#brother to the rescuee

[dxrkl1ght]

CW: Panic attack, musophobia (fear of rats), slight body horror(?) and scratches!!

a very distant, distorted, and awful memory... Part 4/5 - Part 1/5 - Part 2/5 - Part 3/5 - Part 4/5 (here) - Part 5/5 DCA! Serial Killer AU by @ayyy-imma-ninja & @moonlit-dreamers!! This comic is not canon to the AU!! This is just made for fun :)

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

here’s a little piece I wrote inspired again by @strifentines ‘s Zuko-Azula roleswap AU! i’m posting it here because I can’t be bothered proofreading and posting on Ao3 rn

anyway I did this as a little creative writing exercise while procrastinating my media and statistics exam preparation. it’s an excerpt from the start of the S3 E16 Southern Raiders episode, my take on how I think it might go :]

———

The Western Air Temple was burning.

The Western Air Temple was burning, and Azula had woken to the sounds of three military-class Fire Nation airships firing explosives at them.

She didn’t have much time to assess the situation before the doors were closing, the room was shaking, and debris was falling from the ceiling, right above Katara.

“Move!” She knew the word wouldn’t register to the water tribe girl as quickly as it needed to, so she accompanied her command with a side tackle. The rocks hit the floor where Katara would have been standing if it wasn’t for her, but her rescuee didn’t seem entirely appreciative. Instead, Azula received an elbow to the side for her troubles.

“What are you doing?” Katara ungratefully yelled.

“Saving your life, genius.” At that, Katara rolled her eyes, which Azula supposed was all the thanks she was going to get.

“Life saved, you can get off me now.” Katara pushed herself up and out of Azula’s arms, not so much as offering to help her stand up.

Azula scowled. “Next time I’ll let the falling rocks crush you,” she bitterly replied, only half-sarcastically.

Behind her, the earthbenders were carving some sort of escape passage through the wall. She considered it for a moment, before her mind circled back to the three Fire Nation ships out the front.

They’re here for me. Why else would they be there?

The others were starting to flee through the passage, but Azula turned back, preparing to jump through a hole in the wall.

The Avatar’s voice rang out from behind her. “What are you doing?” So concerned, as always.

“I believe this is a family matter,” she responded. “Stay out of it, and I’ll meet you once I’m done.”

It didn’t sound like a happy silence, but Azula could hear from his footsteps that the boy had joined the others. She was expecting more resistance, more concern for her well-being, blah blah blah, but it seemed he was getting more used to her methods. Good. It was more efficient this way.

She vaulted over bent metal and jumped through an explosion, wrapping her bending around her, making it to the front of the courtyard. A fourth ship rose from the fog, carrying atop it a familiar passenger.

Wrapped in the royal regalia of the Crown Prince, hands wrapped around the railing atop the war balloon was her brother, wearing that stupidly creepy theatre mask. His hair was half up in a finely-crafted topknot, but the rest of it blew about dramatically in the wind. Azula half-wondered if it was a conscious choice, for theatrics. That entrance certainly seemed planned.

“Zuko,” she spat, keeping her voice loud enough to avoid her words being lost in the wind. “What do you want?”

Her brother laughed lightly, like a lilting melody, carried across the wind. It was not a genuine sound.

“Don’t worry Lala,” he almost sang, “I’m not here for you.” His tone was gently condescending, as if he were talking to a child who simply didn’t understand. It was infuriating.

It had also taken Azula a little aback to hear that he wasn’t here for her. If she was in any way disappointed by this, she wasn’t going to admit it to herself.

“Answer my question.”

Zuko sighed, and although Azula couldn’t hear it over the wind, or see his lips move to form it, she could tell because he’d used his entire body to accentuate the gesture. It was a habit he’d picked up from their mother, even if he didn’t know it anymore.

“If you must know, I’m going to capture the Avatar. If you don’t want to get blown up, I suggest you move now.”

Azula planted her feet into a solid stance. If he wanted a fight, he could come and get one. In return, her brother only sighed again.

“You make these things so needlessly difficult, sister.”

Zuko raised his hands and sent a brilliant burst of dazzling white light at her feet. She sidestepped quickly enough to avoid it, but the move had been meant as a distraction- and an explosion on her left sent her flying into a wall.

The ground beneath her began to crack, and Azula pushed herself up as quickly as she could. Around her, supporting pillars began to topple and fall.

She ran towards the crumbling edge, up the side of a titled beam, and threw herself over the edge, landing on the side of the balloon. She hadn’t managed to get a good grip upon landing though, and it only took a slight tilting of the vessel for her to slide off the edge, spiralling into a free fall.

To her eternal luck, she landed on top of another balloon, hidden beneath the fog. Azula looked up to see that Zuko had jumped down from his post, and was watching her rise up through the air. Her balloon stopped level with his, and she watched him take a step back- and then make a running leap through the air towards her position.

Towards her. She wasn’t thinking quick enough- and there was another white flash headed towards her face. She dodged, tucking into a roll, and returned with her own blue flame in a series of quick shots.

Zuko deflected them skilfully, and seemed to be preparing another attack. Azula knew she was at a disadvantage- these war balloons weren’t hers, she didn’t know where her allies were, and she didn’t know if she could take her brother in the state he was in- so her mind quickly flipped through a series of possibilities on how to avoid imminent failure.

Get him monologuing.

“Capturing the Avatar? Seems… beneath you.” Azula didn’t have to say much else, the implication was clear.

Zuko took the bait. He dropped his stance slightly, shifting to instead give her his

attention. He positioned himself in a way that would allow for the best vocal projection over the wind, rather than the best range for fiery attacks.

Azula couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself. Too easy. Even like this, I can read you like a book.

“My honour was called into question,” he began, making no attempt to hide a certain flavour of contempt in his voice. “This is how I can restore it.”

Azula couldn’t keep the shock out of her own voice. “Your honour? Your honour? What could you possibly-“

Zuko held up a hand, cutting her off.

Wow. Rude.

“You want to know what I, Father’s favourite child, could have done to warrant his displeasure.” Azula didn’t like that his tone of voice conveyed that he obviously expected her to know what it was, because she didn’t. She also didn’t like not knowing things.

“I wonder…?” he added, unhelpfully.

Azula was at a loss for words, which was a position she despised being in. Zuko took this moment to advance, taking measured steps forwards, hands behind his back like he wasn’t mere metres away from a fatal precipice.

“Father wasn’t too happy that you lied to him about what happened in Ba Sing Se. And he wasn’t pleased with my compliance in said… what was the word he used again? Treachery.”

Compliance? Please. Azula had only said that Zuko had fired the killing blow against the Avatar, and if her brother had chosen not to dispute that, whatever reasons he might’ve had, not one of them was treasonous. As much as she might like them to be.

No, her dearest brother seemed perfectly incapable of treason thanks to her father’s unethical interventions. She wasn’t even sure if he’d known what the word meant, anymore. Ozai knew that. And if he was really concerned about treason, he certainly wouldn’t have let Zuko remember it, much less live with the consequences.

Which meant that their father had sent the Crown Prince off on this silly quest purely because he wanted his son to suffer, and he wanted his son to remember suffering. To remember not being good enough.

Because even with all the mind control and conditioning in the world, Zuko could never be cleansed, in his father’s eyes, of the crime of simply being himself. He could be perfect, and still not good enough. Azula had once been foolish enough to be jealous of the attention he received from their father- bitterly though, she wondered if after everything, she was still somehow the favourite.

That was probably why Zuko hadn’t spoken out against the lie. Even as the gem of the Fire Nation, he still had to prove himself.

It might have been funny to her if her father had been anyone else, or if there wasn’t a scar on her brother’s face that he thought he’d given himself.

“You’ve got nothing to say to me?” His voice cut through her inner monologue. Azula looked up again, eyes meeting the forceful white of the mask.

“Take that thing off. I can’t hear you properly,” she commanded. It wasn’t particularly true, but it might help her case.

The smile in his voice made it seem like he’d been waiting for her to ask.

“Of course.” Carefully, and with both hands, Zuko lifted off the mask.

Spirits, he looks so much like our father.

Azula was not proud of her first thought, but he’d inherited the same sort of wicked smile, and the strands of hair he’d left undone framed his face in an uncomfortably familiar sort of way.

His eyes had once belonged to his mother, but they’d been empty for some time now, any trace of Ursa scooped out over a circling flame and scorched.

Azula had smiled when her brother was branded, regretted it since, but at that moment, she was almost glad for the scar- it broke the horrifying illusion and drew her mind back to the parts of her brother that were just that- her brother, and nothing else.

The next thing she’d noticed were the bags beneath his eyes, and the creases in his forehead that even a smile stretched far too wide couldn’t disguise.

Zuko looked terrible. He looked like the product of restless nights, of endless stress.

Not for the first time, Azula felt a pain in her chest thinking about how she’d left him alone in the castle with their father again after the eclipse.

But even still, he’d seemed fine on most other occasions she’d seen him unmasked. This seemed… rougher than usual. Rougher than she might even expect from only parental disapproval, even if that parent was the Firelord.

The third thing she noticed was how his scar seemed bigger than normal, etching its way down into his neck, fresher in some places than others.

“Do you like it? It’s beautiful, in some strange way. And it’s mine to keep.”

His words shocked Azula out of her trance. There was something strange about the way he said them, and it wasn’t just the implications of what he was actually saying.

“He doesn’t often give me gifts but this one’s here to have forever.”

It was then the diction clicked- Zuko was quoting something. Azula wasn’t sure what, but the rhythm and the barely hidden disgust-dripping irony in his voice suddenly made sense. It gave her the mildest relief that her brother hadn’t become a full-on sadist as a result of her father just yet.

“You’re staring.” Azula snapped her eyes up to meet her brother’s own uncovered pair. The very eyes his distorted smile never quite reached.

“You seem shocked,” he innocently observed. “What, you weren’t expecting this to happen?”

“It’s not your fault,” Azula blurted out before she could stop herself. It was a slip of emotion, and she immediately regretted it. But if Zuko was surprised at all by the sudden vulnerability, it didn’t show at all.

“I know,” he responded plainly, and surprisingly. “When Father gave this to me, he said that it was merely a consequence of my own actions, and that in that sense it was my own doing. But I know better than that. It wasn’t my fault.“

And then, something happened.

Zuko’s mask fell. Not the theatre mask that was hanging on his belt, but the mask he’d worn in place of his face for years. The one that Azula wasn’t sure could come off.

But in an instant, the creepy, uncanny smile of the Fire Prince vanished and was replaced by a scowl that seemed to reach into the depths of the soul, an expression of emotion that was actually real. It was visceral anger that felt right to look at on his features, if only for the fact that the brutality of the scar finally slotted into facial harmony. It was an expression that Azula had known on her brother as a child, when she’d stolen his snacks, or burnt his toys, or pushed him over, or anything of the sort. It was the kind of emotional reaction that was tended to with love and care by their mother, punished by their father, and suppressed by years of brainwashing. It was achingly familiar, and it somehow felt like home in a way that nothing had for years.

Azula’s breath was snatched away by the sight of her brother, her actual brother.

“It was yours.”

The anger was, as always, directed at her.

“You told Father about Ba Sing Se. You turned him against me, and you left me alone to deal with it. This is the result of your actions.”

And then almost as quickly as it had left, the mask reappeared. But something was… wrong with the way it was put back on. Like it had been dropped, and Azula could still see something shifting through the cracks. Beneath the horrid sterility of everything else.

“I’m not going to hold it against you, if you were worried about that,” Zuko offered, unconvincingly. “I know you weren’t thinking about what would happen to me when you angered Father on the Eclipse.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you weren’t thinking about me at all.”

Azula had no words to defend herself with. She was still stunned, and couldn’t bring herself to even so much as move. Her brother unhooked the theatre mask from his belt, and moved to put it back on.

“That’s why you’ll never be Firelord, Lala,” Zuko concluded, matter-of-fairly. “You don’t think ahead. You don’t think about anyone else, either. It’s all about you in your little world, and when you ruin lives, you leave, and never look back.”

Then he leant in, until his mouth was only a finger’s width away from her ear.

“Mom would be proud.”

Somehow, the very words she’d wanted to hear her whole life were twisted into something that cut into her with the same pain as a small knife to the abdomen.

For once in her life, Azula couldn’t even think straight. Her brilliant mind conjured blank after blank.

She didn’t even notice she’d been kicked until the balloon disappeared from beneath her and she was falling, falling endlessly through the clouds.

She hit something with a softer impact than should have been possible from that height. Her vision swam as the clouds continued to rush around her, as if she was still falling.

“Are you okay?” A young boy’s voice. There was a face and a name that she couldn’t place in the moment.

“She’s fine. She’s still breathing, right?” Snarkier, female.

“She’s clearly not okay.” A third, male, older. “She looks like she’s in shock. And she hasn’t insulted us yet.”

“With any luck, it’s permanent.” The second one again.

“Katara!” Number three. Number two was Katara.

Her senses began to come to her, and Azula wiped away a traitorous tear that she hadn’t realised she’d shed.

“Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” The Avatar. Aang. He was looking at her with big eyes. He’d given her the opportunity to leave with them, he’d been right, and he wasn’t rubbing it in her face. He was never going to.

Azula shook her head, numbness starting to give way to a self-inflicted rage at the next few tears to desert her eyes.

“My brother,” was all she managed to say.

———

and then I remembered my exams are the day after tomorrow and stopped there. 2698 words

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

can i just say that i am OBSESSED with your Alfie series. literally cannot get enough of it. Also!! Was wondering if you could write a fluff piece were reader gets injured and alfie comes to her rescuee? Your writing is so good <3

Hi my love! This ask was so so sweet! I am so glad you like the series, it was so much fun to share it with you guys, I know I tell y'all all the time but it's true! My heart is just so full I can't help it! And of course I can write some fluff! You know I love it hehe. I'm sorry this took a while but I hope you like it! This was actually inspired by my Thanksgiving fiasco this past year lmao. I was in charge of the turkey, mac and cheese, dessert, and potatoes. My little brother was my sous chef and I completely cut my thumb open and my brother almost passed out lmao. Anyway, sending all my love to you! - Mo

Ouch

Alfie Solomons x F!Reader, fluff, Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

There is something so soothing about the kitchen. When the world is so chaotic and cold and uncertain, the kitchen is a haven. Here it’s safe and warm and systematic. The chops and bubbling of the stove are so rhythmic, any harshness of the day just falling off your shoulders in waves. Because here you could understand and set the temperature. Here you could control the outcome and be free. Even if you were trying something new, you could be confident in the knowledge that it would always have a good outcome. It was your favorite part of the day, just cooking with Alfie. You on one side with Alfie on the opposite, working separately to jointly create beautiful.

The only problem that came with cooking, was that it was a little too peaceful. You became too relaxed. And as Alfie was apt to remind you, it wasn’t good to be too relaxed around knives and hot stoves. But it was too easy. The steady hum of the fire and boiling. The pattern you’ve gone through many a time. Your body would take over like a dance from your childhood. Your hands knew what they were doing. Your mind could take a break. And she would wander. Things to be completed in the office tomorrow. That new quilt you were making for your mother. Alfie needing a haircut.

Stir.

I need to make time for that book this weekend

Pour.

Alfie looked so handsome today if it weren’t for that awful stain on his shirt

Stir

Mama and Papa asked us to come for Shabbat this week. I need to tell Alfie.

Chop

We should go to the park this week

Chop

I wonder if we can visit Rabbi Reuben as well

Chop

Alfie’s birthday is also coming up

Chop

I’m so excited for his birthday surprise

Slice

“AH!!! Oh God ah!!”

A long and deep line blossoms on your palm. Far too entrenched in your mind, you were completely missing how the knife was getting closer and closer to your hand. You quickly grab a nearby dish towel, tightly wrapping your hand to catch the trickle dripping to the wood on the floor. Alfie is quick to you though, loudly dropping the cutlery and bowl he was holding. "Shit! Sweet heart you alright? What d'ya do to yourself?"

"Nothing nothing Alfie darling! Just a little scrape I'm sorry!"

Alfie peered at the slowly soaking dishtowel and raised his thick blonde brows at you. Mustache quirking, indicating that once again, you are a terrible liar. Gently but without holding room for argument he unraveled your makeshift bandage as you winced. His mouth furrowed and grumbled, "Ah shit treacle. This is why I always tell you right? You can't be all day dreaming when you're working in here! You insist on not letting me help ya, and then there you go fucking filleting yourself!"

Cool tears start trickling down. It burned with the introduction of the air and the embarrasment of getting a nasty cut. Alfie sighed, wiping your tears with one hand has he cradled your injury in the other. If there was one thing he hated most in the world, it was seeing you cry. "Aw my dove, no tears yeah? Not too bad ain't it? Why I don't even think it'll need a stitch I wager. Just a little alcohol on it and a bandage and you'll be right as rain. C'mon my angel, let's get you better aye? Dinner can wait a few minutes."

Despite having a terrible temper and being completely and utterly impatient... Alfie Solomons was an incredibly gentle and tender nurse. Stern. Always stern. And teasing. And scolding. But gentle above all else. You winced and shed a small tear when Alfie poured the clear and horrendous smelling alcohol on your wound. He tutted and kissed your temple all the while telling you, "Maybe this'll teach you eh? Nothing like a war would to make you more smart about your surroundings."

You thanked your lucky stars you didn't need a stitch at all. Despite the blood it was really a shallow cut. Alfie wrapped your hand skillfully. Pressing a kiss right over the bandage as the final salve. As you whispered a chaste thank you, Alfie pulled you into his chest saying, "Now listen my dove. I don't like to baby you. You are a grown woman and I'm not one to tell woman how to conduct herself or her affairs. But I get worried about you. Always drifting off somewhere in that pretty head. Not watching yourself. Not wanting help. You have got to let me help you my darling. Yeah?"

You nod, kissing him to assure him that you are ok. He chuckles kissing you back. Pushing you to the dining room chair he teases you further, "Now my dear patient, it is imperative that you sit there and keep that hand elevated. Lots of rest of relaxation yeah?"

"Alfie! I have to finish dinner!"

"No I'm sorry treacle but it is the doctor's orders! Can't have you losing a finger next can we?"

You laugh and argue with him, eventually get him to compromise to allowing you to fill a pitcher with water and set the kettle on. No matter what the others of Camden said, they could never say that he wasn't a good man.

[gumnut-logic]

Virgil ran his hands through damp hair and grumbled as the curls wrapped around his fingers.

He had been in his uniform. His space-rated uniform. And yet somehow he still smelled of swamp.

Was it up his fingernails or something? He glared at his cuticles as he walked into the comms room, distracted enough that he didn’t see it coming.

Arms, legs, a mass of brother, and Virgil was teetering over. “What the-? Aaah!”

Yep, the floor was just as hard as it was the last time he hit it.

The body on top of him, and currently kneeing him in the gut, was familiar, though.

“Gordon, what the hell!”

But his brother was clinging to him like a limpet and didn’t answer.

“Gordon?” His face was buried in Virgil’s flannel-coated chest. “You okay?”

The cast on Gordon’s arm lifted up once and tapped back on Virgil’s chest.

“Gords?” Virgil wrapped a hesitant arm around his little brother’s back and to his surprise, the fish burrowed in more, crinkling flannel up against his face.

Okay, if this was a thing, Virgil could handle it. Even if he was on his back on the hardwood floor and yeah, that swamp hadn’t been the kindest.

And was still up his nostrils.

But if his little brother needed this, he was there. All the way.

Except for that bruise on the back of his shoulder where his uniform padding hadn’t quite reached far enough. That twinge could just stop complaining right now.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there.” It was muffled into his shirt and barely comprehensible.

Huh? “Gords? You helped me over comms. Couldn’t have done it without you. Your help was invaluable.”

“I hate this.” It was scrunched up into his shirt and ever so quiet.

“You’ll get better.”

Gordon’s head came up fast and would have whacked Virgil a good one if his reflexes regarding little brothers weren’t so practised.

“If you survive. Do you know how close it was today? If I had been there today there wouldn’t have been a problem. There are things I know that my brothers don’t. That you don’t. That is why I need to be out there.”

“You were there. You saved my butt. You recognised the danger and saved both me and the rescuees.”

“But not before you were nearly swept away! I almost lost you today, Virg, and I could only sit on the couch and watch! I hate this!”

“Hey, hey! We made it. You saved us anyway.”

His brother grunted and curled up against his chest.

Virgil let out a breath and relaxed against the floor giving Gordon whatever he needed.

A few moments and it appeared his little brother was settling in for the long haul.

Okay, again, Virgil could handle it. He had a career as a pillow, after all.

He wrapped his arms around his little fish brother and held on tight. It sucked to be stuck at home while brothers were out risking their lives.

A hug never hurt.

Except for that bruise on his left hip. That one was definitely complaining.

“Virg, you stink.”

“I know.”

Gordon only hugged him tighter.

-o-o-o-

[hebuiltfive]

I wrote this last Saturday night and I've been sitting on it since. Not sure if I'll expand on it or write more to it, but *throws it into the void* enjoy!

----------------------------------

In Times Of Trouble

Help.

They were usually the ones who were called when someone needed help.

They were usually the voices and aid on the other end of the helpline.

No-one had ever asked them what happened when they were the ones requiring assitance.

One of the other members of the team would probably step in would have been their answer, now he thought about it.

But what happened when they all needed help?

What happened when their aid and assistance wasn't enough?

What happened when the world was burning and hope dwindled to nothing more than a tiny shred, drifting away in the wind?

He happened, apparently.

Virgil had never heard such a beautiful sound. A groaning, wheezing that symbolised so much. That dread and despair disappeared in a fraction at that wonderful noise. He imagined it was similar to how rescuees felt when they heard the roaring engines of the Thunderbirds.

He hadn't expected anyone to answer his call. Why would they? He suspected most people were dead, or worse. It wasn't a topic he dwelled on for long, not with most of his family missing.

Without Thunderbird Five, there wasn't a lot Virgil knew when it came to the state of the world. The GDF were overrun, he knew that much. They'd become overwhelmed from Day One. It wasn't too far of a stretch to imagine them being completely drowned out now.

With communications disabled, Virgil hadn't been able to get in contact with London either. It was foolish of him to try and fly out with Alan. Now, as he sat with his little brother's head cradled in his lap, the errors he'd made along the way stood out to him sharply.

The call was his last attempt of getting help, even though he hadn't expected it to work.

It was his last chance before those monsters drew closer.

He hadn't expected it to have been answered.

"Inside. Quick!"

The man who had opened the doors to that wooden box seemed familiar to him, but in that moment, Virgil had no time to ponder on something so trivial.

The banging on the door to that small room intensified. They were almost through. There was no time for a debate.

Lifting his brother into a fireman's lift, Virgil carried him into the box.

The box that was...

"Impossible."

It took all his effort to not drop Alan onto the floor in his sheer amazement.

Their strange saviour ran behind him, closing the door, before running back to the main console unit. "You might want to hold on tight."

Before Virgil could ask, the room — that was incredibly bigger inside than the box had shown it to be — violently jolted. Virgil swore, clinging to his brother with all his might as he went crashing into a railing.

"Won't they just break through the door?" Virgil asked the man who seemed to be swirling a disc around on the console. "This doesn't seem like the best rescue."

"Nonsense. This is a fine rescue!"

Virgil wholeheartedly disgreed.

"Besides," the man continued, "they'll have to find us first!"

Find them? Virgil didn't understand, although that seemed to be nothing new these days.

He continued to hold on, knuckles growing white with tension and gritting his teeth as the room jolted again and again. He held Alan close to him, his kid brother still not rousing from his unconscious state. Virgil needed to examine him properly.

The box eventually stopped it's tumultuous rocking and Virgil sank to the floor in relief. He carefully rested Alan down beside him, his head once again in Virgil's lap. Fingers carded through Alan's hair, matted with blood and dirt.

It was hard trying to catch his breath. His lungs felt ready to burst and his head— his head swam with all sorts of thoughts.

The man stood in front of him, leaning back on the console. "You alright?" He asked with such genuine concern Virgil felt he might have cried.

He found he couldnt answer verbally. He just nodded in answer, then shook his head. The truth was he didn't know.

"There's a medical bay, just down the hall." The man with the familiar face — seriously, where did he know this man from? — pointed to one of the doors. "I can help your friend."

"Brother." Virgil corrected him with a croak. He cleared his throat. "He's my brother."

His chocolate hues traced Alan's features before glancing upward, meeting the man's eyes for the first time since his arrival. "You saved us?"

"You called for help."

"I know you... From somewhere. Don't I?"

The man seemed to tense up a little, turning himself away from the two Tracy brothers and concerning himself with his console again. "We'll be landing in about fifteen minutes."

"Landing?"

"I can fix your brother up in no time."

He turned back to them both, striding forward to, Virgil assumed, relieve him of his brother.

Virgil held tight, shaking his head. Finally finding his voice, and then his feet, he stood firm over Alan's limp body. "I can look after him. Show me this med bay."

"He was shot with a pressurised neutron blast." The man reminded him, though Virgil wasn't sure what the implications of such an injury meant.

Still, he refused to move from Alan's side. "I'm a medic, I can handle it. I'm sure I've dealt with worse."

"I'm sure you have, but that still doesn't mean you know what you're dealing with."

"Little green men from out of space, right?" Virgil let loose a dark laugh. He was open to believing in aliens but having them try to invade the planet was beginning to seem incredulous.

"Virgil, let me look at Alan. Please?"

Any humour, however grim, faded. "... I didn't tell you my name. Either of our names."

The man who had saved them blinked.

Before he had the chance to answer, Virgil took a step towards him with his shoulder squared. "Who are you? Are you with those creatures?"

"No."

"What is this place?"

Virgil span then, arms opening in a gesture that pointed to the entire expanse of the bright room. He couldn't think of any of word better fitting to describe it than spaceship, and so far, he wasn't having the best time when it came to dealing with aliens.

"Who are you then?" He tried again.

"I'm just... passing through."

"That isn't a name."

The man sighed. "You can call me the Doctor."

"That still isn't a name."

He shrugged, unwilling to give anything else to him. "Virgil, please, you need to believe me. I am on your side."

"How can I be sure of that?"

"I saved you, didn't I?"

It had been a miracle that he had, and Virgil wasnt about to slap it back in the man's face.

"Let me look at Alan, please."

Whether it was because he was exhausted, or whether it was because the title he had offered Virgil symbolised aid and help, he finally relented. Virgil stepped to the side, picking Alan up again. "You can look at him, but I'm coming with you. Where's this medical bay?"

[littlespoonevan]

The fact that they made Ali a fun and semi-memorable rescuee as a seemingly one-off character in the earthquake but a total non-entity when she actually had an ongoing involvement with a main character is an ✨achievement✨

you know i was thinking about it last night and i feel like the reason all these love interests we meet on calls don't work out is because we meet them on calls????

they hire these actresses to do a fun/interesting 10 minute mini arc and provide just enough details to give them some kind of personality so we're invested in their emergency. which is fine on its own because for the sake of a call, that's all you need.

but then they decide 'oh hey this person could date buck/eddie!!' and they bring them back but they never develop them beyond the person we first meet on the call so they just become the Girlfriend(tm)

the only detail about ali that gets repeated is that she travels for work

the only detail about ana they focus on is that she's a teacher

the only detail about natalia they focus on is that she's a death doula

they vaguely mention marisol being into diy and about her brother in 7x05

taylor is obviously a bit more developed because she stuck around longer but she still loses most of her personality throughout their relationship in s5

and it's just like, how can you expect anyone to be invested in these relationships when the show doesn't seem invested???? when the show can't be bothered to develop these characters???? when a lot of the time it seems they didn't originally plan for this person to be a love interest????

please for the love of god make it interesting so we can root for it or just let them be single askdjfhdjaksh

(or y'know, go with the secret third option 👀)

[edutainer2022]

UNREQUITED Ch 7.5

Co-written with @janetm74

Ch 7 | Ch 8 | AO3

A piece, concurrent with the ending of Ch 7 (Page Six). A glimpse into Scott's reaction and overall state of mind (aka the lies his heartbreak is telling him). Virgil is being a very supportive brother, but he's out of his depth quite a bit.

(interlude)

*interlude*

Virgil startled, as he didn't expect his brother to speak. Not since he picked him up off the floor of Dad's study, hyperventilating, amidst the shards of the broken whiskey glass and the shattered picture frame of Scott's AirForce graduation photo Dad kept on his desk.

Not since they holed up in one of the Round House guest rooms, while the short notice preparations of the impromptu "wedding party" were afoot.

Virgil quietly debated with John to maybe ask to call it off, but it was Penelope's request. And Gordon was so excited. They wondered if that was also Lady P's sneaky way to arrange a getaway for her friend Kayo and Rigby in a beautiful, romantic setting. That would have been a move right up her alley.

None of that certainly helped improve Scott's mood or made him more forthcoming. Big brother was just not all there since the news announcement and the breakdown in the study.

Virgil wondered if Scott even noticed his brother was an ever present shadow at his side those past two days. Apparently he did.

They saw FAB 1 land on the island, earlier than expected, from the vantage point of the mountain terrace.

Then John's message came through - that the "wedding" was an elaborate GDF undercover op. Scott reacted to that in a way Virgil didn't anticipate - with a laugh that chilled him to the bone. A laugh of a madman.

Virgil was still unsure what to say, once his brother calmed down, but Scott spoke first.

"I can't do this anymore."

Virgil's chest tightened. Virgil shifted to press himself closer to Scott's shoulder and provide support. Whatever his brother needed at the moment. Scott's voice was hoarse.

"I can't feel like this anymore. I can't! I want to stop!"

"Scotty, you're scaring me."

Virgil didn't intend to sound so small and unsure, but the raw pain Scott let him see up close, left the little brother in him rattled. Virgil leaned his chin on Scott's shoulder, an extra anchoring point in the storm.

"I can't feel like I couldn't ever be happy. I want to stop! All of it. Just stop!"

Virgil's vision swam. There was a determination behind the anguish in his brother's voice that got him so scared all the way back in the Arctic blizzard. That was a step before Scott setting a self-destruction course.

Virgil tried again with the softest inflection, usually reserved to shocked rescuees:

"Scotty, it's okay. You deserve all the happiness you ever wish for, I promise!"

It didn't have an intended effect, as big brother snorted bitterly.

"That's just it, Virgie - I DON'T! She was right."

Virgil's educated guess as to the "she" was immediately confirmed.

"She was right. I was Dad's charity case. He probably saw right away I wasn't cut out for GDF, so planned to pull me out anyway. That was even before... That Place."

Virgil shuddered. Any mention of the hell in Bereznik those months were for Scott (and for them all) was a minefield of its own. But Scott wasn't done.

"And after... Dad didn't even trust me to go on Zero-X with him. Didn't trust me to save him! She was right - I'm a waste of AirForce training and Dad's hopes!"

Scott was sobbing more than talking coherently at that point, so Virgil concentrated on clutching him for dear life, as if scared the brother would fracture into pieces if he let go. His own tears were soaked in by the denim shirt.

John's notice he was coming up remained unread.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Finally finished a WIP!! Only took a car breakdown and waiting to be rescued!

Entirely un-proofread but yolo. Thanks to @astranite and @sofasurf and @womble1 for encouragement 🥰

Accidentally broke Virg a bit… 🤭

Play it Out

It had been a textbook rescue. The Thunderbirds Triumphant! Everybody had been saved with nothing more than a collection of minor scrapes and bruises between them. And most of those obtained by Gordon as he attempted to break dance to keep the rescuees entertained while Virgil made a safe passage to the surface.

Yes, definitely a good one. The only tears today were those of joy on parental faces as twenty-eight dusty children burst from the pod module and dashed into their arms to be swung up into the air and spun around and kissed all over their faces and told over and over how much they were loved. The unique privilege of watching such moments was undoubtedly the best part of the job and Virgil was proud to have helped make it happen. He was very happy. Absolutely thrilled.

Absolutely.

The journey home had been filled with the excited chatter of his younger brothers. The pilot tuned them out, fixing a benevolent smile on his face while focusing intently on Two’s background E hum in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to ignore the hollow sensation in his gut.

He didn’t understand where the glow had gone.

Sure, he’d started feeling a little wistful recently. Maybe there were only so many emotional reunions a person could witness before they started playing on a slow motion loop in your head like some cheesy 20th century movie montage and lost their novelty.

Anyway, he’d had plenty of run, catch, throw, spin routines with Alan when he was smaller and knew full well that the inevitable tiny-but-solid knee to the stomach or flailing elbow to the jaw made the whole thing less idyllic than it looked.

God forbid he try that now. Alan’s glare as Virgil had reached out to steady his little brother’s slight stumble off Two’s passenger platform earlier that afternoon could have set his eyebrows on fire.

The throbbing pressure in the back of his throat had been subject to a gradual crescendo since they took off and it was beginning to make it difficult to breathe without concentrating. So he concentrated on breathing. He concentrated on flying. And then on landing. And he sorted post flights. And he cleaned up Gordon’s forehead graze. And he rolled his eyes when Gordon told him to “STOP BEING SUCH A MOM, VIRGARONI”.

That was only niggling at him now because it was Gordon’s most stupid nickname yet. For goodness sake, sounds like a type of pasta. He tramped into the locker room and attempted to drown his increasingly foul mood in the shower - full power-hose mode. Extra hot. He lost track of time just a little, tracing the path of grout around the tiles with his eyes, letting the water drill into his skull and wondering whether this was… everything.

Whether his role in life was to preserve and observe and… just that?

That was a pretty awesome role all told. He was preventing families being torn apart, enabling Happiness and Normality for hundreds. It was a PRIVILEGE. Only an awfully selfish person would have any kind of problem with playing his part. And anyway, look at what he had - his incredible siblings who he adored were always close by, a they had a beautiful home and they wanted for nothing. He was objectively the luckiest man alive.

And yet.

He growled in frustration and shut off the water, leaning heavily on the wall for a moment as a wave of wooziness rushed over him. Maybe the shower had been TOO hot. According to his wrinkly fingertips he’d been here wasting time for far too long. The others would start wondering where he’d got to.

Clothes. Style hair. Happy face on. Up to the lounge.

The lounge was empty. But there was the piano.

Music would make it better, it always did.

Picking something generically soothing - Beethoven’s Moonlight - Virgil focussed intently on the subtlety of the rhythm, recalling his Mom perched next to him on this very stool, explaining it wasn’t as simple as the length of the notes but the different stress on each. She’d had him reciting “pineapple pineapple pineapple” as he played.

He remembered his dad standing behind them, placing an arm around both their shoulders and giving a squeeze as he made some kind of fruit-based pun Virgil could no longer bring to mind. Mom had poked her husband in the ribs, mocked him for his dad jokes and pulled him in for a kiss. Pre-teen Virgil had squirmed with embarrassment but the sweet moment had stuck with him and he’d hoped maybe one day…

With a discordant crunch his hands came to a halt. He clearly needed to play something that required more brainpower to shut down this ridiculous self-pitying Nonsense.

He half stood and reached into the piano stool to extract the book of advanced technical exercises John had bought him a couple of years back. They were fiendish, defied any sense of predictable pattern and the modal shifts set his teeth on edge. That should do it.

Time passed. It did not pass quickly. Half an hour or possibly decades went by and all he had achieved was a twitchy tingle in his left ring finger and the start of a tension headache. The cold, empty feeling had intensified. He shook his hands violently to shift the cramp and turned the page.

There was a soft cough behind him.

“That was… different?”

“It’s called training, Scott. Agility exercises. If I don’t do these I can’t expect to play the fancy stuff.” Virgil’s eyes widened slightly as he heard his own snappish tone.

“Sure, it’s just I could do with sorting some paperwork and so would you mind playing something a little less… uh… like… that?”

The part of Virgil that lived to keep his big brother sane slapped himself upside the head for being so self-absorbed. He looked up and arranged his face into an obliging smile.

“Of course, sorry. You want jazz or some kind of chilled filmic stuff or…?”

Scott’s wink and finger guns indicated relaxing film scores were the order of the day and so Virgil delivered. It was all going very well, he was definitely calming down and everything was fine. And not a Scott Tracy fake ‘Fine’ either, he cast a sidelong glance at his brother who appeared to be typing away peacefully. He transitioned into a lilting F# minor theme and went heavy on the sustain pedal to allow the higher notes to resonate through the room. Leaning back and closing his eyes, he shut all the silliness firmly away and began to enjoy himself.

Until a particular chord progression seemed to flick a switch in his soul and every hair on the back of his arms shivered to attention as a shard of ice slid down his spine.

His fingers sprang off the keys lifting the tune out through the high chords as it took on a life of its own - an insistent, yearning melody. A gasp escaped him as he found he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs - the villa faded out and he was grounded only by his fingertips returning again and again to the familiar rise and fall of black on white.

The ball of tension that had formed behind his eyes flooded down through his veins and out through his hands like poison sucked from a wound. The ache of loneliness - the longing… the surge of grief for what could never be - he forced it all down his arms and out into the wild, transformed into melody, pulse, rhythm to whirl past his bowed head and soar into the rafters and… away.

Virgil let his fingers rest on the keys as the last notes faded, gradually becoming aware of the tremor in his hands. Exhaustion swept over him and he shivered, realising his shirt was soaked with perspiration.

Silence but for the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Then, a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing away tears he had no recollection of forming. He released the breath he was holding and leaned into the touch with a sigh, eventually dragging his eyelids ajar.

Scott’s other hand settled on his shoulder as he crouched next to the piano stool, blue eyes full of questions and concern.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Virgil cleared his throat and began reaching for some appropriately reassuring words.

A earth-shatteringly loud screech startled them both as Gordon sprinted across the room trailing shaving foam with a furious Abominable-Snowman-Alan hot on his heels.

Virgil scraped his scattered emotions back into submission and watched Scott’s expression as his big brother decided to put a pin in the Tinies-wrangling for later and turned back to him. Some kind of explanation was clearly required here but Virgil found himself unable to add any more weight to the burden his brother already carried.

And so for the first time in a decade Virgil told his best friend a deliberate lie.

“I was just thinking about Mom”

Maybe TBC? I should really fix them…

Note: Feel free to pick your own hauntingly heartbreaking film theme to knock Virgil over with (there are many that would fit!). The one that gave me the ice treatment the other day and I haven’t been able to get out of my head since is here.

(It’s all going well until about 40 seconds in then it whallops him)

Part 2, Part 3

AO3

[whatgaviiformes]

I don't really like the story anymore, to be honest, but I adore these sections of words I wrote and the jumble of metaphors and I was thinking about them recently.

(From Medusa's Kiss)

...

Scott has a presence about him. It’s what gains him the respect of his team at Tracy Industries, what encourages their rescuees that Scott can be trusted with their lives. It’s what his brothers rely on in the field, and likely what his squad in the USAF listened to as well. It comes from the fact that he cares.

The secret of Scott is that it can be a curse too, caring that much. Virgil alone – and likely John – knows that it can make difficult debriefs that much harder, the lines between care and guilt and self-deprecation drawn far too thinly to even be the first outline of a sketch. For years, Virgil had been trying to take his professional grade pencils over those lines until they were dark and bold and Scott could see, and yet his brother continued to rub at them thoroughly.

We didn’t make it in time. Translation: I wasn’t fast enough. You got some graphite on your fingers there, commander.

Virgil likened his brother to a child of Atlas with the world on his back, and Scott’s presence, therefore, was a dramatic increase in pressure that manifested in the grinding of teeth, the pacing of feet against a worn floor, and an overbearing aura of protection. It was so much, so Scott, and it had served them well. It’s why, when Virgil wakes to the beeping of the infirmary, the gentle strokes of fingers through his hair, and the incessant, jittery tapping of a foot on the floor, Virgil feels just a bit heavier in the bed from the love of Scott challenging the force of gravity.

He doesn’t need to see to know it’s him, and so he calls Scott’s name through a groan and a cough.

“Here, Virg. Welcome back. Can you open your eyes for me?” His voice is soothing and quiet because he knows what Virgil is like when he wakes up, especially when he’s hurt. Virgil listens because Scott is his commander and big brother and he cares and he needs him to tone down the worry just a bit because that can’t be good for his world-worn shoulders.

“‘m’here.” He blinks away sleep.

[rhapsodyred-writes]

Across Enemy Lines - Chapter 1

The wonderful Mystique (@lady-of-disdain) and I are working on a multi-chapter Medieval-Royalty AU fic, and I'm excited to announce the first chapter is up on AO3 now!

Summary:

When you were children things were a lot simpler. You and Cross would play your games of Hero and Rescuee, he said he'd always be there to protect you. But things changed as you grew older, and now that you are both all grown up, responsibility and station have gotten in the way. Cross is the son of Lord Gaster, and prospective heir to the throne for the childless king and queen. You are merely a lowly human servant, at the very bottom of the hierarchy. However, you have something not a lot of humans have: magic. This puts you in danger though, because in a society ruled by monsters, humans with magic are feared and eliminated. Will Cross be able to protect you and your secret when you both learn of it, or will you both get caught in the middle of a fight between the bandit lord Nightmare, and his bounty hunter brother Dream?

Mind the tags, and please note there will be eventual smut, so minors dni, thank you.

[squiddokiddo]

Hey there!

I know Gordon is your favourite but do you have any headcanons for the other brothers?

Yeah, I know I definitely have some but now I'm being asked about it I'm drawing a blank lol, here's a list of some.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

Scott headcanons:

The only straight Tracy brother.

Likes cooking but doesn't get time to do it very often.

Scott's pancakes are the best.

Practically lives on black coffee and espresso shots.

As a kid, one of his dream jobs was a theme park ride tester. Others include aerial display pilot, airline pilot, falconer and a chocolate taster.

Virgil headcanons:

Demi-romantic Asexual.

One of only two people on the island who will eat marmite, the other is Grandma. (Parker also loves marmite, spread generously on toast)

Had a bit of an emo phase during his teens which later evolved into a grunge phase.

He can handle all sorts of gross things, being a medic and everything, but childbirth makes him a bit squeamish, a total of two people have unexpectedly fallen into labour during a rescue and delivering those babies was super challenging but very rewarding for him.

Virgil keeps all sorts of essential items for any rescuees he may have on board Thunderbird 2 including the obvious like, water, food and medical supplies but also: sanitary products, baby products, medicines for allergies, talcum powder and eczema cream, pet food and products, fidget and plush toys, ect.

Tried to eat pinecones as a toddler, Jeff and Lucy had to keep a close eye on him at Christmas because he'd try to shove their giant redwood pinecone decorations in his mouth. He grew out of his taste for pinecones when he was three.

Alan headcanons:

Bisexual

Gets god awful acne, as he's gotten older it's settled down a bit but he still gets pretty bad outbreaks from time to time.

Into 2000's and gen z culture, lucky for him his dad knows all about that. Unlucky for Grandma she remembers the trends Jeff was into when he was young.

Loves Vines and quotes them all the time with Gordon. His favourite Vines are probably the Freshavacadoo one and Hurricane Tortilla.

Dog person, has never really gotten along with cats despite still liking them. His favourite dog breed is a golden retriever.

Is an absolute legend at Mario Kart, John taught him how to play when they were kids.

John Headcanons:

Unlabeled/questioning - he isn't sure of his sexuality, it's not something he's too worried about right now though.

Has social anxiety, he copes very well with interacting with people at a distance like video calls and messaging but struggles a lot with face to face interactions.

Doesn't really play videogames that much but on the rare occasion that he does, he absolutely demolishes his competition whether that be on Mario Kart, Pokémon or Tetris.

Was into 80's and 90's video and arcade games as a kid, more for the fascination with programming and the machines' inner workings rather than the games themselves.

Hates ice skating, dealing with gravity is difficult enough without walking on a slippery surface with blades on his feet.

Can be the most sarcastic bitch if he's in a mood.

𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹*⊹.𖦹

[tracybirds]

For FishTank Week!! <3

I don't know how many more I'll be able to do but I knew from the second I saw the prompt "Beneath the Surface" what I wanted this fic to be :) Hopefully it comes across well. Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for the read through and reassurance and thanks of course to @gaviiadastra for creating the event and putting everything together <3

---

They live on a planet of oceans. Virgil knows this already, of course, has seen more of the Earth than most could dream of. For most his flights, there’s no land in sight for hours, no birds that glide through the air except his own.

Today, the sea is calm and he can’t hear the gentle swish of the waves, nor the whistling breeze across its surface. There’s an innocent satisfaction in the air, the waters calling to him in a language he feels he’s known his whole life, calling him to stay, to watch the world go by, to fall deep into its depths.

Virgil knows better.

He stays above, watching, waiting, listening for the jolt of static that connects him to Gordon below.

Gordon knows better too, but still he returns to her.

The song of the sea sinks deep.

Virgil exhales, banishing the creeping fear that something had gone wrong, that Gordon was in trouble, and lets the steady trill of his biometrics fill his ears.

A harsh alert rips through his calm and his eyes fly open.

“Virgil, report!”

It’s times like these that remind Virgil he’s the final link between Gordon and the rest of them, the only one close enough for the radio waves to penetrate the deep.

It’s a helpless task, but not a hopeless one. He is as much a beacon as he is a relay. He learnt long ago how to wait for his brother’s return.

He reaches for the comm. “Scott, I don’t have any updates. Four hasn’t moved, she’s still transmitting. The floor is stable and we just need to wait.”

“I don’t like it.”

Scott’s declaration is nothing new. Their eldest brother doesn’t trust anything he can’t control, covers his anxiety with certainty. But when it comes to the sea, only his feelings can be sure.

“I know,” says Virgil instead, one eye on the data flowing across the workstation, Four keeping up a steady stream of chatter in their brother’s absence. “He’ll be okay.”

Scott’s eyes tighten but he doesn’t say anything else.

The beep that registers the moment Scott disconnects echoes in the cockpit and Virgil is forcibly reminded that he is alone here. The space feels small when Gordon is here, but now it is cavernous and looming in its silence.

All he can do is wait.

…

The hours drip by.

Gordon’s life signs are steady and the rescue itself seems straightforward with no need for him to retreat to Four and request aid. There’s a familiar nonchalance to his words when they finally reach up, crackling through the radio, and Virgil squints and listens carefully to every tone that sings beneath his brother’s voice. It’s the only warning he’ll get if things have gone wrong.

But today there’s no sharp impatience or lilting sorrow and Virgil feels his muscles relax, aching as he stands and stretches for the first time in hours.

There’s no need to speak as they run through the usual manoeuvre to bring Four home. Virgil’s waiting with the medkit when the hatches open and two shaken submarine station workers come stumbling out.

It doesn’t take long to check them over and see Gordon’s done his job well – there’s nothing left to do except treat the shock.

Virgil leaves Gordon with them and calls ahead to the anxious authorities who alerted them; they’re on their way to deliver their friends and coworkers home.

Compared with the long, silent hours hovering over the waters, the trip seems to take no time at all and even the air feeling warmer with Gordon home.

Soon, they’re standing on the module’s ramp and Virgil’s speaking with the ambulance officer while Gordon chats with a very pale looking CEO.

He nods as Virgil wraps up, extracting himself from the conversation and bounding over to the two rescuees for a final farewell.

“Bye,” he says giving them each a hug, still chirpy despite the hours beneath the surface that ought to have left him utterly spent. “Give us a shout if you need us.”

The woman – Cathy – laughs, the hours of stress and fear melting away in Gordon’s care.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I hope I never see you again,” she says, eyes sparkling with a mischief that only Gordon could have imparted.

Gordon tries to pout, but his lips can’t quite help the smile that breaks loose.

“We’ll be here all the same,” says Virgil. “Just in case.”

They nod and smile politely at him, the stranger in blue and green, and hug Gordon one last time before stepping back on the dock and wave goodbye.

“Good job, Gords,” he says as the hydraulic system hisses and closes the ramp behind them. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Virgil,” says Gordon. “It got dicier than they know down there.”

There’s an edge in his voice that creeps in once the mask drops and Virgil looks at him sharply.

 “Do we need to look into their permits?”

“Nothing like that. They were too green to be down there alone, that’s all. But the people up here who authorise it, they never seem to know how easily things go wrong down there.”

It’s times like this that reminds Virgil that Gordon’s the only one who knows. They’ve all trained, of course they’ve all trained, but where John informs and Scott commands is a place only Gordon knows.

He swallows heavily, the roar of the ocean welling up between them. There’s an electricity in the atmosphere, the faint rumble of clouds closing in, the wind whipping the waves into a frenzy. Then the skies clear and Gordon lifts his head, sunny and bright once more.

This, Virgil knows. He knows better than anyone that his brother is the cold abyss as much as he is the warm, sparkling shallows. But he doesn’t know it like Gordon, doesn’t know the ins and outs of the ocean’s moods like he does.

He only knows that the calm above rarely reflected what went on below.

And he knows he will always be waiting above for the call to pull him back.

[skymaiden32]

Day In The Life

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to be alerted when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 16: Asteroid

John's typical morning.

Continuity: TAG

------

John sighed, content, as he watched the world go by below him. This was the life. A steaming mug of coffee in one hand, breakfast bagel in the other, EOS right there by his side, as she always was. 

A harsh sound cut deep into his thoughts, also as always. Sighing with regret, John stood up from his comfortable seat and made his way to the glowing sphere on the other side of the gravity ring; a holographic image of Earth. Warnings pulsed on the globes surface, notifying him of potential rescues, with one in particular catching his eye. It wasn’t like the others. It was practically next to him in space. A large rock picture was at the center; International Rescue’s code for an asteroid.

Putting his life-giving coffee down on a nearby surface, John spun the image up to his eye level, noticing the small symbol at the top of the red triangular warning. The tiny radio image was all he needed to know that there were people down there who needed help. They needed International Rescue.

He tapped on the scarlet triangle. “This is International Rescue. How can I help you?”

“International Rescue! Thank God!” The voice on the other end breathed out shakily. “We’re dead in space!” She explained, close to panicking. “All engine and electronic systems are down, and we’re in the path of an asteroid. We need help!”

“Okay. Okay, breathe.” He stated calmly. A panicked rescue victim never helped. He heard her breathing even on the end of the line. “How far out would you say the asteroid was?”

She paused, likely to look at the floating rock outside her screen. “Without a scanner, it’s hard to say. At it’s current rate, maybe four hours?”

John hummed, mulling it over. If it was that close, and depending how far out the craft was, he could either call Alan up in Thunderbird 3, or he could go out there himself. “Okay. I have you up on our scanners.” While he was talking, he determined it was too far for him to get to. Alan it was. “Thunderbird 3 is on the way.” He quickly opened up a line with his kid brother, and once he saw that the younger astronaut was listening, continued his conversation. “ETA 3 hours. Just hang tight, Ms…?” John hung on the word, unsure.

“Oh!” She said in surprise. “Dr Brumming.”

“Okay, Doctor. I’ll keep the line open. Call in whenever you need.” After an affirmative from the rescuee, he muted her and turned his attention to his brother. “Did you get all that, Thunderbird 3?”

The buzz of machinery from his brothers end was all John needed to know Alan was already in Thunderbird 3. “Ready, Thunderbird 5! Just waiting for the all clear from you.”

John froze. Oh, right. He’d almost forgotten that was part of his job. He took a quick glance at the skies over Tracy Island. “You’re clear for blast off. Good luck, Alan!”

“Thanks, Johnny!” The mike on the other end shook as the spaceship took to the skies with explosive power.

“How many times do I have to tell you guys?” He huffed. His only reply was an impish little chuckle. “Don’t call me Johnny!”

[gumnut-logic]

Five times Virgil tackled loopy family members, and one time they tackled him (Part Six, Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six - Bit 1

This is an attempt to finish this fic off. Unfortunately, this last part is big and I was unable to fully complete it this morning. But there is some Tracy boy action in this, so I hope you enjoy what should be the first half of the last chapter of this fic.

Now I have to go to work, drat it.

-o-o-o-

…and one time his family had to tackle him.

It was another fire.

Virgil had seen so many wildfires now they were at Tuesday status. Didn’t mean they weren’t tiring.

It was a full team effort and they had been at it for hours in the Californian hills. Virgil wanted to curse the eucalypts that weren’t supposed to be here, but honestly the native pines burned just as much, both full of flammable sap that just set the fires roaring.

At first he had stayed in Two, water-bombing with local fire services and laying down a firebreak to stop it all from getting into suburbia.

There lay the nightmare. The few times a wildfire had breached a city limits were all on Virgil’s most hated rescues list. Not that fire anywhere wasn’t horrible, but the city increased the density of human lives and ever so many more were inevitably lost.

Once the firebreak was set, he went back to slowing it down, but then some fire personnel were trapped and he had to leap out of Two to save them. A family who should have evacuated earlier also found themselves trapped on their property ahead of the fire front and again Virgil was the only one able to reach them.

By this time he already had his firesuit on and with a second thought also grabbed his exosuit. There was no indication it was needed, but he felt much more secure with it on.

Gordon called it his ‘wooby-suit’. Well, once, Virgil’s reaction had been sufficient to nub that one in the bud.

His brother still snickered on occasion when Virgil announced he was suiting up.

His fish brother really was a little shit at times.

A loveable one, but a shit nonetheless.

The house was a two storey at the very end of a cul-de-sac. Its driveway disappeared into the trees and as Virgil landed Two in the path of the oncoming fire, he had a few curse words for those who didn’t follow wildfire prevention protocols.

Two barely fit on the dead-end road, her backend almost nudging one of the other primly neat, ordered and now deserted homes.

At least one garden gnome met a gruesome end.

Virgil barely noticed. Moments and he was running down that winding dirt driveway. It appeared that it was one of those hidden pathways to a lot bigger property. Fortunately, John was in his ear with clear and concise directions.

A house appeared after a decent jog through the trees, Virgil frowned. There was no car packed for an emergency retreat. It all appeared deserted.

Only the backdrop of smoke and the ash drifting on the air gave the landscape any urgency.

“They are sheltering in the basement.” He could hear the frown in John’s voice.

“Well, get them out here. I don’t have time to dig them out.”

“I have been trying. They are quite panicked.”

John was interrupted by Scott. “Thunderbird Two, you are needed on the south-west flank, we have break through.”

“FAB, Thunderbird One. Retrieving two rescuees. ETA in ten.”

“Make it five, we have unevacuated civilians in the fire’s path.”

Again?

What the hell?

“FAB, Thunderbird One.”

Damnit.

The house itself could have stood in for one of those horror films. Tall, two storey, made of wood, not maintained too well. Even its paintwork screamed black and white Hitchcock.

Virgil didn’t bother with the front door, instead scooting around the side of the building to a set of external cellar doors. He banged on the wood with a claw. “International Rescue!” No response. “You called for help?”

“Virgil!” John’s voice was panicked.

A man appeared out of nowhere, yelling something incomprehensible. Virgil staggered backwards at a sharp pain in his arm. Someone else tried to grab him.

What the-?

“Get the damned machine off him! Cut the hydraulics!”

Virgil reacted, spinning where he stood, exosuit arms coming up in defence. Kayo’s instructions chanting in his mind, unbidden.

Disable and run. That’s all you have to do, Virgil. You don’t want to fight. Don’t fight. Run!

He wasn’t very manoeuvrable in the suit, but he was practised. Keep moving. Don’t let them immobilise you!

His right claw was a huge weapon and it barrelled into two men as he spun.

“Goddamnit! Get it right the third time, you idiots!” A woman’s voice and Virgil realised the cellar doors were open. She was climbing out to join the fray.

He spun, hitting someone else. How many were there? What did they want?

Why?

John shouted something in Virgil’s ear. Something about Scott.

Someone jumped onto his back, a hand blocking his vision as it gripped his helmet.

Pain as cold metal cut into the shoulder of his uniform.

Virgil set his feet and disengaged the exosuit, flinging himself away.

He hit dirt as the woman yelled at the men again, but he didn’t give himself time to register what she said, instead launching himself off the ground and running just as Kayo had told him to do.

“Get him, you idiots!”

Virgil’s breath was harsh in his ears as he put everything into his legs towards the safety of Two. His fire suit hampered him and he wished for the umpteenth time in his life that he had Scott or John’s long legs. But life had gifted him with strong, sturdy, and a damn sight shorter. He was literally made for heavy lifting.

And not for running.

But run he did.

For the trees.

His brain screamed at him about the fire hazard, about the glow above those trees, the ash dancing in the air, but he needed cover. A mix of eucalypt and pine waving in the hot wind.

Sparks drifting lazily past.

He wanted to stop and gaze at them but there was a voice urging him on.

And that horrible woman screeching far behind.

The scrub swallowed him whole.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!”

“Thunderbird Two will be available momentarily. We have pods to deploy and slow progress.” Scott stared at the map, suddenly missing Virgil’s input. This was definitely Virgil territory. Maybe he should switch out Gordon for Virg and assign him to control. One could take up the slack. “Yes, Thunderbird Five?”

“Virgil has been attacked. Code Green. Sending you coordinates.”

“What?!” He straightened so fast his back cracked. A glance at the fire chief and he was grabbing his helmet and moving. “Alan, I need One now!”

He didn’t need to ask for further information. As he slapped on his helmet, John threw it at his HUD. A live feed of five assailants chasing the staggering green dot of his brother.

“Virgil’s vitals indicate he may have been drugged. I’m seeing spikes in his heart rate and his direction of retreat has become erratic.” John’s tone was clipped but full of tension. “He will not reach Thunderbird Two before he is overtaken.”

“Call in Kayo and notify the GDF.” He barely heard his own words as Alan dumped One precisely down beside him. Her ladder lowered and his feet were on it before it could hit dirt.

Dust welled up around his ‘bird as Alan launched her back into the air. Scott grabbed the cargo bay railing and secured himself.

“Gordon is inbound with the Dragonfly.” Alan’s voice was as clipped as John’s, not even turning to look at Scott. “ETA twenty seconds.”

“FAB.”

One shot through the thick smoke of the fire front, leaving swirls of grey atmosphere behind it, and emerging out into the clear air of the yet to be burnt.

Evacuated suburbia lay quiet below as Alan threw the Thunderbird to the right and spun down for an abrupt and determined landing in the front yard of someone’s wannabe mansion.

“Stay with One. Keep her secure.” Scott was moving before his littlest brother could protest.

A tactical readout appeared on Scott’s HUD as his feet hit dirt. Gordon’s dragonfly pod touched down beside him, his fish brother’s eyes catching his.

Without words, Scott grabbed onto the pod and Gordon launched her to skim across the ground, closing the little distance between them and the trees.

Thunderbird Two sat quiet beyond the property, her green hull gathering grey ash as firefighting aircraft buzzed about the fire front, a closing distance away.

“Shadow is inbound, ETA ten minutes. A security team in on their way. Colonel Casey has confirmed a response from the GDF as soon the fire has been controlled.”

“What?!” But as Scott’s boots hit the ground again, he didn’t have time to discuss the GDF’s inadequacies. “Virgil’s status?”

“I’m getting no response. He is speaking, but not to me. He appears incoherent.” A pause. “Approach him with caution.” Another pause. “Five assailants still closing.”

Rage leaked through Scott’s composure, but he had no more time for that than he did for the GDF’s failings. “Gordon, you have my six.”

And they were swallowed by the trees.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[hebuiltfive]

I Know Places: Chapter One (Part One)

In honour of our dear Flyboy’s birthday (and because it completely slipped my mind and I have nothing else prepared) here’s the short and sweet first part of Chapter One of a piece I’ve been working on slowly. No angst (except at the start where he’s recounting the mission). Happy Birthday, Scotty. 💙

——————————————————————————

The deep baritone laugh of his brother reverberated through him and continued to echo even after Virgil had stopped chuckling. Scott cherished the sound, allowing himself a few moments to take in his brother’s laughter and appreciate it for all it was worth. He had been so close to losing that sound forever.

They were all accustomed to close calls. Their job demanded that they grow familiar with the Grim Reaper lurking on the sidelines of each and every rescue. They all had their ways of coping with that imagery and, for the most part, they all continued rather normally despite the constant threat. How they managed to do that was anyone’s guess, and they would all probably be incredibly fascinating to any therapist who wanted five boys with baggage, but they never dared to stop and question. All five of them had made peace with it, as had their close family and friends.

Normally, a close call wouldn’t have shaken Scott so much but today’s mission had been different. Today, they’d escaped by the skin of their teeth. Scott wouldn’t have even termed it a “close call” simply because it seemed too close for comfort. He nearly didn’t make it out, and there had been nothing Virgil could have done about it.

They — the people he’d been tasked with rescuing — nearly didn’t make it out, which somehow made things worse.

Scott could have made peace with his demise. He had often said silent prayers to his parents in the tighter spots he had found himself in, anyway. This would have been no different. Of course, he certainly never dreamed of or wished for such an occurrence, but if it meant getting those people to safety, he would always, always chose the lives of others over himself. To save them rather than to be saved. All of his brothers had that mentality and part of him hated that fact. If he had been the only one caught up in that place, if he’d been the only one to have never stepped foot into the turbulent world beyond those reinforced doors again, then maybe Scott wouldn’t have been so panicked.

As it was, he had never felt so scared. On the outside, he had managed to keep himself cool, calm and collected. On the inside, it had been an entirely separate case. With the exception of maybe only Virgil, no-one would have been able to notice the raging that had been silently brewing away deep inside as those seconds had ticked down.

His fists had pounded on that steel door until the vibrations rang through his bones. The rescue wasn’t over until there was no-one left to rescue. Over and over Scott had battled with the unfamiliar feeling of despair, reassuring himself that Virgil would somehow get through and that he just had to keep on breathing. The relief he had felt when that sealed door had finally slid open, revealing the tunnel beyond, was paramount to none.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered who had opened those doors. Scott had only been eternally grateful to the universe coming through for him.

For them.

For her.

Scott turned back to Marion. She was still smiling. He had no doubt in his mind that she was just as relieved as both he and Cameron were to be out of the plant. Of course, he had no way of knowing whether her calm demeanour in those last few minutes was also an act as his had been — shy of asking, and there was no chance he was about to do that so soon after the debacle — but Scott found himself oddly proud of her for not losing her head. In any rescue, one of his biggest worries was always having to work out a solution as well as deal with a panicking rescuee. He was grateful that he hadn’t needed to worry about that with Marion, or with Cameron for that matter. They had both shown that they were resilient and…

Since when did he offer such a detailed report of a rescuee’s behaviour when there was little to actually note? Especially when his designated rescuee wasn’t even the actual rescuee?

“Do I even want to ask?” Marion questioned with a quizzical look.

Scott’s brows furrowed in confusion before realising what she was referring to. He chuckled. “Oh, the popcorn? We were supposed to be having a movie night before we go the call. I’d made myself popcorn and left it on the side when I responded. Virgil stole it, thus he is a thief that owes me more.”

“If Scott’s got any say,” Virgil chimed in over Thunderbird Two’s loudspeakers, “then he’ll be making me fetch him popcorn for the next three movie nights as punishment.”

“Three?” Scott queried with a humorous tone. “I think you mean five.”

Again, Virgil’s laugh echoed, this time around the Shackleton complex. As it had done the first time, the blessed sound warmed Scott’s heart.

“Your cruelty knows no bounds, big brother.” Virgil replied before the click of the loudspeaker being switched off was heard and his laughter ceased.

The area seemed silent without Virgil’s deep tones bouncing off the buildings, and Scott suddenly felt rather awkward. He observed Marion who still stood only a couple of feet away from him. Her helmet was still tucked underneath one of her arms, her side plait slightly dishevelled from the ordeal they’d just escaped from. A couple of stray strands blew in the breeze and Scott told himself that his next words were solely down to them simply having narrowly escaped a horrific death together, not because of anything else.

“Speaking of popcorn and movie nights,—”

He gestured towards Thunderbird One. Her silver hull shone proudly in the dying light of the day, a day that had almost been their last. He had come so close to not seeing her again, not flying her again, but for once in his life that heartache wasn’t the strongest he currently felt. As he had come to terms with the forever unfavourable odds of his job, Scott had come to terms with what that would mean for his ship. The relief of seeing his ‘bird again after narrowly escaping a harrowing rescue was a familiar feeling to the pilot. This other feeling was less familiar.

Scott mentally threw away those thoughts and banished whatever he felt. He was just tired and in need of a long, long sleep. He attempted his best charming smile, no matter how weak it felt, as he continued, “we never did start the movie. How’d you like a ride over? If you’re not busy, of course.”

The last amendment was added on in haste. His avoidance of straight out asking Marion if she wished to travel back to their villa to watch a film with them — with him — was due solely to his attempt to sound casual. It hadn’t worked, and he knew it hadn’t. No matter how hard he had tried to seem indifferent, Scott couldn’t stop that innate feeling of sounding like a fool as the words left his mouth.

Internally, he cringed at himself. Scott was acutely aware of the subtle arch of Marion’s brow as he’d put forward his suggestion.

Her smile had remained, however, and her brown eyes averted away from him, over his shoulder and to Thunderbird One behind him. Marion’s gaze swept over his ship and, for a moment at least, Scott thought she might have agreed to his preposterous idea. There was a twinkle in those assessing eyes that he foolishly read as acceptance, a tiny step towards his ship, towards him that suggested the next words out of her mouth would be an agreement.

The GDF jet a few meters behind Marion roared, and whatever she’d been thinking, whatever she’d been about to say, was abruptly halted. She gently shook her head.

“I have to get back. Cameron and I will have reports to do.”

There was an unfamiliar sinking feeling that Scott felt but refused to acknowledge. He knew his idea was probably going to get shot down but he hadn’t expected to care that much, simply because he didn’t care. It was a nice, friendly gesture and Marion was busy.

Shamefully quickly, Scott nodded along and, in addition, blurted out, “So do we, actually.”

He heard a small snigger over his comms unit.

Virgil.

Though the loudspeakers had been shut off, his brother’s radio link was still very much active, meaning Virgil had just heard every single word of Scott’s embarrassing attempted proposition. Oh, he’d never hear the end of it now.

Scott sighed, eyes lowering to the ground double defeat.

Marion patted his arm. She hadn’t heard Virgil’s snort due to it only having been on their private line, which meant that she probably thought that his sigh was down to her decline and—

Before Scott could explain that he wasn’t as downhearted as she might have believed — a lie, but not a total one, so he could live with it — Marion’s hand lifted to brushed a stray strand of hair that had somehow fallen out of place despite all that extra-hold gel he’d swiped through it that afternoon.

“Ask me again another time when I’m a little less busy, and I might say yes.”

He barely had a beat to process that before Marion was walking away. Scott blinked at her back and continued to watch until she rounded the corner of one of Shackleton’s buildings, out of sight but not out of mind. The GDF jet roared once again a few minutes later as it rose into the night sky, setting off for whatever base Marion and Cameron were to be deposited at.

Only once the chilly night breeze snapped him out of his daydream did Scott return to Thunderbird One. Virgil, as he so often did, had waited for him and together they flew the leg back home to base.

[katblu42]

Thunderbirds trick or treat

Treat!

Happy Halloween!

Have a little idea I've been toying with.

The Hydration Alarm (excuse the hasty "art")

After one too many near collapses of a certain brother on a rescue due to dehydration, Virgil convinces Brains to build a hydration alert into the suit technology.

Just a little symbol that flashes up with a beeping sound to remind the person they need to take a moment for a quick drink.

Most of the time this works well.

Until that time when Virgil has been on site for over 8 hours already and is now stuck somewhere, perhaps trying to remote operate The Mole, or a Pod to dig himself and a bunch of rescuees out of a tricky situation. He has no way of refilling his water bottle, which was already empty before they got stuck here. And that flashing symbol in the corner of his vision, combined with the beeping at regular intervals, is so very distracting.

So he disables it.

Everyone gets out safely - Virgil was able to complete the tricky maneuvering and bring everyone out, patch up the minor injuries and hand of the more seriously injured to the relative emergency medical personnel . . .

Then he collapses onto the checkerplate decking of Thunderbird Two from dehydration.