#astrawrite

[astranite]

Limp

John and Virgil!!! The whole range of hurt/comfort, angsting and fluff though leaning rather towards comforty. Scott also sneaks in for a good bit at the end. And there are hugs. Also there is autistic John and Virgil which it isnt about but its very there :)

This started off from the first line from a tumblr prompt from @aliceinwhumperland and the idea from @katblu42 to have John being the one limping then it grew from there!!! Minor warning for injury and medical stuff. Also that this reached 6k words!!

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"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” he replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out. 

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him. 

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring. 

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp. 

Virgil’s disappointment was another blow. “And here I thought I had one sensible brother. How did it happen?”

Mechanism of injury, a completely ordinary question for a medic to ask. One he’d compliantly answered for many accidents, even ridiculous earthside ones such as, ‘Fell over again and it’s all gravity’s fault.’ But up here he was meant to be in his element. 

John crossed his arms stubbornly, wobbling on one foot. 

“Couldn’t say.”

“Johnny.” Virgil was exasperated by now. 

“Definitely not telling you anything if you call me that.”

“Johnathan Glenn Tracy.”

“Nope. That’s not even my name.”

“John.”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” John spat. 

Virgil looked taken aback. 

A lump rose in John’s throat. 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day.” 

He could feel his face growing as red as his hair with shame. It would definitely be visible over holograms. To make it worse, Virgil was probably as exhausted as he was. The last rescue had been nasty, earthquakes so often were, and Thunderbird Two had been on several more before that. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with John’s sarcastic, bitchy attitude as well. 

John admitted defeat and hopped over to the wall to hold onto a grab bar to keep his balance and take the weight off his foot. And resisted the urge to bang his head against it because that sort of thing had gotten him into this mess in the first place. 

His foot was throbbing, Virgil’s expression was soft because he’d already forgiven him and John was just over it all. 

“Please promise you won’t laugh.” He couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else, no matter how unlikely it was that Virgil would. 

“Alright, I promise. I’m not going to judge you, John.”

“I kicked a wall,” John mumbled, “On purpose, because I got mad that the bagel dispenser wasn’t working and a call came in so there was no time to fix it and I couldn’t sleep last night and I’m stressed about literally everything and just wanted a fucking bagel but clearly that was too much to ask of the universe!”

John shut his mouth with a clack. The words had come out in a torrent rising in volume that he couldn’t hold back. Over such a stupid thing too. 

When John could finally  bring himself to glance up from the stars beneath the floor outside, Virgil’s gaze held nothing but empathy. 

“You’re right, it has been a pretty shit day.”

John nodded quietly. 

Virgil continued, “Just— John, you know you don’t have to hide stuff like that from us, from me, right?  We’ve all done stupid things in anger before and probably will do so again. That big, blue splodge of paint on my studio wall? Yeah, I chucked a paintbrush at it because a painting wasn’t working out and I was frustrated and it was three am after a string of bad rescues and I lost it a bit.”

Huh. John hadn’t known that. Virgil was usually least likely to blow up as far as it went. 

“Point is, you’re not alone in this. Tracy temper, remember? We’ve all got it and we are all working out how to work with it. But it isn’t an excuse to conceal an injury that might need treatment even if it seems like it, ‘Should be fine,’ or ‘Isn’t that bad,’ or you think it’s caused by something stupid and you’re worried about us judging you. Because we won’t.”

John took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth. 

He wasn’t even getting lectured at for being an idiot, or having it brushed off as nothing because, ‘Red heads and their tempers, y’know,’ or plain old being yelled at because, ‘John, you’re meant to be better than this.’

Virgil cared about him. That was simple fact. 

So John cooperatively answered Virgil’s questions about pain, the range of motion he had and when exactly had the injury occurred this morning. That he couldn’t bear weight on it was pretty telling something was wrong. And it really did hurt. 

“You’re going to need to come down here so I can get x-rays of that foot,” Virgil said apologetically. 

John bit back the wave of disappointment, along with the accompanying urge to snap and snarl. 

“I know.”

He really didn’t want to go back to earth and deal with everyone’s concern and fussing when he just wanted to ignore them and go to bed. Up here on Five no one was close enough to be affected by his moods unless they put in a comm call which he could, as above, ignore. 

But John dutifully transferred control over to Eos and the island, packed his bag because he’d probably be there for a while but he wasn’t going to think about that and loaded himself into the space elevator. He knew how dangerous untreated injuries were in space better than anyone. 

The descent was slower than usual, as was protocol for an injury where speed was not of the essence and a less turbulent descent outweighed the need for timeliness. It gave John plenty of opportunity to stare at the rounded edge of the space elevator’s inner ceiling. Frustration over near guaranteed being grounded bubbled up until he had to screw his eyes shut and force himself to focus on the way the g-forces felt against his body so he didn’t utterly lose it. 

Landing on earth came with a jolt that managed to catch John by surprise. He flinched, then checked the systems read outs and undid his restraints. Remaining lying on the launch couch was one third to demonstrate he could be sensible and wait instead of trying to walk off a potentially serious injury, another third because he didn’t want to tangle with gravity on his own, and also so that he could childishly pretend he was still up on Five and far away for a little longer. 

Virgil knocked on the space elevator doors and a second later they slid open. John gave him a weak smile. 

The journey through the hangars to the infirmary was made with Virgil’s supportive arm around his waist and John’s arm draped across his brother’s broad shoulders as John stubbornly limped along. He did take a moment as his feet first touched the concrete floor and gravity really took hold to lean into Virgil’s half hug and just breathe. 

The infirmary was the same as it always was, with its sterile smell overloaded with the sharpness of antiseptic that made it different from the atmosphere on Five, and thankfully quiet. 

John manoeuvred himself up onto the closest bed, sinking into the stiff foam mattress as much as was physically possible. Stars, he was tired. 

Virgil was exceedingly gentle as he eased John’s foot out of his space boot. He stripped the sock off too, propping the foot up to rest in his lap to examine it. John grimaced as Virgil necessarily poked and prodded at where it was sorest.  Though the bruises and swelling were not particularly hard to spot from where contact had been made with the solid bulkhead. 

John anxiously chewed his lips waiting for Virgil to get the portable x-ray, zap him and be done with it. 

Moving his sore foot around at all the required angles for the shots was… a process. 

He did his best to be patient as Virgil took the x-rays off to Grandma for a second opinion on how they would most effectively treat him, but ended up curled in a ball on the slightly plasticky hospital sheets, stubbornly facing the wall with his foot carefully positioned in a way that it least hurt.

He wasn’t asleep, it was not late enough for that and he was far too wired but he was knocked out of his reverie nonetheless by Grandma stroking his hair. 

“Definitely broken, kiddo. No getting around that.”

Even John could see it when they showed him the x-rays. He could only be grateful the fracture was neatly aligned and wouldn’t need surgery, he’d seen plenty of worse breaks in the field. It still meant weeks of being grounded, away from Five and unable to go home to his stars. 

Virgil applied the cast under Grandma’s supervision. John shuddered at the sensations even as he tried to keep still. He was proud of how far Virgil had come in his medical education and he made sure his brother knew that. 

The usual checks after coming down from space wore on his nerves. He took the painkillers for his stupid broken foot, the anti-nausea meds as his stomach wasn’t settling from the change from microgravity and the tall lidded cup of the least disgusting flavour of electrolyte drink as directed. 

He fidgeted with his baldric, tracing over the lines of his suit; everything was a lot today. For all of them; John didn’t miss the dark circles beneath Virgil’s eyes or the way he slumped as he sat on the bed next to John once Grandma had left and the cast was setting. 

Virgil had briefly crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hands rubbing the flannel of his sleeves. Then he uncrossed them, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller, less intimidating, fingertips still going over the soft, worn fuzzy material of the cuffs of his flannel.

John placed his hand, palm up on Virgil’s leg. Virgil took it and John squeezed his fingers once as they sat in silence for a while. 

Changing out of his space suit for the loose pyjama shorts and t-shirt Virgil brought was difficult and awkward with his foot. And how clumsy he was here in general. 

Trying to walk on crutches was, to put it in far politer words than John vehemently used, a disaster. 

One second he was standing with the crutches around his arms, adjusted to the correct height, his casted foot off the ground, everything done properly, about to take a step. The next he was a tangled pile of limbs on the ground. 

John’s cheeks were burning red yet again. Stupid, fucking gravity and his miraculous ability to trip over nothing. 

He shoved the useless hunks of metal away from him as the room blurred, swiping at the angry tears as they formed. 

Virgil crouched in from of him, checking him over for injury. Well, further injury. 

There wasn’t any, apart from his rather dented pride. John didn’t count the damp tears trickling down his face as he studiously attempted to ignore them. 

Virgil made a soft noise as John let himself be pulled into a hug. Warm flannel absorbed his tears as John hugged Virgil tighter. Somehow it felt like he hadn’t seen him for months even though it couldn’t’ve been that long, could it? Unless they counted for quality time rather than John being periodically dragged down to earth… He missed his quietest and closest brother in age even if they’d been talking mission only this morning. 

Maybe John tried to hide from the world for a little while, and Virgil let him. They both needed this; Virgil’s face was also buried in John’s hair. 

After a while, sitting sprawled on the hard infirmary floor caught up to them with all the aches of too long days of heavy work. And broken bones. John shifted with a grimace.

Now he had to get back up off the ground when the crutches were clearly not a help, when he was pretty near useless down here, unable to resist the inevitable pull of gravity to the centre of the earth and the unforgiving ground. 

…He was probably being far too dramatic about it. Should just get it together like everyone else seemed able to do. 

But it was still a problem that he didn’t want to deal with because fundamentally, he wished he was back on Five. 

He had been going to tell someone about the injury, of course. Just as soon as he’d thought up a watertight excuse slash explanation. As soon as got himself under control and stopped being so sensitive over everything that he’d snap at anyone who got near him. So he would not end up like this, a too-emotional mess on the floor. 

Virgil once again checked his cast and his broken foot were undamaged by his fall. John wondered whether it was as much for Virgil’s sake of making sure idiot big brothers weren’t going to suddenly keel over as for John’s. John rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It was because Virgil cared. And maybe time had proven he had a right to worry.

John protested as Virgil went to pick him up, on the grounds Virgil had already been doing plenty of heavy lifting on rescues today and he had to be exhausted already, and John really didn’t want him to throw his back out or his knees or whatever other worst case scenarios John could come up with. 

He also knew he’d look utterly ridiculous in Virgil’s hold, all gangly, lanky limbs out of proportion with Virgil’s shorter, stockier build. And John was more likely to accidentally elbow someone in the nose, which had demonstrably happened before and the guilt still chewed at him, than even Scott fighting tooth and nail against being slung over someone’s shoulder when he there was no way he could even physically stand, let alone walk any distance. He warned Virgil away sharply.

“John. I know my limits, and you aren’t any worse than Scott.” Virgil sounded done with it all. “And I’d rather carry you than have to pick up the pieces or reset that cast, which I have also had to do before, because one of my brothers is injured and deserves help but they are too damn stubborn to let me.”

The fight in John left him as a hissing exhale, like a hole in a space ship venting atmosphere. 

Virgil scooped him up off the ground, promising to figure the rest out later as John avoided flailing too much. 

His brother’s arms were secure around his knees and under his shoulders, holding him close so there was no danger of him hitting the ground, of the falling that some part of John secretly feared, even with the rocking movement of Virgil’s strides. John’s cheek stayed mushed against Virgil’s flannel-clad chest. 

The walls of the house passed him in a tired blur. He really didn’t want to be left to sit around in his room where no matter how tired he was he wouldn’t sleep yet. Lying there staring at the ceiling all afternoon with nothing better to occupy him than his turbulent thoughts was frankly not a good idea. 

He said as much to Virgil, probably far too bluntly. The usual multi-stage filter he sorted his words through before he ever said them had met its untimely demise in face of his exhaustion several hours ago. 

It wasn’t like he wanted to hang around amidst the noise and movement and peopleing of the lounge with everyone else either. John being difficult again, as usual, the voice in the back of his head snarked.

Virgil had mercy on John and took the back route through the house instead of past the comms room where everyone would see him, even if it was only his family who he should know wouldn’t judge him. Everyone had been in the position of being carried about when they’d fallen asleep somewhere or were injured or were about to be chucked into the pool, so except in the last situation, John shouldn’t’ve been embarrassed or really cared, except that he did. 

They passed by John’s bedroom. John curled a little closer to Virgil in something that could’ve been called relief. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely alone right now; he trusted Virgil.

A booted foot nudged open the door before Virgil placed John down on one of the big, squishy beanbags in the corner of his studio. 

John melted into it. He didn’t think he had bones anymore. Or any outside of the ones he’d just broken which had plenty of painful evidence of their existence. But no bones. He could even forgive gravity just this once when it was letting him sink into the soft surface. 

He looked up at Virgil’s low chuckle. 

“They’re good, aren’t they? Gordon found them online and I chose the colours.” Virgil smiled fondly. 

They hadn’t been here the last time John had hung out in Virgil’s studio with him. A spike of sorrow stabbed at his chest. 

New beanbags were a tiny change. It shouldn’t even matter. Except they demonstrated precisely how he was missing out on the details of his brothers’ lives while he was away. 

The beanbag covers were greens and yellows, soft, earthen shades exactly what John would expect Virgil to pick. Colourful, but not in your face. Soothing and restful but not dull. 

Observations probably not as important to anyone else as John found them. 

Virgil ducked out and came back with John’s tablet, the one he used earth-side with its bulky, lilac shatter-proof case. 

John took it carefully from Virgil’s hands, not because it was breakable even dropped from quite a height, but because of the consideration Virgil gave him, to bring him it to read on when he couldn’t go get something himself. 

In space, alone, it wasn’t like there anyone to do that kind of thing for him. Even with the gifts snuck into monthly supply crates by his family, he’d sort of forgotten how it felt.

He shoved away the ever so familiar feeling of being torn in two. He loved the stars, loved being up on Five, he really did. In spite of this, missing his family while up there was a constant wound he packed with the duty of constantly being called upon, of constantly needing to be the Voice Who Answers, in hopes of staunching his bleeding emotions. It contrasted with how he never wanted to outstay his welcome on Earth. 

Why was it that no matter where he was, he still wanted to go home?

Why did anger seethe and rise only to leave him all hollow and empty?

John gulped, running his hands over his face. He tucked one into his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to distract himself. Why the fuck was he like this?

Virgil had turned away to get something off his desk, so at least he didn’t have to see John freaking out over nothing.

John forced a smile when Virgil looked back at him in concern. It wasn't like he could do anything about it. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Virgil said.

He was wearing his set of large, over-ear noise-cancelling headphones, covered in green stickers, his chin nodding along to a beat John couldn’t hear. Virgil wasn’t smiling but the creases around his eyebrow scar were shallower. Today had been getting to him too. 

Left alone, John examined the art studio more thoroughly, letting himself become absorbed in the details, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The whole place was very Virgil, in the best possible way. Storage for art materials was arranged with an engineer’s precision for putting and keeping things in their proper order, cupboards with closed doors painted olive green and neatly labeled in Virgil’s blocky handwriting. Only the pencils Virgil was currently using were left on his desk, in their tray reordered into an exactingly coloured gradient. John couldn’t deny that it also clicked in his brain with that urge to line stuff up. 

An electric keyboard lived along a side wall by a bookshelf containing folders of sheet music and art theory books. John knew from Virgil that the music was arranged by each song’s dominant colour palette according to folder, when he asked as at first he couldn't make sense of the system when of course Virgil would have a system. 

There were speakers in a few places around the room for the frequent times Virgil listened to music while creating. Good quality ones because Virgil said certain staticky types gave him the same sensation as putting gritty sand in his mouth.

It was Virgil’s space for making art and just being, so he’d adapted it to him. Virgil got overwhelmed when there was too much visual stimulation, with constant busy, bright colours and clutter of the world he couldn't put away, so here was an escape from that. 

The walls and ceiling were light, giving an airy feeling. A large landscape window joined inside and outside seamlessly, looked over what John privately thought was the best view on the island, except for the observatory. You could see right out past Mateo, over pokey trees and ocean. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and there were shades if it got too much.

Greenery was introduced into the room itself by the massive monstera plant in the corner, its umbrella-like leaves forming pleasing shadows on the floor, contrasting with the near liquid golden light. More smaller plants were scattered about. John brushed his fingers over the monstera, to reach out and touch the tangible connection with life and the earth. 

Occasionally a piece of art was hung up for a while as it was finished before being moved to its intended display area in an other part of the house, like the watercolour sketch of playful dolphins amongst their reef obviously intended for Gordon. But mostly there wasn't anything to distract from the artwork, on canvas or as music, that Virgil was bringing to life. 

John found the studio calming too, even when he usually tended towards wanting all his bright stars, books, open screens and telescopes in his space at once. There was something about the soothing surroundings, how the faint smell of paints and real paper lingered, mixing with engine bio-oil and coffee, that meant safety and home. His brother’s mark on it was undeniable. 

John couldn’t help but search for the splatter of paint Virgil had mentioned earlier. It was blue and on a wall in this room, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss but in spite of all of his skills at searching, it was nowhere to be found. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Virgil must have painted over it, destroying the tangible proof that he’d acted out in anger.

The beanbags squished beneath him when he flopped back, long legs stretched out and foot smarting when he moved it, picking up his tablet for something to do. His substantial library of books wasn’t holding anything that could keep his attention right now as he flicked between them, opening and shutting pages. He tipped his head back, looking upwards, letting his tablet fall face down onto his chest.

And there it was. On the wall above him, the blue splodge of paint exactly from Virgil’s story. 

Except it wasn't just a splodge because a rainbow of lines had been added around it, faithfully following the original shape and expanding upon it, forming a bird with wings outstretched, flying freely across the wall. Something utterly beautiful from from what had begun as only painful.

John’s breath caught. He didn't know how Virgil did that. He wrung out hope from anger, forming all the emotion into art where John just flailed because he didn’t want to touch his feelings with a thousand kilometre stick.

But here, in Virgil’s studio surrounded by the calm quiet where he could finally breathe, he could try.

So he picked up his tablet. Opened up the word programme. And began to write.

He had no idea where he was going. No plot, no plan, no outline. When he usually did this, for reports, for academic works, he always had his ideas and arguments all laid out in his head and he simply had to put them on the page in front of him.

His fingers found the keyboard and he let them, doing his best not to second-guess and delete every word he put down. To think too much and bail out as it got too big and too scary even when this was just typing on his tablet sitting in a beanbag in the corner of the room, not doing anything at all that could be thought of as dangerous or would mess up his broken foot. 

It wasn't really much. In subject or in word count or in technical finesse. He hadn’t been doing this writing thing for very long, not since university and stories scrawled in his near illegible handwriting hidden in paper notebooks beneath his bed. Not for himself. 

He saved the document and slammed the window closed before he could look at it and convince himself it was all completely stupid and he never should’ve even tried in the first place.

But it was cathartic and it gave him somewhere to put the irrational seething anger, outlined by the sorrow that seeped through in the lines between, to bleed out on paper, in words that were his first language and first love. In the beginnings of stories that didn’t have to be perfect or real and contained far too much of himself to even think about showing anybody yet, but that maybe one day he would. 

When Virgil knocked on the door and opened it, John jumped like he’d been caught out. Then he glanced up and saw the blue paint splodge turned flying bird from the corner of his eye, and he could smile at Virgil with all the love in the world and more understanding of how his brother worked. Of why after hard rescues and bad days his first instinct was to turn to piano or canvas.

Seeing what Virgil was carrying on the tray in his hands had John wishing he hadn’t ever broken his foot so he could throw himself at Virgil to hug him this very second. Though if he hadn’t been injured, he never would’ve come down from Five today.

A blueberry bagel, toasted, with the special strawberry cream cheese that was his favourite but never lasted long in space. Or on Earth, unless his brothers saved it for him on purpose. 

There was a cup of tea too, next to Virgil’s customarily massive mug of coffee.

John just stared up at him, until he found his voice to whisper all his thanks over and over. He took the plate and the cup in slightly trembling hands, then placed them on the floor next to him. 

He raised his arms so that Virgil would crouch down and John could squish him into a hug. 

John clung to red flannel for a few seconds longer than he usually would. Virgil returned it in kind, smiling at him with soft, brown eyes. 

Then he was fussing over John’s foot again, propping it up on pillows and wrapping an icepack around it. John took it in because this was Virgil’s way of showing he cared. As well, it would mean he could get back on his feet sooner by not ignoring the injury. Plus it hurt less.

Before Virgil returned to his desk and pencils, John bumped their foreheads together in show of affection not as frequently done between them with the distance. It was often Scott and Virgil’s thing.  Virgil hummed happily at him even when John wobbled as he leaned forward, making the collision slightly more forceful than he intended. Instead they laughed together over Tracy hard heads. 

Enjoying each other’s company with no pressure to talk or interact was nice and exactly what they both needed. They could do their own things in parallel, Virgil with his art, a sketch forming beneath steady hands, and John with… whatever he was doing at this point.

Gathering up his courage, he cautiously reopened his word document from earlier and read over what he’d written. It was… okay actually. The typos and errors he grimaced at were numerous, but those were fixable problems.

It was a story, he’d written something. John found himself smiling down at his tablet with the urge to add more so he did.

The time passed in the light from the windows transforming from light gold to a fiery orange, stretching across their room and their island alike. As dusk grew closer, the bird calls and insect songs changed, and there were so many wonderful things about space that John could never give up loving but it didn't have this.

So maybe that was what was wrong with him. Instead of a flaw in his very humanity, it was more not enough food and too much stress, not sleeping right or talking to anyone. Those simple things he sort of… forgot about, ignored. John needed to be around family too, with the sunlight streaming in, plants in touching distance and the quiet company of Virgil and some care to feel better. 

Maybe while he was down here, he’d even go stargazing outside tomorrow, lying on a picnic blanket on the grass like he used to. Monitor work could be taken care of at dad’s desk, there’d be time to help Allie with his school work then play video games together and once his cast was off, swim in Gordon’s ocean. To hang out with Scott too and help pull his beloved biggest brother out of his own overwork spiral. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Grandma or Kayo or Brains in a while either. 

Only then would he return to Five, to his stars and space, his research and monitor duty proper. His little room up there, the gravity ring and central floating hub, with Eos as his companion, they were home too. Not in replacement of the island and his family but in addition. And he knew he could come down to Earth when he needed to even if, especially when it was just because he wanted a hug.

Right now, the soft patter of his fingertips on the glass screen blended with the scratchings of Virgil’s coloured pencils on artist’s paper. 

He munched on his bagel and sipped his tea contentedly. Virgil had been cupping his warm mug of coffee in his hands, happily sighing as John fought the urge to giggle.

It was with a cheerier and more relaxed Virgil that they ended up squished together on the beanbag pile once the sun was fully set. John snuggled into his brother’s side, it really had been too long but he was here now. 

Virgil’s fingers tapped contentedly against the knee of his jeans like he was playing a melody on the piano, other arm tucked around John, meaning John could feel the vibrations as Virgil hummed along. John went from messing with the case of his tablet to happily flickering his hands at his sides.

Also, how were the beanbags this comfortable? These ones didn’t even rustle and squeak like he remembered the ones they’d had as kids did. 

Those had met a horrific end with their guts all over the house when Gordon had wanted to know what was inside them and out of scientific curiosity John had helped find the answers, utilising his ability to read and follow the instructions on the tag of how to open the pull-less zipper with an ancient paperclip. 

He retold the story to Virgil whose eyes widened in surprise.

“So it was you!” he laughed. “I’d wondered how Gords did it, but I hadn't put anything past the fish.”

John lost his battle with holding in his own giggles and decided to let Virgil in on the secrets of a few other John-and-Gordon specials.

There was a knock before Scott ducked his head around the corner of the doorway, just as John glanced up.

Scott leant against the frame, intense blue eyes looking him over. John couldn’t tell whether they were sharper in person than over hologram or softer. They stuck on John’s cast, flicking to Virgil before scanning carefully over his body, same as if any of the others were injured in the field. 

“Scott,” John stated. An acknowledgment that his big brother was here. The tight, tangled  barbed wire ball that had been living in his stomach for days loosened further. 

“You okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? In this moment, laughing aloud with Virgil, yeah he was. But all the rest of the day, the week beforehand? John gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t give much either way. 

Of course that became cause for Scott to come closer. He knelt in front of John, ever so mindful of his broken foot. 

Telegraphing his movements, Scott reached out and brushed John’s hair out of his face before silently kissing his forehead, all gentle big brother who was here for him no matter what.

He repeated the motion with Virgil. 

John froze for precious seconds then threw himself at Scott. 

It hurt. He’d forgotten about his foot in its awful cast for a moment, knocking it painfully against the floor with a broken yelp. But Scott caught him anyway. Virgil’s arms went back around him too and he was still humming but in a steadier pitch. 

John was sniffling against Scott’s chest, soaking up his brothers’ warmth and all the love in the room, even as he wasn’t sure whether he was crying again from sorrow or pain or because they both cared about him so, so much and the happy-overwhelmed feeling got stuck as a lump in his throat.

Maybe together they could fix this mess John had somehow made. But right now John let them hold him close, let Scott rock them until the calm of the room could creep back in.

A cuddle pile formed on the beanbags once again, this time with Scott too. John leant back on Scott’s chest, still hiccuping occasionally from the tears. Both sets of their long legs alongside each other were tossed over Virgil’s lap, who’d very fairly called them a lanky, boney weighted blanket, while snuggling in with no suggestion they move. He could feel Scott’s chin resting on top of his head, breaths lightly tickling his hair.

Virgil had had to check again, with the medscanner he kept in his studio first aid kit, that John hadn’t screwed up his foot in its bright orange cast. Yet he hadn’t and even though John could still feel the pain of the impact, Virgil had given him another dose of ibuprofen which would take the edge off soon.

John’s eyes slid half shut with exhaustion. Scott let him fidget with his hands as he gripped them. Virgil was tapping out piano pieces again, a more relaxed melody now against the top John’s bare shin, the sensation grounding and reminding him Virgil was close.He had his brothers. All of them. All of his family. They loved him and they’d help him figure this out and that was more that enough, it was everything.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #autistic john tracy #autistic virgil tracy #neurodivergent tracies

[sagamemes]

hello friends. i made a musings blog over at @astrawrite. any future musings and non-photoshop resources are in that general direction. toodles.

[allmycolorsforyou]

[text] I’m actually kind of scared of your mother.

Text ✉ Marley ⇄ Quinn

Quinn: You, half of the people from St. Rose Catholic Church and dad’s secretary.Quinn: It’s okay, Marley. She’s looking forward to meeting you.Quinn: If you could refrain from mentioning the several times you have given Emma candy before dinner, we’ll be golden. Quinn: And she doesn’t need to know what you have been doing with her daughter after her granddaughter is asleep either.

#fabrose; verse: down the hall #astrawrites

[quinniefabraywrites]

Deleting all of my posts minus ship memes and love. 

Past and current rp partners, don’t mind me if you see a bunch of reblogs from me when I go through tags we have together. <3

@sirirps @astrawrites @issybeewrites @katiecassidywrites @katastropherps @brochelwrites @mottajonesrps @thatlibrarianrps

[astranite]

WIP Honestly-Ive-Lost-Track-of-the-passage-of-linear-time Day

I havent done one of these for a while!! Or finished many or any writing things though ive been making progress on and started many. But have some Scott and John, and John and Virgil!

---

Then there was Scott, rapping on the door to make sure John hadn't fallen over and cracked his skull open. Or in thoughts rather kinder to them both, bringing him his toothbrush and checking he was okay. Big brother smotherhen. An echo of fondness washed over John.

They brushed their teeth together; Scott’s brush was blue and John’s fluorescent orange because that was the system. Scott danced from foot to foot, unable to stay still, and John discovered Scott hadn't grown out of stopping every five seconds to say something through a mouthful of bubbles. He changed topics mid-sentence and jumped between ideas happily. It was good to see Scott being, well Scott. John listened, occasionally answering back with a remark or other as he sat on the edge of the bath, an arm wrapped around a grab bar to keep himself steady.

That part was remarkably similar to being up on Five, though the need to hold on was from too much gravity rather than the lack thereof. And except in space he’d calibrated himself by experience until the lightest touch would suffice. A death grip on the bars was the giveaway of new, barely qualified astronauts. He shook himself, to change the track of his thoughts to not rip up the piece of comfort he could find in the familiar patterns.

Up there, he’d gaze at the stars outside and carry on a conversation with Eos. He half laughed at the memory of the first time she’d seen him cleaning his teeth and demanded to inspect his mouth technically-not-bones-but-John-why-aren’t-they-bones out of curiosity. He relayed it to Scott and got to watch sensible commander big brother try not to snort toothpaste out of his nose. 

---

"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” He replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out. 

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him. 

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes. 

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response. 

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring. 

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp. 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #wip whenever

[astranite]

Regrets

Scott, Virgil and John, Earth Sky and Stars, if you will, set after 'Tunnels of Time' S1 E10, the episode wherein Scott nearly punches the archeologist treasure hunting asshole dude. (I have rewatched The Scene so many times) (somewhere there is also a wonderful gifset of it)

Hurt/comfort, and a very fluffy ending ahead. Also featuring Scott's self esteem issues, but he does get hugs, multiple hugs. Also exploring the aftermath of Scott losing his temper on a mission and Virgil's worry and 'We'll deal with this later' and now it is Later, with John too because I love those three together. And some soft furnishings!Scott too of course.

----

Scott whipped around at Virgil’s hand on his shoulder for the second time that day.

“What?” he snapped.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there, Scotty?” Virgil quested. 

There was no judgement, never was with Virgil, only deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners with concern. Worry, about him, not so much that he was going to lash out at any minute, but checking in to see if he was okay.

Scott huffed and turned away. He didn't deserve Virgil.

The phantom sensation of Virgil’s hands around his chest, on his side, holding him back, ghosted over him. If Virgil hadn't been there, Scott would’ve— 

The man would’ve been lucky if all he’d gotten away with was a bloody nose.

Scott swallowed and hugged his arms around his chest. 

The way he’d shaken Virgil off, if he hadn't stepped back from Scott, Scott would’ve elbowed his brother in the stomach too.

John chimed in on the comm room holo, and Scott was avoiding both his brothers’ eyes. 

“I saw it all on the video feed,” John stated, “I’d have wanted to do the same too.”

“But you wouldn’t’ve.” John was better than that, better than Scott.

John’s admission, even if Scott was adamant his brother would not act in the same way, made everything worse. He rubbed at his knuckles. 

So much for setting a good example for his younger brothers. Scott was exactly who they shouldn’t be. Mum’d be so disappointed. 

“But you didn't,” John countered.

Scott viciously shook his head. That didn't matter.

Virgil’s hand was back on his shoulder. A comforting squeeze, a tug to try to get him to turn around. Scott stuck fast.

In that moment, with his fist clenched, raised and ready to lunge, Scott had been all boiling rage and seething worry and he hadn't thought. He just reacted.

He regretted it. Not because he wasn't still angry at that man, but because he didn't want to be like this. If he was going to get violent, he would rather it be because it was the last possible option to prevent more people from getting hurt. Not because he threw punches at the slightest provocation.

When Virgil pulled him back, he’d left his hand on Scott’s side a second longer, not restraining him, just a reminder. Or maybe an attempt at reassurance. 

Scott had still thrown it back in his face. 

“What happened?” John asked, knowingly or unknowingly repeating Virgil’s earlier words. 

Still with no judgement. Guilt filled the pit of Scott’s stomach.

He’d been on a rescue. He shouldn’t have risen to the bait. Virgil had been angry, John too, but they’d focussed in on the mission. Where Scott, Scott had just lashed out. 

John continued, “You usually don’t—”

“I know. I know!” Scott burst out, “It’s just— he was going to leave them in there! He wanted to leave Gordon to die down there. Gordon could’ve—” Scott’s voice broke. 

Virgil pulled him into a hug. Scott flailed then froze, because he didn't want to hurt Virgil. He tried to push Virgil away carefully, not because he didn't— he always wanted his brother’s hugs, but Virgil should’ve been comforting Gordon instead. Not Scott with his temper causing problems once again. Which were all his own fault. Scott’s mind leapt back to the fact that he should’ve gone instead.

Virgil held him. An arm tucked firmly around his waist. A hand resting at the nape of his neck. 

Scott’s raised voice was muffled slightly by warm flannel, “For a second I thought—” That Gordon was… Scott couldn’t even say the words. “And he didn't even care! He didn't care about Gordon or Penelope or Parker or anyone’s lives!” 

Anger spilled out of him. Mixed with fear. 

Scott’s eyes stung, his chest was heaving. Eventually he slumped against Virgil. 

John was murmuring reassurances, cutting through the torrent of failure, failure, he could have, should’ve done better, why were his brothers even still here—

Scott had his father’s temper, but he wasn't so sure he admired that about dad anymore. Quick to anger turned too fast into hurting people. It didn't matter whether or not they deserved it, that wasn't who he wanted to be. And ultimately, no one deserved it. It wasn't about deserve.

International Rescue wasn't based around picking and choosing who got to be saved. And beating up that treasure hunting bastard wouldn't have helped him get to Gordon any faster. There were other ways to fight. They were about saving people. 

But he’d still—

John’s voice was cool and steady, washing over his own heated flare of anger turned towards himself. “You did what you could, Scott. Yes, being that close to punching that guy’s lights out was less than ideal, but you focussed back in on the rescue, in spite of that poor excuse of a human trying to give archaologists a bad name.” 

“But what if Virgil hadn’t been there to hold me back,” Scott said sadly. He had to make sure his brothers knew what they were dealing with, for their own sakes at least.

Virgil’s arms gently tightened around him, holding him up. John made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. 

Then an edge rose in John’s voice, always defending Scott, even from himself. “Where it counted, you did everything you could for the mission. Because of you and Virgil, Gordon, Penny and Parker all made it home safe. You are more than your mistakes, Scott, you deserve credit for the rest too.”

Scott just wanted to curl up in a ball because somehow his brothers weren’t mad at him, even though they should be. They weren’t and they understood him and supported him. Still.

Suddenly all the exhaustion from the rollercoaster of emotions and the rescue caught up to him. 

When he stumbled, Virgil guided him to the ground so he could sit cross legged on the floor, leaning heavily on Virgil. The comforting presence of John’s hologram continued to hover in front of them.

John and Virgil shared a look over his head but Scott was too tired to care what it meant. 

He was still in his sweaty flight suit because he’d skipped the showers to avoid running into Virgil or Gordon in the locker room. He’d justified to to himself as getting a head start on the monster of a report he needed to write.

“How’s Gordon doing?” he murmured. 

He hadn’t seen Gordon since the rescue. Managed to avoid the little brother who’d nearly been buried under thousand year old rubble, apart from the brief, crushing hug they’d shared before departing from the scene in their Thunderbirds.

“Gordon’s all good,” John answered, “He’s lucky, nothing but a few scrapes and bruises and he’s already back into a videogame tournament with Allie. Hear they’ve roped Kayo in too.”

“That’ll end well,” he muttered. The three of them were a match against any competition, and a danger to the walls against each other.

“I’ve got to go now,” John added, “See you soon.”

Scott nodded mutely, only processing about half of it as the hologram blinked out. He could really do with one of John’s hugs as well, right about now.

Virgil gripped both Scott’s shoulders. “Gordon’s okay Scott. He’s okay.”

Scott gulped, and repeated, “Gordy’s okay.”

Virgil gave him a gentle shake. “Now you’re off to shower, John’s coming down and I’m getting snacks to we can all hole up in the den.”

“John doesn't have to,” Scott protested.

“He wants to. You know him. You worried us both today, and he’s already on his way.”

Scott squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds and nodded.

Getting up from the floor took a hand from Virgil and a few seconds resting against the wall. He winced at the sound his joints made.

Shower. Okay, he could do this.

Scott walked to his room, head down, staring at the wooden boards beneath his boots. Where he was tracking dust through the house, making more work for them.

Everything ended up in a pile on his bathroom floor, baldric, boots, suit. He’d tidy it up later. At least the tiles were warm under foot.

The hot water and steam washed away the rest of the dust from the day. 

No one was around to see when he slid down to sit on the floor of his shower, head in his hands, just letting the water rain down upon him.

Or if he buried his face in his fluffy, blue towel for an extra few minutes.

When he finally got out of the bathroom, he tugged on a t-shirt and sweat pants, then a flannel over the top that was obviously Virgil’s and too large around his shoulders but had somehow ended up on top of Scott’s laundry pile anyway. 

None of his siblings commented on it. Not even when he poked his head around Alan’s door to check on them. Because he needed to lay eyes on Gordon and ruffle the squid’s hair to hear him laugh and protest the action.

Gordon was okay. So Scott was okay.

He found John in the hallway outside the den, trailing his hand along the wall to stay upright against gravity as he made his way in. 

Scott picked up his pace towards John, really-here-in-the-flesh-and-blood John. He waited for a second until John held his arms out wide before wrapping his brother up in a long overdue hug. 

Scott’s breathing came shaky for a second as John returned it just as fiercely. 

They entered the den in a ridiculous three legged race, neither letting go of the other and settled on the sofa together, wordlessly sticking as close to each others sides as they could.

Virgil came in a few minutes later, carrying three dishes. Scott sat up a little straighter as he smelt the distinct aroma emanating from them. Apple pie. 

Scott bit his lip. Virgil hadn't needed to go to all the effort for him, even if it was only chucking a frozen pie in the oven.

“Before you say anything, Scott, it’s been a hard day,” Virgil stated firmly, “You get pie.” 

John and Scott shuffled over to make room for Virgil to join their tangled up cuddle pile, and hand out the dishes.

Scott saluted Virgil with his spoon, then dug in.

A large slice of sweet, crumbly pastry, and hot, delicious filling, with a scoop of icecream for cooling his mouth when Scott burnt his tongue on the first eager gulp. Perfect.

For a few minutes, all that could be heard from any of them were happy munching noises. Scott smiled between bites, tucking into his favourite comfort food was possibly just what he needed.

He even got the leftovers of John’s because John hated the texture of soggy pastry but preferred to eat his icecream melty and one usually led to the other. Scott had no such qualms, and hey, bonus pie.

Virgil flicked on the holo tv, and began to scroll through shows, inquiring as to which Scott wanted. 

Maybe it was silly, but piled on the couch between John and Virgil, Scott didn't care what movie they watched. As long as he had them both there, his brothers could sort it out amongst themselves.

He got to experience a front row seat to the playful squabble that ensued between his usually quietest brothers. Plus when they tried to tackle each other over art documentary versus space, Scott got to be happily squished in the middle. Even if he had to fend off a few elbows. 

Something was compromised on, running as soothing background noise. Scott threw his legs across Virgil’s lap before Virgil could get there first, his head resting on John’s shoulder, his brothers with their arms around each other behind him. 

Even after the day they’d had. All warm and alive and safe, the others just a few rooms over, John and Virgil both snuggled up together here with him.

Perfect.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #astrawrite #soft furnishings!Scott #Scott gets pie #(hehe that is part of said fluffy ending) #*quickly edits because I forgot the read more squiggle*

[astranite]

Rest

Fluff, Earth and Sky, plus Scott getting a nap. A.K.A Virgil gets Scott a weighted blanket.

EDIT!!! I used one of the Fluffember 2023 prompts in here but completely forgot to tag or mention that. Prompt is "Say: "Thank you for...""

A little inspired by the fic in where Virgil gets a weighted blanket (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23042224 Insomnia by chidoriXblossom), mine written because I think Scott would like one too. And we all know he needs more sleep. Plus soft furnishings!Scott!!!

Also- "This will be only like 500 words max," my muse lied.

So, another fic! Mostly was written on the bus on my phone, while wandering around the kitchen looking for something to eat yesterday, and on notes on my laptop when the Aussie internet and phone service met its untimely demise today.

@idontknowreallywhy With the last 2 paragraphs and hopefully less typos!! Hope you're feeling better too. SOFT FURNISHINGS!SCOTT!

-----

“Got you a present,” Virgil said, holding out a package wrapped in shiny blue paper. 

Scott took it without hesitation, utterly unprepared, because this was Virgil, not Gordon or Alan or any other trouble makers.

He staggered at the sudden, unexpected weight.  Scott kept fit for international rescue and lifted more than this on any given day, but dropped into his hands where Virgil made it look like nothing. Well, he nearly dropped it. 

Just as Virgil lunged to snatch it back from the bounds gravity, Scott  got a firmer grip on the package and hefted it up. 

Virgil stepped back, grinning, nearly as excited as the day they sent Two to space. “Open it, Scotty!”

Scott dutifully sat down on the couch with the package in his lap, slipping his fingers beneath the tape. 

“But why, why today?” Scott asked. 

It wasn’t Christmas. He determined it was not his birthday after quickly counting out what month was it anyway because he’d lost track with how busy he’d been lately. He wasn’t forgetting something else was he? Some important event that wasn’t in his calendar? Oh damn, was he supposed to have gotten his brothers presents too?

Virgil sat down by his side. 

“You’re alright Scott, no occasion. Present’s just because.” Virgil smiled. 

Scott bumped his shoulder against Virgil’s in a wordless act of affection. 

Then he turned to the shiny present he held, excitement bubbling up. 

What could it be? 

The package was soft, moving about fluidly within the paper, which would usually bring to mind something along the lines of an item of clothing. But whatever it was was far too heavy for that. Even allowing for thick denim or mission suit material, but Virgil wouldn’t wrap up a routine update, and that sort of engineering generally came under Brains’ department. 

With the strange slithery, many grains of sand running over each other noise it made whenever it shifted, at this point Scott would expect a prank, even from Virgil. 

Except that Virgil was right next to him, just as genuinely happy to be seeing him open the present as Scott was to receive it. Plus his brother was a frankly awful liar and trying to cover for it by, say, hiding his face in his hands while suspiciously giggling behind them had never worked once, for the record. 

So Scott shook the package vigorously, when Virgil didn’t stop him assuming it was non breakable, then gave up on the whole guessing game to get to the real deal. 

He tore the paper off with a grin, foregoing attempts to be neat about it because he just wanted to see what it was. 

Copious amounts of blue fabric poured into his lap. Heavy, weighted fabric, trying to slither to the floor as he grabbed at it and pulled it up. 

The thing was soft too, fluffy on one side and more fuzzy on the other, Scott discovered as he ran his hands over it. 

A quilted blanket of some kind, a big one too. Scott hefted it and spread it across himself and Virgil to lay it out so he could see it. 

It was— oh, “A weighted blanket?” he asked Virgil. 

Virgil nodded, smiling widely, “I thought you’d like one of your own, since you seem to like mine so much.”

That was true. Even on the last movie night when Virgil had brought out his own green, wonderfully soft monstrosity of a blanket that practically required an exosuit to lift, Scott had ended up sharing it with him. 

He never would have bought one for himself, he didn’t need it, but Virgil has seen and he had gotten him one. 

Scott threw his arms around his brother and whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you for— for everything,” into Virgil’s flannel. 

Virgil hugged him tight. “Glad you’re happy, Scooter.” 

Scott swallowed. “Yeah. I am.”

He stayed in the hug, letting himself lean on Virgil.

Eventually he pulled away, bumping his forehead with Virgil’s briefly in another thanks, before flopping backwards onto the sofa. 

He dragged the blanket over his body, snuggling down beneath it, to try it out properly. 

Virgil tugged the edges out straight, patting Scott on the leg where he’d slung them over Virgil’s lap to fit onto the couch. 

“‘M not moving ever again,” Scott mumbled. 

The blanket’s weight pressed down on him comfortingly, like the soothing pressure of a tight hug. The fabric was soft, fluffy and warm, but not too hot for their tropical island. It covered his feet even when he pulled it right up to his chin. 

Scott was in heaven. 

When he shut his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation sink in, Virgil snickered. “G’night, Scotty.”

Scott opened one eye to glare, then the other. He was not going to sleep. He was just getting comfortable, that was all.

He reluctantly removed one arm from beneath the blanket, wriggling his fingers towards Virgil. He could still work if Virgil would just pass him his tablet. 

Heaving a put upon sigh, Virgil reached for the side table and gave Scott his tablet, picking up his own sketch book. 

Scott opened his emails, hiding a smile. The blue eyes act still worked on his brother, evidently. 

Something, something, board meeting. Something, something, product development. He flicked a couple marked urgent open which weren’t even particularly important and shouldn’t have been flagged for him. He forwarded them on to be delegated to the correct people. 

Learning that he didn’t have to do absolutely everything had been a long process, and he was getting better at it. 

Scott continued through his bottomless inbox, so warm and comfortable he wasn’t even particularly annoyed with the uptight business people he had to deal with. Or at least he was minorly irritated as opposed to resisting the urge to throw his tablet across the room. He ran his free hand across the soft material, wound in the fluffy fabric while his other held his tablet. 

The blanket was working wonders. Quiet scratchings of pencil on real paper from Virgil did aid his calm somewhat too. But the weighted blanket was definitely going down in his favourite items of soft furnishings. Trust Virgil to have gotten it for him and gifted it just because. 

Scott’s blinks got slower and slower, and maybe he’d just rest his eyes for a moment, snuggled up on the couch with his brother and his new weighted blanket. 

Virgil looked up from his sketchbook at his brother. The permanently stressed crinkles between Scott’s brows were smoothed out, his face lax, his whole body a loose jumble of limbs instead of a wound up ball of tension. His arm arced gracelessly off the edge of the couch, tablet fallen on the floor beside it. His other hand was still gripping the blue blanket, hanging onto it even in his sleep. 

Because Scott was asleep. In the middle of the day, finally catching up on countless missed hours, even in the open lounge room, fast asleep with no signs of nightmares. 

A line of pencil on thick drawing paper, and Virgil begun to sketch Scott’s sleeping form, seeking to capture such a rare moment. He had no where to be, a mug of coffee beside him, and art supplies at hand so he was content. Plus he had his big brother close, legs still in Virgil’s lap, and no way he was moving to risk disturbing Scott, even if he wanted to, which he certainly didn’t.

Virgil smiled down at Scott, infinitely glad his present of a blue weighted blanket was comforting his brother and letting Scott get some much needed and well earned rest. 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #thunderfluff #earth and sky #soft furnishings!scott #astrawrite #fluffember #fluffember2023

[astranite]

Of Model Planes and Kind Truths

More neurodivergent Scott and John, but as kids. They are both small and doing their best and trying to figure out how the world works. Lucy is here too and I love her and she's totally autistic too in my head. I wrote this ages ago and was only yesterday I was reminded of it and cheered on by the wonderful @janetm74 so I tidied it up to post!

---

Scott yelled at him because John said his model aeroplane didn't look like the one on the box. Which was true , the colours were all mixed together as Scott was too impatient to let them dry properly between painting and the whole frame was sort of squashed where it had fallen off of a table. Sticky globs of glue had adhered themselves to the wings providing most of the structural soundness. 

Scott had burst into tears when John pointed this all out. 

Their dad picked up Scott even though he was too big for it now and carried him out of the kitchen, leaving a bewildered John behind. Mum had to explain that words could upset people and Scotty was crying because he felt John was being mean to him. 

John attempted to explain. “But I didn't mean to be mean! I was just telling him, you and Dad always say to tell the truth.”

“Oh, little star. I know you didn't, but we can hurt people even when that isn't our intention.” 

Mum held out her hands and took John’s small ones in her own as his eyes welled up with tears. 

“You know what you can do to help make it better?” John shook his head as Mum continued. “Your brother worked very hard on making that plane. When you go apologise to him, can you think of some things to say that are kind and honest?”

John nodded, he could do that. He’d make this better.

In the lounge room, Scott sat on Dad’s lap, the model plane clutched to his chest. His face was all red and blotchy. John wiped his sleeve over his own face as Scott’s hurt and his hurt crumpled into a big black hole in his chest. He then flickered his hands at his sides.

John tiptoed across the carpet as it squished beneath his feet. Dad and Scott were looking at him; Dad was smiling a bit but his brother had frowny eyebrows. John stood in front of them, twisting his hands together anxiously. 

“I’m sorry I was mean about your plane. I wasn't trying to be. You worked really hard on it.” The words came out stilted and deliberate.

Now for something kind and true. John cast around for something to say, glancing about the room. Virgie had left their blocks on the floor, all set up in neat rainbow rows.

“It’s good because it’s makes you happy?” He told Scott. 

“And it’s swooshy.” John said it with all of the excitement of figuring out a new science problem, as the words now rushed out. “You painted it with lots of colours and I like colours and so do you. Mixing them together means even more colours!”

Scott’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s okay. You were right, but it’s still cool. And yeah, it goes swoosh because it’s so fast!”

Scott swiped the toy plane through the air as if it was flying. John jumped back as it banked toward him. He followed it with his eyes as it dove and spun in Scott’s hands, as Scott jumped from Dad’s lap to run around the room with him, John matching his dips and turns like he was flying a space shuttle too until they were both grinning and everything was right again.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #astrawrite #autistic john tracy #adhd scott tracy #neurodivergent tracies #wee!tracies

[astranite]

I finally finished this fic which I’ve been working on for a while. I’ll let the tags and the summary/first little bit speak for themselves as I’ve got no more words left. It’s 12,000 words as one thing so I’m just linking the Ao3 as opposed to making into into a do you like the colour of the sky and star situation!

Edit to add LOOK FABULOUS FANART OF MY FANFIC BY @lying4sport https://www.tumblr.com/astranite/748183025848909824/this-is-fabulous-and-i-love-it-and-thank-you

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (Cartoon 2015) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: John Tracy & Scott Tracy Characters: John Tracy, Scott Tracy Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, this is what it is fundamentally but we do dive into the angst and the fluff, Autistic John Tracy, Scott Tracy has ADHD, Scott Tracy Has PTSD, Autistic meltdowns, References to Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Chronic Illness, that's how i'm treating John's space issues, this is all written from a disability and neurodiversity lens and lot of my own experience, there's alot going on but there's also alot of love here, and acceptance, its about hope its always about hope ultimately, things are hard and they wont just fix themselves but it does get better, we just have to keep hanging on. all of us you and me together, its not a straight line there are alot of up and downs and emotions in this fic, as in life and everything because thats whats its like but its not impossible

Summary:

John threw his arm over his face as the lights suddenly turned on and tried to burn out his eyeballs.

Scott muttered apologies, voice kept considerately quiet. John heard the flick of the switch and the click of the door closing as all settled back to blissful darkness. Shuffling noises continued: the thwump of what he guessed was a very expensive suit jacket tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, a muffled curse as something was tripped over and the cracking of Scott stretching out his back. Then footsteps hushed by deep pile carpet came back to his side of the room. John kept his eyes screwed shut, arm still draped across his face. He could feel his own heartbeat, a touch too fast and in time with the throbbing pain in his head. The hotel sheets were a ridiculous thread count, all silky smooth with crisply made corners, but they scraped against his skin because they weren’t the same worn, soft ones he had at home or his sleeping bag up on Five which was also home. He’d be getting smotherhenned any second now that Scott had found him, but honestly, he was too tired to care.

—Sky and Star

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #astrawrite #autistic john tracy #adhd scott tracy #neurodivergent tracies #im going to curl up under a blanket now

[astranite]

WIP Late-Wednesday

Scott needed help. Scott asks for help even if its just a little thing.

This is a part of a scene I've had in my mind for a while that follows my fic Close Call. Ao3. Probably is still comprehensible if you havent read it but like also look more earth and sky!! So here a rough partial version though its got a fair amount to it and words for a wip Wed so here!! Enjoy the earth and sky moment.

---

Scott let out a growl of frustration, flapping his hand about in an attempt to dislodge the tape. A foolish attempt, he found, as it flipped around and stuck to the other side of his hand. So now it was sticking! It hadn't before to the point and clearly the adhesive wasn’t the problem, it was very effective except at going where he wanted it!

He wadded up another ball of the athletic tape to join the other attempts. At this rate he was going to run out before he managed to get any to stick where he wanted it. He was trying to take care of his shoulder and do all the right things. He’d done his physio exercises each morning with Gordon after their respective swim and run so he wouldn’t forget and Gordon would tell him if he thought he was pushing himself too hard. He’d worn the sling, even though he hated having an arm immobilised. 

He really was for once trying to take care of himself  because he’d actually listened to Virgil even when it took both of them having a sobbing breakdown for it to stick, but the entire universe seemed dead set against it. The ugly, beige tape and bits of paper backing stared up at him from where they were strewn across his bathroom counter. A couple had even landed in the sink. Scott averted his eyes, same as he’d done from the mirror, staring instead at his bare feet. There was yet another failed attempt fallen down there.  The blue polish from when he’d let Gordon paint his nails was still stuck to them. He wriggled his toes into the fluffy bathmat in an attempt to distract himself.

As he rolled his right shoulder backwards, the joint popped and clicked. It had healed up alright after he’d dislocated it weeks back so Virgil and Grandma were finally letting him back on active rescue duty. Not just light duty protocols where he wasn’t even allowed out of One no matter how much he ached to help properly. Virgil’s firm commands and the memory of his terrified anger, along with the way John’s eyes had widened, expression crumpling the one time he’d almost moved had kept him in his seat.

Scott pulled his shirt back on. At least now he wasn’t gasping in pain every time he had to manoeuvre his arm into the sleeve. His shoulder was pretty much back to its usual level of dull hurt if he overworked it and sharp stabs if he did something really weird. Virgil had also informed him when he accidentally said this that it wasn't normal for it to hurt all the time at all without a current injury. So that was something too.

His feet took him to the lounge room where he knew Virgil would be painting right now, what was left of the roll of tape in hand. He let himself walk up to Virgil’s easel, like this was totally normal, like he wasn’t doing anything new, or unprecedented. There was nothing to be nervous about. He bit at the inside of his cheek.

A deep breath in, let it out. Then: “Hey Virge.”

Virgil immediately looked up from his stunning landscape of the island, brows nearly meeting in the middle.

Yup very normal, Scott. Virgil the musician totally wouldn't notice how his voice was a pitch higher than usual.

“What’s up?” Virgil began cautiously.

Scott balled his hands into fists before consciously relaxing them. 

QOUTE 

QUOTE

The memories played back in his mind. He could just ask.

“Virgil, I need your help?”

It came out as more of a question than Scott had meant. He was ready to stuff the words back down his throat in the second of silence that followed.

His brother stiffened minutely, grip tightening around his paintbrush. But then he smiled up at Scott, putting the brush into cloudy turquoise water in the jar.

“Sure, what with?”

Oh. 

Like that Virgil was ready to help him.

Scott head spun, he’d been holding his breath and he let it out shakily. Why the hell was this harder than jumping out of One? He was just asking Virgil for help with what was objectively a small task and it wasn’t like they didn’t ever help patch each other up and check over gear on missions. But this time it was him approaching and doing the asking.

“My shoulder, I’ve been trying to strap it up for today, like you said.” He waved the tape around vaguely.

Virgil settled a hand on his uninjured shoulder, grounding him with the weight. 

Scott let himself lean into it. Impulsively, he tipped forward so he could hug his brother press their foreheads together. 

Virgil’s deep brown eyes widened in surprise before softening at the edges.

He rested a warm hand at the back of Scott neck, smiling at him.

“I’m happy to help.”

Scott closed his eyes, letting the relief sink in and hope to fix this moment in his mind so next time it was something big he’d remember this.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #earth and sky #wip wednesday

[astranite]

Wip last-Wednesday

Havent done one of these for a bit so here! A sick fic of John and Scott I began writing last time I had a cold, rather fitting now I have The Plague.

---

Scott succumbed to the cold first. 

Through the efforts of Virgil and John himself, their biggest brother was bundled up in his blue weighted blanket on one of the comms room couches with strict instructions not to go anywhere. 

John was lowkey supervising that ready to have enforce it, but true to his word Scott had curled up and begun checking his emails at the same time as playing on his phone. 

After some conferencing, he and Virgil had decided allowing Scott to continue working on his tablet so he would feel like be was being productive and not getting left out was the best method of keeping him still and moderately restful. 

John idly spun their rescue world map around, watching the icons blur together. Tiredness nagged at him despite the fact that he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep last night. He yawned widely, like a cat then shook himself. He should be getting back to work. 

A call came in that required redirection to local authorities. Another, his technical expertise on space and orbital manoeuvres along with a chance to stretch his language skills in the tricky translation of relevant terms. Virgil and Gordon in Thunderbird 2 were sent out. They returned. The day limped on.

He switched the volume of the alarms down as they seemed sharper than usual and it hurt his head. 

In a lull between calls he floated through the central hub with his eyes closed before pinging back online at the sound of a notification. 

-“Heyy J.”

John maximised the video feed from the lounge to see Scott waving up at him, phone in hand. The tablet and pretence of working were abandoned on the floor along with several mugs. 

A message popped up with second ding. 

-“Johnnyyy im bored. And snotty.”

John automatically mouthed, ‘My name’s not Johnny.’

He didn’t get a chance to reply as Scott sent several more messages in quick succession. 

-“Sooo bored.”

-“Why doesn’t anyone send me interesting emails??”

-“Don’t even wanna do maths.”

-“Like when don’t i want to do maths?”

-“i ran out of tissues again.”

-“I think my brain has dribbled out my nose.”

-“Virgil’s trying to poison meeeee”

John raised an eyebrow at the last. That seemed out of character for their medic brother. 

J-“Evidence for your case?” he replied. 

S-“Poison. Its all POISON”

John could see Scott making his icked out face, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows while leaning away every time he took a slurp from his mug. 

S- “I swear that lemon drink stuff used to taste better.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #john tracy #astrawrite #wip whenever

[astranite]

Ten Seconds.

Earth & Sky drabble (or well more like 1.82 drabbles including the title, if we are being pedantic.)

-----

Ten seconds. Scott could take ten seconds. 

To step inside Two where the air wasn’t filled with smoke and dust. To take his helmet off and wipe his sweaty hair from his forehead where it had been stuck bothering him for hours. 

To slump against Virgil when his brother’s arms went around him, pressing close, breathing for a moment without the weight of a thousand lives and broken buildings crushing him into the concrete rubble. To hide his face, and screw his eyes shut. 

Virgil’s chin dug into his shoulder, comforting and grounding. As if they weren’t in the middle of a rescue. 

The taste of dry ration bars washed down with electrolyte drink lingered, mixed with ash. He had to pull away to stretch his aching muscles before they seized up, rotating his grapple line shoulder until it clicked painfully.

Two more seconds, before he stepped back out into the fray. Two more seconds to be Scott instead of the Commander. 

He pressed his forehead against Virgil’s and once again held on tight.

Then once again, he stepped away.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #earth and sky #astrawrite

[astranite]

Notes- Christmas TAG secret santa fic.

Because of this post and @janetm74 and @edutainer2022 here are my additional notes for my 2023 thunderfam secret santa fic.

It contains brainstorming that became part of the og fic and notes as a continuation for the car ride. It was actually these that I came up with first and intended to write but got side tracked with explorations of getting ready, especially given the prompt i was given was “Every day is a school day” with Jeff and Lucy. Also deadlines!

Mind that this is pretty much as is from my notes in its entirety, complete with spelling errors, partial sentences and utter lack of cohesion as I jumped between ideas.

Link for the fic proper on ao3.

---

“Every day is a school day” Jeff and Lucy. And everyone.

Car drive to spent christmas with Grandma and Grant at Gran Rocha. The preparing and road tripping shenanigans.

getting all five kids plus themselves and luggage into the car on time as chaotic as a school day. Jeffs line?

S15, J13, V12, G 6?7, A3

Wake-up call. Alarm going off Lucy tired and grumpy where Virgil gets it from. I’ll get the kids up and you can head straight to the coffee. Jeff fooling around like mock drill sergeant. Scott’s grumpy teenness and chucking a pillow at him with surprisingly good aim for supposedly asleep. Scott getting up. Bed hair mess that Jeff runs a gentle hand through pulling him into a hug. Virgil and John. John and Bagel the cat curled up together. Both hissing at him in unison. Virgil needed to be hugged and woken up more slowly. 

Down in the kitchen. Jeff kissing Lucy and trying to steal her coffee. No you cannot steal my coffee Jefferson Tracy, you have your own.  Lucy’s massive science pun mug. Hair in her face looking like little Virgil. 

HURRICANE LUCY. Time skip to about to go?

packing- John wanting to fit telescope. Or “But I did leave my telescope behind” but bag full of books. 

Last min shoving presents in. Neighbour to feed the cat.

Scott nabbed the car keys first on massive ** many different  keychain so neither Lucy nor Jeff could lose them. Swinging them around his finger, “can I drive” Parental chorus of “No!” Doesn't have license yet but is learning to pilot. argument of Grandma lets me drive on the ranch. Thats the beat up old ute and theres nothing much out there to hit any way.

And they were done. Bags were in the car, kids were in the car, last final bathroom stops had been had.  Lucy patted down her pockets. Keys! She didn’t have them, so Jeff must except that he didn’t. Surely the couldn’t have lost them with the neon pink rocket ship key chain attached to prevent this. Until they both spied Scott leaning against the drivers side door and swinging them around his finger.  

“So, can I drive?” Scott asked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question. 

“No,” came the parental chorus. 

Then the other kids repeating them, picking up on it slightly behind. 

Scott grinning and tossed the keys in the air one last time then caught them. He passed them to Lucy’s waiting hand prompted by a stern eyebrow. 

7 seater beat up car. Drive- Kansas to Texas. approx 9 hours to 8 1/2. Lucy english thinking its ages. at least america had good highways. and from her mothers tales at least kangaroo spotter was a redundant position. 

Panic at dress clothes for Christmas day

someone packed no underpants. Gordon only packed underwear and swimmers. Trying to sort laundry at last minute. Jeff’s haphazard packing of his own clothes with getting everyone else in military order. Lucy remarking jokingly, “Mightve gotten to mars adn forgot your space suit. 

Jeff the nerd, calling Grandma to tell on our way, “Houston we have take off”. Kids dramatic countdown. A “finally”. FOnd eye rolls. 

John and Virgil at back seats. Johns already long limbs folded up.

Scott getting the dubious privelige of the middle row. but centre seat between Alan and Gords car seats and on big brother duty. 

Lucy hoping but not expecting to get some rest on the trip. Up all night getting ready. has mystery novel to read. but trying to wrangle kids. Putting Jeff’s cowboy hat over her face to keep the sun off as she sleeps.

Stops for toilet breaks. Lunch fast food. “Do not let gordon have soda.” Johns burger order. Virgil picking pickles out to give to john. The chips stealing. Trying to eat and drive. sending older ones in to fish younger out of the play area. losing Scott to it too, send in John planning it like a mission.

Jeff adn Lucy discussion over what coffee is supposed to do. ADHD Jeff. starting with Scott asking for coffee, cheekily. No, we dont need you any more hyper. Jeff’s confident, “Coffee doesnt do that” Even same with Aa. spirited debate. JSSo that means I can have some? eff still saying no coffee for Scott.

Lucy driving at some point. 

If Lucy had to hear one more rendition of baby shark she was the one who was going to get out and walk.

music and Lucy and Virgil comparing synesthesia.

John reading massive heavy text book, splayed out across knees. not getting car sick, serve well for astronaut. for fun, reminded he didnt need to study. 

Scott bored and restless. tinies asleep. no phone signal. twisting around, being told off for seat belt, trying to see what Johns doing. seat swap and he and John are in the back doing maths and physics, heads bent together. virgil eyes closed but awake or leaning around car seats to look out the windows, bobbing head to music through headphones. 

when John adn Scott get stuck, calling questions out to Lucy. Jeff snoring in front seat, head on lucy;s jumper, went from wide awake to clonked out even after the coffees.

Virgil using breath on fogged up windows to draw. Scott and John used it for math.

Gordon are we there yet. Alan copying him. 

naming animals and animal sounds. then naming sea creatures. then sounds of sea creatures. some known, some gordon happily making them up.

car sickness. Scott getting car sick, in spite of crazy spins and flips but then hes in control. another reshuffle, Jeff wedged into the middle seat, Lucy laughing and looking in rear view mirror at tall, broad shouldered husband folded awkwardly into the back. John and Virgil back-back. Scott getting shotgun, window open and nauseous. Vomit bags in glove box because learnt from past fiascos and puke in hat story. Scott grumps would be fine if I was driving 

some point tinies and Jeff all asleep.  John and Virgil happy together. Lucy getting to check in and chat to scott. 

on destination. everyone there, big family.  Lee? Kayo adn Kyrano and Kayo mother. Jeff brothers? packed into the big ranch house. noise and merriment. hot dry texas air. smell of good food cooking. some slight odour of burnt. 

explain lucy parents farm????

“The eagle has landed” finding rooms, unpack car. eldest three in together. youngest. 

John overwhelmed after trip, not wanting to talk to anyone. near tears at thought of going into party. going to stable to spent time with horses. 

Virgil running up to Grant and talking his ear off, to much delight of both parties. Grant, still broad shouldered and strong from farm work, charcoal black hair now salt and pepper grey. 

Achievements getting caught up with. Jeff telling grandma about scotts, Scott proud but a bit uncharacteristically shy, leaning into a side hug. 

the comments of how big the kids were all getting, and theyd better not be having more. Lucy laughing and very nope five is plenty enough. 

somewhat tired cranky, sticky dusty kids. Gordon spilling something sticky on him in the last hour, waiting to get there to wash him off. Recovering excitement at bath. 

grandma’s welcome cookies. 

——- other fic. Graduation. car crash. Injuries—the bruises. Scott burst into tears with brothers because he wants mum

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #astrawrite #jeff tracy #lucy tracy

[astranite]

Where was he? Pancakes.

Scott Tracy and a few of the struggles of ADHD.

Mostly Scott and Gordon but theres a good bit of John and all the bros do turn up! Ao3 Tags (i was trying a different way of putting this across): Scott Tracy has ADHD, Pancakes, Hurt/Comfort, more emphasis on the comfort id say, Family Fluff, i do intend there to be a part 2 but we shall see because uhh im also the adhd, Gordon Tracy is AuDHD, Scott is the focus here but thats also important, title is random line from the fic because i didnt plan that either!, Hugs, Scott Tracy Needs A Hug, and he gets several he has good little brothers, ...how did it get to 9:42pm as im posting this I swear it was like 8:30 ten minutes ago 

@thunderbird1lover here is ADHD Scott!!! You in fact did help inspire me to get writing this!!

@idontknowreallywhy as always thanks for the insanity :)

I think its also relevant to note that this was started on my phone notes, typed one handed while juggling making waffles, then some of the rest done when I really should’ve been doing other things! ---

Scott slammed the fridge door shut before leaning his forehead against the cold metal.

Great, just great.

This morning he had been planning to make pancakes like he’d been meaning to do for the last several weeks that he’d lost count of, intended for a day when everyone was off rota so would be free to enjoy them. On each precious day they’d had, he’d managed to stuff around all day with maintenance which was a full time job in itself, random tasks that surely shouldn’t have taken so long to do and getting stuck wasting time scrolling on his phone when he’d only meant to check the weather or something. He’d forget what he’d be intending to do, besieged by the thousand other flittering ideas in his brain and accidentally wind up avoiding a task that would take literally five minutes if he’d actually do it.

Case in point, last time he’d tried to change the batteries in the holoprojector remote so he could recharge them so they wouldn’t have to get up to change the channel which was getting really annoying, he couldn’t find the spares so then he’d spent an hour pulling all the miscellaneous items out of the junk draw to organise them, then had to put them back in semi-sorted, barely not worse than before because they were all over the bench and in the way when dinner needed to be made and he hadn’t  done the original thing and he was putting off making another attempt because of that disaster. Like had happened about a million other times.

Sure, there were also days spent getting involved in his brothers’ projects, or lazy mornings just hanging out in each others space to scatch up on actual consecutive amounts of quality time together. On some, he’d finally been getting in longer runs and some free climbing for fun in on the island when he didn’t have to worry about over exhausting himself when he was about to go on a rescue. But it was the rest.

Where was he? Pancakes. And the punnet of mouldy blueberries he'd been saving up specially to put in them as that was everyone's favourite flavour and only he made them like that. But the berries had gotten forgotten in the back of the refrigerator along with several other questionable former vegetables and leftovers. A biohazard of tupperware containers he really didn't want to touch lurked among them. But someone should do it.

And the eggs were out of date and he needed them to go in the batter. That was currently an oversized mixing bowl full of flour, sugar, etcetera and was the baking power in there yet? Another half done task for the list then.

Scott bumped his head against the fridge several times.  Frustration had him curling his hands into fists, shoulders taut in the way that would give him a neck ache later.

In the process of rattling his brain in its skull he managed to knock one of the many bits of paper from the mass of postcards, scrap sheets with scrawled grocery lists and who knew what else from its precarious hold under an over burdened magnet.

That’s how he felt, like one of Gordon’s tacky sea-life fridge magnets, constantly dropping probably important documents to be trampled on the could be cleaner kitchen floor.

Crouching to pick up the note, he had a flash of panic when he saw Alan’s school logo at the top. Presentation and in person were highlighted then underlined in red. When was it? Was he meant to come, but Alan hadn’t mentioned anything recently? Had Scott forgotten—?

Standing again too fast, he was ready to run off and find Alan to apologise profusely if he’d missed it or jump in One right this second to fix things, except then his eyes landed on the date and he finally noticed it was from months ago. Alan had absolutely smashed the science assignment even if he and Scott had shown up fifteen minutes late as neither of them had been ready, which was only saved from being hours late by owning the fastest rocket plane in the world.

Scott went back to leaning face first on the fridge. It could do with a wipe down on the outside too.

He just needed to get moving. But he wasn’t. And maybe he couldn't.

That was the problem. Why couldn’t he simply get stuff done?  

Alright, he knew that why. The newly discovered he had ADHD and oh that explained so much of his entire life, was a pretty big why.

One he didn’t want to get distracted thinking about right now because he was meant to be making breakfast. Yes, he did see the irony of that. His forehead made contact with the fridge again.

“Hey Scotty, what did our poor defenceless kitchen appliance ever do to you?” It was so characteristic of Gordon to burst into the room in neon pink, flamingo patterned swimming trunks just as Scott was feeling sorry for himself.

Their sunshine fish. Who was also dripping water all over the floor.

Scott put on a long-suffering tone. “It ate my fifth brother, he never used a towel before coming in from the pool either.”

Gordon tipped his head to the side like a curious seal. “But you don’t have a fifth brother?”

"'Cause the fridge ate him. He also ate the last of the pizza too," Scott continued, giving Gordon a chance to cotton on.

“Oh, oh I get it now! We wouldn’t have another because the fridge— yeah!” Gordon laughed and pumped a fist in the air. "And nah, that was Virge."

Dammit Virgil, Scott had really wanted that slice of pepperoni yesterday night.

Gordon also fetched a towel from the clean laundry basket on a chair, the fact that no one had gotten around to sorting it for once working in his favour before he tracked water all over the house to find one. Really they should put the towels by the door, they were mostly used after swimming anyway, that was an idea. Scott would just have to find a space---

He shook his head and couldn’t help but snort as Gordon emerged from the towel sporting a ridiculous spiky hairdo with his sun-bleached, chlorinated mop.

The towel, turns out, was one of those hooded thingos like they had for kids except Gordon-sized. In bright orange clownfish patterning, complete with fins, it was a fashion statement that Gords was clearly intending to continue wearing around the house.

Then Gordon turned to him.

Those big brown eyes held Virgil’s kindness, John’s piercing clarity of observation and what he recognised as his own steely determination. All bundled up into the five foot something of rescue operative, former Olympic athlete, ex-WASP forces and sole survivor of the worst hydrofoil accident this century that made up Gordon. He got the hard stuff.

“Now what’s up, big brother?”

A lump swelled up in his throat. Scott gestured vaguely at the fridge, his half-finished pancake batter and the selection of too old food items sitting on the bench.

"Life, the universe and everything?"

"Yeah," Scott croaked, tugging a hand through his hair.

Gordon also got the whole ADHD thing on a personal level, 'cause it runs through families and who would've guessed with the chaos in their household that yes, it was more than one of them.

Scott swallowed, then shrugged as Gordon came closer. It was fine, really it was. Fine. So fine.

His brother held out his arms and Scott found himself wrapped up in ocean-smelling towel and fish, leaning into the strong grip as Gordon squished him tight. He stayed there until Scott could breathe again.

"Bit better?"

Answering was put off until Gordon let him go and Scott could speak again. It was not related to the emotion of even some of the crushing sensation in his chest lifting, it definitely wasn’t, not when he had the pre-made very reasonable excuse of wanting to avoid getting a mouthful of wet hair.

Scott nodded, shuffling closer to Gordon again to bump their shoulders. He didn’t currently care that Gordon was somewhat soggy. There were plenty of similar business-casual blue shirts in his wardrobe so he didn’t have to chose what he wore everyday to look presentable too with the hundreds of other life or death choices he had to make.

“Fantastic. ‘Cause you really looked like you could use a hug.” Gordon clapped his hands together, bouncing on his toes. His eyes remained on Scott for an extra moment.

The batter and the rest were discovered as Gordon then gently nudged Scott aside to poke around the kitchen.

"Ooh breakfast! Actually, definitely not breakfast. Maybe might've been breakfast once upon a time?" He picked up the mixing bowl. "Not breakfast yet?"

"One failed attempt at blueberry pancakes," Scott admitted, before explaining about the whole eggs, blueberries, fridge fiasco.

In the middle of this, John appeared from wherever he'd been lurking. Possibly or in all likelihood their space brother had been tucked away on the upper landing library level, watching from afar. He wound his way through the lounge in a wobbling squiggle, barely looking up from his book in a habit that worried Scott rather unnecessarily. He greeted them then sat at an orange stool by the bench, continuing to read from his paper novel.

From past experience, John was both definitely listening and lending them his quiet support.

Scott continued to explain.

“Sooo,” Gordon drew out the word, “Here’s what I think.”

Scott grimaced, he already knew what he thought of his attempt.

Gordon cheerfully shook the bowl. "This falls into the marvellous category of going to become breakfast. Sounds like you've got a pretty solid plan, we're just missing a few key ingredients."

Gordon could be prone to being a little, well, optimistic. The key ingredients were, no one would ever guess, key to fixing Scott’s screw up.

“We live in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. There isn’t exactly a corner store within walking distance.” Scott waved his arms about in what might have been despair.

“How many supersonic aircraft do we own again?” John prompted.

"And a submarine! Don't forget my submarine!"

"And a submarine," John repeated.

Scott planted himself on a stool to hide how his legs had turned to finished pancake batter goop. John and Gordon weren't getting it.

He buried his face in his hands. "Just doesn't seem worth it to make the flight when we wouldn't have this problem if I'd remembered in the first place..."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was surrounded by the two brothers he was refusing to look at, as they interrupted his pity party for one. Two sets of arms wound around him, holding him up, holding him close. They were warm.

John was taller than him standing and he let Scott mush his head into his chest. Fingers carded through his hair in simple comfort when Scott made a quiet noise. Trusting his brothers enough to squeeze his eyes shut and make the world go away for a bit was the easy part.

The squid stuck them all together, as Gordon always did, hanging onto them both with a swimmer’s strength.

“Hey Scotty, stop being so mean to my biggest big brother, he’s doing his best.” That was Gordon, of course, right next to his ear.

A wet laugh bubbled up from deep inside his chest. It caught, snagged on jagged emotions in his throat before breaking free as he hugged his brothers tighter.

What had he done to deserve them? They’d all probably remind him instead that he didn’t need to do anything to deserve their love, he’d have it no matter what he did or didn’t get done.

A new voice joined them, as the sound of bounding footsteps crossed swiftly over the floor. "Is it cuddling Scott time? Aw why didn't you invite me?"

Fluffy blond hair, thankfully not wet unlike some-fish else’s got shoved into his face as Alan joined the fray, the sprout using every inch of his new found height to wrap his arms around as many brothers at once as he could.

Heavier steps followed. Soft flannel added to the smothering and Scott could feel Virgil humming quietly as he leant into him.

Scott was at the centre of the hug, as they saw he needed them, at the centre of his brothers’ worlds, because they needed him too, and Scott would never want to be anywhere else.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #Scott Tracy has ADHD #astrawrite #neurodivergent tracies

[astranite]

A wip snippet I had written ages ago that Im not quite sure yet how fits in with the rest of the piece ive got but will find its way somehow.

@edutainer2022 I found a little bit of Scott fic of mine that you wouldnt have read yet. *hugs*

--

When he got home, no one said anything about his sweat drenched clothes or the mud spattered across his knees and legs. Gordon had left a bowl out on the counter for him like he always did. A wet towel from a morning swim was tossed over the back of a chair, which Scott would have words about later, after he hugged the life out of their fish just because. Virgil nursed a mug of coffee, bed head curls flopping over his eyes. He wore green pyjama pants fraying at the hems and a t-shirt Scott though might be his own. Alan was grumbling about an algebra exam he had for school, which Scott already knew the kid would ace. Kayo would be in the gym and Brains in his lab at this time of day. But there was John, still on Earth, red hair shining a gingery gold in the sunlight. He was reading from his tablet, absently chewing on a bagel as he made notes on a holo beside him. When Scott came closer, he looked up, face breaking into a relieved smile. Scott couldn’t help but return it. For once, he was okay.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #astrawrite

[astranite]

WIP I remembered it’s Wednesday!

A short bit of a young Virgil and Lucy from what is going to be a fic for Scott’s week of fab five feb and the prompt “Too high”!

- - -

“Virgil, I want you go inside with John and Gordy,” she tried. Less distraction, one less kid she to have to worry about right this second.

“No.” Virgil stood his ground and dug in his heels. “Not until Scotty can come too.”

Contrary to popular belief that mulishly stubborn set to his jaw was all her. There’d be no possibility of getting Virgil to move. So they’d just have to get Scott down.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #lucy tracy #lucille tracy #scott tracy #astrawrite #wip wednesday #fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2024