#ironically the only person he succeeds at saving is penelope

[raspberryzingaaa]

Messed up that in Monster Odysseus is like "ill do whatever it takes to get these men home" bro ur going to commit war crimes and still fail to save them.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Phobos

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Scott, Grandma, Tracy family

John looks at his brothers, and worries.

John worries. It's not an unusual trait amongst the Tracys – Scott smothers, Virgil frets and even Gordon's façade can't entirely hide the panic that bubbles up from time to time, to say nothing of their long-enduring grandmother. Alan has yet to fully pick up the mantle, but he's still young and a little too naïve – intellectually aware that things don't always work themselves out but still wholeheartedly believes his brothers can fix everything anyway.

It's not unusual, but John is aware his worries are not the same as his brothers'. Closer to Grandma's, perhaps, although he's never approached the matter with her to confirm. See, while Alan might naively believe that his older brothers – Scott especially, but the rest of them on pedestals not much lower – can fix everything, his other brothers believe that Dad can fix everything.

John understands that. John wants to believe that, too, but being the ears of International Rescue has left him entirely disillusioned, a lack of fairy tale endings brutally hammered into him by the lives lost, the lives he'd never told his brothers about because the chance of saving them had been a total flat zero, even when taking into account their persistence that the impossible was just another challenge to surmount. Even if he'd never listened to dying words, kept children and adults company as the reaper came to collect, he'd know that Dad's return wouldn't fix things.

That's the thing with living in orbit – specifically in Thunderbird Five – isolated physically but more connected to his brothers than even they realise. They can't hide anything from him. The Thunderbirds, Tracy Island – all of it is linked back to him, not a single blindspot in either location, if he deigns to look. And look he does, now. There was a time when he didn't, always announcing his presence with a hologram when he checked in on his family, but that time is long, long gone.

He keeps constant tabs on his brothers now, a self-appointed task made far easier to maintain by the acquisition of EOS. The AI doesn't understand, really, but she respects his need to always know what his brothers are doing. How they're doing. They don't know that he does. He'd receive a tongue lashing about invasion from each of them if they found out, presented differently but identically affronted at the core. He watches them stay strong in front of each other and break down in the sanctuary of their own rooms, when they think they're alone.

This is why he worries. Of course, he worries about the other stuff, too. The missions gone wrong, the search for Dad, how much longer Grandma has until she can't keep up – most people her age would have stopped years ago. Scott's worries. But most of all, he worries about what will happen if – when, because 'impossible' has long since ceased to truly mean that for them – Dad comes home.

Virgil and Gordon believe he'll fix it all. That he'll take back control of what he needs to and Scott no longer needs to worry himself into an early grave because the worst of the responsibility will be off his shoulders again. It's Virgil who worries most obviously about Scott – approaching him with all the subtlety of a raging bull about it whilst still keeping a soft edge of tact in a unique mix that only the middle Tracy brother has ever mastered – but John knows better, knows that more often than not there are two pairs of warm brown eyes watching the fading shell that still tries to hold everything together with concern. Gordon does his part by taking responsibility for entertaining Alan, keeping the Terrible Two going despite them both being far too old for that, now. They still hold Dad up on that incredible pedestal – Jeff Tracy, the Hero. The Unshakeable Dad.

Scott… John doesn't think Scott has even thought about what will happen after they get Dad back. Scott is a here and now person, sets a goal and charges towards it, woe betide anything that tries to stand in his way – John has never seen anything succeed in that endeavour, although he knows Grandma and Virgil have forced brief pauses on occasion. Right now, Scott's goal is rescue Dad.

This is what worries John the most. Scott carries the weight of the world and then some on his shoulders, refusing to share the burden and brushing their attempts away with the practice of an older brother slash pseudo father. His hair is turning grey at an accelerating rate, which he either pretends not to acknowledge or is too blinkered to notice in the first place. When they found that footage from the Zero-X's capsule, the weight on Scott's shoulders had only got heavier.

This, his brothers have seen – even Alan. It's hard not to when Scott's on a hair-trigger, complaining about PR stunts arranged by Lady Penelope in a way he would never have done before, because it's wasting time. Because he's wasting time, even though Brains didn't stop working on the T-Drive at all and there's really nothing for Scott to do until the Zero-X is ready to fly.

What John fears they don't see, is what will happen when Dad comes home and the weight is lifted all at once. What will happen to Scott when Dad's back in the driving seat, Commander of International Rescue and CEO of Tracy Industries? When the head of the family is no longer Scott, but Dad (Grandma will always be the shadow matriarch, but here it's the visible head that matters)?

John is acutely aware that underneath the layers upon layers of responsibility heaped on his shoulders, Scott is a lost child. He was only a teenager when they lost Mom, Dad still a famous astronaut spending more time on Mars and the Moon than planet Earth, and Scott had to jump from child to adult. Grandma helped, of course she did, but Scott has always been someone to throw himself headlong into challenges. His first big challenge: raising four younger brothers, ranging from the ages of two to twelve.

John is self-aware enough to know that he is not okay, either. He was on the cusp of being able to largely look after himself, more caregiver than receiver, and did what he could to help out. But Scott, in his infinite teenage hypocrisy, refused to let him give too much. John still had his teenage years, an awkward transition from child to adult that more or less took place at the pace society dictated it should. Physically, Scott had gone through that, too, but he'd never had the chance to learn who he was through stupid mistakes. Aged fourteen, his life had gone an abrupt switch from boy to adult, and if you know what to look for, it's obvious.

Beneath the façade of Commander, Head of Family, CEO, there is that rebellious spirit. It's the same thing that makes Colonel Casey and the GDF despair, because Scott rigidly follows "my way or the high way" and refuses to compromise, just like a headstrong young teen. There's the recklessness, risk-taking better suited to an immature Alan (who is grilled worse than Grandma's chicken whenever he tries to emulate it) than a fully grown man reaching the end of his twenties.

And there's the way that Scott throws himself into work. He's a workaholic, ironically most comfortable when he's stressing himself into more grey hairs, because if he's not working, or training, or corralling younger brothers, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Who is Scott Tracy, once you strip away the responsibility he's laden upon himself?

John suspects they'll find out once Dad is home and everything leaves him all at once as he slips into the same trap Virgil and Gordon have caught themselves in – the Dad will make everything okay trap. He fears they'll be left with the lost child. He's terrified that it might be something worse.

From the way he sees Grandma looking at Scott, when she knows the eldest brother isn't looking, he doesn't think he's the only one.

(He never lets himself consider a scenario in which their Dad is not okay – because Jeff Tracy is only human, too – and instead of relieving the burden on Scott it just adds another layer. What that would do to Scott – and the rest of them, John himself very much included.)

[tamilundauthor]

The conclusion to the Taming the Dragon series is finally here.

Okay, no it isn’t. Not quite. It’s up for pre-order, but the book doesn’t release until June 2nd, so… a few more weeks.

Almost there, though.

And if you’re a fan of the Taming the Dragon series, I’m guessing you’re chomping at the bit for this one, since the last book (Bewitching the Dragon) released last September!

Usually I can write books a lot faster than this. I mean, aside from the novellas I included in two box sets (the Dark Moon Falls box sets – second one just released last week!), I haven’t released a book in eight months. And it will be nine by the time Let Go My Gargoyle releases (barely). Shoot, last year I released a book almost every month.

Maybe that’s why this one took so long. I think I overtaxed myself. I was so busy letting everybody know about those books, I wasn’t writing new ones. Well, I was trying – I wrote and rewrote this particular book four different times. I made it to 20,000 words twice before scraping what I’d written. That’s half a book! Heck, the two novellas in the Dark Moon Falls sets are both only 25,000 words. The final version of Let Go My Gargoyled ended up at 45,000 words, but really, it’s double that in effort.

And you know what? I’m pleased. I’m happy with this final version. It’s completely different from where I started. The hero and heroine are entirely different characters, even. In two of the four versions, Argyle was the main character. In another, Oliver was. And ultimately, I went with two characters you haven’t met yet, however, they are both very much (surprisingly!) entwined with the overarching storyline that’s been brewing since book 1 (Dragon His Heels).

Anyway, I hope you’ll give it a read. I have a really hard time finishing series, which was another contributing factor to how long it took to type the words “The End” on this book. Because it really is the end.

OR is it…? (Because Argyle and Oliver still need their happy ever afters, and now I’m thinking maybe I need a spinoff Taming the Gargoyle series. Hmm….)

Okay, enough of that! Let’s give you what the headline promised: A sneak peek at Let Go My Gargoyle, before it’s released to the general public. So here you go. Enjoy!!

LET GO MY GARGOYLE

Taming the Dragon Book 5

by Tami Lund

Four years ago, Sofia had an affair with a gargoyle. The next morning, he disappeared—leaving her with an infant.

Now he’s back, and Sofia is afraid he wants to claim the child she’s been raising as her own.

Griffin isn’t back because he wants the child. What Sofia doesn’t know is that the kid isn’t even his. He’s back because his boss told him to protect Sofia and the baby. A task he doesn’t think he’s capable of doing.

Unfortunately, the more time he spends with Sofia and her adopted daughter Penelope, the less he wants to leave.

And the more danger he’s putting them in.

Taming the Dragon series

Each book has its own happily ever after; however, it is recommended they be read in the following order:

Dragon His Heels

Hungry Like a Dragon

Dragon in Denial

Bewitching the Dragon

Let Go My Gargoyle

****

Chapter One

Why did the most prestigious of all gargoyle brethren have to be located in New Orleans, of all places?

“It’s a big town,” Griffin told himself as he strolled along the sidewalk, heading toward the City of the Dead, where he was supposed to meet his new boss, Oliver, at dusk. He glanced over his shoulder, his senses on high alert, but so far, he hadn’t come across any dragons.

Not that they weren’t here. In fact, this city was crawling with them. Or so it had seemed the last time he’d visited.

“I can’t believe I’m moving here,” he muttered, kicking at a clump of moss growing between two broken chunks of concrete.

A golden opportunity to join the elitist of the elite had been dropped into his lap, and all he could do was worry about running into someone from his past.

He paused next to a whitewashed stone pillar marking the entrance to the cemetery that was about to become his home for, oh, the rest of eternity.

Were these guys really so diehard that they lived as stone statues except when they were working assignments? Because Griffin would freely admit that he’d choose to sleep in a warm, comfy bed rather than perched atop a gravesite any day of the week.

Why had Oliver picked him of all the gargoyles all over the world? It was certainly the burning question of the night. And what happened if he didn’t succeed? This position was a life sentence. Did that mean Griffin would get to keep trying, again and again, until he got it right? For all of eternity?

Did that mean he’d technically never fail, ever again?

The sun dipped below the horizon and shadows stretched across the sidewalk, reaching like long, dark fingers across the aboveground burial sites.

Creepy AF.

Shaking off the willies and gripping the small duffle that contained all of his worldly possessions, Griffin threw back his shoulders and stepped into the cemetery just as the sound of footsteps hurrying down the path echoed in the dim remnants of daylight. He slipped to the side, ducking behind a massive oak tree draped with Spanish moss.

A human man strode past, heading toward the wrought iron gate, pulling it closed and threading the iron chain through the grates before snapping the lock and heading down the sidewalk, his footsteps gradually fading into nothingness.

Not that a locked gate mattered to a gargoyle. If his magic didn’t work to free him, he could, with relative ease, scale the wrought iron barrier. Or, better yet, shift into his leathery, winged body and simply fly over to the other side.

But, of course, the locks weren’t for him. That guy didn’t even know Griffin existed, at least outside of his stone form. Those locks kept the humans out after dark, which allowed the resident gargoyles to shift out of their stone forms and go about their days…er, nights.

“Okay, might as well get the initial meeting over with.” Even though he’d much rather head down to the quarter, have a drink, or twelve, and find a lovely lady to flirt with for the evening.

As long as the quarter was dragon free, at any rate. Which it probably wasn’t, so scratch that idea.

He strolled along the moss-covered path, meandering, not really trying very hard to find his new boss. He was reasonably confident the guy would find him eventually. Hell, Oliver had found him all the way up in Canada, so he shouldn’t have too much difficulty here on his home turf.

The air shifted, indicating magic was being used, and Griffin bristled.

But it was just another gargoyle. The man who transformed from a statue to tanned, surfer-looking dude and then hopped nimbly down to the sidewalk in front of him wasn’t just another gargoyle, no matter how laidback he appeared in his human form.

“Oliver.” Griffin nodded once and did not offer his hand to shake, as was the custom for gargoyles.

His new boss nodded in return. “You’ve arrived.”

“You didn’t expect me to?”

“Oh, I knew you’d come eventually. But yes, I was concerned that you might get…distracted on your way to town.”

Griffin lifted one shoulder, let it drop again. “I did delay, actually. I could have arrived three days ago. But I made a pitstop in Nashville and partied like it was 1999.”

One eyebrow lifted, but otherwise Oliver showed no emotion.

“So anyway, I’m here now.”

“I see that.”

Griffin stuffed his free hand into the front pocket of his jeans, even though he was probably supposed to stand at attention or something. Honestly, he didn’t know. He figured Oliver would put him through some sort of training regimen before he started helping to save the world. Or so he’d heard that was what Oliver’s gargoyles did.

“Come,” his new boss said, and he strode toward the closed gate.

Griffin hurried after him. “Where are we going?” That was it? That was his greeting? There wasn’t a whole lot of information in that greeting. In fact, there was none. Where was Griffin sleeping tonight? What was the training plan? Where were the other gargoyles he would be working with?

At the closed gate, Oliver reached through the slates and wrapped his hand around the lock. A moment later, the chain it was attached to slithered free and Oliver pushed the barred doors open. At his nod, Griffin stepped through, onto the sidewalk, and then Oliver replaced the lock and chain.

Without speaking, he began striding down the path running along the front of the cemetery. Griffin’s long, lean legs easily kept up. “Seriously. Where are we going?”

Griffin wasn’t a fan of surprises. He had no problem with whatever undoubtedly physically and mentally challenging preparations he was going to have to go through as a new member of Oliver’s team, so long as his boss told him what he was planning to do.

This silent walking—away from their home turf, by the way—was damned unnerving.

The farther they moved away from the City of the Dead, the more people they encountered, which also set Griffin on edge. There were definitely dragons here; he could sense them. He could see them. He could smell them. They didn’t smell bad—most of them, at any rate—but it was certainly distinct. They always seemed to have the faint scent of a campfire clinging to their skin.

He glanced around, checking out each face in turn, searching for one in particular—relieved each time he did not recognize the person who crossed his path. It wasn’t even Mardi Gras and this place was crowded with revelers. Griffin made a mental note to use his vacation time to get out of town during the Fat Tuesday celebrations.

Wait. He did get vacation time, right?

Everything he knew about this new gig could be summed up in a few sentences. It was a lifetime responsibility. Once someone joined Oliver’s brethren, they did not leave. There was no quitting, no retirement plan. The only other bit of information he knew was that relationships were strictly forbidden. No falling in love, no mating, no bearing offspring.

No problem.

That might have been the reason Griffin actually did show up today—well, and the fact that Oliver would have come after him at some point and demanded his presence. But that whole no falling in love, no bearing offspring rule held a lot of appeal for a guy like Griffin.

At the next block, Oliver hung a left and began walking away from the crowds, and Griffin let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Oliver finally stopped in front of a nondescript brick building with a fenced in patio that was bustling, probably because it was September and seventy degrees instead of ninety outside.

The place also reeked of dragons.

“Seriously?” Griffin burst out. “We’re going to a bar? And why this one?”

Oliver canted his head. “You seemed like you were getting nervous back there, where it was more crowded.”

It wasn’t the crowds, per se—okay, yeah, he wasn’t a fan of crowds in general—it was the chance of running into a dragon he knew. Rather, had made an acquaintance once, four years ago. But he’d not left a positive impression, and he’d really rather not have to face this particular dragon ever again.

“Why are we going to a bar anyway?” Griffin repeated.

Without answering, Oliver reached for the door and held it open. With a resigned sigh, Griffin stepped into the dim interior.

It was a small place, clean and simple. Miniature lights hung above the bar, and there were huge, framed shots from various New Orleans Saints football games on the exposed brick walls. Double doors leading out to the patio were wide open, giving him a glimpse of mismatched outdoor furniture, most of which was occupied by…dragons.

Everywhere he turned, there were dragons. Hell, there wasn’t even a witch or a human in the vicinity. No, wait, there was one. A witch, bellied up to the bar, putting back shots like she was in a competition with the dragon next to her.

“What is this, the dragons’ version of Cheers?” he muttered. He was still carrying his duffle, too, which made him even more self-conscious. Who the heck carried an overnight bag into a bar? He hunched his shoulder, as if that would somehow make him invisible.

It’s a big city, Griffin. The chances of running into one particular dragon…

Oliver snickered and clapped him on the back. “Outside or the bar?”

“Neither,” was what he wanted to say. Instead, he shrugged.

“Outside it is.” Oliver headed that way. “Might as well take advantage of the less than 100 percent humidity while we can.”

They stepped out onto the patio, and several dragons eyed them like they didn’t belong. Which they didn’t, not that Oliver seemed to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care. There wasn’t frostiness in those gazes, simply…curiosity.

Dragons and gargoyles didn’t often interact. They didn’t have a need to. Gargoyles existed to protect others, and there were few dragons who could not take care of themselves. Breathing fire was a handy trait to possess.

He followed Oliver to a brick firepit built into the center of the space—seriously? Did it even get cold enough in this town to warrant a fire?—and they claimed the remaining two unoccupied chairs.

A moment later, a waitress hurried through the door, balancing a tray full of drinks on one hand. She had bronze skin and dark hair that was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. Her eyes were wide, almond-shaped, and surrounded by thick lashes. Her mouth was coated with shiny gloss. She wore a black T-shirt with the bar’s logo in gold stamped over her right breast, and jean shorts under a black apron. Her shapely legs went on for miles.

She was, in a word, gorgeous.

Griffin slouched in his seat and wished it were cold so that he were wearing a jacket and could attempt to hide in the collar. Because, son of a bitch, the very dragon he’d intended to avoid was about to ask him for his drink order.

“How about we go somewhere else?” he suggested to Oliver, who ignored him and lifted his hand to draw the server’s attention.

She nodded at him, and Griffin knew the second she realized he wasn’t a dragon, because her nostrils flared and her eyes widened. Then her attention shifted to the guy sitting next to Oliver.

To him.

Her mouth fell open and the tray slipped from its perch atop her palm and nine different alcoholic concoctions crashed to the cement.

The dragons closest to her jumped out of the way to avoid being hit by flying glass and liquid; a chorus of groans went up all around them.

Ignoring the mess at her feet, she stabbed her finger in Griffin’s direction and shouted, “You! Get the hell out of this bar. In fact, get the hell out of this city. No, the state. Get out! Now!” Her voice rose with each word.

Griffin scrambled to his feet and scooped up the duffle he’d dropped next to his chair. Oliver stood, and they both backed toward the gate that would deposit them out onto the sidewalk.

“Go!” she screamed.

Griffin practically fell over the swinging gate in his haste to get out of the vicinity before she started breathing fire at him.

Once they were well off premises, Oliver clapped him on the shoulder.

“I see you’ve already met your first assignment.”

Keep reading… well, on June 2nd! >>>> Let Go My Gargoyle

  Tami Lund writes contemporary and paranormal romance and clearly has a love of dragons. And gargoyles. Oh, and wine. Check out the rest of her books here: https://tamilund.com/

First Chapter: Sneak Peek! The conclusion to the Taming the Dragon series is finally here. Okay, no it isn't. Not quite.