#dad thatcher

[misstwisted]

MADE THIS BEFORE ANYONE ELSE COULD

SOMEBODY GET THIS TRAUMATIZED BOY HIS TRAUMATIZED DAD

also

YES PERSON ON THE LIVE CHAT WE DO LETS GOOOOOO

DAWG I AM SO HAPPY I COULD CRY

YEAAAAAAAAAAH

[creepycatboyz]

like father, like son...

[fizzzyz]

YOUR ART IS SO GRAHHH /POS. i beg for thatcher comforting adam that boy needs a better father figure /nf

He tried to give him ice cream. He got a brain freeze.

[henriiiii-1001old]

i need. i need to write this out. its short canon-based fic that's like. basically spoilers but i neeeeeeeEEEEEEEEd to write this

fic/technical spoilers under the cut

He couldn’t believe it. His slumped figure, the uncanny features of what used to be his face, his screams… Adam Murray, one of the most wanted criminals by the FBI to date, was one of them?

Thatcher, body laying on his side on the carpeted floor of the suspect’s bedroom, stared in utter shock and horror at the criminal’s screaming state, his eyes and mouth misshaped to the point he couldn’t be recognized as who he was before. He had witnessed someone’s humanity being stripped away from them. Just like his had in previous years.

Thatcher put down the camera and slid himself to a nearby wall to recover properly. His hands reached for the popcorn texture and pushed himself up, all while trying to think of some way he could calm the boy, or, if needed, neutralize the threat. He didn’t seem like a threat, however. The voice beckoning to this place had certainly not wanted to lure him for the sake of getting killed. Whoever called him here wanted him to witness someone else’s pain, to test him in his willingness to actually help others. And he gladly took that challenge.

“Murray, kid,” Thatcher tried to speak, his voice raspy from having woken up only a mere thirty minutes ago. “I… What the hell’s going on?”

“JUST LET ME DIIIiIiiEeEEE!!!!!!!!!” he screamed, the pain clear as day through his voice. He tried moving his slacked arms, sluggishly grabbing his jaw and hair in his separate hands, pulling on both of them simultaneously. He even began whispering and mumbling for the Lieutenant to “just kill him,” pleading for the sweet release of the pain he had been enduring.

Thatcher swallowed his fears and began approaching the alternate, hands hovering over the gun he had brought for protection. As much as he knew he couldn’t kill those things, it was a good distraction in case things had to get violent. He’d survived one before, what’s another?

He inched his way toward Adam, the suspect trying to crumple himself into a ball as a way to mitigate his suffering. All the while, he was still screaming at the top of his lungs. His footsteps were quiet so as to not alarm the suffering boy in front of him. His limbs had been stretched out to an impossible length as well as being skinny enough that he’d die right there and then if he were truly human. At this point, Thatcher was sure that everything he thought about Adam was a complete lie.

There was one thing on his mind as he stepped ever closer: does Sarah know? Does his ex know? Does anyone else know?

Once Thatcher had felt he had been able to get close enough, he bent down to Adam’s level, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to him. Slowly but surely, he had placed a soft hand against the disfigured kid’s knee. Adam tried lifting his head but decided he didn’t want to due to how much it would hurt for someone else to see him like this. Thatcher knew it too.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the crying mess, ignoring how liquid the skin felt, how flexible it was now. It became goo in his hands as he tried gripping onto Adam for dear life, not wanting to let him go until he’d calmed himself down. Adam began to shift around a bit before uncurling himself, albeit in a very strained manner. Thatcher noticed this attempt and slightly backed away, still keeping his hands attached to Adam in an attempt of comfort.

“Why… aren’t you running…?” Adam asked, the soft whisper of his voice almost not reaching the officer’s ears. “Did… why? Why are you here?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is making sure you’re okay,” Thatcher responded in the same tone of voice as to not scare him. He had a gut feeling that him breaking down is why he’s all discombobulated. “Take some breaths with me, and hold on tight if you need to.”

With those remarks, Thatcher softly embraced Adam once more, Adam slowly returning his gesture this time. Thatcher could feel Adam’s melting hands searching for some sort of grip on him, finally setting on holding his hair a little too tight for Thatcher’s comfort. Thatcher decided to ignore the pain in favor of helping Adam in the best way he could. He leaned his head backwards to alleviate some of it at least, but it truly wasn’t his main focus at the present moment.

“Take some breaths, kid. Please,” Thatcher whispered. He began to breathe deeply, in and out, in a stable pattern to model to Adam. Adam struggled at first, the snot being sniffled back up his nose and tears running endlessly down his face - or was it blood -, but eventually finding a pattern that worked for him best. His skin began to solidify in the process - not fully, but it was definitely better than before. Adam finally found more grip in his hands and removed his hands from Thatcher’s hair to settle on his back instead.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry,” Adam repeated quietly, half hoping that Thatcher wouldn't hear. Or at least that’s what he theorized.

“Don’t ever apologize,” Thatcher firmly, but gently, stated, pulling away from the boy softly. “You needed help, and that’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

Adam looked up at Thatcher, finally. His eyes and mouth had changed back into a normal, stable state along with the rest of his limbs. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his lips quivered, and his entire body simply shook from the mere shock, pain, and horror of it all.

“Am I… Are…” Adam mumbled. He looked at his hands and flexed them a few times, unsure of if he had returned to his former self or not. “Am I real?”

“If that’s supposed to mean ‘are you normal again’ then yes, you are,” Thatcher chuckled. “However, if you’re truly questioning whether or not you’re real, then the answer is still yes. I have tons of records on you back at the station if you need proof.”

Adam chuckled softly, trying to hide his amusement in Thatcher’s words. He stared at the ground for a few moments, and Thatcher joined him. They sat in complete, awkward silence, though that silence might have been necessary.

“You need a place to stay? Or someone to stay here with you for the night? I don’t want you to be by yourself tonight. Maybe not even for the next few days. And we don’t have to talk about this right now. I understand.”

Adam nodded and began tearing up once more, lunging at Thatcher with a more enthusiastic hug. Thatcher immediately complied.

“Thank you… I’m so sorry you had to deal with this-”

“Hey, again, don’t apologize.”

Adam nodded in Thatcher’s shoulder. He had longed for physical contact for a good while, and this was the best chance he’d ever get at it. Thatcher felt it as Adam tried to get even closer to him, pulling on him even harder and even trying to nuzzle his shoulder just to get that extra sense of physical feeling. A sense of comfort and safety. A sense of humanity.

“I don’t wanna stay here,” Adam spoke up, his voice slightly muffled by the officer’s shoulder. “I need to get out of here…”

“I got you covered. Not too comfortable bringing you to my place due to… circumstances, but we can just head over to the station. I should have something there to make us comfortable.”

Adam nodded and gave a verbal indicator through hums. Thatcher slightly separated from Adam to help him stand, walking him out of the house and to his car. He led him to the passenger seat and let himself get comfortable. After he gently closed the door, he walked over to the driver’s seat, got comfortable, started the car, and drove as fast as he could to get them both out of there.

Thatcher wasn’t sure what to do the next morning, but whatever it was it would be taking care of this damn kid. He already lost his parents, and he’s not gonna let it happen again.

[barzyhughes]

this is so cute i love the teams that do these

[pigtailedgirl]

Due South and a Canadian White Girl North-ish

I'm so nervous. Addition: Perhaps some trigger warning for abuse and illness talk?

So I read this great Due South fanfic.

BLESSED

I think it's going in my top ten. And I have a bunch I like that deal in the same theme. In Fraser's fit of himself in the city versus northern Canada and how he finds something in the contrasts.

Still this fanfic, though it does a neat re-examine overall, and others, have an image I guess that is put out by Fraser, by the narrative, of Canada that just does not work for me.

EXAMPLE

***

"Think about being somewhere else," Cleve told him as the strings began to vibrate again. "Anywhere but here."

And he did. Where did he want to be? Anywhere but here. Yes, Cleve had indeed answered the question for him.

The MacKenzie River, strong and swift, slicing through the spruce and pine, cutting a path between the snowcapped mountains.

The frozen, inhospitable Beaufort Sea, where a man could see his own breath turn to ice on the air and blow back to his face, clinging crystals of ice on his skin and lashes.

The mighty forests of tamarack and poplar that covered the western slope of the coastal mountain ranges. The warm, gentle breezes of heady lodgepole pine scent. The soft hiss and crackle of campfire, mellowed by a handful of cedar bark.

"There you go," Cleve decided at last in a quiet, satisfied voice.

Ben smiled until his face hurt, not quiet ready to open his eyes and let go his vision just yet. The strings felt good, like the strips of cedar bark he had imagined for the fire, the neck of the guitar a more than adequate rendering of the canoe paddle the MacKenzie demanded. The smooth, time worn wood of the box pressed into his belly, a body that complemented his, perfect in its unyieldingness, yet matching his every bend and twist.

Stella the True.

Ben would have given her another name.

His eyes opened then, noticing first how the world seemed to have blurred in more ways than one, and that the smile had faded away as the memories had faded in upon him. The world was only blurry for a few seconds more, until he realized that once he blinked the beginnings of tears from his eyes, the world became amazingly clear. So much became amazingly clear.

"Don't give up on yourself, son," Cleve Abernathy's voice came from somewhere very, very far away. Fraser gave his saturated eyes to the man who had spoken.

***

"Where I come from, people help one another. If one goes without, then all go without equally, so that everyone has a chance. You don't let your neighbor's coal run out in January. You don't let their stomachs go empty when your kill is plenty. When their children don't return from the trail, you go looking for them. That's just the way it is."

***

It's beautifully written, but feels wrong to me. Feels like lies to my lived experiences. Being from a small place like Fraser, this is a beautiful sentiment, and not at all true to it's realities.

When Fraser, Due South's narrative and comedy, and fandom view the otherness of the wilderness or northern Canada, make big deals to study it, never mind just mark Canada different in broad... It feels othering. Othering in a way I think is really important to how Fraser doesn't fit in if he's got this perspective too.

I've grown with stories about people and family who lived the same kind of lives as the Fraser family. In modern ways my home here still is like this. I even lived some like this and I'm baby in comparison.

Remote and isolated. Lots of nature to be in. Law, education and medicine as tiers in the community that are mostly outsiders to the community either brought in short-term or recurring.

Even those who live here permanently now, have founded themselves career wise, and have to, going away to do it or having been born and raised elsewhere. Christ, we have to basically leave after high-school more than 1000km away. HAVE TO.

And there is a definite disconnect between this group who are outsiders and the what I would call settled persons in the emotional connection to the place and town and the ability to fit in.

If it's a truism to me, this idea of grand north, natural beauty or isolation in a small town, with the people, to get in touch with an emotional growth is the biggest lie I have ever witnessed done by people to themselves. And this is an idealism of outsiders. You don't come out into isolation or live it to get NEW emotional needs met. You don't grow yourself thinking this is something special or the true way or will fix you.

Those that say living like this is a personal spiritual ride are:

1. High on their own supply as it were, aka, either tapping what they had dormant before or pretending.

2. Doing so off the backs of those who just don't think too much about it and are where and what they are.

If I had a dollar for every doctor or therapist I met who came here and were enamored by the place, the seas and freedoms and kind people and opportunities in solitude, expected it to change the people here and them, and then ran wild because they were always dumbasses, or took advantage, or after a year of seeing it day to day still wouldn't or didn't understand how to live with it and ran or got burnt out...RICH.

Because the truth is that small communities and remoteness don't make special or perfect people or places. We aren't magic, we aren't even that different, we just face a different or smaller reality.

I'm struck by the story One Good Man paints of Fraser's grandmother, who faced early trauma, and to me tells a reality you maybe don't want to embrace fully but should reflect on before concluding the nature of life here. A young woman who saw her town burn, who saved some of the children in it, but watched the others and adults die and was also horribly physically and probably emotionally scarred by it. Who only had an idea, and with it, bravery in the face of that moment, and after the strength to hang on as her backbone tip of surviving. Any wonder then, the tough it attitude and gift of wisdom was maybe her main survival and emotional mantra. That what tied her there to keep trying to give knowledge to people and how she pushed that above emotion on her grandson was this.

I think canon does a good job of highlighting an undercurrent of why Fraser and family still didn't fit in and why Fraser and Due South is a story of growth as a person and finding his home/community is going outside. His emotional needs weren't here. That's alright to find elsewhere when you need it.

@juniperpomegranate made a really great point of difference of Fraser's north, so often idealized in show or fic, and how it isn't actually like a town. It's not imagined or filled or understood in the reality of a community. Which is hella important. Because your community and relationships is how you really fit in a place like that or in my home.

And that's people. People to connect to. People who aren't wildly different. Experiences only seem wild to outsiders. Perfection or an image of better peeps is only lauded to cover in my opinion.

We face hardships and issues. We don't face them mythically. Nature is pretty and it requires work and understanding of it, learned only from experience and listening or knowing others who have, to survive and thrive in.

The reason we have outsider law or medicine or education come in is...

Well it can be real fun when the town is faced with say influenza and has no resources, or knowledge about it. Where you have to be cajoled to get immunized by your sister dressing up in the nurse's coat and leaving, to trick you into coming out of hiding. Where Dad tells stories of my great-grandma who plastered everyone with coal oil for cures as the rock of the town. Or where, when you have criminal stuff or domestic violence or mental illness and you can't treat or stop. A woman who hurt her family for decades because she was sadly untreated and unknown Schizophrenic. When another woman my dad's age wrote of her harrowing experience of childhood, of her mom dying from cancer and her father putting her to work as a teenage girl to care for the siblings and home, and then not providing any of his income or the support people gave him for them, until she and her siblings were literally found starving. Cause he fucked off to the neighbors. Cause the whole town knew it was happening, but there was no alternative, this was just their monetary and work survival versus that family and that family's lack of social capital paired with no place to go. Where solution was when law finally came in an forcefully moved the minor kids to different fosters in villages 100s of kilometers away, this was just a daily continuation of life though for most here.

See law, as external resource, can't even do much beyond come in twice a year and judge people. Punishment for crimes is more social than moral and depends on taking a person out of the community most times. Bob Fraser, Mounties and cops who ship around to different spots, if they are good get then respect sure, but they were and always have to stay detached to not bias too. It's a hard one. It's you can have impact and respect, for example the priest use to come a couple times a year and get the good dishes out for him, but you don't build the emotional connection of say staying for the weddings after-parties of music and dancing all night. Of people crossing islands to visit each other at the end of weeks' work.

In this vein I'm not surprised Bob had a great reputation and a lot of "friends" he didn't know.

And education. Where it's people come to knowledge at you, or knowledge from you. Where it's students come to study you like you are a tropical native of the 18th century. Write their papers and go back and take your history and skills to sell and forget the here left behind. Or come dodging the drafts of the States. All our stories or archives are in a "local" museum we can't even get to without a plane ticket yo. Or again those who come to give wisdom like they are the holders and we are heathen plebs. With maybe a one in ten being someone or something honest or decent. Though I'm a little bias here. My mom was a teacher who came here in the 70s and spent her whole life teaching grade school. Literal one room school house start. Who met and married and stayed with my Dad here. Some people do catch. Some, I think like maybe the example of Fraser's grandma, which I have soft feeling for probably because of this, just really want to impart shared knowledge and get happiness from seeing it grow and having that personal shot to help it. In a small community that seed growing outwards, to see it, is freaking awesome. But key is shared. You got to learn from too.

Finally, small isolated communities need and foster their connection through the people. Who you know. How you are all related. The meme of does everybody know everyone in Canada hits lol. But that's got the inverse too. There is no privacy. Loners be seen and judged. Again, social fit and capital being supreme.

That's why the nature loner or lover is myth too. Drop you off on a pretty snow covered lake. Pretty yes, magical and just for you, no. You still need the community knowledge to know where the fish, which direction is inland or sea, where is best shelter, where is Indians in the country to help you trap, when does the supplies boats and airdrops come. Nothing is done alone okay, trust me on this. You go out to snowshoe alone on a clear day, and weather strikes and you die.

I guess my point I keep trying to rope back into is maybe the experience or place or people sound different, or magic, but it's superficial. It's no different than how stories of history or cities sound to some. Emotionally I think we run the same. I think the true beauty is in seeing that reality. That you can't be the best stuck in an unreality or hiding from finding your fit. And again the true charm of Due South and Fraser, is his going south grows himself to see it. The show gets us to play and have fun seeing it.

And that the best of people or place, Canada or States, small town or city, outsider or no...is accepting and acknowledging that difference and sameness is the way to grow. Is the best beauty.

It's how my community did grow out of most of it's struggles imo, and hopes to go further I tell ya.

So here are my recs on the wonder of difference and sameness in Due South. Again like the fic above, can't rec enough.

Here are a small sampler of finding yourself near and away.

Stars, I Have Seen Them Fall (squidge.org)

Smaller Gods - arrow (esteefee) - due South [Archive of Our Own]

Our Dancing Days - sdwolfpup - due South [Archive of Our Own]

Also, does anyone have a link to an old ds flashfic of Fraser wandering Chicago in a power outage? I loved that one.

[origami-butterfly]

Look, after Presto, I'm convinced Six and Thatcher are having the nastiest custody battle over Adam.

Jk, they're getting married

[dylan-duke]

Nora meeting the team for the first time

Quinn bringing Nora to practice for the first time

ok so i imagine a lot of the guys that have been around for awhile met nora before quinn brought her to the rink this would include jt thatcher petey brock bo (yes he's still with the team)

etc.

but then ellen goes back to mich and quinn has to start taking 3 month old nora with him

of course instantly when quinn walks in with her brock is taking her and insisting that he watches her while quinn gets ready, but quinn is like, "no man she's gotta go to the babysitter,"

and yah

[orangechickenpillow]

The dynamic of Prospect 2018 is if a deadbeat dad dragged his kid along to a family reunion and then she got paired up with the weird uncle because they were both occupying the same antisocial corner and then he decided to tell her his whole life story

[misstwisted]

I saw the new Mandela catalogue and…

I FUCKING K N E W I T

I WAS CALLING THIS SHIT FOR OVER 2 MONTHS.

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY, TUMBLR???

MY FRIENDS DIDNT BELIEVE ME

EVERYBODY WAS LIKE “NOO HE ISNT GONNA SAVE ADAM! HES GONNA RUN OUT OF THERE BECAUSE HES SCARED OF ALTERNATES AND THEY KILLED HIS BEST FRIEND!!!”

N O P E

I WIN

MY WIN

IM SORRY I DIDNT KNOW I WAS FUCKING PSYCHIC. LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

DAD THATCHER CANON

C A N O N !!!!!!

….

okay I call this phenomena “When my headcanon becomes a tiny bit actually canon.”

I apologize for this whole post I’m just really happy for the sliver of Dad thatcher canoness

[creepycatboyz]

Gives you 25 cents and two sticks of gum

Uhhhh can I get uhhhhhh post catalyst Adam wrapped in blankets and a warm drink? I just want him to get a break ):

He gets some comfort!!!!! (he honestly doesnt want anything down his throat rn bc of the bleach- so pineapple pizza it is!) also based on the lil transcripts mini series mustang wrote.. not normal about the two- cries

they get pizza and everything is fine..... please...

[lesbianlotties]

funny how i spent all week complaining about my bedroom room opening and closing by itself at night and then tonight i had the bright idea of watching the boogeyman. very interesting coincidence. feeling okay about it

[parragone]

One day I'll publish all of these. Anyway! Thatcher and Mute, while Thstcher is trying desperately to figure out who the fuck decided to put a teenager through SAS selection

The fact of the matter was that someone far higher than he was aware was pulling strings in preparation for something. To make matters worse, he knew about the whole ordeal. He, Cowden, and Porter had been the only members of the SAS to be directly informed of the boy being underage, and that was only after they had hauled the kid back from Belize to finish out the training. Someone was doing more than planning; they had their operators picked out, which meant they had a solid plan of action and intent.

They knew what they wanted.

The door opened, and Mike looked up to find a now mostly-dry young man standing just inside the doorway. He gestured for Mark to come sit next to him, and soon enough, they were sitting near to each other; Mark set his phone face-down in front of him and folded his hands over top of it. It was astonishing how difficult the boy was to read, even without the mask, and Mike wondered when he'd learned to hide so well. Mike pushed over the papers before he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he tapped his thumbs together.

“You know your rank, yeah?”

“Y-yeah. I’ve been named a lieutenant.” Mark thumbed through the papers with a quiet bewilderment. “These are my transcripts - my designs and patents.”

“Aye, they are,” Mike confirmed. “With an academic doctorate, you should have been placed higher, but you’re a damn kid. The fact you’re serving at all is a fucking nightmare. As a lieutenant, you outrank me. If we were standard troops, I’d be the one calling you 'sir'. Given that we’re not, and you’re currently being treated as a member of my squad, we’ll address each other formally but without rank.”

Mark froze where he sat, his eyes locked on the papers in his hands before he slowly lifted his head. His brows furrowed together with a look of utter disbelief as he quietly gestured between himself and Mike, which was only confirmed as the older man nodded. The confusion seemed to get worse.

“Baker, sir, you’re - you’re like twice my age-”

“Thrice, actually.”

“That makes it worse!” Mark dropped the papers. “I can’t outrank you! I don’t even know what I’m-”

The way the boy stopped and seemed to shrink made Mike’s gears turn in the worst kind of way. He leaned forward on his elbows and interlocked his fingers as he set his shoulders. “Be honest, Chandar, do you want to be here?”

“I can’t-”

“You can. This isn’t an interrogation, and nobody’s gonna hold it against you for telling me the truth. Not like anyone else is gonna know your answer anyway,” Mike said as he tried to keep his tone as even as he could. “You’re not even legal, but they threw you in with the best of the best and told you to swim. It’s a fucking shock you passed selection, let alone as well as you did, but you managed and here we are. Now, spill - did you want to be here or not?”

Silence hung in the air for what felt like ten minutes or more. The engineer avoided his eyes, shrunk in on himself the same way his own children once did when they thought they were in trouble, and seemed to focus on the transcripts. It was an understandable reaction, even if it was a frustrating one.

The boy was smart. Too smart for his own good, quick to pick up on new ideas and faster to implement them. His coordination and communication skills were poor in controlled environments, but excellent on the field; he had risked his own success at escape and evasion training to get two other prospects out of a sticky situation, and his squad credited their high performance in Belize to his calm head, even if an oyster had better socialization skills.

Except, and this was key in Mike’s assessment, leadership was a trait Mark Chandar denied.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mark’s words pulled Mike out of his thoughts, and the older man leaned back in his chair. “Then how’d you get here?”

“They gave me a choice. Said it was because I was too clever for my own good,” Mark explained quietly as he tidied the papers. “I was too good at breaking codes and finding information, too quick to be trusted. Said that if I didn’t take the offer, they’d have me under surveillance for the rest of my life. I’d never be allowed to leave the country. Anyone I interacted with would be scrutinized. They said I was too dangerous to let anyone else get me as an asset, even though I did nothing wrong.”

“They picked your ass up because you’re smart?” He sounded incredulous. “I mean, damn, your scores are good but-”

“They picked me up because I broke into GCHQ’s systems with a laptop and home internet,” Mark corrected, his tone defeated. “They picked me up because for some goddamn reason, I thought I could go ahead and break every code standing between someone and classified documents and not get caught. I was fifteen when I did it, sixteen when the GCHQ told me to either sign up or live under watch."

[mrkvhs]

SO . ERM . MANDELA CATALOGUE-ERS. ARE WE OKAY RN

[jessahmewren]

yours/mine/ours

A continuation of my Cee and Ezra series.

Summary: Cee can hardly wait to show him. Ezra can scarcely wait to see.

Rating: Gen

Pairing: Cee & Ezra

Words: 3200~

Read it here.

[nevaehdavis5675]

i made me

Dad do you love me?

What I used for the first picture :

What I used for the second picture: