#or maybe because Alan himself doesn’t make as big a deal of it as many indie creators do about their animation projects? (as far as I know)

[inksandpensblog]

#(hence. THIS is why there's such an awful disproportion of votes in the avg polls. where we have to vote for a character that is more pplar)#(the character that was a symbol of some people's childhoods & a minor character that they might've seen once or twice)

Not to change the topic, but is this about Corndog Guy getting voted second-most popular in all the series?

the avm fandom feels massive and tiny at the same time. alan has double the number of youtube subscribers and total video views as, like, jaidenanimations, but i feel like if i put 30 people in a room and asked which youtuber theyve heard of, people would know jaiden but nobody would know what avm is. i looked up "alan becker wallpaper" on google images, scrolled once with my mouse, and saw art made by my ex 3 years ago that got like 200 likes on instagram

[tsarisfanfiction]

Another one XD

25 - sick at work/school. Alan again of course, and Scott. Make that bro smother hen like nothing else 😂 full-on concerned, maybe a little too overprotective and panicky Scotty XD

Double Standard

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Alan, Scott

If it had been the other way around, Scott would have gently laughed off any concern directed his way. @sicktember prompt 25: Sick At Work/School

Also requested by @justactsupernatural. More Alan... and more Alan PoV, which is unusual for me. He's not normally my go-to, and yet I've done it twice in a row now! Only short because I'm pretty busy at the moment, but it's smother hen!Scott time :D

Sicktember 2021 Prompts - I only plan on writing prompts if I get a request for them, so request away :D Doesn’t have to be TAG - characters from any fandom can be requested (although I can only guarantee I’ll work with ones I know)

He felt the sneeze before it happened, and mentally groaned even as his nose twitched instinctively. No, not now! Now was terrible timing and Alan really, really, didn’t want to deal with the consequences of it. But a sneeze was a sneeze and there was really no stopping them – even if, for one blessed moment, he thought it had bailed at the last moment and spared him.

Then it exploded out and he groaned, releasing the manoeuvring jet control for a moment to wipe at his nose, disgruntled. Now he was in for it, thank you, body.

“Alan?” His co-pilot, also known as his biggest brother, reacted immediately, peering across at him with eyes narrowed in clear concern. Alan had seen that look in Scott’s eyes entirely too many times in his life, and it seemed like the smother hen was once again surfacing – as though it ever really went away.

“M’fine.” He waved him off before returning his hand to the controls and fine-tuning their course. Not that it needed it – Thunderbird Three was sensitive, but her general environment didn’t lend itself to needing pin-point accuracy on her route the entire time. Only when space debris of some kind or other was involved. “Just some dust.”

A startled look crossed Scott’s face, before he was leaning in closer, and Alan mentally scrambled to work out why he hadn’t been reassure-

Ah. Dust. In his pristine, space-rated rocket that had just been deep-cleaned by Brains and MAX – mostly MAX – before their current mission. Nice one, Alan. Should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

“You’re sure you’re not coming down with something?” Scott was leaning across so far he was barely in his own seat any more. With one shoulder restraint raised, it certainly wasn’t a safe position to be in, and Alan would have been subjected to multiple lectures if he tried to do the same.

One rule for him, one rule for big brothers.

“You’ve been a little quiet recently,” Scott continued – was that a hand coming for his forehead? Alan ducked out of the way with a scowl. “And then there was that rescue in Sao Paulo-”

“Where nothing happened,” Alan interrupted him. “You and Virgil scanned me five times before you were satisfied.” Except Scott wasn’t satisfied, was he, because that hand wasn’t giving up, and his big brother had long limbs. Easily long enough to span the distance between their two seats and unerringly find his forehead with a gloved hand despite Alan’s best attempts to the contrary. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Surprise, surprise, Scott didn’t seem satisfied in the slightest. Alan loved his big brother, he really did, and sometimes he genuinely appreciated Scott’s desire to keep him safe, but there were times when the smothering was just overbearing and entirely too much.

This was one such occasion, not least because they were out on a rescue, and when in uniform Alan was supposed to be a fellow operative, and not the baby brother. He knew that his brothers couldn’t quite turn that switch off entirely, of course, and he himself couldn’t entirely step away from the reassurance of his big brothers’ confidence, but still. There was keeping an eye on him, and then there was this, and quite frankly Alan was very much not in the mood for Scott’s smothering tendencies.

“Stop it,” he said irritably, pushing the hand away and trying to ignore the pursed lips and concernedly considering blue eyes focused intently on his face. “I’m fine, alright, Scott?”

It was just a sneeze. And maybe there were the beginnings of a sore throat making itself known, although he was being careful not to show any hints about that one. But Alan wasn’t ill – the scanner had said so. Several times.

Scott was just overreacting. Anyway, it wasn’t like a little cold ever stopped him from going on rescues, so why should it stop Alan?

If Scott really thought he would keep meekly following the irritating one rule for him, one rule for the rest of them, his big brother had another thing coming. It was called the Tracy Stubbornness – not the Scott Stubbornness – for a reason.

Here, in Thunderbird Three – Alan’s own domain, not Scott’s or anyone else’s – he wasn’t backing down.

[mattzerella-sticks]

How I’d Fix Titans on HBO Max

So this is just a little post to release some pent-up steam about the Titans show because this is the third season, and this is the third time I’ve let myself be bamboozled into thinking I’d enjoy the major storyline. And I’ve got a lot of thoughts since the first season about things I’d’ve done differently if I were given creative control of the show.

DISCLAIMER: I’ll only be plotting out the season story beats, as this is what I believe is the worst crime of the show. I think the casting is fine, even if a few wouldn’t be my first choice (*cough* Iain Glen as Bruce Wayne *cough*). My only note for set design is BETTER LIGHTING. I’m not the most well-versed in cinematography; I do think they’ve improved over the seasons, but pinpointing all the little details will take too much time and that’s not what this is focused on.

Starting with SEASON 1:

Trigon should not have been our s1 big bad. The audience for Titans will mostly be made up of people who probably were introduced to comics and these characters from shows like Justice League and Teen Titans, the latter of which already handled the Trigon storyline very well with most of the heroes Titans decided to use. Besides that, the SFX for Trigon alone would - despite the massive budget HBO Max allowed for projects like this - ultimately disappoint (and we were... at least I was). It’s not like animation or comics where the depiction of the battle between a massive demon and a team of superheroes would be better resolved. Exploring Raven’s powers and origins, however, was the right choice for season 1 since - in George Perez’s Titans - Raven was the one who assembled them together. Yes, this was to battle Trigon in the end... but it doesn’t have to be that way.

The season 1 threat should have been Sebastian Blood and his cult. It seemed like they were the B-villains, but the followers of Trigon felt kind of generic and, like Trigon, disappointing. There’d be a lot more freedom to handle this because Brother Blood wasn’t as well explored in Titans media, the only incarnation being from the Teen Titans cartoon but stripped of his cult-and-demon origins. Infusing these elements back into the character would make it original and, if done correctly, timely. Like, a good representation of who Sebastian Blood could have been is a portrayal similar to James Wolk as Joe Keene, Jr. on Watchmen the series; someone who is viewed favorably with good press but ultimately runs a secret cabal with many followers a goal of world domination under the banner of ‘The Four-Eyed Demon’. And to do this, they need the Demon’s daughter.

Which brings us to Rachel. Having her be pursued still works as a great set-up, however instead of followers of Trigon they’re followers of Sebastian Blood. She needs help. Especially if we keep the scene of her foster mother being murdered. Instead of Dick, though, she runs into Starfire.

And our entry point into Starfire would be different, too. We find her on an alien spaceship, in its jail, but then she sees visions as the ship passes over Earth and invigorated by the machine’s malfunctioning (due to Raven’s spirit, as we’d find out), Starfire manages to escape and finds her way to Rachel. Saving Rachel ( “I believe we can help each other”). In this way the Starfire and Raven relationship replacing the Dick and Raven relationship as the crux of season 1.

I’d still include Dick, albeit in a different capacity and with a lot changed. When he finds Rachel and Starfire, it’s because he was investigating activity in the area (he’d been tracking the cult for a while). He’s working undercover but also as the Robin persona. He still believes in the mission while, at this point in the story, Batman has given up and retired. This is because Jason Todd had died a year ago, and because of this and thinking it’s his fault - Bruce gave up and abandoned Gotham for parts unknown to deal with his grief. Dick helps Starfire and Rachel, and together the trio leave for elsewhere - Dick aware of how the cult needs Rachel and haunted that he couldn’t look after Jason, he sees how he can protect Rachel and clings to tha, Rachel curious about why a cult would want her and what her origins are, and Starfire, free of her imprisonment and indebted to Rachel but also homesick as she didn’t leave of her own choice. Over the course of the series they’d grow closer as a family, especially when Gar joins them (I would keep the Doom Patrol episode because that episode served its purpose well, of being a backdoor pilot - maybe change a few things but those details are so minute it’s not worth mentioning).

A big change - no Hawk and Dove. I think Minka Kelly and Alan Ritchson were great choices and acted well with what was given to them, plus I enjoyed Hank’s backstory and think, if they wanted to, a Hawk and Dove miniseries would have been fantastic to explore that better (and allow for a better paced introduction between Dawn and Hank). That being said, my main reason for cutting out Hawk & Dove is two-fold. First, how they killed Dawn’s mom and Don Hall. That was so dirty and so badly conceived. Second, the weird love triangle between Dick, Dawn, and Hank. It just made no sense. 

Instead of Hawk and Dove, I think a better choice to introduce into live action would be Karen Beecher and Mal Duncan - Bumblebee and Herald. Especially after reading their issue of ‘Secret History of the DC Universe’. Have Mal want to be a hero, then meeting Karen, and not wanting him to go it alone she joins him with her tech. They are approached to join the Titans and do, only being superheroes begins to put a stressor on their relationship. And one night Karen and Dick, a little drunk, a little sad from events that will be explained in s2 hook up. Once this is found out Karen and Herald leave and this marks the end of the Titans. This will also tie into Dick’s feelings about how he felt he keeps losing his family, and the Titans breaking up was viewed as his fault, so instead of being against personal relationships he is the one trying to make this new team - Starfire, Raven, and Beast Boy - his third chance). Instead of Dawn being knocked into a coma, I say it should be Mal (because then we can get Karen trying to save him and giving him robotic vocal chords which will allow him to do more, like sonic screams or whatever a la Vox, his post-Infinite Crisis identity). This will also further shine a light on their issues, because while Mal gave up heroics altogether, Karen would suit up time to time and Mal feels like Karen used his coma as an opportunity to give him powers because she wants him to be someone he’s not.

Their adaptation of the Nuclear Family was iconic™ so that’d definitely stay in (especially because Nuclear Family - one of the values they in the group believe in lol). The convent episode, too, although instead of flashbacks to Dick’s past we should have Starfire and how she grew up being the prisoner of warlords and experimented on; which is why she’s uneasy leaving Rachel with the sisters and then explodes when she sees Rachel strapped down because it triggers her. We will also have some of these hallucinations in the asylum scene. The episode with Dick and Jason would be replaced by the aliens who captured Kory coming back to take her to their planet, the team coming together to rescue her.

The biggest diversion, I think, would be after the asylum episode. The group escapes, except there’s no Arella, and it’s believed that Rachel sacrificed herself to tear the organization down and without her the group goes their separate ways. Dick goes to Donna Troy because he wants to know why, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t keep anyone around. Starfire is stuck on Earth and unsure about what to do next after finding out, in the replaced Jason Todd episode, that her sister sold her to the enemy. Gar doesn’t believe Rachel is dead. The three of them (plus Karen and Mal) receive visions from Rachel and realize that she’s still in danger and go to help.

Rachel is being held by the Cult of Blood and are working on setting up the ritual. By the time the group arrives to where she is, she is a happy member, and she tells them that they should join and be saved. They’re confused by the dreams they have - it’s Raven’s soul self fighting against her chains.

This season would culminate with the Cult of Blood capturing the group after Dick, not knowing when to leave well enough alone, rushes in and gets ‘baptized’ into the Cult and is brainwashed like Raven (although not like in that dumb dream episode that was ridiculous). He, like the others, are in attendance for the wedding between Sebastian Blood and Raven (which would be creepy because he’s 32 she’s 14), but at the pleading of Starfire Dick is freed from his mind control and releases them and they fight to free Rachel. It’s too late, however, as the ritual is completed and the ‘kiss’ is Sebastian drinking Rachel’s blood. Doing this opens up a portal which sucks up Sebastian and his followers, and is only closed after Starfire breaks through to Rachel and she gets control and closes the portal herself. The group leaves, stronger than ever, and assured that being Titans means more than being a team.

We’d get after credits scenes of the cult learning of Sebastian’s demise and their next plans, saying that “Junior” will have to be prepared earlier tha expected. Then, the other after credits scene - because Raven’s portal caused disasters across the world (”Raven ‘cleansing’ the world for Trigon’s arrival) - is Superboy breaking free.

Also, goes without saying, RAVEN WOULD HAVE HAD A BETTER WIG!

SEASON 2:

Goes without saying that season 2 would explore themes from the 1st season. Dick Grayson defining himself by who he is surrounded by, a season long search for an identity that is his and not what’s given to him (by Batman) and settling into the role as a leader as Nightwing (also, by retiring Robin, he won’t let the past haunt him). Starfire settling on Earth, her choice, and making friendships and relationships that last and help her realize this is her home. Raven is struggling to control the darker aspects of her powers after them being awakened during the ritual while also allowing herself to be a teenage girl. Beast Boy trying to fit in with this group while also wanting to prove that he can do more than just ‘turn into a green tiger’. Karen and Mal’s relationship would definitely hit rough patches (especially when Mal leaves the team and Karen because he only stayed with the team because of Karen). Donna recovering from the trauma of the original incarnation of Teen Titans, which is brought to the forefront once we introduce Deathstroke as having returned.

The second season, however, would start out not with any of these characters but with the continuation of the second after credits scene that introduced Superboy. That was one of my biggest gripes with the second season, how DELAYED the introduction of Conner was. You don’t have that scene and then keep us waiting for five episodes. Second season we enter on Superboy from the JUMP. Do the entire ‘Conner’ episode but only changing the ending, where instead of him saving Jason (because remember, Jason’s ‘dead’ at this point). Instead of that, he and Krypto are stumbling around a non-descript city, lost, unsure of what to do with their power, until they see a broadcast of the Titans saving people and realize that’s where they should head. On the other side of this, Mercy - having failed in recapturing Superboy - hire Deathstroke to go and find him. He accepts, and begins on his trail. This will help tie the antagonists’ storylines together so it’s not as disjointed as it felt in season 2 (instead of competing for the narrative they share it).

Then, we have the Titans doing their thing - Robin, Bumblebee, Vox, and Wonder Girl back in their costumes while Gar, Raven, and Starfire are training and learning while also helping take down villains in the San Francisco base. There are memories there, sure, but the others are doing their best to make it look like it’s not bothering them, Donna especially. We can have Arthur Light break out and go on a warpath for the Titans, and this can be our lead-in to the backstory episode of how the Titans became the Titans (because ‘Aqualad’ was one of the worst episodes of anything I’ve ever seen, badly written, poorly edited, and so misplaced). We see Robin, Wonder Girl, Aqualad and Speedy - Mia Dearden - coming together to chase down Dr. Light after an alert came in to the League that went unanswered because the League was busy dealing with something else. While fighting him, they receive help from Mal (in his Guardian identity) and Karen, and together they decide being a team is great and it’s nice having peers instead of mentors working iwth, so they form the Titans.

While in the midst of the big climactic battle with Dr. Light, where he’s firing on innocent civilians, he hits Superboy and nothing happens and Superboy helps them defeat Dr. Light. As they welcome Conner and he explains why he’s there, he’s struck in the back by a kryptonite bullet and we see Deathstroke watching from above telling Mercy it’s done. “So you’ll be bringing the subject back?” “Actually... there’s some business here I’ll need to settle first.” We’ll have another scene where, in an apartment, a young girl with white hair is watching footage from when Superboy was shot and recognizes a blur on the rooftop. She tells her brother, who tells her to leave it alone and if they lay low maybe Deathstroke will leave without realizing they’re here. She tells him that, despite what he or their mom thinks, she’s going to take care of him once and for all. This is Rose and Jericho.

Superboy is in a coma, the team trying to save him as the bullet didn’t fully kill him. Donna is shaken because it reminds her of what happened in the past, the last blow that spelled the end for the first generation of Titans. We get some more flashbacks. Showing Dick and Karen getting closer while Mal sort of stews silently, Aqualad getting into fights with everyone because he’s been trying their patience a lot (kind of like the friend you only hang out with because your dad is friends with his dad), and awkwardness between Donna and Mia since we learn they were interested in each other but never acted on it (because Donna is a lesbian and her and Aqualad were compulsory heterosexuality PLUS they could only mention Roy Harper but not actually show him). Soon we find out that Donna is being called back to Themyscria to finish her training, and the team throws a goodbye party. This is where Mal and Karen have a fight and she gets a bit too drunk, so does Dick because Donna is his best friend and he’s going to miss her, and they both have been feeling stress, so they hook up. Also, Mia leaves to tell Donna that she’s in love with her at the airport, and asks if it’s okay if she comes with (”It is an island full of women after all. I’m sure... this, us... would be more accepted than here.”) Before Donna can say yes Mia is shot dead by Deathstroke before her eyes. This, coupled with Mal finding Dick and Karen in bed together, leads to the Titans’ disolvement. We’ll see Kory comforting her while Dick searches for who shot the bullet with Karen and Mal, fearing that Donna might be right - and angry when she is.

They save Conner and he joins the Titans just in time to help them face Deathstroke, but also have to contend with Rose who isn’t on Deathstroke’s side but also isn’t friendly with them. It’s only when Jericho comes to them and explains his and Rose’s backstory, of being Slade’s kids, do they understand and work out an agreement to help take down Deathstroke and his backers (who turn out to be Cadmus).

Meanwhile, with Deathstroke taking too long, Mercy approaches Conner with an offer to let them help him and that the Titans are only pretending to be his friend, meanwhile they only care about his powers; but in the end they’re kids and don’t know what they’re doing. When this fails to work, they kidnap him and Krypto, replacing him with a version of Conner who is obedient to them to work as an infiltrator. Mercy then approaches Deathstroke, showing him she has a guy on the inside, and tells him that she’ll help him take down the Titans but they’re doing this her way.

Eve, imprisoned by CADMUS, helps Conner and Krypto escape (by sacrificing herself or not by sacrificing herself, dealer’s choice), and they hurry to the final battle between Deathstroke & Cadmus vs. the Titans. Just when it looks like they have Deathstroke beat, ‘Superboy’ turns and starts attacking the others. Conner hasn’t arrived, and it looks like everyone is down for the count. The fake Superboy (Match) has Kory in his grips and is attacking her, only for Donna to recover and tackle him. She batters him, punches him, and as she’s about to strike him again he uses his laser vision to strike Donna through the heart (a la Graduation Day - a much better way to ‘kill Donna’ then by electricity). Superboy arrives too late to save her, but he does take the other Superboy away before he explodes (Mercy’s final play - it would’ve killed Deathstroke too). Conner is still alive, and he’s saved everyone. In the confusion, Deathstroke slipped away.

We wind down, Rose and Jericho promise to hunt Deathstroke down and make him pay for his crimes. This will at least explain why they aren’t in s3 (which sucks, because Rose was GOOD). Raven still promises to bring Donna to Themyscira and work on bringing her back. Conner isn’t blamed for Donna’s death and they reassure him that they’re his family and welcome him back. Dick has taken on the Nightwing mantle and accepts the responsibility of being a leader, and that while he might not have been mature enough in the past, he can’t let that define him - only he can define who he is). Kory wants to go with Raven, but understands that she needs to stay with the team and only wishes Rachel luck, hoping Donna can return from the dead. Mal rejoins the team, he and Karen promising to be better to each other. Gar’s feelings of uselessness will continue because, as Conner’s best friend, he should have known something was off.(I don’t see this plot point ever being fully resolved until maybe later on).

Deathstroke wouldn’t die because you don’t WASTE Deathstroke! Killing Deathstroke cuts off so much potential in terms of storylines. I mean, there goes the Judas Contract which, despite us already having a varied animated retellings, would be beloved if done live-action and right.

Also, sorry to my DickKory fans but season 2 would lay the groundwork for some DonnaKory endgame - although the main romantic struggle would be between Dick, Donna, and Kory, with Kory at the middle and Dick and Donna the best friends who fight over her.

SEASON 3:

If we are working within the parameters of this season, and want to tackle Red Hood, there is a possibility that I’ve been thinking over and will expand upon here.

As I’ve mentioned before, Jason is dead. Because of this, Batman has abandoned his crusade against crime in Gotham because he feels there is no point to his battle and can’t continue. He’s been gone for a long time, however, this is the season where I would introduce him. He comes to visit San Francisco and Dick a very changed man, smiling, brightly-colored clothes, very into new age mysticism (”This is Batman?”). We find out that, after Jason’s death, Bruce went out on a new mission, to find a way to be at peace over the things he can’t control, and so through this journey he’s discovered inner peace and how to live despite all he’s lost. And he’s come back to Dick to share this knowledge with him, as a way to make up for indoctrinating him with these bad habits and instead lead a healthier life (crimefighting being like a drug). This will put Dick in a crossroads, questioning if he’s doing this (this being heroics) because he’s trying to use it to heal or if he really is meant to be a hero. This will be the season where the driving question is - Why Do We Don the Masks?

At the end of the first episode, however, we do the scene where the crime bosses meet up and Red Hood introduces himself, saying that he’s going to be taking control of all the criminal enterprises in Gotham.

This catches Barbara’s attention, and so she contacts Dick to fly back to Gotham and help contain this. After her appointment as Commissioner, she’s made great strides in helping clean up Gotham - especially in the tough months that followed once Batman retired (”Joker’s been imprisoned in the Slab, and he’s been abnormally quiet”). They still come up against costumed criminals but the police are better prepared to fight them, especially with help from Barbara, who knows the strategies, and Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne, who helps develop non-lethal tech for the police to use in the battles. What’s also been helping is a small group of crimefighters who have taken to the streets, picking up the slack after Batman’s disappearance. (Barbara, “But this Red Hood... he might be too much for them to handle. We don’t want another me, or worse... another Jason.”) Dick promises to help, with both Red Hood and this group of kids - especially because one of them has taken to calling himself Robin.

That’s right! I’d introduce Young Justice in s3 - composed of Robin (Tim Drake), Spoilers (Stephanie Brown), Hawk and Dove (Hank Hall and Don Hall). Tim saw what was happening to his city after Batman quit, and decided enough was enough and became a vigilante to honor him and Jason, taking up the Robin mantle. He met up with Stephanie Brown, daughter of criminal Cluemaster, and brother Hank and Don Hall, who were working as vigilantes targeting molestors (very in-line with how Titans showed them, they’d just be younger). They’ll end up in a situation where they’re in over their heads, only to be saved by Nightwing who tells them with no uncertainty that they need to shut their operation down or else they’ll end up hurt (because they’re untrained).

Meanwhile, back in San Francisco, Starfire isn’t handling Donna’s death nor Rachel’s absence well, and is being inundated with strange visions that is making her act out of character. What’s not helping is that Bruce Wayne has decided to stay in San Francisco with them while Dick is in Gotham. Conner and Gar are enjoying this relaxed, free-spirited Bruce (he’s like the fun uncle), but it drives Kory crazy. These visions are from her sister, and even though she hates her for selling her, after finding out she’s on Earth and trapped somewhere, she goes to rescue her with Gar and Conner at her sides. They resuce her and bring her back, and Blackfire ‘apologizes’, telling Starfire that it was either Kory or their planet - and as the eldest she made the tough choice so their people wouldn’t suffer anymore harm. Starfire accepts this and welcomes her back. Also happening in San Francisco, Karen and Mal are at a crossroads because of a new development - she’s pregnant. This has put a stop on her hero journey, and while she is excited about being a mother she also wants to be a hero and we see more of them trying to work through their problems. Gar is also using Bruce to indulge himself so he doesn’t have to think about being the ‘useless’ member of the team, using his powers like a party trick to feel like he’s useful, which worries Conner.

In Themyscira, Raven pours through their texts to see how she can resurrect Donna. While there, she befriends and is aided by a young girl, Cassie Sandsmark, who is staying on the island with her mom while doing work (archaeology work); together, they find a way to reach Donna in the afterlife through an ancient ritual most of the Amazons are wary of. This doesn’t stop them, and together they perform the ritual. Raven journeys into the afterlife while Cassie is there to wake Raven if things look rough; while in the afterlife she hears the voices of Sebastian Blood and the ‘dark’ side of her, but is reminded of who she’s searching for by a soft, familiar woman’s voice and makes it to Elysium. There Rachel finds Donna and Mia, together. Donna is wary about going back, because she is happy with Mia; but Mia and Rachel remind her that there’s happiness down on Earth and there’s a lot left to live for. Donna agrees to follow Raven back, but not before saying goodbye to Mia who tells Donna she will find love again, only she shouldn’t be afraid this time to say something about it. I’d also love to see a way to involve Dark Angel somehow, maybe as a dark force approaching to prevent Donna from returning to life?

Nightwing is working with Barbara to shut down Red Hood’s operations, but it’s not going too well. It’s starting to feel like Nightwing is being taunted now, too, because a lot of what Red Hood is doing feels personal, like he knows Nightwing behind the mask. Ultimately, when Red Hood catches Young Justice and gives them a good beating, Dick stops him and it’s revealed that Jason is under the helmet. We then find out how he was brought back to life when, just as Dick has Nightwing beat, someone intervenes and saves Jason - Thalia al Ghul. We get an episode dedicated to Jason’s backstory, where he wasn’t killed, only badly beaten to the point of death. However, it was assumed he died because of the explosion. Bruce couldn’t find the body, he assumed it had been obliterated. Really, Jason had wandered away and was found by strangers and admitted to a hospital with severe brain damage. One day someone came to collect him, Talia al Ghul. She brought him to her home and used the Lazarus Pits to revive him, then trained him in assasinry so he could do the one thing Bruce never could - save Gotham.

Dick, while recovering in the Manor with the kids from Young Justice, calls up Bruce and tells him that Jason is alive. This will lead to Kory finally confronting Bruce and yelling at him that he hasn’t ‘found peace’ and instead switched coping mechanisms. This inspires Bruce to return to Gotham, the Titans following him (save Karen and Mal). Donna and Rachel meet them there, and we get the reunions plus Young Justice meeting the Titans.

We get reports that the Joker has escaped the Slab, and we find out Jason has kidnapped him. As the team investigates across Gotham, Dick goes on his own to where he knows Jason has Joker. They fight, with Jason threatening to blow them all up because as long as the Joker is dead it doesn’t matter. “He deserves it. He deserves it for all hat he’s done. For what he did to me! Please... why can’t you let me do this?” Bruce arrives, at that point, to tell him why. Because it won’t change things. Jason yells at Bruce, then, and Bruce accepts it. We also hear from Bruce about why he didn’t kill Joker, though he was close. Bruce admits that he snuck into Arkham with the decision to kill the Joker, but stopped just outside his cell. He realized that it wouldn’t bring Jason back, just as it wouldn’t bring his parents back, and he didn’t want to disappoint Jason by becoming a killer. Jason and Bruce make up, though Joker still dies - Thalia kills him. “If you won’t ensure a safer world, my Darling, I’ll do it for you.” She then detonates the explosives to escape and the three barely escape with their lives.

You’d think they’d get some rest, then, huh? WRONG! Because while searching for Jason, Blackfire betrays Kory and reveals she sold Kory so she could secure her position as ruler of Tamaran. A warship then appears in the sky where Blackfire takes Kory, announcing that Gotham will be the first city to fall during the invasion.

The s3 finale would then be the Titans vs. aliens as they drive off the alient threat, with Donna, Jason, and Dick working together to free Starfire from her sister. We’ll get a final battle between Starfire and Blackfire where Starfire asserts her status as the stronger sister, and that while she wishes Blackfire wanted a relationship between them, she won’t cry over it anymore. Blackfire takes her fleet and leaves Earth after facing humilation, and the group returns to Wayne Manor to celebrate.

Bruce has decided that, not only will he return to Gotham, but Batman will be coming back. He won’t be alone, as he’ll have a team with him. Jason decides to stay in Gotham and work on his relationship with Bruce, although knowing he will have to go out and find Thalia at some point. Hopefully by then, Tim and Steph will be well-prepared to stand on their own as Robin and Spoiler - inducted into the Batfamily. Hank and Don choose to go with the Titans back to San Francisco, especially since they were very impressed with their teamwork and Gar, who was able to transform past a tiger into something else.

We won’t be involving the Scarecrow in this. Scarecrow’s involvement wasn’t about the Titans and more of DC trying to tie him in elsewhere since Fear State will be starting soon. Plus *spoilers* Bruce killing Joker was the worst decision for Titans to do. It only served to do away with Bruce Wayne so he wouldn’t be involved in the show anymore which they could have easily solved if he wasn’t introduced too early. Keeping the Titans in Gotham for the entire season feels incongruent to who the team is and what the team is about, so if they divided the storyline between Gotham and San Francisco it’d probably play easier and allow for the characters to grow in their own way instead of being chained to the one prevailing storyline that is Under the Red Hood. And when they come back to San Francisco the Titans realize the benefits of training the youth of heroics and commit to teaching Rachel, Gar, Conner, Hank, and Don - and they introduce Cassie who joins them after getting the go-ahead from her mom and Diana. While Karen might not be able to delve into heroics for awhile because of her baby, she can still help by teaching. This will then lead into the next season which would be Titans vs. H.I.V.E. Academy, reintroduction of Slade, and bringing Terra into the fold while also having Rose and Jericho return, too.

Season three would sort of test everyone, give them the option to walk away from being a hero or choose being a hero, and strengthens their resolve to continue, comforted by how this is their choice and it’s what they’re good at.

If anyone from Titans reads this and wants me for s4 feel free to contact me

[gumnut-logic]

The Mechromancer

There may be more to this.

This started out as an attempt to write something completely different, but it was determined to do this instead. So you have a pile of fishTank, just a different pile than expected.

Warnings for angst, hurt/comfort.

Many thanks to @scribbles97​ @janetm74​ @tsarinatorment​ and @flyboytracy​ for all their help on this one. My brain fried in the middle of it and it is a little odd as a result. These wonderful peeps put up with an extremely whiney Nutty for a few days there so they should be congratulated for not hitting my over the head with something solid :D

I hope you enjoy this anyway.

-o-o-o-

They say mechromancy is born of the Earth, of rock and metal and the energies that drive the planet.

He can feel it.

Feel metal spinning as it is cut and cries out in its making, its shaping, its becoming. It resonates in his soul as he gives birth to a new creation.

He pulls the new shape off the lathe, the smell of hot metal curling in his nostrils. A rough edge catches skin and pricks a scratch.

Red iron smudges grey steel, metal on metal.

Virgil wipes it away with a stained rag and the cog gleams in the light of his workshop.

-o-o-o-

Gordon’s days were grey.

At first, waking was pain and fog. Everything was broken. The fine instrument he had built his body into no longer worked and was little more than a source of ongoing agony.

The doctors were brutally honest. He could not expect more than a life of grey walls and kindly nursing staff for the rest of his life.

That’s if he had one. There was always the opportunity of a sudden infection and an early termination of that agreement.

His family was there.

Always.

Grandma was in charge, no matter what the hospital thought. You didn’t cross his grandmother and survive. The fact there was a looming grey-eyed and very wealthy Jefferson Tracy gave much more weight to Doctor Tracy’s demands.

His father was there.

This was something both expected and unexpected. Father was a very busy man, but each time Gordon woke in those early days, his eyes would clear to find the silver-grey suited millionaire somewhere in the room. He didn’t say much, not being a man to show a great deal of emotion, but the fact he was there and there so often said enough.

Said how dire things really were.

The most consistent presence was Scott, of course. The man’s cane was heard in his sleep. Sometimes Gordon wanted to reach out and shake it from his brother’s grasp and break it in two across his knee.

But it was a fantasy. Because not only did he not have the strength to grab the cane, he no longer had any knees to break anything.

His legs were gone.

The thought flickered through his mind and he shied away.

Alan…Alan tried to cheer him up while trying not to cry himself. It was heartbreaking.

John reached out to brush fingers through his hair, a single tear falling unacknowledged down his cheek.

Gordon was in so much pain himself and yet also the cause of so much more. It tore at his heart.

Had his sole purpose in life been reduced to a bane on his family?

And Virgil…

He dreamt of his brother. His loving and gentle mechanic brother.

But he never saw him.

In the early days after Gordon had first opened his eyes after the accident, he had asked after Virgil. Scott’s eyes had been full of…something. His eldest brother always kept up his military stance, hiding his true thoughts should they present a vulnerability and those defences were ever so thick at the mere mention of Virgil.

Even in his bleary, pain-filled state, Gordon sensed there was something wrong, but he didn’t have the strength to pursue the question.

His days were awash with painkilling concoctions of his grandmother’s recommendations that took his mind along with the pain. Distorted versions of both his father and Scott were his earliest memories after the accident.

And the dreams…a sense of heat, holding him down, burning, preventing his escape. His own fear overlapped by someone else’s desperation and panic. Flame burning down his nerve endings demanding he stay.

Stay.

Whispers in his mother’s voice.

Denial and determination.

Ever so hot and hurting.

They always ended in such a flare of light and sound, he woke up yelling.

And Scott would be there. Words of reassurance and love.

Gordon always asked for Virgil after the dreams. They meant something, he was sure of it and they had something to do with Virgil.

And Scott never quite answered.

-o-o-o-

He stokes the fire to exactly the right temperature, the coals glowing eye-blinding white, forcing his goggles onto his eyes. His skin pricks with the heat.

Cahelium requires it.

Metal hits flame in a shower of sparks and sucks up the energy, shining as brightly as the sun. He feels it breathe in, draw in the life-giving energy of creation.

His hammer shapes with each strike, the metal thinning as he bends it to his will. Muscles flexing as he swings, the energy of his body fighting, forcing form.

Sweat trickles down his brow as he frowns with the effort. His leather apron protects his vulnerable body, but the sparks still sneak through to embed in the bare skin of his arms and burn holes in his shirt.

He doesn’t care. He can feel the metal with his mind and it is becoming.

Scars in the making only record the process.

-o-o-o-

Days turn into weeks and still Virgil didn’t appear.

Scott had excuses but none of them rang true. Gordon created all kinds of scenarios in his head. Maybe Virgil was injured. Or sick. Maybe he had died. All of the above terrified him until one day while they were alone, he yelled at his big brother, demanding to know.

Only then did he get to see Virgil.

Scott wheeled him in.

Gordon stared. His engineer brother looked terrible.

“W-what happened?”

Virgil’s hands were swaddled in bandages and he was literally wilting in the chair. “Hey, Gords.” His eyelids were drooping.

Gordon looked up at Scott and his big brother’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“What happened?!” His body was busted but there was nothing wrong with his brain bar the concoctions they kept stabbing him with.

Virgil reached over and lay a bandaged hand on Gordon’s chest. “I’m well. I promise.”

“You look awful, Virg. What happened to your hands?” He stared at the swathed fingers on his broken body. Virgil’s magic fingers. His eyes widened, dreams and reality suddenly merging. “What did you do?!”

“Gordon…” His name was weariness itself, his brother’s usual baritone barely there. “You were dying. I had to.”

Gordon’s eyes shot to his brother’s bloodshot brown, so like his own. “You fix machines.”

“The human body is only another type of machine.”

“You fixed me?”

Virgil shook his head, his eyes closing. Scott, who had remained silent, knelt down beside the engineer in his chair and placed an arm around Virgil’s shoulders.

Virgil’s hand was still on Gordon’s chest. He fought with the sudden need to want it gone, yet desperately wanted to hold it in his own.

He settled for slowly, ever so slowly moving his right hand to land on top of Virgil’s as gently as he could.

“What did you do?”

“I fixed enough.” An exhausted exhale. “Just enough.”

“What has it done to you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look half dead.”

Virgil closed his eyes again. “I am well, Gordon. Don’t worry about it.”

Gordon turned to Scott, whose eyes again dropped to the floor. His big brother swallowed.

Back to Virgil. “You are a pathetic liar. You know that.”

Virgil’s eyes joined Scott’s on the floor. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

“What?! It’s obvious that you foolishly did something that might have saved my ass, but trashed yours. Scott, tell me! What the hell did he do to himself?”

Virgil straightened up and a more familiar fire flared. “I did what had to be done. And I would do it again.”

“Then why the hell are you apologising?”

Virgil shrunk back and shook his head, but didn’t say anything further. If anything, he wilted in his chair further.

“Virgil…” It was an exhalation of his brother’s name. His eyes darted again to Scott seeking answers. His eldest brother still had a protective arm around Virgil’s shoulders. Whatever had happened, chances were it was bad.

Blue eyes looked up and caught Gordon’s. Scott’s lips thinned and his jaw tightened.

Very bad.

Virgil’s hand on Gordon’s chest was trembling.

“Tell me you will be well.” He begged Virgil to look at him so he could see the truth.

As if summoned, that dark-haired head rose, bloodshot, brown eyes caught his. “I will.” A swallow. “I promise.”

“And your hands?”

“They will heal.”

“And be as they were?” Please.

“They will heal.” It was a repetition, almost a self-reassurance.

Gordon swallowed hard, almost terrified to look beneath those bandages to discover exactly what his brother had done trying to ‘fix’ Gordon’s machine.

Virgil was suddenly pushing himself to his feet. Scott hurried to steady him. “Virgil, what are you doing?”

But their brother didn’t answer. He took a shaky step towards the bed and, leaning over, wrapped his arms as best he could around Gordon without disturbing him. “So good to see you, Fish.” There was an emotional shake in his voice and that tremble in his hand proved to be system wide.

Gordon lifted one hand the best he could and rested his temple against Virgil’s. “Glad to be here.” His voice was suddenly hoarse. “Thank you.”

There was a muffled sound in Gordon’s pillow he couldn’t identify. Then  a rough, but firm, “Anytime.” Virgil shifted and pushed himself up a little, enough to catch Gordon’s eyes. “Anytime.”

And Scott was hauling Virgil up and back into his chair.

Gordon didn’t want his brother to go, but the man was sagging where he sat, alarming Gordon even more. A glance at Scott and he encountered that same worry there.

“Time to go back to bed, Virgil.” Their eldest brother secured him in the chair and unlatched the brakes.

If Gordon could have, he would have stretched out his arm. “Be well, Virgil.”

His weary brother nodded once and Scott pushed him out the door, leaving Gordon to stare at where his brother had been and what he had done.

-o-o-o-

He lines up the fine golden metal cladding and, with a punch he cast himself, embosses a detailed etch of an octopus into the hot cahelium-brass.

Beside it, he chooses to place a shark, its fins a sharp dent in the metal.

His breath is evaporated as he peers closely before punching in a twirled sea shell.

His fingers ache to touch the metal.

On the desk beside him lays the mechanisms. Setting the section of the cladding aside to cool, he returns to the final touches, the fine tuning of the gears and the delicate gyroscopes that will balance movement.

His fingers flicker as he reaches for information.

There is a thin screwdriver in his mouth, held across his lips as his hands correct and make minor adjustments. The metal tastes like possibilities.

His fingers twitch. There is still stiffness in his skin. They remember the feel of his brother’s broken body. Feel what was being lost.

What he was losing.

The heat needed to forge, to fix, had been unbearable, and it took from him, so much.

Now he is different. Part of him is with his brother, keeping him alive, like a donation of a body part. A donation of part of his soul.

Given willingly.

Virgil sighs and returns to the forge to shape more cladding.

The metal is warm under his fingertips.

-o-o-o-

 FIN?

[flyboytracy]

#Earth&Sky2021 - Day 5

It’s day five of #Earth&Sky2021 already, what the heck!

idek what theme I was trying to go for, lighthouse in a storm maybe? But anyway, here’s a flyboy brooding beneath the stars with a glass of whiskey and the weight of the world on his shoulders.

It’s pretty dark on Tracy Island when the lights are out. The whole world’s asleep and Scott should be too but sleep doesn’t come easily to him these days. As a kid he never needed it and even now when he needs it he can never find it for more than a few hours at a time...

It’s too warm by the villa so he chases a breeze to the edge of the island, whiskey glass in his hand and bare toes digging into the sand that gets trapped between the rocks by the storms that batter their little island. There’s one rock in particular he likes to perch on when his thoughts are too loud and his doubts refuse to go away. The runway can be seen from here, as can the little overhang of rocks above Thunderbird Four’s underwater launch chute and the roundhouse that protects the native fauna of the island from Thunderbird Three’s blowback. Scott’s own Thunderbird launches a little way behind him and that was one of the first things dad mentioned when he brought Scott out here to show his firstborn the island he planned to uproot their entire family to.

This very rock represents the beginning of Scott’s involvement with International Rescue. Will there be a plaque here in forty years’ time like the plaque of dad’s footprint on Mars? It feels somehow arrogant to assume he’ll have even half the impact that Jeff Tracy’s had upon the world.

Scott hadn’t been able to imagine it back then, barely a man himself and sat in the shadow of the greatest man he’s ever known. Dad had produced two of the tiny bottles of whiskey from the jet and Scott hadn’t been able to understand why because coming to this desolate little rock in the middle of nowhere had felt very much like running away, and that wasn’t something a Tracy ever did. Ever since he’d been old enough to stand up by himself, Scott had been standing firm against the world that constantly measured him against his father.

He’d taken a stand against anyone who’d ever dared to hurt his little brothers. He’d stood there for hours at swim meets or out on the back garden with Johnny waiting for the skies to clear. He’d stayed with his little brother when Virgil needed to record the light just right and he’d spent hours and hours at the park with Alan so his brothers could do their homework in peace and their youngest brother didn’t feel their parents’ absence as heavily as the rest of them. Dad had disappeared for days at a time and he’d told the guys it was work but he’d been old enough to guess it was alcohol and other things he didn’t wanna know about.

So he’d hesitated, sat upon this rock with a tiny bottle of whiskey in his hand, because he really hadn’t felt like celebrating when mom’s grave was back in Kansas and his heart felt like he’d buried it in the dusty dirt there with her. He hadn’t said anything but dad must’ve known because he’d reached out to tug Scott into his side like he was six and not sixteen.

Dad had always been a giant to Scott. When he was little it felt like he always had to lean back to see him and even when he grew taller, dad just seemed to get taller too. Having one of those arms around him had felt like being wrapped up by the universe and for a few fleeting moments he’d been able to forget about avalanches and detention slips and dinner for four little brothers who needed vegetables and attention. Dad’s hand cradled the back of his head just like how Scott cuddled Alan when he refused to go to sleep and part of the firstborn had broken.

Dad had fixed him, though. He’d told his boy about how the desolate rock was actually an extinct volcano with old lava tubes extending out underneath the ocean for miles around them. For the last year or so that weird nerdy friend of his had been making regular flights out here and beneath their feet lay something very special indeed.

It was going to be called International Rescue and it was going to make the world a better place.

It did and it still does, every single day. With every mission to Mars or London or some random canyon in a country Scott can’t pronounce, the world becomes a better place for somebody out there. A wife gets to go home to her wife or a son gets to show his dad a picture he drew at school because International Rescue saved a life. Not the world, not a country, just a life.

How can Scott even begin to live up to the legacy of a man who could look at a barren rock and imagine making it a home for his five sons and a rescue organisation? Their home had been weaved seamlessly into the rocks without disturbing the island’s ecosystem which had made one of Scott’s baby brothers happy and another had followed the progress of the villa and the hangars below with all the enthusiasm of a budding engineer.

Nothing Scott does could ever hope to live up to the legacy of the man responsible for all this. For a while he thought maybe his mark on history would be to keep International Rescue operational instead of letting it nosedive into the dirt without dad. Most sons would’ve wiped International Rescue from existence after losing their father to it but Scott had kept them flying and for eight years that had been enough.

But now dad’s home and back in charge from the safety of his desk and suddenly Scott’s achievements don’t feel all that remarkable any more when he compares them to his father’s. He’s the firstborn son of Jeff Tracy and he’s capable of anything. He should do more; he needs to be more than this.

But what?

Scott sits on the rock with his whiskey and stares out across the ocean.

It’s beautiful out here when the lights are down and the moon’s out. He can see the reflection of thousands of stars on the surface of the ocean and the moon shimmers at the centre of it all. A soft little breeze sends ripples dancing across the water and Scott can’t help but smile at how peaceful the world feels even though it’s dark.

There’s footsteps behind him and Scott would recognise them anywhere, even without a gentle, “Hey,” and the hand that squeezes his shoulder before Virgil comes to sit on the rock beside him. He’s barefoot too and the plaid’s been replaced by one of those hoodies that looks like a hug. Strands of dark hair have escaped from beneath the hood and Scott’s compelled to brush a couple back into place before tucking Virg into his side like dad once did with him all those years ago. Virgil folds up without complaint and his face disappears into the crook of his big brother’s neck before he heaves a sigh so loud it makes Scott shiver.

A hand comes to rest instinctively on the back of Virgil’s head, fingertips sinking into the soft material as they sit together beneath the stars. For a while he can forget about everything that’s happened since he sat on this rock with dad and focus on nothing but the here and now; the tang of engine oil that seems to follow Virg around like the beach does Gordon. Warmth radiates from the shoulders that’ve helped Scott carry his burdens since dad disappeared and it helps to ground him when he feels lost in the darkness. Even when he hasn’t known which path to take, he’s always been sure that he’ll never walk it alone.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks after a while because it’s not unusual to find one of his little brothers up and about in the middle of the night, but this one had a long day yesterday and they tend to sleep like hibernating bears after the worst rescues.

“Mmm.” little brother rumbles back to him from the depths of his comfy hoodie. The noise makes Scott chuckle, “I keep thinking about Thunderbird Two. She didn’t feel right when I got back from Portugal.”

“You said Brains checked her out?”

“Hmm. He said it was most likely a combination of factors including stress, high winds and exhaustion that altered my sensory inputs and slowed my reaction times.”

Scott remembers his glass of whiskey and takes a sip, “He thinks you imagined it.”

“Nmm.” another tired noise escapes from the depths of the hoodie and Scott’s kinda tempted to see how many he could get Virg to make like a rumbly game of Operation. On the other hand he’s spent his entire life taking care of the guy using him as a pillow and the noises worry him. His best friend needs sleep but Scott knows full well that won’t happen ‘til somebody takes a look at Thunderbird Two.

“I’ll run a systems check to see if anything comes up. We’ll have her sorted before sunrise.” Scott scrunches his little brother up in a hug before relinquishing his grip on the hoodie, “You get the coffee on and I’ll get her opened up.”

“F. A-” the affirmative gets swallowed up by a yawn that nearly swallows Scott too and he laughs as he gets to his feet, keeping Virg with him to stop him nosediving into the ocean because he’s lost more than one tired brother to the pool and the steps down to the sofas.

“I know how to sort it anyway.” he teases as they head for the kitchen, polishing off the remains of his whiskey and leaving the glass on the side to deal with later, “I’ll just give her a real good thump like dad does.”

“You are not using the Jeff Tracy Fix on my ‘Bird, Scott!” Virgil finally manages a full sentence and Scott’s laughter echoes down the hallways.

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder 

Chapter 38: Greatest Fear

It’s been about a week since the festival. You haven’t gone back to UA since for fear of losing control again. It wasn’t your idea to stay away, it was Enji and Nezu’s idea. Last thing they want is a demon losing control in the school. You don’t mind, it gives you some free time and much needed rest. You’re still doing hero work but it’s your day off today.

The kids won’t be home today, they are visiting a friends house for the evening. Enji is working so you decided to spoil him when he gets home; multi course meal, massage, bath salts, the whole nine yards just for him. The whole morning you spend cooking a variety of dishes, taking time to make sure each one is perfect. While all of this is happening, Zaheer just relaxes and watches you and talks to you. It’s nice sometimes to just talk with Zaheer like you did as a kid, nothing serious, just casual. You just took dessert out of the fridge when you get a phone call.

“Hi Alan. How have you been.”

After meeting you parents, you waited a month to contact Alan. He understood it was a lot for you, but it was worse for him. He was so upset at them he left the United States and moved to Japan to be close to you. You always try to make time for him but he understands if hero work gets in the way.

“Hey (Y/N), are we still good for tomorrow?”

“Yea. I wanted you to meet the whole family this time. The kids can’t wait to see their uncle again. We are going to go to the local park for a picnic if that’s ok?”

“Sounds like fun. I hope they didn’t miss me too much.”

“Oh, not too much. Natsuo might be a stick in the mud though, he’s a little moody lately but give him some time and he will be fine. I’d love to chat but I’m on a mission right now. I’m cooking a nice dinner for Enji to cheer him up. He still a little worried about me so I’m hoping this will help.”

“Say no more. Take care!”

After you hang up you look up to see Zaheer standing up now.

“What’s wrong, Zaheer?”

“I know we are having a good time today but can we talk about One for All. That phone call reminded me that I wanted to discuss it.”

“Normally I would just brush you off, but I know better. We need to talk about it.”

“The one thing I want to know is, what happened?”

“When I tried to control Deku’s body, I felt the past users. At first they were ok, but something clicked for them and they used everything they had to push me out. The problem is that the mind control doesn’t work that way so it was pushing a lot of energy back into me.”

“That was more energy than I have seen you eject before. I’m surprised you held on as long as you did without losing control.”

“I’m not going to lie, I almost did. It was so much but the only thing that kept me in control was trying to not hurt anyone. I guess I willed myself into holding it in.”

“Any idea why they wouldn’t want you in there?”

“I’m guessing it has something to do with you. You are a demon after all and they probably were trying to protect him from your energy.”

“That does make the most sense. They didn’t get much of a chance for you to explain what was going on. The only other thing I wonder about is why so hard to judge. They must have seen you before from inside of the boy.”

“That I still question but I don’t want to worry about it too much. Like I said before, it’s probably because there is a demon inside of me.”

“What about him? I known you felt that man durning the mind control.”

“That’s what really scares me. I don’t know why I would feel him inside of Deku. It probably is just me though, something to do with me being forced out.”

“You’re probably right. Changing the subject. All that cooking you’re doing is making me hungry. Any samples?”

“You like a giant kid.” You say rolling your eyes. “Here. I baked a bunch of  these cream puffs. Some are for dinner and the others were for later but if you want it you can have some.”

“Really?”

“I have to make you feel special too. Go ahead.”

Zaheer takes the cat shaped pastries off of the plate, freshly filled, and eats all of them in a single bite. “You really know how to cook, these are delicious!”

“You should know, you live inside of me.” You laugh and continue on your culinary endeavors to finish the last of the meal. Right as it is about to be dinner you worry a little that Enji won’t make it home in time. You don’t dwell on it though, Enji sometimes is late because of hero work. You’re about to start packing the meal away when the phone rings and you see it’s Enji. “Maybe he’s running late and I can teleport him the food.” You think as you answer.

“Hey big guy, how’s your day going?”

“Good afternoon, (Y/N).”

You freeze. You know that voice from anywhere. Zaheer must have heard it as well because he is standing again. Your mind starts racing between many things: the past, where is he, how did he find you, why does he have Enji’s phone?

“W…what….how…?”

“I’m sorry to scare you, but I just wanted to say hello.”

“Why would I want to say hello to the man who tortured me?”

“If you turn on the TV, maybe you’ll listen.”

You look at Zaheer who turns the TV on. Once the screen lights up, you see half the screen with the smiling man on Enji’s phone while the other half shows Enji himself. He is tied up and hanging from chains, attached to each his limbs. There is blood dripping from the left side of his face but you can’t see it, his head is face down. He is covered in cuts and bruises and not a single flame to be seen.

“ENJI!” Is all you manage to scream.

“Now will you listen?”

“What do you want?!”

“Oh, that’s simple. I want my test subject back.”

“What?”

“In exchange for Endeavor’s life, I want you.”

“But…”

“Oh and don’t worry. You can trust me to let him go if you come. I’ll text you where to meet. Come alone, well as alone as you can be with a demon inside of you.” *click* Now the TV just shows Enji.

“Enji…..no……” You are standing completely still as you look at screen. Enji is breathing, but it’s slow and he isn’t moving.

“We have to save him.”

“I know but how are you going to do that?”

“That man wouldn’t be stupid enough to do this alone. DAMN IT! Why did they have to take Enji. Anyone else but him.” You say as you start to curl down into the fetal position, trying to hold it together.

“(Y/N), look.”

You look back up and see Enji’s hands moving. At first you think something must be causing him pain to move them like that. Then you begin to recognize that the movements are deliberate on their motions, it’s sign language.

“He’s trying to tell me something. Since when could he do that?”

“I taught him in his off time. He thought it would be useful to learn silent communication.”

“Zaheer, what is he saying?”

“He just says, ‘help’.”

“He must really be in trouble, we have to save him, please!” You plead.

“I know, he is still marked so I know right where he is.”

That’s when you get a phone call. “What?” Is all you answer.

“(Y/N), it’s All Might. I’m watching the TV right now.”

“Then you know I’m going to save Enji.”

“No! You can’t yourself. Let other hero’s help. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Yes. He is the man who put Zaheer inside of me and tortured me. This is my battle. He started it over 30 years ago, I’m ending it now.”

Right before you hang up, all you hear is All might say “What?! But that’s A….” Zaheer goes back inside of you, you change into your hero costume and you disappear in a blue flash.

Next Chapter

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

The Dos and Don’ts of Writing Smart Characters

Since I started this blog, one of the most common questions I’ve received has to do with the portrayal of intelligent characters.  This is also one of the most difficult to answer -- excluding questions about characters with specialized knowledge sets, which are fairly easy to answer with source compilations.  Most of the questions have to do with:  how do you portray a smart character believably?  How do you make the audience relate to them?  Can I still make them likable?  How do I avoid the pitfalls of popular media?

Well, I’m finally here to answer, utilizing examples from some of my favorite (and occasionally, not-so-favorite) media.  Let’s jump in to the dos and don’ts of smart characters!

1.  Do let the audience follow the character’s thought process.  

As demonstrated by:  Tommy Shelby from Peaky Blinders

Albert Einstein allegedly once said, “If you can’t explain it to a five-year-old, you don’t truly understand it.”  And the sentiment rings true:  true genius doesn’t need to dazzle with big words and technobabble.  Instead, it makes the complex appear simple.

The same rings true for brilliant characters.  BBC’s Sherlock (more on that later) ceased to satisfy in its later seasons because it began to rely too heavily on visual glitz to avoid actually explaining its mysteries and how they were solved.  Similarly, the biggest complaints with block buster franchises -- Star Wars, The Avengers, Game of Thrones -- is that they became obsessed with “subverting expectations” cleverly instead of leading the audiences to their most logical and satisfying conclusions.

Meanwhile, the smartest and most satisfying media dazzles not by staying over the audience’s head, but by illustrating how simplistic the solutions can be.

Let’s start with my boy Tommy Shelby, the charismatic, swaggering protagonist of the charismatic, swaggering crime drama Peaky Blinders.  Using only his intelligence (and complete disregard for his own life/suicidal tendencies, but that’s not the point here), Tommy claws his way up from the near-bottom of the social ladder (an impoverished Romani in early 20th century Birmingham) to being a decorated war hero, to being the leader of a feared razor gang, to dominating the race track business, to becoming a business mogul, to becoming a member of parliament and trying to assassinate the leader of the fascist party. He’s also one of the paramount reasons why I’m bisexual.

So how can such a drastic social climb be conveyed believably?  Because Tommy -- as the viewpoint character -- is placed in seemingly inescapable situations, and then proceeds to demonstrate that the solutions to those situations have been there the whole time.  I recently watched a brilliant video on how this is done, which can be viewed here.

Early in season one, for example, he responds to aggressive new methods by the police by organizing a mass-burning of paintings of the king, and uses the press this garners to publicly shame the methods of the chief inspector who’s been antagonizing him.  In the next season, he talks his way into a deal by bluffing that he planted a grenade in his rival’s distillery.  My personal favorite is in season four, when he responds to being outgunned by a larger, American gang by contacting their rival -- none other than an Alphonse Capone.

All of Tommy’s victories are satisfying, because they don’t come out of nowhere -- we have access to the same information he does, each victory is carefully foreshadowed, and we are reminded at every turn that failure is a very real possibility (more on that later.)  So when he wins, we’re cheering with him.

Other examples:  Mark Watney from The Martian, who explains science in its most simplistic terms and with infectious enthusiasm.  He would make every character on The Big Bang Theory cry.  

Also, Miss Fisher from the AMAZING Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.  The dazzling, 1920s, female Sherlock Holmes of your dreams.  I cannot recommend it enough.

To apply this to your own writing:  Remember you won’t dazzle anyone if you smack them in the face with a “brilliant” plot twist.  They want to take a journey with your character, not be left in the dust.  

Also, for everyone in my askbox concerned that they’re not smart enough to write intelligent characters, just remember how simple the problems confronting smart characters can be.  Put them in a difficult situation, and provide them with a means of getting out.  Then, just let them find it. 

2.  Don’t assume the audience is too stupid to keep up (or try to make them feel too stupid to keep up.)

As demonstrated by:  Sherlock Holmes from BBC’s Sherlock.

Say what you will:  there were reasons why everyone was so captivated by this show during its first two seasons.  It felt fresh.  People had yet to become frustrated with the inescapable thirst for Benedict Cumberbatch.  The writing was sharp, and the editing clever.  And it wove a tantalizing web of mysteries that demanded solution.  The problem was, there weren’t any.

The most frustrating for many was how Sherlock faked his death at the end of season two, after which devoted fans spent two years creating intricate theories on how he might have pulled this off.  The creators responded by mocking this dedication in the opening episode of season three, by showing a fan club spinning outlandish theories (one of which included Sherlock and Moriarty kissing.)  This might have been laughed off -- at the time, many seemed to consider it quite funny -- if the creators had bothered to offer their own explanation of how Sherlock survived.  They didn’t.  And so began a seemingly endless loop of huge cliffhangers that promised -- and consistently failed to deliver -- satisfying answers.

The most egregious examples occur in season four, which provided answers to questions no one asked, and withheld answers for things everyone wanted to know.  For example, did you know that the real reason Moriarty engaged Sherlock is because he was hypnotized by Sherlock’s secret evil sister?  The same one who killed Sherlock’s best friend, whom Sherlock convinced himself was a dog?  Yes, that was a real plot point, in the climax of the series.  It’s an effort to befuddle the audience with brilliant and unexpected writing, but instead pulled them out of a story they were already invested in and made them far more critical of its pre-existing faults. 

It’s pointed out in the brilliant (if bluntly named) Sherlock Is Garbage, And Here’s Why that Moffat can be a great writer, but is a consistently terrible show runner, because he’s more interested in dazzling the audience with cleverness than actually telling a satisfying story.  The video also points out that the show often implied Sherlock’s brilliance, without ever letting the audience follow along with his actions or thought-process in a way that DEMONSTRATED his brilliance.  

I highly recommend giving the aforementioned video a watch, because it is not only a great explanation of how Sherlock Holmes can be best utilized, but about how writing itself can be best utilized.

Other examples:  The Big Bang Theory.  As Wisecrack points out in their wonderful video on the subject, the punchline of every joke is “oh look, these characters are smart nerds!” which is repetitious at best and downright insulting at worst.

How to avoid this in your writing:  Treat the audience as your equal.  You’re not trying to bedazzle them, you’re trying to take them on a journey with you.  Let them be delighted when you are.  Don’t constantly try to mislead them or hold intelligence over their head, and they will love you for it.  Also, cheap tricks do not yield a satisfying story:  readers will know when you went into a narrative without a plan, and they won’t appreciate it.

3.  Do remember that smart people can be kind and optimistic!

As demonstrated by:  Shuri from Black Panther.

Yes, brilliant people can be unhappy and isolated by their intelligence, or rejected by society.  But remember that intelligence isn’t synonymous with a cantankerous attitude, or an excuse to be a pugnacious ass to those around you!  

Part of the reason why Shuri of 2018′s Black Panther was such a breath of fresh air was the fact that she subverted almost all preconceptions about how a genius looks, acts, and regards the world.  And it’s not just the fact that she isn’t a sullen, middle-aged white man that makes her stand out:  Shuri has an effervescent attitude, and genuinely loves contributing to her country and family.  She referred to sound-proof boots as “sneakers” (and then explained the pun when her brother didn’t get it.)  She’s fashionable.  She teases her older brother, and cries when he is apparently killed.  She’s up on meme culture.  This makes her unlike pretty much every other genius portrayed in the MCU.

Except maybe the Hulk.  He can dab now.

Shuri is also allowed to take pride in her genius, and can be a bit insufferable about it, which makes her more enjoyable and rounded.  But she is an excellent example of how genius can be explored and portrayed in fiction, and I will forever be embittered that she was underutilized in Infinity War and Endgame.

Why, for example, are all geniuses portrayed as arrogant misanthropes?  Albert Einstein battled depression, but he is also said to have enjoyed blowing bubbles and watching puppet shows.  He was kind to those who knew him.  Similarly, Alan Turing behaved little like his fictional counterpart, described as “shy but outgoing,” with a love of being outdoors.  Nikola Tesla fell in love with a pigeon.  Why do we have to portray these people so damn gravely?

Other examples:  Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds.  Also an excellent portrayal of an intelligent person on the autism spectrum, as he struggles to interface socially but cares profusely for his fellow human beings.  He is brilliant, and completely precious.

Also, Sherlock Holmes -- the original version, and all faithful adaptations thereof.  Anyone who thinks Sherlock is an austere, antisocial jerk isn’t familiar with the original canon.  He blushed when Watson complimented his intelligence, for God’s sake. 

Then there’s Elle Woods from Legally Blonde and Marge from Fargo.  Brilliant, upbeat, optimistic geniuses.

To apply this to your own writing:  If you have a smart character who hates everyone around them for no identifiable reason, ask yourself why this is necessary and what this adds to the plot.  Are they angry about injustice, towards themselves or others?  Are they frustrated with an inability to relate to people?  Do they want to protect themselves or their family at all costs, including politeness?  If not, question why your brilliant character can’t also be kind to those around them.

4.  Don’t make your character perfect at everything they do.

As demonstrated by:  Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Ah, Wesley.  Some call him the original Mary Sue, and it’s one of the only times I’ve seen the term applied with some accuracy.  He is somehow the most gifted and least qualified person on The Enterprise.  He’s Hermione Granger without the charm, jumping in to answer questions before any of the trained officers in the room have the chance to, always in the right.  His only obstacle?  Why, the boorish adults he’s surrounded with simply don’t understand his brilliance!

As early as the series’ very second episode, Wesley -- inebriated by an alien illness -- forcibly takes over the ship from Captain Picard, only to later save it from a threat with a reverse tractor beam of his own design.  

Wesley was obviously inserted as a means of attracting younger viewers, but failed egregiously, because he was too annoyingly perfect for kids to relate too, and not cool enough for them to be invested in.  I binge-watched the various Star Trek series in my youth for Spock, Data, and my wife Seven of Nine, not to watch seasoned military and scientific officers get lectured by an adolescent.  Even Wil Wheaton, who had the misfortune of portraying this character, expressed a dislike for him.  

Precocious children are great, if you get them right.  But get them wrong, and they can easily become your most annoying character, marring the face of otherwise great media.  The most important thing you can do for a brilliant character is endow them with weaknesses and flaws -- even something as small as Shuri’s fondness for teasing her older brother made her enjoyable, as anyone with siblings could relate to their dynamic.  

But, what if you want a supernaturally talented character who not only fails to be a ray of sunshine, but is something of an arrogant, antisocial jerk?  Can they still work, especially if they also happen to be a child? 

Yes, under one extremely important condition:

5.  Do keep your characters out of their depth!

As demonstrated by:  Number Five from Umbrella Academy.

Okay, he’s not exactly a child.  He’s a fifty-eight-year-old trapped in a child’s body, who’s traveled back in time from a post-apocalyptic future to warn his siblings of an incoming Armageddon.  In other news, Umbrella Academy is a weird show.  Unlike the comics, however, the apes don’t engage in prostitution. 

 The effect, however, remains the same:  a preternaturally talented child who talks down to everyone around him, including his (apparently) older siblings.  So why does he work while Wesley fails so egregiously?

For one thing, it’s demonstrated early on that Five has the skills to back up his sanctimonious attitude, with the delightfully ultraviolent Istanbul (Not Constantinople) sequence.  It also helps that he lacks Wesley’s squeaky-clean moral code, to the point at which he can get drunk in public or kill without remorse.  

But:  the element most vital to his success as a character is the fact that he’s kept completely, and consistently, out of his depth.  He knows the world will end in eight days, but he doesn’t know how this will transpire or how to stop it.  Ultimately, he fails again to stop the apocalypse, and must travel back in time with his siblings for another chance.  

Most authors have the impulse to demonstrate a character’s brilliance by allowing them to succeed against insurmountable odds, but the Umbrella Academy writers show tremendous wisdom in allowing Five to fail.  This allows the audience to empathize with him, and countermands the effects of his arrogant attitude.

This advice isn’t just true for pint-sized prodigies.  Look back over this list, and take notes of how often the most successful characters are allowed to fail, to have flaws, and to ascend past their comfort zone.  

Other examples:  Virtually every successful example on this list.

Tommy Shelby, a character of limitless ambition, conducts a new, perilous climb outside of his social rank each season, which almost always puts him in positions of mortal danger.  He faces threats both external (rival gangs, evil priests, and rising fascists) and internal (hello PTSD, suicidal tendencies, and crippling addiction) but either way, we understand that his fast-paced climb is not for the weak-willed or faint-hearted.  

Mark Watney is a brilliant scientist who has been stranded in an utterly impossible situation for which absolutely no one could be adequately prepared (spoilers:  it’s on Mars.)  We are drawn in by his plight, and how he could possibly escape from it, and there we come to admire him for his courage, optimism, and humor.

Shuri, though not the main character of Black Panther, is allowed to show off both tremendous gifts and vulnerability, as she is powerless to stop the apparent death of her beloved older brother.  She watches Wakanda’s takeover both as an innovator and a young woman, and a large reason for her success is that she is allowed to be both.  

How to apply this to your writing:  When portraying intelligent characters, take stock of how often they fail, their level of control over their surroundings, their vulnerability, and their flaws.  We don’t want to read about flawless deities.  We want to read about characters who embody and personify our humanity.  So remember they need to fall down in order to pull themselves up.

Happy writing, everybody! 

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Scattergraph

to @hodgehegposts​

Full credit to the artist mentioned above! Secret Santa does not own this work.

Under the cut for length

Grandma’s Cook Book

Scott

The secret to the perfect Schott-Chocolate (yes, that’s what he calls it and NO, his brothers can never find out) is precision.  His recipe is high quality, highly efficient and perfectly presented.  Scott in a glass, or so he likes to think (no, his brothers can never know that either).  It’s a once-a-year Christmas treat, so quality is key.  Scott is a man who knows what he likes and if that means flying hundreds of miles to purchase the perfect percentage cocoa, pre-warming his custom-made silver-handled antique tall glass and ensuring the chocolate sits exactly 1.25 inches below the rim, then so be it.  The problem comes in the fact that Scott is Scott:  Constantly on the go, always in demand and subject to the ‘good intentions’ of four younger brothers.  That’s why when Scott finally does get around to actually drinking the hot-chocolate he made sometime earlier that day/night, he’s likely to find it wrapped-up in a mug-cosy (Virgil), stuffed with a marshmallow so big and spongy it has sucked up half the liquid and expanded to block the entire top of the glass (Alan), and littered with an array of star-shaped sprinkles (John).  However, it’s the addition of the whipped-cream ‘nose cone’ with the bright red cherry on top (Gordon) that both annoys and impresses him the most; mainly down to the fact that Gordon understands Scott’s need for military precision in his drinks and has actually taken the time to ensure the stem of the cherry is perfectly straight and stood to attention, likely with the help of the hair-straighteners Virgil swears he doesn’t own.  Oh well, even if Scott can no longer bring himself to drink his own hot chocolate, he’s sure Alan will enjoy it.

Virgil

For Virgil, hot chocolate is all about warmth and comfort – a good old-fashioned hug in a mug.  He even has his own spice mix; a secret recipe he has lovingly tweaked and honed to his exact liking over the years and which he keeps locked up safe and secure in his own equally secret supply cabinet deep inside Thunderbird Two.  His brothers must never know.  (They all know.)  As for the mug, Virgil doesn’t really care as long as it’s big and sturdy enough that he can wrap his hands around it and that it can’t be knocked over if balanced on top of a piano or too close to a wayward brother.  The most important factor in the outer layer is the custom-made mug-cosy.  Originally introduced to him by his Grandmother, Virgil’s hot chocolate hasn’t been seen without one ever since.  Especially after Gordon introduced the Christmas jumper rule, meaning that his much-loved plaid shirt is no longer welcome during the Christmas period and if he can’t wear it on his person, then he’s at least going to wear it on his mug, thank you very much.  He’s recently made a mug-cosy for Scott, not able to watch his big brother waste yet another hot drink to the perils of his constantly-busy lifestyle.  He doesn’t think he could make one that would work for Gordon or John – they like to do their own thing.  As for Alan, well, Virgil gets the impression that his well-worn plaid one is good enough for them both.  His littlest brother always has time for a drink and a hug.

John

John learned his recipe from his Dad, back when he was young and Jeff had returned from one of his many missions in space.  Jeff had been sure to implore unto John the importance of taking the time to really enjoy the cooking process and savour the results.  He always used a large pan and the stove, never instant mix.  Months in space had Jeff craving the real stuff and John got the impression his Dad knew he would be in the same boat one day.  As for the ingredients – nothing flashy, just cocoa and milk.  Time was the most important factor.  Cooking hot chocolate on the stove took a lot longer than many of the other methods available, but some of the best talks John and Jeff had ever had were held while sitting at their kitchen table waiting patiently for a pan of hot chocolate to warm.  Yes, plenty of time was essential.  That and a solid mug.  John had lost count of the number of mugs he had watched his father drop over the years from simply just letting them go; forgetting he was no longer in the forgiving embrace of zero-g.  Thankfully John doesn’t suffer that same problem, owing mainly to the gravity ring on TB5 (thank you, Brains), and so he can allow himself a more interesting receptacle.  In fact, John’s mug likely contains more tech than all of the Thunderbirds put together and for no other reason than he is John, and so it can.  As for the stovetop cooking and the big pan, John sticks to that part of the recipe too.  After all, he has a younger brother who is equally as enthusiastic about space and just like his Dad, Alan is always up for a drink and a chat.

Gordon

Gordon is a culinary master, a wizard of the kitchen, the King of all things gastronomical…he could go on (and he does).  Not content with the traditional recipe, Gordon prefers to create.  His hot chocolate isn’t a simple drink; it’s an experience.  Mainly in the fact that it isn’t a drink at all.  Where some would use a mug, or even a glass, Gordon prefers the bowl:  large, strong, microwavable.  His chocolate isn’t cocoa powder, but actual chocolate – blocks, bars, pretty much whatever he can find, he’s not fussy.  As for the remainder of the contents, well that’s the exciting part.  As far as Gordon’s concerned, if it’s in the fridge, it’s fair game.  He’d prefer if it were something sweet or vaguely dessert-y, but hey, last-night’s leftovers and a good array of sandwiches work just as well.  If it’s too chunky, he’ll just add milk, no big deal.  Preparation, you ask?  That’s the best part.  Gordon’s hot chocolate is a rescuers best friend.  Quick and easy:  just scoop it all up, chuck it in the bowl, give it a stir and microwave until the chocolate melts (or something starts burning).  Then just add two Gordon Cooper Tracy patented Stroons (one for you, one for whoever you are sharing with) and drink / shovel to your heart’s content.  What Gordon doesn’t understand is why his older brothers never seem to want to try it.  At least Alan is more adventurous, he’s always happy to share.

Note:

Stroon:  The perfect straw/spoon combination.  Designed by Gordon and currently available only in custom TB4 yellow/red stripe.  Product constructed by Brains using only the best materials and top-of-the-range IR manufacturing.  No expense spared.  (Don’t tell Scott).

Alan

Alan has a secret:  He doesn’t actually like hot chocolate.  He’s never had to make one for himself, so maybe if he did, he might find a recipe that works for him.  But for now, as far as he’s concerned, it’s way too sweet and sickly and he just doesn’t understand it as a drink.  Chocolate should be eaten in bars and snacks and if something isn’t broke, don’t try to fix it.  So why does he drink it?  Because ever since Mom died and even more so since Dad went missing, his older brothers are so determined that he have a normal family Christmas that whenever that time of year rolls around, hot chocolates just seem to appear in front of him.  Whether it’s outside by the pool on a Sunny afternoon, down in the kitchen after a hard rescue, or just waking up to the smell of a mug that has mysteriously appeared in his room in the middle of the night.  Sometimes more than one mug.  Or bowl.  Once it was all four.  He’s never asked for it and will probably never get used to the taste of it but at the same time he’ll never tell his brothers that and will also never turn it down.  It isn’t about the drink for Alan, it’s about what that drink represents:  His family.  

No, Alan doesn’t like hot chocolate; he loves it.

[weathergirl8]

No Secrets

HI! Just me returning from MIA land and the land of adulthood.

I normally only post my work on FF.net and AO3 (you'll know me as shadowfox8 on there) but decided to post this fluff piece here for a change as well. I hope you enjoy!

Summary:  Alan decides to keep an injury a secret, shrugging it off as minor. Little does he know, his older brother knows him better than he thinks.

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

Alan shut the door to his bedroom behind him and gingerly made his way to his ensuite, intent on jumping into the hot shower. His tired body ached, and his ribs and shoulder weren't doing him any favors.

Quickly discarding his uniform, the twenty-one year old allowed the warm water to hit his body. The rescue itself hadn't been a hard one, just mentally taxing as his patience had been tested one too many times. Especially when the civilians thought they knew better than their would-be rescuers. That point had nearly cost him his life and the life of two distillery works.

Rubbing his right side cautiously, Alan grimaced at the memory. International Rescue had been called to assist with a massive explosion at a distillery factory. A fire that had been a casualty of an earthquake that had rocked the area. While his brothers were busy clearing the main structure, Alan had been tasked with emptying the adjacent buildings where the fire had just begun to spread. Unfortunately for the youngest Tracy, two of the workers deemed him too young to call the shots. Amid their argument, an explosion from the main building exploded into their area. Alan did his best to land gracefully, but as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, he knew his body had absorbed quite a bit of that hit.

Drying himself off, Alan pulled on a new pair of shorts and walked into his bedroom. Reaching for a shirt from the bottom drawer of his dresser, he paused and tried to stifle his cry of pain as the action instantly aggravated his right side. Alan gripped his side and took in a steadying breath. So, maybe this wasn't just nothing. Turning toward his mirror, Alan took in the damage. Multiple darkening bruises riddled his right arm and torso. A sizeable purple bump spotted his upper right arm, but a wave of dark purplish-blue seemed to be growing along his right ribcage and chest. Sighing, Alan turned to attempt another grab at a shirt but jumped as he was met with the concerned form of his older brother.

"Jesu-Virgil!" Alan exclaimed in surprise, gripping his side in pain at the jolt. He quickly tried to stand straighter and dropped his hand. "How long have you been standing there?"

Virgil raised an amused eyebrow, but instantly took ahold of his baby brother's frame. "Long enough," the brunette frowned, eyeing the bruises on Alan's body. "Were you planning on telling me?"

Alan groaned, allowing a sheepish grin to appear on his face. "Maybe…"

"Sit," Virgil demanded as he guided Alan onto his bed. Taking his brother's right arm in his hands, he moved the limb as he checked for any issues. Virgil's frown only deepened as he noticed what appeared to be a welt forming. "Does this hurt?”

"Not really," Alan replied. "It feels sore more than anything. Just bruises, Virg."

The medic nodded, kneeling so he could inspect the rapidly darkening large bruises around Alan's ribcage. "Jeez, kid. What the heck happened to you in there?"

"Secondary explosion caught us off guard as I was trying to evacuate two uncooperative workers. Slammed into a metal canister and two wood pallets," Alan explained honestly, knowing there was no use lying. Once Virgil was in doctor-mode, there was no way out.

"You should've said something, Alan," Virgil admonished, as he gently ran his thumb over Alan's swollen ribcage. "Does this hurt?"

Alan winced, giving his answer away immediately. "Sorry, I hadn't intended to keep it from you. I honestly didn't think anything of it. Just thought I was sore from the shock of the fall."

"I want to get an x-ray of your chest to be sure you didn't crack a rib or injured anything else in the fall," Virgil instructed. "You know any fall or cut is a must-tell in my book, Allie. No secrets, remember?"

Alan ducked his head once more. "I know…"

"It's okay," Virgil said, ruffling Alan's blonde hair. Picking up the shirt his brother had attempted to grab moments before, he threw it at him. "C'mon, let's get you checked out."

"Okay," Alan begrudgingly agreed and gingerly pulled himself up from the bed, carrying the shirt. He knew he couldn't put it on just yet, but he hoped to cover his side up if they crossed any of his other siblings in the hallway. The last thing he needed was the entire house smothering him over bruises. Thankfully, the walk to the infirmary wasn't far from his bedroom.

"Alright, Sprout," Virgil said. "Let's get this over with," the brunette smiled, standing next to the body scanner.

"You don't have to be so happy about it," Alan grumbled, grunting as the movement aggravated his side.

"Should've told me sooner, and maybe you wouldn't be in so much pain," Virgil smirked, taping the machine to life in satisfaction, choosing to ignore the mild curse that escaped his baby brother's mouth.

"As I said, I didn't know it was this bad. Adrenaline must've hidden most of it. I seriously thought I was just sore!" Alan argued, glaring at his older brother.

The machine beeped before Virgil could respond to his moody baby brother. "Scan is finished. Let's get you over to one of the beds where you'll be more comfortable."

Alan pushed himself up from the table and grimaced as he had moved too fast. "Easy, Alan," Virgil urged and came to stand on the other side of him to help him. Alan waved him off and hopped down from the table but nearly dropped as another wave of pain wrapped around his torso, Virgil caught his baby brother before he could fall.

"Damn it, Alan. You're going to hurt yourself while trying to preserve your pride. Just let me help you," Virgil reprimanded, gripping his baby brother around his uninjured side. Guiding his stubborn sibling onto a nearby infirmary bed, he helped Alan position himself upon it, elevating the head so he would be more comfortable. "Just take slow breathes, kiddo," he said, rubbing his baby brother's arm tenderly as Alan had trouble taking in deep breaths. Before the medic could contemplate placing him on an oxygen mask for good measure, Alan's breathing began to level out.

Virgil walked over and grabbed an ice pack. "Here, this will help until I take a look at your scans and can give you something."

Alan gladly took the appreciated object and placed it along his abused torso. Closing his eyes as the change in temperature took him off guard for a second. Feeling a hand run through his hair, he opened his eyes to meet the worried gaze of his brother.

"You okay?" Virgil asked, watching his sibling intently.

"Yea, just peachy," Alan groaned.

Virgil looked down at Alan with sympathy. "You could be right. Adrenaline could've masked most of your pain. We were pretty busy on site of the rescue after the explosions, and you slept most of the flight home."

"Yea, maybe," Alan sighed, wincing once more.

"I'll take a look at those scans, be right back."

Alan nodded. "Gotta make sure I'm not dying, right?"

"Not funny, Alan," Virgil moaned.

Alan rubbed his side as he removed the cold pack and relaxed more of his body into the infirmary bed. "Sorry for biting your head off," the blonde apologized as the chestnut-haired Tracy walked back toward him with his datapad.

"Don't sweat it, Sprout. I'll stop giving you such a hard time. I just worry about you is all," Virgil said, resting his hand upon Alan's, squeezing it. "Just do me a favor and report any injury that happens on a rescue. No matter how small. I don't care if you have to ask me for a bandaid for a little scrape. I'd rather give you an ice pack for a bump than have to perform an emergency procedure because you developed a pneumothorax from an injury you decided wasn't a big deal."

"It's not that serious, though, right?" Alan asked, eyes wide at the mention of the pneumothorax. His brother had taught him enough about medicine that he knew that was never a good thing.

Virgil pulled up a stool, sitting beside Alan's bed as he flipped through the images on his datapad. "It could've been, Allie. Thankfully there's no internal bleeding, but you've bruised your right ribcage and cracked two of them on the bottom. When you almost fell a few minutes ago, you could've dislodged them. I don't want to scare you, but that's why this stuff is so important, kiddo. I don't just say it because I like to hear myself talk."

"At least not all the time," Alan smirked.

"Brat," Virgil said, shoving his baby brother's leg.

"So, when do I get to be on the good stuff, and can I put my shirt on finally?" Alan asked, managing a slight pout that reminded Virgil him of when he was five.

"Yes, you can and give me a minute," Virgil said, standing up and grabbing what he needed from the drug cabinet.

Alan placed one arm through his shirt and slowly pulled his shirt over his head before pushing the other arm through. Previous injuries from years past serving him well in how to handle rib injuries.

"Alright, take these," Virgil said, handing two tablets and a bottle of water to his baby brother. Alan gladly took the pills. "How's the arm feel?"

"Fine, honestly doesn't bug me all that much in comparison to everything else," Alan admitted, glancing down at his right arm. "Can I go back to my room now?"

"Depends, and you better be honest with me," Virgil said, giving his brother a knowing look. "Have any more trouble breathing?"

"No, as long as I don't breathe in too deeply and move too fast. I'm good."

"Alright," Virgil gave in. "You can go back to your room or lounge around the house, but no trips to the beach, especially on your own. Those pain meds should make you pretty sleepy, so your bed is the best place for you right now. I'll give you a couple of ice packs to take with you to help keep the swelling down."

"Can I bring a few pillows from here?" Alan inquired as he looked around the room. "I don't think I have enough in my room to help keep me propped up. Laying down isn't exactly comfortable right now."

"I'm afraid that'll be an issue for a while, kid. I'm sure I can find some somewhere. I need you to promise me something before we leave."

"What?" Alan asked suspiciously.

"That you be extra careful around the house. You, my dear brother, are accident-prone," Virgil smirked, earning a disgruntled mumble from Alan. "Second, if you start having problems breathing or start feeling more pain than before, you are to contact me, understood?"

"I understand," Alan nodded, meeting his older brother's hazel eyes.

"No secrets," Virgil emphasized, holding out his pinkie like when they were kids.

"No secrets," Alan smiled, wrapping his pinkie around his brother's.

"Oh, and Al, you know I have to tell Dad and Scott about this, right?"

Alan groaned. "Do you have to?"

"I won't tell them how I found out. However, you're officially off duty for a while, so they were bound to find out," Virgil reasoned.

"As you said, no secrets," the younger blonde sighed, accepting his fate.

"Now, you're learning!" Virgil chuckled and helped him climb out of bed.

"Just do me a favor and wait until I've fallen asleep," Alan pleaded. "Less likely to be smothered by the two of them at once."

"Deal," Virgil smirked, giving his baby brother a side hug.

[eirabach]

Backlash [5/5]

The last bit of Gordon + Used as Bait for @godsliltippy and @badthingshappenbingo and on ao3 here. I absolutely need to make these things more concise.

It's not -- it's not great. Not even a little bit. Not at all. But Gordon's -- Gordon's faced worse, hasn't he? He can still swim, blinded. Still move. Still walk and talk and feel and touch and kiss -- it's been worse.

Kinda.

"Alan?"

There's a noise, a echoey, scuffley, heavy sort of noise, like someone dragging anchor chains out of dry dock, and Gordon hasn't spent enough time on Three to know what it is, other than it's gotta be Alan. There's no one else here after all.

"Yeah?"

Alan sounds wrong too, all nasal and wet, and Gordon's blown his eardrum right out but he still recognises the misery behind the word. Still knows it's his job to fix it - even if it's his fault it’s there in the first place. Sorta. Maybe.

He’s pretty sure that Alan’s not all that pleased at having him cluttering up his ‘bird, half deaf and blinded and with a head that feels fit to burst. He’s just kinda hazy on how he got that way, if he’s honest. It's probably his own fault though. It usually is.

But there’s another nasty, throbbing ache that he does happen to know he didn’t come by honestly.

"I'm still mad about the elbow."

The clattering pauses, and Gordon strains his one goodish ear until he hears the little huff of breath that means his little brother’s turned his attention toward him, until he’s sure Alan’s words are stained more with irritation than sadness.

"Don't you have more important things to worry about?"

Yes. No. Deflect. Wind him up because Gordon’s good at that. Wind him up and maybe -- just maybe -- it won’t hurt so much to shake his head. "Spoken like a true child."

Alan scoffs. "Just because you spend all your free time mooning over Lady Penelope doesn't mean the rest of us are as hopeless as you."

Gordon fakes a cry of outrage, but the gasp that follows is real. Three’s moving, swaying beneath him, and when Alan speaks he sounds further away, deeper and more muffled and Gordon pitches his own voice higher, louder, an attempt to compensate for something he can’t quite name. The clattering and banging starts up again and God, but his head hurts.

"I am sure you can't possibly be referring to yourself there Alan Bartlett Underage Tracy?"

"Well I'm sure as hell not talking about John."

"You don't know that. He's a dark horse, out in space all alone -- could be up to anything."

'Have you met John?"

"He wears a super tight spacesuit."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say but please, don't ."

"They say it's always the quiet ones."

"That's only because they haven't met you ."

"Poor souls."

There’s a final sort of slam sound, and Three launches herself forward with a shuddering, violent jolt. Unsecured and unsteady Gordon founders, his hands scrabbling for a grip on something anything as Alan yelps from -- from somewhere.

Oh God. Oh God, he can’t see . He can’t see and Alan -- Alan .

If anything happens to Alan, he’s fucked.

If anything happens to Alan, he won’t even know.

“Gords? Oh crap Gordy I’m sorry, that was a bit -- I was swapping over Four’s power cells -- get us some extra -- extra kick. Too much kick, maybe. I’m sorry. I should have warned you -- I should --” Gordon feels the neoprene of his gloves being tugged and pulled and then, then there are two warm hands wrapped around his own. Bigger than the last time he’d held them, rougher, but still, unmistakably --

“Allie,” the childhood nickname’s half choked out, two syllables almost two too many for his pounding head, his frantic heart. “This is shit .”

---

“This is shit.”

“There aren’t tow trucks out there, Scott.” Virgil, of course, remains infuriatingly soothing even now. It's the habit of a lifetime and Scott wonders, sometimes, if it would be acceptable to smack him. “There’s no-one coming to help. When you’re in trouble that far out, we’re it ."

“So that’s it then? We just sit and watch?”

The little red triangle that represents a solid 33% of Scott’s entire heart moves, achingly slowly, across the arc of space that now hangs in their living room. Above it John hovers, not down, not like he would be in any other family emergency, but still far above them all in Five. Still way, way too close, but Five can’t get there. Can't come to the rescue of the would-be rescuers. No one can.

“Believe me, Scott. I’ve run the figures, if there was any way --”

“Don’t give me the platitudes, John! I’m not some -- some weeping widow you can fob off. This is Gordon and Alan, and we can’t just leave them out there!”

Virgil and John exchange a look, and Virgil sighs. The likelihood of that smack is increasing by the second.

“Grandma’s certain the blindness is only temporary, and they’re making good progress Scott. They’ll be home within a fortnight, and then you’ll be wishing they hadn’t got back so quick."

Scott spins on the spot, fear making his finger shake as he jams it into his brother’s chest. “What the hell are you trying to say, Virgil?”

“I’m not trying to say --”

“No, spit it out. You think this is no big deal, do you?”

Virgil holds up his hands, eyes wide. “I never --”

“Because this is my call. I sent them out there, and if -- if anything else happens --”

“Scott. They’ll be okay. They will.”

Scott shakes his head, frantic. “And if they’re not? If Grandma’s wrong?”

“Don’t let her hear you say that."

“Virgil!” Scott crumples, collapsing onto the sofa with his head in his hands. “What if ."

---

Virgil doesn’t have an answer for Scott, but John does.

He’s run every conceivable outcome through every parameter he can think of, staying up on Five as a small, useless concession to the distance between older and younger, safe and wounded. It means he knows, now, what if.

He’s figured it all out; what if Alan runs out of fuel, what if Gordon’s concussion takes a turn for the worse, what if Three sustained damage or a freak meteorite hits her engine core. He’s considered them all in every teeny, tiny, detail. Knows the likelihood down to a millionth of a percentage point and it ought to help, hadn’t it? Knowing how utterly unlikely such things are.

It doesn’t.

Not when he knows what would come next. The self loathing, the recriminations, the horrible, baffling concept of Gordon, blinded. Hurt. Worse. Gordon, who has always seemed the most determined to live life to the fullest of all of them, and for whom life has always been almost brutally, unfairly cruel.

He’d adapt, of course, if Grandma’s wrong. He’s that way inclined.

The numbers suggest that the rest of them would not.

Perhaps he’s being unfair on Virgil, really. Perhaps Virgil knows as well as John does the way the guilt would eat at them from the inside out. Does. Is. The way it burns in the fingertips that pressed the button, chokes the throats of those who said “Go.” Perhaps that’s why he’s letting Scott snap and snarl at him, John wouldn’t know. He’s always left that sort of thing to Virgil after all, but it seems like the sort of thing that Virgil would do.

Distract.

Reassure.

Offer hope.

John’s decent enough at the first two -- it’s sort of his job after all -- but hope, hope rarely comes from the numbers and the numbers are where John puts his faith, sticks his certainty.

The numbers, he tells himself, don’t lie. Lying benefits no one. It’s just a sticking plaster, a minute or two of relief borrowed from the pain yet to come. He’s never really understood the point of it before.

But then he opens his comm, opens the line, opens his mouth, and John -- John understands, now.

Sightless eyes turn upward, a guess that doesn’t quite work, followed by a smile that’s far too broad turned bloodless and grey in the holographic light.

“Gordy. It’s John. You’re going to be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He has twelve days til the backlash.

[ak47stylegirl]

What Gordon thinks of his brothers.

Okay, here’s Gordon’s little diary entry XD Gordon had a lot to say... Alan’s can be found here 

----

Scott:

What do I think of Scott? Well for one he needs to chill out more. Like honesty, that guy needs to learn to let loose and chill. He’s so uptight all the time, I wish I could just make him laugh and forget all the weight the world puts on his shoulders.

Because the world seems to think they can put all it’s problems on my big brother’s shoulders and Scott doesn’t even complain! No! he just takes it! Takes it so they didn’t have to...

And he hates that…His big brother shouldn’t be carrying all that weight alone, things should have been different. Dad should have been here, carrying some of that weight…

Scott shouldn’t be the one with all the weight on his shoulders. Scott should share that weight with them! They could take it! They weren’t little kids! (Well, maybe not Alan…) 

He just hates seeing what all the stress has done to his big brother, the guy was going grey for Pete’s sake! And he was only in his early twenties! 

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that Scott is a really good brother, he really is...

He’s the one that will share a glass of his whiskey or gin with you after a hard mission. The one that will stay up until everybody’s home and safe, the one that will smother hen over the smallest injuries and lecture you about the importance of looking after yourself, even though he doesn’t follow his own advice most of the time….

Scott is the brother that you know will always be there when you need him, that will put your well-being before his own. Scott’s the brother that bloody cares too damn much! Scott cares so much about them, cares so much about other peoples well-being, that he never thinks to take care of himself or give himself the same kindness and love he shows to them…

Because at the end of the day, the person that is the hardest on Scott, was Scott himself and that’s a shame, it really is… 

Maybe there isn’t anything I can do to take that weight off Scott’s shoulders permanently but at least I can try to make him laugh and lighten that weight a bit...

----

John:

Johnny? What do I think of Johnny? Well firstly he’s weird..and only I can say that! Brotherly privileges! No one else is allowed to call John weird! Or they’re getting punched!....okay maybe he wouldn’t punch them but boy oh boy, he would have some words for them…

Anyway, enough of that, on to the real answer. I think John is pretty awesome (but don’t tell him I said that..) he can hack and he’s so good with computers, it’s a bit scary..

Actually, talking about computers... John somehow made himself an AI daughter?! Like...seriously? You couldn’t have done it normally? Though that would not be very John like, so….

Okay, I better end this..here’s my answer. John’s an awesome brother, who you probably shouldn’t get on the bad side of...thought that never stopped me ;)

----

Virgil:

Virg! The man! The big grizzly bear! Oh boy, what do I think of Virgil? Well firstly, I think he should lighten up! He is almost as bad as Scott! There’s a reason those two are called the smother hens…

Though I may joke that Virgil needs to lighten up or not be as much of a smother hen but in truth I wouldn’t have him any other way. I love how Virgil can see the big picture, how he keeps a calm head, how he sees the beauty in the smallest things…

Virgil inspires me to be better each day, to try to see the world how he sees it. To see a world full of colour, even in the darkest place… Virgil doesn’t know this but he has been a beacon for me many times over the years when I could only see darkness...

Let’s just say green is my second favourite colour (after yellow of course!) 

----

Alan:

What do I think of Alan? Well, that’s easy, he’s my best mate! My best friend and partner in crime/mischief. Sure he can be an annoying brat at times but what little brother isn’t? 

Alan is my only younger brother and I don’t want that to change, it’s a big responsibility to have just one little brother. Because you only get one chance, I know that sounds morbid but it’s true. 

I can’t even imagine how Scott deals with four little brothers when one little brother is plenty enough responsibility for him. Alan looked to him for guidance, maybe not as much as the other three but he was still Alan’s big brother, so of course the kid looked to him for advice.

But honestly, sometimes he was just as clueless as Alan but he’ll never let Alan know that. Because being a big brother meant letting your little brothers see that you have things under control, that everything was going to be fine. 

It didn’t matter if it was true or not, if you could avoid scaring your little brother, you did all you could to do so. Admittedly, he didn’t think he was very good at it, mostly because Alan knew him and knew when he was lying. 

He didn’t have the luxury of hero worship tinting Alan’s view like Scott (and John and Virgil to an extent) did. He never really was the typical older brother or maybe he was and the others were mentor/parent figures to Alan, who knows? 

The thing is, at the end of the day, he will always have Alan’s back because he was his best friend, his brother and fellow Tracy in crime/pranks. 

----

All of them: 

Let's just say it would be really boring around the place if I didn’t have those brothers to prank...and to make laugh. Because they're the reason I’m able to grin wide, even on the days when that grin is just a mask. 

I’m very thankful to be the fourth youngest in a family of brothers like mine but don’t tell them I said that! Now, I got some brothers to prank ;)

[tblpress]

The day before James Spader won an Emmy for his portrayal of Alan Shore, the morally dubious lawyer on “The Practice,” the actor was at the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden at UCLA, admiring the statues -- especially the female forms. “Look at the beautiful curve of her back, right at the base of her spine,” he said, noticing a dancer at the top of Robert Graham’s “Dance Columns.” “It’s the most perfect curve in nature.” Then Spader felt a breeze and started ambling in the other direction. “I just want to walk into it,” he explained. “Oh, my God, that is nice.”

The sculpture garden, a favorite hideaway of Spader’s, brought out in him a charming mix of formality and earthiness. When Gaston Lachaise’s bronze powerhouse “Standing Woman” caught his eye, the memories rushed out. “My sons, when they were growing up, always enjoyed her rather ample” -- here he used a word not proper for this newspaper but that means “derriere” -- “and her rather ample breasts,” he said. The boys, Sebastian, now 15, and Ellijah, 12, would come here with their scooters. “So you come around,” Spader explained, “and lo and behold, you have that beautiful” -- that word again -- “over there. You can hardly resist scootering by and giving her a poke. She has nice calves too. She’s ample everywhere. She’s spectacular.”

James Spader, network TV star: To anyone familiar with the 44-year-old actor and his work, it sounds almost absurd. With the outre air of highbrow naughtiness and deep but slightly distracted intelligence he’s been known for since his 1989 big-screen breakthrough in “sex, lies, and videotape,” Spader could hardly have cooked up a more improbable career move. And yet starting tonight on “Boston Legal,” the new David E. Kelley show spun off from “The Practice,” TV viewers will get a weekly taste of the actor who has specialized in finding an endearing human side to wealthy school bullies, creepy cocaine dealers and sensuous sadomasochists.

Spader headed toward a section of the UCLA campus blanketed by California sycamores that he and his sons, he said, often climb and swing from. “See that?” he asked, pushing a branch down. “This is a perfect perching spot. I’d do it more aggressively, but there’s people around and it makes them nervous.”

Making people nervous is, of course, a Spader trademark.

“When we first went to the network about James, they shrieked in horror,” Kelley said. “James Spader is not a network face. They didn’t think he was the kind of persona American audiences would want to welcome into the living room on a weekly basis. But once we began to focus on him, he was the only choice. What James does so well is there’s a nucleus to this character that is humane and decent. He manages to let that nucleus shine through even when he’s committing egregious, contemptible acts. You don’t know if you like him or not, but you can’t wait to see him next.”

Kelley hired Spader to play the brilliant agitator whose dirty ways forced the firm of Young, Frutt and Berluti on “The Practice” to close its doors last year, after ABC slashed the show’s budget, forcing Kelley to fire half his cast. Spader, whose most recent television appearance had been a guest spot on “Seinfeld” in 1997, was supposed to play Alan Shore only long enough to shake things up.

“The goal in the beginning was to bring new life to the show, and the luxury we had as storytellers was that we didn’t have to protect the character for the sake of a long series run,” Kelley said. “You can only do so many things with a character that are overtly unlikable and still keep him redeeming and a character that people want to tune into and cheer for. Since we didn’t have that burden, we could swing away with him.”

The high-end firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt might prove a better fit for Shore, who will be surrounded by other conniving legal eagles, including William Shatner as his boss, Denny Crane, and colleagues played by a cast including Rhona Mitra, Lake Bell, Monica Potter and Mark Valley. Alan Shore, Kelley promised, will “defy this law firm as he defies the conventions of regular characters on television.”

“When we watch James, there’s a lot of unknown complicated stuff in his mind, but we don’t know what that stuff is,” said Steve Shainberg, who directed Spader in “Secretary” (2002). “There’s something very unusual about him we can’t put our finger on, but that makes it more intriguing and exciting -- God help us.”

Yet for all the unpredictability that comes across on screen, Spader’s “Boston Legal” co-stars described him as meticulous, exact and particular on set.

“He’s always looking for the truth of the moment, and he gets fidgety when it’s not there,” said Shatner, who won a guest actor Emmy for his portrayal of Crane on “The Practice.” “He becomes as recalcitrant as a donkey until he can find the right way to deliver a line. He never says a word that doesn’t seem to come from the organic character. That’s because James himself is a little weird. But we love him for it.”

The Un-Brat Pack career

Two days after Spader nabbed the top acting award for a drama series, beating out television heavy hitters James Gandolfini, Martin Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Anthony LaPaglia, he was on the “Boston Legal” set at Raleigh Studios in Manhattan Beach. Three episodes of the show were being shot simultaneously, and he had found no time yet to contemplate his win. The Emmy, he said, was tucked away in a corner full of boxes as Spader, who recently separated from his wife, Victoria, waited to move into a new house.

“I was surprised at how quickly I lost the feeling of stunned confusion and ignorant bliss and how quickly it turned into work and pragmatism,” Spader said. “The award doesn’t mean anything to me -- and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just haven’t had time to go there yet. Even when my older son called to congratulate me, we moved rather swiftly on to the subject of an upcoming concert” -- the Pixies at the Greek Theatre -- “and the best way to score tickets, which is a much more constructive conversation for us.”

Like other actors who started taking shape in the ‘80s, Spader could easily have cultivated a Brat Pack aura. Instead, he went for a more original brand of alienation, playing seemingly WASPY characters with a devious air and an anti-WASPY erotic charge to them. The roles he took in movies such as “White Palace” (1990), “The Music of Chance” (1993), “Stargate” (1994) and “Crash” (1996) didn’t always hit big but always set him apart -- none more so than “Secretary,” in which Spader played E. Edward Grey, a lawyer who draws his self-mutilating young secretary into a joyful S&M; relationship.

“James is very formal and specific and respectful,” said Maggie Gyllenhaal, his costar. “I remember when we shot a five-page scene in which Mr. Grey asks me not to cut myself anymore, James noticed and responded to everything I did: every breath I took, every shift of my gaze, every movement of my hand. His work is very specific.”

And that, according to Camryn Manheim, who starred on “The Practice” for eight years, can be intimidating. “After you saw ‘Secretary,’ wouldn’t you be scared to go on a date with him?” Manheim said, laughing.

“I was scared of him,” she added. “He’s weird and strange and eccentric, and I mean a lot of that in the very best way. He plays all of these sexually charged characters. He looks at you too hard, like he’s got your number. But behind all of that, he’s a very simple man who is very thoughtful and insightful about the world and humanity.”

Confronted with the praise of his colleagues, Spader took a deep breath and looked skeptical. “Maybe this thing they are describing is just obsessive-compulsive. It just seems to be what the job is, to just try and get the right intention of whatever ... you’re saying. Who is to say if whether what you end up tumbling toward is the right place when you’re standing on your feet in the middle of it? I’ve had a lot of fun acting, and that’s been the only reason to continue doing it.”

Spader, who dropped out of the 11th grade to pursue acting in New York, attributes his interest in acting to the love of storytelling he inherited from his family. The son of teachers Todd and Jean Spader, the actor grew up with two sisters on the campus of Phillips Academy, a fancy Massachusetts prep school. “My father was an English teacher and he taught literature and poetry, and my parents would read aloud and my grandparents read aloud,” Spader said. “My grandfather would write stories and we would make up little plays to read and perform during the holidays. There was always a tremendous amount of humor in all the households I spent time in.”

But there were other reasons for wanting to become an actor. “I started doing theater when I started thinking of nothing but girls,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the two don’t relate. I don’t mean to be glib. In sports and in many other areas, girls and boys are separated. But in theater, you’re all mixed in together. How can it get any better than that?”

Being an actor, for Spader, has never been about celebrity. The press tent for interviews with winners at the Emmys came as a surprise and an “indignity,” he said jokingly. When someone at the Governors Ball on Emmy night remarked how rare it is that Spader has succeeded at being famous and simultaneously living a private life, the actor was incredulous.

“I don’t try to be mysterious,” Spader explained later. “I just protect my private life very carefully. I don’t go out a great deal. To see and be seen I could care less about. I don’t go to see movies at big premieres. If I go out, I go to a quiet place for a meal or I might go to listen to live music with a whole lot of people who are more interested in listening to the music than who is sitting next to them at the show.”

His new TV world

Spader may be on his way to television stardom, but he has never followed a television show from beginning to end -- the way he hopes viewers of “Boston Legal” will.

“That’s something I had no concept of,” Spader said. “Working on the show, I was experiencing the same anticipation for what was going to happen from week to week as the people who were watching it. When you do a film, you know what is going to happen to your character from start to finish. I knew very little about Alan Shore at the end of last season, and I still don’t. I like that constant shift because what I like the most about all of this is the telling of the story.”

What he likes the least is the fuss. He refused to hire a stylist for Emmy night, picking out his tuxedo and shoes himself. He did not prepare a speech. When his name was announced, Spader charmed the crowd by complimenting the women in the room: “You’ve all made wonderful choices in shoes and dresses tonight, and you all look absolutely beautiful.”

“I realized I was going to have to put together some sentences quickly and I wasn’t going to be yet another person to make a music joke,” Spader said. “It worked so well when the gentleman from ‘Arrested Development’ made the singing reference, but I knew that that couldn’t be used again, and certainly not by me. I really don’t have any idea what ... I was saying. Certainly, during the course of the four hours that I was there I had spent enough time admiring women’s shoes and dresses and how well they filled them.”

But as offhand as he may be about that trophy, it’s fitting somehow that Spader will be in the rare position of starting his new gig already having won an Emmy for the role. To his surprise as much as anyone’s, the TV gods have smiled on him. “Does anybody have any illusions about the fact that the Emmys come at the beginning of the television season? The timing seems precise to me,” he said. “And I think it’s grand.”

[cg29]

4 Very Old But Short fics for the birthday boy himself - Virgil Tracy 💚

Sorry for not adding the Read More option, it doesn’t appear to be working.

***

1: 15th August - From Virgil Drabbles, C1.

I’ve been here before and I always swear, ‘Never Again!’

But then… It’s over and for a few seconds, which always feels longer, I hear nothing. Then the sound I’ve been waiting for… That first cry, followed by:

“Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

The relief washes over me, as I look to my husband. The obvious pride flowing from him as our new baby is placed in my arms, and his soulful eyes lock with mine.

“Do you have a name?” Someone asks.

It’s at that moment I know I’ll be here again.

“Yes,” I nod, “his names Virgil… Virgil Tracy.”

***

2: The Birthday Gift, part 1. Brotherly Love - From The Tracy Family, C4.

‘Mm, 7am.’ Virgil thought to himself as he opened his eyes slightly and glanced at the clock. ‘A couple of more hours will be good.’ To make himself more comfortable, Virgil rolled over in his bed, with his eyes shut, puffing up his pillow as he did so. Letting out a comforting sigh, his eyes flickered open and then shut. ‘Wait, what the…’ Virgil’s eyes shot open again. Okay, his eyes weren’t deceiving him. There was his oldest brother, sat on a chair next to his bed, bouncing up and down, like a nonstop Jack-In-The-Box. “Scott, its 7am.”

“Yes and?” Scott said happily, as he continued to bounce up and down on his chair.

“Scott, what is wrong with you… Or should I really ask, how much candy have you eaten?”

“None, yet… But the day is young!”

“And how many coffees have you had?”

“Only 2. Although I did have 3 energy drinks as well this morning.”

“Yes, I can tell!”

“Well, I needed the energy to keep me going for your big day.”

Seriously Scott, you are like this every year with all of our birthdays and I’m sure you get worse every year.”

“Yes, and?” Scott replied beaming like a Cheshire Cat.

“You do realise I’m 22 and not 10 today.”

“So?”

“Scott, we’re not kids anymore!”

Scott stopped bouncing up and down and surveyed his younger brother. “Yes, you are… You see little bro, in my head all I see is the excited kid who would rush out of bed so that he could open his presents, before shovelling down pancakes for breakfast and then stuffing himself silly later in the day with his birthday cake. I’m afraid Virg, that you are stuck with this for life. Even when we are all grey and old… I’ll be waking you all up early for your birthdays, even if I need to hit you with my walking stick to get you up. Besides, you need to get out of bed because Alan and Tin-Tin get back from their honeymoon later and it would be rude not to be awake and alert for when they arrive. Plus, Kyrano is making all of us pancakes, Grandma is making you a birthday cake, Penny is flying out here as well, then we can all have a big party later tonight and you can open all your presents.”

“Presents?” Virgil asked with a grin.

“Yes, presents… Lots and lots of presents. Of course, my present to you is obviously the best!” Scott started to become excited and began bouncing up and down on his chair.

Virgil lay on his bed and shook his head. “You know who you remind me of when you bounce up and down like that?”

“No, who?” Scott inquired beginning to clap his hands together joyfully as he continued to bounce up and down.

Virgil let out a laugh. “Tigger, from Winnie The Pooh.”

“Who...Hoo…Hoo…Hoo” Scott bellowed out loud at the top of his voice.

“You’re not letting me get back to sleep again, are you?” Virgil asked pulling his big eyes look at Scott.

“Nope! And you should know by now that look doesn’t work on me.”

“Please Scott, just 1 more hour? Then I’ll promise to get up.” Virgil pleaded, pulling his big eyes face again.

Scott stopped bouncing up and down and tilted his head sideways as he looked at his younger brother. “Okay, just 1 hour, and if you’re not up then I’m dragging you out of this bed.”

“Deal.” Virgil answered, relieved that he may finally get some more sleep.

Scott stood up and turned towards the door as Virgil settled himself down in his bed. “Nah, changed my mind.” Scott said as he turned back towards Virgil pulling the blanket of him. Virgil went bright red and made a grab for the blanket pulling it back over himself. “Oh, err… Sorry Virg. Err. Maybe I should have got you some Pyjamas for your birthday instead? Yes, anyways, I’ll be going… and let you get ready… Don’t be too long Virgie…

“Okay Scott, I’m getting up. Now get out.”

“Okay, I’m going.” Scott went towards the door.

“Oh, and Scott…”

“Yes bro?”

“Don’t call me Virgie!”

“Okay, okay,” Scott went to pull the door shut calling out to Virgil as he did, “see you in a bit. Oh, and happy birthday… Virgie!”

***

3: The Birthday Gift, part 2. The Last Gift - From The Tracy Family, C5.

Virgil sat by his piano in a world of his own, playing some new music, he had received for his birthday. Meanwhile, Jeff Tracy stood leaning against the doorway listening to the beautiful melodies that were flowing from his artistic son. “Virg?”

“Virgil glanced up from the piano and smiled at his father. “Oh, hi dad. Sorry I didn’t see you there.”

Jeff walked over to his middle child and sat next to him. “Did you have a good birthday?”

Virgil grinned while he continued to play the piano. “It was fantastic dad, thank you for the party.”

“Anytime son,” Jeff replied, pulling Virgil into a warm embrace.

Virgil returned the hug and then looked at his father. “Is everything okay dad?”

“Yes, it’s fine. I just… I wanted to let you know how proud of I am of you, all that you have achieved and everything I know you will become.”

“Thanks dad,” Virgil replied slightly blushing.

“Plus, I wanted to give you this,” Jeff pulled out a small box and a card from his pocket and handed it over to Virgil.

Virgil took the gift and card from his father and held it in his hands. “Thanks dad.”

“It’s not actually from me,” Jeff looked down, then back up into Virgil’s eyes, “it’s… it’s from your mother.”

“Ah?” Virgil responded looking at the gift in confusion.

Jeff breathed in deeply and continued. “Your mother’s family have always had a tradition… On a child’s first birthday the mother will chose a small gift that can be found within the home that they believe encompasses their child’s personality. They will wrap it and put it away ready for when they turn 22.”

“Oh… Why 22 and not 21?” Virgil asked.

Jeff chuckled to himself. “I remember asking your mother the same question. Apparently, even though 21 is usually seen as someone stepping into adulthood, the family itself felt that 22 was the official age, because when you are 22 then you’ve officially left those childhood years behind and become an adult… Your mother really wanted to continue this tradition and I remember how happy she had been, when it came to her picking out the gift, wrapping it and then writing the accompanying note… A short time after she had passed, I found the gifts for all of you boys packed carefully away. I decided that she would want all of you to receive them as planned… So, I gave Scott and John theirs when they reached 22, and now… Now it’s time for yours.” Virgil glanced thoughtfully at the gift and card in his hands, unsure of what to do. “Do you want me to stay, while you open it?”

Virgil nodded, carefully opened the card and began to read.

… …

My darling Virgil.

So, today is your 22nd birthday, that’s hard for me to imagine right now as I sit here writing this on your 1st birthday and stare over at you fast asleep in your father’s arms.

I know my son, that whatever you do, or whatever you will become, I will always be proud, and both myself and your father will always be there to hold you whenever you need a helping hand.

The gift I have chosen for you encompasses something I have noticed from the beautiful personality that you are starting to develop. Ever since you were born you have been soothed by music, whether that be a record, when I am singing you a lullaby, or when I am practising on my beloved piano. So, that is why I feel that this gift is perfect for you.

Always here, never far.

Your mother. xx

… …

Virgil with tears in his eyes passed the card over to his dad and cautiously began to unwrap the gift, revealing a small black box, which when opened played a gentle lullaby. “A Music Box.” Virgil exclaimed, with tears trickling down his face.

Jeff put his arm around his middle child and held him close. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, thank you dad,” Virgil replied wiping the tears away.

Jeff smiled as he looked at the music box. “I should have known she would have given you that music box. You loved that lullaby when you were a baby.”

Virgil smiled. “So, what did Scott and John get?”

“Well, it seems your mother sussed you all out really well. John was given a golden star that used to hang on the Christmas tree, he had been so fascinated by that star, even though he wasn’t that old on his first Christmas. He was also enamoured with the star mobile we had above his bed, I remember your mother saying he would probably end up in space just like me… And Scott…” Jeff let out a laugh. “Scott was always trying to climb the furniture and jump of it. Whenever he saw a bird or an aeroplane he would go quiet and watch with fascination. Your mother gave him an old air loom of her grandfathers, a small-scale Spitfire… Anyway, everyone is probably gathered in the kitchen waiting for you to cut your cake, are you coming?”

Virgil nodded, carefully picked up his gift and card. Then with his father’s arm placed around him they both left the room.

***

4: Birthday Wish.

Eighteen.

My first without you

Only one month you’d been gone

Our tears were still new.

Yet despite our grief

and my reluctance to celebrate

A party was given

In honour of the date.

Family and close friends

And no rescue calls

A good time was had

By one and all.

Then right at the end

After many speeches filled with praise

A cake was presented

With candles ablaze

Close your eyes they said

And concentrate really hard

Then make a wish

For whatever is in your heart.

So, I closed my eyes

And those candles I blew

I wished for you to return

But it never came true.

…

Nineteen and Twenty

One injured, the other a major rescue call

Yet at the end of each day

I was presented with a birthday ball

After food and drinks

And everyone felt contented

A cake with candles aflame

Was once again presented

Time to make a wish

My family all said

So I hoped and I prayed

And I pictured you in my head

Then, I closed my eyes

And those candles I blew

I wished for you to return

But it never came true.

…

Twenty-One.

Was the biggest of them all

Except by pretending to forget

Their plans went slightly AWOL

A diversion rescue

That was meant to just stall

Swallowed my whole day

And made me miss this year’s ball

The very next day

Although I’d protested

They offered to make it up

And a birthday cake was presented.

I gazed down

Twenty-one candles all gleamed

All awaiting my hopes

And my dreams

So, I closed my eyes

And those candles I blew

I wished for you to return

But it never came true.

… …

Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three

Had candles shining bright

Would these years come true

If I wished with all of my might

So, I closed my eyes

And those candles I blew

I wished for you to return

But it never came true.

… …

Twenty-Four

A trip to our other home

Gran Roca Ranch

Where we had all grown.

A morning with the horses

An afternoon barbecue

The evening watching the sunset

Where my silent thoughts turned to you

Were you still out there

Or were you really gone

Would we ever know

Or was it time we moved on.

Except I couldn’t give in

Not yet, not ever

This year if I wished harder

Maybe my next birthday would be better

So, I closed my eyes

And those candles I blew

I wished for you to return

And on my twenty-fifth birthday it came true.

[willow-salix]

Day 96 of Isolation on Tracy Island and I did something today that I never thought I would and I’m sure that I will be regretting it for months, OK, maybe years to come.

It all started when I entered the lounge, which is honestly an everyday occurrence, I walk in and those little sods start acting up, but this time it was John that caught my attention.

“What was that?” I demanded to know.

“What was what?” he asked innocently.

“That face you just pulled.”

“What face? This is my normal expression.”

“No it wasn’t! It was the same face you pull when Gordon tells a bad joke or when Alan convinced you to try Marmite on your bagel, that one that is a cross between disgust and what the hell was that. And I want to know why you directed it at me!”

“I did no such thing,” he sniffed, turning back to his book.

I whipped the book away, tossing it onto the coffee table. “Yes, you did. Now, explain.”

“I didn’t do anything, I looked at you the same way I always do, with love, great respect and a little bit of thankfulness."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Space man was lying through his teeth. Considering I’d just gotten dressed after a leisurely bath and actually bothered with makeup I didn’t think I looked too bad. Apparently I was wrong.

“She doesn’t look like she believes you, bro,” Scott grinned, stretching out full length on the couch, arms behind his head, clearly settling in to watch the show.

“Do I look offensive today? Do I smell? Did I snore all night? Give me a hint here, babe, ‘cause I’m getting a wee bit paranoid.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong and you certainly aren’t offensive-” John started.

“Not all of her anyway,” Scott added in his loudest side whisper.

“Not ALL of me? So part of me is?” I crossed my arms defensively, feeling a huff coming on.

“No, not a part of you,” John promised, but I know when he’s deflecting and that was a definite deflection, the same tone he uses on prank callers and people being dramatic while he waits for the local authorities to answer the call.

I turned my glare on Scott. I’ll give him his due, he held out longer than I expected before he cracked, a whole ten seconds at least.

“He hates that top you’re wearing.”

“What?” I glanced down at my top, one of my favourites. It was a vintage number from somewhere in the 1980’s depicting cartoon characters of a band called Queen. It was baggy, saggy, ripped in places, fraying at the collar where I’d hacked it off and at the arm holes where I’d cut off the sleeves. It hung off one shoulder and sagged on the other and it was sooooo cool and comfy. It was just the best shirt ever.

“What's wrong with it?”

John made a face and crossed his legs protectively. I raised an eyebrow at that, don’t tempt me, dude.

“It’s just…” he paused as if trying to pick the least offensive way to describe it.

“He thinks it’s ugly.”

“Scott, stop helping!” John groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh!” I squawked, totally shocked and utterly appalled. “It is not ugly.”

“It is a little. It’s obnoxious, the cartoons are weird and it hurts my eyes to look at it,” John admitted. Scott burst out laughing, earning him a glare from both of us.

"Let me get this straight," I uncrossed my arms and dropped my hands to my hips, as sure sign I was getting annoyed. "You, the one who's favourite shirt makes you look like a rodeo clown. You who owns a dressing gown that looks like it mated with a 1970's couch, you who probably only keep it because you can actually see the damned thing from space, think my shirt is ugly? You are judging ugly?" I was utterly flabbergasted.

There was a thump as Scott rolled off the couch but still didn't stop laughing. We both ignored him.

"Yes, I'm judging ugly and those things on your chest are ugly."

I looked down at the twins in horror.

"You know it didn't mean those!"

Breathless wheezing was all Scott could manage as he gave up trying to haul himself back into the couch and just accepted his fate, laughing so hard that he was now incapable of making any sound at all.

I nudged him with my foot but it did little good so I just stepped over his flailing legs and advanced on John.

"This shirt is an album cover, it is a classic, it is an amazing album and I love it!"

"And I love my rodeo shirt…" he paused, realising what he had just said. "Not that it is a rodeo shirt," he backtracked hurriedly.

"Who are you trying to convince here?" I asked.

"Hey, what are you guys yelling about?" Gordon asked, coming into the room and skidding to a halt as he caught sight of one brother rolling around on the floor and another looking like he wished he was anywhere but there at that moment. His eyes slid to me and widened.

"Gordon!" John seized on his brother's presence gratefully, obviously needing backup. "Can you please tell her that my shirt is not ugly, nor is that dressing gown you gave me for Christmas."

"And please tell him that this shirt is cool and in no way obnoxious or ugly, not like his couch print nightmare!"

Gordon's eyes darted between us and he backed up a few steps.

"What's that Grandma?" he called over his shoulder. "You made fresh cookies? Sure, I'd love to try them!" he was gone before we could blink.

Scott gasped for air, wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to pull himself together.

I dived straight back into the fray, I'm a woman, we don't back down when we know we're right.

"Your things are so hideous they deserve to be burnt to put them and us out of our misery!"

"I'll burn my things when you burn that baggy sheet you call a shirt!"

I had a split second to make a decision, do I keep arguing, do I back down or do I make a sacrifice for the good of mankind (and my own eyes)?

No way was I backing down.

"Deal!" I yelled triumphantly.

"Fine!" he yelled back. "But you have to pick one, if you're only burning one thing so am I."

“Fine!” I agreed, nodding as if it were a done deal. “Burn that dressing gown, I can live with the clown shirt.”

“Fine! But now I’m going to wear that shirt every day and buy more to make sure I don’t smell!”

“Dude, how was that a threat?”

He paused. “I don’t know, but it was.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Go and get that ugly thing!”

“I will.”

“Oh, and can you be amazing and grab me another shirt since I will apparently be needing one?”

“Sure,” he stalked away, then paused at the door and turned back to look at me. “What shirt do you want?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, just pick anything that takes your fancy, surprise me.”

He nodded and left again.

“Oh God, Oh I can’t breathe!” Scott gulped, taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly in an attempt to calm himself. “Even when you two are arguing you completely miss the point and end up being nice to each other and it’s hilarious.”

I nudged him with my foot again. “Get up, Chuckles, we need to build a fire.”

***

"What's going on?" Alan asked, wandering over.

"John finally admitted that he hates her shirt," Kayo told him.

"Does everyone know you hated it? Why am I always the last to know?"

John shrugged, obviously not willing to risk speaking and annoying me further.

“Are you two sure you want to do this?” Virgil asked, tossing another log onto the fire that he and Scott (when he finally pulled himself together enough to stand upright) had made in the firepit on the beach. Yes, we have a firepit, they are men, they like to make fire, it makes them feel all cave man and grrrr. Like speeding around the world in rockets wasn’t enough.

By the time we had emerged onto the beach, each gently carrying our precious sacrifices, the entire family had turned out to watch. Obviously lockdown had been so boring that anything was entertainment to them, even us doing a clothes barbecue.

I rubbed the hem of my shirt between my finger and thumb, feeling the soft material. It had been washed so many times and almost worn to death that it was super soft, broken in, more comfortable than anything else I owned. It was comfort clothing. You know what I mean, like when you slip on your favourite pyjamas and cuddle up under a blanket and then suddenly the world doesn’t seem so bad? Yeah, that was this shirt to me. I could wear it with leggings and slouch around the house as I had done today, or I could team it up with a pair of tight jeans, a studded belt and a few accessories, tie it at the corner to make it a little more form fitting and I’d be acing the rock chick look. It was multi purpose! Not like that disgusting dressing gown that seemed to exist just to spite me. That thing served absolutely no purpose at all.

I looked down at my shirt again. Could I really do this? Could I really destroy something I loved because he hated it? I glanced over at him, dressing gown rolled up and tucked under his arm. Yes, yes I could, if it would make him happy.

The offensive gown was just as hideous when you couldn’t see the shape of the thing. How was that even possible? OK, so maybe it did serve a little purpose, if only to annoy me. It’s kinda always been there, you know? I know when he’s having a bad day when he comes home and gets changed into that thing. Because it’s soft and silky and sometimes gravity is just a little too harsh after more than a week in space and all other clothes seem too heavy for him to deal with. I’m used to finding him in the kitchen at random times of the day making a sandwich while wearing it, or first thing in the morning when he’s hunched over a big mug of coffee, or when there’s an emergency call and that’s the first thing he grabs so he's dressed when he answers. Hell, I’ve grabbed it too, I’ve worn it when I’ve felt crampy and sick because it smells like him and that's comforting and I've lost count of the times that it was the closest thing to hand and I had the sudden urge for chocolate at 3am. And when I’ve come home and it’s not hanging up in the bedroom I know he’s home too and that’s just the best thing ever.

I stupidly risked a glance at his face and saw the utter devastation there. Nooo, why did I do that? Why did I look?

No! Be strong! I could buy him another that was just as soft and comfy, maybe even more so, I’d buy an even better one. One that actually has a nice pattern, or better yet, no pattern at all, a nice midnight blue one that would look amazing on him. He’d love it in the end. And I’d make him buy me like twenty cool new shirts to make up for this one.

“How are they going to do this?” Alan asked as we stood side by side beside the flickering fire.

“John should go first because he started this by not being able to lie properly,” Scott decided after John and I stared at each other for a few seconds, completely baffled. What can I say, burning clothes is a new experience for me. I’ve only done it once and that time I’d actually planned it.

“Fine, I can go first,” he set his shoulders and balled up the offensive gown. “A deal is a deal.”

“Is he actually going to do it?” Alan whispered to Gordon.

“If he doesn’t I’m going to tease him forever,” Kayo admitted, joining in the conversation.

I heard John take a deep breath and step forward. He inhaled slowly then threw the gown.

I don’t know why I did it, I don’t even think it was a conscious decision, my arm was moving before I even registered what was happening. I didn’t even know I could move that fast, usually I’d be hard pressed to outpace a sloth. But my hand shot out and I snatched the gown from certain death, dropping my own shirt in the process.

“Why did you do that?”

I looked down at the bundle of poop brown and gold ick that had magically appeared in my hands.

“I don’t know.”

“Then give it back.”

“No!” I tucked it away behind my back. “You love this ugly mess.”

“But you hate it.”

“So? What does that matter? This isn’t about me, it’s not mine.” I pushed it into his hands and snatched my shirt off the ground, balling it up ready to throw.

It was his turn to snatch. “What are you doing?”

“Duh, burning the offensive shirt, I made a promise,” I tried to tug it away from him but he held firm.

“You’d still burn it even though you won’t let me burn mine?”

“Sure.”

“But you love it.”

“Yeah, and you hate it,” I shrugged. Simple enough concept. No one wanted to walk into a room and be hit with the stink eye because they were wearing something that was apparently ugly.

“You’re not burning the shirt, it’s your favourite. We can’t like everything, that makes life boring.”

“So you’re agreeing to disagree?” Alan groaned. “This was the most ridiculous waste of time.”

Everyone nodded their agreement, Virgil and Scott looking sadly at their fire, now unused for the purposes for which it had been built, it would receive no sacrifice today.

WHUMMMP! Flames leapt up as something landed in the middle of the fire and quickly took hold.

“What the-?”

A shirtless Gordon shrugged. “Well, someone had to do it.”

So yes, I may have made a big mistake because I’ll never be able to complain about the thing again now that I’ve saved its life. It's going to haunt me forever more.

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke)

okay, look. I wasn’t gonna post this until it was FINISHED because i am trying to learn to actually finish my wips. but. the world is sorta falling apart and i hope that maybe i can help even one person feel temporarily less anxious about it all. 

i wrote this for @gumnut-logic‘s birthday and am now over a month late, so! good! (so sorry nutty, you’re so incredible at blessing us with your words, i just wanted to do something nice for you since you’re so so good to us)

my love for virgil tracy + my silent lurking in this fandom have brought this about. i never thought i’d be writing thunderbirds fanfiction and yet. here we are (my father would be so disappointed in me).

this is my first time writing these characters, as will become painfully clear. pls be nice to me, i am fragile lol. i am horribly aware that my virg is probably too ‘floppy’ as per your post, nutty, so sorry in advance! this is me whumping your boy emotionally and mentally, but i’m gonna fix him, i swear! there are five parts (i have written the first three). 

virgil is always written as being very good at taking care of his mental health, and it occurred to me that some of the best people at this have had to learn to be that way, and so I guess this is an exploration of that? anyway, have some virgil aggressively loving his family. 

brains isn’t in this and kayo isn’t much either sorryyy. oh my GOd shut up, here you go:

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn't have to do it alone.

word count: 2.8k ish (part 1/5)

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

i.

He isn’t quite sure where it began. Somewhere between three back-to-back rescues, pulling a child’s body from thick, black mud, and failing to reach the scientist before smoke ravaged her lungs, a weight settles in his chest that none of his usual coping mechanisms can shift. 

To say it’s been a hard week would be an understatement, but then again, they’ve had hard weeks before. Any time a rescue mission turns into a recovery mission, they all feel it - how can they not? - but this time, this time is different. 

Perhaps it was seeing the kid’s mother break down completely at the sight of such a small corpse. Perhaps it was the abuse hurled at him and his brothers by the scientist’s girlfriend for failing to rescue her soulmate in time. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion and pain, perhaps it was feeling ribs break under the force of his CPR efforts, perhaps it was knowing that in spite of it all, it wasn’t enough. 

It’s like he can’t quite draw a full breath. Like his throat has half-closed and tears are creeping at the back of his eyes, but neither is willing to break the damn. It’s the heaviest kind of emptiness he’s ever known. 

And so Virgil forces it away - or if not away, then at least to one side - whilst he takes care of brothers who need to talk about the horrors they have just witnessed and the fresh guilt they now bear. He’ll take care of himself later (probably) and then he’ll finally be able to shift that god-awful weight on his lungs. It’s fine. 

*

Alan is easy enough to handle; Virgil’s pedestal will never be as high as Scott’s or John’s but he’s still Alan’s big brother, and Alan feeds on reassurance and praise. Virgil knows that both Scott and John will be in later to check on their youngest too, but for now, Alan needs him. 

“You did well today, kiddo,” Virgil says, leaning against the doorframe to Alan’s suite. His littlest brother is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. 

Alan blinks slowly, twists to meet his eyes. Overly-bright cornflower blues meet steady browns and Virgil catches the tremble of Alan’s lower lip with an aching heart. 

“You did, Allie.” Virgil strides across the room and has Alan scooped into a hug within seconds. “All those people are gonna wake up tomorrow because of you.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, Virg,” whispers Alan. “So many people didn’t make it.” 

“I know.”

(The weight on his chest and struggle to breathe will never let him forget it). 

Alan sighs, rests his head on his brother’s broad chest. “I just - I keep remembering her face. When she realised I couldn’t save her. I close my eyes and she’s just - there.” He closes his eyes and digs the heels of his palms into them.

He’s so young. It’s not the first time that Virgil has had doubts about forcing this responsibility on a teenager, but it is the first time Alan’s watched someone die in his arms and none of Virgil’s carefully crafted words will change that. Especially not now, whilst the pain is raw and jagged and demanding to be felt - no, Virgil and his brothers will be helping him to untangle this over the next few weeks.

“Wanna play something?” he asks instead. 

The response is less enthusiastic than usual, but soon Alan has a fragile smile on his lips as he thrashes Virgil’s Princess Peach with Waluigi (and so what if Virgil deliberately chooses the tracks he knows he’s shit at just to make Alan chuckle when he falls off Rainbow Road again?). 

*

His water-loving brother won’t be so easy (though of course, there’s nothing easy about watching someone so young trying to carry the weight of the world). Still, Gordon is at least predictable in his frustrated misery and rolls his eyes as he sees Virgil coming towards the pool with a towel in hand. 

“I’m not in the mood, Virg,” he calls, before hurling himself underwater and sinking to the bottom of the pool. 

It’s Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes, but he kicks off his shoes, sits on the poolside and dangles bare feet into the water, waiting. When Gordon finally emerges from the water, annoyance flickers across his face at the sight of his waiting brother, and he turns, kicking away from Virgil with a powerful breaststroke. 

Virgil waits until Gordon’s swum four lengths before speaking. “How are you doing?”

Gordon’s perfect rhythm barely falters as he grabs his brother’s leg and yanks, pulling Virgil into the pool and immediately swimming away. Virgil shakes the water from his hair, internally cursing his stubborn-ass younger brother and treads water until Gordon reaches his end of the pool again. 

“How many lengths is that?”

Gordon ignores him, switching fluidly into butterfly stroke and splashing away from him once more. 

Virgil can’t help but sigh; his limbs are aching and his chest is heavy and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed. But his younger brother is hurting - emotionally, sure, judging by the way he’s slicing through the water like it’s done him wrong, but physically too if the minute winces are anything to go by. (And Virgil can’t stand it). 

The next time Gordon comes by, Virgil is ready. He seizes his brother around the middle, and bodily drags him to the edge of the pool. He doesn’t often use his size and strength against his brothers, but this time calls for it. Once out of the water, the fight goes out of Gordon, and he staggers, murmuring “ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Come here, you idiot.” Virgil pulls Gordon into a shady spot by the loungers, and begins helping Gordon stretch out overworked muscles. Gordon hisses as Virgil presses down on his calf muscle. “Sorry, Gordo.”

“S’okay.” Gordon glares up at the sky. “Just stupid cramp.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil shakes his head. “Yeah, that or the fact you’re reliving your Olympic training after having been up for forty-eight hours straight.”

“You know if you keep doing that, your face will get stuck.”

Virgil pulls a hideous face, then grins in response to Gordon’s laugh. It feels good to smile, it shifts the weight on his lungs the tiniest bit. 

“Flip over and I’ll do your back.”

“Virgil Tracy, you’re a goddamn saint,” Gordon declares, obediently flopping onto his stomach. 

There’s a pause whilst Virgil runs expert hands over the rock-like knots in Gordon’s back and Gordon melts into the mattress. When Virgil next speaks, his voice is gentle even as his hands dig in: “You know that punishing yourself isn’t going to bring them back.”

Gordon tenses then sighs. “Damnit, Virg. Can’t a guy get a massage without psychoanalysis?”

But his voice is a great deal lighter than it would have been even half an hour before.

*

His wrists are aching by the time he drags himself out to the cliff edge where Kayo likes to perch. 

His brothers have different uses for this particular stretch of rock: Scott likes to end his morning runs here by stretching in the breeze off the waters. For John, it’s a spectacular place to stargaze, not least because it’s so very quiet and dark up here. Gordon can often be found diving off these rocks, cheered on by Alan, much to the constant stress of their oldest brother, who attributes more than seventy percent of his grey hairs to this cause. 

For Kayo, it’s a watchpost. Her stormy eyes skim the horizon for non-existent threats, calculating, calm, controlled. And after a bad rescue (or three), she sits and waits for hours at a time, gazing into choppy waves and brilliant sunsets with the loneliest eyes Virgil has ever seen. He’s supposed to sit with Kayo in silence until she tells him what she needs from him, be it a hug, his presence, or just distance. 

This time, she makes it clear the moment he pads towards her, fading into the rocks like she was never even there. Distance, then.

*

John is possibly the hardest to handle of all his siblings, purely because he’s the hardest to get a hold of. John knows Virgil’s antics only too well, knows that a meaningful conversation about how he feels is coming, and has therefore made himself scarce. 

 Virgil sighs as John misses (read: rejects) his third call in a row. Two can play at that game, Jonny.

Instead, he dials straight through to EOS. 

She answers him immediately, as usual. “Virgil. I have been anticipating your call.”

“You have?”

“You have all had unsuccessful missions. You always call after missions with a body count.”

Virgil swallows, fresh guilt rising in his throat, and forces it back down. 

“Please can you put me through to John, EOS?”

“Of course, Virgil.”

Silence for a second, and then John’s hologram appears. His red-headed brother is studiously avoiding eye contact, hands darting over controls in an anxious pattern.

“This isn’t a good time, Virgil, I’m busy rerouting some calls to local emergency services, and-”

“John.”

“-and there’s a call from Tehran that really needs me, so if that’s all-”

“John.”

Silence. 

“How long since you last ate?” 

John’s eyes meet Virgil’s and he looks away at once. “Uh… this morning?”

“Negative,” EOS chimes in, “last intake was twenty-six hours ago.”

John’s jaw clenches. “Thanks, EOS.”

“John, you need to eat.”

“Smother Brother.”

“I’m serious.”

EOS pipes up again, “John also needs to rest. He has been operating for twice the recommended period of time.” 

John glowers, but says nothing.

“Don’t make me set Scott on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows and John sighs loudly in frustration. “I will. I will. I just - thinking about food makes me feel nauseous. Like…” He swallows, looks away. “Like I’m eating mud.”

The sharp hurt in Virgil’s heart twinges violently and he wishes more than anything he could wrap John up in a bearhug and stop the world from hurting him. “What if I’m here whilst you try?” he asks softly.

Another sigh. “Fine. But only if you eat something too,” John says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that your stomach was growling even louder than Two’s engines on the way home.”

“Smother Brother,” Virgil’s voice is hopelessly fond, even as he goes to make a sandwich that he can’t face eating (which for him, is a bad sign - he who has forced down Grandma’s inedible chilli through sheer willpower and love). The bread is hard and tasteless, the filling bitter. He chokes down a half slice, focusing instead on the fact that his younger brother is carefully chewing at his toasted bagel, eyelids heavy. Eventually, John’s shoulders slump, and his head lolls back into slumber.

His work here is done. 

Well, almost -

“Hey, EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?” 

“Can you put that playlist I made him on a loop?”

“Of course, Virgil. Venus Bringer of Peace is now playing.”

There. 

*

His oldest brother is hurting. Virgil doesn’t need ESPN or whatever freaky connection Gordon and Alan accuse them of having to know that. 

There was a death toll, and therefore Scott will be hurting. Every life lost becomes a personal fault for the man, and nothing Virgil says or does will change that. They have this argument every two or three weeks, increasingly frequently as the months since their father’s disappearance have ticked into years. And he’s so very tired of rehashing the same words over again and again, he’s so tired of being utterly powerless against his brother’s borderline suicidal recklessness, he’s so tired of his uselessness in convincing Scott to stop treating his life like some replaceable trinket.

(So very, very tired).

And yet, Virgil stands in the doorway to his father’s office, bracing himself for yet another battle with his older brother.

Because taking care of the idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic is what he does best - especially when said idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic least wants it.

Scott is hunched over the desk, poring over debriefs with an almost-empty glass of something amber in his left hand. Virgil makes a mental note to re-encrypt the code to the drinks cabinet - Scott had cracked it far too quickly last time, but he doesn’t stand a chance against John…

“Hey, Scott,” he finally enters the room, but his brother doesn’t even spare him a glance. Virgil takes the seat opposite him - the one he used to sit in as his father waxed lyrical about his dream of an elite rescue organisation (it hurts) - and waits. 

After five or so minutes, Scott looks up blearily, blinking in surprise. “Virg? What are you - when did you-”

“It’s gone midnight, Scott. We agreed you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

A muscle in Scott’s jaw twitches. He’s wound tight from alcohol and stress, and it hurts Virgil to see it.  “I have to get this done.”

“Not at one am, you don’t.”

“Don’t start, Virg, you know debriefs are essential - you know I have to - to -”

“To what?” 

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you have to get done? What’s so important that it can’t wait till you’ve at least slept?”

Scott breaks - quicker than usual (thank you, whiskey) which is a relief, because Virgil’s energy is down to its last droplets; hell, it’ll be a miracle if he even makes it to his room after this. 

“To figure out where we fucked up! To explain to the fire services that we did fuck-all for their rescue efforts! To figure out why I wasn’t fast enough to get to those children! I have to - to know,” he flings himself to his feet and begins pacing. “Fifty-four people died today, that’s fifty-four lives we should have saved, and I have to know why we failed so it never happens again.” He slams both hands down on the table, scattering papers to the floor. His eyes are wild and slightly bloodshot, and Virgil’s heart aches for the pain in those cerulean blues. 

The fight leaves Virgil’s spirit, because for once, he’s having a hard time reconciling his own failings with the number of bodies he’s pulled from mud and rock today. Usually, he is the first to reassure his brothers that they did all they could. But on a day like today, with the weight of whatever-it-is on his chest, it’s just not good enough. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave Scott alone in his pain. 

“What can I do?” Virgil asks quietly, and Scott stares at him. 

A pause. “Just - just be here,” Scott allows at last, sinking back into his chair. 

“Always,” Virgil says, and he means it, even through the fog of this exhausted, low, heavy feeling. 

“You okay?” Scott says, looking him over with a frown, and Virgil curses internally, because of course, Scott notices what none of his other siblings have. 

“As much as any of us are right now,” Virgil answers, as honestly as he can. Scott clearly doesn’t quite believe him, because he keeps shooting Virgil surreptitious glances laden with concern, but he lets it go. Perhaps he too lacks the energy to fight him on this. 

(It’s not enough and Virgil knows it. It’s not enough to stop his brother from working himself into an early grave and it’s not enough to blame poor construction work for the collapse of a tower block when he should have been able to save them).

(He’s not enough). 

*

He’s exhausted. He had thought he was shattered before, but now - 

The heaviness in his chest is a gaping wide hole, and the edges are raw and ragged from trying to hold himself together. His throat closes and clogs, but the tears won’t come, even as misery wells inside of him.

He looks blankly at the piano he sometimes uses to pull himself back from edges like these - edges that plunge down, down, down into an abyss he daren’t explore. Only the tug in his chest isn’t there. The canvas on his easel remains blank, his paintbrush untouched. Hell, even the idea of a nice, hot shower has him cringing at the effort and self-care involved.

What the hell’s the matter with him? 

He can’t quite explain it, and for one usually so attuned to others’ emotions, this awful lowness is startling. Because it’s more than lowness, and it’s more than heaviness - it’s more like a complete absence of feeling, an emptiness that he doesn’t know how to name. 

Perhaps, it will shift in the morning. Perhaps, this is the consequence of pushing yourself to over-exhaustion and beyond, and then expelling what little energy remains to support your loved ones. Sleep will help, Virgil tells himself. Rest makes everything better, you will be better in the morning.

[sammyhale]

J2 DallasCon 2019 Main Panel

J2 jump onstage!

Jared: *showing his Texas shirt* This was a gift from a dear friend from set (Maisie)... Jensen: That wasn’t me.

Jensen describing Jared’s shirt and he’s rubbing his hand all over the graphic and Jared’s chest.

Jared mentioning J2’s matching beards 

Jared: Love is Love. 

Jensen, unprompted, requested that Jared list the US States, which Jared did perfectly in alphabetic order. Jensen: That’s my favorite. 

Jared: In the words of Demi Lovato, sorry not sorry. Jensen:... What? 

We all just sang Deep in the Heart of Texas with Jared and Jensen

Jared pointed out that his and Jensen's parents are both here. We also saw them all hanging out together earlier in the vendor's room!

Jared: we went on a world tour and I found out that I'm afraid of elevators, so I'm taking steps to avoid them Jensen: your bad jokes have reached new heights

Jared has been running around a lot. Jensen says, "I'm sorry. He's usually better than this. He gets nervous around his mom and dad." Jared: it's true

Jensen after patting Jared’s chest: but he brought his mountains... 

Q: Have y’all ever considered racing the Impalas and who would win? Jensen: There’s only one that has a big v8 in it. When we escape with her quickly after the show ends down to Austin there’s a little racetrack down there. We might go give her a test.

Classic J2 (x, x)

They’re both in such good moods today :)

Fan: thank you for existing. Jared: you can thank those 4 people right there (points to their parents) Fan: why did you open bar/brewery? 

Jensen: gives a long intentionally boring answer about profit margins and finding a hole in the market to explain why he and Jared both started businesses related to beer. Jared: It was because beer.

Jared mom, dad, shut your ears. When I was not 21 yet and I had a fake ID-- Jensen: I never had a fake ID. Jared: .... Jensen: I had a real ID from my friend who was 21 and looked like me. Jared: Fair enough. Jensen: I MEAN NO I NEVER DID THAT Jared: HE NEVER DID, ALAN.

Jensen pretended to collapse on the ground and Jared went to grab him and pick him up and put him back in his chair and Jared’s like he’s got some mountains too!!

Jared said best friend and pointed at Jensen 

Jared was trying very hard to acknowledge his privilege and say how lucky he is and how great his parents are. 

Jared: I was born fortunate in that I am a tall white man and I live in a world made for tall white men. My parents didn't have all the money I have and they sacrificed everything to make sure we had what we needed growing up & that was what I learned from them

Q: What would you say is the most influential thing your parents taught you that you are passing on to your kids? Jared: I’m a very lucky guy, husband, and father. My parents taught me I should do the best I can. They sacrificed a lot for me. They gave every single ounce of their being to me and my siblings and I hope to do that as much as I can for my children. Jensen: I could give a laundry list but one is the gift of laughter. There were always jokes, not good ones, but there was constant laughter in the house and I hope to raise my kids in a house with equal laughter. 

Jared recommends acting as not a career, but as a passion 

Jared: I don't recommend acting as a career. If it turns into a career, that's great. There are actors that have changed my life that you wouldn't know the name of. Just b/c we have a lot of episodes doesn't mean we're better actors. It needs to be a passion first.

Jared: Just because we’ll have more than 370 episodes of show between Jensen and I, doesn’t mean I’m a better actor. For me, acting is what I needed to do and I’m blessed enough to get paid for it.

Jensen: There are so many different platforms and mediums to tell stories. Like Jared said, do it because you love it, not because you want to get paid for it. 

Jensen thinks the biggest challenge of voice work is not having someone else in your scene who you can feed off. He also teased that he's recorded some other voice work we haven't seen yet! 

Q: what is one theme you would want someone to take from the show? Jared: Texas Jensen: via Kansas 

What do you want fans to take away from the show? Jared: Sam and Dean did the best they could with what they had. Just do the best you can do and be true. You don’t need to be perfect. Work hard, be honest, loyal, sacrifice.   Jensen: The good fight. The brothers fight for each other and they fight for what they believe is right. 

Making each other laugh :)

Someone passingly mentioned pie and Jared started listing pi off the top of his head. He is in show-off mode for his parents today :P

Jared says Jif. Jensen says Gif. Debate ensues. 

J2 know how the show is gonna end

Jared says they already met with producers and writers after their trip to Australia and they know how the series ends Crowd: OOOOOHHHHH 

Q: Most difficult thing for the boys to face again? Jared: We went to LA to meet with producers, writers, directors. We know how the show will end... The last scene of spn will be the most...*gets cut off* Jensen: I hope no more leviathans

J2 being adorable

Jensen wants Hookman to return. Jared loves that legend too. Jensen wants to kill Yellow Eyes. Fan: Ruby Jensen fakes holding Jared back.

Jensen: If there was one thing I’d really love to not have to deal with again it’d be the bees. I could live with never having the bug episode again. Ever. If those come back I’m out.

Jared: You can kick me in the shin, punch me in the face, hit me in the crotch, and it’s fine. But if you spit on me, I’ll kill you

Jensen: ...when you killed a hellhound... Jared: I killed a hellhound? Jensen: yeah because you're not a Losechester ;)

Fan asked about if Sam and Dean will do something to show Cas gratitude (during Misha’s panel on Saturday he mentioned this in re: to what could be happy enough to send Cas to the Empty). J2 thought the fan was asking how the boys would show gratitude if Cas died and went to the Empty. Jared: I think we'd keep doing what we've been doing. If you lose someone, you keep on fighting the fight. Talks about how they don’t grieve like how people in real life would or should. Jensen: the best way that they can honor the lives they've lost is to continue fighting and saving lives  (For full context: video) 

Q: something you've always wished to change in the show? Jared: that my brother wasn't so short. When we straighten his legs, he's as tall as me Jensen: maybe more trips to the barbershop. It's like having a sheepdog in the car. 

Fan from Norway suggests setting the show in a city there with a hard name. Jared: God bless you. Jensen: WATCH YOUR MOUTH. Jensen: I thought when she said where she was from, you were going to respond "NOR-WAY!"

Who do you fanboy over? Jared fans himself and says “Jensen Ackles” :)

Jensen talks about how Jared fanboyed over Eddie Vedder 

Jared tells more of the story. He asked if Eddie's cig is real. Jared smoked whatever Eddie was smoking & Jensen dragged him off

Jensen: "It was like a vapor cloud of everything cool that had ever been in Jared's body evaporated away & I was standing next to this empty shell of a person."

Jared to Jensen: I pick you

Last question: The girl was reading the question off her phone about the French Mistake and Jared saw she wrote another question about sexy moves and decide to answer that one instead and dance around. 

Q: If your character took over your body, who would notice first and what would be the biggest difference? Jared: I don’t think I would talk so much because Jared talks a lot. If anyone saw me eat. Jensen: Voice and anyone who talked to me would notice.

Classic J2 fist bump brings the panel to a close!

Info via: Fangasm, Cherie, Michael, Amy, #spndallas