#jeff tracy needs a drink

[edutainer2022]

On WIP Wednesday I'm challenging myself with this bit to maybe finish the story - it's been written out in my head for months, but it doesn't translate to pixels. Jeff is really trying in this one, but it ain't easy. Scott gets in a lot of trouble.

ANYTHING HE COULD EVER DO WRONG (Bit 1)

Jeff could maybe remember why it seemed like a good idea at the spur of the moment. Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward had unexpectedly arrived accompanied by his daughter on a visit to Tracy Headquarters in NYC. A courtesy visit on paper, it was to be a trial run of Brains' newest development - the heavily augmented, armored state-of-the-art limo-jet FAB0. Besides, the two men had a lot to discuss on a different project Jeff had in the works, that was to change everything.

As it was summer break, Jeff had Scott with him for an impromptu internship at the office (and a bit of bonding time, as Jeff Tracy was in so many words scolded by his mother, who stayed behind on the farm with the rest of the boys). Scott was to shadow Jeff in meetings and to get to know the grassroots workings of different departments. In whatever free time was left the boy was taking extra credit courses over the summer, fully intent to graduate early. So Lord Hugh's visit with his girl formulated an obvious easy plan - have the adults talk shop, and have Scott be a cordial host and show Penelope around the Tracy Towers. Penelope, about John's age, prim and precocious, was already every inch a lady. And if Scott's disarming smile and roguish demeanor was a bit of a bane of feeble hearts among the co-ed interns and younger assisstants, Jeff tried to chalk it up to the boy's blooming people skills for his own peace of mind. It was good to see his son smile again, at least. All in all, what could possibly go wrong?

Well... A LOT it turned out, as Jeff was looking at a smoking pile of pink-tinted cahelium and chrome in mind-spinning horror. Nobody knew how the kids managed to sneak away from the Creighton-Ward driver/bodyguard - Parker - hotwire the controls and take the prototype FAB0 for a spin in the air. Well, Jeff maybe had a vague idea of the Actual British Princess and the fifteen year old Han Solo wannabe situation possibly going on, but that was the furthest on the list of his concerns at the moment. Penny was conscious and for the most part appeared unscathed, when a blanched Parker and Lord Hugh helped her out, but Jeff could see the brown locks slumped on the safety cushion at the wheel and a trickle of blood down his son's face. Scott was unmoving. And Jeff's mind blanked out on the spot.

It was a testament to Brains' engineering genius and safety measures obsession, or the fact Scott grew up at flight controls in his father's lap and was naturally predisposed to fly anything, or maybe Jeff had used up all his lifelong limit of tragedy and loss - the kids were, indeed, alright. Relatively so. Penelope was shaken and more afraid for getting Scott in trouble, it appeared. Admittedly, it was her idea. Or maybe a dare. Scott got a broken wrist and now sported a bright blue cast, and a gush on the forehead that needed stitches. And a vehement, if admirable, insistence to take the fall for the lady.

Jeff wasn't particularly proud of the way he handled it - there might have been yelling, a grounding for the rest of the year, a confiscated phone, no TV or movies, or games privileges, and a strict prohibition to use the computer or tablet for anything other than schoolwork, a crisp "Yes, sir" and possibly a slammed door at the upper level of their Tracy Tower penthouse.

To his credit Jeff had to say that a sight of a son, unconscious amidst the metal debris, covered in soot and blood, was to haunt his sleeping and wakeful hours for many, many years to come, liberally transforming the former into the latter. It was unable to rest a wink and needing a stiffer insentive than an Advil, that Jeff staggered down from the master bedroom to the sitting area, nearly stumbling in the dark over something soft, warm and slumped against the wall on the stairs. The ball of tousled curls and blue pajamas keened painfully in his eldest voice. Scotty!

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #scott tracy needs his dad #jeff tracy #jeff tracy needs a drink #methinks i have astronomy #thunderbirds 2015 #my fic #thunder wip #scott whump #lady penelope

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Child Care

Jeff snorted. “Okay, so you saved the day, and they took you in like a stray dog. So what do you do?”

“What do I do? I do plenty! I plan out their away missions, oversee maintenance of the complex, sorted out how to defend against solar flares and radiation damage, and …” Lee trailed off, his face reddening.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “And?” he prompted.

Lee’s drink was apparently the most fascinating thing in the world. He mumbled something softly.

“Uh, Lee?” He looked up. Jeff pointed at his ear. “These don’t work so good anymore. What ya say?”

His face bright red, and unable to look his friend in the face, Lee muttered, “Help look after the kids.”

The was a long silence.

“You … help …” Jeff said slowly, his voice sounding strangled. “… look after … kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Human … kids … not … … goats?”

“Yeah.”

Jeff Tracy laughed.

It started out as a belly laugh, and gradually morphed into near hysterics, as tears rolled down Jeff’s face, and he was forced to double over, clutching his chest and belly as muscles long unaccustomed to this activity protested vehemently.

The sound drew attention, and pretty soon the rest of the island’s occupants were edging closer, alarmedly considering the need for a medical evac, and trying to determine symptoms.

Gradually, the laughter subsided into hiccoughs. And Jeff lay limp on his sun lounger, panting to regain his breath and manage the pain.

Lee sat rigid, staring at the horizon, the picture of dignified bearing of wounded pride.

“Ya finished?” Lee asked gruffly, when his friend finally fell into silence.

“Yep.” A stray giggle betrayed the lie.

“Um … everything all right?” It was Scott who found his voice first.

“All good boys. Lee here was just filling me in on what exactly,” another giggle, “it is he does with the colony on Mars.”

“Oh-kay.” Scott looked back at his family for assistance.

Grandma spoke up. “So what is it you do, then, Lee?”

Lee sighed. “I oversee authorised,” he eyed Virgil and Alan, “expeditions. I help ‘em with the maintenance, sorted out their long term problems with solar flares and the like, and I help look after –” he eyed Jeff “– the kids.”

Jeff snorted a laugh, but with effort managed to restrain himself.

His family was mystified.

All but one.

Grandma smiled widely, “Well, I guess those kids don’t have much in the way of art supplies.”

Jeff gave a strangled howl, before giving into a fresh round of laughter, as Lee leapt to his feet, and pointed an accusing finger at a startled Virgil.

“This is all your fault!”

Virgil stared. “Me! How …?!”

Lee glared back at Jeff, before continuing in a high-pitched sing-song voice, “‘Uncle Lee, can I paint the baby?’” His voice dropped back to its normal, albeit indignant, register. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t mean you wanted to paint a picture of the baby?”

Gordon and Alan glared suspiciously at Virgil, who was looking sheepish even though he clearly didn’t remember the incident referred to, as everyone else joined Jeff in laughing.

Grandma pulled out her phone, and after a minute, pulled up picture. “Here.”

The photograph showed absolute chaos. Lucy was clearly berating a defensive Lee (the buzz cut and moustache had never changed), a smirking Jeff was scolding a distraught, paint-splatted Virgil … and Scott and John were surveying a sleeping new-born baby, whose every inch of exposed skin (and much of his surrounds) were covered in brightly painted spots, stripes, and abstract shapes.

Jeff, still chuckling, heaved himself up from his lounger, and made his way to his middle son, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “There really wasn’t much we could say to you,” he grinned. “After all, you did have permission, and for some reason at no point had your mother and I thought to forbid you from using Gordon as a canvas.”

He turned to Gordon, whose expression now promised many many vengeance pranks in Virgil’s future. “And I don’t know why you’re so upset. You had your first bath after that,” Jeff shook his head. “We’ve been struggling to keep you out of the water ever since.”

Jeff turned back to Lee. “We should have known better than to ask you to watch the boys while we had a nap. You’d have thought we’d have learned after you babysat Scott, for us.”

Scott’s laughter turned to alarm as he eyed his father’s – very sheepish – best friend. “What did he do to me?!”

Notes:

Yeah, so … when babysitting kids, make darn sure you know EXACTLY what it is they’re asking before you give permission.

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.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #fanfiction #my fanfiction #jeff tracy #lee taylor #babysitting

[idontknowreallywhy]

This one accosted me while I was trying to write something else (which appears to be A Pattern for me and writing… well… anything actually). It is very much inspired by many enjoyable conversations / informal therapy sessions with @astranite who shares my “what’s really going on with Scott” headcanon, and at the same time helped me figure out what might be going on with me too. Thank you for everything and for helping me nudge this into something shareable.

It’s also inspired by @sofasurf’s amazing set of fics about Scott’s struggles in the early days post Jeff disappearing. It’s absolutely right that after an initial crisis his brothers and grandma would have put in measures to stop him needing to work so hard and bear it all alone and I love how she tells that story.

And yet… we have Scott who 6 years later is still up late sat at that thrice-darned desk.. brothers aside, he’s CEO of a company that would employ a lot of competent people to sort out all the nitty gritty paperwork. So why is he still frequently found asleep there 6 years on?

This is my attempt to figure out some of the Reason… and not in any way a side quest distracting me from my own Big Document nemesis. Nope.

It is, however, 99% projection for which I hope you’ll forgive me. Hopefully it’s not too out of character.

Sort of an emotional hurt-comfort thing. The ending is very silly because that is apparently how I roll.

Trochilidae

Scott shook his head irritably as his eyelids drooped and flung out his hand to grab his mug… which promptly took a nose dive off the desk.

Allowing himself to face plant the polished wood for a moment he acknowledged he was, at least, lucky it was empty. Something he really should have remembered as that would have been the 5th time he had raised it to his lips only to be disappointed at the lack of caffeinated wake up juice within.

Not that it was doing any good. He scowled. It never did. The miraculous transformation from ‘Sleep of the Dead’ to ‘Alert and Ready’ that the brown stuff could bring about in Virgil and Brains remained a mystery to him. Drinking it kind of kept him grounded though, maybe that was just habit by now. Nevertheless… he shoved his chair back and stood up, glaring at the chunks of ceramic on the floor: a job for future Scott. He went to get a new mug.

Re-entering the living room, he surveyed the scene. All was quiet. Deep breath… stretch out shoulders… he tilted his head from side to side to shift the tension in his neck with a satisfying series of cracks.

1am. No problem.

He was nearly done and then he could get to bed and get a solid 4 hours oblivion before his morning run.

Back at his desk, he took a fortifying gulp of focus juice, put on his determined face, picked up his tablet and swiped up to open the annual report again. He blitzed through another three paragraphs, noted down 4 questions for the board, one for the accountant and one further point to follow up with Jack, the Tracy family lawyer, before his eye was drawn to the broken mug scattered across the floor.

Probably shouldn’t leave that.

Gordon might wander by in those flimsy deck shoes and mortally wound himself.

He laid the tablet back down, pointed at it and muttered” don’t go anywhere” to the document that had been tormenting him. Blinking rapidly as he realised quite how little sense THAT had made, he crouched down to nudge the scattered fragments into a pile he could scoop up into the waste basket.

From this angle he realised there was a lot more than just decimated mug and coffee splatters down here… there were crumbs galore, odd, sticky patches and… yes he was pretty sure that the mysterious patch of shadow tucked away under the back corner of the desk was the better part of a club sandwich. He shuffled over, crablike, and reached underneath to retrieve it, sniffed it cautiously and was just concluding it was unlikely to be worth the subsequent food poisoning when John’s hologram popped up in front of him. He didn’t even glance up to see the inevitable raised eyebrow.

“Don’t even say it, John.”

Obediently his space-brother remained silent.

“I’m nearly done. I’m just signing off the annual report for the board meeting tomorrow.”

“From… under the desk?”

Blue eyes were cast upwards as Scott strode over to the kitchen to dispose of the rancid but weirdly tempting sandwich. There was no liner in the food waste caddy. He tutted and placed the plate on the counter top to deal with in a minute.

“Obviously not, I just spotted that Gordon had left something gross lying around and we don’t want a repeat of the taco incident.”

“Okay, and what are you doing now?”

Scott looked down at the cleaning bot in his hands.

“I… well it’s clearly not been working, the place is a health hazard so I was just going to see if I could…”

This time he did raise his eyes to meet the eyebrow of judgment.

Holding up the bot for John to examine, he grinned at his little brother and shook it gently.

“Look it has googly eyes! I bet that was Gordon.”

“Unlikely to be causing the malfunction. Get Brains to take a look at it tomorrow. Or Alan, he needs the practice.”

“True. Oh, did you see the note his teacher sent through?” Scott returned the bot to its housing and jogged over to his desk to pull up the email in question. He sat down and started to type a reply.

“Scott.”

“Mmhmm?”

“I saw it. It’s non-urgent.”

“Yes but while I think of it I might as well…”

“It’s 1:27am. Why don’t you just sign off the report and get some rest. It’ll keep.”

A melodramatic huff and the offending document was returned to the screen.

“You’ve been reading this for the last four days, Scott. What’s the issue? Can I help?”

“There are just so many points I need to follow up before I can put my name to it.” Scott highlighted a particular paragraph. “What if the data this is based on is inaccurate? I haven’t seen it!” He stabbed at another “These assertions here… is it ok to say that? I need to check the industry standards for…” he gestured vehemently “six or seven of these baseline metrics. The grammar in the narrative paragraphs feels clumsy. And I haven’t even started proof-reading it for typos yet!”

Scott took a deep shuddering breath and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, weaving his fingers into his hair and gripping slightly harder than was comfortable as if that would ease the headache he knew was starting.

“The accountants have checked it, the divisional heads have checked it, Jack has been all over it at least twice. Virgil and the engineering team went through it with a fine tooth comb last week, they’ll know the baselines. I’ve checked it myself. Even EOS had a look.”

The response was barely audible.

“But what if… it’s not good enough? If someone missed something and… I didn’t spot it…”

“You don’t have to spot everything Scott. We pay smart people very generously to spot things. As CEO you are allowed to rely on them.”

Silence.

“Please… can you trust us?”

Holding his breath to fight a wave of nausea, Scott flipped to the final page of the document and added his digital signature.

With ninja-like speed John had saved the file and forwarded it to the board.

“It’s done, big brother. Go and sleep in your actual bed for a change.”

A swift shake of the head and muttered curse as big brother realised he’d gnawed through his bottom lip again.

“Can’t.” He stood up and paced the room.

“You know, maybe you shouldn’t have caffeine so late. Even Virgil…”

Scott’s snapped explanation that it made no difference whatsoever and that John KNEW that was forestalled by a series of beeps followed by a low hum as the cleaning bot started trawling across the floor.

“EOS?”

“Yeah, I asked her to see whether a firmware update would sort it.”

“Right.”

The brothers watched in silence as the little machine zigzagged around the room, bumping from one obstacle to another in an apparently haphazard fashion.

“It doesn’t seem very efficient does it?”

Scott sank suddenly to the floor in an effort to hide the fact his legs had turned to jelly.

“No, but it’ll get there in the end and everything will be done and it will all be ok.”

He snorted at his brother’s lack of subtlety and rested his forehead on his knees, concentrating on breathing evenly. He was fine. It was all fine. Again.

A few minutes passed before he noticed a faint high pitched giggle and his moment of peace was interrupted by the cleaning bot repeatedly bumping into his hip. He lifted his head to glare at it only for his eyes to make contact with the outsized googly ones jiggling wildly with each collision. His shoulders shook and he pressed his lips together to try to contain the rush of emotion rising up in his chest.

“EOS!”

As John turned to lecture the AI about when it was and wasn’t appropriate to annoy older brothers, the bot froze, all unblinking innocence gazing up at him. Scott let slip the smallest chortle then, after a beat, exploded, throwing back his head with howls of laughter, tears running down his face

It took him a while to compose himself enough to notice he was now lying on his back on the living room floor, John smiling down at him like some benevolent heavenly messenger. Smugness permeated through EOS’s voice as she enquired whether the Commander was much better now. He hiccuped. Then nodded. As he peeled himself off the floor and patted the cleaning bot absently, Scott found himself seized by An Idea.

And so it was that as Gordon awoke with his dawn alarm to find a 6-day old sandwich with giant eyes watching him from his bedside table.

The screech of a horrified squid echoed through the villa and was swiftly followed by the slamming of doors and the thundering of feet as most of its occupants tore to the rescue of a brother in distress.

The eldest brother remained precisely where he was, warm and comfortable, listening to the chaos and bemused voices. He smiled to himself and drifted back off to sleep.

[AO3]

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #scott tracy needs sleep #Thunderfluff #mostly fluff #Ok Scott’s a bit stressed #But the ending sorts him right out #EOS is a menace #And a genius

[tagsecretsanta]

From @angelofbenignmalevolence

From @angelofbenignmalevolence to @astranite

Could someone please ping @angelofbenignmalevolence as Tumblr is refusing to tag them.

Santa’s Little Bug Out Bag

Fandom: Thunderbirds are Go

Characters: Jeff Tracy, Grandma Tracy, Lucille Tracy, Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: TAG Secret Santa 2023, Christmas, Family Bonding, Traditions, Mentions of Canon Trauma, Mentions of Canon Character Death, Mostly Fluff, A little hurt/comfort thrown in for spice, Be careful letting little ones read this - rated for Santa Spoilers

Summary: The tradition had started, like most odd family traditions, with a throwaway comment one Christmas. Then the tradition grew and evolved as the family continued to get bigger.

Chapter Note: Written as part of the TAG Secret Santa using the prompt "Unconventional Christmas traditions."

-----

The tradition had started, like most odd family traditions, with a throwaway comment one Christmas.

Jeff could not have been older than five. His parents had always done Christmas with flair. As soon as the Christmas season rolled around, Sally pulled out tinsel and garland and nutcrackers and the house became festooned in Christmas finery almost as soon as the turkey from Thanksgiving was in the refrigerator. They had always set out cookies and milk for Santa and Sally had always insisted on putting out a carrot or two for the reindeer. But on this particular Christmas, the winter had been unseasonably warm and the winter sun had been the brightest it had been in a long while.

“Do you think that Santa’s going to get hot in all that fur?” Jeff had asked as Sally held the garland for her husband, who was up on a ladder as he adjusted and fluffed the greenery.

“What?” had been the reply, as the question had seemed so completely out of the ordinary that it had taken Sally a moment to process the question.

“Well, it hasn’t gotten cold enough for it to snow,” Jeff said. He had been painfully aware of that fact, since he had had to attend every day of kindergarten this winter due to lack of snow days and Mrs. Westerson didn’t seem to have an ounce of the Christmas spirit leading up to the end of the year (at least as far as Jeff was concerned). “And if he’s running around in fur and velvet like he does when we see him at the mall…don’t you think he’s gonna be a little hot?” Sally looked up at Grant, who was forcing back a smile as he continued to adjust.

“He’s probably going to be ok,” Sally said. “It gets real cold way up high where he flies with the reindeer, so he’ll probably be alright.”

“But what if he isn’t? What if it’s too hot and he passes out and no one can get their presents?” Jeff asked. To his five-year-old mind, it was a very real possibility. Grant let out a little snort from where he had failed to keep down the laugh. Sally looked up to him with a frown and Grant turned slightly on the ladder, looking down at his son.

“Well, that would be a pickle,” he said. “What do you think we could do to help him out, son?” Jeff had thought about it for a long thirty seconds before he looked up to his father.

“Well, when you are doing stuff out on the farm, you always have a mug of coffee with you when it’s cold. Maybe we can get him a mug like yours and put some ice water in it so it will be cold for him when he comes to our house.” Grant smiled.

“I think that that is an excellent idea,” he said, looking to his wife. Sally rolled her eyes but smiled knowing full well that she would be buying a special Christmas thermos the next time that she was out at the store.

So it came to be that every Christmas, Jeff would check the weather and decide whether Santa needed a hot drink or a cold drink to get him through the Kansas December evenings.

The tradition had gone into hibernation as he grew into adulthood, the old thermos languishing amidst the other Christmas decorations. But soon enough, Jeff had found himself a wife, and within a few years, his wife had also become a mother to his firstborn, Scott. Scott was everything that he could have hoped for in a son, bright and inquisitive, even as a toddler.

As he grew into his childhood, old enough for Christmas to be remembered, Sally had dusted off the old Thermos and had explained to Scott that alongside the milk and cookies, they also had to leave either water or coffee, depending on the temperature. Sally had been overjoyed that she could bring back the old traditions for a new set of children, her grandchildren.

But it was a few Christmases later when Scott had asked if Santa was able to see in the dark when he visited the houses of the other children. And it was why for the next several years, a special flashlight, wrapped in red and white electrical tape to look like a candy cane, was found next to the thermos with coffee for Santa. And the tradition carried on, much to the delight of all the adults. Not just carried on, the tradition was growing.

When Virgil was born, Scott became the best big brother, helping wherever he could with the decorations on the tree and helping his toddling brother to learn how to unwrap the presents under the tree in his early Christmases. During the rest of the year, Virgil could often be found on Jeff’s lap as Jeff watched various shows about nature and natural disasters, and Virgil’s attention had been rapt. He had particularly fallen in love with a show about natural disasters that was hosted by Kip Harris. His young mind had already begun to idolize the man.

So, when the next Christmas had rolled around and the thermos and the flashlight were set out to prepare for Santa’s ride, Virgil asked if Santa liked his fuzzy hat, the one with the fur and the pompom at the end of its point. Jeff and Lucille looked at each other, as if they hadn’t given the matter much thought.

“What would he wear instead?” Lucille had asked, never wanting to shut down the creativity or problem solving of her boys. Virgil hadn’t needed two seconds to think.

“A cowboy hat,” he said. “Like Dad wears on the ranch.”

“You mean like Kip Harris wears,” Scott had muttered, and Virgil had given him a look. Jeff’s grin had been as bright as the Christmas tree.

“I think I have an old hat we could offer him,” Jeff said.

“But how will he know it’s for him? If it doesn’t look Christmassy?” Scott had whined. Lucille had assured him they would put it with the other things for Santa so he would know. But by the time the next year had rolled around, the hat had become bedecked with garland and holly, the lining replaced with candy cane striped fabric. There was no mistaking it that year. This was a hat for Santa and no one else.

The tradition carried on and a third Tracy son was born, John. He was a fussy baby, wanting to be held only by his mother, which made holiday decorating a challenge. Lucille had taken to wrapping John against her so that she had the free use of both hands as they got the Christmas tree set up and the garland hung and the presents wrapped. Baby John had always been entranced by the glittering lights on the tree, and he had gazed at them as if they were stars.

There came a Christmas when John had become interested in how Santa was able to visit everyone so quickly. Jeff patiently explained the mechanics of Santa and how there was a special Christmastime magic that let Santa take care of all the children, making the night as long as it needed to be.

“But does Santa ever get lost?” John asked. Jeff had seemed confused by the question.

“Well, no, John. He guides himself by the stars. He’s done this lots of times already. I think he’s got his route pretty much memorized.”

“But it’s supposed to be cloudy this Christmas Eve. What if he can’t see the stars? Does Santa have a compass?”

That year the coffee and the flashlight had been set out alongside the garland bedecked Christmas hat and a new addition: a compass that had been decorated with little Christmas tree stickers.

By the time that Gordon was born, it seemed like there was a lot of things that they gifted Santa every year to make his job a little easier, and it had been the year that Lucille had added her own gift to the mix. She had bought a canvas bag from the army surplus store and had begun the work of embroidering various Christmas figures on the bag: a gingerbread man here, a Christmas tree there, candy canes along the bottom. By the time Christmas rolled around that year, the bag had become quite festive. Into the bag went the thermos and the flashlight and the compass. The hat was attached to the handle of the bag by a clip. She had told the boys that it was so that Santa could just grab everything all at once and go and the boys had been enchanted by the bag, loving the way that the thread seemed to glitter when caught in the light of the Christmas tree.

As Gordon grew, he had decided that all the gifts that his family left for Santa on Christmas Eve were far too practical. Santa spent so much time making sure that gifts were brought to all the little boys and girls around the world, and all he got in exchange was some milk, some cookies, a little coffee, a flashlight, a hat, and a compass. Gordon wanted to give Santa something properly useful, something that he would be able to play with once he was done with his Christmas eve flight. For this, Gordon had thought long and hard all year, but it was only on a school trip to the aquarium that he had discovered the perfect thing to leave for Santa.

The stuffed ray plush in the gift shop was the perfect size to fit in the bag with all the other things (though Gordon had thought that it shouldn’t matter what size the plush was. Nothing was too good for Santa). The stuffed ray normally would not have caught his eye, except it had been a bright, Christmassy red with a white underbelly. He knew it would match Santa’s suit and he decided that then and there, he was going to make this little manta ray plush Santa’s new best friend. Lucille had tried to convince him a reindeer might be more seasonally appropriate, but Gordon had patiently explained to her that Santa already had nine reindeer friends and that he probably wanted other kinds of friends too. So, into the Christmas eve bag for Santa went the ray plush, which Jeff affectionately referred to as the ‘Santa Ray’ when they prepped the bag each year.

Alan was the last of the children to be born, and Christmas eves as he grew older became a more somber occasion. They had always been joyous, but after Lucille’s death, all the decorations seemed to have lost just a little bit of their luster. The first year they had barely managed to break out the tree, and the assembly of the bag had been a quiet affair, too painful to try to garner the same enthusiasm. But slowly Christmases became big affairs with decorations and parties as the business had taken off.

When it came Alan’s turn to add something to the bag, the little one had thought long and hard about it. He had taken his time and considered everything in the bag already. He wanted to make a smart choice. Everything in the bag was to help Santa not get lost or to keep his flight comfortable, which were all very admirable choices. But when Jeff asked Alan what he wanted to put in the bag, he was a little surprised by the answer.

“I think we should put an emergency beacon in the bag,” he said. Jeff’s brow furrowed.

“I…don’t think Santa will need one,” Jeff had answered carefully.

“But what if there’s a blizzard? Or a tornado? Or a hurricane? Or…” Alan trailed off, as if he didn’t want to ask. Jeff moved to hug Alan close to him.

“Ok, bud. We’ll put one in, just in case,” Jeff said, his voice shaky.

With the addition of the emergency signal beacon, the bug out bag had been completed. Jeff’s entire family had given a part of themselves to making Christmas special for Santa, and in turn had made each Christmas Eve special with the simple magic of pulling together each item and the anticipation of an amazing Christmas morning to follow. The tradition was a way of keeping their mother close, even as Alan grew out of believing in Santa Claus. The bag still came out each Christmas and each person brought out their own gift, putting it in the same bag that Lucille had lovingly embroidered.

At least until Jeff had disappeared.

The first Christmas after Jeff disappeared, the whole house had been somber. Scott, the newly ordained man of the house, had barely found the mental capacity to put up the decorations. When he had found the bag in the box of decorations, he couldn’t bring himself to pull it out. The wound of losing their father was too fresh and the faded embroidery felt like a scar ripped open as it brought back memories of their father.

The bag had been left to languish in the box of decorations for eight years as International Rescue began to take over most aspects of the Tracy family lives. There were Christmases that went uncelebrated for several days when rescues interrupted. But after eight years, the Tracy family had a miracle: Jeff was alive. The journey had been a dangerous one, but there was no greater joy than that of a happy reunion with their father. Though the first few months of his return to earth had been filled with hospital stays and therapy, both physical and psychological, the boys looked forward to the day when their father could return to the island without hospital visits looming.

It was two weeks before Christmas when Jeff was finally cleared by his doctors to come home. Tracy Island had become abustle with activity as everyone put more effort into the Christmas decorations than they had since Jeff’s disappearance, wanting to make this Christmas special for him. There was an abundance of garland, and they had flown in an enormous tree to mark the occasion. It had taken nearly three days to get enough ornaments on the tree to make it perfect. All they awaited was Jeff’s arrival on the night before Christmas Eve.

There were still last-minute preparations that Scott was finishing, wanting everything to be perfect for Jeff to return home to. Virgil brought up the last box of decorations.

“This should be the last of it,” Virgil said. “I think these are the rest of Grandma’s nutcrackers for the shelves.” Scott smiled up at him.

“Thanks Virgil, just set them there,” Scott said as he tied off another bit of garland wrapped around the supports on the stairs. Virgil set the box down next to him.

“Need any help?” Virgil asked. Scott looked up at him from where he was kneeling.

“I don’t know,” Scott answered honestly. “I really just want to make sure that everything is perfect. You know…gotta live up to those Christmases from our childhood, make it extra special for him.” Virgil nodded knowingly.

“Yeah, it’s a big one this year,” Virgil said. “John said he’d be down in the elevator once the medical transport was on approach to the island.” He opened the box to pull out the nutcrackers and began to place them on the shelves as Scott straightened some ribbon on the garland. He hummed ‘Deck the Halls’ as he put the nutcrackers on the shelves, making the office space a bit more festive in the hopes of discouraging Scott from spending too much time there during celebrations.

He reached for the next Nutcracker, but he felt his breath stop for a moment as his hands brushed cloth, a rough canvas cloth. His fingers traced a little more and he found the familiar shapes: a candy cane, a gingerbread man, a Christmas tree. Scott looked up as he heard Virgil stop humming.

“Is everything alright?” Scott asked. Virgil looked at him before looking down at the box. There was the Christmas bug out bag that they had so lovingly crafted together. The embroidery was dulled, frayed in some places, and it showed its age, but it was unmistakable. Virgil picked it up and ran his fingers over the fabric, the items that usually found their way to the interior of the bag beneath it: the old thermos, the flashlight, a hat festooned in garland that had seen better days, a compass with cracked glass from a careless move, the ‘Santa ray’, and an old emergency beacon. Scott looked at the bag and let out a soft ‘oh.’ There were a few moments where neither said anything before Virgil smiled.

“What do you say, Scott?” he asked. “Think it’s time to break this out again? A special bag for a special Christmas.” Scott’s brow furrowed.

“Do you think dad will want to see it?” he asked. Virgil thought for a few moments. It wasn’t as if they had anyone that was still young enough to believe in Santa Claus, but that hadn’t exactly been the point of the bag, had it?

“I think he will,” Virgil said. “It was part of what made Christmas so special before, part of what brought our family together no matter what we had to face. I think it’s time to bring it back out again, if only for the sake of a good laugh.” Scott nodded after a moment.

“If you think it’s a good idea…” he said, picking up the Santa ray. He chuckled. “You know the first question he’s going to ask is going to be ‘why don’t we have any new additions to the bag?’” This earned a chuckle from Virgil.

“Well…romance hasn’t exactly been top of our lists,” he said. “No one has really had the opportunity, since the world seems to be falling apart at every turn.” Scott looked as though he wanted to respond, but John’s hologram appeared at the center table.

“Hey John,” Scott greeted, earning a smile from John.

“I just got an update on Dad’s flight. Estimated arrival at the island in two hours,” John said.

“That’s great news!” Virgil said. John nodded.

“Weather patterns look clear so it should be a smooth and uneventful ride,” he said. “I’m just doing some prep to leave five before I will come down. Making sure that EOS’s servers are set for a few days and that sort of thing.”

“I keep telling him I will alert him if anything is in danger of going catastrophically wrong, but he’s anxious,” EOS said matter-of-factly. John rolled his eyes.

“I just want to make sure that when Dad wants to come visit Five, see all of his Thunderbirds, that she is ready for his arrival,” John said. He looked at the bag in Virgil’s hands. “Is that…”

“It is,” Scott said. “We were debating bringing it out for dad’s first Christmas back. What’s your take on it?” John looked pensive for a moment, resting his chin on his hand before he shrugged.

“I think it’s a good idea. So much has changed, I’m sure it would be welcome to have something familiar,” John said.

“That settles it,” Virgil said. “Though…it would be a treat for dad to have another new part of the tradition to look forward to.” John shook his head.

“Sorry, I don’t have a baby in my back pocket that I can pull out,” John said. “That was supposed to be on the two of you.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Yes, EOS, thank you,” John said. “Statistically speaking I can reproduce.” Virgil laughed as Scott looked up at John’s hologram.

“Hey EOS…”

“Yes, Scott?”

“If you were to put an object into a bug out bag…”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tag team secret santa #thunderbirds fanfiction

[angelofbenignmalevolence]

Stuck in New Idea Hell

Would that be the Worst Thing - (Hood/Havoc) - Angst - Same Universe as Bathroom Trash. Havoc has the conversation with the Hood about having his child

The Liquor Cabinet Series - (Tracy Brothers, Jeff?, Kayo?, Penelope?, Grandma?) - character studies - based on alcholic drinks I associate with them

"Lady Like" - (Penelope, Kayo, Grandma) - Three part exploration of the major female characters based on the idea of what it is to be "Lady Like"

The Lantern Beneath the Waves - (Gordon, Scott?, John?, EOS?) - Thriller?, Horror? - Gordon finds an old, abandoned city beneath the sea and finds more than he bargained for

Untitled AU - (Ensemble Cast, Contains OCs) - AU, Sci-Fi - Lucille had a life as part of an experimental program before she escaped and met Jeff and created a family

Rescue/Rescued - (Ensemble Cast) - Thriller/Suspense - Some of the Tracy Boys are called out to a rescue where they become those in need of rescue as they are hunted by those they were sent to rescue

Marionettes and Chessmen - (Ensemble Cast, The Hood, Havoc, Fuse, Contains OCs) - AU, Thriller - International Rescue only believes they have caught the hood, but the rabbit hole goes deeper than they thought as they delve deeper into the Hood's organization.

I'm trying to figure out which one piques the audience's interest as well as my own. :) Let me know what you think :)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #ask game

[skymaiden32]

Brothers and Enemies

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 6: Spiritual

Kyrano gives three feuding brothers a few words of advice.

Continuity: TOS

------

It was a beautiful day on Tracy Island. An array of tropical wildlife thrived in the trees of the jungle and the reefs of the surrounding sea, all vibrant and colourful. Kyrano inhaled deeply as he watched it all from the sanctity of his garden. Days like this, when the world was at peace and all was still, were what he lived for.

So of course, the powers that be decided it was high time for some chaos. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!” The shout carried from the main house across what must have been the entire island. Kyrano immediately recognised the voice as Virgil. He sighed, wondering who was responsible for the second brother's anger. And what the reason was. It took a lot to make Virgil angry, but when he was, the entire house knew within seconds.

“Then next time,” a second voice replied to Virgil. Alan. “Don’t steal my cheesecake!” Kyrano chuckled. A trivial disagreement between brothers. Seemed like this would get resolved by itself fairly quickly. At least hopefully. With Grandma on the supply run with Scott, and Jeff away on business, there was no-one to keep them in check.

“That doesn’t mean you can just do that, Alan! I could’ve really gotten hurt there…” Of course, Kyrano thought, he could be proven wrong about it being resolved quickly.

Alan scoffed. “Really? By slipping on some spilled water?”

“Spilled water from an ice bucket,” Virgil explained. Kyrano could practically see him getting angrier from here. “That YOU kicked over while I was walking past!” Kyrano’s interest was definitely piqued now. He moved closer to the house to hear a little better, and to intervene if need be.

“Yeah…” Gordon’s voice was nervous as he joined in. “It was going a bit far for a slice of cheesecake, if you ask me, Al…”

“Well nobody did ask you, Gordon.” Alan replied harshly. “So you can stay out of this!”

Virgil gasped as if what Alan had just said had been directed at him. “Don’t talk to Gordon like that! Or me for that matter!”

Just as Alan was about to retort, Kyrano decided it was high time he stepped in. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?” He walked over the threshold. “It sounds like quite the argument.”

Virgil argued against the intervention. “Oh, it’s nothing, Kyrano. Don’t worry. Just a normal brotherly spat.”

Gordon chuckled without humour. “Sure, let’s call it that...” 

Alan glared at his immediate brother. Kyrano raised his eyebrow. “Oh? Well, I happen to have had my fair share of these ‘brotherly spats’. I am happy to help where I can and offer advice, if you so desire.”

“It’s fine-”

“I insist, Master Alan.” Kyrano stated matter-of-factly, giving his daughter’s boyfriend a pointed look. “Come sit, all of you,” he pointed to the chairs outside. “And we will discuss over a nice cup of tea.”

The mere suggestion calmed the three enough that they exchanged a puzzled look, before nodding. Gordon and Alan sat on the balcony, looking out to the sea, with Virgil offering to help Kyrano with the tea. Soon, the four men sat in a circle, calm, but subdued given what had just happened.

“It is not easy,” the manservant started, causing all three brothers to look up at him from their drinks. “To get along with your brothers at all times. In fact, it may well be impossible. Believe me, I understand that perfectly. After all, it is simply what happens when you live and work with people who are so similar to you for so long.” He sighed. “But Master Alan, your brothers were right when they not only said someone could’ve gotten seriously hurt, but it was also a step too far.” They all listened, attentively. “My own brother hurt me, and continues to hurt me near daily.” Three pairs of eyes flew wide open at the statement, all of them knowing exactly who Kyrano was talking about. “We were as close as you five were, once.”

“What happened?” Alan’s voice was quiet when he asked that question. “How did he become…” He hesitated, but he didn’t need to finish that sentence. He tried anyway. “The Hood…?”

Kyrano sighed again, sipping his tea. “I wish I knew when it started. All I do know is that one day, he went too far. My wife…” He shook his head. “Forgive me for not being as forthcoming as you would like.” Kyrano looked at Alan again. “It may seem trivial to you, but it was not to your brothers. I will not let your family be split apart like mine was.”

Alan sighed, reading between the lines, and turned to look at his two older brothers. “I’m sorry. I really am…”

“We know sprout. Just don’t do it again.” Gordon ruffled his hair. The radio in the lounge beeped urgently. “That’ll be Grandma and Scott. I’ll guide them in and you meet them on the runway, okay?”

“Okay.” Alan nodded in agreement, and the two left, leaving Virgil and Kyrano by themselves.

Virgil breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Kyrano. You always know just what to say. Guess you’ve learned a thing or two from the spiritual lifesyle.”

“That, and being old.” Kyrano smiled, and Virgil laughed. “I was just happy to help.” He made his way back down the steps to the garden, only stopping to say one last thing. “Remember to finish that tea. It wouldn’t do to let it get cold.”

Back down in the garden, he breathed in and out, taking in the new but familiar sounds as one more Tracy brother and their grandmother joined what was soon to be a cacophony once again. Kyrano didn’t mind. It was a beautiful day, and he could feel at peace anywhere.

#thunderfam #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 1965 #thunderbirds fanfiction #kyrano thunderbirds #virgil tracy #alan tracy #gordon tracy #thundertober #thundertober 2023 #sky writes stuff

[twisted-tales-told]

3 17 32! 🫶🏻

LINDS HI HELLO ILY

This ask game

3. Favourite fantasy sub genre

I love the ones that are so blurry. Like the magic is questionable, there’s fate vs destiny vs free will etc etc. the raven cycle is a Perfect example of that! I love the poppy wars type fantasy too, VE Schwab also gets it.

I think it’s because I practice witchcraft and I’ve always found mundane magic so fascinating. Like how my mom will call me when I’m upset because somehow she knew, and friends who text you right when you’re thinking of them, and how people will find you the perfect moments in your life when you need them most. How on a bad day maybe you get a free Starbucks drink by accident.

Idk I just think there’s more to it & that we don’t understand anything abt reality and I love when books explore the blurry lines there.

17. Favourite finished book series

I have so many…so so so many…but I haven’t talked abt Animorphs enough recently and I’m saying that because 54 books baby!!! All these bite sized pieces exploring a bigger whole?? Questioning the morality of the thing trying to destroy you??? Having your enemy stare back at you with the face of your brother?? Not choosing to save the world and dragging yourself the whole way there?? Ouch!!!

32. Name of your favourite authors

I’m going to list the girlies that I will just pick up based on the fact that they wrote it

1. Rick Riordan

2. Jandy Nelson

3. R.F Kuang

4. Alice Walker

5. M.L.Rio

6. Leigh Bardugo

7. Madeline Miller

8. Suzanne Collins

9. Benjamin Alair Sàenz

10. Jael Richardson

11. Maggie Steivater

12. Jeff Vandermeer

13. Tracy Deonn

Listen I am a loyal girlie

#twisted games #Linds!!!

[thealmightyven]

Hi again! What are the Chosen 4’s roles in the story? How/what are they doing now? What are their connections to the new cast of characters/party? Sorry I’m starting to get invested

YEAHHHH I’M SO THRILLED PEOPLE ARE TAKING INTEREST!!

I can give you a little bit of info:

I’ve already posted some headshots of what I think the Chosen Four look like and some brief career choices, but here’s the details:

Ness still lives in Onett, being a coach for Onett Little League! He absolutely loves this job (though most of the kids don’t care that he was a chosen one). Since it’s only seasonal, he spends his off time doing a bunch of different things, mainly helping Tracy with her delivery business and tending to the needs of any citizen that needs help (he thinks he’s like Superman, but he’s just a middle aged dude). Oh, and he and Paula are married, but with no kids. They kept saying they’d get around to it, but y’know, life happens.

When not with her goof husband, Paula works on writing books and sometimes helps her parents with their preschool. She’s already an acclaimed author, with her book about their adventures selling out in many book stores. She likes to travel, be it solo or with Ness, and tries to visit as many landmarks as she can (though it’s easier when you can teleport). Not only does she make an effort to visit her long distance friends often, but she also likes to visit Mr. Monotoli and have a chat once and a while.

Jeff continued researching through adolescence, even when his father up and disappeared one day. He rather easily got a PhD and made a lab of his own in a coastal area of Winters. His work ethic is impressive, but his friends often have to convince him to give it a rest for a bit. More often than not, taking him out requires dragging him out of his workspace (Ness has no problems with this). Still, he enjoys his work, and his lab is upkept with the help of his lab assistant, Tony (who, upon getting impatient waiting for Jeff to reach out, had sought him out and begged to be his assistant).

Lastly, Poo has ascended to King of Dalaam, which means his schedule is often busy with diplomatic activities. Still, he carves out time to relax with his good friends. He doesn’t leave Dalaam often, but when he does, it’s usually to have a drink with the other chosen ones. Of all his duties, he loves training with young apprentices most. Though he tries to keep a calm and sage front, he often ends up joking around with his students (and sometimes showing off ridiculous feats with his PSI). All things considered, he’s one of the most renowned and well-respected PSI users in history.

Other than maybe a small cameo, most of the Chosen Four do not have any direct appearance in the current story than I’m writing with my characters—at least I don’t plan for it.

In their little corners of the world, I’m sure they take action against any incoming aliens, but most of them do not cross paths with the main four of my story.

#ven’s oc stuff #mother series #ness earthbound #paula polestar #jeff andonuts #prince poo

[gumnut-logic]

Dear Mr Tracy (Part 5, Bit 2)

Sweetapple | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 - Bit 1, Bit 2, Bit 3 | Part 5 - Bit 1, Bit 2

@flyboytracy​​​​​​, @amistrio​​​​​​ and @onereyofstarlight​​​​​​​  you asked for it, so you get to suffer more :D

Many thanks to @onereyofstarlight​ for the rushed read through on this and to @greywake​ for tackling my crazy yesterday. Thank you for all your amazing support. And of course, to everyone cheering me on, couldn’t do this without you guys ::hugs you all to bits::

I hope you enjoy this bit.

-o-o-o-

The inquisition eventually culminated in a toast to Alex which had him flushing even redder and attempting to hide under the table.

Even Virgil smiled at that.

Food was ordered and served. Alex went for the fish and chips and obligatory salad. He had to admit that it was the best fish and chips he had ever had and yes, he was coming back here on his next road trip to examine more items on the menu.

Because this wasn’t some big fancy restaurant full of rich people. It was just a niche pub in a small town with bloody good food that the average joe could afford.

The fact the Tracys could probably eat anywhere on the planet and chose this joint as one of their favs spoke more than any advertisement could.

Which led to the obvious question of why O’Malley’s wasn’t using the Tracys as a way to fame. But considering the personal service and the trust that seemed to be bouncing around the room, the O’Malley family were probably just decent folk.

Alex wasn’t immune to tabloid exposure, both online and offline. The Tracys were big news wherever they went. But sitting here watching the family talk around the table - Alan inhaling a burger and then ordering a second one and consuming that one equally as fast; Gordon attempting to steal Kayo’s drink to improve it and nearly losing fingers in the process, only to attempt to steal it again moments later with the same result; Mr Tracy talking quietly with Mr Jeff Tracy beside him.

Virgil Tracy staring at his father with a worried frown. There were bags under Virgil’s eyes that blatantly screamed the man needed sleep.

In fact, Virgil wasn’t talking much at all and kept eyeing his father across the table. Every now and again the two eldest brothers would swap frowns and Virgil would go back to staring at his meal.

Because for all the deliciousness served up to them, Virgil didn’t appear to be very hungry.

Alex gulped his down using the theory that if his mouth was full of food, he couldn’t say anything further to embarrass himself.

So the meal carried on with very little in the way of conversation until Gordon decided to poke the bear a little more.

“So, Alex, parents and siblings?”

“You’re determined, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Gordon held up his hands in apparent innocence. “Hey, I just know what it is like to be surrounded by scary people. And Virgil is pretty terrifying at the moment.”

Alex had the distinct impression that Gordon had no trouble staring death in the face.

And Virgil was doing a great impression of a grim reaper. Wow, those eyebrows were deadly.

Gordon just grinned. “So, Alex, give us the goss. Mom, Dad, bros or sisses?”

“Mum, and two older sisters.” He shoved the last of his salad in his mouth. “Dad died a few years back.”

The room froze. Gordon’s mouth was hanging open. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Alex shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Again with the impression there were unsaid words bouncing around the room and Alex was suddenly aware that this was a family that had lost both their mother and their father until recently.

Jeff Tracy’s eyes were on him again.

Those frickin’ eyes could read his bloody soul.

“Really, it’s okay.” And he could really do without talking about it right now.

It was Virgil’s deep voice that broke the silence. “Your mom?”

“A doctor in Napier.”

“That’s just south of Māhia.”

“Yeah, I drive down there sometimes. It has been great being so close. Extra bonus for the transfer, thank you.”

Gordon was poking at his phone. He frowned and stared over at Alex. “Your mom is ‘Doctor Lolly Sweetapple’?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Ignore him.” Virgil literally growled at his brother before turning polite interest to Alex. “What’s her speciality?”

“General practice. Mum is one of those old-fashioned country doctor types.” He eyed Gordon. “And she will give you a lollypop if you are good.”

Scott, beyond Virgil, snorted.

That earned him a glare from Gordon. “You can’t talk. Virg had to buy out a lollypop factory just to get you to vaccinate.”

As if that was a trigger point, and it apparently was, the table erupted in protest. Accusations of ‘How do you know that?!’ and ‘Virgil? What the hell?’ and, of course, ‘Gordon!’ bounced around the room.

Alex shrunk back and concentrated on finishing his meal. It really was nice fish, and the chips were cooked perfectly. He pondered what might be on the dessert menu…

“Boys!” It was sharp and instigated an immediate silence. Jeff Tracy was wielding his eyebrows. No guesses where his sons got them from. “We have guests.”

Alex glanced in the direction of Tia. She had a smile on her lips not unlike Kayo next to her. What did they know that he didn’t? Either way, the rest of the family looked appropriately abashed and Alex couldn’t help but grin a little himself.

This was actually quite familiar. His family was smaller, but just as boisterous, if not more. Debates over the dinner table were not uncommon and there was that time that Holly threw her mashed potato at Miranda. Mum had not been impressed at the resultant food fight, but she had joined in, so she couldn’t speak.

He could remember his Dad, before he got sick, sitting in the corner with broccoli in his hair laughing his ass off.

So it was a fond grin, if anything.

Gordon held up both hands. “I’m just saying that my big bro, my wingman, my personal tank, my ever-supportive rock, bought out a confectionery business just so he could guarantee that Scott’s favourite lollipop would still be made. I don’t know about you, but I find that incredibly endearing.” And he shone heart eyes at Virgil complete with a two-handed heart against his chest.

Virgil eyed him, grunted and went back to poking at his meal.

Scott frowned worriedly in his direction.

And Alex’s heart sank, his smile vanishing. Virgil was so obviously not himself. Alex was now wondering why his brothers had dragged him out here.

Out of curiosity, Alex pulled out his phone and activated his Thunderbird Tracker app and scrolled beyond the fans screaming that Thunderbird Two was currently in Whitianga, to the last official callout he could locate.

There were three in the last forty-eight hours, two of which had completely slipped Alex’s attention. The first seemed to be some kind of aircraft accident, another involved some people stranded in the Arctic, and the final one, a mere ten hours ago was a landslide in Ecuador.

It was no wonder the man looked buggered.

Yet here he was.

Alex never knew what to do in these situations. He saw someone clearly in need, wanted to help, but didn’t know them well enough. Plus most of his family was here. Why weren’t they doing anything?

But then they were. Gordon was chatting along happily about a pelican, something about it poking Virgil while he was asleep on a pool lounge?

It was obvious he was trying to lighten the party because now both Mr Tracys were staring worriedly at Virgil.

Alan was frowning at Scott.

Kayo was eyeing Alex thinking hard enough he could see the chemical reactions behind her eyes.

Virgil took one look at Scott, darted a glance at his father, and was suddenly rising from the table. His napkin landed gently beside his plate.

“Please excuse me.”

And Virgil Tracy walked out the door.

-o-o-o-

 Next

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Scott Tracy #alexander sweetapple #nuttyfic #flyboytracy's fault

[edutainer2022]

Waves at @janetm74 with the text. I have no idea if it's going anywhere, but the idea haunted me to be put out there. Mentions of murder and torture, because Bereznik. Colonel Casey gets some disturbing news.

COUP DE GRÂCE

Colonel Casey leaned deeper into her office chair, a heavy weight settling in her chest, as a holographic grid of data points, crimescene photos, some more gruesome than others, and interconnected arrows was rotating in the middle of the room. Her branch wasn't even the law enforcement arm of GDF per se, so the fact this has been brought to her attention was alarming in and of itself. More alarming still was the number of murders in the span of several months - 19 in total.

There was frustratingly little in the victims' profiles to suggest a pattern - different ages, genders, nationalities, appearances, different countries of residence, different social backgrounds. Different professions too - some former or serving GDF, some civilians - engineers, medics, computer scientists, independent contractors. The GDF officers could be maybe loosely placed as stationed in Europe at some point, but that covered only half of the sample. Yet the pattern was there. Somebody of the GDF best and brightest in counter terrorism division or special ops, figured it out. That's why Colonel Casey was contacted. The assumption was still slim to the naked eye, but the implications made her blood run cold. She forced her breathing to even out, thinking fondly of her ginger spacebound godson - John wouldn't have taken this long to figure out and calculate the pattern. The boy was a patented genius. She also wished none of Jeff's kids, she loved so dearly, would ever have to know about it - the kind of evil that still walked the earth and lurked in the shadows.

The murders were vicious - the victims were held captive and brutalized before they were allowed to die. The MO clearly spoke of a maniac, unhinged and cruel, and hungry for control. It was deduced with some effort that while none of the victims shared more than a handful of common traits, or crossed paths to generate veryfiable connections, at some point all of them dropped off of social media for different periods of time. When they next reoccured - most looked notably changed, gaunt, as if having undergone an exhausting illness. The interviews with families yielded little - absolutely noone mentioned that gap in social media presence or feigned ignorance when pressed.

The victims among different GDF officers were easier to counter reference against more classified databases. That's where Colonel Casey was brought in. The results had her grip the armrests of her chair till her knuckles popped. There were no traceable records, because the GDF and World Council chose not to keep any mention above counter of a POW gulag smack in the middle of the flourishing European continent for a very diplomatic reason of there officially having never been a war. All those years later, someone was methodically tracking, capturing and brutally murdering the survivors of a liberated prisoner camp in Bereznik.

Val Casey felt her head spin from strain and allowed her eyes to rest for a briefest moment. On the backdrop of memory was her oldest friend Jeff's face, contorted with fury and pain, towering and yelling at a stammering World President for cowardly evasion and hypocrisy. Jeff's face again, a picture of pure agony, as he was clutching a scrawny lifeless figure in tattered bloody fatigues to his chest and weeping. She didn't keep track if all the guards and officers of the compound were ever rounded up. Their mission was as black ops as it got - get in, extract, get out. Fast. Were they caught behind Bereznik border, the World Council would feign ignorance and give them up to be tried by the local authorities for an act of war. She forced herself to look back at the holoscreen again and shuddered - among the pictures of victims who made it out of hell and survived unspeakable atrocities, only to succumb to a cruel and vindictive hand, was clearly slotted a place for one more. The crown jewel of whatever vendetta the vile mind of a psychopath was acting out. Humanity's brightest beacon of Hope. Scott Tracy.

Colonel Casey knew her first order of business should have probably been shutting IR operations down immediately and ordering the boys to stay confined on the island, under Kayo's protection. She wasn't naive enough to hope the maniac, whoever he was, would not resort to the surest way to lure his designated victim out - a captured brother or two. But she also knew her eldest godson enough to know it would be a loosing battle to try and have him stay put for his own safety. It hasn't worked so far on any other occasions. She was also weary to even bring the subject of the imposed grounding up and stir the memories of hell. The profiling team dismissed, she reached for a secure comm unit in a locked drawer and dialed the only viable number there:

- Lord Hugh? I need to meet with you and Kyrano asap. The usual place. Off record.

#thunderbirds are go #colonel casey #scott tracy #colonel casey needs a drink #scott tracy needs a hug #bereznik #methinks i have astronomy #thunderbirds 2015 #my fic #jeff tracy

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Lee Taylor's First Time Babysitting

Lucille Tracy was still not convinced. “Jeff, are you sure about this?”

Jeff smiled reassuringly. “Very. We’ve got to leave town for the day – a very long, very boring day – so you can get the next lot of scans for the baby. Mom has her hands full looking after Pa, and your parents couldn’t get away from the Ranch. We can’t take Scott, he’s too young, and, um …”

“Hyperactive?” Lucy raised an eyebrow.

“Excitable,” Jeff decided, “to be spend the day in the hospital with us. Lee was visiting anyway, and he is Scott’s godfather …”

“Who requires every bit as much adult supervision as the two year old we’re asking him to supervise.”

Jeff frowned. “That’s not fair, Luce. Lee …”

She sighed. “I know.” She met his gaze. “It’s only one day, right? And as he keeps reminding us, the Space Agency trusts him with their multi-billion dollar equipment, so we can trust him with Scott?”

Jeff kissed her on the forehead. “Exactly right, on both counts.”

Lee Taylor was miffed.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look after his two-year-old godson, and it wasn’t that he wanted to look after his two-year-old godson – kids had never been his thing; but his best friend’s wife was giving the impression that she didn’t trust Lee with the boy.

For goodness sakes, the Space Agency trusted him with multi-billion dollar it, didn’t they? (Not on your own, they don’t, a traitorous little voice whispered. Lee resolutely ignored it.)

Jeff trusted him with his life, surely his wife could trust him with their son?

Captain Lee Taylor was a fully trained astronaut, with five moon missions, and one Mars landing under his belt. Captain Lee Taylor could handle a two-year-old boy. No problems. Easy peasy, light and breezy!

Captain Lee Taylor was a fully trained astronaut, with five moon missions and one Mars landing under his belt. Captain Lee Taylor was not qualified to deal with a two-year-old boy. I’m an astronaut, get me out of here!

It had started off well enough, wave bye-bye to Jeff and Lucy, watch as the boy climbed the tree in the backyard – “Are you allowed to climb that tree?” “I am if you say I am, Uncle Lee.” (He wasn’t too sure about that decision, he had a feeling Lucy wouldn’t allow it, but the kid was fine.)

A snack, reading a book about airplanes, that morphed into a storytelling session about Jeff flying in his plane, bright blue eyes stared up adoringly as he listened to stories of his Daddy’s adventures. (And, maybe, he shouldn’t have been quite so honest about Jeff’s time in combat? But the kid loved it.)

But it had fallen apart after that. Inspired by the stories, Lee had been roped into an energetic game of ‘fighter pilot’, where Lee was the “boogie” to the boy’s Jeff. Lee had to ‘fly’ and try to avoid the little boy chasing him. At the shrill shriek of “Direct hit!” Lee had to fall down, before he was allowed up to play the part of another “boogie”. After three hours, Lee was exhausted.

And the kid was hungry. So Lee found the (premade? Lee could handle making sandwiches, for heavens sake!) sandwiches in the fringe, and poured juice into a large glass. The biggest he could find, don’t want the boy to get dehydrated. That the large heavy glass tumbler wasn’t suitable for little hands was a retroactive thought, after it smashed on the ground. But that was okay, just a broken glass and spilled juice. No blood, no foul. Lee found another – plastic – tumbler and replenished the boy’s drink, before cleaning up the mess.

Lee had a thought that kids should sleep after eating, need time to let the food settle, right? But he was having none of it, wanting instead to return to playing ‘fighter pilot’. Lee couldn’t face another round of that, so he compromised with some tv time. Managing to find an old kids movie he remembered that should meet the boy’s approval, they both settled on the lounge, as onscreen Dusty Crophopper chased his dream of flying around the world.

Only for Lee to wake abruptly some time later alerted by some weird sixth sense, just in time to catch the boy as he launched off the top of the bookcase – and how the sam hill had he got up there? A frantic examination proved the kid was fine, albeit disappointed by his failure to ‘fly’. So Lee took him out to the tyre swing so he could ‘fly’ there.

It was an unknowable time later, growing dark and Lee’s back and arms were burning with exertion when Jeff and Lucy arrived home, take away Chinese in hand, only to laugh at Lee’s exhaustion, and the kid’s excitement.

Dinner was a quiet affair, as Jeff and Lucy – mainly Lucy – interrogated them on their day. Jeff quietly amused and Lucy exasperated as the story of broken glass came out, and horrified at the ‘bookcase incident’. Lee had been hoping that they could keep that to themselves.

And yes, he had been conned. The tree was strictly off limits.

Lee hoped to make a quiet escape to his guest room, but the kid wasn’t having any of that. Apparently the little monster had decided that since he was spending the day with him, that was the whole day. 24 hours.

Lee wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but somehow he ended up agreeing to sleep on a camp bed in the kids room. The operative word was ‘sleep’, right? The boy would sleep. Lee sure would. Somehow exploring new worlds was less exhausting than babysitting one two-year-old.

Jeff smirked as Lee was dragged up to the kids room, for a round of bedtime stories, and “G’night, Uncle Lee.”

Lee glared as Jeff smirked at him as he checked they were both safely tucked up in bed, before turning off the light.

Lee was going to get his best friend for this.

Small sharp fingers clamped onto his eyelid and pulled, painfully, forcibly, opening his left eye, and startling Lee into wakefulness.

Bright blue eyes peered into Lee’s sole open one. “Is you awake, my Uncle Lee?”

“I am now,” he grumbled, feeling his back complain about the camp bed he had slept – too briefly – on last night.

The little boy clapped happily, before grabbing his upper arm and trying to pull him upright. “Up!”

Lee resisted. “Too early, kid. Go back to bed.”

His best friend’s son bounced – bounced! – onto the bed and then onto his chest, driving all the air from his body. “The sun’s awake, so we’re awake. It’s time to play, so let’s all go Outside today!” He sang gleefully, bouncing in time to the tune.

Lee managed to catch him in the air, and rolling half over, deposited the boy on the floor beside the bed. He stared at the little boy, who was practically vibrating in excitement.

“You like this every day?” Lee demanded.

The boy bounced on his toes. “Yep!”

Lee swore under his breath. No wonder Jeff and Lucy were so darn tired. He eyed the blue-eyed menace in front of him. “Alright,” he muttered. “But we gotta let your Mom and Dad sleep, okay?”

He bounced again. “Okay!”

Lee dragged his protesting body out of the camp bed. Every morning. Darned if he knew why Jeff and Lucy wanted another one after this.

Jeff Tracy woke when the sun managed to find the exact right spot to shine through the gap in the curtains, and hit his face.

He lay still half asleep in bed, and wrestled with the fact that something felt wrong.

Very wrong.

The house was silent, he couldn’t hear anything except Lucy snuffling – not snoring. Never snoring. His wife DID NOTsnore! (He had learned that fact the hard way.) So there was no break in, and Scott …

Scott.

Scott, who hadn’t let his parents sleep past sunrise pretty much since the day he was born. Scott, the solar-activated ball of hyper-energy that should have bounced his parents awake the second the sun’s first rays hit the horizon. Scott, who should have been nyrooom-ing his thundering way up and down the hall and stairs.

The house was silent.

The house was still.

Scott!

Jeff was awake in a flood of adrenaline, launching himself off the bed towards the door, and running towards his son’s room.

The bed was unmade, and Scott was gone.

In a blind panic, Jeff rushed toward the bed, and ended up sprawled across the floor.

He turned, and sagged with relief. He had tripped over a discarded blanket, kicked aside from the bed camp bed that had been made up for Lee after Scott had insisted that ‘Uncle Lee’ have a sleepover with him.

Jeff took a moment to calm his breathing and heartbeat. Lee. Scott waking would have woken Lee; and Lee, knowing how tired he and Lucy were, had taken the boy off to play so they could sleep.

Thank god for Lee.

He had just about regained his composure when Lucy rounded the door. “Jeff?” She was still groggy from sleep, having been woken by his mad dash for the door. “What is it?”

Jeff got up from the floor. “I woke up,” he admitted, sheepishly. “And I panicked when I realised how late it was.”

“Huh?”

Jeff huffed, “Fine. I’m not used to being able to sleep so late. I freaked when I realised Scott hadn’t woken us, and I couldn’t hear him. Scott must have woke Lee first, and Lee took him out to play so we could sleep.”

Lucy stared, still uncomprehending, then shook her head. “Coffee. I need coffee. I can’t logic without coffee.”

Jeff grinned. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

He went downstairs, as Lucy went to take care of ‘the necessities’. And glanced as he filled the kettle, looked out the window.

The backyard was deserted.

Come to that, he couldn’t hear anything from outside, either. Scott wasn’t by nature quiet, and Lee, well, his lack of volume control was yet another side effect of that disastrous training exercise.

Jeff frowned as went to check the front yard. It too was deserted, but Lee’s rental car was missing.

Okay, so Lee had taken Scott somewhere to play so he wouldn’t disturb them. Nothing to worry about. Jeff spent the next ten minutes looking for a note explaining where they had gone.

Nothing.

No note. No car. No Lee. No Scott.

Lucy wandered down the stairs, and was a little put out to find the coffee unmade. She sighed as Jeff explained the situation. “Jeff, did you think to call Lee? You know, let him know the coast is clear to come back?”

Jeff grimaced guiltily, and went to the phone. He dialled from memory, and was rewarded by the sound of an obnoxious ringtone. It was some god-awful pop song that ‘celebrated’ the first manned landing on Mars, and Jeff hated it, so naturally Lee had chosen it as the ringtone for Jeff’s numbers.

Lucy picked up Lee’s phone and rejected the call, silencing the offending ring tone. They both stared at the device. “Trust Lee to forget his phone,” Lucy said, but her voice was worried.

“Yeah, just like him.” Jeff bit his lip. “Luce, I’ll take the car, and go find them. I’ll bring breakfast home, yeah? From the bakery? You give them a call, and tell them I’ll collect it when I’ve found Lee, they might even know where they are.”

“Lee pays,” Lucy said. “Payback for scaring us silly.”

Jeff grinned. “Fine. Lee pays.”

He was halfway down the road when Lucy called. “I’ve placed the order, but they haven’t seen them.”

Jeff grinned. “That just means that Lee hasn’t spoiled Scott’s appetite.” He considered. “I’ll swing past the airfield first, maybe Lee took Scott to see the planes?”

Lucy chuckled nervously. “Sounds about right. You let me know the second you find them.”

“Of course. Though they’ll probably turn up at home before I find them, so make sure you let me know.”

Twenty minutes later Jeff did a slow patrol around the airfield, looking for Lee’s car parked outside the perimeter to watch the student pilots taking off and landing. Nothing. So he went into the complex, and parked outside the hangar where his family stored their aircraft.

Lee had flown in from Houston, where he still lived. Maybe he had taken Scott to look at his plane? Jeff tried not to think about the fact that Lee’s car wasn’t visible.

The hangar was deserted, and the three planes were all safely stowed. So Lee hadn’t taken Scott for a flight.

As Jeff exited the airfield, having carefully checked the interiors of the three planes, just in case, his phone rang, with the generic ringtone. Mouth dry, Jeff answered.

“Jeff, it’s Sheriff Reichs. I’ve just been in The BakeHouse, I understand you’ve misplaced that friend of yours, and your son?”

Jeff grimaced. He should’ve known better. That he’d ‘lost’ Scott would be all over town. He quickly explained the situation, careful to emphasise that he had no concern for Scott’s wellbeing.

Sheriff Reichs chuckled. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for you, and you make sure you let me know when you find ‘em.” The older man was reassuring. “This’ll make one hell of a good story for the boy’s twenty-first.”

Jeff promised to call him second thing – Lucy remained firmly first in line – and thanked the sheriff for his help. A couple of the smaller playgrounds and parks were on Jeff’s way, and he slowed to drive past, carefully scanning them for signs of his son and friend.

Nothing.

It was only when he got to the large park in the centre of town that he found the first sign of his quarry. Lee’s rental car was parked, haphazardly across two spaces, by the corner that was on the direct route from their house.

Jeff parked more carefully next to his friend’s car, and as he got out the Sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the slot on the other side.

Reichs got out of his car, and eyed Lee’s rental, before turning to Jeff. “Well, I sure hope he parks a space rocket better than he parks a car.”

“There’s a reason the Space Agency insists we’re chauffeured everywhere on their watch.” Jeff almost managed to keep a straight face.

“Is that why they’re talkin’ ‘bout bringin’ back ocean landin’s?”

Jeff laughed.

Reichs chuckled. There was a delighted shriek from deeper in the park. “Higher, Uncle Lee! Higher!”

A broad grin spread across the Sheriff’s face. “Sounds like you’ve found what you’re lookin’ for, Jeff. I’ll not hold you up.”

Jeff thanked him again, backing away towards the shrieks of delight, and as soon as he was able, turned and hurried – not run, he was not running – to the source of the noise.

Just before he broke the treeline that screened the large, well-equipped playground, Jeff forced himself to stop. There, on the high swings – that Scott was most definitely not allowed on – was his son, his best friend pushing the boy ever higher.

He pulled out his phone, and took a minute’s video, before sending it to Lucy.

The response came as a text message: Thank God. Bring them home. I’m hungry.

He snorted and put the phone away, stepping out of the concealing treeline and starting towards the swingset.

“Daddy!” Scott had spotted him, and before anybody could react, the boy launched himself forward off the swing at its zenith. Lee’s strangled yell as the boy fell to the ground. Landed a good six feet from the edge of the swing’s reach…

… and immediately ran towards his father, cannonballing into Jeff with a force that knocked him over, and would have knocked the air out of him, had there been any left in his body.

Jeff grabbed him in a massive hug, as Lee sprinted up to them, spluttering what could have been words.

Scott hugged Jeff back, just as tightly, although for different reasons. “Did you see me, Daddy? I was flying!”

Jeff pulled back a little. “Yeah, I saw you buddy. And it’s a good thing your Mom didn’t. What have you been told about jumping off the swings?”

The little boy deflated. “Don’t.” Blue eyes pleaded. “But I was flying. Just like you. And Uncle Lee.”

Jeff groaned. “Scott Lee Tracy, your Uncle Lee and I have all sorts of safety gear to keep us from getting hurt.”

And just like that, Scott perked up. “Ok, Daddy. I bring my helmet. It’s keeps me from getting hurt.”

Jeff swallowed. He was in real trouble this time. “We’ll ask your Mom,” was all he could say.

Lee fidgeted, “What’re you doing here, Jeff? Luce kick you out?”

Jeff glared at him. “Would it kill you to leave a note?”

Lee winced, guiltily. “You could’a called me. Save the trip.”

Jeff reached into his pocket, and pulled out Lee’s phone. “Didn’t work so well.”

Lee deflated. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“But you got to sleep in, right?”

Jeff sighed. “Yeah. But next time, leave a damn note. It took years off my life.”

Lee winced again. “Lucy’s mad at me, isn’t she?”

“The Sheriff was looking for you both.” Lee paled. “And you’re buying breakfast.”

“Uncle Lee and I had beek-fast!” Scott chirped. “Uncle Lee brought me don’t’s an’ a milkshake.”

Jeff stared at his friend. “Doughnuts and milkshake, for breakfast?!”

Lee went even paler. “Where’d Lucy order from, anyway? You get him home, and I’ll bring breakfast.”

Jeff glared. “You’d better. I am not explaining this to his mother on my own.”

Lee grabbed his phone and ran, yelling over his shoulder, “Message me the address!”

Jeff looked down at Scott, “Come on, kiddo.” He swung the delighted boy onto his shoulders. “We’d better go after him before he gets lost.”

Scott shrieked with delight, and pulling violently on Jeff’s hair, kicked him in the chest with his heels. “Faster, Daddy! Faster!”

Jeff broke into a trot after his best friend. Please, God, let the next one be quieter.

Notes:

Ask, and ye shall receive! (Although not always this quickly!) By popular demand, this is the story of Scott’s first adventure with ‘Uncle Lee’.

@janetm74, @onereyofstarlight, and @womble1, this one’s for you!

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.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #fanfiction #my fanfiction #lee taylor #scott tracy #lucille tracy #babysitting

[kayothunderbirds142]

Once again, I apologise for any errors in this :)

It was no surprise when clothes went missing on the island, most likely misplaced by whoever did the laundry. Most brothers had named their clothes as sometimes they're styles could meet but mostly didn't such as Gordon’s style of vibrant loud Hawaiian shirts in comparison to the rest of the family's garment choices.

Scott was in his room, rummaging for his favourite sweatshirt to lounge about in seeing as Jeff and Grandma had convinced him to take a break and a few days off, Scott was hesitant but he eventually agreed after not being able to recount the last time he took a break, the last 8 years taking its toll.

“Come on, where are you?” he muttered to himself, still hunting for the dark blue jumper. It wasn’t like this jumper had any strong connection to him, Scott had plenty of jumpers and sweatshirts but this one was the softest by far making it the best for relaxing on the rare occasion he did so.

Realizing that it was not in his room, the eldest Tracy went in search of it, he assumed one of his younger siblings had taken it repeating their past behaviours, he didn't mind them taking his stuff but it did always intrigue him of how they managed to get them without his knowing.

Scott's first search was Alan, his baby brother had taken his hoodies as a comfort thing upon many occasions, if anyone had it, it was Alan. “hey Allie” he called seeing his brother drinking some apple juice in the kitchen. Alan had his earphones on while watching a video of his phone taking no notice of his brother's presence, Scott moved in closer “Oh, hey Scott!” Alan chirped cheerfully, taking one earbud out, “Have you seen my dark blue sweatshirt anywhere, Allie?” He asked gently as Alan shook his head “no sorry, I haven't touched it” he replied quickly not having seen the jacket for a few months “I thought it was in your wardrobe?” Scott sighed “i thought so to Alan, but it’s not anywhere in my room” he informed him 

Scott thought again, who else could have taken it? Gordon! The fish of the family often used it when he was recovering from his accident “Alan?” Scott hoped Alan would know “do you know if Gordon has it?” Gordon shared everything with Alan so he would know if it was in his bedroom “no he hasn't”  he bright eyed brother replied to him taking another sip of his drink

“Well, thanks Allie” he replied ruffling his blonde hair as he headed back upstairs knowing he was defeated and the jacket would most likely pop up when he least expected it to.

However, unbeknownst to him, Kayo was sitting on her bed, Chocolate bar in hand, snuggled warmly under her covers doing her security report wearing said jumper, she thought it was so warm, Kayo was often the culprit when it came to stealing her elder brothers clothes as she found them comfortable to rest in, and the best part was, they'd never suspect her.

It wasn’t until that evening when Scott went to find some pyjamas, having given up with the search hours ago, that he stumbled upon his jumper, folded up, right on top of all his clothes. Scott started at dismay, it wasn't there earlier, or was it?

“I really do need a break”

I’m considering doing  a bit more writing as I’m starting to enjoy it, so if anyone has any ideas for any sibling/ Kayo fluff short fic feel free to give suggestions pls xd

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #scott tracy #kayo kyrano #siblings #comfort #fluff #alan tracy

[right-brain-of-froggy2]

Halloween Ch2: Apples, and Pumpkins, and Cider, Oh My!

There was much excitement over seeing Gordon’s Halloween costume from the last chapter which is great! And so.... here’s a chapter without it lol. There were some really great ideas and now I’m debating reworking to see if what I had planned will hit people’s expectations. Ha! Either way, enjoy this little chapter of Wee Tracy fun I wrote instead of going to sleep at a regular time :)

AO3 link here!

To all the brothers’ surprise, Jeff is home just in time for John’s birthday on the eighth.

Albeit he’s locked away in his office most of the day, but that’s nothing new. What’s shocking is how much he’s trying to come out during the evenings if only for a family supper. The astronaut is still home. All five boys are ecstatic.

That means decorating the entire house top to bottom with decorations new and old. Jeff seems to get a kick out of having the house festive and that alone is reason enough to go all out. Virgil has taken on most of the decorating duty minus the outdoor ones; Scott is the only one that doesn’t mind crawling up the ladder to string orange and purple lights from the gutters or hauling around the heavy blow yard decorations.

For one day before the day, the family focus solely on John’s birthday. Birthdays were important between the brothers in the Tracy household. While Jeff handled what few logistics there were to be ironed out, the four remaining brothers would get the birthday brother gifts.

Scott ordered his present online a few weeks before and has stashed it under his bed. While John hates snooping for presents, Gordon doesn’t. He’d find the hidden remote-controlled rocket and blabber to John. Virgil has worked on a (scientifically accurate) painting of the night sky for the past month in his art class. Gordon and Alan had gone shopping with Scott one evening to the local mall, finding more astronomy trinkets than any one person should ever have. They narrowed it down to a heavy-duty redlight flashlight from Gordon and glow-in-the-dark stars from Alan. One set for John, and one to match for his and Gordon’s room.

John’s birthday party is a small affair- just how he likes it. Grandma Tracy comes over from her ranch and Jeff makes sure all the food is takeout so Sally doesn’t even have the option of trying to cook. They get him a strawberry cake. It’s markedly not a fall festive taste and needs to be special ordered, but it’s his favorite flavor so no one complains.

And just like that, they've moved on from John’s 15th birthday back to the spooky season.

Alan pauses as he hops off the school bus behind Virgil and Gordon. Jeff’s waiting out on the step to greet them, waving to the bus driver as she drives away. The screen door slams behind the two middle brothers as they race inside for an after-school snack and PBS cartoons. Jeff walks out to see what the towhead was looking at.

“What are you thinking about, Alan?”

The kindergartner's thinking scowl deepens. He angles his fingers in a rectangle like he’s seen Virgil do more than once. He stops on the front step.

“We need pumpkins.”

“We’ve already got those out,” Jeff reminds Alan. He points over to the decorative pumpkins framing the porch. That answer, apparently, is not what Alan is looking for.

“No! We need carving pumpkins, Daddy.”

“Well then, what do you think about heading out to the orchard this weekend? Pick out a few?”

Alan’s face lights up at the idea. The local orchards are nothing less than an autumn wonderland for everyone of all ages. A pumpkin patch, apple picking in the orchard, hayrides, corn mazes, and more activities for kids than not, the orchard was on everyone’s yearly bucket list. Scott managed to take them last year, but they had to leave early when John threw up after drinking one too many apple cider slushies.

“Can we all go?”

Jeff laughs, nudging Alan in from the chilly outdoors. “Sure thing, kid.”

“Even Scotty?”

“Even Scotty.”

Alan’s pacified by the answer. He sprints ahead once in the door, kicking off his shoes in a flurry. His backpack is just as large as he is, thumping against the back of his legs with every step up to his room to toss it on his bed. Jeff readies a bowl of Alan’s favorite cheese crackers (not the peanut butter ones, those were Gordon’s favorite, Scott reminded him) and a juice pouch.

Sure enough, Alan comes bounding out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen. He thanks Jeff with a hug around his legs before taking his snack and joining his brothers in the living room. The sound of cartoons and loud munching only capable of kids films the once quiet house. John should be back later from his robotics club and Scott said his Key Club meetings run a bit longer into the evening.

Jeff pulls out his phone to scroll through his calendar.

This weekend for the orchard, huh?

 “If I try to have more than two slushies, just pinch me,” John states to Scott as Jeff helps Alan unbuckle his stuck seat belt from the SUV’s backseat. John takes the keys from Jeff to hold as Alan gets a little rambunctious. Scott snorts, kicking a chunk of gravel across the parking lot. It tumbles until it hits another car’s tire.

“Sure thing, little brother. As long as you make sure I don’t chuck one of the tinies into the Billy goat enclosure.”

“I might do that myself, though.”

“Fair enough.”

Their conversation is brought to a halt as Jeff claps Scott on the shoulder to get him leading the group towards the entrance. John eventually ends up falling back to walking with Virgil as the rest of the family makes a mad dash for the ticket booth. Out front are large hay bales decorated with pumpkins, gourds, scarecrows, and bundles of sunflowers sticking out every which way. Virgil spots it and frowns.

“What, it’s not up to your aesthetic expectations?”

Virgil shakes his head and sighs. “Should have brought my camera. I need more practice with photography and that would’ve been a cool shot with the barn in the background.”

“Didn’t Scott pack your camera?”

“What? He did?”

John pauses to think. “I’m pretty sure he did? Along with some jackets in case it got cold today. Maybe not, but I could have sworn he tossed the bag in there.”

The middle Tracy’s eyes light up. He tugs at John’s sleeve to take him back to the car. It’s a quick job, and they run to catch up with their brothers and dad. Alan is sitting on top of one of the small hay bales for posing as Gordon is dangling off the edge of a taller one behind him. Virgil snaps the first photo of the day.

Virgil is all smiles with his camera nestled around his neck. He gets to boss around his brothers and Jeff to a perfect pose one by one. The photo op is cut short by Gordon losing interest and dashing inside to the building. John and Scott hang to the back as Jeff tosses Gordon up to his shoulders.

They enter like kids in a candy factory into the building that orchard goers have to get through to get to the rest of the orchard. Everyone’s eyes widen at the familiar but still breathtaking sight. The first inhale is brought with the aroma of fresh apples and the faint sharpness of cinnamon. There’s a candy kitchen in the corner with homemade fudge and caramel dipped apples, a tiny coffee shop and seating area with a café in one half. The other half is a store for all of the orchard’s goods: hand baked pastries ranging from apple turnovers to fresh pie to buttery Dutch letters, crates of numerous types of apples, jams and jellies, and, of course, fresh pressed apple cider. 

Alan is impatiently stomping on the ground, waiting for the two slowpokes to catch up before he’s allowed to explore. They came right as the orchard is opening to avoid the crowds and Alan sure as hell wants to get the most out of being the only one on the giant slide.

“You guys go ahead. We need something to eat first,” Scott tells Jeff and the little ones. He grips John’s sweatshirt sleeve to keep him by his side. John snorts at how much he’s getting dragged around this morning. Their dad nods, leading Virgil, Gordon, and Alan out the door and into the bulk of the orchard’s activity area. Scott turns to John. “You want anything to drink? I’m buying.”

Scott leads them to the coffee shop corner and John squints at the menu. He’s not a crazy big fan of coffee and it’s too early to drink one of his two allotted slushies. “Maybe the red velvet hot cocoa?”

They order the specialty hot chocolate, a triple espresso shot harvest latte for Scott, and two apple cider donuts with a side of cinnamon apples for good measure. By the time the day is over, John’s sure he’ll have eaten enough apples to never want one again all season. Or, maybe until tomorrow.

“So, plans for what you want to do here?”

“Avoid as many people as possible.” John nods in agreement to himself into his drink. “And pick out a better pumpkin than you.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.”

“It will! Especially if you drop yours and it smashes before we even get it back to the wheelbarrow.”

“Hey now, that doesn’t count! I had to pick out some random misshapen one cause Alan was getting cranky,” Scott says in his own defense. John smirks and Scott is relieved that John appears to be in a good mood today. So long as they can keep the crowds to a minimum, he should be fine until they leave and not get overwhelmed by the masses of visiting city folk who don’t know a mule from a Palomino. The corn maze and apple picking trees are usually a safe bet.

The sugar is the perfect boost to get ready to handle the rest of the brothers. While they both have half of their drinks left, the donuts and apples are long gone. John tosses the empty paper plates away as Scott wipes down their table. The eldest takes one look in the direction from a distinct ‘Gordon’ scream that reverberates through the walls of the building. He takes a long swig of his heavily caffeinated coffee.

John is two steps behind his older brother as they step out into the bright sunlit acreage. He spots their family first and nudges Scott to point it out. They’re over at the pedal tractor racetrack. It’s designed for kids, so even Alan is getting in on the action.

And action there is.

Gordon has rammed his pedal tractor into Virgil’s hard enough that they’re hooked together and the employee working must either not see or not care. Alan is quickly approaching with a determined stare as his little legs pump the pedals harder than a biker’s in the Tour de France. He crashes into the other two’s tractors and it’s finally then they're promptly removed from the tractors and told to go elsewhere.

As they approach, John spots Virgil’s camera hanging around their father’s neck. At least Virgil had the foresight to not bring it on the track. Alan spots them first, racing over to get to them before Gordon.

“Look, look!” Alan rolls up his pants leg to show the start of a nasty bruise. “Gordie crashed into me back on the slide too!”

“That’s gonna be a wicked bruise, Allie,” Scott says with a whistle. “I bet Gordon doesn’t have as good of wounds.”

Gordon chooses that moment to materialize out of the cloud of smoke and broken tractor. “I bet he does!” He shows both his elbows that, yup, have matching bruises and a scrape on the left to go with it.

“Can’t take those two anywhere…”

Scott chooses to ignore John’s mutterings to talk logistics for the day with Jeff. Every brother wants to hit at least one different attraction, so divide and conquer sounds the easiest. Other than picking pumpkins, Alan’s satisfied with racing the tractors all day. Gordon wants to swim in the corn pool and go on a jumping pillow while Virgil wants to visit the late-blooming sunflower fields. John will be sated so long as he has an apple cider slushie in hand, but Scott knows how much he likes the corn maze.

A full rest of the day, but it shouldn’t be anything but fun.

“What’s your vote, Scooter?”

“Hmm?” Scott swallows down the coffee in his mouth. It’s lukewarm by now and he smacks his lips at the taste. Jeff claps him on the shoulder twice before dropping his hand down by his side. Virgil’s camera is still hanging from his neck, the strap twisted once around.

“What do you want to do?”

“Make sure no one ends up killing each other,” Scott snorts. He points a look particularly in Gordon’s direction. “Or eat the corn pool. No trying, he will eat it.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Busted. Scott blushes and shrugs his shoulders. Maybe he should have gotten a heavy jacket to hide this morning. “I don’t really care.”

“But you do.”

Jeff won’t let up until Scott lets up. And the senior Tracy has years of experience waiting around for stubborn years while Scott only has a few.

“The apple picking. That far out one with the special hybrids.”

“That’s more like it,” Jeff says with the smallest of smiles. The crow’s feet and the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He tugs Virgil’s camera off and passes it to Scott to take care of. “You take Virgil and John then. If I remember right, the hayride takes you out to all the different fields.”

“You sure you can handle-”

“Scott, they’re my sons.” Yes, yes they are. And Scott feels a rush of love for his father. He nudges his shoulder into Jeff’s side. “What, are you taking hug lessons from John now?”

“Maybe I am.”

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Wee Tracy's #jeff tracy #pre-international rescue #jeff's not too bad of a dad #*shrugs* #halloween

[nunesbytko]

Dahmer - Monster -The Jeff Dahmer Story Netflix Review!

Dahmer netflix series review

Episode one

------------------------------------------------------------------

Glenda is trying to watching TV at night and there is sawing. She walks to the vent. On the other side of the vent is Dahmer cleaning up. Dahmer smoked and constantly drank. His health must have been trash.

  Four locks on the door. You would think okay, bad area....

Glenda confronts Jeff. About the smell and he's blaming it on bad meat, but she's knows hes bullshitting. When he turns back to her, hes' soooo weird it's unnerving. And Glenda is so uneasy.

  All those "missing"  black men, on the lampost. 

  He's getting roasted by these guys at an near empty club.

  How are these hot men going home with this? He's sooooo creepy!

  Jeff trying to dance in this club! Okay, this is why he comes here drunk! Oh, I'm cringing for him. I think that part of the appeal going in the POC clubs is that he's seen as the blonde prize because he's white.

  Jeff trying to charm Tracy. The friend with the cap looks concerned.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------  

So Tracy knows this place stinks to high hell and still goes in.....GET OUT TRACY!!!!"

  Imagine that smell and he doesn't open the windows. Jeff looks greasy....

.

Stuff is floating in the drink and he still drinks it.

  Show you around??? This apartment is the size of a shoebox. God what is Jeff going to do with the fish talk??? Handcuffs, now the knife,

  Stop yelling, I've got neighbours" Oh soooooo now you care about the neighbours Jeff??? This is terrifying. Pointing a knife at someone while them to relax.

  Get the fuck out of there Tracy!!!!

Oh shit Tracy is coming on to him to distract him. I think I just would have talked nonsense. Tracy's a waaaay better flirt then me.

  Oh god this scene is making my stomach churn!

  Shit he's not fooled, he's grabbing the knife!!!!

This is like watching a horror film I wasnt expecting this!

Just throw your shirt on his face and run Tracy!!!

Thank god Jeff is a sucker for ass with rhythm. God he's getting closer.

  No Tracy don't talk about Nudes!!!

Jeff looks completely out of it, is he on drugs as well???

You never know what Jeff is thinking. He is soooooo blank.

  "Am I weird?" / Tracy should have said "No honey, you're psychotic and KAPOWED him in the face!

I wonder why Evan didn't wear contacts for this role [Jeff's eyes were blue]

Imagine someone getting turned on by hearing your heart beat, then telling you that they will rip your heart out.

  Finally Tracy gets the hell out of there, and Jeff knows it' over. Maybe Glenda does too.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  I'm worried about Tracy's safety with the police.  They might hurt him too. Immediately they put their hands on their guns, and Tracy does NOT  have a weapon.

  Jeff trying to scare the cops away with gay stuff. "Homo kink guys, nothing to see here!"

  Can the cops, smell how bad it is? Are are they ignoring it because a blonde dude answers the door??

  Those poor tenants. I hope they don't arrest Glenda.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Shit Lionel and Sherri, his parents. His poor dad has nooooo clue about this fuckery.

  Murder, Jeff?? Yes Lionel.

  He was always weirdo Lionel, you can say it.

  Don't apologise,

  Cop, "You're aware that your son is homosexual, yes?"

Lionel -

Eating the flesh, I'm sorry you had to hear that Lionel, why do they need to keep talking?

 As a parent how do you process that??

Oh Glenda! She knew he was fucked up!!!!! Like she reports Jeff for months and no one gave a shit. Now the sickos been arrested the police are just tossing them out onto the street! Can the police accommodate them all. They would with white families, I'm just saying.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Great first Episode.

  Very horror movie like,

  I would have liked to see Evan with blue contacts though.

  The cinematography and acting was freaking amazing!

#Netflix #Dahmer on Netflix #Dahmer Netflix review #Episode one #Tracy's story #Shaun Brown was great

[tagsecretsanta]

From @gordonthegreatesttracy (1 of 3)

By and from @gordonthegreatesttracy for @squiddokiddo

- - -

Hugs

Gordon has always been a hugger. Always on hand to offer a scared child a hug on a rescue, or a sad brother, or even a complete stranger in the pub after he has had a few drinks! He loves and needs human contact and hates it when he is home alone for too long.

The first time he remembers giving someone a hug when they were sad was the day after his mom passed away. It was nearly midnight and he had just woken up from a nightmare. It was so dark and so cold and he needed to be reassured that everything was okay.

They were staying in a hotel, as their house at the resort had been devastated by the avalanche that claimed the lives of two of his favourite people.

He climbs out of the unfamiliar bed where his brother John is asleep on the top bunk, past a cot where his baby brother is asleep and past a second set of bunk beds where Virgil and Scott are both fast asleep. Exhausted in their united grief, and stealthily opens the door.

There is a small lounge area where he finds his father sitting on the pull-out sofa. There is a half-drunk bottle of whiskey on the table, and his father is sitting with his head in his hands. Gordon has never been afraid of his father until this moment, as he has never seen him drunk before.

“Daddy?” he whispers, as he walks over to him and tugs on his arm.

Jeff’s eyes are bloodshot from the hours he has spent crying, and he doesn’t need this right now, he wants to be left alone to wallow in his whiskey and sorrow. He remains still and silent as he stares down at the frightened five-year-old.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his lower lip is trembling as he struggles to battle back his own tears.

Jeff doesn’t say a word, as he picks him up from the floor and holds his as tightly as he can, his arms wrapped around his back as they both shed a few tears.

“What are you doing up Squid?” He finally asks but makes no move to let him go.

“I had a bad dream, I wanted momma to make me a hot chocolate as she always does when that happens. Then I remembered what Scotty said about her never coming home, and that you were sad. So I thought I could find you and make you a hot chocolate as that always makes me feel better” Gordon tells him, his face is streaked with tears as he buries his head into his father’s shoulder.

“I would love a hot chocolate Fish” Jeff tells him sincerely. “I don’t think we have any though”

The hotel they are staying in has a kettle, and there are a few tea bags in the tray along with some instant coffee and powdered milk. Jeff might be grieving, but even he knows letting Gordon have coffee at half past midnight is a terrible plan!

“Go and wake your brothers up, tell them to throw some clothes on and meet me back here in ten minutes” Jeff tells him, making a snap decision.

Gordon jumps down from his lap and in less than ten minutes five fully dressed Tracys are walking down the street to the open all night coffee bar, having left Alan in the company of Grandma.

That hug between father and son helped heal their scarred hearts as Jeff vowed to become the best father that those boys could ever ask for.  

*TB*

Gordon is about to graduate from elementary school. A feat his brothers all had bets on not happening, as their prank loving sibling cost their father a new library to stop him from being expelled after he released ten thousand live crickets in the principal’s office!

He is standing on the stage waiting for the principal to call his name and hand him a diploma. There is a mile wide smile on his face as he hugs the man he spent nearly every Saturday with. In detention!

“You know I only let you graduate, so that you would leave right?” he says with a grin.

Gordon nods. “You and I both know that you’re going to miss me really!” He informs him.

They both know that he is right. No one who has spent time with Gordon can deny the positive impact he has on their lives, even when he is glitter bombing your car!

*TB*

“VIRGIL VIRGIL VIRGIL VIRGIL!” Gordon is screaming his brother’s name as he comes racing through the villa. They are the only two home, as Scott is on a rescue with their father, John is on a trip to London with Grandma and Alan touring the college John is looking at going to the following year, and he has been left in the care of his favourite big brother.

“What did you set on fire?” Virgil asks in alarm at he eyes up his brothers flushed and overly excited voice.

“I GOT IN!” he screams in delight, throwing himself into Virgil’s arms and swinging him around the room in a happy dance of frenetic joy.

“Got in where?” Virgil asks confused.

“THE NATIONAL SQUAD! I AM ONE STEP AWAY FROM THE OLYMPICS!” Gordon tells him, still shouting.

Virgil’s face goes from shocked and begging Gordon to stop shouting, to joining in his screaming. “YOU GOT IN?! ARGH! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” Virgil hoists him up over his shoulder and spins him around before throwing him in the pool. “GET PRACTISING FISH!” he shouts as his brother comes up for air.

“Oh I will get you for that!” Gordon replies, as he pulls himself up out of the water. “Sleep with one eye open Virgil”

*TB*

The whole family are there for his Olympic title. His Grandmother, Scott, Virgil, John, Alan, Kayo and Lady Penelope are all there and they are the first people he hugs once he has been freed from his media obligations. There is a pang of sadness gnawing at his heart at his father’s absence as this was the dream that they both worked so hard to achieve.

It is Virgil who picks up on his feelings first. Pulling him aside after he has finished being hugged by his family. “I miss him too Fish. He would have been so proud of you today. I know I am”

“Thanks Virg” Gordon replies. “You know I never did get you back for throwing me in the pool”

“That was two years ago” Virgil replies. “I thought you had forgotten all about it!”

“Never. It is what makes me such a brilliant prankster. I never forget!” there is an evil glint in Gordon’s eyes, as he has both his arms wrapped around Virgil’s neck in a vice like grip. “Love you bro”

“I have no idea how you can be the only person I know who can make I love you sound like a threat!” Virgil replies.

*TB*

Gordon doesn’t think he will ever be able to raise his arms to hug anyone ever again. He is lying in a hospital bed, in the Marineville Military hospital. Everything hurts, and he wishes that he had never woken up.

He hears the whispered hushed conversations which take place while they think he is sleeping. The words that he doesn’t want to understand. That he will never walk again. That the damage to his spine from the hydrofoil crash is so severe that he is lucky to be alive. No, he isn’t lucky. If he was the lucky one then he would have just died. That pain wouldn’t exist anymore.

Gordon doesn’t want to live his life dependent on others.

It is Scott’s turn to babysit. That’s what he has nicknamed the constant stream of visitors who won’t leave him alone. That’s all they are. Babysitters. They aren’t his brothers anymore. they’re just faceless voices in the sea of pain that can’t penetrate his deepest fathoms, no matter how hard they try. He wants to tell Scott that he loves him, only he can’t. He wants to say goodbye, to tell him to stay strong for Alan because his baby brother doesn’t know how to live without him.

“What are you talking about? We don’t need to learn to live without you, you aren’t going anywhere” Scott tells him.

Gordon didn’t even realise that he had spoken those words out loud.

“Scott, I…” he tries to tell him.

“No. You listen to me. You have to stop being so selfish. Do you really think this is all about you? I get it Gordon, I really do. You are in pain and you are processing what happened to you, but you are not the only person who cares about what happens to you.” Scott doesn’t mean to sound so harsh, but they both know that this is the kick that Gordon needs to realise that his life is far from over.

Gordon starts to cry.

“That’s better” Scott tells him, as he cries harder. Scott gets up from the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair and embraces his younger brother’s head as that is the only part of him that isn’t covered in plaster and bandages. “Get angry, get upset, let out that emotion. On me if necessary, or on Virgil. Just stop keeping it all bottled up Gordon, because you are going to be around for many more years, we are not giving up on you. We will never give up on you. And Besides, don’t you still owe Virgil a prank?”

*TB*

It is a long and tedious recovery, but Gordon finally walks free from the hospital. Defying all of the odds against him. Four months of agony and exhaustion from performing the simplest tasks. Forcing himself to make those first painful steps.

There were days when he wanted to give up. Those were the days he needed his brothers, and they were always there for him, his own personal cheer leading squad. Scott is always ready with a reality check for him. Virgil is there with the hugs and loving encouragement. John brings him books and they start a project designing the interior for John’s space station, which he has recently taken over monitoring for International Rescue. The station is known unofficially as Thunderbird Five. Alan provides unhealthy snacks and computer games.

But today they are all there. Helping him pack up his belongings, which over the course of the last four months have become widely scattered throughout the building.

“Where is the Cactus I got you?” Alan asks, looking at the windowsill where he is sure he saw it the other day.

Gordon just replies with a shrug.

“How do you lose a houseplant?” Scott asks with a facepalm.

Again Gordon shrugs. He doesn’t remember much about his leaving party the night before! He may have accidentally given the cactus away to one of his guests.

“Is there anyone you need to say goodbye too?” Virgil asks, as he picks up one of the bags and gives the room one last look as they make their way out for the final time.

“Yeah, I just want to say goodbye to Bruce” Gordon replies. “I will meet you in the car”

“Okay” Virgil replies simply. “If you are more than twenty minutes we will assume you decided to stay and go home without you”

Gordon rolls his eyes before skipping from the room. Everything he does now is so different to how he did it before the accident. That Gordon no longer exists, as now he has a new zest for life, and he plans on living the best life he possibly can from now on.

He knocks on the door of Bruce’s office for the final time.

“Come in” he calls from the other side.

Gordon pushes the door open and walks inside.

He has had many nicknames for his man over the last few months, his favourite being Bruce the Brute.

“I am going now, I just wanted to say goodbye and thank you for everything.” Gordon tells him holding his hand out.

Bruce takes it, and Gordon pulls him into his arms for one final hug. “I couldn’t have done it without you”

“You could. You’re the strongest guy I have ever met. Now go and save the world” Bruce replies.

*TB*

There are four brothers waiting to hug him after he successfully completes his first mission for international rescue. it was a simple search and rescue of two divers caught out by a sudden storm.

His grandma is the first person to hug him on his return from his second near death accident at the hands of the Chaos Crew.

He has his first hug in eight years from his father when they rescued him from a life in deep space.

He gets wedding day hugs, and hugs when his children are born, and hugs when his Grandma passes away and his father. Both aged over ninety. He even gets a hug from Parker once!

*TB*

Over the years he has had hundreds of hugs, but the one that means the most to him, is one he can’t even remember, but his father can. And it is his father who tells him the story.

“You were two and a half months old, and you had spent all of those days in an incubator, hooked up too so many machines we couldn’t even tell where the wires ended and where you began. There were so many scares. Chest infections, a heart condition, jaundice. You name it, you got it! Your brothers would nag us everyday to come for a visit, but they were never allowed. The doctors just couldn’t risk you being exposed to any unnecessary germs.”

“But I got better right?” Gordon asks.

“Yes, you did. That time when we came to the hospital to visit and the doctor in charge of your care called us into his office. I remember your mom clutching my hand in fear. The last time we were called in on arrival you had a serious infection, and we were told to prepare for the worst, that they didn’t think you were going to make it. This felt different though once we were through the door. This doctor wasn’t sombre, this doctor had a smile on his face which lit up his eyes. He told us that it was time, time for you to leave intensive care. Your mom burst into tears”

“Really?” Gordon asks.

“Really, she was so shocked that I thought she was going to faint. But she didn’t, and we were able to pick you up. You got your first real cuddle from your mom that day. I know that you didn’t get to know her like you deserved, but she loved you so much”

Gordon lies his head on Jeff’s shoulder. “Life sucks sometimes Dad”

“It does, but if you always take the time to remember the good times, then it doesn’t have to be that way forever” Jeff says.

“I love you dad”

“I love you too Squid”

*TB*

It is Virgil’s eightieth birthday. He has long since retired from International Rescue, and spends his retirement years lounging by the pool, painting and playing the piano, while he keeps an ever-watchful eye on the next generation of Tracys.

“Hey Virg” Gordon says walking into the lounge and sinking down into one of the spare chairs. “I got you a present”

He hands over a badly wrapped gift box, which virgil takes from him before pulling the ribbon off and tearing the paper off.

It is a small wooden box, painted a lurid pink. Virgil gently pulls the lid off, then screams as a rubber snake springs from the box and bops him on the nose.

“GORDON!” he shouts in disgust.

“I told you I would get you back.” Gordon replies, unapologetic.

“What for?” he asks, wracking his brains for any recent slights against his sibling and coming up with nothing.

“You pushed me in the pool” Gordon reminds him.

“Wasn’t that fifty years ago?” Virgil replies.

“Actually it was sixty-one” Gordon informs him.

“But a rubber snake? Come on Gordon, you’re better than that!” Virgil tells him, trying to appeal to his better nature. “What took you so long anyway?”

“I had to catch the snake!” Gordon replies.

Virgil freaks, jumping up onto the chair. “What?!”

“It was a real snake Virg” Gordon confirms laughing at the look of horror on his brothers face.

“We’ll go and get it, you can’t have a snake. Remember Toes?”

“Of course I remember Toes. I tried to feed Kayo to him. Fun times!”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Just go and get it and put it back in the jungle”

“Nah, I think I will tell Alan that there is a snake in the house.” Gordon replies.

“Never change Gordon!” Virgil tells him laughing.

“Hey Virg?”

“Yeah Gord?”

“Want a hug?”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #gordonthegreatesttracy

[katblu42]

Where Are You Christmas Chapter 2 part A

Next installment of my Secret Santa fic for @alexthefly Chapter 2 was going to be Christmas Eve, but it has become a little long, so this is titled Christmas Eve Begins.

Please note, from here out any times given are Tracy Island time unless otherwise stated! (There will be multiple time-zones involved before long!).

Tagging @jbarkerstargazer (as promised!). Anyone else who would like to be tagged in future installments please let me know!

Part 1 here https://alexthefly.tumblr.com/post/671597767258505216/from-katblu42

Where Are You Christmas

Chapter 2A - Christmas Eve Begins

Sleepy rays of dawn light peeking through the villa’s east facing windows on December 24th found Kayo sitting at Jeff’s desk. She had arrived home from Malaysia late the night before, and Virgil and Gordon had updated her on project “Home For Christmas at the Ranch.” Knowing the eldest’s tendency to over-manage if he wasn’t watched, she’d risen early and taken up the monitoring position, purely for Scott’s benefit rather than any real need to keep an eye on things – Eos had that covered. When Scott came downstairs in the dawn light, seeing her there, face lit by holographic images of the latest storm and fire updates glowing blue in the dim light, along with her rather forceful words of encouragement to go for his morning run, his mind was eased enough that he did exactly that.

By the time he returned Gordon was finishing his laps of the pool and Brains and Grandma were breakfasting in the kitchen. Grandma slid a glass of juice towards him across the table as he approached, which he accepted with a smile.

“Thanks Grandma.” He sat down and took a long draught of the sweet, cool drink. “Good morning, Brains.”

“Hello, Scott.”

“What time do you two head of for Gran Roca?”

“T-t-tracy Two is loaded and ready to go as soon as we finish b-breakfast.”

“But not before I see one more grandson up and about,” Sally said with a wink.

“Virgil’s up,” Gordon reported as he entered the room, towel draped over his shoulders, hair still damp enough to drip, “but I don’t know if I’d say he’s awake!”

“Awake enough, Squid.” Virgil’s voice was more baritone rumble than coherent speech as he came down the last couple of steps and made a beeline for the coffee machine.

Scott wasn’t sure when Kayo had entered the kitchen, she had a habit of staying invisible until she wanted you to notice her presence. She slinked away from the far side of the kitchen, holding her own coffee mug, making way for Virgil to grab his morning pick-me-up.

“Well, isn’t this nice, having so many of us together around the breakfast table?” Sally draped an arm around Scott’s shoulders and gave a squeeze, and looked across at Gordon, Virgil and Kayo. “Now, I’m counting on you three to look after this one and make sure he doesn’t over-stress himself trying to do John’s job as well as his own.”

“Grandm—”

“We’ll look after him, Grandma,” Gordon mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

“Good!” Sally let go of Scott, made her way over to Gordon and gave his hair a ruffle, caught Kayo’s hand on the way past and gave it a little squeeze, and finally latched onto Virgil’s right arm as though he was about to walk her across a dance floor. Her way of hugging each of them farewell without actually saying goodbye. “We should be at the ranch in a few hours, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we arrive.”

“MAX and I sh-should have the communications and monitoring systems there up and running b-before too long. Once that is done, control can be transferred from here to the ranch.”

“By then I should have the Island’s security systems ready for unmanned operation, and I’ll head over there to check security at the ranch, ready for relocation of the Thunderbirds,” Kayo concluded.

Within ten minutes Kayo and three of her brothers were watching Tracy Two wing its way up and away from the Island’s airstrip, giving a waggle of wings in farewell salute. She then set about the task of automating the security systems in preparation for their own departures. The boys had their own tasks to keep them busy – last minute gifts to procure from hiding places and wrap, then stash away in their ‘birds for eventual transfer to Gran Roca among them.

Around 11am, just as Scott was thinking how quiet the morning was – and immediately cursing himself for jinxing it – Eos sounded the emergency alarm.

“International Rescue, we have a situation,” she reported.

In her precise and efficient manner she relayed the details of a scientific team conducting research approximately 300 nautical miles southwest of Bermuda. The Miklos, a three-man sub used to explore the ocean floor, and the crew aboard the Cooper, a support vessel on the surface, had both experienced strange glitches affecting vital equipment, resulting in loss of power to critical systems, and intermittent communications. The Cooper crew had lost all contact with the Miklos, and with all their tracking equipment down they had no way of pinpointing the sub’s location. To add insult to injury, while attempting to manoeuvre closer to the Miklos’ last known coordinates, the Cooper had collided with a semi-submerged object that had damaged the ship’s hull and propulsion system.

Virgil and Gordon were on their way to their respective launch tubes before she’d even finished speaking. Module Four was selected and secured, and Thunderbird Two was away in what seemed like the blink of Scott’s eye.

“Thunderbird Two is go,” Virgil confirmed.

“The Bermuda Triangle, ooohhh, spooky!” Gordon wiggled the fingers of both hands in front of his face to illustrate said spookiness as Thunderbird Two locked into the flightpath Eos had calculated for them.

“Gordon, you don’t seriously believe there’s any truth to all that mumbo jumbo, do you?”

“Nah, not really. But there’s loads of interesting, unexplained stuff people think they’ve seen beneath the ocean’s surface off the coast of Bermuda and some of the Caribbean islands. The Miklos sub we’re going to find – it’s named after a guy who did a lot of diving explorations there. He was convinced there’s an alien spaceship down there. And he was following maps of shipwreck sites created by Gordon Cooper - you know, the Gordon Cooper. The astronaut. The one I’m named after.”

“Which explains the name of the support vessel.” Virgil glanced across at his co-pilot to see his eyes bright and his every fibre alight with excitement at the prospect of exploring such an infamous area. “Just remember this is a rescue, not a joyride.”

“Hey!” Gordon’s tone abruptly switched to one of carefully schooled seriousness. “You know me – one hundred percent professional at all times.”

Virgil’s raised-eyebrow said otherwise.

“Besides,” Gordon explained, “it’s Christmas Eve and I have no intention of dragging this out any longer than necessary. I don’t want to spend Christmas underwater looking for answers to questions people have been puzzling over for, like, a hundred years.”

“Good.”

“Although . . .” mischief sparkled in amber eyes, “wouldn’t it be cool to spend Christmas surrounded by sea-life, just cruising through the blue . . .”

“All crammed into Four? No thanks!”

“Yeah,” Gordon conceded with a chuckle, “maybe not! Gran Roca will be cosy enough with everyone there.”

On arrival at the coordinates Eos had provided, with the sun already dipping below the horizon, they lost no time in deploying the Module and launching Thunderbird Four. Armed with the last location information the Cooper’s instruments had managed to save, and the calculating, processing and scanning power of Eos in Thunderbird Five, Gordon descended into the depths in search of the Miklos. Thunderbird Four’s own scanners added much needed detail to the information he and Eos had to work with.

Meanwhile, Virgil set Thunderbird Two into a hover and zip-lined down to the Cooper to help assess and repair damage to both structure and critical systems. He and the crew led by Captain Williams had barely begun when a priority call alert came through on his wristcomm.

“Thunderbird Two, we have another situation,” Scott’s voice, serious, authoritative, but underpinned with a hint of worry, crackled over the comm. “Your urgent assistance is required on the east coast of Australia. The fires there have emergency services overwhelmed and they’ve requested our help evacuating hundreds of stranded residents and holiday makers trapped on a beach with fire rapidly approaching their location.”

Captain Williams assured Virgil that their situation was nowhere near as critical as the one in Australia, practically ushering him off the Cooper’s deck. As Virgil made his way back aboard his ‘bird, Gordon added assurances that he could handle things here without Two hovering, and suggested patching the Cooper through to Brains for any further advice on getting the ship up and running.

Virgil’s suggestion that he leave Module Four behind and pick up Module One from Tracy Island on the way through was countered by Eos’ practical suggestion that the empty module would provide maximum capacity for evacuating people, while still having the ability to configure a Pod if required. Scott also deemed leaving the module floating in waters affected by the strong and changeable Gulf Stream currents too much of a risk. So, Virgil retrieved the module and took off at top speed for the south coast of New South Wales.

Thunderbird Three meanwhile was closing in on her destination. Alan and John still had not been able to establish contact with the pilot of the cargo ship. Now that they were within visual sensor range of the craft, John was analysing every bit of data he could gather.

“The cargo vessel is still structurally intact,” John reported, with an air of relief.

“That’s a good sign,” Alan answered. “I mean, even though we still can’t get in touch with the pilot, chances are she’s still okay, right?”

“I hope so, Alan. But you know as well as I do there are still plenty of worrying reasons why she’s unable to talk to us. Let’s hope it’s just a fault in the communications system.”

“Why is there a pilot aboard anyway? I thought the ACV51 was designed as a completely automated, unmanned vessel.”

“It was, but after two failed attempts to send unmanned ships to the colony in the last few months the company decided to have a pilot aboard this time. They hoped whatever problem had occurred with the previous two ships could be overcome with a pilot to take over manual control.”

“Looks like they were wrong,” Alan lamented. “I hope the pilot’s okay.”

“We’re about to find out.”

They were close enough now to align Thunderbird Three’s approach for docking. Alan had to match the speed of the vessel’s slow spin as she drifted in space, then deploy the clamps. Despite the expert piloting of his little brother, a sense of dread had nestled somewhere in John’s gut. Alan’s expression gave away nothing but determined concentration as he arrested the momentum of the spin and completed the docking manoeuvre.

With docking complete and helmets on Alan and John prepared to board the stranded cargo ship. Even before the airlock opened they could hear the blaring alarms. Inside they were confronted not only with the noise, but also a myriad flashing warning lights detailing the multiple system failures lighting up the various control panels like a Christmas tree. Their first concern was the pilot, still safely strapped into her seat, fully suited and helmeted, but not conscious. Life support was offline, and her suit’s oxygen supply was now dangerously low.

“Alan, take her back to Thunderbird Three for a complete medscan. I’m going to get started on a system wide diagnostics sweep and then see what I can reboot. Yell out if you need assistance.”

“FAB.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tagsecretsanta2021 #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy