#virgil's exercise routine

[ilikebigshipsandicannotlie]

what’s your favourite gym workout?

and are you a legs exercise enjoyer or do you hate legs?

This is a curious question format Anon. If my favourite exercise was a leg exercise question 2 would be redundant. It would also be a strange declaration to 'hate legs'. Anyway ...

I don't have a favourite exercise in the gym. It's important to focus on all aspects of fitness and all parts of the body, else it is likely the weakest point will fail. I like a varied gym workout, and exercise that is not in the gym too.

I can't deny some weighted press ups are fun . Especially with a @squidsinashirt size weight 😁💚💛

[squidsinashirt]

I know that you and your brothers are very close overall, but you and Virgil seem to have a special bond. Y’all spend a lot of time together too, given that Thunderbird 2 and Thunderbird 4 are usually a package deal. Do you think that’s accurate? What is your favourite thing about Virgil? Least favourite?

Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty spot-on, eh @ilikebigshipsandicannotlie?

Me and Virg have always had a close bond, even before iR. Now it kinda comes with the territory, right? Thunderbird 2 and Thunderbird 4 are like peanut butter and jelly. You don’t get Four without her big sister most days. We’re a close team, and being jammed together on missions for hours — or days — kinda forces you to figure each other out real fast. Plenty of time to talk when we’re enroute home from a mission, just the pair of us. He’s very good at getting you to just�� open up.

Virgil’s one of those people you just trust. Always has been. He’s steady, he’s patient, and he knows how to read the room — or read me — better than just about anyone. When things get rough, he's not the guy shouting orders or panicking. He’s the one quietly making sure everybody’s still breathing. It’s a good feeling, knowing he’s got your back before you even have to ask.

There’s a reason Virg was the one in charge of all my rehab PT. He was never pushy, never gave me all the overly confident, positive-about-everything lines either. He threw himself into it, knowing everything about it, memorising every exercise and routine and bit of kit. Speaking with the consultants himself about what would help. He was totally committed, even during the difficult bits.

There was this one day — early on — and I was supposed to be working on standing, right? Just standing. That’s it. Standing up without all the supports and gear. Sounds simple enough... until I actually tried to do it. My balance was garbage, my legs just wouldn’t cooperate and I just completely wiped out. Hit the floor hard. Hurt like hell, but honestly? What hurt worse was my pride.

I lost it. Totally lost it. Told Virgil to leave me, told him I was done, that I wasn’t gonna get better, that it wasn’t worth it. All that bottled-up anger and fear just boiled over, and he got the full blast of it.

And y’know, he didn’t yell back. He didn’t give me some big inspirational speech. He just sat down on the floor next to me — right there, no hesitation — and said, 'Okay. Then we sit. As long as you need.'

No pressure. No judgment. Just him, sitting there on the cold floor. We probably sat there for half an hour. Didn't even talk much. He just... was there. Then he took me back to my room, told me he was proud of me and made me drink one of those horrible shakes the hospital prescribed. And somehow, that made it okay to try again the next day. And the day after that.

That’s Virgil, you know? He just shows up — and stays — when it matters most. He knows what to do, doesn’t need to ask. No drama, no fuss.

And that’s probably my favourite thing about him? Honestly? It’s how much he cares. Everything he does — the late nights fixing gear, the way he makes sure the island runs smooth when we’re exhausted, the mug of tea waiting for you by your bed after a long rescue — it’s all because he cares. About the team, about the family, about everyone we pull out of bad situations. He’s got this huge heart, and it’s what makes him so good at what he does.

Plus, he’s secretly hilarious. People think he’s serious, but get him in the right mood and he’ll drop these quiet one-liners that have me crying laughing. It's the best.

Now, least favourite thing? Oh boy. You sure you wanna open that can of worms? Kidding, kidding — mostly. If I had to pick just one... it’s that he’s a total control freak when it comes to Thunderbird 2. I mean, you’d think I was asking to borrow his firstborn if I even so much as looked at the controls. ‘Gordon, don’t touch that. Gordon, that’s calibrated to my specs. Gordon, that's not a toy!’ Like, bro, I know how to fly, okay? There is no need to do extra diagnostics after I’ve been at the controls! Love the guy to death, but if he loosened up even a little about his girl, I think we’d both live longer.

This is entirely hypocritical, I realise, but it’s just about impossible to pick something I don’t like about the big guy so this will have to do. I WILL NOT BE TAKING QUESTIONS AT THIS TIME.

[idontknowreallywhy]

The lovely @hebuiltfive sent this ask from @squiddokiddo’s excellent March of the OC’s ask game about four OCs. I will answer conventionally about three of them, but the fourth requires a little extract to explain…

Bez’s favourite Thunderbird

🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

Scott cautiously patted Bez on the head and murmured his thanks for the gift of… err… whatever the giant green drool-soaked plushie monster Bez had deposited at his feet was meant to be. Some kind of chunky lizard? A turtle… but with a zip on its belly?

The dog backed away and looked at him expectantly. Ah. He needed to physically accept the gift. Ugh… but he could literally see dog-spit-bubbles gleaming on the fuzzy surface. Shudder. Come on Tracy, you’ve dealt with grosser things in Gordon’s bedroom…

Acting with the kind of caution he’d exercise towards potentially explosive toxic waste, Scott picked the item up with a thumb and forefinger, and dangled it in the air as far from his body as possible to inspect. It spun slowly in the air to reveal a very familiar yellow, red and white pattern on the top side and his jaw dropped in delighted surprise.

The shape, he could now see, was almost recognisable but it had been significantly squashed and white stuffing was poking out from several holes. Other sections had evidently been firmly re-stitched together which only emphasised how the rest of the original seams were on the point of bursting. The tail was hanging on by mere threads. Bez sat up tall on his hind legs and looked immensely proud of himself.

“Oh Bez… whatever would Virgil say?”

Scott coughed to repress the snigger that thought had prompted and then bit his lip, not wanting to offend the giant animal by laughing in his face. His body shook a little as he crouched and reverently placed the mutilated toy back down in front of its owner but he kept his cool. Said owner eyed him and then promptly picked it up and put it more decisively on top of Scott’s shoes.

“Goodness you are highly honoured Scott, he won’t let me near Thunderbird Chew! I’ve had to sneak her away while he sleeps to carry out routine maintenance in the dead of night and… err, Scott? Are you ok?”

Scott lost control and his shoulders shook as he crammed a hand into his mouth to suppress the giggles.

Thunderbird Chew! Now he really couldn’t wait to tell Virgil!

🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴🦴

[nickmpreg]

virgil x nick a very funny ship that i do like but i think virgil would have to do breathing exercises around him routinely

[flyboytracy]

Do u wanna play a game?

We can totally get to 100 fun things we wish we'd got to see in Thunderbirds Are Go (fun things, not ur shitlist) Reblog til we get to 100 😄😄😄

1. Virgil exercising in the gym in the roundhouse. In the name of science and stuff, and for the good of all mankind, we deserved to see that boy's exercise routine at least once. Preferably shirtless. For science.

2. Thunderbird One carrying Thunderbird Four like a lil baby duck

3. Virgil piloting Thunderbird One whilst Scott pilots Thunderbird Two. They'd hate it 😆

4. TRACY INDUSTRIES - like how did Papa Jeff get all that $$$$$$$ for IR?

5. Papa Jeff's infamous flamingo shirt

6. Those cute lil beach huts below the villa on Tracy Island

7. That mysterious tunnel above TB4's lil fishie tank. Where does it goooo?

8. Exactly how TB4 gets from her fish tank and into her module ready for launch

9. A bottle episode where such a bad storm hits the island, they're all grounded idek. Give me Scott trapped with his lil brothers and give me those lil brothers with no escape from their big bro God help them

10. Scott's walk in wardrobe. Give me beautifully tailored suits and shiny shoes or give me death

🙌 🙌 🙌  your turn 🙌 🙌 🙌  hit me 🙌 🙌 🙌

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Tracy Seaside Orchard and Farm - Part 10

Summary: Alternate Universe. Gordon is a farmer. And he seems to have nothing to do with International Rescue. Now on AO3!   Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Family 

New to this fic? Please be aware for this story that parts are posted in sections here on tumblr before I upload the chapter to Ao3. We are about to begin Chapter 5, so you can either select the sections below or read all of what’s on Ao3 to be caught up.

Prologue here Chapter 1: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Ao3 Chapter 2: Part 4 | Part 5  | AO3 Chapter 3: Part 6  | Part 7 |  Ao3 Chapter 4: Part 8 | Part 9 | Ao3  Chapter 5: Part 10 (you are here)

Part A/N: So I went on vacation, got downed by COVID, then had to re-find my writing groove. I still have the cough and the smell of woodsmoke chasing me for some reason. While I was getting better, half the time when I went to go write, I played the game “for inspiration” instead. So, because so many folks are also playing Stardew Valley now (joiiiin meeee), I feel the need to reiterate - this is only vaguely inspired by SDV. Please note the genre, there’s a difficult background being explored, and at the end of the day this is a Virgil and Gordon fic. Thanks for reading if you are still hanging in there. I promise we’re making progress for all the ups and downs. I promise cute chickens will come. 

*****

Part 10

Things were good for a time. Having new guests was always a juggle to find a new routine for the duration of their stay, but with Virgil the schedule came about seamlessly. In the mornings, he helped Scraps with the barnyard animals, and every other weekday afternoon he had physical therapy with Dr. Mendoza which would leave him drained and irritable. But on opposite days, he would meet up with Everett in the shed – though he was barred from using heavy machinery, he still was an engineer who needed to understand how it all worked and make sure it was safe. It was there he set up his workshop where he could tinker with the parts of the radio while Everett ran maintenance checks.

On one Thursday morning, Sara showed up to the rancher home, and Virgil balked in surprise because it was an off-day and because it was morning, but Gordon came stumbling up from the chicken coop, flicking a feather from his hair, gushing half-hearted apologies for being late. That night over dinner, Virgil grilled Gordon for answers, and the young farmer awkwardly admitted the state of his health the past few years. His progress may have plateaued, but his monthly sessions and exercises kept it so that his back and leg wouldn’t get any worse. Yes, he could keep going at the rate he was: he was permanently injured, not incapable. Yes, it hurt. Chronic pain tends to do that. No, he didn’t want to see any more specialists; there was nothing more they could do.

It wasn’t giving up; it was facing facts.

“Was giving up on your family facing facts?!” Virgil spat, the chair screeching as he forced it back and stormed off to the guest room before Gordon could answer. Not that he knew what he would’ve said anyway.

Virgil dined in the larger home with the others for a few days after that, and Gordon barely saw him between their individual tasks. He even skipped farmer’s market day, choosing instead to work on his radio in the shed. Scraps came in his place, and it gave Gordon some time alone to talk to her about his brother’s progress.

“You should discuss that with your brother.” She’d seen right through him, even though he’d tried to make the question sound as business-like as possible. Just the owner of the estate asking about one of their retreat guests. But that’s just the thing; with Virgil it could never be “just business.” There were too many years, too much hurt, between them, for it to be anything other than a tenuous re-threading of what used to make them close. Her expression softened as she rang up a guest, turning to her business partner once the customer walked away. “He keeps things near the chest here because we are all close to you. But it’s obvious you’re not so alone in your hurt, Gordon. I think you two should talk. Really talk.”

That first part he knew. The second part not so much, as Virgil had given him the indication of the exact opposite. And they seemed to be doing as well as could be by not talking. He feared it would break them fully once they tried.

Like a stranger, Virgil would pad through his home, the lock clinking at night when Gordon was already in his room for the evening, the excess food from dinner stored in the fridge as leftovers. Of small victories, Gordon was grateful that at least Virgil hadn’t retreated to one of the rooms in the shared house, and that the spare bedroom in Gordon’s home seemed enough of a refuge.

Then one night while Virgil still was practicing his phantom act, a soft light from the kitchen startled him at the same time the weight at his ankle released suddenly as Skipper’s head perked up towards a sound unperceivable by the human ear. Virgil was awake.

Skipper jumped off the bed towards Gordon’s closed door, whining.

Gordon himself had been watching the clock in between closing his eyes to beg for rest. He knew, at least, the early hours of the morning were not made for his older brother, so he threw back the covers, slid on his slippers, and followed Skipper into the other room. Virgil blinked heavily, unsteady on his feet, when Gordon hit the light switch to flood the room - yellow and warm in place of the white light of Virgil’s little phone.

“Virgil? You ok?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he grunted, rubbing his eyes with one hand, while with the other he felt for the wooden back of a chair. “Go back to bed.”

“I was already awake,” Gordon said, noticing the stiffness in the way he fell into the chair, the way he was favoring one side. “What do you need? Should I call Dr. Mendoza? Scott?”

“No!” Virgil shot back between gritted teeth, his face pale. “Definitely not.” He reached for Skipper, who wagged her tail at the Virgil’s pets, circled around a few times, then plopped down below him underneath the chair, closing her eyes. Virgil put his head in his arms on the table. “I wish it were that easy,” he lamented to her, and her tail fluttered as he spoke. He fumbled with his words, as if he was about to say more, but held back.

Rarely would Virgil wake during the night when they were younger. It was something Scott and Gordon shared, while John often was only just going to bed after sneaking out to observe the skies. Alan would test how late he could stay up to play his games, but once he was out, he was out.

Gordon wouldn’t remember his dreams, but he remembered the terror. At first it was Ma, then it was Scott, who would find him and help him go back to sleep with white noise of the distant sea.

Nowadays, he relied on resetting his mind with the comforting aroma of caffeine-free chamomile tea with lavender and vanilla, and his white noise became the sound of his fan that kept the room cool.

Virgil hummed. “This smell reminds of John. He always makes something similar when he’s home from Five.”

Gordon nodded. “It’s not commercial, probably won’t be. Tea isn’t anyone’s specialty here.” He set a mug in front of him, a loose-leaf tea infuser hanging into the inside. “Just a hobby.”

“It’s yours? Is there anything you don’t grow?”

“No, we dabble in just about everything in some sort of way.” He slid into the chair opposite his brother, nursing his own blend, adding honey instead of looking up at him.

“I always thought it was Ma’s. John’s tea I mean.”

“As close as I could get. It took me countless batches to get it right, and then I gave myself a deadline since it was supposed to be his Christmas present. The proportions were off until about a year and half ago. I think I finally got it, though.” He sipped it slowly. For him, the memory was more about the fragrance than the taste.  Those nights when Scott would rock Gordon back to sleep with the recording of the sea in the background and John would sneak in quietly with Ma’s tea drifting past them as he carried it into his bedroom. Until it ran out and she was no longer around to make another blend. “Another reason it’s not for the market. It’s too close to the heart.”

She’s raised them to explore their imaginations, respect the Earth and her people, find the discipline within themselves to work hard to be the best version of themselves, come to know their own hearts. Where his brothers were able to take Dad’s dream and make it their own, their mother’s had always been with the land, and Gordon had always felt a little closer to her being here. Surprisingly, as the thought crossed his mind, Virgil echoed it.

“- and I keep remembering these little lessons and fact she taught us. Just these random things like how pumpkins are actually a fruit not a vegetable.”

“That depends on if you speak to a chef or botanist. Technically they are also a type of berry. So are watermelons.”

Virgil shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“And raspberries aren’t berries at all.”

“You’re full of it.”

“I promise you I’m not.” He grinned over the cup of tea, happy to see Virgil finally relaxing into the scent as well and that he was no longer rubbing at his side.

Virgil sighed deeply. “You remind me so much of her.”

Gordon suddenly found the color of his beverage an interesting shade of brown, darker than his eyes, a bit closer to Virgil’s color. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize for that. Never for that.” He placed his mug empty on the table. “You’ve done good here, Gordon. And she’d be so proud.”

Gordon coughed. Nodded.

The words wouldn’t quite come.

Virgil yawned, stretching carefully to avoid pulling at his injury. The sound woke Skipper who wiggled forward to sit in front of him and place her head eagerly on his knee, and the two of them stepped back from the table. Skipper rubbed against Gordon’s leg, and he scratched behind her ear.

“Go on, Skip,” he encouraged. To Virgil, he advised, “She’s good company. Try a word game if you can’t go to sleep. Pick a category, like animals or color shades, and then name something in the category for every letter until you stop thinking about – whatever it is.”

A warm hand came to rest on his neck and shoulder, the motion tentative and uncertain but not unwelcome.  “Thanks.”

And quickly it was gone.

“Ah – I’ll get the dishes,” he offered.  

Gordon waited for the clink of Virgil’s door before he got up to rinse both mugs and place them in the top shelf of the dishwasher. He glanced around the empty room, the model ship on the table, his plant on the counter, back towards the dark of his bedroom. He breathed deeply the fresh night air let in through the cracked window near the sink, seeing the light of stars.

He left his slippers by the back door, threw on a light sweater, and walked barefoot through his garden towards the hammock nestled between two trees, where he closed his eyes and tried – he really did – to name various letters of animals.

Eventually, he gave up. His communicator was in hand before he thought about it.

“Hey, John.” The voice that saved thousands, red hair, turquoise eyes, a tired smile.

“Hey, Gordon. Can’t sleep again?”

[i-am-bitterly-jittery]

On Death's Doorstep (pt 15/?)

[<<First],,,,[<Prev],[Next>] [ODD Masterlist]

Word Count: 1704

Rating: teen

Pairings: little bit of Anxceit in this one. Kinda cute

Warnings: PTSD, blood, injury, broken glass, past abuse, Remus being Remus (taken from canon)

~~~START~~~

It was late evening when Janus got back home. They’d had to follow Simon Anderson’s after-work routine until they got off his usual bus at his usual stop, then they entered an alley and walked back out as themself. Then, to work off some of their anxious energy, they’d walked back home.  

Plans had to be made, reconnaissance needed to be done. It took Janus months to be able to confidently replace Simon Anderson! To replace someone even higher up the totem pole? Could take at least a year.  

They would have to get Logan involved now; at the very least they needed some of his gadgets in order to properly bypass security. A little extra help could cut down planning time as well, which was good because the way the plan was unfolding in Janus’s mind, it could lead to Virgil being to walk free.  

Which is what they wanted.  

Obviously.  

They wanted Virgil to be able to leave… and never come back… 

Ok, walking hadn’t gotten rid of all their energy, they needed to talk to someone.  

No one answered when they knocked on Remus’s door. They tried a few more times, but still no one answered.  

That was annoying. If Remus was out, Roman was probably out too, and with neither of them to talk to — and with Virgil excluded for obvious reasons — the only person left to talk to was Logan.  

And he’d made his opinions on Janus’s feelings very clear.  

Still… talking it out out loud would help them dispel their remaining nervous energy and possibly come to some kind of understanding about their own feelings. So Logan it was.  

Mind made up, Janus made their way up the cursed cursed stairs — fuck Logan for living at the top floor, and double fuck him for insisting that an elevator was not necessary.  

They had just reached the third-floor landing when they heard the sound of shattering glass coming from behind the closed apartment door.  

They hesitated for just a moment before gently rapping their gloved knuckles on the door.  

“Virgil?” They called, knocking again. “Are you alright?” 

Nothing.  

“Virgil?” 

They pressed their ear to the wood hoping to hear anything that would let them know that Virgil was ok, but all they got was a faint, broken sob.  

The rule about knocking was their idea, and despite being a villain, they didn’t like breaking promises, but in this situation, where someone could be hurt, it was necessary.  

“Virgil, I’m coming in.”  

With still no answer, Janus opened the door. 

Upon first glance, nothing seemed amiss. Upon second glance too.  

Neither Patton nor Virgil were anywhere to be seen, and the only evidence that anyone was even in the apartment was the broken sobs coming from behind the kitchen island.  

“Virgil?” 

Virgil was kneeling on the floor, shards of broken glass surrounding him. His hands were bleeding.  

Gingerly, Janus lowered themself into a squat, careful to keep any part of their body other than their feet — still protected by shoes — from touching the glass-ridden floor. “Virgil? Can you hear me?” 

No response.  

Unsure of what to do, and hesitant to touch the hero while he was distressed, Janus created an illusion of a purple rose right about where they thought Virgil’s eyes were pointed. The rose opened and closed in a slow rhythm, the hope being that Virgil would eventually match his breathing to the rhythm, consciously or not. This continued on for a while before Virgil seemed to attempt the breathing exercise.  

Relatively assured that Virgil was beginning to calm — at least a little bit — Janus turned their attention to the full scene before them.  

Patton was still nowhere to be seen, and given the time, Janus hoped that he was already tucked in bed and unaware of his father’s episode.  

The glass shards most likely came from a drinking glass that either got accidentally knocked off the counter or else got dropped on the floor. The glass shards were the cause of Virgil’s bleeding, and would definitely need to be taken care of as soon as possible.  

“Virgil?” Janus tried again.  

This time he received a whine that landed somewhere between a hum and a groan. Good enough.  

“Virgil, may I touch you?” 

Another whine.  

“You are in the middle of a pile of broken glass, and I doubt you’re wearing shoes. The safest way to get you out is for me to pick you up, is that alright?” 

A third whine. Normally that wouldn’t be enough for Janus to take as consent, they really needed to relocate the hero.  

“Okay,” Janus whispered, slowly walking around Virgil and wrapping their arms around his waist. “Up!” 

He was heavier than the last time Janus lifted him. One the one hand, that was good, it meant Virgil was filling in; but on the other hand, strength was not Janus’s… strength, and dropping Virgil onto broken glass was probably worse than just leaving him there.  

Staggering more than a little bit, Janus managed to move Virgil away from the glass shards and get him situated on one of the dining room chairs. Throughout the whole process, Virgil hardly made a sound, and only moved when prompted by Janus first.  

They left briefly to grab the first aid kit out of the bathroom, when they got back, Virgil was in the same position they’d left him: hunched over, palms open, slowly dripping blood onto the floor.  

They grabbed a bowl from the kitchen, then came back to kneel in front of the unresponsive ex-hero, careful to avoid the pool of blood.  

“Virgil, I’m going to use these tweezers to pull the shards of glass from your hands, is that alright?” 

They got the barest hint of a nod in return.  

Good enough.  

Janus started the rose illusion up again where Virgil could see it, but it wouldn't obstruct his view of what Janus was doing, then got to work.  

Eventually, Janus was fairly certain that they’d gotten all the glass out, and as Virgil showed no signs of healing his hands on his own, Janus disinfected them and wrapped them in bandages. They stood up with the intent of cleaning up the raining glass in the kitchen, when a bandaged hand suddenly shot out and gripped their shirt-sleeve.  

“Don’t go!” Virgil begged, finally meeting Janus’s eyes. Tears were rolling down his cheeks freely, causing Janus’s heart to constrict. “Please!” 

“I won’t,” they promised, kneeling on the floor once more. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

One of Virgil’s hands was still gripping their shirt tightly, so Janus took his freehand and entwined their fingers together.  

“It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe now.” 

Virgil shook his head. “I’m not though! I can’t– I want to go home.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Janus felt helpless. They had the beginnings of a plan, but it would be months until they were ready to put it into action, and then possibly years before it paid off… if it ever did.  

They wanted to be able to help Virgil, and to help people like him; and if Virgil decided that he wanted to never see them or any of the others ever again, then they wanted him to be able to make that choice.  

Virgil fell asleep eventually, exhausted from his episode. Janus departed for a minute, but eventually decided it was worth it to move him to the bed (plus, carrying him bridal style was easier).  

Patton was sprawled over the mattress with the comforter pushed all the way off the bed when they entered. Janus laid his father alongside him on the bed as well as they could without disturbing the toddler or smushing any of his limbs.  

Patton stirred for a moment, and Janus thought they might have failed, but all he did was curl closer to his dad and settle back down. Janus breathed a sigh of relief before grabbing the comforter and laying it over the pair.  

Back in the living area, Janus got to work cleaning up the broken glass, mopping up the drying blood, and returning the first aid kit to the bathroom. By the time they left the apartment, the only evidence of what had happened were the bandages still wrapped around Virgil’s hands.  

Their nervous energy was now well and truly depleted. They felt exhausted, but they didn’t want to be alone.  

Remus answered Roman’s door on the second knock.  

“Hey, Snakey.” 

“Hey. Where’s Roman?” 

“Ugh, that hero girl hit him with her sleeping powder whatever and he’s still out cold. I don’t want them to wake up alone, so I’m eating their food.” 

Janus nodded. “Wanna watch a movie?” 

“Absolutely.” Remus opened the door wider, allowing Janus to enter. “You look awful.” 

“I’m just drained,” they replied. “Don’t ask any follow-up questions, and I’ll make it look like whatever you drew on Roman’s face while they were out isn’t washing off in the morning.” 

“Deal!” 

Roman was laid across the large couch in his living room, so Janus took one side of the remaining love seat (which luckily had a clear view of the TV), and texted Logan while Remus raided Roman’s kitchen once more in search of movie snacks.  

We’re having a movie night at Roman’s, do you want to come? 

They received a reply less than a minute later.  

I will be down momentarily. 

Logan strode in just as Remus returned with a bowl of popcorn, a tub of cottage cheese, and a small bowl of salmon dip.  

“Hey, prof, there was a shitload of expired food from the fridge just sitting on Roman’s counter earlier, know anything about it?” 

“No,” Logan lied smoothly, sitting next to Janus.  

Remus laughed, placing the food on the coffee table and grabbing the remote before laying across both of their laps. “What do we want to watch?” 

“Anything,” Janus replied as Logan shrugged.  

“Okie dokie! Self-immolation videos it is!” 

“No,” Logan responded, taking the remote from her. “We’re watching MythBusters.” 

“Can we watch the one where they bury pigs under cement and their neighbors all complain about the smell?” Remus asked, batting her eyelashes pleadingly.  

“That is acceptable.” 

“Yes!” 

Janus drifted off to sleep to the sounds of scientific explosions. 

~~~END~~~

And finally, after four chapters, this day is over

It’s amazing how many words deciding to add one more scene can add, I was at like 1100 and then I thought but what if the baddies all hangout too :)

I’ve made a decision about the plot of this fic moving forward (which I won’t tell you since it’d be a spoiler, but after the fact, I’ll let you know what it was) that will hopefully mean it’ll be easier for me to write going forward (I’m very happy with this choice, it flows better than my original plan)

I think there are two more chapters in this section (section 2 out of 4 if you’re trying to keep track), but I’m not against adding another filler chapter if I feel like more emotions need to be fleshed out (maybe another Patton!centric chapter idk)

ODD taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly @pixelated-pineapple @knight-shives @misunderstood-shadowling @lost-in-thought-20 @remy-the-lemon-berry @jinxcrafter @apinkline2715 @gothfoxx @donutsarepartybagels @xoaningout @meganmoneky14

[gumnut-logic]

Alan was bored.

It wasn’t often that he found himself with a lack of things to do. Life was generally busy with Thunderbird maintenance, rescues and backup duties.

Of course, he could always kill some zombies, but he was feeling restless. Gordon was off the island with Grandma so that didn’t help. Scott was buried in paperwork and John was still hiding on Five. Virgil had disappeared.

Wandering out onto the balcony, Alan eyed the pool a moment before throwing the idea out. Without Gordon it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun.

Maybe he could go for a walk. Scott had been nagging him to get into a more regular exercise routine and, hey, he hadn’t seen the other side of the island for a while.

Darting up to his rooms, he threw on some loose clothes, decent shoes and a hat. A quick note to John to say where he was going and he was out the back door and crunching gravel up the side of the mountain.

While he had no objection to the great outdoors, Alan had no particular preference for sun, surf or bush walking. Not that he didn’t love a splash in the ocean with his brother, or even a jog around the island with Scott, it was just that many of his interests lay in the confines of the virtual world.

Or space.

Part of him didn’t want to admit he was like Johnny, but he was in many ways, but where John adored seclusion, Alan loved people. Basically, Alan was happy doing pretty much anything as long as it was with someone, preferably someone he loved.

So, he would really be lying if he said he took his route at random. It wasn’t a conscious decision, more just what he knew was going to happen regardless.

Virgil had some favourite places on the island to sit and just be. Alan didn’t quite get it any more than he got John’s love of solitude, but he knew his brother liked it and he stored the information for when it was needed.

Today Alan wanted company, so he used the information he had at hand.

Clambering around on the rocky island was not for the faint-hearted. There was no doubt that he was getting a good workout just by going for a simple walk. His first stop was a small cliff beyond Thunderbird Two’s runway. It was Virgil’s favourite, just on the other side of the mountain. He could often be found here just staring out into the ocean thinking who knew what. The scene had been painted, scribbled and, in one case, mosaicked onto a table. This was definitely Virgil’s favourite place.

He wasn’t there.

But Alan still had his list.

Two more Virgil spots proved empty and Alan had managed to work up quite a sweat. He was beginning to wonder why he was even bothering when he caught sight of a figure almost completely hidden in a grove of palm trees.

Virgil sat on a rock, his sketchpad on his lap, completely absorbed in his art. He was up a cliff overlooking a good chunk of the island, the twin peak at an angle even Alan could appreciate.

Alan eyed the climb and with a deep breath began the trek to reach his brother. He kept quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb him. That would be a good way to get his head ripped off. But if he approached from just the right angle, he should be able to see what Virgil was actually drawing.

It took actual rock climbing in a couple of places, but Alan eventually found himself situated behind his brother on top of the cliff, and as expected the view was breathtaking.

It was late afternoon and the entire side of the island was lit up by the sun. Gulls were wheeling in the air above the forested slopes, catching rising air. Far below, raw Pacific collided with the rocky shore in places and wrangled with reefs in others.

Virgil had certainly found a spot.

Quietly Alan made his way closer to his brother. Virgil drew on, showing no sign of knowing Alan was there. The cliff was a slope that had Alan descending towards his brother. Virgil was facing away towards the scenery, slightly hunched as he drew. Because of that slope, Alan was actually able to see his brother’s hand, this time his right, sketching pencil lines on the paper.

For a moment Alan was content to simply watch, but if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t come all this way just to spy on his brother.

“You do know it is rude to stare.”

Virgil’s voice was always soft yet possessed a strength that could be startling. Alan stiffened, annoyed at being caught so easily.

“What? Do you honestly think all that rock clambering would go unnoticed?”

“Dunno.”

His brother had yet to look up at him, simply continuing to sketch as he spoke. You gonna come and sit down?” Virgil held up a hand. “Just be very quiet, I don’t want you to disturb them.”

Alan frowned. “Who?”

But that hand didn’t answer, just beckoned him over.

Alan did what he was told and found himself sitting on that rock beside his older brother.

Virgil was scratching lines furiously onto the page, but the subject wasn’t what he expected. All that beautiful scenery and Virgil was drawing a haphazard pile of sticks?

Whispered. “They’re sea eagles. I’ve never been so close.”

Alan’s eyes darted from the sketchpad to a slither of rock a stone’s throw away from the edge of the cliff. The pinnacle stood alone and defied gravity almost to the point of disbelief. On its very top sat a huge nest. From this angle he could see the two chicks waiting for their parents to return.

Breathed out quiet. “Cool.”

Virgil was sketching madly and under his practised hand, one of the chicks slowly came to life. Simple line instinctively placed, shaded and shaped. It was a little mesmerising.

Alan, of course, had watched Virgil draw before. Amongst all the other things. His brother was usually fiddling with something. He had to have something in his hands, whether it was a pencil or paintbrush, piano or Thunderbird, Virgil tended to always have something playing between his fingers.

When Alan was little there had been many a Kansas winter night snuggled up by the fire, curled up beside his brother watching him draw. Sometimes he would dare him to draw outrageous things like Pedro the Peanut-Killing Pickle. There had been odd stories and scribbled down comics. Alan had even tried his hand under a little encouragement from his brother, but he didn’t have the enthusiasm that Virgil had for the art.

Besides, Alan was quite happy to just sit and watch. Rare quiet moments shared with his artistic brother.

They had been getting rarer and rarer.

“Can I sit with you, Virg?”

A brown eye with an arched eyebrow peered at him. “You’re already sitting.” The curve of a smile. “But sure. Just be quiet and don’t make any sudden moves.”

Respectfully whispered. “Okay.”

So, they sat for an unknown length of time. Virgil drew the second chick, and as one of the parent birds landed with the evening meal, its strong wings, talons and beak appeared on the page. Alan watched as the pencil lines grew darker, surer. Virgil switched pencils and they grew darker still, the birds emerging out of the page into three dimensions.

Down below the two chicks guzzled food from their parent.

A loud, awkward screech from above and another eagle was circling overhead, likely the other parent.

In the corner of the page, the bird quickly appeared, wings spread wide, soaring.

The quiet was amazing. Alan wasn’t one to sit still for any length of time, so perhaps he was missing the obvious, but the sound of Virgil’s pencil, the tease of the breeze and the call of the eagle above had only to compete with the waves far below and the rustle of the scrappy forest.

And a pair of squawking, complaining eagle babies.

Gordon would probably have loved this. His fish brother loved the sea, but he loved all the creatures contained in it even more. Despite this preference for water breathers, if you shoved a puppy or a panda in front of him, the man melted into a gooey puddle. Eagle babies would definitely be on the goo list.

“This is nice, Allie.”

“What?”

“Bit like old times, you sitting and watching me draw.”

Alan shrugged. “I’ve always liked to watch you draw. Guess we haven’t had as much time lately.”

The pencil paused. “Yeah.” His brother turned to look at him. “Well, it is good to see you out here. Nice to have your company.” A gentle smile.

“Anytime, bro. Kinda nice out here anyway.”

That smile grew a little before softening. “Well, unfortunately we have to head back now.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up Gordon and Grandma.”

Alan checked his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? He’d been out here…three hours! “Wow, didn’t expect it to be so late.”

Virgil didn’t comment, just smiled a little more as he packed up his sketchbook and pencils.

Alan stood up and stared out across the ocean. A flicker on the surface of the water and he caught sight of a pod of dolphins frolicking in the swell. He stared.

“It’s amazing what you can see if you stop and look.” His brother’s soft voice so close to him made him jump.

“Virg, personal space.”

His brother snorted and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I don’t think such a thing exists on this island.” That smile again. “Probably why John hides on Five.”

Alan grinned. “You’ve got a point.” And despite his earlier protest, he dropped his head against Virgil’s shoulder and for just a few more moments, they both tracked the dolphins as the cavorted past the Island.

“Can we do this again?”

“Sure.” Virgil slung his pack over his shoulder.

“Great.”

Silence fell, and they stood there a moment longer until Virgil squeezed a little and let go. “C’mon, sprout, time to clamber down the mountain.”

Virgil took the first few steps and Alan followed, throwing one last glance back at the nest now full of the entire family of sea eagles. A sharp beaked head turned in his direction and glared at him.

Alan couldn’t help but smile at the bird before he hurried after his brother.

-o-o-o-

[soysaucevictim]

“aching, shaking, breaking (like humans do)”

Summary: Remus thinks Hypnos has abandoned him for good (metaphorically speaking), Patton is there to help. (Sanders Sides, Gym Rat AU. One-shot. Ao3 link.)

Genres: Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic

Characters: Patton and Remus centric. Logan, Virgil, and Roman mentioned.

Relationships: Intruality (platonic), Logicality (platonic), Background Intrulogical (platonic/ambiguous), Background Dukexiety (romantic/QPP), Background Moxiety (paternal/platonic)

Warnings: Remus angst, extreme insomnia, (unintentional) self-injury, medications, mental health issues, grim imagery, Remus Has Intrusive Thoughts, Remus Is A Mess, Patton Is A Good Friend, Interfaith Friendships, Implied (Extended) Family Problems

-

Patton was pedaling on one of the exercise bikes, which was one of his favorite activities to do at the gym. Relatively low impact and he usually took a “something is better than nothing” approach to his routines nowadays. Just appreciating the people watching and socializing with his workout famILY.

That was odd.

Remus hadn’t been to the gym for the whole week. Even when the kiddo overdid it – usually he’s not out of commission this long for it. Unless-

Something hit him in the gut when he realized that. He stopped on his bike and immediately buzzed his number.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

He could shoot him a text, but it was just not settling right with him. Logan had been doing one of his HIIT circuits on the bike next to him. He took a deep breath, gently tapping Logan’s shoulder. Despite Logan’s concentration, he desisted immediately, turning off his music to respond, “What is it?”

“Have you seen a certain Pottymouth at your work recently?”

Logan paused, with a look of concerned realization, “Come to think of it, no. No, I haven’t. Well, he was getting particularly erratic and called in sick… 3 days ago.”

“I think I should go check in on him. My Other Son’s been swamped with work lately, sooo…”

If Logan was perfectly honest, it was often confusing when Patton referred to half their crew as his son, “Other son? Did you mean Virgil?”

Patton nodded.

“Probably prudent. Unfortunately, no one can stand in for me at the firm tonight. And. You’re better at the… emotions stuff.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence! Hopefully I’m just worried for nothing.”

Patton rose up from his bike and was about to leave with his things. Logan smiled faintly, “Hey, if you would, could you tell me how he’s doing when you find out?”

Patton smiled back, a little forced if he was honest, “I’ll make sure to have him tell you that himself!”

-

It wasn’t a very far trip across the city to get to Remus’s apartment complex from the gym.

Once Patton parked his car and took another deep breath, he stepped out toward it.

After getting buzzed in and jogging up a couple flights of stairs, thanking his stars for basic training, he was at the door in a jiffy.

Patton wasn’t in the business, but he was reminded of the time Remus was raising heck to get Unit 404 from this building. He remembered seeing Logan trying desperately not to laugh when he heard about it.

He knew to knock to the phrase “Shave and a Haircut”, to alert Remus. He drummed out a few calls, waiting for Remus to make a sound on the other side, hoping he would.

It was a thing in their group, ever since they all watched “Roger Rabbit” together for a movie night, years ago.

Once. Twice. Thrice…

Patton heard the sound of chaotic crashing noises and an off-script, but still in the right cadence, “Fuck OFF!”

“Remus!? Kiddo, it’s me. I wanted to check on you!”

He heard some stumbling noises and a hoarse, “P-padre?”

“Can I come in?”

There was a dramatically loud sigh before the door was unlatched, unlocked, and open.

“Thanks- oh.”

Patton wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting, but Remus looked even more harried than he usually was. The darkness around his eyes even more pronounced, his face was so drained. His makeup smudged, tear-streaked, and hanging on for dear life. His gaze wild and jumpy. Remus didn’t do much more than stand in the living room, staring at Patton once he entered.

Patton saw that Remus had knocked over one of his glass cabinets. He noticed Remus looked pretty scratched up and was bleeding in places, mostly his hands and knuckles.

Patton furrowed his brow, asking mostly to avoid presumptions, “How are you feeling?”

Remus sounded breathless too, “What does it fucking… look like!?”

Patton paused and looked around some more, there was a lot of trash strewn about the floor. Granted there usually was, Remus would just call it “organized chaos���. But Patton did note that there was an alarming number of energy drink cans piled around a hopelessly full trash bin. Monsters, NOS, Red Bulls, 5 Hours, yerba mate, the works.

Patton slumped a little bit in worry, “Not exactly peachy keen, I take it?”

Patton had a hunch that Remus was screaming not that long ago, based on just how raw his voice sounded, “No SHIT!”

“Um, would you like to sit down for a bit? It might help to talk it out.”

“Can’t.”

“Too restless, huh?”

“Yeah.”

At that point Remus was mindlessly digging his fingernails into his arm. Patton winced a little and decided to ask, “Can I take care of those injuries, at least? I just want to make sure they don’t get-”

Remus glanced at but barely registered the wounds, “Infected?”

“Yeah.”

“F-first aid kit’s in the bathroom. Not like it matters. It would be just my luck to have a brown recluse bite or resistant staph or necrotizing fasciitis. You know where shit rots and liquefies and you get all septic?! Imagine the SMELL.”

Patton slowly worked his way to the bathroom to get the kit, not taking his eyes away from Remus, “Well, if it looks like it’ll be that way, I WILL be taking your butt to the ER.”

Remus didn’t seem to register that, droning on, “Oh. What if I lose a finger? Or several! Or my entire hands! Everybody says I might die of a heart attack before I hit 30? My ticker feels like it’s going to EXPLODE, Teddy Roosevelt. Imagine a live grenade strapped to it – BOOM. Sounds like fun.”

Patton flinched, thinking that was to get a rise out of him, “Kiddo, I think that’s the opposite of fun.”

Remus weakly laughed, pointing at his chest thoughtlessly, “Better than worrying about cancer or some shit!”

Eventually Patton had to break line of sight to grab the kit, but he kept talking, “When… when did you last get some sleep?”

There was a pause that made Patton’s own heart ache a little bit. Remus muttered after some hemming and hawing, “Uh… 3? 4?  4 days ago? I think. I don’t even fucking know.”

Patton took a moment to look over the medicine cabinet while he was there. Just to see if Remus had anything that could help him get much needed snooze time. There was a bottle of trazodone, mostly full, Benedryl, also mostly full… no suspiciously empty bottles of anything around. So that was a hopeful sign.

“Would you mind if I asked you to take something to help you sleep? After I patch you up?”

“You remember that story where a whole batch of Tylenol was tampered with and killed like seven whole people?”

“… I’ll ask again a little later, then.”

Patton returned to the living room, kit in hand, both relieved and disconcerted about Remus just standing in the same spot he was in. His hands were clenching and unclenching, like he was fighting to stay awake even longer. “Okay, it would be easier on both of us if you sat down while I dress those wounds.”

Remus didn’t move, so Patton tried to gently nudge this poor kid toward the sofa anyways. Thankfully, he didn’t resist at all. Patton noticed just how wobbly a gait he had in that short distance. Once seated, Patton also saw that both his knees were scuffed. Patton winced, imagining that he took at least a few falls very recently.

Without prompting, Remus whined, “Everything hurts, Padre.”

“Well, going without sleep as long as you have can give you a bad case of the body aches. Seen some of my old combat buddies deal with that on our worst deployments…”

Patton started to wipe down Remus’s knuckles first with some cotton balls and alcohol. He just wanted to get a better sense of how deep these cuts were. He was relieved that they were surprisingly shallow, “I think these will only need some simple bandages and antibiotic cream… but I’m definitely going to check on you later, to see how your hands are doing.”

Remus nodded, and started to blather a bit again, “I feel like Hypnos himself has forsaken me. A curse! A bane! Pat? Is his brother going to come for me? Am I going to ride down Styx and meet the big H himself?”

“… you’re not going to die, if I can help it. I swear to God Himself.”

“Gross.”

Patton sometimes forgot that their positions of faith were so far removed. But that didn’t dissuade him from caring a lot. He hated seeing his friend suffering so much. He took another breath, and addressed the gouges and cuts in Remus’s arms. They were rough, probably unintentionally from his own hands. He approached those similarly. “You feeling any sleepier, yet?”

“Mmm… no.”

Remus looked like he was about to pass out, Patton was reasonably sure just the fact he was seated and getting some TLC helped push him closer to shutting his eyes. “Well. I’m going to hang around for a few, just to make sure you’re alright, okay? Mind if I turn on the TV?”

Remus started to slur his speech considerably, “Knock yourself out, Holy Ghost.”

Patton thinly smiled about the blasphemous sentiment, but he shook that off, it didn’t matter really. He was just glad to see Remus doze off like he desperately needed it.

Patton decided to tune into Nickelodeon and watch some cartoon reruns, eventually hearing some loud snoring coming from Remus. Patton sighed and smiled at the sight.

-

“Oh GEEZ, Patton. Were you – were you here all night?”

Patton blinked awake from the shouting and looked outside to see it was bright out, “I-I guess I was?”

Virgil was there to see his boyfriend sleeping like the dead and Patton next to him.

“Logan told me to check on Remus and I just got back here. And-”

“Remus is going to be okay, I think. Do you have any idea what may’ve started this episode?”

Virgil sat down on the recliner nearby and looked tired but contemplative.

“His “family” tried contacting him. All I know was it devolving into a messy fight and it rattled him. He… stubbornly didn’t want to talk about it.”

Patton understood what he meant at this point.

The only blood relative Remus had anything nice to say about was Roman. Someone who should probably know what happened, if he wasn’t already aware.

All to address later, once Remus recovered a little more.

Patton ran his fingers through Remus’s greasy hair. Not the most pleasant, but he hoped it helped to soothe him as he continued to slumber.

Virgil smiled at both of them, his own concern never quite gone, “Thanks for this, Pop Star.”

[anapproachingstorm]

Does Virgil have any real hobbies?

Vergil is a pensive being, who enjoys his creature comforts and routine. So they are less so hobbies and just things he does every day. Not necessarily things that bring him joy, but things that bring him peace.

He is an avid reader, for example. 

Vergil found morning breathing and stretching exercises to be very common, despite Dante chiding him for doing “yoga.” 

He is also something of a Japanophile. He takes very diligent care of Yamato in the Japanese fashion of caring for swords of her type. 

[delimeful]

please tell me wibar virgil was into boxing/martial arts/similar on earth because i need to watch him explain why his exercise routine looks like fighting invisible opponents

yknow now that i think about it, i absolutely believe that virgil took krav maga and/or muay thai classes for self defense just in case he ever got jumped. i also know that he’s trying very hard not to freak out his twitchy alien roommates though, so probably just normal stretches/exercises for him for now :P

[spacegaywritings]

“Burning old Bridges and making new ones” (Oneshot)

Teen and Up // Virgil x Logan // ALL sides appear (Janus and Remus only vaguely)

Summary: Logan is tired of the light sides, not being listened to. He cannot handle the utter irrationality his co-sides display when trying to manage some of Thomas’ deepest issues. In frustration, he slowly starts to turn away to them, and open the doors for others.

Tags: invalidation, not listening to one another, slight logan angst, hurt and comfort, analogical, Patton and Roman are too fantastic, thomas, sides au, dark side Virgil, illusions, (which is kind of gaslighty!!), alternating environments, mentions of blood, metaphors of blood etc, crying, tears, heart break, name reveal, ridiculing people, talking over one another, dark side Logan, converting???, calling the sides by their functions instead of names.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Note: If you miss any tags, have issues with links or any other concerns, please feel free to contact me. Anon is on and my DMs are open.♥

Links broken? Inform me, please!

Story under the Cut: (Word count: ~5k)

10:24 am.

 Logan sighed.

 They were in Thomas’ apartment, being the helpful sides they were. Thomas had sliced them into functions, so he could better argue with his different motivations in life. Currently, he was debating on yet another issue. He was wondering about whether or not to get that subscription to a gym. On one hand, it was practical, it might motivate him to do some exercising, to work out and talk to professionals about routines and which exercises would be best for him, his body and his goals.

Roman was all for it and so was Patton.

Yet, they left out Logan, as always.

 As soon as he had brought up finances, he had been called “party pooper” and “professor of unfun”. For a moment, the malicious words of “obstructing Thomas’ acting career” were aimed at him in one of Roman’s incredibly immature and uncontrolled fits.

Patton was simply up for it. He just took it, complimented the thought and said it was the best thing to do. The fact that Thomas had never held up these sorts of obligations was always shut out. The repeated intervention of Logan’s rational musings and his careful warnings of the consequences and alternatives had all been shut down.

 Roman and Patton ran into one another, hugging and cheering on one another. Apparently, things were settled. Logan did not know. He had stopped listening. If he walked out on them or simply ducked out, Thomas would get upset, the others would get suspicious. There would be yet another issue to resolve around feelings, Logan’s feelings. For some days, the other sides would act as though they cared.

 Until they would stop keeping up the exhaustive pretence to care even a little.

 Logan shrugged the matter off, trying not to get the “HE WILL BE HERCULES! ONLY LESS GREEK!” and similar yells and cheers get to him. The completely delusional Patton and Roman had turned on him and his valuable input once more.

He was seriously tired of it.

If they only listened enough to consider his arguments - it would make him one of the most satisfied sides in the entire Thomasphere. Instead, they banned him from discussions, completely excluding him. Thomas was not ready to realise it.

 The logical side disappeared up the stairs, reserved.

Feelings were all over the place. When he faded into the upstairs area, nobody questioned him, nobody held him back. They let him go, ignoring him.

Nobody paid attention.

Nobody even cared.

 Thomas tried to hug his sides. It was one of the last things Logan could sense when he pulled himself out of the affair. The sounds of betrayal and ignorance were too loud in his head. It hurt, it thumped, it was agonising.

It needed to stop.

 “ugh.”

 At the very least, Logan’s unwilling isolation has taught him more than enough things.

As he stepped into the mindscape, he reviewed his knowledge. One foot in front of the other, a slow pace. He was crossing over to the dark side.

 1. The dark and light sides were separated from one another.

2. There was no more separating them than the way Thomas imagined them to be

That meant:

A) The sides were marked by different colour schemes

And

B) The sides’ “rooms” were separated from one another in a way that “light” and “dark” sides had two different sides of one hallway.

 At the moment, Logan was crossing from one side to the other. Nobody was usually in the hallway. It was just him, crossing over again and again. From one side to the other.

 3. There is no need to sneak from one side to the other. Everyone is either in their own room, with Thomas or in the parts of the Imagination.

 He stepped closer to one of the doors, hand rising up to the door handle. However, his hand retreated just as quickly. Instead, he remembered something crucial.

 4. Every dark side had preferences to their doors and how to open them.

 Logan stood tall, straightening his posture. He reached out, this time with a curled fist. Three times short, three times long, three times short again. It was the knocking signal for S.O.S. . Logan thought it to be more than ironic for “Anxiety” to have such a kind of knocking sign as preference.

The door handle disappeared, then the door opened.

 5. About half of the space designated to the dark sides was imaginary.

 This was supposed to ensure nobody uninvited or unwanted would invade their space. It was rather clever, Logan had to admit.

 Anyway, rules aside, the door opened slowly, revealing a dimmed room. Some colourful lights seemed to stream from the glossy ceiling into the room. They danced over the floor, shifting and switching. It was a wild and uncoordinated dance but at the same time, it felt natural, following a pattern invisible to everyone’s eyes.

The floor was stone, dark and partly broken. Several parts revealed cracked areas. Through the cracks, a few flowers seemed to grow. They were lonely but strong. Every single one of them was purple, yet it were different tints of purple in every flower.

 For all that was worth, it looked like an abandoned temple. Raided, forgotten.

Some chains hung from the ceiling, around the glass part in the middle. The mosaics of translucent colour-filters was somewhat spheric. The chains were occasionally strewn around that, revealing little lanterns with warm, yet weak light. They were traditionally black, or at the very least, anthracite. From one corner of the room, a bit of smoke rose, striving through the room, twirling and twisting around itself in alluring manners. Incense was burning, giving the room an oddly peaceful feeling to it, no matter how destroyed and abandoned it seemed to be.

 Logan cleared his throat. His eyes were still looking for a certain side. Usually, there would be a more obvious sign of that person, but right now-

Ah, there.

 Virgil was hanging up some sort of tapestry, monochrome in colour. The design looked ominous, sort of mysterious. It was a moon, a castle around it. It seemed as if there was a whole other layer of meaning to it. Logan could not even imagine it. He was bad at seeing these kinds of things. But it did not even matter. Virgil was turning around to him and Logan nodded politely, not moving until Virgil gestured for him to come in.

 “Good day, Logan.”

 He slowly moved inside. The door manifested right behind him. When he turned around to see it, there was a lot of stone. It was a wall. There was no door, no more. Actually, when paying closer attention to it, it seemed to be a gate. There was a little metal ring, partly embedded in the same dark and cracked stone material, for knocking.

This had to be how Virgil got out.

 “Greetings, Anxiety.”

 They both stood there, for a moment. Anxiety looking almost bored. The logical side was unusually quiet. Everything around him was new, confusing. No matter how often he got here, it would always strike him as absolutely novel. It was just that different from where he lived, from where he used to hang out.

 “What you doing down here, again? Can’t get enough of me, yet?”

 He smirked smugly.

Whenever Anxiety would join in on their conversations, he would “ruin the mood”, aggravate Roman and make Patton stiff and uncomfortable. Anxiety was the one to make them listen, to settle conversations and feelings.

He was the kind of down-to-earth Logan needed and appreciated for their group. He, for once, was inclined to include Virgil in their group. Not that the group of the “light sides” was particularly great, but it was simply for the fact that Thomas needed Virgil to have more say, if he shut down his own logic that much.

Logan felt something tingle at the start of his spine. He shivered, trying to hide away the goosebumps.

 Anxiety was dressed in a simple black shirt, a red symbol all over it. It looked like a pentagram. He came closer.

 “So?”

 Logan swallowed, inhaling the sweet smell of fresh breezes and comfortable darkness. It smelled of earth and of cold snow. Anxiety had the most beautiful shade of brown in his eyes, out of all the other sides, they looked the most grounded and genuinely.. warm.

 “Perhaps I needed your input on something.”

 His words came out one by one, delicately, taking their time to unfold in Anxiety’s hearing. The edgy side rolled his eyes.

 “Lies aren’t welcome here, what do you need, Logic?”

 Ah, straight to the point.

It had Logan’s chest feel warm, tingly inside. It was as if he was tickled from the inside. He couldn’t help but smile. It was just a little, more like a shadow.

 “It happened again.”

 Anxiety’s shoulders fell a bit, tension replaced by a softer, more tender feeling. His eyes seemed to widen in empathy. He could feel Logan’s pain.

Not being heard, not being understood.

Being ignored and invalidated only, but at the same time made to feel as if it was not alright to face this truth, as if they cared more than they actually did.

 He sighed.

 “You can stay. Spill the beans, ‘the fuck happened?”

 The two started talking. Well, Logan was mostly talking. Words cascaded out of his mouth, feelings foaming around his lips in furry and frustration. There was so much piled up and the whole stack was simply tumbled over by someone jumping around from one to the other side of his room, in nothing but black yoga pants and a rather loose punk-styled shirt. His feet were bare, as bare as Logan’s feelings when he came inside.

Every now and then, Anxiety would roll his eyes, chip in with comments like “of course” and “ah, sure, thing.” They were sarcastic, but they did not arm at hurting Logan. No, it was meant to make fun of how hypocritical and unkind the other light sides were. No matter what Anxiety contributed, it felt holy to Logan.

 There was the harsh, brutal honesty in direct, raw lines. They were short, they were sharp and the dark side did not hold back even a little.

 Logan wandered with him, from one corner to the other. They hung up the tapestry together. Anxiety mumbled something about Tarot cards and heavy meaning. Logan let him have it, smiling at the new information and interesting input.

 His steam was off, he was calmer now.

The whole room seemed to be much friendlier, more peaceful, too. The flowers were at full blossom, the dim lights were shining in new vigour. Some of the cracks seemed to be fixed and the floor felt warmer, more inviting.

This was not an abandoned temple, it was a reclaimed sanctuary.

 “Do you want to come over?”

 Anxiety shook his head. However, he patted something like a table. There were blankets and pillows on top of it. Logan was not sure whether it had been there before. It looked like a bed, but the base was made of stone. He shrugged, taking it.

 “For now, until I can trust you fully, you can come here and that’s it.”

 Logan nodded.

He was okay with that.

His body lowered itself, automatically, already. It was as if his programming was made to listen to Anxiety, to be flexible with him and lay with him. The dark side roamed around, pulling on a chain. It set off a mechanic, unleashing some sounds. Calm music came out of the ceiling. Logan sat up a bit but Anxiety pushed him back down.

 “Take a moment”, he advised. Logan nodded. He laid back down, listening to the calming, almost tangible beats. They were so soft, it was surreal. If they had disappeared at once, Logan would not have noticed either way.

 Slowly, he drifted off to something Anxiety would later refer to him as “lo-fi” beats.

 ***

 This was one of their first meetings. By now, Logan could barely remember how he had met Anxiety in the first place. He only knew he had been angry, upset by Patton’s irritating cheerfulness and pure ignorance. Any thought of this experience already pumped adrenaline and disgust through his veins.

Despite his intellectualism and his expansive vocabulary, he was incapable of describing just how sick he was of Patton and Roman completely shutting him out. They were so out-of-touch with life that it could only lead to Thomas getting hurt.

 Logan sighed, pushed his thoughts aside. A tug called him into action, asking him to join yet another discussion. He could not believe it.

Still, he tried his best to be helpful, to be present. For the sake of Thomas, he tried to stay strong and persistent enough to make good points, objective points. Maybe he could at least get a word in.

 Within the blink of an eye, he was in the living room with more than familiar faces. Well, they all had the same faces - it felt as if this thought was but a comment Anxiety would utter out. It was true, but why say it? Anyway, the princely and fatherly side were there, already chatting up Thomas and asking him about his issues, asking him about what was wrong.

Those were words and sentences they threw at one another, yet never at Logan. Actually, looking around, Logan realised they were not in the living room as expected. (Not anymore). Thomas was walking over to the kitchen, taking his sides with him.

 “Okay, this is not too much of an issue but I feel unusually torn about it.”

 Patton nodded, an encouraging smile on his face.

 “We are always here to help you Thomas! Now, what’s the issue?”

 Thomas seemed a bit embarrassed, shuffling his feet, avoiding eye contact. He fidgeted with his hands. If Logan did not know better, he would assume this sort of behaviour reminded him a lot of Anxiety.

Wait-

 Before he could even finish thinking his thought, the ice crystals of Anxiety’s appearance could be felt. The time seemed to slow for a moment, then explode. Something in Logan seemed to wake up.

 “Now, now, now. What’s this again, Thomas? Do you really think, you should be doing this? I think we can all agree it’d be best to just pack up, go back to bed and leave things like that.”

 Thomas frowned.

 Hands moved, fingers curling around the handle of a katana. Roman extended his arms, skilled movements exercising a threat imposed on Virgil who literally yawned in Roman’s face as if he could not be bothered to even look at him for longer than a moment without being terribly bored and disinterested.

Roman gasped, pulling back.

 “You fiend!! Insulting Thomas and then me?! I am the prince! Keep in line, I am warning you!!”

 Patton rushed to his side, appealing smiles on his face. They looked like hearts. Logan’s frown seemed to settle deeper into his facial skin.

When he realised Anxiety was basically next to him, he had to swallow down a gasp. Why was it so warm all of a sudden? It had to be his body balancing out the cold Anxiety would usually bring along with him. He felt strangely comfortable. Again, Logan rationalised his emotions by thinking it was simply nice to know someone was at least somewhat on his side. Having someone to balance out the extreme of Patton’s and Roman’s idiot suggestions.

 “Wait a moment! How about we all take a deep breath and wait for a bit.”

 Patton’s movements seemed forced when he gestured for Roman to put his sword down. His smile at Anxiety was as fake as his “logical arguments”.

 Thomas looked around his sides, tentatively raising one tiny hand to greet the anxious trait. He dismissively shrugged Thomas off, looking at Roman and Patton with brooding eyes.

 “Look, this is the same issue all over again. Thomas does not know how to cook and is embarrassed about it. He threw all his money out for usual shit like rent and all - and his new gym subscription - and now he does not have enough money to go get some takeout. This is all a matter of poor management of money.”

 Patton gasped at the accusation.

 “No!”

He composed himself, trying to contain his sudden outburst.

“Thomas can deal with it. Like a good adult, he will just move past this.”

 Roman rose to the conversation, nodding.

 “Yes! He will learn how to cook cheap and easy things, so we can adjust our diet!”

 Patton squinted.

 “What? Why? Thomas does not have the time. Okay, listen to me guys, your old daddy-do knows what to do!”

 Logan groaned. Anxiety echoed the sound, seconding the emotion they shared.

 “Thomas will just drop his gym subscription, then he can keep up with his meal subscription and does not have to worry about cooking or anything. We don’t want to repeat the last mistake we had in the kitchen ~”

 Thomas grumbled, frustration boiling over in him. He pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if to defend himself from the cruel, yet true words.

 “Fine.”

 Logan’s head snapped to the side. He needed to adjust, so he could look at Thomas. Previously he had been looking at Anxiety much longer than expected or than he had realised. But the speed at which he had craned his neck to the side would probably have injured him, if he was human at all.

There was a scowl all over his face. Thomas winced like a cartoon.

Logan tried very hard not to snap, or at the very least let out an extremely done sigh.

 “Thomas, you cannot be serious. You have barely listened to anyone’s opinion on this matter. Can you truly say you are actually making an informed or at least a thought-through decision at this moment? I suppose it would make more sense to listen to everyone, one by one, then wage the different arguments and options and try to find the most satisfying solution to your problem. You might be acting too fast and face preventable consequences if you go o-”

 Patton chimed in.

 “Logan, Thomas already made his decision. He can do it. He is an adult and doesn’t need to keep thinking and thinking about everything. It will make him sad.”

 Anxiety hissed out.

 “Not thinking can get us killed, you want Thomas to die?”

 Patton gasped.

 “I would never!!”

 Roman roared.

 “Fiend!!”

 Patton held Roman back, face slowly darkening.

 “I think it is best we leave Thomas alone, now. He is an adult, he made his decision”, then he turned to Thomas, beaming like he did not know anger and pain at all. It was a terrible act but an act nonetheless. The good-hearted man tried to nod it off.

“I am proud of you, Thomas! Let’s go and get yourself some food. Remember, you got a credit card! Now that you are an adult, you can do whatever!”

 Anxiety pushed forward, tempest tongue activated but Thomas already willed them away, feeling the anxiety coming on. The dark side found himself in Logan’s room, sitting on a comfortable bed, a fluffy unicorn onesie right under his butt. Before him, Logan appeared, expression unreadable.

 “That was rough.”

 Logan nodded, mutely. The sadness drained over him. Bit by bit, there was more emotion raining over his face. Anxiety could see the very moment Logan allowed to let the emotions flow into his heart, drown his professional appearance and attempted objectivity.

His chest ached and he got up, slowly catching the crumbling man in his arms.

 “It’s okay, Logan.”

 The logical trait shook his head. He could not even care about how the onesie was exposed, draped all over his bed. He did not care that the dark side was with him, in the realm of the light sides. His mind could not begin to wrap around the fact that someone else than a light side being there could potentially warp this side of the mindscape.

All he felt was the sadness ripping at his heart, squeezing his feelings and making him so sick, he wanted to vomit out blood until it was over. It felt exaggerated but also somewhat appropriate for the situation.

 He had stacked up every bit of feeling, every moment of ignorance and invalidation. The sharp comments, the audacious interruptions. He was sick of it. Everything was like a load of blades he had swallowed again and again. Now it was churning inside of him, ripping him up and destroying him from the inside out.

He coughed, the feelings wanting out and his lungs too exhausted to keep up with all his pain. The repressed emotions and denied doubts all came back to him, haunting him. They were multiplied in intensity, hitting him the hardest when he was at his lowest.

 Sobbing, he fell to his knees, Anxiety slowly tugging him to bed and comforting him. Time was no concept for him anymore. He measured the moments in tears and how much it hurt when his heart and lungs sobbed along with him.

Eventually, he could feel more than just his chest’s agony. There was warmth around him, distracting him from the destruction going on inside of him. Anxiety had put a soft blanket around his shoulders, patting him and applying soft pressure with his supporting arms, his uplifting hugs.

 As Logan was falling, tripped over by his “friends” - Patton and Roman -, the dark side, the half-stranger was catching him, holding him up and bringing him back to his feet.

Time went by and he did not count the hours or try to keep track of the light intensifying, then dimming down until night settled in. All he knew was that the dark side held him throughout everyone, stammering every now and then, trying to offer him some tissues and cups of water.

 “You have to hydrate, Lolo.”

 A nickname.

 He cried harder, dry-sobbing. When his emotions calmed a bit, he took the cup. His head nodded carefully and he swallowed the cooling water slowly. There was a purpose in his actions and the anxious trait carefully patted his head.

 “You’re doing good. Promise.”

 He hesitated for a moment but continued to talk after a small break. Logan barely noticed.

 “It will get better. I will assure you that.”

 Logan inhaled deeply. For a moment, he did not move. Then, he nodded.

 “Thank you-”

 “Uh”

 The dark side interjected. He shifted softly. Logan’s head was in his lap and took the shifting as a cue to move away. Awkward. He slowly rose, rubbing his cheek. It was flat and red from how long he had rested on his knees, his thighs and lap.

 “Oh, no. I , uh - fuck. Now, you are looking at me and it’s.. it’s weird again.”

 He blushed, shifting away a bit. Logan’s heart skipped a beat. Hope? Panic? The friend turned away, pulling his knees close and hugging them ever so softly. He sighed, trying to steady himself.

 “Are you having an attack?”

 He shook his head stubbornly at Logan, yet he did not dare look at him. The logical side sighed. His eyes fell on how Anxiety pressed his lips together, afraid of sounds coming out when he was so intense, the tempest tongue would come up again. He had disclosed to Logan, in a moment of trust, that he could control it to some extent but how it would just happen that his voice started distorting itself when he lost his sense of reality, started dissociating or was otherwise in deep distress.

 “I, uh - name. My name.”

 Logan nodded.

 6. For the dark sides, a name reveal was more than just a “big thing”. It was a tremendous vulnerability, hence revealing a name was the ultimate sign of trust.”

 “Virgil - It’s Virgil!”

 Logan’s mouth went dry.

He.. he actually had done it? He had actually told him his name?

 “Really?”

 Virgil nodded, weakly.

This time, it was Logan’s time to blush, reach out for the other and squeeze his hand.

 “I think it is beautiful. Thank you for trusting me so much.”

 He let the word rest on his tongue for a moment, treasuring it.

 “Virgil.”

 The dark side smiled.

 It was Logan’s turn to blush. The two were still holding hands, squeezing one another for comfort as their gazes locked and refused to budge. The black jacket around Virgil was too big, his usual outfit for when he popped up as a side. It looked like the similarly black blanket draped around Logan’s shoulders.

In a way, they were so similar, only in different places.

 -

 Little did they know the conversation happening outside their bubble. Voices overlapped, harsh sounds were exchanged.

“Shush! Can you feel this? Padre, there is something happening with the mindscape!”

Roman hissed, looking around. The walls around him seemed to change. He was not in the Imagination as he usually would but he was in the room with Patton. Patton was sitting on his bed. It was a bunk bed with fairy lights all over, colourful blankets and plushies stacking up like in a rivalry. He tilted his head.

 “What do you mean, Roman? Do you think there is anyone visiting us?”

 The prince tugged at his Katana, fidgeting with the calm yet threatening handle. As he approached the inner walls of the room, his steps seemed to slow down, quieten down. He held his ear against the wall. Slowly, his hands found the wall. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the structure of their realm.

The realm of the true light sides.

 7. Patton and Roman might be a part of the light sides but that did not mean they were the “light” kind of personalities.

 A shiny blade was drawn. Patton was in the dark, shadows casting over him, shielding the world from his appearance. He rose, slowly, heroically - only that he was a hero to himself and nobody else.

 “I think we need to pay someone a visit.”

 Patton giggled while Roman detached himself from the wall, blade gleaming and lusting for a few stabs and fights.

 “Very much so, Padre.”

 ***

 Yet another day, yet another rejection. This time, Patton’s flowery face gently shoved Logan back into his room, asking him to take time for himself and please be on the lookout because they needed him for Thomas.

It was odd.

He said that while separating him from a meeting with Thomas, trying to figure out yet another issue. Logan felt pushed and eventually just nodded, trying to get away from the sudden force in Patton’s behaviour.

 “Good choice! You are so clever, Logan! I wish we talked more!!”

 Logan bit down onto his lip. If he had applied just a bit more pressure, he would have drawn blood. The man was too much in control of himself, especially after letting his feelings out excessively, to break out like this again.

 As if you would even dignify with as much as your genuine attention, Morality.

 In his own mind, he had started empathising with the dark sides so much, he used their names, knew their names. The light sides had become some sort of forbidden topic for him. He did not pronounce their names, only their functions. He pushed them into the corner of his minds, banning them from his own mental conversations.

 He waited patiently. His back turned to open the door but he only pretended to do so. At the end, he only waited until Patton was out of sight, so he could rush over to the other side of the hallways, to his true and new home. He passed Roman, not even paying attention to it. The darkness sucked him up, shielding him, as he rushed into the new territory. Doors slowly disappeared before him, gates opened and then he was in Anxiety’s, no!, Virgil’s room.

 Before he knew it, calming arms caught him. The darkness engulfing him was gone. He swore he could have heard Roman’s voice calling out for him, someone calling him a traitor. But when he looked up, he did not see Virgil’s room. The colourful lights, the dancing shadows. All of the were gone. They were not in the sanctuary of the abandoned and the forgotten anymore, they were in a whole new place. At the same time, it was more than just a bit familiar.

He saw his own room, slightly altered. Behind him, a door appeared.

 “Logan-”

 Patton’s and Roman’s calls echoed through the mindscape.

 “You can do it Thomas! You just have to believe in yourself!”

 “Don’t I have to study?”

 Thomas. Oh, sweet sweet Thomas.

 “Aw, why would you, little man? You are really clever and your friends need your time more than your books need you. I mean, can you hear your books calling out for you?”

 “I guess you are right.”

 There was hesitation, so Roman jumped in. Besides being his ego, his passion, he was also his motivation and a bit of that was needed in genuine belief.

 “Damn RIGHT he is! Let’s be a true hero to ourselves, to our friends, and go to this gathering!! Prince Roman into the FIGHT!”

 Logan cringed. He could feel Thomas do the same, deep inside of him. Deep inside of him, buried away in the dark realm of his own thoughts.

 “It is just a barbecue.”

 Now Thomas was trying to use Logic? He could feel a tug. It was fainter than it used to be. Virgil was next to him, leaning against the solid walls.

“Feel the changes already?”

 Logan turned to him.

It was yet another moment in time when he had neither thoughts nor words to pronounce. It was not that he did not think anything about this, though. This time, unlike when he was crying and his mind went blank, he was full of thoughts and ideas. The only issue was that there were so many, he had trouble ordering them and listening to every single one of them.

 “I suppose I do.”

 He frowned.

Virgil shrugged, applying his eyeshadow as if to get ready for a party. So he actually did sit down to apply it. Wait, since when was there a mirror- oh yes, he had forgotten, this was his own room. In the dark sides’ area.

 “Am I a dark side now?”

 Virgil turned around. He actually did look like a raccoon.

 “Yeah, seems like it.”

 He shrugged, finishing off his dark accents. When he was done, he let his things vanish, simply disappear into thin air. He turned to Logan, grinning.

 “Well then, Logic, I suppose it’s time for a new time, a new place and a whole lot more fun~”

 He extended his hand.

 “Wanna get Thomas to listen to you a bit more?”

 His hands were warm. Logic could feel the warmth engulfing him, protecting him. Slowly, more presences seemed to whirl into the blend of energies and imaginations in his room. He nodded, captivated.

 “I think I can do with convincing people.”

 A sleek voice mused.

 Another voice popped up, scratchy and slightly used up. It was almost comically hoarse.

 “I think I can do with getting Thomas to listen to everything you want to show him!”

 The energies came in, shaping into appearances. Logic nodded again, a smile on his face.

 “Welcome to the team, Logic.”

[flyboytracy]

I posted 812 times in 2022

355 posts created (44%)

457 posts reblogged (56%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gumnut-logic

@flyboytracy

@avengedbiologist

@godsliltippy

I tagged 645 of my posts in 2022

Only 21% of my posts had no tags

#thunderbirds are go - 312 posts

#scott tracy - 158 posts

#virgil tracy - 114 posts

#fic - 54 posts

#art - 52 posts

#the long reach - 43 posts

#gordon tracy - 34 posts

#jeff tracy - 27 posts

#john tracy - 24 posts

#alan tracy - 21 posts

Longest Tag: 128 characters

#//whispers// scott tracy aint just like his papa he's better in the best kind of way that all good men want their children to be

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Do u wanna play a game?

We can totally get to 100 fun things we wish we'd got to see in Thunderbirds Are Go (fun things, not ur shitlist) Reblog til we get to 100 😄😄😄

1. Virgil exercising in the gym in the roundhouse. In the name of science and stuff, and for the good of all mankind, we deserved to see that boy's exercise routine at least once. Preferably shirtless. For science.

2. Thunderbird One carrying Thunderbird Four like a lil baby duck

3. Virgil piloting Thunderbird One whilst Scott pilots Thunderbird Two. They'd hate it 😆

4. TRACY INDUSTRIES - like how did Papa Jeff get all that $$$$$$$ for IR?

5. Papa Jeff's infamous flamingo shirt

6. Those cute lil beach huts below the villa on Tracy Island

7. That mysterious tunnel above TB4's lil fishie tank. Where does it goooo?

8. Exactly how TB4 gets from her fish tank and into her module ready for launch

9. A bottle episode where such a bad storm hits the island, they're all grounded idek. Give me Scott trapped with his lil brothers and give me those lil brothers with no escape from their big bro God help them

10. Scott's walk in wardrobe. Give me beautifully tailored suits and shiny shoes or give me death

🙌 🙌 🙌  your turn 🙌 🙌 🙌  hit me 🙌 🙌 🙌

124 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

#4

See the full post

133 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

#3

153 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#2

219 notes - Posted October 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

264 notes - Posted November 1, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Fixated

A/N: I can’t explain how I am feeling, so I am going to let fic do it instead. This is entirely written without edits, without a read through.  Overworked!Scott

Edit: Okay I did a read through. Remaining mistakes are mine

-----

Virgil is the first to notice. Maybe because he’s Virgil, and possibly because he’s the only one who can call Scott his immediate older brother, so there’s something in their closeness in age, having navigated childhood together almost as equals, that sets his Scott-sense apart from that of his younger siblings.

When Scott was thirteen and Virgil was eleven, Scott was in the eighth grade and had to write a research report on the Wright Brothers, the pioneers of modern aviation. And that was all well and good, because Scott was going to start training for his pilot’s license right when he turned sixteen. The report became not just a chronicle of the historical figures’ lives, but also of flight, of the first airplane itself and the prototypes before it, of physics, and aerodynamics. He researched in a way he never had before because it was a subject he was passionate about.

He obsessed.

Like John but different.

John absorbed the search for knowledge into the fiber of his being, his fingertips always itching to take a deeper dive through archives when he heard a word he didn’t know or a concept he couldn’t explain fully. Research was as much a part of John as music was for Virgil, or swimming was for Gordon. It was a companion he could always revisit later, and so like all of them with hobbies that mattered, John knew how to catalog  and save for a better time, and turn the itch aside when he needed to. He knew when to stop.

Scott didn’t. Scott defined the turn of phrase “down the rabbit hole.” Alice caught and enraptured by the not yet known or understood.

When he cared, he obsessed.  

That project got finished with an A+, but resulted in anxious shaking that didn’t alleviate until a few days after the grades came back. Scott had lost weight, skipped his extra curriculars, and Virgil hadn’t seen him for two whole weeks while he worked. The younger ones likely didn’t remember.

But Virgil did. And he knew the signs. Forgetting to eat, falling asleep at his computer or on his books, waking up earlier than normal to get a head start to whatever imaginary goals he created for himself that day.

So, the day Virgil notices, it’s because Scott missed lunch. Grandma had made hot wings, which was one of his favorites, so the smell of char in the air would’ve been enough to set his stomach rumbling. With Scott absent when he definitely shouldn’t be, Virgil decides to make him a plate, six hot wings with ranch on the side, and some celery.

He finds Scott at their father’s his work desk, his fingers flying over the keyboard, intently scanning the files behind the screen.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.”

No answer.

Virgil steps closer to the desk, sure that once Scott catches him in his periphery, he’d acknowledge his presence. But Scott doesn’t appear to have a periphery when he’s focused like that.

“Scott?” There’s a little room on the desk, so he nudges a few papers to the side and slides the plate down. “Scooter?” He looks tense. He can see knots forming, so he drops a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and –

“FU—”

Scott nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands fly up, catching the side of the plate which clatters, sending ranch and hot sauce all over the floor. Even MAX scurries away with a low beep at the sudden sound, and Virgil flinched in a sudden panic when the dish slipped through his fingers.

“Sorry, sorry! I just meant to help.” Virgil is already kneeling on the floor, trying to pick up what he can with his hands, knowing he needs a wet rag. Maybe a mop.

The little cup that held the ranch slid a ways. Gross.

“Ah. Thanks, Virg,” Scott says. And he means it, Virgil knows that. But he can also see the gears in Scott’s head still working, still thinking about whatever he had been focused on, not quite fully present. “Umm. Do you have this? I’m under a deadline.” He looks at his watch. “Ugh. A rough one. I’d help if I could.”

“No, I got this! Sorry, Scott.” He picks up the dirty hot wings, placing them on a plate for their compost pile. “Is there anything else I can get you instead? These were the last of them.”

But Scott doesn’t answer. He’s already back to his computer.

~*~

Gordon is next.

He may not have the same Scott-sense as Virgil, may not have picked up on it as quickly, but he and Scott both share early morning routines, meeting in the kitchen at 5:00, Scott dressed in a tank and his running shorts, Gordon in his swimsuit, a towel around his shoulders. Coffee is too heavy to start the day, but Scott usually would begin the brew for when they returned (and in case Virgil woke up) while Gordon filled their respective water bottles. Whoever finished first chose the energy boost of choice – sometimes just a snack bar, sometimes a shake. On weekends, it might be oatmeal or toast.

Out by the pool by 5:15. Stretching was important.

Scott began his run. Gordon began his laps. They went about their day. Rinse, repeat.

Occasionally a rescue might come in and affect their sleep cycle just a bit, but Scott and Gordon were both military. If they weren’t rising before the sun, it was too late and they lost half their day already.

So Gordon is next, because Scott doesn’t meet him in the kitchen. He’s not sure he knows how to make smoothies for one – hasn’t in a long time – so he proportions his ingredients for two, fills a second cup for Scott when he wakes, and sticks it in the refrigerator so it will stay cold.

He pushes himself during his exercise. He was long past chasing times, but he still raced himself. Seconds could save a life, and so he exercised for speed, for longevity sometimes. For survival.

It’s a longevity day, so he’s abandons speed for energy conservation, which makes it a long morning.

His muscles are tired and sore when he returns to the kitchen and opens the fridge for a drink to boost his electrolytes. He is not in the mood for coffee today, but sees the pot is half full, so someone is up. But it’s not Scott.

Because the smoothie is still in the fridge, untouched.

He tells himself he needs to check in on Scott once he finishes his research down at the dock today. He’s been tracking a pod of dolphins near Mateo and has been needing to collect the latest data captured by his little research vessel.

He’ll catch him later. Figure out what’s going on.

~*~

Then it’s Alan.

Alan admires Scott, has been practically raised by him since Dad disappeared. Scott is everything Alan wants to be… just the John version of him. Take Scott’s courage and bravery, John’s love of space, you get Alan. Eyes on the horizon, but looking beyond it into stratosphere, exosphere, the space between stars itself.

He’s a hell of a pilot. He knows that. He wouldn’t be the pilot of Thunderbird Three otherwise. But a part of him will always seek the approval of his older siblings. He wants to make Scott proud.

Scott hasn’t had the time for him lately. He’s been working on… oh he doesn’t know. They don’t tell him. Something for Tracy Industries.

His final quarter grades have come out, and he aced all his classes.  It had been a hard semester and juggling his courses between rescues had been tough. He’d needed to call on his brothers’ expertise a few times.

He knows Scott has his file somewhere in his email, but he likely hasn’t gotten to it yet because he hasn’t said anything to him. It’s been a few days. So Alan pulls up his grades on his datapad and strolls past the center of the lounge over to Scott.

The first time he says Scott’s name, he doesn’t answer.

Nor the second.

The thirdfourthfifth time, because that’s how he called for him, the name running together like that, Scott irritably gives him a low grumble of “What do you want, Alan?” He doesn’t glance up, and the smile falters from Alan’s face.

“Oh, I, uh—” This was silly. It’s not important, really. Scott will get to it eventually.  “My grades came through. When you get a chance.”

He grumbles in response. “I’ll look later,” he says. “I need to…”

But he trails off, back to his computer, and Alan still doesn’t know what project stole his brother away.

~*~

John’s the last.

He’s called to check in. He’s definitely connected, but....

Scott is slumped at his desk, and John’s calls are not working.

“Scott!”

No answer. The figure at the desk doesn’t budge. So John opens a channel to the rest of his brothers, his feet already sending him toward the space elevator as he calls out. “I can’t wake Scott!”

[lunetheaveragefan]

one day...

Finally, Chapter 5 is here! It’s been so long lol. I know I said it would be out last Monday, but finals week and the new semester were crazy and I kept forgetting to queue it up! This chapter does deal with some more serious topics, so please be mindful of that (more info in the warnings down below). Anyway, here it is! I hope you all like it! (Also I think I’ll be posting chapters once every other Monday, so hopefully I’ll remember to stick to that!)

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Bullying; homophobia and homophobic slurs; description/scene of a panic attack; and swearing. (If there’s anything else, let me know!)

Word Count: 1678 words

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CHAPTER FIVE

Virgil expected it to be a normal day. 

There were no signs that it was going to be important, so why would he think that it would be anything other than ordinary? Ever since Roman had joined them at the cafe, things had been going on as normal except for how he and Roman were actually talking now and then. And even that he’d gotten used to.

The day before, Roman and Patton had come to the cafe again, and Virgil was actually glad they did. Patton was still a ray of sunshine, but Roman seemed to be getting better. Or maybe he had been better all along, and Virgil was just now realizing it. Either way, things were changing, but not much and not necessarily in a bad way.

Yes, things were going good in Virgil’s world. 

That morning, Virgil got up at 6:45, right on time, and dressed in black jeans, a Panic! shirt, and his favorite sweatshirt. While checking his phone, he walked downstairs for breakfast. He ate his cereal and then went back upstairs to brush his teeth and finish getting ready. After making sure he had everything he needed for the day, he headed out, his mom’s voice telling him to have a good day from somewhere in the house. He drove to school without incident, although his usual parking spot was taken, so he had to park a few spots farther away. Logan was standing by his locker when he got to school, like usual. Just like every other day, they walked to class together, and afterwards, parted their separate ways: Logan to chemistry and Virgil to art. 

Things went according to the norm, following the routine that Virgil knew well. Life could’ve been a little more interesting, but then again, he didn’t find it entirely unpleasant. Even when Tommy and Timmy Wallace started making fun of him, it wasn’t that out of the blue. They had taken Roman’s place as the local asshole when he stopped being a bully at the beginning of high school and were set on making Virgil’s life hell.

Virgil’s standing at his locker, digging through his stuff, looking for a folder when Tommy sneers, “Oh, look, Timmy! It’s the emo cock-sucker.” Behind him, he hears Timmy laugh. Heaving a sigh, Virgil turns around, slamming his locker shut, only to find the twins almost nose-to-nose with him. Well, they would’ve been if Virgil wasn’t a whole head shorter than them.  

Glaring at them, Virgil says, “Get out of my way.” He’s carefully controlling his anger, making sure that he doesn’t explode. That would do no good.

“Aww, is poor baby Viwgil getting angwy?” Timmy mocks in a baby voice. He jabs his twin in the side, laughing. Tommy jabs him back. Unconsciously, Virgil’s hands ball into fists. You can’t get angry. You gotta relax. C’mon, Virgil. He grits his teeth, but because he was frustrated at himself, not angry at the twins.

Unfortunately, Timmy notices the actions and points it out. 

“Ahah! Are you gonna fight us, Virgil? Think you can win? Huh?” Timmy is up in Virgil’s face, so close, Virgil can see his spit flying everywhere when he talks.

Ignoring them, Virgil pushes past and starts walking down the hall. I can’t win. It’s a shot at his pride to walk away, but there’s no way he can beat the two star football players in a fight. I just have to ignore it. Virgil’s had a lot of experience being made fun of, but it never gets easier to face. It just gets easier to ignore.

“Hey!” A hand grabs Virgil by the elbow. It whirls him around so he can see the twins’ smirking faces. “Where you going, faggot? Thought you wanted a fight. Huh?” Heart racing, breath quickening, Virgil feels the panic building in him. Keep it under control. 

“Leave me alone,” he tries to say. Nothing comes out. Virgil can’t tell his body to move. Or walk away. Or do anything. The things running through his brain are going too fast. There, then gone. No, is the only thought that sticks.

Virgil sees their mouths moving, but can’t hear what they’re saying. Everything else is too loud. The pounding of his heart. His breaths, coming much too fast. Students talking, yelling. Lockers slamming. No. No. No, no, no no no nononononono. Why can’t the world just slow down. People bump into him. Every time, he flinches, drawing inward. Just have to make myself smaller. Timmy and Tommy are still talking. Virgil still can’t hear them. 

“Timmy! Stop!” a voice calls. This, Virgil hears. A hand reaches out to turn the boys away from Virgil. The only thing visible is wavy brown hair and tan skin. The twin’s shoulders block out everything else. He doesn’t know who it is. Doesn’t care who it is.

In four, he thinks, breathing in deeply. Hold 6. Out 7. He lets the air out in a cascade. Before he can begin hyperventilating again, he repeats the exercise. The noise of the hallway is too loud. His breathing won’t slow down. Come on, Virgil! Goddammit! Get it under control! 

The twins are still wrapped up in their conversation with Roman Princeford. He must’ve been the voice. But Virgil doesn’t have time to wonder why Roman stood up for him. Not while tears are flooding his eyes. Not while he’s fighting them back. Not while the din of the hallway is crashing around him. Not now. 

Virgil hurries out of the main part of the hallway and stands by the door to a janitor’s closet. The walls turn, forming an indent around where the door is, and feels almost like a shield. Trembling hands pull his headphones from his bag and slide them on his head. Tears blur his vision and his fingers shake as he fumbles for the video he’s trying to find. 

Finally, he finds it. The soothing sound of pouring rain fills his head. Soft piano drifts in the background. Dropping his phone on the ground and closing his eyes, Virgil pictures the rain streaking down a window. Slow and soothing and familiar. In 4, hold 6, out 7. Little by little, he starts to calm down, heartbeat returning to its normal pace, breaths slowing until the dizziness goes away.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he sat on the floor, but there’s a gentle tap on his shoulder. When he opens his eyes, Roman looks concerned. Pulling his headphones around his neck, Virgil begins to stand. 

“Are you o—Are you doing better?” Roman asks, looking almost awkward. Even though Roman helped him, Virgil almost scoffs. Of course I'm not okay, dumbass. He does have to give him credit for switching his words, though. And some part of Virgil doesn’t blame Roman for being so awkward. It’s a strange situation to be in. One Virgil wants to get out of. And fast. 

“I’m fine. I need to get to class,” he responds, voice tense and snippy. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but it will soon, and Mrs. Bartleman’s classroom is far away from Virgil’s locker. He slings his bag over his shoulder and leans down to grab his folder. 

Papers spill out over the ground, and Virgil realizes, too late, that he grabbed the folder on the bottom. Dropping to his knees to pick it up, he grits his teeth in frustration. A groan slips from his throat.

“What are you doing?” he snaps at Roman, who’d bent down to help. 

“Picking your things up,” Roman replies, looking at Virgil, seeming puzzled. Refusing to look at him, Virgil reaches out to grab more paper. He is sorry for being so rude to Roman just now, but his annoyance at Roman constantly trying to be the knight in shining armor combined with his embarrassment at what happened earlier doesn’t help his temper.

“The bell is going to ring soon. You’re going to be late for class.”

Roman must realize that Virgil’s trying to get him to leave because he stands up, leaving his stack of papers on the ground.

“Right. I should be going.” There’s something almost like hurt in Roman’s voice. Virgil looks up on instinct. Roman’s face is crestfallen, mouth turned downward, eyes sad. Guilt pangs through Virgil’s chest yet again when he sees. He almost takes his words back, but Roman turns away before he can. The metallic sound of the bell echoes throughout the hallway. 

“Fuck,” Virgil mumbles, reaching out to finish picking up.

Once the rest of the papers are back in his folder, Virgil stands up. He stares at Roman’s back, far down the hallway, distance increasing the longer he waits. The regret and guilt swirl into a knot in his stomach. Biting his lip, he takes a chance.

“Roman!” he yells, jogging down the hall. Roman turns around, and Virgil stops, even though there’s still a few feet between them. “Why did you stand up for me?” He steels himself for the worst. What if he blows you off? What if he says that he only did it to draw more attention to you? He takes the small amount of anger he still has left and directs it at the doubt. The thoughts, thankfully, shut up.

Roman scratches the back of his head and says, “It’s kind of a long story…” He looks up at a clock on the wall, frowning. After a second, his face lights up. “You have A lunch, right?” Virgil nods. “I’ll tell you then. My class is switching so we don’t have to go to lunch right in the middle of our test.” 

“O-okay,” Virgil stutters out, still wondering if he’s going to regret this. He’s still unsure if Roman actually means well, or if it’s just a long ploy that will end in Virgil being hurt. But I suppose it doesn’t hurt to ask why he stood up for me. 

And the crooked smile Roman gives Virgil right before turning and jogging away to class makes the risk almost worth it.

[gumnut-logic]

https://vosuth.tumblr.com/post/185517569167/tigerleggies-skillful-leggies-nibenhutracycas

This is the video the two doofuses are referring to :D

-o-o-o-

“How the hell does he do that?”

“I thought the better question would be ‘why the hell does he do that?’”

“What do you mean? Didn’t you see him flip himself off that building last week just as it collapsed? Got himself onto the rescue rig at the last second. I would think this exercise would certainly help.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know, but our followers are going to love it.”

“You’re posting it to ‘The Real Thunderbirds’?”

“You better believe it. There are some women out there foaming at the mouth for our dear brother.”

“Uhrgh, did you have to put it quite that way.”

“What? Would you prefer I say that the girls would like to get themselves some of that booty?”

“Gordon!”

“Hey, it is just viral marketing, bro. We gotta do what we gotta do to keep the brand moving.”

“Brand? What do you know about brand?”

“I know that we’ve got what they want.” A snort. “Well, at least Virgil does.” He held up the video Alan had taken on his phone of his elder brother working out in the gym. The man didn’t only do handstands, he also had the control to move his body both perpendicular to the floor and parallel, those mighty biceps of his taking all his weight, while his back kept the control.

“Hey, I could do that.”

Gordon snorted. “Yeah right.” He turned back to the phone and lined up the video for posting. A click of a couple of virtual keys and he released his big brother’s workout routine to the world. “Hah, now we just let the comments and admiration roll in.”

“Hey, seriously, I reckon I could give it a go.”

His brother stared at him. “Alan, do you even have biceps?”

Shoving up his sleeves, Alan demonstrated that, yes, indeed he did have a set of those particular muscles and they were considerable indeed.

“Wow, don’t poke your eye out there, bro.” Gordon rolled up his own shirt sleeve. “Now see here, This is a bicep, Olympic level.” Gordon flexed his arm. “See, you actually need these in water, unlike space.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just calling it as I see it.”

Alan glared at his brother. “Watch this.”

Dropping to the floor, Alan flipped himself upside down, hands walking a few steps as he gained his balance. Ever so carefully, he scissored his legs in midair and brought his body into an inverted version of the splits.

“Okay, not bad. I give you a six out of ten. Now get down before you break yourself. That gravity thing is in play.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

Alan brought his legs back to the vertical and bent his knees. His arms were trembling.

Not to be deterred, he bent his elbows lowering his body closer to the floor.

“And the crowd goes wild as Alan Tracy prepares to fall in a heap.”

“This is not as easy as it looks.”

“Sure.”

“You do it then.”

A laugh, somewhere from above Alan’s feet. “Okay, challenge accepted.”

Off to Alan’s right, Gordon inverted himself with a quick flip, scissored his legs into a split and followed it up with some vertical pushups. “See, easy peasy.”

Most of the blood that used to be in Alan’s body was now in his head and his arms were shaking even more. “You do that curly body thing.”

“It’s a gymnastics move, Al. You just need some decent control of...” And Gordon curled his body in an approximation of what Virgil had gracefully performed earlier. Unfortunately, he apparently did not have the full balance required because a single yelp and Alan found his legs tangled with his brothers and they were both falling.

The comms room floor was made of hardwood. Very hard wood.

“Ow, what did you do that for!” Alan rubbed his head.

“I just overbalanced. I can do it.”

“Sure. I’ll believe that because I have a concussion!”

“Watch.” And Gordon attempted it again. This time Alan was smart enough to be out of range when the wooden floor hit his brother.

“C’mon, it has got to be easy.”

“Apparently not.”

“Shut up, Alan.”

The floor smacked Gordon again.

“Perhaps you should ask Virgil before you put yourself in the hospital.”

Gordon sat on the floor frowning. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps our big brother is smarter than he appears.” An electronic beep echoed through the room. “Oh, we have our first comment!”

Gordon grabbed the phone off his Dad’s desk and eagerly pulled up the feed. “‘Totally gorgeous, I want me some of him.’” He cackled. “See I told you.”

The phone beeped again.

“Another one.” Gordon frowned. “‘What a couple of idiots, such a laugh’?” His brother stabbed at the phone. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

Gordon turned the phone around and Alan was confronted with a looping gif of himself and Gordon falling in a heap attempting exactly the same manoeuvre as their brother in the video above.

The phone pinged again.

“‘Total idiots.’” Gordon’s eyes widened and he looked over at stairs to the kitchen. Alan followed his gaze to find Kayo striding towards them.

“Yes, I think you are. When Virgil finds out, you will likely need to avoid those biceps you appear to be so obsessed with. Consider your sacrifice an attempt to mollify the bear that will be hunting you.”

Kayo had scary eyes and they were pinning both of them.

“Gordon did it.” If his voice squeaked, he wasn’t owning up to it.

The eyes returned to him and strung him up by his underwear.

“Hey!” Gordon knew how to feign innocence, he just hadn’t worked out that everyone knew he’d lost his about twenty years ago...which was remarkable since the aquanaut was only nineteen.

Kayo’s voice was as cool and precise as always. “Gordon always does it, yet, you, Alan always seem to land in the thick of it.”

“He’s a bad influence?”

This time Gordon didn’t protest, he actually smiled smugly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Kayo rolled her eyes. “I advise you to disappear for a few days.”

“Uh, yeah, we can do that.” This time Gordon’s grin was a guilty one.

Alan and Gordon did make themselves scarce, but the incident proved to be quite interesting since Virgil’s video was shared over thirty thousand times.

Alan and Gordon landing on their asses in a looping gif passed the million share mark lunchtime the next day.

-o-o-o-