#Virgil Tracy

[gumnut-logic]

Five times Virgil tackled loopy family members, and one time they tackled him (Part Six, Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six - Bit 1

This is an attempt to finish this fic off. Unfortunately, this last part is big and I was unable to fully complete it this morning. But there is some Tracy boy action in this, so I hope you enjoy what should be the first half of the last chapter of this fic.

Now I have to go to work, drat it.

-o-o-o-

…and one time his family had to tackle him.

It was another fire.

Virgil had seen so many wildfires now they were at Tuesday status. Didn’t mean they weren’t tiring.

It was a full team effort and they had been at it for hours in the Californian hills. Virgil wanted to curse the eucalypts that weren’t supposed to be here, but honestly the native pines burned just as much, both full of flammable sap that just set the fires roaring.

At first he had stayed in Two, water-bombing with local fire services and laying down a firebreak to stop it all from getting into suburbia.

There lay the nightmare. The few times a wildfire had breached a city limits were all on Virgil’s most hated rescues list. Not that fire anywhere wasn’t horrible, but the city increased the density of human lives and ever so many more were inevitably lost.

Once the firebreak was set, he went back to slowing it down, but then some fire personnel were trapped and he had to leap out of Two to save them. A family who should have evacuated earlier also found themselves trapped on their property ahead of the fire front and again Virgil was the only one able to reach them.

By this time he already had his firesuit on and with a second thought also grabbed his exosuit. There was no indication it was needed, but he felt much more secure with it on.

Gordon called it his ‘wooby-suit’. Well, once, Virgil’s reaction had been sufficient to nub that one in the bud.

His brother still snickered on occasion when Virgil announced he was suiting up.

His fish brother really was a little shit at times.

A loveable one, but a shit nonetheless.

The house was a two storey at the very end of a cul-de-sac. Its driveway disappeared into the trees and as Virgil landed Two in the path of the oncoming fire, he had a few curse words for those who didn’t follow wildfire prevention protocols.

Two barely fit on the dead-end road, her backend almost nudging one of the other primly neat, ordered and now deserted homes.

At least one garden gnome met a gruesome end.

Virgil barely noticed. Moments and he was running down that winding dirt driveway. It appeared that it was one of those hidden pathways to a lot bigger property. Fortunately, John was in his ear with clear and concise directions.

A house appeared after a decent jog through the trees, Virgil frowned. There was no car packed for an emergency retreat. It all appeared deserted.

Only the backdrop of smoke and the ash drifting on the air gave the landscape any urgency.

“They are sheltering in the basement.” He could hear the frown in John’s voice.

“Well, get them out here. I don’t have time to dig them out.”

“I have been trying. They are quite panicked.”

John was interrupted by Scott. “Thunderbird Two, you are needed on the south-west flank, we have break through.”

“FAB, Thunderbird One. Retrieving two rescuees. ETA in ten.”

“Make it five, we have unevacuated civilians in the fire’s path.”

Again?

What the hell?

“FAB, Thunderbird One.”

Damnit.

The house itself could have stood in for one of those horror films. Tall, two storey, made of wood, not maintained too well. Even its paintwork screamed black and white Hitchcock.

Virgil didn’t bother with the front door, instead scooting around the side of the building to a set of external cellar doors. He banged on the wood with a claw. “International Rescue!” No response. “You called for help?”

“Virgil!” John’s voice was panicked.

A man appeared out of nowhere, yelling something incomprehensible. Virgil staggered backwards at a sharp pain in his arm. Someone else tried to grab him.

What the-?

“Get the damned machine off him! Cut the hydraulics!”

Virgil reacted, spinning where he stood, exosuit arms coming up in defence. Kayo’s instructions chanting in his mind, unbidden.

Disable and run. That’s all you have to do, Virgil. You don’t want to fight. Don’t fight. Run!

He wasn’t very manoeuvrable in the suit, but he was practised. Keep moving. Don’t let them immobilise you!

His right claw was a huge weapon and it barrelled into two men as he spun.

“Goddamnit! Get it right the third time, you idiots!” A woman’s voice and Virgil realised the cellar doors were open. She was climbing out to join the fray.

He spun, hitting someone else. How many were there? What did they want?

Why?

John shouted something in Virgil’s ear. Something about Scott.

Someone jumped onto his back, a hand blocking his vision as it gripped his helmet.

Pain as cold metal cut into the shoulder of his uniform.

Virgil set his feet and disengaged the exosuit, flinging himself away.

He hit dirt as the woman yelled at the men again, but he didn’t give himself time to register what she said, instead launching himself off the ground and running just as Kayo had told him to do.

“Get him, you idiots!”

Virgil’s breath was harsh in his ears as he put everything into his legs towards the safety of Two. His fire suit hampered him and he wished for the umpteenth time in his life that he had Scott or John’s long legs. But life had gifted him with strong, sturdy, and a damn sight shorter. He was literally made for heavy lifting.

And not for running.

But run he did.

For the trees.

His brain screamed at him about the fire hazard, about the glow above those trees, the ash dancing in the air, but he needed cover. A mix of eucalypt and pine waving in the hot wind.

Sparks drifting lazily past.

He wanted to stop and gaze at them but there was a voice urging him on.

And that horrible woman screeching far behind.

The scrub swallowed him whole.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!”

“Thunderbird Two will be available momentarily. We have pods to deploy and slow progress.” Scott stared at the map, suddenly missing Virgil’s input. This was definitely Virgil territory. Maybe he should switch out Gordon for Virg and assign him to control. One could take up the slack. “Yes, Thunderbird Five?”

“Virgil has been attacked. Code Green. Sending you coordinates.”

“What?!” He straightened so fast his back cracked. A glance at the fire chief and he was grabbing his helmet and moving. “Alan, I need One now!”

He didn’t need to ask for further information. As he slapped on his helmet, John threw it at his HUD. A live feed of five assailants chasing the staggering green dot of his brother.

“Virgil’s vitals indicate he may have been drugged. I’m seeing spikes in his heart rate and his direction of retreat has become erratic.” John’s tone was clipped but full of tension. “He will not reach Thunderbird Two before he is overtaken.”

“Call in Kayo and notify the GDF.” He barely heard his own words as Alan dumped One precisely down beside him. Her ladder lowered and his feet were on it before it could hit dirt.

Dust welled up around his ‘bird as Alan launched her back into the air. Scott grabbed the cargo bay railing and secured himself.

“Gordon is inbound with the Dragonfly.” Alan’s voice was as clipped as John’s, not even turning to look at Scott. “ETA twenty seconds.”

“FAB.”

One shot through the thick smoke of the fire front, leaving swirls of grey atmosphere behind it, and emerging out into the clear air of the yet to be burnt.

Evacuated suburbia lay quiet below as Alan threw the Thunderbird to the right and spun down for an abrupt and determined landing in the front yard of someone’s wannabe mansion.

“Stay with One. Keep her secure.” Scott was moving before his littlest brother could protest.

A tactical readout appeared on Scott’s HUD as his feet hit dirt. Gordon’s dragonfly pod touched down beside him, his fish brother’s eyes catching his.

Without words, Scott grabbed onto the pod and Gordon launched her to skim across the ground, closing the little distance between them and the trees.

Thunderbird Two sat quiet beyond the property, her green hull gathering grey ash as firefighting aircraft buzzed about the fire front, a closing distance away.

“Shadow is inbound, ETA ten minutes. A security team in on their way. Colonel Casey has confirmed a response from the GDF as soon the fire has been controlled.”

“What?!” But as Scott’s boots hit the ground again, he didn’t have time to discuss the GDF’s inadequacies. “Virgil’s status?”

“I’m getting no response. He is speaking, but not to me. He appears incoherent.” A pause. “Approach him with caution.” Another pause. “Five assailants still closing.”

Rage leaked through Scott’s composure, but he had no more time for that than he did for the GDF’s failings. “Gordon, you have my six.”

And they were swallowed by the trees.

-o-o-o-

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy #nuttyfic #how can I leave a 10 000 word fic hanging for two years #I guess the same way I've left a 48 000 word fic hanging #::sigh::

[edutainer2022]

This came out of the blue, as I don't usually do the de-aging AU. Don't ask me about the physics of it - something, something Fischler is an idiot. It's mostly about the the emotional reactions and ramifications. So, in a flash of explosion Scott is three... again. The family navigate their feelings about it, dealing with a confused child. Virgil and John discuss the what-ifs and what-nots. Scotty gets better eventually, or maybe worse... From a certain point of view.

A bow to @janetm74 , whose takes on the trope are always fascinating.

WAY LEADS ON TO WAY

It took some coaxing and a promise of pie to pry the child away from Virgil. Blue eyes, too big for the small face, were full of fear and reoccurring tears. The tiny body was trembling and skinny arms clung to Virgil's flanel shirt ever since the device blew up. Virgil didn't mind one bit, but they needed to run scans and tests making sure the boy... Scott was okay. Or as okay as could be, considering he was now about 25 years younger than should be.

Everyone froze as the boy asked for "Momma and Virgie" the first time and burst into tears. It, surprisingly, took Virgil's voice to dissuade the meltdown, as he was gleefully identified as "Dada" and got a little limpet attached to his torso. The flash of pain in Dad's, actual Dad's, eyes was not lost on either Virgil or Grandma. Virgil hugged the child closer, suddenly self-conscious.

Brains was already deep in the schematics of the malfunctioned device, confiscated earlier that day from a disaster site that happened to be one of Fischler's labs. Kayo was looking stormy, plotting possible bodily harm, although, knowing Fischler, not even enhanced interrogation could  yield reliable information on what happened and how to reverse the effects asap.

John watched Virgil with a now three year old Scotty, his expression unreadable. Eos was already tasked with simulations for reverse engineering the device. It being a Fischler's concoction, they couldn't risk hurting Scott as they would try to get him "back". Alan was shocked and looked a lot younger himself. Grandma hugged him with a reassuring word.

Gordon's natural skill with small kids proved handy, as he was quick to whip out Alan’s old toys from Neptune knew where and produced a heap of his own plushies. The little boy was suitably distracted and involved into play, making vroom-vroom noises with a dinosaur on a Lego plane. The window of calm didn't last long, though, as now little Scotty, obviously tired and confused, became cranky again and cried for Momma and Virgie. Virgil looked up at Dad, at a loss. The child obviously didn't remember much beyond being  'cotty, "this many fingers" old, Mom, and having a baby brother. Jeff, watching the boy with anguished yearning so far, as he got scared and ran to Virgil the first time around, stepped up again. The gruff words got the child shy at first, but Dad was patient explaining to Scotty "Momma and Virgie" were away on a long walk, so Scotty was left in charge at home, like a big boy. There's was a fair measure of tears in the rough gravel that strained Jeff's voice. All colors of eyes around were bright with tears too.

But the trick worked and after a moment of the tiny face frowning and considering more crying, Jeff was declared "Gan'pa!". The boy climbed into his lap, where he was now asleep, wrapped in Alan’s favorite childhood blanket. The small face relaxed from the strain and tears dried out - Scotty looked so sweet and happy.

It was decided to settle the child in Dad's room for the night. The infirmary, barren and unfamiliar, could scare him. And it would be more comfortable for Jeff to watch over the boy - a duty he vehemently refused to yield to any of his sons, who all volunteered readily. Gordon whisked Alan away for some brotherly soothing, as the kid was visibly shaken in the face of loosing biggest brother to the child he once was.

John squinted, eyes darting between Dad, doting and cooing over the tiny bundle of blankets, space-worn features softened and instantly younger too, and Virgil, clearly hesitant to leave. In the end, Jeff softly shooed the elder sons away - even at three Scotty had been a light sleeper.

John was headed to Brains' lab to assist with rebuilding the hapless device. Virgil tagged along, but for the moment they found themselves lingering in the dim hallway, outside of Dad's rooms. The events of the day were A LOT to absorb and to even begin to process. John caught Virgil stealing a glance back at the room, where the child was sleeping peacefully, deep in thought. John braced himself, as he was fairly certain he knew what his brother was thinking. As much as he knew he could never agree.

Virgil looked back, sadness mixed with hope in brown eyes.

"John, don't you think we should..."

"No!"

John didn't expect himself to yell and started, having to gulp down the rest of the protest, lest the child woke up. But Virgil was looking up at him, gaze already frantic with a fast assembling plan.

"I could adopt him! Or Dad. There won't be a legal problem! He's happy, Johnny! We can make sure he never gets hurt! Can you imagine?!"

Hope shone brighter over doubt in brown eyes, but John shuddered and stepped away from Virgil's reach. Because he COULD imagine. That pathway of probabilities was the first one through his mind, as a little boy crawled out of the dust and debris where their biggest brother was standing seconds ago. John COULD imagine. A Scott who had never held them all after Mom's funeral, a Scott, who never rocked Allie to sleep, crying for Mommy, a Scott, who never packed their lunches or picked them up from after-school clubs, because Dad was unavailable, floating in a sea of grief and work. A Scott they never lost to the horror of That Place. A Scott that never came back as a broken shell. A Scott that didn't give up every shred of himself to uphold Dad's legacy and step into Dad's shoes for them all. A Scott that wasn't blaming himself even now that Dad was back. A Scott that wasn't in pain. A Scott they could all see grow up and live a happy life he deserved.

John could see it all too well. It broke his heart to see Dad grasp at the impossible second chance to do right by the eldest son. He saw the eager plea in Virgil's eyes. And John near hated himself as every part of his soul was screaming in protest. Every selfish, terrified little brother part that was in agony at the prospect of losing the very foundation rock of their world - Scott the biggest brother, who loved them, and saw them, and cheered for them, and accepted them all for who they were, and shielded them in a world otherwise cruel and unyielding, a Scott who made sense of everything they were doing, of everything Dad was doing, even when they all drowned in hurt, grief, and resentment. A Scott who could tell them they could do it and they would believe it.

Making sure Scott got a chance at happiness meant loosing him for good. John squeezed his eyes shut against hot angry tears.

Virgil was still looking up at him, hesitant to offer unwarranted touch, and deeply worried. John took in a long stabilizing breath.

"Do you think... Do you think he'd want to never know us all, growing up?"

Virgil's face fell and John felt another pang of remorse.

As if on cue to that thought, the door to Dad's room slid open and tiny feet padded along the hallway. Virgil made a step to intercept the little fugitive, and crouched in front of the child, not to scare.

"What is it Scotty? Do you want some water?"

The boy was obviously drowsy from sleep, small hands rubbing the eyes.

"Wan'Virgie! Didn't say nite-nite t'Virgie! Where'Virgie?"

Big blue eyes were brimming with tears again, confused and desperate. Virgil picked up the feather-light frame and stood up, cradling the boy close and bouncing softly, whispering soothing nonsense to calm the child back to sleep. Brown eyes met a loaded gaze of the turquoise ones. Virgil knew John had a point. But it hurt to consider either way.

John stepped up closer, ruffling the boy's hair. Thunderbird Five, the Voice That Answers, was speaking now, but it was a brother's kiss on the child's temple:

"We'll help you find Virgie, Scotty! I promise! We'll help you get home! We've got you!"

The adult brothers exchanged another Look as the sniffles subsided and Scotty was falling asleep again.

John's comm pinged with a message from Brains. He got something on the device functions. It was quickly decided John would head to the lab. Dad obviously succumbed to the ever lingering fatigue and the stress of the day, so a woken up Scotty could escape. Virgil would stay in the lounge with the boy, watching over for more signs of distress or to mitigate more runaway attempts. Come morning, Gordon and Alan were to take over the babysitting duty. The villa was hopelessly NOT child-proof since Allie was past ten and Scotty's propensity for creative and agile jailbreaks was a significant part of family lore. Even if Brains was close to a reverse effect, they still would need to run tests and simulations, before even considering risking a child.

***

The last thing Scott remembered was a bright flash as the device he brought back for Brains to inspect heated up in his hands, vibrated and exploded. Now he was sitting flat on the floor in the hangar, ears ringing. A blur of motion in his periferal vision materialized in two bodies tackling him further down in a hug. Oomph, make it three bodies. Four. Alright, okay, he LOVED THEM TOO, but he needed to breathe. His ribs creaked. There were more pats down his shoulders and back, a brandished med scanner - unsurprising.

A bit more surprising was another hug, as he finally made it up off the floor and untangled gently, if wobbly, from the pile of brothers - Dad gathered him close in a fierce motion and held tight with no obvious intention to let go. It felt nice, of course, safe. But also worrisome. So for a moment Scott struggled with the conflicting urges to melt into the hug and to FIX whatever got Dad so scared. Jeff just tightened the embrace in response and Scott gave in, relaxing into being held.

He'd have to get to the bottom of it, as more arms joined the hold around him again, especially as he clearly heard Dad whispering "I'm so sorry, Bluejay! I love you so much, son". But for now he was warm, and snug, and obviously so welcome. He was home. Nothing ever felt better.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #scott tracy needs his dad #deaged au #virgil tracy #john tracy #needs a hug #earth and star #jeff tracy needs a license update in fathering #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #methinks i have astronomy

[idontknowreallywhy]

Resurface 21 - Rely

What went before.

How do you prove you are who you say you are?

With a little dose of DINKY EARTH&SKY STORYTIME.

I agonised over the flashback being from Virgil’s POV rather than Scott who is supposed to be the one telling the story… but Virg very much took front and centre (is about time tbh cos it’s HIS story after all and Scotty keeps muscling in). So yeah it might be a jarring shift, hope you’ll forgive me if so and enjoy the mini earth & sky antics anyway xx

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“Prove it.”

“I… what?”

“Prove you’re not Dad just trying to talk me down off the roof again so Scott has to leave without me.”

Scott’s blood was now red ice-slushie and his heart seemed to be struggling to pump it where it was needed. He was going to mess this up. He was going to let his brother down again. Was it even possible to logic him out of this? Probably not. But, now they were here, he had to try. He had to fix whatever it was that had prompted his brother’s fractured psyche to replace him with… a better version? His mind raced.

“Uh… ok. Ok! How about you ask me something Dad wouldn’t know.”

Virgil silently consulted to his left again, his eyebrows raising with a sudden idea. His head snapped back around and his eyes narrowed on Scott before he raised one finger to his own face and slowly drew a short line along the bottom of his jaw towards his chin. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Scott had already unconsciously mimicked the action, tracing the marginally firmer texture of the almost invisible scar he carried there. A slight wash of relief ran through him as he realised he could answer this one very easily but their father could not have.

“Well it certainly wasn’t an argument with a barbed wire fence like we told Mom and Dad…”

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

“The math works, Virgil! The lift from the drones will be just enough to support the two of us into a glide then the wings will do the rest.”

Virgil eyed Scott’s pride and joy with a bucketload of awe mixed with a few shovelfuls of suspicion.

The flying machine’s body was the old carbon fibre kayak, consigned to the garage long ago when their attempt to navigate the nearby stream in midsummer left it slightly… holey… in places. The two of them had manhandled it on to the roof via the internal ladder in the middle of the night about three weeks ago. The swarm of eight small tricopter-drones Scott had requested for his birthday were attached (four across the front, one each wing and two to the back) with lots of complicated-looking knots Virgil hadn’t learnt at Rescue Scouts yet but his brother had practised for hours to perfect.

The main event - the wings themselves - were an ingenious combination of fishing poles, some chicken wire fencing Scott had liberated from behind the shed and a patchwork of pieces of an old parachute Mom had stashed away for a rainy (or last minute fancy dress costume) day.

It did look impressive but also maybe a little more… home made… than Virgil had pictured when Scott had explained his Big Idea.

“I’m not sure your math is the same as real life, Scotty…”

“Sure it is! In high school you do real life math - it’s called physics and its all about balancing up forces with down forces. I checked my calculations with my physics teacher last week. She thought it was brilliant. It will work.”

“Did she know you were planning to do it in real life though?”

“Of course not, 11 year olds aren’t meant to be able to fly. It’d cause a fuss.”

“Hmm.” Virgil scratched his head and tried to figure out why the flying machine made him uneasy. It wasn’t just that the stitching of the parachute to the mesh was somewhat wobblier than Virgil had drawn in the neat plan they’d sketched together. nor was it the fact he could see daylight through some of the gashes in the boat.

“Did your sums include using duct tape?” Scotty had for sure used a lot. A lot of a lot.

“It’s really strong. Ever tried to unstick it from something? Impossible! Nothing unsticks what duct tape says should be stuck.”

“Ok.” Virgil’s voice was small because it was being squashed by big feelings. Some excited and proud ones. Quite a lot more scared ones. And some guilty ones.

And some deep misgivings about whatever “physics” was.

Since leaving them to go to High School Scott’s brain had been full of so many clever new things and he was so confident and excited. Virgil felt bad for not trusting him. After all, Scotty always made the crazy ideas work and then his eyes would twinkle with the annoying “told you so”. They always came out ok because Scotty wouldn’t let Virgil get hurt.

His big brother suddenly crouched down to look him in the eye. His eyes were soft behind the sparkle.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared Virgie. 11 years olds aren’t supposed to fly so I guess 9 year olds are even more… uh… not supposed to fly. It won’t matter, you could just watch instead and…” he frowned in thought “I would just need a weight about the same as you to strap to the seat behind… so the math still works. Hmm, maybe a rock or something…”

Scott trailed off and looked around them as if expecting to find a ideal Virgil-sized boulder just waiting there on the rooftop. Virgil hoped he wasn’t going to have to help carry one up the ladder.

Except, no. Of course he wasn’t. Scotty wasn’t going flying with a rock. Not while Virgil was around. His brother could always rely on him to always be right there at his side. He gave himself a little shake, put his hands on his hips and pulled what he thought might be a strong, reliable face:

“You need a wingman. That’s gotta be me. It can’t be a rock, that’s just silly!”

Scott beamed with obvious relief. “Alright short stuff, if you’re sure?”

Virgil was developing a talent for deadly glares and directed his best scowl at the lanky beanpole towering over him. His brother just seemed amused rather than appropriately terrified.

“I’m not that short Scott. I’m nearly as tall as Mom.”

“Yeah well Mom’s teeny. Dad calls her his Li’l Lightning Bolt cos…”

“She’s not! She told me we are the normal ones and you and Dad are secretly Sasquatches hiding from the FBI!”

Scott’s chirpy cackle was loud and long and Virgil glowed with pleasure at making him laugh, even if it hadn’t been his own joke originally. Then a little pang of worry hit him.

“Do you think they are alright?”

Scott squeezed his shoulder. “Of course they are, I promise. Baby Gordon just needs a bit of looking after at hospital because he’s even teenier than you...” Virgil gave him his best killer glare “… and Mom and Dad are just keeping him company. She’s alright Virgie.”

“Yeah.” Another squeeze then his brother stood up tall and together they surveyed the view.

Scott checked his new watch then licked his finger and put it up in the air. His very serious and important expression was a bit spoiled by his tongue sticking out to the side as he concentrated on working out the wind direction but Virgil suppressed the giggle. This was Scotty’s big moment.

“Alright, if we are gonna do this it needs to be now. Wind’s good and Grandma and Grandpa will be back with Johnny in about 20 minutes.”

“Aye aye Captain Scott!”

💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #virgil tracy #idontknowreallywhy fanfic #resurface fic #earth&sky #earth and sky #wee!tracys

[edorazzi]

More Thunderbirds Are Go comics! 💖✨

A couple of belated Pride Month pieces plus Gordon giving Kayo a heart attack. Alan's lucky he's the baby of the family! 🌈

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano #hiram k hackenbacker #the mechanic #josie's art #i'm a supporter of gay john too but it could go either way #the tracys are a rainbow!!! #also yes in my little universe marineville has a line of snacks and beverages #i love to believe they make the celery crunch bars gordon loves so

[lenfantdeverone]

We didn't rescue anyone today but we caused havoc

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #thunderbirds cosplay

[mrmustachious]

Because reblogs don't show in the tags, I'm making a separate post too

TB2 Hoodie is finally done!! 💚💚💚

Previous tbirds hoodies I've made:

TB2 for @drileyf

TB4 for myself :D

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #virgil tracy #tb2 hoodie #mine

[chenria]

Admittedly, this is an unspectacular image of Virgil Tracy just sitting around... but I had fun drawing it and playing around. Perspective is a little off... but oh well. I don't care too much to be honest. 

You might have expected something more exciting when I teased the sketch thing... But I just wanted something cozy - Virgil between missions relaxing on the sofa and playing on his phone (though I am not even sure they have mobile phones anymore ... it was easier to draw than a holo communicator thingy ... 🤷‍♀️ I just take the liberty for my small fanart). 

The potted plants are once again a CSP asset - asset makers make artists's lives so much easier sometimes. Bless them! 

P.S. Patrons get the high res version of personal art as well as "process snapshots" and other behind the scenes information ;) (Link in header.)

#thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #thunderbird 2 #tag fanart #thunderbirds 2015

[flyboytracy]

Heeeeey flyboy,

Did you ever make a gif of that moment at the end of ROF2 where everyone GASP IN HORROR reacts to Grandma’s nice family dinner suggestion (just before they all make excuses to leave)? If not… pleeeease would you have a look and see if the urge-to-gif arises?

(I tried it once ages back when I got mildly obsessed with the scene but it was appalling quality because I had no idea what I was doing… would be amazing to have a PROPER one living on tumblr to use in Situations where GASP is the appropriate reaction 😁)

💙

Hola :D The world always needs more GIFs from Ring of Fire

<333

#Thunderbirds Are Go #Ring of Fire #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Alan Tracy #Brains #le gasp #how many gifs can i make from one 20 frame scene lmao #Ask Scott Anything

[tinytracys]

Further Adventures of Scott the Artist: Easter Egg Decoration

Virg! Virg! I made a big green egg, just like yours!

For the 50th time, Scott, Thunderbird Two looks nothing like an egg! It’s not even remotely egg…

*remembers he should be encouraging of Scott’s rare attempts to take time out to do frivolous and creative things*

But your egg looks lovely! Well done.

Just like Two, right?

Right?

*grits teeth*

Yes. Just like Two.

*beams*

Yes! I nailed it! This art business is easy!

*goes to lie facedown on his studio floor*

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #tiny tracys #thunderbirds action figures #scott tracy #virgil tracy #Scott is an artist #thunderbird two is a big green egg

[katblu42]

Symphony

Been thinking about this one a bit over the last few days, so I thought I'd give it a bit of a re-run.

It's just a bit of fluffy, music-related Earth and Sky.

Scott tore his eyes away from the unread emails, stretched his arms above his head, let out a long breath and turned the chair away from the desk to face Virgil at the piano.

“I like this one.  What’s it called?”

“It doesn’t really have a name.”

“I’ve heard you play it before, though.  Did you write it?”

There was the slightest hint of hesitation in Virgil’s response, although the music never wavered.

“I guess you could say that.  I haven’t ever really thought about notating it.”

“Aren’t you concerned you might forget it?”

A wry smile crept across the musician’s features, but he said nothing. 

“You should write it down.  And come up with a name for it.”

Virgil tilted his head a little by way of considering the notion, then asked “Why do you like it?  What does it make you think of?”

Scott stood, stretching more muscles, letting the music carry his thoughts away from TI paperwork as his gaze drifted upwards.

“Well, I like the way the melody climbs and swirls.  It kind of reminds me of flying.  And there’s a feeling of constant motion, fast, easy – sort of free.”  He closed his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to his brother.  “In some ways it kinda reminds me of Dad.”

Virgil’s response began with the quirk of an eyebrow and the hint of a smile.

“Funny you should say that . . .”

“Why?  Is it about Dad?”

Virgil finished the last phrase, letting the final chord hang in the air before taking a slow breath and looking up at his big brother.

“No.  It’s you.”

“Me?”  Sapphire eyes widened with surprise bordering on shock, and his forehead creased in puzzlement.  “You wrote a song about me?”

Virgil looked back at the piano. 

“Not exactly.  It’s more like . . .” His gaze drifted upward.  “It’s hard to explain.  It’s sort of how I hear your presence, or your essence or something . . . I don’t know.”  His voice trailed off into mumbles and a shrug.

Scott was left speechless, staring at his brother’s awkward uncertainty, as the significance of his own interpretation of the music and what it represented really hit home.  It took him a moment, and he had to work to bring moisture back into his mouth before he finally found his voice again.

“Do . . .  do you have something like this for all of us?”

Virgil felt the heat of a blush rising in his cheeks, and he didn’t look up from the piano.

“Uh, yeah.  I sort of do.”  His hands drifted back to the keys and a new piece of music began, one with a complimentary theme to Scott’s.  It was in the same key, had the same tempo, and still embodied that sense of soaring movement, but this one felt somehow bigger, more far-reaching – almost heroic.

Scott let out a gasp.  “Is that . . .?  This one is . . . It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

Virgil gave a single nod.

“It fits with yours.  Like the second theme in a sonata-allegro.”  Virgil glanced over at his brother, taking in the blank look at the musical term.  “That’s the usual form for the opening movement of a symphony.”  His eyes drifted closed as he played, and he sighed.  “I can hear them both in counterpoint, but I can’t play both at the same time and do them justice.  I’d need an orchestra for that.”

Dumbfounded at this revelation, Scott could only marvel at his brother’s musicality.  Here he was listening to these amazing musical creations that rendered larger than life, full-colour images in his mind, and Virgil was complaining that what he could do with the piano alone was not enough.  He didn’t think he could even imagine what this music must sound like inside Virgil’s head.

The music came to a stop and Virgil turned again to look up at Scott.

“The variations on these two themes would encompass something like what I hear for Grandma and Kayo, a little of Brains, some of Grandpa . . .” he turned away again, “then everything would come back to you and Dad.”

For a moment silence hung between them.  Virgil’s fingers flexed, as though the music within him was searching for a way out as they reached once again for the piano keys.  A new piece of music began.  This one slower, gentler, quieter in terms of movement if not exactly in terms of volume.  Scott felt this one was more thoughtful and emotional.  It brought to mind light and colour and had a sense of space, but it also somehow felt warm.

“Mom?” The smallest possible upward inflection made it a question, which was answered with another nod and the soft smile that made his little brother look so much like her.

The melody moved and changed, built, swelled, adding a complexity in the musical patterns reminiscent of a conversation, an exchanging of information.  The lightness now sparked imagery of stars. The feeling of space changed from that of a breeze in an open field to the vastness beyond Earth’s atmosphere. The gentleness was now reinforced with a sense of almost hidden strength – Scott thought that might’ve come from a stronger bass line, but he wasn’t sure.

“Is this . . . John?”

Virgil’s smile brightened.  “You’re good at this.”

“No, the music speaks for itself.  You’re the one painting these images of our family with notes and chords.”

The smile faltered as Virgil held the last chord, then he let his shoulders sink a little.  Scott silently cursed himself for bringing back that awkward self-consciousness in his brilliant brother, but before he could say anything Virgil spoke again.

“I guess they would be the second movement if this were a symphony.”  There was a brief pause, then he straightened back into his playing posture.  “No prizes for guessing who the third movement is.”

This piece of music was a jaunty, up-beat number that seemed designed to make people move – to dance, to tap their feet or clap along.  It definitely felt like a dance of some sort, and it contained hints of sea shanties, or maybe a sailor’s hornpipe.  It was the musical equivalent of laughter, sunshine, pure happiness, and it had a lilt that moved like the sea.

“Gordon!” Scott exclaimed with a laugh.

The comparatively brief third movement came to its conclusion, but Virgil barely paused before beginning what Scott guessed to be the fourth.

“And that leaves . . .” Virgil spoke softly as he began the final theme.

This one was in march tempo, strong, bright, driving forward with a sense of heroic purpose, and bringing back some of that swirling, soaring movement from earlier.  Scott could pick out hints of his own theme, and a faster version of parts of John’s, but the piece definitely had its own identity. There was a sense of urgency to it, as though the melody was trying to push the tempo into moving faster.

“Wow.  Alan would love this,” Scott found himself thinking aloud.

Virgil stopped playing after the end of the next phrase.

“There would be more.  If this was a symphony, I mean.  The fourth movement would bring in some more of the other main themes, tie everything together, finish with a bit of fanfare.”  Virgil was once again looking up at Scott, a mixture of curiosity and self-consciousness etched into his features.  “You really think Alan would like it?”

“Virgil,” Scott answered with a sigh and a shake of his head as he took the few strides over towards the piano stool, “it’s amazing.  All of it.  The whole symphony.”

Virgil gave a shrug and his brow creased a little.

“There’s a lot more to it in my mind.  Only so much can be translated through the piano.”

“Then orchestrate it.”

A sigh, a shake of the head and a hint of a smile was the only response.  Scott firmly planted a hand on his brother’s shoulder and piercing blue eyes locked gaze with warm brown ones.

“I mean it, Virgil.  Write your symphony.  Give it the life it deserves.”

Scott could see the struggle to find the right words as Virgil’s eyes struggled to hold with his.

“I . . . It’s not mine, Scott, it’s . . .” Virgil lost the battle to keep looking at the determined pride in his big brother’s blue eyes.  His gaze lowered and he focused on his hands.  “I mean . . . it’s all of you.  It’s not music I’ve created, it’s the music that you are.”  Then, almost too quiet to hear, “At least to me.”

“So, you don’t want to share it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said this symphony isn’t yours.  I think you’re wrong.  It’s very much yours.  Something that you maybe want to hang onto, keeping it all for yourself.  And that’s okay.”  Scott shifted his grip, pulling his brother close.  “After all, this is family – The Tracy Family Symphony.  And if I’m the only one who ever gets to hear even this glimpse of what you carry in your heart, then I consider myself privileged.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #fic reblog #i think he should orchestrate it #and share it with the world #and i think there should be a companion piece that's all Virgil #that maybe is built on something that's barely noticeable #and yet a fundamental part of each movement #like a heartbeat

[edutainer2022]

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

UNDER THE WEATHER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

His face muscles were too frozen for a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"M'dashin'!"

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

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

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

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

"M'cold."

The muffled complain was exemplified by a full body shiver.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John looked appropriately appalled and quite earnest:

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

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

"What did you bribe him with, anyway?"

Virgil didn't have the energy to protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh? Who's a postgrad where?"

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

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

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

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

John's hologram up in orbit shrugged:

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

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

"That gotta be illegal!"

"Only if I get caught."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was graced with another eyeroll.

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

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

"Hey, John! Could you..."

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

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

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #and gets one #scott tracy needs a cuff up his head #virgil tracy #did sign up for this #earth and sky #john tracy didn't sign up for this #earth and star #tracy brotherdom of love #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #methinks i have astronomy

[whatgaviiformes]

FishTank Week 2024! - May 12-18

Well, you all asked for a rinse, repeat, and most of you wanted prompts ASAP, so welcome again to FishTank Week, 2024 edition! We had such a fun time last year bringing out all our yellow and green and fiiiiish and music. I hope 2024 brings new ideas, new inspiration, and always all the FishTank things.

FishTank? Yes, Fishtank, the name we use in the thunderfam for the brother relationship of Virgil and Gordon. Brotp for some, but otherwise still so fun to explore anyway!

When is FishTank Week? This year it'll run from Sunday May 12th through Saturday May 18th. The significance of the week? Loosely calculated as the day between their birthdays, but honestly any excuse 💚💛

How do I celebrate FishTank Week? Like last year, we are releasing a series of prompts (see below). If they inspire you to write or create art, you can choose to post those on the exact day or anytime that week. Fic, Reblogs, Recs, and Art are welcome and appreciated all week long. Anything's welcome, so don't forget mood boards, music, head canons. Whatever you can think of!

We'll be active that week as well reblogging, and with some QOTDs and daily posts reminding of the prompt(s).

I'm not interested in FishTank: *hugs* totally fine. Our tags this year will be #fishtankweek and #fishtankweek2024 if you want to block them.

Questions: Reblog, comment, or you are also welcome to reach out to me directly.

Thanks to @emtb319 and @idontknowreallywhy for collaborating this year. And @gumnut-logic for letting me use a daily dose screen shot for the below.

Prompts - we've added some options within the prompts and some alternates for you to use as you like. Inspiration is the goal, and the only guideline is FishTank. The others can make an appearance too. We won't make you clean TB 4 for having a wayward Tracy, Kyrano, Creighton-Ward, or others around for the fun. But definitely Virgil and Gordon.

12: Wingman

13: At the... Orchestra | Art Museum | Aquarium

14: Brothers Relaxing

15: "We're a team, always" | "Did you doubt me?"

16: Comfort Food | Food on the go

17: Memories

18: Pranks

Alts: Love and Laughter | Along the Coastline

Good luck fish wrangling, and happy creating!

See you on the 12th,

Gavii 💚💛

#fishtankweek #fishtankweek2024 #gordon tracy #virgil tracy #thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #fandom event #for the love of fishtank

[edorazzi]

Happy Halloween!!! 🎃

Little Tracys all dressed up and examining their haul. Featuring uniforms from Captain Scarlet, Fireball XL5, UFO, Stingray, and of course classic Thunderbirds! 💖

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #stingray 1964 #captain scarlet and the mysterons #fireball xl5 #UFO 1970 #josie's art #really i should have done alan as joe 90 and scott as steve zodiac but too late now #also scott looks GREAT in the shado moonbase uniform and you know he would have fought for it #it's what he deserves #also john does NOT trust whatever's in those marineville snack bars but gordon takes no advice from a guy living on bagels

[lenfantdeverone]

I think this one picture on Jeff's desk in the movie isn't talked about enough, it's so cute and silly and Jeff has the classic dad™️ pose

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2004 #thunderfam #tracy family #jeff tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy

[gumnut-logic]

Five pick up and one drop off (Pick up 5)

Pick up 1 | Pick up 2 | Pick up 3 | Pick up 4 | Pick up 5

This one took a bit of wrangling, but here it is.

Monique first appeared when Scott needed a little roadside assistance.

I hope you enjoy her second appearance :D

-o-o-o-

Monique was his pickup truck and he loved her.

She had been red a long time ago, but nowadays she was more brown and just old. He did keep her maintained and she was definitely road worthy. But she was old. And when you’re old, things sometimes broke down.

Which is why Virgil Tracy, billionaire, International Rescue operative, engineer, artist, musician and coffee fan was currently lying in the weeds on the roadside under the old girl.

There was grease in his hair.

It was his fault really. He had been so busy of late; he hadn’t had time to get out to the farm and service her. And since she was no longer driven regularly, well, he had hoped, but this was inevitable.

Sorry, Grandpa.

He sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to fix this out here in the middle of nowhere country Kansas, and consequently he was stranded.

Looking at the state of the bearings involved he was lucky he had made it out here without seizing something up and coming to a very sudden stop.

“Sorry, Monique baby, but you’re not going anywhere for a while.” He sighed and reached for the rag he knew he would be needing.

“Virgil?”

He jumped.

Unfortunately, being under the car with little or no clearance, he whacked his head on the gearbox.

“Ow! John, what the-?”

“Virgil, you okay?”

His brother’s voice came from his collar comms, of course. Johnny was not standing next to the car. Though, come to think of it, Johnny would be preferable to the brother he knew he was going to have to call.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Jus’hit my head. What do you need?” Please not a rescue. He was on leave and leaving Monique on the side of the road was just wrong.

And he was working out logistics on how to get Monique into Thunderbird Two fast enough not to slow them down. But then she would be in the way and could compromise a mission, and damnit, he really didn’t want to leave her on the side of the road!

“Just checking in. You’ve been stationary in the middle of nowhere for some time now and its not like Monique has a computer I can interface with for a tech report.”

“You mean hack. My Lamborghini has not felt right since you played in her processor.”

“I needed information! You looked like you were being attacked!”

“I was being kissed, John. Clean your lenses.”

“Over the hood of your car.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“TMI, Virgil.”

Virgil couldn’t help grinning. It wasn’t often he won a verbal spar with his space brother. “I am fine, John. No kissing happening here.”

The frustrated groan from orbit only made him grin more.

“So you don’t want me to notify Gordon that you need rescuing?”

The grin vanished and it was Virgil’s turn to groan. Okay, needling John was never a successful ploy. One day he would remember that his brother was a genius and had all the answers.

A sudden banging on the side of his truck startled him enough to hit his head again. What the-?

“You okay down there, mate?”

Uh? Virgil pushed himself out from under his truck and found himself squinting up at a guy about his Dad’s age.

“Broken down?”

“Uh, yeah.” He got his feet under himself and leaning on Monique, stood up.

There was a giant black pickup truck on the other side of the road, three times the size of Monique. A sticker with flickering flame towards the rear declared ‘Burning dinos’.

“Need a hand?” The guy had a grey beard and hair, bit of a belly, and tattoo down one tanned arm.

Virgil grabbed that rag and wiped his hands best he could. “No, she’s not going anywhere, I’m afraid. Thanks for stopping, though.”

“Not a prob. Just doing the neighbourly thing.” The man frowned. “Say, are you from around here?”

“Not quite-”

“You look familiar.” The man’s frown deepened.

Uh, oh.

“You been on the HoloV?”

“Uh-“

The man peered at his face, enough for Virgil to have to take a step back and collide with Monique.

“You look a lot like one of those rescue guys. You know, the ones who fly those planes that make all that noise.”

“Well, yeah I-“

But then the guy was laughing. “Sorry, you must get that a lot.”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s not like one of those billionaires would drive something like that, is it?”

And he was gesturing at Monique.

Virgil frowned. “Well-“

“After all, I earn enough and look at my girl. She’s got everything I can afford and still she needs more.”

A glance at the black monstrosity and there was definitely no need for more. He seriously doubted the vehicle had ever done a lick of work, or in some cases, could.

He could hear his father saying it now - ‘she ain’t pretty, but she’s practical’. Dad always was function over form. Monique may be old and worn, but she’d earnt every scratch and scrape, and she wore them proudly.

“So, you doin’ her up?”

“What?”

“Your truck. She a work in progress?”

“No, she just needs some repairs. My brother will pick me up soon.” He really should call Gordon, despite the ribbing involved.

“Sure you don’t want a lift?”

“Yeah, thanks anyway.” Was it rude to hope the man would leave?

Probably.

Unfortunately, either way, he didn’t.

“So, what is it? The money?

“Excuse me?”

“The reason why you drive a broken truck.”

“Uh-“

“Just imagine if we had the money. You could fix up it up, give it a new paint job.” He arched an eyebrow at Monique. “Or buy a new one.”

“I like my truck as she is.” Bar a busted bearing or two.

The guy eyed Virgil like he had a disease. “Why?”

“She’s an heirloom.”

“I can see that.” He took a step back as if to really look at Virgil’s truck. “Is that a backyard eco-conversion?” A look of pure horror crossed the guy’s face.

“Yeah.” Dad and Grandpa had done it together back in the 2030s. Grandpa didn’t want to take the truck off the road, so the gas engine got the boot and Dad had helped him install the eco-conversion.

“You do realise an eco can’t compare to a traditional gasoline engine? My girl has six hundred horsepower under her hood. She works hard and plays hard. She can pull 15,000 pounds and not break a sweat.”

Virgil folded his arms. “Impressive.” Except for the whole burning hydrocarbons issue, deal breaker that it was. He wasn’t going to mention Monique’s specs, she was after all, more than she looked.

Besides, he could hear the sound of his girl in the distance. She could pull a lot of things.

Thunderbird Two shot into a low hover above Monique, tossing hair and grass alike, her roar all encompassing. “Hey, Virg, Johnny said you needed a lift?” Gordon’s voice bounced around as big truck guy’s jaw dropped.

“Thanks, Gordon.” Virgil turned to his companion and held out a hand. “Thanks again for stopping.”

The man’s hand was offered absently as he stared up at Virgil’s girl.

“You might want to stand back.”

He vaguely nodded and backed his way across the road to his truck.

“Gordon, grapples will do the job. It’s not far.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and, pulling open Monique’s driver side door, climbed in and put on his seat belt.

The clunk of four magnetic grapples, a gentle tug, and Monique left the ground.

Virgil couldn’t help but look down at the man staring up at Virgil’s girl.

Was it wrong to enjoy the shock on the man’s face?

Probably.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #nuttyfic #this one fought me #Gordy didn't get the yellow motorbike I promised him #maybe next time

[forest-falcon]

Earthbreaker

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanart #virgil tracy #thunderbird 2