#earth&sky

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP whenever

Wee Tracys being a menace…

💙💚💙

“But Daddy said to watch our bags!”

“As long as we can still SEE them we’re WATCHING them. If any security folks try to explode them we can yell they are ours and they’ll stop.”

“Why would they as-plode them?!”

“Uh, I dunno. Sometimes they blow stuff up. But they won’t with ours cos we’ll be watching, see?”

“But my bestest pencils are in there!”

“Ok. Fine. You can stay here and guard them. But I’m gonna have a go on the moving floor before we hafta get on the plane.”

💚💙💚

[nemfrog]

View of the Earth from Venus.

Astronomy for amateurs. 1904.

Internet Archive

[without-ado]

Full Moon over the Temple of Poseidon l Lolos Marios

[the-wolf-and-moon]

Earth at Night, Black Marble

[idontknowreallywhy]

💙💚

The love on their faces - I am UNDONE.

“Happy birthday, little brother”

[idontknowreallywhy]

(Explanation for this reposting spree here)

Composition (MIA Series Part 3)

Chapter 2 - Call

Virgil tries to reach his brother. Where words don’t seem to get through, perhaps there is another language he can use.

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

But other times were better.

Times when Virgil sat by his bedside and Scott would half open his eyes and they’d just look at each other for minutes on end. The unmistakeable blue would be clouded in sedation, the whites still tinged with red, the delicate skin around the edges puffy and still a patchwork of too many colours. He couldn’t really talk, the drugs keeping him from screaming and trying to run on a half healed femur were too strong. Yet occasionally he would frown a little before huffing a sudden urgent breath, a twitch of the fingers entwined with Virgil’s telling him Scott was trying to communicate something important.

“I love you too, Scotty.”

Virgil knew his brother was in there, still being held prisoner in the dark even while his body was here. So he’d hold his hand and stroke his hair and gaze back at him as if he could reach in with his eyes and guide his brother to the surface. Into the light.

One morning, while watching helplessly as Scott twitched and whimpered in the throes of yet another nightmare, Virgil had started singing to him. Ever so softly, barely more than a whisper with pitch, he sang the song their mother had written for them, hoping she could help him reach his brother. His voice felt thin and fragile in this alien environment, but he was sure the tension in his brother’s sleeping face eased a little so he kept at it.

Over time he became bolder and let his voice resonate around the cold, fabric-free environment. Clearly hospitals weren’t designed with acoustics in mind yet they were accidentally quite stunning. He sang Scotty all sorts of things, songs they listened to together, ones he knew Scott and his college friends liked, the guitar solo theme from big bro’s favourite film. But always circling back to Mom’s song. One evening he looked up to see his father framed by doctors and the doorway, tears running down his face and Virgil’s voice faltered. Dad had gestured for him to continue, so he did. The medics swarmed over the equipment around Scott’s bed, frowning and pointing at things, noting down numbers. Conclusions were drawn. Nods. One little smile in his direction but nobody spoke to Virgil. Overcome with tiredness he rested his head next to Scott’s, his nose just brushing his brother’s ear, and silently dared them all to try to move him. They didn’t.

Time passed. Virgil had no clear idea of how much. They reduced the dosage of the meds he was taking and nothing untoward seemed to happen. He overheard a discussion in the hallway about discharge and management at home and he vowed to himself that if they took his bed he’d just sleep in the chair. Or, when Dad needed the chair, on the floor. Possibly he vowed it more loudly than he intended because while they didn’t take his bed, another chair materialised.

There were changes with Scott’s drug regime too, sedation reduced, but his wakeful times remained silent outside of the harsh outbursts of raw terror as he awoke from a nightmare. Sometimes he clutched Virgil’s arm so hard it left vivid bruises. But those were nothing compared the bruises left on Virgil’s heart when he looked into his Scotty’s eyes and saw the horror there.

So he sang to his brother and gazed into his eyes because he didn’t know what else to do.

Then, one afternoon, when Virgil had thought he was finally sleeping, Scott started to hum along with him.

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[spacewonder19]

Ring of Fire in Cloudy Skies © Bryan Minear

[idontknowreallywhy]

💙💚

Oh boys…

sad boys in the rain inspired by this WIP by @idontknowreallywhy:

Scott’s run had lasted just over 90 minutes and, according to EOS, he had achieved three new personal bests over some of the trickier segments of the Island’s trails. His pulse thundered in his head as, predictably, the brother he least wanted to see right now joined the trail just ahead of him and ran alongside. “Scott, slow down. Please?”

“I did that already! Look how well it turned out!” “You know I was right, Scott!” “THEY DIED! THEY ALL DIED, VIRGIL!” “AND YOU WOULD HAVE TOO!” Scott turned away, unable to process the agony in his brother’s eyes just then. He nudged the pace up a little, hoping those that pleading face would fall behind him. “Maybe I wouldn’t… there might have been something… something I could have… done.” His limbs betrayed him and he staggered to a stop again, breathing heavily. “Sometimes there is nothing that can be done, Scott. Even by us. Even by you.” Virgil’s voice shook. Scott keened slightly and hugged himself in an effort to control the shivers that were beginning. He slowly shook his head from side to side, as if denial might yet change the outcome. Virgil’s arms appeared around him and held on tight. The rain continued to slam into the earth around them. “Sometimes there is nothing that can be done.” He repeated softly. Scott had already parroted these exact words to the GDF officer who had, as usual, turned up too late to be of any use. His heart hadn’t been in them. Where his heart had been at that very moment was in the clenched fists of the woman he could see over the uniformed shoulder. The wife of one of the local first responders who had been trapped in the mine as it collapsed. The raw agony on her face as she hung limply over the linked arms of two friends and howled was too familiar. A freak avalanche obliterated all in its path. A sabotaged fighter jet exploded on the runway. A prototype spaceship exploded into atoms. The second solid hour of pushing past his limit wandered over and presented its bill and Scott folded at the knees.

[mournfulroses]

Manuel Bandeira, from This Earth, That Sky: Poems of Manuel Bandeira; "Morning Star,"

[without-ado]

Storm cloud over Texas l Laura Rowe NASA APOD

[idontknowreallywhy]

A little reread. One of my faves. 💙💚

Thunderbird One shuddered as she slid into dock, her whole fuselage groaning as if in relief. As she relaxed, her airframe creaked, losing heat to the cool of the hangar and for a moment everything was still.

Scott let his shoulders loosen, his whole body slumping in his pilot’s chair. One by one, he uncurled his fingers from the controls, his joints stiff from holding them so tight.

His head dropped back against the headrest and his eyes closed.

God, damn.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he let it out as if he had been holding it in all afternoon.

It certainly felt like he had.

They couldn’t save everyone.

They couldn’t.

But god, how he tried.

He drew the breath back in and activated pilot retrieval. One’s main viewing hatch folded back and the platform extended out from the dock as his chair unfolded to meet it.

Even then it took him a long moment to move.

“Scott?” John startled him. “You okay?”

He drew his shoulders up, straightening automatically. “Perfectly fine, Thunderbird Five.”

There was a grunt from orbit. John didn’t believe him.

Scott was not surprised.

A sigh and he pushed himself out of his seat and onto the delivery platform, forcing the correct stance so he didn’t abruptly end his career on the concrete floor far below.

Machinery that had no concept of emotional state hummed smoothly and retrieved him back to solid ground. He took the last step.

Scott stared at his elevator for a solid minute before turning to the stairs and taking them instead.

He needed to move. Needed start his heart beating again. Needed to rescue himself from that vast hole that was sucking him down into its depths. That same empty hole those dead eyes had lured him to once the boy’s life had fluttered away and…

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with a gloved hand.

It was always the eyes that got him.

These ones had been brown, somewhere between Virgil’s and Gordon’s and…oh god.

Move.

He threw himself up the stairs. Fortunately, there was a lot of them and they made his body work hard. By the time he made it to the locker room, he was panting.

His own breath was harsh in his ears and had a helplessness to it he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He shed uniform. His gloves hit the bench, followed by his baldric, his boots skidding across the floor. Struggling not to think, he unzipped his flight suit and shed the thick material, barely acknowledging the cool air as it hit the bare skin of his arms.

Another moment and he flung off his undershirt and shorts and padded over to a shower cubicle naked as the day he was born.

Goose pimples raised on his arms.

The shower was as hot as he could get it. But not hot enough to wash away the bruises he had no doubt Virgil would be targeting the moment he laid eyes on his eldest brother.

Scott’s sigh couldn’t be heard above the water spray.

Body scrubbed clean…ever so clean…red raw in places…the Commander of International Rescue stood under the steaming shower and closed his eyes.

You can’t save everyone.

It was his father’s voice. The same voice that came to him in all difficult moments. Grey eyes, reassuring smile and a strength Scott wished daily that he had. Jeff Tracy was a legend, bigger than life. Jeff Tracy was his father.

Jeff Tracy was a voice that guided him, that saved him, held him tight and prevented him from falling into that pit of despair that sometimes just loomed.

He turned the water off and let the remains drip off his body.

His left thigh was turning an ugly purple.

Damn.

Another sigh and he pushed aside the cubicle door and grabbed a towel.

It was big, extra fluffy, sky blue and all Virgil’s idea. He could still see his brother making his case for luxury towels in the locker room where they were needed. Mental health, he claimed.

Scott, Air Force to the core, had used abrasive cardboard squares masquerading as towels enough times to acknowledge the difference and how right his little brother was. It wasn’t a luxury; it was a necessity.

Scott buried his face in deep cotton as the cool air wrapped around him. Another moment and he was rubbing himself dry, his thigh, left ribcage and arm complained. The ache was creeping up on him. He hadn’t really noticed other than the sharp collision when he had initially fallen.

But he hadn’t had time. Arms full of dying rescuee with a building on its way down…he did what he had to do.

Still, it hadn’t been enough.

First John and then Virgil yelling at him over comms. He was fine. The teenage boy was dead, but Scott Tracy was fine.

Just fine.

He scrubbed his hair dry, trying his best to ignore the fact his left arm hated being lifted above his shoulders.

Hair hung in his eyes and he brushed it aside, irritably.

Somewhere outside the rock walls of the locker room a familiar roar swelled and he knew Thunderbird Two and his three brothers were moments away from invading this quiet space.

Scott straightened. It was inevitable. Virgil would not let him escape again, but there might be a few more minutes alone if he got his shit together.

One of the advantages of flying the fast ‘bird. First dibs at the showers and that moment to gather himself before his brothers cornered him.

Digging through his locker, he found some underwear, loose pants and an old t-shirt. His usual casual wear beckoned, but even he knew he wasn’t fit to go out again, even if Virgil hadn’t grounded him yet.

He wasn’t stupid.

Tomorrow, yes. Today? He needed a stiff drink and time to himself.

So that is exactly what he did. Detouring to the drinks cabinet, he nabbed himself a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. Two, because he was a realist.

Hair still a damp mess, he skipped up to his rooms, grabbed his tablet, and hid on his own private balcony. From here, he could see the Island, the villa below and the sky to the south. Mateo had birds hovering over it like it always did in the early evening as the day started winding down.

His eyes randomly tracked a lone bird, different from the others, coasting past high above the Island.

He threw himself into an overly plush lounger. Again, a sky blue and Virgil-instigated. Scott had returned from a mission several years ago to find it sitting on his balcony. Not a word had been said, but he knew it was Virgil. Just like the towels, it wasn’t extravagance, it was mental health and Scott had to admit to curling up in the contraption on many an occasion since.

The tablet, bottle of whisky and tumblers landed with a thud on the wooden table beside it.

His body creaked as he folded into the chair and he was reminded that he would likely have a medic brother on his ass sometime soon.

He lay back and closed his eyes and forced every to muscle relax.

And tried to ignore the eyes etched into his mind.

Only to be startled awake as someone loomed over him.

“Hey, hey, it’s only me.” Familiar, soft baritone and deep brown eyes, Virgil was crouched down beside him. His brother’s hair was still curly damp from the shower and he was frowning…at the bruises on Scott’s arm. “Just chasing you up after that fall.”

Scott shifted on the lounger and his whole body protested. Damnit. “I’m fine, Virgil.”

“I’ll decide that.” That prompted the ghastly yellow scanner light to flicker across his body.

“Virgil!”

His brother’s lips thinned to a line as he read the scanner’s readout. “You’re off rota at least twenty-four hours, possibly more.”

“I know that.”

“I’ll note that against your diagnosis of ‘fine’.”

Scott glared at his brother.

Virgil rolled back on his heels, eyes assessing in that damned medical way of his.

“Virgil, I’m okay. A few bruises. I’ll live. Stop worrying.” He hated being the source of anxiety.

Still, his brother stared, his frown emphasizing that scar between his eyebrows.

“What?!”

Virgil’s eyes didn’t waver. “Sit up.”

“Why?”

“Scott…”

Fine. He pushed himself up out of the lounger and sat on its side, frustrated as all hell as to why his brother was being such a pain.

Virgil rolled onto his knees and before Scott could do anything, he found himself wrapped in a massive hug.

His brother’s arms, ever so strong, built for heavy lifting, held him tight, but gently, Virgil’s damp hair brushing his cheek as his head rested on Scott’s shoulder.

Startled, it took Scott a blink to return the gesture, his longer arms flailing for just that moment of surprise before curling around red flannel. “Virgil? You okay?”

His brother’s only answer was to tighten his hold a little more.

Scott frowned, unsure what the hell was going on, but Virgil didn’t let go and Scott could only stay tensed up for so long before he was forced to relax into his brother’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” It was asked against flannel and his own breath was warm against his lips.

Virgil still didn’t answer, but one large hand crept onto the back of Scott’s head, fingers stroking hair.

What?

But somehow the question never made it to his lips. Somehow, his body began to melt, each muscle falling limp, those strong arms taking the place of the tension in his body.

Fingers carded through his hair.

“Virg…” But it was little more than breath and he found himself blinking rapidly.

No.

Still, Virgil didn’t stop. Scott could feel his brother’s steady pulse, thrumming against his neck, his chest moving with each breath.

Scott closed his eyes.

Ever so warm.

He could have struggled, fought, pushed his brother away. But…

Brown eyes vacant and hollow. The image had him flinching and the arms around him reacted, shifting just a little. His brother’s baritone rumbled a reassurance he didn’t quite hear.

But still Virgil held him.

Held him.

Scott had no resistance left.

That baritone rumbled again and his brother’s free hand began stroking his back.

Nonsense words. His brother was spouting nonsense words.

But Scott’s eyes were closed and his body spent. He wilted into his brother’s arms and found himself breaking on the inside.

Vacant, hollow eyes.

So young.

So like a little brother.

Scott scrunched up his face, fighting his own reaction. But Virgil was still rumbling, still stroking his hair.

A single tear escaped to dampen red flannel.

No.

No.

He let the wave of grief wash over him, but refused to react, waiting for it to wane away.

His heart beat too fast and it left him exhausted.

And still Virgil held him.

He lost time for a bit there. Eyes closed. Warm flannel. His brother’s voice. A small part of him resisted it. Virgil was a little brother despite their closeness in age. Scott should be the comforter, always…

But the little boy who had lost his mom, the young man who had lost his dad…the commander who lost a young teenager in his arms today…took that moment, grabbing it like a life line and accepting what his brother was trying to give him.

He sat there, he didn’t know how long, just existing, warm and safe.

Perhaps he would have fallen asleep right there in his brother’s arms, whether he would be embarrassed to admit it or not, but there were bruises and aches and eventually he was forced to gently pull away.

Warm brown eyes peered up at him, still worried. Virgil’s hand was on Scott’s knee as if he didn’t want to let go.

“Thanks, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee in acknowledgement. “Lie down and get some rest.” His little brother stood up and walked out of sight a moment, only to return hauling another lounger, this one in a deep green. “John’s coming down in the morning. We can debrief then.” Virgil grunted as he put the lounge down. “Grandma has an eye on Gordon and Alan, but the Fish has a new Buddy and Ellie series and Alan is hip deep in that latest game of his. I think they’re good.” He threw himself onto the lounge and the structure creaked under his weight. He lay back, crossed his feet at his ankles and closed his eyes. Virgil was obviously here for the long haul.

Scott wasn’t surprised.

The scanner lay discarded on the table.

A sigh and he lay back just like his brother. The sky was beginning to pink in the east, the echoes of a sunset he couldn’t see lighting up Mateo.

He felt far more relaxed than he had earlier. A tension had been eased, while not entirely, that would take time, lessened considerably.

He eyed his medic brother. The man looked like he was going to fall asleep. The sight of him had Scott yawning.

Damn him.

But it was thought with fondness and with a sudden urge to reach out and hug his brother again.

“Go to sleep, Scott.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

Scott sighed and looked back up at the sky. It had been a shit day. Not the first. Probably not the last. Vacant eyes still haunted him and probably would for some time, but a pair of rich, brown eyes full of life and not a little love had somehow managed to take the edge off. His brother had filled that cold vacuum of a hole with warmth.

Virgil began to snore and Scott was forced to smile.

The snoring was probably fake, but it was lulling nonetheless. Safe and home.

Loved.

Scott closed his eyes.

And let himself drift away.

-o-o-o-

[karlrincon]

This is how Eclipse Solar 2024 is looking from space. 🔭🌘

[wikipediathefreeencyclopedia]

i’m going insane

[neonelven]

The total solar eclipse seen from Casper, Wyoming (US), by a team of ESA astronomers.

[coco9728]

Awww I love this!💕

They always have each others backs.💙💚

Hey Brother

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Scott

They have each other.  Always.

Day seven of Earth&Sky and I am mildly amazed I actually managed to complete it!  Big thanks to both @flyboytracy and @sonatanotwo for organising this week - it’s been a lot of fun and shoved me a little way out of my comfort zone (so much Virgil!).

Scott falls.

That’s not an unusual state of affairs.  Virgil lost count years ago, if he ever kept one in the first place, of the number of times he’s seen Scott fall.  What goes up must come down, and Scott’s always been one for going up.

Climbing on the back of the couch, climbing onto the roof, climbing up trees.  Up, up, up, because big brother always wanted to touch the sky.

The inevitable falls were varied.  Sometimes they were controlled, a simple jump from a safe height that had Scott flashing a cheeky, innocent grin at whichever adult had told him to get down from there, Scott.  (It’s the exact same grin Gordon started using when it was his turn to be the troublemaker.) Sometimes they should have been controlled, Scott having something on hand that should have kept him safe during the descent but didn’t always do its job – Virgil still vividly remembers the day he leapt from the top of the old oak with a folded bedsheet for a parachute, and the broken arm that followed.

Most of the time, it fell into varying levels of control.  Scott flies high but he knows how to land, because his family are there and he’s worried them enough in his lifetime not to take some level of care over it.  Virgil was not the only person who made sure Scott’s IR gear was chock full of ways to slow and stop his falls – whether it be a jetpack, remote controls for his Thunderbird, or grapples.  Even a wingsuit snuck its way in, for particularly reckless stunts.

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