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tagsecretsanta · 6 months ago

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From @littleoldrachel

From @littleoldrachel to @sofasurf

Let your heart be light

“I just don’t understand why you leave it to the last minute every year, Allie.”

Alan’s bedroom is an explosion of wrapping paper in a garish glitter snowman print. Every attempt to manoeuvre it has only cascaded silver glitter into every crevice of the fluffy carpet—or worse, burrowed into Alan’s palms, no matter how many times he’s scrubbed them. Strings of gold ribbon, webs of sticky tape, and an assortment of gifts lie tangled at the centre of the mess, with at least four pairs of open scissors perfectly positioned to do some damage.

The paper he’d thought was so cute when he ordered it online is now haunting him—most disturbing were the trails of glitter that swilled around his shower water earlier. (He also doubts that it fills his rescuees with reassurance when he leaves sparkly handprints on them as he lifts them out of whatever horrifying situation they’ve found themselves in. Although… the little girl who’d asked him very earnestly if he was a fairy since he was leaving such a shimmery trail made the whole thing rather more cute than annoying.)

Still, curse Gordon for encouraging Alan's poor wrapping paper decisions.

“Please, Scott,” Alan wheedles. He hesitates, then pulls out the big guns and widens his eyes to pouting proportions. “I'll never get this done in time without you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, but he does inch forward from where he's leaned against the door jamb, his crossed arms loosening slightly.

“It's ten to midnight. Christmas Day is literally minutes away, Allie,” Scott says, and Alan can tell he's trying to channel Commander Tracy—if only he could contain his fond smirk.

“It'll be faster if we work together!” Alan blinks slowly and deliberately, puppy-dog eyes unwavering.

“Quit trying to be cute.”

“It's a lost cause!” Gordon's voice calls out from the hallway, and Alan is so intent on flinging himself across the room to hide the squid's present from view that he doesn't even have the time to be indignant.

Scott frowns and turns. “Why aren't you in bed?”

Gordon's unruly mop of golden curls appears in the gap. “The mother-henning again, Scotty? Really?”

Scott ignores this. “You're usually first in bed on Christmas. I remember this because you were always the first one to come bounding into my room at four in the morning, shrieking about what Satan had brought you.”

“Satan?” Alan yelps.

“Hey, dyslexia is a cruel mistress!” Gordon scowls. “I liked it better when we were making fun of Allie-”

“I didn't-”

“But if you must know, I was checking on Virg.”

Scott straightens at once, every bit the soldier he once was. (Alan sort of hates it, if he's honest; it feels painful how easily the Commander comes out, even in the one place they are supposed to get to be soft and safe.)

“What's wrong with Virgil?”

“Stand down, soldier.” Gordon yawns so hard his jaw crackles. “Virg is fine. He took a few knocks on this afternoon's rescue, and I just wanted to check he wasn't doing his usual stoic thing.”

Scott frowns. “He didn't mention that in the debrief-”

“Virg hiding injuries? Gee, I wonder where he learned that,” Gordon says dryly, and Alan snorts. “He's fine, Scott. Just bruised and cranky.”

“I'll check in on him in a bit,” Scott says, more to himself than anyone else, and Gordon shoots Alan an exasperated eye roll that has him grinning. Then, Gordon's eyes rove over the disaster site that is Alan's room, and his eyes widen. It's a mark of how tired he must be that he doesn't even quip, just slowly backs away from the mess. “On that note, g’night!”

Alan waits till Gordon's door has closed before he clambers up off Gordon's gift: a truly hideous Christmas jumper decorated with a Santa Claus riding a flamingo float.

Alan's gifts to his brothers are always the most heinous jumpers he can find - after all, what on earth do you give a family made up of billionaires? - and the public loves the annual auction of the jumpers as part of the Tracy family charity drive. He's pretty proud of himself for this year's effort.

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go and bother Virg,” Alan says sweetly, holding up the scissors to Scott.

Scott lets out a put-upon sigh, but he's never been able to resist his littlest brother – as Alan well knows – and he takes the scissors reluctantly.

“Fine, but I'm tagging you in on helping Grandma with the lunch tomorrow.”

Alan pulls a face. He adores his grandmother with his whole heart and soul, and yet her incompetency in the kitchen is nothing short of deadly. Still, if it means an end to the scratchiness of glitter on his skin, he'll go for it.

“Deal.”

Twenty minutes later and faced with a wrapped jumper that looks more like a piece of crumpled trash than a gift, Alan is regretting his recruitment choices. They’d massively underestimated the size of the paper they would need and had been forced to attach another sheet at a strange angle to cover the gift, leaving the snowmen oddly distorted.

“I thought you'd be good at this,” he says despairingly, poking at where the wrapping paper has bunched and torn. “Isn't the army big on neatness?”

Scott slaps his hand away. “You're making it worse! I'm just out of practice.” He has glitter smeared in his eyebrows from his constant head-in-hands-exasperation, and it's the kind of ridiculousness that pours warmth into his chest; they may all be public figures, and they may have had their grief made an aching, public thing, but only Alan and his brothers get to witness Scott Tracy being silly.

“Scotty, you have five siblings; how can you possibly be out of practice?”

There's an awkward pause as Alan tries – to no avail – to fold down the corners of the lumpy package. When it finally clicks that Scott hasn't come back with a witty retort (and Alan's tired, okay? Three back-to-back rescues and his brain has turned to soup), Alan looks up sharply.

“I usually get Virg to do mine,” Scott admits grudgingly, and Alan gapes. “He likes it!” Scott adds defensively, shuffling his stance in a very un-Scott-like move. “Says he finds it ‘mindful’ or whatever.”

“Great! Then I'll ask him to do mine!” Alan scoops up an armful of crumpled wrapping paper and tangled ribbon, making to stand.

Scott laughs. “Not so fast, kiddo. Virg may or may not be injured—and even if he weren't, he has a strict deadline for wrapping applications.”

Alan's mouth moves silently, trying to catch up. “How long has this been going on?”

“About… five years?” Scott scrunches his nose. “Maybe longer?”

“And why am I only hearing about it now?”

Scott shrugs. “It didn’t start as a whole thing; I was getting more and more stressed about not being ready for Christmas with all the Tracy Industry stuff, and it was when he was following me around like a shadow because he was worried, and then he just helped… and kept helping.” Scott shifts his weight again and places the next jumper – John’s – in the centre of a fresh sheet of paper. “And then Gordon cottoned on, and–"

“What?!” Alan’s outrage is like the sharp sting of a torn-off scab. “Gordon knows and he didn’t tell me?”

Scott blinks at him. “We all know, Allie. John found out… somehow, because he’s John. Kayo walked in on Virg wrapping all her birthday presents. Didn't you always wonder why the presents we give Virg are wrapped like shit, and ours belong in a gallery?”

“I can't believe there's been an underground present-wrapping operation this whole time.”

Scott grins and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out, Mr Built-A-Damn-Rocket-At-Twenty-Years-Old.” He’s folding the paper around the jumper more carefully this time, creasing sharp folds instead of simply rolling it. “Hold,” he says, and Alan obediently presses his hand over where the paper meets. Scott places a tiny square of tape over the join, and Alan frowns.

“We’re going to need more than that, Scotty. You know we can afford more tape if we run out?”

“Do you want my help or not?” Scott says, elbowing him. He does grudgingly place another piece alongside it, though.

There’s a brief lull between them as they focus their efforts on the present, which is looking considerably less Frankenstein’s monster-like than their first attempt, even if they have reams of paper left over.

“You’re right, though, I did use to be better at this,” Scott says quietly. “Someone had to be after mom—well… let’s just say that dad wasn’t exactly great at being there to pick up this kind of thing.”

Alan’s heart clenches, the familiar wounded creature that it is. Scott rarely talks about the time after mom’s death—and usually, only in relation to the impact it had on Virgil (an all-consuming, terrifying depression) and John (vicious intrusive thoughts and anxiety). He and Gordon had been too young to remember things being any different, but with the benefit of hindsight, Alan can recognise how tough it must have been. It’s uncommon for Scott to talk about what that was like for him: the lynchpin to bind them together with too young hands for such a burden. Alan feels a little like he’s handling a frightened animal in the face of Scott’s pain, but he makes an interested noise in his throat, allowing Scott to shift his hands wherever he’s needed.

“It was rough, sometimes,” Scott allows. His voice is soft and his expression distant. “I didn’t want you and Gords and Johnnie to miss out on any of the Christmas build-up stuff – and Grandma tried to be there – but I was only a teenager. Sometimes, even now when I’m wrapping gifts, I can feel that stressed boy, juggling nativity plays and gifts for teachers and Christmas jumper days–" He cuts himself off sharply. “Sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.”

“I do,” Alan says, and the desperation bleeds into his tone more than he wishes. “I do want to hear it—I’m… I’m sorry we didn’t realise how much it was for you to manage.”

“You were four, Allie, I didn’t want you to realise.”

“Still.” His arms tingle with the urge to fling them around his oldest brother, to brush his thumbs under the eyebag-crevices he’s too young to have, to smooth the crinkle of his brow. Instead, he stares down at the paper beneath his hands and swallows. “I wish you talked about it more.”

Scott pauses, fingers hovering over where he’s poised to place the final strip of tape. “I’m trying to. Virg tells me I shouldn’t keep it all bottled up.”

“Yeah well. He’s pretty smart, you know?”

Scott laughs, and the movement softens his forehead and creases the lines around his mouth. It’s lovely. It’s as it should be. “I know.” He sits back on his haunches and the two of them survey their handiwork.

It’s a great improvement on their first attempt, even if all the extra paper ended up bunched and bulky around the edges. Scott ties a ribbon around it lengthways, and Alan slaps on a sparkly bow.

“I think we nailed it,” Scott says, eyes twinkling.

The bow promptly falls off the parcel.

Alan scowls, reattaching it more forcefully—enough that he feels the centre of it click and then a horrid, tinny version of Jingle Bells starts playing. Alan and Scott stare at it in horror as a children’s choir begins yowling over the top of the music, and Alan reaches out to try and stop the caterwauling.

“No!” Scott seizes his wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t make it start again!”

As the final line rings out, the bow plops off the parcel again and Scott’s eyes narrow. “It’s fucking with us.”

“Language!” Alan says gleefully, and Scott nudges him.

“It’s cursed, Allie, I’m telling you—”

“Don’t be silly.” He applies featherlight pressure to the bow this time, but as his hand moves away, the song starts up again. “I didn’t even press it!”

The music plays through once… and then immediately starts up again.

Scott and Alan exchange a look, and then the corner of Scott’s mouth twitches and it’s enough. Alan bursts out laughing – loud, hysterical sounds that frankly improve the awful music – with Scott close behind him. The music chunters on cheerfully in the background, but Alan is warm with sheer delight at the expression on Scott’s face, the way he’s bent double with the force of his laughter, how light he seems for the first time in months.

“You’re right – it’s haunted,” Alan manages, which only sets Scott off again. In the background, the song stutters on way-ay-ay-ay-ay, like some crazy club remix.

“Why – did you get – singing ones?” Scott wheezes through laughter, and all Alan can do is shake his head.

Eventually, as the music grows tinnier and tinnier, Scott staggers up and flings the cursed decoration through Alan’s balcony doors, until it lands with a plop in the pool. He turns back to Alan, grinning so wide and wild that Alan feels giddy all over again.

Seeing his brothers happy fills his heart to the brim, but seeing Scott happy—it’s molten gold flowing into every last crack and chip in his chest, leaving him warm and light and whole. He wants to capture this moment in a glass jar and hold it close on his darkest nights. He wants to lock away this memory and protect it against the future versions of Scott who will be stern and burnt out and beaten down. He just wants Scott to be happy.

It’s an impossible dream. Or at least, an impossible consistent dream; after all, Scott has surely the most stressful job in the world and sends his brothers out into the field every single day without being able to know for sure that they will return. He plays both mother and father, presents the perfect CEO, offers the ideal PR needed—it’s too much for anyone to hold and be happy. Scott is the first to admit that there are always people they can’t save, always situations they can’t control, and always moments that are missed (even if his hypocritical arse won’t accept that itself).

But Alan can start with this—with Christmas. With family and presents and ridiculous wrapping paper. And maybe – maybe – it will be enough for now.

BANG!

Alan jolts awake so fast that black spots burst in his vision as he sits up. Scott is already on his feet beside him, ever the soldier, tiredness cast off like a cloak.

“Whoops.” Their grandma’s voice floats up to them, and the brothers exchange a look before Scott offers a hand to Alan.

“My money’s on a cooking disaster,” Scott says conspiratorially, and Alan sort of hates him for being so awake at this moment.

Alan groans as he accepts the proffered hand, his own free hand rubbing at his aching neck. The two of them had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, slumping into a messy pile surrounded by wrapping paper and decorations. Alan feels considerably worse for wear as he rubs glitter from his eyelashes, but he allows Scott to pull him from the room in the direction of their grandma’s mumbled cursing.

“What time is it?” he yawns, wincing as his thumb hits a particularly sore knot in his neck.

Scott casts him a pitying look. “You’re too young to be aching like this, Allie.”

“Yeah, Allie. Spare a thought for the old man over here,” Gordon’s voice is gleeful as he slings an arm over Alan’s shoulder and nods at Scott. “And it’s just gone eight.”

Scott flips Gordon off over his shoulder, which only makes Gordon grin wider still. He’s just in swimming trunks and still drips pool water across the corridor, skin cool against Alan’s sleep-sensitive arms.

Their smiles fade as they round the corner to the kitchen, where they see Grandma staring helplessly at the oven – a scary enough prospect on its own – from which black smoke is pouring. The glass has shattered inwards, and a thick, acrid stench fills the air. The three boys freeze for a fraction of a second before Scott and Gordon leap into action, flinging open the oven door and yanking out a charred and blackened unidentifiable mess.

Grandma blinks in confusion. “I was just preheating the oven for the turkey,” she says. “What’s my Christmas cake doing in there?”

Gordon widens his eyes at Alan from behind Grandma’s back, his message clear: DO NOT SPILL THE BEANS. Alan does his best to blink innocently back at Grandma—to pretend that he and Gordon didn’t hide it in the oven earlier this week to avoid having to eat any and risk their stomach linings.

“Well?” Grandma turns to look at Gordon, who quickly schools his features into something bewildered. “Care to explain?”

Thankfully, Virgil chooses that moment to stumble into the kitchen, beelining for the coffee machine. He stabs blearily at the buttons before Scott takes pity and sorts his espresso. Virgil blinks dopily at Scott in response, patting his head tiredly and slinking over to the island stools.

“Morning, Virg,” Gordon says brightly, and Virg grunts something in response.

“I’m very well, thank you so much for asking. And a merry Christmas to you, too!” Gordon continues, and Alan sees Scott bite back a smile.

“What happened to the oven?!” John joins them, pale and sleepy-looking but far more awake than his older brother.

“Someone ruined my Christmas cake—and now the oven is broken!” Grandma says, and her gaze flits to the turkey sitting on the side, ready to be roasted.

Alan frowns. “But how will we roast the turkey now?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Are you sure it’s broken?” Scott asks, crouching to examine the nobs and dials. He twists a few experimentally, and the oven belches out an almighty groan of more black smoke. “Okay! Message received!”

Scott stands and glances over at Virgil. “Virg, can you take a look at it?”

Virgil shoots Scott a look over the rim of his mug. “You want me to glass-blow a new oven door?” Alan had forgotten how sarky early morning Virgil can be and he loves it.

“Virg.”

Virgil downs the remainder of his piping hot coffee and stands. It takes him all of two seconds to declare the oven out of action: “It needs at least three replacement parts, even if the door were reparable,” he tells them, the wonders of coffee returning a sharp precision to his tone. “I can make a version of those parts, but it’ll take too long for today.”

“What are we going to do?!” Alan yelps, flushing as everyone turns to look at him.

“We could… have a barbecue?” Gordon suggests, squinting at the prepared turkey. “We could slice it into strips, set up on the beach…”

Scott snaps his fingers at Gordon, smiling wide. “Yes! Great plan—”

“What can I say? Here to save Christmas,” Gordon smirks, grin only widening when his brothers roll their eyes in unison.

Several hours later, they have hauled the barbecue down onto a quiet strip of beach, with Brains and Virgil talking quietly as they man the barbecue and bicker about the most effective use of space on the grill. Almost everyone else, bar M.A.X and Grandma (who are lounging on blankets on the sand), has been recruited for a game of chicken fight, with the added challenge of battling the current of the tide as it sweeps in and out.

From atop Kayo’s shoulders, Alan takes out John with ease, grinning as his brother falls off Scott like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Grub’s up!” Virgil yells, and the four of them scatter, hurrying towards the shore. Alan can’t help the bubble of laughter that escapes him as Kayo and Scott become entangled and flop together in the foamy edge of the water.

By the time the two of them are back on dry land, everyone else is tucking into their Christmas lunch, appreciative hums echoing across the group.

“There’s sand in my turkey,” John says with a frown, and Scott laughs.

“Better that than Grandma’s special stuffing recipe. Nearly cracked my tooth with that a while ago.”

John rolls his eyes, but obediently chomps down on the sandy turkey sandwich. He’s a little paler and thinner than his brothers like him to be, but his smile is bright and lovely even through a mouthful of chewed bread and meat.

By nine, the sun has begun to creep towards its bedtime, pouring pink and gold across the sky in a beautiful cascade of colours. The smell of barbecued meat blends with the salty sea air, undercut with the coconutty scent of John’s suncream.

The Tracy family shows no such sign of calling their celebration to an end—Gordon and Scott have roped Kayo and M.A.X into a game of volleyball, with the little robot strangely nimble across the loose sand, whilst John, Brains and Grandma alternate between roasting marshmallows and playing increasingly competitive card games.

It’s nothing like the Christmases Alan grew up watching in movies and on TV, nor is it like the ones his schoolfriends used to wax lyrical about.

Somehow, it’s even better.

(Alan thinks that has a lot to do with how loud Gordon’s laughter booms across the beach, how bright Scott’s smile is, and John’s playful smirk that only ever comes out around those he’s truly comfortable with.)

And yet, despite how pleasantly full he feels and how much happiness sings in the air, there’s a weight on his chest that he cannot shift. It prickles with wrongness in the face of so much joy, and Alan feels like he’s dragging their celebrations towards misery as he sits by himself and gazes out at the ocean.

At that moment, as if he can sense Alan’s rising distress (and perhaps he can; Virg has always been weirdly perceptive about these things), Virgil plops down beside Alan and offers him a soft smile. “You good, Allie?”

Alan nods, then leans his head against Virgil’s shoulder, allowing his older brother to tuck him tighter into his side. All his brothers hug differently, but none of them truly envelop him as Virgil does. “Just thinking.”

“Warned you about that,” Virgil murmurs and Alan can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see it. His hand comes up to the back of Alan’s neck, and he begins massaging out the knotty tension in Alan’s neck. The relief trickles warm and grateful down Alan’s spine and he sags further into his brother, trusting and knowing that he will be held.

“I wish it could always be like this,” Alan says after a beat or two.

Virgil pauses. “Like this?”

“Like…” Alan waves a hand. “I wish Scott could always be this relaxed. And John could always be here. And we could always be this happy.” A sharp longing ache lodges in his throat, and he has to fight to get the next words out without it catching. “I wish we didn’t have to give up so much to have these moments.”

Virgil is silent for a long time, his grip tighter around Alan. “Me too,” he says at last, and it’s so un-Virgil-like to admit something even vaguely selfish that Alan would pull away to stare at him if he weren’t so damned comfortable. “But Allie—I think that’s also what makes these moments so, so precious. That we know what it is not to have them. That we know what they cost.”

“That doesn’t feel fair,” Alan says, hating the petulance in his own voice.

If Virgil were replaced by Gordon, there would be a quip about life’s not fair and a joke to distract him from the ache of it. Scott would be frantic to try and fix it, and John’s analytical mind would identify all the illogical and untrue aspects of that statement.

Virgil just holds him impossibly tighter still and meets him with an empathy Alan didn’t know he needed. “I know.”

Virgil holds him together as the aching grief of all that has been lost – all that continues to be sacrificed, and all the moments to be missed in the future – spreads and crashes over Alan—

Then all at once, the grief ebbs away like the tide retreating.

Virgil presses a kiss to Alan’s crown. “You good. Allie?” His voice is soft and warm, and Alan knows that he’ll stay as long as Alan needs him to—that he doesn’t even have to ask.

This is what makes it easier for him to nod and mean it this time.

“Want a marshmallow?”

Alan hesitates and nods, allowing Virgil to pull him up and tug him back towards the makeshift campfire. Scott, Kayo, Gordon and M.A.X have abandoned their game at last, and have squished themselves around the fire too, though they shuffle over to allow room for Virgil and Alan to squeeze in beside Scott.

“Alright?” Scott murmurs to Alan, and Alan nods. The prickling fades, tucked between his two oldest brothers, across from the jokey antics and quiet intelligence of his other two brothers, beneath the protective gaze of his sister and grandmother—and under the twinkling light of his mom’s star. He’s so damned lucky, despite it all, to be so loved like this.

“Happy Christmas,” he says softly, and Scott smiles.

“Happy Christmas, Allie.” He ruffles Alan’s hair and Alan laughs.

Christmas may not look the way he thought it would be growing up, and it may be a long time before they get to be together like this again. Another Christmas may be full of injuries or loss, and it may feel harder still to rise above the weight of their collective grief.

But Alan vows that he will do everything in his power to keep giving them Christmases like this, full of light and laughter and love.

For this Christmas is theirs and Alan will hold it tight and precious against his heart.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa #tag team secret santa 2024

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xariarte · 2 months ago

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happy for you that both rockets/raptors games tonight ended up being fun watches <3 i've been rooting for tor since they got iq and rj and was so sad about their injury luck this season, they're such a tough team to play when everyone's available, i'm glad their season is trending back up! lowkey need a team to root for in the west what is your rockets sales pitch/what got you into them?

hi anon!! sorry for taking eons to answer this one! i thought a lot about this ask and honestly i have no idea how to sales pitch the rockets on Tumblr.com because the Houston Rockets are a main rival of the Golden State Warriors and Dallas Mavericks, two of the BIGGEST sections of NBA Tumblr 😂 and also with the upcoming potential opponent for the seventh seed...well...

anyway i’ll do my bestest 😎

how i got into the rockets (link here for a longer answer): after vanvleet walked away from the raptors, i was like, “i wonder how that old man jerk is gonna fare with a bunch of early twenty year olds when he couldn’t even handle scottie b” and then the younger core got me with all their fun personalities + lots of overlap from team canada dbrooks so i stuck around lol

my sales pitch: listen every single team in the league is lovable, so yes, the houston rockets are also super lovable (unless you’re a fan of one of the teams i listed in the first paragraph lol) BUT if you like defense, if you like a good underdog who wants to prove themselves after so much heartbreak (tanking), if you like trash talking, if you like up and coming youngsters, then the rockets are a good team to look into!!!

a brief summary of the younger core players

alperen sengun #28 (i like to call him alpey but the correct spelling is alpi): the turkish delight center of the team, he's always happy, learned his english through jalen green, the most affectionate rocket, is the hype man for the team, likes to be coached extra hard, and one of his shots is called the flamingo (because he shoots it with one leg off the ground)

amen thompson #1 (i call him demon puppy but his nickname is twin): the best youngest player on the team, he used to bully ausar when he was younger so god gifted him with coach ime udoka and veteran dillon brooks

tari eason #17 (nicknamed tari): the funniest rocket on the roster, besties with jabari, defensive beast, was a little held back from injuries over the years, and grew up watching documentaries

jalen green #4: the star shooting guard of the team but can kind of be inconsistent, the prettiest on the roster, has flourished underneath fred vanvleet's leadership and will never leave the house without black nail polish on

jabari smith jr. #10 (i call him jaba or bari): used to bake when he was younger, loves strawberry flavoured desserts, his father played against lebron james, gets affectionately bullied by tari constantly, and constantly yaps to dillon on the bench

reed sheppard #15: is the rockets newest young core member, was the best shooter in his draft class, has been adopted by steven adams (and they went to the houston rodeo together)

cam whitmore #7: may be the second prettiest young core rocket next to jalen green, likes to trash talk a little more than the others, has crazy dunks, and hasn't gotten that many minutes this season

the beloved veterans (not as important but provide support)

dillon brooks #9 (i call him rat bastard no apologies): he brings the defensive energy, gets out scuffled by his own team, is somehow canadian, is somehow from my city, is somehow still alive, xar be nice to dillon challenge (mission failed), um…oh he's having the best 3pt shooting year of his career (ok fine i guess we need him)

fred vanvleet #5 (i call him milf gnome or old man jerk give or take): the grumpy mother hen, udoka's right hand man, all the younger core rockets loves him, is a sengun merchant, and pays for everything (he earns $43M per year so he has to)

jeff green #32 (or unc jeff): has a pre-game handshake with jalen, bullies everyone on the team, sometimes gets called grandpa, is JG squared with jalen green, is a part of the stay ready crew with jock and aaron and tate

jock landale #2 (nicknamed the saucy aussie): has a really thick australian accent, bullies everyone on the team, has mother hen vibes, is our backup backup center, rarely shoots threes and likes red frogs candies

jae'sean tate #8 (called tate): god's strongest soldier bc he's the one veteran who has been on the team throughout the tanking years and is close to bari and tari

aaron holiday #0: is jrue holiday's brother, is the backup point guard, and usually shoots the three pretty well

steven adams #12 (nicknamed stevo): a beloved beautiful kiwi center, run into him on the court and you will die because he's so strong, and combines with alperen for a double big lineup

#if you read all this...thank you!!! i know it was really long... 😭😭#it was fun using all my own gifs for this post #idk how i found a photo of fred and dillon on the bench together...and they're both not glaring?? jackpot photo tbh #the way i couldn't find photos for everyone because tumblr kept messing up the photo layout SMH #there are four other people i left out but they're not really part of the main team so i left them out (sorry beautiful nate williams)#thank you anon and thank you for the patience!!#ask #houston rockets #p.s. sorry that the raptors season has been so disappointing with rj/iq out!! my scrappy raptors always being tough to play against :')

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beau-is-here · 1 year ago

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Just Dance 2025 trailer is finally here!!!

However, there are a few things I noticed about the cover art.

So i'm guessing the coach in the middle is Ari from "Good for u", and the coach on the right is a wackyverse version of the coach in "Bassa Sababa" (OMG WERE GETTING A NEW MAP W/ DEERSTAN & PANDAFAN!!!) and i LOVE the new design!

In the background we have an image of the flower in "Cradles" and I really hope this means we're getting more of Scotty! His character is so funny, and I'd love to see them continue that story

We also have the flamingo and boombox from Brezziana's maps, so we may get more of the beach resort? I'm not as sure about that one, but possibly

Honestly I'm pretty excited for JD25. I can't wait to see the promo for the maps tho!

#just dance #just dance 2025

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demoralizedreprobate · 2 years ago

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I wanna be part of Diamond Dallas Page, Scotty Flamingo, and Vinnie Vegas' conga line... also yes scotty's wearing powder and blush, why wouldn't he be?

#wcw #90's wrestling #scotty flamingo #diamond dallas page #vinnie vegas #kevin nash #dallas page #scott levy

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littletroubledgrrrl · 11 months ago

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#j.t. southern #wcw #scotty flamingo

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blowflyfag · 1 year ago

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ECW Magazine: February 2000

FLIGHT OF RAVEN

Raven returns to ECW roost and brood about life

By S. Connor

RAVEN RETURNED TO EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING on Aug. 26 and shook the foundation of the promotion. At the first TNN taping at Elks Lodge in Queens, N.Y., he paired with longtime nemesis Tommy Dreamer and beat The Dudley Boyz to claim the ECW world tag team title.

In the following interview, Raven talks about his days in World Championship Wrestling, his childhood and his motivation for returning to ECW.

A CHILLING CHILDHOOD

Q. WHAT KIND OF CHILDHOOD DID YOU HAVE?

A. A miserable one. No one liked me. I was very unpopular and I was staved for attention because my dad never told me he loved me. I was extremely outgoing, loud and obnoxious just to get any kind of attention.

[Raven pulls Rhino off Tommy Dreamer]

Q. DO YOU HAVE ANY BROTHERS OR SISTERS?

A. I have an older sister but she had mental problems of her own. In fact she has emotional problems that are bad enough that she gets disability from the government. She also has very poor health problems, but she’s a great person.

Q. WAS THERE ANYTHING YOU COULD HAVE DONE TO MAKE YOUR CHILDHOOD BETTER?

A. I probably could have stopped picking on her and abusing her. I was embarrassed by her problems and I took it our on her. It wasn’t her fault she was that way, which left me with even more guilt for being cruel to her because I thought she was embarrassing me. It just snowballed.

Q. DO YOU BLAME THESE PROBLEMS ON YOUR PARENTS’ LACK OF ATTENTION?

A. Yes, complete lack of attention. I also have a fragile brain chemistry to begin with. My sister is actually unipolar. She’s just depressed. I’m bipolar, I’m manic/depressive. I needed more attention than your basic kid to begin with but i got less than your average person so it was a double whammy. My parents were so wrapped up in my sister’s problems they didn’t give me any attention. I had problems just as bad as her but apparently I hid behind an armor that was thick enough and it was such a good act that nobody saw though it. But they should have seen through it. They are my parents. My I.Q. was 143 and they should have realized how special i was. If not special, then I should have been treated like any normal person. I often envied kids that at least got beat by their parents. If they got beat, at least they knew that their parents cared. Mine were indifferent. Indifference is the greatest cruelty of all.

[Unlikely tag team: Tommy Dreamer and Raven]

ABOUT RINGMANSHIP

Q. HOW IMPORTANT ARE MICROPHONE SKILLS IN WRESTLING?

A. The greatest interviews in the history of the business were Mankind’s interviews as Cactus Jack in ECW. I don’t think anyone will ever cut promos better. Like a Seinfield episode, he went all over the place, but at the end the whole story came together in a neat little bundle. Cactus was always teaching you something. Austin is tremendous. In World Championship Wrestling, as far as charisma, I’m a big fan of Kannan. He is one of the most charismatic guys ever. Rey Mysterio Jr. is one of the greatest pure athletes I’ve ever seen in my life. In ECW, Axl Rotten is absolutely remarkable. Rotten can actuallt wrestle scientifically as smoothly and as well as anybody. If he dropped 30 pounds and Paul Heyman [owner of ECW] have him a chance to really prove himself, all of a sudden you’d have a new major star.

WCW STRIKES OUT

Q. WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR CAREER IN WCW?

A. I was never allowed in the “big 10” of WCW. I wasn’t popular enough and I didn’t get my shot. Anybody who truly has seen my work with an unjaded and uncynical eye would probably include me in the top 10. I haven’t drawn money in the major territories because I’ve never been in the position.

Q. SOME OF YOUR GIMMICKS: SCOTTY THE BODY, JOHNNY POLO, SCOTTY FLAMINGO. WERE THEY REALLY YOU?

A. Yes they were. I’m a manic depressive! Scotty the Body was a character I created. The World Wrestling Federation gave me Johnny Polo and Dusty Rhodes gave me Scotty Flamingo - offshoots of Scotty the Body, one of my original names. I wanted to be the most flamboyant, obnoxious, abrasive, loudmouth chickens—heel I could be because I knew it would give me the attention I craved. If i didn’t get the attention at home, I wanted the adulation of strangers. I found along the way it’s no substitute, but it does to an extent alleviate some of the anguish and pain. If you talk t the boys in the WCW locker room. Konnan, Saturn or Disco Inferno would say either I am the most moody pick on the planet to the most wise ass goofy bastard you ever met.

[‘My parents were so wrapped up in my sister’s problems they never have me any attention.’]

RAVEN-DREAMER SAGA LIVES ON

SINCE RAVEN RETURNED TO EXTREME CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING ON AUG. 26, HIS LEGENDARY FEUD WITH TOMMY DREAMER HAS BEEN REVIVED.

AS KIDS, THE TWO WERE BEST FRIENDS UNTIL A GIRL NAMED BEULAH CAME BETWEEN THEM. DREAMER STOLE BEULAH FROM RAVEN, EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN”T REALLY WANT HER. WHEN SHE CAME BACK INTO THEIR LIVES IN ECW, OLD HATRED BETWEEN RAVEN AND DREAMER ROSE UP AND DROVE THE TWO TO FIGHT THEIR BATTLES IN THE RING.

DESPITE THEIR HATRED, THE TWO BECAME ECW WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS WHEN RAVEN RETURNED TO THE FEDERATION ON AUG. 26. THROUGHOUT SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER OF 1999, DREAMER WAS BARELY ABLE TO DEFEND THE TITLE BECAUSE OF AN INJURED BACK. RAVEN ONLY INVOLVED HIMSELF IN THE MATCHES AT THE END TO ENSURE THE TWO UNLIKELY PARTNERS KEP TTHE TITLE. HOW LONG DREAMER AND RAVEN CAN CONTINUE IN THIS DYSFUNCTIONAL MANNER IS ANY FAN’S GUESS.

SUCKING UP?

Q. WHAT WERE YOUR DAYS LIKE BEHIND THE SCENES FOR WWF?

A. When i was working for Vince McMahon [owner of the WWF] as associate producer of RAW, Vince made me put on a suit and tie. It was killing me. As soon as I was done producing, the sh-t would come off and I would put on a pair of ripped up jeans, a pair of boots, a T-shirt and leather jacket. That’s who I am. Me and Shane McMahon became really good friends. I was an original member of the Mean Street Posse, because me, Shane, Rodney and Pete Gas used to hang out all the time. I think it’s kind of amusing that Raven’s actually a Mean Street Posse member and they all dress in their ivy league clothes. Me and Shane are really close friends. I can’t say anything bad about him. We used to hang out constantly. It was funny because all of the boys would say, “You’re just sucking up to Shane so you can get over with Vince,” and it’s just the exact opposite. What would happen is I’d get total heat with Vince because I’d have Shane out all the time, back when I used to drink. I quit drinking two tyears ago. I had Shane out every night of the week partying and Vince thought I was a horrendous influence on his son.

[I’ve been to a couple psychologists.’]

BACK ON THE COUCH

Q. DID YOU EVER SEEK OUT HELP FOR YOUR PROBLEMS?

A. I’ve been to a couple psychologists. I found one phenomenal one who really helped me through my baggage. My father’s passing away recently - he was very ill so it was the best thing for him - took a lot of that baggage away. I don’t by any means glorify his death, but it enabled me to turn my life around.

Q. DESCRIBE RAVEN NOW COMPARED TO THE ONE WHO APPERED JAN. 8, 1995.

A. I came out in January 1995 as dark and as bleak and as miserable as one could possibly be. A lot of people say I left the character consume me, but what they don’t understand is it was already consuming me to begin with. I just found the forum to play it out. It was cathartic, it gave me release. By the same token, a lot of the negatives that accentuated it had a detrimental effect on me. It took a long while to work through all of that as well. What you see now is probably the most stable and happy I've ever been. Raven now is cruel, hateful and malicious, but bot as brooding and not as sullen. Fans will see a more sarcastic edge. Raven is 75 precent of the brooding bastard and 25 perfect of the glib, wise ass prick that Scotty the Body was.

FROM ECW TO WCW AND BACK AGAIN

Q. HOW DID YOU COME TO THE DECISION TO LEAVE ECW THE FIRST TIME?

A. I didn’t want to leave and to be honest, I begged Paul. I said, “Please, I don’t want to leave.” Eric Bischoff [then vice president of WCW] offered me a lot of money to go to WCW. Of course ECW’s pay scale has jumped since then, but at this time it was a very hefty contract. I begged Paul to give me half of what Bischoff offered, but he couldn’t he just didn’t have the money. I had to leave and it broke my heart. All the boys said, “You got to go.” Now that ECW is on national TV with the TNN deal, I’m like: “well, I cant let them go on national TV without me. I got to be there for it.”

Q. BUT DIDN’T BISCHOFF ASK YOU TO LEAVE WCW ON AUG. 23?

A. I didn't really have a choice. Bischoff called a meeting and said, “Raven, start working through our attorney outside. You’re not happy with the company so you can leave right now.” I said, “bye” and walked out the door. Later Eric said, “I think you should think this over, I think you should stay. What are you going to do, go work for Paul E.?” I said, ”No, I’m going to Vince.” He said, “You are not going to Vince.” I said, “You said I got a release. I would think that implies I could go wherever I want.” Eris said, “I’ll let you go to ECW but you can’t go to Vince.”

Q. HOW DO YOU GET ALONG WITH BISCHOFF NOW?

A. I like Eric a lot, I think he’s a great guy. I know there’s a lot of horror stories of how badly he treats all the wrestlers, but he’s always treated me with a lot of respect. He always made time for me.

#raven #Raven ecw #ecw #extreme championship wrestling #magazine scan #magazine transcript #this guy is so fucking gay #ECW magazine #ECW magazine 2000s #2000s #2000

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hostilecityshowdown · 1 year ago

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I'd love love love to hear more about your version of Kevin Nash from that one Heartbreak Hotel fic 🙏

shaking diesel in my teeth and dragging him under the cut

chapter one • additional notes • credit for the AU, lore and character development, original fics, and accompanying material in the series: @cyberslam

this guy. while my little pocket dimension within mango's heartbreak hotel AU is his main 'verse, almost every other time i write diesel, i'm just writing HHAU diese in yet another AU. you can actually thank slater for this one!! they love him so much and are so inspiring for me, and if i could i'd churn out fics based on our conversations and their OCs and headcanons like a machine. slater i am holding ur hand.

in terms of the patented* Diesel Writing Process, his muse is headstrong, stubbourn, and self-centered, and most of the work i do when writing involves convincing him to share the spotlight. my offshoot of mango's universe would be all flowery prose, cerebral horror, and... diesel, suffering largely alone on centre stage, if i couldn't coerce this big lug to cooperate. some aspects of that are still preserved, but i've been able to avoid writing all my chapters in this world as solitary experiences; silent hill one and two deeply impacted me as a tiny xentex, and i always want to write that slow, surreal, murky trudge through dreams and summoned memories laid atop the burnt-out husk of reality that the SH2 hotel section, especially, captures.

*patent pending

diesel loves being the star of his own show, but so does the heartbreak kid - shawn's a begrudgingly necessary fulcrum for diesel, once he decides he has to be. my diesel muse genuinely suffers from OCD, and projecting his compulsions onto other people is an unhealthy coping mechanism of his. shawn likes the attention and benefits enough to encourage and enable this in his own ways, until he's able to take over performing compulsive rituals for diesel, becoming a mandated aspect of the rituals themselves. i wrote an example of this in diesel's testosterone injection, and shawn's absence will leave an impact on diesel's compulsive thoughts and behaviours in the ongoing narrative. shawn likes when people are dependent on him (to his preferred degree, not for anything... substantial. he just likes feeling special.) sure, but the heartbreak kid and, inherently, the hotel, need that dependency.

diesel also collects matchbooks from hotels, motels, rest stops, tourism welcome areas, reservation smoke shops and other native-operated establishments, and casinos, which he started as vinnie vegas. dallas collects poker chips, and kim collects ashtrays, cigarette boxes, and dice. studd much more passively collects coasters and glass bottles (especially tiny ones) but competes with kim for dice. and scotty flamingo, the most notable member of the diamond mine (duh /j)... he likes to swipe cosmetics, towels, notepads - anything free! and sometimes even things that aren't free. he doesn't collect but outright hoards various forms of tickets, too, but that predates the stable. i was going to include a huge section on these habits, quirks, and compulsions, but... in the end, most of that was cut. it detracted from the atmosphere too much, and it started to spoil plans i have, which you can see the beginning hints of in that heartbreak hotel branded ashtray in my most recent chapter contribution.

diesel's muse solidified for me very quickly and easily, and i barely even need to keep notes on him. big wolf keeps track of himself and comes to me with whatever i need when i need it, or chases me down and demands i devolve into a crazed, sweating, dizzied madman, writing twelve thousand+ words in a single sitting with no breaks. always something with this guy. in a diesel/undertaker fic that will eventually see the light of day, i write in his beloved ford bronco. it has a wolf howling sticker on the trunk, an Idle No More bumper sticker, genuine leather upholstery, leather conditioner and a rolodex (with hundreds of names, numbers, and addresses of people who died of AIDS and their loved ones, roadside memorials for 2SLGBTQIA+ people and missing and murdered indigenous women, and various gay clubs, bars, bathhouses, safehouses, shops, farms, and other gay establishments - including many that are defunct even by diesel's modern time) in the glove box, endless atlases for different states and provinces he swaps out as needed (most of these go with him to his truck cabs as needed), and a dedicated, custom case for depeche mode CDs and cassettes. i hope that gives a better overview of the guy he is than i could ever provide in mere words alone /j

#[ colour commentary ]#[ space ]#holding ur hand. thank you i love ranting. everyone go look at slater's OCs and custom studd doll and other things i am begging u #and GO READ SPACE'S FICS.#mango may add onto this so look for that post/reblog if they so choose #i can talk more about how diesel feels about his own native identity + his family + his career but at a certain point i'm just scripting a #documentary /j if that is desired however...

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