Hello, tumblr and Thunderfam alike. I am clyde, or Starry, or Bird, or whatever else people may wish to call me.
I go by he/him and they/them, and I'm 23 years old, firmly cementing me in unc status.
Gerry Anderson shows are new territory for me, so excuse me if I don't know some things. I'm a big fan of the original 1965 Thunderbirds series, and I also quite enjoy Thunderbirds Are Go! and Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons.
DMs? Yes. @ posts? Yes. Yapping at me in reblogs or tags? Yes, yes, all yes. I am ready and eager to chat with fellow Thunderbirds fans, and the community reception here on tumblr has been so fantastic that I decided to make a whole separate sideblog to chat with people, so please. I don't bite!
As mentioned in my bio, I plan on posting my writing works related to Thunderbirds (or anything else Anderson show related) onto here, as well as onto my Ao3, StarryGatorr. Any and all comments are deeply appreciated. [Link to Ao3: StarryGatorr]
wow... It's been a minute! So sorry about seemingly dropping off the face of the earth, I've been busy with quite a few things (including but not limited to: work, a convention, and my undying hyperfixation on pokemon throttling me). hope you awesome folks here can forgive me and still look forward to what i've got in store
which, speaking of, let me post a little sneak peek preview of the fanfic i've been tossing around in my brain just to prove ive still got the braincells for it! lol
if any you guys have thoughts on this, let me know, and in the meanwhile i hope we thunderbirds enjoyers have been doing well
Summary: International Rescue has dealt with just about everything, from ancient pyramids containing fighter jet squadrons to swamp waters infested with giant mutated alligators. Very few of these strange happenings have ever been able to pull the whole of their organization out of business, but this time, they have little other choice when faced with the most bizarre circumstances they’ve yet to encounter.
After all, how are they supposed to pilot their crafts when they’ve all been turned into living, breathing, human girls?
Notes: guys. what is this. what am i even writing anymore
Ao3 Link: here
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Chapter 1 – One on One
The wilderness of Indonesia is, as expected of any rainforest far from the clutches of civilization, an unwelcoming environment. The air is hot and muggy with precipitation, the next rainstorm being surely just on the horizon, perhaps even within the next hour. Sharp, thin rays of sunlight pierce through the canopy above, illuminating the ground below in random spotlights. The trees are skinny and strangely uniform in places, creating the illusion of order, enough so that one might be lulled into a false sense of security right before getting themselves well and truly lost.
That is, unless they were following the hidden, scarcely-marked trail that Scott is currently slinking down.
He wipes a few beads of sweat off of his brow as he ducks under the branches of a towering bush, his other hand busy clutching his pistol. He’s barely five minutes out from Thunderbird 1, and yet when he glances behind himself, he sees no sign of the sleek silver craft he’d stepped out of moments ago in pursuit of his aggressor.
His brow furrows as he recalls the events leading up to now, steeling his resolve once more as he pushes forth through the underbrush and in the direction he’d seen that vermin scurry off towards. It’s bad enough that the man has photographic film of Thunderbirds 1 and 2, made all the worse by the people he’d endangered at that wildlife sanctuary by detonating an explosive on a cliffside and causing a landslide.
If only Penelope were able to get here sooner than he could. She and Parker would’ve had this mess sorted out before it turned into a wild chase into a jungle. Regardless, these are the cards they’ve been dealt, and it’s up to him to see what he can do to protect International Rescue’s anonymity while Virgil finds someplace to land Thunderbird 2.
A bend around a tree with a monstrously sized trunk and through another bush has him emerging on the other side of a clearing, one that bears a sight he can hardly believe. Sitting in front of him, with grass and vines nestled at its base and curled upon its stonework, as though it were a great beast laying in a bed of grass, is a strange altar of some kind. The canopy above shields it from the sight of the sky, and yet there is more light filtered in through here than there was the jungle before, clearing the shadows and bathing the altar in light. The bricks it is built of are made of some sort of tan, earthy material, perhaps a clay mixture, and there are intricate carvings inlaid in the stone that Scott does not recognize from any ancient civilization he knows of.
The altar’s base has steps leading onto its flat top, which is in and of itself extremely wide, enough so that one could reasonably fit a building on it. There looks to be some sort of raised platform in the center of it all, but before Scott can think to get a good look at it, he hears a faint rustle behind him.
He has his gun up in sync with the feeling of something hard put against his back. Then, he hears a distinct clicking noise. He grits his teeth.
“Bring him! Bring him here,” A voice commands from the center of the altar, to which Scott now recognizes the rat he’d been chasing. He assumes he had been hiding behind one of the four pillars surrounding the centermost platform, having only just stepped out now that Scott has been captured.
The muzzle of the gun presses into his spine, forcing him to walk forward. He does so, the gun being taken from his hand in the meanwhile. Up the few ancient steps he climbs, feeling the leaf litter and stray pebbles crunch under his boot as he does so.
A face littered with scars and marred by a sneer greets him. His bushy eyebrows and unkempt moustache do nothing to soften his face, which is currently turned to Scott.
“Hefh. Fool you are to have followed. This is good, though. You are going to witness!”
With a hand, he flourishes towards the platform, to which Scott looks and subsequently raises an eyebrow. On an ancient altar such as this, one might expect an assortment of items to be put upon the central podium–A sacrifice, perhaps, live or not. Blood or bones, should that be less gruesome. Gemstones. An idol statue.
None of those are what he finds, instead spotting wires and gadgetry of all sorts put upon the platform, including the camera he assumes was used to photograph their crafts. One particular piece of machinery sits in the middle of it all, a cylindrical thing with a dome on its top and a sharp, long needle in the center of the dome. All of the rest of the technology is plugged into it in some way, shape, or form, but Scott cannot for the life of him decipher what it is. He’s never seen anything like it.
“Listen, pal. I don’t know what you plan on doing with this high school science fair project, but–”
“Give life.”
He stops, eyebrow raising once more. The sneering man continues, his grin lessening somewhat as confusion pulls at his expression.
“Yes, give life to that without. Or no, was it make as though alive?”
The man’s eyes look directly behind Scott, and while he cannot see it, he feels the muzzle of the gun shift ever so slightly as the fellow holding him hostage shrugs. Why this distinction matters to these two is beyond him, and apparently, it is also beyond his adversary, who merely shrugs and smirks once more.
“Does not matter. Soon, we’ll have something better than photos… We will have the Thunderbirds!”
Scott’s eyes narrow at the other. So their real goal all along was to get a hold of the machines themselves, but how? Nothing he’s heard thus far makes any sense to him, and worse yet, it only gets more confusing as the man pulls his rucksack off and fishes something out from inside of it.
The book he produces is nothing short of a tome, its pages yellowed, its corners scratched, and its leather binding coarse. He flips it open, moving towards the platform and flipping for a certain page. Once he’s found it, he turns the centermost device on. The little machine whirs to life, lights blinking and a faint hum coming from it. After adjusting with a dial and tuning to what looks like a specific frequency, the man steps back and clears his throat.
What falls from his lips are noises that Scott might tentatively describe as words. They hold vowels and syllables, that much he is certain of, and they surely have some sort of meaning. However, at the same time, by some means he cannot grasp, they sound muted, as if traveling away from his ears before they can register what is actually being said. The closest comparison he could make is to that of hearing something from underwater, yet even that has more clarity.
And just as soon as the chanting had begun, it was over. Scott works his jaw side to side, popping his ears as best as he can without using his hands. All he is met with are the faint noises of the jungle; Wind caressing leaves and sending them dancing, insects buzzing, an animal’s howl carried by the trees from afar.
The man holding the book looks around, his expression slowly morphing. A scowl forms, his hands tightly gripping the book.
“It–Why?! What happened!? Where is it? Should they not be here?”
The other man behind Scott replies in a foreign language, to which the other fellow all but growls, raising his arms and tossing the tome to the ground. It hits the stone with a smack, dust and dirt particles flying into the air from the impact.
He isn’t sure what the man says next due to the language barrier, but given his tone, Scott can only assume it's something foul. The man behind him says something, perhaps trying to placate him, perhaps trying to figure out what to do next.
“You… International Rescue…” The one that had been holding the tome grits out, his eyes dark as he glowers at Scott. He meets his glare with one of his own, determined not to back down.
This may very well be the end for him, but he refuses to accept so until the last moment. That’s how International Rescue operates, after all. They don’t give up until it’s well and truly over.
He opens his mouth to say something, ready to try and bargain his way out, or if it seems like they plan to get rid of him, to try and make some sort of stand.
The sound of a gunshot drowns out his first word. The gun that had been put to Scott’s back disappears, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground behind him. In tandem, his head and the head of the man whip towards the source of the gunshot.
There’s a woman standing at the top of the steps with a pistol in her hand, eyes narrowed. She pulls the trigger twice more, missing once, allowing the man just enough time to roar in rage as he unholsters his own gun, only for the second bullet to land square between his eyebrows and send him into a crumpled heap.
With the gun still raised, Scott realizes he will have to jump out of the way soon and scrabble for his own pistol, which has landed next to the first felled man. However, no ensuing shot comes. Instead, the woman smirks.
“Nobody threatens my pilot!” She exclaims proudly before holstering her gun.
It is at this point that Scott feels he can finally admit that he has absolutely no idea what is going on anymore. Whatever guesses or theories he’d been crafting before have flown straight out of the metaphorical window, leaving him standing there and gawking at this young woman.
She steps towards him, allowing him a better view of her. Whoever she is, she looks to be about Alan’s age, perhaps younger, clearly new to the world of adulthood. Her facial features are sharp and angular, though her smile is kind, and framing her deep blue eyes are a smorgasbord of freckles. She looks to be a redhead, with hair even more orange than Gordon’s, though the brown and auburn throughout it make it appear more red than anything. Her hair is also absurdly short, to the point that it makes her look masculine.
However, even more absurd than her hair is her outfit. She is wearing solid gray boots with a light blue trim across them, her bare legs following right above them and leading into a pair of similarly blue shorts. Her shirt is gray and militaristic in appearance, with buttons up the center and pockets over both breasts, the long sleeves also ending in light blue. On one of the breast pockets is the International Rescue logo, on the same side and placed in the same spot where it is on Scott’s uniform; And perhaps, most damning of all, is her hat.
On her head is a bright red Garrison cap, fashioned exactly the same as his own. In fact, hers also has a black patch on the left side of it, but where his reads “IR” in silver letters, hers has two letters and a number: TB1.
With a blink, he finds his voice once more.
“Wh… Just who in the blazes are you?”
At this, she frowns, then shakes her head snappily.
“Never mind that,” She replies, before taking what looks to be a walkie-talkie off of her belt, opposite of her holster. With a press of a button, she turns it on and speaks into it. “Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1, repeat, Thunderbird 5 from Thunderbird 1. Do you copy?”
Upon receiving no reply, she frowns, then thumbs the dial on the side of the walkie-talkie and tries again.
“This is Thunderbird 2 from Thunderbird 1. Come in, Two.”
A beat passes, and before Scott has the chance to ask one of the many questions swimming about in his head right now, a feminine voice crackles through the speaker.
“This is Thunderbird 2. Hello, One. It’s nice to hear your voice for the first time.”
At this, the young woman smiles, looking at Scott with excitement.
“I’ve reached her!”
He opens his mouth, shuts it again, and then simply holds out his hand. Without hesitation, she places the walkie-talkie into his open palm. He raises it to his face.
“Excuse me, whoever you are, but you should not be in Thunderbird 2. Please exit the craft.”
There’s another brief moment of silence before the voice replies, sounding somewhat perplexed.
“In Thunderbird 2? What do you mean? I am–Oh, Virgil, hello. Did you want this? Scott is on the other end right now.”
Scot feels his pulse quicken upon hearing his brother’s name, which only returns back to normal once he hears his familiar voice speak to him.
“Hey there, Scott. Boy, we sure have gotten ourselves into it this time, haven’t we?”
“Virgil! Thank goodness you’re alright. Say, who was that you were with now? Just what is going on?”
“Well… If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s Thunderbird 2.”
“What? You mean she’s–”
He stops, realization dawning. Scott pulls the walkie-talkie away briefly, turning to stare at the young woman before him. She’s scanning their surroundings with vigilance, but the moment she notices he’s looking at her, she looks back to him with an eager smile. The silver letters of “TB1” on her cap flashes as they catch the sunlight.
“... Well, I’ll be.”
Yes, Virgil makes a good point. They have certainly gotten themselves into something strange this time around.
fellas... what do we say to my thoughts on making one of those thunderbirds rp ask blogs? I love scrolling through the tag and reading them all, and I fear i am inspired (or perhaps easily impressionable...)
specifically im thinking of making a blog for TOS john cough cough
Zayne uncovers an old photos when he was 8, going out to the beach with his pops to point at constellations and spot meteors burning up in the atmosphere
Starting off strong, i’m outing myself as a homestuck fan by posting what dream moons & classpects I think the Tracy boys would have…. for both continuities no less!
somehow, TAG was a lot more difficult to figure out than the og series. I wonder why that is? anywho, here they are! if anyone has their own thoughts to give on this matter then please do :3
i think this is it lads.... i dont have the brain power to continue posting for aitcm -w- still, i think i've done my job. 19 days of consecutive writing is pretty good, methinks, and has been a good challenge for me! especially considering i dont typically write shortform content, nor do i engage in prompt challenges or force myself to write this often
to appeal to the masses, i shall post the descriptions i had picked for the other days, and who knows? maybe i'll get around to writing some of these eventually, or even elaborate on some of the fics i've already written. either way, im proud to have come this far and not given up a week in like i suspected i might
without further ado, here are the rest of the prompts i had chosen:
Day 20: Battered | Lies | Munchausen by Proxy | “Where is my mom?” [TAG, Scott. This isn’t the first time Scott has attended Tracy Industries meetings with injuries sported on a rescue, and it certainly won’t be the last.]
Day 21: Car accident | Enemy to caretaker | Trespassing | “It’s a trap” [TOS, Tin-Tin. An unlikely reunion occurs between Tin-Tin and her half uncle.]
Day 22: Thrown out | Silent tears | Human Weapon | “Please” [TAG, Gordon. The Chaos Crew had taken Gordon for only a moment after shooting him down in the ocean. That brief period of time is enough to make a world of difference onboard the Zero-X, where a Gordon under the Hood’s control complicates things.]
Day 23: Brain trauma | Hiding | Caught Stealing | “Are you made of glass? [TOS, Gordon & Virgil. Idk lol]
Day 24: Fighting against Caretaker | Torn clothes | Sideways rain | “I wish you would just stop” [TAG, Scott & Alan. Alan refuses smothering from Scott after a rescue gone wrong, all because Scott wouldn’t let him do what he needed to.]
You challenged yourself, and achieved a great deal - and I bet meeting the challenge of writing in a different way to normal has also helped build new writing skills, and perhaps even taught you some new tricks.
And the prompts will always be there if you want to come back to write something for them later.
It's never a good idea to force yourself and risk a burnout (been there, done that, would not recommend). What you did write was amazing. 19 pieces is an achievement in itself! And like Kat says, you can always return to those prompts whenever you wish.
Thank you for sharing the stories you did! They were wonderful to read (I still need to catch up on a few I think!) 🎉
im so so grateful that people like these stories as much as they do… :,] makes me want to keep writing more of them! i hope people continue to enjoy what ive got cooking up
Warning: Swearing, stabbing, wound detail, blood warnings, medical procedures
——————
Helix snarled, feeling her control slip, making John squeeze his hands tighter around the engineers throat, she needed to shut him down, needed to shut him up, anything to stop John winning in their mental battle of control, feeling John thrashing and struggling for his own control, making it hard for Helix to keep him pinned down in his own mind
Hearing Zaynes gurgles, his throat bobbing against John's grip
"First date- the-the bioluminac beach-"
Memory's flooded her mind from John, standing with Zayne smiling leaning against the other watching the ocean crash against the beach, glow with each wave
She tried to it shut down, all these memories, the thoughts the feelings suddenly flooding her own, she was struggling to keep the Tracy under her grasp because of this damn bastard
Her grip loosening enough around Johns mind, which allowed John to ease his grip on Zaynes throat
"-Irst-days on Thunderbird 5" Zayne wheezed the memory, getting the space Elevator up, floating around the station, learning the systems the fundamentals getting the first calls made her head spin as with the other memories, the flood of information behind her eyelids
"Y-your brothers-Joh-n-ya dad!'
Images of each Tracy brother appeared, growing up together, laughing, crying, hearing their voices mixing like a cacophony in her own ears
Helix clutched here head practically feeling it buzz as she curled up, so much information, too much
———
John face went slack and slumped over, covering the astronaut beneath, Zayne grunted, coughing hard as hands were no longer around his throat
His attention going to John.
Rolling them both over, his vision swam as his fingers tingles shaking them to get away the feeling
"John..." He checked the other astronaut pulse finding it, weak but it was there
Likely the best thing for John
He heard the shuffling and mumbled from the room down the corridor, likely where John came from
Zayne exhaled looking down at John, standing up slowly, not to make his vision swim, getting John into the recovery position, cradling his head before making his way down to the room.
The door slid open with some effort, stumbling into the core of the facility
eyes on the monitors in the center of the room, beeps heard from the racks of servers it was colder in here, course it was it was full of servers.
He exhaled eyes flickering to the blood on the floor, close to the monitors, fresh likely from Helix
He heard the whisper of a movement behind him and turned, little too late
He saw the hand spit apart, becoming a claw of needles, he staggered as Helix slashed wide, making a screech against his helmet, leaving slashed marks in her wake
He staggered back as she advanced
"YOU RUINED EVERYTHING." She snarled slashing again, this time he ducked feeling the heat from her cybernetics just miss him
A rattle and he's yoinked off his feet, pinned against the wall, he struggled as the wires coiled around him like snakes, holding him tighter as he tried to struggle
Helix spat blood, stalking over, her circuit welders implants heating up as she slashed again, Zaynes head snapped to the side, feeling the heat against his skin as his visor smashed, feeling his face get cut from some of the shards
"YOU. ARE A BASTARD-"
She thrusted her arm
Zayne gasped as his side slowly became slick, his eyes widened glancing down seeing her claws sinking deeper into his side with a slick squelch of torn flesh, a faint sizzle from her soldering iron claws, blood slowly making his purple uniform darker as it stained the material, spreading downwards
He hiccups screwing his eyes shut in pain, as tears bubbled up at the edge of his vision
"But I want to make you beg for mercy before I take an Andersons life." She spat grinned, yanking her hand away, fingers clicking together
Zayne panted, struggling less now, feeling his blood oozing down his side, down his leg his shattered helmet flashing a glitched warning, he swallowed thickly, his blurred vision glancing towards her
As she laughed at the pinned astronaut, her cybernetics dripping with his blood
"Last words Mark?"
"You...you shouldn't..." He gasped
"I shouldn't really what?" She smirked
"You...shouldn't...forget...w-where you put your...toys..."
Her eyes widened in realisation and turned.
But it was already too late as John swung the pipe hard with what strength hes got left.
She staggered and dropped to the floor in a heap
And the wires loosened, dropped Zayne to the floor with a thud, John staggered using the pipe aid himself to get closer to Zayne
"Ze...come on..." John croaked, rolling Zayne onto his side helping to get to his hands and knees.
Zayne grabbed John's shoulder, as they both leant into the other panting hard.
Zayne holding his side as blood spilled freely from his trembling blood soaked fingers, splattering against the floor
"What...bout her?" He slurred
John exhaled
"Got an...idea..."
———
Zayne let Virgil fuss over him, half paying attention as the world was static, he was more worry for John, who was getting checked over by Brains to try and remove Helixs influence she has over his mind.
Now Helix, was locked up, high security in the GDF, thick lead lined walls to try and stop her mind control on John, she would be interrogated for information, the facility was also being checked over with a fine tooth comb for any information on Helixs ties to Scott or Alan's disappearance.
This, is likely the best news that International rescue has gotten in a while, a brother back, but still got a big hill to climb to get Scott or Alan back...or even a location
He cracked an eye open as the IV needle was inserted into the crook of his arm, eyes glancing up at the blood bag that was dangled from IV pole, watching Virgil work, his brow furrowed with concern
"I warned you to be careful Anderson." Virgil growled
"I was....I didn't know...she was there...with John..." Zayne wheezed out and Virgil slammed his hands onto the medical table, making the astronaut half jump and the table clang with the impact, the second eldest let out a slow breath, trying to keep himself grounded.
Before moving over to clean some of the cuts of Zaynes face, placing the plasters over the cuts
They both stayed silent, processing what has happend
"I'm sorry Virge..." He whispered
Virgile exhaled nodding
"Yeah...just-just...get some rest...I'll check on John's condition..."
He watched the bigger Tracy stand, heading towards the med bay door
Zayne was left in the silent hum, he leant his head back against the pillow, one hand curled up against his bandages side, taking a deep shakey breath
Everything was fine for now
They'll get the missing Tracys back
His eyes drooped, breathing out slowly, feeling sleep pull him under
i think this is it lads.... i dont have the brain power to continue posting for aitcm -w- still, i think i've done my job. 19 days of consecutive writing is pretty good, methinks, and has been a good challenge for me! especially considering i dont typically write shortform content, nor do i engage in prompt challenges or force myself to write this often
to appeal to the masses, i shall post the descriptions i had picked for the other days, and who knows? maybe i'll get around to writing some of these eventually, or even elaborate on some of the fics i've already written. either way, im proud to have come this far and not given up a week in like i suspected i might
without further ado, here are the rest of the prompts i had chosen:
Day 20: Battered | Lies | Munchausen by Proxy | “Where is my mom?” [TAG, Scott. This isn’t the first time Scott has attended Tracy Industries meetings with injuries sported on a rescue, and it certainly won’t be the last.]
Day 21: Car accident | Enemy to caretaker | Trespassing | “It’s a trap” [TOS, Tin-Tin. An unlikely reunion occurs between Tin-Tin and her half uncle.]
Day 22: Thrown out | Silent tears | Human Weapon | “Please” [TAG, Gordon. The Chaos Crew had taken Gordon for only a moment after shooting him down in the ocean. That brief period of time is enough to make a world of difference onboard the Zero-X, where a Gordon under the Hood’s control complicates things.]
Day 23: Brain trauma | Hiding | Caught Stealing | “Are you made of glass? [TOS, Gordon & Virgil. Idk lol]
Day 24: Fighting against Caretaker | Torn clothes | Sideways rain | “I wish you would just stop” [TAG, Scott & Alan. Alan refuses smothering from Scott after a rescue gone wrong, all because Scott wouldn’t let him do what he needed to.]
