#tbbirthdaychallenge

Birthday Challenge

Virgil Tracy

We have another birthday coming up!

So here are some prompts to play with to celebrate :D

There are twelve different ideas, one for each month of the year he is celebrating. (I only chose the number twelve because it was convenient and fit the idea, so in no way do you have do a challenge a month or anything like that. It’s just twelve challenges to choose from.)

You can do one or more, you can fic, you can art, the only requirement is that Virgil is in there somewhere. He doesn’t even have to star in the fic, but he has to be there. After all, it is his birthday.

15th August is in a week, but this challenge can just hover around that date and is purely for fun. If we can post stuff for next Sunday, yay, if not it is still fun to have new content at any time :D

Tag all entries with #TBBirthdayChallenge and #TBBirthdayChallenge2021

Other than that, no rules other than play nice and create stuff! So have at it and play with the Virg. :D

Nutty

(text version of the challenge list below the cut)

A fic for Virgil's birthday from an unusual point of view. Somewhat covering the "Outside POV" and "Virgil at Work" titles on the birthday challenge list.

Thank you @gumnut-logic for the read through, and for setting up this birthday event to prod me into finishing this one!

The sudden opening of my overhead hatch by remote access wakes me from my slumber. He’s coming. My pilot. There must be a situation. If it were anything else the hatch would have been opened manually, and if it were any other pilot it would be the lower hatch, not the one above my cockpit. He swings down from the end of his chute, his boots hit the checker plate of my cockpit floor and he reaches up to close the hatch. There is an automated close control, so he doesn’t have to do it by hand, but it is quicker and much more satisfying when he does. The solid thunk as it shuts both feels and sounds more secure, more reassuring than the slow, quiet, automatic closure. And it signals the unofficial beginning of our next adventure together. He smiles every time he pulls the hatch closed – there is a certain excitement in the urgency of a launch. Someone needs us, and we have to fly.

My pilot is unique. No one else treats me the way he does, or understands me like he does. He knows me better than any other human, more intimately than even the creator himself. The creator is the one responsible for my original design and build, but I suspect my pilot may have had a little input. He has certainly had a creative hand in upgrades and repairs, and prefers to do as much hands on maintenance work as he can, often working alongside the creator and his robotic assistant when he can’t complete the work on his own. The creator may well know every nut and bolt and wiring loom, every function and capability to the letter of the specifications, but my pilot knows I am more than a marvellous piece of engineering.

He knows me in the air – how I will respond to any weather conditions, any sudden changes, and every little twitch of my controls. My pilot knows my limits in practice, not just on paper and by the numbers. He will push me when it’s needed and knows when I have given all I can. We have nursed each other home battle-scarred and wounded on many an occasion. He will apologise whenever my abilities are stretched beyond capacity, whenever there is damage, and every time he needs to pull me apart for repairs. I don’t need the apologies. He takes care of me, and I will do my best to take care of him.

My pilot feels affection for me. He shows it in so many little ways, like the absent minded way he’ll trail his hand along the surface of my hull as he passes, or contentedly hum along with the rumble of my engines. It’s evident in the way he speaks to me. Barely audible whispers of greeting, or thanks for a job well done. Impassioned pleas to give just a little more in desperate times, often followed by relieved words of thanks accompanied by a loving rub of my dash, or forehead resting against a bulkhead with a relieved sigh once the crisis is over. He speaks to me in words of encouragement and praise. He believes in me and relies on me, and in return I will give him everything he asks of me. For him I will push my limits to do what he needs me to do, to get us all home safe.

He calls me beautiful. I know that I am not, but it is good to hear him say it. Strong and dependable I may be, but not beautiful – except perhaps in his eyes. I am not sleek and shiny like my sister ‘birds One and Three. Nor am I built for speed like them, but I am proud of my capabilities. Still one of the fastest machines in the air despite my grand size and considerable weight, I am versatile and able to carry just about any cargo imaginable. Sometimes I wish I could be faster, but I know that some things are more important. Without me it would be impossible to get specialised heavy equipment to where it is needed, my medical bay is the best equipped and largest in International Rescue’s fleet, and I am capable of carrying a large number of people to safety. If I were to fail in my duties it would make the job of my pilot and his colleagues immeasurably difficult. So, I must not fail.

He sings to me. When he’s working on repairs or maintenance, when he’s tidying the cockpit or restocking the medical supplies, or sometimes, when we’re flying alone. His voice resonates through my systems and reflects off my surfaces and harmonises with my own sounds. I like when he sings. He seems to do it when he’s happy, comfortable – content. None of the others ever sing to me. The Co-pilot – the one who belongs to Four – he sings sometimes, but it’s not the same. He seems to sing as a distraction, to change the prevailing mood in the cockpit, or just for his own entertainment. His singing is loud and raucous, but not necessarily bad.

Others have flown me when my pilot has been unable to. It is never the same. The Commander, One’s pilot, is always trying to rush me, wanting me to be something I am not. He is impatient with me and grumbles that I am not fast enough. He gets frustrated if I do not respond immediately to the slightest adjustment of my controls, and yet he will often take an extra fraction of a second to find the switch or lever he needs because he is used to flying a different ‘bird. I understand his sense of urgency, but flying for him is sometimes hard work, as though he is fighting me instead of working with me.

The Co-pilot, Four’s pilot is better. Four and I are like the closest of sisters in many ways. We are often called to work together as I am able to carry her to locations she cannot reach fast enough alone. As a result her pilot and mine work together often, and he gets to see first hand how my pilot handles my controls. When he is required to take over piloting duties he emulates what he has seen my pilot do, right down to voicing encouraging words when needed. He is a good pilot, but he lacks a little confidence in himself, as though he is afraid of doing something wrong and causing damage to another’s ‘bird. He means well and he is trying to connect with me on some level, but it is not the same as the partnership I have with my pilot.

The little one, Three’s pilot is somewhere in between those two. He has that nervousness about him, the fear of making a mistake flying a ‘bird that’s not his, and he seems to have a desire to prove himself so he’ll try and do things his way instead of feeling and listening to what I need. At the same time he is inclined to want to rush and expect me to respond more like One or Three instead of doing things my way, but he seems more comfortable adjusting his piloting style than the Commander is.

The other – the Voice from the stars – only really flies me remotely. I have no tangible connection with him. Remote piloting is clinical, calculated, precise and impersonal. He does not communicate directly with me through voice or touch, only electronics. He relies on numbers and sensor readings rather than human senses like my pilot does. I know it is necessary at times for this intangible Voice to take control this way, but it is a lonely way to fly.

My pilot’s strong hands are gentle, nimble and sure in their movements across my controls as he completes pre-flight procedures. The module we need for the job has been selected, loaded and secured into place – part of me, but not. The modules, the pods, the machines and equipment I carry are perhaps like accessories or clothing for a human – it is possible to fly without them, but they are still a part of my complete work-ready attire.

The hangar door is opening and we are rolling. My pilot gently caresses a hand across my dash and quietly utters “Here we go, girl.” The launch pad tilts and the countdown begins. I am a Thunderbird, and my engines rumble into a roar. I bring the thunder, and with my pilot, together we ride the lightning.

Summary: It’s the anniversary of their mother’s death, and Gordon takes John out for an adventure at sea, so unlike his home in the skies, and yet so connected. Genre: Family, Angst - Warning for grief over Mom’s death Characters: Gordon, John Words: 6K Also connected to John’s birthday month extravaganza -and I think I hit a few :) A/N: Thank you to @godsliltippy, @the-original-sineater​, and @gumnut-logic​ for the support and read throughs (the many versions of). This wouldn’t be as solid without you. Thank for, Thunderfam, for reading, and continuing to support me as I’ve worked through the last few weeks. It’s been rough, still ongoing, but this fic - and the excitement to share it with you - has been an important constant I’ve been able to fall back on.  There are a few key references made that I’d like to note - First  - This fic draws from a book I read as a young adult by Madeleine L’Engle, called A Ring of Endless Light. If you’ve read the book or her works you may recognize a few references. The name Eddington comes from an important character in her novels. 

Second - This fic also draws from Nutty’s Kermadec AU, and, through it’s evolution, just kind of kept sliding into it. I am calling this Kermadec AU-djacent. If you have not yet read “We’ll Be Home for Christmas” you should.  Thanks for letting me play around with the boys and concepts you’ve built, Nutty.  Third -  Skipper wiggled her way in and wouldn’t let go. So, as part of this story, you all get to meet Gordon’s puppy, inspired by this post here, which was a  commissioned gift from Tippy. 

Music: The title “lend me the courage of stars”  does, in fact, come from a song!  “Lend Me the Courage of Stars” - by Lights and Motion YT | Spotify No lyrics, just emotions, the genre is cinematic, and I so adore the build in this one.  Phew - that was a long one, thanks for reading. The fic in full will be over at Ao3, link below. I’ll get around to FF. Edit - FF added below :) ----- It was not a normal Tracy welcome home.

Usually, John came home to one of two scenarios. Either the whole family (and way too many people at once) met him in the hangar. And if Gordon had anything to say about it, he’d be there like a stranger at the airport waiting for their party, one LARGE sign: Looking for - Ginger with a Bagel. Or, Space Cadet Carrot Top. Or, John’s current favorite, Vulcan in Disguise.

That last one had Virgil’s handwriting all over it. 

Or, there was no one to greet him at all between rescues, maintenance work, and their own unique hobbies and passion projects. And, sure, it was sometimes a bit lonely in those cases, but there were advantages too. It gave him time to rest until he felt more human, and only then would he embark on a sibling scavenger hunt. 

Today, it had simply been Gordon who met him upon arrival, at 1100 hours, sans airport sign, greeting him with his usual squid hug, but with a bit more squeeze behind it than normal. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Gordon breathed into his shirt. “Terra firma not good enough for you?”

I’m so excited about this! They’re one of my fave TAG ships and I’m glad I was able to meet the deadline 🙌🏻

So, what inspired this fic was this moment:

Obviously Alan’s comment annoyed Kayo. But what if it stuck with her?

And then that giggle from when she’s talking to Rigby 😔 (and Alan’s worried face lol).

So this fic is very fluffy. There’s kissing. A little friendly competition with a water balloon toss and a three-legged race. Pen & Ink in the background.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32066857

Image source: https://twitter.com/tonys219/status/1046820392470556673

Virgil’s Birthday

Virgil sat in the sand wearing only his board shorts, squishing the sand between his toes after returning from his swim.

The waves lapped at the shore just a few metres away, crashing before receding in small ripples. The small fire he’d built smouldering in front of him, orange embers against the black coals.

The sun was setting, creating a rainbow of pinks and orange across the horizon, as Virgil stared out over the ocean.

He shivered slightly, poking at the fire with a stick and adding another log to keep it burning, before pulling his beach towel around his shoulders.

Its still his birthday here in the UK I'm not late

Using both Artist!Virgil and Virgil's Birthday from Nutty's challenge, I give you something from my brain.

V and B

Virgil re-read the email. Lower Marsh Street? 2am? Face covering? What the hell? He’d never met this artist in person but he’d enjoyed the piece they’d worked on together, images and ideas flying through the web. B (as the man/women only referred to themselves as) had contacted him, set him the outline of an idea and asked for Virgil’s input. Virgil had seen no harm in it and the idea had caught his imagination. The idea of using spay paint as the primary medium was novel, (to him anyway) he’d never used it himself. He’d thought about it but then there would be spray paint in Gordon’s easy reach and that would never end well. Ever polite Virgil said he would try but of course rescues took priority. And the 18th was his birthday after all. 2am London time was 1pm island time.

But two weeks later Virgil found himself finishing a rescue in Scotland just after midnight. Lady Penelope had already called, offering him a bed for the night stating “how distressing it was for him to be out on a rescue the night before him birthday”. He hadn’t the heart to inform her that as far as he was concerned it already was his birthday, the call had come in at 7am on the 18th island time and he’d travelled 11,426 miles west. So, as Gordon was found of saying he’d ‘turned back time’. By 11 hours this time making it 9pm on the 17th August when he’d arrived in Scotland. (If they went east it Gordon said ‘back to the future.’) Lady Penelope had promised him a birthday breakfast and presents. How could he resist her offer or his own curiosity? To say he hadn’t thought about B’s invitation would be a lie. He’d found himself absentmindedly sketching out their piece a few times over the past week. It wouldn’t hurt to go would it? Mind made up Virgil landed Thunderbird 2 on the Creighton-Ward estate, changed on board while calling a cab (no way was he waking Parker up) and lastly informed John where he was off to, promising to keep his coms on but giving his first youngest brother no further information.

Virgil arrived early and took the opportunity to walk Leake Street tunnel, he knew it was an established graffiti spot ever changing, but had never took the time to look for himself. It was interesting, a mix of different styles and abilities. Some pieces thoughtful, others not but all lived together (and on top of each other) here in this one space.

“V?”

Virgil stun round, spotting a man with a buff pulled up over his mouth and nose, the hood from his hoodie covering most of the rest of his face.

“B?”

“That’s me. Face covering mate.” It wasn’t a question as a buff was thrown Virgil’s way. He caught it without thinking but didn’t put it on. “Problem?”

“Well it’s just. Is this legal?”

B laughed, “More legal then I usually work. No worries if you don’t want to but I’ve got to get started. 2am round here isn’t all that quiet and I do have a secret identity to protect.”

Virgil pulled on the buff covering his nose and mouth as B had. Virgil’s eyes were wide, B, it couldn’t be? No way? Could he ask?

“Banksy?”

“Yer mate?”

Virgil swallowed, “What do you need me to do?”

The first two proper chapters are focused on Kayo's birthday. 🙂

I originally planned on doing so much more for @gumnut-logic‘s Kayo Birthday Challenge (I planned to do more for Kayos birthday in general since it’s the only one I’ve had time to produce something for so far!) but life sucks! 😞

I did manage to get this written though!

🖤🖤

She’d told them no fuss.

None.

And absolutely NO party.

She was their sister so they respected her wishes.

But they were her brothers, so they couldn’t just let it go.

It hadn’t taken Kayo long to realise what was going on when her alarm ‘malfunctioned’ and didn’t go off at six o’clock like she had set it; Allowing her to sleep in until she woke up naturally. And it definitely didn’t go unnoticed that breakfast was her favourite, hot, and fresh, and waiting for her when she made her way down to the kitchen.

The full breakfast table was the nicest surprise. Nobody missing on a rescue, nobody up in space and refusing to come down. Nobody skipping breakfast in place of another activity or sleeping the day away. It even included Penelope and Parker whose last minute visit had been suspiciously timed. Penelope had made a very unspecific, offhand comment about being tired of hopping from social engagement to social engagement when questioned.

But how they had managed to pull this part off, was beyond her.

It had been empty. Empty. When she had returned to her bedroom to shower and change after breakfast (waking up late had meant she’d joined Virgil and Alan in attending breakfast in pyjamas) the room had been just how she had left it. She wasn’t exactly known for taking long showers either.

So how on earth had the pile of presents that definitely were not there before managed to arrive on her bed, and so neatly too, without her noticing? They were all wrapped differently. A couple had ribbon and bows; two that were stuck together were adorned with brightly coloured fish; another was a gift bag practically exploding with star patterned tissue paper; one in silver and black striped paper was wrapped immaculately, the red one next to it was a little more crumpled and messy; the biggest was a large box in the middle sealed securely with duct tape but made pretty with a big green bow.

She sat down on the bed, spoilt for choice but drawn in by the biggest box. Before she had a chance to touch any of them though, there was a knock on her door. 

She paused, waiting for someone to enter like they usually did after knocking. But nothing happened.

Strange.

“Come in?” She called.

The only answer she received was another knock. 

“I said come in?!”

Another knock.

“Oh for…” Kayo grumbled, getting up from the bed.

She pulled the door open quickly, but she ended up being the startled one.

“Happy birthday!” 

Everyone was stood outside her door with MAX in the middle holding a very elaborate cake decorated with bright tropical flowers and a small fondant model of Thunderbird Shadow sitting on top. 

“But I…”

Scott was the first to give a smiling shrug.

“We know you didn’t want a fuss…” 

“But we couldn’t just let your birthday slide,” 

“Not without something special,” 

“And personally, I don’t think this counts as fuss!” 

“N-not at all!” 

“Simply cake and presents,”

“H’after all, it only comes around once a year,”

“So you’ve gotta have a little fun!”