#ive been deep in painting zone so it was really nice to break away from it for a quick little ink and watercolor illo

[magnolia-sunrise]

the perfect tumblr ecosystem is my dear mutuals put knights sitting cuntily on my dashboard and i turn them into pics of medieval AU Wolfgang : )

[heavensmortuary]

@thunderstruck-owl-gal ok so like I made the story that goes along with my Mirage inktobers, specifically the one about the "Overgrown." prompt and it's finished!! (Also a little warning for some of my followers its a scary story so yknow)

I once went to the outskirts of Mirage. It was close enough to experience Mirage without actually going there. I found there was a number of motels to stay at if one was so desperate. I had had my fair share of musty mattresses and filthy showers, so I braced myself for whatever new horrors the motel had prepared, because these types of places are all different and yet the same in what could await you.

Tucking the key to my room into my pocket, I thanked the receptionist, who gave me a bored nod. The atmosphere was almost sleepy with it's drab pale blue walls crusted with brown, a few decorations of porcelain fish and poorly painted dolphins, and forest green carpet. It was a poor attempt at designing the motel as ocean themed, with the small windows and behind the motel happened to be waves not of water but of tall, sun-soaked grass. It took the farthest stretch of imagination to make someone believe they were anywhere near water.

I shut the door, threw my computer and folders onto the salmon pink bed, and to my suprise it didn't toss up dust into the air like a previous motel mattress had. The room was, surprisingly, very clean, even if the overall color palette was atrocious. I even dared to take off my hat and shoes, which had carried the dirt road inside with them, and sat them beside the desk.

Crispies, Jerky-tots, and Weehoo snacks made a great dinner; protein for at least a single good addition, carbs for sleep aids. I shut the computer, which hadn't subjected to slow Wi-Fi because there wasn't any Wi-Fi at all. No signal. Nothing. A dead zone.

I typed in silence for about two hours. "Ive just arrived just outside Mirage. I'm safe." I typed this just so it would send as soon as the computer regained signal. "Its a nice place. Kinda tacky, but at least not too gross."

Once in a while my eyes would drift over and look into the off-center eyes of the lamp shaped into a dolphin. I had drew the curtains because the sun had set, and the long grass fields outside my window reminded me of deep, murky water. I imagined the glass dolphin lamp with glowing eyes swimming through the grass, parting it into endless rows, it's glow just enough to see under him, but never ahead. I pulled the soft covers up towards my chin, and I kept the light on.

*Schhhh.* *thump.* *schhhhhh.* *thump.*

I woke up, bleary. *Schhhhh.* *thump.* I sat up confused. In the glow of the lamp there was nothing in the room. *Schhhh* *thump thump* The parking lot. Right outside of the door. The sound was like a broom was being dragged over a wooden floor, the bristles scraping over the surface. My skin crawled with the sensation. *Thump thump thud.* The noise cut off abruptly outside the door.

Who could be cleaning at...I checked my watch, which read 2:17 am. Shivers. I turned my attention towards the door. *Thump* It brushed the door, and something brown poured over the top of the door.

I couldn't help springing back on the bed, my back hitting the wall loudly. The brown stuff moved lightly, billowing in the current of air from the fan. It was hair. Brown, thick hair unflurled over the back of my room's door, brushing the ground and stopping its decent only when it had turned into a heap on the carpet. It rippled like a curtain, tangled.

I grabbed the dolphin lamp, still plugged into the wall. An absurd weapon, but perhaps it could deal more damage than a laptop. Pushing myself up from the jumble of pillows and blankets, I stood on the bed, jumping at the sound of the creaking mattress. The hair quivered with the sound and then the noise began. *SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH*

My heart went cold. The stratch echoed around the room, thrummed in my ears. It was if hundreds of clawed fingers ripped along the wood of the door, rapidly. Something that smelled of grease and pine wafted into the air, stagnant and thick.

*SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH*. It was trying to scratch through the door, peeling away splinters of wood.

I screamed, hurled some sort of obscenity at the door, and yelled, "Help! Something's breaking in! I'm gonna die!"

*SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH SCRITCH* The chipping and crackling of wood was deafening.

"Help me! I'm gonna-" The brown hair pulled upwards, rustling and winding up and under the door frame, and finally disappeared. The scratching stopped. Nothing except the song of the crickets flooded my ears.

When I had sat there for a few minutes, there was nothing. No sound of the monster retreating. Only silence. I stood up, which was difficult due to shaking, and crept towards the door. I breathed in, trying to ignore the smell that clung to the walls, convinced myself that I could shut the door at light speed if that thing greeted me behind it, and opened the door.

No monster stood there in the dimly lit parking lot. Instead, when I turned my head to the left, I saw a nightgown with a white poof shuffling towards me. I jumped, then caught myself when I realized it was a white haired lady pittering along in her slippers. "Are you alright? I heard an awful noise." She looked me over when she reached me, and then squinted into my pale face, "Was that you? Yelling and all?"

Nodding a little, a bit baffled at how normal everything felt after the weirdness I'd just experienced was, I scratched the back of my neck, "Yea that was me." I said, "Bad...dream."

The woman opened her mouth, then pursed her lips into a shrewd frown.

"Ok then, I'll go on back to bed." She turned back towards her room, started her slow shuffle.

"Wait. I wanted to ask you something." I said. She paused, looked me in the eye. "Have you seen, like, hair?" I realized this sounded *absurd*, but I was in too deep to turn back. "Not like my hair or your hair, but I mean gross hair that unfolds over your door. And really loud scratching. Like something is trying to claw through your door."

To my suprise, the woman didnt look too shocked. She waved out towards the field. "Yes. That sometimes happens. We don't really know who the fella is, but this has been going on for, what, 3 or 6 years? Haven't actually got a good look at him; he always disappears. Don't know where he came from, don't know when he'll leave," She gave me a gentle smile, as if to reassure me, "I should start putting up a sign at the front desk. But hopefully he'll check out soon." She turned back towards her room. I gazed at my own door, and realized there wasn't a single scratch on the white painted wood. I heard a soft click as the old woman locked her door.

I woke up tired. I spat hairs out of my mouth, stretched. Stopped and shuddered. Hairs. I wiped the stringy hair off of my face like cobwebs, gazed at the blankets with shock. Clumps of greasy, brown hair stuck to the end of the bed.

Hopefully he'll check out soon.

[gumnut-logic]

Prank War IV - You can’t stop the music!

Title: Prank War

Warm Rain Series

Author: Gumnut

6 - 8 Nov 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: it was war.

Word count: 3215 (Part IV) - Total 5098

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, crackfic

Timeline: After ‘Home’ and before ‘The Proposal’.

Author’s note: This is total crack. I blame a combination of the lurgy that is messing with my muse and @vegetacide who inadvertently asked for it.

From this conversation. 

Nutty: Are you requesting a whump? 😁

Veggie: No.. Not me.. I want one with fluffy unicorns and rainbow farts.. Lol

Nutty: Really??

And here is the last of the crazy :D I hope you enjoy it :D I’m feeling much better now :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Prank War I - Rainbows Prank War II - Jello Prank War III - The Unicorn

Prank War IV - You can’t stop the music!

It started with his alarm.

Usually Gordon was woken in the morning to the slowly increasing sounds of the ocean, a little whale song and a few waves crashing on the shore. It was a nice comforting way to slowly ease out of sleep. It gave him energy. It got him slowly geared up and into his morning routine.

AC/DC suddenly screaming out ‘Big Gun’ at the full volume his alarm was capable of didn’t quite have the same effect.

Gordon shot up and fell out of bed.

The floor was hard first thing in the morning.

As the song played out, he rolled over on the floor groaning. Okay, okay, I’m up. He aimed to turn it off. Somehow the alarm ended up in pieces on the floor.

Great.

He sat there for a moment and let his heart rate slow and his circulation catch up. There were only two possible reasons his alarm had done that...Virgil’s revenge...or, well, yeah, Virgil.

Gordon took a deep breath and stood up. He had no doubt there would be more. An altered alarm clock just did not add up to alginate in the pool.

He had to admit it. That had been some damn good revenge. It had taken days. Days. To get the stuff out of the pool. And for a good part of it, Virgil had sat on the balcony with a smirk on his face just watching Gordon dig it all out.

Alan had helped. Gordon loved his little brother.

Virgil, however.

He twisted his lips. Virgil was a challenge. Of course, the man was a loveable bear, and he couldn’t resist poking the bear.

It had just escalated recently.

Gordon reached for his swimwear and frowned.

What was that sound?

He made the movement again.

The sound happened again.

He grabbed his swimwear and began to change.

The sound became instrumental. Orchestral. Tuba? Trombone?

The theme from Jaws.

Each time Gordon moved, a strain from the theme echoed throughout his quarters. The faster he moved, the faster the music. The slower he moved, the more paced and threatening the music.

He looked about the room, but couldn’t see anything obvious that could be following his movements.

Experimentally, he walked into the bathroom.

“I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts...”

He yelped. It was at full volume and threw him back into his bedroom.

Jaws resumed.

Okay, Virgil, you smart ass, I’ll give you this, it’s creative.

Jaws followed him into his living room and out into the corridor with his towel.

When he hit the kitchen, the soundtrack switched to the Beatles and “Love Me Do.” Which wasn’t too bad, he didn’t mind the occasional Beatles track.

Moving out onto the patio, however, proved to be bit more of a challenge.

Italian Opera was never really considered motivational for swimming or any other kind of exercise. Between the smell of the slowly decaying alginate to the west of the pool and the accompanying music, Gordon’s exercise routine was cut short.

Returning to his room brought back Jaws, however his bathroom chose to sing ‘Agadoo’ during his shower.

On loop.

By the time he was fully dressed, he had just about reached his limit.

He activated his comms. “Virgil?”

“The Thunderbird you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the...” And his comms let off an awful screech.

Okay, so he jumped. He’d admit it. He was used to relying on the infallibility of IR equipment. But then if comms was involved with this, then that meant...

John.

He tapped his comms again.

“John?”

“You rang?”

Blink. “What are you doing?”

“Eating breakfast.” As if to prove it, there were some sloppy chewing sounds on the line.

“Are you siding with Virgil?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the prank war.”

“Is there a prank war? Sounds highly unprofessional.”

Gordon grit his teeth. “Which is why I’m finding it hard to believe that you are involved.”

“And what could you possibly think I have done?”

“There is music wherever I go.”

“Nope. That was totally Virg.” There were more chewing sounds. And a belch.

“Ugh, gross.”

“Better out than in.” Another burp. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What? Are you on something?”

“Thunderbird Five, but I thought you knew that.” And then the line cut off

“John? John!”

“The Thunderbird you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. Too bad, so sad, go eat a lemon.”

Okay, that left him trying to stare at his collar.

John was definitely in Virgil’s pocket.

Jaws once again followed him down the corridor, but upon entering the kitchen it switched to piano music.

Virgil’s piano music.

Kayo was sitting at the breakfast bar with a bowl of fruit salad. “Good morning, Gordon.”

“Hey, Tin.”

He chose to ignore the music, perhaps if he paid it no attention it would simply go away.

“This is truly a lovely piece of music. Virgil is quite talented.”

Gordon grit his teeth. “Yes. Yes, he is.” He dug the butter out of the refrigerator before diving into the bread bin.

“This piece is special.” An involuntary glance at his sister found her gazing somewhat dreamily at the ceiling, her fork waving a chunk of pineapple on its tines.” I was there for both the inspiration and the writing of this piece. It is written so well, I can hear the waves on the beach, feel the sand between my toes, his hands on my skin...”

Gordon dropped his butter knife and it clattered across the floor.

“Virgil is very good with his hands.” Tin’s smile was lascivious. “Of course, he does quite well with the rest of his body as well.”

Gordon stared at her.

“He has a very nice tongue.”

Gordon fled.

But it got worse.

The moment he hit the comms room, the music switched to the godawful ‘It’s a small world after all’.

If there was a song out there that promoted ripping ears out that was it.

“Ooh, I like this one.” And to Gordon’s horror, Alan, who had been sitting on the couch playing his computer game, started singing along.

“What? How? Whose side are you on?!”

“Huh? It’s a cool song.”

“It’s a horrible song. How can you possibly-?” This had to stop. “Where is Scott?”

“In Bermuda.”

Gordon blinked. “What?”

“He’s taken a weekend and gone to Bermuda. Apparently, he has wanted to go for a while.”

“How could he do that?”

Alan frowned. “He deserves a break, Gordon.” He turned back to his game. “Big Bro hardly ever gets to relax around here.”

“But what about International Rescue?”

“Eh, we’ll survive. Virgil and the rest of us are here.”

Virgil.

“Yes, and where exactly is Virgil?”

“Dunno. Probably still in bed. You know him, midnight to midday if he could.” And his brother started humming along to the damn song again.

Aaargh.

Okay, okay, take a deep breath. Get out of the house. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Cool.” Alan went back to his game, still humming that damn song.

-o-o-o-

Gordon set off along the cliff tops to the eastern side of the island, his shoulders still tense, muttering under his breath. For the first few steps he revelled in the sudden quiet, but just as he turned the corner, finally out of sight of the villa, a train whistle echoed amongst the rocks.

And a kids choir started singing.

We'll sing a song for Gordon

He's big, he's fast, he's proud

His paint is blue, so strong and true

And his whistle's really loud

The fastest train on Sodor

You can't forget his name,

So when we've sung for Gordon, well

Let's sing it once again.

 His jaw dropped. Oh god, no, not Thomas the frickin’ Tank Engine!

And the song looped.

Awwwgh. He had fists full of hair.

Young Alan had absolutely adored that damn program as a toddler, and when he discovered one of the engines had the same name as his big brother...

Oh, the ear worms.

Gordon rubbed his face in his hands.

But he kept walking. Maybe he could out pace it.

Halfway around the island, it faded out and Gordon sighed.

Then Virgil’s voice echoed amongst the rocks.

We’ll sing a song for Gordon

And torture his little ass

He comes in yellow, not so mellow

But in this war he’s last.

He is the biggest fish on Tracy

And you can’t forget his name

Because he simply will not let you

And he thinks it’s all a game.

But when you sing a song for Gordon

You have to know it’s true

He’s forgotten who he’s playing with

And big brother is two for two.

If he knows what is good for him

He will throw in the towel

And wave the flag of truce tonight

Before it gets really loud.

 Gordon had just a moment to consider that, yes, his brother could sing really well, before that too went on loop, bellowing out from a series of loudspeakers amongst the rocks.

It followed him the rest of the circumference of Tracy Island.

It wasn’t even ten am when he got back to the villa (the pool had switched to the Beatles ‘I wanna hold your hand’ as he walked through it) and already he felt he was going to lose it.

Jaws chased him up the staircases, but when he entered his rooms, Dory started encouraging him to ‘just keep swimming’.

Over and over again.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, nooooooooo......

In desperation, he jabbed his comms. “Scott?”

“The Thunderbird you are trying to contact is currently unavailable. You’ve driven him insane and he has fled to the Bermuda Triangle.” Twilight Zone music danced with Dory.

“John?”

“Yo?”

“What can I offer you to make this stop?”

“Make what stop?”

“The music!”

“Oh, you can’t stop the music...” And John was singing another ear worm and his singing skill definitely wasn’t up there with Virgil’s. “Nobody can stop the music!”

“Oh, for the love of god!”

“Is something wrong, Gordon?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“I am. He’s had it. This is beyond the rule book.”

“Nope. Sorry. Not going to happen.”

“Watch me.”

“Okay then. You might want to check out your balcony.”

“My balcony?”

“Oh, yeah, baby.”

Gordon was attempting to stare at his collar again.

“Go on, I haven’t got all day. Important rescue calls to be sorted.”

Against his better judgement, Gordon stepped through the double doors and out onto his balcony.

“The hills are alive with the sound of music!”

Julie Andrews. Echoing across the Tracy Island volcano.

“Take a look downstairs.” John was smug, there was no other word for it.

On the side lawn, Grandma was twirling.

Twirling to Julie Andrews.

Gordon fled to Dory.

“Why, John?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you side with Virgil? You’re the middle kid, the casting vote. What did I ever do to you?”

“I have a list, Gordon.”

“Really?”

“A long list.”

“Okay, but c’mon, I’m the prankster in this family. It is to be expected. Before the pool, I don’t think he ever even thought of pranking anyone.”

“Point One to the Virg.”

“Are you sure you’re not smoking something up there?”

“Thunderbird Five is a non-smoking habitat. Unless it is on fire.”

Blink. “Okay. You sure it is not on fire?”

“You may be the prankster Gordon, but you forgot one very important fact.”

“What?”

“Virgil is an engineer. A fully qualified and creative engineer. And you pissed him off.”

Another blink. “Okay, you may have a point.”

“Oh, and although traditionally Virgil is the kind of guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly, he has a girlfriend who would be quite capable of stringing you up by your eyelids.”

Now that was an image that hurt.

“So, you see, little brother, logic dictates that if I want to keep my eyelids intact and my Thunderbird in one piece, I’m sticking with the pissed off engineer.” A pause. “You are, of course, welcome to join us on the not so dark side. All it takes is the waving of that little white towel or flag. Do you have a white pair of underwear? I’m sure Virgil will accept those if they are clean.”

“Where is he?” It was low, it was dark.

“Oh, where you won’t think to look.”

“John, you suck.”

“Such rumours, young padawan.”

Yet another blink and he shivered, cutting off the connection.

So, Virgil was a smart ass engineer, huh?

There is more than one engineer on this island, and the other one has a smarter ass!

Gordon grimaced at that thought. It didn’t quite come out the way he had intended.

The music followed him down to Brains’ labs, alternating between two of the most annoying advertising jingles ever composed.

The door to the labs was shut. It was locked. It had a great big sign on it.

‘For the duration of the current argument, these labs are a Tracy-free zone. Keep Out.’

Gordon muttered under his breath and reached for the button to activate the door anyway.

A whirring of wheels and suddenly MAX was in his face.

Glaring at him.

Gordon flung his hands up in defence. “Okay, okay. I get the message.” Another threatening whir. “I’m going. I’m going.”

As he turned around, Elvis started crooning Jailhouse Rock.

Okay, so that one wasn’t so bad.

He stomped off to plan B.

The hangers and Thunderbird Four.

He never knew that the cavernous Thunderbird Two hanger was so acoustic. But then it may have sounded better if it wasn’t screaming ABBA’s Dancing Queen off all the technology housed inside it.

He hated ABBA with a passion. It may have had something to do with John liking it, a lot, all through yet another revival during his teenage years. God forbid if it switched to Mamma Mia.

Which, of course, it did.

Virgil obviously knew him very well.

He clambered into Module Four, sighing in relief as it closed and dampened the echoed out in the hangar. He then threw himself into TB4, sealing her hatch behind him. Ah, blessed silence.

He closed his eyes and simply breathed out.

“Badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger, badger...”

It was so quiet, he didn’t hear it at first, but it slowly increased in volume until it was just distinct enough that he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Mushroom, mushroom!”

“Badger, badger, badger...”

What’s with the badgers?

“IT’S A SNAKE! IT’S A SNAAAAKE!”

Gordon yelped and almost fell out of his chair. Oh god.

And it was badgering again.

It only took three more screamed snakes to have him stumbling out of his little sub.

Okay, Virgil, I admit it. You’re good.

-o-o-o-

He went boating and snorkeling that afternoon.

And discovered that not only had Virgil rigged the boat, but he had also added music to the fishing equipment and his snorkel and mask. How the hell he had managed that, Gordon had spent an hour going over said mask and snorkel failing to work out how.

There may have been tears of frustration at one point.

He spent the entirety of his boat trip home ‘Row, row, rowing his boat gently down the stream’, but it wasn’t the crocodile that made him want to scream.

By six o’clock he was ready to give in. He had a headache, his ear worms were breeding in his brain and, for the love of god, could he please have some peace and quiet?

John was useless.

Scott had migrated to another country.

Alan...Alan had disappeared. He would be slightly worried, but this was Virgil, he had a moral code, and Alan was easily distracted. Gordon himself had used candy in the past.

Kayo...well, her allegiance was obvious. And her commentary on Virgil’s music...he so wasn’t going there again.

Brains was Switzerland. If Switzerland had robotic defences and didn’t let anyone in.

Grandma was still excited about the volcano spouting Julie Andrews. Who knew she would be such a fan. The movie had been made over fifty years before she had been born.

That left Virgil the evil demonic overload of all this musical hell.

And Shirley.

Gordon had managed to find one small niche of the island that was music free. The small grassed area where they had constructed a little pen for Shirley the pony. Obviously Virgil was above torturing wannabe unicorns. He sat with Shirley for two hours while the miniature horse chewed on his shirt.

Despite this, the music continued in his head. Particularly that Thomas the Tank Engine torture device, except now the original lyrics kept warping into his brother’s voice.

Surrender was apparently the only option.

So, it was with red faced annoyance, temper and humiliation that he climbed the stairs to the residential areas and knocked on Virgil’s door.

As John had said. It was the last place he had looked.

Perhaps because that was where he knew he would find him.

“Come in.”

The room was dark when he entered, lit only by the lights in the corridor and some faint light from the long set sun. The music of choice in the corridor had returned to its preferred Jaws theme.

“Close the door behind you.”

He did as he was told. And discovered the second music free spot on the island. Oh god, blessed silence.

“Hello, Gordon.”

His brother appeared out of the shadows by the window, his outline only lit by that pink sunset remnant. It made him look large and mysterious. Far from the gentle artistic demonic overlord he knew him to be.

“Please make it stop.”

“It already has.”

“What?”

You only had to come to see me to get it to stop. I’m surprised you lasted this long.” He sighed. “In fact, it worries me. Does this prank war mean that much to you?”

Gordon blinked. “What?”

“I thought we were closer as brothers than a petty prank fest. That you would rather suffer than simply come and ask me to stop...Gords, really?”

“It’s war.”

“You started it.”

“Yeah, that was hilarious.” A grin.

He didn’t need to see his brother’s eyes to know he had rolled them. “For some.” A sigh. “Well, the fun is now over.”

“Why? I owe you big time, bro.”

He saw his brother move and suddenly the room was filled with ‘It’s a small world after all.” Gordon flinched. “Okay, okay, I get the message.” The music stopped.

“Anytime, Gordon, anytime, and it can all start again. I have ABBA’s complete collection at my disposal.”

Disposal was the right word. He was going to kill John.

“And it’s not John’s.”

Wha-?

“It’s Kay’s.”

Shit.

“Virgil, love, come back to bed.”

Speak of the devil, and Tin walked into the room, turning on the light.

Gordon blinked. Virgil was shirtless. Kayo was in a short, very short, negligee, a silky green one.

“Gordon, you’re staring.” Tin smiled that same smile she had weaponised at breakfast, leant over and licked Virgil’s ear.

Gordon shuddered.

“I-I’ll be going.”

Tin smiled again. “You do that.”

“Virg?”

“Yes, Gordon.” He was kissing Tin’s nose.

“You win.”

“I know.”

Gordon fled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.