#I guess you could say...I'm rather maudlin

[idontlikeem]

hi! i'd like to talk about losing. you don't have to read this if you don't want to, but i wanted to write it, and guess what, it's my blog. i just like this team a lot and i'm feeling a little maudlin about my guys and a little sick to fucking death of the shit i'm seeing all over kingdom come from 'fans'. so here we are.

So You Became A Fan Of A Living Legend But The Hockey Team Is Bad: a commentary.

look. this is not the most fun i've ever had watching hockey, and i'm quite sure a lot of people feel the same way. the penguins are bad this season! they were bad last season too, but there's something very special about the extent to which they are shit right now. and those are not fun games to watch.

but here's the thing: who cares.

like, idk. there's so much god damn negativity surrounding this team and its performance right now, and i'm guilty of contributing to it as well, because yeah of course i'd rather watch a team win in decisive fashion most nights. of course i'd rather dream about may and june and the stanley cup. of course i want to watch that happen again for my favorite players. like, duh.

but. it's probably not going to. not if these players get what they want, which is to play together on this team until they're ready to retire.

and you know what? that's fine. if they're fine with it, who on earth am i to not be?

i think we all have the same reaction when we see idiots online saying things like 'sid doesn't deserve this trade him to a contender'. and that's because we are smarter and more refined fans who understand that what sidney crosby DESERVES is to select how and where and when his career ends. is it on a team that sucks? then that means being here is more important to him than getting that fourth cup. staying with geno and kris and the penguins as a whole, never putting on another NHL logo, is more significant to him personally than another victory. and isn't that special? isn't that worth celebrating?

of course we know all of that because we're better at being fans than the uncles online who are writing weird fanfic in their heads. but. guess what that comes with:

losing.

and losing badly, in the case of this season.

i am here to tell you that sitting and bitching about it helps no one. right now, what we have to watch and celebrate is our favorite players still playing at a high level. they're still doing cool stuff on the ice. and they're doing it TOGETHER. this is what they wanted. so your options are either to hate it and sit in negativity about it each and every game, OR readjust your mindset and learn to enjoy what we have while we have it.

we are watching myth-making happen live. we are watching living legends play hockey. this is a privilege and an honor and it's not something most fanbases get EVER. and we have two! can you believe it?

there are things i would have rather seen done differently over the last couple of years. as far back as 2019 there were moves i disagreed with and changes that could have been made that perhaps could have extended their window. and of course the 2022 series against the rangers, that was a very good team that got hit by injuries at the absolute worst possible time, and probably that was their last chance as a core to compete. it's frustrating to watch that stuff happen when you have no control over it.

the pittsburgh penguins were high-end competitors and contenders for seventeen years straight. that's insane and unheard of in this league. they're not anymore. and the price you pay for almost two decades of dominance is...being bad. when you're competing you trade prospects and draft picks for win-now players. sometimes those work out, most of the time they don't. with the amount of winning this team has done, even the trades that didn't work were worth it, because it meant they were trying.

there are no fanbases who are going to feel bad for penguins fans right now. that's also why we're getting so much attention from the national media. people aren't used to this team being as bad as it is, and people like watching downfalls. that's fine. most of those fans have never watched their team win, and most of them never will. so if their joy is coming from sidney crosby's team being bad....well, love and light, you know?

and we shouldn't feel bad for ourselves either. this is what happens. this is how it goes. this is the price for the band staying together.

i dunno, guys. this is a disjointed rant. it's just so effing hard to be kicked in the nuts everywhere you go with unrelenting negativity. it's on twitter it's in the articles and yes, it's here too. but if you can't be a fan of a team when they're bad, then i'm sorry but you're not a fan of the team (or certain players), you're a fan of winning. and NO team wins all the time every year. that's not how sports work.

we are lucky. at least, i feel lucky! don't you? gosh, sidney crosby scored his 600th career goal tonight. evgeni malkin is over 500 goals on his career. can you believe that? it's amazing to watch.

and it's going to be over in less than two years. do we really want to waste it by wishcasting something that's not going to happen instead of enjoying what we DO have?

if the media bums you out, don't listen. don't read the articles. don't go on twitter. dry your tears on the stanley cup banners that sid and geno hung up—there are three to choose from!

[estbela]

Hmm. I just found my old fanfiction.net account. I never posted anything on it, but it bought back a lot of memories of me reading fanfiction, mostly at night, and mostly about hws Seborga, as he was my favourite character back then :] I dunno, it feels awfully nostalgic.

[pathfall]

two | seven

I'm not old, except maybe in a relative sense, but I can tell you I genuinely never expected to live past the age of twenty-seven.

Not that it was a case of me intentionally offing myself, but I was maybe fourteen when I saw that specific post. Maybe you've seen it, maybe it's still making the rounds whenever someone -

I saw it when Amy Winehouse died at twenty seven and I'm not completely sure that it was something that particularly affected me, as I wasn't a big fan or anything but I heard "Valerie" for the first time at the highschool rock show, I fell in love with that song, moreso at that instance, because of cadence or tempo it was played at, honestly, just the performance I felt sent an electric current through the audience. Maybe it was just me but -

The post basically shows you a list of famous people, "legends" as the post would have it, who all died at around twenty-seven. Ah sorry, I just looked it up and its more than just a post, Rather than a post it's maybe more known to you as the twenty-seven club. I don't know why that post stirred something in me, I definitely wasn't old enough to know about bias or statistical significance... or maybe I was but simply had not been taught it at whatever level of maths I was taking and I think I pretty easily suspend disbelief, in general, all I know is that I also wanted to die at twenty seven.

It's a relatively common thing to mix causation and correlation and very human to seek patterns, though in this case you basically have to ignore almost every other person that was famous that died earlier or later because the data is so heavily in favor of "no... there's no 'curse' or phenomenon that takes the most talented or impactful of us before our time". Fair enough. But I didn't know that then, all I knew in my very bones was that I was talented and would be famous and impactful and loved and cherished and eventually, I hoped (for some morbid and maybe maudlin reason) that I would also be taken to wherever comes next at twenty seven.

the truth is, as you can probably guess... none of that came true.

I've always been obsessed with fame, and especially interested in my own; to fill some sort of hole that almost every person has in the place of self-love or self-respect. I want you to know I don't say this out of any self-pity I'm particularly aware but as an uncritical statement of my subjective feelings; I've always wanted to be loved by millions because I could never love myself. I wanted people to be proud of me because I could never be proud of myself - anything remotely resembling it repackaged into enough layers of irony or pseudo-irony that if I was able to transfer it to you, you would recognize it as shame. Because I was supposed to be better? Better than what AND WHO AND WHEN AND HOW GOD I'M SO FUCKING TIRED OF CHASING SOMETHING OR SOMEONE THAT DOESN'T EXIST. I wanted to be famous, because I thought that being famous meant being perfect in the eyes of enough people that I didn't have to look into my own eyes in the mirror to try to find anything resembling self-worth. All of this background :) to say that I'm twenty-seven, not famous, no major world impact and not dead (yet, for that last one). And I'm happy. Or at least I'm fine with that. I don't care if I become famous or become a "legend" whether that's while I'm alive or - a teacher asked me when I was ten whether I'd rather be like Van Gough or Britney Spears in terms of fame. Meaning, respectively, would I rather be famous after I died or while I was alive --

(I'm guessing "Toxic" wasn't as influential for people at her age - and we have to remember that this was early internet: we still felt that, I think at least, old model of popular fame being transient rather than something I'll eventually run into again on my TikTok "For You" page in a every couple of years: "Remember this?", in white text printed onto a black background as I watch Britney and her snake hang out and be sexy -- in my heart of hearts I knew 1 billion percent I'd rather be famous while I was alive, to be able to capitalize on it - clout, money, everything. What the fuck is the point of having it after you die? But I knew the right answer was Van Gough because, you know... "impact on art", "timelessness", "classic". The idea that you live on until the last time your name is spoken is one I've clinged onto when I've had sudden existential crises or were afraid of death and so its not hard to see why Van Gogh is an arguable answer but c'mon...

You respect Wozniak and Tesla so much once you dive deep into their stories, but at the end of the day... you want to live like Jobs or Edison. That's the goal.

Despite no longer particularly wanting to be famous, I would like to have any one of their impacts on the world, it's just that I'd also rather... benefit from it as much as possible -

dead. I do look over some parts of my life with regret, I do think I've only really started learning and understanding diligence, hard work, taking the initiative, pushing opportunities as far as they can take me, at the end of the day I don't particularly mind if I'm never particularly someone worth remembering outside of my immediate social circles.

billions of people have lived in this world. billions of first kisses have been shared, nights out spent roaring with laughter amongst friends, hugs holding both parents tight, proud art, inventions, community programs, businesses and more. all but a miniscule percent are remembered today. an even smaller amount en masse. of the billions of people, a scant few are remembered today.

but those billions did live. those events happened. at one moment time, in a specific place, there was absolute sheer radiant joy felt between two specific people laying side-by-side, telling each other "I love you" for the first time. and the fact that neither of them were famous, that neither of them would be remembered after their grandchildren passed didn't matter.

even without the memory of it being held, in that one frozen moment in time, it happened. in the span of their lifetime, they were. even after the last time your story is told, the last time your name is said. even after the last human draws their last breath, the last sentient species loses their sentience, the sun explodes, the earth is obliterated and whatever comes next comes...

you were. i was. and at some frozen moment in time, we were.

[sharkneto]

Any WIP's you wanna share? 🔫

Man, always, but I also feel like I'm running low on WIPs to share lol. it's hard to keep track of what's already been shared. What to pick from, tho, what to pick from...

Have a snip from this fic that's just been sitting on my computer for too long. It's technically done, idk why I haven't posted it. Fits in with not alone series, Allison finds Five in a low moment:

There’s one of Five’s problems, right there, Allison thinks. Another one they don’t know how to fix. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he repeats back dully, tucking himself tighter into his ball.

“What about your happy ending?”

He doesn’t respond for a long time. They watch another delivery at the florist on the corner. She thinks he’s just not when he mumbles, “This is it, isn’t it? My good ending.”

Allison tightens her grip on his foot. He doesn’t react to it.

“Really,” he adds, almost to himself, “what do I have to complain about? Got everything I wanted. Well, five-sixths of what I wanted. That’s pretty good.”

Her heart aches for Ben, too. She wonders how that grief, now dull and familiar after all these years, would twist if she technically had the ability to save him but still couldn’t. Five is Five, so he must have tried; the fact that they don’t have Ben means there’s something that stopped him. She won’t ask. “You did really good, Five.”

He hums absently. “Never said I didn’t. Could have done better, though.” He glances at her, an eyebrow raised in a sad mockery of playful. “’Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.’”

It’s times like this where it really slaps her in the face that her brother truly is a fifty-eight-year-old man trapped as a thirteen-year-old. The weight to his gaze around how he’s trying to lighten the mood for her is extraordinary. That did sound like a quote, though, the cadence he said it with. “Is that from something?”

Five shrugs. “Something or other. I only found the one page of it. Some play. It was at a point where most other paper had disintegrated if I hadn’t saved it, so it was an interesting find. Stuck with me.”

“It’s a good quote,” she offers.

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “It does sound rather profound. Which means it’s probably the only good line from the worst play that no one ever saw. That’s my luck.”

Allison smiles with him, although it cuts her a little bit.

Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.

She looks back outside.

“You don’t usually talk about this stuff,” she says after a beat.

He sighs. “And I shouldn’t. You don’t need to deal with any of it and here I am dumping it on you. Guess you caught me at the wrong time.”

“Or the right time. I’m always happy to listen, Five.”

He gives her a flat look. “Nothing about this is happy.”

“You know what I mean. I’d rather you weren’t stewing in it by yourself. We want to help.”

“The whole point of everything was you wouldn’t have to. I’m fine, Allison. Really. Turns out I’m just a tired and maudlin old man. Who could have seen that coming.”

Allison rubs her thumb over the top of his foot. He still hasn’t pulled it away from her so it must be ok. His word choice gives her pause. “You haven’t been drinking, right?”

Another flat look. “Three, it’s two in the afternoon.”

The not yet goes unspoken but she hears it. “Touché,” she says anyway, her heart thumping funny at him calling her by her number. It’s something he’d done when they were kids, too; they’d had real names by the time they were nine but Five, as the lone number left, was the only one still allowed to use the numbers. He did rarely, when particularly irritated or – in truly rare instances – particularly affectionate.

It's something she’d forgotten. Another piece of him, still there.

[lets-steal-an-archive]

John Rogers (@jonrog1) Tweeted: LEVERAGE fans young and old, this is who you should be thanking. New show runner @NobleRorick Now follow her and shower upon her your terrifying nerd love. #LeverageRedemption

Kate Rorick (@NobleRorick) Tweeted: Seeing as how it's #LeverageRedemption Eve (and we got our presents early!) I'm gonna take this opportunity to flood your timeline with maudlin sentiment and shoutouts to an exceptional writing staff. Ready? Go!

If you know Leverage, you know @deandevlin. I do not believe there is anyone else on this earth who could have gotten this show made during a global pandemic and through 5 hurricanes. It was a superhuman feat and he guided our incomparable crew through it all.

Also, If you know #Leverage, you are familiar with @jonrog1 and @ChrDowney. Incomparable creators of the original, they were there every step of the way for Redemption as consulting producers, offering guidance, jokes, and the occasional shoulder as needed (which… was needed).

.@joshuaschaer1 is an everyman workhorse who brought his knowledge of the original #Leverage to the room as well as his deadpan delivery and consummate pitching chops. He also laughed at my worst jokes, and I did not think less of him for it.

.@jillybobww was our final addition to the staff — but we could not have done without her incredibly thoughtful approach to story and emotion… as well as her uncanny ability to give things awesome names! (A highly specialized and undervalued room skill.)

.@TeagWall knows things. Her very big brain is full of very, very useful information for planning a con or heist… er, I mean, writing a con and heist show. She can explain the Ideal Gas Law while churning out beautiful drafts and teaching us how to count cards in blackjack.

The one & only @mattogoofingoff is a human lightbulb. I swear I saw it go off over his head a dozen times when he fixed the problem we'd been staring down for an hour. Also gave some of the most I'm-not-crying-you're-crying scenes their heart wrenching dialogue.

Marque Franklin-Williams is not on twitter. But if he was, I would tell you his ever-present room calm that made you feel like you'd just taken the *best* quaaludes belies his intense story chops. Give Marque a "what if…" and he'll take you through Act 5.

I have no idea where @MyJTim came from — rather, I know he hails from Indiana, but to find someone that could crack a joke that made me choke on my LaCroix *and* turn in startlingly mature drafts for a first time staffer *and* rewrite on the fly? Where did he come from?

And finally, @alaynaheim kept us all organized and on task when we converted to Zoom. Also, you know that Halloween ep? Guess who pitched it? And co-wrote it? I will be extremely disappointed/relieved if Alayna has not been hired away by someone come (knock on wood) season 2.

All of this is to say, as a first time showrunner, I got extremely lucky. I'd work with any/all of these folks again in a heart beat. They deserve all the accolades I can throw at them. Cheers on making a great, great show!

[equalseleventhirds]

i said i wouldn't write it but i did

vaguely a sequel to this, but far in the future and focused on jon (annabelle features briefly tho. she's fine. annabelle will always be fine in my fics.) with ofc the presupposition that they've failed in one world but kept trying, bcos i think that would be fun*!

*(by which i mean heartbreaking, i'm so sorry)

There are rules, to the traveling, or at least there seem to be. There are certainly questions to be asked and points to be made, about how many instances count as a definitive rule rather than simply a pattern. But Jon likes to think of them as rules. He's always preferred concrete answers, even if it turns out they're less the truth and more just a convenient way of conceptualizing things.

So he has rules.

First: the Fears always come through on the same day. October 18, 2018. Or, given the impact history has on calendars, the equivalent of it; he'd once spent months trying to correlate the forty-third moon of cycle 1852 with his calendar just to prove his point, but the math had all worked out.

(Which does indicate, at least to Jon, that yes, the Fears probably did originate in his home world, Georgie. He'll take his petty wins where he can get them. For as long as he can remember the discussion, and the people, he's proving wrong.)

Second, it is still his tapes that the Fears follow. For every apocalypse there has been a new catalyst, but none of these new rituals supersede his. Maybe it's a testament to the strength of the Web's original plan, or maybe it's just something about Jon himself. He knows what he thinks, but... well, there isn't enough proof just yet.

Third, in spite of endless attempts to trap them and stop them, Jon is always able to travel with the Fears. Perhaps they simply can't stop him, as the original antichrist he apparently is; dozens of apocalypses in dozens of different universes, and Jon can always feel his rightful place as ruler of that terrible fearscape calling to him. He hasn't taken it yet, but it's there, and the Eye cannot abandon its true pupil without his permission.

Or perhaps they simply don't care. Every attempt so far has led to the exact same result, after all: another world left behind, another death by starvation averted, another new feast for the Fears to sink their teeth into.

Fourth, he always passes out upon entering a new world.

It's kind of annoying.

---

It is slightly unusual for him to wake up warm, comfortable, and covered in a blanket, but Jon's not about to complain. It's nice. He doesn't get a lot of comfort, and he likes sleeping in a bed, especially since he's always eldritch-nightmare-free in a new world. For a limited time only, of course.

He's fairly certain he's inside; aside from the softness underneath and around him, the air is still and temperate, the light through his eyelids is artificial, and all he can hear is the faint whirring of appliances and the whispers of two muted voices.

"—complete stranger, definitely dangerous, looks like he's from hell—"

"Okay, fine, but I wasn't going to leave him, and anyway haven't you noticed he's a bit—"

"A bit what? Scarred? Bloodstained? Glowing eyes, because I don't think I need to remind you, Martin, his eyes were absolutely glowing when you found him—"

Martin. Now there's a name. Not an uncommon one, but... he thinks he knows that voice.

Or. Well. He might know both of those voices, actually, which is even more interesting than waking up in a bed.

Jon opens his eyes.

He's met himself before, is the thing. Not in every world, and not always particularly recognizable, but he's met himself. He's met versions of Martin, too, and eventually stopped going completely useless with heartbreak every time. The merest handful of times, he's found both of them in the same world, sometimes something almost like friends, but usually not.

The fact that they have their arms around each other, casual, comfortable, close, is both entirely unexpected and perfectly, wonderfully, terribly familiar. Jon briefly considers crying about it, but there are more important things to be doing. For example.

"The glowing eyes aren't actually that sinister. I mean, they are, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking."

Jon—the other Jon—jumps at the sound of his voice, then leans forward. Curiosity, of course; that hardly ever seems to change. "You—the glowing—who are you?"

"Jon," this new version of Martin scolds, and for just a moment he's back home, with his Martin, with that exasperated tone—but no, this isn't his Martin, and he's also leaning forward now, his voice turning gentle. Concerned. Coaxing, like he's a spooked animal, and Jon doesn't think his Martin has ever talked to him that way. "How are you feeling? We found you unconscious in the street."

He can feel Martin's curiosity too, pushing forward under his concern, just as questioning as Jon but too polite to outright say it yet. He has to cut this off, or he really will cry.

"Mm... no," he says. "Well, yes. But also." Good lord, he's confusing them. Par for the course, but he should probably try to be somewhat comprehensible.

He holds up a hand, extending one finger. "I am... fine. More or less. Trust me, I'm used to this, and this isn't even the worst way it's happened." Another finger joins the first. "My name, as I believe Martin has guessed but then dismissed, is Jonathan Sims. I am not you from the future, nor am I lying, nor am I crazy, because—" a third finger "—interdimensional travel is not only possible, it has happened, is happening, because of and along with terrible monstrosities I am determined to stop, and I have explained this too many times to too many people to have much patience for anyone being shocked and disbelieving, much less a version of myself doing so, so you can either get over it and move on or I can go elsewhere and do something useful."

"Excuse—"

"And," he continues, pushing himself up so he can sit and lean forward even more intensely than his counterpart, "I would actually rather not do that just yet, because I have an extremely pressing question for the two of you."

"Um," Martin says, and "What," says the other Jon.

"How," Jon asks, deepening his voice to exude solemn, ominous, and eldritchly important, "did you two start dating?"

---

It was so... normal. Apparently. Two people, mutual friends, a chance encounter. A prickly exterior ("He hated me," both of them had claimed), but without the insecurity of being Head Archivist and the fear of dread powers beyond his comprehension, their friends had helped him open up and—eventually—apologise. A budding friendship, and then a romance, and then...

It isn't a version of them Jon has seen anywhere else, in any of the worlds he's traveled to. Normal as it is, it's a highly improbably scenario, and certainly not the same as his relationship with his Martin had been. But it was, in an infinite number of worlds, still a possibility.

Jon isn't quite sure how he feels about that, knowing that some version of them could have fallen in love without the trauma, but that they hadn't managed it.

His hands aren't shaking, as he lights his cigarette. At least there's that.

"I quit, you know," his counterpart says from behind him. "Years ago. I'd forgotten about those until you asked."

"Well then, thank you for indulging me." He gestures, meaning the cigarette, meaning the bed, meaning his claims about reality, meaning his intrusive, gossipy questioning. Meaning everything. He's not sure it gets across.

The other Jon laughs, quietly, and moves to stand next to him. "I am my worst enabler."

"Oh, that's hardly true."

"Mm." They're silent together for a while, but Jon is restless (both of him), and eventually this reality's version opens his mouth to ask. "Do you—do you know why I—I don't want to say believed you, I'm still not sure I do, b-but, didn't throw you out immediately?"

"My myriad charms?" They both laugh at that.

"Jonathan Sims," he says, as if that explains anything.

Jon takes a drag of his cigarette, considering. He could probably Know, but... indulging himself. "What about me?"

"No, not you, or. You know. You. But your name. Jonathan Sims. I decided you weren't, weren't a deliberate lie to trick me, or a future version of myself, or a mind-reading monster—"

"Well—"

"—when you said your name, because none of those things would have said that." He smiles then and holds up a hand, and—oh—his ring glints. "I've been Jonathan Blackwood for a while now."

They'd told him married eventually, but he hadn't even thought about his name. He's certainly thinking about it now. "Jonathan Blackwood," he says, soft, to himself. And to himself. "That... that sounds good."

"It does, doesn't it."

Whatever they might have said next is lost as an incredibly loud engine roars nearby and a sleek black motorcycle pulls up in front of them. Jon sighs and takes one last drag of his cigarette as the rider removes her helmet.

"Been off finding yourself, then, Jon?" Annabelle asks.

"Oh, extremely funny, yes. Did you steal that?"

"It was a gift."

"Of course it was."

The other Jon is staring at them both, his eyes repeatedly drifting back to the web-covered hole in Annabelle's head. "Who—what is—is that a—"

"She's a spider monster," Jon supplies helpfully. "She came with me, although apparently she did not pass out in the street this time."

"Two streets over, I think. Pity, I would've loved a nice nap in a proper bed, but I did get this motorcycle out of it. Come on, Jon, you can mope on the way."

"I have not been moping—"

"Haven't you? You're not the one who deals with how maudlin you get every time you meet yourself—"

"Yes, fine, thank you, we can go." He stubs out the cigarette and pauses, looking at himself. "Uh. Tell Martin—well, goodbye, I guess. I'd say I hope we meet again, but if you're lucky we won't need to?"

"...sure."

"And I'm—I hope you—that is, I'll do my best—well." He sighs. "Things are about to get... dicey, for the world in general. But just, look out for each other, and we'll try to handle the rest."

"Jon, we should be going."

"Yes, all right, all right." He gives himself one last, probably not very reassuring smile, and climbs on behind Annabelle.

They do have work to do, after all.

[coldtomyflash]

Hi! I'm the anon who asked you about advice for speech patterns with OC characters--absolutely love love loved your advice btw, it wasn't too much at all! I'm just struggling to write a character who grew up really close with their siblings and trying to not make them sound like either of them while still sounding like they grew up together. I want to be able to write dialogue without using tags sometimes and be able to know which character said what. Any more suggestions?

How many shows have you watched with close siblings recently? If any, spend some time analysing what they do in depth. And I’m asking about shows because actors can help you get a very clear feel for differences in character and tone, and should be easier to analyse from that approach than books would be.

I’ve recently watched Supernatural, with the two main characters being brothers who have spent literally almost the entirety of their lives (save for a stint to college for one of them) by each other’s side in close proximity. Nonetheless, I don’t think I’d have any issue telling who is speaking in a fic even if the dialogue had a sum total of zero (0) dialogue tags -- even (maybe especially) if the whole fic was just dialogue back and forth. I could most definitely write a fic as such, partly because I can hear their voices in my head if I were to close my eyes and try, and being able to “visualize” those voices makes it so much easier to ensure they stay distinct from one another. 

This is because the writers and actors have done a great job of giving them really similar speech conventions in some ways (as a baseline example, they both use the word “dude” in exactly the same ways) but also have their own quirks (for example, one has what’s almost a catchphrase of “so get this” and the other doesn’t really say that). Each voice is distinct, and it’s a lot less about specific word choice and more about how the way they speak relates to their character and character’s identity: hesitations, pauses, voice raises, cut-off words, interrupting the other, longer or shorter sentences, etc.

So pick out some things that you think both (all? not sure how many there are) of your sibling characters would have in common, and some things that would be unique about them. Does one use bigger/more erudite words than another? Does one swear more than the other(s)? Did one internalize the use of “so, like” from their peers where the other(s) didn’t? Does one raise their voice more than the other?

And do they all refer to things using some common terms? Do they have inside jokes and references that you can use to show how close they are? Does one tease the other more? Is one more terse than the other? 

I think you should be very clear about who these characters are inside your mind, and work to let that influence their voices as they come out on the page. Make sure that you’re writing dialogue as a fluid and living thing, rather than rigid. What does that mean? Look at these examples:

“you do not know what it means to me,” he said.

“you don’t know what it means to me,” he said quietly.

“you don’t know what it means to me” he said, voice quiet, pausing every second word with eyes downcast.

“you don’t... you don’t know what it means,” he all but whispered, so quiet that the faint “to me” was almost lost to the floor as he lowered his head.

Right, okay, I think I’ve got your attention. You’re seeing how there’s different ways of conveying hesitation, tone. Now let’s put that into a conversation without dialogue tags, and you can tell me if you think it’s obvious who’s speaking and how these individuals are different:

“you’re not going and that’s final!”

a pause, and then,

“you don’t... you don’t know what it means,” he all but whispered, so quiet that the faint “to me” was almost lost to the floor as he lowered his head.

“you - dude - what? where is this coming from? since when - ?”

“i... nevermind.”

“no, not nevermind! talk to me!”

“i shouldn’t’ve even brought it up.”

“yes you damn well should have, you - “

“would you - ...”

“would i what?”

“i... just would you ... stop... demanding. okay? i get that you’re worried, i do, but it’s...”

“[name]?”

“it’s my decision.”

(And scene)

Okay so obviously I’m in the mood to write something maudlin because idk what that even is, but I hope it managed to convey that one character is raising their voice (exclamation marks, short imperative sentences) and is worked up in a way that has him agitated (he cuts himself off it ends with “-” rathe than “...”). You know that even though he might be close with the other person, he is different than him, and is used to giving orders or taking charge.

whereas the other (let’s assume younger) brother here is hesitant, quiet, using a lot of ellipses (...) as he trails off, even after he cuts himself off you get the impression that he wants to say more but is hesitating to. the “okay?” could be interpreted as a louder “okay?” if it was said by the other, because it’s in it’s own sentence and not just modifying the previous sentence, but here (hopefully) you get the impression that it’s this character taking a second then pushing what he’s saying a bit. not “just would you stop demanding, okay?” but “stop demanding. okay?” by separating it, i’ve made it a question rather than a command. 

this younger character is also using qualifiers and adverbs (”just would you” not “would you” or even “would you just”) to soften his speech, whereas the older one is using swears to intensify his.

but neither of them are using any particular word choice here that would stand out, and they’re both comfortable with contractions, and repeating each other’s words back and forth in a way that makes it seem like they’re probably comfortable using the same language (nothing is in scare quotes when they quote/repeat things back to each other). there’s nothing here that stops them from being raised close in a way that means their speech is similar. 

So - that’s uh, my weird advice, i guess. get their voices in your head as best as you can, in a way that matches the character and their personality and their role as a sibling to the other (as well as the mood and emotions within each scene!), and do your best to write your dialogue a bit fluidly so that all those little idiosyncrasies that create tone (hesitations, pauses, full stops and new sentences, questions, exclamations, interruptions, etc) all come through naturally without requiring dialogue tags and description to make it come to life.

Final piece of advice on this: trust your reader. unless you screw up the order of who’s talking, they should be able to follow it back and forth. you can toss in a dialogue tag here and there if it gets to be an especially long exchange, or do what i like better and toss in other information about how they’re feeling or responding or what they’re seeing to help situate the reader in the correct PoV, but for the most part readers can follow a flowing conversation so long as they know who spoke first and you keep the back and forth exchange clear.