#this was way too plain so i tried adding some borders around it but it looked baaad

[identitycrisps]

local good boy took me several months to post

[snek-panini]

It is Monday, and that means books! This is the series Summer of 1969 Road Trip by Princip1914. It's a fantastic story, absolutely full of longing and mid-century Americana vibes, and by far the shortest thing I've ever bound at just over 6k words over 48 pages. It's tiny. I was stumped on how to do the cover for a bit until I realized that a quarto-sized sheet of regular printer paper is about the same size as a polaroid photo, with a nice plain border to write the title in, and it fit the feel of the story so well I had to do it. It's one of the most complicated covers I've ever done. There's a layer of thin chipboard with a square hole cut it in, with this thick white paper wrapped around it, and there's a thicker board with this era-appropriate photo glued to the front of it, and then you line up the hole with the photo, sandwich them together and glue the outer edge of the white paper down around all the layers. Then I attached it to the text block and did the HTV for the title text. So many layers. But so very worth it, it's exactly what I wanted.

More pics under the cut! This one's super cute but it was challenging.

The endpapers are scrapbook paper printed with maps of the US. I saw them and knew they'd be perfect and I was right. There were come complications, though--that black border was not in the original plans. A couple of weeks ago I posted about making a case too big and then casing in the text block too far forward so it didn't open correctly. That was this book. I had to carefully peel up the endpapers from the case (only the back one came up; the front one had to be cut out and replaced entirely), then re-glue it further back. But the peeling process left some residue on the white cover paper, so I added some black cardstock to cover that before I tried casing in again. The case has a little bit of skew that wouldn't have been obvious if not for this mishap, but the black layer makes it really stand out, especially in the front. My other option would have been remaking the case entirely, but this was the second to last step and I decided to just live with it. It's handmade, and it's going to have imperfections. I think it's cute.

Top view. Very skinny. So skinny I was worried I wouldn't be able to do endbands and a bookmark like I usually do. I really like having those features, they make the book feel finished and professional, so I was glad they worked out. Was challenging to cut the endbands that small, though. I kept worrying I'd drop one and never see it again.

Interior images. I had fun playing with fonts on this one. I wanted the story titles to be fully in the fancy font but they looked really weird that way. The stories in this series are short but have very long titles, and since it's a quarto size book I scaled the fonts all down a little from what I use on the folio books. The fancy font was just too busy and crowded for the whole title at this size. This was my solution and I actually really like it, it looks so nice.

As cute as the results are, and as much as I love them and this story, I'm not sure I'll do another this length with this kind of flat-backed binding. It really was a challenge getting all the measurements right. I may learn another style for doing short fics in the future. Nonetheless, rarely has a book come out looking so close to what I pictured when I first start planning it, and I'm super proud of that complicated cover even though it was a bastard to put together.

That's it! I hope you like it, @princip1914!

[allovertheworldblog]

Journey across Australia

Before I left New Caledonia I tried to figure out how I’d travel around Australia and how much of it I’d be able to see.

I ended up with the conclusion that Australia is one big country and that it’s expensive too.

One bus company website I was looking up was quoting over $300 AUD to travel from Brisbane to Cairns.

I was in shock.

When I got to Brisbane I got to talking to other backpackers.

Some had used busses to travel up and down the coast, others had used websites to find other travelers and share expenses, hire car costs and petrol.

That seemed like a good idea.

In the meantime I was in Brisbane, capital of the State of Queensland.

The city was hosting annual Brisbane Festival.

Many of the events held during the festival were paid, but some weren’t, the fun ones.

A free nightly light and laser show was held on the river front. 

One day I happened to see an ad by an Irish guy who was going all the way across the country.

Was he mad?, was the trip even possible?

I met up with him, he seemed like a decent guy.

We set off a few days later.

On September 13th 2011 we leave Brisbane at 06.25.

Traffic in the city is busy enough. 

We see the first kangaroo early in the morning when the day is still beginning then nothing but dead ones on the side of the road.

Kangaroo are a nocturnal animal, something I didn’t know before. 

The number of vehicles on the road become less as the day goes on.

We pass through Warwick and Goondiwindi.

After that we enter the State of New South Wales.

We decide to call it a night in the small village of Louth, which is in the middle of nowhere, literally. 

The village, I’m not sure if you can even call it that, has a population of 34 people.

I ask the landlady in the pub (that is also a restaurant, Royal Flying Doctors contact point, shop, meeting place) if Louth is the world or if the world is something that happens somewhere else.

'No’, she assures me Louth is definitely part of the world.

Earlier when we were driving into Louth with the sun going down the kangaroo had been visible on the road and in the fields beside it, live kangaroo, jumping pretty high.

That night we sleep in the car.

I wake a couple of times with the cold, my nose is fit to fall of it’s so cold.

We set off the next day at 06.20, again with live kangaroo jumping about the place. We drive through Broken Hill and pass into the State of South Australia. 

An older couple who are travelling in the opposite direction stop and ask if we need any help when we have some car trouble.

They’re on their way home after spending three and a half months touring around the country in their caravan, a common enough sight. 

They’re only going home as they want to see their grandkids again. They put us back on the road.

That evening we stop in Kimba, which they say is 'halfway across Australia’.

The caravan park which charges $10 AUD per person is a welcome sight, with free showers included. 

The next day we set off at 06.05. We come to Ceduna on the ocean, later we cross the Nullarbor Plain, the Treeless Plain.

At the border into the State of Western Australia (WA) we’re questioned if we have any fruit, as there’s a prohibition on bringing it over the border in WA. 

Mark, the Irish guy I’m travelling with, describes the inspector on the border as a 'cross wee woman’.

He was that alright.

That night we set down in another caravan park.

But in this one everything costs extra, no free shower. 

The next morning we set off at 05.00 to try to get the final leg done in that day.

We stop at the fly-ridden Head Of The Great Australian Bight to catch a glimpse of some whales.

Mark leaves me off in the old mining town of Norseman and I catch a bus to Kalgoorlie, where I connect with the train that takes me to Perth.

On the train I buy perfectly ugly overpriced microwave meal that hasn’t even been heated properly. 

We get to Perth just before 22.00.

The hostels are full and I have to check in to a hotel.

This isn’t doing anything to make me like Perth.

Thanks once again Mark if you’re reading this, it was a great trip and a great way to see the real Australia.

[marvelatthetwilight]

Quiet minds

⬅️ Part one: Like minds

The week started like any other. You drove into school with Edward as usual, your other siblings driving in Rosalie’s convertible. The car journey was the last opportunity for the two of you to have some peace, and you both sat in silence listening to music, readying yourselves for the inane chatter and thoughts of your fellow students.

Following your “intervention”, your friendship with Mike had improved, he no longer sought a relationship with you, and had stopped trying to ask you on dates. As an added bonus, Carlisle hadn’t caught on that you had used that part of your gift and Edward had sworn to secrecy, so everything had worked out fine. You had, however, promised to sit with him at lunch today and spend time with him and his friends. Mike seemed to think that hanging out with a Cullen would gain him bragging rights and a cooler status with the girls of Forks High School. Edward, of course, thought this was an awful idea, but Alice couldn’t foresee any issues and so you agreed.

The school was buzzing with anticipation about a new student, Isabella Swan, (or Bella as you had heard) the chief of police’s daughter. As you make your way over to Mike’s table at lunch, all thoughts are focused on Bella, so Mike’s friends don’t notice you until Mike announces your arrival.

“Y/N! Welcome to my table!” Mike announced as you began to sit down next to him.

“Er, yeah, thanks, hi everyone.” You glance around at the shocked faces around you.

Why would a Cullen want to sit with us?

Don’t they all sit together?

You attempt to block out the thoughts and focus on the faces in front of you. Eric Yorkie, Angela Webber and Lauren Mallory all stare at you with mouths hanging open.

Jessica is going to freak OUT. Lauren thinks as she glances around looking for her friend.

“I didn’t think he could do it, but he did. It’s so great to properly meet you Y/N, I’m Eric, we have biology and Spanish together?” He looks at you hopefully, and you nod, acknowledging that you remember him.

“Yeah of course, we’ve spoken before I’m sure?” You reply. Of course you and your siblings keep to yourselves to be safe but you hadn’t realised how much time you had spent with Edward recently until listening to Mike’s friends.

"I love your bracelet Y/N" Angela nods to your wrist as she speaks softly.

"Thank you Angela. It's a family thing. Edward has one too" Angela smiles in reply.

I wonder if Edward will sit with us too. They're never apart, I wonder why he isn’t here? Lauren thinks as she looks around again catching sight of her best friend across the room.

“Jess!” Lauren shouts as she tries and fails to subtly point to you, as you sit opposite her, preparing yourself for what is coming.

Jessica Stanley. Her mind was a disturbing place. It's for that reason that you and your siblings distanced yourselves this year, due to her vivid imagination when it came to Edward. A vivid imagination which was bordering on obsession at the beginning of the year. You had made plans with Edward to help him "intervene", similarly to what you had done with Mike. However Alice saw your plan before you had a chance to do anything and told Carlisle what the two of you were plotting.

To say Carlisle was unhappy with the both of you was an understatement. In the end, he decided that Alice needed to watch you, making sure that Jessica was left alone, resulting in her obsessive thoughts going unchecked for months.

You and Edward avoided her as much as you could, but sitting with her at a table was going to force you to use as much of your inhuman strength as possible.

You glance over to Jessica, standing across the room with a plain looking girl that you recognised from the thoughts you had read to be Bella.

OH. MY. GOD. There's a Cullen at my table. Be cool Jess, be cool.

"This way Bella" she turns to the girl beside her and motions towards the table.

Mike nudges you. "Have you met Bella yet?" She's beautiful. Oh, if only Edward was here to hear that one.

Before you have a chance to reply, Eric starts bragging about his meeting with Bella this morning. You look around the table, curiosity growing about the new girl considering Mike’s interest in her.

“Well, Bella and I go waaaaaaaay back, first face she saw today!” He directs this to Mike, but he has stopped listening because Jessica and Bella have appeared by the table, and Mike quickly stands up, offering Bella his seat. He starts introducing Bella to the table, then pauses when he gets to you.

"Bella this is Y/N, Y/N Cullen.” Bella looks over at you, and you expect to hear the usual when someone new meets a Cullen. Beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, striking, but also sometimes a bit terrifying.

But Bella was silent. How strange. You make eye contact, eyes unwavering, and Bella gulps. Fear? Maybe. You don’t know, because you can’t hear her. It makes you feel uneasy.

“Hi erm, Y/N. So, are you like Mike’s girlfriend?” Bella asks quietly. So she’s timid, maybe that’s why you can’t hear her.

You smile, a smile that normally dazes new people, but, despite blinking strangely, you still hear nothing from Bella. “Mike and I are just friends, he’s like my brother!”

Mike blushes and Eric snorts a laugh. “Ooo friend zoned!!” Mike pushes him off his seat and the two bicker whilst the girls talk.

Whilst everyone is distracted you take the chance to properly study the new girl. Pretty face, rather plain clothes (as Alice would say) and a nervy anxious energy. But still, silence. That’s weird. Now that you thought about it more, your limited interaction with her father had resulted in a similar conclusion. It must be hereditary, both with quiet minds but you found some kind of peace in it.

“Bella, can I take your picture for the newspaper feature?” Angela asks as she picks up her camera.

Bella immediately looks uncomfortable at the thought of having her picture taken and Eric looks frustrated.

“The features dead Angela” he states before storming off. Mike leaves too, chasing Tyler across the room after he kisses Bella on the cheek and takes Mike’s chair, causing him to fall to the floor.

The girls continue talking about possible newspaper features, whilst you catch sight of your siblings about to enter the cafeteria. You can hear minds flooding with opinions on your family, and try your best to block most of it out, still hopeful that one particular voice will pop up, but still being met with silence.

“Who are they?” Bella asks Jessica and Angela. Angela glances nervously at you, not wanting to gossip when you are sitting right there.

“Those are the Cullens. Y/N’s siblings. Doctor and Mrs Cullens foster children. They moved down here from Alaska like a few years ago.” Jessica whispers, thinking you are too busy eating to hear.

“They normally keep to themselves. Well...except for Y/N, but she doesn’t normally sit with us.” Angela adds.

“That’s because they’re like together. Like together together.” Jessica’s voice raises as she gets more engaged with her gossip. Angela glances nervously at you, knowing now that you must be able to hear them and she nudges Jessica who remains oblivious.

“The blond haired girl, that’s Rosalie, and the big dark haired guy Emmett they’re like a thing. I’m not even sure that’s legal.” Jessica continues, too wrapped up in her own thoughts that she doesn’t realise that even without your vampire hearing you can clearly hear her.

You smile at Angela, who looks horrified. “Jess, they’re not actually related, and Y/N can hear you.” Angela whispers, and the three of them look over at you as you pretend to munch a carrot stick.

“It’s fine, continue, I’m intrigued to see how you describe the rest of my siblings.” You laugh, Angela’s horrified expression worsens but Jessica looks unfazed as she shrugs her shoulders before continuing.

“But, I mean, Angela they live together it’s weird.” Jessica states firmly, replying to Angela’s question. “Ok so, the little dark haired girl is Alice, she’s really weird, and she’s with Jasper, the blonde one who looks like he’s in pain.” You laugh out loud at this description, understanding that Jasper’s pained look comes from his struggle with blood, finding it ironic that Jessica can pick up on this pained look, not knowing that it is in an effort to save her friends. You catch your sister’s eye as she walks past hand in hand with Jasper. All ok? She asks, and you nod briefly whilst still smiling.

You grab your homework from your bag, pretending to no longer be listening to the conversation at the other side of the table, just as you see Edward about to enter the room. Oh this one should be interesting you think.

“Doctor Cullen is like a foster dad slash match maker” Jessica says sarcastically.

“Maybe he’ll adopt me.” Angela replies laughing, glancing in your direction briefly, before realising that Bella is distracted by someone else at the other side of the cafeteria.

“Who’s he?” She asks, motioning towards your brother.

Jessica smiles dreamily as she stares at Edward. “That’s Edward Cullen, Y/N’s actual brother. They’re twins. Totally gorgeous, obviously, but apparently nobody here is good enough for him.” Edward smirks at this as he walks across the cafeteria towards the rest of your siblings, who are sat around a table, pretending to get their lunch out of their bags. “Like I care, y’no” Jessica laughs sarcastically at this, and you focus on blocking out her thoughts, knowing they will be about Edward. Wow she’s really on a mission today isn’t she? Edward asks, as he looks towards you from where he is sat next to Rosalie, before his focus moves from you, to someone beside you. Bella.

She has turned in her seat to look at the table where your siblings are sat. “Seriously though, don’t waste your time.” Jessica advises Bella, though you see it more for what it is, a warning. Bella smiles, then looks back towards Edward.

He frowns, before looking at you.

Yeah, I can’t hear her either.

Fascinating.

She’s very unusual, I agree.

Quiet mind, just like her father. There’s something else about her though.

Don't get attached Eddie.

As if I would. You know that’s too dangerous.

If you say so.

A/N: I took a few creative liberties with this scene to fit Y/N into the picture better, I hope you like it! Let me know what you think.

Taglist:

@volturidoll13 @wallwriterstuff @fatiguing-thoughts @clearwater-hoe @like-rain-or-confetti @moviequeen51 @raindancer2004 @officialfictionalwreck @megzdoodle @slasher-sweetie @evakipara @reclusive-chicken-nugget @holl2712 @icarusinstatic @imdoingathingmom @fanfic-love-show

➡️ Part three: Curious Minds

[floral-poisons]

hanfu series: diasomnia

the third in the hanfu series: diasomnia!! i don’t doubt they would look totally regal!!

remember, if you wanna wear hanfu, please do your research. do not sexualize it. it is cultural clothing and wearing it disrespectfully and/or without knowing the history is/borders on cultural appropriation. if you wanna start researching, i would suggest mochihanfu’s page on tik tok!!

MALLEUS DRACONIA

malleus, like riddle, is very familiar with hanfus. he’s worn them plenty of times before, no doubt. there are plenty of fae who wear hanfus and he’s met plenty of important people who he wore them for.

malleus adores all styles of hanfu. each one holds a unique history that he greatly appreciates them for. however, he can often be found wearing han dynasty styled hanfus. there’s something he loves about how high the collar is. for added regalness, he wears ming dynasty styled hanfus.

he incorporates face veils with his hanfus. it adds an air of mystery to him and the regal energy he carries.

he actually likes his hanfus to have bright colors. black hanfus are elegant and all but he likes a pop of color with his hanfus. he wears black hanfus if he needs something plain and quick.

really loves silver accessories. hair pins, necklaces, clips.

he wears hanfus a lot just casually. much like rook, he’ll wear the full garment as it’s meant to be worn. but he also doesn’t have a problem with mixing and matching pieces for a more modern look.

they need to be custom made because it’s malleus draconia. he needs the finest of the finest. finest fabric, exact measurements.

definitely has dragons embroidered within the fabrics.

LILIA VANROUGE

lilia’s been around a long time, long enough to raise malleus. so naturally, he’s very familiar with hanfu. he’s worn it on a lot of occasions and he was the one to help malleus into his hanfu for the first time.

really loves pink. pink hanfus are the way to go. he wears a lot of clothes that lack color already. besides, it fits with his hair currently.

does utilize hair extensions if he needs do. he’s had long hair before and it just looks ethereal with his hanfus.

has a collection of every style of hanfu. it’s in his closet back in briar valley.

lilia’s a little old fashioned. he’s perfectly fine with a modern hanfu. sometimes he wears it. but he has a general preference for the older styles.

wei jin dynasty hanfus and northern southern dynasty hanfus are the way to go for him.

enjoys doing the full makeup routine. he also does it for silver and sebek.

likes keeping his hair down. he’s not the biggest fan of doing his hair when it comes to the complete look.

SILVER

silver is aware that hanfus are a thing. but he has little experience wearing them. he’s only worn them once before. but he remembers the experience of wearing it with fondness.

rather than lilia helping him wear his first hanfu, it was malleus.

silver falls asleep in his hanfus. they’re just so comfortable to him he can’t help but lay down and close his eyes for a bit.

very much a fan of song dynasty hanfus.

his color palette consist of very light colors and neutral colors. he purposely chooses colors that don’t make him stand out too much. he’s content to let malleus and lilia shine. white is his go to.

does use hair extensions and does love styling his hair. he utilizes a minimal amount of accessories. and these accessories are usually gold to contrast with his silver hair.

once in a while, he likes to go out in a hanfu.

has like three hanfus in his closet.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

sebek has heard of hanfus. but he’s never worn one until now. and he says he will try it on because malleus and lilia have worn them before. it’s only fitting he tries it once.

he finds the fabric very frustrating to deal with. he doesn’t know how to move in a hanfu and it takes some practice for him to get it.

very much a fan of modern hanfus. he especially likes pairing the jackets with pants. also doesn’t mind hanfu suits. he prefers them in general.

sebek feels like a person who wears grey. he usually matches with silver to remain inconspicuous with him as well and let malleus shine.

doesn’t use wigs nor hair extensions.

he does like doing the huadian. he can get pretty creative with his designs actually.

attempts to copy malleus’s style.

also wears matching face veils with the full ensemble.

[flightlessangelwings]

Grant a Name to a Buried and a Burning Flame ~ Chapter 1

Hades!Din Djarin x Persephone!Reader (gender neutral, no y/n)

Chapter 1/3

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Hades/Persephone retelling, historical setting, hints of soulmate AU, arranged marriage, slight angst, some fluff, mutual pining 

Thank you to @ollypopp​ for letting me bounce ideas and talk my thoughts out and thank you to my wonderful partner @we-can-be-himbos​ for beta reading for me! 

Moodboard made by me

~

“Persephone!”

You turned your head toward the voice that called your name. It wasn’t your birth name, but once you became of age you were assigned the name and your real name was never used in public anymore. No one remembered how or why it started, but it became tradition for every royal to assume the name of an Old God as a title and signifier of their status. Most took to it and even forgot their birth names, but you made sure that you used your real name when you were alone with yourself. 

Some maybe wanted to forget and embrace their role in life, but you didn’t want to forget. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t even want this role. But, you were born into it and as soon as you were old enough, you were prepared for the day you would lead your kingdom. You were good at it for sure, and leading came naturally to you, but you didn’t feel like this was your calling. You didn’t even feel like this was truly a home to you, even as beautiful as the land was.

The voice belonged to your mother, Demeter, who found you in the garden again. It’s where she usually found you: alone in the peace and quiet, surrounded by your favorite flowers. Flowers always lined your chiton and served as decorative accents to the long robe you typically wore. Sometimes, you even tucked one behind your ear as well. The beauty of the harvest and forests were one of the only comforts to your kingdom. Otherwise, it all just felt lonely to you, and like you didn’t truly belong there.

“Yes mother?” you rolled your eyes before you turned to face her. You already knew what she came to see you about and you dreaded it. 

“Persephone you know you can’t spend all your time out here. You have responsibilities,” she always pushed your royal duties on you and then some, and you hated it. She always seemed more concerned for what you could offer her than what you were as a person, and it got under your skin more than you liked to admit.

You felt trapped in your role, in your kingdom. With a defeated sigh, you decided not to argue with her this time, “Yes mother.”

It was another several days before you could sneak out to your garden again, and you felt smothered every minute you stayed within the walls of the palace. It was lavish and beautiful, and the sun always shone through the windows, but you still felt suffocated. With a deep breath, you took in the fresh air and plucked your favorite flower from a nearby bush. As you exhaled you whispered your name, a habit you got yourself into so that you would never forget it. At times, your mother had trouble remembering her birth name, and you didn’t want that for yourself.

As you gazed down the horizon, you suddenly felt a pull to run past the gate that separated your palace and garden from the rest of the kingdom. It was as if a voice inside your head screamed at you to get out, to leave and never look back. You had heard that voice before, and you almost gave in several times. But you always stopped yourself just before you stepped over the threshold. Before you even realized your movements, you moved forward until your body lined up with the border.

Beyond the lush of your own kingdom lay a more barren land, and you could see the darkness shadow in the distance. It should have scared you, you should have wanted to stay away from it. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel a pull towards it instead. The kingdom in the distance was the complete opposite of yours: where yours was sunny and colorful, the other land was dark and dull. It looked as if the land was lifeless, though you knew it had a daily large population.

You looked back over your shoulder, and when you didn’t see anyone, you finally took the next step.

Once you started, you couldn’t stop and you ran as fast as you could. For the first time in your adult life, you felt free. Some of your flowers fell off in your haste, but plenty more still decorated your figure. The one that you had tucked behind your ear stayed somehow, and since it was your favorite you were grateful for that little comfort. The weight of your royal title felt far away, and you could just be you. Even as the darkness and emptiness of the land surrounded you more and more, you embraced it. 

It was a quiet land, and you stayed in the forests and away from any villages to stay hidden. The trees were so dark they were almost black, and hardly any vegetation grew on them. You became more aware of how much you stood out here; a lone flower among the dirt, a lone light in the darkness. Nevertheless, you kept on the move.

Suddenly, you heard the sound of footsteps behind you, and you spun around to find that you were no longer alone in the dark forest. A hooded figure emerged from the shadows, and though it didn’t seem to move quickly, it still somehow ended up in your space before you realized it. You let out a gasp as the figure reached out and grabbed your arm, and even this close, you couldn’t see a face. The flower that was securely tucked behind your ear fell to the ground from your sudden harsh movement.

“What are you doing here?” the hooded figure asked. His voice was deep and gruff, yet void of any malice. His hood completely covered his face, and from this close you could see that he also donned a mask for added anonymity. On his belt, he carried several weapons, and the deep black sword especially stood out. You could also see the armor he wore over his robes glisten in the low light. This was obviously someone you did not want to mess with.

“I…” you were at a loss for words. What could you say? It wasn’t like you wanted to divulge who you were or that you ran away from your kingdom. But you also didn’t want to seem like someone who had gotten lost in the woods either.

“Aren’t you a long way from home… Persephone?” you heard the slight smirk in his voice. He kept a grip on your arm, but it didn’t feel like a threat for some reason.

Your eyes went wide; how did he know who you were? Maybe you should have grabbed a cloak or something so that your features were hidden, but it was too late for that now. Strangely, you didn’t feel as scared as you should have been around him. It almost felt as if the voice in your head that pulled you forward led you right to him. Was that how he found you too? Was there a voice that pulled him as well?

In the distance, you could hear the howls of wolves: the Cerberus. Legend had it that a pack of black-fured wolves guarded the border to the kingdom. Some would even say that it wasn’t even an entire wolf pack, but just three unusually large dogs. Those who have glimpsed it say that they move as one, appearing as if they were one large beast with three heads.

The hooded stranger took your silence as an answer on its own and ushered you through the forest and away from the howls, “Come with me,” he spoke in a low tone. He left it unsaid, but he felt an immediate need to protect you and keep you safe, and that started with getting you out of the darkened woods.

It felt like a whirlwind, and you couldn’t even react as he led you to an unknown destination. As the outline of a dark castle came into view, realization dawned on you and you figured out who had found you, “Hades…” you breathed out.

He let out a single sharp laugh, “You’re smarter than you look,” he replied.

Hades was both well known and a complete mystery to everyone, even other royals. His kingdom was shrouded in shadow, the night to the day that was your own kingdom. He had a reputation for being a loner, and he was ruthless to any enemy who stood in his way. And no one had ever seen his face. You wondered if he even remembered his real name or if he was among those who had forgotten it.

Rumor was that he belonged to an ancient sect, the Mandalorians if you remembered correctly, and it was part of their teachings to never show their faces, but no one knew for sure. For the most part, Hades’ kingdom, the Underworld as it was nicknamed, was left alone. And that was how everyone preferred it.

You tried to struggle, but his grip was too strong, and though he did not hold you hard enough to hurt, you still failed to break yourself free. How did you find yourself so easily taken by Hades? Technically you did run away and into his territory, so were you really his prisoner? He did not seem interested in harming you, but he did not seem to want to release you so easily either.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he seemed to sense your hesitation and in his words he spoke the truth. He would never hurt you, not when he just found you. 

His words took you off guard and you looked into the blackness of his hood, “Then why don’t you let me go?” you offered back in as confident a voice as you could muster.

At that, he said nothing. You let out a dramatic sigh as you decided not to struggle for the time being. As your eyes darted around, you became increasingly aware of how much you contrasted your new surroundings. Everything was dark and plain compared to the robe adorned with flowers you wore. And yet, something about Hades’ palace was almost comforting in a strange way. Maybe it was because nothing about the castle was exactly lavish. It seemed to exist only for utility and not for show like your own palace was. It was much smaller than your own as well.

“Stay here,” he broke the silence as he left you in a small room and disappeared through the doorway.

There wasn’t much to the room, just a table with a bowl of fruits on it and a couple of chairs. As you eyed the bowl, your stomach started to growl and it dawned on you that you hadn’t eaten in some time. You looked around as you wondered if you should eat some of the food on the table. He had left you in a room with the bowl, which had to be on purpose, and he didn’t explicitly say that you couldn’t.��

With a shrug, you decided that a little snack couldn’t hurt anybody. Besides, who knew how long you would be here? You grabbed the brightest thing on the table: a handful of pomegranate seeds. They were surprisingly tasty, and you wondered how something this luscious grew in such an unforgiving land.

You had no idea how long you stayed in that little room. It was hard to tell the difference between night and day in this kingdom, but eventually you relaxed into one of the chairs and drifted off.

When you woke up again, you were in a different room and laid out in a soft bed. You furrowed your brown in confusion before you shot up to stand. The room was small; there was only space for a bed and a dresser with a small bathroom attached. One thing that did catch your eye, however, was there was a single flower laid out on the dresser. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it was your favorite: similar to the one you had tucked behind your ear when you first encountered Hades. But, you could tell it was not the same one.

“What…?” you whispered to yourself as you picked up the flower and rolled it gently in your hands. 

Your thoughts were interrupted, however, when the door to the room suddenly burst open and Hades’ hooded figure stepped into the room. The two of you just stared at each other in silence for several long minutes. Your mind went in a thousand directions as you looked into the abyss of his face and you wondered what was going through his mind. Faintly, you also realized that the pull you had felt for so long as stopped now that he was in front of you.

“You like the flower?” he finally asked in a raspy voice.

“I… Yes,” you fiddled with it as you stuttered, surprised that the gift was from him.

He let out a soft laugh that you wouldn’t have heard had the room not been so quiet. It was a nice laugh, and it made you wonder if the rumors about him were all wrong. Sure he was an intimidating figure when you first met, but he seemed to be nothing but kind to you, even if he was your captor. Is that what he was? Ever since you left home, everything felt so strange and so upside down that you weren’t even sure about your current predicament. And yet, you didn’t feel afraid. This man was armed head to toe, and yet you felt completely safe with him.

“Follow me,” he broke the silence again as he stepped just outside the door.

You blinked a few times before you set the flower down and did as you were told, “How long was I asleep?” you asked as you fell into line a few steps behind him.

“All night,” he replied shortly. Both of you were silent after that. 

He led you down a hallway into a larger chamber that was beautifully lit with candles. Your mouth hung open at the sight, and the light was a welcome warmth after all the darkness that engulfed you since you were brought here. A man in a white robe stood at an altar at the end of the room and it took you a moment to recognize that your mother and father stood nearby. Demeter had a sullen look on her face while your father remained stoic.

“What is going on?” you asked, since no one wanted to break the tense silence in the room.

“We’re getting married,” Hades replied matter-of-factly. When you just stared at him, he continued, “Your father arranged it so that we can unite our kingdoms in peace.”

You were too dumbfounded to say anything and the ceremony went by in a blur. It was mostly a formality, nothing special or extravagant. It wasn’t that you were opposed to marriage, but you certainly did not think you would end up married like this. Sure it happened at times to unite kingdoms or bring peace to warring lands, but you had been groomed since childhood to take over the throne yourself, not get married off.

“Why did you have to do this, Persephone?” Demeter shook your shoulders once the vows were exchanged, “Why couldn’t you just listen to me and do your duty? Why did you have to eat the seeds?” she berated you with questions and you wanted nothing more than to run away again.

Truthfully, you didn’t even think of the consequences when you ate the pomegranate seeds, but Hades had argued that since you ate food from his kingdom and accepted his gift of the flower that you were bound to his land now. But, he struck a deal with your father that you could return home for half of the year if you ruled the Underworld at his side.

Rage burned within you as your mind caught up to your body. You felt used and tricked, which you expected from your parents, but not from your newly found companion. Why did you hold him in a higher regard than them? You didn’t think too much about it and shook the thought from your head. You ran away to escape the life that was expected of you, not to fall further into it. With a huff, you stormed out of the chamber and back into the room that you had woken up in.

You slammed the door shut behind you and leaned back against it with your eyes closed as tears of anger slowly fell down your cheeks. With a few deep breaths to calm yourself, you opened your eyes again and almost immediately they landed on the flower. What was once a beautiful gift now became an ugly reminder of your situation. You stomped over and grabbed the flower harshly and opened the window to throw it out.

Just as you were about to swing your arm, however, you froze. For some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You tightened your grip on the flower as you tried again to throw it out, and again you couldn’t do it. With a defeated huff, you tossed it onto the dresser instead and collapsed onto your bed. 

Your bed?

You closed your eyes as you thought about what would happen next. A thousand questions ran through your mind. You could run away again, but where would you go? Was this any better than what you came from? Was it worse? Why did this Hades marry you so quickly after meeting once? Why were you more angry about not being consulted about this than being married to him? Why did you feel this pull to him? Did he feel that pull towards you?

Eventually your mind was able to quiet itself and you drifted off to sleep. Between your emotions and the way your mind raced, you found yourself exhausted already. And you just wanted to escape this realm for a little while and just dream. When you dreamed, you dreamed about him. 

What you didn’t know, however, was that everything you had felt was reflected in the blank stare of Hades’ hood. He found you in the forest because he felt a pull towards you; a pull he had felt every time he looked in the direction of your kingdom. To finally see you in person was more than he could have asked for, and he was captivated by you immediately. You couldn’t see it, but underneath the hood, he had a look of pure adoration for you. And more nights than not, he dreamed of you. In those dreams too, you always used his real name: Din Djarin. 

~

Notes: I hope y’all like what I came up with for this AU. I didn’t want to do a strait retelling and I took some creative liberties with this to make it unique. Chapters 2 and 3 are drafted and I’ll be updating this on Mondays so there won’t be a long wait for chapter 2. And I normally wouldn’t be specific about the pomegranates since not everyone likes them but since that’s a big part of the myth, I had to put it in here lol.

[twilit-hyrule]

So I feel bad cuz I’m pretty bad at actually drawing my ideas and uploading them... I have a bunch of doodles and concepts on my ipad that I haven’t finished yet 😅. Pokemon teams, superhero AU, some angst etc. (I have a lot of notes and stuff but comparatively few drawings).

So I decided to just upload some wing designs I have for the boys since I’ve seen some Wingfic stuff going around again! (The writing in-between is just a small info dump on which birds inspired me/what I based their wings on for anyone who is curious! So feel free to skip it or guess the birds before reading (it’s always two bird species per Link btw.)).

(I’m begging, pls ignore the akward standing pose I used for all of them. And the face markings! They look weird...)

I based Sky’s wings on a golden pheasant, and a red macaw. Felt fitting to give him red wings! And I couldn’t miss up the opportunity to add some master sword coloration with the purple and blue hues.

Four is obviously based on a hummingbird (long-tailed sylph to be more specific!), but the second bird I used as inspiration was the quetzal. It added the red underside and the long green feathers that would trail after Four (they would also be a bit longer than they are here).

Both him and Sky (and the hylians in their worlds) are very colourful compared to the others, because the bright feathers wouldn’t attract danger in their eras (the monsters were sealed away (Four) or couldn’t reach them above the clouds (Sky).

Time’s wing structure is based on owls, so he is also the most silent during flight! I wanted his wings to be gold-ish in colour so I based him on a barn owl, but I also wanted something more dangerous for him (barn owls are surprisingly small). So I added some golden eagle into the mix.

(His wings are also the most plain(?) I guess, since I had trouble imagining him with something more decorative/complicated)

I’d imagine when he turns into the feirce deity the wings grow in size and turn snow-white (like a snow owl, maybe with reflective silver instead of black markings?). Maybe grow some white peacock feathers for the tail too, he can afford to be flashy XD.

Twilight has the biggest wingspan of them all. I based him on a bearded vulture (they have the 6th biggest wingspan of all birds! Well, according to one lazy google search at least...), since I thought it fitting that he is a bird with a lot of negative stigma attached (like with his wolf transformation, vultures are rarely -if ever- considered good). They also eat bones, which also matches! And yes, their eyes are red which looks pretty damn cool.

The second bird that inspired me was the turquoise browed motmot (long tail feathers), but I’m still fighting with myself about whether I should make the feathers on the outside turquoise or not... either way I really like the sunset colours :)

For Wild I chose an osprey, I wanted a bird that mostly ate fish and lived near bodies of water because of Mipha.

...admittedly that reasoning made more sense in my head.

However! I was also inspired by magpies. Wild will absolutely pick up and keep any shiny object that he finds! Hurray for scavengers!

Eagle-ish wings! I based him on the secretary bird, it seemed extra enough for him. Though I just really like the look of those birds (really pretty!). Mixed with some major mitchell’s cockatoo for the beautiful fade from pink/light red to white.

(I’d imagine he’s low-key jealous of Sky and Four because their wings are so colourful.)

Again, like with Four, I went with the obvious choice; a seagull. Though I also sprinkled in some bluejay for the beautiful feather coloration.

Wind really likes how closely his wings match those from Warrior (since he looks up to him) both their wings have a softly fading colour on the inside and feathers darkening in layers on their backs. He just thinks it’s neat.

The first bird I looked at for Legend was the southern carmine bee eater, it has a pink-ish body and a blue/green crown of feathers on it’s head. I mean, that just screamed Legend to me.

The second bird I chose was the peregrine falcon, the fastest bird in the sky! After all, Legend is the only one of the chain to always wears his pegasus boots.

One of my personal favourite wing designs! Hyrule was mostly inspired by a starling, I wanted him to appear more... magical? And the white spots remind me of stars (well, it’s a starling). The inside of his wings is very loosely based on the great grey shrike, a slightly brutal bird, which fits well with the consensus that he lives in the grittiest Hyrule.

(They impale their live prey on on thorns for anyone who is curious.)

———

If any of them look kinda strange, it’s probably because I tried to make them all look unique. With the exception of Twilight. I wanted him to look slightly similar to both Wild and Time (main reason why I am contemplating adding some blue-ish colour). Brown and yellow/gold from time, and that dark border on the edge of his primary feathers was inspired by Wild (like Twi he is also mainly brown).

I also actively avoided making their wings green because most of them already wear green tunics, and that’s just too much.

[roamingpoffin]

Mr. Genova: Instructions for Use

Hello there! I recently got to re-read Hetalia’s story about Napoleon in occasion of a trip in Corsica, and suddently remembered this adorable little guy. While there are a lot of wonderful people that took the mantle and tried to give character and story to what are actually just 2 sketches from 3y ago, I also noticed some disappointment (understandable) and…. misinformation from lack of context and historical knowledge about the topic. I know that seeing the 4th italian brother when maybe your country isn’t in yet can be frustrating, but trust me when I say that Genova is a very important character for many of the events that occurred between the middle-ages and WWII (does Colombo ring a bell?).

With that said let’s try to discover together who actually was is Mr.Genova!

Why Genova and not Genoa? Genova is the correct italian name of the republic/city while Genoa is it's english version and, incidentally, the name of Genova's most renowed football team. So just like for Venezia and Roma we'll keep the original pronunciation.

In this first part we’ll talk about Genova design

[Original sketch by Hima, I just polished and colored it to better convey my ideas about his design.]

I’ve heard people complaining that “he just seems like a fusion of Romano and France”, funnily enough not only the comparison is quite on point, but it’s coherent with Genova’s history and probably intentional on Hima’s side.

To understand what I mean let’s look at a little map of modern Italy

We can immediatly notice some things ->

1) Liguria (the name given to Genova’s historical territories after the city became “capoluogo di regione” in 1948) borders with France and Monaco. For all it’s life Genova had to fend against France and would often end under it’s dominion for brief periods; at the same time their vicinity favored a similar culture and language (with one BIG exeption we'll see another time): Monaco and Corsica, previously territories of Genova, retain a great resemblance with Ligurian when speaking their actual language, aka Corso and Monegasco. At the same time Ligurian presents some elements common in french that are actually absent in standard italian.

2) Genova is situated in front of the Ligurian sea and has open access to all of west-Mediterraneum, becoming the most important harbor in north-west Italy since it gained his autonomy from the HRE around 1096 A.D. Due to Liguria peculiar geografical conformation (no plains and the Alps-Appenines isolating Genova from the rest of north Italy, favoring a climatic bubble that makes the region a greener version of the south) our republic decided to limit it's expansion towards northen countries and instead focus on the Mediterraneum sea, becoming Spain and by proxy South Italy best commercial/political buddy till (almost) the end of it’s indipendent life.

3bonus) Yes guys Seborga is a little town in the Ligurian hinterland and was part of the Genovese republic. While Seborga's story is really interesting (might do a focus in the future) the general history and culture of the 2 is the same.

NOTE: every time I use the term “Italy” during any period pre 1861 consider it only as the geographical meaning of the peninsula (Italy as a country wasn't a thing till then).

PALETTE AND DESIGN

With this introduction in mind it makes sense for little Genova to have his hair styled similar to France and a darker shade compared to Veneziano. While the dark gray used by Hima could hint at both black and dark brown, the latter is by far the most common color in Liguria so I decided to go with that.

His eyes are anybody’s game to be fair, but I decided to be as faithful as possible to the average ligurian so, just like Feli and Lovi when Hima decides that his eyes aren’t olive anymore, brown/light brown is the most common color in Italy (+ we already have Seborga as the random flashy neighbouring brother).

To end our palette the skin tone could be an in between: probably darker that a Northener but lighter than a Southener (no mayor arabic nor germanic influences here)

CLOTHES AND ACCESSORIES

clothes -> nothing too important to say, the clothes are fit for the XVIII sec., they shows Genova’s status as a wealthy commercial republic and unofficial bank of Europe (yup, before Switzerland Genova had that role and it’s banks are considered the oldest in Europe). As long as the colors used aren’t too flashy everything is fine.

crown thingy(?) -> now this is where things become interesting. There are 3 possible options I could think as of why Genova, of all the possible accessories, has a crown when it wasn’t even a monarchy. Pick what you prefer or feel free to add your personal interpretation if you want.

1) money and superbia: as written before, during it's prime Genova was a wealthy republic, lending money to half of Europe and being the indiscussed queen of west-Mediterraneum (ofc Venezia was the queen of east-Mediterraneum, but that’s another story for another post). The city even got the nickname “Superba” to enanche the grandiosity and way too much pride of it’s people. A crown would be a fitting choice for someone who is probably a bit narcisist.

2) city status: in ancient paintings the personifications of countries and cities were made recognizable by the presence of a little crown on their head. Adding to that, in Italy to be a full fledged town or city you must receive a crown symbol to put on your emblem, maybe Hima is hinting at Genova actual predicament.

3) the Lanterna: I’ll admit the first thing I tought while looking at Genova was “that looks like a little tower”. A bit strange, but actually not farfetched; if you have ever visited Genova you’ll know what I mean when I say this city has a lot, and I say A LOT of towers positioned trough the historical center. The reason? To protect themselves from the French/Ottomans/eventual pirates, in the XVI sec. Genova decided to build a massive system of walls and towers that surrounded the city. There is also a specific tower that is considered the symbol of Genova itself “la Lanterna”. The Lanterna is the oldest Lighthouse still in function trough Europe; maybe if you glance at its modern look it doesn’t scream “tower”, but before it was semi-destroyed by the French army in 1513 A.D. Lanterna beared a striking resemblance to what Mr.Genova is wearing.

“MUGUGNO LIBERO”

Last but not least, the infamous pout that gave Genova the label of “Romano 2.0”. It’s not random, it’s not wrong, it’s such a toughtful and unexpected touch that Hima would be declared honored guest by any Genovese (and made me personally laugh like an idiot for an hour).

What Genova is doing here has a specific term in the local language, mugugnare!

What is “mugugnare”? Mugugnare is a peculiar way of complaining and rambling specific of the Ligurians. This act is soo ingraned into the culture of the region that it’s considered an art and will take a good part of any conversation you’ll have with a local.

I’ll be more specific when we’ll touch Genova possible characterization, just you know that where Romano is loud, pretty offensive and direct the mugugno is more subtle and passive-aggressive. It can and WILL BE directed at anything, from the weather to jobs to Venezia and the rest of the north.

This finally brings us in what defines most of the characters of Hetalia, the wonderful land of stereotypes.

See you in the next part where we’ll talk about the temperament and culture of what is often considered the “black sheep” of north Italy!

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 26

chapter list / previous / next

Tallpaw had grown leaner and stronger in the past moons. He insisted on extra battle training whenever he could, and peace at the border never lasted very long. They guarded too closely to allow any more ambushes, but while ShadowClan didn’t push further, tensions remained high and there had been more than one violent skirmish. Tallpaw had made sure he was a part of at least one, and he didn’t let himself get distracted. He threw himself into it almost as fiercely as Shrewpaw, at one point even managing to send a warrior nearly twice his size screeching back under the Thunderpath with a well aimed blow to the nose. Some of the older warriors even paid him compliments.

“Never thought you'd be such a fighter when you were young and meek!” they said. Tallpaw wanted to be warmed by the praise, but he didn't take it to heart. Fighting is what a brave warrior had to do, and that was what he repeated to himself, but in truth he never felt less like himself when he did it. He spit insults and fury, trying to work up the fire he knew he should have, but all the while he felt like he was playing a character like in one of the visitor’s silly plays. The part of a furious battle hardy warrior, detached from himself and merely watching his body fighting, then spitting the taste of blood from his mouth afterwards. The fights had avoided fatal casualties so far, but they were still bloody.

The rush kept him focused, but still, he was restless with feeling like there had to be more he could do. There persisted a disapproving voice inside his head, egging him on and telling him he could try harder than he was. Tallpaw always had a nagging voice like that in the back of his mind, but it got meaner and criticized incessantly like an angry tick inside his ear. However good he got, he needed to get better. Forcing himself to focus on improving as fast as he could was all he had. Letting that focus slip for even a moment allowed him to dwell too much on what had gone wrong. 

And many things had indeed gone wrong.

His determination looked like recklessness, so he’d been told by a couple “concerned” parties. The biggest one being Briarpaw, who looked at him strangely ever since he had returned to camp during the storm that night, as if sensing that something had changed in him. Whether Tallpaw was being seen for another enemy claw scratch, or an intense training session, his friend's distress was sharp in the air however much he tried to hide it.

“You’ve reopened this cut into your ear so many times I don’t think it’s going to heal together again.” Briarpaw murmured.

Tallpaw was in the medicine den for the second time in a quarter moon, already itching to go again. Ryewhisker sat nearby licking a small scrape on her foreleg. She looked up at him, clearly a little cross still from getting scuffed up in an earlier training.

“At this point I think he wants to lose that ear,” she said.

Dawnstripe and Hareflight were hesitant to train Shrewpaw and Tallpaw together these days, for good reason, and Ryewhisker offered to take his place as an extra partner. It was a lucky thing that patience was one of her greatest virtues, as it wasn’t the first time Tallpaw had gotten a bit carried away. Today he tackled them both over a shallow ledge into a nasty bramble patch. He’d been sure to let her land on him so he took the brunt of the blow. But his ear had gotten caught on a thick tendril. The ear didn’t compare to the bruises, but Ryewhisker was fine, save for a small scrape.

“Well, I’ve got two ears, I could spare one.” Tallpaw said dryly. He meant it as a joke, but Ryewhisker just rolled her eyes, and, judging by how he tensed, Briarpaw was even less amused. 

“You should be more careful next time.” Briarpaw mumbled. He said it with less force each time, as he’d been repeating it a lot the past moon, and at this point he knew that Tallpaw was not inclined to listen. Each time Tallpaw nodded and said he would, as earnestly as he could. The trips to the den were most of the time he spent with Briarpaw these days. 

Briarpaw never fully recovered from losing his mother. His eyes were still hollow and he still walked around by himself, pacing back and forth near the places where Brackenwing used to be, as if looking for her to get advice. But there was no one there of course. Tallpaw longed terribly to ease his pain, but he knew now more than ever that he could not ease any cat's pain. He could only throw himself into protecting the clan so nothing like it could happen again.

Ryewhisker eyed the medicine cat apprentice and his messy store of herbs. His last patient had left in a hurry before they got there.

“I heard your brother tried to storm ShadowClan territory by himself yesterday.” Ryewhisker shook her head in exasperation. “I can’t begin to imagine what he thought he was going to achieve. He’s better today, I hope? Certainly didn’t seem to be slowed down when he left your den earlier.”

Briarpaw hummed absentmindedly, ”Yes, I suppose we’ll see whether Tallpaw or Shrewpaw loses their ears first. That seems to be your latest competition.”

Tallpaw sniffed in forced amusement. Briarpaw knew perfectly well that he and Shrewpaw didn’t have friendly competitions anymore.  But he couldn’t deny it was true that pushing ahead of his fellow apprentice was very much on his mind, in spite of, or...perhaps because of their ongoing crumbling relationship. 

Shrewpaw. The other part of his life steadily going downhill. Shrewpaw certainly didn’t have to pretend at playing battle-hungry fury like Tallpaw did. Of course it didn’t surprise him that Shrewpaw was in the medicine den as often as he was, perhaps even more, but at different times. Hawkheart scheduled to make sure of that. If they were both in the same den with Briarpaw, the medicine cat apprentice might faint from stress. Although Tallpaw and Shrewpaw could agree on very little these days, they made a silent pact to keep their disagreements well away from Briarpaw. But as soon as Briarpaw was out of earshot, all bets were off. 

Shrewpaw’s temper was more out of control than ever. He was well past due to get his warrior name, and indeed his skills were up to the task, but his unpredictability forbade Hareflight from recommending it. His ceremony was held off due to misbehavior, and Shrewpaw was beyond furious. How quickly Tallpaw was catching up to him just added to his displeasure. It was petty for it to please Tallpaw, but he couldn't help it. 

It was hard to pinpoint when his remorse for Shrewpaw turned into such bitterness. Shrewpaw had always worn his plain on his pelt, but it became clear to their mentors that the feeling was mutual after a particularly bad day of training.

---

Tallpaw hadn’t wanted to let the taunts get to him, but Shrewpaw had been looking for more and more ways to get under his skin. One more poorly placed snide comment and a sharp cuff after a missed hunt was all it took to get them at each other with claws out. They both had far too much pent up to not take it out on someone. 

The apprentices screeched and tore fur out of each other, barely hearing their mentors' shouts for them to stop. Tallpaw was seeing too much red to hear until Dawnstripe bit into his scruff and hauled him back. Hareflight practically had to hold Shrewpaw down and dodged a swipe from the furious apprentice.

“Get ahold of yourself, Shrewpaw!” Hareflight hissed “This is not how I've taught you!”

Tallpaw shook himself but his fur stayed on end as Shrewpaw was still spitting furiously at him. He tried to throw his mentor off and leap at Tallpaw again until Hareflight boxed his ears and blocked his way. “Enough! I should have you on nest cleaning duty until leaf-fall!” 

“It’s going to have to be more than that, Hareflight,” Dawnstripe lashed her tail, “This is getting out of control.”

Hareflight looked exhausted. He was such a well kept warrior, but he was at a loss. Every cat could see him being run ragged by his apprentice, and Heatherstar’s hope that the even tempered tom would mellow Shrewpaw out was clearly falling apart. His scolding and threats of chores had little effect. 

“We should be done for today. Shrewpaw, go back to camp.” Hareflight said, his tail drooping, and then added sharply when Shrewpaw hesitated, “Now.”

With one last glare at Tallpaw, the furious apprentice stalked back up the hill towards camp and Hareflight trailed close after him.

Tallpaw turned his gaze away from Dawnstripe in shame. I was defending myself. She had to have seen he started it. Dawnstripe glared at him with her ears pinned back.

“I expect better from you as well, Tallpaw. Barring your claws at a clanmate for any reason will land you in trouble. Don’t let this happen again.”

He nodded obediently. Dawnstripe was letting him off easy. He still saw suspicious concern in her eye, but however upset he was with Shrewpaw, or with everything, she didn't deserve to deal with this. Even so, it had felt good to sink his claws into something. The two apprentices had to take a break from training together for a while after that.

---

Any interaction with Shrewpaw, however brief, always had Tallpaw returning to camp fired up and angry. Anger was something that held onto him longer and longer these days. It was the only feeling loud enough to block out everything else. It hadn’t boded well for his other relationships as he felt himself drifting further away from his friends. 

Returning from camp after another session led him to Ryewhisker. He could tell from how her ears pinned back and her tail swished expectantly that she was going to scold him about something. It was a bad time, as he was in a foul mood from scolding himself for not yet perfecting the tag team fighting tactic Dawnstripe had been going over with him.

“Tallpaw,” Ryewhisker said carefully, “I can’t agree to keep doing extra training sessions with you if you're going to insist on pushing yourself too hard.”

“I know what my limits are,” Tallpaw said.

“That’s why you keep begging me not to tell your mentor about tumbling yourself down another ledge or reopening old scrapes when you get over eager? And refusing to see the medicine cats after? I’m happy to help any cat with extra training, but I’m not going to lie for you--”

“Then don’t!” snapped Tallpaw “I didn’t actually ask you to help me, if it’s such a big deal, then i’ll find someone else or just go back to practicing by myself when Dawnstripe’s busy. You don’t need to hang over me!”

Ryewhisker was a bit stunned. Fallowspring overheard and suddenly her muzzle was shoved in his face

“Don’t talk to my sister like that! She’s been nicer to you than you deserved lately,” she snapped, yellow-green eyes flaring. “Go roll yourself down a hill on your own if you want! Come on, Rye.”

Ryewhisker gave Tallpaw a doubtful look over her shoulder, then just shook her head and followed her sister.

“Fine.” Tallpaw muttered.

 After Brackenwing, the once playful molly had followed Shrewpaw in his high-strung revenge drive. He was willing to bet Shrewpaw’s dislike for Tallpaw had rubbed off on Fallowspring. But she was right. Tallpaw hadn’t been very kind to the siblings, and Fawnleap was clearly distressed by the sudden bad blood between everyone. But Tallpaw couldn’t let himself be concerned about it. Shrewpaw cast him a sharp angry glance from where he sat across camp with his brother. Briarpaw didn’t look up at him. Tallpaw wondered how long it would take for the bitterness to rub off on Briarpaw too.  But it was ok if they didn’t like him. Being well liked wasn't the goal.

Dawnstripe headbutted his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. “What was all that about?” she asked. 

Tallpaw snapped around to look up at her, trying not to look ashamed. He’d hoped she wouldn’t have seen any of that. “It’s nothing important. I’ll just...Find some other cat to help me in between our training sessions.

And there was that look again. Pity. Concern. Tallpaw tried so hard to look chipper. He refused to be a pain for his mentor like Shrewpaw was for Hareflight, and he was terrified of getting held back from his naming as well.

“You can’t train every second of your life, Tallpaw,” Dawnstripe mewed. “You're doing incredibly well. You’ve gotten back on your paws so quickly, even though I know these past two moons couldn’t have been easy for you. Pushing yourself too hard will be to your detriment.”

“Of course, Dawnstripe.” Tallpaw said.

“Why don’t you do something else? Have you visited the nursery?”

“The nursery? What for?” 

“Meadowbreeze had her kits a few sunrises ago. They’re all healthy and she’s already excited for every cat to see them. We don’t want too many cats crowding, but she’s always liked you. I bet she’d like for you to meet them.”

Tallpaw frowned. Her kits were so young. Not yet named, and they wouldn’t be for at least another quarter moon. They were still uncertain. He wasn’t sure he wanted to look upon any kitten who might not be there soon, for all they knew. He shook the thought away. It was better he did not focus on the kits.

“I’ll clean the nests,” he offered “fetch fresh bedding.” That would at least keep him busy.

Dawnstripe looked a bit exasperated at his lack of enthusiasm, but Meadowbreeze hadn’t seen enough of him lately to notice his new temper. He didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable when she had kits to focus on. Besides...Palebird still slept in the nursery sometimes.

 Tallpaw dodged around Woollycloud when he went to fetch new moss. He could only stand so much pity for one day. Woollycloud was carrying a mouse to Palebird. He’d been trying everyday to get her to come out with him since she’d holed herself up in her burrow. 

Woollycloud had spent a lot of time asking after her, Tallpaw lost track of how many times he’d told him 'no I don’t know where she is or how she’s doing. And no I don’t want to talk about how I'm doing either.' He didn’t know why he found himself annoyed at Woollycloud’s attention to him and his mother. He didn’t care what Palebird did. There was nothing left between them for him to care about.

 He rarely saw Palebird as it was. He could only remember catching her eye once. She saw him arguing with Shrewpaw in camp one day, a fight that left him in a rage and he was sent to stomp around camp alone until he “calmed down.” Palebird held his gaze for only a few heartbeats with an unreadable expression before she disappeared back into her den. That was the extent of their relationship now. 

Again, he thought, this was all for the best...At least it would be, but not if every cat kept looking at him strangely for it! The restless storm raging in his belly could not be made into a spectacle. If that meant never talking to his clanmates at all for matters that weren’t for necessary training or instructions, then that is what he would do.

But for all the unrest among his clanmates and former friends that Tallpaw created, it was nothing compared to the nightmares. Dreams that used to visit him only occasionally when he went to sleep particularly restless came back with a wrathful vengeance every time he shut his eyes. Hawkheart said they’d likely calm down soon after his tunnel accident, that it was normal to have vivid nightmares for a while after a frightening experience. But they never calmed down. If anything, they got worse.

 They weren’t always the same, but they always felt the same. Usually they were the tunnel dreams. He was running. He willed his paws to move faster, but he felt slow and disconnected from his body. Something was coming after him, clawing its way through the dirt. 

Other dreams were more bizarre. He would be out on the moor on a new moon night, when Silverpelt’s eye was closed to the world. Those were dangerous nights, nights when the good spirits of StarClan struggled to see. The moor suddenly fractured beneath his feet, jagged crevices like lightning bolts cracked through the fields. The cracks widened, taking down rocks and bushes and anything else above, sending it all plummeting into endless darkness deep, deep beneath. A stale wind blasted him in the face from below, and he gagged on a scent like rotten meat. Horror gripped him as he saw little points of light leering upward from the black. Eyes, hundreds of them, everywhere. A black shape raised a sticky paw from the cracks, darker than the deepest shadows. He remembered his childhood monster, a tottering decrepit cat with a rotted hare’s face. But sometimes it's’ hollow eyes were replaced with new ones, glowing a cold, dark amber. He couldn’t look up at it, too afraid to meet its gaze, afraid to see what it might do. He just closed his eyes and let himself fall. 

Sometimes he even saw the face of that rogue as he fell. Sparrow stood above him with a mocking snarl, and then turned to kick soil down as if he was burying dirt. Or else, he’d be pushing one of Tallpaw’s clanmates over the edge as well while he helplessly watched. When Tallpaw locked eyes with the rogue, rage over took every other emotion. He’d reach for the tom with claws outstretched, overcome with an urge for violence he never knew in his waking life. He screeched in fury and tore at Sparrow, clawing and biting into fur and flesh. He wasn’t even sure who he was fighting. The form would morph into Shrewpaw instead, and then he'd draw back in shock. The dark brown fur was indistinguishable from the ground and the body crumbled to mud beneath his paws. And so did he. All his fury was nothing against the earth, he had nowhere to direct it, and it was useless against all the monsters’ eyes watching him fruitlessly struggle. 

 No matter how bizarre the dreams, that was the same. There was always feelings of helplessness. Of suffocating. Of desperation he couldn’t escape. Of despair over himself or his clanmates drowning, vanishing forever beneath him. And he nearly always woke up yowling.

It was so vivid and strange he couldn’t shake the feeling it couldn’t be normal. He was no medicine cat sharing prophetic dreams, but Tallpaw felt to his core a hateful presence lingering over him. The wrath of something restless, that would make sure he didn’t rest as long as it didn’t. In his waking life, he couldn’t bear to go anywhere within sight of a tunnel, whether it was dug by rabbit or cat.

He never felt comforted out on the moor anymore. The invisible eyes he imagined on him felt disapproving and angry. Kithood fears would come up to grip him again with memories of nursery tales about vengeful, angry spirits.

Tallpaw made a point to sleep as little as he could get away with. But Dawnstripe would shove him into a nest for a nap if he pushed it too hard. Eventually, he stopped sleeping in the apprentice den, to save himself from another argument with Shrewpaw. He moved to the unfinished dens on the far side of camp, the ones his father planned on excavating when the weather got warmer for the tunnelers to settle into during colder months, separate from the moor runners. They were shallow, and the ground was hard with very little grass. But it was as far away from the others as he could reasonably get, to avoid waking anyone with his night terrors. He sat alone with his thoughts turning, his fear and helplessness always being replaced with rage as soon as he awoke. Sleeping was a waste of time anyway when he could be active. He had to think of action. Tallpaw hoped once he got his name, once he had thrown everything into being the best warrior he could be, it would settle the restlessness. He would be more worthy...He hoped, anyway.

Each passing day, cat after cat steadily gave up asking if he was fairing ok. Being the most useful cat he could be was all he had to think about now.

chapter list / previous / next

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

Main Interlude — A Curious Attempt

Watching a tale from afar, in the midst of Carcosa, the Master of Chaldea decided to surprise their friend.

…If only their world wasn’t this… strange.

[Inspired by @hasjalterdoneanythingwrong , @hasmataharidoneanythingwrong (iirc), and others’ Pokémon posting as of late — I wanted to take a shot at this myself and include some neat writing on this topic. Check their works out as well — they’ve got some really neat stuff going on! (I probably missed a few people, but I’m very sleepy and can’t remember jack at the moment, lol)]

—

“Do these things even exist?”

I look in the mirror — fixing my orange hair, breathing a solemn sigh out.

‘Reality’ was already fairly subjective, wasn’t it? As I tried to ignore the buzzing of a fly that desperately wanted to give the flickering light above me a gentle smooch, my mind grew occupied with other things.

“…It’s an interesting pastime. Not to mention, it might do them some good to have something to play around with here.”

That, and a glance out the window told me things were already horrendously off.

The moon hadn’t so much as moved an inch since we landed here — it had to have been hours on end since then, the walk to this apartment itself taking one or two hours. Yet, the faint glow of moonlight still illuminated the outside, and cast a faint light on the bathroom floor where the flickering lightbulb couldn’t reach.

Something wasn’t right here already. As a Singularity, it only made sense — but something really was off.

…Perhaps…

“…It’ll make things a bit better for him, wouldn’t it? He has the others, and me, but… I think something else might be good for him.”

…I looked away from the mirror, and stepped towards the bathroom door. ‘Feeling’ out the mana I did have in reserves, I reckoned I’d have enough for the job.

Even with my mana output, surely creating a Mystic Code wasn’t beyond me.

—

…

…It appears it was beyond me.

The faint light of my desk table warmly illuminated small, spherical object so blatantly not what I had in my mind that it bordered on parody.

It had the bare minimum — a sphere separated into two halves, with a hinge holding the two together — but the latch was utterly broken, unable to keep a grip on the sphere if you so much as rattled it lightly. Even worse, the awkward shades of red and white made its vibes utterly horrendous, as though you left a fishing bob out in the sun for years and gave the whole thing a horrid yellow tint. The warm light, of course, made this atrocity even worse.

“…I didn’t exactly have any apricorns on hand, but… Holy hell.”

I couldn’t even dare look away from it — it was as though I had raised a monstrosity beyond human comprehension, like trying to find a poodle and instead raising a shoggoth. I hadn’t even tried to Mystic-Code-ify the damned thing yet — it still really only was a hastily-carved piece of wood that faintly resembled what an alien might consider a ‘poke ball’ at a passing glance.

…But even so, its appearance didn’t matter as much as if the Mystic Code worked. I could’ve made it into the beautiful visage of a filled mason jar, yet it would still fail if I bungled this next step.

So, the next step was to ‘encode’ this object.

“That which should not happen, yet does regardless -“

…That made sense, didn’t it? ‘Nothingness’ worked best for such an object, that made the impossible possible.

My finger traced its form, one eye closing, the other peering down at the wooden sphere as though trying to see through ‘its soul.’

“…There.”

Like a painter, brushing over an empty canvas, I dug my nail directly into the wood — as it slipped through it, seamlessly, almost akin to a knife into water.

Tracing ‘connections,’ ‘lines,’ ‘circuits,’ all throughout its figure — my eye remained, centred on the sphere, as though even blinking would cost me my life.

To create ‘something,’ that could bind a ‘something’ — a familiar — and even return it to what was a step before ‘nothing,’ swapping this being from ‘nothing’ to ‘something’ at a whim, without even harming the being within.

If it could even function, and work — was beyond me. Crossing one’s fingers, praying for success, was all I could do, tracing these ‘commands’ in the form of lines and connections, now sprawling over the entire sphere in glowing blue ‘cracks.’

In time, the sphere itself seemed as though held together purely from the bonds of its Connections — the ‘commands’ of what it was moved through it, like a ceramic vase broken and put together with enough glue to showcase its cracks. Lifting my nail from it, the cracks faded — turning from blue to a faint yellow, then fading entirely, leaving only the same wooden sphere I was met with.

“…Looks like the only thing left is to try and make it work.”

…I stood from my chair, fighting back a sudden pain in my chest, and lifted up the sphere — turning to the door of my barely-lit hotel room.

All that was left was to try and catch something.

—

…

…Things truly were off, here.

With all my wandering, the only animal I’d seen to date was the crow that ‘Quin’ kept close. Even so, that seemed to me an obvious familiar — something she wouldn’t take kindly to me trying to catch.

By now, I stood at an empty field — not far from the apartments, certainly, as I could still hear its chains rattling — watching the moon that lay just on the horizon, as though watching me right back.

“…Nothing.”

In time, my eyes slipped back down to the wooden sphere I gripped in my hand.

‘A wash, huh?’

…But it’s not as though it made no sense.

Even in a Singularity, the impossible did not suddenly become possible.

The moon may freeze, things may grow strange and scary — but biology, itself, would not bend to the whims of something as weak as a Singularity. Not so easily.

“…But isn’t there something you’re missing, Senpai~?”

…My eyes peered up —

—in front of me, behind me, around me—

—but found nothing.

“…I can’t quite get there now, but I can speak to you. How cute, hm~?”

“…I assume it’s convenient timing you find me aimlessly wandering around a field like a loon.”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I could almost feel BB’s mischievous gaze staring through ne.

“I… think I can help your problem. You want Cadence to have a little animal friend, right~?”

“…Yeah.”

“…Why is that, if I may ask?”

…I breathed out, and had to bite my tongue.

—

“…I don’t think Cadence will live through all of this, Master.”

—

“…I’ve got to make him smile as much as the others. He’s got enough on his plate — I want to help him take it off.”

…It seems she accepted the answer.

“Well, in that case, I have just the solution~! I’ll see if I can’t ‘hack into’ this Singularity and get you exactly what you asked for — since you asked so politely, Senpai~!”

…Even as she said that, something in front of me began to shift — shake, even.

“Didn’t you say you couldn’t come here? How can you do this?!”

“Well, Ritsy, I’ve got to try, right? What could possibly go wrong~!”

…The entire surroundings turned a deep, dark black.

“…That could go wrong!”

“Nonsense! That could, uhm, be a Darkrai! Yeah!”

“—Isn’t that what Cadence would need the least?!”

…A deep red light suddenly engulfed the field in front of me.

“—What the hell?!”

“I tried to make it a Cresselia! I tried!”

“—Are you absolutely sure about that?!”

“It’s something about this place! Everything I’m doing is—“

…Suddenly, her communications ceases.

And I was met with…

“—…—-…”

“..AA—,,,,—AAAUUAAA———AAAHH—-JAA—“

…A piercing, faltering scream.

The kind I could only imagine would come out of a nightmare.

It was this long, red, tetrahedronal thing, that was simultaneously everything and nothing around me. Surrounding me in its endless shade — almost singing, in a voice so cathartic and broken that it shifted between ‘endless pain’ and ‘desperate screaming’ while yet still feeling passionate — enjoyable.

‘Listen.’

My muscles froze.

‘Listen.’

My tongue stopped — calcified.

‘Listen.’

…

Its screaming —

—it became all I could think about.

This being —

—it wouldn’t move. It had me where I could only presume it wanted me, and yet it didn’t move a muscle.

“—AaAaAAaaAaa—“

…

…My calcified muscles —

—I could only move my arm, just that little bit.

Closing my eyes, I gently rolled the wooden sphere across what might’ve been the ground —

—and, after some seconds passed, heard a ‘click’ amongst the screams.

…

A roll—

—Another —

—…

…Another ‘click’ — and I fell to the ground, the pain in my chest feeling unending all at once.

…That sphere… would drain mana. It would drain it every time it were used — and now, just by capturing whatever that was, I found myself sprawled out across the ground of the plains, unable to so much as think about moving.

And that being — whatever BB had created — wasn’t a creature that should exist.

A step beyond even ‘something that shouldn’t exist, and yet does regardless.’

All I could tell, in that short few moments of being held in such a way, was that it were fighting for its right to exist.

Perhaps, in a way, its song was meant to validate itself.

To make it memorable, and ‘confirm’ its existence.

“…It… certainly achieved that.”

…

—

…A writer shifts its brow. A wrench in the schemes — and yet…

[I should have expected/understood as much.]

It only made sense — that beings like these Masters would find beings not unlike themselves.

…

[…It should not interfere. If it does — it could be written out far too easy to fret of.]

The writer, the director, breathes out, and raises a hand to the masked man on their left.

[Prepare yourself. If they attempt to use that… abomination, it will do itself in. Focus on your role.]

…The masked man nodded, and closed a locket on his chest — stepping away, and moving backstage.

—

—

…New Pokémon Discovered.

Adding to registry…

[♀.]

4 h Pokemon

Height: 80’3’’

Weight: 6099 lbs

Normal/Normal

A being that should not exist.

Outside of combat, it manifests as a red tetrahedron, and appears capable of sending other living creatures into and out of a ‘pocket dimension’ not unlike a Reality Marble. It appears this space is pitch black; and unlike in the real world, where it remains mute, it is capable of speaking here. However, it speaks in broken English only.

In combat, ‘reality’ notices the beast, and begins to try ‘writing it out’ of the world. This causes the being immense pain — with its only ability in this instance being to trap an opponent within its pseudo-Reality Marble, and ‘sing’ endlessly to maintain and validate its existence. Due to this, fighting with it is ill-advised.

If it is able to enter combat normally, however, it’s remarkably speedy for its weight, with decent bulk and strength befitting of its large size. It is weak to magical or special skills. Perhaps due to its unique ‘effect’ that comes with its singing, it lacks an Ability. Notably, this Pokémon inflicts extreme mental strain on its Trainer in combat due to the unique nature of its skillset, and as such, extreme precautions must be taken to ‘use’ the being normally —up to and including dedicated battlefields, with bushes in northeast corners, which seem to prevent some of this Pokémon’s more catastrophic effects.

(It appears that this Pokémon is technically a Noble Phantasm of BB, due to her being responsible for its birth. Due to this, it answers only to Cadence, BB, and BB’s closest ones.)

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Week Day 7: minor character/missing scene

Albert is a man. A man... with a van.

He's proud of his van. Sure it was a bitch and a half to get certified and sometimes trying to drive three freaking blocks in this city when he's having a bad enough day can threaten to put his blood pressure through the roof, but he's ground out an honest living for himself with it. That's no mean feat, in this neighborhood.

Plus, Al likes his job. It involves a lot of visiting every nook and cranny of the area, meeting loads of people at varying levels of talkative - it's a job that requires someone personable, and Al doesn't think it's too immodest to say that he fits the bill.

Staring down a fully loaded armoire, though, Al can admit to himself that there are times he's less fond of this job than others.

By the time he's got the thing down on the sidewalk, doors and drawers bound shut and with an initial layer of wrapping to protect it from pedestrian traffic while he sets up the loader, Al has mentally added two upticks to his pain-in-the-ass fee.

"Woah, can I help you with that?"

Al pauses in his transferring long enough to take a look at who's spoken. It's a white guy, 20s, a little scruffy but looks comfortable, and, most importantly, seems genuine.

Al smiles at him. "I appreciate the offer, but these need to be moved in a specific way to prevent scuffing."

"Oh." Al goes back to loading the armoire. "...Would you show me?" Al pauses again. Looks back at the guy. "I'm Danny, by the way," he adds, and smiles beatifically.

Al blinks up at the sky. Had the sun shone more brightly for a second, there? He turns back to wrapping the furniture with blankets and bungee cords. "You need to move a lot of furniture, Danny?" he asks while he works. Engaging in friendly conversation with strangers is second nature to him, at this point.

Danny, who has the courtesy to remain standing out on the street behind the van as they talk, bounces a little as he replies. "Yes, actually! My girlfriend and I have been redoing her apartment."

"Wow, big project. Hey, if you guys need stuff moved around, I've got you covered. Back and forth from the storage unit, delivering your new stuff from the store, bringing your old stuff wherever it's going... My rates are fair and, as you can see, I'd actually take care of your things." He pats the carefully cushioned furniture from his current job in indication.

Danny laughs a little, looking at it. "At least that isn't a piano, right?"

"Hey man, pianos have wheels. I can walk them right up the ramp."

Danny eyes the ramp Al uses with the handtrucks. "Isn't it too skinny?"

Al laughs again. "What kind of piano are you picturing, a grand?" As if anyone who owned one of those would be hiring Al to move it. As if anyone who owned one of those would be living in this area at all.

Danny shrugs, unbothered. "I haven't seen one since I was a kid. Maybe it seemed bigger back then." A beat passes, and then Danny continues talking, the oversharing sort of babble symptomatic of the sleep-deprived. "Anyway, we'll definitely call you for help with our stuff. And you can show me all the right ways to handle everything! I'm probably going to be doing a lot of rearranging furniture and stuff since Colleen is out at Bayard all the time now; she keeps talking about helping the community during the daytime - Colleen's my girlfriend, she's the best - and, I mean, she's right, of course, plus, we just got back to the city and I am not used to not having to do something -" he cuts himself off, lighting up. "Hey, could I get a job with you?"

Al startles. He can usually recognize when someone's coming at that angle. Granted, they usually don't seem to stumble into it by mistake.

"The shop down the street is hiring," he offers. "On the corner."

"Thanks! I'd like to work for this business, though."

Al pauses. Revaluates "Danny". There are only so many reasons someone would be looking for a moving job specifically, and in this neighborhood, the most likely scenario is one that Al has been very carefully steering clear of for 30 years.

"I appreciate the interest," he repeats cautiously, "but we're a small business. I'm afraid we don't really have the means to hire right now." It's a bit of a risk, revealing a vulnerability like that. Luckily, Albert is overstating it a bit; it won't be that easy for any of the triads to put financial pressure on him, and, well. He's stubborn. He swore a long time ago that he wouldn't go there.

"Oh, that's not a problem!" Danny says brightly. "You wouldn't need to pay me. I'm more looking for the experience, you know? I've never had a normal job, and Colleen thinks it'll be good for us to start over."

The alarm bell clanging in Al's head rises to a shriek, then falters. If this is a ploy, it is astoundingly poorly executed. If this guy is in with any sort of organized crime, he can't be more than a fledgling recruit. Al feels a moral obligation to try and steer him better, even if his self preservation instincts disagree.

"Look," Al says, watching Danny's face carefully. "I'm running an honest business, here. I'm not interested in having our name attached to anything. And, if I could offer you a word of advice?" Danny, who mostly just looks confused, nods. "Don't go saying that stuff about working for free. Depending who hears it, that's a good way to end up either severely taken advantage of, or in a coffin. Anyone you might be trying that hard to get a resource for won't be happy about you overplaying your hand."

Danny still looks confused. Al mimes swinging a hatchet. Danny's eyes go wide with clarity.

"I'm not with the triads," he says disconcertingly earnestly. "I'm the Iron Fist. I'm sworn to defend the city from people like them."

...Ok.

Well, at least this is an interesting conversation.

"If you're not with the triads, why do you want this job?"

"I guess I'm looking for something new. For fifteen years, I had one purpose. Now, it's done. Now, I need to build a new life, and..." His voice dips in a certain way with the next words, a way that makes Al's stomach sink with the familiarity of it. "...keep a promise to a friend."

Al looks at Danny, a pit in his stomach and memories in his heart. Resignation settles underneath his skin.

"You have a résumé?" he asks. At least Danny doesn't seem inclined to just throw things around, like some other shipping companies that Al could name. Royal Al Moving provides quality for its clients, thank you very much.

"I don't think so. What is that, equipment? I could buy some."

Al stares at him. He'd been expecting either an agreement to email or bring by a copy later, or a conversation along the lines of 'do I really need one?' followed by a verbal listing off of previous work or even just ability.

"Do you have any previous experience?" Al tries again. "Had any jobs before?"

"Yeah, I have," Danny says, and doesn't elaborate.

White people.

"What about ID?" Al asks, despite knowing full well he'll probably pretend not to notice if anything seems off about it.

Danny laughs a bit, seemingly unphased by his own complete lack of knowledge regarding ordinary job application/interview etiquette whatsoever. "Oh, I definitely have that. Had to fight really hard for it, too. It was almost all gone, but once everything got sorted out, we made, like, 10 new copies of everything." Danny pats around at his pockets, not appearing to notice Al's incredulous expression. "I don't have any of those with me right now, but... Ah ha!" He pulls something out triumphantly. "Business cards! I'm pretty sure my brother thought I was just going to destroy them, but my friend Jeri said it's important to always have one. It might have gone through the laundry, though, sorry."

Assuming this day can't get any weirder, like a fool, Al takes the card.

Even worn and slightly crumpled, the obnoxiously expensive quality of the original card is still clear. There's embossing and gold foil, for god's sake. The Rand Enterprises logo glints up at him almost mockingly even as the three dimensional lines of the border rise and fall under his thumb. Either seems unnecessary and frankly tone deaf for a Humanitarian Aid company, let alone both. Then again, maybe they reserve this version of the card for the executive level, those who hobnob among the elite, who need to make a certain type of impression on the too rich in order to convince them to donate well.

Because that's another thing this card reads, right there in plain English: a 9pt bold 'Daniel Rand', and under that, 'CEO'.

'What,' a little voice in Al's head wails semi-hysterically, 'the fuck?'

"Is this a joke?" Al asks out loud, vaguely surprised by how calm he sounds given the way the voice inside his head might be having a meltdown. "Am I on Candid Camera?"

But, no, wasn't he just thinking that this card is way too expensive - and thus definitely too expensive to be a prop?

"Hey, I know that one!" Danny Rand says cheerfully. "Joy and I used to watch it together!"

'Joy,' the voice in Al's head supplies. 'Joy Meachum.

'Well, at least this explains why he said he doesn't need money.

'Wait, why is he looking for a job in the first place? Is he not CEO? Did they kick him out or something? Did they disown him for wearing a hoodie with holes in it? Is that what he meant earlier when he said the thing he was doing before is over now?'

Al has never felt more rueful that he doesn't pay much attention to celebrity news.

"So," Al tries to find a way to word this that isn't 'have you been cut off or what?' "Why is Danny Rand looking for a job here?"

By "here", Al means a lot of things. This type of neighborhood, in general. Chinatown, out of all of them. At a low-wage position in a manual labor business with very little room for growth, if they're really getting into it.

"I like your name," Danny replies. It's far from the kind of answer that Al was expecting, but he finds himself unperturbed. Maybe he's hit a point where nothing is surprising anymore. "It reminds me of a friend. He was more of a Big Al than a Royal one, but I saw your logo and it seemed right."

-

(Al still pays Danny, because he refuses to be a shady business and because if he's finally getting around to setting up an employee system, he's needs to make it one that will work for anyone he might hire in the future, too. They won't all be Danny Rand. Danny keeps finding ways to immediately give it back, because he's literally a billionaire.)

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Ghost Hunting with An Outlaw

Summary: Arthur sets out to seek the legendary ghost train. But it wasn’t his idea, this journey is led by Eleanor Ivie.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 2208

A/N: The third prize for my follower giveaway for miss @writingandsins​! Babe you are so very gracious and as you know I enjoyed writing El for this. Please enjoy <3

Arthur struck a match against the heel of his boot, the bulbous end sparking for a split second before becoming engulfed in flame. Bringing the lit match up to the cigarette he grasped between his lips, the far end caught ablaze as he took a deep inhale. The earthy smoke filled his lungs before curling out from the spaces of his barely opened mouth, leaning his weary shoulders against the brick wall of the Rhodes bank.

He took a second drag, savoring the flavor for a moment. It’d been a long, stressful week filled with failed heists and high tensions amongst the camp, often breaking into arguments. Micah’s sneering and blaming him for the miserable failure of a recent robbery, Arthur visibly bristled and nearly wrung the damn asshole’s neck right then and there in camp if it hadn’t been for Dutch.

That was just an hour ago. Arthur had stomped away to the edge of camp with the intent to drink his frustrations away. That it until he’d been approached by someone, eventually convincing him to provide company for a trip into Rhodes.

There weren’t many people that could calm the raging beast inside him, and fewer people he trusted to be angry around, yet he had a soft spot for Eleanor. Her tender touch on his bare forearm provided an instantaneous shift from a boil to a mere simmer. Her voice like wind chimes to his ears, carrying with the gentle breeze that rustled the leaves. She asked him to accompany her to town for a shopping trip.

It wasn’t his favorite chore, but it took his mind off of things. He agreed almost immediately, the gratefulness plain in his voice. The two saddled up to head to town.

Arthur didn’t need anything, not really. Hell, he was content on just standing outside while she carried on with her business. So he kept to himself, silently observing the flow of traffic before him. Carriages and trotting horses stirring up the russet dust, coating everything with a slightly red tinge. The whistle of the train carried over the roofs to signal its depart. The old Confederate veteran yammering on about the North sounded from across the street.

Lemoyne was one of his least favorite places thus far. The land teeming with racists and inbred families, he always headed into town with gritted teeth. However the tense edge in his jaw was absent, even more so when his eyes flitted to the familiar red hair that appeared from the general store. Her arms laden with goods, he immediately started forward to help, even when he didn’t need to.

Eleanor smiled at him, allowing him to relieve her burdened hands as the two of them walked over to their horses. “Thanks Arthur,” she said.

Arthur glanced sideways at her, shooting her a half-smile of his own while he placed her purchases into her saddle bag. “Got everything you wanted?” he asked.

She nodded in response. Arthur noticed her smile widened, a familiar look on her face that he associated with an adventurous thought. This piqued his interest yet said nothing, knowing it would be her next topic.

“That, and even more,” she began with a spark of excitement in her voice. “While I was in there, I heard the shopkeeper talking to someone else about a supposed ghost train.”

“Ghost train?” Arthur repeated, turning to face her completely. “Ain’t ever heard o’ that.”

Eleanor mounted her horse, which Arthur followed suit with his own. As they trotted down the dusty road, she spoke again, “Apparently, it appears very late at night, not too far from here. Sightings of it are far and few in between.”

Arthur listened. He wasn’t a complete skeptic as he’s witnessed some questionable sightings throughout his travels, but an entire train as an apparition? “So I’m guessin’ you’re gonna try n’ find it,” he stated.

A wide grin crossed Eleanor’s face. “And I’m asking you if you want to go with me,” she replied.

Arthur expected this. Often times Eleanor did ask him to accompany her adventures, her favorite going on “collection runs” to procure seemingly useless items, but she found interest in them for whatever reasons unknown to him. It may not be a bank heist or stagecoach robbery, yet Arthur couldn’t complain. It allowed him to have some sort of relaxation from his normal duties.

This however was a new request. He briefly considered it, wondering if it would be a waste of time or a true story. It may just be all a wild goose chase, but Eleanor rarely showed disappointment even when plans didn’t work in her exact favor.

After today’s frustrations, he supposed it wouldn’t be a bad idea, if it meant keeping himself occupied. He nodded and said, “Sure, what time exactly?”

“3 am,” she said nonchalantly. When his eyes widened and he scoffed in exasperation, she just shrugged and added. “Is it too late for you?”

Arthur sighed. “Guess not.”

The smile reappeared on Eleanor’s face as she said, “Good, then we’ll leave at midnight.”

---

Aside from a few snide comments, Arthur managed to avoid Micah for the next few hours. He kept himself busy with some of the heftier chores. After a helping of Pearson’s stew and a couple of drinks along with some hearty storytelling around the campfire, day shifted to night and everyone slowly began to turn in. He kept an eye on the time, occasionally stealing a glance over at Eleanor. She met his eyes and smiled, her own green hues sparking with excitement each time.

Soon the clock struck midnight, and Arthur quietly made his way to the outskirts of camp, where Eleanor and their horses waited. She was already mounted when he reached his horse.

The two of them set off just moments later, ducking through the woods until the dusty road appeared beneath the bright moonlight. Urging their horses into a lope, they steadily rode side by side, following the path while the calming nocturnal melody of nature surrounded them.

Arthur glanced over at the tracks that sat somewhat further away from them. Too familiar with trains, he tried to imagine the large iron horse with a ghostly glow, except it seemed impossible. He shook his head, reminding himself why he was out here. “So where exactly is this ghost train gonna appear?” he spoke up after a few minutes of silence between the two.

“It’s up by the New Hanover border,” Eleanor replied. “And it only appears on a clear night, we’ve lucked out with the weather.” She glanced up at the sky.

“That seems oddly specific,” Arthur mused with a touch of skepticism. “You sure this ain’t jus’ some made up story?”

Eleanor looked over at him, combatting his pessimism with a smile. “I happen to think it’s real, Arthur. If it’s not, then we’ll just go back to camp.”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, only to bite back as it resonated on his tongue. If it was just a story, it would have been just hours of wasted time. He would have thought this with most people, yet Eleanor’s almost childish curiosity and sense of adventure was like a breath of fresh air, temporarily distracting him from the pressures of the gang. He decided to continue to humor her.

It took a fair bit of time before Eleanor slowed her horse, and Arthur followed suit. The soft terrain of Lemoyne gave way to the large rolling hills of southern New Hanover, the state sign signifying the border in plain sight. The horses came to a stop beneath the shade of some trees. Eleanor dismounted and checked her watch. “1:30, we have some time.”

Arthur slid off his horse and looked around. The full moon cast a silver wash against the landscape, illuminating everything within miles. Aside from tiny creatures skittering across the grass, they were alone.

The two of them sat and spoke for a while. Mundane topics, new collectables Eleanor had come across or anything interesting Arthur found on his travels. Their conversations died down and a little while later, Arthur’s fatigue became more apparent. He fought the weight of his eyelids, until Eleanor assured him it was okay to sleep for a while.

It only seemed like minutes of sleep when a gentle hand roused him back to the present. He pulled open his bleary eyes to see Eleanor standing over him, her red hair surrounded by a silver halo from the moonlight. His heart skipped a beat.

“Hey, five minutes left,” she murmured to him, her face bright with anticipation.

He blinked, snapping from his brief daze to clear his throat and stretch out, his body stiff from leaning against the thick tree trunk. As he got to his feet, he rumbled with, “Already?”

She chuckled softly, that beautiful smile crossing her lips again. “Yes, Arthur. Join me and we’ll watch out for it.”

Rubbing the last dregs of sleep away, Arthur fell in step with her as she came up closer to the tracks. The two stood side by side, staring out at the pathway. His eyes scanned across the worn iron beams which reflected a dull sheen. He thought about the countless trains he’s robbed in the twenty year span of his run with Dutch. Train tracks were a familiar setting for him, and it almost felt as if he were about to do it again. His heart began to beat wildly beneath his ribs in anticipation. Why?

“What’re you thinking about?” Eleanor’s quiet voice pierced through his thoughts.

He looked over at her, noting those green eyes staring back at him with curiosity. “I’ve robbed a lot o’ trains, Miss Ivie. Ain’t have much business with ‘em other than travelin’. Gotta say it’s strange bein’ here, but I’m curious to what we’ll find.”

“I don’t think trying to rob a ghost train would do you any good,” Eleanor joked with a light giggle. “Either way, I’m hoping we see something interesting.”

That prompted a small smile from Arthur. The prior hesitation he had about this whole journey was slowly melting away. A few more moments passed by of silence, and Arthur found himself straining to listen past the song of crickets and owls.

Eleanor kept her eyes fixated in the distance, hope radiating from her. She checked her pocket watch with a furrowed brow. “3:01. I don’t –”

A whistle pierced the air, the unmistakable breathy pitch of a train. Arthur nearly jumped, automatically turning his attention to the source. At first he saw nothing, until an artificial golden light further illuminated the tracks before them. He blinked and squinted, attempting to see around the glow. It was just too far off to see the locomotive properly.

Eleanor’s elated gasp sounded from next to him. “I think that’s it!”

“May jus’ be a passin’ train,” he quietly suggested, his eyes never moving as the vehicle closed in on them. The light seemed very clear, and the ground vibrated with the telltale sign of power moving across the surface.

The closer it grew and with Arthur’s eyes adjusting to abrupt change in scenery, he naturally searched for the iron body blended in to the cobalt sky above. A dense fog seemed to roll in behind it, churning in with the plume of smoke billowing from the stack.

A slight chill seemed to penetrate him, sparking a shiver traveling up his spine. He breathed out a visible puff of precipitation. Even if they were close to New Hanover, there was no reason for such cold.

To his surprise, the dark iron was replaced with a milky white glow.

He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. This didn’t seem normal.

The massive locomotive rolled smoothly along the tracks, the ground ever quaking beneath them. Arthur stepped back as it slowly chugged past them.

He could see the landscape through it.

A hand gripped his upper arm. “Arthur! It’s… it’s –” Eleanor tried to say, her voice quivering in excitement.

“It��s real,” he murmured, his unblinking stare fixated on the transparent cars. “How in the hell…?”

The two of them fell into silence as the train continued to pass them by. The vibrations, the noise, everything seemed tangible except for the damned thing itself. Every reasonable explanation in his head simultaneously flung out the window with the very real arrival of this spectral creation. The fog curled around their feet, a cold wind akin to an Ambarino mountain breezing by the two.

He searched for any signs of passengers, human or otherwise, to no avail. He couldn’t focus on any single area, proven too transparent to take a closer look.

The train soon passed, taking with it the fog and frigid air. Arthur stared after it, his curiosity itching to follow.

“Where do you think it’s going?” Eleanor sounded.

“Who knows,” he responded, folding his arms in thought.

“We could follow it,” she stated thoughtfully, stepping toward the horses. She paused and looked back at him. “That is, if you want to.”

Aw hell, what else has he got to do? He offered her a smile and walked over to her. “Ya got me out here, might as well.”

Eleanor’s smile mirrored his own.

[toastedbuckwheat]

Hello! May I ask how you draw? I'm currently learning how to myself and would be highly interested into a step to step process by you! Like from sketch to the done thing (no color necessary)

Hello there!

I dunno how I feel about showing how I work/giving advice to someone who’s learning (and I say it as a pro artist who went through years of traditional art education) because when I do the illustrations you see here on my tumblr I BREAK THE RULES you’d learn though life drawing routine, and give in to bad habits, and my methods are rather unplanned and chaotic which makes it difficult to pinpoint significant stages. But I used my portable potato to take some photos during working on my last piece, so I’ll throw it here with a bit of an explanation of what’s going on.

Before I begin - and because you’re about to look at a mess of a WIP - I’d like to give you some general advice that generally makes life easier when you draw (again, things that I learned in traditional arts education - another artist might advise you the complete opposite, dunno!)

Work holistically. Forget them satisfying-to-look-at clips on instagram showing someone produce a hyperrealistic portrait starting from an eye, with each and every element emerging being finished before they proceed to another part. It takes a lot of talent, yes, but these are ppl redrawing a photo in a kind of a mechanical manner. Most artists don’t work this way. Especially if you’re working without a reference, or if you’re doing a life drawing - your process will be layering and changing and finding what works best to give an impression of what you’re drawing rather than reproduce the exact image, and your artwork is likely to look messy most of the time.That said: don’t start with the details. Don’t spend too much time on a particular part while neglecting others. Your goal is to keep the whole piece at the same level of ‘finished’ (even though it’s unfinished - do I make sense?) before you’re confident that everything is where it should be and proceed to the details. So sketch out the composition first. See how things fit, what’s the dynamics. You’ll save yourself from limbs sticking out from the frame, odd proportions etc etc.

Because it’s a game of relationships between different parts of the picture/scene. I ask you not to worry about finishing a single element before laying out the rest because you’ll find that said element will look different once the other part appears! For instance - you might think that the colour you picked for a character’s hair is already very dark. But once you’re done with the night sky background, you’ll find that it’s in fact too light, and doesn’t work well with the cold palette. You’ll have to revisit different parts of the image as you go to balance these relationships and make the picture work as a whole.

Give an impression of something being there without actually drawing it ‘properly’- because details are hard, mate. You’ll see that my lineart usually has hardly any, and my colouring is large unrefined stains, but the finished thing looks convincing. Like, fuck, I can never focus on how Crowley’s eyes are really shaped. So I just turn them into large glowing yellow ellipses crossed by a line, and heard no protests so far.

Don’t panic if you messed up (you probably didn’t anyway). It might turn out to be a completely unnoticeable mistake - because, remember, things work together to balance each other, so another finished off prominent element will probably drown that badly placed line that looked so visible and out of place a second ago. 

It might not look good before it’s finished. I’m mostly immune to it after years of drawing, and my recent illustrations all follow a specific method (ykno, my sunset glow effects and all that) so I can kinda predict the next stage. But I do my linearts on a specially picked crap paper, I don’t bother erasing the smudged graphite, and it looks messy af until I make the background white in Photoshop. Conclusion: you might have a moment of doubt as you work through a piece, but try to break through it - I often suddenly start to like what I cursed a minute before! - and try to finish it even if it’s meant to be bad. This way, looking through your past pieces, you’ll see the progress. And trust me, I can’t even look at my art from literally three months ago. It’s normal.

Now, pics! The sketches are paler in real life, but I increased the contrast a little so you can see something.

1. Laying out the composition! 

I wanted to just show them kissing, but I got carried away due to some Art Nouveau inspiration. As you might have noticed, most of my illustrations are quite self-contained (ykno - they look like a sticker on a plain background). So I wanted a tight swirl bordered by Aziraphale’s wings creating a sort of rounded, yin-yang like bubble around them. Consequently I made the whole composition revolve around their heads. 

2. Adding more details to the sketch. It’s messy af. It will be messy until I’m done. It’s fine.

3. These are the fineliners I use for the linearts! They are made by Uni-ball and come in light and dark grey. I also sometimes use the guy on the left - ‘Touch’ sign pen by Pentel, when I want more brush-like, wider strokes. I work in grey because when I scan it and do my usual boring trick with sunlight highlights - which is an Overlay mode layer in Photoshop - the highlights ‘burn out’ the lines too and make them vanish a little, and the lighting effect gets more striking. I also like to use the light grey ones to make something look pencil-y without actually using pencil, because pencil fucking smudges.

4. It smudges! So because I am right handed, I start inking from the right hand side, no matter how tempted I am to do their faces first.

5. You can see the composition directions here. I made it intuitively, but ofc some ppl actually use grids etc to lay out their drawings.

6. See how pale ans thin the lineart was at first? I kept adjusting it as new inked parts were appearing. It starts to look nice and consistent now! 

7. Finished lineart? There are some mistakes which I later corrected in PS. Notice that Aziraphale’s face has hardly any details on it - I tried to make the drawing suggest his expression rather than risk overdoing it. 

8. Photoshop time!! You can totally do what I did here even if you don’t have a graphic tablet. I used Curves tool to enhance the lineart, then Quick Selection Tool to select the background around around my sticker-like piece and filled it white (on a new layer ofc). I keep this white layer on top of the layer order so it works as a mask as I colour. I decided I did not like the hatching shading underneath Aziraphale’s halo, so I erased it with a Stamp tool (because I wanna keep the textured grey fill my crap paper naturally gives me!). It’s done roughly but won’t be visible once the thing is coloured. 

9. And the reason why I keep the grey shade instead of easily getting rid of it by using Curves/Levels is because when I set this layer to Multiply mode and colour underneath, it gives me this nice desaturated look like from an old cheap paper comic page. It works as a natural filter! But of course I can’t do bright colours this way, so all my glowing highlights happen ABOVE the lineart layer - on a separate layer in Overlay mode! 

Finished thing here!

_____

Commission infoBuy Me a Coffee - help me with my transitioning expenses!Prints and stickers and things on my Redbubble!

[naturepointstheway]

Faith in a Futile Hope (Life is Strange 2; Parting Ways)

Post Parting Ways ending, takes place up to fifteen years after the events at the border. May or may not have a second part. Daniel attempts to look for his brother in Mexico, knowing all this time that the plan is doomed to fail from the beginning.

Also, constructive feedback well-appreciated; using this as testing grounds before AO3, just to see if people think it goes too fast or too slow or something’s missing. (Also, to see if anyone catches what Sean’s trying to do with his drawings he’s sending to Daniel.)

All I can think of to tag is @msmooseberry, but hmu if anyone else wants to be tagged in future LIS2 fics as well. :) 

When they take off Daniel’s ankle bracelet shortly after his 21st birthday, naturally, his first instinct is to take off to look for Sean in Mexico—and he would, but he resists.

He’s smart—he knows this is exactly what the government expects him to do—

So he doesn’t.

(The hell it’s hard not to just buy a plane ticket and go.)

Instead, he fantasises about the day he reunites again with his brother—he’d find him the moment the plane’s wheels hit tarmac, the moment he exits the terminal, and all would be well again.

(Sean still sends letters to Beaver Creek—all redirected now Daniel’s moved back to Seattle. Shit. What’s worse—Sean clearly refusing to imagine Daniel perished in the 2020 plague, or Daniel never being able to assure him for real?)

He has faith that Sean still loves him—even after Daniel leaving him alone at the border—but where is he? Faith and fantasy alone cannot guarantee him ever finding Sean in Mexico.

(He believes anyway. It’s what keeps his hope alive.)

He can wait another year.

He can.

Fuck, it aches to walk past travel agencies or see internet ads boasting cheap holiday plane tickets. He could walk in, or click an ad. Just one step or click and—

And he would cave in, he would book a plane to Mexico on the spot.

And so he doesn’t.

A year passes.

He’s now twenty-two—

And still he resists.

God. It’s torture.

He blocks all travel websites, avoids streets where there are travel agencies. It’s so bad, he’d sooner pass a church that looks eerily like the one in Havenpoint, than trust himself to walk past any travel shop.

Only one envelope from Sean this year—

A drawing—

Of Cassidy and Hannah with a herd of rather adorable-looking llama-like animals behind them.  Underneath, Sean had written: “Vicuñas! Warm and fuzzy and stupid adorable.”

It’s not cold comfort, but nor warm and fuzzy, knowing at least Sean isn’t entirely alone. That at least he can see the old gang from Humboldt County.

Lukewarm. Lukewarm comfort.

He lets the weeks and months plod on by, he buries himself deep into his first year of university.

A degree—he really doesn’t care much for his studies (Cs get degrees, as the saying goes), but at least it keeps him distracted enough from just flying off to Mexico.

And so another year passes.

 Twenty-three, he still doesn’t quite let himself go yet—

Maybe they’re still watching and waiting, expectant. But it’s been two years, hasn’t it? If he goes, he might not end up leading them straight to Sean.

But…what if he did?

It would be his fault, his doing.

They’d capture Sean, throw him behind bars, probably for life.

All thanks to Daniel.

So he resists, still. The agony is beyond unbearable.

But there’s no way he’s leading the government to Sean—he doesn’t trust them, ankle bracelet or no ankle bracelet.

At least Chris is there to distract him—he’s always there for him. Thank god.

Maybe he’ll go next year, but not this year. It’s too soon, too early.

He wakes up with a start on August 15th—Sean would be thirty now.

Thirty to Daniel’s twenty-three.

He’s never felt so old in his life. He’s twenty-three, and Sean has missed out on being there for all his milestones (so far anyway), for all his teen years.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of other people who still had their older brother around. If only he’d never taken Sean for granted.

“I took you for granted, and I’m sorry!” Those words from so many years ago still haunts him.

Unlike Sean, he can’t say sorry for doing the same too.

If only he knew where Sean was now.

If only.

Another couple of drawings and a little photo from Sean: the drawing of a glorious waterfall catches his eye, and he practically frames it on a wall, it’s that stunning. Underneath is written: “Angel Falls—the highest waterfall in the world.”

The other drawing is of a group of adorable little monkeys (“Capuchin monkeys” is written underneath) feeding and resting together. It’s actually quite sweet.

But it hurts all the same. At least Sean’s not wasting his life in a 9-to-5 job that has, amazingly, not yet stolen Daniel’s soul.

It hurts. And he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a healthy dose of jealousy too.

Still, he waits, biding his time still, waiting for the right moment to go.

And so another year flows on by.

 Twenty-four, and he still doesn’t know where Sean is, though he knows he must be alive somewhere.

For Daniel receives a couple of photos and a drawing; the photos both have generic blue skies and tropical greenery in the background, nothing that would identify him as being in any particular country.

The drawing—coloured in this time—is of a couple of yellow flowers; one has a little bee perched on a petal. Underneath are two words: “Ipê-amarelo.”

So where is he?

Is he in Mexico?

How will Daniel find his older brother again?

What plan does he even have beyond “take a plane to Mexico”?

How is he going to do this?

These thoughts stress him so much he gets the old nightmares again.

Of cults, of Lisbeth, of Sean with glass in his eye, of borders and vigilantes who hunted them.

Of being trapped in burning churches, being forced to endure punishment for his “sins”, of being trapped in a prison cell and not knowing where he is.

Chris insists that he has to go to Mexico, if not to give him some peace of mind, to give him something in his search. Surely by now, the government has moved on.

Chris tells Daniel he hates to see him in so much internal torture over going to Mexico or not—and he must. It’s not healthy for him to keep forcing himself to stay here in the USA, always wondering, never searching.

Sean would not want him to torture himself like this—

The road is scary, and Daniel is too comfortable in his little corner of the USA to venture outside.

He’s not like Brody, nor his mother, nor his brother—he has little desire to brave it out and travel.

The traumatic journey from Seattle to the border of Mexico all those years ago hadn’t helped matters at all.

But if he stays here, he’ll forever wonder if Sean is in Mexico, or elsewhere.

And so maybe Chris really is right, he really should go to Mexico.

If but for the peace of mind, to let him go on the journey he has to go on. Even if he doesn’t find Sean, at least he’ll know he tried.

So he finally caves in. He books a plane for next year—2032.

 It is now 2032—he goes in August, books in a holiday for two weeks, the second-to-last day not-so-accidentally coinciding with Sean’s birthday.

Surely, two weeks is enough time to drive around Mexico (he can rent a car and just drive around the place), and somehow run into Sean.

Mexico isn’t a big place, at least not compared to the United States. But Daniel wonders if Sean is even still in Mexico; it’s been fifteen years, he could have gone anywhere.

Surely he’s wandered far from Puerto Lobos by now—maybe he’s just as likely in Canada as he is at the tip of South America, where only the wide cold ocean separated him from Antarctica.

But at least for now he has to believe, has to hope that Sean’s still somewhere in Mexico. It’s a big, big planet, and he doesn’t know if he has enough bravery to go through dozens of foreign countries just to look for his brother.

It was one thing for Sean to look for him in Nevada—at least that was a place, one next door to California—but at least he’d had an idea where Daniel was at the time.

Now? Daniel may as well throw three darts at the world map and pick the first three countries to try to look for him.

Mexico was as good as any place to start—it made sense anyway, seeing as Sean had always wanted to go there.

He could only hope that he wasn’t about to waste two weeks and a few grand only to find no sign of Sean.

 He lands at Aeropuerto Internacional de Ciudad Obregon, and it isn’t the most flattering of places, the little town where he ends up staying for a couple days, but at least he’s here in Mexico. The buildings are sparse and plain, and there is little greenery to see, but the sky is as blue here as it is in Arizona across the border. The houses make him think of matchboxes and lighters and little motels huddled away in some isolated corner of Nevada.

If only he could have taken his own car down here, but he couldn’t, so he’d had to rent one for a fixed price per day—at least his office job back in the States paid him enough to be able to afford this. He can’t exactly live in it like he’d seen people do, but it gives him something to work with regardless.

He can’t help the anxiety that overwhelms him as he navigates a language not his own, but a language that was his father’s and his brother’s. Part of him wants to smack his past teenaged self for refusing to ever learn Spanish, after his brother had tried to use him to cross the border. Instead, he had learned French, much to his grandparents’ delight—both had learned French as high-schoolers back in the day, and were more than happy to help him out, even if they were a little rusty.

Now French was next to useless here in Mexico, and Daniel doubts that Sean was in France or in some other nation like Canada where French was one of the main languages.

Ironically, Chris had been the one to learn Spanish—he would’ve been a very useful presence right now.

Nevertheless, at least Daniel is in Mexico, and Puerto Lobos is not far away, Daniel being able to make his way northward, toward the same border Sean had crossed so many years ago.

Maybe he’s in Puerto Lobos, he hopes, even if some part of him tries to reason that after fifteen years, he might not even be there anymore. Or…maybe he’s moved somewhere along the coast?

Mexico was a bigger place than he had realised: perhaps its small size compared to the US had somewhat tricked him. Its border alone touched four states from west to east: California, Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas. It wasn’t exactly a small island nation stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

But no way Daniel was going to give up—and so he made his way up the west coast, the Gulf of California appearing and disappearing from view depending on what road he ended up on. Maybe, just maybe, he would see Sean along the way.

He can’t help but stop for a good part of a day at Punta Chueca, walking barefoot in the warm sand, the sun hot on his shoulders (it was tank top weather), sitting down at midday to have lunch, and then—fuck it—might as well have a swim too. At least he’d brought along swimwear just in case. He ponders the island of Isla Tiburon, which looks so close he imagines he could just swim right across to it. And he wonders if Sean might be on this island too, but he wants to stay on the mainland, keep going up the west coast.

It’s sort of a blessing that the places he passes through are so small, and it shouldn’t be that hard a task to find Sean, if he was still here. And that was a big if.

At least he’s now less than a day’s trip away from Puerto Lobos.

 Puerto Lobos greets him with soaking sunshine, lulling bright blue ocean that melts into the cloudless sky, and a tan, sandy beach that seems to go on forever. It is a lot smaller than he expected it to be; somehow, Sean had made it sound like this big, wide world where he could just get lost and never be found again.

Instead, it’s a little village, perched on the coast of Mexico, forever gazing out at Baja California that appears nothing more than a hint of land like damp watercolour smudged across a blue canvas. There is one little hotel here, with just a few rooms and one staff member who does all the things, but Daniel doesn’t mind. At least he can stop here for a day or so, and drive up and down Puerto Lobos to look for Sean.

He doesn’t know why it disappoints him so deeply when he doesn’t find Sean at all—he’d even shown the photo to some people, and they’d all shrugged or shook their heads, not recognising the man with the black glass  eye. Did Sean even still have a black glass eye, or had he replaced it with another colour, or even something that more closely resembled his remaining eye?

It doesn’t take long before Puerto Lobos’ width and breadth is exhausted in his search, but Daniel doesn’t let himself give up—yet. He still has another week or so; nevertheless, he spends the self-same night just staring at a map of Mexico, drawing with bold marker how far he’s been now.

It isn’t that impressive. It’s barely even much of the west coast, and this fills him with a sense of something dropping into the pit of his stomach, and he lets his head rest on the map, closing his eyes, feeling he could just fall asleep here from sheer exhaustion and burn out.

I can’t possibly search all of Mexico in two weeks…how am I supposed to search the world?

He wishes that Sean had at least sent a hidden address to their mom’s P.O. Box, but then he might have forgotten it, or hadn’t wanted anything more to do with Karen. Daniel had asked Jacob through Sarah Lee again and again, but Sean had never sent him an address either.

Nobody, not even their mom, seemed to have an idea where Sean was—not even a cellphone number to call.

It really, really wasn’t helping at all—and he knows now that it would take nothing short of a miracle to find him; if he can’t find him in Puerto Lobos of all places, then where the hell could Daniel look for him?

He doesn’t go any farther north than Puerto Lobos—he doubts that Sean would’ve wanted to be anywhere near the border.

And so Daniel returns to Ciudad Obregon, and he has but a few precious days left to venture southward this time, but with less enthusiasm than before.

He’s not going to find Sean.

He’s never going to find him here—

He could be anywhere in Mexico or the world—if Mexico felt so vast and endless now, how would South America, much less North America and Canada, then feel to Daniel?

This planet is just…way too big.

The towns south of Ciudad Obregon remind him again of the ones he’d seen farther north, and agriculture dots the landscape everywhere he looks. Daniel is sure Sean would never live in many of the little villages he passes through, but he keeps his eyes out anyway—

And suddenly, it’s time to go home—

He hadn’t even covered the entire west coast of Mexico.

When the 15th August comes around, Daniel has given up the search, and instead chooses to spend his day around Playa Huatabampito.

He wishes he could enjoy the palm trees, the setting sun, the lapping waves, and soft, cooling sand as much as the beachgoers here.

But he cannot, because now it’s all over.

It’s over.

Two weeks.

He had failed to find Sean.

All that money he’d wasted on a childish hope, a fantasy only found in fairy tales and fiction.

Today was Sean’s 32nd, and Daniel had failed to be there to surprise him for his birthday.

What a stupid, foolish man he was, to have fallen for his own naïve hopes and dreams—

The dream he’d find Sean in Mexico was as real as any he ever experienced in sleep. He’d fallen for his own stupid naivety, so gullible to believe and fall for his own convictions.

Of course he wasn’t ever going to find his brother. Mexico was way smaller than the USA, but that didn’t mean he’d find Sean any easier. Fuck. He could be anywhere on the fucking planet.

Would Daniel have to search the literal ends of the world for even the tiniest hopes of ever finding Sean? How many years could that take?

Either way—he had failed.

Maybe it would have been better if he’d never tried.

He should give up—there was a reason reunions between long-lost relatives happened only in movies and children’s books. Besides, would they even recognise each other now? He’d forgotten Sean’s voice.

Daniel stares out at the watery sun sinking into the distant horizon, drowning in the ocean, helpless. The otherwise soothing rhythm of the lapping waves does nothing to console him. It only hurts, thinking how in another time, in another life, he could’ve been here—or hell, in Puerto Lobos—enjoying the warm Mexican summer with his brother, perhaps even sharing a beer and pizza together.

But no.

He was alone now.

He’ll never see Sean again. Ever.

Daniel fumbles around for the sketchpad and pen he’d been carrying around since he’d landed here in some stupid hope that just having them in his backpack will give him la suerte—the luck—he needs to find Sean.

Placing the sketchpad on his crossed legs, he opens it to a new blank page, settling back against the lone palm tree behind him. He clicks the pen, a stark image of a lone little wolf cub howling at a bright full moon burning in his mind’s eye. After a few false starts, he begins sketching, the ghost of a wolf form emerging on the page. The world around him collapses to the wolf, like it was the only thing in existence, but for the whoosh of lapping waves, the wind striking his bare arms, and the soft warm sand under him.

When he finishes the sketch, he taps his pen on the page, thinking of a title to go with it. After a few seconds it finally comes to him, writing three words under the wolf’s little paws:

“The Lone Wolf”.

He stays very still, staring at the lone wolf cub howling at a cold, uncaring full moon. A drop of water blots the wolf’s front paw. He tears out the page, closing and dumping the sketchbook on the sand next to him.

“I—I wish I knew where you are. But now I know. I’m never gonna find you.” Daniel swipes his hand over his eyes. “You could be anywhere—and—we wouldn’t recognise each other anyway, right? I don’t even remember your voice anymore, Sean. I’m not even sure how to feel about that.”

It’s weirder still to think that the last time Sean had heard his voice, he still had the high lilt unique to a child’s. Or that his face was forever ten years old in his memory.

Daniel had grown into a full adult man, and yet, in Sean’s memories, he’s forever frozen in time as the ten-year-old he’d left behind. Sean had never seen him grow up into teen-hood, never had the chance to tease him when his voice broke, nor joke that he’ll never be as tall as Sean, nor ever make fun of the scant “beard” he managed at best. He never even saw him dress up for his first prom, go on his first date, discover his sexuality, or even graduate. To his surprise, his high-school graduation had felt bittersweet—yes, his grandparents and even his mother had been there, but…it was still not right for Sean to be absent, to not be there to be proud of him, to see him graduate high school.

Whether prom or graduation, he’d have given anything to have had Sean around.

Now, Daniel had not only robbed himself of having his older brother around, he’d also robbed Sean of watching him grow up into the young man he is today.

God.

It’s—

It’s enough to make him want to scream at the unfairness, to shout “Why?!” at the deaf, mute fates, to make him want to sob until his throat is raw, until his tears dry up and leave him an exhausted, shaken mess.

And so he—

And so he curls up into a ball, pressing his lower back into the tree trunk, pulling his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms, only the silent shuddering of his shoulders betraying his state. He feels the paper flutter from between his fingers, but doesn’t care. Let it fly over the sand, roll into the waves, disintegrate in the foam—like he cared.

It didn’t matter anymore.

He’d never, ever see Sean again.

It’s not like he can repeat his teen years over again, so what was the point? He was twenty-five, what more could Sean miss, short of engagement and marriage and graduation from university?  

What even was the point if Sean wouldn’t even see him cross the stage for his undergraduate degree? If Sean would never see him marry the love of his life? If Sean would never see him promoted in some nebulous dream career?

They’d all be tainted with the knowledge he had robbed Sean of seeing him grow up, seeing him succeed in life—

All because of a second of impulse, a moment of panic, of not wanting to hurt anyone else—not even the policemen at the border who would have killed him and Sean without remorse.

And now he knew: he had no choice but to give up.

And now tomorrow…

Tomorrow, he will return to the USA, none the wiser about Sean’s whereabouts in Mexico, let alone the whole world.

[takeflight-hermitcraftau]

Chapter 3- The Storm

Warnings: Panic attacks, vomit, near death experience via drowning. 

A few days had passed, and Grian was plotting yet again. He was planning on going into Mumbo’s base, and building a little meeting room to propose his newest idea. He jumped down Mumbo’s water elevator, laughing to himself before getting stuck. He yelped, struggling out of the door before getting punched across the face by a slime block. Grian sputtered, looking at the machine that had knocked him to the ground.

“Really Mumbo? What is this? An anti-Grian Machine?” He laughed, before quickly going over to Mumbo. He poked the man, seeing him just sitting down on the ground, eyes closed and in a deep meditative state. He giggled mischievously, looking around the area for the certain spot he knew would lead to the other side of the mob farm. He mined through a few blocks, putting them back as he walked through the small hallway. He wasn’t sure how Mumbo could get through these tight hallways with his huge wings. Even with his smaller ones this was difficult and tight. The hallway opened up to a slightly larger room, and he quickly made he way over to the ravine. He had already planned out the area he was going to use for this idea, and his inventory was filled with everything he’d need.

About an hour later he was done, the gravel ‘accent wall’ done and a lever by his own chair. He grinned excitedly, opening his inventory and pulling out a nice red suit he had made himself with wool. He pulled off his red shirt, stretching out his wings to make the process easier. He looked down at himself. He wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but not some sort of model either. He was slim, having recently gained much more of a swimmers body than anything. He glanced behind his shoulder, where his wings attached to his upper back.

The red coloration of his wings molded down seamlessly into his back. He grabbed the white dress shirt he had gotten off of Scar (the two were rather similar body type wise), throwing it over his back and letting his wings slot into the opened section in the back. It was nice to be able to have others help him with clothing. Back home it was hard, given he’d always need help cutting out patterns in his shirts that allowed his wings to come through. But Scar helped him out big time, giving him a patterns to use to make shirts and whatnot. He buttoned up the white shirt, stretching out his shoulders. It was definitely a tight fit. But honestly?? It didn’t look half bad on him. He took the red suit jacket, and slipped that on as well. He had to reach behind him to zip up the area around his wings, so it fit better and looked a lot more professional.

He just lazily pulled the red dress pants over his gray slacks, and then groaned as he realized the green tie. He unbuttoned the jacket, and struggled to tie the tie around his neck. He privately messaged Scar.

Grian: hey dude. How do you tie a tie?

GoodTimesWithScar: Oh my goodness. Your hopeless.

Grian: I knooooww.

Grian laughed a bit, but Scar told him he was busy right now, and he took that answer and just tried to pull up a video on his communicator. He took about ten or so minutes trying before he finally got it, and just then it came up on his communicator that Mumbo had stopped being AFK. He grinned, rushing up to the little window he had made behind Mumbo’s spawner. He heard Mumbo laugh at seeing him, walking up to the mirror.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and Grian just beamed.

“I am here to propose the deal of the century!” He said, his smile wide.

“Get over here.” Mumbo said, smiling tiredly at the energetic body. Grian walked through the small hallway, beaming. “What are you wearing?” He laughed.

“I’m Here to give You! The deal of a life time.” Grian said. “Also! What is this?!” Grian held up the tag, and Mumbo laughed. Grian just sighed. “Follow me! We mustn’t waste time.” Grian grabbed Mumbo’s hand, dragging him through the tiny hallway once again.

“This isn’t really a professional entrance.”

“Well it’s what I had to work with.” Grian laughed, getting into the ravine and climbing up the stairs, just dodging mobs and arrows.

“Not very safe either.” Mumbo laughs, taking his sword and killing a skeleton attacking Grian. Said dirty blonde laughed, getting to the room before the meeting room.

“This is where my secretary works. If i had one.” He joked, and Mumbo laughed a little. He still had a grip on Grian’s hand, a part of him not wanting to let go of it. Grian was just. So excitable. His little giggles were adorable and it sent Mumbo into another plain when he managed to get the little gremlin to laugh. He didn’t romantically love the man, no. He wasn’t gay after all. But he loved the man platonically, despite only knowing him for a few days. Grian somehow had that effect of the other hermits. It felt like they all knew Grian all their lives already.

“So, Mumbo.” Grian said, letting go of Mumbo’s hand to sit down at the chair he had made. Mumbo sat in the chair beside him, looking over to him. “As you know, most of the hermits have these little groups of theirs. ConCorp, New Hermit Order, excetera. I want to propose a new group between us! You’re the only hermit i really know so far, so i wanted to make a partnership. So if i need redstone help you’d be able to help me, and vise versa!” Grian smiled, reaching towards the lever. “And the name of this partnership??” He pulled the lever. “BUILDSTONE!” The gravel fell to reveal the name, besides one stack of gravel.

“Wow Grian.”

“See?? This is exactly why I need your help!” He laughed. Mumbo couldn’t help the little laugh that left him as he watched Grian shovel the gravel away. He looked at the logo Grian had on the wall.

“I see. Well, Grian. I’d love to have a partnership with you! I really do need the building help.” He smiled. Grian gaped at him.

“With that deathstar of your’s i doubt you do!” He said. Mumbo laughed again.

“No seriously I suck when it comes to building.” Mumbo smiled shyly. Grian just laughed.

“Well! I’m glad to have you as a partner Mumbo! And the name is totally up for debate. I just kinda threw this together.” Grian added.

----

Grian was sitting on the platform of his base, looking up at the sky and thinking of what to do next. Mumbo said yes to his proposal, He now had the tag, AND he couldn’t even go tag someone else! He huffed, going through the days footage and just starting to edit as he laid on the floor. A brief thought crossed his mind. He should go and find this world’s borders. He nodded to himself, standing up and saving the video as it was for now. He’d finish editing it later.

He yawned, looking up at the sun as it was starting to set. “Better go quickly.” He muttered, taking off and flying up past the rim of his base so far. He just headed towards Scar’s base, just starting to fly without any real purpose of motive. He flew past the volcano that Scar was building, whistling to himself. “That man is a terraforming God.” He muttered to himself. He saw a outline of a person on top of the volcano, but paid it no mind. He just figured it was Scar.

He hummed, just feeling the wind in his hair and wings. He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, his eyes closing. He wondered what he should do next for his base, who he should try to get in contact with next. Grian dipped down closer to the water, letting the waves crash against his hand as he flew. He knew that there was mostly ocean for a few kilometers, but he didn’t really care. It would still be a nice and relaxing fly.

‘Why did the watchers let me go?’

The thought appeared in his head, sudden and quickly. He let that thought fester and stay. One thought grew into 2. Then 3. And before he could control it his mind was filled with negative thoughts and feelings. He felt fear gripping at his core, its ice cold hands restraining him. There was no where to land. His chest was heaving and he felt tears falling down his cheeks and the thoughts of him not being good enough roared through his head. The thoughts telling him he was a cruel monster. He wasn’t normal. Wasn’t okay.

Grian just flew into the ocean, letting the bitter cold water wash over him the soaked his wings and made it impossible for him to fly. But he didn’t care. He floated on the ocean surface, wings spread out as heaving sobs left his body. “Why would they miss me?” He heard himself say. He gasped for air, hands pulling at his hair. He knew this was a panic attack. He was prone to them. Taurtis usually helped him calm down. But he was out here, alone with only the ocean to comfort him.

He noticed water dripping onto him, and his eyes opened for a moment. Harsh stormclouds were forming above him, and he gasped. Oh fuck. The light dripping turned into a harsh and rapid rain, the ocean starting to twist and turn. He dived underwater to avoid being knocked unconscious, swimming back towards Scar’s island. Why couldn’t he see it anymore? How far had he actually gone??

Was he lost??

He poked his head above the water to look around, only to get knocked under by a huge wave. Panic once again settled into his bones, the need to breathe burning at his lungs. He swam back onto the water’s surface, his wings just dragging behind him and weighing him down. Oh god why couldn’t he just get out of the water?? Why couldn’t he fly?? Another wave crashed into him, and it drove him deep underwater. Grian just started ti swim desperately, using his wings to propel him under the water the best he could. He needed to get to dry land, to breathe. He swam towards the surface a final time, his head spinning and everything moving far too fast.

“GRIAN!” He heard a voice call out, and he felt a warm hand grab his. He was pulled out of the water and into someones arms. He could feel leather, but that was about it. His eyes closed and he gasped uselessly for air. “Its okay buddy. We’re gonna get you help. I promise.” Grian kept his eyes closed as the person re-adjusted their hold on him, and he was officially knocked out.

__

“What do you mean he was flying to the border?!”

“I don’t know! I just saw him fly past and i noticed the storm clouds! I don’t know what else he would be doing!”

Grian came too to hearing the two bickering voices. His lungs felt heavy, and before he knew it, he threw himself over the side of the bed, dry heaving and coughing up water and salt.

“GRIAN!” two voices yelled in unison. He just groaned in response, and he felt someone push him back into bed.

“Oh my god man, you scared us to death!” Grian’s eyes focused, and he noticed that mustache he was so fond of.

“Mum...bo?” He rasped, his voice sore from inhaling salt water.

“Yes its me, you absolute spoon.” Mumbo brushed some hair from Grian’s face. “Are you okay? Actually don’t answer that I know you’re not.” He said. Scar was standing behind him, a towel thrown over the water now on the floor.

“Yea man. You took quite a beating.” Scar fretted, having taken off his jacket at some point in time. Grian put his hands on his face, grounding himself. He felt leather move around his arms. Oh, so that’s where the jacket went. He just groaned, closing his eyes again. “Grian?”

“I. I had a panic attack out at sea. Came randomly.” He muttered, as Mumbo handed him some water to help soothe his throat. Mumbo frowned.

“Why didn’t you message one of us to help you?”

“Didn’t wanna bother you guys.” He said, sighing. Mumbo just nodded, helping Grian sit up. “And i was too far out. You wouldn’t have found me before the storm.”

“Grian, you’re lucky i saw you from my little island.” Scar said, sitting on the bed and touching Grian’s forehead. “And you’re burning up!” He fretted. Grian just pushed his hand away.

“I’ll be okay Scar.” He smiled, slowly going to stand up.

“Oh no you’re not.” Mumbo said, pushing him back down. “You’re sick.”

“And you have a mustache. Are we done stating the obvious?” Grian shot back before he could control himself. He covered his mouth with his hand quickly. “Oh my god i’m so sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out like that!” He said, watching Mumbo for any signs of anger. He only got a light hearted laugh back.

“Its quite alright mate. Guess i do sound a bit like Captain obvious don’t i?”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Divided, United

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Virgil, John

Waking up bound in a dark room is never good news, but the absence of the brother he saw shot in front of him just makes it worse.

Another @badthingshappenbingo​​ this time with the square “Taking the Bullet” - featuring Virgil (as requested by @gumnut-logic​).

I’m still taking prompts for non-Scott TAG characters for the other squares!  I have at least one character per prompt for most of them now, but I’m always up for adding more (sometimes it’s that addition that gives me the spark I need!)

Scott’s eyes snapped open. It was dark, the sort of gloom in a house after sundown when no-one bothered to turn the lights on.  Nothing moved, a stillness in the air unnatural to a man who had grown up with someone else always nearby – brothers, roommates, squadmates – telling him that he was alone.  Completely and utterly alone, the only sound his own breathing – bordering on ragged, a panic stirring in the back of his mind from a source beyond his grasp.

He was lying on his side, crumpled as though he’d fallen, but when he tried to move he found that assessment to be inaccurate.  A loud clang reverberated through the space – must be quite small, to echo that loudly – and his leg stopped short as something yanked on his ankle. Cautiously sitting up, he found that his arms were wrapped around behind him, something that wasn’t coarse like rope or metal like handcuffs binding his wrists together.  Some sort of plastic, zip ties, maybe, although if that was the case there were a lot of them.

A chain on his ankle and wrists bound.  Scott shuddered, nightmares rearing their ugly, monstrous heads, but this wasn’t the same. Not quite, and he focused on the differences to drive the nightmares back down into the box he tried to keep them locked up in.  He wasn’t in uniform – in any uniform, he was alone, and he wasn’t… wasn’t there.  He’d never been there since, the one country Thunderbird One never attended.

Slowly, he wrestled the box shut again, nightmares lashing out at the draw of the familiar even as Scott convinced himself it was different.  It was different, he’d been in New York, catching some fresh air after a meeting with stuffy investors who were trying to claim that as they were investors in Tracy Industries, and the Tracy family were International Rescue, surely that meant they were investors in International Rescue, too?  That wasn’t how it worked, International Rescue weren’t funded by Tracy Industries but rather out of their own pockets, but some investors were greedy and wanted their fingers in that pie, too, never mind that International Rescue was non-profit.

He’d been in New York but this wasn’t New York – or at least, wasn’t any part of New York near the offices.  Too quiet, no traffic to be heard, and the city never slept.

Masked men, outnumbered, and-

Scott surged to his feet, bound hands be damned, only to crash back down as the chain on his ankle pulled taut.  He landed painfully on his shoulder, a cry forcing its way out past clenched teeth, but that didn’t stop him and he pulled himself up again, this time managing to keep his balance.

He was alone, and while that had been a comfort, a defence against the rising nightmares moments earlier now it was a source of a whole new terror, because in New York he hadn’t been alone.  Virgil had been with him, snatching some downtime and some time with just the two of them, but Scott was alone now and where was Virgil?

His eyes had adjusted to the gloom enough to find the door and he lunged for it, clattering to the floor just short when the damn chain pulled taut again.  He tugged at it, jarring his leg again and again, but the metal wouldn’t give.

The door opened suddenly, bright white light streaming in and leaving him blinking furiously, blinded. A silhouette stood there, tall and muscular.  No defining features were visible, and Scott snarled at them.

“I see our sleeping beauty’s awake at last.”  It was a modulated voice, cobbled together from various electrical sounds.  Scott couldn’t even tell if they were male or female. “You’ll only hurt yourself if you keep that up; the chain won’t break.”  Even with the electronic edge to the voice, the contempt was clear in their tone.  “Be a good little detainee and you’ll leave here in one piece.”

Defiant, Scott tugged at the chain again.  “Where is he?” he demanded.  “What did you do with him?”

They laughed and turned away, pulling the door closed.  Scott let out a strangled yell and launched himself forwards again, feeling something give in his ankle before he crashed to the ground again, landing on his chest and getting a mouthful of dust.  In front of him, the bright light had narrowed to a sliver as the door almost closed, hovering in that liminal state between open and closed for just a moment.

“We only needed one.”

The door shut, a click loud in the sudden silence – soundproofing, he noted absently, but that didn’t matter because we only needed one and there had been a gunshot, a yell of pain, a body hitting the floor.

Virgil had gone to get a drink, no point both brothers going inside the coffee shop just down the road to pick up some to-gos and out of the two of them Scott was more recognisable so he’d stayed outside, lurking behind the offices on private, Tracy-owned land while Virgil made the run.  Virgil was also only there to kill some time, dressed in his favourite flannel and jeans combination, while Scott was in full CEO regalia of several-thousand-dollar suit and sharply styled hair.  Virgil had refused to give him some solidarity by wearing his own suit, because all of his little brothers were a pain like that, not that Scott didn’t understand.  He wouldn’t wear it if given the choice, either.

How they’d got past security, he didn’t know, but one minute he’d been alone and admiring what little he could see of the sky in the middle of the city, and the next there had been five assailants grasping at him, creasing his pressed suit and brandishing guns in a way that screamed untrained.  Untrained gunmen were dangerous, trigger-happy and not quite in control. As far as kidnapping attempts went, it was pretty rubbish.  Scott should have been able to drive them off long enough for security to appear, and after a little bit of excitement it would all be over.  It was hardly the first time someone had tried to jump him in the middle of a city – it was an occupational hazard of being rich.

Security hadn’t arrived, but Virgil had, dropping two coffees and a paper bag of baked goods that had smelt heavenly at the scene before making a move towards the nearest assailant.  He wasn’t military trained, but he was Kayo-trained and there shouldn’t have been any issues.

Except these people weren’t trained gunmen, and in the chaos a shot had gone off before either of them could relieve that particular person of their gun.

“Scott!”

He hadn’t been in a position to see the gun in question, see where it had been pointing, but a flannelled shoulder had barged him, knocking him off balance, and a moment later they’d both been on the floor and Virgil’s red flannel was the wrong shade of red, a frayed hole in the fabric.  It had been in the back, somewhere shoulder-ish.  Bad, Scott’s mind had supplied, breaking through the sudden numbness and compelling him into action.

Too slow.  The numbness had frozen him in place a split-second too long and he’d been dogpiled, muzzle of a gun digging painfully into his shoulder – metal warm and the smoky scent of gunpowder trailing it – and a prick in his neck.

Now he was in a room – small, featureless except for the chain linking his ankle to the wall and a thick, soundproofed door – and Virgil wasn’t.  Virgil, who had taken a bullet pushing him out of the way, who wasn’t needed, who had probably been left to bleed out in that small area behind the offices where no-one went because it was private, Tracy-owned.  Virgil, who would not have been left if they’d thought he could talk, maybe even shot again after Scott was down to make sure he couldn’t.

Scott shuddered again and changed tactics, heaving at his wrists, rubbing them together for friction and ignoring the burn of his skin.  He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, how long the drug had kept him down for, but Virgil needed him – if he was still alive, the voice that said all the things Scott tried to ignore muttered in the back of his mind – and he had to get out.

Warm liquid trickled down his hands, and idly he noted that his suit was probably past all repair, but he kept pulling, grit his teeth through the pain he ignored because he had to.

There was no give in the bonds at all.  Not zip ties, then, because Scott had been trained to break free of those years ago. Something stronger, more durable, more than a match even for a frantic man whose mind was clouded by fear for his brother.

That wasn’t working. There had to be something, anything, he could do.  He was still in his suit-

His suit.  A plain business man’s suit that wasn’t as plain as it looked because Brains never let any of them go anywhere without at least some inventions shoved up their sleeves – literally.  The laser cufflinks wouldn’t be any use – he couldn’t reach them, and even if he could, without being able to see where they were aiming there was a high chance he’d laser himself.  Scott wasn’t that desperate.  Not yet.

The comm unit in his lapel, however…

It took some contortionism, his shoulders and wrists screaming out in pain as he was forced to hold them in an awkward position until his chin could just about reach far enough to depress the patch.

“Scott!”  John responded immediately, before Scott could even get a word out.  He sounded panicked, harried in a way John rarely was.  “Scott, are you okay?”

“Virgil,” he grunted, wheezing as his muscles trembled.  “Is he-”

“We’ve got him,” John cut him off.  “He was lucky – a clean shot that missed anything fatal.  Hospitalised, but he’ll be fine.  Kayo’s with him.”  Scott sighed in relief.  Kayo wouldn’t let anything else happen.  Virgil was safe, alive, and their assailants were fools.  If, he thought with some irritation, fools with access to a dark room with an embedded chain in the wall.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Scott lied, feeling the warm liquid seeping from his wrists and the throbbing of his ankle.  “They haven’t touched me.”  That was the truth, at least.  “Where am I?”

“Downtown.  I’ve got someone working on extraction now.  Do you know their motive?”

Someone?  That was ambiguous.

“They haven’t been particularly chatty,” he shrugged, trying for a nonchalance he didn’t really feel. “There hasn’t been a ransom?”

“Nothing so far,” John confirmed, and Scott could hear that he shared his unease.  No ransom meant they weren’t after anything from the family – no money, nothing IR.  The statistics of recovered kidnap victims were low – alive, at any rate – and without even a ransom to imply they were considering it, Scott’s future was looking bleak.

“How long until your someone’s getting me out of here?” he asked, and there was a bit of fear in there, now, because Scott knew he was valuable for more than just money. Information was a popular currency, and he knew a lot of classified information.  Unfortunately, the fact that he knew some wasn’t so classified.

“Working on it,” John repeated.  “Hang tight, and don’t cut the line.  I’ll mute my end if you get company.”

“F.A.B,” Scott agreed, more than a little relieved, although he did his best to hide it.  He wasn’t alone, but John was untouchable, up in Five. They couldn’t use him against him.

“Do me a favour and don’t do anything that’ll get you injured,” John continued.  “You might need to run for it.”  Scott glanced down at the chain bolted to the wall, and the ankle that wasn’t going to want to bear his weight for very long.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied.  “But if you want me running, your extraction’s going to need some chain cutters.  I’m bolted to a wall.”

There was silence for a moment.  “Noted,” John eventually said.  “What else?”

“Hands are tied, some sort of strong plastic, I think,” he reported.  “A knife should handle that.”

There was another silence and this time Scott could feel John judging him, putting two and two together in that way he had.  “Help is on the way.  Stop trying to escape and wait for it.”  Busted.  “We don’t know what they want with you so don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”

Now that he knew Virgil was going to be okay, and that someone – ‘someone’, probably Penelope, if Kayo was on guard duty with Virgil – was working on getting him out, Scott could manage a little patience.  Probably. He still wouldn’t be happy until he’d seen Virgil for himself.  John had an annoying habit of understating things if he thought they’d be a distraction.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he allowed.  Depending on what they wanted, that might not be avoidable.  He shifted to get a little more comfortable, swallowing the hiss as his ankle protested.  “The sooner your extraction gets here, the better.”

“They’ll be there as soon as they can.  Just hold on.”

Still no clues who he was waiting for, but Scott didn’t get a chance to ask.  The door slammed open, blinding him with bright light again and he hissed involuntarily, fighting the instinct to turn away.

John, thankfully, had the sense to not comment, and Scott hoped he’d muted comms as he’d said he would.

The silhouette was different to the last one – a little shorter and wider – but the voice was the same, electronic not-voice.  “Good morning.”  Morning? It had been mid-afternoon when he’d been attacked; how long had he been unconscious for?  “I hope you enjoyed your nap.”

Okay, that was cliché, although still annoying.  Scott glared at him.  “What do you want?”

They advanced, carefully measured steps, but Scott refused to scramble back, keeping his gaze steady even as his heartrate jumped.  Fingers, nondescript and gloved, cupped around his throat, pressure barely-there but still setting his nerves alight.

“I have what I want.” The electronic voice purred, and more fingers spidered their way up his face, trailing along the line of his jaw in a touch that should have been tender but did nothing except alarm Scott. His alarm only grew when it stopped, relocating to cup his cheek in a mockery of Grandma’s caring touch, and a thumb tugged at his lower lip.

He snapped at it, jerking his head to dislodge the touch, but the hand on his throat tightened, fingertips pressing uncomfortably on his jugular.

“Feisty,” they observed, although they didn’t pull back.  Scott tried to yank back, escape the hand, but the grip was too tight.  “You’ll make a wonderful addition to my collection.”

“What collection?” he demanded, voice coming out strangled by the grip on his throat.  The hand returned to his cheek, thumb once again tugging at his lip, and he let out another strangled snarl.

“You’ll see,” they sing-songed.  “There’s a lot of use for a man like you.”  The pressure on his lip disappeared and the fingers glided along the line of the jaw again. Light, barely there, but sending spikes of alarm all through Scott.  “Oh, that’s a nice look,” they commented and he realised something must be showing on his face.  “I like it. But there’s something that would make it better.”

They clicked their fingers, the noise sharp and unexpected enough to make Scott flinch, and then there were more footsteps.  The silhouette this time, from what little he could see past the one still gripping his throat, was larger than even the first person, probably around about his own height.

“The spider ring would look best, I think,” they said.  Before Scott could work out what that meant, there were fingers gripping his hair, tilting his head back so far it was painful, fingers in his mouth yanking his lower jaw down with more strength than he could fight.  Something with the cool, sharp taste of metal was forced into his mouth, and with both assailants holding him still he couldn’t dislodge it as a strap went around his head, pulling tight and catching some strands of hair painfully.

By the time they released him, his mouth couldn’t close and he glared balefully at them, trying not to panic about what was happening or the implications behind it.

“Oh yes, that looks very good,” they mused, and there was a flash and click of a camera.  “Enjoy.”

Scott tried to snarl at them but the noise came out slightly dampened.  Both assailants – captors – ignored him and left the room, leaving Scott with a rising sense of dread and panic.

“John?” he tried to call as soon as the door slammed shut, but the damn gag got in the way, leaving a muffled mmmn? the only thing to escape.

“Scott?”  Thank goodness John was smart, but Scott had much more on his mind than his brother’s intelligence now.  Being kidnapped for ransom was one thing, information another, but this… whatever this ‘collection’ was, it put a chill all along his spine.

Get me out of here now, he tried to say, but all he managed was a fresh chorus of mmphs.  John was a genius, but even he wasn’t going to be able to translate that. Scott cast around for something else he could use to communicate, beyond thankful that he still had his comm.  The chain caught his eye, and he shuffled awkwardly, trying to reach it with his bound hands.

“Scott, ETA for extraction is fifteen minutes,” John told him.  Either he understood gagged-speech after all, or he just knew what Scott needed to hear.  He made grunts that hopefully got the F.A.B. across.  “Stay calm.  Breathe through your nose.”  Scott knew that, but it was easier with his brother’s steady voice in his ear.  “For clarification, it’s eighteen hundred hours local time.  You’ve been missing for less than two hours and it most certainly is not morning.”

He reached the chain and gripped it with fingers slippery with blood.  Breathing as deeply as he could, he tapped out F-A-B on it in morse, followed by P-L-A-N?

“Nothing subtle,” John told him.  “I’ve got the building schematics and approximate life sign locations, so they’re going to blast their way in.  If the door is north, which wall are you against?”

Scott squinted at the door through the darkness.  C-O-R-N-E-R, he corrected.  S-E.

“Can you leave the corner and head further up the East wall?” John asked.  Scott started to shuffle, reluctant to part his fingers from the chain and his only way of communicating with John, before realising the chain was embedded in the so-called South wall.

N-O, he tapped out. C-H-A-I-N-S.

“Understood.” John fell silent for a moment, and Scott hoped – trusted – that he was relaying that information to the mysterious ‘someone’.  “Move as far into the corner as you can.  They’re approaching from the South-West direction.”

A time and location. Scott steeled himself and began the shuffle to wedge himself into the corner, chain clinking and ankle protesting the whole time.  Part of him felt uneasy – into the corner meant nowhere to escape if his captors came back first, but with the chain on his ankle he couldn’t move away fast enough anyway.

He stopped only when he felt the cool masonry hemming him in on both sides, and reached for the chains again.  H-E-R-E.

“Twelve minutes,” John told him.  “Try not to leave that corner if you can.”

F-A-B.  Scott curled up as best he could with the chain still beneath his fingers.  The gag was gathering saliva in his mouth, drool starting to run unpleasantly down from the corners of his lips, but he couldn’t lick it away or swallow, despite his body’s reflexes.  He kept breathing through his nose and did his best to ignore it.  Twelve minutes.  He could do that.

John kept talking to him, for the most part not about anything important – the stars he could see, theories he was working on, distractions from his current situation – but updating him on the extraction whenever something happened he thought he should hear about.  It wasn’t the first time Scott had admired his brother’s ability to do multiple things at once, but that didn’t lessen his gratitude for the skill at all.  Holding a conversation was limited when one party was limited to morse tapping, so he let John carry it, only responding to a direct question with simple Y-E-S, N-O, or F-A-B.

“Thirty seconds,” came the warning.  “Scott, curl up as much as you can and protect your head.”

He didn’t waste time tapping out an acknowledgement.  With his hands bound behind him, there was little he could do to shield his head except turning his back on the South-West corner and hunching over as much as his bonds allowed.

“Ten seconds.” He closed his eyes and focused on keeping his breathing even and not choking on the saliva that trickled back towards his throat in the change of position.  “Five… four… three… two… one.”

The explosion was loud, hunched shoulders doing little to protect Scott’s ears from the blast, but the ringing in his ears was nothing compared to the sight of two of his siblings scrambling through the hole in the wall.

His eyes widened.

“Target located,” Kayo said sharply, fingers pressing down on the iR of her baldric, but Scott only had eyes for his brother, one arm in a rough sling.

So much for being hospitalised, he thought as Virgil knelt down by his leg and produced one of Alan’s so-called tin openers, the laser making short work of a link in the chain.

“No time for the rest,” his brother said apologetically, grasping him by the bicep and hauling him to his feet with his one good arm.  “We’ve got to move.”  Scott didn’t miss the worried glance at his ankle, but there was muffled shouting from outside and the priority was getting out.  He could run on it, and did, Virgil’s hand still firm on his bicep. Kayo brought up the rear.

No-one ever mentioned how difficult running with a gag was.  Every instinct Scott had was screaming for him to breathe through his mouth, but the saliva pooling made him choke every time he mistakenly took a breath. Between him and Virgil, he was by far the better runner, but even with one arm in a sling, it was Virgil pulling him along, keeping him upright as he stumbled.

Behind him came louder shouts of alarm, all still through electronic voice modulators, but it wasn’t until Virgil skidding to a halt that Scott realised one of them had got round in front of them and cut them off.  The gun was pointed straight at Scott’s chest, wavering slightly.

“I won’t let you go!” they declared.  It was the smallest one, the one that had mentioned a collection and decided to gag him.  “You’re mine!  Mine!” The gun trembled wildly, and Scott glanced around, trying to find a way out without any more injuries.  He couldn’t talk, the gag still there, digging in painfully after his dash for freedom, but he couldn’t let that stop him. There had to be something he could do.

He took a step forwards, towards them, slow – unthreatening.

It was the wrong call.

They screamed.

The gun went off.

Virgil shoved him sideways, knocking him over and forcing a cry of pain as he landed badly on his ankle as well as the same shoulder he’d knocked painfully in the little room.

More gunfire, and his captor – his tormentor, the sensation of the gag still in his mouth, chipping his teeth, corrected – fell.  Scott didn’t care about that, more interested in his brother.  Virgil was down, one hand clutching at his hip, where his jeans – he wasn’t even in IR uniform? – were quickly becoming red with blood.

Scott’s hands were still behind his back, but with no chain tying his ankle to the wall he could pull his legs up and rotate his shoulders enough to hook his bound hands past his feet so they were in front of him.  His wrists looked terrible, and it seemed like some sort of electrical cord had been used, but that wasn’t important.  Not with Virgil bleeding from a gunshot wound for the second time that day – both wounds that should have been his instead.

His suit was expensive, but it was already ruined so he grabbed for the shirt and tore it, bundling it up into a wad of fabric before leaning over Virgil and pressing it over the bleeding area.  Virgil let out a groan of pain but Scott couldn’t reassure him, couldn’t do anything except keep pressing, keeping the pressure on as the once-blue fabric darkened. His fingers were already slippery from his own blood, but even if he couldn’t feel it, he could see Virgil’s own blood joining the red concoction on his fingers.

A glance at Virgil’s face saw his eyes drifting shut, clouded with pain, and Scott let out a scream of frustration as he pressed down with all his weight.  His arms were trembling – pain, exhaustion, maybe something else entirely, he didn’t know – but he kept holding on, because it was Virgil and he couldn’t lose him.  Couldn’t lose anyone else, and definitely not when it was all his fault, when those bullets should have hit him.

Hands covered his – calm, steady hands – and he looked up to see Kayo, eyes grim.

“The GDF are on their way,” she told him.  Her eyes drifted to his mouth before looking down at Virgil – white-skinned, blood staining both their hands.  There was a silent apology in them, an acknowledgement of the gag but an inability to do anything about it when Virgil needed them more.  Scott focused on his brother’s face, watching as Kayo snapped at him to stay awake, tapping his cheek with one bloodstained hand as the other pressed down with Scott’s.

“’mwake,” Virgil slurred, although his eyes barely opened a sliver.  “Sc’t?”

Worry about yourself, Scott tried to say, but it came out a mixture of mmphs and hacking coughs as more saliva ended up back in his throat.

“You’re worse,” Kayo said firmly.  “Scott will be okay.  John, where’s the GDF?”

“Two minutes out,” Scott’s lapel said, echoed by Kayo’s own comm.  “What happened?”

“Virgil’s collecting bullets today,” Kayo told him.  “Right hip, this time.  No exit wound.”

“I’ll tell them to hurry up,” John said bluntly.  “Hostiles?”

“Neutralised.”  Kayo’s voice was grim, leaving Scott to translate that to dead.  Normally he’d be upset about that, lethal force never the answer, but they’d shot Virgil twice, who knew what they’d been planning to do with him, and he was so tired even though he’d spent a large chunk of the past two and a half hours unconscious.

Scott just wanted to go home.

It was Colonel Casey herself who led the troops out of the GDF flyer two minutes later as they touched down, running over to them almost unprofessionally as she directed her soldiers to clean-up, aside from the medics who made a beeline straight for them. It was also the Colonel who pulled Scott back gently, out of the way of the medics, and brandished a small knife to cut the straps of the gag.

He coughed as she eased the metal out of his mouth, batting his hands away lightly when he tried to do it himself, hacking up all of the saliva that had been pooling and overflowing before swallowing painfully.

“Virg-” he started, but his voice broke and the Colonel hushed him, clearly more in godmother mode than military.

“My people are dealing with him,” she assured him.  “He’ll get the best care; John’s already alerted the local hospital.”  Scott lunged forwards anyway as his brother was loaded onto a stretcher and hurried away, almost falling over until his godmother caught him. The knife flashed again and the cables wrapped around his wrists fell away, revealing just how raw and bloody the skin was.  “They’re waiting for you as well, Scott.  Can you walk?”

Could he walk?  He’d just run out of the building with who knew how many pursuers on his tail.  He could hobble over to the flyer.

He dragged his way to his feet, only for his ankle – still with a metal cuff around it, even if it wasn’t linked to a chain anymore – to buckle.  Colonel Casey caught him and tugged his arm around her shoulder.  She didn’t insist he wait for a stretcher, however, but patiently helped him limp forwards, a supporting arm around his waist.  The woman was much shorter than him, but showed no signs of struggling as she guided him up the ramp and got him settled in a jump seat by Virgil’s stretcher, foil blanket around his shoulders.

His brother was unconscious, but that didn’t stop Scott from reaching for him, trembling hand probing the arm in a sling.  His hip had been bandaged, field treatment that would hold until he got into surgery, but it was the earlier wound that Scott wanted to see.

It was Kayo who caught his hand and gently tugged it away, pressing a clean cloth to his bloody fingers despite his protests.

“Kay-” he protested, but she was firm.

“Drink.”  A lidded cup with a straw was presented to him, straw prodding at his lips.  “It’s just water.”

“Bu-”  The straw slipped past his lips.

“Drink.  You’re a mess, Scott.”  Kayo’s voice was soft but unyielding and he reluctantly obeyed.  A gentle finger touched the corner of his mouth and he flinched away.  “Hold still; it’s raw.”  He’d barely registered that pain when there was his wrists, ankle, and Virgil, but it was noticeably soothed by the gel Kayo applied.  “Can you hold the cup?” she asked, guiding both of his hands to it, and he grasped it.  “Just while I get this off your ankle.”

She had another of Alan’s tin openers, and he sat still as she lasered through the metal, scant millimetres from his skin.  Only when it landed on the floor of the flyer with a clatter did he move, putting the cup down on the seat next to him and returning his attention to Virgil.  Kayo didn’t stop him from looking, but she caught hold of his hand again and continued to wipe away the blood from around his wrists, rolling up the sleeves of his ruined, bloodstained jacket to chase the blood where it had trailed in both directions.

“It’s going to be okay, Scott,” she promised, but he barely heard her.

Their arrival at the hospital had Virgil whisked away from him before he could even stand on his feet, and his attempts to follow were thwarted by Colonel Casey, who forced him back into the seat while Kayo vanished.

“You can barely walk,” she scolded, and two men appeared behind her, a stretcher between them.  “You will be entering that hospital on the stretcher.”  He protested, but she stood firm.  “The longer you argue about this, the longer it will be until you see Virgil again.  Stretcher, Scott.”

Scott glared at her, but there was no way he could get past her and her men on a dodgy ankle and they both knew it.  At a gesture, the two men with the stretcher approached and, defeated, Scott had no choice but to let his godmother help him onto it.  Firm arms made him lay down before they finally left the flyer.   Colonel Casey accompanied him the whole way, probably to make sure he didn’t try and make a run for it, until he was delivered directly to the doctors waiting.

It was several hours before he saw Virgil again.  The hospital room he had ended up in, one shoulder in a sling of its own, wrists bandaged and ankle set from where it had apparently been broken, had a second bed, which they had promised would be Virgil’s once he was out of surgery.  It was that promise, and Kayo’s reappearance, that kept him in the room rather than attempting to escape.  Mainly Kayo’s sudden presence on his bed, not quite sitting on him but close enough that it didn’t really make a difference.

“It’s not your fault,” she told him, hand on his shoulder – the one not in a sling, apparently dislocated.

“He got shot twice today, and both times were because of me,” he protested.

“And if the situations were reversed, he’d be the one sat here feeling guilty and you’d be the one in surgery for your second bullet of the day,” Kayo pointed out.  “It wouldn’t have been his fault, and it’s not your fault.”

She was talking sense, but that wasn’t enough to calm him down, not when it had been his inattention, his misjudgement.  Nothing would, and definitely not until he saw Virgil again.  Not even John, flickering into view from her comm, or his other two brothers, roaring in from the other side of the world in Thunderbird Two and piling onto his bed for frantic hugs and assurances that he was okay, could get the image of Virgil, white and bleeding, out of his head, or the manta my fault, all my fault.

At one point, Kayo slipped away, taking John with her.  Gordon and Alan kept him forcibly pinned to the bed in her absence, to Scott’s frustration, but when she returned there was a satisfied air to her, shared by John’s hologram.

“The organisation’s been shut down,” she informed them.  “The GDF tracked down all the surviving members with John and Lady Penelope’s help” – otherwise translated as John and Lady P tracked them down and sic’d the GDF on them – “and all of their bases have been seized.”

“It was an organisation?” Gordon asked, eyes narrowed.  Alan just curled up under Scott’s good arm and hugged him tightly.

“A sloppy one,” John said. “They only got away with it as long as they did because they never targeted a high-profile individual until Scott.” His disgust at that was clear, and Scott could well imagine that somewhere, heads were rolling.

“What were they even after?” Alan asked.  “It can’t have been money or there would have been a ransom.”

“They had ties to the black market,” Kayo replied, a little too quickly.  “Slavery.”  She spat the word.  “The GDF are now working to find all the victims and their buyers.”

That didn’t make sense, not from what his captors had told him, but Scott sensed the lie was for his brothers’ benefit.  He’d get the truth out of them later, especially as that was the moment the doctors appeared, transporting a sleeping post-op Virgil into the other bed.

His siblings physically restrained him as he tried to get out of bed, at least until the doctors reminded him to stay in bed, promised that Virgil was fine and would make a full recovery, and left.  As soon as they were gone, it was a different story.

“You should stay in bed,” John sighed, but it was a lost cause and they all knew it.  Gordon was the one to help him up, the aquanaut as ever stronger than he looked, while Kayo guarded the door and Alan hovered on his other side, poised to move in if necessary.

Deposited into the chair by his brother’s bed, Scott reached out tentatively to look at the wound – both wounds.  They were freshly dressed, no sign of blood, and Virgil’s skin was no longer white but somewhere closer to his regular colour.

He was going to be okay. Scott knew he wouldn’t fully believe it until Virgil opened his eyes, but his pulse was strong and even, and unfortunately Scott had seen his brother in a similar state enough times to know it meant he was on the mend.

Recovery would take a while for both of them, and despite Kayo’s words and attempted use of logic, the gnawing guilt was still there, would join the brewing cauldron in his mind where all the my fault thoughts churned away, from minor things like the time John broke his arm on a dare Scott had made him to world-shattering things like I couldn’t save Dad.

But for the moment, Virgil was alive under his hands, sleeping deeply almost as though it was any old night home in bed, and Scott could at least let go of the what ifs, if not the what happened.  He hadn’t lost a brother.  Not today.