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#thunderbirds are go
pareidoliaonthemove · 10 hours
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Left for Dead
Part One
Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.
His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.
As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.
He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.
Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.
He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.
Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.
But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker
Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”
Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.
When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.
And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.
Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.
The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.
Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.
Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.
Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.
Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.
Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …
Nothing.
As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”
No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?
Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.
Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.
No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.
No matter. He could manage.
Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.
His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.
Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.
Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.
Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”
Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.
There!
Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.
He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.
This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …
Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.
Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.
His luck held all the way down.
He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.
Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.
And Scott became a passenger.
He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!
Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.
The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.
It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.
Impact was hard.
Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.
Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.
It was the last thing Scott saw.
Notes:
This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.
And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.
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idontknowreallywhy · 11 hours
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Highlighting some most excellent John gifs because we love him too
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@astranite just because 🧡
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gumnut-logic · 13 hours
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Driving Home
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Just a quick scene, prompted by something I saw on the way home from work/school.
Younger Tracys, a Scotty thoughts moment that doesn't really go anywhere.
-o-o-o-
The traffic lights lit up his brother’s face in the darkness. Scott couldn’t help but smile at Virgil, head smushed against the passenger-side door, asleep.
His brother was at the end of his degree. Graduating after years of toil while Scott had been away in the Air Force.
Scott had made a point to get leave to be there for Virgil on his big day. Dad couldn’t make it, but hell or highwater, Scott had skipped continents to see his brother get his piece of paper.
John had been there, gaining leave from NASA training, but the two youngest were home with Grandma, so it had been a reunion of the three eldest, two of them taking out the third to celebrate.
And celebrate they did.
Until John needed to leave.
There were hugs at the airport, even a soppy tear on Virgil’s part as they separated and said goodbye to their space-destined brother.
It was just the two of them from that point on. Scott could have flown them both home, but he had opted for a road trip back to Kansas. It wasn’t really that far, and honestly, he needed some time with Virgil.
Today had been great, driving across state lines. Really just talking, sharing experiences, taking the opportunity to wind down after a hectic…everything.
Scott had the wheel, determined to let his little brother rest. And eventually, after chatterboxing about anything and everything, Virgil had slipped into a snooze just as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Scott was oddly grateful for it.
Not that he wanted silence, if anything he missed his brother’s excited voice.
It was more that…
It was a return to the norm.
They hadn’t seen each other for so long. Scott missed his brothers, all of them, but he also missed this. Just the two of them, hanging out together, being themselves, the sense of trust Virgil had in him. That knowledge that Virgil believed in Scott.
Sure, snoozing while his brother drove was far from life threatening. But it was done without thought.
It was reassuring to know that despite all his time away, Virgil still had that familiar faith in him.
The lights changed to green and Scott eased the car into the intersection, smoothly bringing it up to speed without disturbing Virgil at all. It wasn’t really required because his brother was almost impossible to wake up most of the time, but he did it for love anyway.
He really was getting corny in his old age.
He could almost hear Virgil’s chuckle at the thought.
God, he missed this.
He had buddies in the Force, yes, but his brothers…
Amber street lights strobed over Virgil’s lax features.
His brother…
Virgil snorted and shifted where he sat, his mouth drooping open and beginning to drool.
…was laughably gross.
Scott snorted, half tempted to poke Virgil awake. Thank goodness this was a hire car.
But his smile returned.
It really was good to be together again.
-o-o-o-
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lying4sport · 1 day
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WIP
Hi everyone! First time posting something I'm writing... how scary... hope it's good! I've been reading and writing in the Thunderbirds fandom for over 10 years and thought now's the time to actually get my work out there.
This is just the start of a long piece that I'm continuing, to get some thoughts/comments! Ignore the timeline wonkiness - I haven't overly accounted for canon dates etc. Set in Virgil's university years - all the ages/dates/facts in this au will be explained later I promise. For now, enjoy some words.
TAG
Paper Planes and Band-Aid Brothers (WIP)
If there’s one constant in the Tracy universe, it’s that Virgil will always be Virgil.
Virgil’s no Scott, no highflier in Yale, no math genius in the GDF and a star-studded career in flying dizzying new crafts. Virgil’s no Gordon, no sun kissed 15-year-old inhaling so much chlorine it’s impossible he won’t swim to golden glory. Virgil’s certainly no John, tall and fit and studious to the letter and 22 with a fucking master’s degree. Virgil wishes he was Alan, all 12 years old and blond and headed for the title of Dad’s Favourite Son.
No. Virgil is Virgil, and he’s the shorter, bigger version of Scott that everyone gets along with. Except Scott’s realizing he’s not anymore – the jovial little brown-haired artist is gone, replaced by black hair and baggy shirts and a scowl so deep Scott’s pretty sure he’s burned a hole through his forehead. He’s still got his mother’s eyes and a persistent cowlick that he can’t seem to tame the way that John always can, but he’s added a desperate, burning desire to be anything but himself.
“Hey.” Virgil’s standing at the door of his apartment, slightly awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet as Scott hauls his suitcase up the stairs.
It had taken a lot of begging and convincing and peddling to people far more important than him to be able to jet off to Australia for a week to come see Virgil in his relative solitude. Although – Scott’s first GDF Air force call sign had been Daddy’s Boy, for goodness sake – the name Jeff Tracy held a lot of weight in military circles. It hadn’t been hard, considering Jeff was in talks with Colonel Casey to have Scott honourably discharged to join his merry band of hush hush need to know basis top secret stop fucking laughing Gordon this is serious rescue whatever the hell their ambitious father was doing with that engineer. Yes Dad, I’ll join, yes Dad, the hat fits, Gordon, shut your mouth before I shove it up your ass.
The begging, however, hadn’t been to his superiors. It’d been to his brother, the very same one who now stood in front of him like he would rather be anywhere else in the universe.
“Hey man, you gonna just stand there and watch?” Scott sweeps Virgil into a brief, one armed hug that he hopes will graduate into two once he’s accustomed to the presence of an older brother again. Virgil is stiff, unyielding into his touch, and pats his back in the way that only deeply uncomfortable people do.
Scott forgets just how much taller he is. Over Virgil’s head, he takes his first glance into his apartment. It’s well furnished, comfortable and cool, a harsh departure from the sweltering Melbourne heat outside. Scott’s practically dripping, so he gently pushes Virgil aside with his suitcase, dropping himself unceremoniously into the first chair he sees.
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tinytracys · 1 day
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Now THIS is a reasonably sized mug…
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socialitesleuth · 2 days
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I need volunteers to help set up an Easter Egg hunt at the Creighton-Ward Manor for this weekend.
I would directly ask the boys but given I distinctly remember at least fourteen empty wrappers in place of the chocolate eggs last year, I don't want to risk it.
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edutainer2022 · 2 days
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I'm in a very complicated (non)relationship with faith and religion. Loss, grief, and war do a number on that. And I'm in a weird mood (also insanely busy). I would assume the Tracies too have a complicated (and different for each) relationship with faith and spirituality, in their line of work. It's Easter time. So here's a little Earth and Sky piece centered around that time of the year, memories, fears, and love, of course. All blatant parallels with religious symbolism are all on my agnostic self, I mean no disrespect whatsoever!
EASTER
Christmas was easy. Approachable. Christmas was always about family and snuggling, comfy pijamas and Lord of the Rings rewatch maraphons, and gifts for everyone, cinnamon, cocoa, decorations and garlands. Christmas was manageable even after Mom. Then after Dad. Never the same, but manageable.
Easter was weird... In their childhood Easter was always a whirl of colors and activities - egg die on every surface besides the eggshells, egg hunts on the farm and ranch, chocolate prizes, bright baskets, and laughter. And Mom. Always Mom at the center of it all, orchestrating and directing the colorful chaos. Mom told them stories. An Irish Catholic, Mom made a point to go to mass on Easter morning, although she didn't insist they go with. They usually did, dressed in Sunday best, even Gordie on his best behavior. There would be waffles and ice-cream on the way back from the church, and sprinkles in John's hair. With Mom gone the colors muted. The whirlwind stopped. The spring lost its promise. It felt almost a blasphemy to celebrate a resurrection after a loss they suffered. Scott tried to uphold the egghunts for Gordie, who barely remembered his with Mom, and for Allie, who didn't, but it fell flat.
Dad never much discussed spirituality with them. An astronaut, a war veteran, a widower, he held certain cards close to his soul. They grew up with boundless belief in scientific knowledge and answers to be pursued by scientific methods. If there were no answers this side of known universe, that meant the science was yet to catch up. They all helped with catching up a lot. As much as they grew up with boundless belief in each other (that and an elaborate array of superstitions, given their respective specializations). And a firm conviction Mom was an angel up in heaven, watching over them. It all made sense when a brother's comms were silent in the danger zone or a brother's hand was limp and cold over hospital covers. Unbeknowest to them, through the endless night alone in outer space, their father always had but one prayer: "Look after them, my love! Keep them all safe as I can't!"
In a rare arrangement of circumstances, they were all at the farm for Easter weekend, for a change. Some issues needed to be dealt with the estate. And it was an unspoken opportunity to visit Mom's grave. (And Dad's headstone over an empty casket, right next to her). Virgil found Scott at the backporch, seated on the stairs overlooking the meadow. Alone. As he suspected he would. Virgil would have been happy to just plop down and sit it out with biggest brother shoulder to shoulder till dusk, giving him room to just be and a friendly ear, should he want one. Scott had been in a mood all day, maybe all week. So much so even John was worried, who didn't get to observe Scott in his natural brooding state up close often. Biggest brother was obviously not forthcoming with any conversation starters. Virgil took his chances and nudged a flannel clad shoulder to his right. In their childhood home Scott always dug out old, broken in flannel, albeit in blue.
"I think about going to Mom's church tomorrow morning. You wanna come with?"
It was a multi-layered invitation and Virgil knew it. It would imply quality time away from the general mayhem for just the two of them, a chance to gather one's thoughts and to connect to Mom in a way that was special to her, even a chance to bring home a decent breakfast from the diner in the town, across the church. They would then all pack up in two cars, make a trip to the cemetery, pay their respects, and have an Easter dinner all together as a family. Virgil nudged his brother's shoulder again, looking up with hope. Scott's gaze was still far away.
"You wanna go to Easter mass?"
Virgil felt self-conscious suddenly. He loved the music and the spirit of celebration. Generally loved the idea of connecting to something bigger. Connecting to Mom. He tried another angle.
"You don't believe?"
Mom did - left unspoken over the evening meadow. Scott hummed at that, blue eyes finally landing on his brother. The sadness there left Virgil breathless.
"What? Whether a guy could resurrect in three days? I don't honestly know if I believe that, Virg. But I do believe one could die for all of himanity."
Dad did - another silent echo over the meadow.
That, right there, was Virgil's deepest fear. That one day Scott would leave him behind, crying and helpless, on the sideway of his own via dolorosa, dragging a crucifix through the dust and grime of a danger zone. By Dad's unspoken command.
"Please go with me to Mom's church tomorrow! We can have waffles after."
That was blatant food bribery (aka a tried and true way to get Scott to go to concerts and art galleries). But desperate times called for desperate measures.
Scott responded with an amused chuckle and lifted an arm to invite his brother into a hug. Virgil didn't need to be asked twice. Scott's old flannel shirt smelled of old machine oil from the farm tractor, fabric softener and the inextinguishable odor of his very first, hideous aftershave from way back in basic training. Virgil closed his eyes against the steady heartbeat. "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from him."
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scott-flyboy-tracy · 3 days
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Not as good as apple pie, but I’m certainly not complaining that Grandma ordered apple & cinnamon hot cross buns for the family
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phading · 22 hours
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Hi, it's me!
Okay, so there’s probably a lot you don’t know about me. So just in case you’re in the least bit interested:
I try very, very hard never to read incomplete fics. Purely selfish, and the result of reading far too many heart-grabbing stories that never got finished. If you need kudos or encouragement or anything else to continue, I’m here and over the moon excited to read anything you’d like to throw at me. Just let me know what you want in return - comments, critique, suggestions, hugs, encouragement, emojis, whatever ...
I posted one fic a chapter at a time, and I doubt I’ll ever do it again.
Characterization is everything.
If you’ve noticed an absence of Brains, Grandma, Lady P, Havoc, etc… in my fics it’s because I don’t give a twit. Perhaps one day I will evolve beyond this simplistic state.
I suck at prompts, challenges and deadlines. My muse is never in the right headspace at the right time.
I have a ridiculous need to keep it believable when really, the stuff that goes on in the show – no matter how much I adore it – is often somewhat miraculous.
It’s the future, people, I’m allowed to invent things.
In real life, I write kids’ books.
To the best of my knowledge, I’m the oldest member of the Thunderfam. Challenge me if you think you can claim the title.
The first thing of importance I ever wrote was a full length Star Trek Next Gen novel which I submitted to a few select New York publishers (oh, the innocence of youth) . Surprise, surprise, many of them actually read it and sent back comments written on famous restaurant napkins.
So, in light of all of the above, I’m once again doing my own thing. Inspired by the recent “10 opening lines from 10 recent fics” post I’m changing it up to “10 opening lines from 10 WIPs”.  I mean, seriously, I’m a newbie here and have far more WIPs than I do finished fics. So here’s what’s – pray to the anti-depression, anti-chronic pain gods  – coming up …
A WHOLE LOT OF SUPERFICIAL The uniform discarded in a heap on the floor outside the showers was expected – the purple neoprene wasn’t. (Virgil, Scott, shaping up to be humour)
THE LAST ZOO ON EARTH “Say again, John. I thought you said we have a situation at a zoo.” (All brothers, major rescue, major whump, pissed off Gordon)
THERE ARE NO CANNIBALS ANYMORE “Sir! I need you to calm down!” (Hurt Virgil, this one could go graphic in a hurry)
IT DOESN’T HURT Virgil glanced up from the piano keys, searching for inspiration but instead witnessing his fish brother's spectacular dive off the board – a dive that would leave his re-built back in shambles. (Fishtank, chronic pain)
TIGHT ROPE “I’m sorry, John, but if she’s dumb enough to try and pull off this ridiculous stunt, I see no reason why we should save her from her own stupidity.” (rescue gone sideways)
STARSTUCK Alan Tracy had been looking forward to this moment for a very long time. (Hurt Virgil, guilty Alan, Thunderbird 3 whump)
STELLAR “Hey, John, what’s this?” “It’s personal, that’s what it is!” (Guilty John, comatose Gordon, poetry, John has a secret)
CASPIAN John Tracy blinked open his eyes, breath catching when he discovered the most beautiful thing in his universe mere centimetres from his face. (John, OC-John’s lover, angst, Marks and Wings, John is not only a telepathic Ave but he’s bi!)
PSYCHOTIC MEDIUMS The probe entered Earth’s solar system broadcasting a symphony of alien sound that instantaneously drove the half-a-million or so humans who were listening insane. (Virgil centric, angst, sci-fi)
THE JOHN-CODE “Hey, Eos, you wanna help me test this new game?” (Alan, John, Eos, virtual games gone wrong.)
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edorazzi · 2 months
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More Thunderbirds Are Go comics! 🚀✨
It's been a while but I've had the first two lying around for months waiting to post a full set! In which neurodivergent John sets off people's AI detectors, gets bullied for his fashion choices, and Penelope battles with her conflicting standards when it comes to Gordon...
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knyee · 2 months
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Close your eyes. Have no fear. The monster's gone, he's on the run and your daddy's here.
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Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Beautiful boy.
I have Beautiful Boy by John Lennon on repeat and it's like jeff n scott core sooo like, you're welcome 😁😁😁
The gc will b in shambles I just know it ☝️☝️
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tanushakyrano · 4 months
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thunderbirds universe tumblr simulator
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🌺 topiary-tina1793 Follow
literally cannot believe these assholes from international rescue like i get people are dying or whatever but they literally just torched my garden w their massive ass engines...killed my prize-winning begonias too like what am i supposed to enter in the village fair next week??????
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🧭 goldiniums Follow
LITERALLY JUST ON SECURITY AT THE OLD ABANDONED AIRPORT NEAR MY TOWN AND TB1 SHOWS UP WAHT THR HELL IS GOIN ON
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🎛 glorbulardefenceforce Follow
@identifying-planes-in-posts
✈️ identifying-planes-in-posts Follow
Fireflash
169.8k notes
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🌹 diabolicalroses
hear me out. that hood guy was kinda fine
🌚 wingdings496
rose i swear to god you have GOT to stop thirsting after real life international criminals
🌹 diabolicalroses
HIS VOICE WAS SO HOT THO
🌚 wingdings496
I DONT CARE IF YOU HAVE A THING FOR GUYS IN MASKS HE LITERALLY BLACKMAILED THE ENTIRE WORLD
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👠 lady-penelope-updates
Lady Penelope is at a charity auction today! The stream is currently live on twitch.tv/creightonwardofficial.
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👠 lady-penelope-updates
Looks like a new guest has just appeared, and they seem to know Lady P! Any bets on who it is?
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👠 lady-penelope-updates
um
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23.7k notes
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🚀 thunderbirds-are-gone
🍏 jollygreengiant Follow
you're literally insane if you don't vote for tb2
🌌 alpha-centauri
tb5 is a SPACE station it's in SPACE you can LIVE in SPACE on tb5‼️ this is a tb5 positivity post vote for thunderbird five rn
♠️ ace-space-case
um excuse me where is thunderbird shadow🤨
🚀 thunderbirds-are-gone
only reason i didn't include shadow is cus we don't really know anything about her! i felt it was a little unfair when we know so much about the capabilities of all the other ships and we don't even know what shadow looks like yet
♠️ ace-space-case
boooooooooo :(
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🏙 international-rescue-official deactivated21082060
i just want scott tracy to rail me :(
🚀 thunderbirds-are-gone
oh my god
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Resurface 10 - Recall
Maybe could be the next instalment of Resurface (a.k.a. the psychotic Virgil fic) or maybe could be a standalone - any thoughts? Inspired by a song which, it turns out, fits the situation rather well. Some sad Earth&Sky… given I’d managed zero words for days and have found that very irritating I’m gonna run with whatever! Edit to add: Yeah I’m calling it. So what if the fic has a random songfic chapter… it’s Virg…
💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚
He floated in the darkness, weightless yet weighed down. There was nothing to see, nothing to feel. Nothing to smell. Yet he could SEE the dark in an overwhelming level of detail and his nerves rejected the empty tactile nothingness and told him cold instead.
There was sound in the void, but it was intermittent and muffled, as if he was underwater. Voices… familiar but unhappy bubbled past him. If only they’d speak more clearly perhaps he could fix whatever the problem was… but he found he couldn’t move his arms or… his head or… anything so fixing was probably out of the question. He wondered if there anything of him left to move?
He wondered if he was… gone… and found he couldn’t feel too strongly about the idea. Hello darkness, Virgil was ready to succumb.
Oh… Virgil. He had a name. Well there it is.
He knew he was supposed to fight the dark but he was so tired. He was also aware the reason he kept fighting was no more. Although he wasn’t entirely sure what that had been… it nagged at him. It had been important. He was pretty sure it had been everything - there was just a hollow space where he imagined his chest would be. Was odd he couldn’t remember. If he could move his face he’d frown at that.
Maybe it was just that Afterwards you didn’t remember Before?
He only hoped this nothing wouldn’t be everything - the lack of comprehensible sensory input was maddening. Not to mention he had an irritating earworm that was disproving his theory about not remembering. And that would be really annoying to think about for eternity. What even was it? Some kids’ film…
Can there be a day beyond this night? I don’t know anymore what is true.
Huh. Pretty dark for something aimed at children.
Mind you, children felt things pretty strongly. He’d always had, as far as he could tell. It’s why art and music worked for him. He remembered that too. Alright, memory was a thing then. Given the lack of anything else to do he cast his mind back, trying to recall something, anything… about who he was.
Trees. He could picture trees and feel the drop in the wind as he stepped amongst them. One in particular which was taller than the rest… a pecan. The scaly bark scratched at his fingertips as he peered up into the rustling branches overhead. Wait! He tried to shout but no sound came out! Wait! He wasn’t tall enough! He couldn’t follow! He stood on his tiptoes and stretched towards the hand that reached down out of the leaves but his fingers only brushed the air. He gasped, a bigger hand landed on his shoulder and it all went black again.
He was on his knees on the dusty tarmac and his knees were stinging but not as much as his eyes. The back of the big yellow bus blurred as he cursed his little legs for not being able to catch up with it. He squeaked in horror as a truck thundered past, horn blaring and then large hands were pulling his shoulders, dragging him to the grass. Sharp words, scared words. They told him he couldn’t follow. He wasn’t big enough for big school yet. He couldn’t always follow. He lifted his hands from his knees and stared at the redness that highlighted the wrinkles in his palms. A sob choked him and the red spread out and covered everything.
That large hand was tugging at his elbow, but Virgil wasn’t easy to move against his will. He relented and took one pace backwards, moving his right foot down one of the stone steps leading away from the ornate doorway with a lone figure standing in it. The others had gone back inside to continue the celebration. But one remained, watching them leave, smiling. The stupidly massive doors made him look small and he’d never looked small before. The left foot wouldn’t move. The arm tugged at him but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not follow. The figure waved again, straightened the smart blue coat with the silver buttons and gave a cheeky salute before turning and walking away. Virgil had no breath to cry out to him to stop, he could only reach out silently towards the retreating blue.
I follow you around, I always have, but you’ve gone to a place I cannot find.
No. The song was wrong. NO! He thrashed against the nothing and gagged on the bile that rose up in a throat that could suddenly feel, could suddenly burn, could agonisingly scream out loud:
“SCOTT!”
💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙
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teapotteringabout · 9 months
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Idea isnt mine, this is the comic version of a snippet by @willow-salix / @selene-tempest a couple years ago (told you I'd draw this...one day!)
(Also I'm really sorry, I cant find the link to it!)
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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.)
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flyboytracy · 22 days
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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
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<333
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