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alldayangst · 4 years ago

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gold rush (Tom Holland)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Inspired by gold rush by Taylor Swift. Everybody wants Tom, but you don’t like a gold rush. WC: 2.7K words.

“Y/N, I just wanted to say again, thank you for coming in today and doing this for us.” Tom’s dad, Dominic, said as he displaced papers across desks, earl grey swaying like an angry lake in his mug. Approaching footsteps hinted that the star of the show was soon to be hold. In other words, Tom was running behind.

The door creaked and light from the corridor crept through like Sun peeping through curtains of the Night. It refusing to shut after Tom budged and pushed was maybe divine punishment for him being so late, and maybe provided the bit of laughter you needed after rolling out of bed at 6am for this, for him. When the door eventually did close, Tom turned around and saw you in all your glory; much taller than he remembered, more assured than he’d imagined, and more gorgeous than drowned out and half forgotten memories of you could ever fabricate.

You and Tom ran in the same social circles, but hadn’t seen each other since Tom’s career imploded when you were both nineteen. As much as Tom felt he owed his heart and soul to the UK, he maintained an almost permanent fixture on the States. It started to feel like his trips back to England were in fact actual holiday. At one point, you were in love with Tom, but meeting became a constant battle of ‘here, not there’ and your heart grew tired of the duck and goose chase. The gravity of the situation was too much for you, whom hadn’t even tasted their twenties yet.

“Y/N!” Tom launched at you and held you in tight embrace. You let go of the hug, but he didn’t. And his dad watched on in momentary awe as you wrapped your arms around Tom once again, who breathed in every part of you with unwavering adoration.

“Tom!” You rubbed along his back as he hummed. “When I was told we were gonna have a ghost writer, I had no idea it was gonna be you.”

Tom and his dad (being an author) were collaborating on a book, a million dollar idea that’d been years in the making. Tom had stalled it, his dad told you out of simple insecurity. Now that the world was a stage, he was worried people would criticise his dyslexia with every line he wrote, that every stroke of his pen would reveal him as a rare type of monster that lacked intellect, he pondered that he wasn’t insightful enough in some way. His dad may have written a book about Tom outfaming him, but Tom felt like he’d always live in Dom’s shadow in this respect. Fresh from Oxford with an English Bachelor’s degree, Dom employed you to get grease on the gears to commence writing. Tom had always come out of his shell when you were around.

Your writing session lasted from 8 til noon, when Tom had promo with LadBible or Entertainment Weekly or whoever had bid the highest from his presence that day.

The door swung open and three men in all black and mics saddled around their waists called for and led Tom out of the room.

“Tom, session’s over. We need to get you to your BBC promo in 30 and we’re already running behind schedule.’ One cloaked Tom in a jacket you were sure was more expensive than your own home and another whispered something into a walkie talkie: “Holland is on the move. Check the back entrance is clear.” With that, Tom rose to his feet and left completely opposite of the way you came in. Without a word, no goodbye.

You and Dom left the building together around ten minutes later, where ten men with large cameras stood, lenses focused on you, glaring at you, not sure what to make of you. One of the men screams “Hey! You dating Tom Holland” and after that all you hear is clicks and all you see is bright flashing lights and Dom clenches your hand and leads you to your taxi cab.

The next time you see Tom is sooner than expected. The Hollands were hosting a last minute dinner party and you found yourself sitting opposite Tom, feeling his hard, hot and heavy gaze on you. The tension in the room was so thick not even a chainsaw cut through.

“Next topic,” You picked up a card from the deck and read it aloud. “Politics!” You said devilishly as you sip on what was left of the white wine in your cup, and now that your thought process is blurred; Tom’s longing gaze puts you at dismay.

“Fuck!” Harry exploded, and you hear their mother hiss. “Fuck I hate politics, there’s no making it out alive!” he remarked as he drummed on the table cloth, drunken excitement brewing a new energy in the room.

You go on like this for hours until dinner party is dinner party no more. And while Dom, Nikki and all of Tom’s siblings have chosen to exit stage left, it’s 1am and you and Tom have yet to leave the scene.

Tom sets down your deck of debate cards in favour of a genuine moment.

“What are you doing these days, Y/N?” Tom’s not looking at you, he’s looking at your knee as he rubs circles on it. You want to look down there too, see what he finds so intriguing; but you decide against it in fear you might spontaneously combust. You don’t know if this moment’s supposed to be intimate or innocent and you’re not sure if you want to find out.

So you put up a wall.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Holland.” You say sarcastically. “What have you been doing these days? I haven’t seen you around.” Your eyebrows scrunched up together but you’ve got a big, idiot grin on your face that’s more than telling. Tom giggles at your facetiousness.

Tom scratches his head in mock thought. He never clocks out, always putting on a show. “I don’t know - uh.” You’re laughing before Tom has even told the punchline, ‘cause I guess anything’s funny when it’s said by the one you love.”I’m kind of -” He snatches an old Spiderman comic off the floor. “I’m kinda doing this acting thing at the moment. Playing, y’know, this guy.”

“Well I wish you better luck in the future.” Tom has stopped rubbing circles but instead places his two hands on your knees as you rock back in laughter.

“I’m serious, Y/N. What do you do now?”

“Um.” You suddenly forgot your entire career as Tom, with no shade of subtlety, stares right into your soul. “I got my degree. I write like little stories, y’know? Have you ever heard of folklore?”

Tom shook his head.

“They’re like these little, old beautiful myths. And I write them for a living. And if I’m lucky, they get published in The Times. If I’m even luckier, I get to work with my old best friend - ” You feel your world stop temporarily as you call Tom your ‘best friend’ and you pause for all of 0.3 seconds to register Tom’s reaction but his face doesn’t flinch. “-Writing a book with him and his dad.” And that makes Tom smile. So he doesn’t have to tell you he missed you, you just know.

‘Undivided appearance’ and ‘undivided attention’ don’t necessarily mean the same thing in Hollywood as they do in real life, and you learn that the hard way in your writing session.

Tom may have been sat right next to you, but he was miles away. He was doing press with Cosmo, who hadn’t stopped tagging him with blue hearts on his Instagram, Twitter and Snapchat stories, causing his phone to go off every two seconds. You looked at the phone and then at him who then got the hint and put it on silent. Then there was a knock on the door. Tom rushed to open it, expecting that Dom had sent down a food delivery to egg you on finishing this chapter. You rehashed his childhood like a million times - in fact, you were part of it - so when it came to writing the parts that hurt, where you took a more supporting role in his life, you needed his help. The fact is, the knock at the door had come from one of Tom’s men (Tom liked to call him Man In Black no. 3) who hadn’t said as much as a ‘hi’ before he made his announcement. “Tom, you’re on the line with Cosmo in 10.” The man stepped back and pulled out his walkie talkie, “Holland knows he’s on the line with Cosmo at 10.” And then continued to pace around the hallway.

Cosmo called as he said they would and you almost felt for. second like tom might enjoy an entertainment magazine’s company more than yours. The interviewer made glaring comments and passive flirts at Tom who just blushed and chuckled and sipped his water like the woman on the phone calling him ‘hot’ was just too much to handle. At one point, she says: “What must it be like to grow up that beautiful, Tom? With your hair falling into place like dominoes.” You’re not expecting it when Tom tilts the phone so you’re in view. “Well I’m with the most beautiful being on Earth right now so..” Tom looks at you as if to ask ‘is this okay?” and you know it’s too late for these kind of questions, because that moment is headline fodder, so you smile not to make him feel bad for opening Pandora’s box. But Tom is merciless and likes to rub salt in the wound. “This is Y/N! Y/N’s helping me write the book with my Dad! We go way back.” He covers his mouth as soon as he says it. “Shit! They’re not supposed to know about the book yet.”

This is the moment, you think, where you believe when they say your first love is the one you never let go.

And you can’t think of anything purer than the love you have for him.

Tom thinks being on land is boring. He likes being strung from chords 30 feet in the air, and drowning in despair through scenes of emotional turmoil. You want to tell him you’re an arrow from Cupid’s bow about to reach him, but you couldn’t recover from the splinters if Tom shut you down. After all, Tom was a gold rush. A treasure that everyone had discovered but nobody owned. How precious is a jewel that anybody could take home with them?

Tom had invited you to a visit to Brighton with him, a city near the coast, for some inspiration on writing his section of the book.

You accepted. And because you did, you found yourself at the beginning of the end, on Tom’s boat in Brighton. “We don’t have to talk about the book right now.” Tom throws a stack of blue tinted paper on the floor. His dyslexia meant that spelling and reading was so much easier when done on blue pages, and you could only guess that was the reason the body of water around you brought him so much peace. So when you saw that something might compromise your best boy’s happiness, you point it out. To give Tom a little bit of time to exit before things got ugly.

“Tom, I see someone in the bushes.”

“Yeah. It’s a pap.” Tom mumbled nonchalantly.

“They’re here to get pictures of me,” He turned to face you. “and you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the fans ship us. Think we’d be a good couple after that Cosmo stunt. We would have been a good couple when we were like, 18.” He laughs.

“Huh, yeah.” You look down.

“The best one around.” And you can’t tell if he’s serious.

You rip off one of his blue sheets. “I’m coming. I got hit with inspo.” And you trail to a different section of the boat. A very obvious click of the camera from a shrub nearby coaxes your pen to write without a second thought, How is he so accustomed to this? Fake private moments, protected by sheer glass curtains?

You scrunched your paper, well his paper, into a ball.

Your mind had turned his life into folklore. You weren’t sure if that was crossing a line, so you just put the ball into your bag and hide it until he hits you with the spark again.

“Let me see it.” Tom says.

“No.”

“You ran off to write it and won’t let me see it?”

You held your bag at your hip in defence. “No, Tom. Drop it.”

Tom’s face drops a little bit, but then he reaches into his own bag and reveals a deck of your debate cards. “I know what will cheer you up, good ol’ Y/N.” He sets a card on the wooden table between you two.

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

You toyed with the pendant around your neck which revealed your faith. “Do you?”

“I don’t. But I believe in soulmates.”

You look to the left to really ponder on what Tom is saying, and a paparazzis captures another photo of you in the corner of your eye.

“And you don’t think there’s a higher power that manufactures our souls to make our soulmates?”

Tom feigns a scowl. “That’s ridiculous.”

You scoffed. “How very contrarian of you.”

“What the fuck does that mean.”

“It means you contradict yourself, Thomas.” You laugh as he holds his chest in fake hurt.

“Are you implying I’m anything less than perfect?”

“Never.”

Never. Because you didn’t believe that to be true.

“Good. Cause you’d have to be punished.” Tom picks you up and throws you in the water below before jumping in with you.

On your way home you stop at the yours and Tom’s writing booth, scavenging through your bag to drop off Tom’s notepad, some scrunched up blue and white papers you and Tom thought could still help you write his book. You’d made an addition to your love-hazed scribblings about Tom and reckon you’d die if he found it. You managed to throw the other in the water, excusing yourself with “It’s utterly awful.”, to which you and Tom agreed you wouldn’t throw any more paper in the ocean cause the poor fish already had it hard enough.

You and Tom had a session the next day. Tom was excited for the day, and you could tell because he’d given his phone to one of his big babysitters for the time he had you.

“I think that’s all of yours.” You and Tom made a business out of unscrunching your paper balls to see if they had any useful ideas. You were certain you reached the end of Tom’s. All of his notes had ‘T.H’ written on the back in big and were scribed on blue paper. When it came to your little ‘secret admirer’ notes you weren’t worried - you had an English degree and were quick to think on your feet and was ready to make something up when it came to opening it.

“No, this one’s mine.” He’s confident, so you let him have it. He goes to pick up your tea and then realises it’s nowhere near warm, and was the one you made for yourself when you crept in yesterday evening. Tom has a smile on his face, and then he doesn’t. Before he goes to read it aloud, his eyes tell you he’s reading it again and again and again. “At dinner parties, I’ll call you out on your contrarian shit, and the coastal towns we wondered round will never see a love as pure as it.”

The look on Tom’s face gives you the splinters. He tries to look at you but you know he can’t. You don’t blame him. You can’t look at him either. “I really thought this was a good friendship.”

You hum and nod your head in agreement, pull your lips into a thin straight line as streaks of tears abandon your eyes. This was worse than Tom rubbing salt in your wounds. He’s rubbing dirt in your painful fucking gashes and you are reminded of why this didn’t work before, why it will never be.

And you wouldn’t dare to dream about him anymore.

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sqbr · 1 year ago

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Actually, she did apologise, making it clear she understood at least some of the reasons everyone was upset, and she acknowledged fault and said she would do better.

It's just that her behaviour around and after that apology only make her look worse.

Since it's a perfect example of the kind of shell game of shifting buzzwords she always uses to excuse her behaviour, and to prevent anyone saying "actually she did apologise" as a defense, I'll go into it under the cut. (Edit: readmore is being flaky, sorry!)

Disclaimer that this is based on decade old memories and may be wrong in some details. But this is how I remember it.

So. At first she said her victims deserved having slurs/violent language etc thrown at them because they were bad writers. When that kind of bullying fell out of vogue, she said she only attacked people who deserved it for being bad writers and problematic. She was punching down!

And if she attacked another POC it didn't count because they were American, and if she attacked another non-Western POC it didn't count because they were straight, etc etc. And if that didn't work she'd point out that some of her critics were racist white people (true!) so why criticise her instead of them?(because we can do both) To my eternal shame, I was somewhat swayed by this rhetoric myself. But eventually the weight of evidence became undeniable.

She made a new persona, the squeaky clean and friendly author Benjanun Sriduangkaew. Who initially not only denied that she was Requires Hate/winterfox, but encouraged people to attack anyone making the connection.

It was only once one of her 'friends' made the connection undeniable that she finally felt obliged to apologise. And she still took time to imply that the real problem was her critics.

And when that didn't fix everything her supporters would go "But she apologised! And she was under 25 for some of it so she can't be held accountable! And the real bad behaviour was creepily documenting every bad thing she did, why don't you focus on that??".

And then when people stopped talking about it she shifted her story to "noone ever told me why they were upset, it was just a bunch of white women being vague".

So yeah, apparently she is very sorry for everything she did, but also the accusations are too detailed, and also noone ever told her what she supposedly did wrong.

And there's no sign she's really changed.

Afaict these days she is presenting herself as a Defender of Trans People which is both darkly funny and horrifying. On the one hand I'm glad she's stopped gleefully throwing around transmysogynistic slurs, but on the other hand would prefer cis allies not focus quite so much on presenting certain trans identities as the Bad Ones (but it's ok, because she's Defending Trans Women!). I'm less sure how her pattern of attacking disabled people has evolved over time but am probably happier that way.

So yeah! Be smarter than past me! Stay the fuck away, and don't be taken in.

PSA: Winterfox/Requires Hate/Benjanun Sriduangkaew/Maria Ying

I'm starting to see recs for Benjanun Sriduangkaew crop up in fandom again, so here's your reminder that Benjanun Sriduangkaew, aka Maria Ying, is actually Winterfox/Requires_Hate, a well-known serial harasser, blackmailer and abuser who decided that the best thing to do with her multimillionaire heiress time and money is to do real and lasting harm to many communities and many writers (especially writers of color) that she saw as rivals.

with how fast things move online right now, I imagine she's banking on people just forgetting everything she pulled: please don't! But even if you won't deny her your attention, at least keep yourself safe and remember that her modus operandi used to be either love bombing people until they let slip something she then blackmailed them with, or literally decades of unhinged harassment.

feel free to share.

original sources:

Mixon report: https://feralsapient.com/?p=889

The letter to Apex editors: https://web.archive.org/web/20170216003240/http://awitin.likhain.net/2017/02/a-letter-to-apex-editors-re-the-intersectional-sff-roundtable/

Zen Cho's report (start here of you never heard of any of this): https://web.archive.org/web/20200808225250/https://zencho.org/being-an-itemised-list-of-disagreements/

Rachel Manija Brown's report: https://rachelmanija.dreamwidth.org/1288081.html

#psa #social justice #bullying #I swear there is a readmore in the version in my editor!

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scumfuckus · 4 years ago

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it's actually really daunting having people love you, seemingly unconditionally. and you don't realise it until you've gone through like a multitude of phases of change and realise you've got friends who've stuck by you or family who've chosen to accept you. if you're lucky, i know not everyone is, but i hope everyone has at least someone in their life who always makes them feel welcome

but i'm finding it a little overwhelming, this freedom of not feeling like i have anyone to win over. i've got the same friends i've had for like 7 years, and i've got a boyfriend who seems to love me no matter what i do or how i look or who i decide i am in any given situation

but that's the problem - deciding who i am. with noone to impress, nobody to play up to, you're left with nothing but the rawness of sincerity. and you find yourself for the first time in your life really having to decide who you want to be. and that's a huge weight. how do i decide a thing like that? how do i stay true to myself? how do i forgive myself when i fail to do so, the way those people who love me do? how do i stop noticing? how do i do it unconciously? how do i stop analysing, criticising, self-monitoring? how do i stop thinking and just be?

i try to remind myself i'm just a nervous system responding to stimuli. maybe it's wrong to reduce yourself that much.. but the whole concept of an identity is too overwhelming. i just want to experience the present, let my emotions pass over me, react without hesitation

this music feels good in my ears. this art is pretty. this joke makes me laugh. this injustice makes me angry. this loss makes me sad. when i see him i feel love

that's all it ever has to be, i don't need to justify or contextualize it to anyone - least of all myself

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hedwigstalons · 4 years ago

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High Expectations - Ch18

Short fic? Really? How the hell have we reached chapter 18 already?

@willow-salix has been a huge support all the way through. She wields the red pen mightily

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Eighteen

John closed the apartment door and basked in the silence. The last few weeks had been awful but the last few days had been hellish. If you had asked him two days ago what had been the hardest part of this summer he would have answered without hesitation his thesis defence interview, not because he had any difficulty with his project but because, even after 4 years at Harvard some of the faculty still struggled with his presence.

He had bounced onto the quad aged sixteen, looking more like twelve, and instantly made a name for himself by criticising the work of one of the more well respected professors on campus. It probably hadn’t helped that he had been right. Since then he had been dogged by whispers of ‘Daddy’s money’ or heckled as an android freak as he eschewed the company of the peers that would never truly be peers due to the gaps in both age and intellect. University had been a bittersweet mix of unbridled access to learning mixed with a social web to navigate that made high school look like an insignificant warm up. The culmination of it all had been his thesis defence in front of a panel who didn’t know whether to be intimidated by him or offer him a cookie for being a good boy. Still, he was walking away from it all, with dual honours and a postgraduate distinction, at an age not dissimilar from those just starting their higher education journey.

The troubles and torments of university, however, had nothing on the hell on Earth that was Boston airport for an extended period of time. He could now categorically say that this had been the worst part of the summer. The route between east and west coast seemed to be plagued by delays but this, his final time of making the journey, had topped the lot. Being held up for an unspecified period of time in an airport lounge had brought out the worst in humanity and after a delay that had pushed past 36 hours in the end he would be quite happy to never see another human ever again. With the apartment door firmly shut on the outside world he fully intended to recharge and bask in the solitude before Alan got home from school.

He padded up the hallway to deposit the travel bag containing a few meagre essentials in his room but never made it that far.

The apartment might have been silent but it wasn’t empty. His room was next to Alan’s and through the open door he could see that self same teenager sat cross legged on the bed, head set on, controller in hand and eyes glued to the screen that flashed with neon laser cannons and moved at a dizzying pace. Part of him wanted to tiptoe on past, pretend he hadn’t spotted his younger brother, and collapse onto his own bed. John could have sworn that he hadn’t done anything that could penetrate the teenager’s electronic cocoon but before he had crossed the doorway Alan’s head whipped round and fixed him with an intense blue stare.

Alan paused the game, dropped the controller next to him and slid off the headset. He continued to stare in a way that he could see was making his older brother uncomfortable, holding the eye contact that always made John squirm a little, but at this point he didn’t care.

The weeks before Gordon’s departure had been busy. With a fixed deadline firmly etched on the calendar Jeff had ramped up the pressure on Gordon to gain his pilot’s licence and all the myriad of special endorsements he would need beyond the basics in order to complete a cross-continental journey solo. Alan wasn’t quite sure why such a high rated licence was necessary but he had appreciated all the extra time at the airfield it necessitated. Almost every weekend had been spent there so that Gordon could get in the required practice and he had always tagged along, partly to spend more time with Gordon and partly in the hope of getting a lesson himself; it turned out flying was something he had a flair for and he relished those precious moments in the cockpit. But then Gordon had gained his licence and the lessons had dried up. Time in the sky went from being a priority to something his father was too busy to provide. It rankled that he wasn’t worth the effort.

And then the dreaded day had come. The day he lost the brother he was closest to to the military might of WASP. He’d probably come across as petulant and moody, his goodbyes stilted and brief, but the sullen exterior had been his armour protecting him from breaking as something inside him died. He hadn’t even been able to go with Gordon on the trip up the coast as had been the original plan. A last minute change had seen their father disappear off on some mysterious overseas errand, leaving Virgil to play taxi service to the WASP to be. He had begged to go too but unfortunately for him the start date for Gordon had coincided with Scott having some leave and Virgil was staying up north to indulge in some oldest brother bonding time. So he had been left behind, alone in the apartment, with the promise that John would have arrived by morning.

Morning had dawned but the promised sibling hadn’t appeared. The logical side of him knew there would be a perfectly rational explanation for John’s delay but the emotional side of him just added it to the heap of rejection he was feeling. No one gave a damn about him. Noone cared what he was doing. He’d turned right around and headed back into his room to kill zombies. When the second morning dawned and he was still alone the only difference it made was that the zombies were replaced by asteroids.

John was pinned uncomfortably by the stare. Everything about Alan screamed out that he was issuing a challenge, daring John to pass comment. If he had ignored John’s presence he probably would have been left alone but John was a Tracy too and as with all Tracys he never could resist a challenge.

“No school today?” he queried, one eyebrow raised in preemptive skepticism.

“Does it look like it?”

“What it looks like is you playing video games on a Tuesday in term time. The news didn’t mention any schools being flattened by freak hurricanes so why are you here?”

Alan just shrugged and went to pick up his controller again.

“Alan!”

“What?! It’s not like there’s any point me being there.”

“There is always a point to school.”

“Yeah? Well I’m not learning anything there, the stuff they set is just insulting.”

This was one point John could empathise with, boredom in the classroom was a familiar feeling to him. He felt lucky that he had met forward thinking teachers early on in his school career. Teachers that had put the effort in to find out his level rather than being happy to have a coasting child in the class that didn’t need their assistance. The result had seen him progressing through grade school at a pace that, while it still felt slow to him, at least meant he wasn’t inflicted with the full, tortuous twelve years. Alan on the other hand had been forced to stay firmly in his age grade.

“What about your friends, surely you’re bored here without them?”

That just earned him an eye roll.

“Can we just skip the questions and head straight to the part where you lecture me.”

“Would it make a difference? I’m not Dad but you do realise he is going to be majorly pissed when he finds out, don’t you?”

“He’ll only find out if you tell him.”

“You think he won’t find out from school?”

Alan just sighed.

“Seriously Johnny, Gordon and I got all comms from school diverted directly to us years ago. I’ve already responded to their email.”

“You and Gordon did that?” He was secretly a little impressed that his brothers had found a way to bypass the school systems although he was concerned that their father had seemingly never noticed.

“Well, okay, I did that. Gordon’s not so hot on the technical stuff but it was his idea. Dad’s never been that great at dealing with letters and permission slips so I just got in through a school admin account and updated the contact details. If it’s not a report card he isn’t interested.”

John decided not to pass comment on the low level hacking his baby brother had pulled off. Instead he picked his way across the minefield that was Alan’s floor to join his little brother on the bed. The mattress felt deliciously soft compared to the plastic seat upon which he had been forced to spend the night and he felt his bones sigh in relief. His own bed was still calling out to him but his big brother instincts were screaming at him to fix things, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to fix. The screaming won. He leaned across to grab a second controller off the cluttered bedside unit and synced it into the game.

“So, what’re we playing? I don’t recognise this one but then there wasn’t much time for gaming at Harvard.”

Alan looked bemused by the turn of events. Scott held an authority that demanded respect, Virgil would take a softer and more caring approach, Gordon provided a mix of straight talking and fun whereas their father subscribed to the school of parenting that was mostly indifferent until an indiscretion was unearthed. John was still a bit of an unknown entity, he’d never taken on the role of authority figure for Alan and he couldn’t work out his brother’s strategy.

“Uh, it’s something I made myself.” Alan disconnected his headset and the background music of the pause screen sounded out harshly in the otherwise quiet apartment eliciting an involuntary wince from John. He guiltily turned the volume down to a more comfortable level before resuming play.

They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes, blasting asteroids and navigating their way through a fast moving debris field. The game concept appeared simple and John wondered why Alan had done it; it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford to stock up on the commercially available games.

“Games design is a new one for you, this a school project or something?”

John sensed the eye roll even without taking his own eyes off the screen.

“Hardly. School sucks.”

“So, why make the game?”

“It’s not about the game. I wanted to see if I could model a debris field. Thought if I could get it right it could be good training, you know, before astronaut school.”

“I think you’ll find Tracy College already has their own simulators. How do you even know this is accurate.” Alan had made no secret about his desire to head into space and it looked like that was still the life plan. Part of John hoped the game wasn’t accurate, the objects were flying in thick and fast and he was struggling to react in time to find a clear path for his craft and guide it through. Alan, on the other hand, was having no such difficulties; his movements were lightening fast and the game seemed to hold no challenge for him.

“Borrowed your books.” Alan set his own controller down as John’s ship took a direct hit and exploded in a mass of technicolour pixels that ended the game. He stretched out and plucked a weighty tome off the edge of his desk.

“Borrowed? I don’t remember you asking.” John recognised the volume as one of the few undergraduate text books he had investing in the hard copy of. Slips of coloured paper stuck out at intervals and the pages were rather more worn and well thumbed than he remembered.

Alan pointedly ignored the question and instead flipped through to the relevant pages.

“I’m not sure if I got this bit right though. I struggled to combine the effect of an explosion induced debris field interacting with a meteor shower.”

However John had been expecting his talk to go with Alan, it hadn’t been like this. He soon found himself drawn into an animated discussion of the core principles of astrophysics and how material behaved in a vacuum. Alan’s grasp of the subject, considering he was entirely self taught, surprised the elder Tracy. On his rare visits home Alan had always pestered him to go star gazing or asked him his thoughts on the latest developments in astronaut training but he’d had no idea that Alan’s interest had extended into him seemingly attempting to study most of the first year of his Harvard course from home. No wonder the kid was bored at school.

When Jeff returned later that night it was to find the two boys deeply engrossed in some project or other. Books and piles of scribbled notes lay scattered around them and John’s fingers danced through lines of holographic code as he pointed out some facet or other to the younger boy who seemed to hang on his every word. He assumed John was helping Alan with his homework and thought no more of it as he settled down to his own evening.

xoxoxox

“Mr Tracy, a Miss West is on the line for you.”

Jeff frowned at the unexpected intrusion from his personal assistant. “Miss West?” He couldn’t place the name.

“She says she is calling from the High School, Sir”

“Put her through then.” He paused a moment until the slight click indicating a change in caller reached his ears.

“Mr Tracy? I’m Sarah West, Alan’s home room teacher.” The woman on the other end of the call sounded slightly nervous and with good reason, the Tracy reputation was formidable and seeing Alan’s name on her class list when he had joined the school had led to rounds of commiserations in the faculty lounge.

“Miss West, what can I do for you?” He tried to keep the puzzlement out of his voice. The last time he had received a call from the school, or any kind of communication now he came to think about it, had been over Gordon’s suspension. He hoped he was not in for a repeat of that embarrassing incident.

“I just wanted to check on how Alan was doing. The class are all missing him and hope he is able to return to school soon.”

Jeff understood the words being spoken but the actual sentiments made no sense. As far as he was concerned Alan was at school at that very moment. He kept his voice carefully neutral.

“I thank you for your concern Miss West. I will certainly pass on your regards when I see Alan this evening.”

“Thank you Mr Tracy. Please accept my best wishes for you and all your family, it can be so hard when these things happen. Please keep me informed of his progress through the parent portal and once Alan is well enough to come back we will look at putting a catch up and transition programme in place for him. Alan is a bright boy and I have every confidence that he will be able to catch up with these missed weeks.”

“Thank you Miss West. I will of course keep you informed. Now if you will excuse me.”

“Of course Mr Tracy, goodbye.”

“Goodbye Miss West.”

Missed weeks. The words rang out in his head, causing him to rub his temples. Trouble at school had always been Gordon’s domain, he’d been gone for months but still his influence was being felt. Alan had always taken after John until now; good grades, generally studious and with a passion for space. Whatever was going on Jeff knew he needed to nip it in the bud. Pausing only to inform his PA that he would be heading out for lunch and might not return that day Jeff headed back to the apartment.

Jeff found Alan in his room, engrossed in some project or other. He rapped smartly on the doorframe, breaking the teen’s concentration and causing him to look round in surprise. The look Jeff was treated to wasn’t one of fear or remorse though and there was certainly no sign of guilt at being caught where he shouldn’t.

“Alan, my study. Now!” He strode off down the hallway without waiting for a response.

Alan sighed and followed, knowing that to ignore a direct command would be foolish. By the time he reached the study Jeff was already behind the desk in his customary position for dispensing judgement, a situation Alan had rarely been in but had certainly heard about often enough from Gordon. He was more than a little intimidated at the prospect of what was to come but he tried not to let it show as he stood there, ramrod straight, waiting for his father to make the opening move.

“So Alan, I had an interesting call from Miss West today. Explain yourself”

The words caused Alan’s stomach to drop, there was no way he could pass today off as an isolated incident now. He had been signing off on his absences via the parent portal but if his teacher had actually called up then it was likely his father knew everything. Not knowing what to do for the best he opted to say nothing. The silence stretched out uncomfortably as he felt himself being appraised by eyes as hard as flint.

“I see. Let’s keep this simple. How long have you been skipping school for?”

“Since the beginning of the semester.” There was no point lying about it now. After his few days of indiscretion when Gordon first headed off to WASP John had made sure he went off to school each day. At the end of the summer holidays though, with John and Virgil departed for Tracy College, there was no one to force the issue. September had arrived and with it the start of a new school year but among the faces arriving for a fresh round of learning Alan’s had been notably absent.

“Why? Your teacher seems to be under the impression you are unwell. Are you unwell?” The skeptical lilt to the voice and raised eyebrow would have made even John proud.

“No.”

“So why are you risking failing high school?”

“Failing it?” Alan snorted “School’s boring. I’d be able to get my diploma now if they’d just stick me in the right classes, then I could be done with the place.”

“And what makes you think you could complete your diploma now if you won’t attend class”

“John did.” Alan’s chin jutted out in defiance and Jeff was given a sudden and uncomfortable reminder of another son who had found school far too easy. The arguments may have had a different focus but Alan wouldn't be the first Tracy to have found the system too limiting, the difference being that John had been fast tracked before the boredom got too much. “I’m not learning anything at school. It’s not like I’m just flunking out though, John’s been sending me some stuff through that’s far more interesting.”

“That’s as maybe but did John tell you to just ditch classes? I seem to remember him maintaining an exemplary attendance record”

For the first time Alan felt a wave of guilt, the weight of it causing him to bow his head in shame. John may have agreed with him that the school work he was being set was far too easy and been coaching him on more challenging topics to feed his thirst for knowledge on all things astronomical, but his brother would never have condoned him skipping class. He was not going to let John take any of the blame for his choices.

“No, Sir.”

“I see.”

Alan wasn’t quite sure what it was his father saw as he stood there being appraised like some interesting specimen. There was another drawn out silence. He could almost hear his father’s thoughts as he considered his next move.

“Show me.” Alan’s head jerked up in confusion. “Persuade me. A key skill you would learn in school, if you were there, is how to present a well balanced and constructed argument. Prove your case. I’ll be here waiting.”

Alan had been expecting some sort of reprimand, either a bawling out or a quietly pronounced punishment. So far he had received neither and he was feeling a little on the back foot but then his father had a flair for the unexpected, it’s what made him a formidable adversary in the boardroom. He retreated to his room to think upon the challenge. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to prove, didn’t have a clue what his argument was or what he wanted to achieve but he knew he had better come up with a plan fast. It felt like he was being offered a lifeline of some sort but a lifeline that had the potential to cut you down if grasped in the wrong way.

He retreated into his room and sat down at the desk, the detritus of his latest project from John scattered in front of him where he had abandoned it at his father’s command. What did he want? He knew he didn’t want to go back into that hell-pit high school, each day of drudgery just sapped the life out of him, but how could he prove to his father that school was only holding him back? He gazed unseeingly as the scribbled formulae he had been working on, all the time conscious that his father wouldn’t wait forever.

Those same formulae presented him with his answer. His father had always been focussed on results, getting the most efficient return on his investment and abhorred anything he viewed as a waste of time. Alan knew that if he could prove beyond doubt that attending school was just wasting precious learning time then he might never have to go back. He started gathering together the work he had been doing for John as evidence that he really didn’t need to sit through another hour of basic trigonometry when he was already able to apply it to complex problems.

Jeff sat back and waited. He couldn’t predict Alan’s next move but then he realised he didn’t really know Alan at all. All the way through the young boy’s life his care had fallen to others. Others had formed him and moulded him and evidently turned Alan into someone capable of missing several weeks of school under his nose without him realising. Those influences had all been evident during their short exchange. He had witnessed Gordon’s defiance and determination, John’s intellect and Virgil’s sense of justice. Even traces of Scott were evident in the set of Alan’s jaw and the way he held his shoulders despite Scott only really being present for half of Alan’s short life. How telling that a brother absent some eight years held more influence than he did as father. If there was one thing common to all his sons though it was the ability to rise to a challenge; the afternoon had the potential to be surprising.

Jeff never made it back to the office. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a meaningful and in depth discussion with his youngest son. His conversations with Alan were normally limited to a few perfunctory exchanges in the evening and maybe a goodbye if Alan was up before he headed to the office. Over the course of the afternoon he got more insights into Alan than any mere report card could give. For a start those bland documents could only show that Alan had met the maximum expected standard for his class, behind the lists of grades his son’s true abilities had been hidden.

Alan might have been skipping school but he hadn’t been squandering his time. Jeff was treated to comparisons of the high school math curriculum compared to the problems John had been setting, ostensibly as a way of Alan bolstering a future college application as the middle Tracy had been unaware that the youngest had abandoned his traditional studies completely. Physics, coding and a raft of other topics handy for the modern astronaut similarly followed and it became clear that Alan was willing to put the effort in on the topics that interested him.

Once Alan had finished lambasting the Californian education system he turned hopeful eyes on his father.

“So, can I quit?”

If there was one thing that Jeff agreed on it was that the current curriculum being inflicted on Alan was uninspiring and certainly not challenging for the youngster. He was also conscious that his lawyers had not managed to secure the removal of their family tragedy from the text books in time for this academic year and therefore Alan would be subjected to the same ordeal as Gordon in just a few short months time if he stayed in the classroom. However, he also knew that without a high school diploma Alan would be unlikely to be able to access the higher education he needed to turn his dreams of space into a reality; he knew this from his own path to the stars.

“No.”

“But Dad…”

“No Alan, I will not have any son of mine walking away from education without a high school diploma. If you are at all serious about becoming an astronaut then you need to play by the rules, without a diploma you would be ineligible for any of the space programmes out there.”

Jeff watched the disappointment flood his son’s features and wondered if Alan had really been paying attention to his words and whether he would spot the loophole in his pronouncement. He waited as Alan put together his next move, he could almost see the thoughts as they played out. Alan always had been the son to wear his emotions closest to the surface.

“I just have to get my diploma, right?” There was a hesitancy as a glimmer of hope was seized on.

“That’s right.”

“But there are other ways of getting my diploma, not just in school. Right?”

“Potentially. So what do you want to do?”

“Can I...can I do homeschool? I’m sure we’ve got everything I need to join an online programme and then just get it done.”

Jeff paused as though contemplating the request. Really, having Alan homeschooled would be better for both of them; Alan could learn at his own pace and he would find it easier to have oversight of his son’s progress and commitment.

“You have until the end of the week to find a suitable programme otherwise I will march you straight back to the classroom myself on Monday morning. I know you don’t see the point of half the subjects you have to take but they are important, your diploma is important, even if it’s only as a paper steppingstone to better things.” Jeff found himself on the receiving end of one of Alan’s grins and realised sadly that he hadn’t seen one of those since their last flying lesson. “Now, don’t you have some research to do?”

Alan took the hint and headed out of the study with far more bounce than he’d had when entering it. Jeff had no concerns about delegating the task to his son, the similarities to John had been clear to see and he had every faith that Alan would find a suitable programme within the allotted time frame. The fact that the change to homeschooling came with the added bonus of one less loose end to tie up when the time came to relocate was not lost on him.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #Thunderbirds fanfiction #Jeff Tracy #Alan Tracy #John Tracy #space brothers getting their own way

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blood-gulch-reds · 5 years ago

Text

Here is my secret Valentime's day fic for @not-madder-red !! Enjoy :)

When Dexter Grif was in highschool, Valentine's day was a day to be spent alone in his room downing discount chocolate by the package and rewatching season 253 of the bachelor, criticising the stupid people on the trash TV, and secretly wishing he had someone to laugh at the bachelor with. Over all, Grif never really cared about Valentine's day. But now that he actually had someone to watch TV with, he felt as though he owed it to Simmons to do something... Nice for Valentine's day.

While this mind set of niceness was... Well... Nice, it presented a set of problems. First off, Grif and Simmons had only just started dating ( if you could call watching star trek holding hands instead of not holding hands a date) for 4 Earth months. So in a romantic sense, Grif was absolutely in the dark about what Simmons enjoyed romantically. Secondly, Grif never really did Valentine's day and had no idea where to begin. Did Simmons expect roses? Did he think Grif would get him chocolates in a cardboard box? Out of all the things that the happy couple had talked about before tying the knot, romance was one subject that was never brought up to often.

And lastly, Grif had completely forgotten about Valentine's day until he woke up (at noon) to find that Donut had decorated the whole base with hearts cut out pink and red construction paper and plenty of glitter.

"Rise and shine buddy! Happy Valentine's day!" Donut sang from the kitchen,where he was preparing heart shaped sandwiches.

Realization hit Grif like a bag of bricks and his face showed it. The only thing he was capable of saying was "I forgot it was Valentine's day". He slumped down into a chair at the kitchen table and donut set a plate down in front of him with a ham and mustard sandwich (sans the crust) cut in the shape of a heart with chips on the side.

Donut smiled curiously as he began to wash dishes. "Sure is!" He chirped in a chipper tone. He turned the water off and grabbed a dish towel to dry off some plates. "Hey, I could have sworn you didn't do Valentine's day? Why the change of... Heart?" He Snickered at his own stupid joke and thought Grif didn't show it (or any emotion besides shock for that matter) his distaste for the pun was immeasurable.

"Well..." Grif began, absent mindedly taking a bite out of the sandwich. "Ia neavur- mm-" he decided to finish chewing the food in is mouth before talking, an unusually civil thing of him to do. Donut picked up on this gesture immediately and deemed whatever Griff was about to say as extremely important. He put away the plate he was holding and gracefully sat down at the seat across the table from where Grif was seated. "Mm damn that's a good sandwich. Where was I? Oh, right" Grif wiped his mouth with a napkin and took a breath. "I never really felt like... Well I never really got the whole point of it, y'know?" Donut nodded intently, slowly leaning more and more forward. "It's a fuckin Hallmark holiday- a chance for the big corporations to make money or whaterever and a chance to pick up some discounted candy for the lowly working man. But now that..." Grif drifted off for a moment, a slight ting coming to his cheeks. His eyes wandered elsewhere and Donut dared not to disturb him. "Now that Simmons and I... are a thing... I think I get it. I wanted to make our first Valentine's day special and like, get him something? but now it's just too late" Grif finished. A look of genuine disappointment spread across his face.

Donut perked up. Finally, a moment in need of his expertise! "Too late? That's totally not true at all!" Grif looked up hopefully. If he was trying to hide his inner dialogue, he was failing miserably. "Look Grif, you've got the whole rest of the day to figure out what you're going to get the love of your life for your guy's first ever Valentine's day together as soul mates!!" Grif shrunk down into his hoodie and let out a groan. Donut pressed on anyway. "If you don't know what to get him, why not pick some flowers for him? It's shallow, but shows that you're trying".

Grif sat up and thought for a moment. "That's... That's not a bad idea." Grif then stood up and scarfed down what was left of the sandwich before walking towards the door. "Maybe I can turn this thing around... I don't have a ton of time but," he stoped and smiled to himself. "It's worth a shot. Thanks for the food Donut!" He said as he closed the door behind him.

Donut yelled "Wait! You forgot to put your dish away-" but Grif was already out the door. Donut rolled his eyes and placed the used dish in the sink. "These love birds..."

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12:30 p.m.

Grif was gitty to get Simmons the perfect gift and, although Donut's flower idea was cute, he deemed him correct in saying it was a bit cliche. Grif wanted something a little more personal, and who better to ask about relationship then his ever romantic sister.

When Grif walked over to the 'blue house', as they had dubbed it, there was the ever familiar scent of burnt toast and chaos in the air. Before Grif could even process what was going on, there was a loud crash as panini press came flying through the window, followed by even louder yelling from Kai.

"ITS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD BRO I DONT EVEN KNOW HOW YOU BURNED- oh hey Dex!" Kai stormed out of the house, fuming, but her tone quickly changed when she saw her brother. Grif was stunned, but tried to quicky get over it as he had a job to do.

"Hey, Kaikaina. I had a question if you're not busy-"

"WHY IS THE WINDOW BROKEN? tUCKER‽" Washington's voice rang shrill in Grif's ears. Kai's face went pale.

"Why don't we take a walk?" She offered with a guilty smile. Grif pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"Yeah- ok that sounds good." The two of them walked toward the shore. Although they'd never talk about it aloud, the beach here fondly reminded them of home. Not the chaos of thier mother, nor the periods of time without food, but the gentle laughter they shared making each other feel better. Grif decided to start off with some light conversation. "Soooo," he began "what was that all about"

"Uhg it's bullshit! It all started last night when Tucker got drunk and put his dick in a-"

"Woah! Ok never mind! Jesus Christ...", Said Grif, who realised there was no use trying to decipher blue team's bull shit and it would probably be best to just get to the point. "Look it's Valentine's day and I wanna get something nice for Simmons. Any ideas?"

Kaikaina stood still for a moment, just looking at the ground in awe. "I thought... I thought you didn't do Valentine's day."

Grif flushed "yeah well, things are different now". He was going to stop there but quickly added on, "and I only got like, a couple hours so... If you have any suggestions I'd like to hear 'em".

Kai lit up like a Christmas tree. " 'if I have any ideas'? Bro I've been waiting for you get laid on Valentine's day since we were in highschool!" Grif's cheeks and ears darkened in tone while the patch of Simmons skin on his right cheek turned bright red.

"Just get on with it!"

Kai smiled. " Ok ok... You need a gift idea? Here's one: get him something he's been talking about for a few weeks." Grif was about to thank Kai for her genuinely good advice before she continued, "that way he'll know that you're a good listener and be way more eager to let you go down on him like a tow truck!!"

"I second that! Chicks- er- bottoms are totally into good listeners!" Said Tucker, who had appeared our of seemingly nowhere.

"Where the fuck did you come from???" Kai inquired, shifting her weight onto one hip.

"Oh, you know-"

"No. We don't." Grif interjected.

Tucker shrugged. "I needed to get away from base for a while. It's was getting to chaotic for me-

"That and Wash probably threatened to skin him for burning breakfast and breaking a window" Kai teased. Grif smiled at Kai's remark and watched Tucker throw his hands up defensively.

"Hey! First of all, you broke that window. Secondly, I needed some space from caboose! He's all emotional because it's Valentine's day. He misses church."

Grif suddenly had an idea. No one was more... Soft? Innocently romantic? Genuinely kind?? Then caboose. Kai and Tucker were bickering like lovers often do (not that they were together... Or maybe they were? Grif didn't know, nor did he want to know) so he slipped away and he was off to find Caboose.

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

1:20 pm.

When Grif finally made it to the blue's house, things had seemed to settle down. He let himself in and found a very defeated wash sitting at the kitchen table, clutching a cat shaped mug. Carolina was looming over him, clearly trying to be comforting. They both looked up when Grif came in, but otherwise didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Uh... Hey. Is caboose around?"

Wash mumbled into his mug, "how did he burn a bowl of cereal…."

"Yes, I think he's on the roof" said Carolina, who looked sympathetic and tired.

Grif noded and showed himself upstairs. The aftermath of whatever happened this morning clearly has left it's scars on everyone and Grif and absolutely no intention of finding out the full compendium of events that had occurred. He made his way into the attic and through the small window on the south facing side of the house that led to a flat, sturdy spot on the roof. The Reds' and Blues' houses were built exactly the same, but they mirrored each other. Sarge absolutely refused to believe that the houses were identical and claimed that the Red house had three more roofing tiles, making it superior.

Grif opened the window and crawled out onto the roof to find Caboose sitting with Church's helmet, a glass of orange juice, a copy of the old earth show Friends, and a red heart shaped paper folded down the middle. Grif felt bad disturbing him, but it had to be done. "Uh, hey man. Happy Valentine's day…"

Caboose looked up (he had been looking at the clouds) and smiled. "Hi Gruff!!! Happy Valentime's day" he look around as if something were the matter. "Where is Cinnamons? It is Valentime's day and you two aren't together?"

Grif crawled up next to him and pulled out a bag of Hershey's kisses. He offered some to Caboose and said "yeah about that… I want to get him a gift but I don't know what to get him. I figured you might have an idea?". 'Why am I even asking?' he thought to himself. 'if Donut, Kai, and Tucker of all people couldn't give me good enough advice why am I even here‽ Desperation?'.

Caboose was quiet for a moment before thoughtfully saying, "when church was still here, he didn't like it very much when I gave him hugs, but he really liked this one show?" He held up the copy of Friends, and Grif nodded intently. "So we would watch it together alot! On Valentime's day, I would make him a card like this one-" he pointed to the red heart shaped paper and Grif noticed that there was writing on the inside. Not Caboose's writing because the penmanship had bitchy (and legible) undertones. He concluded that it was Church's card to Caboose and suddenly Grif started to put everything together. "I liked cards and he liked Friends! So we did that together. I miss him alot sometimes", Caboose concluded.

Grif tapped him on the shoulder. "I know man. We miss him too." There was a moment of bitter sweet silence before Grif said,"thanks Caboose. I have to get going to Sim-... Cinnamons."

"Ok! Happy Valentime's day Gruff!" Caboose said cheerfully. Grif smiled and climbed down. He set off to town, with a pretty good idea of what to get Simmons.

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2:30 pm

Grif got stuck in traffic

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