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eirabach · 5 years

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Dangerous Games [1/2]

Hi. I don’t want to tell you how shockingly hard I fell for this ship, but suffice to say this started as a tiny wee one shot somewhere mid season two. And now it’s uh... none of those things. Enjoy? I hope you like tropes...

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go!

Rating: M [eventually]

Word Count: 13.8k ishhhh

AO3: Here

Summary:

In which Penelope plots, and lives to regret it. Possibly.

But then again, possibly not.

[or, Pen and Ink versus TOS episode The Cham-Cham. Except with hardly anything in common with The Cham-Cham. I don’t make the rules. They do.]

There is a peculiar sort of etiquette to tea.

Penelope prides herself on knowing all the funny, fusty old rules that most of her generation have no idea ever existed. The rules she’d learned at the knee of a paper-skinned grandmother, her bony hands holding Penelope’s shaking ones as black lace had blurred her vision, and her mother’s teapot had seemed unbearably heavy in the shocking finality of her absence.

“Careful now, Penelope. A lady must not be seen to tremble.”

Of course according to her dear departed Grandmother, a lady ought not do a great many things.

Ought not make a scene, nor involve herself in politicking. Ought not wear a skirt above the knee, nor ingratiate herself with men whom she’d do better to avoid. Ought not to smile beguilingly. Ought not to welcome such overtures in return.

At least Penelope has always obeyed her in regard to tea.

It comes as easy as breathing; the perfect four minute steeping of the leaves, the gentle six o’clock folding in of the milk, the way she lifts the porcelain to her lips and sips delicately. She’s a study in ladylike composure and British reserve.

If her grandmother knew how hard her heart was beating, how she struggled to keep her hand steady, if her grandmother knew why -

Somewhere in the distance, she imagines she might hear the sound of the chapel’s flagstones rippling as her grandmother’s bones spin wildly in the vault beneath.

A giggle bubbles helplessly up from behind the rim of her teacup.

“Something funny?”

“No I - Would you believe I was thinking of my dead grandmother?”

“Oh yeah? Hilarious. Almost as funny as this - thing . What is it?” Gordon holds up one of the delicate little crustless sandwiches, the ones she’d made herself after sending Parker and the cook away, and peers at it with a disdain she finds offensive.

“It’s Coronation Chicken,” she says with a sniff. “It’s a classic filling.”

Gordon drops the sandwich back on the plate and nods solemnly “Of course it is. Mind if I stick to cake?”

She giggles again. Giggles, for goodness sake. The chapel shudders around her grandmother’s post-mortem assault. “Not keen?"

Gordon appears mortified, shaking his head frantically. “No it’s - I mean - This is, nice? You know. The tea, it’s nice.” He pats his belly and leans back like a man truly satiated. “Really great tea, Penelope. Really.”

Penelope hums politely, sets her teacup down with a final sounding clink , and takes a moment to observe her guest.

Sat on the little velveteen loveseat Gordon looks awkward, cumbersome, in a way he never usually does. His eyes are bright, his mouth as quick to smile as ever, but there’s a tenseness in his jaw she doesn’t remember from before the incident. A twitch in his fingers that she’s never noticed before.

And if there’s one thing Penelope has become good at in recent months, it’s noticing Gordon Tracy.

He might be free of the casts and braces now, but he still holds himself as though his body might betray him at any moment and send him sprawling at her feet. She’s heard the stories. Been pre-warned. She knows it might.

(She doesn’t know if his heart is racing like her own. Doesn’t know what she's supposed to do if it isn’t.)

He’s fiddling with the tea cup now, back ramrod straight in a way that absolutely cannot be comfortable but is surely demanded by the shades of older brothers and a military father when one is invited for tea with a Lady. And maybe she knows the etiquette, but Gordon is following the rules.

Penelope makes her own rules.

She takes a breath and reminds herself that she’s not the only one out of her comfort zone here. If they can take down international criminals and rescue recalcitrant Frenchmen they really ought to be able to manage a civilised cup of Assam.

“Well that is a relief,” Penelope sighs, and sits back a little in her seat, feet crossing and uncrossing at the ankles. “I am rather an expert at afternoon tea.”

“Really?” Gordon sounds genuinely surprised, but quickly schools his features into something that he probably thinks looks neutral. Penelope doesn’t think Gordon could wear a neutral expression if his life depended on it.

“Surprising, is it?”

Gordon shrugs his good shoulder. “I thought that was what Parker was, y’know. For.”

“Never let him hear you say that,” she scolds, only half joking if that. “And to be perfectly frank with you he’s rather a philistine when it comes to tea. Would you believe he puts the milk in first?”

“No,” Gordon gasps, mock scandalised. “The audacity.”

He leans forward then, closing the distance between them and casting a shadow over the now neglected cups. “Bet I know someone worse.”

Penelope raises one eyebrow. “Indeed?”

“Ever met my Grandma?”

“Touche.”

He grins. "Thought so.” Then, slightly chargrined, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“I’ll never tell,” Penelope agrees.

“Thing is -” he picks up another piece of Victoria sponge and studies it as he speaks, “she’s been great recently. She really has. And it must be boring for her stuck following me around all day - or not. I mean she can’t even follow me half the time I’m just sat there. Beached. And I love her and all but jeez - ” he puts down the cake and looks at Penelope like a man condemned. “I can’t eat anymore of her cooking, Pen. I’ll die.”

“Somewhat dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Have you ever eaten her meatloaf, Pen? Have you? No - “ he holds up a hand “no you haven’t, because if you had you’d understand.” He sighs dramatically, picks the slice of cake back up, and stuffs it in his mouth.

Penelope watches him chew with narrowed eyes, the germ of an idea forming in her mind.

It’s probably not a good idea.

It’s objectively a terrible idea.

Gordon’s still healing.

Her heart rate still won’t settle.

Her superiors will be furious.

His superior will lose his mind.

But Penelope is Penelope. And Penelope lets the words fall from her lips regardless.

“Gordon, have you ever been to Geneva?”

----

Last time Gordon had been to Geneva, Scott had helped drop him into the centre of the supreme hadron collider.

Scott’s got a case of deja vu.

“Geneva. With Lady Penelope.”

“Yeah,” Gordon grins at him from the other side of their father’s desk. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“Pretty,” Scott agrees, eyes wandering over to the half drunk bottle of scotch he’s going to need after this conversation. “Is it uh, a personal trip?”

Gordon’s ears flush pink, and Scott finds himself wishing for a full bottle.

“Penelope’s working.”

That’s not exactly an answer. It’s probably the only answer he’s going to get.

“And you’re going along for the scenery?”

“She asked me,” Gordon says, as though that’s all that could possibly matter. To him, it probably is.

Not for the first time Scott wonders if there’s anything Lady Penelope could ask of Gordon that he wouldn’t agree to in less than half a heartbeat. Not for the first time he sends a silent prayer of thanks that she’s on their side.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Gordon.”

“Why not?” Gordon’s smile fades into a scowl. “I’m no good to anyone here. You’re sick of the sight of me”

“That’s not true,” Scott says, reassuring. False. Because the truth is Gordon is grounded. And a grounded Gordon is a bored Gordon. And a bored Gordon is little better than a menace. But a Gordon halfway around the world and embroiled in what Lady Penelope calls work sounds a lot worse.

There’s only so much Colonel Casey can cover for them. They need the GDF onside.

And it isn’t that Scott doesn’t trust his brother, it isn’t, but he’s been Gordon’s big brother for twenty five years now, and the kid has form . Form and a fractured spine. Form and legs that can’t quite hold him steady on the other side of the desk.

When it comes to Gordon life is entirely heart over head, and that’s a risk Scott just can’t take.

He shakes his head, watches Gordon’s face fall, and swallows the guilt as he speaks.“You can’t -”

“No.” The venom in Gordon’s voice is enough to stop Scott in his tracks. Gordon leans forward, pressing his weight into his knuckles where they’re curled at the edge of the desk. “No, Scott. Just listen to me ok? I’ll tell you what I can’t do. I can’t sit here any longer just - just watching . I need to do something. Be useful.”

“You can be useful here!”

“Can I?” Gordon rocks back on his heels, and Scott can’t help but notice the unsteady little sway that follows the action. “Because all I’ve done for the past six weeks is sit on my ass , Scott. Grandma won’t even let me run dispatch for God’s sake. You let EOS run dispatch.”

“EOS isn’t injured.”

“EOS isn’t even human!”

“Fine, you want a job? I’ll find you a job.”

“I’ve got a job. Penny’s - “

“Penny.” Scott half scoffs. “Listen, what Penelope gets up to is only as much of our business as it absolutely has to be, I can’t have you compromising International Rescue’s reputation.”

Gordon’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Penelope would never -”

“No.” Scott stands, and the height difference between the two of them is suddenly as pronounced as it was ten years ago when the rows were over innocent things that felt so dangerous at the time. “She wouldn’t. Which is why I can’t figure out why the hell she’s invited you along.”

This time the sway is more pronounced, a bodily ricochet from words that Scott already regrets. “I didn’t -”

Gordon brushes off the hand reaching for his shoulder, eyes suddenly darker than Scott remembers seeing them in years. That would have meant tears once, he remembers. Now it’s the herald of something far worse.

“Right,” Gordon says, voice unnervingly steady. “I hear you. Loud and clear.”

“Gordon I didn’t mean -”

“Mean what?” the false jollity is somehow worse than the anger he’d expected. “That I’m not the obvious choice for a covert op? Well jeez, Scotty, the thought hadn’t occurred to me!”

“That isn’t what I mean and you know it. ”

Gordon twists his mouth into an approximation of a sneer that sets Scott’s teeth on edge. Somewhere beyond them he can hear the chime of an incoming call, but he can’t quite bring himself to break from Gordon’s glare to answer it. John will redirect it. Scott has his own situation to deal with.

“Isn’t it?”

“I just don’t like the idea of it, Gordon, You’re not a spy. It could be dangerous.”

Gordon does laugh then, a great belly laugh that has him clutching at his knees and wheezing from damaged lungs. “Dangerous. You’re funny, Scotty. You should be the funny one, you’ve a real talent.”

He turns to leave, and Scott tries not to wince at the stiffness he sees, the mental load he’s dropped on already physically pained shoulders.

“Gordon, wait.”

To his credit Gordon does, but he doesn’t turn around and Scott is forced to deliver his next words to his back.

“If you go, just swear to me you won’t over do it, okay?”

Gordon’s shoulders drop as he turns and throws Scott an exasperated look.

“It’s just a party, Scott. I’m great at parties. The best. It’ll be fine .”

Yes, Gordon is great at parties. Really great. Too great. International news making great. That is a further complication he hadn’t wanted to dwell on. Scott sighs.

“Penelope’s parties are never just parties , Gordon. Remember that.”

Gordon clearly takes this for the implicit permission that it is, throwing Scott a distinctly poor salute and - if not beaming, exactly - smiling more broadly than he has since he woke up in hospital blues.

“Scouts honour!”

“Weren’t you expelled from the Scouts?”

The grin’s a little wider, now, and Scott’s heart a little lighter for seeing it. “I’ll never tell.”

Scott watches him leave, still leaning a little on the railing to help him up the stairs, then flicks the comm on his father’s desk over to the secure line. Penelope doesn’t take kindly to either instruction or demands, but if she wants to drag Scott’s wounded brother out of his sight she’d better get a handle on both.

She must be expecting his call, the comm chiming out only once before she’s hovering above the manila file that contains Gordon’s hospital discharge papers and the details of Tracy Industries latest bequest.

“Scott.”

“Lady P. I expect you know why I’m calling?”

One perfect miniature eyebrow rises slightly. “I assure you, I haven’t the faintest. Business or pleasure?”

Her Ladyship loves to play this game. Normally there’s some urgent disaster relief effort or international criminal conspiracy that prevents the two of them from taking pot shots at each other. But occasionally she’ll get in a dig about old money versus new, or he’ll cast aspersions on the validity of the English aristocracy in the twenty first century, and their conversation will devolve into the sort of sniping battle of wits that only two people with their history and connection can enjoy.

It’s been months, though, and maybe Penelope has forgotten that Scott can play this game too.

“You tell me,” he says, “what exactly are your intentions toward my little brother?”

And maybe Scott’s forgotten the rules, because small and blue tinged she may be, but Lady Penelope is absolutely hovering above his father’s desk and blushing .

“Jeez, Penny,” he says, somewhat taken aback by her reaction but somehow also not altogether surprised. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Penelope’s face fades back to its normal porcelain and she sniffs in that haughty fashion that she only ever uses when she’s trying to get one over on Scott.

“Nonsense, Scott. I have no nerves, you know that. I simply thought Gordon could do with getting off that island for a little while.”

“He came for tea, didn’t he? He’s not a prisoner."

“No?” There goes that eyebrow again, and even though she’s looking up at him Scott has the distinctly uncomfortable impression she’s actually looking down on him. Penelope makes him feel uncomfortable a lot. It’s a skill not many people possess, and one that she has in common with the brother in question. “I don’t think the realities of Gordon’s current situation are entirely in line with how he feels about it. He came for tea and quite frankly he was such a misery I didn’t know what to do with him. He’s bored witless, Scott.”

It’s Scott’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but Penelope doesn’t rise to the bait.

“So you thought you’d involve him in a little light espionage?”

“Well yes,” Penelope says in that gleeful sort of tone that means she’s got an idea and Scott is about to agree to it. “I thought it would do him good. Exercise his mind.”

“Yeah his mind , Pen. You know he’s nowhere near 100%. If it comes to a fight -”

“I’m perfectly capable of dealing with any threats that may appear.”

“And if you need back up?”

Penelope smiles, small and secret. “I’m perfectly capable, Scott.” Then, harsher. “Don’t you think Gordon can look after himself?”

“That isn’t the point."

“Actually,” Penelope says, not unkindly, “it rather is. Let him feel useful, Scott. I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

Scott doesn’t even know why he’s arguing. Gordon has already received his tacit permission and will no doubt be already be throwing his belongings into a case with as much joyous abandon as a half healed broken arm and fractured cervical vertebrae will allow. It’s as much of a waste of breath as Penelope thinks it is, but he tries anyway.

“I’ve been attempting that his entire life, Pen. Current events notwithstanding, my success rates have been pretty poor.”

“Then let me try.” Penelope crosses her arms and lifts her chin in that way that always means that she considers the conversation finished. Her rule, law. “I will return him to you in no worse condition than I receive him.”

“How encouraging,” Scott deadpans. “All right. Fine. You can have him. On two conditions.”

“I’m listening.”

“One, you keep an open comm to Thunderbird Five at all times. If anything goes wrong we will extract you both and we won’t care about your cover, understood?”

“Unnecessary, but understood,” Penelope says. “And the second?”

Scott takes a moment to think how to phrase this oddest feeling of requests. More than hospital next-of-kin, more than field commander, this feels most like a job that Dad should have had and he feels a brief frission of irritation with Penelope for not just waiting until Dad was back to do it. He takes a deep breath.

“When I say look after him, I don’t just mean don’t let him get into a bust up with some mafioso. I don’t pretend to know what’s going on between you two, and frankly, I don’t want to, but -”

Penelope holds up her hand.

“If this is the part where you threaten to have me killed if I break your brother’s heart then, please, stop there. You have nothing to fear in that regard, Scott. I promise you.”

Her tone is cool, her words more so, but that faint pink flush is on her cheeks again and Scott can’t help but test her one more time.

“You know for a good spy you’re a horrible liar."

The scoff and the snapping off of the comms link is really all he needs to prove him right.

----

It really ought to have been Scott.

If it were to be any of them, of course, and perhaps in a different world it wouldn’t have been. Perhaps there would have been someone else, if she’d been someone else. If she hadn’t been his daughter, and they hadn’t been Jeff’s boys. If the world was kinder, perhaps, and hadn’t taken them all for its own. But she wasn’t and there wasn’t and it wasn’t. And it really had ought to have been Scott.

He’s six feet plus of all-American primogeniture topped with blue eyes and dimples and filled with a sense of duty so finely tuned that sometimes it makes her teeth itch to hear him. And she, well. She’s old money to his new. Pretty and pink cheeked and connected. A perfect little love story boxed up and beribboned and really not a love story at all.

Love stories aren’t for the likes of them, after all. Much better to be practical than romantic, when one distracted moment might get you killed.

It makes sense. Scott. Her father had thought so, and his. Parker still does, and her refusal to agree is a needle in his side.

( “H’I won’t live forever, M’lady,” all too often muttered under his breath as they wave Thunderbird One off from the manicured lawns, though she suspects he will, regardless. On purpose, even. Determined to see her down the aisle on the arm of someone he deems h’ppropriate.)

It isn’t Scott though. It was never Scott.

As long as it’s been anyone, it’s been him.

Which makes this all the more inauspicious a beginning.

Penelope is used to travelling under the radar as and when required. The economy seating and stretch polyester are a small price to pay for the anonymity they can afford her on the flight from London to Geneva. Any faintly curious glances sent her way are soon dissuaded from further investigation by her day-three hair and shiny leggings. That girl might look like Lady Creighton-Ward, but she wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that. Simple. Effective. Utterly depressing when Gordon turns up looking like that.

He practically bounds out of arrivals, all bright yellow glee, his case swaying on the trolley as he drags it along behind him, and the dreadful Swiss grey neutrality of the airport brightens like sunshine at his approach. If no one looks twice at her they crane their necks to look at him, and maybe she hasn’t quite thought this through.

Gordon has never really been one to blend in.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so happy after an economy flight,” she says wryly as he sweeps her own cases up and balances them precariously on top of his own. “Doesn’t your back ache?”

The smile shifts into a grimace, followed by a one shouldered shrug.

“I’ll live.”

“So you’ve said.”

She really hasn’t thought this through. Not when she was talking her superiors into allowing him to accompany her, nor when she was trying to convince Scott of the same. At no point in her appeals to his bravery, his quick wit, his need to do good, had she outright considered the truth of the matter.

Penelope hasn’t the faintest idea what is supposed to come next. Outside, of course, the clinical and satisfying success of a job well done. This - whatever this is - is a mystery.

And the other passengers filter away, leaving the two of them standing, silent, three feet apart and breathing the same recycled air.

“So,” he’s still grinning at her, waiting for her. Always waiting for her and she with no clue how to proceed. How inconvenient. “You ready?”

----

There’s no FAB1 waiting outside Geneva airport. No Parker to glare meaningfully into the rear view mirror and set her at ease with his usual maudlin complaints about Swiss road systems. Instead the two of them make their way toward the long line of automated taxis provided for the airports regular clientele.

There’s a long and rather embarrassing moment of confusion when it turns out that neither Penelope or Gordon have the faintest idea how to program one. Money, it seems, does not buy everything, or in this case perhaps it has brought them both a little too much.

After much poking, prodding, and occasional language unbecoming to a Lady, they eventually pull away from the airport and away from the beaten track. The car makes its way through twisting mountain passes, the low afternoon sun barely visible through the peaks until they begin their final descent. The valley before them is lit up as the little vehicle makes its way along a narrow, rock-strewn path before veering left into a cleft that had lain hidden in the shadows. The ride through the narrow little crevasse is less than comfortable. Gordon turns paler with each jolt of the suspension and Penelope winces in sympathy.

“It isn’t much further,” she offers as helpless reassurance, but he doesn’t answer beyond a tight nod and gritting of teeth. She wants to tell him that it will all be worth it but that seems like an arrogant presumption, at least that is until they emerge from the crevasse into a secret pocket of unutterable beauty.

Then, at least, it feels more like an observation than a promise.

“Now, wasn’t this worth the trip?"

The car stops a few dozen metres from the shore of a crystalline lake, its waters liquid gold in the sunlight, the mountains rising around it pink as rose quartz. At the Northern shore stand a cluster of traditional alpine chalets, the largest of which is built into the mountainside and rises above the others capped with a blanket of undisturbed snow. It is, Penelope concedes to her own satisfaction, truly lovely.

Perhaps this whole thing may work our rather well after all.

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.” Almost without thinking about it she takes him by the hand and tugs him behind her until they’re stood at the foreshore, the setting sun burnishing the edges of the mountain above them. “It feels like we might be a million miles from anywhere.” Then, at his hummed agreement. “Not that you’re not used to that, of course.”

“I dunno.” Gordon leans forward for a better view of the water. “No rockets taking off during swim practice? No Scott hovering around like a bad smell? No John in charge of the TV repeats?” He straightens up and grins at her. “Sounds like paradise to me.”

“Am I to assume that my company is preferable to Scott’s?”

“Penelope I mean this in the nicest possible way, but I would rather spend a weekend caged with starving piranhas than spend another ten minutes watching Scott give himself a hypertensive crisis every time I sneeze.”

“Is it truly that bad?”

“It’s worse .” Gordon swings their joined hands and she tries to relax into the motion, but this sort of easy affection is as alien to her as the good natured way that Gordon scoffs, “he’s a goddamn nightmare when he’s worrying. I don’t know how Alan puts up with it.”

Penelope, who rather suspects Alan quite likes being smothered in affection no matter how oddly expressed, lets go of Gordon’s hand in order to tuck her arm through his.

“I’m afraid I did have to promise Scott I’d look after you.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Like a pet?”

“Like someone recovering from a rather ghastly accident, which -” she holds up a finger to silence him before he can begin to protest, “I am afraid that you are.”

“I’m practically better!”

“Practically won’t get you back in that submarine and it won’t wash with me either. Now come along, it’s cold.”

He mutters indictments under his breath, but allows her to keep her arm tucked through his until they reach the door of the smallest chalet.

“Better bring the cases,” she tells him as she enters the keycode, “these automated taxis run strictly to time and we wouldn’t want to send all our clothes back to Geneva.

He opens his mouth. She raises an eyebrow.

“Fine, okay, but I thought I was an invalid? You’ve brought enough cases to clothe most of Switzerland.”

“And I thought you were practically better, and a gentleman.” She shoos him off, he rolls his eyes, and the little chalet that will be their temporary home is revealed just as the taxi begins its lonely journey back to the airport.

The two of them stand alone at the threshold, cases piled at Gordon’s feet, and a little warm flame of satisfaction grows in Penelope’s belly and spreads to her hands, her chest, her face.

Perfect.

She steps into the room, turns to him, and smiles.

“Well? What do you think?”

-----

Gordon does not read romance novels. Doesn’t read much of anything if he’s being totally honest, not unless Brains’ manual updates and John’s debriefs count. And even if they do - well, John’s couldn’t be further from romantic if they tried. Brains’ gushing prose is usually directed towards things beyond Gordon’s personal proclivities. So he doesn’t read Romance novels. He never has.

Grandma loves them.

And maybe it’s by osmosis, or maybe it’s because he seems to have spent an alarmingly large period of his life confined to bed and her tender mercies, but Gordon knows quite a lot more about romance novels than he’d really care to admit.

He’s rich. She’s feisty. There are love children and doctors and sheikhs and vestal virgins with the sexual appetites of extremely rampant rabbits. There are misunderstandings and malicious exes. Elevator breakdowns and holiday romances and office politics.

There’s only ever one bed.

There isn’t an induced coma on Earth that could stop him from figuring out where that particular plot point goes.

There is, however, a non zero chance that he’s still unconscious somewhere on the seafloor or battling his way out of a coma, because there’s no way, absolutely no possible way that this could actually be happening. This must all be some sort of dying man’s daydream, albeit one with a depressing amount of physical therapy and way too many annoying brothers.

Penelope’s still standing there, waiting, and she probably thinks he’s gone insane and that’s okay because he probably has and he knows that Alan must have set this up somehow. Someone is bound to come bursting through the curtain at any moment and did you see his face, Lady P?

Gordon? Are you quite alright? You look like you may be about to have a stroke.”

Oh, beautiful . What phrasing. It gets better.

"I uh - I think there might have been some sort of mistake?”

Gordon stutters his way through the question, frozen in the doorway with nothing between them but the mound of cases and a signal fundamental fact: the bed is not a mistake.

Penelope Creighton-Ward doesn’t make mistakes.

“Hardly, darling,” she says, sashaying into the room proper and pulling a small black box from the front pocket of the leading suitcase. “We are supposed to be playing a couple, you know. Separate rooms lead to gossip. Gossip leads to suspicion.” She presses a couple of buttons on the little box and the room is bathed in a soft blue glow and a high pitched sound that fades away to leave ringing in Gordon’s ears.

Or maybe that’s just his brain finally disconnecting from reality. There’s no way this is actually happening. This is a prank. The worst prank. He’s going to kill Alan. Kill him.

Penny looks at him with an expression of pinched concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

No. Yes. God he didn’t think this through. Scott was right, this is a dangerous game.

He doesn’t think he can manage to answer, so instead he nods at the black box.

“What was that?”

Penelope slips the device back into her suitcase and busies herself with the bedside holocomm.

“A broad spectrum communication blocker,” she says, turning the holocomm over and examining the base. “It will prevent anybody listening in on us.”

Gordon’s mouth goes dry at the implication that there might be an us to listen in on, but Penny seems unfazed. She concentrates on peeling a small silver disc from the bottom of the holocomm and pockets it swiftly.

“There,” she says, “much better."

She drops to sit at the edge of the bed, folds her hands in her lap, and smiles up at him beatifically.

“Well?” She pats the bed beside her. The ringing in Gordon’s ears is starting to sound like the emergency alarm. “Are you going to stand there the whole time?”

Gordon doesn’t move. Can’t. “Probably, yeah.”

“Gordon.” She’s stern, but not unkind. “I feel fairly confident a lady has invited you to sit on a bed before now.”

Oh, sure, yeah. Ladies. Plural. Several. But a Lady? Capital L? Penelope?

“Not as often as you’d think,” he says, then wonders why the hell he said it. This is going to be a hell of a long weekend if he can’t even get a grip on his mouth.

But Penny laughs, and when Penny laughs his own inability not to humiliate himself feels slightly less of a burden. “I promise, your virtue is safe with me.”

Penny bounces slightly on the bed, the springs squeaking beneath her, and smiles wickedly when he groans.

“I’m fucking all this up already, aren’t I?”

She unfolds her hands and smooths them over her knees.

“Stuff and nonsense,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes. “I have every faith in you. You only have to pretend to be utterly devoted to me, how hard could it be?”

He doesn’t even begin to know what to say to that, but luckily she doesn’t seem to expect an answer - just shakes her head a little bit and reaches out to pat him on the knee.

If Virgil ever found out how close he comes to falling over at that moment he’d never ever live it down. Ever.

“Oh, Gordon. Honestly. I’m just teasing you.” She stands and moves to drag the cases onto the bed. This at least reminds some primordial part of Gordon’s brain that he’s supposed to be a gentleman.

“I got it -”

Penelope lets him take the case from her, but watches him hoist it onto the bed with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t think you do, actually.” She catches hold of his sleeve as he turns for the next case. “Sit.”

“Not Sherbert,” he grumbles. She twitches a single eyebrow. He sits.

“We have until tomorrow morning to make sure our cover is air tight, and to do that I need you to listen to me.”

“Just as well I’m great at taking instruction.”

“Is that so?” And she’s blushing, just a bit, just at the crest of her cheekbones, and this is better. This Gordon can do .

“Ask John, oh, wait,” Gordon grins and holds up the holocomm. “You can’t. Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Hmm,” Penny taps her fingers on her hip bone and holds up the tablet between them. “Speaking of situations.”

“I thought we were speaking of John?”

“Is there a difference?” They grin at each other, and the hysterical butterflies calm, just a little bit. Okay, so he’s sat on a bed with Penny. So he might be sleeping with Penny (the butterflies mount a resurgence just at the thought, no matter how literally meant), but it’s Penny, and it’s him. They can do this. They’ve been beating around this particular buddleia bush for years. Nothing’s changed.

Then Penny scoots just a little bit closer, lays the tablet across both their thighs, and - maybe.

Maybe things are changing, just a little bit.

“Here.” Penny opens a file and the room is bathed in soft green light. Above them hovers a man on the wrong side of middle age, head polished to a gleaming shine, moustache bristling above unsmiling lips. “Recognise this gentleman?”

Gordon squints up at the image, a tickle of recollection at the back of his mind.

“I think - yeah, maybe. I think I’ve seen him before. Hey,” he lifts his chin and peers a little closer. “Wasn’t he at that shindig you took Scott to? The one with the Russian incident?”

“The less said about that the better,” Penny mutters, but then, “Yes. He was there. He’s Colin Vishkin.”

And Gordon might not be too great at faces and he might spend most of his life forty thousand leagues under the sea, but he doesn’t live under a rock .

“As in -?”

“As in,” agrees Penny, and skips to another file. This is a news report, looming over them with Vishkin’s still unsmiling face projected over the anchor’s shoulder.

Mr Vishkin, who manages some of the music industry’s brightest talents, was unavailable for comment after today’s revelations. Sources say -

“Hang on.” Penelope pauses the playback and looks at him expectantly. “ Colin Vishkin is coming to this party?”

“Gordon, you really should know by now, my parties are rarely ever just parties .”

“That’s what Scott said,” Gordon says, begrudgingly. “But he’s just some showbiz guy, he’s not a spy. Is he?”

“If he was, you wouldn’t know,” Penelope says with that small secretive smile that she always seems to wear when it comes to her work. “But no. No I have no intelligence to suggest he’s working for any governmental organisation. I’m very much afraid Gordon, that Mr Vishkin is our bad guy.”

That makes him sit up a little bit straighter, sends the butterflies into retirement as Gordon Tracy Lovesick Idiot is pushed to the side by the somewhat more capable Thunderbird Four.

“Bad guy how?”

Penelope flicks through another few files. News reports, mainly. The odd magazine article lifted from the cloud. Vishkin’s artists, all falling out of one bar or another. All caught with powdered noses. Glassy eyes.

Dead at twenty five .

And then flight logs. Hundreds of them. Bogata. Kabul. Los Angeles. London. Sydney. Jakarta. Concert venues interspersed with trips in the dead of night. No overnight stays. Land and go.

“See a pattern?”

“He’s running something, all right.”

“Oh, certainly,” Penelope agrees, but then she flicks over again, and this time it’s an image created to tug on Gordon’s heartstrings. People. Dozens of them. Young and younger still with wide desperate eyes, crammed into a container the like of which he hasn’t seen since commercial shipping was done away with. “Not just some thing, though. Some ones .”

“People smuggling?” Gordon practically spits it out. “It’s the twenty first century, Pen!”

“Indeed it is.” Penelope is looking at the picture, lips pursed in concentration, but there’s none of the rage in her expression he feels in his heart.

“How can you just -” he waves his hand at the image. Wills it to disappear under his touch. “It’s inhumane!”

“Man’s inhumanity to man is nothing new, Gordon. It’s been here as long as we have as a species, and it will remain until we are all gone.”

“Why hasn’t the GDF taken him down?”

“The GDF have neither the evidence or the jurisdiction.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Penelope turns to him and he expects a rebuke for his language, but instead she’s just looking at him. Considering.

“Indeed.”

Ah. There’s a stiffness in his spine now that has nothing to do with compound fractures or economy seating.

“So that’s where we come in? Catch him at it?"

“He’s highly unlikely to bring a crate full of human cargo on an alpine holiday, Gordon.” She smiles again, and this is a new one. A cold one. “But don’t fret. After all, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Care to share?”

“Certainly.” She flips to another screen, and this person Gordon does recognise. He lets out a low whistle.

“Margot Mearns.”

“The very same. Did you know it’s her birthday this week?” Penny flicks through a few more screens until she settles on the one she wants. It’s a mass of words and letters that make minimal sense to Gordon. “Hence the little trip out here. Vishkin was convinced that a nice holiday might be all she needs to begin work on another album.”

“I thought she’d retired years ago?”

Penelope mouth narrows grimly. “So did she. But if Mr Vishkin wants you to do something, you usually do it.”

Gordon looks again at the tablet’s projection, notes the flight times interspersed with dates. Places. ‘MM’ over and over and - “You think he’s blackmailing her?”

“I think she may be willing to share a few secrets if the price is right,” Penelope says, swiping the file closed and dropping the tablet onto the bedside table. “These people can always be brought, Gordon. Always.”

"But Vishkin is rich as hell, he can -”

“I don’t mean with money.” Penelope sighs, and tilts her face up to look at him. “This is why I wanted to bring you,” she says. “You’re just so terribly good . You remind me what I ought to be, perhaps you will be more successful than I in appealing to Ms Mearn’s better nature."

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffs, “you’re a good guy. The good guy. Capital G’s. Good Lady? You’re the best, Lady P.”

“If you say so.” Penny seems to concede the point, but then, “I’m afraid there’s more, and this part I suspect you really won’t enjoy.”

----

He takes it surprisingly well, the lengths they are expected to go to to keep Vishkin from realising he’s been led into a trap. He accepts the case full of bulky skiwear and acrylic sweaters with good grace, even though the palette is rather muted for his taste and they both know he won’t be going anywhere near the slopes. He does grumble just a little when she pulls out the hair dye,

What’s wrong with holotech, Pen?

(Pen, for goodness sake. Pen. Penny . Like he’s already ten pages ahead of her. Already crossed the rubicon into something that Penelope herself is only just beginning to name.)

Dampners, remember?

However, he disappeared off to the bathroom without any further complaint. He’s still there now, she can hear the shower running, which is advantageous in that he’s not witnessing what might be the closest thing to a panic attack Penelope has ever had.

That’s not quite true, of course. She’s felt worse, trapped in safety on the deck of the Solar Explorer. In the belly of ancient mine. Curled up on the back seat of FAB one en route to the hospital.

These events all seem to have one common denominator, and now he’s turned off the shower and is shouting through the door.

“It’s okay! I still look amazing!”

“Of course you do, dear,” Penelope mumbles, eyes fixed as they have been for the past ten minutes at least, on the silver bands in her palm.

“Dapper as hell!” He bursts out of the bathroom, arms outstretched in a tada ! Gesture, and really, really this would have been just a touch easier if he’d at least put his clothes on.

“Really Gordon?”

He does have the grace to blush then, she can see the way it spreads down his throat and along the ridge of his collarbones.

“Sorry, got excited.”

She doesn’t think she could formulate an answer to that if she tried.

“Looks good though, right? I could totally have been a ginger. Except for the sun thing, that would suck. I reckon that’s why John chose space. Keep him pale and interesting.” He spins on the spot to show off his new hair - auburn, a shade or two darker than his brother’s - but does at least hold on to the towel as he does so. “Well, interresting-ish, I suppose.”

It’s a small mercy. Penelope closes her fist over the rings and steels herself as best she can against the assault of his smile as he turns to face her again.

“Will I do?”

A terribly pertinent choice of phrase, that.

“Lovely,” she says, hoping against hope he doesn’t notice the crack in her voice. “Now be a dear and put on a shirt.”

“Spoilsport.”

He snatches up one of the sweaters from where he’s dumped them unceremoniously across the top of the dresser, and disappears back into the bathroom long enough for Penelope to physically shake some sense into herself.

This mission is shaping up to be far more dangerous than she might have expected. Or just as dangerous as you ‘oped , pipes up a familiar little voice in her head. One that has had far more to say about this trip than is warranted, in her opinion.

But then Gordon is back, and she can’t keep a neutral expression to save her life, and God knows if she’s fooling anyone anymore but she certainly isn’t fooling herself.

He looks ridiculous in knitwear. Utterly ridiculous. It is entirely too unfair that a man she sees so often in skin tight neoprene can look like that in a cable knit sweater that isn’t even cashmere.

Gordon frowns.

“Penelope? Are you okay? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

Well. Isn’t that just smashing.

In for a penny, as Parker says. She goes in for a pound.

“I’m afraid you have to marry me.”

It’s Gordon’s turn to go a rather odd colour now. In his case it’s a rather fetching shade of puce that clashes horribly with his newly dyed hair.

“Uh.” He says. Freezes. Then, “Are you asking ?”

“I’m afraid GCHQ have beaten me to it.” Penelope finally unfurls her fist and holds her open hand out between them. Gordon stares at the two slim rings as though they might, in fact, be tiny metallic alligators. “Not the nicest quality,” she says, both by way of breaking the silence and genuine apology. “Budget cuts. I’d have brought some myself, but I don’t think my cover and I have similar tastes.”

Gordon’s head snaps up then. “Right, yeah. The cover. So we are?”

Penelope lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, and slips the smaller ring over her finger before holding out the other for Gordon to do the same. He hesitates only a moment before doing so, then turns his full attention back to her as she begins to unpack the minutiae of their cover lives.

She has a wig, brown contacts, a collection of extremely frumpy fair isle sweaters, and a passport in the name of Pauline Jones. Pauline is a strict vegetarian, an excellent cook, and well known in the hospitality business for her professionalism and discretion.

Pauline’s husband is a ski instructor turned chalet host, banished from the slopes after a nasty accident the season previously. Very much the junior partner in their rental business, he’s still learning the ropes.

His name is Greg, and he has three juvenile convictions for possession of narcotics and terrible taste in music.

(“Hey!”

"I don’t make the rules, darling.”)

Penelope piles up the belongings of these people who don’t yet exist, and atop it all she lays a holopad already pre-loaded with photographs they’ve never taken. There’s a wedding dress in there, she knows that. A hideous meringue affair that Penelope would never be seen dead in.

She tells herself that’s the reason she bats Gordon’s hand away when he goes to open the files.

“Time for that later,” she says, only too aware that she’s been the one insisting on getting their cover straight. “Are you hungry?”

“Are you an accomplished chef?”

He has the good grace not to call her on the change of subject, at least.

“I’m whatever I need to be,” she tells him truthfully, and gestures to the far wall of the room where an understated metal box protrudes from the wall. “but at least in this case I do have a little back up.”

----

The replicated food is warm and tasty enough, but it doesn’t do much to help the unsteady lurch of his stomach as he watches Penelope tidy away her - sorry, Pauline’s - clothes into the room’s only dresser.

"Why Greg?” he asks her, mostly for lack of anything else to say that won’t lead to more extremely awkward silence. “Greg’s an old man’s name.”

Penelope pauses her folding and rolls her eyes.

“Says the man called Gordon .”

“Hey, could have been worse.” He smiles, and she turns from the dresser to face him properly. “Could have been Deke. Or Wally. Or Virgil.”

Penelope tilts her head very slightly to one side and crosses her arms.

“You look nothing like a Virgil.”

“Nah you’d have needed a different dye job for that one,” he agrees, taking both their plates to the automated kitchen module and dropping them in for recycling. “And maybe some stilts.”

“I don’t think they’d have fit in the case,” she murmurs, attention back on the dresser, her palms smoothing over fabric.

“Hey, I brought my own case,” he nods over to the Tracy Industries industrial number that’s still lying where he dropped it by the door to the room. “You could have saved yourself the effort, you know.”

“And what did you bring?” Penelope arches an eyebrow. “Hawaiian shirts and Neoprene?”

“Long sleeved Hawaiian shirts,” Gordon says, mildly offended. “It’s cold here. I’m not an idiot.”

She looks at him as though that may be somewhat debatable.

“And I look great in Neoprene. Really makes an impression.” He risks a wink because, well, he’s still not sure exactly what’s happening here but he’s pretty certain she won’t mind .

She pauses, as though considering, then, “Rather depends on the impression you want to create. I’m not sure the bright blue skin tight wetsuit is the most subtle of disguises, Gordon.”

He hums, and nods solemnly. “It is tight.”

Penelope blushes, a bright, fierce red that clashes with her pink sweater, and Gordon’s heart soars.

“Distracting.” He emphasises the consonants and watches with disbelieving fascination as the blush spreads down her throat.

“Oh hush,” she splutters eventually, balling up one of ‘Greg’s’ ugly sweaters and launching it at him. “Parker will have you shot."

Gordon grins and drops back on his elbows, kicking his stockinged feet off the floor.

“Worth it.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You invited me.”

“And I so rarely make decisions I regret.” Penelope lays the final item of clothing in the drawer and turns to him with narrowed eyes. “But there’s a first time for everything.”

Gordon bites back the urge to ask is that so, and sits up straighter.

“Seriously, though,” he says. “I don’t -” he flails about for the words to say what he means without offending - or worse getting an answer he won’t know how to live with. Not that he knows what that answer might be. Not that he knows anything , and Scott’s never been more right and he can absolutely never know. Whatever Penelope says next he will have to carry to his grave. A place, that going by the thudding in his chest, he’s approaching sooner rather than later. “What is it you expect of me, exactly? Because Pen I swear whatever it is, I’ll do it, you know that. Whatever you want. I just -” he shrugs, and she’s frowning, and he feels small and stupid and young .

He doesn’t feel like a Thunderbird. He definitely doesn’t feel like a spy.

He feels like a boy faced with the girl of his dreams, and only one bed.

“Think of it as a rescue,” Penelope says, and that’s enough of a non sequitur to have his head spinning again. “We don’t know what will happen with Vishkin, it’s better to follow my lead and -”

And oh god. Oh god she thinks he’s talking about Vishkin.

He ought to be talking about Vishkin.

She’s stopped. That funny little frown right between her eyebrows again and he decides then and there that he hates it. Hates it directed at him and hates even more that he’s put it there.

“You keep calling me Pen.”

“I - what?”

“You keep calling me Pen.” She’s shaking her head and that little frown hasn’t shifted and wow, wow he’s bad at this.

“I’m… I’m sorry?” It’s his turn to frown now. “I hadn’t realised.”

“It’s quite alright. I quite like it.” She smiles again, still small, still secretive, but nothing like the cold twist of her mouth from earlier. “Don’t tell Parker, will you.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

And then she’s laughing, and then he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s really, truly, fucked.

“Hold on a moment, let me introduce somebody.” She pads her way into the bathroom carrying a small pile of clothes and a little black bag with a golden zipper and shuts the door behind her. He doesn’t hear the click of the lock. If she decides to get her own back and appears in a towel, he will absolutely, definitely die on the spot.

When she does reappear what feels like half a lifetime later, Penelope is transformed. Dark where she was fair, lips chapped and nose pinked like those of a woman who spends her life on the slopes, and it doesn’t so much impress Gordon as it terrifies him.

“There.” Penelope steps back from the mirror to admire her handiwork and holds out a hand to him. He takes it and rises to stand beside her as though he’s on autopilot. Maybe he is. He certainly doesn’t feel like her has any control of his limbs or the thundering of his heart as her fingers wrap around his. “Now look, Greg meet Pauline.” She beams up at him. “Don’t we make quite the pair?”

Gordon reaches up to adjust his new red locks, but Penelope bats his hand away and turns him to face the mirror. Two strangers look back at him - one reminds him of John, though not as tall or as scrawny but just as badly dressed, and a girl with dark hair and dark eyes rimmed thick with kohl and crinkling at the corners from Penelope’s smile. Almost ordinary, he thinks, except for that smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, we do.”

----

It’s getting late.

It’s getting late, and it isn’t that Penelope has a habit of retiring early - quite the opposite in fact - but they’ve an awfully busy day tomorrow cosying up to international criminals and the flight had been so very terribly uncomfortable and -

And Gordon is clearly so very uncomfortable with the idea of sharing her bed that she isn’t quite sure yet whether she ought to be offended.

She’s packed away Pauline’s belongings, and usually she’d have packed Penelope up right along with them, but she’s not quite ready to let go of herself yet. With Vishkin still comfortably settled in his London abode, she has time to indulge herself just this once, surely?

But it’s been rather a long time, and she's rather embarrassed to admit that she’s somewhat out of practice.

There is a distinct possibility that she hasn’t had any practice at these particular sort of bedroom shenanigans. For fun, for information, for something to do after another interminable gala perhaps, then yes, plenty. But she’s becoming more certain by the day that whatever this thing is between Gordon and herself it doesn’t fall into any of the categories she’s comfortable with.

Gordon sits on the edge of their soon-to-be shared bed wearing Greg Jones’ pyjamas and socks with goldfish on and smiles at her. A new category indeed.

“Something funny?” she asks. He shrugs, still favouring his right shoulder.

“Nah, not really,” he huffs out a laugh. “This is weird, right? I feel like this is pretty weird.”

“Rather the usual for me I’m afraid,” she says mildly. “International drug-dealing people smugglers are my bread and butter.”

“Yeah, that isn’t what I meant though, is it.”

She stiffens slightly, unused to being called out in such a way, but then she sees the way he can’t quite meet her eyes and maybe she isn;t the only one skirting at the edge of their comfort zone tonight.

“It’s a little weird,” she admits. “Do you prefer the left or the right?”

“Eh?”

“Side of the bed.”

He shrugs again, but he meets her eyes this time. “Rarely get the choice. International Rescue only supplies singles.”

“Well we wouldn’t want you boys to get a reputation would we.” He grins, and she drops down next to him and rests her hand on his knee. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid I really must insist on the right.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Is it?”

She would be proud of the way she can strike him silent, but it’s not exactly helping the awkwardness of the situation so instead she squeezes his knee and says seriously, “I’m also afraid that I snore.”

“Really?” Gordon shakes his head, but the smile’s back and that’s what matters. “Lady Penelope, a snorer ? Whatever would the tabloids say.”

“They’ve never been so fortunate to find out,” she leans up toward him and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I trust I can rely on your discretion?”

She watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. “Scout’s honour.”

“Weren’t you expelled from the Scouts?”

Gordon sighs dramatically, “One time. You flood a hut one time .”

“Then I’ll allow it.” She rubs at the edge of his hairline where a little of the dye has sunk into his skin and left a bruise-like stain. “Are you sure you’re ready for all this?”

“That’s a loaded question.”

“It’s just a bed , Gordon.”

“Oh,” he’s smiling though, a dangerous smile. She likes it. “And here I thought you were talking about the whole being a spy thing.”

She lets her finger run down the side of his face and then taps it against his mouth. His eyes follow it and her breath hitches.

“I have every faith,” she says, the words catch in her throat and come out as whispers. “In your complete and total professionalism.”

That wicked little smile feels like a promise against her skin. “Shame.”

“You know Scott would be utterly horrified if he heard any of this conversation, I do think he’s afraid I might be out to corrupt you, you know.”

“Did you tell him about the one bed?”

“Need to know basis, darling.”

Gordon laughs then, drawing back and letting the moment drift away into something less like a promise.

“No doubt John will fill him in, he’s probably having kittens right now.”

Penelope is a spy, and spies are liars by habit, so it hardly even feels like one when she says, “And how would John know?”

“Thunderbird Five? The all-seeing eye?” Gordon waves up to the ceiling. “If he hasn’t got a line in this room right now I’ll eat Greg’s woolly hat.”

“No one gets a line in unless I want them to, that I can promise you.” Penelope says, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her stomach as she follows his gaze. “Can’t have my sleep habits disseminated to the media, it wouldn’t do at all."

“Really?” And luckily she doesn’t have to answer, luckily because she doesn’t want to take away from the way Gordon relaxes next to her, all the stiffness and nervous energy draining from him. “You know, I don’t know if I can remember a time one of them wasn’t watching me? I’m pretty sure Scott had tabs on me in the womb.”

“They love you.”

“They’re terrified.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, then twists his neck and winces. “I give them plenty of reason, I guess.”

“You do have a terrible habit of chasing down danger,” Penelope agrees. “It’s most inconvenient, you know. Does awful things to our blood pressure.”

“Tell me about it.” He drops his hand on top of hers. “I would say I don’t do it on purpose, but -”

“But,” she agrees, and winds her fingers between his. “I think it’s time for bed, don’t you?”

“Jeez,” and he’s smiling, squeezing her fingers between his, “I thought you’d never ask.”

----

Morning breaks, bright dawn light making its way through the gauzy curtains and alighting on Penelope’s back as she sits at the dresser.

Sorry, Pauline’s back. Penelope had been gone before Gordon opened his eyes, her side of the bed smoothed flat and cool to the touch, and he’d been half convinced he’d dreamt her by the time a stranger exited the bathroom.

Gordon sits up in bed and watches as she puts the finishing touches to her transformation, the wig and contacts and polyblend sweater topped with enough makeup to fool even her own father and practicing a fake French accent so convincing that it makes his skin crawl.

It’s all just a little too good. A little too sharp a reminder of what Penny actually does day to day. Of what he’s about to do alongside her. Gordon Tracy. Spy .

Wherever dad is, he hopes he’s laughing.

Penny blots her lipstick and tucks the wig’s dark curls behind her ears.

“There,” she says, “lovely.”

“You are really, really good at this,” he tells her. “Scary good.”

“I do aim to impress,” she says and okay, okay it’s pretty weird to hear Penelope’s voice coming from someone else’s face. Maybe the accent isn’t so bad after all. “Vishkin’s flight arrives at fourteen hundred hours. Feel free to familiarise yourself with the files and be ready to meet me in the main chalet at thirteen thirty.

She smiles at him, that last lingering vestige of the Penelope he knows, and leaves him alone for the first time since he’d boarded his flight in Sydney.

“Fucking hell,” he tells his reflection - red hair and redder eyes because God as if he could ever have actually slept next to her - “fucking fucking hell.”

And he opens the file, because what else can he do but dwell on the feeling of her breath on his neck until he curls up on the spot and dies ?

Because it turns out that Gordon, when it counts, has absolutely no game whatsoever and if his brother’s ever find out -

If his brothers ever find out, Greg Jones might just be a better guy to be.

Luckily, Greg’s life has been that of a pretty average guy. The sort of guy Gordon might have been, he supposes, if his mother hadn’t been dead and his father hadn’t been rich as fuck. Greg’s father had served in the military during the war. He has an obnoxious overachiever for an older brother with whom he apparently does not have to live with on an isolated island. Sure, he had a misspent youth, but Gordon thinks Greg’s version sounds a hell of a lot more fun than spending High School in training for the Olympics and then nearly dying a bunch .

Greg Jones is emphatically not a billionaire.

Greg Jones has married the girl of his dreams.

Gordon Tracy doesn’t know whether the roiling in his stomach is nervous nausea or bitter, bitter jealousy.

“Get a grip,” he tells his reflection regardless. “Do not fuck this up.”

Despite the impossibility, he almost thinks he can hear John’s long-suffering sigh in his ear.

“Alright, alright.” He swats at his imaginary earpiece and turns his attention to Vishkin’s file. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of people out there relying on this guy being taken down, and this, this Gordon knows he can do. “Lets get on with the rescue.”

---

It’s a bitter cold morning, the mountain air sharp in her lungs and against her flushed cheeks. The lake is a flat blue with ice glittering at its edges, the sky cloudless perfection.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

It rings through her, up through the soles of her heavy boots as she stamps through the snow, in every ridiculously loud thud of her heart.

Somewhere up above she imagines John, bagel in hand, judging her and finding her wanting.

A coward and a fool .

By the time she reaches the great hall of the main chalet she may actually be able to catch her breath. Which is just as well, because as she steps through the door she’s greeted by the hustle and bustle of her undercover team running final checks. She’s pleased to see people she’s worked with before and found to be reasonably competent. There’s Lester, tapping tiny screw-head bugs into place along the edges of the wooden bar, and Verne, his erstwhile partner, running loops of false footage on the large holovision screen. A few others too whose names escape her - a young girl she’s seen in the corridors of GCHQ, a chap she knows to be on his first mission wiping the bar top over and over with a dirty cloth - but they all stop and turn as soon as they see she’s entered the room.

She takes a deep breath.

This, she can do.

“Ah, good. You’re all here. I imagine everything is in order?”

“Absolutely Ma’am,” Verne assures her, flicking the screen over to some newsreel footage. “False flags in place.”

“Excellent. And our guests’ facilities?”

“Only the best, Ma’am,” affirms Lester, tapping the bar top. “All top quality.”

“Lovely.”

A light knock at the door, and Gordon peeks his head around. When he sees her he beams as though he hasn’t laid eyes on her for months rather than minutes. Her heart stutters, and she finds herself fiddling pointlessly with the ends of her wig.

“Hey,” he says, slipping into the room. “All ready for launch?”

“Hey, yourself. You look… warm.” He’s wearing a neon yellow ski jacket that she’d chosen as a nod to his own rather garish taste. It’s bulkier than she’d imagined. Much bulkier than the t shirt he’d slept in, the one that stretched over his shoulders and made her fingers twitch against the covers.

“Thanks, I think.” He looks around at the gathered staff in their borrowed uniforms, and waves. “Hey guys, how’re you doing?”

Lester and Verne look at each other, then at her.

“Uh,” says Lester. “Alright, sir?”

Okay, perhaps there are reasons Penelope rarely socialises with her undercover teams.

“Good, good.” Gordon claps his hands together then sways back on his heels. “Do we get discount at the bar or -”

“I should bleedin’ hope not!” It comes from the shadows, from a man who she’d barely noticed upon entering but now can’t believe she’d missed. A man, she’s fairly certain, she left behind in London with very specific instructions regarding Bertie’s feeding schedule and her father’s upcoming meeting with the Princess Royal. A man, she’s even more sure, hadn’t looked like that .

“Parker! What on earth have you done to your face?!”

---

“Fancied a change, M’Lady.”

Parker’s moustache bristles magnificently beneath that giveaway nose. It makes Gordon’s face itch just looking at it. It looks uncannily like something Brains might use to unclog Four’s inlet pipes. Perhaps, he thinks with a grimace, it is.

“Parker,” he says in lieu of greeting, “I didn’t think you were coming.”

Parker’s answering glare could cut glass. In fact Gordon’s sure he hears a distant tinkling from the back of the bar as he replies, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean Mr Gordon, sir .”

Gordon shrugs. “Not really your scene? I thought you were dog sitting?”

“Wherever ‘er Ladyship is my scene ,” Parker hisses. “And when she’s insisting on putting ‘erself in danger -”

“Penny can handle Vishkin.”

“Ain’t ‘im I’m worried over.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to - “

“That’s enough,” Penny snaps and both men stand a little straighter. “Parker, there will be time to discuss why you felt inclined to disregard my request after we’ve brought Mr Vishkin to justice. Gordon? Are you ready?”

Gordon blinks, looks down to where she’s rested her hand on the fist he hadn’t even realised he’d clenched. Beyond the doors he hears the tell tale thrum of engines, the sound of grit under tyres. He nods, and Penny motions to the man behind the bar.

All at once the men and women scatter, disappearing almost as swiftly as they had appeared, until it’s just Gordon and Penny and the lurking figure of Parker in the shadows of the furthest corner.

“Honestly,” Penny mutters under her breath as the engine noises cut out. “Men .”

A heavy knock at the door, and she steps forward to fling it open her scowl shifting into such an expression of rapturous joy on her face that Gordon almost gets whiplash. Again.

“Ms. Mearns!” she cries, Pauline’s accent bell-like in the echoing room, “such an honor!"

That is, Gordon thinks, one word for it.

In the brief few months young Gordon had had to be a regular teenager between swimming and WASP and agony, he’d had a terrible crush on Margot Mearns. An international singing sensation, she’d been the entertainment at one of Tracy Industries annual fundraisers - one that dad had allowed him to come to in one of his occasional, brief efforts to ‘bond’ with his most unimpressive son. (Although Alan had still wet the bed at that point, so Gordon may have had a brief rise in the rankings). His main memories of that night are of the constricting nature of his first ever penguin suit, and the glorious sight of Margot Mearn’s thighs gyrating within thirty centimetres of his spotty, flushed cheeks.

It had been a defining moment, alright. Even dad had listened to his teenage gibbering afterwards with good natured indulgence and cheerfully purchased a lifesized poster that young Gordon had hung in every closet he’d owned ever since. It had even come to the island with him, afterwards. A reminder of a time before IR and sleepless nights, when pretty girls with pretty thighs had been something he’d had time to dream about.

Now Penny - Pauline - is taking the hand of his childhood crush and shaking it gently, and it’s an awful long way from any kind of dream. More of a nightmare really, because Gordon has been in the rescue business all of his adult life. He knows desperation when he sees it, and it's written all over Margot Mearns's face.

Penny is slim, but the bones beneath are steel, her grip firm, all lithe muscles shifting beneath a porcelain shell. Margot seems brittle in comparison, delicate, her veins blue beneath translucent, clammy skin.

Her smile is too tight and her forehead is too smooth, and when she walks she seems to half fall from one foot to the other, lurching along like something undead from one of Alan’s favourite games.

He thinks of that poster, still hanging behind years worth of outgrown neoprene, and feels suddenly, terrifyingly, old.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Penny, Christ .”

Penny isn’t looking at Margot anymore though. Penny has much bigger fish to fry.

The man at Margot’s side isn’t the type to draw many second glances even in those with far more time to spend on celebrity gossip than Gordon ever has, but Penny makes a beeline for him, cooing greetings in that voice that he hates and snapping her fingers until the ‘staff’ reappear and begin busying themselves with the guests’ coats and luggage.

Vishkin.

He reaches for Penny’s hand and lifts it to his mouth sending a visceral shudder through Gordon’s body even as she slips free and beckons him forward.

“My ‘usband,” she says, and he wishes he hated that accent a little less because honestly he could dwell on those words forever. “We are so very honoured that you have chosen to stay with us Mr Vishkin, sir.”

Mr Vishkin, sir, looks down at them from his stacked heels with rheumy eyes set in a face like cracked leather. He wears enough gold to drown him in six feet of water, and this is a fact Gordon tucks neatly away in the back of his mind for safe keeping.

“I demand discretion,” he says. “Complete and total. Do you understand? I have guests attending who the media would just love to spread tall tales about. I would hate to think any came from you.”

“Of course! We pride -”

“Total. ” He turns his watery eyes on Gordon, and smiles coldly. “I have heard about you Mr Jones.”

Ah, right. Drug dealers. Misspent youths. Gordon isn’t yet quite sure how Greg Jones reacts to veiled threats, so he channels John Tracy instead.

“Honoured, I’m sure.” Vishkin’s eyes become slits, and Penny glares at him over his shoulder. Maybe not John, then. Maybe Alan. “I’m like - such a big fan,” he gushes and if the change of tone is enough to make him dizzy Vishkin at least doesn’t seem to notice. “A guy like you coming to stay here? Wow. Really. Amazing.”

“Yes well, we wanted somewhere a little off the beaten track as they say.” Vishkin puts an arm around Margot’s shoulders and pulls her into his side. She wobbles at the action, as though her legs can’t quite hold her up. “Isn’t that right Margot dear?”

Margot says nothing.

“‘Ow lovely,” Pauline coos. “Please, anything you need, we are absolutely at your service. Anything at all.”

Vishkin lets Margot go, and puts one gold-bedazzled hand on Penny’s cheek. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says.”Tell me, do you sing?”

Pauline blushes prettily and looks at Vishkin through lowered lashes. “Oh no, Mr Vishkin, I am - ‘ow you say - a strangled cat.”

“Shame, and so pretty.” He tugs at one of her curls as he moves his hand away. “A little hair dye darling, and I could make you a star.”

“She’s already a star.” Gordon reaches out and grabs Penny’s hand. “To me at least."

Pauline’s mouth twists into a scowl, and Gordon has a sinking feeling that it’s actually Penelope’s. “Greg! Don’t be rude!”

“Nonsense.” Vishkin pats him on the shoulder - the bad one - hard enough to make him stagger. “Good to see a bit of loyalty, you don’t get much of that in our line of work, eh Margot?”

Margot smiles, a fragile little thing, and speaks for the first time, her voice barely more than a whisper. “No, Colin.”

“Let me show you to your chalet,” Pauline says, disentangling herself from Gordon’s grip. “Come, come, I ‘ope you will find it all to your satisfaction, I followed your particulars most closely…"

She leads them both from the hall and out into the winter air, the frigid gust she leaves in her wake makes Gordon shiver even through Greg’s neon yellow ski jacket.

“Great start, Mr Gordon,” Parker mutters sardonically as he follows the rest of the staff into the chalet’s backrooms. “Very subtle, that.”

“I was being a gentleman,” Gordon grumbles after him, but it’s too late. The staff have all disappeared like the spooks they are, and Gordon is left alone with a stack of cases and the sinking feeling that Vishkin’s about to be the least of his worries.

He takes the closest case in his good hand, and heads out into the storm.

---

He’s been watching all afternoon. He hasn’t said much - which, honestly, is starting to feel like a blessing - but he’d lingered in each room as she’d shown Vishkin around, neither as subtle nor as comforting a presence as Parker would have been in the same situation. Instead he makes her feel off-kilter. Pauline’s laugh is too loud, her accent too harsh. Penelope is trying too hard and it shows. The truth is that she’s hardly slept, the bed both far too large and not anything near large enough, and instead she’d lain awake counting the cracks in the ceiling and letting her imagination run away with her.

It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous.

It is, she decides, all his fault.

“You are risking our cover!” she spits after hours of his nonsensical glaring, the door to their chalet locked behind her before she turns on him.

Gordon scowls right back at her, his arms folded across that stupid ski jacket she’d insisted on packing. Its cheerful brightness is giving her a headache.

“Don’t talk bullshit!” Gordon growls, “So what, ‘Greg’ lets idiots like Vishkin throw his weight around, does he?”

“‘Greg’” Penelope’s finger quotes are even more violent than Gordon’s, “knows that his wife can look after herself perfectly well, thank you very much!” She stops. Jabs him in the chest with a finger and the polyester jacket crackles like static between them. “I thought you’d remember that. If I wanted a bodyguard I’d have married Parker!”

“Maybe you should have,” Gordon snaps back, “I thought you said he wasn't coming? He your back up for when I screw up is he?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I didn’t even know he was coming, he shouldn’t have come!”

“Well he has, and if I’m gonna be accused of breaking cover what the hell was all that muttering about? Does he think Vishkin’s deaf?”

“I’m not privy to the inner workings of Parker’s mind, Gordon. And it hardly matters anyway, not if you insist on all this stupid manly posturing -”

“I don’t posture!”

“Oh no? Then what on earth was all this about?” She grabs at his hand and tugs it toward her. “Pauline is not Greg’s possession .”

“It’s not - that isn’t what I meant! He’s a nasty piece of work, Penelope!”

“Yes,” she keeps her grip tight. “Yes, I know that Gordon. That’s the point. But he can’t know that we know that, that utterly defeats the object. He has to believe that we are star-struck by him, he has to believe that he has some sort of power over us. It’s arrogance that destroys men like him, Gordon. Your father knew that.”

“And look where that got Dad,” Gordon mutters, and pulls his hand free. “I don’t like it. In fact, I hate it. A whole bunch.”

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” Penelope agrees. “But sometimes we must do whatever is necessary for the greater good. And if you think Mr Vishkin’s flirting is the worst thing I’ve put up with in the pursuit of justice, I very much hope you never read any of my other files.”

Gordon’s face twists unpleasantly and he turns away.

“I’m going to get some air,” he mumbles, and disappears through the french doors. Penelope watches his back as he hunches over the balcony railings. Takes one breath. Two.

This wasn’t the plan. None of this was in the plan. She’s going to have to have some firm words with Parker at the very least.

She’s probably going to have to have a few with herself while she’s at it.

“I’m sorry,” she says, moving into the doorway and speaking into the night air. “This is all terribly strange to you, I’m sure.”

“I’ll play nice.” He doesn’t turn to look at her though. “I won’t like it, Pen, but I swear I’ll play nice.”

“Pax, then?”

He nods, and she takes it as an invitation to join him on the balcony. The air is bitter, the sky above nothing but a carpet of stars.

She lets out a long sigh and leans back against the railing. Gordon’s hands dangle over the edge and his face is turned to the canopy of stars above them. It changes him, this light. Washes the colour out of his hair and casts his features into sharp relief. He watches the stars silently for a moment, and in return she watches him, watches the rise and fall of his chest and the bob of his throat as he swallows. The pull of the hideous jacket across his shoulders as he lifts an arm to the sky and waves.

Penelope follows the line of his gaze then, turning and wrinkling her nose as she squints up into what, honestly, is to her usually little more than a brightly glittering backdrop to her much more interesting plans for the evening.

“See the little blinking thing up there? Just left of the pleiades?”

It’s not an apology, but then she isn’t sure if she wants one. Not now. But she doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to spend another night lying in that too big, too small bed listening to his breathing and sinking in regret.

So she hums, twisting her head to try and better follow his finger. “If I say yes will you believe me?”

Gordon’s mouth quirks up at the corner and he grabs her hand, lifting it to follow his own. “There, look. Don’t tell me you didn’t study astronomy in your fancy schools?”

“I suspect our fathers had somewhat differing educational priorities,” Penelope says wryly. “Mine had ambitions for me that were rather more down to Earth.”

Gordon looks at her then, the starlight reflected back at her in his eyes. She’s so terribly glad she decided against giving him the contacts.

“Guess they were both disappointed then, huh?”

“Perhaps,” she says, loathe to spoil whatever passes for a moment. “Or perhaps we simply exceeded expectations. We are rather exceptional, after all.”

Gordon doesn’t answer that, only tightens his grip on her hand, his palm warm against the lakeside breeze.

“Do you see it?” he says, and for a moment she pretends not to know what he means, her gaze fixed on the side of his face, his upturned towards some invisible star.

But the silence draws out a moment too long, so she murmurs something he must take as assent, because he lowers her hand to rest gently against the railing and stuffs his own into his pockets.

“Thunderbird 5,” he says. “Weird."

“How so?”

“Watching John, when he’s not watching me. Doesn’t exactly happen often, you know?”

There’s a nasty sick little ache somewhere under Penelope’s breastbone, the sort that usually proceeds asking Parker to do something he’s spent most of his adult life trying to leave behind.

“Do you -” she pauses, and looks for a word that conveys what she means without risking another argument like the one that had seen them driven out here. “Do you miss it?”

Gordon looks at her. “John?”

“Not John specifically.”

“IR, then?” Gordon furrows his brow, his nose wrinkling. “I mean, yeah. Yeah of course I miss it. Them. My ‘bird. The sea. I could write a book full of all the things I miss right now.”

The ache intensifies and she swallows hard, pushes it down to her belly and tightens her grip on the railings.

“Of course. It was a foolish question, forgive me.”

“I like it here, though.” He smiles at her, and the honesty makes that ache just a little sharper. Penelope doesn’t think she’s ever been as honest with anyone in her life as Gordon is with everyone he meets. “It’s kinda fun in a weird way. And the company’s not bad. Plus, privacy. Kinda in short supply on Tracy Island.”

Penelope scoffs, and pushes herself back, away from the railings and toward the low light of the bedroom. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

“Dunno.” Gordon moves to follow her, his hands still stuffed in his pockets but his expression cheerfully neutral. “Did it work?”

She doesn’t grace that with an answer straight away, just lets the blind swing back into place behind her and lets herself smile at the muffled curse that follows.

“Oh, I’m sure you could do better.”

She heads to the bathroom to remove the worst of Pauline’s makeup. The wig will have to stay at the bedside in case of late night calls, but she’s determined to remove enough of Pauline to remove any doubt as to who is spending the night. Gordon doesn’t have quite as many accoutrements. He’s already sitting cross-legged and barefoot on the bed when she returns, two plates of something green gently steaming on the nightstands.

“An apology,” he says, holding one out. “Don’t ask me what it is, though. I leave the kitchen module to Virgil.”

“I’ll consider it,” she says, sitting next to him and bumping him with her hip, then, after a mouthful of something heavy on basil and light on carbs, “apology accepted.”

“That’s a relief,” Gordon says, swallowing. “This could have been awkward .”

“Heaven forfend.” She smiles at him and he smiles back then stretches, grumbling slightly as he turns his neck. “Are you in pain?”

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t sort out, if my bedmate could refrain from snoring like a wild bear.”

“Rude.”

“Accurate.”

Penny bites her lip. If she’d had an hours sleep that was more than it felt, certainly not enough to impress her sleeping habits upon him. She doubts very much it was her snores that had kept him awake. She’d hardly considered that he may have been just as unsure as she last night. They’re anathema to her, these nerves. How much stranger must they be for Gordon, a man who spends his entire life leaping from one adrenaline high to another.

“I could sleep elsewhere,” she says quietly, a genuine offer though one she’d rather not have to follow through on. “You need rest.”

“God, no.” He rests his hand on hers, food forgotten. “It’s fine. You’re fine. Anyway the cover -”

“Wasn’t originally going to be this,” she admits. “I could revert - “

“Penny.” Gordon pushes the plates away, turns to face her fully and pulls her hands into his lap. “This is weird. Really weird. Let’s not - let’s not make it even weirder, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” she says, and squeezes his hands. “I will certainly try.”

#thunderbirds are go #penelope creighton-ward #gordon tracy #pen & ink #the ship not the artist medium #clare vs writers block #allllllll the tropes #so many tropes #what am i writing?#just tropes

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melmac78 · 5 years

Text

Sentence starters: The day Lady Penelope got jealous

(Note: I have most of another one in my head, but this one worked out faster. Starters are in bold italics.)

“He’s so pretty I think I’m gonna faint.”

Gordon sighed as he yet again heard a woman coo at him from the edges of the dance floor at the Austrian mansion.

He noticed the dark look of the brunette currently in his arms and shrugged. “I get that a lot,” he apologized.

His dancing partner snorted. “She better not... or she’ll faint by my right hook,” said the woman.

Gordon, choosing to not point out the incorrect medical statement just gritted his teeth and smiled, quickening up the waltz around the floor.

The young aquanaut may have lived life to the fullest, loved being at any type of party... but despised these types of socials.

Not the company per se, but the fact his family’s generosity toward others meant he wasn’t with his date having fun.

He and Lady Penelope were at a fundraiser for a children’s hospital. Gordon had been invited to attend as the Tracy representative to present the family’s donated item.

What neither expected was the fact most of the women there: stuffy, dripping with jewels and money, would demand to dance with the second youngest Tracy.

So, Gordon agreed to a few dances for a donation to the hospital.

What should’ve been a couple of dances that lasted 10 minutes had turned into an hour and a half, and counting.

The last chord finally faded, and with a chaste kiss to the hand, Gordon left his dancing partner.

He then walked over to the one person who made his heart truly flutter. Lady Penelope looked ever elegant in a pink ombré beaded and lace dress. The dress started out on top in a pale pink, fading into a deep rose just past the knees.

It matched the ombré tie and cuff links he wore with his white tux perfectly. “Hi Lady P... and Parker,” he said.

The older man gave a polite nod, choosing to not speak, while Penny gave a slight giggle at the exchange.

Her chauffeur and dear friend Parker was nearby, keeping an eye on her and Gordon, but not being intrusive.

She admittedly chuckled at the fact for all Parker was doing to try and stay inconspicuous, the caterers were a bit leery of the older man and their actions prevented discretion.

Lady Penelope smiled as he neared the refreshments table. “So, how was your dance with Mallory Dewdrop?” she said politely.

Gordon smiled, though the aristocrat didn’t miss the wince of his eyes. “Charming,” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “For a moment there I was afraid I’d have to be a paramedic.”

Lady Penelope quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said cool-toned. “Pretending she was going to have a coronary from being love struck?”

Gordon scoffed. “No, this one thought of decking the competition,” he said as he ate a mini spinach quiche. “And that was because someone talked about me.”

Penelope smiled. “Let me guess, some sort of simpering remark regarding your looks, your Olympic gold medal or your family,” she said.

“I think this one about being so handsome she ‘had a case of the vapors’,” he said, finishing his appetizer with a swig of punch. “I admit I’ve been more than happy to earn the hospital more money, but over an hour’s worth of dances?”

The woman opened her mouth to speak when they heard a waltz come into play

Gordon grinned broadly, holding out his hand. “And as Mallory was the last dance on my card... Lady Penelope may I have this dance?”

Penelope smiled and reached out for his hand, only to have it suddenly slapped away and be pushed back.

Gordon frowned at the action, but then was harshly grabbed from the side. “Hey!” he said indignantly as he turned to the offender.

He saw a raven haired woman with cold grey eyes stare at him. While she was young and by most descriptions a knockout, what made him shudder was how she eyed him like a piece of meat.

Penelope recovered and looked at the offender. “Madison Smyers,” she said, gritting her teeth.

The woman nodded. “Yes, how nice to see you Penny,” she said, voice dripping with lava.

Lady Penelope turned her nose up at the nickname. It was reserved for friends, and the woman standing in front of her was as much of a friend as Fischler had a successful invention.

Meaning - no friend at all.

Madison then turned to Gordon. “You’re dancing with me,” she said bluntly.

“What?!” Gordon tried to step back, but the woman’s grip would put a lion’s jaws to shame.

He then recovered. “I’m sorry but I have asked Pen... Lady Penelope to dance,” he stammered.

The raven haired woman looked at Penelope with derision. “I don’t think she’ll mind...”

“Actually, I do mind,” corrected Penelope.

Gordon smiled. “It is the Lady Penelope’s prerogative...” he started, wanting nothing to do with Madison.

The intruder was having none of it. “You’ll accept the dance ... unless Penny would like me to tell the others to rescind all their donations to the hospital,” she said, then smirked. “Or say all other Creighton-Ward charities.”

Gordon blanched. Though Lady Penelope was a London agent, part of her cover was helping these charities.

To lose the sponsors because of one of these dances would likely cause her to lose important covers, affecting her help in International Rescue, and both he and the blonde-haired woman knew it.

So, he sighed in resignation and smiled. “I’d love to,” he said, inwardly grimacing as he was led to the dance floor.

Penelope frowned as she watched Gordon dance with Madison, and felt something she never had before.

This wasn’t a simple “We do what we must” feeling that was common with her social duties.

It was flat out fury at how the woman blackmailed both her and Gordon.

And another feeling, as she looked around the social at the ones who danced with him.

Jealousy.

‘But what to do about it?’ she mused.

There was a gentle tap on her shoulder. “Beggin’ you pardon m’lady, but you appear to need a cooling punch,” said Parker, handing her a glass.

Penelope, realizing Parker has noticed she was fuming, completely unladylike, nodded and took a sip of the frosty lime sherbet punch. “Thank you Parker,” she said, eyes still narrowed. “Can you believe that... that... Madison...?”

“Yes, I can. She and the h’others ‘ave had their greasy ‘ands on Gordon all night, when ‘e’s supposed ta be with you,” said the chauffeur, and sighed. “And that’s not right.”

Penelope turned to Parker, a bit surprised. “I thought you might be happy with his plight,” she said perplexed. She was well aware Parker wasn’t too fond of the aquanaut.

Parker put his hands up. “No, m’lady... h’I tease ‘im true, but h’I’m not ‘appy,” he said adamantly. “Scott said Gordon ‘as been lookin’ forward to this for weeks... and yet ‘e hasn’t danced with you once.”

“True,” said Penelope, who then sighed. “Parker, what am I going to do? I can’t risk Madison harming the charities...”

Parker smile. “Well... why not fight fire with fire?” he said, mischievously.

The woman first was puzzled, but thought about comments said throughout the night.

Her grin then broadened. “Parker, I have an idea, but I’ll need your help,” she said.

The older man not so innocently grinned and said - his count - two words.

“Yes, m’lady.”

•••••••

Gordon was miserable as he waltzed on the floor.

He had so wanted to dance with Lady Penelope, and was incensed he was dancing with this ... interloper.

“Interloper... John would be happy I learned a new word,” he thought, groaning inwardly as Madison put her head in his shoulder.

He didn’t miss where she put her free hand on his back half either, or the derisive comments about his date.

The aquanaut sighed, and was so lost in his misery he didn’t notice the music stopped or murmured voices.

Then, there was a tug on his jacket. “Mr. Gordon...” said a gruff, but urgent voice.

Turning, Gordon frowned and stopped dancing. “Parker?” he said, perplexed at Parker’s panicked expression.

Parker nodded. “Beggin’ you pardon, h’it’s Lady Penelope - she’s fainted,” he said bluntly, pulling Gordon with him.

“Fainted?” said Gordon, concerned as he started to head over.

Madison grabbed his arm. “She’s faking, because I stole her date,” she scoffed.

Gordon pried her fingers off his arm. “No, she doesn’t fake illness,” he growled. “And as the only paramedic here I will go over and check on her,” he said.

“But...”

“But nothing Madison. Someone needs my help...,” he started, only to see her lift a jewel encrusted private communicator to her mouth.

Seeing the charity’s largest donor’s avatar on it, he grabbed that wrist and narrowed his eyes. “Listen carefully: if you threaten me or Lady Penelope with losing charity money over it I will make your life miserable,” he growled warningly.

It was a vague threat, but it worked as Madison stepped back, lowering her wristband.

Gordon nodded in satisfaction and went over to the crowd.

His heart sank when he saw Penelope on the ground, motionless with others trying to bring her around.

Gordon shooed the gawkers away and kneeled by the senseless woman. “Lady Penelope... Pen... can you hear me?” he said, checking her pulse.

The aquanaut briefly paused, puzzled as he propped up her feet on his shoulder to get the blood flowing back to her brain.

Shortly after, Penelope stirred, making them all sigh in relief.

Gordon lowered her feet and leaned over as she opened her eyes. “Gordon?” she said groggily.

“Yes your ladyship,” said Gordon, in full professional paramedic mode as he checked her pulse again. “Rest now... you fainted.”

Penelope blushed faintly. “Oh,” she said simply. “It must be the stuffiness in here.”

“Maybe,” Gordon said, fighting a grin at the double meaning - it was warm too.

He then offered a hand. “I think some fresh air will help. Do you think you can stand?”

Penelope nodded and stood with Gordon’s assistance. She wobbled however, and the aquanaut swept her up in his arms.

“Easy Penelope,” he said, then heard a whispered comment in his ear from the host.

He nodded and headed toward the rose garden, carrying Lady Penelope.

Madison, still incensed at being abruptly dismissed and threatened, followed. No one would deny her the right to steal one of Lady Penelope’s dates...

That is, until she was blocked by a stern looking Parker. “H’and where to you think you’re going,” he said.

“I...I...”

Seeing the woman nearly speechless, he not quite so gently grabbed her arm. “Well, your comin’ with me,” he said sternly. “‘Cause you h’and I need ta have a chat about what charity and respect is...”

••••••

Meanwhile Gordon carried his friend to a lounge in the center of the rose garden.

“How are you feeling Penny?” he said kindly as he set her down.

The young woman smiled. “Better, thank you Gordon,” she said.

The aquanaut chortled. “I bet... since you didn’t faint,” he said. Seeing Penelope about to protest, he put a hand up. “Nice try, but you can’t fool a paramedic completely.”

She blushed. “I’m sorry Gordon, but ...”

“Thank you,” he said, making her look up in surprise. “That woman was getting way too touchy-feely.”

“Touchy-feely?” She said, quirking an eyebrow.

Gordon cleared his throat, shuddering. “Well... let’s just say the only buns she needs to squeeze next time are of the flour and dough variety,” he said derisively.

Penelope to his surprise politely giggled. “I do admit she does have a point there,” she said mischievously, giving her own apprising look.

“Jealous much?” he teased as he jokingly flexed.

Seeing the woman look away, he frowned and sat down next to her.

“You were jealous,” he said honestly, surmising what happened.

She nodded. “Gordon, I invited you to come because I wanted to spend time with you,” Lady Penelope admitted. “And instead I see all these - ‘lovely’ - women dance and flirt with you...”

Gordon gave her a gentle hug. “Pen... I only danced with them as part of our agreement to raise money,” he said. “I expected two, maybe three dances, not 12.”

“I know but...

“Trust me, next time I’ll ensure it’s a couple, in writing, with an extremely high starting bid...” he said. “And only again with your approval.”

She smiled and he returned it as he continued to hold her.

“Can we stay like this forever?” said Penelope, nestling deeper in his shoulder.

“I don’t see why not... you could ‘faint’ again,” he said, “I mean, I’m so handsome I make people swoon.”

That earned him a playful swat on the shoulder, and he laughed.

They looked at the stars for a time, wondering if John was watching from Thunderbird Five.

Gordon chuckled at the thought, as John still went slightly pale at any mention of a recent social in the Swiss Alps.

Or the word social at all for that matter.

Penelope however was happier John was on Five for another reason.

“Dance with me Gordon?” she asked.

The aquanaut grinned broadly. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and they began to dance under the moonlight.

After a few minutes, she looked up into the warm cinnamon brown eyes of her friend. “Gordon, I had one more favor,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Please just kiss me already.”

Gordon smiled. “Yes, m’lady,” he said, enjoying the flowers, sky and most importantly, a dear friend who would gladly embarrass herself slightly to help another.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfic

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peremadeleine · 6 years

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As well as spending time with her at Hatfield, Anne and the king visited their daughter at Eltham, and Anne derived intense satisfaction from the obvious delight that her husband took in their daughter. “Her grace is much in the King’s favour,” observed one courtier who was present. [Tracy Borman]

After dinner Henry went down into the Great Hall where the ladies of the court were dancing, with his sixteen-month-old daughter in his arms, showing her off to one and another. After several days of such paternal enthusiasm, he evidently decided that something more masculine was called for, and the tiltyard was soon busy with his favorite form of self-exhibition. Even though, as is possible, he paid public court there to Jane Seymour, Anne could be sure that Elizabeth and her unborn child were the true centre of Henry’s interest. [Eric Ives]

He [Henry] entered the Chapel Royal clad all in yellow and Elizabeth, who was visiting the court for the Christmas festivities, was carried into Mass, too, with the sound of trumpets. After dinner, Henry took his little daughter in his arms, ‘like one transported with joy’, and showed her off to the assembled company. [David Starkey]

It is a commonly-held idea that Henry VIII was extremely disappointed, even upset or angered, by birth of his daughter Elizabeth in September 1533. Indeed, many historians and authors judge her arrival as the sort of “beginning of the end” of her parents’ marriage, then not yet a year old. Henry himself is often erroneously portrayed as being indifferent to or disinterested in Elizabeth, even while still married to her mother Anne, due to his disappointment in her sex.

In fact, Henry’s affection for Elizabeth and the pride he took in her were plain for everyone at court to see. The birth of a second daughter, rather than a longed-for son, had hardly been ideal; however, Anne’s quick conception, easy labor, and the baby’s good health all boded well for the future. Henry must have been pleased that the infant princess clearly took after him with her red hair and fair complexion. It may be telling that he chose to name her after his mother, Elizabeth of York, to whom he had been very close.

As was royal custom, little Princess Elizabeth was raised in a household in the country. However, her parents visited her--both together and separately--as often as they could and frequently sent her gifts. When she was brought to court at Christmas in 1535, Henry publicly indulged his paternal side by carrying Elizabeth, already a precocious, pretty, and promising child, among his courtiers to be admired.

Henry does seem to have neglected at least some of Elizabeth’s needs directly following the execution of her mother in May 1536. Perhaps he harbored some doubts about her paternity in light of Anne’s alleged adultery. If so, however, these proved temporary. His older daughter Mary, writing to him that summer, told Henry that he would “have cause to rejoice of [Elizabeth] in time coming.” Contrary to the popular belief that Henry conveniently forgot Elizabeth during this time, she was at court again by October. Her circumstances had changed dramatically in the preceding six months--yet her father’s feelings had not. One observer wrote that “the King is very affectionate to [Elizabeth]. It is said he loves her much.”

[happy birthday @alicehoffmans--thank you for waiting so patiently for the Henry/Elizabeth set I promised weeks ago!]

#elizabeth i #henry viii #tudorsedit #historyedit #tudoredit #better late than never?#I know Henry was a shit parent but I get real tired of him being shown - even WHILE Anne was alive!!!! - as some kind of barely-there dad #who didn't give a shit about Elizabeth because she was a girl and not a boy #when I've heard people argue that she was his favorite child?? looked the most like him??? plus he named her AFTER HIS MOM #which for H8 is no small thing

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pi-noir · 4 years

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Once Upon A Stakeout, a true & personal account

As a private investigator, you always need to be on your toes; always be prepared for anything. I'm an army veteran, so the cry "Stay alert, stay alive!" rings just as loudly now as it did then. On occasion, I whisper a mental thank you for the training.

I done a lot of reading and studying before I made the leap into private investigation. Mounds of books and study material would lay around my home as I was reading up and de-romanticizing the career path that I was going to walk down. I recall reading a passage in one of the study guides about how a California PI had been licensed for 20 years and hadn’t ever felt like his life was in danger and so had never carried a firearm. I don’t suppose all private investigators carry, but after this case I decided that I would never be without one.

Hollywood has romanticized most professions, but none no more than private investigation. From Philip Marlowe and Mike Hammer to Dick Tracy and even Ace Ventura, we all have preconceived notions as to what the job is all about, but we’re wrong. In a nutshell, private investigation is unglamorous and largely boring the majority of the time, and this case started off to be no different than the dozens of other surveillance cases I had worked in the first several months of my career. Being a dick in Appalachia is a bit more difficult than in a rural setting; subjects often live out in the middle of nowhere and getting close enough to get video or photographs without being seen in your inconspicuous vehicle is, well, very conspicuous at best and downright suspicious under the worst of conditions. Luckily, ‘round these parts, a Jeep is a pretty inconspicuous vehicle on back roads as well as in town

The subject’s employer had to place him on medical leave yet again and suspected that he was trying to get disability, an Appalachian pastime and career goal, so they wanted him investigated for worker’s compensation fraud. I had done tons of them, but in all prior cases I was provided with an address. This schmuck’s address took me to an open field in the middle of no man’s land. The nearest house was two ridges over and they hadn’t ever heard of the guy. All of the company’s mail had been sent to a P.O. Box in a town so small that if you blinked while driving through you’d miss it, but we’ll call it Sagebrush, because the names and places have been changed to protect the guilty.

The Sagebrush Post Office was a one-woman, half service joint where the walls were lined with PO boxes and handmade signs looking for lost dogs, cats, and kids’ belongings. Some were printed with the frayed strips at the bottom so folks could pull off a phone number. Seemed like one babysitter was a lot more popular than the others, but she couldn’t have had anything on the dish that stood on the other side of the window. She was a short dame with meth mouth, and open sores on her arms, from what I could hear her telling another lady was caused by her eczema. From the looks of it, the only medication she was taking for it was rat poisoning. I stood by and waited for the lady to leave before approaching the window and making a noob mistake – I asked about the address for the subject….in a small town where everyone knows one another. I used the pretext that I was with the company and needed to get him some papers to sign. She was nice enough to refuse to provide that kind of information but told me that someone at the grocery store might be able to help me. I walked next door to a small mini-mart sized store and asked the clerk about where I could find who I will refer to as Ronald Langley. The guy was very helpful and though he didn’t know the address he was able to tell me how to get to the house.

The subject came an went multiple times in his blue pickup truck and was kind enough to toot his horn at me each time he passed by. Langley had an informant; either the post office meth-head or the minimart clerk, or both, but either way, he knew where I was at and what vehicle I was in because the locations I parked at changed from day to day, but were all entrances to the road to his home, and he seemed to always know where to find me, blowing that horn and waving each time he passed. I decided one morning to change vehicles and to park some distance away from one of the two intersections that he used but that didn’t work either, so it was time for drastic measures, and again, pulling from my highly motivated military training, I decided I was just going to make it happen regardless of what was required. So, I headed home early that day and began to prepare for the next day i was to go out.

I held off for a few days so that Langley’s suspicions would die down a bit. I pulled up my GIS software and mapped out his area. I knew of every entrance and egress from his property, every hill, every draw, every spur, and every watershed that surrounded him. I knew that I was going to have to treat this case as an op and so I put forth that much effort to get myself ready. I loaded my Jeep the following morning and said a small prayer that the day was met with success and then I headed out for the town of Sagebrush.

At the top of the hill, before descending down into the hollow and coming within view of the subject’s house, sat a little church and a cemetery. Parking in the vacant church lot would still bring unwanted attention since chances were the guy I was after likely attended services there. I arrived just before dawn and the church’s service lights were illumination enough for me to see without my headlights, at least until I got up behind the cemetery. And that’s when the op began. Jeeps are pretty good at making their own roads and I’m not the kind of guy who can sit in a vehicle for hours and/or days on end, so after parking a good distance in the woods I hopped out and while grabbing my gear, I decided as an afterthought to leave Betsy, my 1911, in the vehicle. I may had been what I was now considering enemy territory, but I still felt safe enough considering all I was doing was my job. Remember, the ‘ol California PI says he hadn’t carried one time in his 20-year career, so I would surely be safe in this nice community of country folk. I turned on my night vision and began what would take an hour trek to make my way to the location I had picked without being spotted. I sat down against a large tree, behind a thicket that provided ample blind but still gave a good view of the Langley home and his blue pickup truck. The hill below the thicket sloped down toward a small creek and to the road passing by the house. Just as the mountains began turning purple from the morning’s first light, I took my first video pan of the area as to document the date, time and location for the client and for any future court proceedings. I repeated this every hour as proof that I was still at the location. The first day that I was there produced a considerable amount of video that would show that Ronald Langley was actively doing work and manual labor that would far exceed the limitations that were stated in his injury report for his neck, back and shoulders. He had made multiple trips in and out of his property, loading and unloading building materials, large boxes, and tools. Langley climbed ladders, swung hammers, lifted an entire framed wall of an outbuilding that he was building. I would later learn that he built these outbuildings to sell as an income.

As the sun began to set I knew that I wouldn’t be getting any further video that night, but the day had so much successful footage that I didn’t want to leave. The state required three separate days of video evidence in order to charge anyone with worker’s compensation fraud and one day's worth is all that I had. I was going to need to stay for as long as I could hold out. I came dressed for a long stay, and although I was chilly I wasn’t freezing with the multiple layer upon layer that I was wearing; I decided to stay in place overnight and so I bedded down until morning when the rumble of his engine woke me up. The sun had already risen and shined brightly on the newly fallen snow that now blanketed everything. My view was somewhat obstructed through the thicket and my clothing was no longer providing any camouflaging for me to stay hidden if I were to knock off the snow from the brush to help me see. It was just past 8am when he came back out to his now heated truck and he drove away. Mrs. Langley walked over and stood on the inside of the sliding glass door wearing exactly what she would be wearing to bed for her husband. She was a tall, and well-groomed dame with long, well defined legs that went all the way up to heaven. Mrs. Langley was quite perky so the room must have been cold, but I didn’t mind at all, I was enjoying the view. I began wishing that I was that cup of coffee that she was putting those full lips on as she sipped and looked out at the snowscape that wasn’t half as beautiful as she was. I pulled the camera out to do a pan and thought I would catch her standing there – for posterity of course, but she began walking away. The video caught evidence that she does a lot of squats and could crack walnuts among others with her cheeks, but before I was able to get the full pan hubby came roaring back in. I had suddenly realized why he was trying to be home more often.

Ronald Langley was just as busy the second day as he was the first, completing one outbuilding and then beginning on the next and my lens caught it all. Toward the end of the day he had someone arrive and Langley helped him load the completed outbuilding onto a flatbed trailer before the guy handed him some cash, shook his hand and drove away. The screen on my camera flashed a warning that my second battery was nearly dead, and I loaded my last one in. As I had done a million times, I turned the camera back on, but this time it beeped, and across the pillow-soft cushion of the snow the sound echoed across the creek and road over to Langley. He paused and my heart stopped. He never moved a muscle for several seconds and I had to finally take a breath just as he turned and walked into the house. Perhaps he imagined it. Maybe it was inaudible, and he dismissed it. I hoped. I hoped. When he returned he returned quickly and lifted a bolt action rifle and aimed in my direction and pulled the trigger. As the barrel was brought to bear I remember realizing that I was dead, but the shot struck the tree that I had been sitting against and about six feet above my head. Bark rained down on me and around about in the snow as the blast from the rifle reverberated between the hills of the hollow. My heart gave a sigh realizing that he wasn’t trying to hit me, but I jumped up and threw my hands into the air.

He told me to get off his land, but according to tax map information, the land I was on belonged to the church. But I wasn’t going to argue and his aim might have been a bit more intentional the time that trigger was pulled, so I gathered my gear and began heading out with him still yelling until I was too far away to hear what he was saying. Langley wasn’t as mad at my presence as he was at the fact that I beat him and his little game he was playing – providing a fake address, having informants, and cheating tax payers out of money. The weeks ahead proved that there still wasn’t enough evidence on Langley. The company and state still needed one more day of footage in order to prosecute so I formed the long con.

During my study of the subject, Ronald Langley, I knew that he frequented a rental company over in the next, much larger town. I applied and was hired as a delivery driver and salesman at the store. He nor his wife had ever gotten a good look at my face so I stood a good chance of not being recognized when they came in to buy a new sectional. I requested to be the driver to take them their new furniture, especially when he said that he would help me get it into their house since we were down one person that day. I stopped by my vehicle and I grabbed my covert camera / ink pen before loading the sectional into the delivery truck. Just before arriving at Ronald Langley’s home I turned my camera on and then pulled up to the house. He was very helpful, offering to take the heavy end of both sections of the couches. Once we had gotten it into the house he tried to sell me an outbuilding and even bragged that he builds them himself. I drew him into more detail about how he went about building them and the time and strength it takes to do it all himself. Mrs. Langley, Becca as she asked me to call her, offered me a cup of coffee while Ronald stepped outside. I happily accepted. Becca was a bit of a tramp, making sexual innuendos toward me and hinting that she liked me, but after I had more than enough evidence to satisfy the state, and not wanting to push my luck, I left. After returning home that night I processed the footage from my ink pen and sent it to the client, 7 months after I began the case.

About two months later I read where Langley had been arrested on multiple counts and would be away from home for a while. Unable to pay for the sectional, the rental company picked up their new furniture; I stuck around a bit to see if she needed a man to help out with anything. Turns out she did.

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jana-hallford · 5 years

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Looking for a Man in the Mirror: Antique Halloween Postcards

Those of you who’ve read my past blog posts know I’m fond of antique postcards, both for the quaint illustrations and for the glimpse they give of earlier times. Some of the most fanciful are from Halloween, or as it was often spelled back then, Hallowe’en.

Along with the expected images of Jack O’ Lanterns, witches, ghosts, devilish little imps, and children wearing masks or bobbing for apples, I’ve found quite a few Halloween postcards showing girls and young women gazing into mirrors. Often, a man appears in the mirror’s reflection, standing next to or behind the girl or lady. I’ve looked into this largely forgotten custom and learned a little about it.

A young woman looks over her shoulder and sees a young man in the mirror in this scene from an antique “Hallowe’en” divided-back postcard (1907 -1914) from my collection. The verse reads:

May fate reveal By candle’s gleam your own True Love on Hallowe’en.

Mirrors have been around for thousands of years, and have long been associated with divination or the spirit world, perhaps because reflected images seemed magical. And on Halloween, the walls between our world and the supernatural realm are said to grow thin.

Many girls and women were naturally curious about what the future held for them in terms of who they would marry. Various superstitions grew up about how to see one’s matrimonial fate, and quite a few of them involved looking into a mirror on Halloween, often at midnight. Supposedly, a young lady would see her future mate, or her true love. (One would hope they would be one and the same.)

In some versions of the superstition, the girl or woman eats an apple before looking in the mirror. In others, she brushes her hair while looking in the mirror, or backs down the stairs. She is to carry a candle, or see by the light of a Jack O’ Lantern. Sometimes she looks over her shoulder, but in many cases she gazes directly into the mirror.

This divided-back embossed “A Joyful Halloween” postcard from my personal collection features a lovely lady holding a mirror, with a handsome man behind her. A candle, wedding rings, and apples frame the scene, along with the verse:

He is your fate Whose face you’ve seen In the mirror’s face On Halloween

A lady sees a gentleman in the mirror in this scene on the right-hand side of a divided-back antique postcard printed in Germany, marked Series No. 2470. The woman and man wear 18th-century fashions, including powdered wigs. The left-hand side of the card bears the date “Oct. 31st” embellished with flowers, above the words “With Hallowe’en Wishes” with ornate initial caps.

This “A Jolly Hallowe’en” postcard, copyright 1907, shows a young lady before a mirror, seeing a vision of man behind her reflection. I like the Halloween and autumn symbols. (The message side is shown below.) From my personal collection. The verse reads:

I pray you bright flame Now show to me Who my future husband may be.

Message side of the “I pray you bright flame” postcard. Many of the Halloween cards I have with this theme are postally unused, but this one was postmarked Oct. 30, 1908, New York, N.Y.

Raphael Tuck & Sons “Hallowe’en” Postcard Series No. 150, circa 1908. Candle in hand, a young woman looks in the mirror and sees a young man standing behind her in the reflection. A pumpkin, a black cat, and the silhouette of a witch are on the left edge of the scene. From my personal collection.

In this pretty divided-back embossed postcard from my collection, postmarked 1909, a young woman with a classic “Gibson Girl” hairstyle looks in the mirror by candlelight, while eating an apple. The verse, in gold letters, suggests she is hoping to see someone specific:

On Halloween Before the glass Dear Absent Friend I pray you pass

Message side of the above “Dear Absent Friend” postcard, sent to a Miss Hattie Tracy of Nashua, Iowa.

This divided-back postcard from my personal collection, entitled “My Hallowe’en Greeting” reads:

Let this design on you prevail To try the trick (It cannot fail.) Back down the stairs with candle dim And in the mirror you’ll see HIM!

This charming divided-back embossed postcard from my collection features a young woman happily beholding a young man’s image in her mirror. A band of apples on a gold background separates the picture from the ornately lettered greeting “A happy Hallowe’en” and the verse:

He is your fate Whose face you’ve seen in the mirror’s face On Hallowe’en

“A Joyous Hallowe’en” divided-back postcard shows a young woman on stairs, with a candle and a mirror. The message side of the card is shown below. From my personal collection.

The message side of the above postcard, postmarked Oct 29, 1913, Grand Rapids, Mich.

A girl looks into a mirror in this Ellen Clapsaddle “Hallowe’en Greeting” embossed, divided-back postcard, marked International Art Publ. Co. Series No. 1667. From my personal collection. The verse reads:

On Hallowe’en at the midnight hour, When Ghosts develop a silent power, Look in the glass, o’er your shoulder you’ll see, The vision of him who will marry thee.

The sexy lady in this embossed “Halloween Joys Be Yours” postcard lifts her dress to show a daring ankle to the man in the mirror. This postcard is postmarked Oct 23 1908, Poplar Bluff, Missouri. In contrast to the rather sensual illustration, the only partly legible message is from one housewife to another, detailing illness in the home.

I’ve also found postcards where the custom does not go as expected, including some where the young lady sees a Jack O’ Lantern or a “pumpkin head” figure instead of a human man.

This embossed Hallowe’en postcard of mine, postmarked October 27, 1910, Orford, N.H., shows a young woman gazing into a mirror and seeing not a suitor but a Jack O’ Lantern (held up by a prankster), with the warning verse:

If you are too Anxious on Halloween To peep in the Mirror before Midnight Instead of the face of your Lover you See A big PumpkinHead that's Fancy Free.

Message side of the “pumpkinhead” postcard, postmarked Oct 27, 1910, Orford N.H. and addressed to a Miss Margaret Day of Piermont, New Hampshire. (I would love to why know the writer was glad a teacher was mad at her children!)

No doubt many girls and women tried the mirror-gazing feat without seeing so much as a pumpkin head. Some postcards address that issue with humor, even advising the woman to make sure her intended “victim” just happens to be in the room when she’s before a mirror.

This antique postcard, also from my collection, shows a woman before a mirror, candle in hand, with a man behind her. The verse reads:

In the hour of midnight Hallowe’en, Your future husband may be seen. Before a mirror you must stand, With a lighted candle in your hand; Then over your shoulder will appear The face of the one to you most dear.

N.3 -- In order to work this trick right, you should first notify the victim, so he will be on hand: then the trick cannot fail.

The message side of the above humorous Halloween postcard, postmarked Baltimore M.D., Oct 19 1908 1:30 PM. It was sent to a Miss Ella Slade, also of Baltimore, with the message “Don't forget to notify the victim.” and signed simply “Guess”! (For the record, I paid a lot less than the $45 penciled in the upper right corner, but did not erase it. I avoid erasing any pencil marks on my antique postcards.)

This divided-back “Hallow’een Greeting” postcard also from my collection shows a young woman, a mirror and candle, and an unexpected “vision.” The verse reads:

The maiden fair had a most romantic soul, And wished her future husband to behold. She gazed in the mirror and one glance took- And beheld her brother kissing the cook.

Another postcard, in the same series, shows a young woman getting disappointing but realistic results:

Also from my collection, another “Hallowe’ en Greeting” postcard, obviously from the same series and bearing a 1908 copyright, shows a young woman who received disappointing but realistic results. The verse reads:

She was filled with romance, and deemed it good sport To look in the mirror and see its report. She gazed quite a while, then a loud voice heard, Come do the dishes now, and don’t be absurd.”

My favorite postcard with this theme was meant for a gentleman to send to the lady he admired, with a message indicating he hoped she would see HIS reflection in her mirror.

One of my favorites from my personal collection. Antique divided-back embossed postcard entitled “All Hallow e’en,” with a young woman holding a candle, gazing in a mirror, and seeing a young man, reads:

May the reflection which you see Be the counterfeit of me.

I hoped you’ve enjoyed this look at an old romantic custom. Happy Halloween!

#antique postcard #antique Halloween postcard #divided back postcard #Tuck Postcard #halloween supersition #Halloween candle mirror #see future husband #golden age of postcards #halloween romance #witchcraft

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artificialqueens · 8 years

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Ride you like my Harley (Trixya) - Chapter 7 - AnnieSantaWifey

A/N - AU world inspired by the TV show Sons of Anarchy. I am actually using some of my favourite scenes in the fanfiction because I just have to. Everything is told from Katya’s POV.

A/N 2 - Russian words used in this chapter - darling, babe, baby, damn.

T/W - bad language, probably grammar mistakes, mentions of drugs, horrible puns, slight smut.

Katya thought that asking someone to be your girlfriend was followed with a full night of sex, but it actually meant cuddling with your partner and falling asleep snuggled into their neck. And the biker was completely okay with that.

Watching Trixie smile, being able to hold her in her arms again and give her sweet kisses was perfectly good enough for her.

“Morning, babygirl.” The biker said as she rested on her elbows, looking down at the other girl with a warm smile placed on her face as she leaned down to give her a morning kiss.

Yes, Brenda, I am being a good girlfriend already.

“Morning.” The Barbie replied as she got up, leaving the biker alone in bed, making her way to the bathroom. Katya put another pillow under her head as she moved onto her side, waiting for the other girl to come back, not wanting to get up at all.

“I missed sleeping with you.” She confessed when the other girl entered the room again. “I missed you too. Everything about you. From your stupid jokes to your sweet lady kisses.”

“Lady? You must be speaking of someone else?” The biker chuckled as she watched Trixie sit down on the bed and crawl towards her, bringing her hand up to put some of the blonde locks behind the Barbie’s ear.

She examined the other girl’s face, feeling like she hasn’t seen her in forever and it actually even seemed that way. She watched Trixie’s expression change from fuzzy in love to confused and worried. “What happened to your knuckles?”

Ah, shit, Brenda. She is onto me.

Katya looked down at her own hand, exploring her knuckles as her lips twitched slightly when she remembered how she got them. “An asshole kept bothering Wendy. I had to put him in his place.”

“Are you okay, Katya? What happened?”

“What do you think, love?” The Russian said as she looked at the Barbie again, giving her a small smile. “Don’t worry, I am perfectly fine. I had a nice sleepover with some cockroaches in a cell but it seems like it really helped me to find my true self.”

“Oh, really, now? And what’s that?”

“A Zookeeper.”

“Katya, you can’t even remember to feed Brian.”

The biker gasped, throwing herself onto the bed. “How dare you, Tracy!” They both laughed with Katya poking Trixie’s side, making her laugh even more.

“I will treat you better though.” She then added, throwing away her dramatic voice as she got serious, her hand reaching for the Barbie’s.

“You won’t forget to feed me?”

Katya burst out laughing, shaking her head as she watched the girl laugh along with her. “Oh, baby, I promise to treat you as good as my leather and ride you as much as my Harley.” She said seriously before she screeched again when Trixie threw a pillow at her, laughter filled the nice atmosphere as the couple stayed in the bed for a couple of moments before going to get some breakfast.

——

“Kat, stop, you need to let me finish or I am going to be late for work and Sarah will kill both of us!” The Babie called out, trying to fight back the laughter as the biker kept on hugging and kissing her while she tried to do her make up.

“Okay, okay, I am just going to watch and learn.” Katya responded, giving her another small kiss before sitting on the floor next to Trixie, looking up at her as she watched her do magic.

“Oh, what are you doing, Tracy? Brushing off all the haters?” The Barbie laughed, putting down the brush she used for her powder as she shook her head while Katya just grinned stupidly.

“And now we are throwing a little shade!” She continued her horrible puns, making the other girl laugh and her own heart jump with its own happy dance.

Oh, Brenda, what have I become? If I end up like Ginger and her husband, I will willingly slit my own throat.

“Am I making you blush, дорогой?”

“Oh my god, stop.” Trixie used the brush to stuff it into Katya’s face, making her shut up for a second, managing to get a few moments of silence before she picked up her highlighter that made Katya speak again.

“Watching you is the highlight of my day. Eyyy!”

“Okay, okay, that one was cute. I give you that.”

“Give me a kiss as well?”

“Will you shut up if I do so?”

“Find out.” The biker grinned, leaning up to meet the Barbie girl halfway. She did actually stay quiet until she noticed the name of Trixie’s eyeshadow pallete.

“Hey, wanna get naked? Get it? ‘Cause the palette is called naked?” The biker called out proudly at her pun as she watched Trixie trying to hide her giggling.

“Can you please invent a time machine so I can go back to last night and say no instead?”

“Bow ties are cool.” Katya said, trying to make the best British accent she could, smiling widely when her girlfriend got the reference. Wife material, Brenda.

“Tracy, do you know what makes you an angel?” She spoke again after a while, getting a raised eyebrow and chuckle as a response.

“Well, every angel has its wings!” Katya lost her battle with trying to fight her laughter, pointing to Trixie’s eyeliner.

“Stop!” The other girl laughed, using the eyeliner in her hand to draw a line across Katya’s face, being rewared with more laughter that seemed to consume them so often.

——

After dropping of Trixie at her work, Katya then went back to the servis since she needed to get some work done on a car some sexually frustrated woman in her 40’s dropped off yesterday. Plus she wanted to check on the girls and change her clothes before she would see Trixie again in the afternoon.

She parked her bike next to the others, noticing Laila’s, Acid’s, Willam’s and Pearl’s bikes when she looked over them, patting her own love she grabbed her backpack and made her way back inside the club house.

“Hola, amigos.” The blonde called out with another one of her horrible accents as she closed the door behind her, giving a smile to the mechanics and one of the croweaters inside the club house. She noticed that Willam was sitting in the chapel with Acid, probably discussing something very boring for Katya so she didn’t even bother going to them, she only nodded in their direction when they looked up at the sound of her voice.

The biker then hugged Chucky, one of the mechanics, spending a few minutes talking with him before going to her room in the back, putting a cigarette between her lips as she walked, lighting it as soon as she did. No one cared if anyone smoked inside the club house so that was always a plus.

Katya then opened the door, throwing her backpack next to the door before she got interupted by loud weird sobbing noises. Huh, Brenda?

She looked in the direction of the noises, finding a very upset looking Pearl sitting on her bed with her face buried in her hands. Ah, shit. What do we do, Brenda?

“Uh..Pearl? You okay?” She asked softly before she almost slapped herself as soon as she realized what she actually said. No, of course she is not okay, why else would she be crying? Ugh. Come on, Yekaterina.

The other girl looked up when she heard her and she looked horrible, really horrible, eh. “I mean, what happened? Why are you crying? Here..in my room?” She continued slowly, making sure her voice doesn’t sound angry.

“Oh, I am sorry Katya, b-but I didn’t know where else to go. I needed to get away from her and this was my first instinct. I am sorry..I can, I can go.” The taller girl started speaking, Katya noticed that she was shaking a bit.

“No, no, hey, no, it’s okay. Of course you would come here, you can come here anytime you want to, we are family, yes?” She spoke carefully, not wanting to upset the girl any more. She walked towards the other girl, giving her the cigarette in her hands which Pearl took immediately, taking a drag out of it as soon as she had between her fingers.

Katya then sat down onto the bed next to the blonde, wrapping her hand around her shoulders and using her other hand to wipe the tears and ruined make up away from the pretty face. “What happened, Pea?” She asked, using the old nickname that always made the girl smile on purpose.

The other blonde sighed into Katya’s shoulder, taking another drag out of the cigarette. She seemed to have calmed down which the Russian was more than glad for. “This morning I finally talked to Violet about us..or tried to anyway. We talked about us before but we always just brushed it off or didn’t do anything about it. You know, being all private and shits, yeah?” Katya nodded when her friend looked up at her, her hand rubbing Pearl’s back in a way to calm her down even more.

“Today, I didn’t just shut up and do whatever she wants. I wanted an answer why she doesn’t want to go public. And well..she told me that she wants to keep her options open. That she can’t be in a fucking relationship because if someone comes around, she can’t be taken. Because what if they would want to fuck her, Katya? What then? What would poor fucking Violet do? Huh?”

Okay and the calmness is gone. This bitch needs Xanax.

“So, if I get this right. She told you she doesn’t want to go public because she wants to fuck other people?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Sounds like a full of bullshit to me. You have been like this for what, two years? How many other people has she fucked?”

“No one, I think..”

“Exactly. Plus I have seen the way she looks at you, Pearly.” The Russian said, stroking the other girl’s long blonde locks.

“I don’t know, Kat, I don’t even have the energy to find out right now.” The other girl sighed as she pulled back a bit to find a tissue on Kaya’s bedside table to wipe away her make up.

“You can stay here for as long as you want, babe. I will crash over at Trixie’s.”

“And does she know?”

“Not yet.”

They both laughed as Katya grabbed her backpack, going to her wardrobe as she took out all the things, picking out new clothes to take with her, basically making a mess of all of her things just to find everything she wanted.

Oh, there you are, my love!

Katya took the raccoon hat she has been looking for since forever, putting Cheryl on immediately. I missed you, baby, oh, hi.

“Hey, Pearly, What kind of car does a raccoon drive?”

“What?” The other girl just laughed, shrugging since she didn’t know the answer to another one of Katya’s stupid jokes.

“A Furrari!” The Russian yelled out, laughing with her maniac laughter as soon as she did, making the other girl laugh along with her. Score.

——

“I am gonna get you some weed and dick.” The Russian said, grabbing her backpack with all her things as she made her way out of her room, leaving Pearl to her previous thoughts with an intention to go see Violet and tell her that she needs to step her pussy up.

She didn’t like when her friends were upset. Or people in general. She made her mission to make everyone happy and so far she was glad with the results. And she intented to continue do just that.

And that was exactly why she was riding her bike to the ‘Pearlet house’ as the girls called it.

As soon as she parked her Harley in front of the house, she got off her bike, placing the helmet on the handlebars. She took back her favourite hat Cheryl and put it on as she made her way towards the front door, knocking on them when she was close enough.

She waited for Violet to open, hoping she would since she wasn’t quite sure, but she did and her face full of sadness surprised Katya. The blonde watched the girl move aside without even saying anything. Okay, Brenda, this is creepy. She has never seen Violet like this. She always had something to say but now she was silent, as if she knew why exactly was Katya here.

She tossed her backpack to the corner as she walked in, her eyes finding the other girl. “Hey, babe. You okay?” She asked as she took steps towards her, opening her arms to hug the taller girl.

“You talked to her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did but that does not answer my question.”

A sigh came from Violet as she pulled away a bit from the hug the two of them shared. “I am..fine, I guess. I am confused about everything.”

“Tell me about it.” The blonde smiled as she sat down on the kitchen counter, watching Violet open the fridge only to take out some ingredients she apparently wanted to use to cook lunch.

“I know all stories have two sides, but Vi, really? Not wanting to go public so you can sleep with other people?”

“You never know what’s going to happen!”

“Bullshit.” Katya snorted as she crossed her arms, shaking her head when the taller of the two looked up to meet the blonde’s eyes. “How many people have you been with since you and Pearl got more serious?”

Violet stayed quiet for a few moments before responding. “Just her.”

“Then your explanation doesn’t even make sense, красотка.” The smoker said before continuing. “I am like 70% sure you are just scared of commitment. And that’s understandable. I am too, trust me. But I found a girl that’s worth to at least give it a try. And don’t even try to tell me Pearly isn’t the one for you, because she is and we all know it.”

The dark haired girl put down all the things she was holding as she sighed once again, nodding slightly and Katya knew that the other girl was aware of all of this before she even came here but she was just scared to do anything about it.

“And now she is in my room, crying her heart out. So you go and change that.” The blonde jumped off the counter, reaching into her pocket to give Violet a blunt she took from Laila’s room before she left the club house. “I promised her weed.” She added as an explanation when she gave it to the taller girl.

She started walking towards the door again, taking her backpack into her hands as she turned around once again to look at Violet before leaving. “And do not fuck on my bed or I am going to cut your nipples open. At least use the sofa.”

Katya then opened the door with the intention to finally get back to Trixie’s house. “Thank you, Kat.”

“Katya, the psychologist always at your serivce.”

——

The smoker was now finally in front of her girlfriend’s house again. Ah, Brenda, I visited way too many houses for today. She knocked onto the door as she waited for the Barbie to open, placing the widest smile on her face and fixing Cheyl into the proper position so she looks perfect when Trixie meets her for the first time.

“Hey, Kat, he-and you are wearing a dead animal on your head.”

“Okay, wow, Tracy, don’t be disrespectful.” Katya gasped as she brought her hands up to cover Cheryl’s ears. “She can hear you. Be nice.” The smoker continued to act dramatically as she walked inside when Trixie allowed her to.

“Why are you wearing..that?”

“That being Cheryl.” She said as she took the hat off, almost shoving it in front of Trixie’s face. “Cheryl meet Trixie. Trixie meet Cheryl.” One of the biggest grins was placed on her face when she introduced her favourite part of clothing to her girlfriend.

“Hey..Cheryl.” Trixie said, sounding unsure and confused. “Why am I talking to a dead animal?” She then added, slightly pushing away Katya’s hands away from her face to get her and the hat out of her face as well.

“You either get both of us or no one, Miss Mattel.”

“Well, I guess you should be going then.” The Barbie said with a serious expression, making Katya’s heart skip a beat. “What?”

“Oh my god, no, I am kidding.” Trixie broke into laughter as she reached for the biker who was now pouting, looking like a sad puppy. She did respond to the hug but she was still acting like she was actually upset.

“You are a rotted Gila monster, Barbara, you know that?”

The other girl was just laughing at the reactions she got, trying to get a kiss from the Russian but she kept moving her head away to 'punish’ the Barbie for almost giving her a heart attack.

——

“Did I tell you that I am a professional at relationships now?” Katya then said after an hour of being with Trixie again, kissing, hugging and chatting about everything.

“You seem exactly the same actually.”

“Not with you, dummy.”

“What?” The biker noticed how quickly the Barbie shifted uncomfortably and she realized she must have remembered the incident that happened about a week ago that neither of them spoke about again.

“Oh, no, no, babe, no. I meant Violet and Pearl.” She quickly added, reaching out for her girlfriend who instantly relaxed again after hearing those words.

The Barbie nodded, leaning into the hug the two of them shared on Trixie’s bed before asking about what happened. “Well, seems like Violet is afraid of going public with her and Pearl is tired of her shit. I found Pearly crying in my room today and I talked to her before I went to talk to Violet and sent her to talk to Pearl. See? I am such a fucking pro.”

“Do you think they figured things out?”

“I am sure they fucked things out, if they talked, well that’s another question. I think so. I will find out tomorrow. I am going to talk to Pearly 'cause I need to keep track on my new ship.”

“That is really nice of you actually, Katya.” The Barbie said, placing a kiss onto Katya’s forehead as she kept on playing with the biker’s fingers.

“Wow? Are you saying that I am not nice, Tracy?” She gasped before continuing. “Mother, my girlfriend is bullying me again.”

Trixie stayed quiet for a bit before a weird looking smile appeared on her face that only confused the biker. “This is the first you called me your girlfriend.” She said as she blushed slightly, making Katya look up to her at the sound of her voice.

“Is that making you feel like super duper happy?”

“Maybe.” The gorgeous blonde admitted and Katya’s grin just grew bigger and bigger.

“Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.”

An adorable laughter coming from the Barbie filled the room as she poked Katya’s side. “It doesn’t work like that, you have to say it nicely like before.”

“Mother, my girlfriend wants me to confess my love for her again.”

——

When Katya was sitting in the chapel the next day, her mind was still stuck in last night, thinking about the girl she got to call her girlfriend now. She snapped into the reality every now and then when someone started talking but she was mostly lost in her thoughts. She found herself doing that so often at this point.

“Okay, girls, Manila called me earlier. The Coyotes want to meet at the Jelly Bean to discuss something, she didn’t tell me much, she said she will tell me more later.” Raja started talking as she looked all over her other club members.

“What is with the Coyotes and strippers?” Adore chuckled out loud, others joining her.

“They ain’t strippers. Have you been to the Jelly Bean? It’s horse meat in a g-string.” Violet replied, another wave of laughter washed over the girls.

“I love the Jelly Bean.” Katya called out, smiling at the memory of finding the club.

“Of course you do.” The girl with the smallest waist ever responded to her.

“I love it, too.” Willam joined in, giving a high five to the Russian across the table.

“And the freak circle is complete.” Violet’s voice filled the room again, followed with more laughter.

Katya always felt the best with the girls around, the meetings in the chapel were always her favourite part of the day and now spending time with Trixie was at the top on her list as well.

“When are you going to the studio, Kat?” Milk who was sitting next to her asked.

“Huh? Why?”

“..You wrote your shift with me for today?”

“Oh, sorry, my memory is being a little bitch lately.”

“Just catching up with the rest of you then, huh?”

“Biiitch!” The smoker called out as she laughed once again during the meeting.

“I can just head out when you go so you don’t ride alone, just let me know.”

“Okay, sweets.”

——

From: Trixie

Do you prefer the red blouse or the pink blouse that I showed you yesterday?

To: Trixie

Neither. I prefer you naked.

From: Trixie

I am going to get lunch with Kim and her new possible future boyfriend, I want to look good.

To: Trixie

Why do you want to look good? You are mine.

From: Trixie

First impressions!

To: Trixie

Mine.

From: Trixie

Are you trying to sext me right now?

To: Trixie

Fuck, now I want to.

From: Trixie

…Red or pink?

To: Trixie

Wear the pink blouse to the lunch but wear the red underwear when I see you again.

From: Trixie

A magic word?

To: Trixie

Imperio.

From: Trixie

I walked right into that one..

To: Trixie

;)

To: Trixie

Gotta go to the studio, talk to you later, babe.

——

Katya saw Nina after the incident a few times and she was acting just like the first time she met the Russian. She was awfully nice and the biker found herself wanting to be her friend. She spent a little time thinking if she still feels the same way she did when she first met her but right now when she looked at the director, she just felt what she did when she looked at any other girl or one of the croweaters.

Just another hot chick that I have no interest in because I got a Barbie doll. Brenda, I hope you are fucking proud of me. Look at me now, bitch.

The blonde was just finishing her shift when she got a phone call from the Barbie, asking her if she wants to come over once again and asking her to buy a few things on the way. Katya also noticed the slight jealousy in Trixie’s voice when she mentioned she is in the studio and she kind of loved the fact that the Barbie was jealous.

She felt a bit guilty about spedning so much time over at Trixie’s place and that was why she usually brought something with her. Some candy, something for Brian, or a make up, usually a lipstick that Pearl picked up for her because Katya didn’t have any idea about what Trixie would like and what not. Any shade of pink basically.

That’s what friends are for, Brenda.

The Russian jumped off her bike once again when she parked it in front of the now very familiar house, skipping to the door as she knocked on them.

“Knock, knock, knockin’ on heaven’s door. Hey, hey, hey, hey, yeaaaah.” She sang out when the Barbie opened the door, wanting to put a smile on her face instantly.

“You do know that Satanists won’t go to heaven, right?”

“I can just stand on this porch all day, angel.”

“Because you can smoke in here, right?”

A loud screech came out of Katya’s mouth but she did nod because it was actually kind of the truth. Now that her smoking habit was mention, her addiction was kicking in again.

“Get me inside, please. It’s too fucking hot out here.” The smoker groaned dramatically, already taking off her jacket as she walked into the house.

——

“Ugh, I am sweating like hooker in church.” Katya then called out as she threw her shirt over her head, making herself fall onto Trixie’s bed.

“Wow, you are so attractive right now.” The Barbie said, the irony was dripping from her voice.

“Excuse me, Tracy.” The biker rolled over to face the other girl who was changing her own clothes now, looking a little unimpressed.

The Russian then placed her hands onto her breasts as she started to make the sweet noises she made when the two of them slept together.

Trixie turned around with a slight shocked expression but her face was filled with interest.

And so Katya proceed to continue on making real sounding noises, rubbing her breasts as she threw her head back a bit, closing her eyes to make it seem as real as possible.

“You are unbelievable.”

The biker could tell that her girlfriend was turned on by her behaviour and she made a note in her head so she could use her fake moans in future adult activites.

“Oh a scale from one to ten, how turned on are you right now? And don’t like to me, малышка.”

“Like a solid six.”

“Score!”

——

“Wait, no, babe, I am going to be late.” Katya chuckled as she tried to get out of the bed, all her attempts were interupted by Trixie’s hands pulling her back in. “Pearl is going to be asleep by the time I get there, come on.” She kept on laughing as she finally got out of the bed, quickly trying to find her shirt and jacket.

The biker was all dressed up as she leaned in for a goodbye kiss before jumping over the bed to get out of the house, using the window since it was quicker than using the door. Katya logic.

“Wait.” She heard Trixie’s voice and she smiled for herself, turning back around to place another kiss onto the Barbie’s soft lips.

“Yeah, okay, that was nice but I actually..you got lipsticks marks all over you.” Her girlfriend giggled as she took a napkin and used it to wipe her pink lipstick from Katya’s cheeks.

“Okay, now you can go.” She said with a smile, stealing one more kiss before Katya climbed out of the window and quickly walked to her bike with the intention to pick her sleepy friend up on her way to the club called the Jelly Bean.

By the time she got to the 'Pearlet’s house’, the girl was already half sleeping since she was leaning against a tree. Katya whistled at her, making her wake up and walk towards her.

“You know, I do like Trixie but I don’t like standing here in the dark, waiting for you, hoe.”

“Bitch, it’s not my fault your bike is shit and not cabable of riding anymore.” “Take that back!” The taller of the two slapped Katya’s shoulder who just laughed as she watched her get on the bike right behind her.

“Why isn’t Violet giving you a ride anyway?” Katya dared to ask as she looked over her shoulder at the other girl.

“Some friend of hers is back in town or whatever, she went out with them.” “And you two..are you okay? Or?”

“We talked it through a bit, okay, yeah, fine, we fucked on your sofa.” Pearl admitted, chuckling softly at the 'Thank you’ that was given her way from the Russian.

“She said that we don’t have to go around showing off everywhere but that we also don’t have to be all sercet about it. And I agree with that.”

“So you two are public now?”

“Basically, yeah.” The pretty girl nodded with a smile appearing on her face. “That is so disgusting. And cute. I want to hug you and puke at the same time.”

They both laughed with Peal wrapping her hands around Katya who leaned into the hug with a wide smile. “Okay, yeah, cute, whatever.” She admitted as she started the bike.

“Now we can do double dates with your Barbie!”

“Fuck off.”

——

Katya parked her bike next to the others, noticing that everyone was already there so they were the last ones to show up. She took off her helmet as she checked her gun, nodding to Pearl who did the same. They then made their way to the other girls, exchanging the greetings while waiting for Raja to make her commands.

“Everyone here?” The president of Rumigos asked, being rewarder with nods. “Okay, let’s see what they want so we can get this shit over it.” She then continued as she pointed for them to follow her inside.

All of the members walked into the club, looking around to check the area and to make sure nothing dangerous was about to happen tonight. Especially Katya was being more careful than before. Not only did she have to be for her family but now she had to be careful for Trixie as well. Getting killed a few days after getting a girlfriend? No, thank you.

Raja and Willam sat down into the booth against Manila and Carmen, Katya standing right behind them. She could see rest of the Coyotes standing in the corners, watching the two presidents and vice presidents of the club interact. Katya didn’t have a single idea about what Manila wanted but she also didn’t even want to find out. The Coyotes dealed with drugs and the Russian didn’t want to have anything to do with that.

“Hey, Raja.”

“Hey, Manila.”

The presidents of the clubs were friends, they needed to be and they wanted to be as well. It was the best for both of the clubs since all of the members lived all so close to each others. There needed to be peace between them.

They exchanged a few more friendly phrases before Manila finally got to the point.

“You know about our new deal with the cartel.” The president of the Coyotes started, to which Raja nodded as she listened to whatever Manila had to say. “We need to transfer some of our coke to Nevada. And we don’t have a charter there, but you do.”

The blonde rolled her eyes as she fought the urge to say something. She knew it would be something to do with drugs. Fucking fuck, Brenda.

Raja looked up all over the Rumigos before she looked back at Manila. “When is the transfer happening?”

“I will let you know. Not in the nearest future just yet.”

“One time thing? You know we don’t do drugs.”

“Yes, just one time.” Manila nodded and Katya could see that Raja for once didn’t exactly know what to say. And that didn’t happen very often.

“Okay, we will have a talk about it, vote it out and I will let you know.” Raja and Willam stood up, shaking hands with Manila and Carmen before the president pointed to the rest of the members, walking out of the bar with the rest of the girls.

Katya didn’t like this a single bit and that was why she was the first one out of the bar. Everyone in the club knew her past with the drugs so it could have been expected that the blonde wouldn’t approve of this since she was through the drug hell herself.

Raja sighed as she walked towards her bike, looking over at Katya who was already sitting on her bike, fixing her boots. “Pearl, let Violet know about this. Same with Milk and Laila.” She said to which Pearl nodded. “We have to vote this shit out. But not tonight, I will let you know.” The presidet then added before she dismissed all of them.

The blonde already knew she is going to vote against it so she didn’t have to listen to any of the things Raja had to say because she wasn’t going to change her mind anyway.

The Rumigos don’t do drugs, they never did and Katya hoped that it wouldn’t change. Transfer would lead to dealing and that would lead to jail.

No, thank you.

——

She didn’t feel like going back home just yet, she didn’t usually go to other cities. If she went for a ride, she just kept of driving until she decided it was good enough for her. But today she didn’t want to go back so soon.

And that was why she was driving around the city, exploring the areas and places until she spotted a shop that interested her way too much, parking her bike right in front of it as she jumped off it, taking her helmet off as well and placing it on the handlebars, making her way inside the shop.

To: Trixie

You asleep?

From: Trixie

No, I am actually waiting for you.

From: Trixie

Does that sound lame?

From: Trixie

Cause I don’t care.

To: Trixie

It sounds like something I would say. So it’s probably super lame, yes. ;)

To: Trixie

I can be at your place in about fourty minutes.

From: Trixie

I will wait for you. xxx

To: Trixie

Naked?

From: Trixie

Come and find out.

To: Trixie

Damn. Make it thirty minutes.

——

“Why are you not naked?” Katya said as soon as she closed the window after herself, making it kind of a routine to use the window instead of the door to get inside Trixie’s house.

Trixie only laughed, moving a bit on the bed, making her blanket slide down her legs and revealing her bare thighs covered only by shorts. The biker’s eyes explored the Barbie’s body, moving up from her hips to her torso which was only covered in a tank top.

“Wearing less clothing than usually is still not good enough, Tracy.” The Russian said as she walked towards the other girl, making her jacket fall down from her shoulders.

“The night is still young.” Katya just had to smile at the Barbie’s words as she leaned in for a kiss. She found a new way to feed her addiction. Mixing the harsh taste of cigarettes with the sweet taste of Trixie’s kisses.

“I need to show you something.” The biker said, already giggling a bit because she just couldn’t wait for Trixie’s reaction.

She pulled her shirt back a bit, turning around so her back was facing Trixie, looking over her shoulder to watch the Barbie’s face when she tugged onto her shirt a bit more, reavealing the 'Barbie’ tattoo that was now placed on her back. The biker watched Trixie’s eyes go wide as her eyes filled with confusion and interest. Katya tried her best not to laugh but she was failling, not being to able hold her laughter inside.

“Katya? What is this..? Did you? Is this real?”

Trixie’s voice sounded so quiet and Katya just had to laugh at her, letting her shirt fall back as it was before, turning around so she was face to face to her girlfriend. “It’s fake. But it looks good, doesn’t it?” The biker replied smoothly as she kept on laughing while watching Trixie’s expression change into amused one.

“It’s kinda..hot. Actually.” The Barbie admitted as she brought her hands to tug onto Katya’s shirt so she can look at the tattoo once again. “For how long are you going to have it there?” She then added as her fingers brushed against the skin the tattoo was placed at.

“About two weeks.”

“I like it. Not that you should get it, god no. But I like it..”

“Damn, Tracy. You get turned on by a lot of things, don’t you, huh?” The biker said smugly as she kneeled onto the bed in front of Trixie, keeping an eye contact with her girlfriend who was blushing furiously.

“Is that bad, Yekaterina?”

Oh my god, jesus.

“You said my full name for the first time. And it was correct. And fucking hot.”

“Yekaterina.”

“Are you trying to find out what turns me on now? Because you are succeeding.” She breathed out as she leaned into Trixie’s personal space, placing one of her hands onto the Barbie’s stomach before lowering her hand down onto her girlfriend’s underbelly.

She could hear Trixie’s breath hitch when she slid her hand under her shorts, keeping the eye contact still the biker leaned down to bite onto the Barbie’s lower lip as her fingers found the wetness between her girlfriend’s legs.

“Блядь.”

She found out during their first time that looking into the baby blues while bringing the gorgerous girl pleasure was a total turn on but being so close to her right now was another level.

Being so close with her without being naked, there was something unusual about that yet so sexual.

The biker kept the eye contact with her lips whispering against the Barbie’s, her fingers deep burried in her girlfriend at this point. As soon as Trixie started making the sweet noises that Katya learnt to love so much, she silenced her with a kiss that hid all of the moans coming from the other girl.

She broke the eye contact only to move to the soft skin on Trixie’s skin. Her previous marks started to disappear and she needed to make new ones so her girlfriend could prove to everyone that she is taken.

“Oh, Katya..” The Barbie moaned when the biker curled her fingers inside of her, making her work even faster as she watched her girlfriend squirm under her. She had magic fingers and Trixie’s responses were only making her work faster while making impossible amount of love bites on Trixie’s neck.

Katya could already tell when the Barbie was getting close and she loved the fact that she could make her come without even taking her pants off. All she needed was her magical fingers and her mouth attacking every inch of the soft skin on Trixie’s neck, using her teeth to bite down onto her neck every now and then.

The moans were getting louder and louder and the biker had to smile into her girlfriend’s neck as her other hand gripped onto Trixie’s hips, her teeth finding the Barbie’s earlobe as she bit down onto it, making the other girl yelp and moan at the same time.

Oh, another sweet spot.

“Come on, baby.” She whispered into the moaning girl’s ear as she bumped her fingers into her, pulling her head back a bit after abusing her neck to watch her bend her back and come. The Barbie’s eyes were fully closed while her mouth was slightly open, her teeth trapping her bottom lip between them.

It was the most erotic Trixie ever looked like in Katya’s eyes. With her face flushed and her hair everywhere. Pure sex.

She let the other girl breathe for a few seconds before she pulled her hand back, looking all over her girlfriend as if she wanted to remember the view she got forever and she actually did.

“You are so hot.”

Trixie’s mouth curled into a smile as she leaned in to give the biker a lazy kiss. “Mhm, that was nice.”

“Yeah, we should do it more often, don’t you think?” The smoker replied with a smirk placed on her face as she watched her girlfriend nod with a blush creeping on her cheeks.

“Your turn.” The Barbie then said smugly as she pulled the biker closer to her, giving her another one of her sweet kisses before tugging onto her shirt and throwing it over her head.

——

A mixture of loud noises, hot breath and soft tapping on her leg woke the biker up.

Ugh.

The blonde opened her eyes, squeezing them close immediately since the sun hit her eyes instantly. Is this hell?

She then looked around, finding Trixie closer than the night before. Okay, explains the hot breath. Katya then tried to sit back a bit without waking the other girl up. That was when she noticed Brian stretching on the bed next to her leg. The cat was brushing against her leg. Okay, that explain the poking.

A loud knock on the door made her jump a bit, causing for Trixie to wake up and squeeze her eyes in pain from the sun.

“Babe, someone is knocking on your door.” Katya’s raspy morning voice filled the room as the biker turned over to her side, grabbing onto the cat as she started to pet it, a smile appearing on her face when Trixie groaned in annoyance as she got out of the bed.

“Ugh, where is my shirt?” The Barbie asked as she looked all over the room for her tank top that Katya threw god knows where last night. “I dunno.” Katya mumbled as she played with Brian’s paw, opening her eyes again to look at her girlfriend who was trying to find her shirt.

Another knock could be heard and Trixie rolled her eyes, grabbing Katya’s jacket that was on the chair next to the door as she quickly made her way out of the room, trying to jump into her shorts along the way.

Katya blinked a few times, still not being fully awake. Brian was biting onto her finger and she smiled as she ruffled the cat’s fur before she sat up, running her hand through her hair, watching Trixie storm back into the room.

“Fucking postman. Kim ordering shit from Ebay.”

The biker laughed softly until she realized that Trixie is wearing her jacket. My jacket.

“You are wearing my jacket.”

“Oh? Sorry? I just grabbed it on the way.” The Barbie said as she started to take it off.

“You look good. And you are wearing my jacket. So we have to get married now. I don’t let anyone but Abel wear it so you signed your own future right now, Tracy.” Katya called out, shooting a wink into the other girl’s direction who snorted at her girlfriend’s words, making both of them laugh.

“You look better in it though.”

“Of course I fucking do, Barbara Millicent Roberts.”

“And you know Barbie’s full name. We are definitely getting married.”

“Okay, babe, okay, just let me sleep a bit more and then we can get married.”

Katya said as she fell back into the pillows, smiling into one of them when she felt the bed get heavier when Trixie joined her girlfriend in the bed.

“Spending the whole day in bed, Tracy? Definitely wife material.”

#katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #trixya #ride you like my harley #anniesantawifey #au #rpdr fanfiction #submission #biker au #lesbian au

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truesportsfan · 5 years

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Maurice Harkless on his Kobe Bryant connection, Knicks fandom, family struggles

Knicks forward, former St. John’s player and Queens native Maurice “Mo” Harkless takes a shot at some Q&A with Post columnist Steve Serby.

Q: Tell me about the first moment you heard of Kobe Bryant’s death. A: I was actually sleeping. We had a game that day in Orlando. My phone was just blowing up. I was taking my nap before the game, and everybody was like, “Yo, this Kobe stuff can’t be real, blah blah blah blah.” I thought it was a dream. I’m like, “All right, like when I am actually gonna wake up? This doesn’t even feel real, this is crazy.” But then, it kinda of just hit me like, “OK, this is not a dream.” It didn’t feel real for the first couple of days. He’s an icon, somebody that left such an impact on the game that we love. It was the first time like a celebrity or someone who I wasn’t like immediately close with like that — obviously we had some kind of relationship, we played against each other, I knew him a little bit, but we weren’t close — so this is the first time I had that feeling from someone who wasn’t close to me.

Q: What do you remember about playing against him? A: Like he elbowed me in the neck one of the first possessions in the game (laugh). He always competed at the highest level. He was the ultimate opponent.

Q: Elbowing you in the neck sounds like the Mamba mentality, and he probably would have been perfect for the playgrounds in New York. A: Absolutely. I think he woulda definitely held his own (laugh).

Q: That must have been weird playing against him for a young kid, right? A: Yeah, absolutely. I tell people all the time: There’s only a couple of guys in the league who, when I first played against them, I was like, “Wow, I can’t believe this,” and he was one of them.

Q: Who were the others? A: Kevin Garnett, Tim Duncan.

Q: What is your on-court mentality? A: Just go out there and do whatever it takes to win games. Just be a dog.

Q: Fill in the blank: New York has the best … A: Pizza, people, culture (laugh).

Q: People? A: Everybody in New York’s real, you know what I mean? People think we’re rude, people think we’re mean, but we’re just real straightforward. I like that.

Maurice HarklessAP

Q: What’s your favorite St. John’s memory? A: It’s pretty funny, actually (chuckle), it’s not really a good memory, but I always find humor in telling the story. We used to practice at 5:45 in the morning, so one practice, (chuckle) one of the managers yawned in practice and [assistant] Coach [Mike] Dunlap, he hated that, like you couldn’t yawn in practice. And (laugh), he made us run for it, like the players had to run for it. He kicked the manager out of practice. Seriously, though, my favorite St. John’s memory was probably that UCLA game at the Garden [a 66-63 win on Feb. 18, 2012], I think that was one of our best games that year. Everybody was playing together, playing well and we came out with the win.

Q: Head coach Steve Lavin had prostate cancer surgery that year. A: I didn’t get to be coached by him in games, but he was in practice and stuff. His energy was amazing even when he was sick. He was always out there in drills and high energy in practice. It was cool to see him every time he was able to come.

Q: Did you see former St. John’s coach Lou Carnesecca around? A: Yeah, he’d always been around. He’s still around the program now, which is pretty cool to see. It feels like it’s very real and genuine. He talks to guys on a first-name basis — not even just the players, like managers, coaches everybody.

Q: You just met new St. John’s coach Mike Anderson for the first time. Are you optimistic about the program’s future? A: I think Mike is a really good coach. You can kind of see he’s already leaving his impact on the way the team plays, and I think just give him some time and get some more players in, I think they’ll be pretty good.

Q: Who was your favorite Knick growing up? A: I really liked [Stephon] Marbury, him being a New York guy, from Brooklyn.

Q: Who is your favorite Knick of all time? A: Probably [Patrick] Ewing. I liked Allan Houston a lot when he was here.

Q: Where were the best playground games growing up? A: I played a lot at Liberty Park. … I played a lot at Lincoln Park. … Ajax Park. A few different parks around the South Jamaica, Queens area.

Q: How did they help toughen you up? A: One, you’re playing on the concrete, you fall, it hurt (laugh). But you gotta get back up and play. Two, it’s just like I’m playing with my older cousin [Courtney] and stuff. We’re not calling fouls, we’re playing through everything, and a lot of times you’re playing one-on-one. It’s just you and the person, you gotta win. It’s just something about that playground mentality, playing in the cold, it just breeds toughness.

Maurice Harkless drives to the basket for St. John’sAnthony J. Causi

Q: What drove you as a kid and what drives you now? A: I just enjoy competition, I always have. In everything I do, I try to make it a competition … just beating somebody.

Q: What is your favorite AAU memory? A: Probably just the first time I played in a Vegas tournament. It was pretty cool to just go out there and be on the Strip, everything looked so big, and … crazy (laugh). It was pretty cool to just go out there and go to like Circus Circus as a 15-year-old. That’s like a dream come true, being from New York.

Q: How did the Garden look to you when you played there for the first time at St. John’s? A: Low lights around, and the floor is lit up so bright. It’s kind of like a show, in a sense.

Q: How would you sum up your NBA career so far? A: It’s been a journey. It’s been interesting. … I’ve been lucky enough to be on some good teams and make deep playoff runs, so it’s been quite rewarding. Like I said, it’s been a journey, having played on a few different teams. But it’s been fun.

Q: What kind of career did you envision? A: Everybody dreams of just being on one team your whole career, but that just doesn’t happen for everyone. So you keep working, keep your head down and take what the game gives you.

Q: You admired Derek Jeter. A: I loved the Yankees growing up, too. My whole life he was just like my favorite baseball player. He always conducted himself with great professionalism.

Q: What other favorite players did you have growing up? A: Kobe, Tracy McGrady, Shaq [O’Neal] a little bit, Kevin Durant.

Q: If you could play anybody one-on-one in NBA history. A: Kobe.

Q: Describe the day you found out your older sister Shakima had cancer. A: When you hear something like that, it’s always … devastating. I didn’t know what to expect, I didn’t know much about it. But the doctor said there was a high possibility she would be OK, should be able to beat it, and it worked out, and she was, and I thank God for that. It was out of our hands, we just had to pray and hope everything would work out.

Q: How old were you? A: 16 or 17.

Q: Describe your grandmother, Barbara A: She played a big role in my life. She helped raise me and my siblings and my cousin. Sweet lady. Luckily, she’s still around, she still lives with my mom. She sacrificed a lot to take care of us and to help my mom take care of us.

Q: Your mother Rosa worked two jobs — waitress and bartender. A: She’s New York through-and-through (chuckle). She says what she feels all the time. She works hard to make ends meet. She worked hard my whole life. That’s one of the things I definitely was able to kind of take from her. She loves the people that are close to her, and when she loves somebody, she goes all out for ’em.

Q: Are you New York through-and-through? A: Absolutely.

Q: Define New York through-and-through. A: It’s kind of like growing up here you develop a kind of toughness and you develop thick skin. You go through a lot growing up where you’re kind of able to navigate different situations and stuff like that.

Q: When you were a boy, it affected you briefly that your father was not around. A: It affected me how it would affect every child. You just wonder why not?

Q: Has he ever made an attempt to get a hold of you? A: That’s personal.

Q: What’s the hardest thing you had to navigate through? A: Just life. Growing up in some of these neighborhoods and stuff, it’s like so much thrown at you, so much going on. You have friends who end up in other situations, and to be able to kind of … just make it through all that is crazy. Even now, being an adult, you go back to where I grew up and you see some of the same things, and some of the things got worse. It’s easy to get caught up in that stuff, but finding your way through and making something of yourself, whether it be even just going to college and getting a nice job or something like that. … It’s tough growing up in neighborhoods like where I’m from.

Q: You had close friends who messed up their lives. A: It’s not all necessarily their fault, but just getting caught up in things that go on in those type of neighborhoods.

Q: Where are they now? A: Some are in prison, some are gone, some are still here. … But things coulda been different.

Q: Were they basketball players? A: Yeah, definitely some I played basketball with for sure.

Q: Have you spoken to the ones in prison? A: We speak on occasion, not every day or anything like that. They know I got a lot going on. They don’t try to bother me too much, but they know it’s always love.

Q: When you talk, what goes through your mind about your life and their life? A: I just talk to them, make sure they’re OK. It’s good to hear their voice and good for them to hear my voice. They’re happy to speak to me and I’m happy to speak to them, and that’s all about it. I don’t compare lives.

Q: Who are athletes in other sports who you admire? A: Ronaldo, Tom Brady … I love Tom Brady, hate the Patriots. You can’t deny greatness, I mean, he’s great. But I just don’t like his team.

Maurice Harkless dunks the ball for Forest Hills High SchoolPhilip Hall

Q: You liked the Knicks, Yankees and Giants. Favorite Giants? A: Jeremy Shockey, I love Eli [Manning], Michael Strahan.

Q: You got a $50,000 bonus you earned for shooting 35 percent from 3-point range. A: I didn’t sit out the game, I just didn’t shoot the 3. Would you?

Q: Two dinner guests? A: Barack Obama, Will Smith.

Q: Favorite movie? A: “The Dark Knight,” the one with the Joker.

Q: Favorite actor? A: Will Smith.

Q: Favorite actress? A: Angelina Jolie.

Q: Favorite singer/entertainer? A: My favorite rapper, Jay-Z; singer, Beyoncé.

Q: Favorite meal? A: Crab legs or jerk chicken.

Q: What is your go-to New York restaurant? A: Probably Philippe Chow.

Q: Where’s the best pizza in town? A: Margherita’s on Jamaica Avenue.

source https://truesportsfan.com/sport-today/maurice-harkless-on-his-kobe-bryant-connection-knicks-fandom-family-struggles/

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bharatiyamedia-blog · 5 years

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Concern Of A Black Mermaid

http://tinyurl.com/yyq7cetx It ought to have been a easy dream come true. Nineteen-year-old Halle Bailey, one half of the sister singing sensation Chloe x Halle, has been tapped to play the lead within the reside motion model of Disney’s The Little Mermaid. “After an intensive search it was abundantly clear that Halle possesses that uncommon mixture of spirit, coronary heart, youth, innocence, and substance — plus a wonderful singing voice— all intrinsic qualities essential to play this iconic position,” mentioned director Robert Marshall, Jr. in a press release to NBC News. However Bailey is black. So the seaweed hit the fan. “ARIEL IS WHITE WITH RED HAIR!” mentioned the cultural police in a never-ending stream of online complaints, some pretty racist. Bailey had loads of defenders, including entertainment heavyweights Kerry Washington, Chrissy Teigen, Zendaya, and Ariana Grande. Jodie Benson, the unique voice of Ariel within the 1989 animated movie was requested about it on stage on the popular culture mega-convening, Florida Supercon. “We must be storytellers,” Benson said. “And it doesn’t matter what we appear to be on the skin, irrespective of our race, our nation, the colour of our pores and skin, our dialect, whether or not I’m tall or skinny, whether or not I’m obese or underweight, or my hair is no matter colour, we actually want to inform the story.” Certainly we do. The concept that a fictional mermaid ought to eternally stay a white lady as a result of Hans Christian Anderson, her creator, was white, and Disney introduced her as white previously, is a troublesome one to defend within the fashionable age. “Brandy [who played Cinderella in a 1997 film version] walked so Halle Bailey may swim,” tweeted leisure reporter Kevin Fallon. However simply because the outrage doesn’t observe, it doesn’t imply that it isn’t deeply felt. There are extra than simply Euro-centric notions of magnificence at play, although they continue to be highly effective and difficult to dismantle. It’s additionally that white folks can expertise anguish, even unconsciously so, once they lose the societal advantages hooked up to whiteness. An anti-bias facilitator and educator named Val Brown posted some research on Twitter that helps illuminate this phenomenon. (She’s a treasure, by the best way. Her on-line dialogue discussion board for educators #ClearTheAir, repeatedly tackles thorny matters on inclusion. Comply with her here.) The paper was by Gloria Ladson-Billings, a pedagogical theorist, researcher, and teacher on the College of Wisconsin at Madison known as Just What Is Critical Race Theory and What’s It Doing In a Nice Field Like Education? Within the piece, Ladson-Billings critiques present analysis on race principle, within the hopes of figuring out info that may speed up racial reform in her discipline of training. The necessity for the work was affirmed through the early days of her quest; she describes experiencing marked hostility when presenting working variations of this paper in peer-reviewed settings. Why are you speaking solely about race? What about gender? That form of factor. Whereas all the paper is price your time, Brown flags one part as notably instructive. Ladson-Billings cites a research which requested white school college students whether or not they believed issues have been higher for Blacks nowadays. The solutions have been largely sure. Then the scholars have been requested if they’d be keen to vary place with African People. None would. After which this: “When requested what quantity of compensation they’d search in the event that they have been compelled to “turn out to be Black,’ the scholars ‘appeared to really feel that it will not be misplaced to ask for $50 million, or $1 million for every coming Black yr.’” An fascinating twist within the fictional case for reparations. “In response to [the study]: And this calculation conveys, in addition to something, the worth that white folks place on their very own skins. Certainly, to be white is to own a present whose worth will be appreciated solely after it has been taken away.” Abruptly white Ariel isn’t only a mermaid anymore. The controversy in regards to the Disney manufacturing continues to rage on, although sadly, with out crucial race principle context. The closest we might get comes from Freeform, Disney’s teen channel, who weighed in with an clever response on social media. “Sure. The unique creator of ‘The Little Mermaid’ was Danish,” they sighed on Instagram. “Ariel…is a mermaid.” You understand, a fictional creature. “However for the sake of argument, let’s say that Ariel, too, is Danish. Danish mermaids will be black as a result of Danish *folks* will be black.” They even had some good issues to say in regards to the crimson hair, too. However finally, they put the accountability again the place it belongs, although not in the identical manner that Ladson-Billings may. “So in any case that is mentioned and completed, and you may’t get previous the concept selecting the unbelievable, sensational, highly-talented, beautiful Halle Bailey is something apart from INSPIRED casting that it’s as a result of ‘she doesn’t appear to be the cartoon one,’ oh boy do I’ve information for you… about you.” On Level Senator Mitch McConnell, who opposed reparations, is descended from enslavers A group from NBC Information put their geneology hats on to find that the Senator’s two great-great-grandfathers, James McConnell and Richard Daley, owned at the very least 14 enslaved folks in Limestone County, Alabama. And in accordance with the 1850 and 1860 censuses, all however two have been girls. They ranged in age from 2 to 20, and 4 have been recognized within the county “Slave Schedules” as “mulatto.” Click on by way of for some fascinating historical past, intertwined with the Senator’s report on civil and voting rights. Nothing about his tackle Ariel, but. NBC News ‘The Chicago Defender,’ a century-old African American newspaper, ceases print operations The bylines learn like a who’s who of black historical past, and the tales it coated, from lynchings, to integration, civil rights and past, turned an important report of tales that white-owned media ignored or bought fallacious. Many imagine The Defender’s distinctive perspective on Northern black life throughout Jim Crow, turned the catalyst for the Nice Migration. “It’s an financial resolution,” says Hiram E. Jackson, chief government of Actual Occasions Media which owns a spate of black newspapers. “[B]ut it’s extra an effort to ensure that The Defender has one other 100 years.” New York Times The place are the wage will increase?The final election cycle noticed minimal wage will increase authorized by voters in all kinds of native municipalities throughout the nation. However 25 states legislatures, in largely crimson states, have expressly blocked cities from upholding the wage will increase. Consequently, some 350,000 staff have misplaced a complete of $1.5 billion per yr, in accordance with a research by the Nationwide Employment Regulation Challenge. The transfer hurts girls, immigrants and folks of colour who’re disproportionately present in low-wage jobs. “Missouri was one of the crucial egregious examples of an overwhelmingly white legislature undoing the desire of native communities,” a co-author of the report tells race and economics reporter Tracy Jan. “Preemption has been used as a instrument to undermine increased wages, shield company earnings, and cancel the voices of blacks and Latinos.” Washington Post On Background Chicago-based enterprise advisory teams are discovering methods to assist Latinx entrepreneurs In response to the latest census, there have been greater than 14,000 Latinx-owned companies within the Chicago space in 2016, a small however rising financial drive. However assets like financing and enterprise coaching applications, typically performed solely in English, remained skinny. However two enterprise teams are discovering methods to supply counseling and help not solely in Spanish, however within the outlying neighborhoods have been the entrepreneurs are prone to reside. “I didn’t know what steps to take,” the proprietor of a small electrical set up firm advised the Chicago Tribune, in Spanish. “I didn’t even understand I wanted a banking account for my enterprise, not to mention how you can register my firm.” Chicago Tribune You understand it’s working if persons are uncomfortable Atila Roque, the Ford Basis’s director in Brazil, begins this elegant essay about privilege along with his personal second of discomfort. He’d been invited to a members-only membership in Rio de Janeiro, and all of a sudden felt disoriented. “I felt a mix of dazzle and discomfort…it was as if, at any second, I is perhaps unmasked as somebody who didn’t belong,” he mentioned. As a person of colour, he’d been given short-term entry to a white, privileged house, a clear well-appointed oasis with stunning views that belie the existence of the impoverished favelas just some miles away. Progress hinges upon the willingness to make privileged folks, like these on the membership, squirm a bit, he says. “Privilege may be very snug. However preventing the type of inequality that results in nice struggling for therefore many would require disrupting that privilege, and breaking down among the boundaries that allow and protect it.” Ford Foundation Police killings come from a racist tradition Analysis led by Ryerson College psychologist Eric Hehman (who appears very cool) exhibits that the unconscious racial biases of white communities informs the tradition of racism inside police departments, and finally to the disproportionate use of drive towards black folks. From this attitude, bias mitigation within the recruitment and coaching of law enforcement officials just isn’t going to assist a lot. The issue is greater than them. “The context through which law enforcement officials work is considerably related to disproportionate use of deadly drive,” mentioned Hehman’s group. Click on by way of for the fascinating methodology. The group used information from Challenge Implicit, a Harvard College-created net instrument that measures unconscious biases. Greater than 4 million folks have taken the exams since 2003. The group centered on outcomes of 1.eight million black and white People, narrowed additional into geographical areas. African People and Latinx are disproportionately extra probably than whites to be killed by the police. Pacific Standard Quote “Burn Hollywood burn I scent a riot / Goin’ on first they’re responsible now they’re gone / Yeah I’ll take a look at a film / However it’ll take a black one to maneuver me / Get me the hell away from this TV / All this information and views are beneath me / So all I hear about is pictures ringin’ out / About gangs puttin’ every others head out / So I reasonably kick some slang out / All proper fellas let’s go hand out / Hollywood or would they not / Make us all look unhealthy like I do know that they had / However some issues I’ll always remember yeah / So step and fetch this shit / For all of the years we appeared like clowns / The joke is over scent the smoke from throughout / Burn Hollywood burn” —Public Enemy from Fear Of A Black Planet Source link

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richardrobertsimsuccessblog · 7 years

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26 Crazy Stories about “OMG!” Opportunities that Blogging Made Happen

Will it all be worth it?

You can’t help wondering sometimes.

Every spare minute, you’re glued to your computer, reading, writing, doing all you can to grow your blog and build your audience — all on the shaky promise that someday your efforts will pay off.

But sometimes, that someday feels far out of reach. Sometimes, you can’t help wondering whether that day will ever come, or whether you’re just wasting your time.

Well, hang in there, my friend. Because you never know what kinds of opportunities your blog can bring you.

And they might take time, but for all you know, they might be right around the corner.

To prove it, I asked 26 of my blogging friends to share the coolest, craziest opportunities their blogs made happen in their early days — that is, before they amassed a huge following and made tens of thousands of dollars off their blog.

Ready to dive in?

#1. Jeff Bullas / Jeff Bullas

One of the “craziest” opportunities I had happened about a year after starting the blog when I was invited to speak in New Zealand.

It came about because a millionaire who was reading my blog, loved my content and had an idea and sent me an email.

After the event he asked me to join the board of a new tech startup and offered shares.

Five years later the company has raised $3 million and is continuing to grow.

That company is Shuttlerock.

We were a winner in Facebook’s 2016 Innovation Spotlight providing a scalable creative solution to unlock the true power of Facebook Advertising.

#2. Ryan Biddulph / Blogging from Paradise

The coolest opportunity that arose for me as a beginning blogger was being asked to interview Thrillionaire celebrity Nik Halik. I had no clue how to blog, let alone conduct an interview. Since this was some 7 years ago I literally pressed “record” on a tape recorder – I am not kidding – received the call on my land line (resistant to cell phone usage back then) and preserved the interview for transcribing.

I learned a valuable lesson too; be prepared! I asked two canned questions sent to me by his press guy and Nik told me he was bored of the same old questions as this was his 10th interview of the day. Because I spent 20 minutes researching him earlier that day I nimbly shifted and asked probing, interesting questions that made for a great interview.

#3. Chris Guillebeau / The Art of Non-Conformity

In my early days of blogging, Air New Zealand flew me to the Cook Islands for a 24-hour event.

It was a whirlwind visit and I learned that I don’t like sponsored trips (too much expectation on behalf of the sponsor, even when they say otherwise…), but I was still grateful for the experience.

#4. Danny Iny / Mirasee

The craziest opportunity that arose from blogging was that I ended up co-authoring a book with Guy Kawasaki and other A-listers when I was an unknown. Here’s how it happened:

Firepole Marketing (now Mirasee) was just a tiny blog with less than 1,000 subscribers, when I had the opportunity to guest blog on Copyblogger. My post was “38 Critical Books Every Blogger Needs to Read.” Number 12 on the list was The Art of the Start by Guy Kawasaki.

It must have caught the attention of Guy and/or his publicist, because a few days later, I received an email from Guy thanking me for including his book. He said he had a new book coming out and offered me a review copy and an interview.

Of course, I seized the opportunity. I spent 15 hours preparing for the interview to make it so good that Guy would want to share it with everybody. Afterwards, I posted the interview on my blog and created a video to promote the book on YouTube. I wrote reviews on Amazon and other bookseller websites—I did everything I could think of to get the word out.

Months later, I invited Guy to contribute to my book, Engagement from Scratch!, and he said yes. And that’s how blogging helped me co-author a book with Guy Kawasaki.

#5. Richard Lazazzera / A Better Lemonade Stand

Blogging quite literally changed my life. Within months of starting my ecommerce blog, A Better Lemonade Stand, I wrote a really long-form piece of content that drove thousands of brand new visitors to my site. One of those visitors was the director of marketing for Shopify. He reached out to me via email and we started to build a relationship.

About a year later, I moved to Toronto. When the director at Shopify heard, I was offered a position at Shopify which I jumped on. That position allowed me to reach two million visitors per month through their blog (while still growing my personal blog), write a full length book, and participate in the IPO of Shopify.

I’ve since left Shopify and continue to build A Better Lemonade Stand and several other companies. To think it all began with a single blog post still amazes me.

#6. Ian Cleary / Razor Social

Within six months of launching the blog it was voted one of the top ten social media blogs in the world by a competition run by Social Media Examiner.

That was pretty amazing for me because I started the blog based in Ireland and I was the only European blog on the list. This rapidly helped me become an influencer in the Social Media Space and generated me significant business.

#7. Amy Lynn Andrews / Amy Lynn Andrews

In 2006, when I had been blogging only a few years and blogs were still somewhat of a novelty, I was contacted by a writer from TIME Magazine. She had found my blog and wanted to interview me for a story she was writing about one of my main topics.

For some reason I didn’t think it could possibly be true, but a few months later I found myself in the print edition of TIME Magazine (in March 2007). Unfortunately I wasn’t savvy enough to maximize the exposure, but I did keep in contact with that journalist and enjoyed her friendship for several years.

#8. Dave Chesson / Kindlepreneur

You never know who is reading or following your content. I found out that my all time favorite writer, and multi-NYT Bestseller, Ted Dekker, had come across my work.

This led into getting to meet him for coffee, and ultimately, become an Advanced Review Copy (ARC) reader as well as helping with some of his book marketing projects.

#9. John Lee Dumas / EOFire

Very early on I had the opportunity to be featured on some pretty big sites as a guest poster, which wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t had the EOFire blog up and running. One of the first was on Think Traffic (now Fizzle.co), and we were featured there within just one month of having started our own blog.

This first guest post gave us powerful momentum and exposure, which we then used to request to guest post on other big name sites like Social Media Examiner, Copy Blogger, Content Marketing Institute and over twenty others.

Each new guest post opportunity brought with it exposure, more momentum, and most importantly, a very valuable friendship with people I’m proud to still call friends today.

#10. Aaron Orendorff / Iconicontent

Back in March 2014, I had just started blogging. Basically, it was me, my mom, and literally 261 unique visitors (I checked with Google Analytics just to be accurate).

I’d posted six times, when — out of the digital blue — I got an email about this post, Getting Your Customers to Hold It, Love It, and Give It Money:

I nearly lost my newbie-blogging mind. Of course, I said yes. And somewhat embarrassed myself by asking for a link:

“This is for a book project, so the linking is tough — but I’ll give you lots of love otherwise,” was Ann’s kind response.

Three months later, I’d secured my very first guest post at Copyblogger and I knew enough — just enough — to immediately turn around and pitch Ann on a MarketingProfs guest post. I composed a full article, sent it off, and was in. Everything I’ve done over the last three years has been built on that foundation. And I owe it all to one nice lady who stumbled on my blog when I had no business getting visitors of her clout (or visitors at all for that matter).

#11. Sean Ogle / Location Rebel

About six months after starting my blog, I wrote a post about quitting my job as a financial analyst. I had no idea what I was going to do after that, but I knew I was ready for something different.

The following week I received an email from a reader congratulating me on taking the leap, and telling me that he was looking to bring an intern out to Asia to help him with the online marketing for his company. I’d work part time and he would pay my basic living expenses, while teaching me the ins and outs of the digital world.

Six weeks later, I was on a flight to Bangkok where I would live for the next seven months – and it would set the foundation for my life and business for years to come. I haven’t had a real job since.

It never would have happened had I not started the blog, and positioned myself for a big opportunity to come my way.

#12. Camilla Hallstrom / Influence with Content

Back when I got started, I had NO clue what I was doing.

I wasn’t sure what worked and what didn’t. Sure, through programs like Serious Bloggers Only I knew what sorts of posts got results, but I still felt uncertain about putting anything out there. What was the point, really? What if I was just wasting my time on this blogging thing? A nagging voice inside my head told me I would end up empty handed without anything to show for it…

That’s why it felt amazing when one of my first posts got tons of shares and comments. But the best part? Brian Tracy (the sales mogul) shared it on his Facebook page (at the time, he had around 1.5 million followers). And that same post went on to win the title of “Most Epic Post” in a contest here on Smart Blogger (Boost Blog Traffic back then).

That’s the moment I understood exactly how powerful blogging can be. You can get noticed by anyone and you can open doors that right now seem firmly shut.

Apart from this, blogging has made such a difference in my life. I have met new friends who have the exact same interests as I do — that NEVER happens offline (for some reason, people’s eyes glaze over whenever I try to start a discussion about a content idea I just heard about). I’ve gotten job offers in big part thanks to my blogging experience and I started my freelance career because of it.

#13. Ashley Faulkes / Mad Lemmings

When you are just getting started, you don’t really expect anything crazy to happen. But sometimes you get a big surprise!

One of the things I did when starting out was to create a post featuring all the influencers in the blogging and social media scene. It got a lot of people’s attention and connected me with a lot of influencers very quickly. After all, it was a post with the sole purpose of highlighting these influencers (and letting them know of course :>).

Now, having connected with these influencers, I had the opportunity to take it a step further. I started inviting a lot of them on my brand spanking new podcast. Of course, I did not expect many of the bigger names to say yes. Surprisingly, I got quite a few big bloggers on the show, including some who were very reluctant to put themselves out there (not everyone is a lover of the microphone you know :>). Some of the people I got on my podcast included: Rebekah Radice, Ileane Smith, Ann Smarty, Susan Gilbert, John Paul Aguiar, Ian Anderson Gray and more. No, not Seth Godin, but still, for a complete beginner not bad I think!

What blew me away is that getting in contact with people you look up to is not as hard as it seems (if they don’t have an assistant answering their mails :>). Don’t forget, they were exactly where you are not too long ago. And most are more than happy to help out a newbie! Give it a shot.

#14. Daniel Scocco / Daily Blog Tips

Blogging is a great way to showcase your expertise and expand your network. I learned this when, back in 2009, I landed a consulting gig with an agency of the United States Government! The guys from Voice of America (the official external US broadcaster) were planning to launch a new site, and they wanted to learn what would be the best ways to optimize and promote it. It was a very interesting experience, and certainly a nice touch to my CV!

Practically speaking, this happened because I wrote a lot of content on related topics (website optimization, SEO, content marketing, website promotion), and that content got linked from other bloggers and site owners, and eventually it ranked well on Google. Then when the guys from VOA started doing some research they came across my stuff, liked it, and decided to get in touch.

#15. Meera Kothand / Meera Kothand

One of the craziest opportunities I received when I started out was not only having my guest post accepted at Marketing Profs but also getting an invitation to record a mini video training for their paid members.

It was scary but I took the plunge and did the training for them and got paid for it as well. This was when my blog was barely six months old. I’ve always believed in guest posting but its benefits reach far wider than just getting traffic and growing your list. It gets you exposure, introduces you to a new audience and paves the way for other opportunities like it did in my case!

#16. Dave Schneider / Ninja Outreach

Well I got the opportunity to join my current startup, Ninja Outreach! The opportunity arose when I was invited on a podcast with my now partner Mark, who read my blog, only a few months after I started it.

After the podcast was published he reached back out to me and we discussed some ideas we had for building marketing tools in the space. We decided it made sense to work together on it. That was three years ago, and NinjaOutreach is doing over half a million dollars a year now.

#17. Nathan Chan / Foundr

I can’t put this down to any one situation! Ever since we started the Foundr blog this has given us opportunities to interview some of the greatest entrepreneurs of our generation (Richard Branson, Arianna Huffington, Seth Godin etc.) and with this we’ve also been able to connect with some amazing entrepreneurs in our community which has been an extremely rewarding experience.

#18. Julie Harris / Whiskey and Red

The craziest opportunity that arose from blogging was being invited to speak at my first live class. I had been blogging for about six months when I was contacted by the Hawaii Chapter of a national women’s entrepreneur association, “Femfessionals” to speak at their Hawaiian Chapter dinner. They had found my name through another local business I had worked with in the past and found their way to my blog. I had just posted about “Charging What You’re Worth” and they loved the post so much they asked me to present on the same topic live, in front of their whole local chapter.

There was a whole catered dinner, wine and beverages, and a room full of local entrepreneurs waiting to hear what I had to say. I was so crazy nervous but excited. This opportunity then opened more doors to new clients, new projects, and continued speaking gigs. My business was so new at that point, I didn’t have much of a portfolio, and my small social following was pretty slim, but I had a pretty extensive business blog, and that was what convinced them that I was the perfect speaker for them.

#19. Franklin Hatchett / Online Dimes

When I first started blogging I came across a new internet marketing method with Shopify. I ended up writing about it on my blog and uploading a Video to Youtube. To my surprise this became a great opportunity and the opportunity grew my blog from around 1,000 visits a month to over 25,000.

This is the single biggest thing that grew my blog and I seized every moment of it. The blog post and video in question were posted all over the internet because people had doubts and talked negatively about it. That negativity grew my email list to 35,000 and Youtube to 30,000 subscribers in a year. I also launched a private Facebook Group four months ago that quickly grew to 15,000 members and counting.

The blog post that was shared and talked about now has over 400 comments with the video having over 300,000 views. Some might not call this the perfect opportunity, however controversy is used on a daily basis for advertising and any publicity is good publicity.

#20. Zac Johnson / Zac Johnson

When you put yourself out there in any industry and start to gain a following and audience, new opportunities are going to come up all the time. I’ve learned to not get excited by any of them, as only a very small percentage will actually come together. However, when they do, it’s pretty cool!

One such example was when Michael Bayer contacted me through email and asked if I’d like to be featured in a documentary on internet entrepreneurs. At the time I said yes… but always fully aware opportunities and emails similar to these come in every day and usually result in nothing.

Long story short, Michael was able to pull it all together and release the film! We had a nice premiere party in Hollywood, CA and it was pretty cool! Definitely a fun and exciting opportunity that never would have happened if I didn’t start ZacJohnson.com.

#21. Scott Chow / The Blog Starter

I would have to say that the craziest opportunity to come from blogging as I was getting started was the opportunity to be interviewed by a journalist from a nationally distributed magazine.

I’m generally a pretty shy person so it felt a little strange to have that kind of spotlight on me. However, I think for a lot of people that’s what blogging is all about: finding your voice and sharing that with the world.

I am proud to share that message with people and also to help so many people establish blogs of their own!

#22. Joe Bunting / The Write Practice

The craziest thing that happened to me as I first got into blogging was in 2008, after blogging for just a few months, I connected with another blogger who had been doing it for years for the organization he ran. We started emailing back and forth, and once, when he was going to be traveling in my city, we met and he introduced me to his daughter.

A few years later, I was traveling through his city, helping him with a book he was working on, and I saw his daughter again. We hit it off over coffee, started talking, and very long story short, less than a year later we were married. All from blogging.

#23. Tor Refsland / Tor Refsland

There are a lot of crazy opportunities that have happened thanks to blogging.

Let me mention two of them:

1. I got featured in a book with some of the best marketers in the world: Seth Godin, Chris Brogan, Brian Clark and Grant Cardone.

2. I got headhunted by Noah Kagan (I graciously turned him down, since I wanted to focus on building my own business).

#24. Ryan Robinson / Ryan Robinson

I got to work with Tim Ferriss, Neil Patel, Lewis Howes and dozens of other entrepreneurs right after I started blogging.

A few months after I started to write about my experiences running side projects, I applied for a job as a content marketer for the business classes at CreativeLive—the online education company. Thanks to the fact that I had already been blogging for myself about business related topics and essentially doing everything the content marketing job would entail, I got the gig and overnight started working with some of the most prominent names in the business world, helping them to create content and market their classes.

By going after a day job that put me in close proximity to the most influential people in my industry, I’ve since been able to grow these relationships and they’ve led me to do things like become a contributor on Forbes, land interviews with people like Pat Flynn and to launch my own consulting business. Blogging is all about relationships—go out of your way to forge meaningful ones that’ll help you progress within your industry.

#25. Nick Loper / Side Hustle Nation

The craziest opportunity that came from blogging was the chance to speak at my local TEDx event. I was about a year into writing the Side Hustle Nation blog when I was accepted as a speaker, and without any relevant public speaking experience I could point to, I think it was the blog (and Side Hustle Show podcast) that tipped the scales in my favor.

I was incredibly nervous leading up to the event, but it was an awesome “bucket list” experience and a chance to step out of my comfort zone in a big way. Plus it forced me to refine my message into a (hopefully) coherent and concise talk. I went through a half dozen different drafts and rehearsed like crazy before the big day, but the talk ended up receiving a standing ovation and has now been viewed almost 10,000 times on YouTube.

#26. Kiersten Rich / The Blonde Abroad

My first ever client was Visit Jordan for a video campaign where I got to produce a series of videos in the capital, Amman.

I’d always been passionate about videography, so it was an incredible opportunity and I was humbled that a tourism board had such faith in me despite only having just gotten started as a “blogger.” I learned early on that my audience and influence was only one aspect of my worth, but that my content also had value!

What Crazy Opportunities Are Waiting for You?

I know those pesky doubts are hard to shake sometimes. I know sometimes you feel like your day will never come; like you’re just wasting time and you might as well quit.

But let these stories inspire you to hang in there.

Blogging can (and often does) pay off in big and unexpected ways.

It is worth it.

So keep reading, keep writing, and (this is important) keep honing your skills.

Keep growing your blog and audience, and opportunities will find you.

Your turn will come.

And it might be right around the corner.

Author the Author: Eli Seekins is the founder of Launch Your Dream. He helps bloggers and entrepreneurs turn their passion into a business. Want help getting your first 1,000 email subscribers and making your first $5,000? Check out his FREE Job To Blog Virtual Summit — where 25 expert bloggers teach you how to quit your job, start a blog and make money doing it.

26 Crazy Stories about “OMG!” Opportunities that Blogging Made Happen

#Richard Roberts IM Success Mix #26 Crazy Stories about “OMG!” Opportunities that Blogging Made Happe

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sandranelsonuk · 7 years

Text

26 Crazy Stories about “OMG!” Opportunities that Blogging Made Happen

Will it all be worth it?

You can’t help wondering sometimes.

Every spare minute, you’re glued to your computer, reading, writing, doing all you can to grow your blog and build your audience — all on the shaky promise that someday your efforts will pay off.

But sometimes, that someday feels far out of reach. Sometimes, you can’t help wondering whether that day will ever come, or whether you’re just wasting your time.

Well, hang in there, my friend. Because you never know what kinds of opportunities your blog can bring you.

And they might take time, but for all you know, they might be right around the corner.

Ready to dive in?

#1. Jeff Bullas / Jeff Bullas

One of the “craziest” opportunities I had happened about a year after starting the blog when I was invited to speak in New Zealand.

It came about because a millionaire who was reading my blog, loved my content and had an idea and sent me an email.

After the event he asked me to join the board of a new tech startup and offered shares.

Five years later the company has raised $3 million and is continuing to grow.

That company is Shuttlerock.

We were a winner in Facebook’s 2016 Innovation Spotlight providing a scalable creative solution to unlock the true power of Facebook Advertising.

#2. Ryan Biddulph / Blogging from Paradise

#3. Chris Guillebeau / The Art of Non-Conformity

In my early days of blogging, Air New Zealand flew me to the Cook Islands for a 24-hour event.

#4. Danny Iny / Mirasee

The craziest opportunity that arose from blogging was that I ended up co-authoring a book with Guy Kawasaki and other A-listers when I was an unknown. Here’s how it happened:

Months later, I invited Guy to contribute to my book, Engagement from Scratch!, and he said yes. And that’s how blogging helped me co-author a book with Guy Kawasaki.

#5. Richard Lazazzera / A Better Lemonade Stand

I’ve since left Shopify and continue to build A Better Lemonade Stand and several other companies. To think it all began with a single blog post still amazes me.

#6. Ian Cleary / Razor Social

Within six months of launching the blog it was voted one of the top ten social media blogs in the world by a competition run by Social Media Examiner.

#7. Amy Lynn Andrews / Amy Lynn Andrews

#8. Dave Chesson / Kindlepreneur

You never know who is reading or following your content. I found out that my all time favorite writer, and multi-NYT Bestseller, Ted Dekker, had come across my work.

This led into getting to meet him for coffee, and ultimately, become an Advanced Review Copy (ARC) reader as well as helping with some of his book marketing projects.

#9. John Lee Dumas / EOFire

Each new guest post opportunity brought with it exposure, more momentum, and most importantly, a very valuable friendship with people I’m proud to still call friends today.

#10. Aaron Orendorff / Iconicontent

Back in March 2014, I had just started blogging. Basically, it was me, my mom, and literally 261 unique visitors (I checked with Google Analytics just to be accurate).

I’d posted six times, when — out of the digital blue — I got an email about this post, Getting Your Customers to Hold It, Love It, and Give It Money:

I nearly lost my newbie-blogging mind. Of course, I said yes. And somewhat embarrassed myself by asking for a link:

“This is for a book project, so the linking is tough — but I’ll give you lots of love otherwise,” was Ann’s kind response.

#11. Sean Ogle / Location Rebel

About six months after starting my blog, I wrote a post about quitting my job as a financial analyst. I had no idea what I was going to do after that, but I knew I was ready for something different.

It never would have happened had I not started the blog, and positioned myself for a big opportunity to come my way.

#12. Camilla Hallstrom / Influence with Content

Back when I got started, I had NO clue what I was doing.

That’s the moment I understood exactly how powerful blogging can be. You can get noticed by anyone and you can open doors that right now seem firmly shut.

#13. Ashley Faulkes / Mad Lemmings

When you are just getting started, you don’t really expect anything crazy to happen. But sometimes you get a big surprise!

#14. Daniel Scocco / Daily Blog Tips

#15. Meera Kothand / Meera Kothand

#16. Dave Schneider / Ninja Outreach

#17. Nathan Chan / Foundr

#18. Julie Harris / Whiskey and Red

#19. Franklin Hatchett / Online Dimes

#20. Zac Johnson / Zac Johnson

#21. Scott Chow / The Blog Starter

I would have to say that the craziest opportunity to come from blogging as I was getting started was the opportunity to be interviewed by a journalist from a nationally distributed magazine.

I am proud to share that message with people and also to help so many people establish blogs of their own!

#22. Joe Bunting / The Write Practice

#23. Tor Refsland / Tor Refsland

There are a lot of crazy opportunities that have happened thanks to blogging.

Let me mention two of them:

1. I got featured in a book with some of the best marketers in the world: Seth Godin, Chris Brogan, Brian Clark and Grant Cardone.

2. I got headhunted by Noah Kagan (I graciously turned him down, since I wanted to focus on building my own business).

#24. Ryan Robinson / Ryan Robinson

I got to work with Tim Ferriss, Neil Patel, Lewis Howes and dozens of other entrepreneurs right after I started blogging.

#25. Nick Loper / Side Hustle Nation

#26. Kiersten Rich / The Blonde Abroad

My first ever client was Visit Jordan for a video campaign where I got to produce a series of videos in the capital, Amman.

What Crazy Opportunities Are Waiting for You?

I know those pesky doubts are hard to shake sometimes. I know sometimes you feel like your day will never come; like you’re just wasting time and you might as well quit.

But let these stories inspire you to hang in there.

Blogging can (and often does) pay off in big and unexpected ways.

It is worth it.

So keep reading, keep writing, and (this is important) keep honing your skills.

Keep growing your blog and audience, and opportunities will find you.

Your turn will come.

And it might be right around the corner.

from Julia Garza Social Media Tips https://smartblogger.com/blogger-opportunities/

0 notes

cherylxsmith · 7 years

Text

26 Crazy Stories about “OMG!” Opportunities that Blogging Made Happen

Will it all be worth it?

You can’t help wondering sometimes.

Every spare minute, you’re glued to your computer, reading, writing, doing all you can to grow your blog and build your audience — all on the shaky promise that someday your efforts will pay off.

But sometimes, that someday feels far out of reach. Sometimes, you can’t help wondering whether that day will ever come, or whether you’re just wasting your time.

Well, hang in there, my friend. Because you never know what kinds of opportunities your blog can bring you.

And they might take time, but for all you know, they might be right around the corner.

Ready to dive in?

#1. Jeff Bullas / Jeff Bullas

One of the “craziest” opportunities I had happened about a year after starting the blog when I was invited to speak in New Zealand.

It came about because a millionaire who was reading my blog, loved my content and had an idea and sent me an email.

After the event he asked me to join the board of a new tech startup and offered shares.

Five years later the company has raised $3 million and is continuing to grow.

That company is Shuttlerock.

We were a winner in Facebook’s 2016 Innovation Spotlight providing a scalable creative solution to unlock the true power of Facebook Advertising.

#2. Ryan Biddulph / Blogging from Paradise

#3. Chris Guillebeau / The Art of Non-Conformity

In my early days of blogging, Air New Zealand flew me to the Cook Islands for a 24-hour event.

#4. Danny Iny / Mirasee

The craziest opportunity that arose from blogging was that I ended up co-authoring a book with Guy Kawasaki and other A-listers when I was an unknown. Here’s how it happened:

Months later, I invited Guy to contribute to my book, Engagement from Scratch!, and he said yes. And that’s how blogging helped me co-author a book with Guy Kawasaki.

#5. Richard Lazazzera / A Better Lemonade Stand

I’ve since left Shopify and continue to build A Better Lemonade Stand and several other companies. To think it all began with a single blog post still amazes me.

#6. Ian Cleary / Razor Social

Within six months of launching the blog it was voted one of the top ten social media blogs in the world by a competition run by Social Media Examiner.

#7. Amy Lynn Andrews / Amy Lynn Andrews

#8. Dave Chesson / Kindlepreneur

You never know who is reading or following your content. I found out that my all time favorite writer, and multi-NYT Bestseller, Ted Dekker, had come across my work.

This led into getting to meet him for coffee, and ultimately, become an Advanced Review Copy (ARC) reader as well as helping with some of his book marketing projects.

#9. John Lee Dumas / EOFire

Each new guest post opportunity brought with it exposure, more momentum, and most importantly, a very valuable friendship with people I’m proud to still call friends today.

#10. Aaron Orendorff / Iconicontent

Back in March 2014, I had just started blogging. Basically, it was me, my mom, and literally 261 unique visitors (I checked with Google Analytics just to be accurate).

I’d posted six times, when — out of the digital blue — I got an email about this post, Getting Your Customers to Hold It, Love It, and Give It Money:

I nearly lost my newbie-blogging mind. Of course, I said yes. And somewhat embarrassed myself by asking for a link:

“This is for a book project, so the linking is tough — but I’ll give you lots of love otherwise,” was Ann’s kind response.

#11. Sean Ogle / Location Rebel

About six months after starting my blog, I wrote a post about quitting my job as a financial analyst. I had no idea what I was going to do after that, but I knew I was ready for something different.

It never would have happened had I not started the blog, and positioned myself for a big opportunity to come my way.

#12. Camilla Hallstrom / Influence with Content

Back when I got started, I had NO clue what I was doing.

That’s the moment I understood exactly how powerful blogging can be. You can get noticed by anyone and you can open doors that right now seem firmly shut.

#13. Ashley Faulkes / Mad Lemmings

When you are just getting started, you don’t really expect anything crazy to happen. But sometimes you get a big surprise!

#14. Daniel Scocco / Daily Blog Tips

#15. Meera Kothand / Meera Kothand

#16. Dave Schneider / Ninja Outreach

#17. Nathan Chan / Foundr

#18. Julie Harris / Whiskey and Red

#19. Franklin Hatchett / Online Dimes

#20. Zac Johnson / Zac Johnson

#21. Scott Chow / The Blog Starter

I would have to say that the craziest opportunity to come from blogging as I was getting started was the opportunity to be interviewed by a journalist from a nationally distributed magazine.

I am proud to share that message with people and also to help so many people establish blogs of their own!

#22. Joe Bunting / The Write Practice

#23. Tor Refsland / Tor Refsland

There are a lot of crazy opportunities that have happened thanks to blogging.

Let me mention two of them:

1. I got featured in a book with some of the best marketers in the world: Seth Godin, Chris Brogan, Brian Clark and Grant Cardone.

2. I got headhunted by Noah Kagan (I graciously turned him down, since I wanted to focus on building my own business).

#24. Ryan Robinson / Ryan Robinson

I got to work with Tim Ferriss, Neil Patel, Lewis Howes and dozens of other entrepreneurs right after I started blogging.

#25. Nick Loper / Side Hustle Nation

#26. Kiersten Rich / The Blonde Abroad

My first ever client was Visit Jordan for a video campaign where I got to produce a series of videos in the capital, Amman.

What Crazy Opportunities Are Waiting for You?

I know those pesky doubts are hard to shake sometimes. I know sometimes you feel like your day will never come; like you’re just wasting time and you might as well quit.

But let these stories inspire you to hang in there.

Blogging can (and often does) pay off in big and unexpected ways.

It is worth it.

So keep reading, keep writing, and (this is important) keep honing your skills.

Keep growing your blog and audience, and opportunities will find you.

Your turn will come.

And it might be right around the corner.

from SEO and SM Tips https://smartblogger.com/blogger-opportunities/

0 notes