#Thunderteers

[whatgaviiformes]

i'm absolutely windswept

I started Thunderteers in May of 2019. I remember very distinctly being out to dinner with Hubs, coordinating the AU concept almost entirely for a long, epic first story. We were at a Chili's and I had my usual indecisive platter of appetizers as my meal. As of today there's only been 3 chapters of what mapped out that day. Some of it made it to paper. I've never been great at those long epics - I love reading them, but my writing brain is most solid with the 1K-6K word length.

So I started building the world with fic. I wrote about Virgil playing the violin, and how he made music. I explored Gordon's accident, and what it could've happened in place of a hydrofoil. I reached for Military!Bros instead of my usual FishTank, and explored the truth behind legends. I forced myself to make and break OCs, spent way too much time researching when songs were created, recipes of the time, if certain animals were classified the same way, and what name a city may have had in 1774.

Other things I decided not to research at all.

Above all that, before I posted a new story or fic, I asked myself if the imagery was there, and was it something I was proud of? Because I knew - the only way I could get others to set sail with me, was to make sure I was taking you on the journey. Not if it was historically accurate, but does this feel like our boys, and are they interacting with the environment in a way that feels like it would still be them? Is it possible to still see Gordon? Still see Scott?

That was my first AU.

Naturally, in asking myself this, I've had different images in my head all this time, and I was lucky enough this month to have the chance to ask the amazing @chenria to bring one of them to life for me. You can find the post below:

Sailor Gordon by Chenria.

Go like it, reblog it, send her support, consider joining her patreon if you can. She knocked it out of the park, and in so doing - inspired me along the way.

If you decide to read Thunderteers, just know - it's not always beautiful.

But this one - it's all love and heart. I've written the snippet for Windswept as a thank you to chenria's amazing work, to everyone who puts up with my reblogging posts for the age of sail (#ships ships ships) or who tag me in things to see, or have Wellerman living rent free in their heads and let me play along. Thanks to those that have read the story, maybe cried along, or sent me words of encouragement.

Thank you for letting me experiment with language and story, and sometimes - when I get really lucky- for the words I've written to matter to you.

*****

Windswept (~500 words)

As far as clouds go, Gordon is among the strangest. The wind tugs at his clothing, hanging loose and informally on his silhouette, and at his hair where he stands aloft amidst the sails. The seabirds close to shore weave their dance between the ropes above, circling him curiously. Even though his form is strange to them, he’s not unwelcome in their home in the air. If anything, he’s just a part of the flying clouds that make up the rigging of their ship.

The gulls’ calls sound like laughter, and he smiles with them. The birds will accompany the ship for a time, darting towards the quick meal at the bow where the front of the ship often disturbs the sea life below. If the voyage is to be a lucky one, they’ll grace the wood of the ship with a gift or two that’ll be left to wash away only with the next rain.

Gordon can feel the sway of the ship stronger from above; though with the Thunderbird still anchored close to shore, the waves are gentle as they lap against her firm hull. The movement is a tease for the voyage ahead, as Gordon has always found himself more comfortable in their journeys out to sea than he’s ever felt in his tentative steps on land. The ship has watched him grow and come of age, from awkward limbs racing up the rigging, to strong shoulders heaving her lines and helming her wheel. She’s given him the freedom to roam, to explore lands and seas unknown, and even with the thrill of adventure, Gordon feels most safe in the comfort of her embrace. If that isn’t a home, he doesn’t know what else is.

He knows her in the early morn - the way the sunrise paints cotton and how the mist tingles at the fuzz on his arms at the start of his shift. He knows the echo of their shanties within her oak beams, and the squeak of her joy when the creatures of the sea ride along with her bow waves upon them really catching the wind and when the tang of citrus remains on his tongue from breaking fast.

He knows her in the rain, the smell of wood and cotton when burdened with wet from above as well as below, the crackle of lightning in its brief and staggered illumination of her flags. He knows her in the cold, when the puff of his breath is visible and the wind cuts into his skin. Among whales, massive and elegant as they groan their song into her hull.

He knows her in the evening – Virgil and John’s cooking and their different nuances for flavor and spice, the vibrato of Virgil’s violin paired with the warm timbre of the Scott’s cello pulsing along her foundations. The way she creaks below Alan’s eager footsteps.  He knows the soft glow around flame-lit lanterns in the darkest of night and the hush of melodies uttered in multiple languages up towards twinkling stars. The way his hammock rocks him to sleep with her movement.

He knows her in both fair winds and motionless skies, in the brightest of sunlit days and the most cloud-covered of nights. Through doldrums, archipelagos, and the far reaches of the seas, and along coastlines, he knows her.  

And his soul trembles just as she does, her unfurled sails shuddering in anticipation of catching the wind.

TBC..?

#gavii scribit #privateers!AU #thunderteers #there might be more to this moment eventually but for now a small snippet of a scene

[gumnut-logic]

Go forth, oh mighty Thunderfam, and read of Virgil and his violin and love it as much as I! For it is powerful and as sweet as well-mulled wine. It speaks of a Captain of purpose and a first mate of knowledge and a boatswain of smiles. It be good tucker for the eyeballs.

Go feast and enjoy.

Nutty

(Possibly infected)

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #thunderteers #gaviiadastra

[mooneyez]

@thundertenting *lip bite engaged*

[cbspams]

t h u n d e r t h i g h s

Minho: Thundert highs

#speaking: minho #glowstick breaker anon #anons #ahsjshsh

[metalindex-hu]

Shadow Warrior – Cyberblade (2020)

Shadow Warrior – Cyberblade (2020) - http://metalindex.hu/2020/11/18/shadow-warrior-cyberblade-2020/ -

Ha azt írom, hogy lengyel heavy metal, női énekkel elővezetve, feltehetően többen rávágják, hogy Crystal Viper. Magam is így tettem volna, amíg meg nem ismertem a Shadow Warriort. A képlet itt is azonos, mint Marta Gabrieléknél. Stílusgyakorlat ez, annak viszont korrekt. A lublini ötös sikeresen mondja fel a régi leckét, esetükben is a Doro vezette német Warlock lehetett az egyik tanítómester.

Klasszikus heavy metal ösztönös, képzetlen, de lelkes énekhanggal előadva. A csapat tavaly alakult, az ötös felállásból ketten is a folk metalos Black Velvet Band-ből érkeztek, bár nem hiszem, hogy ez a zenekar itthon batkinek is támpontot jelentene. Anna, az énekesnő előzőleg a Highlow nevű demós csapatban muzsikált, az ötös felállás további két zenésze viszont nem rendelkezik dokumentált zenekari múlttal. A rövid pályafutás ellenére Shadow Warrior név alatt demó, EP, illetve három single is megjelent már, sőt egy koncertlemez is köthető a nevükhöz. A mai napon megjelenő Cyberblade pedig a zenekar első nagylemeze.

A korongot egy spanyol és japán nyelvű beszédhangokat rejtő rövid fel, illetve levezetés foglalja keretbe. A címadó a maga egyszavas refrénjével könnyen a fülbe ül. A Judas Priest “Metal Gods“-jából ismerős “asztalcsapkodós“, robotok menetelését megidéző effekt nem tudom, hogy szándékos tiszteletadás-e, mindenesetre kísértetiesen idézi a British Steel klasszikus nótáját. A lendületes, rövid Demolition Hammer refrénjét szintén nem bonyolították túl, a nóta címe ezúttal is elegendő volt ehhez. Anna hangja egyébként a kortársak közül talán a Lady Beast-es Deb, illetve a Savage Master-ből ismert Stacey orgánumával állítható párhuzamba, nem áriázik, hanem erőből énekel. Az Iron Hawk Rising a lemez leginkább hard rockos szerzeménye, az óóó-zós énekkel, illetve a dallamos gitárokkal és az album legjobban felépített szólójával. Az égdörgéssel kezdődő I Am the Thundert lemezelőzetesként is kihozták. Valóban ez az egyik legerősebb szerzemény.

A kovácsműhelyből kiszűrődő kalapácshangokkal kezdődő Demon’s Sword egy bólogatós, középtempós dal, klasszikus germán riffeléssel. A ’80-as évek Accept, Stormwitch és U.D.O. lemezei kötelező tananyagok lehettek a tagoknál. A motorozós Headless Rider esetében a kiinduló pont újfent a Judas Priest, a kórusok és a riffek pedig a klasszikus Running Wild-ot idézik az Under Jolly Roger / Port Royal korszakból. A Flight of the Steel Samurai pedig egy epikus kezdésű, majd középtempós metal himnusszá átalakuló himnikus szerzemény. Ki kell térnem még a jól sikerült, képi világában is a ’80-as évek közepét idéző borítóra. Minden adott tehát egy harmincöt percnyi időutazáshoz az első Warlock lemez kiadásának évébe. Nos, mit lehet még írni egy ilyen retro heavy metal lemezről?!

Világmegváltó gondolatokat nem igazán, a tiszteletadáson túl a zenekarnak sincsenek ilyen nagyratörő vágyai. A Cyberblade azokhoz az ötvenesekhez szól, akik lélekben megmaradtak húszévesnek, illetve azokhoz a huszonévesekhez, akik ötvenesek szeretnének lenni, hogy ne csak időgéppel élhessék át a nagyrabecsült ’80-as éveket!

Az ajánlót írta: Andris

[ask-spirit-lucio-blog]

 humidity’s rising... - barometer’s getting low. according to all sources; the street’s the place to go: ‘cause tonight for the first time, just about half past 10.. for the first time in history.. it’s gonna start raaaAAAAAIIIINNNNNINNNNG MENNNN - IT’S RAINING MEN! H A L L E L U J A H ! - IT’S RAINING MEN! AMENNN! i’m gonna go out, i’m gonna let myself get.. absolutely sooOOOAAAKINNNGGGG WETTTTT!!!!! IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH! it’s raining men! EVERRRRY SPECIMEN!; TALL! BLONDE! DARK! AND LEAN! ROUGH AND TOUGH AND STRONG AND MEEEEEAAANNNNN. god bless mother nature; she’s a single woman toooo!! she took over heaven, and she did what she had to do. she taught every angel to rearrange the skyyyy: so that each and every woman.... coULD FIND HER PERFECT GGGGUUUUUYYYY!  IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH! it’s raining men!  IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH! it’s raining men! amen! AMENNNN (ep,i c gguirtatr solO) ... i fele stormyhgdn weatehr rb movignhn g innn, abou t to bbeigng ........,hkd hear the Thundert dont u lose ur head.... RIP OFF THE ROOF AND STAAAAYYYY IN BEDDDDD!!!!!!11! - GOD BLESS MOTHER NATURE; SHE’S A SINGLE WOMAN TOOOO!!! SHE TOOK OVER HEAVEN, AND SHE DID WHAT SHE HAD TO DOOOOO - SHE TAUGHT EVERY ANGEL TO REARRANGE THE SKYYYY: SO THAT EACH AND EVERY WOMANNNNN COULD FIND HER PERFECT GUUUUUYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!!!111!2#$!@  IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH! it’s raining men! amen! IT’S RAINING MEN!!2 HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT’S RAINING MEN! AMEN!!!  IT’S RAINING MEN! HALLELUJAH!  it’s raining men! amen! A M E N !

[tackma]

Spring // Essentials // The Ivy Thunder T // Back In Stock at TACKMA.com #ThunderT #TACKMA #SeekNoApproval (at West Hollywood, California)

#thundert #tackma #seeknoapproval

[theohutchcraft]

Nagyon szeretem a Suffer-t. Ez egy olyan típusú dal, amit már régóta meg akartunk írni. Ez egy igazi fordulópont az albumom. A pillanat, amikor tudtuk, melyik irányban megyünk. A kezdő hangzás a Suffer elején egy kávéautomata hangja. A Fractured-el olyan furcsa dolgot akartunk alkotni, ami reflektálja, hogy milyen bensőleg szétesve, összetörtnek lenni. Biztos vagyok benne, sokaknak kihívás ezt hallgatni, de adj időt neki, és megtanulod szeretni. 

All I have to give talán a leg nyersebb és személyesebb dal, amit valaha írtam. Még mindig elég nehéz meghallgatni, mert amikor írtuk, én a legsötétebb ponton voltam. Nem igazán tudtam, hogy van kiút. A dalszöveg és dallam nagyon gyorsan jött. Talán túl kétségbeesettek voltak, hogy meg legyenek írva? Most hallgatva azt látom, hogy a dolgok jobbak lehetnek. Most egy különbőző helyen vagyok, és örülök, hogy a démonaim elé futottam, nem el tőlük. Érzelmessé tesz, olvasva, hogy sokatok kapcsolódnak hozzá. Nagy vígasz nekem.

Nagyon tetszik a tér, amit találtunk a Liar produkcióján. Üresnek, ünnepélyesnek és magányosnak érződik. Különösen tetszik Adam furcsa gitárszólója a közép 8 szekcióban.

Úgy éreztük, fontos befejezni az albumot a Darkes hour-al. Az ötlet, hogy fény van az alagút mélyén. Szerintem mindannyiunknak szüksége van valakire, akire támaszkodhatunk. Valaki, aki meghallgathat minket. És ha neked nincs valakid, akkor te lehetsz a valaki, valaki másnak. Kényelmet találhatsz az empátiában és emberi kapcsolatot.  Talán nincs szükséged megoldásra vagy tervre. Talán csak szükséged van valakire, aki meghallgatja, mit mondasz és min mész keresztül. Néha hangosan kimondani dolgokat segít. Meghallgatni embereket, megérteni őket, tanulni tőlük. Találhatunk békét önmagunkkal és másokkal a megértésen kersztül. Lehet egy szó, egy ölelés, ami egy kezdő pont lehet valakinek, hogy jobban legyen. Nem tesz sokat. Légy kedves mindenkivel. A világ nehéz.

Szerintem a Suffer-t játszani jó móka lesz.

Fractured, amit mindketten élveztünk készíteni. Felderítő volt szabadon engedni magunkat. 

Salford Quays sok időt töltöttem éjszaka

The juniper tree, the mouse, the bird and the sausage a kedvenc Grimm meséi, nagyon szereti a furcsa és sötéteket is

mindenféle teát szeret, fekete, fehér, zöld és menta

Rene Daumal - Mount analogue volt az utolsó könyv, amit olvasott

Rolling blackouts coastal fever - falling thundert hallgatta a napfényben állva 

egy dolog, ami segít neki, ha maga alatt van: elmegy egy hosszú sétára

5 vagy 6 éve vegán Southland tales , Embrace of the serpent a két legjobb film, amit legutóbb látott

Middlesbrough Fc-nek szurkol

kedvenc rendezői Werner Herzog, Richard Kelly, John Waters, Paul Verhoeven, Ed Wood

szereti a gin&tonic-ot

kedvenc Queen dalai a Killer queen és we are the champions

szereti a horrofilmeket, Texas Chainshaw Masscare a kedvence

Kedvenc Rammstein dala a Sonne, csináltak remixet a Haifisch-ből

kedvenc Depeche Mode albuma a Songs of faith and devotion

[lavinaz]

Imádom a thundert😍 na de a kövi 4: 14. Hova szeretnél elutazni? 41. Első csókod története 48. Hány párnával alszol? És lenne a 4. de inkább az tárgytalan mert már sejtem a választ rá 😅

14.Norvegia es ausztralia a ket nagy almom 😍😍41.haat oszinte leszek nem emlekszek ra xdd lehet ciki de nagyon reg volt es azota nagyon sok emberrel voltam mar ugyh naa xd48. Egyel. Ilyen vekony hosszukas. Aztan kettehajtom es alateszem a kezem :3 igy a legkenyelmesebb😍😚

[whatgaviiformes]

Thunderbirds trick or treat

Treat!

*opens door* Oh, hello there! 👋

I have a mini Thunderteers moment I wrote up just for you with our boys:

~*~*~*~

The ship creaked under his feet, wooden groans he knew as well as the sound of his own voice at morning's light. She had a long night, their lady Thunderbird.

Gordon skipped a step up on his way up the quarter deck, waving a quick greeting in Benji's direction before sliding up beside their Captain, who was leaning pensively on the side of their ship. While their helmsman was awaiting the change of shift and looked weary from the night, the glint in Scott's eyes shone brighter than the night before, his carriage firmer. It was that which told Gordon his Captain had slept the night before and welcomed the day refreshed.

"Whatcha looking at, Cap'n." He mirrored his posture and watched their ship make waves behind them.

Scott hummed. "Possibility." While Gordon looked to the sea, Scott's eyes caught the explosion of color teasing at the horizon.

Fondly, Gordon rolled his eyes. "You're so strange, sometimes." He placed a hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezed. "Down here on Earth with the rest of us, hmm?"

"The sunrise, you menace." His smile reached his eyes as he ruffled his boatswain's hair.

"Better."

Gordon turned his gaze upward for just a moment before flicking his eyes back down to the horizon, admiring how the sea caught the colors while the sun painted the sky

#gavii scribit #thunderteers #thunderbirds are go fanfiction

[whatgaviiformes]

Do the Thunderteers have a ship's cat?

Hi there Nonny! Having a question about Thunderteers in my inbox really cheered me up so thank you. It's bright in early, but this has made my day. They do! At some point, someone (I am 85% sure it was @janetm74) tagged me in the photoset where ship cats have their own passports, and the ideas started going. I wove a ship's cat into the currently unposted WIP of the next chapter of Voyage - and yes, I still had the ideas brewing. Poor fic just got pushed behind Hold Fast and then the rest of my brain's wild ideas. Hoping I'll come back to it soon! But since I do have some of this written, here's a bit of a snippet as thanks for the ask <3 ~*~ That evening, John poured himself a glass of red and opened the cabin windows to let in the world’s concerto as he watched the sun explode the sky into pink and orange, the haze of purple that soon overtook the clouds, as then the heavens winked, first one star, then two, three, Ursa Major, and finally the rest of the night sky.

It all lived in the emerald glimmering of his eyes, the freckled night memorized, memorialized in parchment by hands that mapped, charted. But tonight, instead of studying, he expressed his gratitude, lifting his glass in toast to Polaris and those that spun around her. The wine stained crimson upon the inside of his lips.

Colors amplified in the low lantern light, two gleaming eyes, as green as his own, peered at him from the floor. Still, the small figure blinked slowly.

“Eos.”

She blinked again, the flickering flame illuminating the ginger of her tortoiseshell coat.

 “Welcome back to land, little Eos.” He leaned down towards the cat. “Did you want to watch the stars with me?”

Eos stretched in place, then with a dignified sashay, her tail swinging, she jumped up into John’s lap.  In his hand, the wine swirled to one side of the glass with the movement but did not spill. Eos turned a few times over his lap, her tail brushing against his cheeks and fur falling to his breeches before she settled heavy onto his thighs. With his free hand he continued to stroke her back, fingers laced with soft black and auburn.  

There, they waited until dawn. But it had been a long day bringing their lady Thunderbird into port. So, eventually John’s eyes grew heavy, and his breaths evened into light rest.

#Thunderteers #Privateers!AU #ask box answers

[whatgaviiformes]

Head Canon Ask Game:

♒ - cooking/food head canon Thunderteers

Yay!

I started off with John and Virgil alternating the cooking, but seeing as Virgil is also Chief Mate and their Surgeon, John tends to take this one over. I actually wrote a lot about food and cooking in this Universe so I hope its okay for me to post some of those as a response to this question. I love the little moments. There's a lovely scene in Hold Fast I dug out of the trenches before Gordon's accident when he's still adjusting their helm to account for the tilting sail (God, Gavii, how many times are you going to write Gordon's accident before people get tired of it) and it's a lovely moment between those two:

The sun rose to its zenith, beyond, and hours later when Virgil was engrossed in his books in his study, he heard John begin to tinker with the pots and pan in the room over. Virgil’s study was actually their medical cabin, which shared a wall with their galley. Despite that he was in the middle of his book, the metallic clunk of wood and cast iron was a welcome herald that John was beginning to prepare supper. He would not dare to fold the precious pages over, the way Gordon would infuriatingly fold the triangle corner in his books. Instead, Virgil kept a thin cord tucked into the spine of the book to mark his placement in the story.

With any luck, maybe this time he’d remember he was on the second page of the spread when next he had time to read. Virgil stepped around his desk, and placed the book down, before swinging over to the galley, where his most nocturnal sibling had straightened the sleep away from his appearance, though concise movements and a clench in his jaw as he flipped through the recipe book warned Virgil something was on his mind.

“Gordon still up there?” He asked, stepping towards the aroma of spices, and leaning against the doorway. “Yes.”

“How long now?”

“Eleven hours.” John glared at the dinner spread he had started. “Pushing twelve.”

“Twelve!”

“I know, Virg.” John closed his eyes. “Trust me. I know.” When he opened them again and spun at Virgil, emeralds held hurt. “This is my fault.”

“How’s that?” Virgil pressed into John’s space in the tight room, sensing him vibrating down to his bones where he stood. He fidgeted when Virgil reached for the lithe shoulder, jittery in a way that was typical of Gordon, but not at all characteristic of their Navigator, his mind generally poised and his expression serene.

“Why do you think Scott took me aside, Virgil? I should have noticed. We’ve lost time. Would’ve lost more if Gordon hadn’t noticed yesterday and course corrected.” He spun back to his soup, away from Virgil’s grasp, and snatched a glass jar in the spice rack. “And he’s got to carry the burden since he’s the only one comfortable enough to adjust it as we sail.” Three shakes of the white seasoning and then a slow, careful exhale with a curse lingering in the air.

“John?”

The red head forced the small jar back onto the shelf, and it clattered against the other spices.  “That was sugar.”

Virgil leaned around him, grabbed the salt. “We have plenty,” he said kindly. He placed a warm hand between John’s bony shoulder blades and rubbed until he felt John release the pressure building.  “We’ll start over.”

Start over they did. The soup was steaming, carrying its aroma up through the oak ceiling above. John was in the middle of stirring, feeling more relaxed cooking with Virgil just like they’d done as children, when Gordon stepped in, seeming the paragon of exhaustion. The bosun collapsed into the closest seat at the table, crossed his arms on the wooden surface, and then dropped his head in them where his shirt smelled of sweat and salt water.

Oh! And again. Apparently, I like to have these two talking over supper prep. I knew I had written Virgil's favorite foods, but here's another lovely little scene with these two from Oak and Ivory:

Hours later, the sound of a roller banging on the mess table signaled the start of dinner preparations, and shortly after the aroma of beef simmering in ale wafted through wooden walls.

John had joined him on board about half-way through Virgil’s watch.  Out in the natural light of the main deck, Virgil had been jotting down the notes from a tune he had drifting in his head, but the navigator’s arms were full of fresh meat and vegetables from town when he arrived. Virgil had helped him carry the provisions down into the galley, excited for the promise of fresh rump steaks in place of their supply of salted meats that usually ended up in stews.

Still better than grandma’s hard tack.

The moderately-sized leather-bound book that was their mother’s copy of the Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy, was open on the table near a plate of finely chopped onions. The simple recipe book was one they knew backward and forward, but John was always a stickler for having the book out for reference.

Virgil sat across from him, staying out of the way of the preparations, but watchful as John moved about the kitchen. Despite the heat from the flame as the alcohol burned off and the steak fried and browned in the cast iron, John wore a navy watch cap that slouched a bit in the back. He wore it forward on his head to keep his hair out of the food, and so light fuzz of his red hair showed in the back where the nape of his neck wasn’t fully covered.

John added salt and pepper to the plate, followed by nutmeg and parsley, and sprinkled them into a pile of seasonings for the butter.

“Don’t forget the thyme,” Virgil reminded him.

“Ah! You’re right.” John’s hand stopped on the way to pick up the round ball of butter, and instead he flitted through their seasoning and spice jars for the ingredient he hadn’t pulled aside yet.

Once he added a bit of thyme, John rolled the butter so that it picked up all of the spices and topped it with a coat of flour. With that prepared it was simply a matter of waiting for the steaks to be ready for him to add the onions and the butter mixture.

“I can watch the steaks if you want to get started on the vegetables,” Virgil offered.

John shook his head lightly, already reaching for the French beans for the ragout.  “No, I got it, thanks Virg.”  He’d already cut the ends of off the fresh beans and divided them crosswise into thirds.  Still watching the steaks, John added the beans to the pan so they could fry and brown in beef fat.

This recipe was also one of Virgil’s favorites. The hints of beef would complement their steak meal, but the real flavoring came from the second set of ingredients once the beans were removed and the grease was drained. Butter, water, white wine, mushroom ketchup and additional seasonings would create a simmering sauce and reduce over the flame. The French beans would be added back in at the end, and with a final stir, it would be ready to serve.

As the aromas mingled, Virgil realized the two parts of the meal would finish at roughly the same time. That was another talent of their mother’s that John apparently inherited – her innate sense of time keeping and multi-tasking.

Already suspecting the answer, Virgil asked, “Is there a reason you are going out of your way to cook our favorites?”

“Well,” John mused, giving the meat a quick touch test with a knife, “this might be our last nice dinner in Eden. Scott’s planning to leave in two days.”

I watched a youtube video of authentic cooking to get the above better descriptors. <3

#thunderteers #it almost says tears get it? Because I can only write angst? *sigh* #virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #writing snippets #ask box answers

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Brother’s Oath (Thunderteers)

Summary:  In "Hold Fast," Scott makes a decision. It did not come to him easily. Characters: Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy (Earth & Sky)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Words: 1.7K

A/N: Thunderteers is my playground, and the boys wanted to play, so here we are. This one will need to have context for “Hold Fast” as this takes place immediately after the last scene in Chapter 8. More Thunderteers Here  

*****

Brother’s Oath

Read on Ao3

“Gordy we need to talk.”

The seconds ticked by, and Scott straightened up and grabbed Gordon’s trembling hand.

“We have a job,” Scott admitted. “To Baltimore and back. Then more lined up after.”

“You’re leaving.” He shivered.

Scott nodded, regretfully. “We need the work. We can’t stay here without income while covering Doctor Hackenbacker’s services, the dock fees, the boarding fees.” Gordon’s breath hitched, and Scott squeezed his hand. “We’ll be fine, though. John did the math.”

“I can go with you,” Gordon whispered. “Virgil can take care of me on board.”

Scott closed his eyes, “Gordon, no.” His voice broke. How was Gordon supposed to heal aboard the sway of the ship? What if, God forbid, they encountered a storm, and he was pitched across the floorboards? “I can’t risk you.”

-From Hold Fast, Chapter 8 "Harbor"

_______________________________________

Standing upon a wooden pier, a man with sea-jewel eyes, tall and dark-haired, squared his shoulders and twisted his interlocked hands resting in the small of his back. Weight evenly distributed, the wood below the heel of his boots gave no protest, and in the stillness he scanned the harbor every inch a statue amidst the hustling movement of the dockhands, of which many were just youngsters. In the prime of his twenties, he outwardly looks every bit a leader; his stance resonates with his confidence of command, his presence a force on its own which speaks louder than even the golden shine of the epaulette along his right shoulder marking him as a merchant ship’s Captain. 

Scott Tracy doesn’t feel the difference in age between him and the boys working the dock, though those musings he reserves for his heart. It wasn’t so long ago that he was their age, though climbing the ship’s shrouds towards the sky instead of racing along the dock.  At the same time, he feels the stretch of years between them heavily and starkly, the responsibility that came from being eldest of five and the sudden addition of being abandoned, possibly orphaned, leading a ship’s company, his brothers and brothers in arms, into the unknown. The weight of his decisions he bears on his shoulders, for which his mark of command gives him authority, but does little to assist with the burden.

His gaze is severe and unwavering as he stares out towards ships in the harbor, and yet not focusing on them at all, but rather something beyond, something only visible to those that have challenged the horizon. He’s chosen a spot beneath a southern palmetto away from the central activity of the dockworkers, the fisherman and the sailors coming to port. The fronds give him ample shade from the heat of the sun, and they sway above him with the cooling breeze off the sea. Though, it’s not strong enough to flutter the edges of his coat, the signifying garment as static as the man who endures it, and he appears utterly unapproachable, untouchable, in his moments with the horizon.

 Except to one.

The second man is broad to Scott’s tall, his features similar but different with strong cheekbones to replace the dimples in Scott’s smile, the cleft in his chin more prominent, the color of his hair deeper. Unfazed by his Captain’s manner, he spares no thought to the square of Scott’s shoulders and skips the pleasantries. It’s only with a slight tilt of the Captain’s head towards the sound of the wood thundering around his boots that Virgil knows Scott has registered his presence at all. 

“When were you going to tell me?”  It lashes at him, and he turns to his brother then to see Virgil’s arms crossed, the brown of his eyes alight and reddened around the edges. “When were you going to tell him? After everything!”

 “I told him when he needed to know.” 

 “I don’t believe that. You’ve devastated him.”

“You’ve seen him? He was asleep when I left.” He’d wept himself into exhaustion.

“Well he woke up asking for you,” Virgil tells him. “I had to send John in to assure him you hadn’t left yet.”

Scott tightens the grip at his back, as if by sheer strength he could expel the burning where his fingers still freshly carry his brother’s tears. He pulls himself to look away from the ferocity in Virgil’s eyes, back toward where the clouds hang low in the blue. 

“Do not mistake duty for cruelty, Virgil.” He speaks his words carefully and intently, absorbing every spark of his brother’s anger into his heart. “This decision was not made lightly. We told you once affairs were in order. Once we were certain.”

Once there were no more excuses to keep them held back, once they all agreed it was for the best to leave. Him and John and Alan. Virgil would have been a part of it too had his attention not been solely focused on their younger brother’s recovery, and rightfully so. The finances had been an obstacle Scott and John agreed they could keep off of Virgil’s plate until he needed to know. It just so happened that once he needed to know, he really needed to know.

It was a reluctant John’s idea first, though for his sake, Scott swore he’d take that knowledge into whichever sea would become his grave. John brought it to his attention and Scott made the call. It was as simple as that. Meanwhile, Alan had been the hardest to sway; he’d never known differently than having all four of his older brothers aboard the Thunderbird. 

To him, hiring hands had been its own betrayal.

In the end they had to let Alan see the numbers for himself. Scott respected that and appreciated that his brother had the good sense not to take anything at face value. Over a long day of pouring over the logs and John’s projections and losses, Alan finally ceded. He was vocal about his displeasure though; he didn’t trust leaving his brother to the fates of the world of land. 

In truth, Scott didn’t either. Not completely. 

So when he says “once we were certain” what he means is that it had taken him two days and three nights with his quarters locked from the inside, one bottle of fine scotch and two of John’s wine, and more candied pralines than he had the right to have stashed in his cabin for him to tear away at his heart and come to terms with the fact that his brother had a small chance to heal upon land and no chance at all upon the sea.

That he had to make the right decision for his family, for their father’s legacy, for the ship and her crew, and for Gordon all at once.

That Gordon, who felt the pull of the tides even stronger than Scott himself, might forever be tied to shore.  And Scott wouldn’t know for sure, nor would he be able to do anything about it even if he did.

That he might have to learn how to bear being aboard the ship without him.

That the best thing he could do for him was to leave him.

He awoke to the bottles shattered in pieces on the floor of his cabin after those nights. And when it was all said and done, he steeled himself, wiped the red away from his eyes. He became Captain, and he walked to Willshire’s purposefully to close out the room he couldn’t handle using because Gordon was down the hall and it wasn’t fair to carry the chaos in his mind so close. 

Virgil knows none of this, so he scoffs, the hurt still apparent in his stance and blaze of his expression. But Virgil does know Scott, and there’s a moment in the silence as the scoff cuts off where he can feel it still resonating in his brother’s bones.

 “Scott?”

“Did you know,” he says, his voice heavy and slow, “that I made a promise to him. I promised him we wouldn’t leave each other. Not until one of us was sewing the other’s hammock.” They were fourteen and twenty, and without a Captain, without half of the crew because they needed their wages not to go on a wild goose chase looking for the late Captain Jeff Tracy under an under-qualified leader. In the wake of their father’s disappearance, it was Gordon who first swore allegiance to Scott’s captaincy, with the brotherhood and loyalty of brown eyes that idolized his older sibling. 

Virgil pales, no doubt remembering the most recent sewing of a hammock aboard their ship, seeing alongside it the lifeless face of their brother. It’s the same thing he’s been seeing since the events that nearly took Gordon’s life. Scott almost regrets saying it as soon as he glances at the look of pain that crosses Virgil’s face. Almost. 

“So don’t treat me like this was easy. You didn’t need to make this decision. I did.” For the first time, Scott flings his hands back out of their hold, and stabs himself in the chest with his forefinger. “I know I’m responsible, so you don’t need to remind me.”

 “I’m not saying it was easy,” Virgil argues. “I’m saying maybe it would’ve been a little easier had you just told us what you were thinking. You owe it to him when it affects him like this.”

“I told him today.”

“With no discussion. When it was already decided.”

“Precisely.”

“He didn’t even get a say.”

“Virgil, precisely.” And there’s something in the way that he says it the second time, with his brother’s name attached; it causes his lip to tremble, the words to stutter.  “I-” 

He couldn’t have done it, he’s trying to say. He would’ve talked himself out of it ten times over if the conversation he had with Gordon a few hours ago had happened before he’d squared away with the dockmaster and the boarding house and secured people who were relying on them for transport and purchased perishable wares for trade. There is a part of him still working through how many people he’d disappoint if they were to stay.

“Oh.”  

And because it’s Virgil, his first mate, his brother, beside him always instead he says, “I hate this. Tell me honestly, what do you think his chances are of walking again? Of sailing?” 

He needs to know. There’s so much that he doesn’t know about what’s going to happen next that he needs just this one thing from Virgil. But it’s a truth Virgil can’t give yet himself. He hums, his lips pursed, and he runs his hand through messy hair. Gordon has only just barely started standing, with assistance. Time will tell. 

He tells him so. “We’ll know more by the time you return at Christmas.” 

“Christmas then,” Scott nods. It’s a promise.

Virgil’s anger has long since vanished into hurt, his jaw clenches and he too stares out to sea. “When does she depart?”

“In two days. You’ll be staying?”

“Obviously,” Virgil says. “But I don’t know how to handle not being there for you.”

“Brother, the best thing you can do for me,” Scott says honestly, closing his eyes, “is to be there for him.”  Because if he has to break his oath to Gordon, there’s no other person to whom he would trust his brother than Virgil. For the delicate care of his health, but also the strengthening of his spirit and his light through the worst of the storms, it’ll be Virgil who gets him through this. Scott will do his part. 

And maybe by Christmas…

#Gavii Scribit #Fic: Brother's Oath #Thunderteers #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderteers Verse #Privateers!AU #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #thunderangst

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Fic: Fathoms - A Thunderteers story (AU)

This is a hodgepodge story – for @flyboytracy who wanted a privateers!AU around a legend – what it was believed to be and what it really was  (with some pretty sky imagery!), for @janetm74 who wanted something specific and actually probably got furthest from the ask (but I added Scott!), and @gumnut-logicut_logic who posted FabFiveFeb with the right word for Virgil for me to tie this all together: underwater. I hope the three of you don’t mind I combined your prompts/asks. I spend a lot of time on this AU when I delve into it, so while it’s my playground, I also have to get myself into the mindspace for some sailing and the parts of their story that’s different than the canon (or at this point my other AUs 😊 ). So writing privateers is my pride and joy, but it is also a bit of an investment for my time.

I hope this is worthy of all three things – and thank you so much for the asks and support. I hope you love this as much as I enjoyed writing it and finding  my sea legs again. With continued thanks to @the-original-sineater for being my on going Privateers sanity check. :D So, New to Thunderteers? Here's what you need to know - 1700s, they all have the same Thunderbird (it's a sailing ship), and Scott inherited the title of Captain from his father after he disappeared.

...

Summary: Virgil wonders what’s below and Gordon tells a story about a kraken.  Characters: Gordon, Virgil, Scott, Alan Past-Jeff Genre: Adventure, AU Words: 3K Warnings: Missing Dad (but only as much as the show does), Military!Scott - this AU’s equivalent, but it’s hinted at.

***** Fathoms

The evening sky painted the tides, the sea swells echoing the colors of the clouds to converge at the horizon and the last bursts of sunlight. Waves cloaked in gold lapped against the oak of the ship’s hull, and the flutter of her sails softened the explosion of fire into gentle colors reminiscent of the Georgia peaches they’d bought along the Savannah River for trading further North. Far above the shades darkened into sienna, into purple and the beginnings of subtle starlight.

Near the bow of the ship, her First Mate who had a mind for color and the rhythm of words to name off those descriptions as second nature, looked not at the sky, but below, leaning slightly over the side of the ship, caught in the lull of the deep swirls below. They seemed to steal the color away into dark, and it reminded  Virgil that the ocean was not so unlike the night sky above in that regard.

So little was known about both, what they were, why they existed, what secrets they held, what else they might be able to discover.

“You seem pensive.”

Virgil hummed to acknowledge the presence of his young brother while Gordon settled beside him, leaning his back against the side of the ship with an air of ease and familiarity since he’d grown up on the ship. The Thunderbird was his home, as much as the sea was in his spirit.

“This never gets old,” the bosun continued. Facing away from the starboard side that had Virgil entranced, Gordon admired the seascape across the West before turning his head around to his older brother. “The sunset, I mean. Don’t you think they’re somehow…richer than sunrises? More golden yellow. Why is that, I wonder?” The waves murmured below them. “Virgil?”

“What do you think is down there?”  

Read More on Ao3

#Gavii Scribit #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #Jeff Tracy #Thunderbirds fanfiction #privateers!au #thunderteers verse #Thunderbirds AU

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Hold Fast -It's been a year!

Good Morning,

For some new to our Thunder family, I thought it might be worth giving this story a boost, and for those that went on this journey once with me already - isn't it wild that it's been a year? I hope its okay to be giving this a personal reblog. I re-read it myself recently thinking of how I could celebrate this fic and its impact on my life. Not just in fandom, but overall. There's meaning behind the phrase Hold Fast, that in the writing of the story I realized was advice I needed myself.

So for backround, I started posting this story in January of 2022 with the epilogue completing that March. It was a time period where I put a lot of my whole heart into this story, and heads up - it hurts. I've posted bits and pieces from my Thunderteers Verse, and this is specifically intended to be this Universe's version of Gordon's hydrofoil accident. It started with a "I really need to write this just to know what happened" and it became an epic in itself.

So Warnings: It's not easy. They lose a crew member, there's a funeral, Gordon has loss of mobility, and very much the boys face their own mortality.

In all my writing, though, I truly hope I succeed in layering in the joy and love. So if you like angst, and you like feels, and the smiles that persist in spite of darker times, I hope you'll give this fic a try. Even though its an AU, even though it has standard Gavii-level FishTank focus at times. It likely will help you understand me in the long run, I think.

It's not just Hold Fast though. This time period ABSORBED me, so there are also some one-shots created that read adjacent to this. I'd still read Hold Fast first, but in an easy collection for you are some of those stories below, listed as I would recommend they be read. Plus this story also has a soundtrack for your listening pleasure.

Playlists / Playlist Commentary - 10 tracks, 38 min.

Hold Fast [Ao3]

Extras with mini scenes during this time all Ao3:

Lord Gordon's Reel - Virgil writes a song (wee!Tracys)

Brother's Oath - Scott makes a decision (earth & sky)

Blow, Ye Winds Blow - Virgil helps Gordon (For the love of FishTank)

Appendices.

It should be obvious how I love this Universe if you choose to set sail with me, and if you ever have questions, or comments to share, or just need an emotional support shanty, my ask box is always open. Drop my a line, and thank you for giving this post a read through if you made it this far.

#Thunderteers Verse #Personal fic boost #Fic: Hold Fast

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Fic: Blow Ye Winds, Blow (Thunderteers Verse)

For the One Prompt Challenge @tracybirds, because I had to do a FishTank scene since it’s me. To make it different, though, I threw it in my Thunderteers Universe. So here’s a snippet for my Hold Fast, peeps. <3

(Gordon is A, Virgil is B)

“You don’t need to worry about me,” said A. “Well, someone has to!” B paused - they didn’t mean to raise their voice. They sighed and continued “A.” A rolled their eyes but B wasn’t deterred. “When was the last time you ate? Slept?” A got up abruptly, hoping to avoid a lecture. Their head spun and they reached for something to steady themself, almost crashing into the bookshelf…

Ao3 More Thunderteers Masterlist for the One Prompt Challenge here

*****

Blow Ye Winds, Blow

The ship lurched to the side, sending Virgil careening towards his desk and scattering the open books atop it as he caught himself with his hands. A vial of finely ground yellow-white powder rolled out of his grasp as he fell, though the cork stopper luckily kept its contents secure. The glass did not break with the drop, though it teetered on the edge of the table a moment before Virgil quickly righted himself and reached for it.

The powder was known to relieve strong pain, and Virgil, as their doctor and physician, had been working with it a long time. Long enough to have an educated sense of how to mix an appropriate dosage into a pill format for their boatswain, his brother. The vial was from his medical chest, and somewhere around here, he had more of the ingredient. Though his study felt the same on the surface, he was still finding small parts of the workspace rearranged from the temporary tenant they’d hired to take his place, inventory included. What he had found remained well-stocked, which he appreciated.

If he ever needed to take up temporary residency in port again, Virgil might add this Dr. Meddings to his approved list of substitutes for his brothers’ care. It was a list so short that it now included just the aforementioned doctor and his friend, Dr. Hackenbacker, who likely would never fare well at sea. Unknown on that one. Hiram seemed rather attached to his Charleston practice.

Virgil found his footing just as the ship heaved again, giving a great croak along the wooden foundations. With a sigh, he stuffed the powder into his satchel for safe keeping. He’d never be able to measure out the ingredients with the ship tossing them like this, but at least he’d located what he needed for when the sea calmed and her waves quieted.

Since he’d be more helpful up top, Virgil strode out of their medical cabin and climbed up to the main deck where the open air hit him with a burst of salt and the freshness that warned of a distant storm soon to come. A glance down at the tossing waters and up at the dense clouds above revealed it likely wasn’t far off.

At the helm, Gordon grunted with the effort to keep the ship aligned, his knuckles white on the spokes of the wheel.

Virgil approached.

“And it’s wind -,” the blond sang through clenched teeth. His words choked off with the effort of straining, and his breath heaved with the waves. “Windy weather, storm - stormy weather, boys.”

Song was joy, but it also was distraction.

“Not quite yet, Fish. We have time.” His words were kind as he stepped up close beside him. “Where is everyone?”

“Alan’s taken them to secure what’s in the hold, then the guns.” He spared a glance at Virgil. “Then the sails. I haven’t gotten her to a stop yet.”

Virgil hummed, watching intently the tremble of Gordon’s hands.  

“I’m fine,” he reported.

“I’m fairly certain the only reason you’re still standing,” Virgil countered, “is because of that wheel.” After caring for his back after the fall that had nearly taken his life, Virgil knew too well the pinch of pain in Gordon’s forehead, his heavy stance as he leaned on his opposite leg when his hip was hurting, the stubborn streak of his brother’s determination when he was dedicated solely to proving himself. “Where’s your cane?”

Gordon’s eyes narrowed at him. “I got this. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, someone has to!” His voice raised sharply with the wind, then tapered. Virgil sighed, carding his hand through hair that blew wildly with the strong gusts. “It’s my job to worry.”

“Not about this,” Gordon argued. “I’ve been at this half my life.”  

The wheel pulled at Gordon’s arms.

“Gordon,” he urged softly, placing one hand on the helm to help provide the counter-support Gordon needed and the other at the nape of Gordon’s neck. “Come now. You’re still not at full strength. Be kind to yourself, Fish. When’s the last time you ate?” Dark eyes, swollen underneath darted to him, betraying the night he must’ve had with pain intense enough it meant no rest, and Virgil added, “Or slept?”

Gordon rolled his eyes, wiggling his shoulders to dislodge the concerned hand against his collar.

At the same time, the water surged against the side of the ship, dislodging more than just Virgil’s hand. The wheel swept Gordon’s arms away, and the younger man stumbled back with uneven footing into Virgil’s hold as the ship veered out of their control.

“Gordon!” He held onto him tightly, shifting his own gait to compensate for the roll of the Thunderbird. But with the support of the helm no longer at his disposal, Gordon fell heavily against him, profanities spilling from his lips, and his limbs limp, heavy, and shuddering. Virgil felt Gordon’s fingernails dig into the material of his coat sleeves.  

An attempt to keep them both standing would pull at Gordon’s back, so Virgil gently knelt, bringing them both to a resting position on the Quarterdeck while the wind swirled around them.  

“Don’t say it,” Gordon mumbled weakly, catching his breath.

Virgil shook his head. “I wouldn’t. Our Captain though? Scott thinks he knows everything.”

The quip did as was intended, and Gordon snickered lightly.

“I heard that, Mr. Virgil.” With the hurling of the ship, Scott had just arrived on deck. He bent down towards both of them, a hand on his hip, the other holding out Gordon’s cane from where it had rolled. “And you’re right. I will say it. Virgil probably told you so.”

“Pot. Kettle,” Gordon retorted, waving him away.

“Hmm. We aren’t talking about me, Mr. Gordon.” Scott handed Virgil the cane and turned away from them to snatch the unattended wheel.

Gordon barked out a laugh, hissing as it caught his side. Thoughtfully, he watched Scott take up the helm.

“You need to heave-to, Captain. Then take in sail,” Gordon explained with sincerity, aware that, of course, this was something Scott already knew.

“Aye, aye.” Scott saluted as he would to the Admiral above him in rank and grinned. “Now get off my Quarterdeck and let Virgil take care of you.”

Wordlessly, Gordon nodded, letting Virgil know he was ready. His head spun and he wobbled as Virgil helped him up to a standing position.

“It’s going to be okay, Gordon,” Virgil assured, steadying him. “You’ll be back among the oak soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Gordon replied.

He vibrated against his brother, wincing as the movement shot fire through his back and blinking heavily on the journey to their officer’s cabin. But he wasn’t alone.

Virgil had him.  

#Gavii Scribit #ThunderbirdsOnePrompt #Thunderteers Verse #Gordon Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #Privateers!AU