Reblog If You've Found Friendship Because Of Your Fandoms.

Hehe it’s Buddy and Ellie :) 

Angery dragon 😠

I agree with @hedwigstalons!!

WHAT ARE YOU DOING NUTTY!?!?

Ellie (Part Three - Bit 2)

Part One | Part Two - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Part Three - Bit 1 | Bit 2

Another bit, but I this one contains some answers to some questions :D I hope you enjoy it while I go do the food shopping ::pouts::

-o-o-o-

A hatch lowered down from under the Thunderbird’s nose, light from within the cockpit illuminating three figures. As she ran, she registered the blue of an IR uniform, but paid little attention as medical stats were thrown at the team in a clipped, professional voice.

Ellie was directed to the male who turned out to be quite young, blond, barely an adult and bound up on a spinal board. The remains of an International Rescue uniform peeked through the emergency blanket.

Shit.

But she didn’t have time to follow the implications of that piece of information.

Impact injuries to his left side. Unconscious, accelerated heart rate, possible spinal injury. Scan results of a detail she had never encountered were flicked to her reader. His spine was intact, but there was swelling.

And internal bleeding. Far too much internal bleeding.

Her team leader directed fast evac and they were moving again. She was vaguely aware of a hiss of closing hatch and mechanical whirring as she ran the hoverstretcher back to the vehicle under the trees.

The stretcher had IR branding on its side, but it slid easily into dock inside the ambulance. Her hands moved automatically, securing the young man for transport.

“I’m going with him.” And there was another blond young man in a blue uniform, this one slashed in yellow. He climbed in beside her team leader.

Ellie plugged the stretcher into the onboard scanner and alarms started blaring almost as loud as the sirens on the roof as they started moving.

The IR operative spoke up, voice raspy. “His name is Alan Bartlett Tracy, age eighteen.” The voice was calm, but unlike before, Ellie could hear fear under that professionalism. He swallowed. “I have his medical history and any further detail you may need.”

Two minutes and they would be at the hospital.

Those two minutes gave her enough time to think of Virgil Tracy and the fact that she likely had a member of his family under her care.

The ambulance ate enough road to pull up to the ED in one minute forty-five.

Then they were moving again.

Keep reading

This really gets me laughing! One thing they always leave out of the show is the nitty-gritty details, so this was a great (and hilarious) way of clearing that up! Thanks!  😁😁

The Sweet Smell of Manly Pride

Written as part of @gumnut-logic SensorySunday: Smell. Set just before the boys re-enter Earth’s atmosphere in the Zero-XL after rescuing Jeff from the Oort Cloud. Being stranded in deep space for eight years without even a can of deodorant must have left the Tracy patriarch smelling pretty ripe xD.

Raw humour. Sorry not sorry.

Starring Gordon, because he’s the husband and I loves him <3

-x-

Gordon’s tolerance for body odour was surprisingly high.

It had to be.

Considering the aquanaut spent a good portion of his life two to three thousand meters below the ocean’s surface, he’d become intimately familiar with a variety of fruity nasal cocktails. His habit of skipping showers in favour of re-watching seasons one through twelve of Into the Unknown didn’t help either.

Eh, what the heck. Being sandwiched inside a tight suit and at the mercy of Thunderbird Four’s air conditioning would leave even the most fastidious person smelling a little ripe.

Plus, it wasn’t like Lady Penelope could smell him at the bottom of the South Sandwich Trench anyway.

Of course, there was body odour and then there was body odour.

“Eugh!” Gordon clamped a hand over his nose and glared accusingly at his brothers, “Okay, who just let loose?”

Four pairs of eyes locked onto Alan, who quacked in outrage.

“Why are you all looking at me? I’m trapped inside a pressurised suit over here!” the youngest snapped, his face the same colour as Thunderbird Three.

“We all are, Alan,” John countered, his eyes narrowing to turquoise slits, “Gordon, can you be a bit more specific? An unpleasant odour could be an indication that the charcoal filter needs replacing.”

Gordon elevated his nose and began to scent the air like a bloodhound, “Whatever it is, it’s pretty nasty. Seriously, am I the only one getting it?”

Over on Alan’s right, Scott shrugged, “Apparently. Care to elaborate on what exactly ‘nasty’ smells like?”

On guard in case anyone dared to throw the ‘he who smelt it dealt it’ line at him, Gordon spent the next three minutes offering a variety of olfactory diagnoses for the unknown smell. The options ranged from ‘donkey’s armpit’ and ‘skunk’s butt’, to perhaps the most insulting of all, ‘Virgil’s socks’.

Of course, Virgil was thoroughly offended.

Just when had Gordon sniffed his socks?

He would never sleep again.

“Ugh, man! It’s getting worse!” Gordon wheezed, wafting the air frantically with his hand, “Alan, how long until we’re home?”

“About forty minutes, depending on turbulence,” Alan replied, absently flicking a button on the dash, “I’ve just requested clearance from orbital patrol.”

Gordon’s eyes widened in alarm, “I won’t last that long. John, can you pull up my will? There are a few things I need to change before I become unsound of mind.”

While John was preoccupied with ignoring Gordon in favour of cataloguing a few nearby asteroids, a new voice piped up.

“What you’re smelling is me, Gordon. Sorry for the trouble, but there ain’t a whole lot I can do about it at the moment.”

Virgil sighed before throwing a playful glance over his shoulder, “Dad, you just sit back and relax. I swear, we can’t smell a thing.”

Gordon begged to differ. After unclipping his safety belt, the aquanaut pushed himself free from his seat and drifted over towards his father. Indeed, the stink intensified the closer he got.

“Ugh, dad!” Gordon turned his face away before pinching his nose, “You reek! When was the last time you had a shower?!”

Jeff’s blue eyes twinkled in humour, “About eight years ago. Unfortunately the Oort Cloud doesn’t offer its residents indoor plumbing. Reckon I went noseblind after the first five months,” Jeff smiled as he extended his arms above his head in a fake stretch, “On a scale of one to ten, how bad would you rate me, son?”

“Thirty!” Gordon gagged, groping desperately for the oxygen masks the Zero-XL was equipped with, “Seriously dad, I’m amazed you’re not the epicentre of a fully functioning ecosystem!”

Jeff smiled proudly, “Jeff Tracy Vintage, available at select stores only,” the Tracy patriarch hesitated for a second before offering Gordon his armpit, “Take a whiff, son. It’ll put hair on your chest.”

Scott shared a look of amusement with John, Virgil and Alan as their father snaked an arm out and yanked Gordon in for a hug. The aquanaut made a sound of muffled distress as he whacked fruitlessly at the arms enveloping him.

“Careful, Gordo,” Virgil warned with a laugh, “We just got him back, don’t break him yet.”

Gordon made no indication he’d even heard Virgil, his energy focussed on trying to escape the noxious grip he was imprisoned in.

“Seriously, I can’t smell anything,” John declared, sticking his nose in the air and sniffing for emphasis, “It must have something to do with the direction of the air circulation.”

Brains adjusted his glasses before swivelling to face Jeff, “I must say I’m incredibly p-proud of your suit’s durability, M-Mr Tracy. It managed to keep you warm in the Oort Cloud’s f-freezing temperatures for over eight years and hasn’t suffered any m-major damage aside from the t-tear on your thigh.”

Jeff inclined his head in gratitude, “You build things to last, Brains. I knew my suit wouldn’t give up until I did.”

Enveloped in the stinky wonderland that was Jeff’s armpit, Gordon felt very much like giving up.

“You done teasing your old man yet?” Jeff asked, affectionately rubbing his knuckles across the aquanaut’s scalp, “Because we’ve still got thirty minutes of flight time remaining if you haven’t.”

“Please!” Gordon begged, his tone pitiful, “At least let me amend my will!”

Jeff was about to reply with something smart about Gordon’s lack of valuable possessions, but was stopped by a weird smell assaulting his nose, “Hold up, something pongs around here. Gordon? Have you been forgetting to floss?”

Almost on cue, a can of easy cheese rolled out of the storage compartment above Gordon’s empty seat and clattered onto the floor. The aquanaut’s caramel eyes widened as an idea hit him.

“No dad, I take great pride in my oral hygiene,” Gordon replied, twisting his face towards Jeff and taking extra care to exaggerate his a’s and h’s.

“Eugh, Gordon! Your breath!” Jeff rasped, holding his son at an arm’s length before glaring accusingly at the can of cheese rolling innocuously past John’s foot, “Don’t tell me you still eat that junk?”

“It’s his go-to deep space snack,” Alan informed, “If you think the cheese breath is bad, wait until the cheese farts start coming. We’ll all be amending our wills if one of those escapes.”

Jeff grimaced as Gordon blew in his face, “Maybe we should confine him to the airlock for the remainder of the flight. Brains? Can we rig up a safety belt in there for him?”

“I’m s-sure I can organise something,” Brains replied, before unclipping himself and drifting towards the rear hatch, “J-John, could you kindly give me a hand?”

“F.A.B,” the redhead replied, freeing himself from his shoulder restraints and floating across the control deck, “Dad, you get Gordon inside. I’ll help Brains stabilise the door.”

With Gordon tucked under his arm like a roll of carpet, Jeff nodded and pulled himself through the airlock’s doorway. He was just preparing to release his hold on the aquanaut when the door suddenly slammed shut.

“John?” Jeff called, his brows knitting together in confusion, “Brains? Open up! You locked me in as well, you fools!”

Back at the helm, Scott shared a look of relief with Virgil, “Ah, thank goodness. I couldn’t have kept that up for much longer.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil muttered, reaching into the compartment above his head and retrieving a can of air freshener, “Things were going so well until Gordon opened his mouth.”

“It was the right thing,” John exclaimed, pointedly ignoring the bangs and screams that were starting to emanate from the sealed airlock, “Dad may be medically stable, but we won’t know the exact state of his mental health until we’re back home. Until then, it would be wise to refrain from making direct comments about his physical state.”

“Agreed,” Alan replied, before twisting around to gaze in amusement at the airlock door, “Think they’ll be okay in there?”

“Of course,” Virgil replied, popping the top off the air freshener and spraying a liberal amount around the chair Jeff had been sat in, “What better way to bond after eight years of being apart than being locked in an eight foot by eight foot airtight room together?”

John cringed as he made the final preparations for the Zero-XL’s atmospheric re-entry, “I think I’ll stick to a catch up over coffee.”

-x-

Daydream - a Thunderbirds comic by me :)

I think it’s safe to say that all of us in the Thunderfam have had this daydream before!

Not entirely happy with this (really super duper) quick art, but I’m practicing expressions, so you guys get this. Please excuse the grubby little signature - I had to do it with my mouse.

I kinda hate this. No shading, no nothing. Ugh.

Little did they know TB4 actually would become a spaceship!

Well that’s certainly some information I didn’t know I needed.

hey give birds antlers

“i have no time to read” honey, no. you’re just wasting too much time scrolling through fanart and adding more books to your tbr.

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London Gym - a Thunderbirds Are Go story

Author: mae-the-4th

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go (2015-2020)

Timing: Season 3, about Episode 18 Avalanche and Episode 20 Icarus

Warnings: none

Words: 1235

Author’s Note: It’s about time I did another Thunderbirds fic! I hate the ending at all and am not entirely happy with what I finished with, but we’ll see how it goes… Enjoy this in all its unedited glory! I know nothing about Wing Chun and Kung Fu, so if I get something wrong, I am so sorry and will try to fix it! The character of Jack Wallace is completely fictional. I don't own any characters except for Jack Wallace, an OC.

xXxXxXx

Jack Wallace was a fit guy. His black-and-red Wing Chun martial arts belt and his habit of going to the gym every morning proved said fact. He had gone to this particular gym in London every day for almost two and a half years – yet he had never seen this young woman before, although she seemed somehow familiar. Tall, lithe, with olive skin, black hair, and enchantingly green eyes, she was there before even he was, running on the treadmill. She stayed there for 3 hours, running at 10 kilometres an hour, no joke! She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t stop listening to her music. It seemed she barely broke a sweat. She just kept on running, ponytail swinging, until she left. Jack made a mental note to ask her whether she was a marathon runner if he saw her again.

She was there the next day, again beating him to the gym. Instead of the treadmill, she focused on weights, lifting loads that usually would be impossible for a girl of her age and stature. After weights, she moved to the floor mats, completing push-ups, balances, squats, and many more that Jack didn’t manage to notice. Jack hit the showers quickly so he could ask her what her training regime was but just missed her. As he ran out the door after her, he just managed to spot her climbing into a pink car (pink! Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day!). She greeted the grey-haired driver and they sped off.

On the third day, the mystery girl was late – a whole hour late. It seemed very much unlike her (not that Jack really knew anything about her). The reason why was revealed when the large pink car pulled up to the doors. Out stepped the olive-skinned girl, pulling a shorter blonde out with her. The grey-haired driver followed at a respectful distance, warily eyeing Jack for a moment before flicking his eyes subtly around the gym. Jack didn’t even think about trying to talk to the mystery girl that day.

The day after, Jack found Mystery Girl on the mats, alone. She had a punching bag hanging in front of her – and it looked like she really hated it. Jabs and kicks repeatedly hit the bag, with sometimes less than a second in between the different moves. With a start, Jack recognised the style of fighting – Wing Chun, a style he was quite familiar with himself. After watching a few minutes, Jack realised that this was his opportunity to go talk to her.

“Wing Chun, right? Kung Fu?”

She stopped, turning to face him. “Yes. You know it?”

“Yeah. Don’t know much, but enough to get by in a fight. I think.”

Mystery Girl smirked. “Okay. Let’s have a look, shall we?”

“Pardon?”

“I don’t know about you, but this punching bag doesn’t exactly hit back.” Jack furrowed his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes. “I’m asking if you’ll spar with me.”

“Oh! Right, yeah. Sorry.” Spreading his legs into an opening stance, Jack desperately tried to remember what he had been taught – and nearly got a jab to the face. “Hey!”

“C’mon! One of the first rules is ‘always be ready and expect the unexpected’!”

Jack grimaced. “Sorry. I’m ready now.”

Mystery Girl grinned. “Shall we start then?”

Somewhere amidst all the jabs and kicks Mystery Girl launched at him, Jack realised that he was seriously outmatched. She was an expert, as in the highest ranking you could ever be. His respect and awe for her increased massively every time she added another bruise to his collection. Her style was flawless, each move precise and aimed perfectly. Jack never had any chance of beating her and he could tell that she was toying with him, leading him around the mats. Finally, Jack found himself on the flat on the ground, pinned by her knee. Grinning, she stood back up and offered her hand. Grabbing it, Jack stood back upright.

“Thanks for the practice,” the girl said.

“Practice? That was a full-on work out!”

She shrugged. “Eh, I take what I can get. Most of my brothers can’t really keep up with me in terms of self-defense, although they’re much better than they used to be.”

Jack sipped from his water bottle, still panting. “Let me guess, you’ve been teaching them?” She nodded, drinking from her own bottle. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Five,” she replied, and Jack blinked in surprise.

A ring tone echoed in the quiet gym and Mystery Girl picked up her phone. Sleek and black with silver highlights, it was obviously heavy duty – and expensive. A holographic display lit the air above the phone, showing the caller ID. Calling – Lady Penelope. The picture was the young blonde from the other day, laughing with her head thrown back with a tanned blond man, Hawaiian shirt open at the neck. Mystery Girl picked up her phone and ‘Penelope’ appeared.

“We are right outside when you’re ready. Gordon is here too, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Mystery Girl said, wry disbelief on her face.

“Yes! Somehow, I got Gordon out of bed, but he is fairly grumpy, and I will need your help wrangling him.”

She smiled fondly. Jack found he really liked it, but a stab of jealousy ran through him. Who is this Gordon? Her boyfriend?

“I’ll be right there, Lady P. See you in a few seconds.” Hanging up on Penelope, Mystery Girl grabbed her rucksack and turned towards the door. “Bye,” she said to Jack with a flutter of her fingers. Minutes later, the same pink car from before roared past.

It was only later that Jack realised he still didn’t ask for her name. He certainly regretted it when he never saw her in his gym again-

-until she was on television two weeks later.

Jack was on the treadmills, straining for those last few kilometres, while watching the local news. There had been a recent world record broken – the world airspeed record, to be precise. Something had gone wrong though, according to the news, and International Rescue had stepped in to help. Jack only caught the end of the report, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks (while the treadmill was still running unfortunately, although he’d never admit it). The news channel showed four of the five Thunderbirds lined up, the members of International Rescue standing in front. Four young men for four Thunderbirds, baldrics silver, green, red, and yellow. Next to them stood two young women. One was blonde, clad in a gold dress and black jacket, her hand entwined in the yellow Thunderbird’s hand. Jack’s eyes widened as he recognised her as Lady Penelope. And next to her-

Next to Lady Penelope was Mystery Girl. Clad in dark blue-green and black, she stood with an easy confidence. The names of the members of International Rescue flashed on the holo-image. Scott Tracy, Virgil Tracy, John Tracy, Gordon Tracy, Alan Tracy, Kayo Kyrano.

Kayo.

Now everything made sense! Mystery Girl’s fitness ability, her friend with the chauffeur, her mention of her five brothers – blimey, her brothers were the famous Tracy’s. She was part of International Rescue, for goodness sake!! She was the elusive pilot of the rumoured Thunderbird Shadow! And Jack had met with her, talked to her, sparred with her, and didn’t even realise.

Jack left the gym in bewilderment, the treadmill still running.

xXxXxXx

FIN