#wee!tracy's
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A Heroic Act
Thundertober/Inktober 2022 Day 23: Parent
No-one said being a parent to five sons was going to be easy, especially when Lucille is stuck in bed with the flu, but Jeff’s sure he can manage. Boy, are they all gonna prove him wrong… Wee!Tracy’s
Continuity: TOS
Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou (Please ask if you would like to be alerted when I update or write new stories)
Prompt list
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The mornings were usually bedlam, and today was no different. “Alan! Where the hell is your other shoe?!”
“Don’t want it…” His youngest grumbled, folding his arms and pouting. The five year old also kicked the floor for good measure.
Jeff sighed, running a hand over his face. “You’re going to want to once you’re at the daycare…” His attention was immediately on the faint rustling from the top of the stairs. “You’re not taking all of that, are you?...” He was absolutely certain John was carrying an entire library with him in his school bag.
“Of course?” John gave him a look. The middle brother was only seven, and was already way ahead of everyone else in his grade. The thought both made him proud and unsettled him…
“Where’s Virgil?” The father sighed again, looking around for the artistic youngster. John shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but Jeff already knew that he cared a lot.
“He’s still in bed. Scott’s been trying to wake him up for the past half hour…”
Jeff let out a long suffering groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. He somehow ignored the chaos that came from the direction of Alan and Gordon, and stole a glance at his watch. They had to leave in the next fifteen minutes if they wanted to get them all to school in time. “Go see if you can help, would you?”
“No need.” His eldest yelled from Virgil’s room. “He’s up.” Scott appeared at the top of the stairs, with a very grumpy Virgil in tow as they walked down.
Jeff shook his head as he smoothed Virgil’s bedhead down to be somewhat manageable. “Okay, you two. Go and grab something to eat. We’re off in five.”
“Got it, Dad.” Scott was already in the kitchen by the time Virgil grunted and trudged in the same direction.
Jeff turned his attention back to his younger kids. His eyes widened in shock. “Why do both of you hate your shoes so much?” John barely hid his sniggering.
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When the patriarch finally made it back home after what seemed to be the most exhausting school run of his life, he flopped onto the bed he shared with the love of his life, who despite being bedridden, managed to give him an amused look. “Not as easy as it looks, is it?” She chuckled. Her voice was like the gentle breeze of a sunny day, and he found himself lost in it’s calmness.
“No…” Jeff sighed, giving his wife the soft look he reserved for her and her alone. “Is that what you deal with every morning?” Lucy nodded. Normally, Jeff was already at the tiny office of his new company by the time the boys were supposed to get up for school, with the hopes of someday making it big. But Lucille was already in bed with a fever last night, so Jeff was taking the day off as well to take care of her and the kids. “What else can I do to help, honey? I feel like I might lose them if I keep missing out on the mornings… Alan and Gordon barely listened this morning, and I don’t know them as much as I used to. We were only able to get out the door on time because Scott convinced them to keep their shoes on…”
Lucille stared impassively. “You know, if you already know the problem is that you’re out early in the mornings, then you know what you have to do to fix it.”
“Yeah, I do know…” He suddenly found the foot of the bed very interesting.
“And do you know what I know?” Lucille just tutted, and guided his chin to look her in the eyes again. Jeff raised an eyebrow, before he was blindsided by her sudden embrace. “That the boys love you. And they’re so grateful for what you do everyday to provide for this family…” She smiled. “But yes, it wouldn’t hurt to spend a bit more time with them.”
“Thanks, babe…” Jeff stood up. “Now you lie down and let me grab you some of my mother’s chicken soup.”
#thunderbirds#thunderbirds 1965#thunderbirds fanfiction#thunderfam#jeff tracy#alan tracy#john tracy#scott tracy#virgil tracy#gordon tracy#lucille tracy#thundertober 2022#jeff x lucille#wee!tracy's
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HHHDSHGFHKLINDEKEMDINDNAIJFRNJSLKNNJEIKSIJN
Going absolutely feral for this silly shithead.
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Elvira, Pee Wee and Traci Lords.
#icons#elvira#pee wee herman#traci lords#paul reubens#cassandra peterson#80s horror#80s aesthetic#80s nostalgia#80s comedy#80s#black and white photography
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Another instalment of dinky Scott at School - I think there are (as yet unwritten) scenes in between these but I figured I’d get the key ones down then have a look and decide if it’s actually a story to flesh out or just a series of snapshots to leave as is.
Apologies to any actual teachers who may notice I am playing fast and loose with how such things might work in real life.
Disclaimer: Teeny Scooter does not actually appear in this bit, but is much discussed…
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THE Jeff Tracy.
She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t spent most of the night revising the 6 bullet points she wanted to cover in that one 12-minute parent-teacher conference. She’d quietly ensured the slot immediately afterwards was unbookable just in case things… overran.
None of the other teachers had met him, only the mother, who by all accounts was very pleasant. She hadn’t expected him to come, assuming he was probably on the moon or something equally intrepid. But the little box next to the number 2 had been ticked on the form so unless it was a grandparent or something…
The fancier biscuits she’d picked up from the store had just been a whim… sometimes she wanted to bring a bit of luxury into proceedings, that’s all it was…
Oh heck she’d bought fancy biscuits. Just like the hopeless fangirl she was. As if he’d notice anyway?
The first parent had noticed and seemed to enjoy their chocolate dipped Viennese finger biscuit. So it was worth it.
The second set of parents hadn’t turned up at all which left her with an agonising 18 minute wait.
It was fine. Just another PTC with some totally normal parents hoping to hear what a delight their precious offspring was. And she intended to thoroughly emphasise that part right at the outset because he really was.
The other notes she had would also be fine because she had considered every possible way of delivering them and had figured out the most persuasive.
All. Fine.
She needed another word for fine.
A gentle tap-de-tap and the door cracked open to reveal a waterfall of red hair and a very friendly face. Behind, even taller than he looked on tv, towered the man from the all those documentaries she’d binge-watched as a student.
Definitely just a normal PTC.
Felicity Miles, teacher, champion of tiny people, competent human, took a breath and greeted the couple with professional confidence and a welcoming smile.
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In the last five years she’d broken similar news to four other sets of parents, and observed her mentor do similar in her training year. Not a big enough sample to be conclusive but the fact the reaction had been the same each time had lulled her into a complacency about what to expect.
It went something like - shocked faces, initial denial, possibly a little anger, guilt that they hadn’t known, 3 of the mothers and 2 of the fathers had cried. Then, usually, she could see a little relief creeping in…. The hope that it hadn’t been something they’d got Wrong after all.
And then a brief conversation about what could happen next and arrangement of a meeting to discuss further when they’d had time to think. She’d hand them the department of education-approved info leaflets and smile and promise it would all be alright.
This one wasn’t going the way it should.
To start with there was zero surprise. Not even a flicker. In fact they’d looked at each other and smiled, before patiently listening to the rest of her little monologue. Right up until she started outlining the stages in the school’s neurodiversity support pathway at which point Mr Tracy had lifted a hand and cut in:
“There’ll be no need for anything formal. He’ll learn to manage his difficulties and he’ll overcome them.”
Felicity did her best to ignore the calm tone in his voice that simultaneously commanded she agree with him, advised it was a done deal not worth fighting against and reassured her that he was obviously right and it was all for the best. She pictured the desperate little human curled up in the Octopus House and tapped into the protective rage it generated:
“I don’t think you understand, Mr Tracy. A diagnosis would mean he could get that little bit of extra support he needs, perhaps a Teaching Assistant to keep him on track and help with refocussing when he gets distracted. He could have occasional time out on special programs to develop his interests, as I said he really does excel at maths and…”
“Ms Miles, please stop there a moment.”
She did so.
A few seconds later she remembered to close her mouth.
“Are you aware of what Scott wants more than anything in the world?”
She clenched her jaw in an effort not to snark back “a glimmer of self-esteem?” and thought about what seemed to make her zoomy little friend the happiest. The answer left her mouth before she was aware she knew it:
“He wants to fly.”
It was his mother who sighed and spoke next, the slight unevenness of her voice probably undetectable to someone who hadn’t spoken to a LOT of exhausted parents:
“He does. He always has from the moment he realised he couldn’t. Even before he really understood what airplanes were, he’s been fascinated by them and has been determined to reach the sky to join them. He seems to view gravity as a personal insult…” she chuckled then added “Being a parent to Scott Tracy is 90% catching him as he leaps from places he shouldn’t according to all the laws of physics be able to reach.”
Her husband reached over and squeezed her hand with an affectionate smile and added in a much softer tone:
“In his pram he watched the birds, it was the only thing that settled him. You won’t be surprised to learn that all of his bedroom decorations are aircraft-related. He’s not even remotely interested in space travel or what his mother and I do other than that we both flew planes first.”
Felicity could see it all but felt the conversation had gone off on a tangent. She took charge again and tried a different tack:
“But to achieve his goal he is going to need to have decent grades at the end of his education and the foundation of that starts here. He has so much potential and… look, I couldn’t give a damn about the class interruptions, please don’t think that is what this is about. I can handle all that, it’s what’s going on in his head, how he sees himself and I think we need to have something in place so that he and all his future teachers understand that… I hate to say it but for some, a formal diagnosis is the only way to persuade people that a child isn’t deliberately…”
“Ms Miles.”
The sigh escaped this time.
“Yes, Mr Tracy?”
“Do you happen to know the criteria one must fulfil to train as either a commercial airline or a military pilot?”
“Offhand? Not, precisely, no.”
“There is also an exclusionary list. Certain conditions, diagnoses, other events on a medical record that may prove to be a barrier to acceptance. Many people in the field don’t agree with everything on the list, but at the moment it exists. You’re clearly a smart woman, Ms Miles, and I can tell you’ve already worked out one of the conditions noted on that list.”
He wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t released her breath since the word ‘exclusionary’. But it forced its way out now in a quiet groan and then a whisper:
“ADHD.”
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#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#Jeff Tracy#Lucy Tracy#Scott Tracy#idontknowreallywhy fanfic#wee!tracys#adhd!scott#neurodiverse tracys
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In an alternative universe, i can imagine another version of myself
one in a stable relationship happy in the arms of a lover.
Toned down paranoia, and Indulgent pleasure.
I worry that that version of me is delusional
in love, but alone in it that I’ll somehow miss the signs of an emotionally absent partner the way I missed my father…
And yet, I’ll come up with excuses because I never felt comfortable with pointing my finger
that I’ll overcompensate.. Nest in the apex of their heart and believe that there’s no way higher
that the hierarchy is nothing but guilt inducing anger.
It's easy to love me;
i grew up in a household where it's acceptable to sacrifice your own soul in exchange of feeling like your existence is convenient.
As years went by, I learned to love that feeling eventually more than life itself..
i lost a lot of myself watching my mother hand feed me all that she is, all that she wanted to be, then sneak bites of who she was before she had me..
now, i think i can be whoever a lover needs me to be.
Then when they’re not around I’ll let my pieces fall down and hope that somehow they’ll align…
this terrifies me...
I don't want to settle and passive smoke my own life, set in the corner and inhale the damage even when it isn't mine.
I love love, I just don’t think it’s for me...
In a lecture about addiction, our doctor said
“The neurobiology of love is the same as neurobiology of addiction"
To me, that makes sense for i lose all my edges whenever I'm submerged in a wave of it.
My ends melt trying desperately to reach out even when i don't really know how to direct them to anyone other than myself
Paint them orbits to circle around me and feed them rays of hope
"our paranoia won't last forever"
At least that's what I whisper as i try to keep them close enough, not too much;
I don't want eternity
“I only wanna die someday”
I wrap them around me every night until i suffocate in an embrace trying to comfort all the atoms of love that are lost in me...
I’ll come to an end; and you'll be free.
•••
•Quotes: Roland Barthes/ Angelea Lowes/ Anaïs Nin/Mahmoud Darwish/Mary Oliver/ Ottessa Moshfegh/Elaine Kahn/ Natalie Wee/Carole Maso/Tracy K. Smith/Halsey/chelsea g. summers/ Anne Sexton.
•Original context: sinligh
•Art reference:
1. Art by Lisa Lach-Nielsen. 2.Quoted, 2008, oil on linen by Jen Mazza. 3. Choke, 2008, oil on linen by Jen Mazza. 4. Ceruse 87, 2008, oil on linen by Jen Mazza. 5. A girl with pomegranate (detail) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau. 6. An Interior with a woman seated by Lampligt by Christian Valdemar Clause Danish. 7. Photo by Soul Eom. 8. "two people" by Mila Plaickner. 9.Art by Lisa Lach-Nielsen
P.s: writing this felt like:
“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me”
Song rec:
#sinligh poem#quotes#roland barthes#anaïs nin#mahmoud darwish#mary oliver#ottessa moshfegh#elaine kahn#natalie wee#halsey#tracy k. smith#chelsea g. summers#anne sexton#web weaving#word weaving#blotched words#parallels#compilation#art parallels#art compilation#paintings#feminsm#feminist#feminine rage#rage#patriarchy#fuck the patriarchy#daddy issues#mommy issues#female hysteria
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Pee Wee Herman, Traci Lords and Elvira step into an elevator...
#pee wee herman#elvira#traci lords#pee wee's playhouse#elvira mistress of the dark#pee wee's big adventure
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Of Model Planes and Kind Truths
More neurodivergent Scott and John, but as kids. They are both small and doing their best and trying to figure out how the world works. Lucy is here too and I love her and she's totally autistic too in my head. I wrote this ages ago and was only yesterday I was reminded of it and cheered on by the wonderful @janetm74 so I tidied it up to post!
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Scott yelled at him because John said his model aeroplane didn't look like the one on the box. Which was true , the colours were all mixed together as Scott was too impatient to let them dry properly between painting and the whole frame was sort of squashed where it had fallen off of a table. Sticky globs of glue had adhered themselves to the wings providing most of the structural soundness.
Scott had burst into tears when John pointed this all out.
Their dad picked up Scott even though he was too big for it now and carried him out of the kitchen, leaving a bewildered John behind. Mum had to explain that words could upset people and Scotty was crying because he felt John was being mean to him.
John attempted to explain. “But I didn't mean to be mean! I was just telling him, you and Dad always say to tell the truth.”
“Oh, little star. I know you didn't, but we can hurt people even when that isn't our intention.”
Mum held out her hands and took John’s small ones in her own as his eyes welled up with tears.
“You know what you can do to help make it better?” John shook his head as Mum continued. “Your brother worked very hard on making that plane. When you go apologise to him, can you think of some things to say that are kind and honest?”
John nodded, he could do that. He’d make this better.
In the lounge room, Scott sat on Dad’s lap, the model plane clutched to his chest. His face was all red and blotchy. John wiped his sleeve over his own face as Scott’s hurt and his hurt crumpled into a big black hole in his chest. He then flickered his hands at his sides.
John tiptoed across the carpet as it squished beneath his feet. Dad and Scott were looking at him; Dad was smiling a bit but his brother had frowny eyebrows. John stood in front of them, twisting his hands together anxiously.
“I’m sorry I was mean about your plane. I wasn't trying to be. You worked really hard on it.” The words came out stilted and deliberate.
Now for something kind and true. John cast around for something to say, glancing about the room. Virgie had left their blocks on the floor, all set up in neat rainbow rows.
“It’s good because it’s makes you happy?” He told Scott.
“And it’s swooshy.” John said it with all of the excitement of figuring out a new science problem, as the words now rushed out. “You painted it with lots of colours and I like colours and so do you. Mixing them together means even more colours!”
Scott’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s okay. You were right, but it’s still cool. And yeah, it goes swoosh because it’s so fast!”
Scott swiped the toy plane through the air as if it was flying. John jumped back as it banked toward him. He followed it with his eyes as it dove and spun in Scott’s hands, as Scott jumped from Dad’s lap to run around the room with him, John matching his dips and turns like he was flying a space shuttle too until they were both grinning and everything was right again.
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds fanfiction#scott tracy#john tracy#astrawrite#autistic john tracy#adhd scott tracy#neurodivergent tracies#wee!tracies
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I came across a reel online of two toddlers playing in the yard: they were dunking themselves in soapy water in a paddle pool, then sliding down a plastic slide, because soap made them slippery and go faaaast. And I thought that's absolutely what Scott and Virgil would get up to, Mom Tracy having half-okayed it because that gave her at least 30 solid minutes to BREATHE and deal with baby John, before the OG Terrible Two got to jumping off elevated surfaces or something. Again. Scott would, eventually. And Virgie does everything Scotty does. She's just keeping an eye on them not sliding headfirst into the ground JUST YET, till the baby is fed, burped and asleep.
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“You can touch him, honey.” His mom smiled encouragingly.
Virgil sat on the sofa next to his mother and stared at the tiny, sleeping baby. He was so small. So different from the pudgy little toddler he remembered of Johnny when he was little.
Well, he was still little, but now he could walk and talk and play and attend school like a real little brother.
This new baby was so small. A fuzz of blond hair and wrinkled skin, he had a weird and scary tube taped to his nose.
He looked up at his mom. She looked sick. She had been in the hospital for a long time.
Seemed like forever. Dad and Grandma and Grandpa had all been worried. Virgil had asked Scotty, but his brother hadn’t had any more answers. It had taken Grandma to sit the both of them down and explain that little Gordon had come early and needed some time in the hospital.
“Will he be all right?” It all sounded scary and it was his mommy.
Grandma had wrapped both of them in one of her wonderfully reassuring hugs. “They are both going to be fine, honey. They just need a little time to recover.”
That time staying with Grandma and Grandpa had been a mix of fun and worry. He loved his grandparents and their farm was full of places to explore and things to pull apart and animals and space, so much space.
It was worth Grandma’s cookies.
He just wished Mom would get better and come home.
That day eventually came and his Mom introduced him to his new baby brother, Gordon.
Tiny, tiny Gordon.
Virgil peered over the blankets in his mother’s lap.
As if sensing his gaze, the baby opened his eyes drowsily and stared up at him.
A little frown.
Baby Gordon reached out a hand, and without thinking, Virgil brought his own hand up. Tiny fingers wrapped around his, so, so small, and clung tight.
Gordon stared at him a moment longer before his eyes closed again.
He didn’t let go of Virgil.
“He likes you.” Mom was smiling. She slipped an arm around his back and drew him in close for a snuggle.
Virgil couldn’t take his eyes off Gordon.
“Is he going to be okay?” He looked so fragile.
“He needs a little time, but he will be just as strong as you and playing as much mischief as your other brothers before you know it.” She squeezed him tighter. “He’s a Tracy, honey. We’re made of tough stuff.” She kissed his hair.
Virgil still hadn’t let go of his new brother’s hand.
He wasn’t supposed to let go. He was supposed to save and protect.
“Gordon?”
His little brother didn’t answer.
“Virgil, honey?” It wasn’t his Mom’s voice. It was Grandma.
Where was Mom? “I’ll keep him safe, Mom.” Gordon and all his brothers.
But especially little, fragile Gordon who had entered the world too early.
“Gordon is safe, Virgil.”
Virgil held his little brother in his arms as sparks rained over them. Something was very wrong, but his priorities were clear.
“I’ll keep him safe, Mom.”
-o-o-o-
Wire
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#virgil tracy#gordon tracy#wee!tracys#nuttyfic reblog#fishtank
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Trick or Treat
Thundertober/Inktober Day 31: Costumes
The Tracy family prepares for Halloween. Wee!Tracy’s
Continuity: TOS
Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn (Please ask if you would like to be alerted when I update or write new stories)
Prompt list
Happy Halloween! >:3
This is the last Thundertober prompt, but be sure to keep an eye out for more chapters from the day 29 story.
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“So, who are you going as?” Alan bounced up and down as his brother revealed his costume with a flourish.
“Aquaman!”
John rolled his eyes fondly. “Of course you are…”
“What are you going as John?” Gordon asked, already pulling his outfit on.
“No character; just a regular old astronaut.” John smirked. “How about you, Allie?”
Alan grinned, pulling out his handmade costume. Despite their father’s numerous offers to buy their Halloween outfits this year, Alan had insisted on making his own. If John was completely honest, it looked like it was on the verge of falling apart…
“Well, despite John’s obvious dislike of it,” Gordon ignored John’s protests, “I think it looks great!” He scratched his head. “What is it?”
“It’s a star!” Alan beamed. John tried to hide his grimace as one of the points drooped. Gordon somehow managed to get stuck in his costume behind them.
“Gordon’s right, Alan.” Virgil’s voice drifted through the hallway as he approached. He was already in his knight costume. “You guys have a fun knight, okay?” He smirked, putting emphasis on the pun.
“You too, Virgil…” John smiled at his brother, getting his own outfit on. “And please, never make a joke like that again…”
The family artist just shrugged. “Fair enough.”
“Guys, you ready to go?” Scott poked his head round the door. He was dressed as a wizard this year. He grinned when he saw Alan’s costume. “Looks great!” He gave his brother a thumbs up. Alan smiled back. “Dad’s ready with the car to take us to where we need to be tonight.”
Virgil laughed. “How’s his vampire costume looking?”
“Blood-sucking.” Scott smirked, folding his arms. “And Grandma has a fierce witch look…”
“Um, guys?” Gordon’s muffled voice made everyone look in his direction. He was still struggling with his costume. “A little help here?”
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“Okay gang, here’s the drop-off for trick or treating!” Jeff swung the family van into a parking space. “Mother, you’re taking these three little rascals,” he poked his three younger sons on their noses, causing each of them to giggle at varying volumes, “round all the houses.”
Their grandmother nodded, but raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re okay to handle the trick or treaters alone, Jeff?”
Jeff nodded. “I’m sure, Mother. This has all already been decided. I’ll drop Scott and Virgil off at their Halloween party and then head back home for a few hours. Then I can come and pick everyone up when they want to come home.”
Ruth smiled, satisfied, before herding the younger ones out the car and towards the houses, closing the door behind them. “Let’s go get some sweet treats, my pretties!” She shifted to her witch voice, and Gordon and Alan squealed in delight as they ran ahead. John was a bit more reserved, but he was clearly just as excited.
Jeff drove on to where he would drop off his two eldest boys, who were chatting about what might happen at the party. Once they pulled up, he turned round. “Remember to keep your phones on. Stay close to each other; within sight if you do split up. If anything happens, keep each other safe, you hear?”
“Don’t worry Dad, nothing’s gonna happen…” Scott smiled sympathetically at his father.
“But we will be careful.” Virgil finished. They got out of the van, and were about to go in when their father said something else.
“One more thing, boys…” They gave him matching looks. “Have fun!”
“We will, Dad!”
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The moon was high in the sky by the time Jeff picked everyone up. His mother yawned as she guided his younger boys into the car, all barely standing. By the looks of it, they’d gotten plenty of sweets. Scott and Virgil could hardly keep their eyes open either, but were a bit better at hiding it than the others. Once they were on the road again, half of them asleep and the other half ready to, Jeff whispered. “Did you all have a great time?”
“The best.” Virgil whispered back, before he fell asleep on Scott’s shoulder. Scott smiled softly at his brother, making sure he had a tight hold of him before he leaned back into his seat, also drifting off.
His mother grinned at him, her voice extra soft so she didn’t wake any of her grandchildren up. “If they’re sleeping, it must’ve been fun. I know John, Gordon and Alan had a blast…”
“That’s good…” Jeff yawned, but kept his eyes wide open as he focussed all his energy on the road. “Happy Halloween, Mother.”
“Happy Halloween, Jeff.”
#thunderbirds#thunderbirds 1965#thunderbirds fanfiction#thunderfam#alan tracy#gordon tracy#john tracy#virgil tracy#scott tracy#jeff tracy#grandma tracy#thundertober 2022#wee!tracy's
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Pee Wee Herman (Paul Reubens) and Traci Lords
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Passing the Big Brother Baton
Something brought this one to mind recently, so I thought I'd bring it out for another airing.
You can also find it here on AO3
** Please note **
For this story Virgil is older than John.
Lucy knew her nap was over when the shuffle of little feet on the carpet became loud enough to break through the drowsy fog. The little hand on her belly proved the point, but the whispered words kept her eyes closed for a while longer. Much of what her eldest son was saying was too incomprehensible for her sleepy mind to decipher, but she caught the gist. The hand on her very pregnant belly was part of an explanation that a baby was in there. The beginning of a very serious instructional talk.
“Going big bruh now,” three-and-a-half year-old Scott was telling his barely one year old brother. Lucy was awake enough for her brain to begin re-interpreting the baby-talk to mean “You’re going to be a big brother now.”
“Like me!” Scott continued. “I you big bruh. You baby big bruh.”
Lucy allowed her eyes to drift open a little, wanting to see how this information was being received, but not wanting to interrupt. Scott was too focused on Virgil to notice she had woken. She could just make out Virgil doing that little bounce on his chubby legs as he stood on the other side of Scott, with both hands holding on to her bed for stability. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye diverted her attention and she saw her mother-in-law tentatively look into the room, ready to shoo the boys away and let her sleep. Lucy caught Sally’s eye and gave a slight shake of the head, which the older woman took as her cue to withdraw. The instructions continued.
“Baby come soon. I look (after) you. You look (after) baby.” The word “after” wasn’t spoken, but Lucy was used to filling in the blanks.
The only response Lucy could discern from her vantage point was a slightly furrowed brow – Virgil’s serious expression, one he used when concentrating hard.
“Big bruh job.” (Meaning “That’s a big brother’s job.”) There was a pause and Scott’s hand moved onto Virgil’s shoulder. “I help you.”
“Ba!” Virgil replied, rather loudly, with another bounce as he flexed his leg muscles.
Scott nodded. Apparently that was the required response. Instructions had been given and received, and with that Scott turned and headed for the door, with Virgil toddling after him.
Lucy stifled a giggle. Her boys were precious. She had no doubt the new baby would be well and truly doted on.
****
With the impending birth of a fourth little Tracy, bedroom re-allocation was required. Lucy had struggled with the best way of broaching the subject with her three boys, but needn’t have worried. She should not have been surprised when five-and-a-half year-old Virgil immediately suggested John could move into his room. He further justified this as the best solution by adding that Scotty was the biggest so he should have his own room.
John seemed apprehensive at first, but Virgil’s enthusiasm for the idea was apparently a persuasive force. She watched, and silently followed, as he took John ever so gently by the hand and led him to the room in question to show him how it would all work.
“Your bed can go there. Under the big window. Then you can see the stars before you go to sleep.” His hands gestured at each space in turn as he spoke, his eyes alight with the imagining. “My bed can go over there – I don’t need the window. Bookcase goes there. You gots more books than me, so it hasta go close to your bed. We can share my desk. It’s got all my pencils and paints on it though. Is that okay?”
From her half-hidden spot just outside the door she could see John nod, seeming a little bewildered, but not altogether displeased with the idea.
“I promise I won’t be too loud,” Virgil assured his four-and-a-half year-old brother, “and it’s a big room, so you’ll still have lots of space all to yourself.”
Virgil must have seen or sensed something in John’s mood that she could not from out in the hall. He sat on his bed, facing the window, and patted the space beside him, inviting John to sit to his left.
“I know lotsa things are changing right now.” There was a slow gravity to Virgil’s tone, so different to the rushed excitement of a moment ago. “It’s gonna be okay, though.”
Virgil stretched his arm behind his brother’s shoulders, but waited until John leaned in against his side before letting his hand rest on the younger boy’s left arm in a gentle hug.
“You’re gonna be a big brother now,” Virgil said softly, “just like me and Scotty. Big brothers gotta look after littler ones. Scott looks after me sometimes. I look after you. You look after the baby when he comes. But we’ll help you, too.”
“What about Mommy and Daddy?”
“They got lots of grown-up things they gotta worry about. That’s why being a big brother’s so important. Mommy and Daddy will look after all of us, but we can help them if we look after our little brother. I gotta look after Scotty sometimes too, ‘cuase he doesn’t got a big brother.”
“Do you think I'll be a good big brother?"
Virgil nodded, and Lucy noticed the extra squeeze in the embrace.
"You're gonna be a great big brother. And if you need any extra help you ask me, or Scotty and we'll help you."
"Okay," John said, visibly relaxing. “I’m gonna help lots when the baby comes. And I’ll help you look after Scotty too.”
Virgil gave an emphatic nod.
“Scott needs a lot of looking after.”
Lucy had to walk away before the laughter she was so desperately trying to stifle could burst out in a snort.
****
Gordon had just turned four, and with a new baby on the way the family had inevitably been throwing around the “big boy now” comments. Lucy had been careful to involve Gordon in the necessary process of setting up the nursery furniture in the room he would soon be sharing, worried that he might resent the impending invasion. Unlike any of the other boys, Gordon seemed reluctant to step into big brotherhood. For over a week now he’d been very clingy, wanting cuddles with Mom on the flimsiest of pretexts, and needing Mommy’s (or, to a lesser extent Daddy’s) help with tasks that he had more than mastered.
Lucy was wondering what challenges today would bring when there was a commotion in the kitchen – a clattering of kid-safe plates, cups and bowls as though someone was rummaging through cupboards and spilling items out onto countertop and floor tiles. Gordon had just gone in there. With a sigh, Lucy heaved herself to her feet to see what was happening. Before she reached the kitchen door the sound of John’s voice prompted her to stop and listen.
“What are you looking for?” the eight-and-a-half year-old enquired with a patience Lucy was sure she could not have mustered.
“My sippy cup,” came the simple reply, accompanied by more rummaging and clattering.
“Why?”
“For my juice.” Lucy could hear the exasperated sigh in Gordon’s voice suggesting this was the most obvious thing in the world, despite him not needing his sippy cup in well over a year.
“I was going to pour yours into a cup just like mine.”
Lucy was relieved her perceptive third child had been smart enough to avoid the term “big-boy cup.” The use of similar terms had been enough to induce tantrums over the last few days.
There were footsteps and a cupboard door squeaked open as John apparently went and retrieved Gordon’s sippy cup from the corner cupboard used to store all the retired-until-further-notice toddler items. Juice was poured, the lid popped on and the cup was slid across the countertop, presumably towards Gordon who had more than likely climbed up to sit on a stool opposite his big brother.
“You know, just because you won’t be the littlest anymore doesn’t mean Mom and Dad don’t love you just as much as they always did.”
Lucy was not surprised John was able to pinpoint the problem behind Gordon’s regressive behaviour, but she was impressed that he was able to articulate it so well, and that he was willing to address the issue head on. There was no answer from Gordon, and she found herself imagining him trying to process what John had said, probably with head slightly tilted to one side and a squinty frown.
“I was the littlest before you were born,” John said solemnly, and perhaps with a hint of nostalgia.
“Really?” The shock in Gordon’s voice had Lucy visualising his russet eyes widening. “But you’ve always been big!”
John laughed. A quiet, contented, closed mouth, chesty sound that Lucy always loved to hear.
“That’s because I’m older than you. And I’ll always be older than you. I’ll always be your big brother, just like Scott and Virgil will always be my big brothers, and all of us, including you, will be the baby’s big brother.”
“I don’t wanna be a big brother.” Lucy heard the pout, and the crossed arms in Gordon’s words.
“Why not?”
“Don’t wanna be sponstible. Wanna do fun stuff with Mommy, like before. Just me and Mommy. No baby.”
Lucy felt the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. John let out a sigh.
“Yeah, it kinda sucks that you don’t really get to choose to be a big brother. It just happens and you’re stuck with it. And it is a big responsibility. You need to look out for the little one, make sure they’re safe – like when I had to stop you from crashing the toboggan into the garage. You have to help them with things they can’t do yet – like I just helped you get a drink of juice. But being a big brother can be pretty cool. If you help mum look after the baby you’ll still get to spend time with her too. And you can play with the baby sometimes. Then when he gets bigger you get to teach him stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Well, the baby isn’t going to know anything about the world, or how things work, or being a Tracy. He’ll watch you and learn from you – even when you don’t know it. And when he’s old enough you’ll get to answer all his questions – like I answered when you asked me about how tadpoles turn into frogs. You’ll be able to teach him important things like where all the best hiding spots in the house are, and not to steal grandma’s cookies. Stuff Mom and Dad might not know, and stuff they might be too busy to help with – that’s the kind of big brother stuff you’ll need to do.”
There was a pause, and a soft shuffling and rustling of clothing. Lucy thought John might have moved around the kitchen counter so he could put an arm around his little brother, or a comforting hand on his back with a gentle rub.
“You don’t have to do it all yourself. That’s the best part about being a Tracy – we stick together, we all help each other. You have three big brothers you can come to whenever you need to.”
Lucy wished she could see her boys at that moment, barely holding herself back from entering the kitchen just to see their expressions, to see the demonstration of exactly the big brotherly love John was speaking of. She could hear the gentle scrape and clacking of cups that suggested the boys were sipping their drinks, perhaps even toasting the moment, before cups were tapped back down onto the countertop.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” she heard John quietly continue. “I wasn’t sure how I felt about being a big brother at first.” This was news to Lucy, and she wondered if she had missed something that she should have seen four years ago. “But as soon as Mom and Dad brought you home I knew I would do anything to make you happy and keep you safe.”
“You didn’t want to be my big brother?” The teariness in Gordon’s voice was heart-wrenching.
“I changed my mind really quick. I found out having a little brother is the best feeling in the world. There’s nothing like the way you looked up at me when I held you in my arms, or the feel of your tiny hand wrapped around my finger. And you were fun to play with, especially when you were big enough to laugh.”
“I’m still fun to play with!” Gordon insisted, then doubt crept into his voice. “Will you still play with me after the baby’s born?”
“Of course.” John laughed again, this time a bright chuckle.
It seemed the serious conversation was over and the long silence prompted Lucy to begin to withdraw. As she walked away she heard the beginnings of a whole new discussion.
“Are we sure the baby’s gonna be a boy?” Gordon asked
“Yeah, Mom and Dad and the doctor are all pretty sure. Why?”
“Do you think I could ask if we could have a sister instead?” As curious as Lucy was to hear how John would handle that one, she kept walking, unable to stop the broad smile spreading across her face, and the swelling of absolute love in her heart for all her boys.
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A little Teeny Scott wip snippet because the little Scooter popped into my brain as he often does when I’m a bit overwhelmed.
Tis another snapshot of my OC Primary teacher POV (oh oops I have two! No, not THAT one the other one! The one who taught teeny Scott rather than the one who trolls adult Scott)
💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙
Like many a primary class store cupboard, the one in Felicity Miles’ domain was crammed full of everything under the sun that could plausibly be “useful for craft one day” alongside all the more formal stationery supplies, brightly coloured sports equipment, first aid items, cuddly toys with their own bandages (often deployed to greater effect than the official first aid items).
She also had a small shelf, high up, she kept for the special pieces of work, the ones which demonstrated where a child had suddenly Got Excited - technicolour art, poetry with unashamed overuse of newly discovered adverbs, science projects, Scott Tracy’s poster about Pi. She always smiled to remember how after his initial disappointment about what the little squiggly symbol DIDN’T mean, how Absolutely he had adopted his new “favourite number”. She had a few from each class and when teacher life all got a bit overwhelming she’d take half an hour at the end of the day and reflect on why she did this in the first place. Retaining the space meant her marking piles were rather more crammed together and higgledy piggledy than ideal - her more organised colleagues would certainly raise an eyebrow - but it was worth it.
There was also a space about half a metre wide and about the same high on the very bottom shelf which it was important she kept empty. Again, the independent observer might have queries as to why, when space was at such a premium, this was necessary. She would probably just smile enigmatically and point at the tiny masking tape sign in wobbly 7-year old handwriting that said “The Octopus House” and leave them with more questions than they were ever going to get answers to.
The Octopus House wasn’t a secret but she didn’t advertise its existence. The few kids who knew about it found it because they needed it. The ones who needed to hide away for a moment, but not be too far away from the safety of their peers or the ones who needed to squeeze up small to process the big feelings without their limbs causing trouble.
It had received its name three years ago on that memorable day when she Lost a Student. He was just gone for at least 20 minutes which must have cost her at least a year of her life. Between the three adults in the class that day they’d subtly searched the corridors, the toilets, the lunch hall, the library and what could be seen of the playground but it was like the child had evaporated. Trying not to panic she’d sent the rest of the class out with the experienced TA and the very-green-but-compensating-with-extreme-enthusiasm NQT to do Olympic relay races on the playground (thank you Ancient Greek class project).
She leant on the back of the door for thirty seconds to catch her breath and psych herself up for the inevitable crisis meeting with the head and the moment at which that would turn in to needing to break the news to his Father.
The silence crowded in on her and she felt herself beginning to properly panic.
She didn’t even know exactly when he’d disappeared. He was there at the start of the lesson, seemed happy, seemed engaged. He’d been very excited about the task they had been given to recreate the Parthenon out of craft paper and had taken charge of his small group so naturally… they’d all been given their part of the mission and they were actually DOING it! Very effectively it seemed! She’d made a mental note to add “leadership skills” to the list of positive things she was going to put on his school report (because the previous few she’d read had made her nauseous with anger) and turned to assist a wailing child with no less than three glue sticks embedded in her hair. And that was… half an hour before? Oh hell that was a long time.
She and the other adults had been so busy mediating the minor battles breaking out in other groups that when a little voice piped up “where’s Scotty? He was sposed to make the lintels!” and her blood had suddenly run cold.
If he was hurt or in danger because she took her eye off him…
She blinked back tears and had just composed herself to pick up the phone to the head teacher’s office when she heard a tiny sniff and spun around to identify the source. Nobody was there.
Hardly daring to breathe, she tiptoed through the room checking under desks already checked three times.
Just as she was concluding she’d imagined it, there it was again - the tiniest noise but definitely a sniff and seemingly from the direction of the cupboard he couldn’t be in because the thumb turn bolt was still in the locked position.
Feeling like she was going crazy she unlocked the door and looked inside anyway.
Obviously it was empty. Her wishful thinking was wasting time. They needed to get a proper search party organised.
She turned to leave and heard it for a third time.
And it was that day, in her 5th year of teaching, she discovered just how small a ball a tall child could make themselves into. Seriously, the octopus had nothing on this kid.
The space was much smaller then, barely 30cm wide and only there at all because she’d taken out the long, thin box of baton-shaped sticks that had been wedged tightly in between stacks of who knew what. All she could see was a tangle of uniformed limbs and a mass of sweaty chestnut hair.
He obviously knew she was there and was holding his breath, clearly hoping not to be seen. Expecting to be in trouble.
Felicity picked up her phone and sent a quick “crisis averted” message to her TA and then, after ensuring the door was wedged wide open, she slowly lowered herself to the floor. Pulling her knees up to her chin to mirror his posture she rested her back on some boxes a few inches to the left of where he’d tucked himself away.
And she waited.
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#scott tracy#tiny Scott#adhd!scott#thunderbirds oc#wee!tracys#WIP whenever#idontknowreallywhy fanfic
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He has hover hands. Forever a gentleman lol
#pee wee herman#pee wee's playhouse#elvira#traci lords#pee wee's big adventure#paul reubens#cassandra peterson#gentleman#80smovies
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Knock knock:
Trick or Treat!
Lucy listened for the little giggles, before wiping her hands dry with a towel. She'd been making devilled eggs for a good part of the morning. And the kitchen sink and worktops were piled up.
She really needed to make a start on clearing and cleaning, but her sons were a big distraction.
"Who is it?" She called out in a sing song voice.
The giggles got louder, followed by a shush ...
... and a ...
"Sorry"
She paused, waiting for more noises, but nothing happened. So she opened the door.
"TRICK OR TREAT!"
Stood before her were three of her sons, all in home made costumes, although Gordon's octopus looked a bit ragged and falling apart, but he insisted on wearing it
Scott was nowhere to be seen, he'd decided that he was too 'grown up' to go trick or treating, so it was John being 'big brother' this time. And he took it VERY seriously.
The 'adult' accompanying them, was a rather sheepish looking Lee Taylor, who apologised for letting his nephews stuff themselves silly with candy.
And Virgil had thrown up everywhere, but still insisted on going out. He had tried to clean the kid up, because part of the costume was in a bag, ready to be washed or thrown away.
Whichever came first.
"So ..." Lee demanded, "... which one do you want? A trick or a treat?"
"You mean I have a choice?" She retorted, remembering their childhood where her brother was always pranking everyone.
"YuP!"
He popped the P with great emphasis.
"Okay then ... I'll go for ... TREAT!"
John, Virgil and Gordon all clapped excitedly, before Gordon handed her a half eaten, sticky toffee apple.
"Treat!" He exclaimed.
The weather started to turn, getting cold and chilly, the drizzle turned to rain. So she ushered everyone inside.
And blinked with surprise.
Standing at the sink, was Jeff, his arms elbow deep in soap suds, whilst Scott was drying the dishes and putting them away.
"Thought you'd appreciate this treat," Jeff explained with a wink, "than a sticky apple."
#happy halloween#trick or treat#wee tracys#thunderbirds are go#lucy tracy#lee taylor#scott tracy#john tracy#virgil tracy#gordon tracy#jeff tracy
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Friday night, I was rereading @gumnut-logic's Molly and @katblu42's Mini Molly, and today (Saturday), this happened. It’s just a bit of silliness, but I hope you enjoy it.
-o-o-o-o-
Molly Love
Virgil was hunched over his workbench, filing a refabricated piece for Thunderbird Two, when he heard a drawer on his tool chest slowly open. Glancing over his shoulder at the chest, he didn't see anything. Shrugging, he returned to his task.
A moment later, he heard a soft inhalation. Turning again, he didn’t see anyone at his tool chest. He frowned a second before an idea occurred to him. Quietly, he got down on his hands and knees, looking underneath the chest, through the casters.
On the other side of the tool chest was a pair of small sneakers attached to a stout pair of legs. Silently, Virgil stood and, unseen, made his way around to catch the small intruder unawares.
“Hello, pretty girl. How are you today?”
Standing directly behind the small child, Virgil could see he had opened Molly's drawer and was talking to his giant wrench.
A small hand was gently caressing the worn metal.
“Someday, I'm going to use you to work on Thunderbird Two when it's my bird. But until I’m big, Daddy says I mustn’t touch you because you are too heavy for me... Are you? You don't look heavy when Daddy uses you.”
Virgil’s heart swelled with love for his second son. Just when he couldn’t think of Alex being more adorably like him, the boy surprised him. He laid a gentle hand on the small shoulder.
“Molly doesn’t look heavy because I’m a grown-up, Alex.”
Small shoulders sagged. “I know, Daddy...but she’s so beautiful and useful...it’s not fair that I can’t use her.”
Virgil squatted and turned Alex to face him.
“I know, kiddo. I felt the same way when I found her in my grandpa’s tool chest.
“Molly belonged to your grandpa?”
“Grandpa Jeff’s daddy, yes. And to his father before him.”
Large blue eyes grew larger. “Wow…”
“She’s helped a lot of Tracys take care of their equipment...and I promise, someday, she’ll be yours.”
“Really, Daddy?” Alex’s face lit up with excitement.
Virgil chuckled. “Really, Alex.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “But in the meantime, I have something you can use.”
Virgil opened another drawer and removed something that was hidden by his large hand.
“Hold out your hand.”
“Do I need to close my eyes?”
Virgil considered this. “Hmmm...yeah, close your eyes.”
Alex closed his eyes tightly and held out both hands, all eager anticipation. His father suppressed a laugh, thinking back to a similar moment with his Grandpa Grant.
Virgil suddenly missed him very much. Realizing the import of this moment, the passing of a baton - erm wrench - from one generation to another, he gently laid the small wrench his grandpa had given him when he was six into his six-year-old’s hands.
He wiped his eyes and gruffly said, “Okay, open your eyes.”
Alex opened his eyes and looked at the object in his hands, his mouth forming a perfect O of delight. He looked at his father.
“Oh, Daddy! Molly has a baby!”
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