starman-john-tracy

[starman-john-tracy]

Submerge [RP]

John and Star centric RP with a little Virgil and Gordon for luck. Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

@asteria-star:

Star still can’t feel her leg, which is probably a good thing, but she can’t bring herself to appreciate it as what little blood remains in her drains from her head as she finds herself suddenly upright in a great, gyroscopic woosh. Her pulse thunders in her head and her heart is absolutely hammering at her chest, so fast that - for a moment - she feels as if she can’t breathe. “Let us help, Virgil,” she argues anyway, when the sound of blood rushing in her head clears enough that she can hear herself think. She clings to Gordon for balance and stretches down to retrieve the medical equipment - what looks like the oxygen tank and a whole lot of other stuff her vision won’t focus on - and she hoists it onto her own shoulder before Virgil can even think of trying it himself. The long thin line of tubing means she has to walk close to John, dragging Gordon with her by the arm around his shoulders and resting her spare hand on Virgil’s hip, unsure of how to actually make this better, as if it might help. She feels a little sick, from more than just the bloodloss as she watches Virgil’s face twist.“Where is Scott going to meet us?” She asks, “And can he make it closer?’

Virgil gives her an appraising look, but whatever he sees - be that the determination on her face or simply the fact she’s on two feet - he clearly decides not to argue, as he lets her be. The landscape around them looks genuinely apocalyptic with the column of smoke and flame and the ground blackened, charred rubble; with his ribs most likely broken, Virgil will take all the help he can get to get out of here.

“Scott’s heading over,” Gordon tells her, his voice lower than his usual register, “But that’s gonna take time. The choice is a hike to either Thunderbird Four, which is closer but has less gear, or Two, aboard which we can actually do something for John, and… well, get him to a hospital way faster, if we need to.”

Gordon sounds pretty certain they’ll need to.

Virgil pulls John toward him; his brother a dead very much unconscious weight in his arms and his pale face a dangerous grey. John’s injuries make a firefighter carry unsafe, so Virgil does his best to protect the man’s spine as, instead, he heaves one of John’s floppy arms over his own broad shoulders. He winces as the thick material of his brother’s spacesuit scrapes over the smattering of burns on the back of his neck, where it had been only minimally protected from the explosion.

He takes a breath - it's not as deep as he'd like, but Virgil doesn't dare try for deeper.

He unwinds his second arm from his ribs and slides it under the man’s knees. John, worryingly, doesn’t react - his eyes are closed and his head rests safely, but limply, against his brother’s collarbone, his cheek pillowed on Virgil’s sash as he gets ready to lift him.

It’s a heave of his back and unbend of his knees that he’s done a thousand times, but the searing pain in his side completely whites out Virgil's vision for a moment. He plants his boots and grits his teeth and holds onto his brother something fierce, blinking rapidly to clear the static and trying his best to breathe through it.

“Thought you were gonna pass out there.” That’s Gordon, helpfully, from somewhere around his elbow. “You sure you can do this?”

Virgil’s response is little more than a grunt, but it's more than enough to convey let’s just get the fuck out of here. There's no way in hell he's going to drop John.

#SubmergeRP #<3 <3 <3

[starman-john-tracy]

Hi my close friend I have missed you very much how have you lately x

"Not bad." John decides, then reconsiders, "I've got Alan up here for formal EVA training and he sure is... trying my patience." There's something disparaging in the way he shakes his head, fond but tired, "He's a good kid and a quick study but if he and Eos decide the back of my head needs one more bagel shaped dent, then I'm open to the idea of a sudden inexpiable door failure between the ring and my bedroom."

"It'd be a terrible shame if he had to entertain himself for an hour or two." This he seems to forget he's saying aloud; more a stream of thoughts than anything, "Hmm, it would be nice to have a chance to finish that book..."

[starman-john-tracy]

"Hello! We have been trying to get in contact with you in regards to your car's extended warranty."

"Oh?" The well known fact that John doesn't own a car is a big clue that this is a spam call, though how one made it through Thunderbird Five's rigorous filters he has no idea. "What exactly is the problem with my, uh, car's extended warranty?" He's curious as to where this is going, and John can always pass the call along to the relevant authorities if he plays along, collects data. He'd love to know how, exactly, these kinds of crooks scam little old ladies out of their money.

The call makes him think of Grandpa Grant's vintage Ford, sitting pride of place in the hangars by Brains' workshop - it's the closest thing he has to a car - but it's Scott's name's that's on the insurance, not his, and it'll remain in Scott's until Alan, the Tracy whose shown the most passion for her, is old enough to officially inherit the red beauty. John does wonder if it should have gone back into their Father's name, now that he's home, but honestly there's enough paperwork in bringing a man back from the dead without adding to it.

"Do you think you could provide me with some details?" John does consider, briefly, whether or not 'your car's extended warranty' might be code for something - like how women in nightclubs have specific words that bartenders know to get them out of situations, or how domestic violence has a history of being reported under the guise of ordering a pizza. But he's never heard of any such situations that involve insurance patter.

Either way, maybe it's lucky that it's not in John Tracy's nature to just hang up a call.

#No I'll never get over the Ford Thunderbird in the 2004 movie it's just too funny #take a shot every time Ford is advertised i dare you #anonymous #how long has this been in my inbox it's a mystery #yeet #I'm having a John feeling help

[starman-john-tracy]

Submerge [RP]

John and Star centric RP with a little Virgil and Gordon for luck. Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

@asteria-star:

Star saw Virgil's face twist in pain, deep set creases in the ash and dust on his face. He was asking her if she was okay at the same time, which she personally thought was a stupid combination but... there they were. Her ears were ringing, and she could feel the weight in her eyelids as she blinked sluggishly at him, like unconsciousness was trying to drag her down. She knew she should be responding to him, telling him everything was okay, but she felt as if she was seeing the world on a delay, too much time passing between when things were being said to her and when she was hearing them. Things sharpened with a cold sluice of panic when she heard what he said. "Broke what?" she gasped, barely more than a hoarse whisper, because there was a very big difference between the answer being wrist or back. "Where..." Gordon's voice started to make its way to her ears, loud and frantic and but well trained enough to not quite reach panic. He was yelling at Alan through the com, and telling him - She reached back and smacked Gordon on the leg - the only part of him she could still reach without having to drag her own mangled leg through the dirt again. "Fucking language," she croaked at the blonde, breaking off into great wracking coughs when speaking moved the dust in her lungs around. Her vision went black with the lack of air - and blood an annoying voice in the back of her mind laughed. The world blearily swum back into focus on a close-up view of cracked concrete and a sharp shard of rubble digging into her elbow. She'd doubled over herself, braced on her arms, and slowly, laboriously pushed herself back up to sitting. She still couldn't feel her leg, which she was going to continue considering a good thing. Breathing was starting to become an issue, however - her lungs burned. "We're gonna have to move... can Scott and Alan..." she didn't have her com on her, which was a personality trait she still hadn't managed to shake. "I can help too. We gotta get John out of here, and you."

Gordon snorts at her hypocritical rebuke, before suddenly finding himself with an arm full of ex-convict as Star collapses to the side and he tries his best to slow her fall.

“Virgil?” The kid’s voice pitches higher than he probably intends. He’s trying to coax Star’s leg back out straight, and taking hold of the fingers of her flailing hand in an attempt to provide some stability. The air around them is insanely hot; the gas main still a spluttering inferno of flames, and the ground black, cracked and smoking. Alan had called it unstable, and that could mean anything from surface rubble to a sinkhole - only the urgency makes Gordon fear the latter. “What’s the plan, V?” He asks, before turning to cough roughly into his sleeve, the smoky air is burning his throat and making his eyes sting. He jams his helmet back on one handed, letting the air filters kick in and taking his first deeper, cleaner breath. His other hand is keeping pressure on Star’s leg. “Scott’s crashing his way back to One as we speak, but it’s gonna take him time to get over here, and I don’t like the look of that fire.”

“Star’s right, it’s definitely time to go.” Virgil agrees, breathlessly. He’s got one arm curled tight around his own waist, like that’ll stop anything from shifting. “Urgh- I think I’ve snapped a rib… or two. Fantastic.”

He’d been trying to take John’s pulse with his free hand, his brother having remained alarmingly unresponsive since the explosion, but Virgil’s distracted as he worries how, exactly, they’re going to go about the risky process of moving him. The choice between the possibility of paralysis or the immediate danger of the actively flaming gas man has, for Virgil, only one right answer - get him out alive - but he can’t help but his fear of the former.

After all, what would John’s life even be like if he was permanently disabled, if he was grounded? Virgil feels physically nauseous just considering it.

But, being fit for active duty on Thunderbird Five is no good to John if they get blown up again waiting.

“How many rocks do you think he’d hit on the way if I strap him to the board and try to drag it?” Virgil winces at his own suggestion, and Gordon stares like he's grown a second head. Broken ribs or no, Virgil knows he’s gonna have to carry John. “Right.” Virgil grits his teeth, breathing through them in a way that sounds pained. “I really hope you’ve not messed up your spine Johnny boy because it’s too unstable here to wait for Scott. Gordon, you good with Star?”

“Sure thing big man,” Gordon pulls her wrist over his shoulders - half-dragging her upright with her injured leg on the outside in an attempt to keep her weight shifted towards him and the pressure off it. It’s a less than comfortable manoeuvre. “Ack, sorry.”

#SubmergeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

Just A Little EVA - [RP with @asteria-star]

asteria-star:

Star is still grumbling as she places the helmet over her head, listening to the hiss of the rim sealing to the collar of her uniform. John is looking at her strangely, but she can’t work out why with enough confidence to do anything other than raise an eyebrow at him. “What are we even doing, anyway?” Star asks as John holds up tools and names them for her. She’s always been good at memory games, and runs it through her head, to try and remember the names of each tool rather than worrying about the vast expanse of space that will be one thin tether away from swallowing her whole once she’s on the other side of the airlock. They don’t even make it to the airlock before the tightness of her chest morphs into a steel-tight vice grip. Panic. She knows it’s panic. Star clenches her fists at her sides in the hopes that John can’t see them shaking and forces out a deep breath. It’ll be fine. John is there, John won’t let anything happen to her. And Brain’s is nerd enough to make the safety margins a mile wide on the Thunderbirds, so really, there’s nothing to worry about. The panic doesn’t ease. “I’m expecting to be able to pick the movie tonight after this,” Star tells him, hoping it still comes across with her usual level of blade. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

@starman-john-tracy:

At her raised eyebrow, John suddenly becomes very interested in the airlock hatch they're approaching. Long, blue-clad fingers muscle memory their way over the keypad and there’s a hiss of air to indicate that the hatch is filling with oxygen. Good to know that they won’t subject the whole station to vacuum as they exit. John’s noticed that she dodged his question about what she’d been reading, and he decides that, perhaps, if she doesn’t want to tell him then he's better off not knowing. John laughs at her request for a movie though, the sound warm and fond. He offers her a hand to help guide her into the airlock, and he’s much more graceful without gravity than she’ll perhaps ever be. It’s like he was born to be up here. Perhaps he was. “Sure thing,” He shrugs weightlessly, “pick’s yours.” With four brother’s it’s very rare that he ever gets to choose what they put on anyway. There’s a reason John spent most of his formative years with his head buried in a book and that reason wasn’t just Grandpa Grant’s farming weekly. “Just no horror movies, ok?” He requests. John gets enough calls with situations that are real life thrillers, and there’s plenty of jumpscares trying to calculate which of his brother’s is going to fling himself off something he shouldn’t next. The airlock finishes filling with air with a shgung sckhck of the metal clamps being released, and John turns to check the display of suit sensors at her wrist, green across the board, seals tight, before he starts to cycle the airlock. “Depressurising now.” He tells her, and the process is so quick thanks to Brains’ ingenuity, that the hatch spirals itself open only seconds later, the motion not unlike the aperture of a camera lens. Star seems nervous at his side, and John can’t help the sliver of guilt he feels over that. Still, she’s got to keep those skills sharp to stay up here, and without using them, that’s not possible. “I got you.” His voice sounds just that little bit tinny through the helmet speakers, and it’s weird that she can’t feel the warmth of his hand at her elbow as he guides them both out of the airlock and into open space - the thin cord of their tethers the only thing keeping them from sliding off into the endless, empty black.

#JustALittleEVA #Part2

[starman-john-tracy]

Submerge [RP]

John and Star centric RP with a little Virgil and Gordon for luck. Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

@asteria-star:

Star scowls grumpily at the both of them as Gordon manhandles her into his lap. Virgil is talking to her in a flurry of medical jargon she understands but chooses to ignore, and watches as he injects the local into her leg. She waits until he looks away and pokes curiously at the numb part of her leg, fascinated by the not-feeling next to torn flesh, feeling a little like she’s drunk with the way her head is swimming. It doesn’t take long for Virgil to catch her and slap her hand away with a disgruntled tsk, recruiting Gordon with a look and before she can blink her arms are pinned to her chest by the arms wrapped around her. She doesn’t much care for the staples being placed in her flesh and instead cranes her head over her and Gordon’s shoulders, looking for John. She worms one of her arms free, and know Gordon is watching what she does with it and she reaches awkwardly backwards for the astronauts grey face. She runs her blue tinged fingertips over his pale cheekbones, watching his ginger lashes flicker. Bloodloss and the angle have her arm aching with fatigue, her whole body aching, and she instead goes searching for his hand. She finds it, entwines their fingers together, and- The world goes out with a bang. Star thinks she stays awake, watching from afar as smoke and debris swirls around her. Her ears are ringing, and she’s aware she’s lying down, Gordon’s arms wrapped around her even tighter as she blinks dust out of her eyes. The ground is rumbling so hard that Star is momentarily worried the world will fall out from under them. Star rolls off Gordon’s groaning body, coughing cement dust out of her lungs with tears streaming down her face. She can hear someone else groaning too, and finds Virgil struggling to his hands and knees. John’s oxygen mask is still in place on his face, and he seems mostly free of dust which honestly seems like a miracle, but Virgil… “Hey,” Star rasps around her dust-coated throat, crawling on her hands and knees to where he is groaning. She reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, against his neck, trying to get his attention. “You okay? What happened?”

@starman-john-tracy:

It's almost unbearably hot. Dust hangs heavy and cloying in the air, sticking to the moisture of Virgil’s tongue and coating his lashes. Everything is covered by a thick layer of grit, and, as Virgil shifts to one side with a pained groan, a cascade of the rubble he’d been peppered with tumbles off him like it’s own miniature earthquake. Everything feels hot and whirling and Virgil's gloved fingers curl in the dirt like he's holding onto the planet itself to try to stop it spinning. His eyes are burning, big fat tears streaming down both cheeks as he tries furiously to blink out the grit. The heat of the fire, a veritable wall of flame that's gone up to the west of them where the gas main must have been, is immense. A black column of smoke billows thirty feet into the sky, turning the air thick and black and acrid. Virgil chokes on a cough that rapidly morphs into what feels like his lungs trying to stuff themselves up his throat, and his side sears with it. One hand goes up to check the left of his ribcage for shrapnel because it feels like he’s been stabbed, only there’s no wound beneath his fingers. He can't seem to take a deep enough breath regardless. "Urngh..." He groans, exceptionally eloquent. He’s trying to get his feet under him and failing miserably. John’s tucked close against him, so he knows he’s safe, but- "Everyone OK? Gordy? Star?" Star’s hand lands, cool, against the back of his hot, burned, neck, and one of his own, big gloved ones fumbles for her wrist, the other hand clamped to his left side. His teeth scrape over his tongue, trying to get rid of some of the thick, cloying grit in his mouth. The air is thick with grey dust, so even without his eyeballs full of dirt, Virgil thinks the visibility would be shite. “You hurt?” Christ, he sounds rough, but it seems unfair to compare when she’s just dragged her bloody, managed leg across the dirt to check on him. “I think I broke something." There's something hot and wet on his top lip, and he goes to wipe it away, only the back of his glove comes back bloody. How hard had he smacked his face on the ground? Virgil tries to guide Star into sitting back, getting pressure off that leg. He makes a quick, bleary assessment of his unfinished staples amongst the freshly pooling blood and doesn’t like what he just-about-sees at all. They need to at least wash some of this grit off or she's going to end up with an infection. Virgil goes to say so, only to choke on another cough instead. The heat all around them feels oppressive. "-king gas main!" A string of swear words from somewhere to his left is reassurance enough that Gordon is OK. "Where the hell was the warning, Alan!?!" The kid pops up, scuffed suit, face filthy and bloodied from a scrape across his cheekbone but, like Star and John, it looks like Virgil had protected him from the worst of it. Thinking of John; he's been too quiet, and if Virgil’s learned anything from being with International Rescue, it's that the quiet ones are the worst off. "We've gotta get out of here." Virgil gasps, "Gords," He reaches for his little brother, then draws back wincing when his ribs screams their protest. "Nngh, I don't think I can carry the stretcher..."

#Submerge RP #Why is editable reblogs brokeeeennnn #a crime #<3 #hope this is ok i only edited it 2975893279822 times

[starman-john-tracy]

Just A Little EVA [RP with @asteria-star]

starman-john-tracy:

“It’s just a little EVA.” John’s reassuring smile is interrupted as he tugs his helmet on over his head, fastidiously checking the seal around his throat as he does. “It’s gonna be a quick out and in, I just need an extra pair of hands while I make the hatch repair.” He knows full well that she hates going outside the ship but he could really use someone to watch his back… and hand him the right tools. “Come on.” He slaps her helmet against her palms, “It’s time to put some of that training we’ve given you to use," a grin creeps onto his face, "Freeloader.”

asteria-star​:

“What training,” Star grumbles under her breath, peering sulkily up at the taller man while jamming her own helmet over her head. “I don’t know if it counts as training if I just show up and figure it out as I go.” Training or not, she’s been outside of Thunderbird Five - in SPACE, which still makes her want to run away - more than a few times by now, and no matter how much she hates it, she is getting used to it. Rather than a heart-stopping plunge of terror it's mellowed out into a begrudging requirement, like going to the doctor or the dentist. Even the uniform is growing on her, though no one will ever hear those words pass her lips. “I’m glad you have confidence in my ability to identify tools, because I do not.” She said, and pats John firmly between the shoulder blades to let him know she’s joking. Kind of.

starman-john-tracy:

“I’ll have to start colour coding them.” John seems to pointedly ignore her comment about the training she’s received. He’s well aware she’s not a fan and if she’s taking all his little corrections and notes as something else, then that’s probably a good thing. Basic sims had been a compulsory minimum requirement of her placement on his Thunderbird, but John had got the impression from the one time she’d ever, scathingly, mentioned it, that he should have run them with her himself. The few weeks prior to their first meeting Star had been stuck in a GDF hyperbaric spacelab attempting to complete trials that, John gets the impression, essentially equated to trying out all the ways you could die. Auntie Casey had been thorough, and John’s not sure that getting yeeted out of a virtual airlock without a helmet is even his idea of a good time. No wonder Star had made a… surly first impression. Still, she’d come out of it with septicemia and a rudimentary space license, and John’s done his best to give her more practical, day to day training ever since. He had been surprised how necessary ‘please don’t open the airlock without cycling the other side’ had been though. Things change around quickly on his 'bird, between his and Brains’ tinkering, and keeping her knowledge fresh and up to date is important to him, however much she might grumble about it. Besides, there’s no way he’d have agreed to having her up here without making sure she’s got enough knowledge to keep herself safe. He’s been on the rescue end of too many uneducated astronauts to find such a thing acceptable here. The name Langstrom Fischler still brings him out in stress hives. “Torque wrench, pliers, spare wires, transistor, crocodile clips-” He’s made her up a little kit bag, with velcro tethers for all the tools, and it’s abundantly clear as he holds it out for her to take that he was never intending to go out alone. Space is always safer with a buddy to spot your six, after all. “It won’t be long, and then you can go back to that book you were reading. What’s it about anyway?” He hopes he isn’t going to regret his curiosity. He also hopes that his discomfort when thinking about her training doesn't show on his face. John’s well aware of her natural reluctance when it comes to life up here, and it’s always made him uncomfortable that the GDF’s idea of the perfect imprisonment for her had been his home. It worries him, sometimes, that his own attempt at her training might come across as torture too.

#JustALittleEVA #lemmie know if you want me to edit this bab it's ramblyyyyy

[starman-john-tracy]

asteria-star​:

Submerge [RP]

Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

Star is plunged into a world of black and starburst when Gordon heaves her to her feet, and for a moment she’s teetering so close to the edge of unconsciousness that she can’t honestly tell whether or not she remains awake the whole time. The blood - what little remains in her - drains away from her head in a rush so sudden it feels like it’s gushing from her body.

Maybe it is.

She looks blearily down and sees a puddle of red at her feet before Gordon drags her away from it, fat droplets spattering from the gash in her thigh.“My leg…” she murmurs half-heartedly, as though she hadn’t really decided if she wanted to raise the matter.

Without her noticing, Gordon has half-coaxed, half-dragged her the few staggered steps back to where John was laid out, though Star couldn’t quite bring her blurry memories to form how, exactly, she had ever moved away from him. Virgil’s lips were moving silently, but Star’s unable to match any words to his tone.

Distracted by their discussion of the gas leak, Gordon’s grip on her arm loosens, and Star lets herself fall to her knees beside John’s pale form. She doesn’t even feel the collision of her kneecaps on the jagged concrete - her pulse is hammering hard in her throat and the absent, vague anxiety from earlier back in full force and thrumming through her veins with the need to move.

“Whoa, Whoa!” Virgil’s big fingers abandon holding the oxygen mask down over John’s face to try and grab Star before she hits the concrete, but he isn’t quite fast enough. Blood splatters in the dirt and Virgil’s chest feels like it seizes. “Hey, hey,” He grabs her waist to keep her upright, and slaps lightly at her cheek when that fails to draw her focus. “Gordon?” Little brother looks guilty, but he’s dropped to a crouch beside them and has taken over holding the O2 mask over John's lax face. “Is all this blood new?” Virgil gently takes her arm, trying to turn Star toward him to get a better look at the wound.

“She seemed alright.” Gordon is frowning, peering over at the both of them as Virgil guides her down to sit. “I thought it was just her hand, but that is a lot of- oh.” Virgil has pulled apart the bloodied tear in her suit to reveal the jagged, five inch gash that’s been slashed through her skin. He probes carefully around it, and his fingers instantly look like he’s dipped them in a well of dark red ink. “Yikes.” Gordon sucks air in through his teeth. “Hope you’ve had your tetanus shot.”

“Not the time.” Virgil sounds unnaturally harried, busy guiding her onto her ass and getting the bloodied leg laid out straight. “Hold still, I’m gonna quickly patch this up so we can get out of here, alright?” They do not want to be hanging around with a leaking gas main.

Quick and efficient, Gordon loops his spare arm under one of Star’s, locking his forearm around her ribs, and setting his shoulder to her back to keep her still as possible as Virgil irrigates the wound with sterile water.

"Sorry," He apologises under his breath, ever so soft, "I'm gonna patch you up in a sec, but this is half a shot of oxycodone for the pain," He's syringing a measurement from the bottle as he speaks, "I don't wanna give you the whole thing because we've got a better chance of getting out of here with you conscious." He flashes her a weak smile, delivers the shot, then loads up a second needle, "This is lidocaine," He explains, "Because I don't think you want me putting you back together without a local to numb it. There," he withdraws the needle, "give that thirty seconds to kick in."

Gordon chatters a bunch of nonsense in her ear while Virgil clicks a field cartridge of surgical staples into the delivery gun.

“Think you guys will be able to fit on the backboard together?” He’s trying to distract her, as much as to get a plan in place for getting out of here. It’s not a bad idea; John’s not conscious enough to complain about a lack of his favourite kind of space (personal), after all.

It's lucky she can't see Gordon's face - twisted up in a wince as Virgil pinches her wound shut and lays the metal delivery end against it.

"Ready?" Virgil sucks in a breath and counts down, "Three, two-" and sneakily fires it before he can get to one.

It's on the third staple that something clicks, grinds and jams inside the gun. Virgil frowns, smacks the thing against his palm a few times, and then makes one of the worst mistakes of his life by trying to use it again.

The resulting spark from metal on stuck metal ignites and Virgil’s eyes go wide. In one motion he's shoved Star down, grabbed Gordon by the bandelier, and thrown himself over John’s still body - all before he can process that he’s even moved. One big hand flies up to cradle the back of the spaceman's head, forcing it into his chest as Virgil desperately tries to shield his injured brother from the blast as the gas main ignites.

The explosion punches into his eardrums seconds before it slams into his body. 

Everything goes hot and white and searingly blank.

Virgil feels like he's the one who's been thrown underwater - like he’s floating, directionless in fiery nothing and he can’t find the way up. But then heat rushes over his back and, like a cork shooting to the surface, everything rips back into focus with an excruciating clarity. They’re being peppered with remnants of the explosion -  falling chunks of concrete and rebar and a thick, gritty layer of dust that mixes with the smoke and fire soot and threatens to bury them. Bigger pieces of debris bounce off the ground, off Virgil’s back, and scatter around them. He’s sure he should try to move them, try to get out of the way, but, regardless, Virgil finds he’s frozen; stuck curled over his brother’s still body like a solidified victim of Pompeii. He can’t move, even as gravel bites into his forehead where it’s shoved down over John’s shoulder and his fingers dig hard into the dirt.

Virgil’s ears are ringing - his pulse drumming into his brain like a jackhammer.

 He chokes on the concrete dust coating on his tongue.

“Is- ugh-” He tries to cough his lungs clear, “I… Nngh, is e-everyone alr-?”

Virgil thinks he cries out then, as something bigger strikes him hard across the back, but he’s not certain because all sound has begun to blur together. The dusty air he drags back into his lungs tastes like panic.

“Gord-?” Squinting through the smoke, he finds there's a blue-clad body sprawled to his left: Gordon’s been thrown flat on his back, Star half sprawled on top of him, but Virgil isn’t too worried because he can hear the kid groaning into his Comm, cursing something Grandma would wash his mouth out for. Still, Virgil has bigger things to worry about because John hasn’t moved.

He tries to sit up, ready to scurry off his brother, only the world swings wildly around him; Virgil’s head suddenly ever so light. His ears won’t stop ringing, and he reaches up to try and cover them, trying to stop it, only something in his chest pulls, robbing him of breath as a blinding pain rips through his right side.

He tries to breathe in but can't - he just ends up coughing on the smoke and dust in the air. Virgil feels like he’s shattering in a million different ways, and he gropes blindly for his side to assess the damage, his eyes stinging, trying to find the source of the debilitating stabbing that’s piercing through his back and travelling all the way round his ribcage, up his right shoulder and down the arm he’s trying to support his weight on.

Broken ribs, fantastic.

#ironically this has no John POV whatsoever bc the boi is OUT #oops? XD #this is a bit long hope its ok <3 #SubmergeRP #I have not beta read this as well as I would normally #let me know if i've made any mistakes or if it sounds weird <3 #this is a small essay #tw:injury #tw:fire #tw:Virgil having a bad time #idk

[starman-john-tracy]

asteria-star​:

Submerge [RP]

Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

Star stares at Gordon, the image of him swimming before her eyes and her mind hazy and her ears still wringing. She he’s saying something to her about her feelings that she forces herself not to care about and something about John that she very much does. 

He’s okay. He’s okay. 

For now. 

The last thought crosses her mind before she can think to stop it and her brow furrows as she scowls. She looks at John, calming down by Virgil’s knees, just in case Gordon was lying to her, but it doesn’t seem like he was. She tears her gaze away to look at the choppy bay - wild, but not an issue - and back over the plain of rubble stretching out before them. She’s turning her head frantically in search of trouble, her heart rate ratcheted up a notch in a way that feels so much more real than the panic she now realises had taken over before. 

Gordon’s hands are on her - trying to hold her still? She shoves him away, refusing to feel bad when he topples over with the added momentum. She doesn’t have time for feeling bad about it regardless because she’s coughing around her crackling lungs and black dots are eating away at her vision. 

Something is wrong. She knows it, but she can’t see why - she needs to see why. 

Star takes a shallow breath that she stubbornly refuses to let become another round of coughing. Her brain is still fuzzy and thick and useless. She digs sharp fingers into the ache in her thigh instead, pain lancing through her with enough razor clarity to chase away the looming threat of unconsciousness. 

What is wrong? Why can’t she find it?

Her ears are still ringing- 

No they’re not. It’s too much of a hiss to be ringing, Star’s had enough concussions to be sure of that and she hadn’t even hit her head this time. She can feel a faint rumble in the ground around her. 

Shit. 

“Did we find-” She shouts, breaking off into another coughing fit before she can finish her sentence. Really, she knows she’s shouting to John, even though he’s in no position to answer… asking anyone else for help just feels wrong. The others are welcome to share their thoughts if they have any.

“Did we find the gas main?”

Mid-complaint about being shoved on his ass, Gordon Tracy stills.

“Wait, gas main?” His eyes go very wide, very quickly. “You were looking for a-” His head jerks left, then right; if his ears could have literally pricked up, they would have done - something is hissing. Ignoring her protests, Gordon grabs Star’s wrist and heaves her arm up over his shoulders, dragging her to his side - his 200 and something pounds of International Rescue muscle won’t let her push him away this time.

“Virgil!” He yells, panic pitching his voice several octaves higher than it should be. “I’m thinking we might need to move, like, now!”  Even as he says it, he's dragging Star back toward the both of them, grabbing one of the the fabric loops on the backboard he'd dropped when he found them as he goes, dragging it with them over to John.

"Gordon,” Virgil doesn’t look up from where he's holding John's spine still as his brother struggles to perform the breathing pattern he's being coached in. “Gordon, John is not stable enough to move." His voice is tight with worry, and John’s eyelids are half lidded, his lips still blueish, and he doesn’t react much to Gordon’s voice. "Look, there's still fluid in his lungs." Virgil runs his free hand helplessly backward through his own hair, dirtying it with shaking fingers, his helmet long discarded. "Gordon, BP is 140 over 90. BPM is up at 86 and you know, you know, John usually runs low." The line of tension down Virgil's own spine looks painful, even as he waves a preoccupied hand at the backboard. "Strapping him to that could lead to him dry drowning, we can’t-"

"Not a good idea to hang around bro,” Gordon’s almost vibrating on the spot, “I think the gas main these guys were searching for is leaking. Can't you smell it?"

Virgil goes white.

Because now it's mentioned, yes, he can almost taste the mercaptan they use to give gas that strong sulfur-like smell. John makes an awful, pained little noise and Virgil’s hand tightens on his brother’s shoulder.

"There’s no choice.” Gordon sucks in a breath through his teeth, urgent. “A single spark and-” He swallows thickly. “Four is over the ridge, but she’s limited in space and medical supplies and the evac tubes aren’t exactly going to help, so...”  He’s chewed his bottom lip red. “Are we gonna get him to Thunderbird Two, or... or do we need to get him to somewhere flat and call in an Ambo?" 

#SubmergeRP #whUP #Boom! a sudden reply appeared! #turns out if you pester me enough i do actually write things XD #thankyou <3

[starman-john-tracy]

asteria-star​:

Submerge [RP]

Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

Star shakes her head, dripping wet swaths of hair drifting before her blurring eyes and stuck to her pale forehead. Her eyes are burning, tears building until they drip hot tracks down her cheeks.

“I can’t tell you…” she assures Gordon. She can see John over his shoulder, and can hear him and Virgil muttering enough to know he’s alive. 

“He’s okay…” she murmurs to herself, and then Gordon’s warm fingers are clasped around hers, drawing her hand into his orbit. She looks down, sees the blood on her pale fingers, and further sees the red puddle she’s sitting in, legs splayed awkwardly like a fallen colt. She can feel the sea water stinging her thigh, salt in the wound, and shuffles uncomfortably.

“He’s okay?”

“That’s ok. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Gordon gives her wrist a little reassuring squeeze, smiling softly. “I just think it helps to talk about stuff you get stuck on.” He’s almost finished with the bandage - tight to prevent blood-loss, but not so tight it harms her circulation.

“John’ll be fine.” He reassures, pulling off his helmet with his free hand so he can comb his fingers backward through his hair. It stands upright in slightly sweaty peaks, strands curled together like a whippy ice-cream. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks, giving her a cautious look over. There’s a layer of grime and dust clinging to her and that combined with all the blood from her hand that’s everywhere, it’s pretty hard to tell. She’s soaked and shivering. They need to get out of here stat. 

Gordon gives her wrist another reassuring squeeze, then lets it go to wrap a mylar blanket around her shoulders - bringing her hands up for her, to let her clutch at it, keeping it in place. He stands swiftly then, offering her a hand up.

#SubmergeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

wait that means.... tbirds IS ALSO 8?!?!??! When did that happen omg

seriously tho, thank each and every one of you whose written with me over the years, I love y’all, you’re amazingggggg <3

#Happy 8th Year TAG fans #omgggg #how does 2015 feel like a centuary go and yet #also like #five minutes ????? #Thunderbirds #Thunderbirds Are Go #I made this blog around when Eos came out #bc that cemented J boy as my fav #and then y'all were doomed to my John content ever since XDD #have to say i've learned an awful lot about space in there 8 years and it's entirely his fault #and he'd be so damn pleased about that

[starman-john-tracy]

"A medkit...?"

There was silence on the radio, indicating that she was looking around but a sigh soon broke the silence.

"It's on the other side of the cockpit.. I'd get it, but my head's pounding- Feels like someone is tap dancing along my skull.."

A dry chuckle, followed by a slight groan of pain escaped her mouth, but she shook her head to rid of the gnawing pain.

"Legs up, head back.." That should be easy enough to follow, right?

"Ah! That's ok. Don't get up." John's voice is warm, reassuring and level - he's calm under the mounting time pressure presented by the prospect of his patient bleeding out, his long fingers busy flicking through the launch sequence of his pod. "You just stay where you are," the pod's engine roars to life and John pilots her smoothly out of the airlock. "I'm on my way."

"Let me know if the pain gets any worse." He requests, "Or if you start to feel dizzy while laying down. Hey, keep talking to me, yeah? Why don't you tell me something about yourself." It'll keep her mind off the pain, and it'll be a good indicator to John as to how conscious she is. "Are you, ah, a fan of baking then?"

For a man whose job is communications, John Tracy is traditionally terrible at small talk, but somehow it comes so much more naturally to him when the other person is hanging on to his every word, in need of his help.

If only some of the students at his science lectures had a little more of that interest.

#PieceOfCakeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

asteria-star​:

Submerge [RP]

Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

The buzzing in Star’s head is starting to separate out into individual sounds - background noise she can pull apart into the sound of water lapping serenely and Virgil’s voice and John’s lungs turning themselves inside out. All she can see, though, is Gordon.

Star is very familiar with the way he is holding himself, even through the burning hot of her eyes that she refuses to consider is tears, she can tell he’s trying to keep her from seeing something. John sounds like he’s choking, and Star supposed it’s that.

‘I can’t tell you…’ Star starts to murmur to the blonde Tracy, not quite sure why she’s saying anything at all, not with the remnants of past murders playing behind her eyes and threatening to spill from her lips. She still feels as if she’s not there, as if she’s not in her own body, and so she clenched her fits at her side, unable to tell if she’s picking up fistfuls of dirt of shards of rubble.

But Gordon looks tense - Star can see it in his face and shoulders and the way he is trying to smile at her. Concern wells in her, in a way that almost makes her laugh for all the trouble it has gotten her in. The only times John had yelled at her were when her habit of dragging herself through shards of glass to save someone else from a paper cut reared it’s head. Despite John’s best attempts, it was not a habit she ever intended to shake.

‘Are you okay?’ She asks Gordon’s pale face, and feels her eyes drift woozily over his shoulder. ‘Is John okay?’

“Of course you can tell me.” Gordon’s voice drops into ever so soft, twin tadpole eyebrows pinched with empathy, “You can talk to me about anything, I- I know I’m not John or anything but, well, it’s me, yeah? I aint gonna judge you, especially for-” and he’s taking an educated guess here, “Stuff that happened before you met us.”

Ever so gently, slow enough that she can pull away if she wants to, Gordon wraps a loose thumb and finger around the wrist of her injured hand and gently pulls her toward him. She looks like she needs a hug, and, second to Virgil, Gordon knows his are the best.

“Good question.” He replies about John, then calls out, “Still alive over there Johnny?” He gets a pointed groan in response from the man himself, and Gordon relaxes just a little with the knowledge that his brother is conscious enough to be responding. “He just breathed in a bit of water, Virgil’s just helping him get it out his lungs.” He tells her, then, giving her wrist a gentle squeeze, “Can I bandage this? If you bleed out and die on me, John’s gonna be real mad.”

John is busy working his way through Virgil’s torture breathing exercise. 

“Yeah, that’s it J, that looks like the last of it.” And it better bloody be because John thinks he’s going to breathe up a lung if Virgil makes him try to do it again.

John opens his mouth to comment as much, only to close it quickly, his face rapidly turning gray.

"Johnny?"

John swallows convulsively, his eyes now closed.

"M'al-alright." He insists, breathing shakily through his teeth, "Just… k'na nauseous."

"If you need to throw up again, go for it." Virgil lingers anxiously, "You took in a lot of water, it's not gonna do any good going through you."

John just weakly shakes his head.

"Think m'good," He waves a suspiciously limp hand, "check on Star."

"Gordon's got her." Virgil reminds him softly, "just focus on yourself for a minute for me J."

#SubmergeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

"Umm..."

The woman raised her left hand to her head to investigate the damage, wincing from the pain, then looked at her hand to look at it, a low laugh coming from her.

"Hard enough to make me bleed. But the pain is a six. It has been steadily growing, however.."

"Ok." John stays calm and collected, eyes sharp and assessing even as he gears himself up, double-checking his sash for everything he might need. A Tracy is nothing if not prepared. "Have you got any kind of med kit up there with you? Anything you can use to put some pressure on that headwound?" Bandages would be best, but any old cloth scrap could help slow the bleeding. The cleanliness of it comes second to keeping blood inside the person.

"If you're not sitting, can you do so for me? Feet up." That'll help blood stay closer to more vital organs, give them more time. The ship looks like it has artificial gravity, in the least, as most ships do these days, so that should keep most of the blood where it needs to be. "Rest your head on something if you can."

"Tracy Island." He turns aside to call through and appraise them of the situation, "Exopod is go."

#PieceOfCakeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

asteria-star​:

Submerge [RP]

Content Warning: Injury, Blood, Near-Drowning

Star is… confused, to say the least. She knows she’s on a rescue, but from a more academic level than true memory. It had been as if the time between her being a child in a gang and an adult sitting in soggy ruins hadn’t existed moments ago, but had suddenly come crashing back into her brain in a jumble of tangled years.

She looks down at herself, seeing the blood soaking into her clothes, and can’t help the disinterested oh that crosses her mind. She’s shaking, can still taste her pulse in the back of her throat, still feels like she’s being watched.

Her mouth opens of its own accord, lips formed around an explanation, an excuse, before she catches herself on the realization that she shouldn’t be telling two of the three Tracy brothers in front of her what that had been about.

The only one she would consider telling isn’t in any state to hear.

“Sorry,” she murmurs instead, trying to peer around Gordon, “Sorry, about- is John…. He fell in.”

“I noticed.” Gordon quirks an eyebrow. “Virgil’s got him. You know he’s safe with Virg, yeah?” His wary crouch becomes a kneel, keeping firmly between her and his injured brother - the thought of John, lying there so clearly badly injured is provoking a terrified rising, anxious feeling in his chest (huh, it feels like a hydrofoil crushing him... that’s interesting) so he’s trying real hard to not think about it.

“That looks like it must hurt, huh?” Gordon holds out a hand for her bloodied one, waiting for her to trust him with it, compression bandage ready in the other hand. “Gimmie, gimmie... now what is going on in that head of yours, S?”

Behind them, Virgil’s got one big hand supporting the back of John’s head as he holds the tube in the other, suctioning gross, foamy water from the man’s lungs. Suddenly John jerks, limbs scuffing helplessly against concrete, and Virgil has to pull the tube from this throat fast to beat the rise of water that coming out of his mouth.

It leaves John gasping, his chest heaving in air again. Breathing. Breathing! A flush of pink floods back into the spaceman’s cheeks as he wheezes and Virgil feels like he can finally breathe himself again. That’s better.

“Alright John.” Big fingers give his brother’s nape a reassuring squeeze, the fine, wet hairs slippy under his fingers, “That’s it. You’re alright.” 

To Virgil’s surprise, John’s lashes flutter weakly in response to his voice, or perhaps the pain, but either way blue-green eyes open to slivers. 

“John?” Virgil tries, cautious. John’s eyes slide sightlessly around, his world the blurry and out-of-focus. He blinks heavily. Ginger brows scrunch in confusion. “Hey there.” Virgil squeezes again, prompting. “You with me, J?” John doesn’t really respond as such, but there must be some level of awareness to him because he groans as Virgil moves to grab an oxy-mask and fit it over his face.

"That's it, John slow deep breaths." He encourages, heart beginning to soar as John visibly tries to comply. “Good. Yeah, you got it. Think if I talk you through the steps we take for pleural effusion, you can clear your lungs?” John’s fingers curl uncontrollably in the soil and Virgil takes that as a yes whether it is or not. If there’s fluid left in his lungs, they’re looking at pneumonia at the least and dry drowning at worst. Virgil has a haunting suspicion that, had Gordon arrived any later, that’s exactly what would have happened. As is, it looks... close.

He doesn't want to think about it. Focus on the now.

“Inhale slowly- Ah! Slower,” He directs, as John visibly struggles to do as he’s told, “Keep going, fill up as much of your lungs as you can.” His brother’s lips go white, pressed together, as he inhales through his nose. His face is scrunchy and pale with pain, his chest shuddery as he tries to force it to comply. “Yeah, that’s good, now hold your breath for three seconds. One, two... uh, close enough,” One of John’s legs kicks weakly, scudding over some bloodied rubble, but Virgil is, at least, confident that it’s not coming from him, “now exhale about one fourth of your air.” It’s a bit too precise for John to follow first time and his face greys fully with the effort of trying to hold at least some of the air in. “Good, now I need you to cough forcefully on the next count of three, blow out as much air as you can,” And hopefully any remaining water will come with it. “Ready? Three, two, one-”

He pulls the oxygen mask away and John makes a horrible, raspy attempt at coughing, his sternum jerking under the force of it, like he’s choking. He’s unable to curl up to compress the painful pressure in his chest because Virgil is holding him still. But it seems to work.

“That’s it John! That’s it!”

The astronaut gasps for air after, all short little puffs, but his lips are shiny and wet.

Virgil squeezes his nape and demands;

“Again.”

#SubmergeRP #whuP

[starman-john-tracy]

"Aside from hitting my head from the take off, I'm fine. I managed to strap myself in before hitting the upper stratosphere."

The woman couldn't help the nervous laugh considering that she was a tad bit scared, but she grew quiet about how long it'd take to get to Mars.

"I screwed up badly... I forgot the eggs.. The bad news doesn't sound all that bad, though. So uhh... How are you going to save me?"

"Ouch." John expresses, sympathetically, "How hard did you hit your head?" Even as he's grabbing the medkit, and checking he's fully suited up for spaceflight, he's starting to wonder if he's dealing with an astronaut with a bad concussion. Why else would they think they were on a craft full of cake mix.

Unless they are but then, that makes little sense.

"Could you give me an estimate of your pain, scale of one to ten? I'm taking the Exopod out to get you."

#PieceOfCakeRP

[starman-john-tracy]

Happy Easter my special friend 🐣😊

"Happy Easter!" Someone appears to have given John an egg crown.