⌨ :╰┈➤ “'Allo folks, call me whatever you'd like, get a good look around while you're here familiarising yourself.„
he/him ˚ ☾⭒. 🇵🇭🇨🇳 ๋࣭ ⭑⬚ multifandom
࣪˖ ♯┆ * 「BELOW LIES MORE. DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?」 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᯓ➤
࣪˖ ♯┆ ` 「YES」 ➚「NO」 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᯓ➤
⌨ :╰┈➤ WARNING: “While I'm here, heads up: there's still a bit more renovating to be done here. So don't expect everything that's been said here to be set in stone. I'll definitely be updating this post as time goes on.„
࣪˖ ♯┆ * 「YOU CHOOSE TO VENTURE FURTHER, HOW CURIOUS.」 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᯓ➤
⭑.ᐟ ⍰┊ TABLE OF WHAT(s) — ↷
╭ · · ─── ·𓆩☾𓆪· ─── · ·
➚┆𝙸 -Hobbies
┆𝙸𝙸 -Fandoms I'm in
┆𝙸𝙸𝙸. -Taglist
┆𝙸𝚅. -List of things I've done
╰ · · ─── ·𓆩☾𓆪· ─── · ·
⤷ ゛ˎˊ 𝙸.┊ WHAT DO I DO? ᯓ ⭑.ᐟ
— “Technically I'd be considered an artist, the beginner, tradigital (indecisive) kind, since that is what I mostly post about currently (as of writing this I mean.) Though, I'm also a writer and photographer. I also listen to music everyday, do some light jogging and plan to get into rollerblading, if that's also something of note.„
I, ref. | General Tags
# IRe.flect | Just me chatting tbh.
# IRe.ndered | Drawings
# IRe.ad | Writings
# IRe.mble | Shitposts
# IRe.blog | Reblogs
# IRe.cievedmail | Askbox answers
# IRe.allylovethis | Favourites tag
#IRe.commendthem | Others' creations that I, well, recommend for you to check out.
•
AUs. | Y'know, it's in the name. /lh
# TTTE: SICaNO | My TTTE AU, 'Should I Choose a Noble Occupation'
# ??? | Thunderbirds?
# ??? | This Is Tugs AU?
•
Heavily CD (Canon Divergent) | Basically OCs, I suppose?
# Dì sì, na Apat | General OC stuff
# Home Doon Sa Riles | TTTE and any rail OCs I've got that are more CD
# Time is a River | TUGs OCs basically, also for my aviation ones
⤷ ゛ˎˊ 𝙸.┊ WHAT HAVE I MADE? ᯓ ⭑.ᐟ
࣪˖ ♯┆ * 「RELOAD LAST SAVE FILE?」 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᯓ➤
࣪˖ ♯┆ ` ➚「YES」 「NO」 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ᯓ➤
If there was a challenge to talk about the Terrans WITHOUT mentioning the Legacy characters (for example, you couldn't mention the 'Little Bird' nickname for Twitch) most of the fandom would fail.
Do any Thunderbirds fans know where the fact that Gordon was involved in a hydrofoil crash originated? I’ve only watched the original series and either it was a single line that I missed or just wasn’t mentioned. The wiki doesn’t mention where it got the hydrofoil info either. Is it just a TAG thing that has been retroactively superimposed onto the original series? Or from an old tie-in novel? Or something?? If anyone knows I would be grateful!
It definitely comes from media related to the original series - not TAG. In fact, for TAG some people consider Gordon's injuries in SOS to be instead of the hydrofoil crash rather than as well as.
I believe Gordon's hydrofoil crash, and his time in WASP come from either the comics, the annuals or the Century 21 publications.
I have been summoned!!! (and thankfully saw it on my dash cause my gosh darn notifs are STILL broken =_= )
Gordon's hydrofoil crash is from TOS, specifically the 1960s bios where it's mentioned, and the 1990s Fleetway run where it is directly mentioned and even (in a single panel flashback) shown.
The bios are also where we get the fact that Gordon served in WASP for a year or two (maybe three), was still in WASP when the hydrofoil accident happened, and was in the hospital for around 4 months with 6ish months after that to finish recovering. Gordon is actually less than two years out from the accident when Trapped in the Sky occurs!
Fleetway also shows / references Gordon being in WASP directly, and there's a passing reference to it in TV21 and the annuals as well. I thiiiiiiiiiiiink Redan and maybe one of the storybooks also had mention of Gordon's time in WASP as well - there's an instance when Gordon has to rescue WASP recruits and one of them is someone he knew in WASP, but I can't remember if it's Fleetway or Redan.
A quick note on TaG... if I recall correctly, it isn't just some of the fans that think SOS is the equiv, I'm pretty sure I saw in an interview (text or video, I forget which) that the creative team referred to the SOS event as the equiv of the hydrofoil accident as well.
TaG, so far as I know, doesn't have either the hydrofoil accident OR WASP, so rather than it being retroactively superimposed from TaG to TOS, it's TaG fans taking TOS canon they enjoy and superimposing it into TaG ^_^
Sorry for the long delay in responding, I'm moving and have had basically little to no net access for a long while, and my gosh darn notifs are STILL broken ^^;;
@riallasheng can you please clarify for me . . . are Fleetway and Redan publishers of comics?
Sorry for the overly long delay in responding to this! Between moving and essentially no notifs, I missed your reply/comment until just now!
Yes, Fleetway and Redan are comic magazine publishers ^^
Fleetway was published in the 1990s by Fleetway Magazine as 'New Thunderbirds' (they also did a comic magazine for Stingray and Captain Scarlet)
Fleetway was a mix of new material and old (tv21 comic stories were reprinted in the Fleetway run, generally taking up about half of the page count, although they were essentially in 'broadcast' order, that is they were published in the order of 'the publishers put the stories they liked best/felt were strongest at the start and had the 'weaker' stories towards the end... which given the fact that tv21 actually HAD continuity did cause some issues XD)
For the new material, Fleetway had their own original comic stories that were set in the TOS universe, about.... 6? comic retellings of canon episodes (that were actually really good!), cover stories, and of course the 'Complete Thunderbirds Story' which is most well known for canonizing the fan created name of Lucille for the Tracy Mom, and canonizing what is actually officially the WRONG date for the setting (Fleetway's Complete TB story set Thunderbirds in 2024, the TV show and tv21 comics and novels were set in 2065). Complete Thunderbirds is still a decent read, and has enough solid points pulled from the bios and the like to make it fun from a lore standpoint as well. Fleetway also is the only time we have Gordon's hydrofoil accident mentioned/shown outside of the bios!
Redan was published in the early 2000s, and were shorter comic strips (usually 1 page / 10 or so panels). Done in a more colorful and simple art style, as well as being a bit more 'kid friendly / kid focused' then Fleetway or even the og TV show was (absoLUTly more 'kid' centric then tv21 or the novels). It's still set in the TOS 'verse' though. ^^
Decent enough comics, though they tended to be more straight forward ^_^ All of the comics in Redan were new and original plots.
As ever, I have scans of almost all the comics (and novels) so if anyone wants to be able to read them, drop me a DM and I'll send ye a link ^^
Beresford is underrated. Also understimulated. Canal management PLEASE give this guy some enrichment and proper socialization so he stops picking up the rail traffic like dolls.
Anyway, I think he'd like books about geography and world travel.
Wrote a tiny thing, what should happen next, answers on a postcard...
Scott took in a huge breath, slumped back in the desk chair until the back of the seat tilted back, hands going up to his head to try and hold his brain in. He just needed five seconds and then he would be able to find some hidden reservoir of patience that would allow him to continue wading through the utter bullshit that currently filled his inbox. Triage, delegate, review and move on. Simple, calm, logical. He shifted one palm from where it was covering his left eye. Above him the cloudless blue visible through the vast glass ceiling was calling to him. He let his eyes settle into a focal distance further than his cursed inbox.
His moment of meditation was cut short though.
“How the hell did that get there?” He sat up with a jolt, causing the chair to flip forward. There on what should have been a pristine glass ceiling, maintained by a small army of external cleaning bots, was a bright yellow. Scott squinted to be sure, but there was absolutely no mistaking it.
Scott sighed, and let his head flop down onto the desk. It might take a little more than a few moments meditation for this one.
Since no divine intervention was forthcoming, Scott forced himself up from his seat and, with weary feet, crossed the room in a disappointingly few number of strides. Crossing the threshold, Scott let the sun warm him for a moment after the marginally cooler living area, then walked on.
Leaning down to grab an orange off the end of a sun lounger, tossing it up in the air and catching it once before launching it at the splash of colour darting the length of the pool. There was a “plunk” noise and the sun kissed head disappeared under the water. Scott would have been concerned if the same head hadn’t bobbed back up almost instantly like a cork from a bottle.
“What was that for?” a waterlogged voice asked, not exactly offended, more a request for clarification. A cynical soul would suggest that he was trying to find out exactly which particular crime he was currently being tried for.
Scott simply pointed to the sloping roof of the main living area.
Gordon wiped the wet hair away from his face and peered up at the roofline.
“Huh?”
Another empathic pointing finger, now with added eyebrow raise.
Gordon doggy paddled over to the poolside, and crossed his arms over the sun warmed stone.
“Ok, so is it a book, a film, a song? How many syllables?”
Scott folded his arms.
“Maybe a TV show?”
“On the roof, Gordon, why is it on the roof?”
“Genuinely, I have zero clue what you are talking about right now. Are you feeling ok there bro? Is the stress getting to you? Not feeling dizzy or smelling burnt toast are you?”
Scott grit it teeth together until he could hear his dentist's warnings in his ears and forced himself to unclench the muscles.
After a very forced calming breath, Scott didn’t feel confident enough to try for both coherent and polite words. So, instead, he waved his arms back towards the big glass doors. Gordon took the hint and pulled himself out of the water in one fluid movement. A towel was thrown at his head, and he lazily swiped at the worst of the water as he followed his brother's long strides back inside.
Scott stopped abruptly in the middle of the hardwood floor, and pointed skyward.
“That!” he said, all punctuation audible.
Gordon shielded his eyes with one hand to peer upward, towel valiantly clasped at his waist with the other hand.
“Is that…?”
“Yes. And I want to know why!?” Scott had folded his arms again.
“Yeah, why is that up there?”
“Thats what I’d like to know!”
“Oh great, well, you know, let me know when you find out, cos that’s weird.”
“Gordon, they are your swim shorts, that’s why I am asking you! Why are they up there?”
“Me? Why would I put them up there?” Gordon gave Scott a blank look.
“I Don't Know! But it's hardly out of character.” Scott practically spat out between gritted teeth.
“That is derogatory stereotyping Scott, I’m surprised at you, I expected better!”
“Gordon….!” was all but growled.
“I promise you Scott, I have no idea how my trunks ended up on the roof.” Gordon held one palm up to underline his oath
Scott raised one doubting eyebrow.
“I Promise! But, if you’re offering to crack out the jet pack or the grapple packs to go up and investigate, I’d quite like them back, they’re my favorites. Thanks!” Gordon clapped Scott on the shoulder and strolled back to the pool.
The internal screaming could be heard by Scott's long suffering ancestors.
The offending swimwear was eventually recovered from the roof. The cleaning bots were put on a few extra cleaning cycles after Scott left mucky footprints and a small singe mark after fluffing his landing on the curved surface. No more would have been said on the subject, barring the occasional sibling ribbing, if another item hadn’t found its way onto the roof.
“GOOOORRRDDDOON!” Scott's cry hit more octaves than anyone would have possible.
By some quirk of vocal projection and focused rage, it was even audible underwater, and Gordon came to the surface spluttering.
“I swear I never touched it, it wasn’t me, I’ve never ordered glitter, I don’t even know what it is and I haven’t been anywhere near your snack stash!” By the time he had swiped the worst of the water out of his eyes, and pulled himself out of the end of the pool, Scott was already standing ramrod straight in the middle of the lounge, pointing rigidly towards the ceiling.
“Oh,” Gordon trotted over, leaving puddles of water behind him, and squinted up to where his brother was pointing. “Nope, nothing to do with me, I swear.”
Scott directed the full force of his glare at his little brother.
“Thats not even mine! Why am I getting the laser death stare?”
“Are you trying to tell me that you had nothing to do with the sneaker currently on the roof?”
“Yeah, that's exactly what I am saying, it’s not even mine.”
“It’s yellow!” Scott let the accusation land.
“So’s the sun but you don’t see me claiming that!” Gordon exclaimed. “Theyre hightops, totally Alans.”
“But why would he put it up there?” Scott asked.
“Why would anyone?! But I’m still getting blamed! This is targeted discrimination Scott, I expected better of you of all people” Gordon tried his best disapproving look.
“You know the guilt thing only works when John does it.” Scott was unaffected.
Gordon shrugged, “It was worth a shot. I still had nothing to do with it though.”
“Fine,” Scott huffed, then fixed him with his best strong stare, “but if I find out it was you…..there will be ramifications.” He jabbed an accusing finger at Gordon's chest, but held back before making contact since Gordon was still dripping wet from the pool.
“Got it! Loud and clear” Gordon threw a sharp salute “…… So how are you gonna get it down?”
“Who says I’m gonna?”
“You clearly are, I give it six hours max before it gets to you” Gordon laughed.
……….It was 3 hours before Scott resorted to rigging up the climbing equipment off the rooflines tether points.
Three days passed, and Scott was starting to develop a slight twitch, looking up to the ceiling above the desk. Just checking, again.
On the forth day Scott jumped out of his skin as something thudded onto the glass ceiling above his head.
“What the F-Fudge?!” Unfolding himself from the brace position he had assumed automatically, fuelled by pure instinct and muscle memory, he peered cautiously up at the ceiling.
“What on earth?” Scott walked over to the sofas, still glancing up periodically up at the ceiling the check that he hadn’t imagined what his eyes were reporting to his brain. He picked up a scatter cushion and launched it at Gordon's head, where he was asleep with a pair of noise cancelling headphones encasing him in peaceful silence. Or at least, that was what Scott had assumed. When the headphones were dislodged by the lowflying soft furnishings an audio barrage of club classics were unleashed into the room.
Gordon pushed himself up onto an elbow and eloquently enquired as to what had caused the interruption to his beauty sleep: “Huh? What's up?”
“Tell me you’re seeing this?” Scott asked, not taking his eyes off the new roof top decoration.
“What is that?” Gordon got to his feet to stand next to Scott.
“A 6ft inflatable banana, I think. Partially deflated.”
Gordon turned his head 90 degrees to the side, “huh, oh yeah, that makes more sense than my guess.”
“Nothing about this makes sense. I don’t want to know what you thought, do I?”
“Probably not. Before you ask, no I didn’t do it, and no, it's not mine, and yes I am aware that it is Yellow.” Gordon marked each point off against a finger. “When did it get there?”
“Just now, while you were busy punishing your eardrums.”
“Hey! You wouldn’t say that if it was Virgil and Vivaldi.”
Scott raised a cynical eyebrow, “Spell it and I’ll be impressed.” he challenged.
Gordon raised his chin defiantly, took a big breath… “I…T,” and folded his arms across his chest triumphantly, having delivered the winning strike.
Scott slapped him around the back of the head, without ever taking his eyes off of the partially deflated fruit littering the outside of their home. “What are we going to do, smart ass?”
“Have you still got that Belay set up?” Gordon asked, but only got a shake of the head from Scott.
“I mean, how did it even get up there? It’s not even like it's been that windy.” Scott pondered out loud.
Gordon sniggered.
“Don’t you dare make a joke about Grandmas’ last bean casserole,” Scott shuddered, “I keep getting flashbacks whenever I hear the electric can opener, I think Max is doing it on purpose.”
Gordon patted his brother on the shoulder, Scott was right, it would have been a low blow even from him to joke about such things, Gordon shook his head to try and dislodge the memory.
Then inspiration struck. “Hey!” Gordon perked up instantly, “why don’t we get Alan to reprogramme the cleaning bots to just push it off the roof?”
“We probably shouldn’t interrupt his studies…” but Scott looked sorely tempted, “...we could maybe ask John..?”
“Yeah, and get that: ‘you’re using a state of the art communications satellite to order Pizza Gordon’ look?” His impression of John was uncanny, even down to the tilted hip and folded arms.
“Good point.” Scott nodded decisively, “ALLLLLLLLAN!” he bellowed up the stairs, volume and projection cultivated over years of airfields, football fields, and much to their parents annoyance in a crowded family home.
It had reached the five day mark, when Scott tripped over static furniture for the third time because his eyes were glued on the glass ceiling, and still the mystery persisted.
“What are you staring at?” Virgil asked, as he set his brother back on his feet, after catching him from a sudden encounter with the hardwood floor. He squinted up in the approximate direction Scott had been scowling, but nothing appeared amiss.
“Nothing,” Scott tried to brush the question off, just as he brushed his rumbled shirt back into place. Virgil wasn’t buying it, and was going to question further, when a solid thump hit the ceiling above their heads, causing them both to duck.
This half crouching position was how Gordon found them a split second later. He instantly crouched to a low squat and waddled across to them. “What are we doing?” he whispered as he got nearer, eager to be in on whatever the secret was.
Scott and Virgil, who had stayed crouching, confusion etched across their faces, as Gordon had meticulously crab stepped across the floor, finally straightened up and turned their attention to the ceiling.
Gordon followed the direction of their gaze. “Oh! It's back then?”
“Back?” Virgil sounded puzzled, and well he might, as high up on the curved glass ceiling, was a single yellow flip flop.
“Well, it was the right one before, and a sneaker, but same difference.” Gordon continued.
Virgil opened his mouth to ask Gordon a follow up question, thought better of it, shut his mouth and turned to Scott for an explanation instead.
Scott folded his arms, seriously, and addressed Virgil's non verbal query “apart from the banana of course,”
The resultant eyeroll could have risked serious muscle strain. “What?”
Scott just pointed at the garish yellow blot on the ceiling, as if that made up for all the detail that his answer had lacked.
Not for the first time Virgil questioned the gene pool that had birthed him.
“Jet pack, or belay?” Gordon asked Scott.
“Not the bots?” Scott asked.
“Can’t let the kid know he’s got too much power, his rates will go up. I still owe him another bag of sour mix for the last job.”
Scott nodded his head in sage agreement. “Fair point.”
Virgil scrubbed one hand over his face, but unfortunately his brothers were still there, and still not making any sense when his hand uncovered his eyes once more.
“Graple pack?” Scott offered.
“How good’s your aim, you smash a window and I am adjusting my dive data to make it very clear I wasn’t here.”
Scott thought for a moment, “fine, I hate that you are the voice of reason here.”
“I know, it tastes funny, I don’t like it,” Gordon stuck his tongue out like a cat who had encountered unexpected vegemite. “Ooh I have an idea!” And he ran away with an enthusiasm which I was concerning for anyone who knew him even remotely.
Virgil looked at Scott, Scott looked at Virgil, both silently questioning, neither receiving an answer. They waited.
Dainty stomping heralded the return of their younger brother, who came charging into the room wearing….snow boots?
“Brains’ stick-you-to-the-ceiling boots!” Gordon declared proudly, holding one leg up for inspection.
“You realise it's on the outside?” Asked Scott.
“Yeah, so gimme a boost” Gordon called over his shoulder as he strode out to the patio.
“ What are you doing?” Virgil asked, even though he knew the answer in his heart of hearts, he could hope that he was wrong just this once.
Even as Gordon turned to Scott and cried “uppies!”
Virgil eyed up the distance between the ground and the overhanging roofline, and the calculations were very simple, but apparently not as simple as his brother's.
Jeff Tracy had been a fan of sweeping architectural lines, “you're not going to reach.” He shouldn't have needed to point it out, but the pair still looked put out by the revelation.
“Well then, work the problem!” Gordon's impression of Scott's commander voice gave both Scott and Virgil a moment of quiet concern.
Rather than answer, Virgil turned and dragged the nearby picnic table across the patio.
“Atta boy!” Gordon clapped his hands excitedly and clambered onto the table, waving at Scott to join him.
Virgil winced as Gordon proceeded to clamber onto Scott's shoulders and then a little flailing later, managed to pull himself up onto the roof edge by his fingertips and one wildly flung leg.
“And the crowd goes wild!! Roooaaaarrrhh!” Gordon sat on the edge, legs crossed, revelling in his own triumph over statement architecture.
“Alright, get on with it Gordon, before Virgil realises he needs to write a risk assessment.” Scott shouted up.
Gordon saluted and scrambled to his feet, activating the boots as he straightened. Only a slight wobble made Virgil instinctively raise his hands to catch a brother, however futile the gesture was. The shout of “careful,” died on his lips as Gordon turned and started stomping up the glass slope. Thank goodness it was built to withstand Thunderbird size reverberations.
Gordon had just made it to the apex and was crouching down, a little awkwardly because of the boot, to grab the wayward footwear when a yellow baseball cap fell on him. Gordon squawked, and blindly batted the unknown attacker away from him.
Scott, watching from inside, shaded his eyes with one hand and squinted up. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Virgil, who was still outside on the terrace, and wasn’t trying to peer through a toughened glass ceiling was able to shed some proverbial light on the subject. He pointed sharply upward and imparted his wisdom on those around him, “BIRD!”, he bellowed.
Scott came outside to join his brother in the hope of furthering his own understanding of the situation: “I repeat; what the hell?”
Virgil continued rigidly pointing upwards. “That bird! There!”
Scott shrugged, and allowed his gaze to be turned in the direction Virgil demanded. Sure enough, with a little squinting, he could just pick out a circling bird high up in the troposphere.
In this time Gordon had trudged back to the roof edge, now wearing the sunbleached hat, and swinging the sandal from one finger. Parking his bum down and swinging his legs over the edge, he waved his hands to get the attention of either of his brothers below. “Uppies!”
“Pretty sure you mean downies?” Scott replied distractedly, eyes still trained on the circling bird.
“No, because that sounds stupid,” Gordon said, folding his arms.
“Arguably so does ‘Uppies’, and I’m not sure either is an actual word” Scott retorted, attention still mostly on the sky.
“Well I’m not asking John to find out, so can someone please just get me down?”
Virgil sighed the sigh of the hard put upon, and dragged the picnic bench across to Gordon's new location, because of course Gordon couldn’t possibly return to the same spot, that would be too much to ask for. Not for the first time, Virgil wondered about the percentage of his life that seemed to be occupied with scooping Gordon out of awkward locations. At least this time he didn’t need to play needle in a haystack with thunderbird 4 in the vast expanse of the ocean. The bench rumbled across the slabs, hopefully not leaving a visible mark, because Virgil planned to vehemently deny his involvement if asked.
Gordon was already rolling himself onto his stomach and lowering his legs over the side of the roof. Since Scott had made no move to come and assist, despite being a better height for the job, Virgil was forced to hastily scramble onto the tabletop, and attempt to catch a flying boot before it hit him in the head. Just an average Tuesday.
Once Gordon was safely back on solid ground, Scott clapped his hands and reassumed command of the situation. Coincidentally, once the actual work had been completed, Virgil's mutinous brain supplied.
“So, I think we’ve found our culprit!” Scott proudly proclaimed.
“Great, but what do we do now?” Gordon asked, “I still don’t fancy repeating that assault course every time a kleptomaniac bird finds something yellow.”
Scott frowned, deep in thought. “Could we get Brains to set up some sort of low frequency sound deterrent to keep the birds away.”
Virgil wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Tracy island without the background birdsong.
“Aren’t those usually set on a frequency that only teenagers can hear?” Gordon asked, “although obviously not a problem for you Scott,” and he ducked on instinct, despite Scott having nothing to hand to throw at him.
“Some sort of shielding?” Scott continued, deciding to ignore Gordon. A fairly well used tactic generally. “Although that bird was pretty high up, some sort of non-lethal localised beam? Like with the asteroids on ‘Alfie’?” The frown on Scott's face was deepening with each new thought.
“Like a light show wack-a-mole?” Gordon asked, not sounding impressed at the idea. Gordon was likely to be on Virgil's side of the fence when it came to a question of ecological habitats on the island.
Scott buried himself deeper in thought.
“How about a nesting box?” Virgil interjected, hoping to stop a permanent crater in Scott’s forehead. “We could paint it yellow?” he carried on, seeing a glimmer of interest in both his brothers faces.
“It’s gotta be worth a shot, right Scott?” Gordon was predictably on board as soon as a colour scheme was proposed.
Scott shrugged, “well it can’t hurt to try,” happy to concede to a better plan.
And so it was that Gordon found himself, 14 hours later, liberally splattered in yellow paint, ascending a tall tree half way up the dormant volcano. He adjusted the rope where it joined his harness and filed it all under the category of “unexpected benefits of living on a private island” also sometimes titled “stuff people don’t expect the rich kids to have to do.”
