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edutainer2022 · 7 days

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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

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flyboytracy · 2 months

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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

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tinytracys · 20 days

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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

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katblu42 · 2 months

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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

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chenria · 3 months

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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

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edorazzi · 6 months

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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

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lenfantdeverone · 5 months

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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

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whatgaviiformes · 8 days

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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

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gumnut-logic · 2 months

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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

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edutainer2022 · 11 days

Text

In commemoration of that time, recently, when I delivered a conference keynote in a ridiculous o'clock timezone, after having been up and neck deep in other energy draining university commitments for three days straight on four hours of sleep at best, here's a little thing. I couldn't remember what I was talking about the minute the presentation ended. Scott Tracy is a public speaker extraordinaire on bingo sleep and adrenaline overdose. His brothers are worried and have to think on their feet. Special thanks to @astranite for nudging my muse in this direction.

AUTOPILOT

The trick was to get him off the stage. Scott Tracy, the Tracy Industries CEO, giving an opening keynote at the New Frontiers Expo had been scheduled a year in advance (involving the program committee begging on hands and knees for a year prior, Scott's annual commitments shuffling, some major security concessions, up to and including Kayo's team practically taking over the venue security altogether, as well as meeting a hard line of excluding any tech associated with Langstrom Fischler from the exhibits or conference talks).

Nobody could predict a mine collapse and Scott Tracy, the Commander of IR and Thunderbird One, being involved on site for the past thirty six hours (a good portion of that time spent underground without sleep).

The family medics' quorum, in full agreement with the family extended quorum, voted for canceling his public appearance and putting him on mandated rest. For a week. But Scott Tracy gave his word. So Scott Tracy gave his talk.

As keynotes go it was a huge success. Scott was passionate, funny and inspired, engaging the audience with dimples, moving personal touches and heartfelt convictions. The listeners were just about ready to "boldly go" wherever Scott would lead the way to a better, technologically enhanced and kinder tomorrow.

They divided forces in case the predictable worse actually came to pass. Virgil was behind the podium with a med kit and med scanner at hand. Gordon unironically got a tranq gun, which earned him a side-eye, but knowing Scott it might as well come handy.

John was in the audience, vigilant and listening to the keynote (and rather enjoying biggest brother public speaking prowess - seriously, how did Scott do it, half-dead on his feet?), ready to step up and take over if need be. That wouldn't be what the hundreds of Expo attendees payed and donated to R&D funds for, but they'd be getting A Dr. Tracy, at least, if The Mr. Tracy collapsed mid-sentence.

That was just the problem at the moment. Scott didn't. He concluded the speech, got a standing ovation, and was now just sort of hanging out on stage, swaying slightly. It was obvious he was running on dregs of fumes of an adrenaline high, refusing to crash on sheer willpower. It was also obvious Scott was completely unfocused and unaware where he was and what he'd been doing the minutes prior. The brilliant blue eyes were getting telltale glassy.

John had a FRANTIC Virgil booming in his earpiece. The public spotlight made the logistics of what needed to happen next tricky: they couldn't just drag him off the podium in a firefighter hold or tranq him - and spoil the profound impression of the speech; they also couldn't wait much longer till Scott fainted in front of everyone (and possibly injured himself by the fall). John was half on his way up to try and steer Scott bodily off the stage. Gordon would have been a better man for the job - dressing the thing up with a quip and some theatrics, but the Fish was still in uniform. IR on site, crashing the keynote, might have set off unwelcome panic, dangerous in a crowded space.

In the end, it was still Gordon's out-of-the-box thinking that saved the situation. They could all hear a boy's voice through their earpieces - Alan went for the highest littlest-brother-in-distress pitch he could master:

"Scotty, could you come here? I'm right behind you! Scotty, please!"

Scott could hear it too. A less exhausted brain would have remembered Allie was on the island still. They agreed Scott would take him the next day on a tour around the Expo and to several talks the kid wanted to attend.

But Scott's bandwidth capacity at the moment was reduced to the most rudimentary parent-brain instincts. So he started slightly, turned on his heel and marched backstage. It took a bit of flailing to placate a wild-eyed Scott that a) Allie wasn't in danger; b) Allie wasn't there immediately available for inspection and protecting from danger.

It came as close as Gordon clicking the safety off the tranq gun. But finally, the blue eyes stopped searching the perimeter behind Virgil's shoulder and rolled back. Scott slumped as a ragdoll in Virgil's hold.

John rushed to join the brothers the moment he heard Alan on comms. In between the three of them they settled the Commander on a hoverstrecher. Virgil insisted on a quick scan on the spot. Nothing more serious beyond bruises, exhaustion, stress and dehydration. Small mercies. Every single one of them had a private itemized inventory of possible injuries Scott might have "forgotten" to mention in order to be cleared for the keynote commitment.

Kayo's security team were clearing the path for them, off the Expo busy routes, to leave for Thunderbird Two discretely.

John lingered to brush the fringe off Scott's now noticeably pale forehead. His original intent was to go straight back to orbit after the biggest brother was sorted out. But now, there was no way Grandma or Virgil would let Scott out of the infirmary for the next forty eight hours at least. Nor would Virgil let biggest brother out of his sight for at least twice as long after. So it would fall to John to take Alan to the Expo and show the boy around.

John didn't favor crowded bustling places on a good day, but it was crucial not to disappoint or worry the kid. Scotty unconscious, sedated and grounded would have him anxious enough. It was also a great bonding opportunity with the baby-brother and a way to lift a bit of weight off Scott's shoulders. John knew biggest brother enough to foresee he'd beat himself up for succumbing to weakness and letting Alan down. John couldn't have that. So he landed a hand for support on Gordon's shoulder and all together they started the way home.

#thunderbirds are go #scott tracy #scott tracy needs a break #john tracy #john tracy didn't sign up for this #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #and thinks fast #alan tracy #features briefly #john tracy is a good brother #methinks i have astronomy #my fic #thunderbirds 2015 #tracy brotherdom of love

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