifted into a grin at his brother’s enthusiasm.  “Fine.” Virgil uncrossed his arms while Gordon whooped. “We can go to the yarn store.”

~*~

They drew everyone’s gaze when they entered, the little bell above the door chiming to herald their arrival. They still had the return journey ahead of them, so though they had washed up from the rescue, they changed back into one of their spare uniforms. Virgil was regretting that decision as the cashier’s eyes took in their iR blues, the baldrics that really had no sense being brought into a place of retail. 

“Maybe we should change,” he mused. It would’ve been more time changing back and forth, but for the sake of everyone’s comfort level, it might have been better off. John was the one that encouraged uniforms until everyone was home. That was the official end of any mission by his and Scott’s definition. No sooner. 

Virgil pulled at his collar from the scrutiny. But his little brother, unaffected in the slightest by the staring, bounded in and hadn’t heard Virgil’s discomfort. 

“Uh - Hi, how can I help you today?” One of the saleswomen asked, grabbing Gordon’s attention on the way towards the wall of variegated skeins. She’d gathered her composure quickly, Virgil had to give her that. Gordon eased the tension in the room with his most winning smile. Once the employees realized they weren’t there for danger reasons, they returned back to what they were doing before the two rescuers had entered. A few patrons were sat around a circular table working on their WIPs - works in progress. The man who had halted in caking up a skein for a customer slowly began winding again to rotate the wooden swift that held the threads of bright pink. Virgil felt their eyes watching them still though, the curiosity in the space so strong he could taste it. 

Gordon had long since abandoned him to discuss colorways with a sales person, so Virgil shifted on his feet and focused on taking in the display.

The store was sorted by yarn weight, brand, and then finally to Virgil’s great pleasure, color. The display itself evoked the threads of inspiration, of artwork that explored shades and spectrums. Where he’d been tightly swirling on the grays and metallics of unsafe structures, the array of blue-into-green-into-yellow and on, was just what he needed to loosen that coil around his mind. To dissipate the stress of his anger with the grand possibilities of color.

Art supplies always gave him the same boost of inspiration, but there was just something about the yarn store with its colors prominent that immersed him fully into his ideas. 

They’d been meaning to go anyway. That was one of the reasons Gordon had been so determined to drag him in here. Though they both needed supplies for their holiday gifts, the number of rescues had kept them both busy with no down time anticipated for a few more weeks. Of course, they had time until Christmas - but depending on the project, they would need most of that time. Often, Virgil started in the winter - months ahead - to prepare for Christmas summer. Gordon was a bit more rebellious with deadlines. 

At the back wall, he was holding up a speckled blue against a variegated orange. Gordon was a bit more rebellious about a lot of things. 

Virgil shook his head, and scanned the store for worsted weight, then approached, eyeing up the different greens that had caught his attention.   

He and Gordon had an arrangement when it came to homemade yarn gifts. Both were aware of their own inspirational whims, so it was nothing too organized or controlled. But if either of them had an idea for one of their family members, they would always share so as not to overlap their gifts too much during the season. And their family members saw how involved the homemade gifts were, so they didn’t press or make requests. Virgil was grateful their family members were so understanding and grateful. Last year, Virgil had made Kayo a cashmere scarf in a shimmery peridot that matched her eyes, and Gordon had made Alan a chevron pillow cover. 

He didn’t know yet what Gordon was planning for this year, or who for; this early on Gordon probably didn’t even know. Where Virgil planned in advance and had his patterns in mind when he went to the shop, Gordon would find a color that grabbed his attention first, then plan. 

This year, Virgil was far in his pattern design for a cable sweater for John. When out of uniform it could get cold up on Five, and even when he was home, his body temperature would fluctuate as part of readjusting to Earth. The length of his stay often made him prone to colds, so even though the Island was a bit on the warmer side, John gave Virgil an excuse to explore winter garments. 

With winter on the mind, he picked up and admired a dark gray that, upon closer inspection, danced with subtle blues and greens. It was stormy and evocative, and oh, so soft. Though Virgil felt it pull him into the depths of a lakeside forest, it wasn’t the kind of green he was looking for. He replaced it back on its hook.

If he admitted it, he’d been looking online at various greens for a while, though no holo screen would replace getting the chance to squeeze the fibers. 

“Gordon?” he called, looking around for his brother, a few hanks held close to his chest. He’d selected a scattering of greens he thought would be good for John’s sweater. One was a more olive green, similar to the peridot he’d gotten last year for Kayo just with more brown; one was a teal - maybe not as much John’s style with how bright it was, but it would match his eyes; and the last was a pine green with just enough blue undertone to complement the red of John’s hair. Though they were all the same weight they all were different brands. “Can you come feel these?” 

He knew which one he favored based on color alone, but he valued Gordon’s opinion. John was as sensitive to certain textures as Gordon. For John, it was due to how quickly he could bruise, and the softer the fabric the better, especially since the cables would make his piece more rigid by nature. For Gordon, certain types of cotton reminded him too much of the gritty texture of the blankets at the hospital. During that time, touch became the most important sensation to ground him, and those preferences he carried with him long after he’d healed. If Gordon was going to spend a length of time with a yarn, he wanted to enjoy the way it felt in his hands or else it wasn’t worth the suffering. 

“Gimme, gimme,” Gordon agreed. In the time that Virgil was comparing greens, Gordon had managed to procure and fill a shopping basket with an array of chaotic colorways which he slid into the crook of his arm while he reached for the options Virgil had found. 

The olive green was quickly set to the side once he squeezed at it, but the other two Gordon squished in each of his hands for a few moments to compare.

“What do you think?”

“The turquoise is softer,” - Virgil knew better than to correct him on the colors as he handed it back to him - “but you like this spruce-y green better for him, don’t you?” 

He did. It was a softer shade, and as soon as he saw it he knew just how dreamy it would look against the cable pattern he’d designed. Virgil nodded, “I was afraid of that. Is it it too rough, you think?” 

Gordon was looking away further down the wall, then grabbed his arm to pull him away from the display. Virgil barely had time to replace the olive green back on the wall, following with the teal while Gordon lifted the darker color against another display. “Can you adjust your pattern down to DK?” he asked, triumphantly pushing into his hands a skein only slightly darker than his preferred color, but in the brand of the softer yarn. 

“Yeah, of course.” The new yarn was soft against his fingertips. He was already mentally calculating the math involved, while the image in his mind immediately started to take shape with the new shade. “I’ll need more yarn.” 

Gordon flagged down the saleswoman he’d befriended earlier, then grabbed the teal from him to return the medium weights back where they found them. Gordon already had a much more complete picture of the store it seemed. The worsted weights must’ve kept his attention far longer than Virgil realized.

“Any chance you have a sweater quantity of this?” he inquired once the shopkeeper approached and asked how she could help. She smiled warmly at him, much more comfortable with their presence this time around. 

She took his selection away to look in the back at their stock.

“Wanna see what I found?” Gordon enthused while they waited. He led them to the table, nodding in greeting to the women at the table as they sat. One of them was crocheting up what looked like a granny stripe shawl with a color-changing yarn, and the other was knitting a baby-sized cardigan in a soft yellow. Both smiled at them, then turned back towards their projects. 

Gordon plopped the basket on the floor between them, and chose first a mostly purple colorway. But in true Gordon-fashion, the violet also had flashes of yellow and pink interspersed along the twisted hank. “I’ve got a few of these for a shawl for Grandma.”  

Virgil wiggled his finger between one of the strands, observing the way the colors fell. The purple wasn’t exactly solid either, and the yellow especially looked splashed in. It was definitely eye-catching in the display, but there was no way to imagine exactly what it would look like worked up, he admitted. 

“That’s the fun of it,” Gordon beamed, admiring the second skein of the color. 

“Are you going to knit or crochet it?” Virgil asked, handing the yarn back. He laughed fondly at just how much fun Gordon had with color, and in a way that was entirely different than his own style. Random would have driven him crazy, while Gordon thrived in the color journey. 

“Crochet. I think I’m going to lean into the granny of it all.” He nodded towards the woman making exactly that, who likely inspired the idea. 

 Gordon’s version of the shawl was going to look like chaos.

 Grandma was going to love it. 

“What’s this one?” Virgil leaned over to select a much more muted blue. There was only one of it in his basket. 

“It screams Scott, don’t you think?” The main tone was cobalt, heathered with gray. 

“What are you going to make with it?”

“Dunno yet,” he shrugged. “Something small. Fingerless mitts maybe. For the next time he goes spelunking in a radioactive mine.”

Virgil snorted. 

“Right.” It hadn’t been funny at the time; Scott would’ve been sick as a dog if not for Brains’ ingenuity. Still it hadn’t dissuaded him from wearing the fingers free version of their uniform. The idea was very Scott. Pleased, Gordon returned it to his basket. 

Virgil was nervous the shopkeeper hadn’t yet returned from the back. If they didn’t have the sweater quantity he needed, he probably could just order it. But now, with the excitement of finding the right yarn for his pattern, he desperately wanted to be able to bring it all home with him. 

Although he didn’t have a pattern in mind for anything else, Gordon sent him off to explore the fingering weight yarn anyway for the sake of keeping his mind busy. Virgil hadn’t had the chance to see the rest of the store the way Gordon had, and as he ambled from wall to wall, he saw a few of the colorways that had taken Gordon’s fancy. 

This was such a special hobby to share between the two. Although Virgil had learned yarn crafts early in his life, Gordon hadn’t picked up a crochet hook (or knitting needle) until he was an adult. There was a part of Virgil that would always feel a sense of pride in anything his brother created, knowing that he’d given him the bare bones to learn the craft. The rest had been him, and having the ability to create something had given Gordon a world of possibility when the colors of the world seemed muted and stalled. He made his own sunlight with golden yellow, covered white walls with rainbows.

The shopkeeper was successful at finding more of his yarn in the back, and she graciously offered to keep it behind the counter while they continued looking around the store. 

The subject of his thoughts himself had discovered the stickers among the notions at the front of the store, laughing fully at the puns that only really made sense to others in the craft. 

It had been a while since they’d made anything for each other, he realized. John’s sweater would have to be his primary focus, but in the moments of Gordon cackling, Virgil found himself inspired to capture his exuberance for him this season. Even if it meant working in a way that was outside his comfort zone. 

“Gordon!” He waved him over again. “Pick out a skein,” Virgil offered, gesturing towards the fingering weight. No matter Gordon’s selection, he’d be able to work out a sock pattern - and Gordon loved a good chaos sock or five.

“Ohh! Yes!” 

Unsurprisingly, Gordon returned quickly with a self-striping swirl of neon yellow with coral orange and soft cyan. Virgil tucked it under his arm, and once Gordon returned to the notions section, he also selected a complementary blue for the offsetting heel, toe, and cuff. 

Figuring they’d been at it long enough, Virgil finished up at check out and waited for Gordon by the front once all his yarns had been purchased and bagged up. The blond glanced up for him and practically skipped over to him to show him a sticker with a hen wearing a sweater. “It’s a yarn chicken!” 

“Yeah, you’re getting that,” Virgil demanded, taking it from his hand and placing it carefully in the shopping basket. As he did so, he noticed the stormy green he’d been eyeing for himself earlier, clashing with the purples of Grandma’s shawl-to-be. They’d had a similar idea, and Gordon, seeing him catch sight of it, tapped the side of nose purposefully. 

Virgil fielded Scott’s anxious call while Gordon finished purchasing his selections, exchanging his shopping basket for his own bag of yarn goodies.  The little bell rang as they left the building, and they walked back to the lot across the street where Thunderbird Two was parked amidst flashing sirens, caution tape, and collapsed metal. 

Gordon wiggled his way under his arm, beaming and bouncing. “Better, right?” 

Virgil ruffled his hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “This whole thing is less under my skein.” 

A beat. Virgil grinned at himself.

“Oh my GOD, stop.” 

The End

End Note: I've written Virgil teaching Gordon yarn crafts in "In Stitches" if you are interested. Angst.

[tempest-toss]

The Call - Finale, Escape, Stats

Thorn knew what they had to do. They aimed the rifle and shot twice, paralyzing Kirk's legs. He fell onto the altar before looking up, anger in his eyes. His fury quickly turned to fear as the werewolves appeared and began to tear him apart, ripping and chewing him apart. After he was into pieces, a priest walked up, spoke some arcane words, and Kirk was up back together. Then he was ripped apart again and put back together again. Thorn smiled at his repeated torment, and turned to leave.

They passed by Marcos, who gave them a proud smile and a nod. Thorn reciprocated and ventured out, the forest twisting to allow them to exit straight back to the camp. Thorn could hear barking from Rockette and hurried as fast as their limp could handle.

Rockette wagged her tail excitedly and bounced at seeing Thorn. Thorn was equally excited and fell down to pet the good girl. Thorn looked up and saw the weak smile of Silky; she survived the tower collapse! The three were so happy to be reunited that they missed Marcos emerging to pull the large tree blocking the road away before disappearing into the shadows.

The trio walked down the path, passing by a ransacked ranger station and seeing an ambulance drive by. The two humans waved their arms to get the driver's attention, and it pulled over. The ambulance drivers wasted no time in loading the three up and driving them to safety. Thorn had missed the bumper sticker which had a hidden Foundation logo on it; the ambulance wasn't driving to a hospital, but rather a Foundation site. Even if they had known, they wouldn't complain, as it was better than being dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In local news a massacre at a local camping spot occurred. Unfortunately a few nights ago an attack happened on the River Stigz campsite, with traces of body parts and blood found, with several others still missing. Local rangers have no clue what happened, but chalk it up to a bear attack and the presence of a killer among the campers. Local authorities ask that anyone who has any information to come forward and assist.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Final Results:

Thorn Thomas - Survived

Dallas Richter (Hippie) - Transformed

Marvin Viscontti (Stoner) - Survived

Cassidy Rakoto (Cook) - Deceased

Norman Fotoparat (Photographer) - Transformed

Sable Proctor (archaeologist) - Transformed

Cindy Simmons (Gold Panner) - Deceased

Silky Cooper (Geocacher) - Survived

Gordon Muntz (Conservative husband) - Deceased

Trudy Muntz (Conservative Wife) - Deceased

Rockette (Good doggo) - Survived

Della Lawrence (Explorer) - Deceased

Natasha Lawrence (Explorer) - Bitten, Deceased

Sylvester Reid (Hiker) - Deceased

Penelope Lordes (Fisherwoman) - Deceased

Chip Gelato (Ice Cream Man) - Transformed

Aspen Vadim (Park Ranger) - Deceased

Marcos (Insurgent) - Transformed

Maurice (AWL) - Transformed

Rebecca (AWL) - Deceased

Quinley (AWL) - Deceased

Kirk FellThorpe (AWL supporting leader)- Tortured, eventually deceased

THANK YOU FOR ENJOYING!

--Mun Ozzie

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Young man on a bike, Harlem, 1948.

Photo: Gordon Parks via the Gordon Parks Foundation