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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 1

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

His brothers are missing. In their place is a family of strangers, the only explanation that makes any sense is beyond comprehension, and the only solution is impossible. Scott Tracy’s never been so far from home.

Oh boy, so I’ve been working on this for literal months and it’s gonna be a hell of a ride. Strictly speaking, I haven’t got far enough in writing this to be totally confident in starting to post it, but it’s Thunderbirds Day and quite frankly there is no day more perfect to start this particular adventure. I have a vague plan to update this approximately weekly, but we’ll see how uni interferes with that...

Beep… Beep… Beep…

The shrill noise pierced his head unpleasantly. It was familiar, frustratingly so, but as unconsciousness slowly permitted him to drift awake, he couldn’t find a single reason for it. Who was hurt?

And why, he wondered as he peeled his eyes open briefly to see a sterile white ceiling, was he lying in a bed? A hospital bed, with wires pressing against his skin.

His memories held no answer, for all that he probed at them.

The mission had been a simple one. Solo, even, his brothers still fast asleep in their beds as the dead of night cradled home in its embrace. A trapped climber was routine by this point – Alan likened it to International Rescue’s equivalent of the fireman’s cat up a tree, for all the comparison was somewhat inappropriate. Grandma had told him off for that, when she’d heard him say it. He hadn’t, seeing the humour. Grandma had then told him off for not being a responsible adult and schooling his youngest brother.

The woman shouldn’t have been there, alone amongst the peaks of the Rockies with no backup as dawn broke to find her camp set up too close to a precipice and a simple rockfall cutting off any route she could take with the gear she’d had. She’d made the call, and Thunderbird One had been dispatched to pick up the latest in a long list of stranded climbers.

After he’d set her down at the base of the mountains, he’d started talking with John about sending out a worldwide PSA to please be careful in the mountains. It had started off a joke, something to keep his mind alert as he turned the beautiful red nose of his girl towards home, but he’d barely left the American coastline before their discussion took on a more serious note. Too many climbers were taking risks that just never used to happen. International Rescue was being taken for granted, and they only had so much capability to be in multiple places at once.

The beautiful, rugged spires of home had come into view, John signing off from the conversation for another of his cat naps, and he’d landed Thunderbird One safely in her silo without a hitch. He remembered post-flight checks, making a note to check a minor issue with a shoulder harness later after some sleep, and then disembarking onto the extended gantry as usual.

Then, nothing.

Had he fallen from the gantry? His brothers were periodically clucking about the lack of a handrail – Gordon, in particular, disliked it – but he’d never felt unsafe on it. It was high above the hangar floor, however, and while the beep… beep… beep… steadfastly continued, he was in no pain. An unchecked fall from that height would have left his body broken.

Experimentally, he flexed his fingers. They obeyed instantly, hands curling into loose fists and then extending again. His toes responded equally positively. No paralysis, tricking him into thinking there was no injury, then. Well, he’d always take good news, and more made itself known as he drifted a hand up to his head. No lumps, bumps or bandaging of any sort.

In fact, there was no bandaging anywhere. He’d spent enough time injured over the years to know the slightly itchy feeling of the fabric against his skin, but nowhere could he feel even the tight stickiness of a plaster clinging to his skin.

Thoroughly mystified at the information his memory and sense of touch were relaying, he opened his eyes again. This time prepared for the white, he didn’t immediately close them again. Instead, he looked around, realising with a sinking feeling that wherever he was, it wasn’t home.

The room was an infirmary of some sort, as he’d initially surmised. With at least one other bed in clear view, and room for more between metallic tables and cabinets filled with meticulously organised jars and bottles, it was clearly private, rather than hospital-grade. He was reminded of their infirmary at home, ready for use at a moment’s notice despite ignored prayers that it would never be needed and kept organised by the iron fists of Grandma and her willing protégé Virgil.

There was a window, though. At home, carved into the rock their villa was as much an extension of as an intrusion upon, the infirmary had no natural light source. Artificial lights and holographic visages kept the room from being a dark dungeon. From his position on the bed, he couldn’t see outside, but the light streaming in through open blinds was entirely natural.

Most bizarre of all, however, was the technology surrounding him. At a glance it seemed outdated, the light-up displays using something that seemed even older than LEDs and not a hologram in sight. John would dismiss it as junk, he assumed, before realising that he had no idea what most of it was for. Numbers flickered, not even digital but a flick-flick-flick of cycling cards. If not for the labels – tacky, raised lines of metal forming letters and words – the idea that it was monitoring his blood pressure and other vital signs would never have even crossed his mind.

Basic competence with standard hospital technology had been drilled into them all firmly by Grandma, even if only Virgil had taken it further than the fundamentals needed to keep someone alive long enough for professional medical help to arrive. Outdated technology had been included in that list, anything Grandma had ever used throughout her life a requirement because not everywhere had the technology of International Rescue, or even an up to date machine.

He could say with certainty that he wouldn’t even know where to start with the technology surrounding him. Logic dictated that that meant it was even older than Grandma, or state of the art beyond even Brains’ inventions, but neither felt right.

There was nothing primitive about the machinery, for all that he still maintained John would find it fit for the WRMs. Brains and Virgil would be itching to take it apart, see how it worked and whether they could improve it, or find inspiration to improve their own.

Speaking of his family, it was odd that none of them were nearby. Virgil almost always camped out if someone was injured or sick, and if he was away on a rescue another Tracy would step up to take his place. Gordon never stopped talking when he was on infirmary duty, finding topic after topic to plough through until he found one the injured party reacted to and milked it for all it was worth. Alan, in true teenager fashion, was a fidgeting wreck unless he had his games with him; it was not unusual for him to flop belly-down on an unoccupied bed with his headset on in his own form of company. John might not be capable of physically being in the room, unless it was so bad he’d felt compelled down from his beloved stars, but constant communication links allowed him to be tied in at all times.

Of all his brothers, it was John he was most surprised to have seen or heard nothing of since he awoke. His vitals should have been being streamed straight to Five, no matter where in the world he was – John would have known the instant he regained consciousness and responded accordingly. Even if, as he realised, his uniform and communicator had been relieved from his person.

Someone, presumably the person responsible for settling him in the unfamiliar infirmary, had changed him out of his flight suit and into soft, flannel pyjamas. They were comfortable enough, even if they weren’t his usual style, and fit perfectly. His uniform, he discovered with relief after another look around the room, was folded neatly on a chair. Everything was there, his baldric still full of grapple packs, barring the one used up on the rescue, and the grapple itself, and the controls for remote piloting both One and his jetpack remained three per bracer.

Wherever he was, and whoever had put him there, it appeared no-one was interested in investigating International Rescue’s gear. At least he could rule out the Hood, he supposed, although perhaps he’d have preferred their nemesis to the total unknown…

No, he decided after a moment’s deliberation. He wasn’t quite that desperate. He was unrestrained and his gear was safe. That automatically made the situation far better than anything involving the Hood.

Still, too many questions and no answers for any of them spurred him into action. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, wires tugging futilely before falling away and sending the machines into a frenzy, he steeled himself to make a break for it – out of the room and hopefully ending up somewhere that would give him the answers he needed.

The door opened as beeps turned into squeals, and he turned towards the new arrival, hoping to see Virgil or Grandma, hands on hips as they chivvied him back into bed.

It was not Virgil or Grandma. Nor was it any of his other brothers.

Sharp blue eyes surveyed – analysed – him, set into a face that was hard to read. Furrowed brows gave the stare an almost disturbing intensity as his conscious state was registered; they were almost the same colour as the mop of short dark brown hair on the man’s head. Dimples that, if coupled with a smile, could bedazzle and disarm anyone completed the look, and he felt his jaw drop slightly before strength of will forced it shut again.

Standing in front of Scott Tracy, arms crossed and wearing a look of cautious suspicion he knew all too well, was Scott Tracy.

Chapter 2>>>

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

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ankhlesbian · 1 year ago

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Thinking about the amt of bugs needed for some of these high level antics makes me want to look up average bug biomass but im not sure i actually want the answer to that

#it reads wrm

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shipmistress9 · 4 years ago

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So many good options... how about AzureNadderGirl?

Heh, that’s a fun one... Sadly with its development on hiatus for now.

Again, I only have an outline for the first three chapters or so and only some vague ideas for some feelsy scenes later on.

It was born from a rídiculous post about how celebrities can have niche hobbies, too, and how it could be possible that this random person with who you geek out about how to grow these special plant in your living room is actually some famous Hollywood star.

So, naturally, my Hiccstrid brain latched on to this idea.

Hiccup befriends someone on a forum for drawing techniques. She calls herself AzurNadderGirl and he doesn’t really know more about her than this nickname. They chat for months before they both hesitantly agree to meet...

This is how their first... ‘meeting’ would go.

The park is flowing over with people. With luck and some time of waiting, he gets a table for two in the cafe and waits. He keeps looking around, trying to spot his Naddergirl in advance. He squares his chest so his shirt is visible. It's still early, some five minutes before their agreed-upon time, when a commotion nearby draws his attention. Loud calls and a flock of people following one figure.

He looks the fleeing figure over. Tall and athletic, long golden hair in a braid, wearing a pretty summer dress in a deep sky blue, but also big sunglasses that cover half of her face and… a scarf? Turquoise and silken, it fits the dress and probably isn't too warm. But still, an odd choice for a wrm summer day.

Some of the people ask questions, some taking pictures. He hears "Ms Hofferson, look over here." "Do you have five minutes for an interview?" "Astrid, take a picture with me! I'm your biggest fan!"

He peeks up. Astrid Hofferson? Is that possible? He looks more closely and… yes, that's her! Fashion designer of her own brand, the immensely popular Dragonair label, and incidentally her own model as well. Hiccup admired her designs, and even though fashion as a larger topic wasn't his area of interest, he holds her in high esteem for only using natural products and not cheat on her employees. And well, it helped that the woman is more than just a little easy on the eye.

Although… right now, she didn't look happy. She actually looks disappointed, sad even as she walked away quickly, fiddling with her phone and ignoring the horde of fans.

Poor woman, Hiccup thinks. Can't even enjoy a free afternoon in the park without getting attacked by fans. He watches her leave the park and get into a waiting limousine, then notices that he has a new message. Wow, he must have been really distracted that he hadn't even noticed the new message right away. When he reads it, his mood falls. Its AzureNadderGirl, and she lets him know that, sadly, she can't make it after all

#ask #acoupleofbravedorks #HIccstrid #fanfiction #httyd #Modern AU #Modern Hiccstrid #WIP #tag game #AzurNadderGirl

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ukhtiemaryam · 4 years ago

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I just watched the documentary on Netflix about the trending case of Chris Watts who murdered his wife and his children. I HAVE TWO POINTS HERE.

FIRST POINT

If not because of social medias I will not know yet before watching the documentary that the husband was the murderer and I would have hope that it wasn't him.

Why? Because before the revelation of the husband's confession, the documentary first showed videos of the wife telling to the world how HAPPY she is about her MARRIAGE, how BLESSED she is to have a great FAMILY, BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN, how proud she is to have her HUSBAND, a GOOD MAN, a GREAT HUSBAND and a GREAT FATHER. She seemed to have a PERFECT LIFE that most people wants to have.

They seemed so happy and blessed. She showed that to the world by posting pictures and videos and streaming every happy moment of her and her family and even successful businesses JUST LIKE WHAT MOST OF US is doing.

In ISLAM, we are ALWAYS REMINDED to not post pictures or videos of our achievements or success to AVOID EVIL EYE. Yes, it might be because of EVIL EYE. Wallaahu a'lam.

EVIL EYE is dangerous than black magic!

Prophet Muhammad peace and blessings be upon him said, "Most of those who die among my Ummah died because of the will and decree of Allaah, and then because of EVIL EYE."

May Allaah jalla wa 'alaa protect us.

Read these simple reminders (ctto) 👇🏻

1. Don't advertise your happy marriage on social media.

2. Do not advertise pregnancy on social media.

3. Don't advertise your kids achievements on social media.

4. Don't advertise your expensive buys on social media.

UNDERSTAND THIS ABOUT LIFE

1. Not everyone is going to be happy for you.

2. Most of the "nice" comments you get are just fake.

3. You just attracting the evil eye on you and your family.

4. You just attracting jealous people into your life.

5. You don't know who's saving your pictures & checking your updates.

6. You really need to stop this as because it may ruin your life, family, marriage and career.

BELIEVE ME - Social media sometimes is the devils eyes, ears and mouth, don't fall into the devils trap. Let a part of your life remain private.

SECOND POINT

At the end of the documentary, it is said in the video that "IN AMERICA THREE WOMEN ARE KILLED BY THEIR CURRENT OR EX PARTNERS EVERY DAY. PARENTS WHO MURDERED THEIR CHILDREN AND PARTNERS ARE MOSTLY MEN."

It is known to many that the main reason Chris killed his wife and children is because of his mistress.

This is the FITNAH of WOMEN to MEN. This is HOW FAR Men would go to FOLLOW their DESIRES.

That is why in Islam, POLYGAMY is allowed. Marrying 2 to 4 is allowed to make it HALAL. To avoid greater harm like in Chris' case. Because Men are WEAK when it comes to women. They easily fall on Shaytan's traps. Polygamy in Islam ofcourse have proper conditions that should be followed. A man can marry up to four women as long as he can be JUST to all his wives. (Long discussion)

And ofcourse MEN in Islam is ADVISED to avoid glancing at women especially mingling with Non-Mahram.

Please read this below (ctto)👇🏻👇🏻

Question:

Assalamualaikum wrm.wbt.,

Is it true that women are the greatest fitnah for men?

Answer:

Waalaikumussalam wrm. wbt.,

Alhamdulillah, praise and thanks to Allah for the countless blessings He has blessed us all with. Blessings and salutations to the Prophet Muhammad PBUH, his wives, his family, companions and all those that follow his teachings to the day of judgement.

Allah SWT created every creation in pairs such as man and woman, day and night, the skies and the earth and others. However, Allah SWT has chosen humans as the most honoured of all creations for they are blessed with the ability to think.

Furthermore, among the purposes Allah SWT created mankind is to test them with trials and tribulations so that Allah SWT will determine who amongst them who has the best of deeds. At the same time, Allah SWT created women as a trial or fitnah for men. This is explained by Allah SWT in the Quran:

Allah SWT states:

زُيِّنَ لِلنَّاسِ حُبُّ الشَّهَوَاتِ مِنَ النِّسَاءِ

“Beautified for people is the love of that which they desire - of women…”

Surah Ali Imran (104)

According to the above question, there is a hadith which clearly states that woman is a fitnah for men. The hadith is narrated by Imam al-Bukhari, Muslim, Ahmad and many others:

From Usamah bin Zaid RA, the Prophet PBUH said:

مَا تَرَكْتُ بَعْدِي فِتْنَةً أَضَرَّ عَلَى الرِّجَالِ مِنَ النِّسَاءِ

“I have not left after me any (chance) of turmoil more injurious to men than the harm done to the men because of women.”

Sahih al-Bukhari (5096) Sahih Muslim (2740)

According to Syeikh Abdullah al-Talidi, this hadith means that after the death of the Prophet PBUH, the greatest fitnah left by the Messenger PBUH is the fitnah of women which means Allah SWT created women as a creation that incites the desires of men and they are easily seduced by them. Thus, the fitnah of women is the greatest fitnah for all of her is a source of fitnah, such as her voice, looks, actions and others.

Likewise, it is stated in a hadith from Abu Sa’id al-Khudri RA, the Prophet PBUH said:

فَاتَّقُوا الدُّنْيَا وَاتَّقُوا النِّسَاءَ فَإِنَّ أَوَّلَ فِتْنَةِ بَنِي إِسْرَائِيلَ كَانَتْ فِي النِّسَاءِ

“So, avoid the allurement of women: verily, the first trial for the people of Isra'il was caused by women.”

Sahih Muslim (2742)

The above hadith also stated that a Muslim should be conscientious around women which means he should be on his guard when he is socializing with a woman to avoid getting lured into fitnah.

Imam al-Nawawi Rahimahullah when commenting on this hadith said:

“Distance yourself from the fitnah of this world and women.” (See al-Minhaj Syarah Sahih Muslim, Al-Nawawi, 17/213)

The Honour of Women

When discussing the issue of the fitnah of women, it does not mean that women are viewed negatively according to syarak. Consequently, syarak honour and dignify the status of women. There are numerous advantages of women stated in sahih syarak evidences. Among them is a hadith narrated by Abdullah bin ‘Amr RA, where the Prophet PBUH said:

‏ الدُّنْيَا مَتَاعٌ وَخَيْرُ مَتَاعِ الدُّنْيَا الْمَرْأَةُ الصَّالِحَةُ

"The world is but a (quick passing) enjoyment; and the best enjoyment of the world is a pious and virtuous woman."

Sahih Muslim (715)

Imam al-Qurthubi when explaining the meaning of pious and virtuous woman stated in the above hadith as:

“She (woman) is someone who makes her husband happy when he sees her, when he instructed or ask for anything she would comply and when her husband is absent, she would protect (her husband’s dignity and honour) him and his property.”

This refers to the statement of the Prophet PBUH:

أَلاَ أُخْبِرُكَ بِخَيْرِ مَا يَكْنِزُ الْمَرْءُ الْمَرْأَةُ الصَّالِحَةُ إِذَا نَظَرَ إِلَيْهَا سَرَّتْهُ وَإِذَا أَمَرَهَا أَطَاعَتْهُ وَإِذَا غَابَ عَنْهَا حَفِظَتْهُ

“Let me inform you about the best a man hoards; it is a virtuous woman who pleases him when he looks at her, obeys him when he gives her a command, and guards his interests when he is away from her.”

Sunan Abu Daud (1664)

The same for a virtuous woman are those who are wives and also act as the main strength to their husbands. This is shown by Umm al-Mu’minin Khadijah binti Khuwailid R.Anha, when the Prophet PBUH is confused and scared after receiving the first revelation, Khadijah calmed the Prophet PBUH saying:

كَلاَّ وَاللَّهِ مَا يُخْزِيكَ اللَّهُ أَبَدًا، إِنَّكَ لَتَصِلُ الرَّحِمَ، وَتَحْمِلُ الْكَلَّ، وَتَكْسِبُ الْمَعْدُومَ، وَتَقْرِي الضَّيْفَ، وَتُعِينُ عَلَى نَوَائِبِ الْحَقِّ‏

"Never! By Allah, Allah will never disgrace you. You keep good relations with your kith and kin, help the poor and the destitute, serve your guests generously and assist the deserving calamity-afflicted ones."

Sahih al-Bukhari (3)

Conclusion

To conclude, every individual or human being is able to control his desires and saved from this fitnah. Hence, Islam has taught and placed guidelines for men when they are interacting with women and vice versa. Lastly, may Allah SWT protect us from fitnah of women and make our Muslim women as righteous and virtuous women. Amin.

Wallahua’lam

May Allaah guide us all.

Please see photos in the end to learn DUA to avoid evil eye and have Allaah's protection from it.

#repost #evileye #americanmurderfamilynextdoor #americanmurder #chriswatts #watts #wattsfamily

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bluestwitch · 5 years ago

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Rules: It’s time to 💛 yourselves! Choose your 5 favourite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the 🌍 in 2019. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the 💛 and link each other to awesome works!

I was tagged by @celtics534. As I’m not working today and I need to distract myself from the current situation (hubby and I are Spanish nurses) I thought well, I’ll give it a try.

Trouble is, I’m not a very prolific person, in terms of things I can link. I can’t post all my work on the school parents’ association and it has been huge, and believe me, it’s been nothing related to bake sales. More like fighting for my school so it can have all it needs. I can’t post what I do at my ward. So all I have is one multi chaptered story and a one shot. Soooo:

Diva Dave. I think this is the chapter of What Really Matters that I’m prouder of. I still read it sometimes when I’m in need of mood uplifting. I really wanted something different for the hen party, something with female empowerment and sorority which is what this should be really about, while having fun of course. Plus Davinia’s character just had a life of its own, it came out almost fully formed and I just love him 😍 . And about the boys, I wanted to show that there are a lot of ways to be a man. So he’s a virgin and it’s ok, sex for him is something that comes hand in hand with love and it’s perfectly normal and respectable (and I was tired of fics depicting him as a Casanova)

That Look In His Eyes. My first ever one shot and written in just three days! I don’t think I can ever do it again. I had to post it UnBetaed, it order to submit it to the SIYE challenge. It was precisely @celtics534 who suggested that I should write it. I’m a sucker for pregnancy and birth fics (maternity plays such a big role in my life) and the story was already developed in my mind, but it was very difficult to write nonetheless, and show what a rollercoaster of emotions a birth can be for both parents.

A Wedding To Celebrate. Another WRM chapter; I’m sorry. It’s very special for me because Hinny’s wedding has been written and rewritten a thousand time by more talented writers than me, buuuut... amazing as they were, they simply weren’t my choice for the characters. I wanted a chapter with the right amount of fluff, tastefully done, just a touch of emotion, some laughs and a very, very simple scheme. Not an elopement, but with the bare indispensable things. And I am very proud of the result (and my Beta complimented me about it so I felt over the moon)

The Applause Of Their Loved Ones. My first dance with hubby was Flying Without Wings, too. I love that song so I was dying to include it. This chapter took a lot of research because I’ve never been to an English wedding and we don’t usually do speeches in Spanish ones. Just a lot of eating, drinking and cheering the couple to kiss. And dancing. And did I mention eating? Anyway, after writing Arthur and Harry’s speeches I was exhausted and I knew that Ron’s was going to go unfinished. I had an idea for the interruption but I swear, the story had a mind of its own. Do you know the feeling when inspiration strikes all of a sudden and you can’t stop writing? It was amazing.

Let’s End This Party In Style. Do you know how difficult was for me writing this? I had this chapter in hiatus a lot of days because nothing worthy came to my mind. I knew what I wanted but struggled to put it into words. And then, the final took me ages. In the end, I think it wasn’t bad.

It’s quite embarrassing for me to tag unrelated people, so I will just leave the invitation open!

#hinny fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #what really matters #that look in his eyes

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ethanhansonsportstalk-blog1 · 5 years ago

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What is the power module of an automotive sound for?

Learn what the power module of an automotive sound is for and what its main features are. See also where to find players, radios and other gadgets over the internet.

Automotive sound power modules can be found in almost every vehicle you love to invest in high-quality, high-quality automotive sound.

What is the power module for?

Vehicle power modules, as its name suggests, serve to expand the sound reproduced by the car. For each speaker box, a particular automotive module is required, either for load or for power.

Often the modules are comparable to conventional amplifiers, but the main difference is that the module inputs are for higher powers, ie above 10 Watts.

Main features:

Power

Here, it is important to consider the specified value as rated power, or in Wrms, and never peak powers (which only occur over short periods of time);

Impedance

This is one of the most important measures, since by combining them with your speakers / subs, you can get the most out of both. The measurement is made in Ohms.

Frequency response

It has its value specified in Hz and KHz, and is the frequency range that the module can read and amplify (send to speaker);

Number of Channels

There are 1 channel (or MONO, commonly used for bass frequencies), 2 channel (or Stereo, used for rear / buffer, front / door, or stereo stereo speakers), and 4 channel (applied to full front set) and rear).

Audio / Signal Input Type

Although the most common type today is RCA, there are also types with “High Level” input (direct output to Head Unit speakers such as CD Players), as well as those that accept both signals (both High Level and RCA). ).

Amplifier Class

There are several, but the most common are A / B and D.

The A / B class is known for providing higher quality even though it requires much higher power consumption (which means low energy efficiency), and is best used for amplifying normal sound systems (ie, those intended for the high end). speakers).

On the other hand, the class D, although confused with “Digital”, concerns a more efficient amplifier, even if it slightly decreases its quality, being more used in mono modules for subwoofers.

Audio signal sensitivity

Although it does not vary much from one module to another, there are models with higher sensitivities (identified by having the lowest values in mVolts), which helps to improve the “gain by volume” ratio.

In other words, it means that from a small increase in the volume of your CD Player, the module will respond more intensely.

Dimension

This is of utmost importance in cases where space for module installation, especially in the trunk, is limited. In view of this, the module size can be very relevant

#automotive sound

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oneweekoneband · 6 years ago

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WRM, pt.2

I went to the gig.

That feeling you get when something is snatched away from you just as you are starting to love it? I’d experienced it before; nothing too terribly dramatic. This wasn’t dramatic either, just fell for a band at the last show they’d ever play. Ranks pretty low in the labyrinthine hierarchy of various kinds of dull pain. Right?

I actually don’t have any memories from the show itself, just a few mementos and the relic radiation of my emotions from the night. I can’t imagine what it felt like for the band.

Were they good live, technically speaking? Must have been, hah. God, why don’t I remember anything. Trauma response, lol. I think they sounded overwhelming? The venue was on the smaller side. Looking through old concert footage, I realize their focused sound probably worked best with walls to reverb off. Open air made them sound tinny.

I played catch-up for several days after the gig, reading up, watching interviews, puzzling over the break-up, all with the handful of tracks that would have been on the second album playing nonstop in the background. They were criminally good. Here’s one:

youtube

The thing about untimely death is, of course, that it heightens everything that comes before and after. WRM fans tend to be aware of this sense of urgency as they cling to every precious note of every existing track. I’ve talked to a few since 2010, and they have all questioned the nature of their attachment to the band at some point. Do I love them this much just because they broke up? Would I love these songs the same if they hadn’t?

Personally, I don’t see the point of what ifs. It happened the way it did, you feel the way you do, and that’s that. The soul is not a marketplace, the scarcity heuristic doesn’t apply.

#White Rose Movement

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wrmbooks · 4 years ago

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wrm reads non-fiction

Dying of Whiteness

By Jonathan Metzl

Disclaimer: This review won’t tell you if the book was good. It will tell you what the book does.

Why This Book? it’s about how being racist kills white people. come on. you know why.

★ Is this a whole ass story? No: but it’s an important and very useful piece of a much larger story.

★ Do you have at least 3 feelings about the characters? Yes: and at this point, it takes a lot, and I mean a lot, to make me feel sympathy for the kind of voters who got us into this mess in the first place.

★ Does the plot pull you along? No: but like, only because this isn’t a riptide, it’s a deep dive on how racism is corrosive to culture, to society and to individuals of all colors.

★ Is the scenery real enough to chew on? No: BUT it is very grounded in real places, and more importantly in the cultures of people who live there.

★ Were you Well Fed™? Yes: this provided me with the sticks i have always wanted to beat racists with. THESE! ANTIRACIST POLICIES! BENEFIT! YOU! TOO!! ASSHOLES!!!

In Sum: this book will provide useful fuel against your racist uncle who hates the affordable care act and gun control.

#wrm reads non-fiction #dying of whiteness #bookblr

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Grounded pt1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon, John

Re-watched Buried Treasure and Venom and this little muse dug its claws in - Scott took a bit of a beating in the former, and then doesn’t pilot TB1 or even the pod even though speed is of the essence in the latter. This isn’t finished - don’t know if the eventual thing will be a oneshot or multichap on AO3/FFN - or even proof read because it’s midnight and I’ll get yelled at if I don’t go to bed now, but muse wouldn’t shut up, so here’s 4k words of whatever this is gonna end up being. Title is also still a wip.

It was an exhausted Scott Tracy that dragged himself into his shower at the end of what had been a day he honestly wished had never happened. A trip into a trash mine had never been on his bucket list – and even if he’d known about the things before today, it still wouldn’t have featured on his bucket list – and after the chaos that had ensued, he would be delighted if he never had to enter one again. Somewhere in the big brother part of his mind labelled Gordon was a mental note to make sure his second youngest brother never went in one again, either. While Scott was all for his brothers making friends, he had concerns about his budding acquaintance with the woman known only as Scraps.

He wasn’t entirely sure Gordon had told the truth when he said he’d never gone scavenging himself, and he certainly wasn’t sure Gordon wouldn’t if the opportunity presented itself. After the hydrofoil, the blond had gained a ‘if today was my last day’ attitude and refused to let new experiences pass him by; it was understandable, but more than a little stressful for Scott at times.

The mission had been a success, but it hadn’t felt like it when both his accompanying brothers were stewing in angry silence over the comms on the way back, Scraps (encouraged by Gordon) had insisted he fork out the quite frankly ludicrous price of the stretchy toy, and the owners of the site were breathing down his neck about destruction of their property. Apparently they didn’t care that it was Scraps who had damaged their WRM when IR had wrecked their park and were well known to be the Tracy family – that is, known to be filthy rich. It had been a very expensive day for both him personally and the family at large, and just to compound it all he’d come home to the news that while the Mechanic was now willingly working on the engine, the price of that had been the Hood finding out about their plans.

Brains’ furious lecture about the mole pod had just been the icing on the cake. Scott had tried to save it and nearly got himself munched by the mechanical monster in the process, but apparently trying wasn’t good enough. He understood – he did. Every time Brains had to build them a new pod so they could keep functioning at full capacity was another delay on the T-Drive engine. It was just one more thing he didn’t need in a day where the only highlight was the fact that at least their rescue hadn’t failed where it counted – Scraps was alive, and being treated for shock and a fractured rib at her local hospital.

Speaking of ribs…

Four long, gruelling hours after the rescue finished, Scott finally had the chance to peel his dirty, mud-splattered uniform away from his aching body and assess the physical damage he’d sustained. His suit was reinforced and designed to protect him, but it had its limits, and Scraps’ shrill scream to stop forcing Gordon to make an emergency stop – just for the sake of a damned toy – had slammed his torso into the rigid exoskeleton of the dragonfly pod.

Just because their pods couldn’t stand up to a WRM didn’t mean they weren’t solidly built. Very solidly built. Scott had felt a sadly all-too familiar sensation of at least one rib breaking at the contact, but with their lives still decidedly in peril hadn’t had the chance to do anything about it. Their frantic flight for the surface, where he had nothing but his uniform and what shelter he could glean from the front of the pod to protect him from their forceful resurfacing, hadn’t done him any favours either.

It spoke volumes that both his brothers were so annoyed with him – one of them for reasons outside of his control, which was very unlike Virgil – that neither of them had noticed how stiffly he’d been standing. They hadn’t even glanced at him twice despite knowing that he’d been on the outside of a pod travelling at high speeds through a tunnel, and while there was always a part of Scott who hated to worry his brothers and hid injuries he found himself wrong-footed at the fact he’d got away with it.

The painkillers he’d popped the moment he was back in One, out of sight, had done their job to get him home, but after four hours they were wearing off, pain stabbing its way through his chest. He should go to the infirmary, get a scan to see how bad it was and maybe even reluctantly tell someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Virgil might be in a bad mood with him, but he’d instantly feel guilty for not noticing, and Grandma would not go easy on her favourite grandson for neglecting something as basic as a health check after a dangerous manoeuvre, no matter how annoyed he’d been with the person in question.

He had a stock of painkillers in his ensuite, like they all did, for minor things like bumps and bruises. They weren’t supposed to be used in relation to any unreported injuries, but Scott had already decided he couldn’t report it, and besides, he was the commander. He could bend a few rules – it wasn’t his first rodeo with broken ribs, anyway. He knew how to treat them. Painkillers, ice if he could get some without causing suspicion, and rest when he could snatch it.

This was a case of snatching some rest – it was dinner soon, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped Grandma’s cooking and it wouldn’t be the last. It wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if he wasn’t there; he doubted his brothers would be if they could escape.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, it was clear straight away that he’d taken quite a hit. Mottled bruising decorated his torso and shoulders – the first from the collision with the pod, the second from breaking through the surface. Tentative probing with his fingers told him what he already knew as his chest flinched away from the touch with a spike of pain. At least one broken rib.

He’d sneak some ice from the freezer once everyone else was in bed, but for the time being he had a long overdue date with his shower and popped a fresh dose of painkillers before easing himself under the water. Ideally, Scott wanted a hot one, but the broken rib meant he kept it cool in an attempt to soothe the swelling. Brown water swirled around his feet, finally washing away the dirt he’d acquired in the trash mine, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in.

The mission finally felt like it was over. He couldn’t say the day was over, because he still had the never-ending pile of reports for both the GDF and Tracy Industries to write up and there was never any telling when the next emergency call would come in, but no more trash mine, no more furious gardeners or landowners.

Just Scott and-

“Scott, sorry to interrupt your shower but there’s another situation.” John appeared suddenly and Scott jumped, muffling a curse as his ribs informed him that painkillers or not, that was not appreciated. He sighed instead.

“F.A.B.” He rubbed his face tiredly, beyond glad their bathroom cameras didn’t transmit anything below the neck so his decorative torso was hidden from his ever-attentive brother… who had apparently also missed that he’d been slammed hard into the pod. “I’ll be in the lounge in two.” He wanted to say five, but it normally only took two minutes and longer would make John suspicious.

“See you there.” John vanished and he let out another breath, turning off the water. Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t fly with a broken rib, or go on a rescue at all, but as long as he took it easy it would be fine.

Two minutes later found him in the lounge, apparently the last one there. Virgil and Gordon didn’t acknowledge his arrival and he tried not to let it sting. They’d work with him on the rescue – it wasn’t the first time they’d gone on a rescue mid-row, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last. The perils of living and working full time with siblings. Alan, at least, gave him a big grin and he returned it as best he could before turning to John, who was hovering impatiently in the middle of the room. He was always impatient when they weren’t all immediately available; Scott didn’t take it personally.

“Good, you’re here,” John acknowledged. “We’ve got a collapsed mineshaft with a worker trapped inside in Cornwall, England. His colleagues all got out okay but they don’t have the gear to get him out without risking a bigger collapse.”

“F.A.B., John,” Scott replied. “I’ll go on ahead in Thunderbird One. Virgil, Gordon, follow me in Thunderbird Two.” Another underground rescue, and another mole pod needed. Typical. Still, if it was really only simple, he wouldn’t be needed for more than co-ordination. He could handle that. “Virgil, have you had the chance to replace the lost gear from the trash mine?”

“All replaced,” Virgil confirmed, heading for his launch chute. “We’re out of spares now, though, so we’d better not lose this one.” Scott winced – that wasn’t good.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, reaching up towards his lamps and pulling them down towards his chest as always, glad that the painkillers had more or less kicked in so the movement didn’t make his ribs flare up in pain. The last thing he saw before being whisked around into his chute was Alan, looking somewhat dejected at being left behind, again.

They’d barely needed Gordon for the mission – if Scott was at full health he would have entertained leaving him behind – so there was no reason to bring Alan. Still, there was a scolding voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Grandma telling him he should have let Alan take Thunderbird One and take a rest himself.

If Thunderbird Three was needed while they were gone, Alan would be fit to pilot, he argued back. Thunderbird One would be tough, but he conceded that there was no way he could launch into space with at least one broken rib. The voice quietened but he knew it wasn’t pacified.

The painkillers diluted but didn’t entirely quash the pain of suiting up, but with no-one around to see he could gasp without fear of being caught, and soon he was scrambling into his pilot seat – still muddy; cleaning his ‘bird had been next on the priority list after the shower, because apparently his brothers had decided not to help him out on that front.

If suiting up was bad, launching was worse. He’d anticipated that, throwing his comms onto mute – John knew better than to interrupt during the launch sequence unless it was truly urgent so there shouldn’t be anyone to see him – as he gasped for breath against the stinging of his chest. Full speed was out of the question, but as it was a rescue they already knew what they’d need, he didn’t have to get there much before Thunderbird Two, so he settled for an almost bearable Mach 10 and flicked his comms back on, hoping John wouldn’t ask questions.

Presumably John had reached the same conclusion as him, as his decision of half max speed wasn’t commented on when his brother made contact a few minutes later to continue the debrief with additional information coming in from the danger zone.

It was a textbook rescue, a fact Scott was incredibly glad for as he let Virgil take the mole pod down, followed by Gordon with stabilising foam to stop the mine collapsing any further. In and out, no complications, no injuries. The trapped worker emerged from the pod shaken but otherwise fine and Scott watched Virgil check him over thoroughly to be safe as he and Gordon secured both intact pods back inside the module, where they belonged.

“I’ll see you back at base,” he told his brothers as he headed back to his ‘bird. Gordon gave him a crisp nod while Virgil gave no indication that he’d heard – as he was still checking the rescuee over, Scott hadn’t expected one. Gordon’s reaction told him everything he needed to know – the attitude was still professional-only. He wasn’t yet forgiven for whatever transgression it was Gordon was mad at him about. It was nearing midnight at home, though; they were all tired and Scott fully expected it to all blow over by morning, once they’d had some sleep.

The site supervisor was waiting for him as he approached.

“Just wanted to say thank you again,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. He took it and hid a wince at her particularly vigorous shake. It was too soon for more painkillers, but this particular dose was wearing off already; the flight home was not going to be fun.

“Just doing our job,” he returned, polite smile on his face, and carefully retracted his hand. She let him.

“Your job’s an impressive one,” she winked at him, before her gaze wandered slightly. Scott wanted to groan – he knew that look, and normally he’d play along, maybe even see if he could score if he was feeling particularly lucky, but he was physically tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. No flirting for him today.

He just nodded at her, smile slightly more genuine because regardless of the situation it always gave him a bit of a boost when he got attention of that sort – not that he’d dare admit that to his brothers, or they’d never let him forget it – and she laughed.

“I’d say another time, but I’d hope we don’t need your assistance again,” she grinned, and before Scott realised it was coming, there was a playful elbow in his ribs. Nothing hard, not even something he’d normally react to, but his ribs screamed and he gasped, instinctively doubling over before forcing himself straight again.

He fervently hoped his brothers hadn’t noticed, but didn’t dare glance around to check.

“Oh, I’m so-”

“You’re right, hopefully you won’t need us again.” He overrode her apology, sent her another small grin, and got himself back inside the safety of his ‘bird as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running away. His ribs burned and he eyed the first aid cabinet, sorely tempted, but squashed the impulse. Piloting in pain wasn’t advisable, but piloting overdosed on medication was potentially fatal. Taking a moment to settle, he opened up a link to Thunderbird Five.

“I’m returning to base now,” he informed his brother. “Rescue complete; Virgil and Gordon are finishing up with the worker, but they’ve got it all in hand and I’ve got a shower to finish.”

“F.A.B.,” John acknowledged, a small grin on his face at Scott’s mention of a shower. “I’ll see if I can get the world to wait on getting itself into any more trouble until you’re done, big brother.”

“That would be nice,” Scott grinned, settling back in his chair more comfortably and ignoring his ribs. They both knew John couldn’t control that, especially not with the Hood and his Chaos Crew running around, but sometimes it was nice to pretend. “Thunderbird One out.”

He muted his comms again – against protocol, but he doubted Virgil or Gordon would be calling him up for a chat given the way they were cold-shouldering him and he’d already addressed John – before taking off. VTOL launches were far gentler with the G-forces, but unlike earlier, he wasn’t riding high on the full effect of the painkillers, so it hurt worse as he accelerated.

Mach 8 would be plenty to get him home, he decided, unwilling to risk anything faster than necessary, and once he was cruising he unmuted his comms, confident he wouldn’t have missed anything.

“-ott. Scott. Thunderbird One are you listening to me?”

Virgil sounded furious. That didn’t bode well.

“Reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird Two,” he replied. “What’s happened?” He reached out in preparation of turning his ‘bird’s nose back the way he’d come.

“What’s happened, he asks,” Virgil steamed, hologram materialising. He was standing firmly upright, arms crossed and one hand tapping on his arm. “The site supervisor wanted to know why you’re working with a rib injury.”

Dammit.

“Virgil-” he started, not quite sure how he was going to deflect the accusation. His brother didn’t give him a chance.

“Don’t Virgil me,” he snapped. “Get back here so I can see why she thinks you’re injured.”

“It’s fine,” Scott lied. “Nothing serious. I’ll see you back at base.” He cut the call, which in immediate hindsight was stupid decision, but to his surprise, Virgil didn’t immediately call back. Still, he switched his comms back to mute and eyed his speed. If he wanted to get back before Thunderbird Two, Mach 8 would be enough, but if Virgil pushed his ‘bird, it wouldn’t leave him with much time to grab a shower and smuggle some ice. Gritting his teeth, he pushed her up to Mach 10, swallowing the grunt of pain from the additional pressure.

Almost immediately, Thunderbird One started to slow.

“Hey!” he yelped. The absolute last thing he needed was his ‘bird crashing. It might give him enough injuries to hide the fact his ribs were already broken, but wrecking his ‘bird was not worth avoiding a lecture. He tried to correct it, but her controls jammed under his hands. “Oh you’re kidding me,” he groaned, preparing himself to stand up and get to the reset. What had even happened? She hadn’t been damaged since the Icarus, and Brains and Virgil had both sworn through and through that she was fully functional again. There was no reason for-

His holographic display lit up with the icon for Thunderbird Five.

Ah. Dammit. Virgil had got John on his case.

Reluctantly, he unmuted his comm and immediately got blasted with three brothers all yelling at him. The temptation was there to simply mute them again, but instead he sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for them to stop.

“-t mute your comms ever-”

“-swer us you-”

“-re you an idiot-”

They didn’t, but their voices were getting more and more frantic, and he realised they were starting to panic at his lack of a response. He groaned.

“You don’t need to shout, I can hear you just fine,” he told them. “John, what are you doing with Thunderbird One?”

“Landing,” his brother said abruptly. “You’re just coming up over the Sahara so I’m putting you down there. Thunderbird Two is en route.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Scott complained. “Can’t we deal with this at home?”

“You mean in another two hours, providing we don’t get another callout or distraction so you can slip away again?” Virgil asked dryly. “No, we’re doing this now, and if I find anything worse than a minor bruise you’re finishing the trip home in Thunderbird Two’s medbay.”

Scott groaned, having absolutely no desire to be subjected to that. “Seriously, guys, I’m fine.” Thunderbird One’s VTOLs fired as her speed dropped, and he felt her land. Looking out of the viewing window, he saw sand and more sand. The Sahara, as John had promised.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Gordon scowled.

“Thunderbird Two is five minutes out from your location,” Virgil informed him coolly. “Stay where you are.”

Thunderbird Five’s insignia was still firmly ensconced in the holographic display, informing him that John had not retracted his override. As much as he wanted to, there was no way he was going anywhere until his brothers had satisfied themselves. He groaned again and eyed the medical cabinet once more. It was still too soon to take another dose, but he knew there was no way any of them would be letting him pilot the rest of the way home anyway.

The relief from pain would not be worth the lecture from Virgil and then Grandma. Reluctantly he turned away from it and closed his eyes, listening out for the engines of Thunderbird Two. His brothers kept the channel open, talking to each other and occasionally shooting a question his way – presumably to make sure he hadn’t passed out on them – which he answered reluctantly.

True to Virgil’s words, five minutes after John had landed his ‘bird there came the sound of Thunderbird Two’s VTOL overhead, and he jabbed at his seat controls to leave his ‘bird, seeing no point in sitting and waiting for them to descend on him when he’d be dragged into Thunderbird Two anyway. Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Scott!” Virgil strode across the short distance between the two ‘birds, grabbing his arm as soon as he was in reach as though he thought he’d flee if given the chance. With John still controlling his ‘bird, Scott thought the gesture unnecessary. “You absolute idiot. Thunderbird Two, now.” The hand gripping his bicep didn’t give him much of a choice, forcibly guiding him towards the lowered hatch.

Gordon was waiting in the cockpit, arms crossed and eyes like fire. Beside him, the cockpit’s stretcher had been lowered.

“Sit,” Virgil snapped, dragging him over to it. Scott obeyed reluctantly, and scowled at the medical scanner immediately deployed. It didn’t take long to flag up amber along his various bruises, and red at his ribs. He didn’t hear what Virgil ground out under his breath, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t language he’d use in front of their grandmother. “John, take One home. Scott’s piloting nowhere.”

“F.A.B.” Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the anger in those three letters. His ‘bird’s VTOL roared to life and he watched her take to the sky through the cockpit windows.

“When did this happen, Scott?” Virgil demanded, setting the scanner to one side and tugging at his zip. Scott batted his hand away, taking over. He still had enough pride to not be undressed by his brother. Two sets of brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the bruising became visible.

Caught, there was nothing to be gained by lying. “Last mission, when the pod stopped suddenly.” A flash of guilt swept across Gordon’s face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” the aquanaut demanded. He shrugged, then winced when his body reminded him that the painkillers were all but worn off.

“Didn’t exactly get the chance,” he said. “Couldn’t do anything about it at the time because we were trying not to become WRM food, then there was the thing with the Mechanic and the Hood, and the landowner wanted compensation for the damaged WRM and park, and-”

“And most of that could have waited for you to get checked over,” Virgil interrupted, a gentle hand lightly touching his bruised torso. Scott’s body flinched away from the contact unbidden. “Why the hell did you come out to Cornwall? Gordon and I could have handled it by ourselves.”

“It was a rescue,” Scott protested.

“Which you’re now grounded from for six weeks, minimum,” Virgil growled. “Lie down. What have you taken for the pain?”

He didn’t get a chance to protest before both brothers were carefully but firmly pushing him down onto the stretcher.

“Two Tylenol when I left the trash mine seven hours ago,” he admitted. “Two more just before this mission, three hours ago.” Virgil frowned.

“You’ll have to bear with it until we get home,” he said. “Once the Tylenol’s out of your system, I’ll give you something stronger.” Scott scowled. “Gordon, get some ice on his ribs. Scott, stay still.” Virgil had the gall to strap him down, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs. “We’ll be talking about this when we get home.”

It was a promise, but just before he turned away to head to his seat, Scott saw the one thing he’d hoped he’d be able to avoid: guilt. Virgil was well aware he’d missed the signs because of his flare-up about the topiary, and wouldn’t be forgiving himself for it any time soon.

“Virg-” he started, only to interrupt himself with a hiss as a cool sensation spread across his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to find Gordon stood next to him, ice pack in hand.

“Not right now, bro,” the blond said quietly, and the same guilty pain was in his eyes. “Give him time.”

“Gord-”

“And me,” Gordon interrupted him. “Just… not yet, okay? Wait ‘til we’re home and you’re all smothered better in the infirmary.”

Scott didn’t like it, but he understood it – they’d find it easier to deal with once they knew he really was okay. Broken ribs sucked, but in the grand scheme of injuries, they were relatively minor. The real fear his brothers carried was what if it had been worse – a punctured lung, for example.

In answer, he pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of being ‘smothered better’ as Thunderbird Two roared to life beneath him. A small grin tugged at the corner of Gordon’s mouth and he considered that progress, settling back comfortably as his brother’s ‘bird carried him home.

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#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #season 3 spoilers #scott tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #grounded

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