#And then it went on to stress us out because there is no framework but pathology and trauma!!

[multiplydifficult]

Do people realise that trauma is a framework through which to understand their experiences?

And while it is important to let people know that y'know, just because your parents or others around you tried their best, doesn't mean they didn't harm you; it's important to let people know that a lack of support (emotional support, respect for autonomy, understanding of difficulties & support problem-solving, etc.) no matter how well intentioned, can fuck people up in the long run,

It's not actually helpful to insist that every unpleasantry in childhood is inherently traumatic. It's not helpful to insist that anyone who is still in some way affected by an unpleasant childhood thing has trauma.

You don't get to decide what's trauma for other people. You don't get to tell them that actually, they're wrong and that experience they had was trauma and they just don't know it.

They get to decide what was trauma for them, and if they say "i had xyz experience, and it was not trauma," you don't get to decide they're wrong, that they don't understand what trauma is. You don't get to decide that they're just not understanding the severity of their experience.

Trauma is a framework, and it's not a helpful framework for everyone.

[friendsim2]

just finished around 2/3 of volume 12, i love so much the entire dreamscape / real world mechanic and lore-wise, love the way purplebloods and their history is represented and currently romancing Lynera. i'm in love with this volume so far thank you all so much (and whoever had the idea of making TechniColor Heart an actual thing, i'd hug u)

That was me (game's director/lead writer here) - TechniColor Heart was actually in production for a few months. The April Fool's joke trailer was just a fake-out using footage from the actual game (within a game) - it's original inception goes back to the "we'll put sex in the game" meme we did on Twitter.

So I basically spent 3 months writing, coding, and doing UI design to put that in there. The assets are a combination of Friendsim 2 assets and backgrounds I did and sprites that Riotbreaker did for another game (it was cancelled in its original form and another studio may or may not be continuing it at some point, but without the original assets). I'm a big fan of committing to the bit - to the point where every one of the "hahaha wouldn't it be funny if we put this in the game?" jokes has not, in fact, been a joke.

Originally there was gonna be a shorter and less interesting dream sequence in that bit there that had a Tyzias/Tagora trial sequence (we actually had that sequence completely done with recorded dialogue) as well as some small walk-around segments using existing assets.

There were also a couple cut mini-games from Volume 12 - a sliding tile puzzle and a "light up the lights" type puzzle, neither of which was very fun - so those got replaced with Tetris and Fire Fling, respectively. (if you talk to Mallek about his GameDude console in the TechniColor Heart segment, you can actually play Gameboy versions of those games to practice them)

Overall, Volume 12 has probably been our most involved volume. One of the things I wanted to get right going into this game was how the purple bloods are portrayed, because there's a lot of baggage associated with how they're shown in canon, and I wanted to approach the whole thing thoughtfully and make it an impactful experience.

I cannot stress enough how important the contribution of the route's primary writer, Miranda Holliday, was to the experience of that route. They laid down the framework (and wrote most of the first half of the route) for a lot of the themes and how they tie into real-world issues of ethnicity, race, and culture. I picked up what they put down and then they went back over what I'd written in the second half to tighten up some of the language and provide feedback on the way the themes were developed.

Also, the route's sprite designer, Cole, was instrumental in fleshing out the character designs and giving them a unique character. Riotbreaker ended up doing the finished sprite sets off the original designs, and she did an awesome job of following Cole's reference designs.

Also, unique among the routes, we had the stark contrast between the dreamscape backgrounds (done by Dave Fowler) and the real-world backgrounds (done by Herk Lapaduza, who's done work on a couple other volumes both released and unreleased!). The dreamscape in particular was very much an exercise in "have fun with it!" to the artist, and the result was a delightfully surreal experience to contrast with the much more grounded style of the other backgrounds.

Lastly, our VAs for this route really helped sell their characters' unique personalities. Valentine was my choice to play Marvus from before we even started this game (there's an interesting story there - before FS2 was a thing I was going to do a fan dub of my Delightful Abattoir Hiveswap novel, so some of the voice cast comes from that!), and Miranda, Jason and Vyn did an amazing job with Akhnai, Barzum/Baizli, and Chahut.

[moe-broey]

OKAY. I AM GOING TO DROP A NOTE. BOOK 4 MOE LORE. Only one part of it, because initially I didn't even think to explore Moe's side of things (in Alfonse's body, follows the canon story ect ect) Until. Something Clicked. And ohhhhhh Moe has PROBLEMS.... okay 👍

I am trapping it under a cut for its crimes.

[This note starts off by talking about a separate note where I jotted down the sequence of events rough-style -- these are the Thoughts behind it]

Like I think you COULD completely break Alfonse's spirit and reduce him to tears and desperation. But there's a Distinguishing Factor. When it comes to the Moefonse twist, to Moe in his body. Moe just has prey animal neurosis and its number 1 stress response is feeling overwhelmingly like it's going to fucking Die.

/

ALSO SO FUCKED UP. SO FUCKED UP. THAT THIS IS THE LOGICAL CONCLUSION TO MOE'S ENTIRE CHARACTER. THAT IT WOULD ALL COME TO THIS. PERFECTLY ENCAPSULATED BY THE BOOK 4 TWIST.

That Moe, as it's gotten to know, trust, and admire Alfonse, it begins seeing him as the Framework for Being A Person. Despite Knowing Better -- Moe is someone who, when in doubt, becomes a mirror. To reflect whatever it is Moe thinks you want to see, or -- to reflect what it's observed to have "worked". Add a layer of Alfonse becoming something of a mentor to it, and Alfonse having a lot of traits that Moe Envies. Like. Like. It Knows Better. It sees the pitfalls of those traits, how they don't always serve Alfonse, how sometimes they make things worse. But Alfonse is everything Moe Tried to be, and then some. Alfonse is everything Moe could never be. Alfonse has something Moe doesn't. It admires him, it resents him, it envies him.

Alfonse is also a reflection of what Moe Wished it had. What it should have had. What was taken from it. In a lot of ways, Sharena is this, too. Sharena is everything that Moe could never be. She has things Moe can never have. But the feelings... are so different, there. There's grief. It's painful to look in the eye. Above all else, it wants a happy life for her. Moe is always so, so afraid. Of getting in the way of that, somehow.

Which leads to that moment. Of despair. Moe, already falling apart, asks itself What Would Alfonse Do? If Alfonse were here... what would he do... what choice would he make... what scheme would he concoct... or is the only option, the only way out, is through?

Moe determines, Alfonse is just and logical. He is, devastatingly, self-sacrificial. He's mature, he's reasonable. He would accept his fate with both hands, if it meant that his loved ones would be safe, if there truly was no other option. His own feelings about it, be damned.*

Then Sharena reaches out. Completely shattering any semblance of conviction Moe was constructing, there.

THAT aspect of Moe's character. The part of Moe who is extremely jealous of Sharena. That, she has an older brother who absolutely, undeniably, adores her. Whether she's fully aware of it or not. It's something Moe picked up on, so early on. And has only gotten less normal about, as time went on. But the way it manifests in Moe....

Moe is "self-sacrificial". It's looking for any and every opportunity, to... exile itself. Find new and exciting ways to condemn itself, and to justify it. When Moe is jealous of Sharena, it doesn't ask for Alfonse to exclusively dote on it, and it alone. No. Instead, it begs Alfonse to always choose her. That, gun to his head, if he had to Make a Choice, between her or itself. It will ugly cry begging him to choose her.

THE CLIMAX. THE CLIMAX OF IT ALL. IS

"I can't take him from her."

To accept Alfonse's fate, as Alfonse, is one thing. A horrible, painful, devastating thing. But it will live. It always has. And if it doesn't, eh, it was bound to happen at one point or another. Regardless, Moe is USED to saying Goodbye. Or, closer... Moe is used to leaving, without goodbyes. Wherever life jostles it next, it will find a new place. New people. It will be temporary, but it will make the most of it. Repeat ad nauseam.

But the WAY. THE WAY. It SO intensely projects onto Sharena, to the point of conflict between them (Sharena, at points, having to remind Moe Hey. I love you, I know you love me, but we're different people who want different things and that's okay). That's Moe's Achilles Heel. That's the thing that Almost got Moe stuck in Freyja's nightmare forever.

Jesus Christ, Moe. Can you. Fucking Relax. Dear lord.

*ALSO. THIS. IS FASCINATING ACTUALLY bc this IS entirely Moe's POV, panic mode, grasping for Anything. Also looking for any excuse to self-destruct. But. But. Turn the tables. If it truly WAS Alfonse, faced with accepting the loss of a friend. Well.

[End note]

Another thing to emphasize, maybe, and the best way to do so is with a demonstration...

A conversation with Sharena. Wish I could tell you what it was about! Oh well.

But this does highlight.... whatever the fuck Moe's problem is.

This is what I meant though, when I made the Lyon trope comparison. At one point, Moe becomes deeply emotionally entangled with BOTH siblings, in extremely opposite ways.

(As a side, I think the characterization of Sharena cussing only on special occasions is extremely fun. She is SO intentional about it... for someone who's typically squeaky-clean. Sometimes, if she knows her audience, knows it'll be funny or uniquely validating for that person -- she'll do it! She'll make a POINT of it, use it as the perfect punchline, ect ect!)

/

But. It's important to put all this out there. Especially because I don't know when I'll get to it, in comic form 🧍. Behind the scenes I've been working on a timeline of something else (for funsies!!!), which has actually made me think about the actual timeline of Significant Moe Events. How, A LOT if not All of its character development/arcs/set-ups occur in tandem with and as a direct result of Book 4. Moe's world, inside AND out, has been cracked open. Its connections start to branch out, deepen and grow. Mani is here. It's a fucking NIGHTMARE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Hmm...I dunno.

I feel like something that's been bothering me is that I feel like RWBY is as much about questioning the idea of treating life as a fairy tale.

When we hear about Fairy Tales, as is portrayed by RWBY, it's sometimes seen as either a silly fantasy, or as a necessary morality tale, or as a righteous path to be followed.

Or in the case of Ozma, a means to try to piece together and frame his life and the neverending misery he's in.

But the point about RWBY I've come to the conclusion about is that it's a story that actively questions why we treat people's stories as a fairy tale AT ALL.

Not every story should be so black and white, or at the least it shouldn't be treated so black and white. And it feels like the story is going out of it's way to question why we're so keen on shoving the story into the narratively black and white moral framework of a fairy tale, when it's plainly clear that life isn't a fairy tale at all.

Life is consistently portrayed as messy, complicated, where people can take the wrong meanings from other people's stories, or find inspiration in ways that can be seen by others as overlooking the complicated nature of what really happened.

Take Pyrrha. Her mom framed her ultimate sacrifice as something positive, that she knew what she needed to do and everything.

But the actual Pyrrha was a complicated mess of a person who was put into a terrible situation where there wasn't really a good answer at all. It was no fairy tale, but a tragedy where the moral wasn't straightforward, if it existed at all.

Fairy Tales boil things down to easy morality tales with good and bad examples, while often times conflating or removing the nuances of the situation entirely.

I dunno if I'm doing a good job explaining this or not.

With that in mind, reducing Neo's situation (and arguably even Salem and Cinders' situation) to being a bog-standard "they will be proven completely wrong and used as the bad example in a fairy tale" situation doesn't sit right with me. Because I think the actual situation is going to be substantially more complex than we give it credit for.

Oh it's definitely going to be more complex. It's Neo herself who will simplify it, because that's what she's always done. She took the entire millennia long battle between Salem and Ozma and turned it into her personal revenge story. She repeatedly refuses to consider other people as their own agents and not supporting characters to her protagonist. So of course she's going to decide she's The Hero and ironically condemn herself to the role of minor villain. It's what she's always done.

And while RWBY is more complicated than fairy tales, it is not a stranger to bad examples. Pyrrha dying because she went off on her own, Ironwood dying because he tried to hold up Atlas alone, Ozma dying over and over and over because he wouldn't trust people. The moral of how dangerous it is to see yourself as a lone hero is repeatedly stressed. And I highly doubt Neo is going to break the streak, especially since she's effectively used her Semblance to become her own friends and cut off everyone else. Her character arc and the tone of the story don't support her suddenly getting to cheat her way past the character development the tree demands.

[knifearo]

how did you realize that you were aro? I’m thinking about using greyromantic but I’m still not sure

i have already answered a version of this here! very gently placing that into your hands and then proceeding to write out a whole other answer anyway haha

in complete and total honesty. i was thirteen and i saw a definition of asexual in the "love" edition of teen vogue and i went "oh THAT'S what it is???" and i've been asexual ever since... for real though i found that definition and went looking further into things online and i don't know if it was because ace + aro discussions are so intertwined or because when i went "oh, i have no sexual attraction" i really went "oh, i have no attraction", but for me, asexuality and aromanticism were very intertwined, and once i knew that i wasn't feeling one it just kind of like. went for granted that i wasn't feeling the other one. i took the package deal. the combo, if you will.

while i was still deciding if that was the label i wanted to use (i thought of it as trying to figure out "what i was" but i find that framework to be,,, unhelpful? i will explain further later) what really helped me was going online and reading other aspec people's experiences, so you're on the right track already! squishes were a big thing for me: i read someone talking about those and immediately thought of my friend who i had been VERY proccupied with and had not had an explanation for it or the words to describe it (and i still don't, honestly. anyone with a good explanation of how a squish feels feel free to weigh in). from the asexuality side of things it was seeing someone talk about realizing that sexual attraction wasn't a huge inside joke and going "wait, it's NOT?" which was. silly. but also a very clear sign. sjkgfhd.

one thing that makes it difficult is that no alloro person i've ever met can actually give you a good description of what romantic attraction is. i'm realizing now that i'm silly and should just have been asking alloaces (feel free to say stuff in the notes! will also make a post asking around in a sec once i post this) but i will say that if you are frequently thinking about maybe being aspec it's typically a good indicator that you're not having an experience that alloro people have. they tend to be very confident about this sort of thing because they are. experiencing the romantic attraction.

i am going to direct you also to this post about using labels as labels, not as immutable states of being. if describing yourself as greyro would be helpful to your own internal journey or helpful in describing your experience to other people, use it! if it's not, don't feel pressured to use that label, or any label at all. you are a person with a unique experience and it's going to be hard. luckily all these words are made up and we can use them however we want or need :)

greyromantic is also an AWESOME term because it's already built in with caveats. i know a lot of people feel stressed about like. "committing" to the label of aromantic because what if they do feel it. but even if you couldn't stop using a label anytime it stopped feeling right, grey-aspec labels are wonderful because they acknowledge that the experience is variable and. y'know. not black or white. so even if you're stressed out about getting it wrong (which you don't need to be), greyro has you covered :)

ultimately my stance is always that if a label is going to be a positive thing for you then you should use it. you're allowed to be wrong about it. you're allowed to change it. and i know it can be hard to convince yourself of that so! if you're having trouble with that, i give you permission to use greyromantic (or any aspec label) for as long as you want or need it. go forth and be aro my friend <2

[itsu-saragi]

Devlog #3 - Revisions and Indecisions.

Sjdjfdhs hi. Apologies for letting the “see you in a month” turn into several months. Work got busy, then I caught Covid, after recovering I went on vacation, and then work got busy again… But I did work on this VN all throughout.

I didn’t make as much progress as I wanted, but some progress was made nevertheless.

So what exactly did I do? Let me count the ways.

Story Revisions

Changed the premise from magic academia to magic uhhh small business? Workshop? Something like that, I'm not sure what to call it.

My original story followed the player character and their love interest as they explored their university campus. This came to be because I was tinkering with the concepts of "group partners to lovers" & showing the player character as non-humanoid to allow for reader-insert and immersion, like the Obey Me games and the pink sheep MC. But the story stopped being appealing to me, plus the scope started to become bigger than I had anticipated. Multiple CGs in different locations across a giant campus? Yeah that's a nightmare to draw.

I'd still like to explore the idea of a non-humanoid MC though, so maybe that'll be a future game, or at least another brain dump post!

But anyway, I shrunk the premise. One store, one LI, and the customers that enter the little workshop. I'm still sticking to the idea of mundane modern fantasy though.

Because of the location change from university to workshop, I've had to revise the LI a lot. He's shaping up really well though! His name is Fen, I hope I can introduce him here sometime soon.

Building Frameworks

I'm not sure what to call it, so for now I'm calling it frameworks.

Basically, instead of tackling each aspect of the game separately from drafts to completion (ex: drawing all sprites right now and then moving on to writing the script), I want to create rough versions of everything.

I think this will help me because then I'll have an idea of how much work each aspect will entail, and I can hopefully spot and remedy any holes or glaring skill issues.

This is especially important for coding. I'll be using RenPy, the classic engine for visual novels, but I have very little coding experience. I'd like to gain some before I start creating the writing and assets meant to be incorporated into the platform.

By creating the framework (or I guess prototype is the better word in this case), I'll get some understanding of how RenPy works and once I have the assets complete I can insert those in.

For plot frameworks, I'm trying not to go into too much detail. Lots of bullet points cause I fuck with those.

For character frameworks, I must admit I'm putting a lot of thought and detail into Fen, but I think I should as he's the core of this game. I'm reminding myself though that much of him can still be altered if the story requires it.

There's definitely more frameworks I need to think about, like sprites, backgrounds, and music too.

But to sum it up, I'd like to create a rough draft of the entire game, and then only afterward do I start going in and changing details and adding colors to the big picture. I hope that makes sense.

Next Step: Character & Coding Frameworks

For the rest of April and probably the entirety of May as well, I'll focus on fleshing out Fen and putting together the coding framework.

I think figuring out Fen's character arc will help me get an idea of the overall story, which is incredibly daunting yet exciting lol

I'm not planning on making the coding look pretty, I just want to make something that functions. I have no clue how well that will go so please pray for me or something.

Personal Thoughts: I am Afraid

I think the reason why I didn't make a lot of progress is because lately, I've been afraid of doing so. I've never made a game before, or written an original story. I don't know what I'm doing, and instead of directly addressing things I've kept working around them. And because I haven't made much progress, it stresses me out. And then that stress makes me do less work.

Hellooo feedback loop.

I'm an indecisive person who likes to look for the right or most optimal answer. But in a creative project like this, it's hard to know what the "right" answer is cause it can be subjective.

I'm trying to remind myself to enjoy the process and to take small steps, and everything is still changeable as I'm still in the beginning stages. It's hard, but as I'm writing this update I think I'm feeling better.

I'm sure this gamedev journey will be me enjoying the ride and then immediately hating it, so for anyone reading: thank you for your patience. I appreciate you.

I'm going to try and post an update, no matter how small it is, once a month. So. Cheers to me being able to post this in April.

I'm still trying to figure out what to post and how to get my thoughts across. I've never done anything like this before, so please bear with me. If you have any feedback, please feel free to share!

And again, thank you to whoever's reading this. I hope you have a great timezone :)

[ananxiousman]

I am angry.

And you know what?

That’s okay.

I feel stressed

I feel let down

I feel disappointed

I feel frustrated

I feel like communication is futile

I feel like my requests are too big

Or too complicated

Or not articulated well enough

I feel like my heart is expressing its needs clearly

And those needs are met with the needs of others

I feel overwhelmed

I feel unsafe when I am angry

Because I feel people who look like me have no safe spaces in which to be angry

People who look like me have hurt so many people throughout history out of anger

That it’s no longer safe

At least no longer feels accepted

For me to express anger

Even though it’s healthy sometimes

To tell a partner when you’re angry with them, and maybe the anger doesn’t make sense, but you feel it and want it to be heard

Maybe that’s anger asking me to be a friend to it

Maybe that’s anger asking me to ignore my peaceful thoughts

Maybe that’s anger tricking me into thinking anger is more okay to express than it is?

I don’t know.

Because there is little framework for people who look like me to know what healthy, acceptable anger is - and is not

Both because of my angry, hateful lookalikes

And because of the people those lookalikes have victimized

When they see someone who looks like the angry people that have hurt them, and they sense an equal measure of anger and uncertainty

People who look like me become targets for their righteous anger

They have every reason to be hurt

And so they wish to get their just-desserts

And since I am usually calm and reserved, when my anger shows, I am a target because I’m softer seeming than those that have hurt them initially

I ask

What is that softness you see?

If you paid attention to it, would you be more trusting of me?

Would you see that outside I am big and appear privileged

But inside I am insecure, tiny and downtrodden

I feel the same as you

Yet you don’t know

Because you think you understand what it means for someone who looks as big, as white, and as imposing as me to be upset

While our outward appearances change the way (some) people treat us as humans

It does not change the software and hard drive I was given

It’s the same as yours, with some minor experiential differences for ~zest~

So I ask, next time you see a large angry man, if he isn’t actively harming anyone, would you consider giving him a hug?

Consider being his open ear for a moment?

Consider asking questions about who they are and what they’ve overcome to get here?

Just some thoughts.

And please

Please don’t yell at us if we haven’t yelled at you.

Odds are, if we haven’t, we learned not to long ago and likely went a little overboard in concealing our feelings because of it.

Let’s not forget

Society equally expects and resents large men’s anger

I am often treated like I’m angry in a situation which people expect me to be

Even if I’m simply quiet and I actually feel like crying

Anytime the outside world treats someone like they understand their inside world, it has a profound impact

And so this may result in people giving us a wide berth, ignoring us, being standoffish and defensive, or simply looking confused. It’s made worse when someone asks, ‘Are you angry?’

How do you feel when someone misreads your emotions and treats you in a way that exacerbates the situation?

When this happens to someone repeatedly, it creates an emotional synesthesia of sorts

Sadness becomes - anger

Confusion becomes - anger

Frustration becomes - anger/rage

Loneliness? You guessed it, Anger.

As you might imagine, this creates some serious complications in the realm of healing and development.

So I implore you, find ways to get curious about your local Big Man’s mental health. They’re likely much softer and more loving than you pictured, and will appreciate a kind ear to confide in.

Let’s stop the anger

And spread the love

[promiseiwillwrite]

Swamp Witch Story Time

Everything past this point is strictly UPG, shit that happened in my brain between asleep and awake. Personal experiences that I had with gods I work with. It is presented here so as to preserve a record for my own use, and no other purpose.

If you've been following along in the archives, you may be aware that I've been dead for two months or so.

I've been schleping around in the otherworlds, trying my damnedest to figure out what to do about making a spiritual body, (which by the way this shit has never been difficult before) with very little direction or success.

Finally, After severalmany attempts, I ended up having a weird dream. I was in a purple jade lotus.

And I say that, because I was standing on the perfectly lavender smoothness of it, and it was the size and affect of a fucking final fantasy boss arena. It had an obelisk in the middle, poking up out of the central structures you tend to find in a lotus flower.

I couldn't really stand well. As has been a theme with my travels recently. I've had great difficulties, and I've been missing limbs, or been paralyzed. or both. Kalok came and tried to help me. But they couldn't take me past a Door made of light. The door made of light led to a place of perfect darkness. And Rath helped me there. To go through a portal that looked like a tv screen static. Lucifer was there, waiting at the door.

And I went inside.

And it was a 4x4 fucking closet.

I was in the goddamn closet. And there was no door.

The symbolism here is not lost on me. Sometimes the otherworlds are VERY direct.

I was upset, to say the least. I bemoaned my choices. I had chosen this. It was Clearly a bad decision given that I want to have a rich life and to thrive and to love myself. Never mind that I've been telling myself that my motivation for the choice was to protect others. It is still choosing a small, constrained, sliver of a life instead of living.

But I am not into Suffering my own bullshit indefinitely once I've got it in my sites. I'm not going to live the whole rest of my life like this. 40 Years is Plenty of being nice and protecting others.

So I did what any trapped animal would, and I climbed up to the light fixture, and tore a hole in the drywall and into the attic space above it. Because Fuck it.

I found a vent out onto the roof, kicked it open and crawled through.

And then the shit started to MOVE.

There was a VERY large roof, covered in white gravel, with a widow's walk on one side. And then the gods came.

There are quite a lot of them invested in my outcomes now, it would seem. They saunter up to me all clad in black like a very hot Korean Boy band, and my body is their concern again. I tell them that I think I need to borrow the Mjolnir, because I think I've figured out what I need to target (there are some frameworks of thought I know have come up in this time of stress that have to be destroyed)

They gathered around me, and they cast an uncrossing. They bade me be unbound from the fear that held me captive. And then Loki placed the Blue Heartfire into me. I felt a lot better after that. A lot more normal.

And then they take me to get the Mjolnir. Don't ever imagine that Thor isn't smart. He figured out what was up pretty quickly, and even though I put on a fairly good show of being normal and making a normal ask, he asked me to promise not to hurt myself. and I couldn't do it. And he got REAL fucking upset, but he let me have the hammer.

I took it back to the rooftop, and the gods stepped into me, and helped me lift the hammer. I called down the lightning. Onto Myself. In and Through Myself, to purge myself of the fears and outmoded frameworks.

And then I thought, "oh, maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all." The spiritual body I was in was SHATTERED by it, as you might expect.

But I did want to take the hammer back to Thor, as promised.

And He called for Immediate assistance when he saw the Actual state of my spiritual body. Lightning cuts through illusions, just so you know.

My shit is like fucking roadkill at this point, by the way. I'm here dripping, looking like I got cut in half by a train, with no skin. This is not going well.

Odin came, and they put me on Sleipnir, and he was fucking panicking, and neither of us could think of a Healer to go to. But I've been thinking of reaching into Catholicism, so Eventually... We went to the Sedlec Ossuary.

He was afraid to come in, but brought me just into the doorway, and laid me on the floor. Hel came out of one wall, and Santa Muerte came out of the other. I told Hel, "I want to Live."

They went immediately into triage mode. They called to the Bone Mother to watch over me. And the Sedlec Ossuary itself came Alive and cradled me as they not so metaphorically Howled in RAGE and flew off on their broomsticks to go get everyone else with a stake in the situation.

The next thing I knew, they were ALL there.

And they were making a body. White cockle shells, and white butterfly wings, Round seed pods and bones and teeth of critters from the forest. Pine needles and flies and insects and moss and stones and earth...

And I watched as the gods cut themselves, or bled from tongues or mouths, and into the body, to fill it with blood. Everyone who knew me. Everyone who cared about my outcomes. Everyone that I had worked with, regardless of how long, and save only a few. and I watched it Gasp a breath and open its eyes.

And then I crawled out of the dying shell I'd been in, across the Sun on the floor, clutching the heartfire, and into the new body. I felt the power of it. And I felt orientation into my actual body... A few things that were wrong that could now be healed, with a little time.

The Ossuary, the Bone Mother asked For Blood offering on the next All Hallows Eve. Hel asked for a white rose. And Santa Muerte asked me to buy and honor a statuette for her.

So, Life from the Dead and the Blood of the Gods. Merry Christmas, critters and creatures. I have work to do.

[hauntedselves]

i had therapy today and we went over this. scary and LONG but i think it was a good idea and worth it!

essentially we just went through what i’d written above and she said what she thought about it.

StPD: ehh... most of it can be explained by autism & trauma, as well as my episodes of psychosis. not something she’d diagnose me with, but still something that i feel comfortable self diagnosing with

dyscalculia: not in her ballpark, so i’ve gotten a referral to the university clinic where the PhD students practice psychology (since that’s a hell of a lot cheaper than other methods) for a cognitive assessment (for dyscalculia, and my cognitive functioning more broadly). she thinks it’s likely though. also mentioned that time distortions are common in autism (and i know they are common in ADHD and dissociative disorders as well)

SzPD traits: she said “you flat out just don’t have schizoid PD”. i agree, and i think the traits i do line up with is also autism + trauma, as well as depression (for the anhedonia, avolition, etc). good to hear her perspective though

NPD traits: this one was interesting because she thinks that everything in my list can either be accounted for by trauma, autism, or just normal human experiences except my “belief of being special/unique”. but that one symptom alone isn’t enough to be diagnosed with NPD traits, so we’ll just.... note that and move on i guess lol

EDs: she agrees with me that i “definitely have disordered eating”, but she’s hesitant to put a label on it (or specify eating disorder instead of disordered eating) until we discuss it more. again, autism & trauma, as well as internalised fatphobia and diet industry bullshit. she was leaning into ARFID more than AN though.

ADHD: another interesting one... we’re gonna screen for it, not necessarily because it’s something she’d pinpoint as a possible diagnosis but more because she wouldn't want me to miss out on the literally life-changing medication that might help me if i did have ADHD. so it’s still definitely on the table.

OCD: also interesting (i use that word way too much...). again, autism + trauma, but she said i “definitely have intrusive thoughts” and “episodic” OCD which i didn’t know was a thing...

CPTSD: yep. no argument there. she also brought up that DID is under the CPTSD umbrella but with distinct symptoms for a separate diagnosis

psychotic thoughts: she said she wouldn’t say “psychotic features” but she would say “psychotic episodes“ that are tied to stress, trauma, and also function as / were developed as coping skills, especially in childhood. also has more weight because my dad is psychotic (either schizophrenic or depressive schizoaffective depending on who he talked to at the time, though he doesn’t agree with either of those dx’s)

pathological demand avoidance: we didn’t talk about this one much, just that it’s very common (especially in autistic kids) and usually people grow out of it. i have to do more research into how it presents before i can pinpoint how or if it affects me now in adulthood

there was also one other thing that i didn’t include in the above post, and i’m not gonna publicly share what it is, but we did talk about it and it was hard and scary... i’m glad my appointment was on the phone and not in person. the distress it causes is more important than the actual symptoms, (as with any disorder really), but there’s a lot of yuckiness and discomfort that comes with it. the main thing is that i do have insight and awareness, which is important when it comes to this particular thing.

we also talked a lot about how symptoms =/= diagnosis and diagnosis is just a convenient, agreed-upon framework mostly for quickly sharing information with other professionals, though of course it can feel good to have something to point to. all stuff i agree with but good to hear from a Professional (TM) herself.

she said she would be hesitant to diagnose me with any PD... but she diagnosed me with BPD when we first met (or rather, i’d already been diagnosed, and she agreed with the diagnosis)... idk what that means - she probably just forgot, but i’m. insecure lol

she said if she were to write a list of my diagnoses, it would be: CPTSD, DID, ASD, transient (mostly) stress-related psychotic episodes, and disordered eating

i’m still self-dx’ing with StPD, because i think it makes sense for me, even in addition to autism + trauma, and i’m still gonna self-dx with NPD traits, ADHD, OCD traits, and the dyscalculia diagnosis that i’m 100% sure will be confirmed when i get that cognitive assessment.

tl;dr: stpd sorta, szpd traits no, npd traits no but also sorta, ed yes, adhd maybe, ocd sorta, cptsd yes, dyscalculia probably but also pending assessment.

here's the big self dx email i'm going to send to my psychologist. (the diagnostic parts of it at least). i prefaced it with a bunch of "please don't think i'm being attention seeking though attention seeking is part of npd which i'm self dx'ing as having traits of so if that counts towards it then you can totally think i'm being attention seeking but i've put a hell of a lot of time and thought into this i didnt just read the dsm criteria and decide i had it thanks~"

Keep reading

[weirdcultstuff]

“Debriefs” after a mission trip are basically damage control. Specifically for the damage that comes from pushing people beyond their physical and mental limits.

It’s bringing a bunch of usually traumatized missionaries into an environment that finally feels stable and safe. After months of honestly sometimes inhumane deprivation, you finally give them food, and coffee, and water, medical attention, air conditioning and heaters, soft chairs, clean clothes. Let them cry, finally. Listen to their stories and let them unload all the stress that comes with being under that kind of insane pressure in unfamiliar situations. Encourage them to talk about the difficult things, their doubts and fears and traumas and sicknesses and how relationships and psyches have cracked under the stress .

And then

Then you do damage control. You repeat everything they’re saying back to them, in a way that tells them all the hard stuff was positive, purifying, noble. You define their doubts and fears and regrets as weaknesses, struggles, feelings they can work on getting rid of-and reassure that they have our support while they do!

You put quick bandages on the strained marriages. Yeah, he wasn’t present for the delivery of their first child, but he was out doing the LORD’s work and now they have two months to spend together as a family and he doesn’t even have to go to work for that time because he’s still on church support!

Debrief is a place where you try to get them to say all the things you don’t want them to say later. Their arguments with each other, whatever grudges they held against the injustices of the mission board, the culture shock, the racism, the sicknesses and deaths, all the trauma. Get it out of their systems. Figure out who would have the most damaging things to say, and make sure they’re soothed or reassigned or sent on a retreat with people who can keep a close eye on them.

And honestly? If I hadn’t had Debriefs after my mission work, I would have really cracked. Like, I had a rough time as it was, but debrief was a huge huge psychological help. It made the ludicrous make sense. Gave me a framework. Gave me three days to sort of numbly feel for my emotions, to eat full sized meals, to rest my bones.

Debriefs, at least the ones I went to and the ones I later organized, were manipulative af. But I know someone who just missed their debrief after a six month mission trip and when I heard that I felt panic and so much sadness and compassion.

For people with no access to therapy, I still think debrief after missions is essential. I mean, it’s manipulative and it’s broken and the counselors usually aren’t that qualified and missionarying is a problem in its own right, but how the fuck do you just go back to normal life after something like that with no debrief???? You can’t. You can’t. You will have lasting psychological damage, and you will be in a shitload of pain for a long time. Fucked up.

I am so angry that the mission board responsible for this person didn’t ensure they had a debrief. I know this work, I used to organize these things. How could they drop the ball like that??

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Do you have any autistic Scout headcanons? :P

Hell yeah!

I’ve actually thought about this a lot. A lot of people might think that Scout has ADHD, but I think he either has both ADHD and autism or just autism.

This is both because labeling Scout as having just ADHD is kind of a low-hanging fruit, and I also want to explore his symptoms a little more. So, in a word, I do, and thank you for asking about them!

*****************

Scout’s Spectrum:

So, where exactly does Scout fall on the autism spectrum?

First of all, he probably has both ADHD and autism, but wasn’t diagnosed with the latter until much later. This means that some of his symptoms were taken into account, but not all.

The ones that were paid attention to ramped up out of control, and the ones he didn’t hear about were stuffed away.

His ADHD symptoms include impulsiveness, need for stimulation, hyperfixations, forgetfulness, and insomnia; his autism symptoms include trouble with social skills, stimming, near inability to remember names and faces, lack of eye contact, hyperfixations again, and sensory processing issues, especially with noise and touch.

He used to have a lot of meltdowns when he was younger, usually about wearing new clothes and the amount of noise his eight brothers generated.

However, he was teased and pushed into masking nearly all the time, and made his whole personality about his ADHD, since that was what everyone accepted.

As he got older, he usually wrote off any autistic tendencies as either his ADHD or just “little habits” of his.

During his middle school years, he used energy drinks to bounce back from being exhausted every day after school. This would work, except those energy drinks would upset his ADHD, and would make it much harder to focus on even basic conversation.

After a while, he got such bad grades and had such a hard time making friends that Scout just stopped going to school altogether.

Baseball helped his focus, and the quick movement and thinking made a lot of sense to him. He never had to wait very long for the next development, and the instant gratification and community it provided supplemented what he never got at school.

With sports on his side, he rarely ever drank any energy drinks (the coach would never let them on the field), and he drank bucketfuls of water during every meet and game. Those teenage years were probably the healthiest he ever was.

However, with the amount of rumbles he got into with his brothers, and the turf wars that constantly raged in those neighborhoods, it was only a matter of time before his crime caught up with him.

After his first incarceration, he was booted from the team, which led to a downward spiral of unhealthy coping mechanisms - which included fighting someone tooth and nail whenever he could.

Even if he lost the fight, it not only catered to his impulsive nature and impatience, but also gave him roughly the same sense of friendship and camaraderie that baseball had.

One thing led to another, and by the time Mann Co. found him, Scout was a monster in hand to hand (and bat to bat) and had racked up quite the criminal record.

A perfect mercenary, ripe for the picking.

On The Team:

Scout very quickly adopted the “stupid, scrappy Boston boy” persona.

It was the only thing that made sense, and it kept him from having to try too hard in both the battlefield and socially.

Besides, that meant that he could be as silly, forgetful, and fidgety as he wanted, and no one would bat an eye.

And if he ever needed to take a break from the team, he figured everyone would appreciate the quiet.

The only thing that ever gave him away was him occasionally dissociating right when battle began, especially if the day had been stressful.

It was usually how he calmed down after a fight when he was young, but now he sometimes slid into that state when he was overwhelmed.

However, a yell from one of his teammates would usually snap him out of it.

Medic noticed this pretty early on, and wanted to look more into it, but Scout would keep making excuses not to get a mental examination.

He would blame it on zoning out, being tired, drinking too many Bonks - whatever it took for people to stop asking.

And, eventually, they did.

Even Medic stopped asking after a while - he couldn’t get a thing out of Scout.

This “try so little that when you do try it’s above average” charade worked for a long time. In fact, it went on for so long that Scout forgot how much he was actually capable of.

He began to internalize the stupidity, the exacerbation, the many comments on how dumb he was, everything.

The only time he ever gave his all was on the battlefield - moving fast, memorizing strategies, doing complicated footwork, knowing exactly how much force it took to crush someone’s skull with his bat.

That was one of the only things that he felt good doing, the only thing he could really work on without him being “found out.”

That and drawing, though he never showed the actual pieces to anyone. It was all stick figures and crooked lines with everyone else.

Sometimes, though, Scout wouldn’t be paying attention and he’d let something slip.

One time, Engineer was looking for his screwdriver, and couldn’t seem to find it anywhere.

Scout, not looking up from his comic, said, “Under the couch cushion, hard hat.”

Engineer bent down and reached into the couch, and his hand came back with his red and yellow striped screwdriver.

“Well I’ll be damned…”

At first Engineer thought Scout had just hid it, but Scout explained, still not paying attention:

“Last time we went out on th’ field, you had it on your belt, like always. But I was walkin’ by your workshop, you were usin’ a quarter to tighten a screw or somethin’. Your screwdriver had to be somewhere between the battlefield and your workshop. Engie, you’re like freakin’ clockwork. Every day, after a fight, you go to the kitchen, get a water, go to that couch, between the second and third cushion from the left, and sit there. Then ya go back to the fridge to get lunch and a beer, and ya go to your workshop until somebody needs you for somethin’. Your back loop in your tool belt is looser than all the others, ‘cause the screwdriver pulls against it when you sit down. The shank was probably in between the two cushions, and when you got up, it fell in. Demo, Pyro, and Heavy all sit on the second or third cushion at some point, so it got shimmied down. And since that’s the only time you sat down, ‘cause you woulda heard it if it dropped on the floor, and I…uh…”

“I’ll be damned,” Engie repeated, and felt the back tool belt loop. It was indeed loose.

Scout finally looked up, and realized what had happened.

“Uh, uh - l-lucky guess, huh Engie?”

Engineer squinted behind his goggles. “Yeah…real lucky…”

What ensued was Engie trying to get Scout to turn into a B.L.U Spy by chasing him around with his wrench. After a few good hits, though, Engineer saw that it was the teammate he knew and loved.

“But…how didja…?”

Scout threw his hand up, the other rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit.

“I toldja Engie! Lucky guess! Jesus!”

Ever since then, Scout chose his words more carefully.

The Breakdown:

But, unfortunately, Scout could not pretend forever.

There was one week where Scout’s assignment count was so high that, if he wasn’t in a fight, he was on a mission.

Usually, Pauling wouldn’t trust him with so much, but no one else was available - or willing - to do the jobs.

Even when she was getting concerned about the amount of hours Scout was putting in, he blew it off.

“It’s no sweat, Miss Pauling! Their practically givin’ me the pay day. Those yahoos don’t know who they’re messin’ with.”

Over time, though, Scout had a harder and harder time staying focused and alert.

He’d sleep through alarms, stare off into space, zone out completely during briefing (not that he didn’t already do that), have a hard time hearing people in battle - even through his headset - ignore Spy’s taunts, and even forget to bring his bat onto the field.

Nothing seemed to help - Bonk!, warming up, stretching, cold showers, setting reminders, nothing.

And the team was starting to notice.

At first it was with the regular frustration - maybe Scout was just being lazy.

But as time went on, and his condition grew worse, their scorn turned into worry. They implored Medic to do something, but he had no way of getting through to Scout.

The doctor wasn’t above simply sedating him and dragging him into his lab for a check-up. However, he had a feeling that this was more than a physical issue.

The worst came when Scout was doing a routine battle with the B.L.U team on the field.

Everything had started out okay - he even remembered to bring his bad this time - but suddenly, everything was ear-splittingly loud.

He couldn’t focus on more than one sound at once, much less communicate the best course of action to his teammates.

He ended up hiding in a dilapidated shed, in a dusty, dark corner, somewhere between zoning out and panicking.

Scout’s head was in his knees, he was shaking, close to crying, when a sudden splitting of wood roused him.

A B.L.U Soldier had kicked his way into the shed, either having heard Scout or to hide from the other team.

Scout was stunned at first, but something of a blind terror filled him. He picked up his bat, screamed, and started pummeling the surprised Soldier.

At some point, he threw aside his bat and began to swing punch after punch, just like he did in his gang days when he had felt overwhelmed. Still screaming. Still crying.

By the time Scout had dissolved into a rocking, sobbing mess, the Soldier was long dead, with a gigantic pool of blood staining Scout’s shoes.

No one even knew where Scout was until a few hours later, when Spy heard a faint note of “Sexbomb” coming from Scout’s Walkman.

Scout had crawled into the shed’s framework, between the outer and inner wall, and was playing a specific verse over and over and over again, looking like he was on another plane of existence.

Spy immediately called for Medic, who had to lift Scout out by the underarms through a jagged hole in the side of the building. By then, the fight was over, so they could take him directly to the lab.

Medic’s Evaluation:

“I’m guessing zhis is your first mental breakdown?”

“Mental…doc, I ain’t crazy. Wait, you’re not goin’ to put me in a straight jacket, are ya?”

“If you’re not doing anyzhing later.”

Medic started to laugh, but quickly realized this might not be the time.

“No, Scout, everyvun has a mental breakdown at least vunce in their lives. It’s a…how do you say…a vake-up call of sorts. Vhen your body has no other options left.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“For zhe past few months, you health, both physical and mental, has been deteriorating. You eat less. You talk less. Your attacks are lackluster. You have bags under your eyes. You flinch vhen somevun yells for you. You stare off into space. Your routine, vhich usually has at least some changes, has become stringent, as if you can’t possibly expend any more energy into extra activities. You have avoided Demoman on zhe battlefield, even though you usually use him for cover.”

Medic flipped through his notes.

“I have pages and pages of your decline. However, as a scientist, I believe it is caused by zhe same source. And, though I usually respect my patient’s right to privacy vhen it comes to these sorts of matters, I believe you’ve been keeping something from me. Something that I should know as your general practitioner…your doctor.”

Scout shrugged, already shutting out the conversation.

Medic sighed.

“Maybe I tried to talk to you about zhis too soon. After all, you’ve just had a very sudden and exhausting episode. But…perhaps…”

Medic took a sheet of printer paper from his clipboard and a spare pen from his pocket.

“…zhere is an alternative.”

Scout was still unresponsive, but Medic continued.

“Zhere is a patient in my vaiting room vis a metal pole through the chest. It vill take me at least an hour to properly remove it, and a few minutes more to heal zhe area. Vhile I do zhat, vhy don’t you draw how you feel?”

Medic smiled.

“I know how much it grounds you.”

It wasn’t until Medic left that Scout actually picked up the pen, but he began drawing immediately.

For the first time in a while, he wasn’t trying to hide his strokes or scratch up the cleaner lines. No more stick figures. No more pretending.

Five minutes later, he was fully engrossed.

Medic started to walk in at one point, but, seeing how relaxed Scout was, decided to give him a few more minutes.

He deserved it.

[whentherewerebicycles]

hello! prepare for a long chatty life update. I went out with friends last night and it was so nice wahh. then I slept nine hours and that was glorious too. turns out this week’s sleep trouble was just my usual pre-period insomnia and not my new magic sleeping meds failing me. phew!!! I took Pip to our new vet this morning for his annual checkup and he was such a sweet boy even through the indignity of many shots. 😭😭 I love my little dog so much. also when Pip sits his front paws point outwards in a way that makes him look like he’s posing, and today the vet techs were like ‘awww how sweet! you know that’s actually a genetic deformity, right?’ I was like ummm excuse me. this is the best dog who has ever lived and he is perfectly formed in every way so think carefully about how you describe his flawless & unique paws please!! anyway he is in excellent health and three different people independently praised him for being so lean & well-conditioned. I can’t wait for fall (and/or to get him to seattle) so we can resume his preferred 70 min walks instead of the 30 min forced marches we are limited to in the summer.

then I came home and started working my way through one of the books I bought on evidence-informed learning design in training contexts. it’s interesting so far! not a lot of new content yet but it’s kind of nice to go back to basics and resolidify my understanding of core concepts/frameworks. I feel like it’s making me a bit sleeeepy though so I might just do an hour each day instead of trying to power through. I have four weeks left before new job starts… I think I just want to read two or three of these fairly dense books so I go into the first month feeling like I have an understanding of how the L&D profession overlaps with/differs from the classroom pedagogy stuff I’m more familiar with. I also want to read more about the history and structure of my government agency so I have at least a rough mental framework to fit first-month new information into. THAT SAID as psyched as I am to get started on a New Project (tackling a new job lol) I need to remind myself to also enjoy this time and try to use it to really fully decompress from the year and job search stress. it’s okay to just let myself enjoy this month of very few responsibilities.

next week I need to reach out to my current boss to let her know that I accepted the position… and I need to do that sooner rather than later because they’re starting to process my security clearance and that involves interviewing my references. I hope she isn’t upset with me for kinda changing gears after we talked last, but I’m also reminding myself that it’s normal to change jobs and that I went above and beyond trying to make things work with them… they didn’t move fast enough to make it feasible for me and it’s okay for me to make decisions that prioritize my own long-term future (because academia sure as hell won’t do that for me!). I can’t decide if I hope the grant funds come through & they let me do it as a part-time position with support staff, or if I hope it doesn’t come through and my energy is just freed up to focus on the new job + creative projects. we will see what the universe decides.

we released the first two episodes of our hockey fandom podcast yesterday and have gotten a nice response so far! I am deep in planning/research mode for future episodes and might spend the rest of the afternoon working on that. I feel like my brain is a little bit too fried still to write short things or fully dive into my new long project (I need a bit more rest/recovery I think) so I’m gonna let myself continue taking a little break from writing and instead focus on building out this other project so it’s up and running by the time the job starts. ooh and I am also going to beta a friend’s fic this weekend—tonight or tomorrow tbd.

okay let’s see. going to drive to target now to pick up a curbside order and then I think I want to lie in bed doing nothing or maybe thinking a bit about podcast planning. I have this idea that if we can create like… a planning structure of some kind? a brainstorming and research template kinda thing? it’ll help organize and streamline our prerecording thinking so we can have deeper conversations in the actual recording session. I like the idea of designing a repeatable learning exercise that will make the planning process more seamless, so if we get really busy with real life stuff we won’t have to expend as much intellectual bandwidth on the prep & planning work each week. idk just something I am kicking around we’ll see. mmkay! if I go to target I will have cherries to eat 😍 so it is time to make the quick drive over.

[maulusque]

Hey d'you know the origins of Quinlan Vos/Fox ship? I keep finding it and I'm curious if it's one of those Fan Things that took off or if they went on an adventure together at some point.

To my knowledge, they have literally never met or even been in close proximity in canon. I remember last, like, April or something @forestgreengirl went full Galaxy Brain and decided that Vox would be a thing and single-handedly paddled that canoe into fandom’s collective consciousness. 

As for why they work so well together, I think it’s partially a matter of feasibility (Fox never leaves Coruscant, the only Jedi who seem to never leave Coruscant are like, really really old, but Quinlan could feasibly spend a lot of time there because he’s a Jedi Superspy and he doesn’t have his own battalion of clones (at least, not in current canon)). Quinlan shows up for his one (1) clone wars arc and seems imminently shippable, but the only clone he interacts with is Cody, and fandom has decided that Obi-Wan has near-exclusive Cody dibs (the other obvious choice is Fandom Bicycle Obi-Wan Kenobi, and there are a fair number of quinlan/obi fics). Most other clones tend to get paired off with their Jedi, but Fox doesn’t have one of those, so he’s single and ready to mingle, so to speak. So it’s partially a case of Pair the Spares.

Also it has to do with personality. Quinlan is, in disney canon, a relaxed, easy-going, hypercompetent, humorous guy who’s also kind of an asshole. Fox has absolutely no canon personality, BUT he certainly has a fandom-assigned personality. Fox’s fandom-personality has changed over time, which was kind of interesting to watch. A while back, Fox was characterized as proud, brash, in-your-face, kind of a slut, cocky, etc. Now, he’s uptight, repressed, extremely stressed and sleep-deprived, cares deeply for literally everyone even though he hides it, slow to trust, doesn’t open up easily, kind of acts like a dick, is really abrasive, and really, really needs a hug.

 I think the change was due to some Fox Discourse that went down where some people reacted to people basically hating on Fox for arresting Ahsoka and wanting his men to shoot to kill when they hunted her down, killing Fives, and serving Darth Vader. There was kind of a tidal wave of posts defending Fox, and at first it was like “Fox was following orders, it wasn’t his fault, and of course he would have his troopers shoot to kill Ahsoka, he thought she was a murderer and he knew she was armed and dangerous, and he killed Fives because he was doing his job and he saw Fives reaching for a gun, that’s not unreasonable even though it is tragic” and then it quickly progressed to “Fox was probably mind-controlled by Palpatine when he killed Fives” and “Fox flinched when Anakin yelled at him to he’s probably used to people hurting him” and all of that resulted in the New Fox Personality, as well as several things that we have zero evidence for in canon but Fandom accepts as Fact:

-all the other clones hate/strongly dislike the Coruscant Guard

-Fox constantly has to forge the chancellor’s signature

-Fox is terrified of Palpatine, and he Knows that he’s Evil

-Palpatine is mind-controlling Fox and Fox has memory gaps where Palpatine takes over

-Fox is ridiculously stressed and sleep-deprived and constantly on the verge of a breakdown

-Fox is constantly abused/yelled at my senators and he hates every single one of them

-Fox tries to keep secret exactly how stressed and fucked up he is

-Fox has between 0 and 1 (one) friends

don’t get me wrong I FUCKING LOVE these Fox tropes it’s just kinda funny how we’ve built this whole narrative framework by wholesale pulling it out of our collective asses (fun fact: Old Fandom Fox had a lip ring, New Fandom Fox has graying hair).

anyway, laid-back, relaxed, funny guy and upright asshole who secretly needs a hug is like, one of the top three ship dynamics in existence so when people saw Quinlan Vos paired with New Personality Fox, they were like “oh that is some GOOD SHIT” and anyway that’s my thoughts on how Vox became a thing thank you for coming to my ted talk

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Out Of Time ~ 114

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,310ish

Summary: Where is Y/N?

Notes: Sorry if this chapter sucks. The next one should be longer with more about how Y/N’s dealing with everything.

Previously on Out Of Time…

Y/N woke up, already knowing where she was. Her hand immediately went to her stomach as her eyes replayed the fighting she had witnessed. Her heart beat quickened as she relived those terrible moments. The monitors she was connected to warned the medical staff outside. Helen and her nurses rushed in.

“Y/N,” Helen called. “I need you to breathe.”

“My… I… the baby…” Y/n stammered through the struggle. “Is my baby…. It is okay?”

“You came in sweating and trembling,” Helen explained carefully. “It was obvious to me that you had been struggling to keep food down and that there was blood loss. You were immediately brought into—“

“Just tell me,” Y/N begged, voice small and cracking. “Just get it over with and tell me…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. The baby was lost due to a miscarriage.”

A sob ripped through Y/N’s throat and out her mouth. She leaned her head back against her pillows and cover her mouth with a hand as tears began to cascade down her cheeks. Her heart began to beat rapidly, causing the monitors around her to freak. 

“Y/N, I need you to calm down,” Helen coaxed. “You’re body has been through a traumatic experience and needs rest. You need to try and calm.” The sobs and strangled breathing only escalated. “I need something to help calm her down. Now!”

A nurse quickly handed Helen a syringe. Helen rushed to insert it into Y/N’s IV. It almost immediately helped, but didn’t put her to sleep.

“I’m going to go inform Tony,” Helen stated. “We’ll be right back.”

Then Y/N was left alone to her thoughts. The blame and the guilt that she was feeling, all for herself. Her baby was lost because of her. Because, if she would have just told Steve and Tony, they might have stopped fighting. If she would have just told them, they wouldn’t have let her anywhere near the stress. If she had just been a little more focused on the health of her baby instead of the chaos around her, her baby still might be safely inside of her.

But instead, she didn’t do any of those things. And she tried to stop things she couldn’t control and saw things she wishes she could unsee. Y/N’s hands rested above her belly as she let the tears flow. Nothing mattered now. How could it? Her family was torn apart. Her child was gone. 

She could feel Tony’s thoughts as he came towards her room. He was feeling all the guilt and blame as well, putting it on himself. Y/N didn’t want him to feel that way, but she had no energy to stop it. There was nothing left inside her to help him feel better, especially when she felt that way too. She quickly decided that she couldn’t be there anymore. She couldn’t face him, watch him slowly turn to hate her because she had killed their child. It would break her more than she was currently broken. 

So, with a deep breath, she focused on the one place that she felt she might be safe for a minute. She ripped off her IV as she opened a portal. Y/N hurried through it the best she could in her weakened state, falling onto the ground on the other side of it. Turning around, she caught a glimpse of the door opening, but the portal was shut before Y/N saw anything else. She curled up on the floor where she was, not caring to look at her surroundings, and let herself go.

~~~

May and Coulson were in a bar. Coulson was reading the newspaper as the news played on a TV above them. While Y/N had been away, their troubles didn’t stop. They now were facing a new threat by the name of Hive, with the face of Grant Ward. He was trying to control all Inhumans and even create them. Hive was currently in control of Daisy.

“Still no word one the whereabout of Steve Rogers after his public feud with Tony Stark and the Avengers over the controversial Sokovia Accords,” the news anchor stated. “Ratified by 117 countries, the Accords place the Avengers under UN authority and provide a framework for the registration and monitoring of all enhanced individuals.”

“We knew this was gonna happen sooner or later,” May said.

“Cap, Agent Carter…” Coulson started, glancing down at the newspaper that held an article on Peggy’s death. “They were my heroes growing up. Both of them were there at the beginning of SHIELD. Now we may be there when it ends.”

“The last thing we need right now is the government hamstringing us with the Accords. We need to stop Hive, by any means necessary.”

“I’ll deal with the government. You do whatever it takes to end this.”

“All options on the table?”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.”

May nodded, glancing back down at the newspaper in Coulson’s hands. There was a picture of Steve, Y/N, Peggy, and Howard with the article.

“Have you heard from her?” May asked, not looking away from the newspaper. “She can’t be taking this well.”

“No,” Coulson sighed. “I haven’t. Which honestly terrifies me.” 

“Y/N can hold her own.”

“Yes, but this is against her family. I can’t imagine her choosing a side.” 

“She didn’t sign. She must have chosen Cap’s.”

“Her not signing doesn’t mean anything. You should no that, you know Y/N.” He glanced down at his wrist watch. “You might want to go out the back. He’s coming in.”

May left out the back as General Talbot entered the bar.

“General Talbot,” Coulson greeted, getting out of his seat. “Right on time.”

“What in the Knievel happened to you?” Talbot wondered, noticing that Coulson was sporting a cane. 

“Little fender bender. No big deal.”

“You sure you should be in the driver’s seat? I thought we agreed on full disclosure.”

“You want to see my x-rays? I’ll put them in a nice frame for ya.”

“I’m talking about this gin joint out in the middle of no man’s land. You promised me you’d show me the base without any three hour fly arounds this time.”

“We need to talk first.” Coulson turned and headed to sit in a booth, Talbot following.

“I’ll talk. You listen… I’m here because the President sent me. The Sokovia Accords are law of the land now. He’s concerned you may have some undocumented enhanced assets working for you.”

“And why would they think that?”

“Cause he’s not a moron. Come on, Phil. It’s time for SHIELD to come in from the cold, relegitimize.”

“In exchange for revealing and registering any Inhumans we may have? Not gonna happen.”

Talbot scoffed. “Why are you so pigheaded? It’s good enough for the Avengers.”

“Not all of them. And the Avengers operate in the spotlight. We work in the shadows.”

“First, how can you even say that? You have an enhanced Avenger on your team.”

“Y/N hasn’t been with SHIELD in months. You know that.”

“Second, what’s going on in those shadows, Phil? That’s what I want to know. You better start opening some doors, or I promise ya, I’m gonna start kicking them down.”

“Alright. Let’s go for a ride.”

“No blindfold?”

“No blindfold, but you might want to buckle up.” Coulson lifted a seat belt from the seat, buckling himself in.

“What?”

Coulson nodded to the bar tender. The bar tender pressed some buttons on the cash register which caused the booth they were seated in to lower into the ground.

~~~

May was walking from requesting that Fitz-Simmons focus on stopping Hive instead of stopping Daisy from breaking in. As she walked, she heard whimpers coming from a side room of the base. She pulled out her gun and slowly made her way into the room. With her gun held up, May turned the corner, surprised to find Y/N laying on the floor.

“Y/N,” she gasped, hurrying to her side. As May turned Y/N to face her, she could tell she was running a fever. “Y/N, look at me.” Y/N’s eyes keeping fluttering, unable to focus on anything, as whimpers left her mouth. “I need to get Simmons. Stay here.”

May knew she needed to be careful with Talbot in the building, but it was obvious Y/N needed medical help ASAP. She rushed to the lab, where Fitz-Simmons was working.

“Simmons,” May called from the doorway, “I need you.”

“What is it?” Simmons asked. “Is someone—“

“Just follow me. And Fitz, I may need you too.”

Fitz and Simmons looked at each other before quickly following May.

“May, what is going—“ Fitz questioned was halted when he saw Y/N on the floor. “Oh my—“

“We need to get her to the lab, now,” Simmons ordered, already taking over. “She needs an IV and to be heavily monitored.”

“Not with Talbot here,” May stated. “We have to find a safer place. Who knows if they’re looking for her, she didn’t sign the Accords.”

“My bedroom it is then. Fitz, I need you to go grab supplies and maybe Mack.”

“On it,” Fitz hurried away with a nod.

“May, help me get her to the room.”

May and Simmons hurried Y/N to Simmons room before May rushed to get Coulson. Fitz came back with Mack and a new Inhuman on the team they called, Yo-Yo.

“What’s going on?” Mack asked.

“I don’t know,” Simmons answered, her and Fitz getting set up. “May found her in a closet.”

“How can we help?”

~~~

May got roped into helping Coulson with Talbot’s tour before she was able to tell him. It was getting on her nerves that she couldn’t get Talbot out of their hair fast enough. They ended up having to tell Talbot the truth about Daisy and Hive on their way to the lab.

“Where’s Simmons?” Coulson asked, looking around. “I need her to talk to Talbot about the Inhumans Hive tried to make.”

“I think she’s in her room, why don’t we go get her,” May suggested. “And the lab techs can start going over the research.”

Coulson looked at May, confused to why they both needed to go. Studying her face, he realized that she was serious. Something was going on that she needed to tell him about, and Talbot couldn’t get involved.

“Right,” Coulson agreed. “Collins.” A lab tech came running over. “Let General Talbot have access to all our research on Hive, start walk him through it while he go get Simmons.”

Coulson and May exited the lab before Talbot could question them.

“What the hell is going on May?” Coulson whispered.

“It’s Y/N,” May answered.

Coulson face grew worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. But I found her in a closet, whimpering and burning up.”

“Where is she now?”

“Simmons, Fitz, Mack, and Yo-Yo have her in Simmons’ bedroom.”

“Okay.”

When they entered the bedroom, Coulson took Y/N in. She was under the covers, her hands resting at her sides on top. IV’s and monitors where hooked up to her.

“How is she?” Coulson asked.

Simmons shook her head. “She’s not fully conscious, so I haven’t been able to get anything from her,” she explained. “But it seems that Y/N’s been through a traumatic experience.”

“If she came here then that must mean—”

“I couldn’t…” Y/N interrupted softly. “I couldn’t be there right now…”

“Y/N.” Everyone took a step closer. “What happened?” Before Y/N could answer, Coulson’s phone rang. He looked at it, holding it up for her to see. “It’s Stark. Does he—“

“I can’t,” Y/N shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Please don’t.”

“I won’t. But I have to answer or he won’t stop, you know that.” Coulson pressed answer and held the phone up to his ear. “Stark, I really don’t have time for you—“

“Coulson, I need you to be honest with me…” Tony’s worried voice could be heard over the phone throughout the room, causing Y/N to cry more. “Is Y/N with you?”

“I really don’t think that—“

“Is. Y/N. With. You?”

Coulson paused with a sigh. He looked at Y/N. She had turned her head away, clenching her eyes shut as the tears rolled down. It hurt him to see her like this. He longed to tell Tony the truth but he also knew that Y/N wouldn’t have come back her unless if was for a good reason.

“No,” Coulson finally spoke up. “I haven’t seen her. But I’ll let you know if I do.”

“You better not be lying to me, Phil. I…. I need to find her. She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’ll send a search out for her and let you know as soon as I see or hear anything… Mind telling me, what happened?”

“No,” Y/N begged, so quietly everyone in the room almost missed it.

Tony sighed shakily, covering his eyes with his free hand. “Everything fell apart…. and…. She lost a lot today. Her family… her child…”

“Her child?” Coulson gasped. Everyone’s eyes widened, looking at Coulson before snapping back to look at Y/N.

“Now you know why it’s important that I find her.”

“Yeah… I do… I’ll keep you updated.” He hung up. “Y/N…”

“No,” she whimpered. “I don’t want your pity… It’s m-my fault my baby’s gone… my baby’s gone…. My brother’s gone… my Bucky’s gone… and, if I’d stayed, I would have lost Tony too…. I don’t have anyone…”

“Sshhh,” May cooed, moving to sit on the bed beside Y/N. “You have us. It’s going to be okay.”

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2​. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

[give-seconds]

Sweet Lies

Summary: Sungchan wants to tell you something but is scared to do it face to face. So, he decides to write you letters telling you everything he wants to say.

Paring: Sungchan x female reader

Genre: Angst 

Warnings: cheating

Word count: 2.3K

---

Hi y/n,

I don’t know if you’re ever going to get these. I mean, as of right now, my intention isn’t to give you them. I guess these letters, like the reason they even exist, are for me. Through these letters, I hope to tell you everything I wish I had the guts to say to your face. I wish I could say this was all a mistake and that I could man up and beg for your forgiveness. But it isn’t a mistake. This is a conscious decision I made once and am continuing to make again.

Maybe you’ll even forgive me.

Love,

Sungchan

----

Good morning y/n,

You were gone when I woke up this morning. You wrote me this cute little note about how you had some special surprise planned for me today. I’m sorry, I’ll have to cancel. I already have plans today. I already know what I’ll say to you. I’ll say something about how my work assigned me to a special project and that I have to work late to help design the framework or something like that. Really though, it’s her birthday today, and I promised I’d spend it with her.

I wish I hated myself enough to stop.

Love,

Sungchan.

---

Hi y/n,

It’s kind of funny, actually. Today, you were telling me about a song you found that “is making its way” to becoming your favorite song. It’s a song from the cheater’s point of view. After you played it for me, you said you didn’t know if you could ever forgive someone who cheated on you. That you should be enough for someone, and if the person you’re dating doesn’t realize that, then they’re not someone you would miss.

After that, I was so stressed, I called her as soon as I got home. Her voice is the only thing that can calm me down when things like this happen between me and you.

I’m sorry,

Sungchan

—

Hi y/n,

Today the guilt I felt was too heavy. I called into work sick and spent the day stuffing everything you’ve ever given me into a box. It was too loud. One of the last things I put into the box was our undergrad graduation photo. It’s only been two years since then, but we look so young. Maybe it’s because I look at that photo and think how soon after that, we started our relationship. Back then, you were the only person I could see myself with.

Five months ago, I met someone who made me feel like that again. Those feelings are still there for you—I hope you never think I lost them. I just found someone who holds an equal part in my heart as you do.

Know I love you,

Sungchan

—-

My Dearest,

You showed up at our front door crying. Judging from the frantic knocks on my door from Jungwoo, you scared him pretty bad. Not many can scare Jungwoo like that; he must really like you.

Anyways, after a cup of hot chocolate, you told me what was wrong. You said your dad had another kid with another woman and that he’d never told you about it. That when you were young, he used to have “conference meetings” with the other higher-ups that lasted a few days.

He was really visiting his other family. Your mom even knew about it; you were the only one who didn’t know. You said that you’ve never been hurt by a lie before. While drying your eyes, you decided lies were the worst thing. That from here on out, you are going to live as honestly as you could. You then asked me if I was hiding anything from you and begged me to tell you if I was. “I can’t handle any more secrets, Sungchan. So if you have anything you’re hiding from me, please, please just tell me. I need to get it all over with now.”

I almost cried when you said that, and I’m thankful you couldn’t hear the lie in my voice when I said I wasn’t keeping anything from you. There have only been a few times the bracelet she’s given me felt like it was burning my skin. At that moment, when you begged me to tell you anything I was hiding, it felt like my wrist was on fire. As soon as you left, I practically ripped it off.

I love you, and I’m so sorry,

Sungchan

---

Hey love,

I was looking through these letters today before I went to bed (I’m writing this one as a spur-of-the-moment thing before I go to sleep), and I realized I’ve only been writing about how I hate what I’m doing. And while that is true, I don’t want you thinking that’s the only emotion I feel. I know what I’m doing is wrong, and I don’t deserve to be anything close to the good guy. With that being said, I owe you the truth. But if hearing me talk about my relationship with her is too painful, I suggest skipping this letter.

I met her about six months ago at a flower shop. It’s the shop I bought the flowers I got you for your birthday. She helped me pick them out. Now I don’t know what came over me, but when she asked me who I was getting flowers for, I told her they were for my mom. Before I left, she gave me her number. I almost threw it away, but right before I let go, something stopped me.

I felt something for her, and I still do. It felt like what I felt for you when I first started realizing I liked you. The immediate feeling of comfort that comes when I hear her voice, the blinding smile, the beautiful personality. It was all the same as when I met you.

I’m not trying to say she’s you; she’s more emotional when it comes to watching movies (I still want to find one that’ll make you cry, I know there’s one out there), and she’s a bit more hyper than you are. But the point I want to make is, the things I feel for you, I feel for her. I don’t know how much that’ll mean to you when (if) you read these, but know I feel so much for you. You were the light of my college years, and you continue to brighten my day.

But so does she. She knows things I don’t and can open my mind to a whole new world. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and it’s frankly amazing.

I’m trying hard not to talk too much about her in this—I don’t want you to think she’s better than you. I just want you to understand that no matter how many times I talk about how much I hate myself or the guilt I feel, I continue to tell you and her lies. As long as I have you two by my side, I’ll continue telling lies.

You both mean so much to me,

Sungchan.

---

Hey y/n,

This letter will be pretty short; I just wanted to tell you what a good day it was today. We spent the whole day together, which always feels therapeutic. I bought us lunch, we went go-carting (I beat you because you were too scared to go fast, it was great), and we looked around at different shops before we went back to my apartment to have dinner with Jungwoo.

It just feels right being with you, and I can’t thank you enough for being in my life. I think we’re a good fit, and so do you. It’s nice to be with someone who thinks so similarly to me, and I can’t get over how well we fit together. I mean, when you left, Jungwoo couldn’t stop talking about how lucky I am to have found someone who fits me so well.

I’m kind of rambling at this point, but I feel so much love for you right now that I wanted to put it down somewhere.

Thank you for being the person you are and loving me like I love you,

Sungchan

---

I’m so sorry,

I thought it was important I let you know right off the bat that I am sorry. Yesterday, I forgot about a date we arranged. We were out looking for a birthday present for her younger brother and got distracted looking at all the different shops. I never even heard the phone ring when you called. You called me five times before you texted and told me you were leaving. You had even tried to make a joke sending me a text that said: “at least we didn’t make reservations.”

Then today, I bought you flowers and told you that I was busy showing the intern around. That I had to do it on a Saturday because he’s from our office in Japan and takes Korean lessons on the weekdays. We do have an intern from our office in Japan here, but I’m not the one showing him around. You told me it was okay and that you understood, but I could tell you were still really hurt.

I feel like an idiot. I know cheating is bad, but I told myself that when I got into another relationship, I would never forget a date with either of you. That was the only standard I was trying to hold myself to, and I failed.

I’ll try harder to never forget a date again,

Sungchan

---

Hey y/n,

I think this is the last letter I’ll get to write to you. Well, I don’t think, I know.

You came to me today, asking what I was doing last night. I lied and told you I was at home watching TV. If there’s anything I will never forget about that conversation, it’s how you looked at me. You had smiled, nodding your head as you looked at me with teary eyes. You looked heartbroken.

When I tried to hug you and ask what was wrong, you shook your head no and backed away from me. Now that truly broke me. So I asked you what happened and you told me about how someone you knew saw me at the movie theater with a girl. You asked me to tell you who the girl was, and I begged you not to do this. I said that if you did this, it wouldn’t end well. That all the memories we had made together would be tainted.

You laughed and told me it wasn’t your fault the memories would be tainted; it was mine. You then asked me again to tell you who the girl was, and I told you what I had done.

I’m not sure when I started crying, and I’m still crying as I write you this letter. You were crying too as you told me we were over. I asked you to listen to me, and you just shook your head. As you walked to the door, you told me you would come by tomorrow to give me the stuff I keep at your house that I should pack up everything of yours. That’s how I’m going to give you these letters.

You also told me that if I’m still a decent person, I would tell the other girl about you. Believe me, after seeing your reaction I want to. But I can’t lose you both. Maybe soon, the guilt I feel when I look at her will make me strong enough to tell her.

Believe me, I know how selfish that is. I just can’t bring myself to do it.

I’m so sorry, and I love you,

Sungchan

---

Sungchan,

I couldn’t even bring myself to say something like “hi” or “dear,” you’re not dear to me anymore. That’s not to say this doesn’t hurt; I still can’t believe you did this to me. I mean, I thought I knew who you were.

I’m not writing this to tell you it’s okay or that I understand you through these letters. I’m mostly writing this because I don’t think I can face you right now. Again, I will never understand how you could do this. I thought I knew you. We’ve known each other for four years, two of which we were dating, and I still can’t believe I don’t know who you are. So while I don’t blame myself for this, I can’t help but wonder. If I knew you better, would you have been able to lie to me for so long?

I hope you know you’re not the hero here. You wrote that one letter about how you didn’t think you deserved to be the good guy, but you wouldn’t be writing these letters if you didn’t think you were justified in some way. You were in no way a decent person, and I hope you remember that.

You also tried to say you loved me throughout your affair. If you loved me, we wouldn’t even be having whatever this is right now. If you loved me, you would have told me about her when I asked you to tell me if you were hiding anything. If you loved me, it would have been you who told me about your cheating and not a coworker. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me? This lady who I only talk to on occasion now knows my boyfriend didn’t value me enough to be committed to our relationship. She only knew what you looked like because she happens to follow me on Instagram and saw all the photos of us I had posted. You don’t love me, and I hope you can stop lying to yourself.

And you’re right—you are being completely selfish by not telling her. So I decided I had to be the bigger person, once again, and tell her myself. I swallowed my pride and asked my coworker to look through your followers with me until she found the girl she saw you out with. I sent a message to her explaining the situation, and guess what? She believed me. You should be hearing from her soon—that is if you haven’t already.

Goodbye cheater,

Y/n

---

Thank you all for reading! I’ve been listening to Sweet Lies by EXO a lot lately, so I decided to write this. Thank you to @jiwvnie and @pastelsicheng for proofreading this for me! 

I would love to know what you thought about this, and I hope you all have a great day/night!

Masterlist

[gumnut-logic]

For His Brothers (complete)

This one has been bugging me for a while. So I finally went back and completed it.

This was started in December last year, so most of it has been posted here before, but I’ve decided to post it in its entirety since I haven’t written any of it since February.

But now it is finished. Yay!

Thanks as always to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for their amazing support throughout. You guys are just sooo kind to me ::hugs you to bits::

I hope you enjoy this.

Warnings: angst, frustrated Gordon, angry John and a pair of idiot older brothers. 5861 words.

-o-o-o-

He reached over and gently brushed away a stray hair from his brother’s forehead.

The room was quiet. Considering the monetary clout the Tracy family sported, it was to be expected. Hidden away from the bustling hospital, this oasis of a room with its pale furnishings, white privacy curtains, the cushioned chairs in place of the usual plastic was a haven.

These comforts were to be valued and Virgil appreciated them even if his brother would have frowned at the extravagance.

But that was Scott.

Always thinking of everything and everyone but himself.

Virgil let his fingers glide through that soft brown hair, the severity of their situation clear by the lack of gel stiffening the strands.

Scott never left the house without every hair perfectly placed, fingernails manicured, skin clean and refreshed. Looking at him, you wouldn’t think this was a man willing to get his hands dirty. But then Scott was never what he seemed.

The hair gel, the spotless clothing, his deportment, it all spoke of a wealthy man who owned sixty sports cars, three yachts and a private plane.

Scott had the plane, sure, the fastest one on the planet. And hell, yeah, he had a fast car and even a motorcycle. He didn’t sport a boat, but then Gordon was the one to stash those and it wasn’t like he wasn’t willing to share…well, most things.

But Scott never had time to just drive his car. The bike was on the Island gathering dust in a corner of One’s hangar. Virgil was pretty sure Scott hadn’t been on a boat that didn’t involve some kind of life-threatening situation in about ten years.

No, Scott was not your average billionaire.

A sigh and Virgil let himself wilt in the chair beside the bed.

Please, Scott.

His brother was pale, his skin almost bloodless. If it wasn’t for that, he could have been asleep. Scott was neat even in slumber. He wasn’t one to sprawl. There was a certain quiet efficiency to everything he did.

Virgil had brought in his brother’s pyjamas. Even helped the nurse dress him. It wasn’t the first time, after all. If Scott had been awake at the time, the protests would have been epic. The man did not like needing help. Did not like showing vulnerability. Did not want any of it.

Virgil had fought him on this far too many times before using soft words and, if necessary, a pile of hard logic to get him to behave. Because there was one weapon Virgil always had up his sleeve. Catching Scott’s eyes, all Virgil had to say was that he needed to do this. Virgil needed to care for his brother. Look after him and see him well.

It cracked Scott’s obstinance every time, because Scott would do anything for his brothers.

Including sacrificing himself.

Virgil let his head drop to his hand and rubbed his face. There was an edge to his thoughts. A hysteria lurking in the corners, lured out by certain possibilities, accompanied by terror.

He couldn’t.

No.

Another sigh and he looked up again, forcing his eyes to land on his brother. The total inability to do anything grated on Virgil’s senses. His everything was to fix things.

He couldn’t fix this.

He reached down and caught his brother’s hand. It was cool, but not cold. The IV sticking out the back of the vein just beneath his skin shifted as Virgil moved and he clutched the tubing gently to his brother’s wrist to prevent stress on the site.

Scott’s fingers were long.

Longer than Virgil’s. Long enough to play the piano better than Virgil had ever been capable. It was Scott’s thing...to be better. Following him in everything due to age had its challenges. Scott was good at what he wanted to be good at.

The fact he had dropped the piano at an early age was just as frustrating as John not singing with his magical voice. Virgil felt like the last bastion of artistic pursuits in the family.

Virgil ran a finger over his brother’s limp digits. No longer playing the piano beyond what long term memory could provide, these fingers were tasked with so much more. The strength behind them controlled Thunderbird One, their dexterity manipulated equipment, their determination reached out to save so many souls.

His brother’s hand blurred and Virgil had to blink hard.

Virgil would follow his big brother anywhere, and to be honest, he had followed him into hell on many an occasion. He had no regrets. Sometimes he considered that perhaps he had been brought into this world to do exactly that. To follow the born leader his brother was. To enable the strategies he envisioned and, in turn, support him in their mutual endeavours.

And to keep him safe.

Virgil wrapped both his hands around Scott’s fingers and dropped his forehead to their cool touch.

God, please.

“Hey, Virg?” The voice was unmistakably Gordon’s, but it lacked vivacity. “Grandma wants you.” The aquanaut took a step into the room. “I can sit with Scott.”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Virg, please?”

He closed his eyes and held on just a little tighter to his brother’s hand.

The same hand he had failed to catch.

“V-“

“No.” His voice croaked the word, but the emotion came from so deep inside it hurt to cross his lips.

A soft touch to his shoulder and he heard his little brother crouch down beside him.

Virgil expected Gordon to keep trying to persuade him, but instead a soft head of hair leant into his shoulder and an arm reached around his back, pulling him off centre and holding him there.

No words, just Gordon’s soft breathing, slow and strong. Swimmer’s lungs. Olympian. Rescuer.

Thunderbird.

Virgil squeezed his eyes tight and kept his insides in where they belonged.

Gordon began gently stroking Virgil’s arm with the tips of his fingers.

They sat there like that for Virgil didn’t know how long. He kept his eyes closed, his forehead down and his big brother’s hand clutched in his.

“You know he is going to wake up, don’t you?” It was flippant and out of the blue. It shattered Virgil’s carefully tended calm and his head shot up, inadvertently pushing Gordon away.

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do.”

Virgil opened his mouth, but his throat closed up. Only one strangled word made it out and it was little more than a plaintive wail. “How?”

“Because he’s Scott.” The surety in Gordon’s voice tore at the remains of Virgil’s heart. “Scott Tracy. Commander of International Rescue.” Gordon’s lips thinned as his eyes reflected the fluorescent lighting. “Thunderbird One.”

Virgil stared at his little brother a moment. The intensity in those brown eyes screamed belief and determination.

Not unlike Scott, really.

It almost broke Virgil in half.

He looked away, back to his big brother laid out on the white bed, almost funereal in appearance. Virgil’s throat clogged up, fear, distress and grief warring for dominance.

His eyes fixated on Scott’s eyelashes once again and mentally begged them to open, pleaded to see that wise and inspirational blue. For his brother to return to him.

Please don’t leave.

God, please, I can’t do this without you.

“He’s going to be fine, Virgil.” Gordon’s voice again intruded on his stability, shaking the fragile framework his composure was sitting on.

“He trusted me.” The words fell from his lips, his voice wet, his eyes still fixated on his silent brother.

“He always trusts you. We all do.” Gordon’s voice was very much his rescue voice. Soft, reassuring and ever so kind.

Virgil didn’t deserve it.

The powerlines had come out of nowhere. He should have predicted that at least, but instead he had John yelling in his ears and Scott swooping in low with his jetpack, grabbing him by his exo-suit and literally shoving him out of the way. Virgil had spun on one tortured ankle, but the electrical wires had missed him.

They hadn’t missed Scott.

They slapped across his jet pack and vivid white and orange sparks blinded Virgil as he tried to reach for his brother. After-images haunted his sight as Scott’s jet pack died. Virgil reached for his brother, claws extended, but he was clumsy, poorly balanced, and he missed.

Scott fell limp into the dark water below.

And Virgil couldn’t follow.

Then it was all a mad dance to get out the reach of the still flailing powerlines, accompanied by the roar of his own ‘bird swooping into a low hover and his aquanaut brother taking a swan dive off her front hatch into that same dark water.

Virgil hurried to get off the bridge, but found he couldn’t.

He had been on the outside of the structure, rappelling down to secure a car that had almost fallen off the bridge due to the 6.5 quake an hour ago. The bridge was almost empty bar the last of the support personnel who had helped International Rescue evacuate the injured. Virgil had clambered out there simply to clip a restraint onto the car’s chassis to prevent it from falling off the bridge and possibly causing more injury. It should have been a simple job, mere seconds before they moved onto the next site.

The pylon had fallen without warning.

And the powerlines, which weren’t supposed to be there, came with it.

Scott had saved Virgil’s life.

At the cost of his own.

And now Virgil couldn’t even get off the damned bridge due to that same pylon, a tangle in his rappel line, and the very strong possibility he had a broken ankle.

He had to stand there and watch Gordon drag their brother onto the shore and start CPR in the mud.

The aquanaut was joined by Alan and a hovering One almost immediately. Scott was scooped off the planet and the rocket plane tore off into the distance.

He was stuck on that bridge for a good twenty minutes. Unable to reach his ‘bird still hovering until John landed her in a street nearby. Unable to climb off the bridge. He was little more than just another rescuee in need of his brothers.

Full of terror.

John reported on Scott’s status as much as he could and fretted in his own calm way over Virgil. His voice was, as ever, a balm, but the lack of a definitive answer on whether his eldest brother was going to survive kept Virgil’s heart rate in the red.

But then there was the familiar roar of that same brother’s ‘bird and One shot into an abrupt hover, Alan rappelling down and finally scooping Virgil off the side of the bridge.

Scott was still unconscious when Virgil finally made it to the hospital, and his brother had stayed that way ever since.

Three days.

Three long pain-filled days.

Virgil’s ankle had been splinted and he was mobile. Turned out the left strut of his exo-suit had actually snapped. How Scott had managed to shove him with that much force, Virgil had no idea. But it had achieved what his brother had wanted to do. He had saved Virgil, even if he hadn’t managed to save himself.

So quiet. So still.

Gordon shifted beside him, a small sigh passing his lips.

“Thank you, Gordon.” Virgil’s throat clogged again. “For saving him.”

“You don’t need to thank me. We’d all do the same for any of us.”

“You shouldn’t have had to. I should have known those wires were there. I should have moved faster.”

“What are you? Prophetic? John had the plans for that bridge, you had the plans for that bridge. There was no mention of hidden cables in that span. You know it, I know it. There wasn’t a damn thing you could have done. Some stupid idiot didn’t file the proper papers with the proper authorities.”

“I should have scanned the structure more thoroughly.”

“Virgil, it was a bridge, not a damned building. You and Scott located all the injured. You did good.” An exasperated sigh. “This was not your fault.” Gordon straightened. “And if you don’t leave this room and eat something, Grandma is going to have both our hides.”

Virgil didn’t even bother to look at him. “No. I’m staying here.” He had to, because Scott had to wake up.

He had to.

“I have to say, bro, I had to talk very fast to keep Grandma away. Forty-eight hours is ridiculous. You need food and rest.”

“I ate.” The discarded remains of breakfast sat on the sideboard. It had been cardboard and chaff in his mouth. The water had been welcome to wash it down.

And he’d kept it down...mostly.

Gordon glared at him. “More than three mouthfuls. Listen, if you don’t move yourself, John and I are going to move you for your own good.”

Virgil looked up at Gordon in shock. “No.” He had to be here.

“You’re forcing our hand, Virg! I will knock you out myself, if I have to, and I know...I know...Scott would agree.”

“Yes, he does.” It was parched and more breath than voice, but it was Scott.

Virgil spun in his chair as the fingers still wrapped in his hands curled around his. Dopey blue eyes pinned him from the bed. “What the h-hell are you doing, Virgil?”

“Scott!” Something inside broke. A dam, a wall of emotion slammed into him at the sight of that crease between Scott’s eyebrows, the twitch of his lips.

It took everything he had to hold it all in.

“Hey, big bro, you’re with us! How are you feeling?” Gordon was on his feet and practically bouncing. A blink and his little brother had thumbed his comms and was letting their family know.

The figure under the bed clothes shifted and groaned. “Stiff and sore. What the hell happened?”

“You got zapped like a bug, went for a swim, and made Alan fly you to these luxurious accommodations.” Gordon’s arm waved around at the white room.

Scott stared at Gordon a moment before blearily turning to Virgil, his expression pleading an explanation.

Virgil pushed it past the lump in his throat, voice parched. “You were hit by live powerlines and knocked from the sky. Fortunately, you were over water and fairly low. Gordon fished you out and saved your life.”

A blink as those blue eyes absorbed that. “What about you?” And there was memory in those eyes, worry for a younger brother, the drive that pushed Scott to give his everything.

For his brothers.

“I’m good.” Now.

“Bullshit, Virg.” Gordon’s expression was beyond exasperated. “You need rest.”

Lips thinned. “I know what I need, Gordon.”

The hand that was still in his tightened and Virgil was forced to look at Scott. Nothing was said, but everything was communicated.

For his brothers.

Scott would not rest if Virgil did not.

He swallowed his beating heart and with a gentle squeeze of his brother’s hand, Virgil stood up and straightened his shoulders. “I sh-should let the others know you’re awake.”

Virgil was vaguely aware of Scott frowning up at him as he reached for his crutches, but a sudden light-headedness distracted him. Perhaps he should eat something.

“Virg?” Scott’s voice was weak.

“What?” Virgil turned and the world turned with him.

A clatter of plastic chair and Gordon was suddenly in his face. “Hey, there, Virg. Take it slow.” His little brother was frowning as much as Scott, his hand gripping Virgil’s biceps holding him steady.

Virgil got his crutches under his arms. “I’m...good.”

Scott was struggling to sit up.

Gordon let go of Virgil with one hand and grabbed his eldest brother by the shoulder. “Hey, you stay put.”

“Virgil-“

“Virgil is fine, Scott. He is going to go to his rooms to eat and sleep for a good twelve hours even if I have to tie him to his bed.” A thumb to his collar. “John, I need you in here.”

Within seconds, the door opened and their red-haired brother strode in. The moment those turquoise eyes landed on Virgil, his brow creased into a frown, but it flickered as he turned to Scott, relief taking over.

Gordon didn’t give him a chance to say anything

“Johnny, a clear case of Operation Big Bro Tango. You want Scott? I’ll dance with Virg.”

A smirk curved John’s lips. “FAB.”

“What the hell?” That came from Scott.

Virgil had closed his eyes at some point. The world was still going around. The sound of a chair being dragged across the floor and an arm wrapped around his waist. “C’mon, Virg, let’s get you something to eat.”

He didn’t want to eat. He was nauseous and his head hurt and his heart was tied up in a mass of emotion that he could barely keep under control.

“Scott-“

“Scott will be fine. John has him, and I have you.”

“I’m...” But he wasn’t fine and he had to get out of this room before Scott realised it. Before... “I’m good.” That last word scraped over his larynx and left a bloody trail. He forced his eyes open to find a worried Scott staring up at him. John’s hand was on his eldest brother’s shoulder and he was speaking quietly to the man, obviously trying his best to keep Scott where he was. Virgil forced some steel into his spine. “I’m good, Scott. I’m going to get something to eat. Gran...Grandma will probably be here in a moment.” His hand tightened on his crutches and he carefully edged around the chair that had been his constant companion for the last few days.

Gordon hovered.

“Look after yourself, Virgil.” Scott’s voice was desperate.

Virgil didn’t look back. “I’m good. You worry about you.” A haggard breath. “Listen to John.”

He got a grunt for that as Gordon held open the door, urging him through.

A last glance at his big brother, now sitting up in bed, John’s hand still on his shoulder. Virgil turned his back to him and crutched his way through the door.

He made it all of five steps down the corridor before Gordon had to catch him as he fell.

-o-o-o-

“You idiot.”

It was breathless and close. It came from beyond the fog and outside the numb space he was inhabiting. It spoke of a place where pain existed.

Because there was pain in that voice.

“Why did you do this? Why?!”

The voice was familiar and it sparked hurt in his heart.

“Do you honestly think I would risk everything for your life just so you can go and flush it all down the toilet in some self-sacrificing vigil? Virg, why?”

Somewhere there was a thump as something fell beside him. It vibrated slowly through his body. He had a body. He had a hand. Because it was grabbed and held tightly, crushed up against soft skin backed by muscle and bone.

Breath tantalised the hairs on his wrist.

Whispered. “Virg, it wasn’t your fault. John hunted down the person responsible.” A soft snort. “You should have seen him. Our brother can be truly terrifying when he wants to be.” Another sigh across his wrist. A brush of fingers. “I can’t…”

Scott swallowed. Because it was Scott and there was something very significant about that.

“You can’t do this. I can’t…” The voice petered off again.

The hand holding his tightened a little more.

“You’re my brother.” The words came laden with so much emotion Virgil’s heart stuttered and he struggled to focus, to reach out.

His fingers wrapped around those holding them.

“Virgil?” There was sudden hope.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!”

The new, sharp voice startled Virgil and he flung his eyes open. Blinded by ceiling tiles he groaned and shut them again. Hospital. He was in a damned hospital.

“Virgil?!” A clatter of footsteps hurrying close. Gordon. The new voice was Gordon.

Typical.

“What?” The single word made it past his dry throat.

Another hand landed on his opposite shoulder and he attempted to open his eyes again and found his fish brother smiling down at him. “’Bout time you woke up. Was beginning to wonder if you were trying to compete with electro boy over there.” Gordon waved a hand across the bed to the opposite side.

Virgil turned his head and found a wan Scott Tracy sitting beside his bed, holding his hand. His big brother was a picture of exhaustion.

Several neurons fired in the right sequence and facts aligned themselves into order. “Scott!” Virgil pushed himself up.

“Whoa, Virg! Take it slow.” Strong aquanaut hands caught him as his body protested the sudden change in orientation. “And you, keep your butt plastered to that chair or I’m calling Johnny back in here to kick it. Hell, I might do that anyway. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

Scott grunted as Gordon shoved pillows behind Virgil’s back and fiddled with the automatic bed controls until Virgil was supported enough to relax.

Scott did not let go of Virgil’s hand.

Virgil didn’t let go of Scott with his eyes. “Are you okay?” His voice was dry and cracked.

“I’m fine, Virgil.” His brother straightened as if to prove the point as Gordon spluttered a scoff. Blue eyes targeted the aquanaut. “I’m fine.” Firm and decisive.

“My god, both of you are idiots.” It was pure frustration this time. “Scott, go back to bed before you collapse just like your idiot brother. If you fold, then he’ll rot beside your bed until he collapses again and the rest of us will be stuck with two sick idiots.” He glared at both of them. “Well, sicker than you already are.” Angry brown eyes flicked to Virgil. “Grandma is going to roast you, Virg. You are so dead. Since when do you not take her medical advice?”

“What?” And now there was a pair of angry blue eyes glaring at him, too. “You ignored Grandma? Are you insane?”

Gordon’s eyebeams zapped his eldest brother where he sat. “You can’t talk, Scott. You’re out of bed. Grandma told you to stay there. One flick to comms and you are toast.”

“Gordon-“

“No. Screw this. You guys might be worried about each other, but we care about you too. I’ve had to pick both of you off the floor just recently and it was not fun! Think about that!” Gordon was yelling. “Do as you are damn well told and get better!”

“Gords?” And Virg was moving, throwing off his covers.

“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?!”

Virgil froze. The anger emanating off his brother was fiery and so out of character, Virgil’s heart skipped a beat.

“Gordon?” And Scott rose unsteadily to his feet.

Those angry eyes whipped around and targeted Scott. “For God’s sake, sit down!”

The door behind Gordon was suddenly shoved open and John barrelled through. Aquamarine eyes caught the scene and Gordon was grabbed from behind before he could launch himself at his brothers.

“Gordon.” John wasn’t stronger than his fish brother, but his presence was enough and Gordon wilted in his arms.

“John, your turn to tango. I’ve had it.” He slipped from his brother’s grip and stormed out.

Virgil remembered to draw a breath, but then his eyes were caught by an aquamarine glare and he knew he was dead.

“Scott, get into bed.” It was said quietly, but with intent. Virgil was not surprised when his eldest brother did exactly as he was told without protest.

He did worry at how pale Scott was and had to fight the urge to climb out of bed and help him, broken ankle or not.

John pinned Virgil with his eyes.

Virgil pulled the covers back over himself and said nothing.

His space brother made sure Scott was comfortable, but didn’t say anything further until the pilot relaxed back onto his pillows. John then moved to the ends of their beds and turned to face both of them.

“I expect better.” He held their eyes a moment longer. “I need to see to Gordon.” Their little brother turned away, his back dismissing them. He flicked an eye to the ceiling. “Eos, monitor please. Alert Grandma as needed.”

“Yes, John.” Virgil startled at the sharp but not unexpected response.

John didn’t spare them anything else before he left.

Virgil’s heart sank through the floor.

-o-o-o-

Gordon was absent for most of the rest of Virgil’s stay in the hospital. Fortunately, that stay wasn’t very long, just one more night and Virgil suspected Grandma had had a word to the doctors to achieve that.

He slept most of it, comforted by the sound of Scott’s breathing. His brother had to stay in a little longer considering his three days of non-responsiveness, but Grandma intervened and sent Virgil home to the Island.

It felt like banishment.

But he also felt like he deserved it for worrying his family so much.

At the time it had seemed the only logical course. He had to stay with Scott.

Just had to.

Stepping out of the situation clarified it for him somewhat and gave him his family’s perspective, ever so clearly.

He vanished into his studio for two days.

Gordon had come home with him, obviously still playing the big brother tango thing that he and John obviously used as some kind of strategy to herd Scott and himself. It was somewhat ridiculous, but he could now see why.

There was more guilt, on top of guilt.

The paint was angry.

On the third day there was a knock on his studio door. “Virgil?”

John.

Virgil closed his eyes and sighed. Scott was returning today and the paint splattered all over the canvas he had been prodding since six in the morning was going nowhere.

There was a lot of blue.

So much blue.

“Virgil?”

He put down his paintbrush and realised there was also a lot of blue on him. He brushed at his shirt, but half of it was dry and the other half just smeared and made it worse.

All blue.

“Virg?”

“Come in.” It was resigned.

The door unlatched and John peered into the room, eyes exploring in that critical way his little brother absorbed everything until they latched onto Virgil. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Virgil grabbed a rag and scrubbed off the wet paint on his hands. His skin crackled where some had dried.

Those eyes fixated on him, drifting down to the ankle and the crutches on the floor.

John sighed. “Virgil...”

The engineer connected the dots and pressed his lips together. “I’m fine. Stop worrying.” To emphasise the point, he dragged over the stool he had been using for most of the morning and planted his butt on it. “See.”

John’s eyes lowered a little, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he shut the door behind him and made his way over to Virgil. Grabbing another stool, he sat down next to him in front of the painting from a blue sculpted hell.

John’s aquamarine eyes both blended and clashed with the colour scheme. “I sense a theme.” It was said lightly, almost an invitation to truce.

“It sucks.” The blue was smeared in streaks over more streaks. It spoke of canted speed and pain. Paint cracked again as Virgil tightened a fist.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ever so quiet and calm.

And days worth of frustration and guilt surfaced. “I have the equipment, John. I should have scanned. One little scan and so much hurt could have been avoided.”

“Fine. We will add infrastructure scans to our standard procedure. Name the type and we will do it.”

The simple statement brought Virgil up short.

John raised an eyebrow. “You expected something else?” His expression softened. “No one is blaming you, Virgil. No one but yourself.”

“Scott almost died.”

“But he didn’t.”

“John...” He let his head drop. “I can’t...”

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Virgil, you don’t have to. Scott will be fine.”

Virgil swallowed and turned back to his painting. An absent smear of blue with a thumb. He frowned and pushed himself to his feet. A finger here, another smear there. He grabbed his palette and added some red, still finger painting. White and a touch of Payne’s grey, more blue and more white and for a moment he lost himself in the process.

“It’s Thunderbird One.” It was said quietly, but with awe. “How did you do that?”

Virgil didn’t answer, grabbing a brush and, using the point at the end of the handle, scratched in the casual detail of his big brother’s ‘bird.

Lines he knew ever so well.

A fingernail of red and blue and Scott appeared aboard the facsimile of the rocket plane.

Virgil shuffled backwards on one foot. “I can’t fly her.”

He heard the frown rather than saw it. “Yes, you can.”

“No. No, I’m not Scott. Never Scott.” He turned to face his little brother as the emotions poured onto his face, raw and desperate. “I can’t lose him, John. I can’t.”

Aquamarine eyes widened. “Virgil?”

Realising exactly what he was saying, Virgil turned away and put the paintbrush down and swallowed his fear. “You’re right. I’ll write new procedures. It won’t happen again.” He grabbed a rag and concentrated on scrubbing the paint off his fingers.

But John was having none of it, he grabbed Virgil by the shoulders. “Now you listen to me. You have four brothers. Four, Virgil. If the worst happens. We will work it out.” Those hands tightened. “We. Will. Work. It. Out.” John pulled him into his arms and he was being hugged ever so tight.

John’s shirt was smooth against his cheek.

Virgil closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” It made it past his tight throat.

John didn’t respond other than to hold him even tighter.

-o-o-o-

John had him clean up and have a shower. Virgil was tired and arguing required more energy than he had. Thunderbird Five was doing his big bro tango with skill.

Following that, his red-haired brother rounded him up and escorted him, crutches and all, to the kitchen and the sounds of family.

Virgil almost baulked, but a gentle hand in the middle of his back nudged him down the stairs.

“Virgil! Scott’s home!” Alan bounced up to him, nothing but glee-filled relief on his face and the engineer couldn’t help but lift his own mood to match.

The sight of his big brother sitting at the table, pale and wan, managed Virgil a step further in relief, but a step back in worry. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“And good morning to you, too, Virgil.” Scott shoved a forkful of pancake into his mouth, making a point to lick the maple syrup off his lips. “Besides, look in the mirror.”

Virgil was aware of Alan shooting him a concerned look, but he ignored it.

The room was filled with the wonderful smell of fresh cooked pancakes. A glance into the kitchen itself and Virgil found Gordon at the stove, busily producing the pancakes that Scott was so eagerly consuming.

“It’s lunch time.” It was a redundant statement, and said without thought.

He paid for it appropriately.

“Pancakes for lunch is perfect for an invalid fresh home from the hospital.” Gordon’s tone was sharp and Virgil was forced to realise his fish brother hadn’t yet forgiven him.

His heart sank.

“Sit down, Virgil, before you fall down.” Scott was eyeing him as he shoved another forkful in his mouth.

He got cream on his nose.

Alan immediately pointed it out and cracked up laughing as Scott purposefully attempted to lick his own nose and made a complete idiot of himself in the process.

Anything for his brothers.

Virgil sighed as John pointed him to a seat beside their eldest brother. A short stack of pancakes were procured and placed in front of him, as was some orange juice.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, John shut him down. “No coffee. And don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been sculling the stuff all morning. I’ve seen the free range coffee cup herd in your studio.”

Virgil grunted and glared at the glass.

Condensation reflected his image back at him thousands of times at the microscopic level.

He let the sounds around him merge into the soundscape.

Each brother had his own pitch. His own timbre. Kayo waltzed through at one point, her voice a higher melody amongst the masculine chorus.

Alan’s laughter bounced around the room like someone had dropped a set of cymbals and they were clattering into everything.

Gordon’s tone was unusually sharp and Virgil closed his eyes, knowing it was his fault. His sunshine brother was well into the brass section today.

John was a woodwind. Calm, quiet, melodious. Subtle and sneaking up like a dramatic lead into a surprise.

And Scott…

Virgil’s forehead furrowed.

Scott conducted it all. His warm voice drew it all together and made it work. He was the creator of the symphony that was their family.

Something cold and wet was suddenly smeared on his nose.

What the-?

He opened his eyes to a mixture of white blob and laughing blue.

Somewhere, Alan cracked up again. He must have fallen over, because there was a crash and a squawking Gordon, who in turn began to laugh his ass off.

“That’s a great look, Virg.” Scott was grinning at him.

Beyond Scott, John was smiling ever so fondly.

Virgil turned back to his big brother. “That better be cream.”

His brother’s grin got even wider.

Virgil just stared at him a moment longer before poking out his tongue and casually licking the cream…it was thankfully just vanilla whipped cream…off the end of his nose in one quick swipe.

The room erupted in both awe and horror.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Ew, gross!”

Even John had a rather weirded out expression on his face.

Only Scott was unfazed, still grinning as if he knew what would happen.

Which he did.

Which was probably why he had done it in the first place.

For his brothers.

Virgil grabbed a napkin and wiped his nose clean properly. He dropped it on the table and then, shifting his chair over a little, let himself slide gently sideways until his head was against Scott’s shoulder. “Glad to have you back.”

Still smiling. “Glad to be here.”

The exclamations of both awe and ew continued until it became a war between the terrible two and who had the longest tongue.

Virgil just let his eyes close and relaxed against his big brother. Eventually an arm crept around him and pulled him a little closer. It felt warm.

It felt safe.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whispered exhalation.

“Nothing to be sorry about.”

Virgil grunted, but was too comfortable to disagree.

Scott was home, and the familiar sounds of his family swelled around him, leaching away the worry and the fear.

It felt safe.

Because Virgil was a brother and obviously, Scott would do anything.

For his brothers.

-o-o-o-

FIN.