#next generation thunderbirds

[edutainer2022]

To amuse myself amidst the bleak bombings I did a little fun(ish) thing within the general context of Timey-Wimey, the Future!Tracies crossover, but it could be perceived independently. It may be not the best idea to hack family video archives, while situated in a time paradox.

For more references of the Tracy future ever after in this continuity, see Piano Lessons and Worries. Indefinite thanks go to @janetm74 for inspiration and support.

WIBLY-WOBLY

The holovideo was shaky at first, someone with the camera was, probably, adjusting the hold. There was also a bit of a squabble going on in the background. The holocam tilted, recording a familiar side hallway in the villa. The walls were decorated anew, though, with pictures and paintings they never saw. There was also soft carpeting where previously they were used to hardwood. The frame was finally rectified and an unseen hand pushed the touchpanel of a door. A voice off screen, too jovial to be serious, declared:

"Tracy TV! Would you be amenable to take part in a poll?"

The brothers let out a collective gasp as a tall slim figure turned around to face the camera. Grinning at them against the backdrop of a summer afternoon was Scott. A twenty years old Scott. Upon closer look they could see the shade of meticulously styled hair was darker, so was the blue of the gaze. But the dimples were there, the posture, the bone structure, and the fond smile that could power a sun.

"Shoot, Squidletts!"

There were appalled noises from behind the camera, but a voice pressed on. A girl's, that time.

"Do you believe in love?"

"Oh... that's a good question! I believe..."

The young man stretched and squeezed his eyes dreamily. When they opened back up, the deep blue was brimming with mischief.

"I believe... I'd LOOOOVE a sandwich right about now!"

The young man burst into a hearty laugh and the Tracies hitched a breath in unison again. The resemblance was striking.

The holofeed shimmered in and out of focus some more through the turns and passages of the upper level of the villa. At some point it paused in view of a lanky freckled teen, curled up in a window niche, engrossed in some diagrams on a tablet. Despite the tropical heat, the boy was clad in layers of oversized sweatshirt and a truly hideous cardigan. The attempt of the "Tracy TV crew" to engage him in their poll resulted in a well-aimed trainer gliding their way at an alarming speed. The kid barely even got distracted from reading and the hapless reporters made a hasty retreat, before the canon shoe landed with a thud.

That brought them sprinting to the balcony, overlooking the lounge. The video on screen skipped up and down in time with the running. First only the sound was audible, then the holopicture stabilized. The spacious area was filled with viscous rue of Puccini's "O mio babbino caro" in a velvet female voice, swirling all the way up to the glass ceiling. The pianist concealed by the raised top, but for a streak of red and black flanel, the camera focused on the singer. Thick black curls in a French braid, soft brown eyes, full forms, a green sundress. The girl looked remarkably the way Virgil did when he lost a bet to Gordon that one time. Or rather, if Thunderbird Two were a girl come alive. The voice seemed to reach through the gossamer veil of the holovid and envelope them all in their current strange surroundings. Nobody dared speak, lost for breath with awe.

When the aria ended there was a low whistle off screen. Then followed enthusiastic applause and a resounding "Bravo!", in a voice they knew all too well that time. The camera jumped again and recorded a startled shriek:

"Uncle Scott!!!"

The Tracies exchanged anxious looks. The frame shifted to accomodate a newcomer - too tall to fit he bent slightly to be eyelevel with the 'reporters'. Slim figure as fit as ever, the grey suit made the blue of the eyes stand out. The right shade, this time. But the hair was all steel and silver, much like Dad's. The smile was also different. The brothers hadn't seen that one since when Mom was still alive.

"Now, what are you two up to?"

There were more dimensions of levity in the grin and the lines that flanked bright blue eyes.

"Solemnly up to no good, sir!"

The twin chorus off screen declared eagerly, with audible delight. That was obviously a well practiced routine between them. The Double Trouble scrambled to remember the purpose of their noble endeavor.

"Uncle Scott, do you believe in love?"

The smile deepened the dimples on the man's face, he reached one arm to hug someone, the other lifted up to ruffle some hair, eliciting a universally recognizable sqauck.

"Of course I do! I love your parents and all you lot. More than anything in the world! I love the way your cousin Lucy sings. I love how you're always up to mischief. I love to see how smart and talented you all are. I love to see you grow up happy. And I'd love to make the world safer and kinder for you all!"

The camera dropped the frame again in favor of a brief fierce hug, before the transmission skedaddled to the elevator and down to the hangars.

It was hard to discern the details as the camera was facing the concrete floor for some time. Much as the brothers wouldn't mind a peek into the inevitable changes of the Thunderbirds' roost, the cracks and bumps remained as they remembered. They managed to see a red sign "Restricted Area", usually deployed by Brains, when experiment muse struck. But it definitely didn't deter the intrepid investigators. The video picked up a young ginger woman in lab coveralls, manipulating screenfuls of holodata.

"Hey, Sisi! Do you believe in love?"

Green eyes looked up from shifting datastreams, as the girl seemed to give the question some actual thought.

"Belief presupposes reliance on unverified and uncorroborated data points. Since I am aware of sufficient amount of proof that my synthetic biometrical makeup is not designed to produce chemicals usually associated with emotional affection in mammals, then no, I do not BELIEVE in love. But the complex neural connections I have elaborated over time allow me to experience strong cognitive affinity and preference for the select members of the Tracy family over all other representatives of the same species. And don't call me "Sisi", I am the Dawn!"

The sniggers off screen were drowned in a gasp their side of the holofeed, just as it was shut down forcefully. John was frozen in place, mesmerizing the same red-headed girl, looking not a day older, now frowning at them. Alan  jumped to his feet, indignant.

"You're not Dawn! You're Eos!!!!"

"That is an optimal deduction, yes."

Gordon snorted. John's brow furrowed in return. From behind Eos, the twins, Grant and Sally, were entering back into the room.

"Yo, you hacked our old reels! Neat! Tracy TV was a hoot! Ouch! Hey!"

A cuff up the head stopped the trip down the memory lane, as Kip caught up with the duo.

"You weren't supposed to get exposed to background data. That complicates the time loop, makes it harder to break without consequence."

"Well, duh, Carpenter! No kidding! What do we do now?"

It was time for another dramatic baited breath, as several pairs of eyes trained on the young man, shocked for a different reason their unexpected hosts might have assumed.

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday @jonathansfrakes #jonathanfrakes #actor #director #riker #startrek #thenextgeneration #deepspacenine #voyager #generations #firstcontact #insurrection #nemesis #enterprise #startrekdiscovery #startrekpicard #lowerdecks #Clockstoppers #Thunderbirds #theorville #startrek56

[psychoseal]

Gordy jr: Virgil, my favourite uncle. You look so young today

Virgil: what do you want?

Gordy jr: a new games console

Virgil: how young?

Gordy jr: 27

Virgil: go and get uncle Scott’s wallet

[llamawrites]

Mari Celeste Tracy is a play on Mary Celeste, Gordon would definitely name his daughter after a ghost ship.

[avengedbiologist]

Thunderbirds 80s style

So turns out my 80s phase I've been having has brought me back to tbirds so here's my 80s au. Info under cut x

Firstly I ain't taking criticism, these designs feel right 2 me and so do the song choices. Sorry there isn't more diversity in the music tastes these r literally just from bands I know.

Gordon-

Kiefer Sutherland (specifically him in the movie 1969 with his longer hair) and George michael r my inspo for him, I mean the hair is the main inspo but the vibes from both of them R verryyy Gordon to me. He dresses very typical 80s he's a big big fan of denim.

His playlist:

His favourite bands are Wham and Cinderella, being a big George Michael fan in general. His favourite album is night songs by Cinderella. Not sure why Cinderella is his fave but it feels right ☝️ (everyone listen to Cinderella xxx)

Him and Alan being the lame duo they are, were Wham for Halloween.

Alan-

Alex Winter for this guy, probably because of bill and ted (definitely because of bill and ted and also nose 👃) and I can genuinely get behind Alan having curly hair. Despite this he has long hair in this cause he's a trendy fella, and if I didn't give any of them long hair I would be a fraud and a fake to the 80s cause. He switches his style a lot but he has a lot of inspo from rock bands.

His playlist:

(I am definitely not projecting) (okay maybe I am, be glad my favourite KIX song is from the 90s)

I feel he is more rebellious (very 04 Alan me thinks) so he tends to lean more to the rebellious type music (big glam rock fan) his favourite band is and will forever be KIX, he has seen them live like 50 times. And his favourite album is Midnite Dynamite by KIX. Listen to KIX and u will get it (or not idk).

Scott-

I'm blaming @knyee because of their Tom Selleck thoughts 😩. Older Scott very Tom Selleck, younger Scott very Tommy Lee, and Jason patric is just there cause he's a guy with brown hair and blue eyes, any 70/80s person with brown hair is Scott to me (could Eddie Van Halen be the next Scott Tracy 😮).

His playlist:

I feel Scott's tryna be more cool but hes not as deep with his music as say Alan or Kayo. So he's a very, whatevers popular kinda guy. Big Bon Jovi fan, his favourite album is Bon Jovi, slippery when wet. And he's a big fan of older stuff as well, big Kinks fan.

Ugly ass fashion as per w Scott, I mean it's not bad it's just,,, very Scott 🧍‍♀️.

Virgil-

Now I am about to be controversial,,, I genuinely forget Virgil exists. Like who is he,, U tell me ? So this made someone that vibes w him very hard to find. So this may be weird to people, this may not fit as well as the others, but if U ignore the hair I hope U can see my vision. Paul Stanley. Look at his eyebrows, look at his cheek bones then get back to me Kay x.

His playlist:

Virgil's cool af what can I say, he does like older songs too but alas I didn't focus on them. Tho this au of the Tracy family has no specific like version (weather it's tag tos or 04, tho with me it's never TAG do not speak to me about TAG Alan xx) I will say this, TAG Virgil is a Metallica fan, I get he does classical music but he can do that,, and like Metallica, cause guess what,, he's cool as shit. Despite this is fave album is Lick it up by kiss.

Don't ask me how to dress virgil, I just put him in green and call it a day.

My fun fact about Virgil is his gay awakening was Slash from guns n roses.

John-

Again don't know shit about John, not do I care for him but if I make him look like Billy Idol I begin to care. I'll tell U sommat not only is this inspo, Billy is like a face claim for me, Ur telling me that's not John Tracy. Is Billy wasn't cool af he would be John Tracy. And as well as looking like Billy idol he is a fan of Billy idol, his fave album being Billy idol by (U guessed it) billy idol.

His playlist:

(R we starting to see my love for lost boys, cause if not just wait till kayo xx)

Rolling stones yeah pretty sick, time in a bottle is out there compared to the others but John's an all over guy I think.

Kayo-

Oh look, Jami Gertz, lost boys reference, what a shock.

Kayos cool, like just look at her, holding hands with penny (women in love what can I say) originally her like fave album was gonna be Kill em' all by Metallica but Kayos here for the girls so her fave Album is Vixen by Vixen. Corker of an album (everyone listen to it x)

Her playlist:

I fear Joan Jett would also be on her playlist but idk man. Kayos just like quirked up but in a fun way, she does try to listen to a lot of female artists. She likes spooky music and old music. If I was doing a 90s or later au she would be a fan of the song 'Living dead girl' by Rob Zombie.

She's a lost boys fan (not projecting) and loves horror films and she takes John to see em, only cause Penny does not like horror films.

Penelope:

Janet Gardner (from Vixen) is her celeb inspo, tho I fear there's a lot of blonde 80s celebs that would work, but why go for Madonna when Janet's right there, and her hair is taller. If Penny doesn't have tall hair that ain't Penny.

Her playlist:

Big big big Stacey Q fan, her fave album is Stacey Q better than heaven. Penny is a big fan of 60s music as well, loving Erma Franklin, he favourite song being her cover of 'Hold on I'm comin''. She loves Daughters of Eve, their song 'Hey lover' is her and Kayos 'song'.

She has seen Stacey Q live many times and has (lovingly) dragged Kayo to them. Kayo is also a bit of a fan. They both like a lot of each other's music, if they find a new band or an artist they like has released a new song they always try to listen to it for the first time together.

I am realising now I didn't write Penny's fave films which are: Heathers, Labyrinth and Hairspray.

This is a long ass post oopsies, hope U enjoy my nonsense x

[seat-safety-switch]

The humble potato is man’s greatest ally against the forces of nature. This calorie-packed fistful of carbohydrates has been specifically bred by our ancestors to offer an easy solution to needing to eat. You can throw these suckers out your car while hauling the mail down the highway, and they’ll grow. Right there in the drainage ditch, year after year, forever, slowly taking over the biosphere.

Or at least that’s what I was told. A couple years ago, I decided to try and grow my own potatoes. Those billionaire turbo-fash ruling our grocery stores from their orbiting space stations had raised prices on staples one too many times, and it was my turn to take the mouldy Yukon Golds at the back of my fridge and bury them in the Earth. Like my proud forebears, I too would become a subsistence farmer, hewing food out of the very earth itself.

Friends, this manic urge lasted for about five seconds. And then I went back inside to try and find the loose float bowl for a Honda Monkey’s carb (it was in my cutlery drawer.) I forgot about it all summer, and then the next fall. In the middle of the night in November, I briefly remembered my spud project, but I soon forgot again. Then, the next fall, I had to move a front k-frame from a Thunderbird out of that corner of the yard, in the vain hope that the rat-infested 302 mounted to it was still a viable enough core to net me a Craigslist trade for a primo Mopar thermostat housing. And that’s where I saw it. Poking through the Earth were the leaves and flowers of my potato plant, struggling to reach sunlight.

I didn’t want to dig it up. I was afraid. I didn’t want to see that I had somehow failed at the anyone-can-do-it, super-easy introductory gardening project. And yet – I had visitors coming. Visitors from the newspaper. Perhaps they would want a baked potato. They would think glowingly of me and the profile would not immediately open with a story about my degenerate behaviour and generally erratic coot-like ideology. The fame might make people turn up to see my hoard of shit-box cars, at which point I could sneak out and remove their differentials while they weren’t looking. With a new resolve, I dug up the potatoes using an old fender liner, and washed them using the neighbour’s hose. They were perfect.

I’d like to tell you that my dinner with the newspaperman went well. Unfortunately, I didn’t have quite enough time to cook the potatoes, and especially not to boil off all the various solvents, oils, and heavy metals that had accreted in my soil (already marked for “reclamation by some other sucker” by the original owners) over the years. Sometimes I forget that not everyone has become as inured to the contaminants as I have. Weak stomachs and all that.

On the plus side, I had a handy new hole in my yard in which to dispose of the evidence. In a couple years, I’ll be able to wear their clothes without anyone becoming too suspicious – they were about my size, and it’ll save me a few bucks at the thrift store. They say gardening takes patience, after all.

[voidthewanderer]

For the paranormal asks:

1,6 and 9 for Crow, Ripper and Arsenic ?

(01) Is your OC superstitious?

Ripper: Not particularly. He doesn't shun other people for being superstitious, however. His grandparents used to tell the superstition of Writing Love Letters To Juliet Capulet, which is most likely why he's not; given the story of Romeo and Juliet ended very tragically. Why would writing love letters to Juliet would grant potential love.

Crow: To an extent. They play on some of the more common ones, such as walking under a ladder is bad luck, throwing a pinch of salt over your shoulder toward off evil, knock on wood, etc. They very heavily believe in the strength of nazars.

Arsenic: Absolutely not. He finds that most superstitions come true because they're generally mentions of 'bad luck'; so people overreact and the bad thing does actually happen.

(06) What is your OC's favorite cryptid?

Ripper: He loves the story of the thunderbird. While not necessarily a cryptid, it's the first thing that comes to his mind when asked the question.

Crow: They're a Jersey Devil fan. There's a magazine that releases semi-annually called Weird NJ, which highlights many different types of haunts in New Jersey, which uses the Jersey Devil as one of their mascots. They fell in love with the design of it.

Arsenic: He likes anything sea serpent or aquatic. It's a hard time choosing between the Loch Ness Monster, Ogopogo, and Champ. However, if he's being a tease or just a brat, he'll say the kraken. For reasons.

(09) Has your OC ever seen a ghost?

Ripper: He hasn't; or rather, he believes he hasn't. Since he is a bit of a skeptic when it comes to ghosts, so he tries to find logical explanations for certain things. While he hasn't actually seen a ghost (at least in his canon), he has experienced them. Gotta face it, New Jersey's pretty damn haunted. He's seen what happens when you disrespect The Devil's Tree (ex friend of his took a dare to carve something into the tree; they wound up with their car broken down not even ten minutes after they left). He's driven along Shades Of Death Road (which is right next to Jenny Jump State Forest and Ghost Lake); his headlights kept failing despite having recently replaced them and they were fine once he'd left the area. He's still a thrill seeker with paranormal stuff, even if he is a skeptic. Not to mention as well, he took refuge in Sterling Hill Mine when the bombs fell; which is allegedly one of the most haunted places on the east coast.

Crow: Yes. They truly believe they've seen the ghost of their family multiple times when living in Caine. Not to mention as well, they've also been to some of the New Jersey haunts as well (with Rips on Shades Of Death Road; saw something on the side of the road). They've also visited Boldt Castle in Alexandria Bay, New York, which they've experienced disembodied footsteps through quieter parts of the castle.

Arsenic: He has not. Arsen's generally not the same type of paranormal thrill seeker like Crow and Ripper are, a non-believer; and even he knows that even if they were real, ghosts wouldn't be active during peak tourist hours and most haunts are tourist spots.

[emtb319]

My submission for day 1 of Fishtank week. Not sure now much I like it, but I'm sharing anyway.

Day 1 - Wingman

‘Gords, it’s about time you did something,’ Virgil said as Gordon tried to walk away from him.

‘Virgil, not now.  Ok?’  Gordon was not ready for this conversation.  This wasn’t the place nor the time.  He had to think, had to plan.  Virgil caught up to him and swung him around by his shoulders.

‘If not now, when?’, he asked.  ‘It’s obvious that you two love each other and want to be together, but you won’t make the move.’  Gordon sighed.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’  He waited for Virgil to respond, but he didn’t.  ‘Love only goes so far.  What about our homes, our families, our jobs, huh?  Don’t you get it?’  This time Virgil sighed.

‘You think that the next step means her leaving England forever or you the island forever, and neither of you like those options.’  Gordon paused, then he nodded his head.

‘What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t think of any of that?’

‘Wait what?,’ said Gordon confused.

‘Gordon, what if I told you that Thunderbird 4 could be stationed in England if you want.’

‘How?  We need 2 to transport her.’

‘We need my bird to transport her with a fully stocked pod.  Brains and I have been working on something for you.’  Virgil took out a tablet from his jacket and opened up some schematics for Gordon to see.  ‘Now, do you get it?  You don’t have to give up anything.  You can still man your bird.  You’d be able to fly her anywhere too, and if Penny decides that she wants to relocate to the island instead,’ Virgil paused, bringing up another file on his tablet, ‘we can do this.  There’s plenty of room on the island for everyone.  You guys could have your own home.’  Gordon took the tablet from Virgil’s hands to look it all over.

‘Virgil, I don’t know what to say.’

‘Here,’ Virgil pushed a small box into his hand.  ‘Go get your lady and bring me back a sister in law.’  With that, he shoved Gordon in Penelope’s general direction and watched him walk towards her. 

[gumnut-logic]

Cethair (Bit 2)

Óen | Cethair - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Glossary (contains backstory spoilers)

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight, @idontknowreallywhy, @womble1 and @sofasurf for all their amazing support of my writing.

Here we continue with the fic about Gordon, but this bit focusses on Johnny and a little backstory.

Sorry for the delay in writing. I will get there eventually.

I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

John was beside himself. Cóic’s thoughts were a turmoil and her heart anguished.

“It was not your fault, my love.” He reached up, ever so glad of his lanky height to reach her eyebrow feathers and rub her gently. “You know Gordon-“

She snorted, warm breath catching his long hair and tossing it about.

“Yes, he has a history of rapscallion-hood, but you know his heart. He would not have acted any other way, even should he have known this outcome. He did this for us.” He let his forehead rest against her white and gold cheek feathers, soft in their strength. “As did our father.”

That was a raw wound in his heart. Losing their father and king, his strength…all because…

It was Cóic‘s turn to interrupt his train of thought, sour that it was. He reached his fingers to his left temple, closing his eyes as her mind enveloped his.

It truly was magic. To be held like a child in the arms of a giant. Cóic had inherited the memories of the Ages, those who had come before, and the wisdom that entailed. But she was still young, unable to access it all until she was fully grown. Kyrano had spoken of it as a burden and part of John feared his beloved dragon would lose some of herself the day she came into her knowledge.

And feared he wouldn’t be good enough.

His father had spoken to him from a very young age about the importance of the gift he had been given, the honour it was to help guide a Matriarch into adulthood.

His mother’s family had been stewards of the great dragons across the Western Ocean and when the Matriarch of the tribe chose him to be the companion of her unborn child, the O’Treasaigh family had been ever so honoured.

His mother had held him in her lap telling him stories of the old ones and legends of their tribe leading back into the darkness of the past. How the tribe had grown strong and safe with the dragons, the great Thunderbirds. And how, in each generation one was chosen for the next Matriarch, the next great Thunderbird. Chosen for his mental prowess and agility, his strength for love and for kindness.

The Matriarch had chosen John.

And Gaat had not agreed.

John hadn’t been aware of it at first, until one day their father announced they were returning home.

As far as he and his brothers were concerned, they were home. The land of the Matriarch was all they had ever known. They were, of course, aware that their father was from across the ocean, very far away indeed. And they knew the story of how he had entered these lands held in Óen’s claws, a half-dead bedraggled mess - Kyrano’s words, not John’s.

The tales of Ériu, a land of eternal green and bounty, of their grandfather, Flaithri O’Treasaigh, king of their lands, and their grandmother who had trained in the Temple and knew all the medicines and was so kind to their people.

It would have been harder to leave if Gaat hadn’t forced the issue. John was still young when it all happened, but he remembered the fires and the screams. His mother grabbing him and Cóic, still in her egg, and bundling them up in furs so warm.

Of Óen’s bellows and fire, all the family’s dragons taking to the air in the darkness, his mother’s reassuring words as she held him close, his father’s voice firm and strong.

John shook himself. He often drifted when held by Cóic. He suspected she had interest in his memories and his point of view. They were so different, yet together they were one.

The family had returned to Ériu to great fanfare. The Flaithri was over joyous to have his son not only return, but with a wife and three strong sons.

The revelation of dragons took a longer time to settle, but eventually the O’Treasaigh family settled back into a new comfort, a new home that was as full of history as their previous.

The Kyrano family had travelled with them, their mother’s brother exercising the right to ensure her safety. Scott had once confided in John claiming Kyrano wanted to get away from Gaat as much as any of them. Gaat was a half-brother to both their mother and Kyrano, and a half they could both do without.

But as time passed and they all settled, it was good to have another family from across the Western Sea to share memories with.

Gordon and Alan were born one after the other and the Flaithri doted on both the young children. Five strong sons were cause for as much celebration as three.

The day Cóic hatched, John’s life changed.

He had slept with the egg every night, kept it warm as his mother instructed. It had so long been his companion, it was second nature to keep it safe. Until early in the morning dark, he had been awoken by movement and shattering eggshell.

She had bowled him over in eagerness, landing on his chest, still dripping with egg fluids. He had been bewitched by her beautiful turquoise eyes - to this day, he still was - though it had taken some time for her gold-tipped white feathers to fully come in. As a hatchling she had been rather scrawny, more like a bald bird than a dragon.

The wave of fond mock-offence had him smiling and he suspected that his response was her purpose in sending it.

It also brought him back to the present and separated him a little from her embrace. Today was one of mourning but in it there may be hope.

Cóic rumbled deep in her throat.

John startled. “Have you a response?”

The matriarch had sent out a request, across dragon minds seeking one willing to give everything for a heroic young prince. One willing to make the sacrifice to save him.

How the dragons saw his people, why they served, associated, and loved their human counterparts was not clear. While Cóic never hesitated to share her thoughts with him, there was seeing and feeling, but understanding was not a given. Dragonkind had its mysteries and its purpose and it was other than what humans pursued or recognised. It was also something John could only accept and trust.

But the call out across the seas and the land looking for one willing to give everything for a stranger…only clarified dragon difference. It was a hope, but it was also a terror, an unknown.

Cóic warbled, her heart lifting. She touched her great head gently to John’s.

She had an answer.

Her reassurance was a boon. Gordon could be saved.

As his fingers drifted through her neck feathers and he climbed into her saddle, his hope was joined by fear and his heart ached.

-o-o-o-

Next

[edutainer2022]

I may... be slightly embarrassed by this story, but definitely NOT sorry. I had lots of fun writing. The FlashFiction "PORTAL" prompt @janetm74 brought up was too good to pass up. I typically don't do OCs. I am nearly dialogue-impared and attempts at humor are admittedly not stellar. But hey... we all have that pet sandbox of headcanons about "Next Generation Thunderbirds" or "What if Timetravel", right? I was thoroughly entertained to play in mine with this piece. Hope, you're all somewhat amuzed reading too.

TIMEY-WIMEY

The young man and woman reached for the sidearms in unison, barely stepping through a hissing door, before freezing in wide-eyed wonder. About the same hight, blond, hazel eyes that belied an unmistakable resemblance of fraternal twins, they moved as one. Scott was faster, however, stepping to shield the rest of his brothers, hands thrown up, palms open in a universal gesture of "We mean no harm!" Before he could say a word, however, the young man had already holstered a gun - a glossy futuristic model they never saw GDF carry - and tutted them all to keep quiet. The woman next to him tapped her ear, activating a mic:

- Listen up, everyone! We have a situation! Butterfly effect. Repeat, possible butterfly effect.

They were obviously in some kind of crew quarters or an officer lounge - sleek, clean lines, but comfortable seats in different areas. The space was lived in too - the holo photos on the walls displayed young men and women laughing, hugging, leaning against unfamiliar sleek aircrafts. Some groups contained the pair present - both in civilian clothes and in uniform none of the Tracies could place. It would be fascinating to ponder, except they were supposed to be in a different lounge altogether. In fact, they were - a minute ago. On their own island, going through a mission debrief that was headed into a pleasant family evening all together, even John, once they wrapped up and changed out of uniform. There were no palm trees or the sky outside the huge port windows now. As far as the eye could see the view displayed only the infinite dark and the stars. They were in space.

Virgil and Alan were gawking, stunned by that realization. John was scanning the room for some clues or a comm. Their own comm units were, conspicuously, dead. Scott was still processing the fact that he was effectively shut up by a stranger with a gun. Gordon turned his attention back at the holo pictures on the wall for some suitable intel. Following his eyes movement, the woman by the door tapped a quick command on the wrist and the holos turned off simultaneously.

- Sorry about that. Mandatory Paradox protocol - the fewer details you know the better. 

Five pairs of eyes were trained on her. John found his voice first:

- Paradox protocol?

The blond man shrugged noncommittaly in a manner unnervingly familiar:

- The butterfly effect. You know, Bradbury? How in time travel you can't interact with stuff or it'll change the timeline? Sometimes the Delta-drive gets the timey-wimey all confused and it creates a temporary paradox. Like a portal.

- But no worries! - his, sister (apparently), chimed in, clearly amused. - Our Brain Trust will sort it out and get you out of here in no time. See what I did here?

They shared a Look, sniggered, and high fived.

Of all the details and questions, snowballing around, Alan, for some reason, latched onto the term:

- The Delta-drive? Like the T-drive?

The blond siblings shared a confused look again, before the man answered:

-Yeah, kinda. But at some point B... they ran out of Latin alphabet.

At that moment Scott's indignation and thinly veiled worry breached containment and, fists clenched, he almost screamed:

- Where is HERE?! Who are you?! How did we get here?!!!

Virgil switched his own imploding anxiety from the twinkling unfamiliar stars to a more immediate target and placed a calming hand on his big brother's shoulder.

The young woman rolled her eyes in a manner that too, was unnervingly recognizable, if hard to place:

- In reverse order: 1) We don't know how you got here, but, hopefully, will figure it out soon. You can't stay long. 2) You can't have too much information on who we are, but if it helps - I'm Sally, this is Grant, my twin brother and the bane of my existence (Grant made a point to give her a Look with a dramatic flourish); 3) "Here" is in Oort Cloud, strictly speaking. Welcome to the Lighthouse.

The collective audible gasp was swallowed by another door hissing, at the opposite wall. A group of four walked in - all young, an age bracket indistinguishable from that of the Tracy brothers. Two guys  and two girls. All looking rather disheveled and yawning, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. One of the girls had a screwdriver holding up a messy bun of black hair. A tattatered flannel shirt was wrapped around her waist -  more oil stains and burn marks, than fabric. There were grease stains on her forearm too, over an elaborate wreathe of flowers and wings, tattooed there. The guy walking next to her, dark haired and broad, sported a similar state of attire, except his flannel shirt was on. There was soot smeared on his forehead and cheek, covered in overnight shadow. The taller young man in the party was poking at holograms of some specs on the go, paying little attention to his surroundings. Dark auburn hair was curling every which way, one lock falling on the forhead to his obvious annoyance. He was clad in a cardigan that would have promoted Brains to the fashion icon of the Nerd community. That made three of them looking in disarray. The fourth young woman was rather prim and put together, if pale, looking around stiffly. The gaze of green eyes landed on the Tracy brothers, still standing back to back in the middle of the room, and she froze.

The rest of the newcomers effectively bumped into her, shifting attention to the present party. More audible gasps passed around, from the hosts this time.

Scott took the opportunity to take the initiative again:

- Hi, I'm Scott Tracy, these are my brothers. We're International Rescue...

The flannel clad big guy heaved a sigh, but smiled warmly:

- We know who you are. How? - his question was directed at the blond duo, still guarding the other exit.

- We were kinda hoping you guys will shed some light on that. Timey-wimey is your area.

It was the tall guy's cue to huff in exasperation, a slight accent hard to place:

- For the thousand's time! It's not timey-wimey, it's quantum physics!

- You say tomAIto... - his blond counterpart was grinning sunnily. All Tracies had a distinct feeling they had already witnessed this conversation on multiple occasions.

- Technically, it was the eight hundred seventy fifth time.

All eyes were on the girl speaking, but she just smoothed a non existent wrinkle on a crisp pant leg and clasped her hands awkwardly. John's eyes widened. Gordon's squinted.

- Anyhow... - the bigger man coughed discretely, to switch the conversation back on track. - Nice to meet you! I'm Kip. (Virgil yelped from an unexpected elbow in the ribs from Gordon). Tweedledum and Tweedledee there yonder probably told you we can't volunteer too much information. This is my little sister Kyra (he gestured to the girl with a screwdriver, currently in a hushed conversation with the auburn nerd), that's Lee over there and... Dawn.

The visible stumble in introductions had John squint too, then hitch a breath.

- The Delta-drive is offline after the last... mission. - That was Lee speaking again, surrounded by even more holograms, Dawn at his side sifting through data streams with uncanny speed. - We spent the night cycle rewiring and reconnecting everything manually (that was supported by enthusiastic groans from Kip and Kyra, now busy distributing generous cups of coffee around). - So whatever caused the Paradox is, likely, on their side.

That shifted all gazes in the room back to the Tracies again. In the spotlight, they looked utterly baffled.

Clearly a self-appointed morale officer - Grant supplied a consolation:

- Could be worse, right?

Kip pinched his nose, in a familiar attempt to stave off a headache after an all-nighter with busted equipment:

- Speaking of things getting worse... Where's our Intrepid Leader?

The question was directed at the Twins. It was Sally's turn to shrug:

- We were on perimeter patrol when Phoenix One left. Skye is off planetside for a Joint Chiefs meeting with the World President. The... last mission report and debriefing.

There was a snort from the general direction of the coffee table:

- I'd sell tickets to THAT show. Do we have GDF on standby? International Rescue notified for the possible fallout? Do we even still HAVE a World President?

Another mechanical hiss of the doors was an answer to that. The Twins shifted to attention imperceptibly, as a young woman in black space grade uniform strode in with urgency and determination. Lithe, runway model tall and as beautiful, blue eyes intense and dark in fluorescent light, assessing the scene in fraction of seconds, dark curls sleeked back in a bun.

- As you were.

The next words were directed at Kip and Kyra, still beaming in astonishment:

- I'll let you know that yes, we, in fact, still have a World President. I may not be on speaking terms with the man, but I draw a line at patricide.

Blue eyes glanced over the Tracies, but pointedly didn't linger, directing the unvoiced question at, obviously, the science team of the group - Lee and Dawn. They shifted several holograms her way immediately. There was something harsh about the young commanding officer, a shadow of pain etched in every feature.

Kip gulped down a mouthful of hot coffee:

- I was thinking more along the lines of a heart attack or a stroke. But good to know. Why are you back so soon? Didn't you have a report to deliver?

- I did. I delivered the report, encrypted, for President's eyes only. Then I left.

Grant and Sally whistled in unison as they, apparently, did many things in life:

- Sooooo... how long till the cavalry arrives? And all the king's Thund...

An elbow to the ribs put a halt to Grant's babbling, just as Gordon sported a cartoonish light bulb expression - jaw dropping and all. The confused gargle at the back of his throat was, however, muffled by John's palm over his mouth. Scott stood uncharacteristically still, thunderstruck.

Kyra broke the precarious moment with a splash of another helping of coffee (third since they arrived) into the mug:

- No need to worry. We're all due at the Met tonight for Lucy's recital anyway. We're gonna get the full dressing down there. That's including Gramps. We're gonna get such an earful from... everyone - we might not hear her sing.

In that moment Lee punched the air and released what could only be described as a war cry:

- That's it! The recital! That's what triggered the Paradox!

The Tracies were mostly reduced to speechless perplexity by that point, but Virgil couldn't let that one go, brows furrowing:

- How can music trigger time travel?

Lee rolled his eyes again in a gesture that had Alan inch closer to the light bulb moment too. Kip took it upon himself to be the pillar of patience (maybe not for the first time in present company) and explained:

- Music doesn't trigger time travel. Space-time context does. You're all here. And you're all due to be present at one of my sister's recital at the Metropolitan Opera tonight. It's a memorial concert, the World President will be in attendance. Well, not the you you, but the other you. The today you. Does it make sense?

A cacophony of "no"s in all Tracy voices filled the room. Gordon chimed in, voicing general confusion:

- Why would we ALL attend with the President? And how many sisters do you have?

- As... International Rescue you're guests of honor and four. Val is a lead neurosurgeon at Tracy Memorial, Casey is currently Deputy Chief of Communications at the World President Office, Kyra here, is, obviously, an engineer of the Lighthouse, and the eldest one, Lucy, is a world class opera singer, mezzo soprano. Does that answer your question?

Gordon squinted again, not willing to let the bone go:

- Why are you attending then? You guests of honor too?

Kyra stepped forth, pointing at the mourning tattoo on her arm:

- It's a memorial recital for one of our own. We lost...Commander Skye's brother in an... experimental equipment test. A Cognitive drive malfunction. It is his birthday.

The Commander in question landed her scrutiny, finally, from the holograms and formulas back on the Tracies, deep in thought. Then to Lee again:

- This doesn't add up. There are all five of them pulled in by the Paradox. Only four would be present tonight.

This time the Tracies erupted in a more than worried "why"s.

Dawn, mostly quiet heretofore and engrossed in the datastream, spoke up:

- This may explain it. A dispatch from orbital patrol is just in: USS ZXL CJT made a Delta-drive jump back into the solar system.

Gasps of surprise were summarized by Skye's hoarse wisper:

- What happened? They were not due back another three years! Not after what happened to J... (under her breath). Can you rise the Captain?

- Negative. Not from this range.

Lee clicked his fingers and pumped the air again:

- That's our trigger! We'll have to jump the Lighthouse from Oort Cloud back to Earth now, to investigate. That's how the Paradox would assemble!

Alan snapped his head from one person talking to the other and finally burst out a question:

- What's ZXL CJT?

Dawn paused, seemingly, choosing words. Skye, suddenly grim and somber, gave her a slight nod to proceed:

- A Zero-XL class deep space recon and rescue vehicle "Colonel Jeff Tracy". Captain on board - Alan Sheppard Tracy.

[raurquiz]

#happybirthday @jonathansfrakes #jonathanfrakes #actor #director #riker #startrek #thenextgeneration #deepspacenine #voyager #generations #firstcontact #insurrection #nemesis #enterprise #startrekdiscovery #startrekpicard #lowerdecks #Clockstoppers #Thunderbirds #theorville #Roswell

[bluujae]

Ｍarauders Era, baby

Strap in, I tried to keep it to the need to know basis only, but there's still a lot bc I like to ramble

Meet the family, House Malyx

House Malyx is a house that brings dread.

“Oderint dum metuant.”— Let them hate, so long as they fear. The family motto.

To carry the Malyx name was to “bear a weight greater than God and gold”, if one believed in such things. They're dark artists. Their blood entered this world with the bearings of Hell, natural born sorcerers. A gift and an eventual curse. Due to their mixed blood, Malyx have a tendency to live longer than most, although death finds them as easily as anyone else in the end— And when it does, their flesh gives way to dreadful revisions of what once was. They become secrets to be kept behind the locked and charmed doors of their estate, buried deep under the floorboards.

The current state of the house holds ten members, including two wives who married in and two brothers who were brought from a separate arrangement. At the head of House stands Amaris Malyx, hailing at 142 years old but only looks about 65 at most. Her only husband passed when she hit 100. Between them, they had one sole son. Vesemir Malyx, who hails at 120 years old though only looks to be in his 60’s and married to his wife Wilhelmina, with 3 children. Two boys, one girl. The oldest was Ciro, who has yet to marry and shows no signs of attempting any time soon. Nyathera the middle child has proven, thus far, to be too wild for any true suitor but she has countless admirers. Then the youngest, Ambrose is the only child who’s married. Having settled down with the previously divorced Irina, who brought two sons with her; Morvan and Dimitri. Eventually conceiving a young son with Irina, now the youngest heir— the pride and joy of the house. That’s me :)

My father, uncle, and aunt are all at varying ages in their late 40’s early 50’s. Within the next decade and some change, their physical appearances will slow in aging.

Back in America, Vesemir had been a Wampus and Wilhelmina a Horned Serpent. Ciro and Ambrose had both been Thunderbirds, while their sister Nyathera had been a Wampus like their father.

In Britain, Irina had been a Gryffindor while her two boys had been sorted into Slytherin. Then I, while in America had been a Horned Serpent. When transferred to Hogwarts I’d been sorted into Hufflepuff— much to the amusement of both brothers.

-

House Malyx moved from America, where they truly come from is unknown.

Ambrose Malyx’s reputation came from how quickly he scaled the ladder of the MACUSA, becoming one of their best aurors, specializing in hunting down Sieges and dark wizards. The fact remained, Ambrose took after his now retired father and brother. He was and is one hell of an auror.

Earning enough of a reputation that he was headhunted for a position under M.O.M. He agreed to be a temporary fill in overseas for some time, where he met Irina. When it was time to go back he brought her with him. The two proceeded to be married and for the first 13 years of my life I was raised in America. When my mother grew homesick, my father packed us up without a second thought and moved the whole family to Britain— well known by that point for giving in to his wife’s every whim. Thus, I transferred during my 3rd year. In the meantime, my father clawed his way up and became Head Auror.

We’re picking this bad boy up at the beginning of 6th year.

The only real last thing to note is that House Malyx’s ‘psuedo-immortality’ isn’t, or wasn’t, really a known subject outside of America. However, there was a collision of two revered families when they briefly came into contact with House Black. At the time, Amaris was 120 meeting a 23 year old Orion Black. You can imagine the horror and fear when she turns back up 22 years later looking no different and with three generations under her.

And if anyone is wondering who the S.P is in this skit— There’s three iterations of this, so depending on which one I’m currently running it’s either:

James Potter

Sirius Black

Regulus Black

[tagsecretsanta]

From @hebuiltfive

From @hebuiltfive to @sofasurf

Could someone please ping @sofasurf as Tumblr is refusing to tag them.

This was from the prompt: Christmas movie marathon with Gordon (but it features a brief mention for the prompt Shopping with John and Gordon too!)

Gordon's Christmas

The previous week had started off so promisingly.

John had come down from Five to embark on some much needed holiday shopping and had been partnered up with Gordon for the task. Gordon had been ecstatic and would have claimed that John, despite his grumbling, had been equally as thrilled about his shopping partner. It had been a while since the Squid and the Space-Man had spent some quality time together and, for the most part, Gordon would have claimed they mostly enjoyed their short excursion. Gordon had even managed to wrangle in a few pranks.

His favourite, even if it had been a little extreme, had John sighing deeply and glaring at Gordon with a look of disappointment. In fairness, his big brother should have been expecting something absolutely ridiculous from him at some point during their trip. Then again, looking back, maybe the seven Santa figurines that were dancing and singing out of sync across one of the toy aisles was perhaps a little too much, even by Gordon’s standards.

Everything had been going to plan, however, and, despite Gordon’s practical jokes, they had both managed to bag quite a few gifts and trinkets.

Lunch was when it all started to go downhill.

They’d been called back for a rescue. Virgil had flown by in Thunderbird Two to pick them both up as Grandma Tracy relayed the mission details. It should have been a reasonably simple ordeal.

Except it wasn’t, and Gordon ended up fracturing both his ankle on one leg and his tibia on the other.

He endured two medical examinations — one conducted by Virgil at the scene of the incident, and one by Grandma when they all returned to Base. Both exams concluded the same medical plan — that Gordon wasn’t in need of surgery but he was going to need a large bout of R&R for the next few months.

Least to say this news displeased him immensely. Whenever he tried to argue his case, however, Virgil and Grandma (and sometimes even Scott himself) would remain adamant and wouldn’t budge. He was to stay in bed, with his bandaged ankle lifted in those first few days. They lectured him relentlessly on why the crutches were needed and how he shouldn’t be putting any weight on his injuries if he wanted it to heal at all properly. Gordon didn’t care about any of that, though. Not only was he annoyed at being treated like glass once again, but it was also growing closer and closer to Christmas and Gordon was beginning to feel like he would miss out of festivities. 

He lasted a week before he finally began to feel like he was going insane. Gordon had already binge-watched the entirety of Into the Unknown once again. If someone were to ask him how many times he’d seen that show now, he’d have been unable to place a number. Five times? Ten? Twenty?

But even Gordon, an avid fan of the show, couldn’t bare to sit through another watch so soon after his last marathon.

He scrolled through his holo-projector, interest peeking when he came across a a host of Christmas films. Was the week before Christmas still too early to be watching such festive films? He then glanced his bandaged legs and frowned.

‘’Tis the season, as they say.’ Gordon murmured to himself, now flicking through the various options.

Safe to say he was spoilt for choice, but eventually he decided upon his first film; A Muppet’s Christmas Carol. There was nothing not to love about the film: it had Muppets, it had songs, it had a generally uplifting feeling to it. It was precisely what he needed.

There was only one problem.

Gordon had since ran out of snacks from his secret stash and was in dire need of more. Normally, he would have rung his special bell that had been retrieved for him and would have asked for one of his other family members to assist him… except they weren’t available. 

Scott, Virgil and Kayo were all out on various missions, John had long since returned to his station in orbit, and Grandma had visited the mainland for her own Christmas shopping trip. 

Brains was busy with MAX in the laboratories and Alan was somewhere in the villa doing his homework (or so he claimed).

It would have been rude to disturb them, especially over something as simple as needing some movie snacks. Gordon debated the pros and cons, the arguments that might ensue if he was caught, but in the end he came to conclusion that he was very much capable of fetching his own movie snacks, thank you very much.

With his bandaged ankle lifted off the floor, and being high on pain medication enough for the pain in his shin to be nothing more than a dull ache, Gordon snuck down to the kitchens with his crutches, successfully arriving without being seen or heard. He would grab what he needed and the return to the safety of his room before anyone realised he’d left. Simple.

Popcorn, check. Soda, check. Restock of the Celery Crunch Bars, check.

Gordon mustered up a collection of bits and bobs, different candies and savoury treats, along with enough drinks for plenty of refills when necessary. He was quite impressed by the haul that he’d managed to whip up in only a few minutes, and was proud of the fact he’d done it all so stealthily.

That was until he realised that, with the crutches supporting him, there was no way he was going to be able to carry all of what he’d collected back up to his room.

Ah.

It was a dilemma that he was intent on solving on his own. He probably would have worked it out far sooner had the medications not dulled his brain so much.

Gordon was in the middle of plotting out an elaborate plan, that probably wouldn’t have worked, when soft footsteps alerted him to Alan’s quiet arrival.

His little brother sighed. “You’re supposed to be in bed, Gordo.”

Gordon shuffled uncomfortably with the crutches so he could turn and face his brother, his expression one of pure innocence. “I needed food.”

“They told me that you had to stay put.”

“I needed food.”

“Then ask one of us to get it for you. Brains is around and I was literally across the hall in my room… How did you manage to sneak past me, by the way?”

“I’m a ninja.”

Alan rolled his eyes before those blue orbs landed on the snacks that Gordon had amassed. Those eyes then widened. “Are you feeding an army?”

This time, it was Gordon who rolled his eyes. He faced the counter again and… okay, maybe there was a lot there in hindsight, but he was hungry and feeling sorry for himself.

“You should have asked me to help you.” Alan continued, stepping past Gordon to fetch himself a glass of water.

“I can do it myself.”

His brother slowly turned his head to look at him, offering Gordon a look that suggested Alan didn’t believe a word of that statement. His head then cocked to the side, gesturing towards the bowls and packets on the counter. “Yeah? Carry all that up to your room then.”

Alan was smart. He was probably smarter than all of them combined (minus John, of course). The glass was lifted to his lips, a sip of water was taken, but Alan didn’t take his eyes off Gordon, as though he was daring his big brother to try and prove him wrong.

Gordon was tempted to try, if only to wipe the smug smile off Alan’s face, but he knew when he’d been defeated. He just despised the fact that this defeat was due to a bowl of popcorn.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Fine, I can’t do it. I didn’t, uh, think it through, did I?”

To his credit, Alan didn’t jibe or tease his brother. Instead, he simply shrugged. “I could help you. I mean, if you let me sit in on the movie with you.”

Gordon chuckled and shook his head. “No. You’re supposed to be doing your homework.”

“And you were supposed to stay in bed, yet here we are.”

“Scott would kill me if he found out. Grandma would kill me. No. Absolutely not!”

“C’mon, Gordon!” Alan pleaded with those puppy-dog eyes that he was so talented at wielding. “I can catch up with all that work tomorrow.”

“What if you’re needed on a rescue tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll just catch up the day after that.”

Oh, his brother was good. Insufferable, maybe, but good. “Alan…”

“If you let me watch one film, I won’t tell anyone about your little solo trip down here.”

Gordon sized his brother up. Definitely insufferable, but he couldn’t skip out on such an offer.

Another sigh was released. “Okay, okay. One film, but then you’re back to your homework. Two conditions: I get to pick the film and you don’t get to any of my treats.”

“But you have tonnes there—!”

“That’s the deal, Allie.”

It was a deal that was reluctantly taken and soon enough, with the help of Alan, Gordon was back in his room. He tucked himself underneath his squid-patterned blanket, which was large enough to cover Alan as well as his kid brother nestled in beside him.

Once they were both comfortable, Gordon hit play.

Throughout the movie, Gordon’s rule of Alan being unable to have any of his snacks relented. Both a hand from each brother continuously dived into the popcorn bowl until there was nothing but un-popped kernels at the bottom. Bars of chocolate were hastily devoured and their glasses were repeatedly filled with fizzy soda.

By the time the credits rolled on A Muppet’s Christmas Carol, Gordon had seemingly forgotten the other two rules he’d created in the kitchen — that Alan couldn’t choose the film, and that Alan had to return to his homework once the one film was finished. 

He turned to his little brother, who was propped up against Gordon’s headboard with an octopus shaped pillow behind his back, with a cheery grin. “Which one do you want to watch next?”

There was much debate but eventually they settled on The Grinch. 

Alan disappeared for a few minutes to refill some of their supplies, making sure to grab enough snacks for himself this time as well, and then the movie watching recommenced.

After The Grinch, The Polar Express was put on. 

After that, Elf.

By the time Virgil returned home and came in to check on Gordon, both the boys had fallen fast asleep. Home Alone 2 was still playing on the holo-projector, though it was clear from the state of them that they’d drifted off not long after the film started. Virgil carefully made his way over to the bed, avoiding empty wrappers and containers that had been strewn across the floor. He switched the screen off, leaving his brothers to continue to rest in darkness. Words would no doubt be had in the morning over Alan’s incomplete homework and Gordon’s leg not being elevated as instructed, but for now Virgil was keen to let them rest. 

[mymiraclebox]

I’ve seen you pick villain MCs for other boxes but what if you made a heroes team (made of 5 like ladybug, cat noir, Rena rogue, carapace, queen bee) for the boxes

A lot of the Boxes of the Order Generation are pretty small, so I'm going to stick to the bigger boxes for this question, just so there's options to choose from. I will also being mirroring the canon hero team, with a pair acting as leaders with three main teammates working with them.

---

Direction Box - I actually do have a team of 5 in this AU for this Box: with Eagle (Eagle Miraculous) and Ampere (Thunderbird) acting as the team leaders. Then their main teammates are Melodie (Deer), Masked Owl (Owl), Eye of Ra (Falcon).

Enduring Box - The five I would choose for the Enduring Box would probably be the Griffin and Gorilla as the main duo, Griffin acting as their main powerhouse of the team, with the Gorilla being a general protector who always places themselves between their team and the threat. For their teammates I have the Okapi, who could be great for intel and sneak attacks. Then the Secretarybird, whose diverse power potential would be good for team building. Finally there's the Chameleon, whose powers could help both with keeping the team together and getting the upper hand against their foes.

Cycle Box - I'm going to make the Grim and the Qilin as the team leaders here, not only because of their contrasting nature of their powers, but simply because I feel having partners with kwamis who hate each other would be pretty interesting for their dynamics. As for their teammates, I'd say: Tortoise to act as a strategist of the team, Pangolin to be a defensive force, and Rhino for offensive power.

Season Box - I think Kelpie and Elk would be a fun leader pair, with the water and plant powers acting as a fun duo even if the Kelpie is technically stronger as an Elemental. For the teammates I am of course choosing the Ant, with their Hivemind able to create perfect teamwork. Next will be the Crab, which will always provide a power they need the moment they need it. For the fifth member I will go with the Lynx, whose ability to see glimpses of near future events would be very potent in tandem with the Ant.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 21 - Consult

The only thing more evil than an evil cliff-hangar is not resolving it in any way in the next chapter.

A little Sky and Stars though? That would be good wouldn’t it?

What went before

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

John, however, had not been keen.

When Scott had mentioned to him that he’d like to call in on Estera whilst they were in the UK for the TI meeting the following day there had been… a tension.

He hadn’t said anything and appeared content to go along with the plan. But the best part of 3 decades experience of big-brothering told Scott that John was on edge at dinner. Then he’d come back from an evening sea swim with Gordon to find his two nearest brothers deep in conversation in the kitchen. John was pacing and gesticulating, Virgil using the firm, reassuring voice Scott recognised as the one he tended to use on him when he was about to fly off the handle.

Scott backed quickly back around the corner, some instinct telling him his presence would not improve the situation. A frustrated exclamation floated around the corner.

“How can you be so calm? I can’t bear to… we can’t afford to lose him again.”

A reassuring rumble, too quiet for him to hear.

“We don’t know that. What if she triggers another episode? What if he’s rushing in to something not thinking straight and…”

The Virgil rumble interrupted slightly more abruptly.

John trusted Scott’s judgment. From rescue strategy to tactics for managing the TI Board to wrangling The Tinies. Even when they disagreed on the best approach, his brother would advise but in general fall in with Scott’s instinct (whilst making contingency plans in the background of course). In turn, Scott took John’s advice seriously and more often than not adjusted to fit in with it. That’s how it worked, it was how they worked together.

John trusted him to make a good call in everything except, it turned out, in any kind of decision relation to Scott’s own welfare. The fact he could immediately think of five or six reasons that might justify his brother’s view on that point did not prevent the painful knot of hurt and defensiveness forming in Scott’s gut.

He was about to stride around the corner to tell his brother exactly what he thought when a hand rested firmly on his shoulder and Gordon looked up at him, absolute seriousness in his gaze, and slightly shook his head. His little brother then adopted a casual expression and strolled into the kitchen.

“Interesting fact - if trigger avoidance was a good coping mechanism I’d never have set foot in Thunderbird Four.”

The unmistakable sound of the fridge opening and jars being rattled around muffled whatever responses John and Virgil were making and Scott’s heart clenched at the light hearted delivery of such a heavy reminder that his little brother knew the darkness too. Then the thump of the fridge door and click-hiss of ring pull before:

“I’m just saying, oh beloved, ancient and immensely wise bros of mine, that the Old Man is probably aware of what his triggers are and unless she adopted a whole new therapeutic approach with me, Patricia will have never suggested it was a good idea to actively avoid them forever.”

There was a silence.

His very much beloved, much-older-and-definitely-wiser-than-Scott-usually-acknowledged little brother had strolled back round the corner and saluted him before counting down from 5 with his fingers and then nodding in the direction of the kitchen again.

So Scott had gone with the flow and trying to feign the same level of casual, wandered into the kitchen with a cheerful “evening all”. He pretended not to notice the flickers of awkwardness on both faces and made a beeline for the coffee machine. “Beverage?”

“It’s 10pm”

“It’s 10am somewhere, surely?” John raised an eyebrow. “Fine, just for me then.” Scott pressed the button and watched the coffee flow into the cup as he collected his thoughts and tried to ignore the silent conversation going on behind him. He carefully added the tiniest splash of cold water before taking a sip and turning back to them:

“So, I was thinking while we’re in London there might be a good moment for me to pop in on Patricia if she’s got a slot free.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The receptionist looked up and gave a dashing smile as Scott paced back past him for the umpteenth time.

“Not long now, sir. Might I get you another hot drink?”

“Please.”

“Coffee extra strong, right?”

Scott inclined his head with a smile.

John had a theory about Scott and caffeine, apparently, he’d said as much on the flight over but hadn’t let on what it was yet. The trip over in Tracy Two had been slower than Scott would have preferred but John’s quiet suggestion that he’d prefer to use the jet rather than One - just in case Scott wanted him to pilot back - seemed a reasonable compromise.

It was easier to talk in TT than in One, and so they did, off and on. Mostly TI related or brothers related. But comfortable. John seemed relieved that Scott was going to talk his idea through with someone who knew what they were talking about and for the moment, that was enough.

Scott hadn’t made any plans though, he didn’t want to set something up and then cancel. He just had to hope she would be available when… if… he asked. If not, there could be another day. It didn’t always have to be now or never…

He hadn’t noticed the door opening.

“Tracy?”

Here goes.

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John was waiting outside with the fast-becoming-traditional take away coffees. Scott raised his cup in salute and nodded his thanks as they wandered over the crossing to the park and grabbed a bench overlooking the water.

“How was it?”

“Different.”

“How so?”

“Normally I crawl in there a bit of a wreck. It was interesting to… not.”

“A positive kind of different then?”

“Mmm.” Scott sighed and looked up at his brother who was regarding him with tangible patience. “So, do you want a blow by blow account or the executive summary?”

“Whatever you want to give me.”

Scott leaned back on the bench and watched a couple of ducks swoop down and land on the pond, one gliding in smooth as silk, the other making a complete hash of it and sending up a tidal wave of spray. He could almost sense the first bird’s eye roll.

“We spent” he checked his watch and his eyes widened in surprise “nearly 75 minutes discussing my known triggers and how I approach each of them. Most I don’t actively avoid and can mostly just ride it out if they turn up… dogs, snow, rust…”

“Rust? I didn’t know about that one.”

“It doesn’t feature much. Hooray for cahelium, I guess?”

“And a strict maintenance schedule.”

“Indeed. The other kind, like needles or being stuck in the infirmary or, you know, ‘having malaria’” Scott added air quotes to try to lighten that one “I try to avoid but often don’t have a lot of choice so it is what it is but I do find them… difficult to manage.”

He sipped his coffee and tried not to think about how difficult.

“I understand. So… which is the girl?”

“I don’t know yet that Estera” he placed a subtle emphasis on her name “is either. It might just have been the conversation we had.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“I guess not. If we meet, it will probably come up at some point. It could happen again. And then maybe you and the others would have to… help… me. Again.”

He sighed.

“Is it worth it, Scott?”

Scott reached out and took John’s hand from where it rested on the bench between them.

“You’re always looking out for me John, I know that. And I do appreciate it. I know you’d rather I didn’t take so many risks and I guess it would be easier on you all if I just moved on and didn’t pursue this friendship. But… I think I have to try? I want to try. I think it might be good for me to try, even if it does end up going wrong. Can you understand that?”

John squeezed Scott’s fingers between his own and nodded. No words were necessary.

Scott blinked rapidly and looked away. A pair of dogs were chasing each other’s tails in the distance, too far away to hear. He breathed out slowly and pondered the fact that yet again he’d felt able to share 90% of the volume of information with his brother but not the bit that was nagging at him most insistently.

Patricia never told him what to do, that wasn’t how it worked. No doubt she’d had hundreds of ex-military clients just desperately wanting someone in authority to give them a list of orders to follow. Not that Scott had ever been particularly good at unquestioningly complying with directions… but sometimes an uncomplicated “how to” crib-sheet would be really welcome.

Instead, when they had occasion to discuss a decision with which he was faced, she might give some limited general information, but mostly invited him to use his own logic to work through likely outcomes, suggested some others. She took no crap and often bluntly called him out on his (usually negative) assumptions and thought patterns. Sometimes he’d go away and think, other times he’d come to a decision then and there but she’d never express an opinion on whether she thought it was the right one. He’d tried to read her expression so many times but it was always impenetrable. She never told him what to do or not to do. That wasn’t how it worked.

Today for the first time in nearly ten years she’d broken that rule. As he’d put his hand on the door handle and turned back to express his thanks as always she had looked up from her notes and frowned ever so slightly at him:

“One more thing. You might find that emotions run particularly high to start with, it might be a good idea to bear that in mind.”

Scott had apparently failed to hide his lack of comprehension as to her point because with the faintest hint of an eye-roll, Patricia clarified:

“For heaven’s sake, Tracy… don’t sleep with her.”

In response to which he’d done a stellar impression of a goldfish, nodded and hurriedly backed out of the room.

Given her speciality, they’d never had cause to discuss that annoyingly persistent facet of his public reputation that refused to die no matter how unjust it might be (or how many articles EOS tampered with). It wasn’t particularly important what his trauma therapist thought about it anyway, it just wasn’t relevant and so it didn’t come up. But… surely after all these years, she knew him better than that? He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or outraged, settling in the end for confused. He hadn’t been thinking of Estera in that way, not more than a fleeting, barely conscious acknowledgment she was a woman with features he generally found attractive. Anyway, given the memories he was struggling with, thankfully false but still horribly potent, that was not a headspace he was going anywhere near.

And given the look on John’s face right now… he was going have to make that really clear before anyone got overexcited.

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Chapter 22…

[forest-falcon]

WIP Wednesday

Adding to my Thunderbirds fic with OC Lieutenant Tamara Fielding & Jonesy (both firefighters who work with Chief McCready). The fic is written completely out of order (my brain refuses to be anything but chaotic!)

💙👨‍🚒👩‍🚒🚀☔

Tam set her coffee down on the countertop of the front desk and dragged an office chair towards her.

God she hated paperwork, especially during the winter months. Maybe she could shred the whole pile...create a fire in the foyer - anything to thaw out her frozen hands. Then again, arson, as a rule, was somewhat frowned upon within the firefighting community. Killjoys.

Tam cradled the quickly cooling coffee, attempting to leech the remaining heat from it. 

"You gonna drink that or buy it dinner?"

"Oh I'd take it to bed with me if I could, but I've somehow gotta make your numbers look good so Chief McCready doesn't fire your ass."

"Sounds like an easy day to me. I am, after all, Jonesy... the living legend."

Tam arched a brow as he flexed 

"Hmmm...those weren't the words I was thinking of."

"Well I'm not sure you can use ruggedly handsome in a report?"  

Tam took a sip of her coffee.

"I've known cats with smaller egos than yours."

Jonesy grinned. 

"So why's Chief got you hooled up here anyway? I miss my partner in crime. The probie ain't bad, but I want my work wife back."

Tam took an elongated slurp of her now-iced-latte, before the phone mercifully rang.

"Hold up, I've gotta take this."

Jonesy gave a mock salute, winked, then headed in the general direction of the lockers.

"London Fire Brigade"

"Guess who?"

"Scott?"

"Guilty as charged!"

"How...err...how are you? Sorry, I wasn't expecting it to be you. Is everything okay, I mean, is there a situation we can assist with?"

"Oh! No, it's just a friendly call. I've asked EOS and John to cover any incoming calls to the station  while we chat."

"That's...erm...thanks?"

"So! In answer to your earlier question - I'm well. Bored as hell, stuck doing paperwork, but you know what they say...no rest for the wicked!"

"I'm not sure anyone in your family really fits that description."

"Honestly? Even after Gordon switched the letters  around on your keyboard?"

"That was him?"

"Like I said, wicked."

There was a brief pause.

"How's everyone else? I don't think I managed to catch Virgil before I left."

"Ah yes. Tyre factory fire in Madrid. To be fair, he's not one for goodbyes. But yes - the rest of the family's well. Kayo, I think, is missing the female company already as she's being proper ornery today. I think Alan's gonna have to game standing up as she kicked his arse good n proper sparring this morning."

Tam chuckled despite herself. 

"Poor Alan." 

"Anyway, just thought I'd drop you a line to see how life back at the station was going?"

"Oh. Well...s'been okay. Chief McCready has me on desk duty today thanks to the whole surfboard incident. Told her my head was fine, but, yeah. Here I am checking fire alarms, fitting car seats and making coffee. Life in the fast lane..."

"Hey, don't knock it. I've spent the day crunching numbers."

"You love numbers."

"Yeah, not these numbers though. Hey! We could swap? You do my Tracy Industries calcs and I'll brew the coffees?"

"Sure, I mean, only if I get to work in your office? The London drizzle and concrete doesn't quite stand up to your sea view."

"Deal! I'll bring One around as soon as I can suit up!"

"Oh, and I should warn you...don't drink the coffee. It's the cheapest instant sh*t they could find...and it's decaf."

"Ah now, that may be a deal-breaker you see..."

"Damnit"

"Yeah. Can't be pulling all night rescues on weak wanna-be-coffee."

"You wouldn't cut it here then Commander...better stick to your paperwork."

"Touché! Anyway...I better head off and let you get back to it. It was nice hearing your voice. Maybe we can grab lunch whenever I'm next in London?"

"I'd like that."

"Great, I'll get John to locate the nearest McDonald's for us."

There was a click as Scott hung up.

Tam chuckled.

"Jackass."