*sigh* Here I Go...

Virgil: Hey hey hey! If you two have BEEF, get out of my sight before you MILK the joke for all it’s worth.

Thunderbird two was sat parked in a field waiting for Scott to finish up with the local authorities before. Gordon was sat on the module ramp swinging his legs over the side looking very deep in thought.

“Hey Virgil?”

Virgil knew the silence had been too good to last, “uh-huh” whilst continuing to stow the last pieces of equipment that weren't quite stacked to his personal standards. If he had been paying more attention he would have seen the warning signs, noticed the glint in his brothers eye, his only excuse was that it had been a long day…..

“What happens when a cow gets exhausted?”

Virgil frowned, “why?” and he moved to stand behind his brother and try and see if he could spot the tired cow that prompted this question. All the while not really knowing what the signs of exhaustion looked like in a cow.

“It COW-lapses!” Gordon grinned. Virgil continued to scan the surrounding scenery for a few seconds more looking for the bovine in question before the awful joke filtered into his consciousness and he groaned. He rubbed at his tired face with one hand, cursing himself for walking straight into that lame attempt at humour. He grit his teeth as he realised there was not other way out of this situation. He let his hand drop, and mustering all the serious professionalism he could, stared very intently at his jokester companion.

“Well, Gordon, that would certainly make it hard to MOO-ve them” He managed to keep his expression completely neutral, only due to extreme self control.

Gordon spluttered and toppled onto his back from his seated perch, his legs still swinging over the edge, “You win, this round goes to you!” he wheezed from his sprawled position. He allowed himself to be helped up to his feet by a convenient strong hand. “Although I’m sure I’m still winning”

“You’re not actually keeping score?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous, that's what Johns for.” and he deftly tapped his comms

John's hologramme aimed a mid range glare, “15 to 9 in your favour Gordon, now please go away the bureaucracy is still going strong, unlike Scotts patience.” and his image blinked out with no further fanfare.

The glint was back in Gordons eye but Virgil was ready for it this time, “Well that ought to keep him aMOO-used for a while then!”

“16 to 9” John's disembodied voice cut in without even missing a beat.

“Honestly Gordon, your jokes are so bad they're almost legen-DAIRY”

“16 to 9.5, that was weak Virg.” John's flat critique was cutting. Virgil huffed and stomped back into the module, leaving Gordon halfheartedly trying to suppress his laughter.

Headcanon: Annabeth is gluten-free or even coeliac. All the Athena kids are, in fact.

(Been re-listening to The Lightning Thief musical and this is inspired by the lyric “She’s [Athena] sworn off gluten and she’s sworn off guys” from ‘The Campfire Song’)

@koscheithehunter

The Rodent Of Unusual Size? I don’t think it exists....

Buddy Prendergast

Out of curiosity, I was just wondering if it was established about how Buddy lost his leg?

I have an idea ... but I'm saving it for the final Whumptober 2020 prompt ... hopefully managing to incorporate a few prompts in the one story.

Ok, I did not realise a few of these!! Love them all (except Lemaire. Never Lemaire).

Thunderbirds are Go + Guest Characters

This is great!! Love it so much!! And congrats on finishing up the set of Tracy brothers!

I have successfully drawn a full set of Tracy brothers! 🎉

Alan took ages to finish because life is being uncooperative... but better late than never, right? Also, weirdly I’d say he was the hardest to draw! It’s a slightly different pose to the original from the show that inspired these, but I couldn’t leave the little space bro out of my gallery 😂

When you're writing and you suddenly realize you don't know what happens next

For those wondering, I have designed (and am currently creating) my own version of a Mandalorian helmet. She asked me to pick some random colours and bada bing bada boom she whipped this up in, like, less than an afternoon. Please go check her out! She’s got some awesome art as well as some hilarious opinions on whatever takes her fancy!

Here’s to you, @koscheithehunter !!

OHMIGOSH OHMIGOSH OMIGOSH

LOOK WHAT @koscheithehunter MADE ME

IT’S AMAZING

THANKYOU THANKYOU THANKYOU

Helmet - A Mandalorian Story

Author: mae-the-4th

Fandom: The Mandalorian/Star Wars

Timing: A few weeks after Season 1 of The Mandalorian

Warnings: none, just a bunch of fluff and a bit of angst

Author's Note: It's about time I wrote a new story! Felt like doing a Mandalorian one. I hope I do these characters justice. Please feel free to correct anything I may have gotten wrong. Enjoy!

xXxXxXx

The Razor Crest was quiet, the humming of the engines the only noise. The kid was asleep in his box, and Din could finally have a moment to himself.

His helmet stood proudly next to the bowl of soup on the table, silently judging the walls and ceiling of the ship. It's owner sat behind it, bare-headed, sipping soup and thinking over what the Armourer had said just those few weeks back.

She had told him that the Child was a foundling - specifically, his foundling. He would protect it, care for it, perhaps train it someday.

In other words, Din Djarin, fierce Mandalorian warrior, fearing throughout the galaxy, was a father.

Din was certainly familiar with the Mandalorian foundling program - he had been one himself, many years ago. Any child alone and without a family, the Mandalorians would take them in as one of their own, no questions asked.

This is the Way.

Din rubbed his temples and sighed. He had always been aware that he might be in charge of his own foundling one day - but not so suddenly or under such circumstances. Yet he couldn't find any regret or reluctance in him faced with looking after the kid. The womp rat was useful in a tough spot - the fact that Din was sitting in his ship, alive, was proof of that fact. And, yes, the kid was cute. Din could admit he had a soft spot for the green creature, anyone could see that. In a recent hologram transmission with Cara, she had pointed out that exact fact herself.

The almost daily transmissions with Nevarro was a distraction both occupants of the Razor Crest looked forward to. Greef Karga would update Din on the latest events - constantly praising Cara on her job as his enforcer, even though she protested that she was just doing her job. Her modesty was definitely something Din liked about her. Usually, Din and Cara would take up the most time during the transmission, chatting long into the night about recent events, the kid, and past battles. Occasionally, when topics were particularly hard, they would both break out a bottle of spotchka. On one of those nights, Cara had admitted to Din that it was nice to talk about past battles with him. That it brought some sort of closure for her, in a way. After almost no hesitation, Din agreed. He told her that he trusted her, both with his life, and with his past. He told her things that he'd never told anyone before.

He told her about his family. He told her about his life before he put on his helmet.

And Cara, recognising his trust in her, replied with stories of her life on Alderaan. Of her dream to be a healer before she became a killer.

Any time these stories came out into the open, Din slept easy that night, knowing her could trust his comrade, his best friend.

Din sighed again, rubbing the stubble on his chin. It was late, or at least the clock that showed Nevarro time told him it was. Din quickly finished his soup, reaching for his helmet-

And froze. And stared.

The kid stared back.

Din's eyes flickered down to his helmet, the visor accusing. His eye jerked back to the kid, breath hitching. Wide brown eyes flitted over Din's features and his wrinkled forehead furrowed.

An eternity later, Din finally found a way to work his mouth.

"Kid," he croaked. "Um-"

His voice seemed to have jostled the kid from his scrutiny, because the child took a step forward, a big grin on his face and holding out hands to be picked up. Not knowing what to do, Din just stared at him - until he thunked his helmet down onto the table and flopped onto his chair, his head in his hands. Fingers gripped dark hair and Din realised his hands were shaking. The kid toddled over and grabbed his leg.

"Da?"

Din barely heard him. All he could think about was how he had broken his oath - how he betrayed the last few remaining members of his Creed. He had let a living creature see his bare face.

"Da?"

His whole life was now a lie. Every ounce of respect he had worked for was now gone. He could never place his helmet back onto his head. He could never call himself a Mandalorian again.

"Da!"

Din peered through his fingers down at the kid. Tiny arms clung to his leg and he stared up at the man. The grin that was there before had vanished, confusion and worry replacing it. Din slowly reached down and picked the kid up.

"Don't worry about me kid. You shouldn't have to worry. That's my job as a father."

Father.

He was the kid's father.

Din choked back a sudden laugh, a disbelieving smile adorning his face. The kid cocked his head.

"I'm your dad! We're literally family! No rules about helmets there." The kid gurgled. "That means I can put it back on, kid. That means I can still be me." Din looked over at his discarded helmet. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on his kid, hugging him to his chest. The little womp rat smooshed his face into his shoulder in reply, a giggle escaping him. Leaning back and reaching up, Din's kid ran a three-fingered hand over his father's face, feeling the stubble on his chin. His hand moved upwards to the mustache - and pulled.

"Ow!" Din laughed. "That hurts, kid. But honestly, I don't mind much. It's about time you saw the real me."

xXxXxXx

FIN

I LOVE HOW VIRGIL IS PAINTING HIS DAD.

I had to rewind numerous times just to re-watch this bit over and over.

Reckon he’s painting him so that Jeff can hang on the wall next to the rest of them? (behind Virg in that gif)