#thunderbirds edit

[cookidoughlilac]

A somewhat more serious TAG edit this time. Completed a few days ago and forgotten about because I immediately fell asleep after-

Legacy - Thunderbirds Are Go, Season 1 Episode 26

Done For - Epic The Musical, The Circe Saga

[galaxytransman]

So, guess who just spent 2 hours on a edit, and is annoyed you can't really see the effort until the last 2 seconds 😁. Now excuse me while I go cry about it /j

Credits:

Tag Alan 1: unknown (if you know, tag them and I will give credit)

Tag Alan 2: Lil star lord on gifcat.

#gonna try and make another one soon probably #cause the last 2seconds definitely look good #also, sorry if I accidentally mistook one of the tos brothers for Alan #as you can tell, tag fan here

[call-me-casual]

Messing around with Tracy genetics is fun because you can think about which combinations didn’t occur

Shitty edit but here we have ✨the forbidden Tracy Brothers✨

[sevcnne]

where my sapphic siege fans at? AAAAAA!!!

[edutainer2022]

This is for pure amusement (sprung off a prompt). I'm attached to the idea Scott and Marion share custody of Guard Cameron AND harbor a Shakespearean comedic potential. Jeff Tracy gets to be a keen Commander and a cunning father. Col. Casey is not amused. There's a passing reference to BEFORE THE DARK.

Many thanks to @janetm74 for incessant support!

FROM A CERTAIN POINT OF VEIW

"Is.... is somebody there?... Hello?"

The kid's face was nearly drained of color and obviously scared. And oh so young! How early did the GDF enroll now?

The call came through directly to the island via a secure channel and Jeff switched the comm automatically, while engrossed in the backlog of reports at the desk.

"Hello! Mr Tr... Is Mr Tracy there?"

The connection was patchy. Jeff thought he could discern giant pine trees and snow in the background.

"It is I, son. Mr. Tracy. You called International Rescue - how can I help you?"

If at all possible, the boy's eyes grew wider and more anxious.

"N-no! Sc... Is Mr. Scott Tracy there?!"

"Cameron!?! What happened?!"

His eldest stepped back into the lounge, voice ringing with concern. Brown eyes lit up as the GDF kid saw a face he recognized.

"Scott! I mean... Mr. Tracy! I'm... not supposed to be calling you, but Lt. Van Arkle went dark and I..."

"Where are you!?! Sit-rep, soldier!"

Scott was already pulling the lamp handles of his chute down. A structured military address seemed to have pulled the boy on the other end of the call together a bit.

"Siberia, sir! Abandoned nuclear missile silos. Lt. Van Arkle went in to investigate a possible warheads sell-off. She gave orders not to call backup. I didn't know what else to do!"

"You did good, Cameron! I'm on my way! John, upload the coordinates to One!"

Scott was giving clipped orders already from the depths of the launch tube. A befuddled Jeff didn't have the time to wedge a word in sideways as One roared off from the pool and the connection to the hapless GDF soldier got cut off.

***

The rest of the impromptu rescue for Jeff was a jumble of thick worry and palpable annoyance of his sons, incomplete bits and bobs of data, grainy visual feeds from dark bowels of the missile launch labyrinth and a snowed in taiga, in the middle of what looked like a mayhem of a breakneck chase, flashes of shots fired, and at least on one occasion - a fistfight.

Next time he heard his eldest son's voice properly was from the elevator up from the hangars, once One completed the post flight checks. The strong, clear notes were vibrating with what Jeff was rather surprised to identify as distress, liberally overlaid with fury. The sentiment also came in stereo, fully echoed by an unfamiliar female voice:

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!!!!"

***

The remarkable cavalcade that subsequently entered the lounge area of the villa consisted of a visibly fuming Scott, his radiation grade uniform covered in muck and scorched areas grazed by laser fire, a young woman, carried in his arms, her GDF uniform in a similar state of dissaray, one boot off, replaced by a velcro sprain brace, and, peeking from behind them, a shy youth Jeff now recognized as Cameron, even paler than before and exuding profound misery. Scott marched to the couches and all but dumped his equally seething cargo on the cushions. Blue eyes were ablaze.

Virgil's move to offer a med scan and help was stopped on its tracks by the sizzle of silent daggers and lightning bolts exchanged between his brother and the Leutenant. In helpless confusion he turnied to Jeff, who was by then thoroughly amused by the whole pantomime. Scott eventually huffed and threw his arms up:

"Dad, meet Lt. Van Arkle, who thinks she could singlehandedly take down the Russian black market for nuclear weapons WITHOUT BACKUP!

"I HAD IT UNDER CONTROL!"

An attempt to jump off the couch was expertly stopped by a pillow, shoved under the injured foot, and an extra bright cerulean glare. Poor young Cameron, temporarily forgotten by all parties involved, was obviously trying to process the immediate proximity of THE Jeff Tracy in the flesh without hyperventilating too conspicuously.

Jeff did his best to stifle a laugh.

"Well, well... I do believe we've met, Leutenant! Albeit the last time around you tried to kill my son with a pool noodle."

The retort died out on the young officer's lips, as John's hologram in the center of the lounge enunciated a mumble maybe too intentionally:

"That certainly became a habit..."

Perplexed, Jeff was still quick to pave over the awkward pause.

"How's old Willem Van Arkle doing, Marion?"

The indignant stare up at Scott's full imposing height was momentarily deflated.

"Um... my father died... sir. After the mines were shut down he just... gave up..."

It was his turn to choke on the foot in his mouth. Blue eyes searched his gaze - free of ire and brimming with protective compassion. That definitely tumbled into a hole he didn't anticipate.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss!"

He meant it, of course. But Jeff Tracy also prided himself for nothing else if not quick thinking on the go.

"Now, kids, you need to get your reports straight for the GDF. Scott, do show the Leutenant up to the guestrooms at the Roundhouse. I insist you cross-reference your stories before the official debrief. Boys, would you show Cameron around the island? How do you like the pool, son?"

A half-nod from Dad was enough for Gordon to get the cue and drag Cameron and Alan out to the poolside. There was soon laughter and splashes and, possibly, a watergun fight. Jeff turned a pointed gaze at Scott, still towering over a notably subdued Marion on the couch.

"I suggest you get to it, Bluejay. You two don't have all day! We shall show our guests some patented Tracy hospitality, right? I'll let you know when dinner's ready."

Scott might have stifled an eyeroll, as he bent down to pick Marion up again and head for the elevator. Virgil jerked to the hidden closet, eager to offer the hoverchair or crutches Jeff himself had to use until recently, struggling against muscle atrophy. Dad's firm hand landed on the boy's shoulder and stalled the move with a squeeze.

At least there was no struggle or squabble that time around. Not till the elevator doors hissed shut, anyway. The whir of well-calibrated machinery was soon muted by overlapping shouts:

"YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!!!!"

Big, apprehensive brown eyes searched Jeff's face, full of doubt.

"Are you sure about that, Dad? They're gonna kill each other!"

"That's one way of looking at it, son."

The twinkle in his eyes was full of mischief.

***

Colonel Casey squinted at him, the hologram blue adding to the scorn. The dinner came and went and the lounge was, blissfully, quiet. The Tinies dragged Cameron down to the beach. John checked out to go over Scott's helmet camera footage - whatever was legible through heavy interference. MAX was sent up to the Roundhouse with a dinner platter once it was obvious the reports review took longer than expected. Or, maybe, precisely as long as expected. Gordon might have suggested to contract EOS for proof of life, which got poor impressionable Cameron to choke on a charred burrito.

"Is IR going rogue or are you trying to poach the GDF best and brightest to expand?"

The old friend's holo was burning a hole in his chest and Jeff felt himself smile into the sip of scotch. That was certainly one way of looking at it.

[flmboyz]

1975 Ford Thunderbird Copper Edition

[scott-tracy-1]

My friend saw this and told me "This makes me feel like I did five gallons of coke and then went skydiving". Apparently my edits are terrible and it physically hurts him when he watches them. Ik he has a lot of experience and makes much better edits than me, and I appreciate he's trying to help me. but I spent hours trying to make sure everything looks good. Tbh the things he says makes me want to quit.

Sorry for sorta vent he really just peeves me off :(

[lenle-g]

Just a Bruise | Chapter 5

YEAH OK IT'S BEEN A YEAR but new chapter of that fic  @tsarinatorment and I have been writing is postedddddd why did it take me that long to edit hoo boi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32484601 

“I’m going back to the hospital,” John tells them, chasing down the last of the dry, cardboardy protien bar with a swig of scalding hot tea - the choice a byproduct of the semester he spent at Oxford with the Lady Penelope. “I think Grandma would be relieved to see me, to check I’m still alive.” Alan snorts out a laugh at that, but John’s semi-serious; he’s more than aware that it’s not like him to sleep for so long, especially not fully clothed and face down in a pillow. Gordon had proudly boasted that he’d poked John’s cheek at somewhere around four pm and he’d not so much as budged. Bloody planet Earth.

[astranite]

Regrets

Scott, Virgil and John, Earth Sky and Stars, if you will, set after 'Tunnels of Time' S1 E10, the episode wherein Scott nearly punches the archeologist treasure hunting asshole dude. (I have rewatched The Scene so many times) (somewhere there is also a wonderful gifset of it)

Hurt/comfort, and a very fluffy ending ahead. Also featuring Scott's self esteem issues, but he does get hugs, multiple hugs. Also exploring the aftermath of Scott losing his temper on a mission and Virgil's worry and 'We'll deal with this later' and now it is Later, with John too because I love those three together. And some soft furnishings!Scott too of course.

----

Scott whipped around at Virgil’s hand on his shoulder for the second time that day.

“What?” he snapped.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there, Scotty?” Virgil quested. 

There was no judgement, never was with Virgil, only deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners with concern. Worry, about him, not so much that he was going to lash out at any minute, but checking in to see if he was okay.

Scott huffed and turned away. He didn't deserve Virgil.

The phantom sensation of Virgil’s hands around his chest, on his side, holding him back, ghosted over him. If Virgil hadn't been there, Scott would’ve— 

The man would’ve been lucky if all he’d gotten away with was a bloody nose.

Scott swallowed and hugged his arms around his chest. 

The way he’d shaken Virgil off, if he hadn't stepped back from Scott, Scott would’ve elbowed his brother in the stomach too.

John chimed in on the comm room holo, and Scott was avoiding both his brothers’ eyes. 

“I saw it all on the video feed,” John stated, “I’d have wanted to do the same too.”

“But you wouldn’t’ve.” John was better than that, better than Scott.

John’s admission, even if Scott was adamant his brother would not act in the same way, made everything worse. He rubbed at his knuckles. 

So much for setting a good example for his younger brothers. Scott was exactly who they shouldn’t be. Mum’d be so disappointed. 

“But you didn't,” John countered.

Scott viciously shook his head. That didn't matter.

Virgil’s hand was back on his shoulder. A comforting squeeze, a tug to try to get him to turn around. Scott stuck fast.

In that moment, with his fist clenched, raised and ready to lunge, Scott had been all boiling rage and seething worry and he hadn't thought. He just reacted.

He regretted it. Not because he wasn't still angry at that man, but because he didn't want to be like this. If he was going to get violent, he would rather it be because it was the last possible option to prevent more people from getting hurt. Not because he threw punches at the slightest provocation.

When Virgil pulled him back, he’d left his hand on Scott’s side a second longer, not restraining him, just a reminder. Or maybe an attempt at reassurance. 

Scott had still thrown it back in his face. 

“What happened?” John asked, knowingly or unknowingly repeating Virgil’s earlier words. 

Still with no judgement. Guilt filled the pit of Scott’s stomach.

He’d been on a rescue. He shouldn’t have risen to the bait. Virgil had been angry, John too, but they’d focussed in on the mission. Where Scott, Scott had just lashed out. 

John continued, “You usually don’t—”

“I know. I know!” Scott burst out, “It’s just— he was going to leave them in there! He wanted to leave Gordon to die down there. Gordon could’ve—” Scott’s voice broke. 

Virgil pulled him into a hug. Scott flailed then froze, because he didn't want to hurt Virgil. He tried to push Virgil away carefully, not because he didn't— he always wanted his brother’s hugs, but Virgil should’ve been comforting Gordon instead. Not Scott with his temper causing problems once again. Which were all his own fault. Scott’s mind leapt back to the fact that he should’ve gone instead.

Virgil held him. An arm tucked firmly around his waist. A hand resting at the nape of his neck. 

Scott’s raised voice was muffled slightly by warm flannel, “For a second I thought—” That Gordon was�� Scott couldn’t even say the words. “And he didn't even care! He didn't care about Gordon or Penelope or Parker or anyone’s lives!” 

Anger spilled out of him. Mixed with fear. 

Scott’s eyes stung, his chest was heaving. Eventually he slumped against Virgil. 

John was murmuring reassurances, cutting through the torrent of failure, failure, he could have, should’ve done better, why were his brothers even still here—

Scott had his father’s temper, but he wasn't so sure he admired that about dad anymore. Quick to anger turned too fast into hurting people. It didn't matter whether or not they deserved it, that wasn't who he wanted to be. And ultimately, no one deserved it. It wasn't about deserve.

International Rescue wasn't based around picking and choosing who got to be saved. And beating up that treasure hunting bastard wouldn't have helped him get to Gordon any faster. There were other ways to fight. They were about saving people. 

But he’d still—

John’s voice was cool and steady, washing over his own heated flare of anger turned towards himself. “You did what you could, Scott. Yes, being that close to punching that guy’s lights out was less than ideal, but you focussed back in on the rescue, in spite of that poor excuse of a human trying to give archaologists a bad name.” 

“But what if Virgil hadn’t been there to hold me back,” Scott said sadly. He had to make sure his brothers knew what they were dealing with, for their own sakes at least.

Virgil’s arms gently tightened around him, holding him up. John made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. 

Then an edge rose in John’s voice, always defending Scott, even from himself. “Where it counted, you did everything you could for the mission. Because of you and Virgil, Gordon, Penny and Parker all made it home safe. You are more than your mistakes, Scott, you deserve credit for the rest too.”

Scott just wanted to curl up in a ball because somehow his brothers weren’t mad at him, even though they should be. They weren’t and they understood him and supported him. Still.

Suddenly all the exhaustion from the rollercoaster of emotions and the rescue caught up to him. 

When he stumbled, Virgil guided him to the ground so he could sit cross legged on the floor, leaning heavily on Virgil. The comforting presence of John’s hologram continued to hover in front of them.

John and Virgil shared a look over his head but Scott was too tired to care what it meant. 

He was still in his sweaty flight suit because he’d skipped the showers to avoid running into Virgil or Gordon in the locker room. He’d justified to to himself as getting a head start on the monster of a report he needed to write.

“How’s Gordon doing?” he murmured. 

He hadn’t seen Gordon since the rescue. Managed to avoid the little brother who’d nearly been buried under thousand year old rubble, apart from the brief, crushing hug they’d shared before departing from the scene in their Thunderbirds.

“Gordon’s all good,” John answered, “He’s lucky, nothing but a few scrapes and bruises and he’s already back into a videogame tournament with Allie. Hear they’ve roped Kayo in too.”

“That’ll end well,” he muttered. The three of them were a match against any competition, and a danger to the walls against each other.

“I’ve got to go now,” John added, “See you soon.”

Scott nodded mutely, only processing about half of it as the hologram blinked out. He could really do with one of John’s hugs as well, right about now.

Virgil gripped both Scott’s shoulders. “Gordon’s okay Scott. He’s okay.”

Scott gulped, and repeated, “Gordy’s okay.”

Virgil gave him a gentle shake. “Now you’re off to shower, John’s coming down and I’m getting snacks to we can all hole up in the den.”

“John doesn't have to,” Scott protested.

“He wants to. You know him. You worried us both today, and he’s already on his way.”

Scott squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds and nodded.

Getting up from the floor took a hand from Virgil and a few seconds resting against the wall. He winced at the sound his joints made.

Shower. Okay, he could do this.

Scott walked to his room, head down, staring at the wooden boards beneath his boots. Where he was tracking dust through the house, making more work for them.

Everything ended up in a pile on his bathroom floor, baldric, boots, suit. He’d tidy it up later. At least the tiles were warm under foot.

The hot water and steam washed away the rest of the dust from the day. 

No one was around to see when he slid down to sit on the floor of his shower, head in his hands, just letting the water rain down upon him.

Or if he buried his face in his fluffy, blue towel for an extra few minutes.

When he finally got out of the bathroom, he tugged on a t-shirt and sweat pants, then a flannel over the top that was obviously Virgil’s and too large around his shoulders but had somehow ended up on top of Scott’s laundry pile anyway. 

None of his siblings commented on it. Not even when he poked his head around Alan’s door to check on them. Because he needed to lay eyes on Gordon and ruffle the squid’s hair to hear him laugh and protest the action.

Gordon was okay. So Scott was okay.

He found John in the hallway outside the den, trailing his hand along the wall to stay upright against gravity as he made his way in. 

Scott picked up his pace towards John, really-here-in-the-flesh-and-blood John. He waited for a second until John held his arms out wide before wrapping his brother up in a long overdue hug. 

Scott’s breathing came shaky for a second as John returned it just as fiercely. 

They entered the den in a ridiculous three legged race, neither letting go of the other and settled on the sofa together, wordlessly sticking as close to each others sides as they could.

Virgil came in a few minutes later, carrying three dishes. Scott sat up a little straighter as he smelt the distinct aroma emanating from them. Apple pie. 

Scott bit his lip. Virgil hadn't needed to go to all the effort for him, even if it was only chucking a frozen pie in the oven.

“Before you say anything, Scott, it’s been a hard day,” Virgil stated firmly, “You get pie.” 

John and Scott shuffled over to make room for Virgil to join their tangled up cuddle pile, and hand out the dishes.

Scott saluted Virgil with his spoon, then dug in.

A large slice of sweet, crumbly pastry, and hot, delicious filling, with a scoop of icecream for cooling his mouth when Scott burnt his tongue on the first eager gulp. Perfect.

For a few minutes, all that could be heard from any of them were happy munching noises. Scott smiled between bites, tucking into his favourite comfort food was possibly just what he needed.

He even got the leftovers of John’s because John hated the texture of soggy pastry but preferred to eat his icecream melty and one usually led to the other. Scott had no such qualms, and hey, bonus pie.

Virgil flicked on the holo tv, and began to scroll through shows, inquiring as to which Scott wanted. 

Maybe it was silly, but piled on the couch between John and Virgil, Scott didn't care what movie they watched. As long as he had them both there, his brothers could sort it out amongst themselves.

He got to experience a front row seat to the playful squabble that ensued between his usually quietest brothers. Plus when they tried to tackle each other over art documentary versus space, Scott got to be happily squished in the middle. Even if he had to fend off a few elbows. 

Something was compromised on, running as soothing background noise. Scott threw his legs across Virgil’s lap before Virgil could get there first, his head resting on John’s shoulder, his brothers with their arms around each other behind him. 

Even after the day they’d had. All warm and alive and safe, the others just a few rooms over, John and Virgil both snuggled up together here with him.

Perfect.

[dailycharacteroption]

Lion Blade (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by madspartan013 on DeviantArt)

When one thinks of espionage and crowded city streets, one imagines sneaky enemy agents vanishing into the crowd, befuddling or even outright escaping the heroes. (or alternatively, heroic agents using the crowd to hide from villainous authorities.)

However, there are those that would use those very crowds to undo the sneaks instead of the other way around, such as the spies and secret peacekeepers of Taldor, the Lion Blades.

While Taldor is not the picture of a perfect empire by any means, the Lion Blades are not an oppressive secret police, but rather hidden agents that root out assassins, saboteurs, spies, and the like by being unnoticed by their prey until it is too late and the crowds they sought to hide in feel more like walls closing in, leaving nowhere to hide.

Traditionally, Lion Blades are drawn from bardic training (In keeping with how the original First Edition prestige class, which I haven’t covered yet, worked), but they also draw upon many different backgrounds. As such, the Second Edition archetype has more broad, general abilities, letting their original training shine through and make for a truly unique agent.

The base dedication of being a Lion Blade provides training in disguise and stealth, as well as advanced disguise techniques to make it easier to appear as other ancestries as long as there is no extreme differences in size.

Many in the organization learn to disappear into crowds just as easily as their quarry, becoming unnoticed among the masses.

The press of the crowd can be inhibiting, and many Lion Blades take advantage of this, striking for a foe’s vulnerable points when they are surrounded.

Some Lion Blades are especially athletic runners, able to move much more quickly in the pursuit of their targets.

Just as their contemporaries may use magic to detect malicious intent, so too may assassins and spies use similar magic to notice when they’ve been found. As such, some Lion Blades learn to deceive divinatory magic as long as they can resist the initial detection.

Whether they take advantages of mundane things like disguise shifts and blind spots, or they use minor magics to distort other’s perception, some of these counter-spies can partially conceal their actions in a fight, making it hard to target them accurately.

Aside from their knack for using crowds against their foes, this archetype holds little in common with it’s First Edition namesake, but you can still emulate that legacy by combining this archetype with bardic magics and roguish tricks, no matter what base class you use. Beyond that, being sneaky and perceptive are major boons here, so classes that work well with those are very useful, but don’t be afraid to try more combat or spellcasting-oriented builds as well.

Whether you use this in the Lost Omens setting or as a basis for another counter-spy organization, this archetype is just one way to explore the complexities of intrigue and espionage. Definitely brush up on your detective and spy fiction to get some inspiration here.

The King’s Vanguard, a collection of spies working to protect the nation and the royal line, have been tracking a smuggling ring that has suddenly become more bold and well-funded recently. What they do not realize is that their new funding comes from a mad wizard seeking to smuggle a monstrous cursed sword into the city, one which he hopes to use to turn the King into a blood-hungry monster.

Espionage is, ostensibly, not the orcish way, and yet every warrior-king that has ever been close to actually uniting the various clans under one banner has made use of spies and guards to keep the influx of challengers in check, even going so far as to assassinate them in public.

Revered by the nomadic peoples up north, Thunderbirds are normally not seen in the southern Qotl Empire, but one has appeared, drawn her as if by some calling. Fearing for the nation’s safety, the king has commanded the Stalking Panthers, his elite guardians, to discover the source of this calling before the constant storms bring his people to ruin.

[cookidoughlilac]

I swear, every save of Inferno I keep on onedrive gets corrupted in some way 🙈 I don't suppose anyone knows where to find a good, uncorrupted version?

[call-me-casual]

Back on my crappy Procreate editing bullshit, may I present: TAG with TOS colour baldrics

(+Scott with how I suspect his uniform looked prior to his dad’s not-vaporisation

[idontknowreallywhy]

Ghost

Swiping the financial report closed Scott sighed in relief. It had taken three days but unless anything unexpected happened, he was just about up to date. If you didn’t count the IR paperwork for the GDF but hopefully Casey would give him a few days grace on that… right now they’d only read “arrived, did our job, left” and he suspected rather more detail might be appreciated.

How had Dad kept on top of it all? Surely he’d have managed it better? Eight years on and Scott still didn’t feel up to the job. He suddenly felt so very, very young and yet simultaneously so very old and tired.

He looked down at the desk and goosebumps prickled down his spine. He leapt up from the chair, suddenly unable to remain seated. He’d sat there for longer than his father ever had, that milestone had passed a couple of years back. Yet it was still unarguably Dad’s Desk.

He squashed down the flash of desperation that threatened to overwhelm him. This line of thought was counter-productive. Virgil would point out, again, that IR was completing far more missions than they ever had in Dad’s time, and that under Scott’s control Tracy Industries had expanded considerably. He wasn’t failing to do the same juggling act his father had always performed, he was just using heavier clubs. Some of which were on fire.

His brother sure had a way with a metaphor. He looked over at the piano with affection. The musician was in full musicking mode, in his own world, headphones on, fingers dancing across the keys and humming to himself. Scott wasn’t sure he’d heard him play this one before… it was… pretty, but a little sad. Kind of haunting. He was sure he knew it from somewhere and it was going to bug him… he wouldn’t interrupt though. Leaning down he pulled up the website that would identify a piece of music from an audio clip, Scott pressed record and waited. It took a while, because Virg had clearly hit a tricky moment and stumbled over a passage before repeating it a couple of times more slowly.

Eventually he got back into the groove and the requisite track popped up. “Ghosts” huh? Ha, how appropriate. His brother’s heart-melting baritone floated above the relentless piano, wordless. Little brother never seemed to notice the lyrics, preferring to focus on the shape of the melody to convey the story. His big brother took a more conventional approach to knowing what it was about and clicked through to the lyrics page. He read them through, his brow furrowed. The goosebumps retuned.

His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, unable to support the weight of his long-buried grief.

Resting his cheek on the seat of the chair, on the ghost of his father’s knee, he listened to Virgil unknowingly sing out his big brother’s pain.

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Now and then

My mind drifts to a place where I find you

Lost in my head

There are unsolved feelings that haunt me

It's too late to heal, I'll lay them to rest

If I could bring you back

There are truths and confessions I'd tell you

I'd set things straight

And I believe that you would love and forgive me

I know it's too late, I need to let go

And how can I move on

When everyone I see still talks about you?

How can I move on

When all the best things I have we built together?

Here's to letting go

But I am trapped in a void with your ghost and our memories

Lest we forget the great reset

(Muse / Matt Bellamy)

[bonsaiiiiiii]

mom I can explain,,,it's International Rescue 🥺

link for the template:

[motionpicturesource]

THUNDERBIRDS (2004) + scenery

[scott-tracy-1]

i HAD to use this audio with John