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[weirdburketeer]

[weirdburketeer]

A scene

Attempted to write some fic tonight. Unfortunately I have no brain, so it isn’t great.

The original idea was sparked by the lovely @idontknowreallywhy whose cat is very fond of Scott Tracy. How that relates to this scrappy bit of fic is debatable, but that was the spark and this was the beginning of what I wrote…I have more, but it isn’t working very well…I need to revise it once I find my brain.

I’m posting this bit because I haven’t posted fic in over a week.

I hope you like these few words.

-0-0-0-

“Woah! Virg!”

Gordon yelped and John dove as the stream of flame shot out at them, his brain calculating exactly how much their uniforms could take when tackled by a flamethrower.

Not much.

He held his breath, curled up on the dirty concrete, waiting for the heat to hit.

But it didn’t.

He cracked an eye open to find Virgil still standing but wobbling unsteadily. The makeshift flamethrower, still dropping sparks, hung in his hands, limp but easily ready.

“Leave him alone!” Virgil screamed at them.

“Okay, okay.” Gordon uncurled slowly, holding up both his hands as if in surrender.

“You’re not hurting him anymore.” The words were almost whimpered. Virgil turned to look at the crumpled body behind him. “No one! No one! No one is going to hurt him anymore.”

John eyed his unconscious eldest brother, sprawled against the wall of the ancient warehouse. His face was a mess of bruises, his uniform torn, and it was obvious Virgil had done his best to bind an injured arm at some point. Dirt and grim blurred the blue of his uniform.

Virgil himself was clearly only barely on his feet. He was swaying where he stood, blood dripping down the side of his face. The flamethrower was a makeshift mass of steel canister and pipes, very much slapped together in a hurry.

His brother’s engineer brains in every line.

Gordon was looking at John for direction - he had command.

“Virgil?” John’s kept his voice quiet and gentle. “Virgil, we want to help. I want to help.”

Virgil turned towards John and peered at him as if he was trying to see through smoke. “Johnny?”

“Yes. You’re safe now. I-“

“No! No! Not again. Not again!” And John had to throw himself to the ground again as the flamethrower lit up, Virgil yelling incoherently at the top of his lungs.

TBC

[weirdburketeer]

😒

[weirdburketeer]

‘I close my eyes- only for a moment and the moments gone’

Is it the best thing I’ve drawn? Nah. Is it the worst? Not by a long shot!

[weirdburketeer]

A thing I’m toying with - maybe as a sequel to Presence… but I’m not sure as I suspect hallucination Scotty was the best bit of that one and so now he’s been banished it might just be a bit pedestrian. Hmm. Ah well, let me know if you think it’s worth pursuing?

💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚💙💚

Virgil pretended to be asleep until everyone had left and then quickly slipped out of bed and tiptoed the seven half-paces to the other bed in the room. This one was a more bulky structure and had many machines attached to it. He knew exactly what they all were and he did his utmost to ignore the readouts as the past few days had taught him that knowledge was not always power in his current situation.

He had never been so powerless, in fact. Nor so confused.

He both wanted to know and really REALLY didn’t want to know.

He perched on the chair his father had just vacated and rested his elbows on the fall-rail at the edge of the bed, propped his chin up on his hands and kept watch. From experience he knew his father wouldn’t be gone long. The man had probably just needed to use the facilities, hopefully have a shower. Virgil was fairly sure he hadn’t actually TOLD Dad how badly he needed to do that but wasn’t 100% certain… his face may have betrayed him at the end of that hug a short while ago.

There has been a lot of hugs from Dad since he’d moved up here. He was aware that the hospital staff weren’t happy about him being here but Dad had ranted in the hallway about duty of care and having the hospital administration hung out to dry over some security incident Virgil didn’t quite catch the details of.

The hugs had been good though. Dad had been there when Virgil woke disoriented and crying out for Scott and he’d held him so tight and stroked his hair and kissed him on the head. Then he’d helped Virgil over to sit in the chair by the other bed so he could hold his brother’s cannula-encumbered hand.

If only he knew why Scott wouldn’t wake up.

He knew he was sick, injured. He knew a lot of the technical details, the medical terms, the numbers… the statistics. He was trying to ignore all those.

What he didn’t know was WHY.

He felt like he should know, in fact he was sure he DID know, but the information floated just out of reach.

He was less fuzzy now. There had been another tense conversation between Dad and the staff about a stash of tablets inside a clock that Virgil wasn’t sure of the relevance of, but the upshot was he wasn’t being sedated anymore. One of the other tablets which they were weirdly insistent on checking he had swallowed was an antibiotic which he guessed was related to the nasty wound on his stomach… he couldn’t recall how he got that. Something to do with a window, they’d said but that made no sense as he’d snuck a look when they changed the dressing and it didn’t look like a glass cut at all. Nor would a glass cut require the tetanus booster he’d been given. So he must have misheard.

The others he knew to be two kinds of anti-psychotic medication. Which, he reasoned, was presumably why he was here. It would explain why his memory resembled a quilt of vividly oversaturated impressions, scattered thinly amongst an overwhelming palate of grey and fluffy interspersed with light-sucking heavyweight obsidian patches. When the doctor had raised an eyebrow at this description Virgil had sighed and summarised as “there are a lot of gaps” which had met with a sympathetic nod and some kind of reassuring nonsense. He hadn’t paid attention to said reassuring nonsense because he had been distracted by overhearing one of the nurses tending to his brother muttering to her colleague:

“Probably just as well”

Which was less than reassuring.

The only thing worse than worrying the voids in his memory were concealing something awful was knowing they definitely were.

Which brought Virgil back to why his brother was lying unresponsive and almost unrecognisable in front of him.

What if this was his fault?

[weirdburketeer]

Inspired by my own hair issues

Taming of the Curl

He stared in the mirror and sighed.

There was one spot on his head, near to the front, where a chunk of hair just wouldn't behave itself. Especially after a shower.

It just ... stuck out and refused to cooperate, no matter what he did.

A little water to tame it?

Nope

A comb ran vigorously through the wet hair

Heck no.

This ... was a renegade clump of hair, determined to ruin his brand new look.

Searching through his stash, he discovered that he'd ran out of hair gel and grandma was still working on the shopping list.

He couldn't go out looking like this, one stubborn curl sticking out like a ducks butt.

One thing for it.

He'd have to pinch some of Scott's industrial hair gel. That stuff was like nanocrete. Once on, it would stay there - permanently

Oh well

Yes, his original hairstyle was ... unique. But it took a lot of time and effort to make it look good. All those stubborn curls needed to be put into place.

So, it was time for a new look

Whilst he was sighing and frowning over that one particularly challenging curl, he didn't hear - or see for that matter - his bathroom door opening.

So he jumped when a hand came into his view, with a can of hair mousse.

"You can borrow mine ... if you want."

He blinked and looked at Kayo, surprised that she actually uses any sort of hair product. Especially a well known brand.

"That's if you don't mind smelling like a delicate flower," she shrugged with a devilish smirk, "I won't tell if you don't."

She popped the lid and pressed a blob of white fluffy mousse into her hand. The size of a small tangerine and waited.

"Your choice. This .... or that stuff that Scott uses that will never come out."

"Er."

She touched the errant curl with her free hand, he flushed brightly.

"O-kay ..." he said eventually, "but don't let Gordon get wind of this."

"Don't worry, he won't. I'm good at keeping secrets. Can I?"

He blinked momentarily then nodded.

She scooped some of the mousse and applied it gently, tugging the curl upwards and into the cockscomb spike he used to have. It obeyed her deft fingers and slotted into place.

He was surprised.

"How ... how did you do that?"

"A woman's touch. Besides, you've got to work with how your hair grows and moves.."

Her fingers moved so delicately through his hair, tweaking and cajoling each section.

"There, all done."

She stepped back and let him admire her work.

"I don't know what you were trying to do, but I like this style so much better. It suits your face shape."

She rinsed her hands, and turned to leave, pausing at the door.

"Besides," she said with a wink, "your helmet is designed around that style. Brains would have a field day trying to redesign protective headgear for you."

She waggled the canister in her hand.

"Just in case Gordon starts snooping around."

"Thanks Kayo."

"No problem, no problem at all ... Virgil."

And she was gone. He looked back at his own reflection and admired her handiwork.

Yep, she was right. It did suit him, and ... well ... serves him right for trying something new and radical.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

He's better off talking to Brains about new concepts and experimenting different styles when he had time to paint

[weirdburketeer]

Daily Dose of Thunderbirds

Eh, I missed a day, but provided writing instead :D

Today we have Alan and Kayo as requested by @kayokyrano2004

Nutty

(considering a late lunch)

I don’t own these images. They belong to the creators and license holders of Thunderbirds Are Go. I’m just sharing the joy.  

[weirdburketeer]

Recent photos: Jonathan, Rachel McAdams and Brian D’Arcy James at the Mary Jane opening party, more photos from Lindsay Mendez’s wedding from @mrpagoo, and photos from the Outer Critics Circle Award nominations. Mary Jane photos from Broadway World.

[weirdburketeer]

Kayo Kyrano ❤️ from Thunderbirds Are Go!

I saw that there was something called “Kapril” going around, where you draw Kayo in April. I decided to participate because I used to draw TAG characters all the time! 😭 I can’t believe it’s been eight years… if you had told me then that I would still be drawing TAG characters in 8 years… 🫠

I haven’t drawn her in sooo long 🙃

[weirdburketeer]

A Little Revenge

It had been intended as an escape from whatever doom was poised over his head.

Snorkelling or diving, even doing an inspection of Tracy Island’s underwater environs in Thunderbird Four was Gordon’s favourite way to avoid irate brothers, or, god forbid, grandmother or sister. Once Scott and Dad had gotten over their reflexive panic of ‘Gordon’s in the ocean; sharks are in the ocean. Oh-mi-god, Gordon’s gonna be eaten by a shark’, Gordon had more or less been left to roam their marine backyard at will, provided he took a variety of safety equipment and checked in at regular intervals with John on Thunderbird Five.

So when Gordon had announced he was going to spend the morning snorkelling on the northern reef, he hadn’t expected anyone to join him.

That his companion was Virgil was of particular concern.

His immediate older brother was a competent diver (Gordon had made sure everyone was safe in the water), and he did take an interest in the marine environment – although it usually took the form of raiding whatever footage Gordon had taken on his explorations and inspections for inspiration for new paintings or music. So it wasn’t totally unprecedented.

What worried Gordon was the fact that a week earlier, he had … miscalculated a prank designed to loosen up Virgil’s nerves (which the man could have used as musical instrument – probably a cello, given his size). Instead of a cute little brightly coloured foam volcano fizzing cheerfully from a tiny paint tin, it had somehow fermented into a seemingly never-ending explosive geyser hurling massive globs of foam throughout the lounge. And given Virgil’s preferred perch on the mezzanine, the fountain had an extra height advantage. It managed to coat liberal portions of the photovoltaic glass ceiling, only to then rain down onto everything below.

Of course, Alan had quickly dobbed Gordon in, playing Judas to save his own scrawny neck, and Eos had happily provided the film evidence. John evidently busy reviewing footage to ensure his own possessions were prank free.

An alarmingly magenta hued Scott had informed Gordon that Gordon would personally clean up all traces of the mess, with his toothbrush and tongue if he made one – just one, Gordon! – sound of protest.

Virgil had contented himself with collecting up his ruined canvas and disappearing to parts unknown, leaving his ruined boots at the edge of the contamination. His clothes had appeared in the laundry with everyone else’s, but the man himself didn’t put in an appearance until breakfast the next morning.

And Gordon had been walking on eggshells ever since. It had taken three days, working around rescues, to restore the lounge to its original colour scheme, and hoping Scott’s inspection wouldn't include free climbing the rock walls to ensure that the portions of the rough-hewn mountain not visible from the ground levels were cleaned.

And Virgil hadn’t said a word.

Well, not about the incident.

Scott raged, Grandma lectured, John threatened, Alan ‘duded’, Kayo’s mere presence threatened Gordon to even think about putting a foot out of line and Brains was, inevitably, oblivious to the whole affair. While Virgil … carried on as if nothing had happened.

Gordon wasn’t fooled, as calm and easy-going as Virgil was, there was no way he was going to let what had happened go without extracting revenge.

And Virgil was of the school of thought that held that revenge should be swift and proportional to the crime. So for it to have been a week since the ‘incident’ with no payback … it was uncharacteristic. And worrying.

So to say Gordon was nervous was an understatement.

So if Gordon spent rather longer than usual checking over Virgil’s gear before they got in the small boat to head around to the north of the Island, it was understandable. After all, he was going to be on the exact opposite side of the island from the rest of his family, with the one person who was currently out for his blood.

Other than the Hood.

And the Mechanic – man, did he have a thing about wrecking Gordon’s pride and joy!

And not to forget Parker.

And Sherbet.

But Virgil didn’t have anything sinister – like, for instance a length of chain, a large anchor and gallons of fish guts and blood for tying up aquanauts and enticing sharks to eat them. Just his regulation snorkelling gear, and his large semi-robotic underwater camera.

Gordon relaxed slightly. Virgil had been fiddling with upgrades to the camera rig recently, and obviously wanted to test out his current pet project.

So it was a somewhat more relaxed Gordon that steered the little electric motorboat out of the boat-house cavern and around the island, mooring the aptly named ‘Squids Getaway’ to the buoy fifty metres out from the edge of the reef.

One last check over of their gear, a quick reminder of the plan for the dive, and a mandatory status report to John, and they were over the side and into the water.

Gordon immediately headed shorewards to the reef, while Virgil spent a minute fussing over his camera, but he soon overtook Gordon, hitching a ride on the rig as it zizzed along to commence the path Virgil had programmed into it.

Gordon quickly caught up, pride refusing to let a brother beat him in the water, especially when said brother cheated, but quickly lost himself in his inspection of the reef, and the census he had planned on conducting.

It all quickly settled comfortably, Virgil cruised idly among the corals, popping up to the surface to breathe more frequently that Gordon needed to. All that muscle mass his brother sported might be a godsend on a rescue, but it was a liability underwater. But he quickly descended again and resumed his consideration of the reef, carefully not touching anything.

Gordon kept an eye out for Virgil, as he knew Virgil was keeping an eye out for him. The only problem that seemed to be occurring was Virgil’s dratted camera seemed to be following him, bursting into his peripheral vision from behind him with an annoying frequency. As Virgil meandered closer to him, Gordon reached out to tap his shoulder and flourished his divers slate at him. “Keep camera clear. Nearly bumps into me,” scrawled on it.

Virgil peered at the slate, flushed and signed ‘Sorry’, before pulling up his control unit and tapping at buttons. The camera immediately altered course, heading out into deeper water, before circling back around to Virgil’s side.

Gordon signed back ‘Thanks’, and ‘Carry on’, before returning to his census of the reef’s inhabitants. At first, it seemed to be going well, but gradually Gordon noticed that the various reef fishes seemed less shy than normal. Gordon thought it was curious, but decided that the inhabitants of this section of reef had become accustomed to his presence – after all, he had been focusing on this particular sector lately.

But then the fishes seemed to be crowding him, swarming around his head, darting in at him and then back again. In and out, in and out, the waters around his face and head seemed to have become a marine merry-go-round, fish darted in at his head, backed off away, and then joined a cue to come back to what appeared to be designated points to dart back at his head.

Gordon frowned. This was feeding behaviour. But what were they eating?

Gordon twisted in the water, looking for something behind him, but there was nothing there, just the ever increasing school of various fish.

He didn’t see the hāpuku coming.

The meter-long fish lunged into the school, mouth agape, and engulfed a largish fish in the crowd. As the hāpuku continued on its way, it slid past Gordon’s nose, as he turned his head to identify the large block of movement in his peripheral vision. It’s powerful tail slapped the snorkel out of his mouth, sending it spiralling down towards the seafloor.

Gordon grabbed at it, missed, and kicked immediately up for the surface.

Virgil surfaced a couple of dozen feet from him, his camera rig bobbing up beside him. Gordon immediately struck out towards him, quickly covering the distance.

“Did you get that?! Tell me you got that!” Gordon’s excitement was palpable.

“The groper slapping you upside the head? Yeah, I got that.”

Gordon frowned. “New Zealand waters, Virg. It’s hāpuku, not groper. Or wreckfish.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Cultural sensitivity.”

Virgil blinked. “Oh. Right.” He frowned. “Has that happened before?”

“Lost my snorkel? Hundreds of times. You know I buy them by the crate.”

“No, all the fish …” Virgil gestured a circle around his head.

Gordon frowned. “No,” he admitted. “That was weird. That was feeding behaviour, but what were they eating?” He ran a hand through his hair in confusion.

And brought his hand back in front of his face, staring at the greasy yellow goo that liberally coated his fingers. “What?”

He brought his hand to his face and sniffed, then incredulously stuck his tongue out and licked at the substance.

“Is this … spray cheese?” Gordon stared at Virgil in perplexity. His other hand reached back, and encountered more of the same.

Virgil grinned, his camera rose higher in the water, and tilted upwards. A second later a jet of spray cheese shot at Gordon’s face, hitting him square between the eyes.

Gordon’s jaw dropped, and he was in danger of taking on a lungful of seawater.

Virgil smirked. “Yup.”

“You …”

“Yup.”

“The camera …”

“Yup.”

Gordon stared, treading water as gobs of spray cheese dripped off his face.

Virgil edged closer to him, and put extra energy into his treading water, lifting him higher out of the water to loom over Gordon, his eyebrows creased into an ominous frown.

“A little taste of what will happen to you if you ever – repeat ever – mess with my paints again, Gordon. Understand me?”

Gordon gulped. “Yes, Virgil. I understand perfectly.”

“Good.” Virgil smirked. “I think it’s time we went home, don’t you?”

Gordon nodded, his eyes wide as he stared at his immediate older brother. Damn, Virgil could be scary when he wanted to.

Gordon more than agreed he had to get home.

He had some booby traps to defuse.

Before Virgil went back into his studio.

Notes:

I saw a throwaway line somewhere about feeding reef fish with ‘cheez whiz’. A couple of days later I thought, I bet Gordon would stick that on someone’s hair. And then I thought again ...

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the TOS or CGI Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

[weirdburketeer]

Little WIP of random Thursdayness

💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️💚❤️

The faintest throat clearance from behind spoke of a brother needing to interrupt but not wanting to interrupt. Virgil transitioned from the runs of chromatic semiquavers into something spacious and light to invite his brother to start a conversation.

“Virg?” There we go. Worked every time. Alan shuffled into view alongside the stool.

“Yeah Allie?”

There was a pause. Virgil cocked an eyebrow at his brother who immediately looked at the floor and scuffed at a barely noticeable mark.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what do you need?”

Alan began to pace back and forth along the length of the piano, precisely the way his eldest brother would when trying to marshal adequate words to express something difficult.

“Do you ever just get a Feeling that something’s… off?”

Virgil held back the urge to give comedic examples of Grandma’s cooking or any time spent in the company of a grinning Gordon because he was suddenly getting that exact Feeling and it was flowing off his little brother like dry ice.

“I do. Have you got any idea what’s caused it for you?”

The pacing intensified then Alan stopped suddenly and looked around before dropping his voice:

“So, I have this friend… she… uh, she’s an online friend…” he drifted off and looked at the floor again.

Virgil forcibly suppressed the temptation to jump to the kind of conclusion that would prompt either a patronising big brotherly grin or something akin to the Spanish Inquisition. He decided it was safest to keep his verbal contribution to a minimum.

“Okay?”

“I think she might be in trouble…”

[weirdburketeer]

WIP

Its not Wednesday but I am going SILLY and I need to share. In my wip I write Scott referring to his mum as 'mum', and Virgil using 'mama.' My second language is French and it got me thinking about an age old French debate about the opening line of L'etranger. In theory, this wip will eventually form part of Places Built for Leaving. Pls someone who also knows about French literature go feral with me over this metaphor HAHA

nine: aujourd'hui, maman est morte

The first book Virgil read in French was L’etranger.

Easy. Predictable. Maybe he wasn’t the first to get bogged down in the semantics of the opening line, but he certainly wouldn’t be the last, as he gazed down on its tauntingly simple form. Aujourd’hui, maman est morte. Today, ‘she’ died. The ‘she’ in question is up to interpretation. An intimate concession of parental love, its English equivalent always unreachable, and it strikes him as a particularly apt metaphor for his own family.

Today, your mother died, says grandma. Harsh. A simple fact, far too lost in the grief of losing her husband to care about the impact of her words.

Today, Mum died, says Scott and John. Older. Tired. Said with the burden of loss, both of one parent and childlike innocence.

Today, Mummy died, says Gordon, and Alan if he had the words. Children. They were just babies, really.  

Today, Mama died, says Virgil. He’s not sure what endears him to the younger form of the word but he still uses it to this day. Virgil prefers English translations that use the French maman, and if it didn’t fill him with memories of Scott, young and lost and deployed in Paris, he’d probably use it himself.

[weirdburketeer]

[weirdburketeer]

It’s still Wednesday somewhere, right? Have a little Whumpay…

The three men grinned, chinked glasses and downed them together. Scott turned to leave but stumbled a little. Virgil caught him and Scott turned to pat him on the shoulder. But the look on Scott’s face stopped him short.

‘Vir…V…’

And Scott was on the floor. And Virgil was tearing his shirt and tie off. And John was yelling at his comm.

[weirdburketeer]

This month my Tumblr turned one year old! Thank you Thunderfam for such a lovely welcome (seriously the best fandom!). It's been FAB getting to know you all. My notepad has never been fuller of WIPs that are in serious need of editing...and I love it!

Still my largest piece of art to date - Thunderbirds wall mural!

[weirdburketeer]

Of Model Planes and Kind Truths

More neurodivergent Scott and John, but as kids. They are both small and doing their best and trying to figure out how the world works. Lucy is here too and I love her and she's totally autistic too in my head. I wrote this ages ago and was only yesterday I was reminded of it and cheered on by the wonderful @janetm74 so I tidied it up to post!

---

Scott yelled at him because John said his model aeroplane didn't look like the one on the box. Which was true , the colours were all mixed together as Scott was too impatient to let them dry properly between painting and the whole frame was sort of squashed where it had fallen off of a table. Sticky globs of glue had adhered themselves to the wings providing most of the structural soundness. 

Scott had burst into tears when John pointed this all out. 

Their dad picked up Scott even though he was too big for it now and carried him out of the kitchen, leaving a bewildered John behind. Mum had to explain that words could upset people and Scotty was crying because he felt John was being mean to him. 

John attempted to explain. “But I didn't mean to be mean! I was just telling him, you and Dad always say to tell the truth.”

“Oh, little star. I know you didn't, but we can hurt people even when that isn't our intention.” 

Mum held out her hands and took John’s small ones in her own as his eyes welled up with tears. 

“You know what you can do to help make it better?” John shook his head as Mum continued. “Your brother worked very hard on making that plane. When you go apologise to him, can you think of some things to say that are kind and honest?”

John nodded, he could do that. He’d make this better.

In the lounge room, Scott sat on Dad’s lap, the model plane clutched to his chest. His face was all red and blotchy. John wiped his sleeve over his own face as Scott’s hurt and his hurt crumpled into a big black hole in his chest. He then flickered his hands at his sides.

John tiptoed across the carpet as it squished beneath his feet. Dad and Scott were looking at him; Dad was smiling a bit but his brother had frowny eyebrows. John stood in front of them, twisting his hands together anxiously. 

“I’m sorry I was mean about your plane. I wasn't trying to be. You worked really hard on it.” The words came out stilted and deliberate.

Now for something kind and true. John cast around for something to say, glancing about the room. Virgie had left their blocks on the floor, all set up in neat rainbow rows.

“It’s good because it’s makes you happy?” He told Scott. 

“And it’s swooshy.” John said it with all of the excitement of figuring out a new science problem, as the words now rushed out. “You painted it with lots of colours and I like colours and so do you. Mixing them together means even more colours!”

Scott’s mouth tipped up at the corners. “It’s okay. You were right, but it’s still cool. And yeah, it goes swoosh because it’s so fast!”

Scott swiped the toy plane through the air as if it was flying. John jumped back as it banked toward him. He followed it with his eyes as it dove and spun in Scott’s hands, as Scott jumped from Dad’s lap to run around the room with him, John matching his dips and turns like he was flying a space shuttle too until they were both grinning and everything was right again.

[weirdburketeer]

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