#thunderbirds are go

[scribbles97]

What's this? A new WIP?

The barest of bare bones idea that popped into my head this morning... we're ignoring the fact that I'm still meant to be finishing my other Lucy AU okay?

“I don’t like it, Luce, not one bit. You retired from the USAF years ago, you owe them nothing.”

“That was in peacetime, Jeff, when there wasn’t a rush to get their planes back in the air or risk being taken out by enemy fire.”

“They have other engineers.”

“None that can put an engine together in under half an hour.”

“Why, Luce? What could possibly make you want to go out there? The boy--”

“Are all safe on home territory, except for Scott.”

[coco9728]

[waty-art]

Hey everyone, having a bit of artist block and am trying to choose a fandom to do more art/comics of for fun and I can’t decide. So, I figured I’d let you all tell me which one of these you want me to do more of. I know Banana Fish is new to my content entirely, but it’s honestly one of my favorite anime/Manga…despite it breaking my heart.😅 everyone who loves any of these, please vote! Thank you and have a great day!

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Wounded in Action

It had been a carefully laid trap, but as an aeons old adage says: ‘no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy’.

That said enemy was the Chaos Crew – who were charitably considered to be a ‘blunt instrument’ even by the Hoods rapidly dwindling standards – meant that first contact was Fuse’s ‘Basher’ vehicle bursting through the wall.

Lady Penelope rather grudgingly awarded them points for knowing how to make an entrance – even though said entrance was a £700,000 hole in the wall that destroyed two Ming Vases – reproductions, of course, but of an age and quality that meant they were of cultural and monetary value in and of themselves.

From there chaos had spread. Kayo, Lady Penelope and Parker, playing Keep Away with a briefcase that supposedly held a rare and immensely valuable star sapphire – second only to the famous ‘Star of India’. Exactly the kind of thing a cash-strapped Hood seemed to be targeting of late.

As the situation continued without either side managing to gain the upper hand, Kayo summoned their backup – Scott, Virgil and Gordon, along with Captain Rigby and his hand-picked team of GDF fighters.

Slowly the defenders made headway against the Chaos Crew’s all out attack. Fuses’ explosive charges were being defused before they could detonate and Virgil’s shoulder-mounted laser had scored a direct hit on Fuse’s power suit, disabling his ‘Power Punches’. While Havoc’s decoy hologram emitters were systematically destroyed, and well placed beanbag rounds had put enough of her acrobatic landings off that she was now moving with a distinct limp.

The Chaos Crew had been in retreat towards the Basher for five minutes, when there was suddenly, shockingly, a canine scream of pain.

Everyone froze in place, and all eyes swung to where Fuse stood, balanced awkwardly on one foot, his face stricken as Sherbet cowered at his feet, his left front leg pulled up against his body, whimpering pitifully.

“Bertie!” Penelope rushed forward to rescue the dog, hugging him to her breast and retreating to where Virgil was already pulling out a medi-scanner.

Gordon and Parker advanced on Fuse, their body language and expressions telegraphing violent intent.

Fuse backed away. “I didn’ mean ta…” he protested, his eyes wide, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. “I wouln’…”

Rigby and the closest of the GDF fighters joined in the advance as Fuse backed towards the Basher. He jumped as he bumped it to it, and scurried inside, looking back out as Havoc jumped up onto its roof.

“I’m sorry.” It was almost a whimper, and Penelope went to respond but Havoc chose that instant to strike, one of her reinforced lines flashed out, and snagged the briefcase, tugging it out of Scott’s unresisting grip, and whipping it into Havoc’s hands.

Scott gave a wordless yell of shock, as Havoc saluted sardonically and jumped onto the running board before launching herself into the vehicle yelling, “Get moving!” at Fuse.

A moment’s hesitation and the engine of the Basher revved violently, before careening back towards its entrance hole, sending several people jumping for their lives before it.

Kayo and Rigby didn’t hesitate, running at full tilt after the departing vehicle; Kayo already summoning Thunderbird Shadow via her wrist controller, and Rigby barking rapidfire orders for GDF flyers and road blocks stationed discreetly around the area.

It was later that day when Colonel Casey, with Captain Rigby – newly showered and in a fresh uniform – in tow, paid a visit to Creighton-Ward Manor.

“Eyes front, Captain,” she ordered, trying to keep hide her amusement at her subordinate’s open mouthed gawking at the combination of ultra-chic and traditional furnishings. “You wouldn’t want to be mistaken as casing this house, believe me.”

Rigby flushed, embarrassed, as Parker snorted his disdain, and didn’t quite keep his muttered “HI’d like ta see ‘im try pull hoff a caper,” from being heard.

“Colonel Casey, h’and Captain Rigby, M’Lady,” Parker announced at the door to the sitting room, before hurrying off to the kitchen for a fresh pot of tea, newly brewed coffee and appropriate cake and biscuits for the visitors. It was all well and good for some to sit around all day, he reflected, but a good butler was never idle when there were guests in the house!

Lady Penelope was much calmer than when Rigby had seen her at the ersatz auction-house. She sat in the centre of the main sofa, Gordon Tracy sitting as close as he dared to her on the left, and Sherbert, his left forepaw so solidly wrapped it looked like he was wearing a boxing glove lay on a large squashy velvet cushion to her right, submitting to Virgil Tracy’s petting from where he stood reaching over from behind the lounge. Occasionally, as Virgil’s hand paused, Sherbert whimpered pathetically, prompting the pilot to keep moving.

Scott was standing by the large picture window, half-watching the scene outside as he nodded his acknowledgement of the newcomers.

“Colonel, Captain, please do come in. We’re expecting Kayo shortly.”

Colonel Casey nodded regally and took a seat on the low backed sofa opposite Lady Penelope, as Rigby continued to stand awkwardly at the side.

“Do sit down, Captain,” Penelope’s voice was amused. Rigby flushed again, and perched awkwardly on the far edge of the sofa.

“Kayo’s here.” Scott’s voice came a heartbeat before the distinctive whining roar of Thunderbird Shadow’s engines passed over head.

It was only a couple of minutes more before Kayo strode into the room, unaccompanied. “Parker’s just on the way,” she reported, taking a seat on the small upholstered ottoman close to the door. Penelope nodded, as Scott, apparently having been waiting for Kayo to arrive, moved into the room from the picture window. He sat down in time to gingerly accept a delicate-looking cup with steaming coffee from Parker.

Once everyone was suitably fed and watered, and with Parker standing ‘guard’ at the door, Penelope spoke. “Colonel Casey, was our little trap successful?”

“Signs are positive, Lady Penelope,” Casey replied. “It was disappointing that The Hood didn’t show up himself, but we were prepared for that possibility. Thanks to the tracker in the briefcase, we were able to follow the Chaos Crew to what appears to be one of the Hood’s centres of operation. Maybe even his main one for the London area. The Hood didn’t appear to be ‘in residence’, as it were; but every resource we deny him is another brick removed from the wall of secrecy he has erected around himself.”

Penelope nodded as Scott moved in. “And the Chaos Crew?”

“Likewise evaded capture, I’m afraid. But Fuse’s suit appears to be damaged, and Havoc injured, so that will, thankfully, slow down their rate of operation, maybe even stop them for a time.”

Kayo frowned. “That just means that they’ll have time to better plan their next attack,” she cautioned.

Casey nodded. “We are hoping we’ll have leads on what they’re planning on doing next,” she responded. “There was a computer system in place in the Hood’s hideout, I’ve got techs going over it now. Hopefully we’ll be able to tap into his files, see what he has planned in the future. Maybe even work out how to tap into his communications so we can monitor him remotely.”

Penelope nodded. “So all in all a successful operation,” she mused.

“I wouldn’t say an unqualified success,” the Colonel frowned. “I don’t like casualties during my operations. How is Sherbet, Lady Penelope?”

Penelope reached out to stroke the pug. “There are a couple of bones broken in his foot, but the vet is confident they will heal properly provided he leaves his bandages intact,” she said softly. “He’ll have to rest, of course. No public appearances for the forseeable future, which is a great pity. Wimbledon is on soon, and Bertie does so enjoy it.”

“Runs h’off every year h’and chases the balls, y’mean.” Rigby was starting to think Parker actually intended everyone to hear his muttered commentary.

Penelope shot him a look that from anyone else would be called ‘dirty’. “He is, of course, an honorary ballboy. But I’m afraid this year they will have to do without his services.”

“Of course,” Colonel Casey said gravely. “I know our original plan called for someone to feign injury if the Chaos Crew couldn’t manage to get the briefcase away, but I am most upset that an actual injury was sustained.”

Her demeanour hadn’t changed in the slightest, and Rigby couldn’t help but agree with Parker’s, “Whouldn’t ‘urt you ta h’act like hit, h’even hif it is for th’ mutt.”

The Colonel continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Unfortunately, there is no avenue for me to recommend Sherbet for recognition of his injury in the line of duty. Please accept this as a substitute. Captain?”

Rigby stood and presented Lady Penelope with the large gaudily wrapped basket he had been holding awkwardly.

“Thank you, Captain, Colonel. It is very kind of you.” She set the package down on the coffee table and began to unwrap it, pulling out each item and offering them to Sherbet for his inspection.

Rigby wasn’t much fussed on dogs, to be honest, but he knew Lady Penelope loved hers, and that Penelope was a good friend of Kayos, one whose opinion Kayo valued. He had hoped to win points with Kayo by offering a gift to the ‘sick’ dog. He’d been quickly trying to shop online while waiting for Colonel Casey to take his report, when she had appeared at his elbow, demanded an explanation for what he was doing, and nodded at her explanation before disappearing into her office.

A moment later his email pinged, and he found a list of recommended products, along with authorisation to charge expenses to the mission. As Rigby deleted his hastily cobbled together cart, and went of in search of the recommended products, he was soon grateful for the authorisation. In the end, the ‘gift box’ for Sherbet was almost two months of his wages. And all for a dog!

Once all the items had been removed from the box, and thoroughly sniffed by the pug, her Ladyship lifted the dog off it’s cushion. “And what do we say to Colonel Casey and Captain Rigby, Sherbet?”

The animal wiggled impatiently in her arms, and she set him down on the ground to trot limping over to the Colonel, he put his front paws up on her knees, and barked once, tail wagging madly. The Colonel lifted him up to her lap, Sherbet once again stood on his hind legs and the Colonel only just managed to turn her head in time to avoid a doggy ‘kiss’ direct on her lips. Sherbet barked again, and leapt off her lap, to trot across the sofa to Rigby. He received the same treatment, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid a ‘kiss’ on the lips.

To Rigby’s surprise, instead of opting to return to his cushion, Sherbet lay down on his lap, and nudged at his hand until he started stroking the animal down the back. Rigby looked up at Lady Penelope when the little animal promptly began to snore.

“Well, Captain, I can see Sherbet has correctly deduced who was truly responsible for his present,” Penelope said. “Although I am not quite certain of the paygrade for a captain of the GDF, I trust Sherbet’s favourite treats were not too much of a financial burden?”

Rigby flushed again. “As the Colonel said, Ma’am, it was a gift from the GDF. I can, uh, assure you I endured no financial burden.”

Penelope smiled benignly. “Then I am touched by the GDF’s consideration.”

Kayo spoke up, “And, of course, by yours. Don’t think we didn’t notice you didn’t deny that you were responsible for coming up with the idea.”

That prompted a general chorus of agreement from the room, and Rigby flushed again, both in embarrassment and pleasure. He was embarrassed now to remember how he had original dismissed International Rescue as a bunch of rich kids playing hero and getting in the way of the ‘real’ heroes.

He had been proven comprehensibly wrong and was now proud to work with them.

Even the dog.

Notes:

Well, this went on a winding roadtrip to nowhere. What started out as ‘Fuse steps on Sherbet – whoops’, ended up with Rigby being a soppy bugger. Did not see that one coming.

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.

[northern-punk-lad]

Not to brag but I actually had one of those tracy island toys as a kid

[edorazzi]

Due to scheduling conflicts we're celebrating Tintin Day early this month! 🥳

Someone said in tags that they could totally see Tintin needing International Rescuing at some point. What better way for the Hood to put iR's integrity on the line than revealing all to a world-famous reporter? Would the Tracys jeopardise their whole operation to save just one life?!

(Un)fortunately Tintin hasn't shown up at work since 1929, so the only sacrifice here will be an old man's dignity. Again. 🪦

[lenle-g]

“Scott, and I’m one-hundred percent serious about this, do you want me to come down there and make you some pasta?”

from Love is Stored in the Pasta @astranite <3

[vicky82gargoylesfan]

Sad News, David Graham has died, voiced Parker, Brains and Gordon Tracy in Thunderbirds and voiced Parker again in Thunderbirds are Go.

Sadly that's everyone from the original Thunderbirds show has gone now.

RIP David Graham

[idontknowreallywhy]

Kayo!

I commissioned the wonderful @maxyartwork to bring to life a little headcanon I have about what our Kayo might get up to in her spare time… and it’s glorious and I’m so excited to share it!! 😍

Thank you Maxy - it’s FAB!!

[idontknowreallywhy]

What nicknames?

Could go with the standard - Scooter, The Tank or Bear, Space-face / Space Noodle, Squid, Sprout

Trying to think what Gordo would pick but would be acceptable enough the bros would actually keep them…

A cold, vicious cyclone caught me unawares in the middle of the city the other day, right as I decided it was too hot for the coat. So, naturally, Scott gets under the weather in NYC, quite literally (and is being a stubborn doofus about it). It's an Earth and Sky fluff, but in the end, John decided he wanted in, so Earth and Star have a good hearty chat too. Virgil and John are being very good brothers. Absolutely nothing hurts. A greatful boop to @idontknowreallywhy, @astranite and @janetm74 for soft fabrics and Top Gun featuring.

UNDER THE WEATHER

The perks of living on a tropical island included not only it being remote, secluded and perfect to house a state-of-the-art rescue operation. It was also the whole being TROPICAL deal. Whenever one stepped out - it was reliably warm. The downside of living on a remote tropical island was losing the habit to navigate the regular four-seasons weather. Or the fickle New York City climate.

Truthfully, Scott didn't miss it much. Of course, he'd be fondly nostalgic about Kansas and snow slides, or, would occasionally get caught up in the inherent wistful mood of early NYC fall. But he definitely didn't miss THIS - being caught up in the icy torrent and orange warning winds two blocks away from the Tracy Tower. In nothing but his dress shirt and slacks.

They were at Tracy Industries headquarters with Virgil for the better half of the week. Virgil was involved in pre-screening the latest batch of R&D pitches, before they would move on to Brains and John for the final approval and production. Scott was held hostage by the Department of Finance for budget amendments and redistribution.

When the opportunity presented itself, well into the afternoon, to escape his own untimely death by paperwork or premeditated murder of a high ranking employee, Scott ran for the hills, slipping expertly beneath the radar of Kayo's handpicked security detail.

His underlying motive was quite noble - to walk to that coffe-shop Virgil liked and get his brother and himself some decent coffee. Virgil loved coffee and Scott loved Virgil - the rationale for his sortie was ironclad. Of course, pursuing exclusively immaculate fraternal care didn't provide for ditching his earpiece and wrist com. The hasty retreat also meant his designer (and more importantly in his current predicament - woolen) jacket got left hanging on the back of his chair by the bay window. He forgot this wasn't Tracy Island, the sun outside the window and climate control in the offices and their penthouse at the top of the Tracy Tower lulled his vigilance. And now, without a comm to get a timely warning from Eos or to call a cab (or the security SUV with a profound apology, or One from the landing pad on the roof), Scott was caught in the sudden onslaught of a cyclone.

The prudent thing to do would be to go back to the Tower. So, of course, Scott decided in favor of the opposite and broke into a run for the rest of the distance to the coffee place. The relentless laws of physics - speed and resistance - made sure he was soaked through the very last thread of clothing on his body and chilled to the bone by the time he got there.

His hair plastered to the forhead, the supershiny gel having lost the round with the freezing downpour, rivers of water drained down from the top of his head all the way past the suit slacks and dress shoes splashed in muck. There were poodles of water INSIDE his shoes. His socks were wet. His shirt was drenched. The squelching of the fabric as he walked up to the counter suggested he was wet EVERYWHERE. Yuk! That, at least, he didn't know as he was getting numb all over from the cold.

Scott was aware he probably looked like a wet stray cat. It was that or his shirt became see-through in the rain - as a barrista with a cute smile tried to waive his fee for the coffee. Unacceptable! He paid for two extra large, extra strong brews,  and rushed out, stifling a sneeze. Must have been the shirt, since one of the take-away cups had a phone number scrolled on the side. Which was a small consolation, as he broke into a jog again, making his way back through the raging elements.

***

The Tracy Industries front desk in the lobby, thankfully, didn't detain him, so he snuck into the elevator, not making eye contact with anyone. It was getting increasingly hard to hold the coffee cups - his hands were numb and shaking, and his teeth were clattering in time with full body shivers. Scott was sure he had hit the executive floor button, but the elevator made no stop, gliding all the way up to the private penthouse. Figures. He'd probably earned himself a lecture not only from the on site security team, but from John as well.

The door slid open on his approach across an antechember and he was welcomed in the hallway by a wall of flannel presided by furrowed black brows. Scott brandished the procured coffee cups like a shield, instinctively. He would sound more nonchalant if he were not stuttering from the cold.

"Hey, Virg, I got your favorite coffee!"

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

Virgil was holding a massive towel, or maybe a full body length terrycloth sheet, like an unfurled banner, and appeared completely unmoved by Scott's heroic endeavor.

"How very kind of you! Now step on the rug and strip. I'm not mopping after you!"

Scott looked down and found himself standing, indeed, on one of Gordon's old bright pool towels. It was already soaked halfway through with all the water Scott was dripping. He felt marginally ashamed as the elevator likely sported poodles too. But it was hard to maintain several self-deprecating emotions at once, being that cold and miserable.

The styrofoam cups were tentatively deposited on the glove table. Scott peeled off his soaked dress shirt and shed the trousers more than eagerly, toed off wet (and probably ruined too) shoes. Francesco the designer would bite his head off. But that could wait. He needed something warm off the rack now! A move off the towel was aborted, however, by the reappearance of the Eyebrows over the terrycloth edge.

"Uh-uh! Everything, Scooter! You're NOT wedging your undies behind the shower stall. Again!"

Scott sighed. That was ONE TIME! He was sneaking back past the curfew and tried to conceal evidence. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out. The moment the last wet cloth on him joined the pile on the floor, he was wrapped head to ankles in the sea of soft blue fabric and steered in the general direction of the shower.

"You know the drill! Try to warm up under hot water as long as you can. If you feel lightheaded - yell, I'll be right here."

The scolding shower helped somewhat. He could still feel the freezing grip around his ribs, but his extremities were not as numb anymore, at least. There was a stack of warm sleepwear waiting for him as he stepped out in the cloud of fog. Scott smiled - it was a motley assembly of his own clean trunks and sweatpants, a well-worn soft flannel shirt and a Denver Engineering hoodie, that swapmed his frame. Hair toweled off and curling every which way, he was mostly ready to venture back out into the colder world, but felt dead tired.

There was a nest of throw pillows and a blanket, assembled on the couch, unfolded to full length, in the living room. Scott made an immediate beeline for it and tugged the blanket around his shoulders, trying to fold his feet beneath as well. The shivers were crawling back. Virgil emerged from a door that was decidedly neither Scott's nor his own room, carrying a pair of fluffy bright orange socks and an extra comforter.

***

After some gentle, yet determined, coaxing, the orange socks were tugged onto Scott's icy cold feet and a second blanket was tucked snuggly around him. Virgil settled by his side against a couple of snatched pillows, pondering idly that they would need to get a spare weighted blanket for the penthouse too. They would also owe John more socks. The Scott-sized frozen burrito shuffled closer and Virgil wrapped an arm around his wayward big brother, offering more of his body warmth. The chills worried Virgil. Scott was fit and healthy, but he was chronically exhausted and hadn't been exposed to cyclones without IR-grade water-proof gear, or at least a raincoat, in a while.

"So... you wanna watch Top Gun?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Scott's face immediately shot up, beaming with a thousand suns. He also did an enthusiastic giant caterpillar wiggle, blanket and all. Virgil thought in that moment his core memory was probably Scott, all bright eyes, gap-teeth smile and dimples, bouncing with excitement and unbridled energy. He wished he got to revisit it more often.

The opening frames rolled on the holoscreen to the sound of the all too familiar Anthem. Virgil finally reached for so hard earned cup of coffee, now reheated, and couldn't contain a snort.

"Aw, Scooter, you actually scored a number for your troubles?"

It was obvious Scott wasn't going to last through the movie - his eyes were droopping and voice slurred, mostly muffled by plaid flannel.

"M'dashin'!"

A smaller hologram appeared at that exact moment on Virgil's comm. John looked way too amused:

"Actually, that's the number of a homeless shelter around the corner from the coffee shop."

Virgil's laughter full on rumbled at that. He raised a hand to ruffle the back of big brother's head:

"Oh yeah, you're a dashing idiot."

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

"Sure, Scotty! You're a cold, wet, dashing idiot."

There was no protest to that, just a soft, slightly stuffed snore. Virgil adjusted the hold on the now sound asleep biggest brother to snuggle him closer.

***

The F-14A Tomcat was playing chicken with a MiG-28 on the screen. John's hologram lingered. Virgil could tell the space ginger was concerned more than he let on. John finally spoke.

"Is he gonna be alright? Should I cancel his Friday?"

Untamed by the gel, the now dry and fluffy ringlets made it difficult to reach Scott's forhead, but the back of Virgil's hand found the way, careful not to disturb. The skin was cool to his touch, no signs of fever.

"He'll be alright. He just needs to warm up and sleep it off."

He moved to rub a soothing circle over Scott's back as the big brother relaxed deeper into sleep. It was sorely tempting to clear Scott's schedule for the next day and mandate more rest. But Virgil was aware it would pose a risk of Scott, not held down by a cold, hairing off to the island in One, insisting to be back on the roster, if not on TI business. That would be a shame, as a big part of the weekend, Virgil had been looking forward to, was going to see Tosca at the Metropolitan Opera with biggest brother.

John  was still hovering, unconvinced. Virgil siged, but smiled:

"Well, Johnny, unless you want to come down from orbit and join me at the box, I'd rather our reservation to a sold out six months in advance opera didn't fall through."

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

"I love you more than my life, brother, but I do draw a line at too many people doing too many loud things in a confined space. Call me Johnny and see how often I come down from orbit!"

Virgil stifled a huff of laughter, as Scott shuddered and groaned quietly, but, thankfully, didn't wake up. The warm-up circles over his back and shoulders resumed. Virgil hugged him closer. John shifted attention to the swaddled biggest brother in fond amusement.

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

"Apfelschtrudel from that place Gordon found. And he can preview the R&D projects I selected for Brains, if he gets bored. No call-outs, no reports, no work mail though."

The gazed Virgil fixed on John was full of fair warning. It was John's turn to smile.

"Don't worry. You love watching opera and Scott loves watching us doing what we love. He'll be fine. And locked out of his work accounts, for good measure."

Silence stretched for several moments, interrupted only by Scott's soft snoring.

Virgil looked down on the slumbering brother in his arms, then back at John.

"I wish he did more of what he loves. Just Scott. For himself - not for us, or for the company, or the world."

That wasn't an issue easily solved in a casual conversation through an impromptu movie night. If at all. John knew that too, all too well. The brother in orbit chewed on his lip, lost in thought.

"You could sugget he get coffee in that place again. She's a Hudson Uni postgraduate. Cultural Anthropology."

Virgil was mostly used to John's the Resident Genius thoughts veering in unexpected directions, but the ginger thoroughly lost him there.

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

John rolled his eyes in exasperation commonly reserved to explaining things to the bristling rescuees and a five year old Gordon.

"The barrista that gave Scott a shelter number today. She works part time and volunteers there often. One time she even volunteered at the IR disaster site. Remember, the sinkhole? She seems nice."

Top Gun closing scenes were replaced by assorted social media pages and university profile pages. Virgil gulped.

"John! You can't go doxxing random people!"

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

"I have Eos run background checks automatically on anyone who comes in contact with you guys. We can't take any chances!"

There was sound and, sadly, field proved reasoning behind what nearly cost them barely averted tragedy on several occasions. But still... Virgil kept staring at a pretty blond smiling from the holoscreen.

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

Turquoise eyes twinkled in nothing remotely resembling remorse. He still didn't cut off the call.

"Do you wanna come down here for the weekend?"

Virgil suddenly felt the need to have more brothers accounted for and within reach. There was hope in the way John actually gave it a thought.

"Only if you don't make me go to the opera. I ordered you pizza, by the way."

A wave of warmth washed over Virgil and he tightened the grip on Scott's frame instinctively.

"You're my favoretest brother not asleep at the moment!"

He was graced with another eyeroll.

"You spend entirely too much time around Gordon. I'll have Eos screen the calls and land the elevator on the Tower tomorrow evening, your time, if there's no major catastrophe."

Virgil resisted the urge to fistpupm in the air. Definitely too much time around Gordon. Another thought occurred to him as he remembered a detail John mentioned when vetting the unsuspecting compassionate barrista.

"Hey, John! Could you..."

"Right ahead of you, brother. An anonymous donation was made to the homeless shelter and free kitchen an hour ago."

And they said Virgil and Scott were uncanny telepathic. Then again, it was to be expected. Anyone who was genuinely kind and considerate to their favorite Idiot, or attempted to course-correct his destruction path, inadvertently gained a lifelong ally in every one of them. Maybe he really needed to nudge Scott to go get more of the good coffee tomorrow. Equipped with an umbrella that time around.

[waty-art]

When it’s 1:00 AM and you just want to go to sleep, but your two younger brothers start arguing.

[thunderforsty]

Another shapeshifter commission for the dearest @the-original-sineater , this time of Virgil Tracy! Thank you ❤️

[laughing-moonlight]

Riding the teacups at Disneyland

John, Virgil & Kayo: [Spinning calmly while talking]

Scott, Gordon & Alan: [Flying past them, spinning as fast as they can, screaming]

[coco9728]

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

Silent Communication

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

He hears everyone’s melody, but there’s only one harmony that resonates.

A rather belated day three of Earth&Sky, because my muse stuck itself in Scott&Gordon whump and refused to let me poke at anything else until I was done with that (will be posted in a little while!), and Virgil is grouchy at me because of it.  He decided that the best way to show this was to make me drag out mostly-forgotten musical theory from the recesses of my memory.

Scott has always been special.  Virgil has four brothers, and he loves each and every one of them with everything he has, but there’s always been something different about Scott.  There’s a rhythm to his brother’s thoughts that he’s always known.  Less a melody – he hears all of their melodies; John’s cantabile, Alan’s agitato, and of course Gordon’s scherzando – and more the underlying harmony line.

Harmonies are subtle. Their effect is noticed, of course, the extra depth they give to anything unmeasurably powerful, but they are rarely picked out.  Why should they be, when their purpose is to compliment and elevate?

Virgil hears Scott’s melody, too, volante because Scott doesn’t know the meaning of the word slow, but it’s the harmony he resonates with.  It’s ever-changing, fickle with the mood, but no matter what it is, whether it be vivace, pesante or furioso, Virgil hears it and his own harmony adapts to match.

The others don’t perceive the world the way he does, music something to enjoy rather than something to live and breathe, but it’s no secret that Virgil compliments Scott.  He is whatever his brother needs, whenever he needs it.  And this is noticed.

Creepy, Alan likes to call it, although there’s no malice in the word.  Just a teenager deciding it’s a riddle not worth his time and ignoring that it exists until it’s thrown straight into his face – usually when they have to remind him to do his chores.

Mind readers, Gordon quips with the airs of someone who knows it’s scientifically impossible but believes it might be true, anyway.  Then again, this is the same young man who swears by his own sixth sense – even if he calls it by a rather more childish name – and has brushed closer with death than Virgil could ever comprehend.  Maybe his squid of a brother knows something they don’t.

A fact of life, is John’s response whenever it comes up.  John likes facts, logic and physics, and despite the lack of any science to possibly explain it, the brother sandwiched between them simply accepts it as a fact and moves on.  He has better things to do with his time than turn his brothers into lab rats to prove what they can all see: whatever the reason, however it works, Virgil can read Scott better than anyone else, and vice versa.

Scott doesn’t call it anything.  He laughs at Alan’s grumbles, rolls his eyes at Gordon, and shrugs along amicably with John’s assessment.  Virgil wonders what he feels.  His brother doesn’t breathe music, doesn’t see people in terms of agitato, vivace, scherzando.  Scott pushes forwards, sees challenge after challenge and surmounts them with all the grazioso he can muster.

But however Scott perceives it, Virgil knows he knows it’s there.  Knows he feels the thrum of their souls in perfect yin-and-yang.  It’s there in the way they’ll turn to look at each other in the same heartbeat, entire conversations passing without a single word. It’s there in the way Virgil will always be there to catch him, and Scott scouts ahead without a backwards glance, safe in that knowledge.

There in the lives they’ve saved, from broken-winged birds to strangers to family to each other.

It doesn’t matter how, or why, doesn’t matter how it manifests.

It’s just there.  Always has been.  Always will be.

And that’s all that counts.

[marblesmind]

As someone who is very new to the Thunderbirds fandom and has only seen a few episodes of each series: holy fuck please give Scott Tracy a break. I scrolled the thunderbirds tag for less than ten minutes and i found three fics where the plot is Scott Tracey gets tortured. What did this man do to yall?