#thunderbirdes fanfic

[idontknowreallywhy]

Expert

I left a little idea hanging in this fic which really needed some investigation. And the muse finally returned on my commute yesterday so, while this isn’t my most well thought through or deviously plotted fic, the idea entertained me so I hope you’ll enjoy it too :) Wee Tracy fluff!

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“Scooooo-ooooott!!!!!”

“Scottyyyyyy?!!”

Don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic.

“You win, little man! You’re so clever! Can you come out now?”

A little bead of sweat tickled its way past Jeff’s eyebrow and he swiped at it impatiently. It was important to keep the panic out of his voice so he kept up the singsong tone:

“Where aaaare you, Bluejaaaay?”

He was missing something.

“Please come out now? Daddy needs a cuddle!”

He’d checked all the usual places. Twice.

“Do you want a snack, Scotty?”

Surely that would…?

“Snack time!!”

Nothing.

What was he missing?

Jeff Tracy was 3 months into being a stay at home Dad while Lucy was off being incredible at the university.

And while the first few days had been inevitably shaky, until this morning he’d been pretty confident he was nailing it.

Sure, he had to confess (and did so with a great deal of admiration most every evening) that he couldn’t work out how Lucy had been doing all this AND working remotely while he’d been up on Alfie. She’d just smile contentedly as he nuzzled her neck and reminded her she was a goddess walking on earth. Usually she would have denied this vehemently, but sharing a house with a child whose sleep-in-his-own-bed record was 30 mins 47 seconds meant neither was willing to waste a single moment on pointless humility…

Anyway, she clearly had Powers he did not.

For a standard issue human, however, he was doing ok. He’d read the toddler-wrangling manual cover to cover. His son, apparently, had not, but there were one or two tips that seemed to hold fairly true. Most of the time. But he was beginning to think he could write one of his himself, because while Dr Whatsherface might be an expert on the average toddler, Jeff Tracy was an expert on his own rather unique version.

Rule number one - never blink. The kid moves faster than sound.

Rule number two - Accessorise.

Jeff had taken to wearing combat pants with multiple pockets and thus perpetually had snacks, wet wipes and toy planes on standby. He had a tennis ball to hand at all times… turned out that what worked for a puppy sometimes worked for a two-year old too.

The squeaky chew toys were their little secret.

Yes, the key to his success was in the gadgets. The baby swing he’d fixed into the door frame had been a great way to enable the little whirlwind to let off steam while remaining in one place. The delighted squeals of “‘Cotty fwwwyyyy!!!” really brought a tear to the eye. The height and speed his child managed to achieve using the thing brought a slightly anxious twitch to the eye also, but it was all fine. He just needed to be close by enough to intervene…

He solved Going Out with a gadget too. Scott wasn’t really a pushchair kind of a guy but wasn’t yet able to appreciate that tugging his little hand out of his Dada’s and sprinting out into the traffic wasn’t ok. After a few days of hanging limp from it, 12 kilos of dead weight, in protest, Scott had eventually taken to the cunning harness-leash device which meant their little trips into town were less of an adrenaline rush. Marginally.

At some point Jeff was definitely going to get punched for barging his way through a crowd by some irate person who didn’t appreciate he was attached to a tiny rocket on a string.

But the main thing was he wasn’t getting lost. Or flattened.

Yep, Jeff was nailing this parenting thing.

Tying the kid down while he made a hasty trip to the bathroom had seemed a step too far, however. Scott had been enclosed in his supposedly escape-proof playpen, temporarily absorbed in nyoooming a plushie space ship from one duplo planet to another.

Jeff had been three minutes, tops. Barely 180 seconds.

Where could he go in 180 seconds??

He cursed himself for the rookie error of under-estimating his first-born and stood at the kitchen door, running through a mental checklist of all the places in which he had located his feral offspring to date.

Cupboards. Check.

Curtains. Check.

Top of bookcase, window sills, under the beds. Check check check.

On top of the big wardrobe in the master bedroom? One of spider-baby’s favourites that one. Check.

He’d looked there three times actually, nearly got himself wedged the third time as he clambered up and reached all the way to the back just in case his eyes were deceiving him and a cherubic blue-eyed menace was hiding in the shadows.

A face-full of cobwebs: No Scotty.

“Daddy’s getting pretty lonely out here, I wish you’d come and play with me!!”

The house wasn’t that big. Where on earth…?

The windows were still locked shut.

The front door was still shut. With the chain in place… even tiny Houdini couldn’t have put that back on behind him.

The back door was locked, key still on the hook.

So he couldn’t be outside.

So… no need to panic. Unless he was stuck or hurt somewhere and Jeff wasn’t with him!!

“SCOOOOOOOTTYYYYY?”

It had got to the stage where Jeff was doing ridiculous things like looking behind lamp stands and under cushions that were far too small to hide a human toddler, particularly one that moved so constantly he even vibrated in his sleep.

But there wasn’t anywhere left!!!

… or was there?

In desperation, Jeff pulled down the telescopic ladder and stuck his head into the attic-space, in case somehow his child had suddenly developed both the ability to fly and to pass through solid objects during those three unforgivable minutes of inattention.

Obviously Scott wasn’t there.

This was wasting time.

He retraced his steps to the kitchen, calling as he went.

“Scotty I really need you to come out now please? Daddy’s getting worried!”

The cupboard under the sink? It was big enough… The child-proof door closures should have made it impossible but this was Scott Tracy: Tiny master of impossible feats. Jeff really hoped he was wrong because if he’d got in there… where the cleaning things were kept…

“Scotty!”

He sped up and began to reach down as he covered the last few metres… then gasped as his foot slid from under him and he skated, flailing wildly, across the linoleum.

“Sco-aaaaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!!”

Jeff’s graceless ice dance was halted abruptly as he slammed head first into the fridge and crumpled to the floor.

Jars rattled.

Jeff’s teeth rattled.

The fridge said “Dada?”

Jeff’s ears said “riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing”.

The floor was sticky. Feeling a little hazy Jeff lifted a hand and sniffed it cautiously… cinnamon? What?

Wait.

Blinking the stars from his eyes Jeff, dragged himself to his feet and hauled the door open to find his son tucked neatly on to a high shelf, curled around a pie dish.

Jeff’s jaw dropped.

He snapped it closed it again and bit his lip lest any inappropriate words escape.

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

A chunk of apple fell from his little eyebrow and Jeff nearly burst a blood vessel trying to keep a straight face. Don’t reward the unwelcome behaviour with a reaction, the book had said. If he laughed now, Scott would only do similar again. And he needed to impress upon him that it wasn’t ok to hide away like this.

Or consume the majority of a family sized dessert by himself.

His lip twitched.

Jeff would have put serious money on the supposed expert never having anticipated this scenario.

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

Jeff covered his face and screamed silently into his palms. Then realised he had given himself a matching set of apple pie eyebrows.

Piebrows.

He snorted.

Scott snorted like a pig in response and burst into giggles, spraying pastry crumbs into Jeff’s hair.

Expert schmexpert.

Jeff laughed loud and Jeff laughed long. Scott giggled and clapped his sticky hands together then reached for Jeff with one of them, the other clutching the edge of the pie dish possessively.

“I think you’ve had enough pie, Bluejay, don’t you?” Jeff prised the little fingers free and realised his son’s skin was incredibly cold.

“Bloody hell, kiddo you’re freezing! Come ‘ere …” he plucked the small icicle from the shelf and hugged him close. “We’d best get you in a warm bath. What are you, Elsa?”

“Leddid gooooo!!! Leddid gooooooooo!!!” The little lad closed his eyes and waved a sticky fist in the air as he sang.

“Yes, son, let it go.”

Scott hid his last handful of pie behind his back and shook his head vigorously.

“No Dada!! ‘Cotty’s abble bie. Buddy ell, Dada! Oh no!”

Jeff swallowed hard. “Oh no” indeed.

Maybe he’d put a pin in the book idea, just for a little while.

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[pareidoliaonthemove]

What Are Little Girls Made Of

“How far to the lifesigns, Thunderbird Five?”

Virgil stopped the rest behind the ‘mini-Mole’, as he waited for his older brother to respond.

“About twenty meters, Two. You need to veer five degrees right, and one degree down. That will have you breaking through their air pocket at the corner diagonally opposite from their position.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five. Five degrees right one, one degree down. Moving out.”

Virgil keyed in the course change on his wrist controller, and activated the mini-Mole. With a high pitched squeal, the small ROV again started drilling into the concrete and rebar of the collapsed building. It captured all the detritus, mixed it with a quick setting binding agent, and extruded it against the ‘walls’ of its tunnel, ensuring that the resulting space wasn’t going to collapse immediately behind it.

Virgil eyed his wrist controller as he crawled after the machine. Time was still of the essence in this type of rescue. They hadn’t been able to ascertain exactly why the commercial complex had collapsed, and that made Virgil very unhappy.

In front of him, the mini-Mole chirruped, slowed its pace and drill, and pulled forward to show a hole in the ‘wall’ facing a void. Virgil activated his passive line to John, then crawled up to the entryway and cautiously poked his head through. “International Rescue. Is anybody here?”

Stupid question, he knew there were two human life-signs in this space, but the enquiry served multiple purposes. Firstly, it identified him, and stopped anyone from trying to brain him with a rock – it had happened. Trapped people panicked, and if they had fears about running out of oxygen, another person in ‘their’ space, breathing ‘their’ air was a threat that had to be ‘dealt’ with.

Secondly, it told him if the lifesigns were conscious. No conscious victim could resist responding to the magic words...

“International Rescue!”

And there it was. One of the two lifesigns was currently bouncing towards him, a little girl about seven years of age, rushing across the space, her pigtails streaming behind her, pink ribbons fluttering. Virgil watched carefully as he crawled into the space. She was moving freely, despite concrete dust liberally coating her body, and bloody red grazes on the sides of legs and palms of her hand. Her dress, once a pink frilly layered affair was now torn and lank.

She must have felt like a princess when she left her home this morning.

The little girl grabbed his hand and started trying to drag him back with her to the far corner. “You have to come, Mummy’s stuck! She can’t get out!”

“Judy! Calm.” The voice was laced with pain but firm and calming. Two conscious resucees. That was good.

Judy stopped her insistent dragging, but didn’t let go of Virgil’s hand. “Please, Mister International Rescue. My Mummy is stuck. Can you help her get out?”

Virgil smiled, it was a practised smile, confident and calm. “That’s why I’m here. Now, where is your mummy, and what is her name?”

A deep breath. “My Mummy’s name is Jennifer Robson. My name is Judy Robson. Mummy is over in that corner,” she pointed. “And her legs are caught under the roof. Mine were, too,” she added, “but I’m little so I managed to wiggle my way out. Mummy can’t.”

“Thank you, Judy. You’ve been very brave, and very helpful. Can you keep helping me by staying here, while I go and see what’s got your mummy stuck?”

A determined nod, but her fear was betrayed by small teeth gnawing at her lower lip and bright water gathering in her eyes.

Virgil smiled again, and lowered himself down beside her mother. “Mrs Robson?” he asked, it never hurt to check names with parents. Judy had spoken clearly, but a misunderstood name at a rescue site could have consequences later.

The woman smiled up at him from where she lay on her left side. “That’s right, please call me Jenny. It’ll save time.” A glance at her daughter. “It’s a bit more complicated than just being stuck. I think something’s gone through my left leg.” A frown. “My right leg is lying in front of the left, and I can move it freely, but…”

Virgil nodded. “Okay. I understand.” He pulled a device from the satchel he had been dragging under his chest, clipped to his harness. “This is a snake,” he showed Mrs Robson. “I’m going to slide it behind you, and it’ll let me see what’s holding you in place. Then I can come up with a plan to get you out.”

“That would be appreciated,” Jenny smiled.

Virgil eased his way behind her, and activated the snake, sending it slipping down next to her back, and relaying what it ‘saw’ to a little 2D screen on the control box.

He frowned at what he saw. A piece of rebar – entirely too thin for what it was presumably doing, he noted absently – had been freed from it encasing concrete, and had stabbed through Jenny’s left calf. He sent the snake bobbing down, to examine beneath.

They were in luck, the rebar had only just broken the skin, and hadn’t pinned her to the slab below. One cut, a slight jacking of the slab above her, and Jenny could be pulled out.

He informed Jenny as much, and then paused. Judy was sitting cross legged where he had left her, her apparent calm betrayed by the clean furrows tear tracks had carved down the concrete dust coating her face. He couldn’t send the little girl up the tunnel on her own, there were too many side branches that had been carved to reach other victims of the collapse. He couldn’t take her himself, and leave Jenny alone. And they really couldn’t afford the time to have one of his brothers come down and collect Judy, but she was still only young, and he didn’t really want her to see the state her mother was in.

Jenny saw where he was looking, and smiled. “If you’re worried about upsetting her with blood, you shouldn’t. Your biggest problem will be keeping her out of the way to wrap up a wound. Little girls come in two flavours, precious princesses who kick up and fuss at the mere mention of the word ‘blood’, or perfect little ghouls, who delight in it, and must be shown any wound the instant they learn of it.” She raised her voice so her daughter could hear. “Judy wants to be a doctor when she grows up, she is very interested in first aid and how to treat injuries. Judy the Ghoul, we call her.”

Judy perked up. “Oh, does Mummy need first aid? Can I help? I know how to apply bandages! Please, can I help? I’ll be super helpful!”

Virgil glanced at her mother, who was all but laughing at his confusion. “Judy, tell Mister International Rescue how you treat someone with a stab wound.”

“First, never ever ever take the object out of the wound. Take a bandage, and make doughnut, like this,” she held up both hands to make an ‘O’ shape, “slide it over the foreign object, and then wrap other bandages around it to keep in place.”

Virgil nodded approvingly. “Very good. That’s absolutely correct. First I’m going to have to get your mom out, and then we can do the first aid together, okay?”

A determined nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay, then, let’s get cracking.” He turned to his satchel, and pulled out a jack, setting it up, again behind Jenny, and then pulling out a version of Mini-MAX. This one programmed for exactly this kind of scenario, and kitted out with a miniature version of his shoulder mounted laser.

Virgil always had trepidations about ‘his’ Mini-MAX. It had taken Brains a lot of trial and error to tone down MAX’s natural enthusiasm. That coupled with a high powered laser had had … interesting results. International Rescue’s high energy equipment testing protocols and test chamber had both needed serious overhauling.

As was his habit, Virgil held his breath as Mini-MAX attached the heat absorbing shield, and activated his laser. But the little robot did his job perfectly, flying back out to his ‘travel’ case, leaving Jenny with a half-inch of rebar sticking out of her leg.

Virgil again held his breath as the jack slowly, so slowly, eased upwards just enough for him to slide Jenny out without jostling the rebar, and, once she was clear, slowly easing the slab back down to its original position.

As Virgil turned his attention to his charge’s injury, he found the little girl, kneeling beside her mother, her face mere inches from the ground, as she examined the injury with a bright-eyed intensity that made him just a little bit uneasy.

Gently pulling the girl, back he helped her sterilise her hands, and they both made a ‘doughnut’ out of bandages, and while Judy held them in place, Virgil started the binding bandage. He then turned to give Jenny painkillers, while keeping an eye on Judy as she completed the binding.

Quickly assembling the hover stretcher from its folded up state in his satchel, Virgil explained his evacuation plan to his patient and ‘assistant’. Jenny was soon installed on the stretcher, and strapped firmly in place, while Judy was more loosely strapped to her right side, so she could ‘monitor’ her mother on their trip to the surface.

Bringing the mini-Mole around to face back up its tunnel, Virgil tethered the hover stretcher to its back, and sent the Mole, the stretcher and its occupants trundling back towards freedom. Quickly packing up his remaining equipment, Virgil started crawling after the Mole, quietly confirming with John the condition of his rescuees and confirming that there was appropriate resources waiting for them top side, and that there was no-one else to pull from the wreckage of the building.

The trip back up passed quicker than had the one down, with Judy chatting happily to her mother, and then relaying regular ‘updates’ back to Virgil. The dying rays of sunlight bathing the scenery in reds and golds seemed unnaturally bright to Virgil as he crawled out of the hole, accepting Gordon and Scott’s help to stand upright again, and pull off his helmet. His back cracking as he straightened, but he bit back the groan as he twisted. That was just a bit too ‘old man’.

Ambulance crews, already briefed by John as to Jenny’s condition, and treatment already provided, had shifted her from the IR stretcher to their own gurney, and Judy was standing, watching intently as they took her vital signs, and unworriedly alternating between talking over, and talking to the little girl.

A woman, dressed in the ambulance’s uniform, drew Jenny away, and briefly examined the grazes on her legs and hands, and Virgil was briefly concerned that he had missed something in his haste to free the mother. But as the woman realised Virgil was watching, she offered a smile, and a thumbs up; and Virgil relaxed.

Beside him, Gordon nudged his arm, pressed an object into Virgil’s hand. It was one of the buttons Virgil had had made up, a test run of item he wanted to propose to Scott for distribution to kids at Danger Zone. A small button with a pin back. In the centre was the IR logo, an around it, in – naturally – Thunderbird Two Green was the words “I Was Brave For International Rescue”.

Virgil frowned at Gordon. These weren’t supposed to be here, but Gordon just nodded to Judy. “She’s earned it. Scott’s busy, go on, Virg.”

Virgil walked over, and knelt down beside Judy. “I wanted to thank you, Judy. You were very brave and very helpful back there.” He held up the button to her. “You’ve earned this. Can I pin it to your dress?”

Judy’s eyes went wide as she saw the button, and she nodded. Virgil reached forward, and very carefully pinned it to the dress, probably a bit high, it was near her collarbone. But Judy stared down at it a moment, before launching herself at Virgil and nearly strangling him with a hug. “Thank you, Mister International Rescue. Thank you for helping me and my Mummy.”

Virgil cautiously returned the hug, “Thank you, Judy.” A shout from the nearby ambulance had Judy’s caretaker gently pulling her away from Virgil and leading her away. Judy bounded as she went, pigtails streaming behind her. Back to her mother.

Twenty Years Later

Virgil lay back, watching the flickering pattern of light tiles rush past over his head. Whatever drugs they had given him on the way to the hospital were working a treat, what had been a fiery burning pain was now a dull throb, annoying but he could live with it.

A new body joined the lineup alongside his gurney, and Virgil turned his attention to the newcomer. A woman, about thirty, her long dark hair was caught in a plait, a pink ribbon incongruously woven into the braid, and formed the tie, candy pink scrubs that stuck out like a beacon amid the soft blues and teals.

A photo ID card at the end of the lanyard bounced about as she ran, and Virgil couldn’t make out then name, but recognised from the colour stripe along the right edge that the woman was an Emergency Department Trauma Surgeon. Attached to the lanyard, near her collarbone, was a pin, and Virgil strained to see it. He frowned, and reached up a hand to tug on the lanyard so he could get a closer look at the pin.

A IR blue clad arm reached about and caught his hand. “Hey, Virg, no grabbing. Hands to yourself, even when drugged, bro.”

There was a laugh, and the woman pulled off the lanyard one handed, and held the pin for his inspection. It was an old button, faded from exposure to light, but Virgil instantly recognised it. Scott had quickly forbidden them when he had found out, but the IR logo in the centre, and the words, “I Was Brave For International Rescue” ran around the edge in Thunderbird Two Green was unmistakable.

A name came to him, an image of a cement dust covered little girl in torn pink dress and pigtails, peering in fascination at the rebar piercing her mother’s leg. “Judy the Ghoul,” he said, voice slurring.

Above him, Judy – Doctor Judy – laughed. “That’s me. I’m honoured you remembered me.”

Virgil lay back and closed his eyes. “Never forgot. Little girls are ghouls. Important lesson t’ learn.” He opened his eyes. “My little girls are even worse. Had’ta keep infirmary locked. Was tryin’ to play ‘doctor’.”

She laughed again, turning her attention to his lower body. Virgil really didn’t want to know what she was seeing. Feeling what had happened was bad enough. A thought. “Did y’ Mum keep th’ leg?”

“No,” was the absent reply. “Sepsis infection at the hospital meant she lost her leg, at the knee. She has a prosthesis; reckons it’s the best thing that ever happened to her. Says it reduced her footache by fifty percent.”

She turned back to Virgil. “But I’m afraid we’ll not be reducing your footache, Mr Tracy. But if you can be very brave and helpful, we’ll have you back rescuing little girls from collapsed buildings in no time.”

Virgil smiled, as half of the people surrounding him, including his brother, fell away, and he was propelled through double doors into the gleaming sterility of a surgical theater. “I look forward to it.”

Notes:

I have five nieces, aged between ten and two. Any bandages or bandaids must be immediately removed for them to inspect the damage. Ghouls. The lot of them. Unless it’s their blood!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the TOS or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[niffler-gold]

Burning

Just a short injury fic focused on Scott with some comfort thrown in.

His muscles burned in agony as he tried to get up this morning. Apparently doing two mountain rescues back to back with a lot of climbing followed by rigorous water training led by Gordon did not agree with his muscles. Still nothing a hot shower and some stretching wouldn't fix.

He slowly pulled his legs over the side of the bed and stretched up towards the ceiling his joints loudly cracking to show their disdain at being moved from their current position. He quickly pulled on his running gear and was about to head out before his hot shower. Leaving his room he could already hear Gordon furiously swimming in the pool at this early hour.

Just as he was heading down the stairs to start his early morning routine John popped up on his com. He groaned internally before answering, knowing his hot shower was going to have to wait. "What's the situation John", he asked, ever the professional. "Another climber got into difficulties". Scott paused before answering, "That is the third one in less than 2 days, what are these people thinking, we should start charging for these at least that might be a deterrent", he rambled on. John cut him off before he could get any further, "even so this guy does need our help", he paused for a second before continuing, "it's an unusual one, he was climbing a large cliff face when he said the cliff seemed to move under him, next thing he knew all of his belay wall clips started pinging undone and he fell around 50 metres getting tangled in the line as he went... The unusual thing is I haven't detected any seismic activity around that area nor does it have any implications in the surrounding geology that any seismic activity has taken place in the last 100 years. "He's probably just imagining it and didn't secure his clips properly enough", grumbled Scott in response. "Could be" replied John, "but I did a quick background check on this guy and he's been climbing professionally for about 30 years and has never called us or any local rescue teams out to aid him before." "Hmmmm, that is odd" pondered Scott. "I'll take 1 alone, no need to wake up the bear this early for a pickup.. see you in the sky thunderbird 5", "fab scott, safe flight" and with that John had disappeared and Scott was running towards one's launch shoot to gear up.

Sitting in the pilot's chair of one he slowly tried to stretch his burning muscles out once more but to no avail. He really could have done with that hot shower he thought to himself. Nevermind it could wait. "Approaching the danger zone now thunderbird 5" he called through the coms. "Fab thunderbird 1" John called back through to him. He tried one last futile time to stretch his muscles out before coming into land at the bottom of the cliff face.

After exiting one and surveying the scene before him he knew the best option was going to be to climb up after the man rather than using the jet pack due to the unknown unstable condition of the rock face. Thankfully he could use the grapple gun in order to get up there with speed as the man looked to be hanging on his side completely covered in rope. With precision he fired the grapple into a secure spot of the wall and started his accent.

His limbs were once again burning with the strain of the climb by the time he had reached the man. But still he kept face and called out to the dangling climber. He quickly learned that the man's name was Ben and started trying to secure him to a new line before tackling the rope that was binding him. Luckily Ben seemed unharmed apart from a little bit of rope burn where it had dug in and caught him.

Ben kept chatting to him as he worked and he soon found out he was a seasoned mountain rescue operative on a holiday as he called it to get a little alone time. It was definitely something that Scott would have done if he ever had more than a few hours to himself and he kept wondering how the climber had managed to get himself in such a bind. Soon enough though Ben was free and was back secured against the wall. However before Scott could lower Ben down back to the ground again they had to get his gear cut down so they didn't tangle up with it on their way down.

As Ben was helping him sort it out he noticed something odd. One of the belay wall clips looked chard and burnt and the rope around said clip was in similar condition. He looked at Ben and asked if his equipment was this damaged when securing it to the wall. Ben confirmed it most definitely was not in that condition, then he noted that when assessing the rope to be cut down back to the ground, that would of been the clip that failed when the cliff started moving. This puzzled Scott even more.

Once the gear and ropes had been safely thrown back down to the ground Scott got ready to lower Ben down to safety. But before he could he asked Ben if he knew whereabouts on the wall that the burnt clip had been secured. His Tracy senses were tingling alarmingly but not in a good way at all. Ben said it looks like it was the clip about 10 meters above them, so Scott decided he needed to take a look before returning to the ground. Scott slowly lowered ben back down to solid ground before slowly climbing to the spot Ben had previously pointed out to him.

He quickly found the spot where the clip had been as a small black spot protruded out of the crack where the clip had been secured. Small cracks could also be seen in the burnt section of the wall. He slowly felt around inside the small fisher to see what could have caused the damage as nothing natural would do this type of carnage. His fingers slowly curled around something metallic small and sharp. He cautiously pulled it out and held it to the light to better examine it. He could just make out the chaos crew logo.

His hand flew up to his com button to alert John but in a split second a fireball had engulfed a section of cliff high above him to his right. An ear splitting explosion suddenly came from his left much nearer to him than the first. He started rappelling down the cliff as fast as his equipment would take him. Another explosion just above him and he could feel the heat lick the side of his face. It had detonated where he had just been a second before. Next thing he knew he was falling. The explosion had dislodged his grapple.

He fell as fire and debris surrounded him on all sides. He fumbled with a new grapple cartridge, discarding the old one out of the gun and fired. The line caught him less than 10 meters from the ground. Before he had a chance to get moving again a last fireball explosion detonated just below his right leg.

He was lying on the ground his ears ringing. He could see smoke floating all around him as his vision swam. His right leg was numb with scalding pain shooting all around it. His vision swam when he tensed it unknowingly. He could hear muffled movement round him someone shouting his name. The next time his eyes peeled open against the heat a figure loomed over him. He seemed to be yelling something but it sounded so far away. Green and blue swam in his vision as he lost consciousness once again.

He could hear low murmuring voices all around him. His head swam with confusion. He could feel soft cotton sheets wrapped around him and the tell tale sting of an IV line inserted into his left arm. His body felt numb and his right leg had an odd feeling of coolness about it. Gingerly he opened one eye to figure out what was going on.

He was greeted with the sight of all his brothers sitting around the bed he had been put in. He heard a low chorus of Scott being said around the room as his eyes adjusted to the light of the room. He felt a hand on his and saw Virgil gently holding it looking like he hadn't slept in over a week. "What happend" he gently asked looking at his little brother in the eyes. His voice came out quite horse and raspy much to his surprise. "The chaos crew" Virgil replied quietly and solemnly. Suddenly the images of the rescue and the carnage that had surrounded him came back into his mind. "How bad he asked" still looking at his brother. It was John who answered instead on the opposite side of his bed. "Unconscious for 3 days, bruised ribs and a definite concussion..." He seemed to trail off towards the end. Scott knew he was avoiding telling him something but before he had a chance to enquire further Gordon finished off for John. " Your right leg", he stated nervously. "When we found you it was blackened and chard, your uniform was missing and the parts that were still there were fused into your skin". "The doctors managed to save it though" he said cheerfully trying his hardest to lighten the mood. Alan chose this moment to interject, "you've had multiple skin grafts and surgeries to assist with its healing, for now it's got to stay in the specialty brace to keep it healing and healthy." So that's why, he thought to himself, it felt slightly cold.

He could already feel the sleep tugging at his eye lids as he looked at his brother's noticing how worried and anxious they all seemed to look. Virgil gently brushed the hair back of his forehead, "sleep Scotty" he gently whispered as everything started going black again.

A month later and Scott was sitting at his father's desk keeping an eye out on the rescue that the rest of his brothers were on. He still was on crutches as he wasn't allowed any weight on the leg just yet. The brace that surrounded it kept it nice and cool though.

He thought back to that morning where all he wanted was a nice hot shower but had decided to go running instead. He should have just had the shower he thought to himself. At the moment all he was allowed was a gentle cold shower due to his injuries. He sighed to himself knowing it was still gonna be a little while until he could have the hot water pouring down his skin.

"SCOTT WHAT ARE YOU DOING", yelled Virgil having just materialised on the holo projector in the middle of the room. "What" Scott replied with his cocky grin on his face. "I'm sitting down" he tried not to laugh at the expression on Virgil's face. "You are meant to be elevating that leg, not sitting at the desk". Well at least some things never changed.

[m-calculus]

A Cozy Evening

Scott ran his fingers through the silky fur of the puppy sleeping with its head on his lap. He leant back, letting his body sink into the plush sofa.

Puppy sitting wasn’t his usual gig, but when one of his old Air Force buddies had put out the SOS looking for a sitter at the last minute due to a family emergency, International rescue was always ready to help.

Scott used his free hand to lift a pumpkin-shaped mug with warm hot chocolate to his lips, taking a large sip. He pulled the crochet blanket over his lap, as the fire crackled in the grate.

Sure there were messes to clean up, the puppy was not yet toilet trained, but he smiled as the puppy twitched in its sleep; no doubt dreaming about their game of tug-of-war earlier in the evening.

[waty-art]

Thunderbirds Are Go Fanfiction

Hi, Thunderbirds fans! Thank you all so much for being amazingly nice and supportive on my Thunderbirds Fanfiction!

I’m thinking of doing another fanfic of the Tracy brothers, but this time a western au series of one shots. Would anybody read it?

[willow-salix]

So erm... I was just on Ao3 looking for your fic but I couldn't find it...

Because you haven't written it yet.

Better get on that.

And yes, I'm calling myself out here too.

[feet010]

Write x reader fanfic for Scott Tracy or else.😠

GIFS/PICS AREN'T MINE

[melmac78]

OK… read this prompt by @call-me-casual and decided to give John a break for a bit before the USS Lexington story continued.

Hope you enjoy.

••••••••

Scott groaned as he came to his senses.

He wasn't sure where he was or what was going on...

"Wasn't I on a mission?" he thought groggily.

As he became more conscious, he realized that it wasn't the sound of birds and gentle ocean waves at home.

It was the roar of Thunderbird One.

That woke him up... but at the same time... he felt like he couldn't move.

There was a bitter licorice aftertaste to his mouth, his head felt like cotton.

It was only the faint memory of this occurring before in Thunderbird Four that he realized what happened.

He had been drugged... by the ship using its Omicron protocol.

Scott opened his eyes, head still bowed though.

A light was flashing on the console… in Morse code his still fuzzy mind recognized.

"TB1 - taken - over - by - AI - STOP - Put - on - helmet - STOP - Will - explain - in - helmet."

Well, if that wasn't an alert, Scott mused.

He then heard a voice, not unlike John's permeate his ears.

"Alert - enemy is conscious. Omicron protocol activated."

That wasn’t calm assurance, and something said “do it this time.”

Scott didn't hesitate at that internal order - especially as a hiss shortly followed.

He held his breath and grabbed the emergency air mask underneath his seat.

Putting it on, he quickly unbuckled and went for his helmet.

Thunderbird One didn't like that, and tried to shake him.

Scott crashed into multiple walls, including the one with an intake that looked like a lemon squeezer. "Definitely a squeeze," he mused internally as he picked up his helmet.

Putting it on, he turned on the radio to a frequency even EOS didn't know how to reach - herself at least. "Thunderbird One to anyone." He said in a not quite calm tone as he worked to get back to his chair.

Sitting in it, and buckling tight, he looked at the controls. "That can't be right," he said looking at the coordinates.

He last remembered being in Crook County, Wyoming finishing up aiding a trapped hiker rescue at the top of a fiery Devil's Tower.

Readouts said he was flying over Almaty, Kazakhstan.

A tenor voice pestered his voice. "Scott... Scott do you read?" said John.

The eldest narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you're John?" he said.

There was a sigh - probably with rolled eyes, as the middle brother spoke. "Tuesday Alan and Gordon decided to send me up a burger that was nothing but pickles in my from home gift... along with two dozen of Grandma's Sweet Onion cookies - that I said were good because she managed to keep them soft," he said.

Scott paused, then nodded. "You're ... you,” he said relieved, “A moment ago you tried to render me unconscious.”

A uncommonly heard cat like growl from John filtered his ears. "I didn't - it was One," he said and continued after Scott's puzzled grunt. "You were on your way home from the rescue when EOS reported you lost consciousness. I did a scan and found Omicron had been administered."

"Wouldn't that mean she goes back to GDF or home?" he said, remembering the protocol. "I just passed Almaty."

"For the fourth time,”John said and heard Scott's grunt of confusion. “You were unconscious for about an hour.”

“An hour?”

“The AI kept using the protocol if you started coming around. It just didn’t catch it now - thankfully.”

Scott groaned, knowing he’d have a headache eventually. “WHY is it doing that though?”

The space brother then coughed, which Scott knew he'd not like hearing this. "The AI Brains created for One thinks you are the hiker who kicked her... snuck aboard TB1, and sedated - maybe harmed or worse - ‘Scott’ after a fight.”

"That explains Omicron," said Scott, who did a double take. "Wait... it was the reverse - I sedated him after he tried punching me. He went with the authorities…”

“… I know. The facial ID glitched and - as the hiker has a similar look to you, it got confused.”

There was a shudder by One as two thumps sounded from the front. "What was that Five?”

John didn’t miss the - fair enough - panic in the tone, "Thunderbirds Three and Two just lassoed One. We're trying to get her to slow down before she runs out of fuel,” he said.

"Right..." Scott tried to play it cool. but was indeed panicked.

Based on fuel load, One could circle the globe 6 times, so they had two rotations to stop her before...

Then a baritone voice, similar to Virgil's dwarfed the conversation in the helmet.

“Please do not be alarmed. You have 30 minutes of air left in Scott's air tank before you will crash and die," it said. "It would be easier on you if you were unconscious for it. A mercy given you hurt Scott.”

The real Virgil's voice however filtered in Scott's helmet. "Hey, I'd *never* tell someone to deal with that skunky stuff," he said, much to Scott's mild amusement.

The engineering brother continued. "John and EOS are trying to get the AI to listen to us, and Brains is working on a failsafe code to fix the face scanner,” he said. “Alan and I have securely lassoed One just in case she tries to crash herself."

"As if I didn't need anything else," muttered Scott, facepalming over the mask. "What can I do?"

"Sit as calm as you can - I know... I know ... too difficult, but try," said Virgil. "If you can, talk to it. It seems to like to be our voices."

"FAB," said Scott and leaned back. "So... why are you doing this?"

"I must protect Scott," “Virgil” said.

"By rendering Scott unconscious?" said the pilot. When it chirped in confusion, he continued. "Check my face again - I'm Scott."

"No. You are the hiker who harmed him," the voice, now sounding like Alan said.

"No - again I’m Scott..." he said, deciding the next thing he did would be worth the ironic lecture from John.

“I'm going to take off my helmet and hold my breath... Please use the scanner again - twice if necessary - to see that it's me,” he said, ignoring the others’ protests.

The man took a deep breath and pulled his helmet off. The AI scanned him, and based on how much his lungs were begging him to take a breath of anesthetic gas and oxygen, twice.

Fortunately, the AI recognized it was Scott.

"You're Scott," it said in Virgil's voice as Scott quickly put the helmet back on, gasping for air. “Where is the person who sedated you?"

"The hiker who kicked you in spite is with the authorities - not here," said Scott said, trying to placate the AI.

"But it still tried to kill you and me... it hit sensitive components," "John" responded. "It's since escaped and had two ships try to bind me. I will destroy them if they do not let go."

Scott winced as the AI spun One, which would affect Two more than Three.

When it stopped, Scott contacted the other two 'Birds. Alan said he was all right as his cockpit was designed to take spins, while Virgil admitted he was a little dizzy but he and TB2 were unharmed.

Scott then looked around his ship, hoping it wasn't going to be a tomb. "Listen, they’re not with the creep. These two are trying to bind you because they want to protect me too," he said.

"Protect you?" said AI, now choosing to be in Gordon's voice. "I protect you."

"Yes, like you do... and I do you every rescue," he said, then took a deep breath. "But those two ships? They're Thunderbirds Two and Three. They're trying to slow us down because you're doing loops around earth. If you keep doing it, you'll run out of fuel and crash."

The AI hummed a bit in John's vocals and commented. "But - won't people such as the hiker go and hurt you again?" it said.

Scott pursed his lips, thinking how to respond. He didn't want to give the honest answer, as he was afraid she'd just crash One into a city, causing countless deaths in injuries.

But he couldn't lie either.

So he chose the straightforward route. "One - I can't say they will or won't. You know we're in a rescue business. There's always the chance there will be a distraught person or criminal who will attack me for many reasons," he said.

“And me?”

“Yes, you too because you’re a very special ship,” he said, then sighed. "The point is - I know that when I go on rescues, when my brothers go on rescues, you - Two, Three, Four and Five - do your absolute best to protect us."

He just read the coordinates for Almaty again... he hoped this last part would hit home.

"Just - please - Brains is working on a way to help you better discern an annoyed rescuee versus someone who really wants to harm or kill us, such as the Hood," he said, and heard Gordon's ironic grumble in response as it pondered.

Scott continued pleading. "Just please protect me, Alan, Virgil and countless others by slowing down before we all get hurt?"

There was a pause - making Scott feel as though he was probably going to have to decide if he just accepted being drugged again so he felt nothing - including guilt - when One elected to crash.

Instead... he felt the ship slow down, and a chirp from the AI.

"Understood. I am letting Two and Three assist me back to the Island," said "John's" voice as the real John and other brothers cheered in relief in Scott's helmet. "Omicron protocol disengaged."

Scott however smiled as he felt the craft turn around. "Thank you One. Can you tell me when the gas will disperse," he said.

"In about 20 minutes, but you will be home before then," said "John." "Recommend you wear the helmet until you arrive, and any family who may come near the ship to wear gas masks.

Scott nodded and leaned back, knowing that his brothers would safely fly his 'Bird - and him - home safely.

Besides - he needed a bit of a snooze.

Then the AI chirped. "Um... Scott, one question."

"Name it."

"Can I change my voice to something other than your brothers?" it said. "I do not like any of them."

The pilot chuckled. "You can try any voice you want - for as long as you want," he said, yawning slightly from the last vestiges of the gas. "As long as you remember my voice and double check to make sure I'm all right first before enacting protocols again."

"FAB - rest easy - my colleagues and I will get you home safely - as always."

[sailing-on-a-puddle]

The Pyrophone

@thalassastra and @janetm74 said on a post ages ago that they would like to see Virgil play a pyrophone. I can't make that happen because I can't draw, but here's a fic about it instead :-)

I posted this a couple of weeks ago as a WIP Wednesday and lots of you were very nice about it, so I hope you enjoy the ending. It's written in the TAG universe but there's a TOS reference in it.

Very minor warning that a pyrophone works on small controlled explosions in glass tubes. Otherwise no warnings at all.

_______________________

“Good evening Mr Tracy. I'm Sophie and I'm going to be your guide this evening.”

“Hi Sophie. Please call me Scott. And this is my brother Virgil.”

Scott gestured towards Virgil, who was admiring a large model train set for sale in the museum shop area near where they were standing. 

“Hi Sophie” Virgil replied, suddenly paying attention. “Perhaps you could show us our dad’s space section first?”

“Yes of course” Sophie nodded at Virgil, turned round and started walking towards the entrance to the museum galleries. Scott and Virgil followed her. She was a petite woman, about their age with a bright red bob.

Scott was so pleased the museum had created an exhibition for Dad’s collection from his space missions. They had so many artefacts from the missions stored on Tracy Island, and Scott was keen to display them to inspire a new generation of space enthusiasts. The museum’s offer had been excellent, to display the items alongside interactive exhibits in a large space. Now they’d invited Scott to check he was happy with it before it opened.

Scott had no particular idea why Virgil had wanted to come along too, especially since it would have usually been Alan and John with the particular space interest. Virgil usually left these things to Scott but he seemed interested and Scott wasn’t about to quiz his adult brother on his reasons.

Sophie showed them the exhibit and both brothers were really pleased. Scott said as much to Sophie, who replied that was what the museum did best, bringing objects to life and explaining their current and historic relevance whilst displaying the originals.

Scott noticed that although Sophie was polite, she clearly wasn't a space enthusiast or had a particular interest in speed. He wondered why she’d been allocated this job in particular, since clearly somebody with more energy for the topic had set up the exhibition. 

He thought about saying that to Virgil, but then he knew what Virgil would say, you think she’s unenthusiastic because she’s not flirting with you.

The in-his-head Virgil was probably right.

After about an hour Scott and Virgil both agreed that they'd seen everything they needed. “Thank you so much for giving up your time this evening Sophie. Virgil and I have seen all we need to see. The exhibition is fantastic and I hope Alan can join you for opening day next week.”

 “Oh” Sophie looked confused. “Have you changed your mind?”

Scott looked at her with a blank look, and Sophie's face changed to crestfallen. “I just … I was told Mr Tracy would like to play the pyrophone and I …” Sophie trailed off and looked at the floor as Virgil walked over.

“There's more than one Mr Tracy” Virgil said with a knowing smile.

Sophie paused for a moment, then processed the meaning and her face lit up. “Oh fantastic. I just need to turn the valve on the gas pipe and run the checks. I've put in colour salts for the notes, I hope you don't mind. I rather like the colours in the tubes” she said with a slight blush.

“Even better” Virgil replied. 

Scott was still confused, but one question stood out. ‘Gas pipe?’

“Yes” Sophie said, as if the need for this was obvious. “It’s a pyrophone, your brother can’t play it without the gas to make the notes. Come on through and you can read about how it works before we hear it. I’m so excited for this, I’m learning to play but I’m struggling with the bass clef.”

Scott found himself following Virgil and Sophie through a hallway to a different room. Sophie was now talking extremely quickly in an animated fashion about shaping glass and Virgil seemed fascinated. 

There were two musical instruments in the room which resembled church organs. Both had keyboards, but the pipes were made of glass. One was stored in a huge glass case and was obviously very old. The other looked fairly new and had a stool in front of the keyboard ready to play.

Scott scanned the information board between the two instruments. It said they were both pyrophones, which made musical sounds by having small explosions within the glass tubes. The shape of the tubes and exact position of the tiny explosion made the musical sound. 

Scott looked over at Virgil, who had produced some sheet music from somewhere and was grinning with excitement. Sophie had disappeared.

“Virgil!” Scott whispered.

“Yes?”

“Is this safe?”

“Very safe. I’ve checked all the designs and it works perfectly. Automatic cut off switches are on the instrument and the gas supply. There's fire suppressors in the room.”

“And you really want to play this thing?”

“Yes! It’s magnificent. Look at the precision involved in the engineering of the glass. The tubes will light up with colour. The sound is unique …”

“Of course it’s unique! Nobody is going to put a fire breathing musical instrument in their house are they?”

Virgil used the full force of his eyebrows to scowl at Scott and folded his arms. “We have a rocket under ours.”

No further replies were given because Sophie reappeared. The professional instinct to never argue in front of a rescuee kicked in, even though nobody needed rescuing. Scott hoped they all didn’t need rescuing soon from an instrument invented by the 1860’s incarnation of Langstrom Fischler. 

“Everything is ready” Sophie announced, beaming. 

“Thank you Sophie.” Virgil turned and sat at the instrument without looking at Scott again.  

Scott wondered how long it would take him to fly One here remotely. Then again, he could sit and catch up with his admin. He was so behind with so many things recently, so many people needed rescuing. He’d been so hopeful about the GDF’s rescue robots giving them a break but it hadn’t happened. 

Virgil was always telling him he should take a break anyway, so he sat in a comfy chair in the corner of the room, found his phone from his pocket and resolved to sort through the endless messages staff at Tracy Industries hadn’t been able to deal with.

He didn’t read them. Not that night anyway.

Virgil began to play the pyrophone and Scott admitted Virgil had been right. The Pyrophone did sound like nothing he’d heard before. It was a soft sound despite how it was being made, and when Scott looked up rainbows were being created in the tubes with the colour salts Sophie mentioned earlier. 

He put his phone down and watched and listened. Virgil was playing his own version of ‘Dangerous Game’ a song Kayo and Gordon particularly liked and played endlessly. Scott had no idea who the artist was, for which Gordon constantly reminded him that he was old and not cool. 

Virgil’s version was better. If that was not cool so be it.

Another thing Virgil had been right about was his need to have a rest. A rest didn’t mean doing paperwork. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat and listened to his brother play, or managed to watch a whole film with his family without feeling that he should be doing something else. 

A notification popped up on his phone, which he resolutely ignored. If anybody needed rescuing a holographic John would appear, so whatever it was could wait.

Virgil had moved onto a jazz tune that Scott didn’t know by name but he knew he’d heard Virgil play on the piano. 

Scott pulled up the low table near the chair, put his feet up on it, slouched down in his chair, shut his eyes and listened to the music with a warm feeling inside. Yes, Grandma would have killed him for doing that in public, but the museum was only open for him and his pyrophone-playing brother.

A scraping suddenly made him jump. Sophie had pulled up another chair, put her own feet on the table and was holding out a bucket of popcorn for him. He smiled and took a handful.

Not quite popcorn with an action movie, but wow he needed this. 

[dreamcubed]

london boy | fred weasley x reader

song; london boy [taylor swift] pairing; fred weasley x fem!american!thunderbird!reader genre; s2l, fluff word count; 3,1k timeline; post-second wizarding war au (fred lives) warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption summary; after taking the plunge and moving across the world, you are unsure of how to form a new social circle and support system. it appears there was no need to worry, as you soon meet a charming man who runs a joke shop with his twin brother

a/n; this was actually suggested by an anon! sorry it took a couple months to write

masterlist

"babe, don't threaten me with a good time."

———————————————

The Second Wizarding War, while primarily occurring in battles throughout the United Kingdom, was something that had put the global wizarding world at stake. The United States were no exception, and as a recent graduate of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you decided to wander across the pond to the country where the liberty of witches and wizards was saved. That, and you had no other plans for the course of your life.

You worked for the first year after your graduation in order to save up money for the move, but you were pleased to say you had finally stepped foot in England: specifically, Diagon Alley.

It was where you had managed to rent a small flat from, as arranged thanks to your mother having connections in the area as a result of her travels back in the day. You were beyond excited to meet new people and settle into a new life.

But you did need a job.

Your savings would suffice for a few months, which would hopefully give you sufficient time to secure an income - key word, hopefully. First on the agenda, however, was exploring your new local area to see if you could make new friends early doors.

And so you found yourself stood outside a completely buzzing joke shop, after visiting the local bakery and book shop. The name of shop was written in gold: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Chadwick, that was a tongue twister - fitting, you supposed.

You pushed open the door to be greeted by both the bell tinkling above you and the sound of laughing children (and even adults) in all corners of the establishment. A smile pulled its way on to your face as you began walking towards the nearest display table, covered in enchanted prank items. You picked up what appeared to be a normal whoopie cushion, and began examining it.

"Looks normal, but is in fact quite the opposite," a British voice in your left ear caught you off guard, making you quickly turn to be greeted by a tall ginger-haired man, "First of all, it camouflages once it's set down, so anyone who's smart enough to check their seats before sitting down can't catch you out."

You stared blankly at the man.

"Second, it doesn't just make a fart sound, it produces the whole package," he grinned, "A hyper realistic fart smell - and even a greenish smoke if the person sits down with a lot of force."

You came to your senses and smiled, putting the cushion delicately back down. "I'm guessing you're Weasley?"

"One of them," he nodded, "There's two others - one of them fresh out of Hogwarts."

You hummed.

"And I was gonna ask why I don't recognise you from school, but I think your accent gives me the answer."

"Yep, I'm an Ilvermorny grad."

"First time in Britain?"

You nodded, "So far, I love it."

He grimaced, "Depends where you go, Diagon Alley gives you an idealistic impression. How long you here for?"

"Indefinitely."

"Oh?" he quirked an eyebrow, "You're living here?"

"As of today," you smiled, "Y/N. Y/N L/N."

"Fred Weasley," he replied, "Allow me to be your first friend in this foreign country."

You giggled at his feigned poshness.

"What are your plans for work?" he asked, beginning to walk away. Instinctively, you began following him.

You shrugged, "I don't know. Haven't thought that far ahead."

"Oh?"

"I have some money saved while I settle in and find a job."

"That's good," he nodded.

"Have you always wanted to run a joke shop?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah. Always," he said with a smile, "Me and my twin brother, George, have loved pranks since we were kids."

You raised an eyebrow, "Twin?"

"Identical - well, used to be. He has a missing ear now so no one ever mixes us up anymore. Sad, really."

You didn't have to ask how he lost the ear.

"Our younger brother, Ron, decided to join us too. Although I don't think it's a childhood dream of his."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Six."

Your eyes widened, "Six?"

"Five brothers, one sister."

"Your poor sister."

"Well, she's not doing too bad for herself. She's just starting her quidditch career and she's dating none other than Harry Potter so," he shrugged.

"You know Harry Potter?"

He laughed, "Well, I went to school with him, so yeah. Although I suppose I am a bit closer than normal as Ron's his best mate and my sister's dating him. He actually helped fund the start of this very establishment."

"That's cool."

Fred beamed at you, "Wanna grab a coffee after my shift?"

***

"So, yeah, that's how I ended up losing my virginity to a no-maj," you finished off, sipping on your piccolo, "Poor guy doesn't know he lost his to a witch."

"How do you know it was his first time?" Fred chuckled, sat opposite you, having been intently listening to the story.

"Because he started crying afterwards saying how God was never gonna forgive him for not saving himself for marriage," you said through stifled laughter.

By this point, Fred was practically cackling.

"Honestly, I took it as a compliment. I'm sexy enough to get a guy to suspend his beliefs for a couple hours."

"Not surprised about that," he gave the slightest of smirks to you.

You stopped laughing, suddenly feeling flushed and embarrassed.

"You told a guy you just met how you lost your virginity and only now you get shy?"

You scoffed, "I didn't realise there were rules around when I'm allowed to get shy."

Fred shrugged, "There should be- by that I mean, you should have to do it more. You're cute when you're shy."

You couldn't help your lips from stretching into a grin.

"Oh, shit, is that the time?"

"What?"

"I agreed to meet some of my brothers and friends for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron."

"Oh-"

"Wanna come?" he quickly asked.

You frowned, "I don't wanna intrude."

"Don't be silly, I grew up on a 'the more, the merrier' policy."

"Well, if you're sure- fuck it."

***

"Fred, there you are!" a voice rang out from the bar, where a group of guys were gathered.

"Where you been, mate?" a man identical to Fred (save for a missing ear) said.

"If you'd been at the shop today, you'd know."

George, the name you remembered from Fred's many stories, laughed, "I'm just teasing. Ron told me," he nodded his head towards one of the other ginger men in the group. That was when he turned to look at you. "So, you're the mysterious lady Freddie disappeared off with."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N."

"Ooh, accent!" the man who had initially called out to you both said.

"Alright, alright. Y/N, that's Lee there, this is my twin, George- obviously. Over there is Ron, Wood, and one of my older brothers, Bill."

They all greeted you.

"So, where in America you from?" Bill asked.

***

Some way, some how, many firewhiskeys later you found yourself laughing your ass off with a bunch of guys you had only met a few hours ago. You were drunker than the rest of them, that was for sure, as despite US drinking laws not having stopped you from drinking to drunkenness before, they still meant you had had less opportunity to do so. Thus, your tolerance wasn't good.

At some point during the evening, your group had migrated from the bar to a larger table in the corner, where you sat with Fred's arm around you.

"Oh, come on, Ron, you have to admit it's a little ironic that your girlfriend is on her way to be the next Minister of Magic meanwhile you run a joke shop," George said through wheezes.

Ron's expression suddenly went solemn, "How could you say that to me?"

Everyone went silent for a few moments, until Ron erupted in laughter again with everyone else swiftly following. You found it even funnier that the jokes weren't actually funny anymore: you all were just plastered.

As the laughter died down again, you turned to Fred at your side, "I like your friends."

"Better not like 'em more than me," he said, "I know it's only been a day but I'd like to think I've already called dibs on you."

"Called dibs on me?"

"Yeah, well, dibs on being the first British guy you date."

You grinned, "That's up to you to make it happen, London boy."

"I'm not even from London," he retorted.

"Eh, tomato, tomato."

***

How things ended up well past midnight with you stumbling down Diagon Alley, a red headed man helping support your weight, and an unhealthy amount of alcohol in your system - you didn't know. All you knew is that you had learned so much about the man in the last several hours that you felt very comfortable with him.

"Okay, love, is this your flat?"

"Yeah, that's the one," you slurred, moving towards the stairs that led up the side.

"Woah, hold up there, pretty girl," he said, quickly aiding you so you didn't trip and break your face, "You shoulda told us you were a lightweight. We wouldn'ta ordered you so many."

You grumbled, but didn't say anything in response, instead fumbling around in your pockets for your keys.

"Fred, I can't find them," you whined.

He pulled out his wand, "Alohamora." The door clicked open. "I see you haven't put an anti-unlocking charm on your flat yet."

"I literally just moved in."

"I feel like it's a first priority."

You didn't reply, instead tumbling forward into your new small home. Again, Fred steadied your weight, chuckling to himself in the process.

"You need to get to bed."

After helping you get your shoes off, Fred walked you to your bedroom and watched in amusement as you collapsed on to the mattress.

"You all good from here, sweetheart?"

You hummed softly, "Thank you, Freddie."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, "If you're not too hungover, stop by the shop tomorrow. I can set you up with a job."

"Really?"

"Of course. I have a sneaky feeling you're gonna be in my life for a while."

You giggled, "Me too."

"Alright, I'll see you. Take care."

"You too-" you yawned, "-Freddie."

***

It was mid-afternoon by the time you made it to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, still nursing a hangover but feeling better after a long shower, a painkilling potion and a big glass of a fizzy non-alcoholic drink.

"Oh, good, you're here," Fred opened the door, seeing as the shop was in fact shut. They functioned on weekend days of Monday and Tuesday since Saturday and Sunday were prime business days. (Apart from in the lead up to school starting again, as George explained in detail to you the night prior how they couldn't miss out on any day of the week when Diagon Alley was swarmed with kids.)

"You seem perkier than me," you grumbled, entering the unusually quiet store.

"I didn't get nearly as drunk as you," he reminded, walking towards the back room, "Anyway, I assume you're here for the job?"

You nodded, "That... and to see you."

He gave you a soft smile at that, "You're always welcome."

"You literally met me yesterday."

"What? Were you too drunk to remember what I said last night?"

You suppressed a smile, "No."

"Then you know. Call it divine intuition if you will but you're gonna be around for a while."

"I certainly don't plan on leaving," you replied, following him into the office area.

"Well, let's set you up for a job here then."

"It's really nice of you to do this."

He winked at you, "I don't do favours for free."

"What do you want in return?" you narrowed your eyes at him.

"Another date."

You grinned, "I think I could agree to those terms."

***

Not even a week later, you and Fred were walking down Diagon Alley, ready to go out for lunch for your second date. An hour ago, the sun had been shining brightly in the sky, warming your exposed skin. Now, the shimmery blues had been veiled by a thick layer of dark grey clouds, casting a shadow over the bustling street. You heard Fred, a normally cheerfully optimistic man (as you had quickly learned), let out a sigh.

"Looks like the forecast has taken a turn," just as he finished his sentence, droplets began cascading down from above, growing in intensity by the second.

You couldn't help but giggle slightly.

"Doesn't this bother you?"

You laughed harder, "No. I like it."

Fred smiled at you, "Really? A rainy date?"

You shrugged, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

"Well, okay, then."

He held out his hand to you, and you took it, letting him twirl you around before you both continued walking in the direction of the café he had in mind.

"Your smile is so pretty," he commented after some moments of delicate silence.

You couldn't help but beam at his words, "Really?"

He hummed, "I could look at it for the rest of my life."

In your chest, your heart was performing somersaults like a circus acrobat, and it was making you feel giddy. This was the most alive you had ever felt and you never wanted to let it go.

"Do it then," you replied, "Nothing's stopping you."

He stopped in his tracks, forcing you to halt as well since your hand remained interlocked with his.

"What?" you asked, looking back at him from your position one step forward.

"Can I?" he spoke with a soft gaze, the usual mischievous glint absent.

"Can you what?"

"Look at your smile forever?"

You shrugged limply, "If you can make me smile forever, sure."

"Can I say something crazy?"

"I would expect nothing less from you."

"I kinda want to marry you."

"Kinda?" you raised an eyebrow, feeling the swarm of butterflies spinning in your stomach but remaining calm and collected on the outside.

"I know we only met a week ago, but what would you say if I asked?"

"Guess you'll have to learn the hard way," you gave him a cheeky grin.

"Okay," he said, and it was only then you realised that the rain had caused the street to clear out of most people. Your eyes widened as he got down on one knee, still holding your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer feel your wet hair clinging to your face, nor your damp clothes sticking to your skin. Not because they had dried, but because all your focus was elsewhere.

You were pretty sure you had forgotten how to breathe.

"Y/N, in the short time I've known you, which is admittedly very short, I have had so much fun," he began, "And as I said right at the beginning, I have a feeling that you're gonna be around a while, it's why I even came over to talk to you the first time you entered my shop- I felt drawn to you. And, well, I'm known for my impulsive decisions, but they've all worked out so far, so, I have no reason not to act on this one too," he took a deep breath, "I don't have a ring right now, but will you marry me?"

You stood, stunned. You hadn't thought he would actually propose to you.

"Don't feel pressured to say yes," he quickly added, making you snap out of your daze.

You shook your head, "Yes- I'll marry you, Freddie."

The man's face lit up as he zoomed to his feet and picked you up, spinning you around as your lips touched each other's for the first time. You couldn't believe it: Fred Weasley was now your fiancé, when he was never even your boyfriend.

"Now, what say we go get some food to celebrate?" he asked.

"Sounds good to me."

***

THREE YEARS LATER.

***

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiator called out, "You may kiss the bride."

You watched from the crowd as Ron pressed his lips to Hermione's, joining the rest of the audience with the applauding.

"This is a lot grander than our wedding," Fred leaned down to whisper in your ear.

You laughed gently, "Ours was a much more last minute affair, Freddie."

"Mm, how long was our engagement again?"

"Three weeks," you reminded, "The courting only lasted a week too."

"What can I say? I'm a man who knows what I want."

You shook your head with a smile, picking up the applause again as Hermione and Ron began posing for photos from the photographer.

"Oh, they're calling us up now," Fred said, grabbing your hand and pulling you up to the altar with him. All of the Weasley siblings and their partners were also en route to where the newly weds were.

As you took your position in the photograph with Fred's arm wrapped around you, he leaned down to whisper in your ear yet again.

"Can I just say, my love, you look absolutely gorgeous- as always."

Your bright smile was one of the most genuine in the photograph, as Hermione later commented, and in response to that Fred had immediately taken a copy for your own house.

"What?" he had said when you raised an eyebrow at him, "I told you, I want to stare at your smile forever."

You chuckled.

"And you said I can, provided I make you smile."

You hummed, recalling the conversation that led up to his impromptu proposal fondly.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm the one that made you smile in this photo."

Unable to argue with him, you gazed at the moving photograph of Fred turning his head away from your ear to smile at the camera. It hadn't quite captured the moment in which he complimented your looks, but it didn't need to, as you knew that you would never forget the context for the image.

Not when your smile really did shine so brightly in it.

—————————————————

masterlist

written; 19/04/2023 —> 31/05/2023 published; 31/05/2023 edited; —/—/——

taglist ; @workinatdapyramid @iluvweasleys​

[idontknowreallywhy]

Following in his footsteps

Finished this idea off on the commute so apologies for typos, clumsy wording and for inconsistencies in the sounds Brains stutters on…

It’s a bit of a mystery as to why Scott, the first born, was named after the 4th of the Mercury Seven whose flight and piloting decisions were somewhat controversial and left him in conflict with flight control (sound familiar?). Anyway I find myself intrigued by that particular 1960’s flyboy, particularly as to one thing he did 1/3 of the way through his trip with his fuel running low…

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

“S-SCOTT C-C-CARPENTER TRACY!!!”

John later confirmed that this was indeed the first time in Tracy history that Brains ever been apoplectic enough to middle name any of them. His ire was usually quiet and dry, with occasional sarcasm. Every so often some non-vital but comfort-providing item might be removed from a Thunderbird for “essential maintenance”… the cushioning of One’s pilot seat, the power supply to Two’s coffee machine…

But generally, after more than a decade living with the Tracys, their long-suffering engineer had cultivated the talent of providing emotionally restrained feedback. Albeit there was good reason MAX was unable to mimic the phrases that were muttered over mangled landing gear, flooded engines, overstrained thrusters and the like.

This Wednesday morning, however, something had clearly pushed him over the edge.

“What did you doooo?” Alan hissed in alarm and was immediately shushed by a heavily frowning Virgil, whose fingers appeared unable to release the unfortunately tense chord he’d just leaned into. John’s hologram popped up looking serious. Even Gordon looked incredibly uncomfortable.

From the guilt-ridden look on Scott’s face, he could think of least three reasons his neck might be on the block this morning.

A tightly wound ball of fury approached the seating area and the speed with which International Rescue’s commander leapt from the couch betrayed his initial instinct to bolt from the room and never stop running. However, decades of experience of facing the music from many and varied sources meant his feet remained firmly rooted to the floor, while the rest of his body sought the security of parade rest.

Brains stood in front of him vibrating with rage. The ends of MAX’s arms were positioned at an approximation of where the robot’s hips might be. The room held its breath. Virgil’s foot remained wedged against the sustain pedal. The melodramatic chord continued reverberating around the lounge.

The engineer suddenly raised a hand and everyone flinched. Had their friend finally resorted to violence?

Scott closed his eyes and awaited whatever engineering justice was deemed merited for… whatever it was he had done.

But the shorter man’s movement as he reached up to Scott’s face was slow, deliberate and with a slight frown of concentration he stuck a 75mm square of blue duct tape precisely in the middle of Scott’s forehead.

Virgil jaw dropped and his foot finally slipped off the pedal. The dampers clunked back into place, allowing an ominous silence to reign for a few moments.

The colour coded rolls of multi-purpose tape included within each baldric was one of Brains’ affectionate little thematic touches but also acted as a crude fingerprint… blue tape could only ever have been used by one person.

The Commander’s eyebrows twitched almost audibly as he tried to puzzle out the strange sensation but his eyes remained screwed shut.

When Brains spoke it was barely more than a whisper and the brothers in the room found themselves leaning in. The brother in space appeared to have located a bucket of popcorn.

“D-do you h-happen, to know how l-long I have spent p-perfecting One’s fuel reserve s-system, S-Scott?”

Scott swallowed, hard, and opened his eyes again.

“Quite a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Ahh, did I ever thank you? I should have, I’m very sorry - thank you for that and for all your work, Brains. It really is appreciated.”

“Is it?”

“Of course!”

“Hmmm.”

Scott opened his mouth again but, accepting that his attempt to divert the conversation had failed, clearly thought better of digging any deeper until the nature of the situation became more clearly defined.

Brains’ hand lifted for a second time, another square of blue tape delicately held between thumb and forefinger. This was placed with some care on the very tip of Scott’s nose.

Alan snorted. Gordon punched him in the arm and was elbowed back. Virgil glared them into silence then nearly lost control himself at the sight of his elder brother going cross eyed in an attempt to establish what on earth he was being decorated with.

Brains spun on his heel to face the rest and they all leaned back hurriedly, feigning casual interest. Nobody wanted to appear to be aware of, to be accidentally associated with whatever crime it was Scott had committed.

“Th-thunderbird One uses t-two fuels but h-has th-th-three fuel tanks. As you all know, th-the balance of fuel t-to achieve m-maximum speed is p-precisely c-calculated and th-the system that g-governs it is h-highly sophisticated.”

Everyone nodded except Scott who was trying and failing to pretend he was unbothered by the additions to his face. His nose twitched compulsively.

“D-due to certain t-tendencies of her p-rimary p-p-pilot, One h-has a reserve t-tank. Th-that blend of fuel w-will not achieve the h-highest speeds b-but will ensure she is able t-to return h-home if a SENSIBLE…” the word was ground out as if it was painful “…speed is m-maintained.”

Brains paused. Every eye in the room shifted to Scott. Max bleeped, judgementally. Brains continued, his voice deadly calm and deeply terrifying for it.

“T-to ensure One’s p-pilot d-does not m-miss the fuel status w-warnings amongst th-the p-p-plethora of information on the h-holographic display I installed th-three LED bulbs t-to m-make it QU-QUITE CLEAR w-when l-levels w-were running low and w-when speed n-needed t-to be m-m-m-moderated in order t-to avoid d-damage t-to her supply p-p-p-p-pipeline a-a-a-and e-en-en-engines!”

Brains’ veneer of calm was cracking and Scott, who had clearly solved the mystery, appeared to be chewing through the inside of his face. Brains spun back to face the object of his wrath. MAX’s mechanical eyes narrowed.

“W-warning l-lights are only effective w-when th-they are v-visible!”

Scott gulped and fell back on the only defence he had left - he gave his old friend a dimpled half-grin and a doomed attempt at mitigation:

“They were a little… distracting?”

“D-distracting.”

The full stop was potent and echoed around them. Brains appeared on the edge of an eruption the like of which Tracy Island had never seen, even when the volcano was active. But he mastered himself and produced a final square of tape which he held in front of Scott’s face for a moment before slapping it down on to the top of his head, rubbing it slightly to ensnare as much perfectly styled hair as possible before storming from the room.

MAX remained just long enough to shake a medium-weight hydro-spanner with extreme prejudice before flouncing impressively and trundling after his master.

Alan and Gordon clung to each other, faces contorted with silent mirth. Virgil caught John’s eye then cleared his throat and appeared about to speak before being forestalled by his Commander’s raised palm.

Lacking a little of his usual gravitas due to the tape fluttering gently in the huffed breath from his nose, Scott still poured every ounce of authority he had left into an order of three short syllables:

“Not. A. Word.”

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Dialogue 2

Gordon: There was a pilot called Scott

Whose nose was filled with snot

Scott: (Looms threateningly)

Gordon: Ah.

Gordon: There was a fellow called John

Whose legs were impossibly long

Gordon’s Phone: (Screams with ear-blistering static)

Gordon: Okay, okay! Jeez!

Gordon’s Phone: (Stops)

Gordon: There once was a boy called Alan

Alan: Scott! He’s doing it!

Scott: Gordon!

Gordon: Fine!

Gordon: There was an artist called Virgil

Who … who … um

Virgil: Yeah. Nothing rhymes.

Gordon: Wow. Talk about stifling other people’s creativity.

Virgil: Literally not my fault. Take it up with Dad.

Jeff: Take what up with Dad?

Gordon: Um.

Virgil: Gordon’s trying to make up limericks. Nothing rhymes with Virgil.

Gordon: Why aren’t we allowed to call him ‘Virg’?

Jeff: Because there are too many things that rhyme with ‘Virg’, none of which Hannah Coleman should have known about at the age of thirteen, much less written ‘love’ poems about and send them to your brother.

Scott: What?!

John: What?!

Alan: What?!

Gordon: What?!

Virgil: Not talking about it. Except to my therapist. Excuse me.

Gordon: Hey, Virgil, wait!

Virgil: What?

Scott: Did you save the poems?

Notes:

Yeah, so this took an unexpected turn on me. I don’t know where Hannah Coleman came from, or what the ever-loving hell she wrote, but apparently it … wasn’t good.

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[niffler-gold]

Just a small Tracy fluffy fic.

I have 3 older sisters and there was a pic of us in the house for years of me at 4 years old on my first ever adult drop ride at a theme park. My 2 oldest were protecting me with arms firmly on my legs while my middle sister was grinning away like a mad women on the end. This story will be based off of this.

Thanks @coco9728 for the theme park inspiration.

Scott sighed sitting back in the old leather chair by his father's desk. It had been a long day, hell it had been a long week. He looked at all of the reports stacked in his inbox and begrudgingly opened the next one on the list.

He had barely seen his brothers this week except if a rescue had pulled them together. He frowned. The report he had opened was a Ti document. It was someone needing access into the old data banks for the latest project. He sighed again. He couldn't remember those old passkeys which meant he had to go into his dad's private study to retrieve them.

He avoided going in the study. It brought back too many unpleasant memories but sometimes needs must and he knew this was important.

He cracked open the door. God. He breathed in the smell. His aftershave still lingered after all this time. He let the memories flood him of his dad's presence before moving to the desk to find what he came to get.

He sat down and started to rummage through the draws but then froze. He pulled out a worn old photograph that he had forgotten even existed. The memory flooded him before he even knew what was happening.

A 7 year old Gordon woke him up by bouncing on his bed. "Scott, Scott get up". "Irgh" came the reply from the older teenager's bed. "Come on, today's the day we're going to the theme park" "get up". The next thing he knew the little menace that was his fish brother had ripped his duvet off him. Gordon saw the gleam in Scotts eye to late to react. Scott grabbed all of his flayling limbs and grabbed him to his chest and pulled the cover back over them. "No". Gordon's muffled scream could be heard through a lot of giggling.

John just so happened to be walking past his brother's bedroom at that exact moment, confused why the door was wide open. He poked his head round the door and could easily guess who Scott had prisoner in his bed. "Dad's not gonna be happy if you two are late" he said in a loud voice to be heard over all the giggling and yelling. Scott threw the cover off his head. "Yer, yer, were comi-" he was cut off by a yell of "Scott". Alan, all of 4 years old, had wandered in behind John. Next thing any of them knew Alan had all but ran and jumped on the bed hurtling towards his brother.

"I've missed you he said cuddling up to him". Gordon replied before Scott had a chance "he's only been away a few weeks" he said in his ever knowing 7 year old voice. "Too long" Alan pouted back. Before anyone could say anything Virgil and their father appeared at the door. "Come on boys we need to get a move on if we want to get there" Virgil then piped up "Gordon what did we say about bothering Scott" "it's fine Virgil" he replied scoping both the littleies into his arms. "I've missed them anyway, even this little monster" he said tickling Gordon some more. Their father just smiled in the door way. "Good to have you home son'".

30 minutes later and they were all bundled into the car on their way to the local theme park. It wasn't one of the huge parks but it was big enough for them to spend the day there and had rides that all of them could enjoy.

Scott spent the ride catching up on all of the mayhem his brothers had gotten into in the last few weeks since he had been gone. Safe to say it was a lot.

Once they arrived he relished in being back with his family going on different rides. There were 2 big water slides with rafts for 2 people to go on and they seemed to spend an age on them. First Scott took Alan on it with him holding his brother tightly as Alan screamed the whole way down only to burst into a fit of giggles at the bottom when it was over and his dad picked him up out of it. He made sure he went on it at least once with all of his brothers but the best was definitely Virgil. John may be older but was as skinny as skinny still. While Virgil was small he had broad shoulders and definitely been going to the gym, the weight of both of them made it go a hell of a lot faster. They even all watched Gordon and Alan come down together. Gordon taking his big brother responsibilities seriously as he walked hand and hand with him up to the top and held on tightly to him as they came down.

After a lunch of pre-packed sandwiches Virgil and John had made that morning, they wandered off to find some bigger thrill seekers. They came across a drop tower. One of those rides that take you slowly to the top only to plumit back down to the ground. Gordon begged his older brothers to take him on it. So as big brothers do they did. Alan was pretty upset as his dad had said no so instead his dad lifted him onto his shoulders as they watched their brothers go on it. After that Scott and Virgil decided to take Gordon on a few more bigger rides while John and their dad took Alan to the kiddie rollercoasters.

After taking Gordon on the scarier rides they found their dad sitting on a bench alone. "Dad!" Gordon yelled running and practically jumping into his dad's arms. "You had fun Gordy" he said ruffling the blond locks on his second youngest head. " Yer, we even went upside down". He then started jabbering at an inhumanely fast pace that no one could keep up with. " Where's John and Alan" Scott asked interrupting his brother's manic tail. Their dad pointed at a small train rollercoaster where John stood off to the side. "That's his 5th time in a row on that one". "Why isn't John on it with him" gordon asked. "Well he was, and he took him on every little coster in this section and went on with him but Alan seems to like this one. After the 3rd time in a row he got off and has been watching him since". The rest of the brothers giggled. John must have noticed them as he got Alan off the train and started walking towards them.

Allie bound up to Scott and hugged his leg. He instinctively picked him up and hugged him close. Virgil smirked at John. "He worn you out" he questioned sarcastically. "You try doing that coster multiple times in a row. It's essentially a circle I was getting dizzy" he retorted. The rest of the family just laughed. "Scott". "Yes Allie" he replied looking at him in his arms. "Big drop, I want to do the big drop". Scott put him down. "He really hasn't let that go has he" said Virgil. Scott turned to his father. "Dad please". He said in his best child-like voice. Next thing their dad knew all his sons were chiming in asking him. He looked at his youngest with pride as he reminded him so much of his late wife. "Are you sure you want to Alan." A chorus of cheers went up from his sons.

So off they went back to the 'big drop' Alan had called it. Luck was on their side (also tall genetics), as Alan was just tall enough for the ride. There were 5 seats each side so all of them could fit into the row. Scott lifted Alan up and pulled down his shoulder restraints securing him in before taking his own seat. The older boys knew exactly where to sit in order to look after the two minis. John was at the end and had Alan next to him. On the other side of Allan was Scott. And then Gordon, then Virgil. Alan looked tiny in the seat. Both John and Scott had their arms over him protectively. Gordon was grinning like a mad hatter. And Virgil on the end was making sure he was safe. While they were waiting for the ride to start the boys noticed a flash but before they had time to react the ride started to go up and their dad was waving from the ground camera in hand.

Alan loved it. He squealed at the drop. And laughed when it went back up. John and Scott were laughing hysterically at him while holding onto him. Gordon was also laughing at his brother but also was enjoying the sensation himself. Virgil was just vibing on the end while looking out for Gordon as well. Even he couldn't help chuckle at his youngest brother's screens even though he couldn't see him.

Once they got off the ride they decided to head home, after all it had been a long day. The photo had been forgotten or so they thought.

Scott walked back into the lounge and was happy he found all of his brothers there. "Where have you been asked" asked Virgil. "All your work was still open on the desk, but you weren't in the kitchen or anywhere near". Scott smiled and sank into the sofas with his brothers.

"I had to get something from dad's study... Can't remember what or why now, but I found this". He laid the picture on the table for all of them to see.

"no", said John, "it can't be". Virgil piped up "Alan's first ever big ride". All of the boys crowded in on it. "You can't say you weren't protective enough" quipped Gordon. "He's got a huge harness on and you and John still have your arms over him holding him safe". They all chuckled at that. "Did you know about this Scott" asked Alan. "No" he replied quietly. "Given how used it looks dad must have looked at it a lot" said Gordon. "Yer" replied Scott in the same quiet voice.

Nothing more was said on the photo but a few days later it appeared fully restored as a permanent fixture to the old desk. Once dad's now Scott's.

[blinktwicebaby]

“Talk to me Scott” John said after a few moments of dead silence.

“The stupid helmet makes you seem far away!” He complained, ignoring his real problem.

“We can fix that when you get home.” Optimism. “I’m seeing a finger about to break, what happened?”

“Stupid fingers got stuck on my stupid collarbone. I’m going to die looking like a pretzel!” Pessimism. He hadn’t even meant to say the ‘d’ word, it had just slipped out.

Read the whole thing here ❤️

[waty-art]

Five Times Scott Agreed And One Time He didn’t.

A Thunderbirds Are Go fanfiction

“Gordon, where is my paperwork?” Scott demanded slowly while Gordon gently pulled the coffee cup out of his hand and set it on the cleared desk.

“Where you'll never find it.” Gordon shot back cheerfully, pulling his shocked brother down to where the ground lowered in the center of the den.

Or

Five times Scott gave up arguing and agreed with Gordon, who just wants Scott to take care of himself, plus one time he didn't.

[willow-salix]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOHN!

To celebrate my boys (TAG) birthday I'm FINALLY launching season 3!

Here's the TAG line:

We last saw the Tracy family dealing with their biggest threat yet, a mysterious foe who lurks in the shadows, pulling strings and putting the whole world in danger.

Plans are being put into action, true allegiances are being formed, patience and resolve is being tested and the Tracy family is feeling the strain.

Secrets will out, world views will shift, the threats will keep piling up and the Tracy family will have their eyes opened in more ways than one.

Who's as excited as I am? This season has been a long time in the planning and I'm sooo happy to be finally sharing it with the world. I'm planning on publishing a chapter a week, but I'll be writing as I go and life happens, so we'll see how it goes lol.

Gods I'm so happy that I'm back writing these gorgeous people, I've missed my two idiots so much, I can't even describe it.

Chapter 1 is up and you can find it here ➡️

So, if you're new, welcome to the madness, and if you're returning, welcome back!

We hope you enjoy the ride.