#scott tracy needs a hug

[edutainer2022]

A happy retrieval of ALL of my fanfic notes after the recent smashed phone debacle prompted to tinker a bit with a WIP long, long in the works. The focus is on the backstage of the TV-21 fiasco - in the present and in the past. Especially, the ripple effects of it on Scott, John and Virgil.

All the thanks to @janetm74!

DO-OVERS

"It isn't what it looks like!"

It really wasn't. He wished John's eyes didn't turn to hard crystal from where the brother was standing in the bathroom doorway. Scott knew the turquoise lazer scanners already did the math and counted the pills, scattered on the tiles. But it WASN'T what it looked like. Scott spilled them.

Well, technically he threw them on the floor like they were burning coals, but the intent counted, right?

His hands were shaking. Everything was wrong. TV-21 was lost. Again. No amount of upbeat platitudes Scott said to calm down  and cheer up Allie could make it better. He let Dad down. Again. He didn't save what mattered to Dad most. Again. He just wanted to stop shaking. Or maybe to just stop. Maybe John, pale in the doorway, didn't need to know that.

He hadn't touched the prescription bottle in his bathroom cabinet for years. Since a smirking mustached general on a GDF committee, assembled to evaluate his claim for IR to go operational again, wondered out loud how they would know his judgement in the danger zone would not be impaired, if the GDF discharged him for being too traumatized to see straight in the first place. His therapist wouldn't be happy about that, but he stopped taking her calls around the same time too.

Today he just needed to calm down. He needed to be strong for Allie, who didn't remember Dad's first Thunderbird, and for Gordie, who did. For Virgil and John, who remembered Dad's dark, stormy grief and withdrawal from them. For Grandma, who needed him to see her son's dreams through.

One little pill, maybe two. But his hands were shaking, as the TV-21 exploding conflated with a different one behind his eyelids - so much combustion energy to take Dad away. So one pill became a palmfull. He was just staring at his hand for a while. Okay, it WAS tempting. John DEFINITELY didn't need to know about that. It would just stop. All of it. The pain, the failure, the fear, the losses. Gone. Like Mom was gone. Like Dad was gone. Nothing he said or did could make it right.

But then he saw his brothers, ashen from grief and days of crying, all clad in black suits. Again. Alone and lost without him. Again.

So he threw the pills forcefully away, as if burned. They clattered like pebbles on the tiles and skipped everywhere. That's when John came in because John too knew his tells. And now John didn't believe him, clutching his shoulders and shaking, yelling that he drank water, yelling into his comm for Virgil and a bloodtest kit. Even if it wasn't what it looked like. Not really.

***

Virgil was doing what he did best - fixing. Maybe also hiding. He couldn't fix TV-21 and Dad's shattered dream. He couldn't fix Scott's heartbreak and poorly hidden assumed failure now any more than he could fix it all those years ago. But he COULD help fix Four and with it - the mood of the despondent little Squid. One brother sorted out was exponentially better than zero brothers. Then his comm blared red.

The code was "Two-one", and 2-1 meant TV-21, and TV-21 was bad news. Bad, bad news. John's grim, tense face in the holo confirmed as much and Virgil felt the island shift and spin beneath his feet, as he legged it to Scott's rooms.

***

[Once the Tinies were settled for the night, Scott stayed down in the living room to try and catch Dad on his way out of the office. He'd been locked in there for the past several hours with the young engineer, who designed TV-21. Shaken by nearly loosing Dad to the crash, they only ever glimpsed a flash of fuming fury when Dad and "Brains" returned from the failed test flight. So Scott lingered on the couch way past the bedtime in hopes to talk to Dad some more. A mistake, as it turned out.

The teen's attempt at a smile and a simple, if heartfelt, reassurance was shot down sternly when Dad finally emerged for a glass of water and a stifled curse, only to disappear again back into the study, lit by gossamer holo-light of schematics and figures in the conference call.

"Nothing you say or do can make this right, Scott! Go to bed!"

Virgil and John watched in horror, from behind the rails of the upper floor how Scott swayed, as if slapped, when the door slamed behind Dad again. The lanky figure then doubled over, bracing himself on a chair. Scott tried and failed to gasp through a wrecking sob, clamping a hand over his mouth to suppress the sound.

The brothers were frozen in shock, hesitant what to do as Scott looked about ready to keel over. He was probably hyperventilating, air weezing with effort through constricted pain.

Virgil stepped tentatively towards the stairs, John clutching his sleeve nervously. But Scott steadied himself for a moment only to bolt through the kitchen and out of the back door into the pitch darkness.

The brothers didn't wait any longer, practically tumbling down the stairs and on to the back porch, but Scott, the high school track star, was long gone.

They would be in so much trouble if Dad caught them downstairs, awake, on a school night, but Dad obviously was... otherwise occupied.

John, pale and wide-eyed, on the verge of tears himself, kept dragging Virgil's sleeve to run after Scott. Only which way? The farm bordered on the meadow. It was already dark. Scott could be anywhere.

Where Scott went - Virgil followed. That was the way of things. It included Rescue Scouts and multiple other pursuits. So the boy tried his best to push through the stinging of his own eyes and think like big brother, the Falcon Scout, would. They needed flashlights. The night was chilly, gusts of wind rattling the loose tiles on the old barn. Scott ran out in his sleep tee-shirt. So they would need to pick up his jacket too, on the way out.

But first, they needed to placate and possibly bribe Gordie into keeping Allie from crying if he woke up. And they needed to figure out a search grid for big brother. Letting Dad in on the commotion wasn't an option.]

TBC

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

A snippet of what is really a small pile of snippets of a one-shot conversation I imagine Jeff and Scott having post a wonderful scene by @edutainer2022 where Jeff tells Scott he is his hero on an interview and Scott is Shook.

Posting this but now because even tho I have way more WIPs than is healthy, I do want to finish this one and maybe publicly acknowledging it exists might nudge the brain into finishing it.

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

“I thought you’d be disappointed…”

He felt rather than heard the words choked out into his clavicle.

Jeff couldn���t help muttering a word his mother would still not hesitate to clip his ear about and tightened his arms around the unfamiliar breadth of his eldest boy’s shoulders.

“Son, I’ve spent eight years wishing I’d taken more time to tell you all how proud I was. I swore that if I ever saw you again I would tell you every day. And…” he swore again and a Scott flinched slightly “I’ve already broken that vow. I’m sorry. But I never for a minute thought that you… that you didn’t KNOW.”

“Not your fault” came the mumbled reply. “M’sorry, I should have…”

“No!” The objection came out harder than he intended and watery blue eyes looked up at him in shock and, hell, that was definitely guilt.

“No, Scott. Don’t make this your fault.. don’t make excuses for me. You’ve done that for far, far too long.”

🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

[edutainer2022]

Power outages are wanky again after the night bombing. So I distract myself with a story instead of work, while the power is up. It's Gordon's 21st birthday and he gets a meaningful moment with Scott. Some sad memories resurface, but mostly it's all love all around.

Thanks go to @janetm74 for support and for cheering my recent craving of Gordon and Scott dynamics.

COMING OF AGE

The party, Tracy-style, was, of course, as bright, and fun, and loud an affair on the island as would befit Gordon's twenty first birthday. Rivaled maybe only by Gordon's eighteenth, several years back. Some details of that one Scott still didn't need to know about, for biggest brother's peace of mind. There were yet more festivities planned on the mainland, rescues permitting, including a get together with Gordon's swimming team buddies and a deep dive into the finest night club scene the world had to offer with brothers and Kayo. Some parts of those developments Scott probably too didn't need to know about.

Despite the general merry all around and copious amounts of good food on the offer, Scott had to be hunted down on the balcony, overlooking the ocean. Alone. Figured! Trust Scott to develop an empty nest syndrome despite all his little brothers and loved ones being around and accounted for, with no intention to leave.

Gordon plonked a tumbler of whiskey on the bannister, where Scott's hand was gripping it, and a gaudy neon cocktail, complete with a tiny umbrella and tinsel, for himself. Scott arched a brow quizzically.

"What? For the record, you do realize this isn't my first alcoholic drink?"

The arched brow slid into a slight frown, but Scott didn't take the bait.

"I'm also not a virgin."

The expression of abject horror on big brother's face was completely worth it.

Gordon pressed the glass into Scott's hand and raised his own concoction in a mock toast.

"Here's to me not being legally your problem anymore, Scooter!"

An instant flash of rue, across big brother's face, not concealed on time, was probably the crux of the whole moping on the balcony in solitude situation. If Gordon were honest, his own nonchalance was only half convincing.

Scott smiled the fond little-brother smile down at him, however, and Gordon felt something unwind in his chest he didn't know was coiled tight. Strong, sure arms drew him into a warm hug. Big brother rested his chin on the chlorine bleached mop and hummed.

"Aw, you'll always be my problem, Gordie!"

Gordon let himself relax a moment against the blue denim. The safest place in the world.

A memory surfaced and Gordon shifted to look up at Scott. Maybe not the best of his ideas to speak up that instant, but they hardly ever were.

"Hey, remember Mom's funeral?"

Scott frowned again, unsure where that was going. But Gordon was already immersed in reminisce.

"It was the morning of and Allie was crying as you put him in that tiny black suit. I was being difficult and you let me wear blue fish socks!"

[Scott, already in his funeral suit, made sure everyone was up and getting ready that morning, so that Dad wouldn't be upset more. He was at the end of his wits with Allie's meltdown, though. The toddler wriggled and cried for Mommy as Scott was trying to wrangle him into a tiniest mourning suit. On cue, Gordon flat out refused to put on the suit either and wanted to attend the funeral in his squid pijamas. Scott struck a deal with the pre-schooler that he could wear yellow socks with the blue fish print to go with the dress shoes. Mom's favorite.]

Scott's smile was sad again and Gordon mentally kicked himself.

"You weren't difficult, Gordie. You were six and Mom was gone. It's okay!"

It wasn't! That was the point Gordon was getting at, in a however roundabout way.

"You let me wear the fish socks and it felt like Mom was there with me. And then, at the wake, Allie was cranky again and you had to carry him. So I wanted you to carry me too."

[Tall and athletic at fourteen, Scott nonetheless couldn't pick up the toddler and the six-year-old little swimmer at the same time. So he found an unoccupied futon and hoisted both baby brothers into his lap. Virgil and John gravited near too, leaning both sides of him. Virgil, quiet and almost zoned out from all the tears. John - a translucent ghost from insomnia. People were swirling around, making smalltalk or making compassionate faces at their Dad, shaking his hand and patting his shoulder somewhere in the middle of the crowd.]

"There were all those people around! But they were there for Dad, not for us! I remember I looked up at you, Scotty, and you looked so completely alone. Like you were drowning. We had you, but you had nobody there."

In the present, Scott blinked away telltale moisture and tried for a reassuring smile. Ever the big brother.

"I had you lot, Gords! It's alright!"

"That's my point!"

Gordon didn't plan to be that intense, but maybe the dash of rum in the cocktail was getting to his head. He was clutching big brother's bicep for emphasis.

"You got us! I mean, I know Virgil and John help out, but I'm an adult now too, or whatever. You got me too! You don't have to be alone!"

Scott's next smile, Gordon could argue, was of the we'll-see-about-that variety, but there was genuine gratitude in the now wistful blue.

Another tight hug was the only response he got, for now, till somebody called them back into the lounge for a family photo.

[idontknowreallywhy]

A particularly lovely chord progression somehow ended up with me driving a wedge between Earth and Sky and I promised I’d try to fix it.

Super long car journey today presented an opportunity but events got away from me and I accidentally made it worse. Oops… um… I’m sorry? Apologies to @ajpendragon @alexthefly @astranite @janetm74 @sofasurf and anyone else who asked for a fix and will remain disappointed for now…

Piano Angst - the aftermath

It had been nearly a week and Scott felt like he was missing a limb.

Virgil was definitely avoiding him.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen each other - they’d worked together perfectly normally on several rescues. They’d both joined in the usual banter over mealtimes. There had even been a family film night - albeit, instead of joining Scott on their usual couch, Virgil had squeezed in with the Tinies and spent the evening competing with Gordon as to who could wind up Alan the most about his movie choice.

But they’d not been alone in the same room. At least, not for more than the few seconds it took for Virgil to make some excuse and leave it.

He’d even apparently conscripted Gordon into constantly keeping him company whilst he did maintenance on Two. Despite all Scott’s loitering around the hangar, the Fish never seemed to get the hint to make himself scarce. Except that one time when Scott had hinted at the availability of leftover pizza in the kitchen but then Virgil had raced off hot on Gordon’s heels. Which would not have been of any note whatsoever if it hadn’t been for that momentary flash of panic Scott was sure had crossed Virgil’s face as Gordon jumped to his feet.

It wasn’t just the lost chance to really TALK to his brother either. There was a physical distance too which was almost more painful. It turned out that Virgil’s elbow nudges at dinner, his arm across Scott’s shoulders as they walked across the lounge, his habit of stretching out and throwing his feet over big brother’s legs when they had a moment to chill together on the couch… these felt as natural and as essential to Scott as eating or drinking and he missed it more than he could have explained. It made his jaw hurt.

He had figured he just had to give Virgil time and be available when he was ready. So he’d made a conscious effort to *not* be working whenever they had downtime, hovering in the communal areas and looking un-busy. He rushed through the paperwork later, once everyone was in bed and then stayed up for hours each night studying the last couple of month’s worth of mission logs and recordings, desperately trying to work out what had triggered… whatever it was… the other day.

He’d been lying, Scott was certain of that. Ironically that certainty had made him very uncertain of everything else - Virgil never lied to him. He was awful at it. Honesty usually shone out of his big puppy-like brown eyes. When he was withholding something they were clouded with guilt.

But to invoke their mother’s memory as a cover-up?

It must have been serious.

His research efforts turned up nothing at all out of the ordinary other than it had actually been a pretty successful run of rescues, a bit of a reprieve from the average. He couldn’t find any aspect of the scenarios they’d faced that seemed like it might have particularly upset his brother.

It had to have something to do with him. Virgil was acting perfectly normally with everyone else. He re-listened to every interaction they’d had over the comm. Had he been too brusque in directing the rescues recently? Was his tone wrong? He didn’t think he sounded any different although after a while his own voice really began to grate on him. Virgil’s responses seemed normal and he didn’t appear to react to anything in a negative way. Perhaps his brother was maybe a little quieter on the comm than usual… should he have noticed that sooner?

Or had he embarrassed him by making it clear he’d noticed him getting carried away that afternoon? But Virgil had never seemed to be worried about Scott witnessing his piano binges before - most of the worst more-recovery-than-rescue missions had been thrashed out on the piano over the years… No. The only way to find out was to ask him directly.

He hovered at the door of the hangar, took a couple of breaths to slow his galloping heart rate and pushed it ajar. He could hear Gordon talking at a mile a minute about something to do with aquaculture and Virgil was leaning up against a pod module with a politely interested look on his face. His eyes flicked briefly over to his eldest brother but didn’t linger, instead focussing firmly back on little brother with renewed focus.

Scott felt rather like he’d taken a grapple to the chest and backed out, closing the door softly behind him. He ignored the elevator and elected for the long slow trudge up the stairwell. By the time he made it to the lounge his vision was blurry and he had reached the limit of what he could bear. He found a sheet of notepaper from the desk drawer and scribbled a note. He folded it precisely in half, opened it again and checked it, then refolded it, running a shaking thumb along the edge. He tucked it underneath the door to his brother’s bedroom on the way to his own.

Virgil, I’ve upset you and I can’t for the life of me work out when or how it was in order to apologise properly - but please know I am so sorry.

I’ll be on my balcony the rest of the evening if you want to talk.

I miss you. S x

[edutainer2022]

I'm chilling at a bus station in Budapest, waiting for my commute back home, so I added a couple of bits to the TV-21 aftermath story (both in the past and in the TAG present).

DO-OVERS

"It isn't what it looks like!"

It really wasn't. He wished John's eyes didn't turn to hard crystal from where the brother was standing in the bathroom doorway. Scott knew the turquoise lazer scanners already did the math and counted the pills, scattered on the tiles. But it WASN'T what it looked like. Scott spilled them.

Well, technically he threw them on the floor like they were burning coals, but the intent counted, right?

His hands were shaking. Everything was wrong. TV-21 was lost. Again. No amount of upbeat platitudes Scott said to calm down  and cheer up Allie could make it better. He let Dad down. Again. He didn't save what mattered to Dad most. Again. He just wanted to stop shaking. Or maybe to just stop. Maybe John, pale in the doorway, didn't need to know that.

He hadn't touched the prescription bottle in his bathroom cabinet for years. Since a smirking mustached general on a GDF committee, assembled to evaluate his claim for IR to go operational again, wondered out loud how they would know his judgement in the danger zone would not be impaired, if the GDF discharged him for being too traumatized to see straight in the first place. His therapist wouldn't be happy about that, but he stopped taking her calls around the same time too.

Today he just needed to calm down. He needed to be strong for Allie, who didn't remember Dad's first Thunderbird, and for Gordie, who did. For Virgil and John, who remembered Dad's dark, stormy grief and withdrawal from them. For Grandma, who needed him to see her son's dreams through.

One little pill, maybe two. But his hands were shaking, as the TV-21 exploding conflated with a different one behind his eyelids - so much combustion energy to take Dad away. So one pill became a palmfull. He was just staring at his hand for a while. Okay, it WAS tempting. John DEFINITELY didn't need to know about that. It would just stop. All of it. The pain, the failure, the fear, the losses. Gone. Like Mom was gone. Like Dad was gone. [No matter what he said or did could make it right.]

But then he saw his brothers, ashen from grief and days of crying, all clad in black suits. Again. Alone and lost without him. Again.

So he threw the pills forcefully away, as if burned. They clattered like pebbles on the tiles and skipped everywhere. That's when John came in, because John too knew his tells. And now John didn't believe him, clutching his shoulders and shaking, yelling that he drank water, yelling into his comm for Virgil and a bloodtest kit. Even if it wasn't what it looked like. Not really.

***

Virgil was doing what he did best - fixing. Maybe also hiding. He couldn't fix TV-21 and Dad's shattered dream. He couldn't fix Scott's heartbreak and poorly hidden assumed failure now any more than he could fix it all those years ago. But he COULD help fix Four and with it - the mood of the despondent little Squid. One brother sorted out was exponentially better than zero brothers. Then his comm blared red.

The code was "Two-one", and 2-1 meant TV-21, and TV-21 was bad news. Bad, bad news. John's grim, tense face in the holo confirmed as much and Virgil felt the island shift and spin beneath his feet, as he legged it to Scott's rooms.

***

[Once the Tinies were settled for the night, Scott stayed down in the living room to try and catch Dad on his way out of the office. He'd been locked in there for the past several hours with the young engineer, who designed TV-21. Shaken by nearly loosing Dad to the crash, they only ever glimpsed a flash of fuming fury when Dad and "Brains" returned from the failed test flight. So Scott lingered on the couch way past the bedtime in hopes to talk to Dad some more. A mistake, as it turned out.

The teen's attempt at a smile and a simple, if heartfelt, reassurance was shot down sternly when Dad finally emerged for a glass of water and a stifled curse, only to disappear again back into the study, lit by gossamer holo-light of schematics and figures in the conference call.

"Nothing you say or do can make this right, Scott! Go to bed!"

Virgil and John watched in horror, from behind the rails of the upper floor, how Scott swayed, as if slapped, when the door slamed behind Dad again. The lanky figure then doubled over, bracing himself on a chair. Scott tried and failed to gasp through a wrecking sob, clamping a hand over his mouth to suppress the sound.

The brothers were frozen in shock, hesitant what to do as Scott looked about ready to keel over. He was probably hyperventilating, air weezing with effort through constricted pain.

Virgil stepped tentatively towards the stairs, John clutching his sleeve nervously. But Scott steadied himself for a moment only to bolt through the kitchen and out of the back door into the pitch darkness.

The brothers didn't wait any longer, practically tumbling down the stairs and on to the back porch, but Scott, the high school track star, was long gone.

They would be in so much trouble if Dad caught them downstairs, awake, on a school night, but Dad obviously was... otherwise occupied.

John, pale and wide-eyed, on the verge of tears himself, kept dragging Virgil's sleeve to run after Scott. Only which way? The farm bordered on the meadow. It was already dark. Scott could be anywhere.

Where Scott went - Virgil followed. That was the way of things. It included Rescue Scouts and multiple other pursuits. So the boy tried his best to push through the stinging of his own eyes and think like big brother, the Falcon Scout, would. They needed flashlights. The night was chilly, gusts of wind rattling the loose tiles on the old barn. Scott ran out in his sleep tee-shirt. So they would need to pick up his jacket too, on the way out. But first, they needed to placate and possibly bribe Gordie into keeping Allie from crying if he woke up. And they needed to figure out a search grid for big brother. Letting Dad in on the commotion wasn't an option.]

***

["Mom, I can't! I try and I try, and I try, but I can't! Nothing I say or do makes it right! I'm not enough! Mom, please! I canticanticanticant! I can't do this, Mom! Mom! Come back! I can't!!!!!"]

***

[A child's crying could be heard all across the quiet house. He didn't heed at first, habitually. Scott would deal with it. And on the rarest occasion that he couldn't - one of his elder boys would step up and sort little Alan out. He focused back on Hiram's muttering and the red dots flashing in different points of TV-21 the projection. The weak spots that led to the fiasco. The weeping didn't stop and eventually gave way to a high pitched wail. Jeff winced. He really didn't have time for that! He'd have to have sterner words with Scott. His ONE job was looking after his brothers. There was nothing more important than the project they launched with a young Dr. Hackenbecker. And it blew up in Jeff's face, quite literally so.

He stood up to his full hight. Hiram paused mid-rant with a polite smile. Jeff gave him a nod and jogged up the stairs, already exasperated. The hallway was dark - no light in any of the bedrooms.

The Tinies' room greeted him with a sight of Gordon clutching an inconsolable Alan in a squid hug, trying to muffle the sobs. Little Allie had dissolved into hiccups, vaguely resembling a call for ['Coddeeeeeh!!!!!]. Gordon's eyes blew up in panic as he saw Dad towering in the doorway.

Jeff took a long stride and plucked the crying child from his brother's death grip, then turned on his heel and marched down the hallway to the nearest room, shared by Virgil and John. The door flung open into the empty dark silence. The boys were not there. Jeff was fuming by then. Of course they'd use the opportunity of Dad being busy and sneak in with big brother to chat away all night. Or game. Or watch a movie. Or whatever it was teenage boys were not supposed to do when a parent was BUSY. Gordon was hot on his heels when he yanked the door to his eldest's open, clearly even more afraid of staying behind than he was of Dad's ire. Allie, who had quietened a bit in Dad's arms, screeched anew. Scott's room too was empty. Meticulously made bed had been untouched since morning. Three of his sons were gone.]

TBC

[edutainer2022]

'COTTY'NUGGLE

It wasn't common for John to be clingy. 'John' and 'clingy' seldom even occurred in the same sentence. John and physical contact was a rare occasion enough, so the death grip their ginger spaceman had on the biggest brother, both sprawled on the couch after a dodgy debrief, was hard to miss. Something happened on the last space mission. Something that wouldn't make it into their report. Something that had John tag along back to the island in Three, leaving Alan up in Five to man the comms. Something that now had John clutching a perplexed and visibly exhausted Scott to his chest, turquoise eyes daring anyone to pry big brother away. Nobody challenged John's claim.

Virgil was concerned, but kept to the piano, in the orbit of the shaken brothers, but giving John a berth he obviously needed. The medical scans checked out green. Whatever happened was not a physical injury. A silent thanks to Mom went up for that. Virgil could bide his time and wait till the brothers were ready to talk. Or not.

Soft sounds of piano music was accentuated by the slap of bare feet from the general vicinity of the kitchen deck. Unlike Virgil, Gordon took the pile of brothers as an open invitation and all but bounced in place, excited:

"We're doing the ''cotty'nuggle'!"

Along came an expert dive on the couch and a mild "omph!" from Scott. His arms went instinctively to tighten around the swimmer's back as Gordon wriggled and settled more comfortably. John's hand shifted to clasp Scott's on top of the Hawaiian shirt. His other hand moved up to shield Scott's eyes from the overhead lights.

Virgil smiled to himself as he regarded the scene. "Cotty'nuggle" as part of Tracy lingo originated with him, that's all an 18-month old Virgil ever wanted to do - snuggle his big brother. Snuggling Scotty was a refuge, a solace, a grounding reassurance in a whirl of life that kept taking so much. Virgil was beginning to feel left out, so closed the piano lid and drifted to the far end of an already crowded couch. John was being positively squashed by the combined weight of solid lean muscle. Virgil opted to perch himself on the armrest, lifting Scott's long, long legs into his lap. John met his gaze over the side of Scott's head, cradled on his shoulder, but said nothing. Gordon was apparently beginning to drift into snoozeville, blissed out by the brothers' warmth and light circles over his shoulderblades. The birdy-blinder trick, however, wasn't working for Scott as John expected. Biggest brother was awake and leaned his head closer, so a breath above whisper could be heard.

"You good, Jay? Gords and I are heavy, we're crushing you."

John reacted by tightening a hold on Scott's hand and shifting his palm from the brother's eyes to card through untamed curls. Scott showered after the mission and didn't come up to the lounge put together to the nines, as always - a clear signal something was very much off. There was a brief pause before John answered, as if considering the weight of the living, breathing body against him.

"You're here. I'm good."

Virgil caught the forlorn turquoise gaze again at that, but John closed his eyes quickly. Not yet, then. Later he'd get to the bottom of it. For now he let John enjoy the one perk of gravity he probably didn't mind at all - the real warm weight of a snuggled brother in his arms. Alive.

[edutainer2022]

With Jeff's return, there's a new dynamics of there now being two father figures on the island. And some unaddressed logistical and legal issues arise. This is a Jeff and Scott story. I'm always fascinated with them navigating things new and old, post Zero-XL.

As ever, many thanks to @janetm74 for support! Another night of bombings brings on a fic.

TWO FATHERS (TWO SONS)

Being dead was tedious, as it turned out. But not as tedious as coming back to life. The paperwork alone was threatening to swallow them whole. Jeff had a strong suspicion he hadn't even been privy to the worst of it - Scott handling the steel cage fights with the various red tapes across various countries, Tracy Legal, the TI Board, and the GDF. With a strong, if discrete, assistance of John's hacking and communication skills, he suspected (but never asked, for plausible deniability). He was more than greatful for that. His own energy was mostly channeled to gruelling rehabilitation and reacclimitization, and to not going insane from joy of being with his loved ones again. He was prepared to wrestle back every second the exile in deep space cut off his life expectancy. Truth be told, he'd be more than happy to let it all be and just stay on the island, basking in awe at his amazing boys and friends. But his sons were adamant the world got Jeff Tracy back, reinstated to his full glory - Scott's the strongest voice in the chorus. So he rolled with it. He could never again deny his eldest anything.

He might have kept to himself the increasing worry over the hue of grey pallor and deepened frowns exhaustion was casting over Scott's features those days. Every trip to the States or elsewhere to deal with the ever arising issues - an unseen struggle. Jeff's return was supposed to lift the burden off of his boy's shoulders, not add to it.

He was lounging on the couches that afternoon too, waiting for Scott to come up from the hangars. One just landed into the pool, heralding Scott's return from yet another trip to New York. In the meantime Jeff busied himself with going over more rescue logs. A habit he tried to dedicate whatever spare time he got to. Dear God, there were so MANY rescues over the past almost decade. So MANY close calls.

The elevator clicked and Scott came round the corner, his suit jacket already off, tie loosened. The young man's face looked wane, lost in thought. Jeff waited till Scott sat down next to him on one of the couches. He'd adopted another new habit - to ask how his boy's were openly and mean it. To process every word for concealed pain. But Scott was more or less an exhibit of how he felt - forehead pinched in a frown and eyes squeezed against a building headache. Jeff was half of a mind to skip chat (and possibly a nightcap) and altogether to order his son to bed, braving The Look. But Scott spoke first.

"Dad, I need to fly you in to see the lawyers and the judge next time. To transfer custody."

Oh... Jeff hadn't given it much thought, all the other priorities and sensations vying for his attention upon return. He just resumed being the boys' Dad - never for one second over the solitary years away had he stopped thinking of himself as such. But of course, Allie and Gordie having been orphaned minors, guardianship arrangements must have been made. It didn't surprise him one bit Scott had stepped up. As he did with everything else. If Jeff were honest with himself, his eldest did so a lot longer than eight years.

"Gordon aged out, but Allie's still a minor. I will need to forfeit guardianship and return parental rights to you."

There was a weariness in Scotty's voice, in his whole posture. An air of defeat. Jeff raised a hand to run a circle over the hunched back in a silk dress shirt, but his palm hovered millimeters shy of contact. It was supposed to be for the better! Their world was finally, painstakingly turning the right side up again. Scott was never supposed to be a father to the Tinies. If anything, Jeff had harbored tentative hopes his eldest might have started a family of his own by then. Yet he couldn't deny that for Gordon and even more so for young Alan - Scott was the one father figure they knew best. Allie was just a little kid when Jeff went missing, and now he was an incredible youth - brave, kind, smart, funny, exceptionally skilled and professional. He was growing up to be a remarkable man that Scott raised him. Jeff was still catching up on a decade worth of cultural trivia and technological updates, he couldn't presume to be making fully informed choices regarding the boy's future. He knew what he had to do. His hand landed on the son's shoulder finally and gave it a warm squeeze. Scott looked up, wrought with worry.

"I think we should leave it as is, Bluejay. Allie is gonna be eighteen soon, so the point is moot. This changes nothing for us here, at home. I'm your Dad. I will always be! But for the world of college funds, and insurances, and stock options - you're his parent."

Blue eyes regarded him with doubt. Scott drew in a breath to protest, but Jeff was not done.

"Allie will trust you with things he would never share with me as he grows older. Just you wait! For that you're his parent too. You have been for a while, son. I wish things were different, I wish I could lift that much weight off your shoulders. But I promise to be there every step of the way - for him and for you."

Scott's lips were moving to say something, but no sound followed. Damp blue gaze was searching Dad's face, astonished. But even despite welling tears, his son's features looked lighter. Calmer. Like an old ache got soothed. Maybe it had.

Jeff gave his elder boy's shoulder another soft squeeze and moved to stand up, having made up his mind.

"Fancy a nightcap, son? C'mon, I know you haven't worked through ALL of my good stuff. And then you're going straight to bed, Bluejay!"

He made a pointed gesture that probably resembled his own mother a bit too much. But he could indulge himself in mischief just that once. His failed attempt at a stern glare was met by a smile and mirth dancing in bright blue eyes. As Scott sprung up to follow him, sketching a salute, he could consider his goal accomplished as a father for the night.

[edutainer2022]

Mental breakdown can sneak up on anyone even in a moment of happiness, which post Oort Cloud time certainly is. Right? Scott's mind is ever so eager to take him a step over the edge, of course.

CW: thinly veiled mental breakdown; implied psychological torture of POW; angst.

A thanks to @janetm74 , as ever.

LONG TIME NO SEE

It's been a while. He'd seen so many faces in the mirror over the years - an orphan not allowed to grieve, a heir expected to step up, an impostor, a failure, a fraud, a wreck. He definitely saw his father reflected back at him on multiple occasions.

But this one? This one hadn't made an appearance in quite a bit. Sometimes he thought it would never come back. Delusional fool!

The smug smile and cold, hard eyes that looked right into him. Eyes that seemed to see what he really was even before he ever became it. A voice, husky and chillingly intimate, that made his blood curd in the dark cell of That Place. A voice that spelled out what he knew all along:

"You're nothing."

"You're dead!"

"Does it matter? Look at you! You see yourself and you know I'm right. Your father is back and you have nothing to show for it. Not a parent, not a leader, not a CEO, not much of a hero. Once your baby brother grows up - maybe not even a Thunderbird. They don't need to look up to you anymore. They never really did."

"Shut up!"

"Or what? You'll sic your Dad's henchman to kill me again? Am I really dead or was it a lie Daddy told you to stave off another breakdown?"

"Get out! You're not real!"

"Doesn't make me wrong. I promised you all along - by the time I was done with you, you'd be NOTHING. Nothing they'd ever want back. And here we are. Now tell me, Scott Tracy, did I ever lie to you?"

"No."

"Louder!"

"No."

"I can't hear you! Answer me! Who are you?!"

"Tracy, Scott. Rank - Captain. Badge - 6068103."

"Liar! You're not! You will never be! I'll only ask once again: who are you? I'll count to three or you'll regret it. One... two..."

"Tracy, Scott. Rank - Captain. Badge - 6068103."

"Wrong answer! I'll tell you who you are: murderer, coward, usurper. You left your father behind and then you left him to die in space! You stopped looking! You gave up! You settled yourself quite cozily in his chair, didn't you? His sons at your beck and call. His money. His clout. His name. His courage. His command. His legacy. His Thunderbird. Even his sworn enemy. Well, guess who's back now. So what does it make you?"

"Nothing."

"Atta boy!"

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday (Fathers Day fic)

This seems sadder than it will turn out to be (for evidence that Scott has it all wrong, see the previous bit of this chapter from an earlier WIP).

I have a vague plan that I might manage to cheer him up by his birthday 😏

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

His father hadn’t come back entirely the same.

It was to be expected - the physical and psychological cost of eight years in isolation would inevitably change a person. They all just needed time to get to know each other again. To get used to the new normal. The one where Dad wasn’t, couldn’t… didn’t even want to be in Command. Predictable, really, but Scott had not predicted it. The man he’d known for so many years would never have allowed that shift. Being the one in charge was just who Jeff was.

This newer, softer, slightly uncertain but eager to please father who had returned felt reassuringly familiar in some ways, but Scott didn’t remember him. He didn’t dislike him... he just didn’t know him.

One thing that was definitely the same, though - Dad would never quite meet his eye. He always looked slightly higher, above his brow line, as if he instinctively expected his elder son to be taller, better. As if he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge who, what Scott was rather than what he should be.

It had been that way a very long time before the ZeroX incident and yet somehow, amidst all the jumbled memories - the memorialisation of his father, Scott had forgotten the quirk.

Since he’d been home, Scott had watched with a warm heart as his father began to reconnect with his brothers, to get to know the young men Scott was so very proud of. This new version of Dad listened attentively to their stories, praised them, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off them. So evidently delighted by them he was, by how they had grown. This was how it always should have been and he knew he was delighted.

Knew rather than felt. Because the old icy shard of rejection had taken up residence in his chest. Every time his father’s gaze skated over his face it grew and began to constrict his capacity for warmth. His ability to breathe.

Just like it always had.

Perhaps that was the difference. It wasn’t so much that the father had changed, but the sons had changed, grown, become more impressive. Most of them.

All but him.

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙

[gumnut-logic]

It hadn’t been his best plan, he had to admit it. But the idea sprung up and he had been at his wits end with a head full of…stuff…and he needed a distraction.

He was pretty sure he could explain a motorised spinning clothesline. After all, wasn’t that what the washing machine did anyway? A few basic laws of applied physics couldn’t do anything but help get clothing dry in the tropics.

Could it?

Of course, he was bullshitting himself and every human in a hundred kilometre radius and he knew it in some dark, deep corner of his soul, but yesterday had been hell and he needed to DO SOMETHING.

Scott had banned him from the hangars due to injury.

Injury, sminjury, so he had a sprained wrist. He could still do stuff.

Even if it hurt to play the piano and the thought of holding a brush up wasn’t pleasant.

Now you’re just a hypocrite.

Oh, shut up!

So, Virgil Tracy grabbed his toolkit and a few important bits and pieces from his workshop…he went in the back way so he didn’t go through the hangars, so there, Scott! And, carrying them in his good hand lest he be arrested on the way back up, snuck…okay, he was sneaking, but that was because a certain brother was a worry wart!...out onto the lawn and crouched down by the clothesline.

What followed was several lovely hours of tinkering away and experimenting and playing, yes, playing, and he had a good time which was much better than sitting on his ass in his bedroom pouting.

He had to admit that by the time he had the solar panel assembled and the motor suspended at the right place, his wrist was hurting a bit more than it should be and the medic in the back of his head was having conniptions, but the mental health value of the exercise certainly outweighed anything else.

That was until standing back and admiring his work, he realised he had an audience.

Of two.

Aw, crap.

“Whatcha doin’, Virg?”

“Mind your business.”

“Ooooh, touchy. Need some coffee?”

Gordon was standing with his arms crossed beside Alan. While Alan had some actual interest in his eyes, Gordon was channelling a combination of sprung older brother and mischief.

“What do you want, Gordon?”

“I see you have motorised the clothesline.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“How fast does it go?”

Virgil eyed his brother. The smirk was practically acidic and started eating Virgil’s eyeballs. This was going to hurt, wasn’t it.

“Fast enough.”

“Round and round? Like a turbo charged merry-go-round, possibly?”

“Gordon…”

But Alan reacted to that. “Woah, that sounds like fun.”

Virgil rubbed his face and was punished for using the wrong hand. Maybe he could claim short term breakdown of his logic centres? An addiction to tinkering?

Why the hell did he need a motorised clothesline at all? They had a dryer for that exact reason.

Did sprained wrists reduce mental capacity? Or was it just that he had known this would happen and he needed it as much as his little brothers did?

Yesterday had been hell.

Screw the excuses, they now had a motorised clothesline and all that implied.

Part of him was aghast at what he had done, the other part was too busy grinning as both Gordon and Alan hurried past and examined his creation.

Everything was loud in his head, but at least he wasn’t sad anymore.

Of course, that was the point where Gordon found the On switch and with a whirring sound and a pair of squawks, launched both himself and Alan into a high speed orbit of the metal and concrete axis of the contraption.

In other words, they started the merry-go-round and clung to the metal bars of the clothesline while it swung them around at a speed high enough for physics to lift them almost horizontal.

It was at this point Virgil realised the complete lack of safety mechanisms.

It was also the point where Scott ambled out onto the patio and exclaimed in horror.

Scott really did know how to meet just the right pitch to communicate terror where his brothers were concerned.

Ever wanting to protect Scott and his brothers from absolutely everything, Virgil jumped into kill the power on the spinning contraption.

The switch was beneath the clothesline and he had to dart in under the pair of screaming brothers - either joy or terror – neither younger brother was as clear as Scott in communication – as they spun around and around.

Killing the motor was easy, but seeing the expression on Scott’s face as he came running towards them, only had Virgil panicking enough to leap up and try to catch his brothers and slow them down faster – fix the problem at speed.

He was a Tracy and Tracys love speed.

Unfortunately, that expression on his brother’s face was enough to short circuit Virgil’s brain regarding his own safety – wasn’t the first time, likely wouldn’t be the last – he had a sprained wrist for exactly that reason, after all, and it was a major component of why he had to DO SOMETHING this morning or go out of his mind.

So, without thinking of the logical consequences, Virgil stepped into the path of his spinning brothers, intending on using heavy-lifting muscles to catch them and slow them down.

Instead, he got kicked in the head twice and went down for the count in a lovely wave of darkness.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil, what the hell were you thinking?”

It was a tired Scott voice. One that spoke of insane brothers driving him around the bend and into his grave.

Virgil opened his eyes expecting to see a terrible two lined up for discipline. But the room – Virgil’s room – was empty except for one older brother rubbing his eyes.

It was very bright and Virgil’s head complained.

“Virg? You with me?”

A grunt was all he managed.

“When I said ‘no working’ did I really have to include the clothesline?”

Virgil scrunched up his face. “You didn’t say anything about it specifically.”

Scott’s sigh of exasperation was enough. “Brains has declared it a breakthrough by the way. Apparently, you got more power out of those solar cells versus however fast you got that thing to go than should have been theoretically possible.”

“Oh?”

“He says it was a logical step on from the project the two of you were working on in the HANGARS.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” Was Scott gritting his teeth? “You even have John excited due to some physics rule you broke in the process. He has Eos analysing our CLOTHESLINE.”

Virgil winced. “Please don’t yell.”

“I don’t possibly see how I can’t yell. You are the responsible one. Did you break something yesterday that you have failed to declare or have you always been this way?”

Virgil glared at his brother and tried to ignore how much frowning hurt his eyebrows. “You know the answer to that.”

It was Scott’s turn to grunt. “Don’t do it again. Gordon and Alan do not need encouragement. They have enough stuff to kill themselves with already.”

Virgil had to grunt at that as well.

“Sorry.”

Another disgruntled murmur was all Scott said after that.

But he did stay with Virgil and kept and eye on him and as time proved that there was no lasting damage from being kicked in the head by two brothers swinging from a clothesline, the holoprojector may have been switched on, Scott may have joined him on the bed and there may even have been some popcorn acquired.

At one point there was an enquiry from the door, but apparently Scott had locked it and Eos was the one who answered…for some reason in an English accent that said ‘Bugger off and leave them alone!”

Virgil just hoped it hadn’t been Grandma outside the door.

But for the moment, his mind was settled, his headache fading and he was quite happy sitting beside the brother he had sprained his wrist for by pulling him out of the air the previous day, and watching trash TV they could both poke fun at.

After all, who needed to tinker when he had all that?

-o-o-o-

[edutainer2022]

A heartwarming and insightful comment by @janetm74 made me whip out a little bit 2 for BY ANY OTHER NAME. This time it's Alan and Scott in a further future.

ANOTHER NAME FOR LOVE

"Please, tell me you're not crying!"

"What? No! Just something in my eyes!"

"Sure!"

"Oh my god, Allie! He's so perfect! I can't believe it - baby Alan has a baby!"

"Well... I didn't do any of the HARD work..."

"Alan!"

*chuckle*

"Admit it! You just miss having a baby in the family, now that's the Crash Boom Bang Squad are all grown up."

"That's no good way to call your nephews, Alan! And they're not GROWN UP... just... off to college for a little while..."

"Okay, okay, Thunderfledgelings it is. And all out of the nest."

"Not all. We have this little guy here!"

"Yeah! Scott Jefferson Tracy is not going anywhere for a little while. Except maybe at Mach 20 when Biggest Uncle flies him about."

"Alan!"

"What?"

"We had a deal!"

"No-pe. You, Virgil, John, and Gordon had a U-NI-LATE-RAL deal - no naming sons 'Scott', because you're too shy or something. You keep thinking I'm 12, so you didn't even think to extrapolate. Besides, didn't you name a son after your Dad?"

"Well, yeah..."

"So did I!"

[edutainer2022]

@sofasurf Oh no... it wouldn't be good! At all... But Thunderbirds have a remote override (if not HABITUALLY turned off by a hotshot flyboy, of course).

What's gonna be even better is drinking half a bottle of off-brand Coke, offered by a kindly local volunteer, in one go and heading back into the danger zone. An about to collapse building, perhaps? A mine? Virgil and Gordon are busy with evacuating the area elsewhere. Alan and Kayo are on debris clearing duty in pods. But Scott and his grapple packs are needed inside. John is kinda worried since Scott's suit readings are all over the place - pulse is racing, oxigination dropping into orange. Truth be told, Scott is also kinda dizzy and his eyesight swims out of focus. He's sweating a bucket. If he didn't know better he'd say he was having a heart attack. Maybe he SHOULD know better because after each wayward stunt Virgil usually recites stats of strokes and heart attacks under 30 at him. He also maybe shouldn't have quipped about it to John now. A John who's very blurry around the edges. Must be interference with his comms. He's also deep inside the guts of the disaster site, there're people needing his help - so his premature cardiac episode can wait till he's done his job. John's miniholo is going positively GREY. He's not only dizzy now but nauseous. About to throw up, more like. Which is a BAD idea in a helmet. So the helmet has to come off. Vomiting brings him to his knees, which is... a bummer. He shouldn't have passed up that protein bar Virgil offered how many hours ago? An attempt to get up brings him further down. There's an echo of John's voice in his helmet that clattered to the side. MiniJohn is gesticulating wildly on his wrist comm, but he can't answer. He can't move. He's so very tired. John's voice is soon joined by a yelling baritone. Virgil is pissed at him. Figures! He finally worked himself into a heart attack. But he's taking a rest now, right? Someone else is screaming too, wailing for him to GET UP AND GET OUT! But the voices are drowned out by the roar of collapsing stone, as the ground and the walls shake and shift, and fold all around him.

Poison list

While it's important to approach writing with creativity and imagination, it's crucial to prioritize responsible and ethical storytelling. That being said, if you're looking for information on poisons for the purpose of writing fiction, it's essential to handle the subject matter with care and accuracy. Here is a list of some common poisons that you can use in your stories:

Hemlock: Hemlock is a highly poisonous plant that has been used as a poison in various works of literature. It can cause paralysis and respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Arsenic is a toxic element that has been historically used as a poison. It can be lethal in high doses and can cause symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal pain, and organ failure.

Cyanide: Cyanide is a fast-acting poison that affects the body's ability to use oxygen. It can cause rapid loss of consciousness and cardiac arrest.

Nightshade: Nightshade plants, such as Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, contain toxic compounds that can cause hallucinations, respiratory distress, blurred vision, dizziness, an increased heart rate, and even death when ingested.

Ricin: Ricin is a potent poison derived from the castor bean plant. It can cause organ failure and has been used as a plot device in various fictional works.

Strychnine: Strychnine is a highly toxic alkaloid that affects the nervous system, leading to muscle spasms, convulsions, and respiratory failure.

Snake Venom: Various snake venoms can be used in fiction as deadly poisons. Different snake species have different types of venom, each with its own effects on the body.

Digitalis: Digitalis, derived from the foxglove plant, contains cardiac glycosides. It has been historically used to treat heart conditions, but in high doses, it can be toxic. Overdosing on digitalis can cause irregular heart rhythms, nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances.

Lead: Lead poisoning, often resulting from the ingestion or inhalation of lead-based substances, has been a concern throughout history. Lead is a heavy metal that can affect the nervous system, leading to symptoms such as abdominal pain, cognitive impairment, anemia, and developmental issues, particularly in children.

Mercury: Mercury is a toxic heavy metal that has been used in various forms throughout history. Ingesting or inhaling mercury vapors can lead to mercury poisoning, causing symptoms like neurological impairment, kidney damage, respiratory issues, and gastrointestinal problems.

Aconite: Also known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, aconite is a highly toxic plant. Its roots and leaves contain aconitine alkaloids, which can affect the heart and nervous system. Ingesting aconite can lead to symptoms like numbness, tingling, paralysis, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure.

Thallium: Thallium is a toxic heavy metal that can cause severe poisoning. It has been used as a poison due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic other substances. Thallium poisoning can lead to symptoms like hair loss, neurological issues, gastrointestinal disturbances, and damage to the kidneys and liver.

When incorporating poisons into your writing, it is essential to research and accurately portray the effects and symptoms associated with them. Additionally, be mindful of the potential impact your writing may have on readers and the importance of providing appropriate context and warnings if necessary.

If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!

[0-therw-0-rldly]

I’ll preface this by saying I’m not really a shipper. I just enjoy canon couples on TV Series/films.

Terms I’d like B*ddies to remove from their vocabulary because they don’t know how to use them correctly:

Media literacy: For a group that uses this term a lot you sure do misinterpret everything in this show.

Queerbaiting: Going to expand on this one. A show that’s already been pre established for having queer characters simply cannot queerbait.

Ship baiting: While sometimes you can argue that they could be doing that, that’s only if you look at the show in a very biased manner. You might think this is the case but the general audience doesn’t think the way you do.

Ship war: This isn’t a one tree hill situation where there was Team Brooke Vs. Team Peyton where the middle guy (Lucas Scott) had canonically been with both women. This is people not understanding fanon vs. canon and not being able to just watch the show. It’s like playing quarterback on Madden and thinking you could be better than Patrick Mahomes.

Plot device: everything’s a plot device. Move tf on.

Predator: You sound like crazy MAGA supporters calling everything regarding the LGBTQIA+ community as predatory. Sit down.

Co-parenting: I know this is a big one and discourse was brought up during the hiatus. Oliver and Ryan have loosely mentioned this years ago but it was never to be taken this seriously. Do y’all even know what co-parenting is or are you that big of a donut? Buck is someone who loves his best friend deeply and by extension, his kid too. Him taking care of him frequently does not make him a co-parent. Maybe he is a parental or uncle figure, but he isn’t a co-parent. Also, I swear y’all need to learn how a will works. He is a GODPARENT, not a GUARDIAN. Stfu.

Hag: This especially applies to women, but to say that someone 25-30+ is a hag for still being in fandoms or enjoying tv shows/films is inherently misogynistic. Men are never held to this much criticism for enjoying fictional media, but women aren’t allowed to?

Queer Coding: people of the same sex “looking at each other”, hugging, or having intimate moments all together doesn’t make them queer coded. It could mean that they just love each other that deeply platonically. While representation is amazing and just because you interpret a character as queer coded (just like my ship baiting comment) doesn’t mean others interpret it that way as well. In addition, network TV has stipulations, and also actors are allowed to decline storylines. Ryan has mentioned his character is heterosexual an abundance of times which means (at least for now) that he isn’t willing to go for this storyline.

Dead naming: Y’all construing the fact that Buck wants people like coworkers and some of his former love interests, to saying Evan is his dead name is inherently transphobic because do you even understand what a dead name is? Evan Buckley is shown as being fine with being called Evan by both Tommy and his sister. I’m pretty sure some of his love interests have called him Evan as well.

Fetishizing: You guys saw two hot guys who “looked at each other” and for 6 seasons have wanted nothing but to see those two make out with each other. Those of us who enjoy Tevan saw Buck giddy at the thought of Tommy and have wanted domestic fluff for them since.

Anything to do with racism, homophobia, and misogyny: I’ve seen the way you guys have conveniently weaponized Henren and by extension Aisha/Tracie when you didn’t get the Ryan/Oliver interview, don’t try to act like you’re morally superior. Not to mention wanting a canonically gay man to die in a show and not even holding those who use your ship name to write CSA fics accountable because you’re petty and want to throw hissy fits. Anyone looking at your comments as an outsider would think you’re homophobes and yes queer people can be homophobic.

I do hope you can expand your vocabulary. 🤍

[mrmustachious]

Part 3 and the final part of the rec list! Don't forget to check out part 1 and part 2 too! Blame tumblr for not allowing me to put it all on the same post! 💕

List below the cut. All warnings, ratings, etc. are inside each fic~~

✨FANDOM RECS [CONT.]✨

Fraught Friendships by RenaHime

This oneshot is set in the aftermath of the episode “Impact”. Always wondered as to why Ridley never featured again after this, so here is my answer.

A Father by rosefields

Scott Tracy has been under a lot of pressure since his mother died. But he can cope, it's not a problem. Jeff know that, his oldest is strong and capable and he doesn't need his father. Right? (Partly Outsider POV)

Up in Flames by @sparkwithinme

Inspired by a small bit of dialog from Inferno.

Reflection by @scribeofred

The city of Kingston. One year ago, an earthquake. Now, fires and explosions. History isn't repeating, but lives still hang in the balance, and the Tracys are a single wrong step away from losing one of their own.

the observable entropy of a closed system by scribeofred

Everyone involved in the operation has their own methods of ensuring absolute secrecy is maintained. This—this is yours.

Pranks and Tempers by @weathergirl8

It was only supposed to be an innocent prank, but Gordon didn't bargain for more.

A Guide to Valentine's Day (and how to exploit it) by @silverstarfics

“John, darling,” Penelope announced brightly. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“No.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Not a romantic date.”

In which John and Penelope pretend to go on a date to make the most of the discounts offered on meals for couples, because Valentine’s Day is about all kinds of love, including the platonic kind.

Five Times Alan Flew Another Thunderbird by silverstarfics

...and the one time he didn't.

Five Times The Floor Was Not Lava by silverstarfics

...and the one time it was.

Out Of This World by silverstarfics

Reality has rules: the supernatural don't exist (but Alan's just seen his brother stabbed by a demon), demon deals aren't real (which is also odd given Alan's accidentally made one), and nightmares exist solely in your head (only he's just dragged his entire family into a hell dimension). Or: Alan learns some truths about the world that he'd rather not have known at all.

The One Where John Gets A Hug by silverstarfics

Spending months by yourself has never been advisable behaviour, and John's never been good at asking people for help. Or: the Tracys learn the magical art of communication, with a load of hugs thrown in for good measure.

The Spider Incident by silverstarfics

It takes a certain kind of bravery to save the world... it takes a different kind of bravery to remove a spider from the shower. Or: there is a spider, and the Tracy boys are disasters.

Tomorrow Never Knows by silverstarfics

Things had not gone according to plan, to say the least. Now they were trapped on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere with no hope of rescue and increasingly slim chances of survival. To make matters worse, the Chaos Crew had shown up. This was not going to be a fun week.

Shattered by @jerriandtheirfanfics

One Tracy brother leaves his feelings bottled up, until the smother hen catches him out. Movie-verse oneshot.

Whatever It Takes by Siocled_poeth

Realisation hit John's gut like one of Gordon's elbows: he'd been kidnapped, and he'd walked right into it.

It didn't seem as though his family were looking for him. His father probably hadn't even noticed he was missing. He had to decide what lengths to go to to get home.

Denied by @thunderstorm-bay

Gordon is frustrated after "Deep Search" and "City Under The Sea".

Enough is Enough by SpaceKat38

Chapter 19 of Whumptober 2022

Just Another Rescue by teddy0bear

No summary.

Buckle by Teobi

She finds him sitting at his father's desk, when everyone else has gone to bed. Add-on to S1E15, 'Relic'. TAG2015

Sunny Side Up by TheRebelFlower

Brandon wants to cook breakfast for Alan, but will his plan fail when it turns out he's not the first one to arrive in the kitchen?

Brother by @mrmustachious

Virgil senses something is up with Alan. It isn't what he thinks it is. Written for Thunderpride 2023 - Trans Men Day

Sleep Under the Fish by mrmustachious

One day, a strange boy appeared on Penelope's beach. And then he disappeared.

Little did she know about the world that lived beneath the sea, and what that one encounter would open her up to.

A Thunderbirds/Luca AU

We'll Always Have Paris by @tikatu

Kyrano takes Tin-Tin on a journey of the heart.

and finally, the penny drops! by @tanushakyrano

This was not how Scott had envisioned having his bisexual awakening, but sometimes that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Besides, it definitely could have been a whole lot worse, so who's complaining?

give or take a million by transienttumbleweed

Half a dozen years ago, in the lobby of a Wichita hospital, Scott Tracy made a choice.

It was the right choice, in the end, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t … consequences.

It’s fine. He’s handling it. (Present-day AU.)

like to the lark at break of day by transienttumbleweed

John Tracy is not having a good week.

Fortunately, his older brothers have a full tank of gas and no sense of self-preservation. (Present-day AU.)

piece by piece by transienttumbleweed

Six times Tanusha cried because of the Tracys, and one time she couldn’t. (Present-day AU. Can be read independent of the rest of the series.)

I Just Can't Wait To Be Free by @tsarinatorment

When Scott gets stuck, Gordon’s the only one around - too bad he can’t stop laughing.

Late Night Lifting by @whatgaviiformes

Smart doesn't mean weak

Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm by whatgaviiformes

An alternate universe. Gordon has a successful farm... and seems to have nothing to do with this International Rescue thing.

Turning Circles by whatgaviiformes

It was official. Gordon had a crush on his brother's ice dance partner. Ice Skating AU

Once in a blue moon by @such-a-random-rambler

please, someone, why can I not write anything else! A little John and Virgil together. Now with chapter 2 wohoo!

Seeing Stars by such-a-random-rambler

While John deals with memory loss from a domestic accident, the others rally round

Don't Cough by Whump_and_Whine

John's dying, alone in space as his brothers rush to get to him. He realises they're not going to get to him in time, and contemplates how to die. It's a sad fic, but in my head, John does survive after this, but I've tagged death of character, and suicidal thought in case. If you want more details, read the notes.

Tricky Trust by Whump_and_Whine

John's sick. He needs to be sedated, but that comes with its own problems...

Grudgingly Human by Yarnaholic

Post EOS. Scott faces some old demons while trying to talk down a man standing on a building ledge after a rescue.

La tarte aux pommes d'or by @yarol2075

Scott needs to thank the Mechanic - it really shouldn't be so hard.

PART 3/3 [PART 1] [PART 2]

[edutainer2022]

So I survived the first ten hours of today's carpet bombing (yay!). The jury's still out on the rest of it. As a distraction, I've tinkered with yet another thing set to explore the Mechanic and Scott as foils. In the middle of the night, after a rescue gone bad the Mechanic gets some unsolicited insights and food for thought. Many, many thanks to @janetm74 for cheering me on!

SILENCES IN BETWEEN

One landing down in the hangar was not easy to miss, yet he tried to habitually tune the noise out. The disembarking mechanisms would soon shift the Thunderbird's pilot either up through the shute or to the lockers area. Either way the Commander would be out of his hair soon enough. He just needed to brace himself and weather the landing without confrontation. It was the dead of night. The island was silent. The big green bird and its pilots were out on the mainland, along with the kid and the Hood's niece. Brains called it a day after nine hours straight of futile struggle over the T-drive calculations. The stubborn faulty numbers were currently keeping the Mechanic awake. He heard One leave for a call out, but didn't follow the rescue chatter. Now it was obviously over and if he was lucky, the Commander wouldn't rile him up over yet another delay. He just needed to sit tight for several minutes more and then go back to work. It was in the forced tense interval that he noticed the sounds that usually heralded the pilot leaving for upper levels of the villa never came. No levers creaking, no footsteps. Just the eery quiet.

If asked, he'd deny worry ever entered the rationale of his peeking out of the T-drive platform into the vaster hangars area. Not worry for Scott Tracy, at least. Maybe worry for his time-sensitive work being potentially derailed by the idiot having faceplanted from the landing patch.

Scott Tracy was standing on solid ground, however. If maybe leaning too heavily on One's landing berth, eyes squeezed shut. Blue neoprene on one of his arms was torn through, saturated liberally with blood. The eyes that opened next gave the Mechanic pause - usually bright color was almost black with strain, vacant, like the IR Commander was seeing ghosts. The ashen face contorted against a scream, threatening to break containment. The Mechanic was surprised to witness such raw, undiluted grief in someone he had chalked up to be too full of holier than thou grandeur. Scott Tracy swayed on his feet and the Mechanic felt himself rushing down the platform scaffolding.

"That looks like it might need a clean-up."

The voice that would usually have the Commander up in arms clearly didn't register. The younger man flinched instinctively from his reaching arm, but the gaze was still glazed over, unseeing. Haunted. Scott Tracy going into shock on him definitely trumped the faceplant. The Mechanic tightened the grip on the man's good arm and steered him to the workshop allocated to him personally. First aid kits were in more ample supply on the island than palm trees. Scott didn't object per se, but did struggle to put one foot in front of the other. He was yet to utter a sound. Somehow that worried the Mechanic more.

He finished up tying the bandages and once again nodded towards the syringe of painkillers only to receive another headshake no. In between the two of them they managed to unclasp the baldric and to peel off the top of the IR uniform which was now tied around Scott's waist - the good sleeve and the blood-stained stump the Mechanic cut off with cahelium sheers. By the time he was done with the patchwork of the wounds, the Commander was pale to the point of looking grey and the Mechanic could swear he heard the younger man's teeth grit. There was nothing much more to say.

Scott moved to stand up and the Mechanic just about managed to catch the blanched Thunderbird by the midriff.

"Whoa! Easy there!"

"I'm fine."

That was the first full sentence Scott had uttered so far and it was such a blatant lie the Mechanic had to stifle a snort.

"Not by my standard you're not! Which is a pretty low threshold, I gotta tell you."

He shifted Scott's torso in the general direction of the cot he got set up in his private working area for long nights of calculations or insomnia.

"There! How about you lie down a bit?"

He wasn't a Good Samaritan by any stretch of imagination or by trade, but the idea of chaperoning the barely coherent Commander all the way up to the residential floor (and possibly holding vigil, because nobody else was readily available and the guy just wouldn't let himself black out safely) didn't exactly appeal to him. It would also take precious time off the T-drive. Murky blue eyes blinked up at him, owlishly.

"They're dead. I didn't save them."

The Mechanic figured as much. If he felt like it he could probably hack into the rescue records or video feed, but it was pretty self evident. Thunderbird One failed. What didn't quite compute for him was the sheer GUILT that came with the territory. Not self-pity but punishment, the need to deny oneself basic care or consolation. He didn't yet know what to do with the fact Scott Tracy unironically believed he owed the world to save it.

The man in his hold was trembling, literally standing on his last leg.

"Do I need to call your Grandma?"

Another small headshake nearly got the blue eyes rolling back. The Mechanic took a hasty stride and helped deposit Scott's frame onto the cot. He then turned away, giving his unexpected guest room to feel he probably wouldn't get, if surrounded by family. Well-meaning and obviously caring, they were, nevertheless, bearing down with an expectation of a happy resolution to pain. An endgame. An ever after. The Mechanic was developing a hunch he and Scott Tracy were at the opposite ends of the same tether, though - an ignition cord of shame, loathing, despair, self-destruction. Each holding a lighter.

The stifled sobs came soon enough and he busied himself with the holo projections of T-drive specs. When the quiet weeping subsided into keening and then faded into even, if labored, breathing, the Mechanic moved to turn around. He made a quick errand to the adjacent workshop, favored by Brains, and came back with a tattered, lopsided knitted blanket. It was obviously designed for someone shorter and younger than Scott Tracy, but it would have to do. The young man's face was stricken with tear marks and there were beads of sweat on the forhead. The Mechanic paused to consider his options and reached to check for fever. The frown of the pallid features deepened as a tear escaped from the closed lids.

"I'm sorry, Dad! I'm so sorry..."

He froze, hand hovering over the clammy skin. The low grade fever was definitely in place and the Mechanic really wished someone intervened and took Mr. No Painkillers off his plate lest it got worse. But the island was still calm and appeared deserted at that hour. Fifty two thousands miles above Thunderbird Five was probably busy dealing with whatever tragedy had unraveled, or grieving too, in the aftermath. The Mechanic was, therefore, it. Oh, the irony!

The rest of the night was a blur of studiously avoided fever mumbles, a minor breakthrough with the T-drive calibrations, and general exhaustion. He stumbled off at the crack of dawn to grab a shower and an early coffee before the island erupted with frenzy, catching up with the night events. Coming back with a steaming mug, he found his nook empty. Cut off neoprene and bloody gauze was cleared out. The cot was made neatly and the flimsy blanket folded with military precision.

The Mechanic shrugged, took a liberal gulp of coffee and fired the holo console back up. He would need to show Brains the new results once the engineer was done fawning over the distressed Commander. He knew the cleanest break from the whole conundrum would be to never speak of it again. The dopey DIY cover taking up permanent residence in his workshop went uncontested.

[edutainer2022]

@janetm74, oh, definitely! But maybe it's not always straightforward or optimistic.

Maybe it hits him at a random moment. At a moment that should be light and endearing.

He stopped being fun sometime after Mom. He stopped being Scott sometime after Dad. Maybe earlier, after That Place. He doesn't do hobbies, because he can't let himself channel energy into anything that's not Dad's legacy. He doesn't do downtime, because he hasn't earned rest, having not saved Dad.

One day Gordon would say "you should really try having a personality" and Scott would snap.

Because Gordie is fourth down the line. Scott made damn sure his only concern was being himself and doing what brings him joy.

Scott sees Virgil drift away - spending more time with Gordon, sharing hobbies and time on the beach. Scott gets it. Gordon is Scott before... everything happened to Scott. Virgil misses THAT best friend. Not whatever boring neurotic mess Scott turned out to be. It hurts, though... It hurts so bad...Virgil would probably die if he knew Scott thinks that.

Maybe it's John, who gets it. John actually sees his brothers quite well, as much as he doesn't do people-ing. Virgil knows how to be a brother that makes Gordon feel safe and happy. He has no idea how to be that brother to Scott now - between the Hood, the Mechanic, the Chaos Crew, and Scott burying himself deeper into work - Virgil's scared he's not enough as a best friend.

I love when the whumpee has to reinvent themself. No, you will never be the past you again, they are permanently changed by the trauma, but that does not mean death. You just have to find you again. The people who care about you might mourn, you might as well, but getting to know each other again can be quite interesting.