#I'm still kind of too brain dead to tag anyone else

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[nekropsii]

this blog is awesome but jas the horroble side effect of making it so anytime i see alpha trolls stiff i get unreasonably mad like. They Are Not Like That. i saw someone call damara chaotic evil and it made mw sooo mad. like i GET IT i get it no one wants to read a billion pages but like. NO ONE IS MAKING U MAKE THESE POSTS... rauaugh. sorry lol

Inflicting you with the horrible knowledge that almost nobody in the god damn fandom actually knows anything about the Alpha Trolls, nor do they care to. And if they do know anything, they often strip them of most if not all of their traits- including their most interesting ones!- for the sake of shipping and/or making an OC with their face and name. It blows. Why do you think you just about never see me reblogging Alpha Troll content? I don't visit any of their tags because if I do, it's just beams of pure unadulterated psychic damage blasted directly into my fucking eyes. Genuinely it feels like people were better at handling them back when Homestuck was still running and the community was still actively a cesspit. At the very least there were some oases of people that had actual brain cells. They've all died out now. They were either chased away by Homestuck's Postcanon- which caused a very real and very, very large exodus- or by the absolutely horrific harassment you'd receive for liking the Alpha Trolls- ESPECIALLY Mituna.

Swerving off topic for a moment to talk about the harassment: I saw a significantly higher number of people that were genuinely normal about Mituna back in the day that handled his disability with more grace than God. Diehard Mituna fans- especially diehard Mituna/Latula shippers- were people you'd be getting intricate guides and long lists of resources surrounding TBIs- including genuinely helpful stuff like the care and treatment of them for anyone who had suffered one recently, that kind of thing- and some of the most touching portrayals of mental disability I'd ever seen. It's a shame a lot of their stuff is either gone or nearly impossible to find nowadays, on account of Tumblr's search system prioritizing new content, and... You know... The vicious harassment people would get for even saying they liked him in the first place. I'm talking, like, Cronus-tier shit. People were getting called slurs and being told to kill themselves, even when what they made was handled with the most tact physically possible. It still happens to this day, at least to me. It's pretty deranged! Always has been.

Back on topic, though... Urgh. Damara being read as Chaotic Evil... Me when I take the bait of a blatantly abusive misogynist with zero ounce of critical thought. Damara isn't evil, she's just reactive. There's a big difference. "Evil" implies she struck first and is totally unjustified in her actions, and is only doing them because she wants to. She's an incredibly tortured soul who is, in my honest opinion, reasonably responding to her situation. If anything, I think she should have done worse. I think she should have straight up killed Rufioh. Meenah too, but... Well, she definitely tried to do that, and almost succeeded, but Aranea put her in her Quest Cocoon, so... She's here and Godtier, instead of dead in the ground. Unfortunate. Damara both needed and deserved that kill more than anything else in the world.

[mrgladstonegander]

I’m really glad you cleared up the deal with Frank Angones. Ever since DT 17 ended, I’ve been seeing an influx of annoying DT purists who think the reboot betrayed some things about the DT lore (guess what, I don’t think the original 80s show and a lot of the comics are that interesting anyway, so **bites thumb**), so it was vindicating to see someone say that Frank is a good writer, he just has annoying traits about his writing. DT 17 is in my top 5 favorite DTVA shows and I am insecure about my opinions, so I don’t want to think I watched a bad show I loved all this time and didn’t even know it.

im glad you liked that post. if anything i say sounds weird/questionable, im always up for elaborating on what i mean.

and dt17 is one of my favorite shows ever as well! obviously, because im running a sideblog-dedicated to it, but i do have a lot of criticism about it. so i'm sorry to you or anyone else if this blog has gotten too much negativity. my brain kind of stews on negative points, so i can write about them easier, while my bursts of appreciation are very sudden, so i don't think to write them out very often.

and anon, i'm sorry if this sounds rude, but those "annoying" people have the right to criticize the show. i think its important to criticize Ducktales 2017 as its own standalone show (because it can hold as a standalone show), but it is still fundamentally a reboot. people have the right to be miffed about how much their favorite character was changed, or criticize how the show views its predecessors. their concerns are equally as valid as the writers choosing to change characters to balance out the archetypes of the cast (like Gyro and Fenton; they can't really both be nice, excitable scientists)

and i am basically one of those "purists". i dont really like how they handled Gladstone at some parts (especially their mindset of him), and I agree with people that Scrooge's parents should have stayed dead (because having relatives die oversees, and parents that tell you to take the rest of the family to America, but they're too old to come is a really relatable immigrant situation!)

I'm glad that my opinions made you feel vindicated and better, but if criticism of the show makes you feel insecure about your own opinions (and you shouldn't feel insecure about them. i know it can be hard sometimes, but you need to develop that skill), then you really should start blocking the "#ducktales critical" and "#dt critical" tags, or heck, start blocking blogs. or even block me if you start thinking my opinions are annoying. because the way i show appreciation for things include criticism. so i dont really know why you're here

[fereldanwench]

WIP Whenever (Actually on a Wednesday!)

@chevvy-yates had tagged me in a WIP Whenever thingy last week (I think? What is time) and @breezypunk sharing their WIPs reminded me I meant to do this. So, stuff I'm working on!

Over my Christmas break, I just started barely scratching the surface of working on my own custom poses. Because I'm me, I desperately need some battle couple poses--Fighting side-by-side, holding the other one while they're wounded, maybe fighting each other, etc. I compiled a Pinterest inspo board here to get an idea of what I'm going for.

This pose isn't anywhere close to being finished, but it's a start:

A small confession: while I actually like working in Blender quite a bit, I kind of hate everything else about modding, lmao. I've probably said it before, but my day job requires me to use so many shitty apps and software that always require 37 workarounds just to perform normally--I really don't have a lot of patience for troubleshooting shit during my leisure hours. Hopefully, the project won't become too much of a headache when I get into importing and working with props. 🤞

Virtual photography is always a constant for me these days--I was actually thinking yesterday how it feels like the absolute perfect creative medium for me. I like drawing and writing and 'real' photography, and I very much need to make sure I have more analog and tactile creative projects to keep me sane, but VP just hits in a way nothing else really has.

I am still working on the photostory I shared last time, but I don't want to give away too much there. It's also on a bit of a pause while I figure out some tech issues (read: I regret updating my game, lmao). However, I already have a ton of shots/mini-stories I need to queue up:

Other than that, it's kind of personal reflection shit and contemplating goals/resolutions for 2024. Getting long-winded and a little blunt under the cut:

I've always really struggled with making goals--I don't think I've ever had a situation in which I explicitly stated "I have a goal of XYZ" and then I achieved XYZ. I've had plenty of nebulous "Hey, I think I'd like to do XYZ" thoughts and then lo and behold, I do actually make XYZ a reality, but as soon as the word "goal" is attached to something, I just check tf out.

It was actually something I was trying to talk to my therapist about last summer, and then we kind of hit a dead end on that specific topic and decided I had other problems that were more pressing to deal with, lmao. But all the best goal advice in the world--following the SMART method, sharing it with someone for extra accountability, etc.--Just does not work with my brain.

(The accountability thing in particular always hugely backfires for me because just telling someone I want to do a thing tricks my brain into thinking I did that thing and now I don't need to anymore. Also, I don't like people telling me what to do, so if someone was like "hey, shouldn't you do this thing so you can meet your goal" I will say no just on principle of being a brat, lmao. I really hate that piece of advice.)

I know some of it, probably a lot of it, is fear of failure if I don't meet the goal. I'm very hard on myself--That's a no-brainer.

But I also think some of it, maybe just as much, is fear of success. Which I used to think was the stupidest fucking thing anyone could say about this shit, but success can mean big change. Success can mean increased feelings of imposter syndrome. Success can mean attention and responsibility I don't want. Success can mean bigger consequences if I do fuck up later.

I've come to realize that success is honestly as equally scary to me as failing.

I think this is a big reason I've always been content (or convinced myself to be content) with being good and not great, even if that means I'm not reaching my ~*full potential*~. (There are other external/macro reasons for that too, like my loathing of people trying to push me to monetize my passions, but I don't feel like getting into systemic gripes, lmao.)

Goals that require me to step outside of my usual routine also give me a lot of anxiety, which is something I've working towards managing (you could say that it's a goal of mine to get that under control dfgjhfjgdf), but that's still a very real hurdle for me.

Like I've been trying to go back to a minimum of 20 minutes of dedicated exercise (versus just walking a lot) a 3 times a week, and I get stressed if I miss it, or even just feel like I'm going to miss it (like if 7 PM starts creeping up and I haven't started it yet), but I also get all bent out shape spending 20 minutes on exercising while I'm doing it as if there's a better use of that time and THERE'S NOT. Like, what am I really missing? 20 minutes of scrolling Tumblr? Shut the fuck up, lmao.

All this to say that I don't really feel like I'm ready to set goals in a traditional sense, and that might not be something that ever works for me, but there are things I think would just be... kinda nice for me to do for myself that I want to do this year:

I need to actually be nicer to myself. As a matter of fact, @ren3gade--I hope you don't mind the tag, but I've been meaning to thank you for the "forgive yourself" advice you shared a couple of months back. I started making it a point to use that in my self-talk when I start spiraling, and it has been one of the best means of mitigating certain aspects of my social anxiety. I felt goofy as hell when I first started doing it, but that shit works. Positive self-talk makes you feel better, wow, who knew certainly not me

In a similar spirit, I want to stop being so judgemental about my limitations, and I need to mitigate feelings of guilt when I set boundaries for my mental health and energy. This is something I want to achieve in all areas of my life, but I think the easiest place for me to start flexing these muscles is with fandom. Because, damn, I let myself get into some really bad habits with the CP77 fandom (and I forgive myself for that 🙌). One of the big ones has been putting pressure on myself to keep up with what all my CP77 mutuals are doing at all times, and I'm not doing that to myself anymore. I've spent so much time in the past two years methodically going through tags and blogs to catch up on stuff I missed, and I'm just... relieving myself of this obligation. I know a lot of folks have tried to mitigate that for themselves by encouraging everyone to use their username-tracked tag--I'm not doing that. I'm not giving y'all more tagging work, and I'm not going to give myself the same obligation just in a different way. If I miss a post, I miss a post. Of course y'all are always more than welcome to @ me or send me things you think I'd enjoy (I love that, actually!!), but I'm just one person--I'm incapable of being an omnipresent fandom cheerleader and I don't know why I was pushing myself to be that. Well, that's not entirely true--I have some idea of why, but that's also a mentality I'm leaving in the dust. 😘 Also, for a long time, I did not use the like button for anything other than personal posts purely out of spite because I got tired of people complaining when they'd get likes but not reblogs--My asshole mentality was "Fine, now you get nothing." And that worked for me for several years and several fandoms, but I'm frankly tired of the "like" slander on Tumblr. It's a valid form of interaction and letting someone know you liked their stuff. I don't say this with malice, but other people's mentality of being unhappy with likes instead of reblogs is not my burden to bear. Anyway, I don't want to turn this into a rant about fandom stuff, lmao, but the point is I need more boundaries in my life, and I'm starting here.

I'm happier when I spend more time than I have been on traditional art and creative things that get me off my PC. Like I said above, I love VP so much, but it does unfortunately tether me to my computer desk longer than is probably good for me in the long run, mentally and physically. I stocked up on some new traditional art supplies, and I need to put those to use now that I'm settled into my new place. (And I've been itching to do a charcoal portrait of my bb girl.)

Reading books (gotta be physical, no screens) also makes me feel better. I've got about 7 books on my nightstand that I could totally finish this year--Doing that might be the one stereotypical goal I make for myself.

I want to reevaluate how I "multitask;" in particular, I want to break the habit of always having to have a background show/movie on OR always feeling the need to do something on my computer/phone while I watch a show/movie. Even as a kid (way before I lost my attention span to my smartphone lmao), I've always been inclined to doing something else while I watch shows and movies, but that used to be limited to drawing or painting my nails, which I think is fine. Now I just always feel like I need a screen nearby to do something else, even if there's really not something else worth doing. And listening to music or podcasts while I work on a thing is also fine, but it's gotten to the point where I almost can't have complete silence, and I don't like that. I miss being comfortable with silence while I pour all of my focus into a project. I just need to find some equilibrium here.

I know this isn't exactly a standard WIP Whenever, but me is what I'm working on, and I think it's all essential stuff to nurturing my creativity. 😊

[deedala]

🌟macy's lil tag game tuesday🌟

thanks @celestialmickey for making us another fun tag game and tagging me! also thanks @energievie for the tag!! <3

name: deanna🌱

age: still sticking with "noel-aged" you can pry that one from my cold dead hands

how many hours of sleep did you get last night?

this is actually pretty good for me i've been bad lately!!

which do you use more: tumblr mobile or desktop? i use both pretty equally

a hobby you’d like to pick up: i started getting into voice-acting for game mods before the panini big time interrupted that. would be fun to get back into that though i have no clue when i could possibly fit it in.

if you were a crayon, what color would you be? somehow this one is stumping me...i feel like i *want* to be like a sweet little pastel mint green but i'm probably more of a tangy peach color that a lot of people dont find palatable lol

what was your average screen time last week? uuhhh i have this turned off apparently and that's probably for the best lmao

a song you put on every playlist: here with me - susie suh & robert koch

favorite holiday: i'm gonna be real lame here and say labor day. because it gets my husband off work but we dont have to do anything extra for the kids or hang out at a big family gathering lmao

something on your bucket list: all i can think of is places i want to go, California, Seattle, Iceland, Amsterdam, Greece... i hope i can see more of the world one day.

you’re invited to a costume party, what are you dressing up as? i have a big comfy sloth kigurumi i will be wearing thanks!!

what show takes up the most space in your brain? lmfao Shameless.

and finally, share something you’re looking forward to: ngl kind of in a lull right now. i guess i'm looking forward to drinking some more of my oatmilk latte after i finish posting this.

ok little nuggets gonna tag folks if you wanna play! @michellemisfit @too-schoolforcool @harrowhark-a-vagrant @thepupperino @gardenerian @heymrspatel @grumble-fish @callivich @scurvgirl @themarchg1rl @canticle-of-apotheosis @maizzycakes @sickness-health-all-that-shit @juliakayyy @mmmichyyy @crossmydna @grossmickey @lee-ow @mickeysgaymom @rereadanon @creepkinginc @mishervellous @lalazeewrites @lingy910y @sleepyfacetoughguy @vintagelacerosette @metalheadmickey @mikhailoisbaby and anyone else who wants to play just say i tagged you i will corroborate!!

[tarmac-rat]

15 Lines Game

Tagged by @seraphfighter (and I may or may not have already compiled some of these hoping someone was gonna tag me so thank you for making my dreams come true lmao 👉 👈)

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well. If you wanna you can send me one of these and i will give you context/ a snipped of what it is from! (you could also guess the context if you like!)

Open tag to anyone who wants to try this one but @seeker-of-truth @trashcatsnark @nightcxty @clusterfxckedbysirens @haveyouseenmymarbles idk maybe you guys will have fun with this one :3

These are all Riley's, shocker. Most of these are pubbed work but a smattering of them are from drafts and WIPs because Idk if those works will ever see the light of day and I really love some of the bits I write for her there too:

"I'm just a kid with a bike and a jacket. Nothing more."

["You're supposed to be dead!"] "So I've heard. Thinking I might've missed a memo on that one."

"I just don’t think the kettle gets to spout off about why he thinks the pot’s in the wrong.”

"Apologies for not coming up with a goddamn SWOT analysis for why I shouldn't get my brains blown out by a two-ton war mech!"

"No, you don't get to pull that shit on me! I am not some girl you can give flowers to in the hopes for another quick fuck. I am not a Samurai groupie you can treat like dirtshit 'cause you think I've got nothing better to do with my life. Because for the very first time, you're not the one in control, and I bet that just scares the living goddamn shit outta you, doesn't it? Well, too fucking bad!"

"If I wanted salvation, I’d’ve gone to fucking confessional. Let’s settle for survival instead."

"Want me to play by your rules? Fine. But if I do, least you all can do is help me not get another bullet buried in my skull."

"Might be an asshole but I’m an asshole with some fucking standards."

"I spent my entire childhood in a desert. When the hell was I supposed to learn how to swim?"

“But don't you dare think for a moment that I'm putting myself through all of this misery out of some twisted need to prove you wrong.”

"Oh, you're gonna wanna pick your next words real carefully, asshole, else you're gonna see why daddy Deckard should've told you not to piss off dirty nomad skanks like me."

"Got a kind of confidence in me I'm not even sure I possess."

["I want Yorinobu to answer for his crime of patricide."] "And I want ten million eddies and a gold-plated Nazaré— doesn’t mean I’m getting either of ‘em anytime soon."

"Learned from the best, take after the worst."

"Is it really that stupid to hope that everyone'll make it out of this hellhole of a city with their souls still intact, even if we can't!?"

[winterandwords]

Word find tag (town, together, suffer, believe)

@talesfromaurea tagged me to search my story for town, together, suffer, and believe. Thank you!

These are from Project Aria...

TOWN CITY

The whole city melts below me and I'm rising, weightless. It's beautiful. I look up and the sky fades from daylight to sunset to deep purple night. The air is velvet and time sinks into a slipstream of bliss and emptiness.

TOGETHER

Everyone’s sharp with screens and wires and frequencies, but not too many know their way around how bits of metal fit together, how to make them move some way they don't want to move. It’s a special pair of hands has those skills.

SUFFER HURT

The whole thing’s an empty space and it has been since I woke up. Since they turned off the cast and brought me to the room with the desk and the agent who did the thing that made my head hurt worse. There wasn’t anything left in my brain about what happened before. All they got was what they already knew and it was all I had.

BELIEVE

I kind of wish Rafe hadn't told me how good she is at making people feel special, talking them into doing things and convincing them it's their idea, but I don't believe he'd still have anything to do with her if she was like that with everyone all the time. I don't believe he'd be taken in by it either, so it's fine. She's fine.

Tagging @juls-writes, @justme-and-myobsession, @k--havok and @kaiusvnoir if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in. The words to search your story (WIP or completed) for are door, dead, deep, and dark 💜

[sasslett]

Get to know me!

tagged by @elveny, let's see if I can get this done before I have to get out of bed (someone play me the world's smallest violin)

Share your wallpaper: So my PC is set to cycle through my XIV screenshot folder as its wallpaper, so here's my Chromebook (where I do all my writing) and my phone (where I do all my blogging) wallpapers instead!

A lovely comm from thetictactician on Twitter on my Chromebook!

and this amazing comm on my phone from Hollycircling on Twitter, I can't believe she indulged me and went this fucking hard but she did this. In a week.

The last song you listened to: Warrior by Beth Crowley (this is such a Jess song tbh)

Currently Reading:  Ok... so... I actually haven't read any sort of published novel since... 2011, with A Storm of Crows I think? So I used to read a shit ton, but it was 11th grade and my friends were like 'You're still reading kids books? Read something for grown ups instead' (I was rereading Percy Jackson at the time, my beloved). So I gave it a try with a 'grown up' fantasy series and... fuck GoT it was awful and I decided if that's what adult literature was like, I didn't want any part of it. So I quit reading entirely.

Last Movie: Bullet Train, months ago. I don't like watching movies - I'm huge into the behind the scenes stuff, cinematography, lighting, direction, costume design etc etc so it makes it hard to watch movies when my brain won't stop analyzing and criticizing everything (honestly modern cinema is so full of people just 'sending it' for the next big paycheck, the heart is just gone). But my husband insisted I watch this one and you know what? It was actually really well made, I was impressed.

Craving: More time. More time to finish these cosplays (Twelve have mercy the con is in a week and a half), more time to write, more time to decompress. Also craving a Chromebook/laptop/portable writing device that doesn't freeze when I type more than 5 letters in a row...

What are you wearing right now: My nightgown! (still in bed) It's got penguins on it and it's fucking adorable.

How tall are you: 5'5, idk what that is in the rest of the world. Americans, y'know.

Piercings: None, but I bought some super cute Ascian earrings last year and I've been really tempted to get my earlobes pierced.

Tattoos: None, not my thing but totally cool for everyone else!

Glasses? Contacts?: Lasik! Totally worth if you can do it.

Last drink: Choccy milk (I am an adult)

Last show: Last narrative-focused show? Uhhhhhh.... I watched the first season of The Walking Dead in 2012 and I legit can't think of anything more recent. I just don't enjoy watching things much, I'd rather be doing something, and I'm such a snob when it comes to screenwriting/characters that most things just don't appeal to me. Other than that the last non-scripted show I watched was Restaurant: Impossible.

Last thing you ate: An oatmeal chocolate chip cookie my sister made last night.

Favourite colour: Wine/burgundy! That deep, dark, blood red with just a hint of purple (in case you couldn't tell since it's the color my WoL wears in every outfit)

Current obsession: FFXIV lol

Unrelated Obsession: Unrelated? I'd say writing but that's kind of related... So, horses? I mean that's just always my obsession.

Any pets: Uh... yeah. I myself have two horses. And then... we have a shit ton of cats. So in 2020 strays kept showing up at our house and then they'd have babies, eventually we managed to catch them all and get them fixed and now some of them have chosen to move in. Shelters are full all across the state, rescues and fosters are full. So now we have... 10 cats that live inside (it's a large house) and then another six/seven that are still feral outside but fixed at least. Nothing much we can do about it, but keeping them inside keeps them safe and saves the wildlife outside, too.

Do you have a crush on anyone: An eternal crush on my husband. He's just amazing. Soft. Adorable. Handsome. Perfect. Goofy. Gorgeous. Smart. Creative. Loving. So many more words. 12 years together in May!

Favourite fictional character: Assuming player characters/WoLs don't count, Elena Fisher from Uncharted. She was the first female character I encountered who was just... normal. Not a token female, not sexualized eye candy, not walking boobs without a personality, she was... a real person, a real character in her own right, whose gender didn't change who she was. And I fell in love with that back in 2007 (I was in middle school then, so it was kind of a big deal for me). She only got better as the years went by, I still love her.

The last place you traveled: Depends on your definition of 'travel'. On a literal sense probably Portland, but since both that and Seattle are practically in my backyard I don't really count those. Other than that, Philadelphia I think, for a wedding.

TAGGING! Oh so many people should do this. Off the top of my head, if you'd like to... @ainyan, @mimble-sparklepudding, @boggleoflight, @tallbluelady, @humblemooncat, @dragoon-mid-jump, @otherworldseekers, @aethericfist and now I'm out of time and have to get ready for work so anyone else who sees this! Sorry I was tagging in a hurry, I know a lot of you are character/RP blogs so feel free to ignore.

[alottanothing]

✏ 20 Questions For Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @word-wytch! 🥰 Since I don't post on AO3 currently, I'm gonna sorta tweak this to what I have posted here on tumblr.

1) How many works do you have on AO3? - 4

2) What’s your total AO3 word count? - about 196k I cannot write short things. 😅

3) What fandoms do you write for? - everything I currently have posted is from my time in the Rami Malek fandom, so I've written for the Night at the Museum fandom, the Mr. Robot fandom, and The Pacific fandom. Now I find myself writing in the Stranger Things fandom, more specifically the Eddie Munson fandom, and soon I'll also be writing for the Red Dead Redemption 2 fandom. I just haven’t posted anything yet.

4) What are your top five fics by kudos? - well since I only have 4 posted...Left to Ruin has the most like as a whole.

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? - I absolutely do. Or try my hardest to reply to them all. My writing thrives on validation, so I always want to thank those kind enough to take the time to feed that part of me. 😅

6) What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? - Definitely Left to Ruin. But everyone should've known that was gonna have a rough ending from the start considering the narrative.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? - Well, considering my Beautiful Stranger series in an indefinite hiatus, and Left to Ruin was real fucking sad, I guess Black Friday had the happiest ending?

8) Do you get hate on fics? - I haven't yet. And I hope I don't. Not sure my anxiety could take that.

9) Do you write smut? If so, what kinds? - Oooh yes. 😏😏😏 And it depends on my mood and the mood of the chapter/part I'm writing. Also the characters play a part in the kind of smut I'm writing.

10) Do you write crossovers? I did a long time ago. I think it's still on FF.net. lol

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? - Uh, not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated? - Nope

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? - Yes, it's on my master list.

14) What’s your all time favorite ship? - Uhhhh whoever I'm hyper fixated on with an OC my brain thinks up.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? - Probably my Beautiful Stranger series. I have so much outlined but my brain is not focused enough to go back to that right now. 🤷🏻‍♀️

16) What are your writing strengths? - ummm. I work really hard on characterization and dialogue. Backstories too.

17) What are your writing weaknesses? - definitely spelling. 😅

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? - Like using Google Translate?? 🤔

19) First fandom you wrote for? - Twilight...i was a freshman in high school. 😅

20) Favorite fic you’ve written? - Definitely Left to Ruin.

Tagging @twola, @margowritesthings and anyone else who'd like to do this...I don't have a whole lot of writer friends on here. 🥲

[nocompromise-noregrets]

I saw your tag on the post about *not* apologizing for not updating. And I just want to say, please don't ever ever ever apologize for writing - or not - at your own pace. ❤️

Writing fic should only ever be done when it fulfills something for *you*.

I enjoy the hell out of your fic. It's so great when you update! But I'm happy to wait as long as necessary for you to be ready to update. And if you never finish something? That's okay too. I will love what is there, regardless.

And there a LOT more people like me in the world than anyone who thinks they're owed anything from you. ❤️

Thank you so much, anon! This really means a lot. <333333 I'm a bit of a completist, so having stuff unfinished (or taking ages to update) bothers me, but after a huge burst of creativity when I got back into the fandom in 2020 (when I was furloughed so not working two days a week, and working at home the other three days on a very clunky database which took ages to do anything, so I had time to write), it's rather dropped off again thanks to personal circumstances - going back to work more or less full time, working on an updated database that does stuff in a flash when I was still at home (thus giving me much less time to pick up the personal laptop and write), and then back on site, plus doing two third-year-level university courses one after the other has rather done a number on my motivation and mental energy. The only way I've got so much done for Barduil Month is by having two weeks off work in March and spending most of them writing.

I try not to worry about it, but I do feel bad when I leave things un-updated for ages...but once I'm out of the habit of updating it's hard to put up one of the chapters I have in hand, because what if I run out? - but then, if I run out, I also won't be posting, so it doesn't make much difference, but try telling that to my idiot brain.

I dunno, I've just been feeling a bit out of sorts about it recently because someone (who's been a bit pestery for updates in the past) commented on one of my longfics a few months ago with 'are you dead? I'm worried you're dead' without anything else, no 'looking forward to finding out what happens next', no 'I'm really enjoying the story'...not even an 'are you all right?' - when it was pretty obvious if they checked my profile I'm still here and still posting, and I'd told them before I was struggling with this particular story and with having enough time and energy to write. It turned out they hadn't thought to check my profile, or here, and they're a guest user so they hadn't subscribed (can a guest on AO3 subscribe?) but...I don't know, asking someone if they're dead without actually checking if they're all right is pretty insensitive, I feel, especially after the couple of years we've all had. I haven't quite had that conversation with them yet, but I'm kind of working up to it, because it actually really upset me, much as I do try not to get upset about these sorts of things.

Anyway. I accidentally a bit of a rant. Thank you so much for your encouragement, anon! <333333 After Barduil Month is over I'm going to try and keep up the momentum on my WIPs, and maybe try and get at least one of them finished...famous last words...

[ayzrules]

Your tags on https://www.tumblr.com/ayzrules/725611442866454528/ive-heard-a-lot-of-people-say-dont-reach-out-to

#i still do get bitter over how much time and energy i was willing to put into group 1 that group 1 wasn't returning to me#like this stuff takes so much time to get over

God, yes. I feel like I've been trying to "get over" a friendship that became like that for longer than the friendship has actually been good and healthy for.

Good on you for changing your priorities and sticking with it. I try to do something similar, every time I find myself dwelling on how hurtful that was, I channel the energy into making contact with a different friend.

I hope all the people with excuses in the tags see posts like yours and see what the takeaway is - that the result was NOT the friendship staying as it was with no effort from them. If you treat someone with lack of care, they WILL eventually start to care less about you, for self-preservation if nothing else. Good excuses and good communication about them can stave this off, but only so much.

Hang in there and thanks for sharing.

Good excuses and good communication about them can stave this off, but only so much.

gosh, so much this! Like, I didn't get to this point without talking to said friends - I got there after we had multiple conversations about it and it finally became clear enough to me that nothing was going to change. I think part of it was that I'm the kind of person who puts 100% into things I decide to invest time into, to an extent where it can get detrimental to my own health (i.e. staying up all night working on something instead of getting reasonable sleep) and this kind of bleeds into my interpersonal relationships. That group was my "top priority" in terms of channeling energy and enthusiasm for a long time, and the realization that the others in the group just didn't return the sentiment for whatever reason (and I mean that in the most neutral, least accusatory way possible - i understand that all of us are dealing with school, mental health, jobs, etc) was both difficult and freeing for me. I actually did exactly what the original post said you shouldn't (oops, haha) and literally wouldn't message first in the chat for weeks or months at a time - and every time I did that, the chat was just dead. Zero activity. I think that helped put some things into perspective for me too, especially when another chat I was in didn't suffer from this kind of issue.

every time I find myself dwelling on how hurtful that was, I channel the energy into making contact with a different friend.

100%! It's definitely been a much healthier way of coping with it for me. I haven't cut anyone from group 1 off or blocked/gone no contact or whatever, but I also don't go out of my way to randomly pop in and say hi anymore. Wrt my newer groups/chats I've always thought of it as like, filling the space that group 1 used to hold in a way? if i think of a fun activity that i might have liked to propose to group 1 in the past, i suggest it to my new group instead. i'm more than happy to do work and organize activities or fun lil events like music streams with new group because i get more than just "Ooo" as a response to suggestions. lmao.

If you treat someone with lack of care, they WILL eventually start to care less about you, for self-preservation if nothing else.

100% that last part. i haven't looked at any of the tags in the original post, but i hope those people can understand that it's supremely unhealthy to be waiting desperately for someone to respond and getting upset when they just don't while seeing them respond elsewhere, or wracking your brain for ways to engage people - who are supposed to be your friends! - in ways where they won't just ghost in the middle of the conversation, or feeling bitter when you're trying to put something together for them but the intended recipients don't seem invested or particularly receptive at all (me a few hours before seeing the original post, lol). even though i haven't left the chat or blocked anyone etc, i've definitely moved on, mostly because it was really doing a number on my mental health and I just... didn't want to feel so sad and lonely all the time, yknow? I also wasn't going to blame them for it, because it's not their fault that our expectations of friendship were misaligned. it just happened. sometimes that's what life is. if any of them reach out to me, I respond and engage, and I do still occasionally seek them out. they're just not "top priority" for my energy or time anymore.

Hang in there and thanks for sharing.

thank you <3333 and thank you for sending this ask! I'm glad it's not just me who feels this way. I really did feel like I was going insane, lol

Wishing you all the best <3

[idlenight]

#oh! I didn't actually read it as protective or nostalgic yearning#I still read 'protect' like a useful/valuable asset#I took it more like 'keep your friends close and enemies closer'#even so far as speculating (wildly) that HG might be the reason all their siblings are dead#who's closer than family?#because if they're a touch-telepath and an expert emotional manipulator#those threads could have been reapplied for years#and when one gets caught you just#ahem#'cut ties'#so if one (could have) survived#it's worth keeping that one around until you know for sure#that being said#if it's a ploy I'm gonna fall for it more than once#'steps will pack-bond with anyone. (tags @ltrizzo)

Your interpretation is a valid one!

but i have hg brainrot so im using this as an opportunity to explain why i think HG is in fact doing some protective nostalgic yearning. consider this me brainwashing everyone into liking hg (/joke).

below readmore cuz this got longer than planned real quick.

Exhibit A - HG loves their sibling(s) [or at the very least their youngest sibling]

You gently brush your fingers over ${hghis} mind, bringing feelings to life. There are dangers everywhere around you, but you don't let them catch you unawares. It's a beautiful mindscape, a coral reef filled with life and color, hidden dangers lurking in crevasses, the ever-present sea anemones trailing their tendrils everywhere.

      [i]too innocent, the smile, the chubby cheeks, and there's a hand on your head, a fond ruffle and a whisper in your ear.[/i]       [i]"…that's a moray."[/i]       A memory. Of course. It stinks of Hollow Ground. A fond memory? Intense enough to form ${hghis} mindscape? Looks like it.

HG's entire mindscape is shaped by an intense and fond memory they have of their youngest sibling, the one who looks like Sidestep. While it is only the briefest of snippets we are shown that HG was kind to their younger siblings, and that the memory of this moment was important to Hollow Ground themself.

Exhibit B - HG (a merciless kingpin) deems this possible connection important enough to protect sidestep when they are falling into their own bad memory spiral, despite the transgression into their mind.

      Floating belly up. How did you lose yourself in here? You went too deep, you need to breathe, but everything you touch gives way, climbing kelp and looking for the sun.       [i]~I got you.~[/i]       [i]Dragged back, pulled out, pushed behind. Protected. The ghost of a memory. [/i]

      "Show…${chim} out." $!{hghe} @{hgsv gestures|gesture} weakly to Jake. "Unmolested."       "But boss?" Jake looks at you, ready to lunge.       "Just fucking obey me," Hollow Ground growls, and Jake snaps to attention.

Not only is HG the person to pull Step out of the memory spiral (as evident by being saved by the rat king in a similar scene with a puppetcrash), they then proceed to allow sidestep to walk out freely and unharmed. Despite still seeing them as a danger. Despite the clear transgression into HG's own brain. All because of the possibility of sidestep being their youngest sibling - someone they assumed to be dead. (Hope. A stupid thing to have).

Not to mention Hollow ground protecting sidestep in this moment either lowers the gate track or your scar variable. AND you gain hg friendship % despite the danger tag.

      *set willpower "exhausted"       *set hg_relationship "danger"       *set hg_friendship %+ 20       *set hgknown_telepath true       *set protected true       *set force %+ 10       *if gate >= 1         *set gate - 1       *goto truceleave2       *else         *set scar - 20         *goto truceleave2

Exhibit C - In the case of trans sidesteps, HG respects their siblings gender enough to have all the paperwork changed. (either when the kid told them, or after the fact)

*if ((ortegaknowstrans) and (gender != "person"))   "But you know I wasn't always…" You make a vague gesture toward your chest. You told Ortega about your transition, how did that work with whoever ${he} thinks you were?   "That's why I was so surprised." Ortega shakes ${his} head. "The picture looked like you, though I suppose at that age puberty hadn't really kicked in fully. And the files had ${chim} as ${sex}. But I suppose it makes sense that Hollow Ground would have been able to pull strings to make that kind of paperwork happen, even if you were a minor."   "Not hard for the kingpin of Los Diablos," you echo emptily.

This isn't all that deep I suppose, just a tidbit I like. Either they're an Ally(tm) or they're alike because HG has the same gender variable as sidestep always. (though there is still the question on if a transfem sidestep's hg is also transfem or a ciswoman? but we've only seen HG briefly and they haven't gotten that personal w/ us for us to know).

this has mostly turned into me explaining why i like hollow ground i think. uhh. hi. thanks for coming to my TEDtalk?

(also insert a bunch of ranting about HG in the demo here to i will not get into. just, imagine that all my points are super eloquent and insightful and 100% sexy and correct).

Reminding you that Hollow Ground has several siblings.

Reminding you that all of them died.

Reminding you that Hollow Ground protects their mental intruder because of a faint hope that sidestep is their youngest sibling.

Reminder that im so fucking normal about Hollow Ground.

[helloamhere]

3/3/3

Thank you @hazzabeeforlou I always feel special when you tag me in things :) 

3 lines 

I don’t really have a fic WIP right now. Maybe I will share a few lines from my original fiction WIP???? Aaaaaah terrifying but here goes: 

***

The ledge is twenty inches keeping him from a hefty fall. This is an old plant, repurposed from a design that was already decades old even when it was built, and like all repurposed things it has been forced into an expanding lie that suits the ambitions of the future. The maintenance ledges that run along the high walls of the third floor are no longer in safety code, but removing them isn’t worth the expense as long as inspectors believe that no one is actually using them. To maximize this believability, they have removed every single safety harness.

***

3 questions

1. Do you write smut in your fics, and if so, has it helped you process your sexuality/insecurities in any way?

yasssss I do, but I go in and out of cycles of this. I used to feel pretty disinhibited about it but I think being just a tad more (I mean, I’m still a pretty small blog with not all that many followers and that’s cool, everybody be cool) known has brought some trepidation. But yes, when I do, it’s really helped me think about sexuality. I definitely write very directly about feelings I’ve had or feelings I’ve seen in partners, although I think in a fictionalized enough way. I reallllllly like sex that shows character work, and thinking about fantasies like being cared for, and honestly fic is a nice escape for me for that and helps me put some of those fantasies out there. I think in a funny way it’s made me confront how bad I personally am about communicating about sex. I’m a pretty complicated person with some bad things in my past, and I’ve been pretty actively punished for communicating with or being in touch with my sexuality, NOT LEAST because I spent my entire childhood and teenagerhood and even college in the closet (yep). So writing queer characters experiencing tenderness is pretty deep for me. 

2. Any fic pairings/characters you’re DYING to write but haven’t yet for whatever reason?

OhhhhHHHH ummmmm I love finnpoerey as an OT3, I love the trio from the Man from UNCLE in much the same vein, I also recently got into Roswell: New Mexico and like, Malex is life, that shit IS fanfic on the screen and I dearly need to someday have the time to write some, wow, sad bisexual aliens in the American Southwest, I mean did the screenwriters read my dreams?!?! Anyway, I also really like universes as much as characters -- I want to write things set in fantasy kinda universes, maybe; I don’t think I’ll ever do that in original fiction but I could get into it for fic. 

3. Do you ever write moral themes in your fics, or do you thematize your fics intentionally in any way?

My fics are highly thematic I think, and I think they’re deeply concerned with the ethics of being a good person in a complicated world??? WEll, SOME of them at least. A theme I really like to come back to is people trying to be good to each other even if they aren’t necessarily easy people to be around. I can’t sympathize very much with really brutal and not-kind characters, mostly I think because I’ve worked really hard in my life to make things better for other people and not worse, and I like to think about characters who also do that work even when (especially when!) they’re flawed. I think part of writing queer characters always carries a weight of saying that love in a world full of the oppression as our world is, is more important than those false beliefs. I don’t address that directly but I think it’s pretty implicit underneath everything that I write. Sometimes just writing something very very tender and sweet in a queer romance feels like enough.  ***

[dabilove27]

How Far We've Come

Paring: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Smut (female-receiving oral), A Cocky Dabi, Cussing, A lot of Pet Names

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: This is my contribution to the Smut Pile Apocalypse Collab! If you have the time check out some of the other amazing pieces! Everyone has worked so hard to make some beautiful fics!

Thank you so much to my wife @lady-lunaaa for reading, encouraging, brainstorming, and helping me the whole way from start to finish. I have said it before but I will say it again. You are absolutely amazing and this fic wouldn't exist without you! 💜 Also thank you @/deathcab4daddy (not sure if you want to be tagged) for taking the time to read through and for your advice!

You've seen all those movies, the decaying zombie hoards, the massive explosions that wipe out nations, or an unexpected illness that mysteriously kills off the population. But you had never really expected for any of those apocalyptic things to become true in your own world.  They were just fiction, never something that could actually occur. Yet here you are faced with the reality of a hoard of rotting zombies. Like you have been thrown into one of the many movies or TV shows yourself.

People aren't even sure how it happened, especially in a world full of quirks where this should be somewhat controlled, right? Wrong, whatever caused this zombie apocalypse also seemed to nullify quirks over time. There was so much speculation whether it came into the water supply or passed through the air. But none of that really seems to matter anymore when you are fighting for your life every day.

And as the mass of decaying, walking corpses steps closer and closer to you, it seems like your end is near too. The smell of organs exposed to the air and sun stink up the room.  You can see the blank, milky white eyes of the undead that somehow can still find you even though they can't really see.  You've had a partner, at least—the man who has stood with you during this entire shit show.

He stands close to you, a single rusted knife covered in stagnant blood, not nearly enough even combined with whatever you could find for fighting off the seemingly endless mindless bodies coming your way. He's covered in burn scars and rusted staples that pull at his healthy skin. People used to jab at him for looking like the walking dead before all this went down.  His firepower from before would have solved this problem in an instant. This rotting mob wouldn't have stood a chance.

But instead, it looks like it's the conclusion for the two of you. Memories flash through your mind. A memory of escaping the daily struggle of your mundane life by sharing take-out on your old couch.  Or how his kisses always felt like burning flames against your lips.  Your regular life consisted of trying to numb the pain of the past with alcohol or working endless hours.  Even though you didn’t have a traditional relationship where you could go on public dates, being in a relationship with a well-known villain was worlds better than this. But if you were going to die, at least it was together. Solidarity in times like this seems to help the never-ending dread that the Reaper looming around every corner ready to take you.  Every moment in this new hell had you wished you had more time to develop your romance with him instead of the tragedy that was about to befall you. You wished you had more time with this romance and that it wouldn't end in tragedy. It's hard to believe that there was ever a time when you couldn't stand this man, but even now, that's a fond memory for you.  You would give anything to return to that old bar where the two of you met and relive all of these memories.

It really isn't a surprise that you met Dabi in a dark, run-down bar near Kamino.  No, not the "bar" run by Kurogiri; everyone who lived in this area knew that it was just a setup. This bar is a tiny little hole in the wall with paint chipping off the walls and where the seats were hardly held together anymore, but that didn't really matter to people who lived in this area. You didn't come to this bar for a luxury experience.

The main reason people came to this bar was its location.  It sat deep in a seedy area which meant no police patrolling nearby so you wouldn’t need to look over your shoulder constantly.  Plus, the cheap liquor was enticing enough.

Every Friday night, you were perched on one of the worn-out bar stools as you nursed your gin and tonic.  This was your place to unwind after another hellish week of your mundane job.  It was still early enough in the evening that the bar wasn't thoroughly packed with bodies trying to get their drink.  The music was still soft,  later it would blare whatever song was currently sitting at the top of the Billboard charts. You were able to turn your brain off and listen to other patrons' mindless chatter in the background.  You could just sip your drink, maybe take a shot or two if you felt like, and then head home to pass out.

You relished this little getaway, an oasis in the slums that made up your small world.  The bartender and regular patrons didn't bother you, so you could have your own peace.  But your Eden got interrupted by a cocky, fire-wielding asshole who had set his sights on you.

You didn't stir when said asshole plopped himself down in the barstool next to you with a thump.  It wasn't until the jerk actually spoke to you that you were brought out of your mindless daydreaming.

"Hey, pretty girl, what are you doing in a place like this?"  He said with a smooth tone.  You didn't even have to look at him to know he had an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

Who the fuck does this asshole think he is? The irritated thought instantly pops into your head.  Anyone who frequented this bar knew you were from around here.  You weren't some soft, delicate flower that wasn't supposed to be "on this side of town."  Preparing yourself by putting on your best "I'm not interested face," you maneuvered your body to face him, ready to tell him off.

Your words caught in your throat as your eyes met his two endless pools of cerulean.  Your gaze shifted to take in the burnt skin clinging onto the shining staples that were rooted in his healthy skin. A familiar black coat spread across his frame that was even more recognizable than those eyes, and the patronizing smile that you wanted to slap off his face. As much as you wanted to throw up your middle finger at him and tell him off, you knew who this was. Hell, everyone knew who this was.

The League of Villains didn't necessarily keep quiet around here. They didn't have to. This is the area where they recruited people to join them. You didn't just flick off and ignore a LOV member. Especially the infamous Dabi, who wasn't really known for his kindness or compassion. More for his ability to burn anyone who defied The League to a crumbling crisp.

But still, who did this asshole think he is? Waltzing in here like he owned it and saddling down into your escape from the world only to tell you that you don't look like you should be here?  Fuck that nonsense, League member or not.

You swallow down a bit of the initial anger as your eyes narrow into a glare at the cocky asshole.  "Thanks but no thanks, I'm not interested in being involved with the League. So if you don't mind going somewhere else to scout, that would be great." You try to say without a tremble in your voice as you wave your hand in a "shoo" motion.

You aren't sure what you expect Dabi to do next., burn down the whole bar you included? Tell you that you have no choice but to join, and you're coming with him? Rip you out of your seat and reprimand you for disrespecting The League? But instead, none of those things happen.  Instead, he does something you don't expect, and his grin grows a little wider as the staples begin to pull more at his healthy flesh.

You can feel your anxiety rising. Get out, get out, get out, this asshole will kill you, leave NOW, your mind is practically sending off every warning signal it can.

Your chest tightens when Dabi lets out a low chuckle. "Oh no, sweetheart, you've got it all wrong."  He says with a dark tone. "I'm not recruiting you for work. My interest in you is personal."  Dabi points at you and then at himself and finishes with an infuriating smirk that seems to be mocking you.  He's moved his hand and placed it on your forearm that was resting on the smooth bar top.

A shiver runs through you as the mismatched textures of his skin and the cool metal of the staples.  You feel your anger bubbling up again.  How dare this jerk think that you will just fall for him like a desperate fangirl.  You are livid at this point, frustration coursing through your veins, fuck the niceties and preservation. He needed to be put in his place.

"I know you think you are some big shot because The League is doing so well right now but fuck off asshole.  I'm not a League groupie that will just kneel down and suck your dick just because you want it." You spit out at him while shrugging off his hand and moving your body to face the way you were initially sitting. Grasping your drink and lifting it to your lips, you try and down what was left so you could leave immediately, any extra moment around Dabi was a moment you didn't want to have.

You were sure Dabi would have given up or at least killed you by now. You can't imagine that he is used to being rejected by women.  He's handsome in a way that doesn't fit with the norm.  He fills in that bad boy check-list like it's his job, which it practically is given his profession.  Again though, Dabi surprises you with his response. He doesn't yell, he doesn't use his quirk, and he doesn't kill you. He lets out another dark chuckle like he's enjoying this and continues the conversation you had tried to cut off.

"I didn't say anything about sucking dick, but if you're offering, who am I to turn down a gift?"  That smooth tone is back as he moves his hand to your hair and runs it through his fingers.

Bewilderment overcomes you, and you can't even stop yourself before you are turned towards him again, glass in your hand, ready to throw what's left of your drink on him.

As if he anticipated the response, Dabi moves quickly and grabs your wrist in a tight grip.  "Now, why would you want to waste what you have left, doll? That's not a very smart choice." His grip tightens a little more around your wrist, and you can feel the staples begin to dig into your skin as he lets out a deep chuckle. He moves your hand back down to the bar but doesn't let go even after your glass has left your hand.  "There we go, good girl.  Now let's talk just a bit." He says sweetly, loosening his grip just a bit, but not enough for you to move your hand.

If looks could kill, Dabi would have died a cruel death by now. You are seething at this point.  But instead, you're stuck there as he continues to do whatever it is that he’s trying to accomplish.  "What were you drinking?  I'll buy you another one and then leave, okay doll?"  He says playfully and with a cunning grin on his face as you mumble out your drink order.  You just want him to leave, and you really hope he plans on keeping his word.

Dabi motions for the bartender's attention, gives your drink order and plops a few bills on the bartop. He still hasn't let go of your wrist, and each and every moment he is even touching you, you can feel your annoyance continuing to build.  You want to ask him if he's done yet and will kindly get the fuck out, but you have a sneaking suspicion that he likes the cat and mouse game, which would just lengthen the amount of time he sticks around.

The bartender finally delivers your drink, and it takes everything in you not to rip your wrist out of his grasp and grab the new glass to pour over Dabi's head.  "Okay, one last question, and then I'll leave."  He drawls out as you put all your focus into the condensation forming on your glass.  You stay silent, waiting for his stupid question so you can move on and never see him again.  Dabi continues with that condesending tone that is starting to cause your head to ache, "How often do you come here? I'd love to see you again."

Your heartbeat picks up, and little shots of adrenaline start to flow through you as you contemplate how to respond. Of course, you don't want this asshole to know when you come here. This is your escape from the world. You never want to even see Dabi again,  but something from this interaction tells you Dabi isn't going to give up easily. So you tell him your regular time that you show up at the bar every Friday.

Dabi squeezes your wrist a little bit before letting out another "Good girl, sounds like a date.  I'll see you then." You never want him to know how those few words send a shiver down your spine. He saunters out of the bar without having a single drink himself. Patrons stare dumbfounded between you and the doorway that Dabi just exited, trying to comprehend what just happened.

You let out an exasperated sigh before leaning your head down into your folded arms.  The bar top isn't necessarily the cleanest of places to lay your head, but it’s pounding and racing with thoughts, and you can't really bring yourself to care right now.  You try to formulate a plan so you won't ever see him. You'll just move your regular day to Saturday instead of Fridays.  But then that stubborn anger flares inside of you again, and you sit up straight, glancing at your newly unwanted drink as the ice slowly melts, lifting the remaining liquid in the cup.  No, I'm not going to let that asshole ruin my spot for me.  He can come around here every Friday, but I'll turn that jerk down a million times. You think a little smugly to yourself.  We will see how the big bad Dabi feels being turned down over and over.  Maybe that will sting his ego.

And so you and Dabi play this game of cat and mouse. He comes every Friday when you are there without fail, buying you a drink, chatting to you with sentences filled with pet names, and planning another "date" each time.  And every time you tell him you aren't interested or to go away, or really anything to try and get that stupid fucking smirk off his face.  But it always remains cemented there as he watches you get fired up.  And what you don't realize is the two of you are getting to know each other.  Dabi adds in little questions, "what's your favorite food, least favorite, what do you do for work?"  And the questions go on and on.  You don't realize your walls coming down as the two of you find similarities in each other.  And if there is one thing anyone who sees these frequent interactions between the two of you can say, it is that Dabi is determined.

You are so used to Dabi's Friday visits that they don't bring headaches anymore, and you realize something more has developed when he doesn't show up one week.  A mixture of feelings rests in you, anxiety, confusion, anger.  You wonder if he's okay, or has he finally given up.  And then anger if he has.  You don't want to admit it, but you miss his company, and you don't even have a number to reach out to him.  You feel a sense of loss in your chest.  How could he just give up?  He's been trying for months!  You think as tears begin to sting for a moment in your eyes.

You leave the bar that night not feeling uplifted or relaxed but sad and angry.  And you aren't necessarily looking forward to returning the week after, but you do come back to your regular spot and hope Dabi will show.  Your heart almost stops in your chest when you see him walk through the entrance of the bar, and before you can contain the words, they tumble out in a frantic sound, "where were you last week?"  You are standing in front of him now, looking up at that little grin he always has on his face whenever you get annoyed with him.  You cross your arms over your chest and exclaim, "Well? I'm waiting."

"Aw, did you miss me, baby girl?"  His poker face never falls, but his grin grows a tiny bit wider as he stares into your fiery eyes.  And without warning, he wraps one of his long arms around you, pulling you into a tight side hug.

A small eep escapes you at the movement, and you move to push him off.  "What the hell are you doing? Answer my question, you jerk!" You practically yell as you push away from him.  He doesn't let go and just pulls you tighter to him, and you find yourself not struggling anymore as you take in the weathered texture of his coat pressed against your arm and the smell of cigarettes on him.  You feel your walls starting to fall entirely, "I was really concerned about you." You let out in a whisper, not really wanting to admit it to him, but you weren't sure how you would feel if something like this happened again.

"Aw, babe, you did miss me."  The delight in his voice makes you shiver a little.  He gestures you over to your regular spot at the bar, and the two of you sit down in the weathered chairs.  He puts a calloused finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his.  You stare into his cerulean depths that you used to hate and find yourself softening a bit.  "I had to do something for The League, but I don't have your number, love.  So I couldn't call and let you know I wouldn't make our date."  His face relaxes a bit as he watches your frown turn into a bit of pout.

"Okay, well fine, I'll give you my number.  But don't just text me randomly, okay?"  You huff as you lay your palm flat and motion for his phone.  Dabi chuckles and shakes his head before handing you the phone without another word.  Lifting the phone, you type your number into the cracked screen and hand it back to him.  "Okay, now text me, so I have yours. " You say, moving to grab your phone to wait for his upcoming text.

"Hmmm, I don't think so, doll,"  Dabi says, taking in your furrowed brow and then relishing in the way you roll your eyes at his taunting.

"Fine, whatever, Dabi.  Just text me next time you can't make it."  You say sourly while searching for the bartender to order your drink.  You don't want Dabi to see the slight sting of hurt in your eyes because he won't give you his.  The rest of the night goes as expected, drinking and talking, and you find yourself laughing more, not realizing how much you truly enjoyed this time with him.

The two of you depart with another hug, this one much shorter than the first, but you find yourself leaning into the warmth that radiates from him instead of wanting to push him off.  As you begin walking down the street home, you feel a buzz in your pocket.  Pulling out your phone, you unlock it to the message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hey babe, see you same time next week - D

A small smile comes to your face as you type a response back.

The following year you grow in your relationship with Dabi.  There are never really any titles between the two of you.  Just that the two of you are together.  You never meet The League. Dabi is insistent you aren't involved with them in case things go awry.  But you spend a lot of time together when work or villain work doesn't take up the time.

Your relationship together comes to a head at the very start of the apocalypse.  The two of you sit snuggled together on your worn-out couch watching the news as a young reporter stands in front of a local research building in town and goes through the facts of citizens becoming "mindless and violent in a matter of hours."  And how they have people under lockdown who are experiencing symptoms of this "mysterious illness."

A slight shiver goes through you as the reporter goes on.  "That's really scary. No one knows what's causing it,"  you reflect aloud while you lean in closer into Dabi's outstretched arm that is resting around your shoulders.

"Aw, babe, don't be scared.  Those mindless fools wouldn't stand a chance if they tried to lay a hand on you while I'm there,"  Dabi says with a glint of amusement in his voice.  He always sounds so condescending, but you know it's the truth.  Remembering a time at the bar when a guy wouldn't take no for an answer-not that Dabi really followed that either- but Dabi didn't hesitate to let the guy know you were already taken.  He flirts and likes to jab a lot, but there’s a complete shift in the atmosphere when he's serious.

"Ugh, Dabi, you know I don't mean them attacking us. It's whatever is causing it that worries me. What happens if one of us gets it?  There's no cure right now,"  You say and worry your lower lip between your teeth.

Dabi picks up on your anxious state, and his cocky facade fades.  He pulls you on his lap so that you are fully facing him with legs pressed on either side of his.  Dabi holds one large hand on your waist, and the other he presses to your cheek.  Leaning your cheek further into his hand, Dabi moves his thumb to trace over the slight marks in your lip where your teeth were just placed.  "Hey, listen to me, nothing is going to happen, okay?  I won't let any of these maniacs hurt you, and we won't catch whatever they have,"  Dabi says tenderly as he gives you a small smile.

It's nice to see him like this- when his mask of superiority disappears, and he's focused on encouraging you.  It doesn't happen often because you like to keep walls.  Comfort from Dabi doesn’t need to happen often but you can’t say you don’t like it when he does.  You enjoy these softer moments with him that only you get to see.

You pull Dabi into a light kiss.  The gentle pressure of his mismatched lips fit seamlessly against yours.  You pull away after a moment to look into his deep blue eyes that now captivate you.  Dabi has that coy smile still on his face, and as his eyes meet your in that moment, it's like the horrible events of the world aren't happening anymore.  All that seems to exist is the two of you, not the TV still prattling in the background or even the noises outside your city window.

Dabi lightly caresses your cheek down to the length of your neck and finally ending near where your collarbones sit.  Everywhere he touches leaves behind a trail of goosebumps on your skin.  Even with these simple touches, you can feel yourself starting moving against him, trying to create a bit of friction.  Dabi knew how easily he could rile you up with simple touches.  It was frustrating at times, and you wished you could have the same effect on him.

"I love you, babe.  And no matter what, I won't let anything hurt you,"  Dabi tells you, and you swear his voice seems to be cracking, but the moment is gone before you can think about it.  Dabi lives on being mysterious most of the time, and you rarely get to see this vulnerable side of him.  Even if he doesn't say it behind that mask of cockiness, you can feel that there is fear of what's happening right now.  Or at least that's what you think the fear is from, but Dabi will never admit the fear is from losing you to whatever this is.  He isn't sure he could survive this hell of a life he's been given without you.

Your heart aches at his sincere words from earlier, and you whisper back, "I love you too, Dabi."  Drawing him into a more intense kiss.  Dabi begins to run his fingers along the hem of your t-shirt and delicately brushes the skin right under with his fingertips.  You feel a moan bubble up inside of you, but his mouth moving against yours swallows the sound.

"I want you so bad, doll.  Let's just forget what's going on right now, let the world fall away,"  he says in a husky voice after breaking away from the kiss.

You nod to him before letting out a content sigh and letting your eyes fall shut while Dabi continues to trace his hands over your body.  Dabi trails his massive heated hands under the thin shirt you are wearing and down to your hips.  You can feel the bulge of his cock through his jeans as it begins to press against your clothed core.

Opening your eyes, you meet Dabi's half-lidded lustful eyes and bite your bottom lip and allow yourself to give into Dabi taking over you.

You can feel your heart beating a little faster, watching Dabi drink in every ounce of you.  Dabi is one of the only men you have ever trusted like this.  To have you so totally vulnerable.  It's strange how someone you didn't want anything to do with for months has become someone you rely on for everything- love, comfort, pleasure.

Dabi places open-mouthed kisses along your neck that leave you breathless.  "Fuck, I'm obsessed with every inch of you,"  Dabi growls out before returning to kissing and sucking your neck and exposed collar bone.

You grip Dabi's shoulder to ground you back from floating away into complete bliss and tip your head out to give him more access to your neck.  Dabi's mouth is like a flame that licks at your sensitive skin as he continues to trail his mouth all over.  You could be trapped in this pleasure forever.

Dabi grasps the back of your head and roughly brings your lips back to his.  With your mouths slotted against each other, you moan as Dabi finesses you to where you are lying on your back on the old couch, and he is hovering over you.

You break the kiss to quickly pull off his jacket and expose Dabi's scarred arms.  And just as you have only trusted Dabi fully with yourself, he has done the same.  Of course, the two of you have had sex with other people, mostly with lights off clothing still left on to hide the imperfections.  But with each other, there is no more hiding.

Heat begins to pool in your belly as you watch Dabi pull off your shorts and slide his warm hands all the way back up your leg and massage the plush skin of your thighs.  Once your shorts are removed, Dabi brings himself back to your face and, with a lustful sigh, traces kisses on your jaw and neck.

"Just relax and let me take you away from all of this, love.  I want to hear every sound you make." He growls as he moves down towards your pussy and lays himself between your spread legs.  Dabi lifts your thighs to rest on his shoulder as you let out a little gasp.  You can feel the excitement and heat rising in you.

Dabi kisses down the inside of your soft thighs and stops to suck at certain spots, leaving minor marks in their place.  He stops for a moment until you are looking directly into his captivating gaze, and then he licks a stripe up your pussy over the cotton of your underwear.  You let out a breathy moan at the sensation.   That jerk knows precisely what he's doing.

Dabi then grabs the thin material of your underwear and rips them away from your body with a tear. Groaning, you are about to curse at him for ruining another pair but are cut short when he sleekly licks up your folds. A delicate, playful moan leaves your separated lips.  Your eyes close, and you cling onto his white shirt to ground yourself.

"Baby girl, you're soaking wet," Dabi teases as if you weren't aware but cuts off any retort again with a quick suck to your aching clit. You can't hold back the loud moan that bubbles up in your throat.

Dabi smiles against your lower lips and continues his ministrations.   His mouth is open wide, so he can move back and forth from quickly licking up and down your sensitive pussy as well as suck softly on your clit.   You feel light-headed at the extended sensations, little whimpers and moans falling through your lips.  Dabi has always been able to leave you speechless with just his mouth.

"Dabi please," Your breathing hitches, and you moan out as he flicks his tongue repeatedly over your small bud. You can feel that hot pressure building in your stomach as Dabi continues. He laps at you like you are holding the only source of liquid left in this world, his tongue working wonders on your dripping hole.

Dabi pulls back and looks up at you as you eagerly meet his blue eyes, begging him to continue.  He smirks before lowering his mouth back down and laps at your sopping core teasingly.  Fucking bastard.  Always a tease from day one.

Dabi licks his lips before returning to eating you out even faster as a series of cries and obscenities continue to fall out of your mouth.  You can't hold them back.  His mouth is so hot and wet against your core.

With another curse, you tell him you are close. A sigh escapes your lips, and your head tosses back onto the cushy arm of the couch.  Dabi pulls away but inserts two fingers inside of you in place of his mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart, as much as I want to hear you beg and plead for me,  I want to taste you right now."  Dabi lets out with a rough voice filled with desire.  You whimper as he continues to fuck you with his fingers.  He smirks at your blissed-out face and then returns his mouth to your pussy.  His tongue flicks over your clit repeatedly as whines and cries continue to be let out of your mouth.  Back arching, you bite at your lip, barely able to even process the words that came out of Dabi just a moment ago.

"Oh, fuck, Dabi, please. Please, I'm gonna cum soon." The words fall from your lips, and your mind feels numb to everything except the feeling of Dabi's tongue on your pussy.

Dabi grunts and gives another hard suck to your clit before pulling away just a bit.  "Hell yeah, babe, come all over my face."

Your eyes roll back, and your mouth opens with another cry as your legs begin to tremble as the tension starts to rise in your stomach. One more lick, and you know you'd come. Dabi's continued suckling of your clit sends you careening over the edge. Your cries fill the room, and your back arches as your legs try to squeeze around his head.  Dabi continues to suck and lick as you orgasm.  Panting and with your eyes twisted shut, you cling to his shirt as you start to come down.  A final curse gently leaves your mouth as you wait for your legs to stop shaking.  Dabi takes one last long slow lick before sitting back and wiping his face with the back of his hand.  You can't bring yourself to move from the couch, still panting and weak.

Your mind starts slowly coming back to you as the bliss begins to leave.  The realization of everything happening in the world washes over you.  But you were thankful Dabi took the time to distract you from the horrors of what's going on.  You move over so Dabi can cuddle with you on the couch.  It isn't much room, but it feels good to be this close with him, wrapped in each other's arms.  You both slowly start to drift off to sleep, but you don't miss Dabi's final words mumbled into your hair, "I'll never let anything happen to you."

Shortly after that, the world seems to descend into madness.  The illness grows more and more rampant.  People are getting infected every day.  Whether it's through the original source of contamination or by those contaminated biting or scratching someone.  Panic spreads throughout the country.  But through all of it, you and Dabi stick together.

From the moment it was declared an emergency Dabi was banging at your door, insisting the two of you find somewhere safer than your run-down apartment.  Because while the two of you needed sleep, whatever these things are could go non-stop, and your apartment was not fortified.

You and Dabi lost your quirks a month after the emergency declaration, along with the rest of the population. People couldn't fight these zombie-like creatures off anymore.  Like all the movies and TV shows, the bodies became more zombies than actual living people.

After a while of jumping around from a destroyed place to another, the two of you found yourself in an apartment building that had a sturdy enough entrance that the zombies couldn't break through.  The daily struggles were still hard, though. Finding food and water to survive became a daily task for the two of you.  Through all of this, he never left your side. He always insisted the two of you stay together.  And so you did.  Fighting the living dead, but sometimes the living too when things got even more terrible, and scavenging was your everyday routine now.

You lost track of time and could only follow when the seasons changed.  But Dabi was really the only thing getting you through this.  Seeing people destroy one another for food or shelter destroyed you inside.  Never knowing if these zombies you were killing were someone you had known at one point, or just another faceless dead person tore at every corner of your brain.  Dabi stayed strong for the two of you.  Holding you every night on the ripped blankets, you could gather for the strange bed the two of you slept in.  You would sob into his muscled chest about how you couldn't live in this world anymore, how you couldn't kill another person, alive or dead.

But Dabi would never let go.  He would hold you close and let your never-ending tears stain the only shirt he had now.  He would rub your back with his warm hands; even though his rusting staples would catch on your shirt and rip from his skin, he still did it.  He would hold you until you fell asleep, whispering how strong you were and how he could never do this without you.  And after all the tears, you were thankful too.  Because without him, you'd be dead or alone.  You knew that without Dabi, you would have never survived this long.

But you could see Dabi was hurting too.  You couldn't find supplies to treat his decaying skin.  He hid his daily pain from you, but when Dabi thought you weren't looking or listening, he would hiss at the pain of another staple pulling at his burnt skin or let out a huge sigh when he would try to put it back together, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The only hope the two of you held onto was each other and that possibly a cure would come soon.  Not that either you could really access that information with no electricity; there wasn't any way to get information other than hearsay.  You survived the best you could in this world.

And as much as this wasn't what you would have picked for either of you, at least you had each other.  You tried not to think of a time when you wouldn't be together, even though the chances of that happening were high- it hurt too much. To survive in this world without Dabi would be too fucking much.

It's almost as if fate chose to play a cruel game with the two of you.  It seemed like a "normal" trip out to scavenge for food and water.  The two of you had to expand your search area since places closer were mainly empty.

This time you found yourself outside of a convenience store, a reasonable distance away from your home.  It hadn't been completely destroyed by some miracle and was not overrun by the zombified people.  Still, in a state of decay, though, Dabi was quickly able to kick his heavy boots through the door and get the two of you in.

Sauntering through the gas station, you quickly begin to pick up canned food and stale bags of chips and shove them in your worn backpack.  Dabi is doing the same on other aisles until he lets out a chuckle.  "Hey babe, look what I found."  He says with a cocky voice holding up a few boxes of wrapped condoms above the aisle for you to see.

You roll your eyes.  "Thanks, Dabi. Is sex really what we want to be thinking about right now? Let's just get this shit and get out."  You let out with an annoyed huff and continue to push the limits of how much your bag can hold.

Dabi comes over to your aisle and snakes his arms around your waist with your back pressed to his chest.  He places his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.  "Yes, all I can think about is getting your beautiful body back home and finally being able to finish in you, and with these, I can."  He lets out a dark chuckle as he pulls you closer against him and bucks  his hips playfully.

"Okay, horn dog, let's get this shit done, and then we can do whatever you want back home."  You let out with an eye roll.  It's hard to stay mad at him. You know he's trying to keep things light for you, to keep you happy because he can see how hard this is.  And his regular teasing is one way he knows will bring a smile to your face.

As you are finishing up trying to take inventory of anything else in the store that you can take back, you spot the clear plastic that holds the cartons of cigarettes behind the cashier counter.  While you didn't necessarily want Dabi smoking, you knew he missed the vice. Cigarettes were just as hard to find as medicine in this new world.  Smiling to yourself, you move behind the counter and reach for the plastic flap to lift it up.

As you try to lift the latch, it doesn't budge. You look around for what might be blocking it before seeing the tiny silver keyhole to one side of the compartment.  Crap, of course, it's locked.    You really wanted to surprise Dabi with this.  Maybe you still could. The key had to be here somewhere, right? You think while scanning around the counter.  You try searching through the counters for a hidden key but no luck.  Letting out a heavy sigh, you call Dabi over.

Dabi wanders over to your annoyed face and can't help but smile at your slight pout.  "I wanted to surprise you! But I can't open it. Can you get it, please?"  It comes out almost like a whine as you gesture to the cigarettes.

Dabi's smirk turns into a genuine smile, and he pats the top of your head before saying, "My sweet doll.  Thank you for thinking of me. Let me help you out."  You could smack him, but instead, you watch as he hastily rips the plastic covering away and slips his hand below it to grab one of the wrapped cartons.

At that moment, everything changes.  The fun times the two of you were having shatters as a loud alarm rings through the store.  Panic floods your system as you stare at Dabi wide-eyed.  "There is no electricity. What's happening? There shouldn't be an alarm."  Horror is laced in your voice as words spill out of you.  Every walking corpse within miles will be here soon with the sound.

"Fuck, must have had a battery attachment. Come on, let's go."  Dabi's usual playfulness is gone as he abandons the cigarettes and grabs your hand.  He's grave now.  Getting the two of you out of here safely is his only goal.

You follow Dabi quickly, a hand grasped tightly in his as he runs towards the broken-down front door.   And that's when even more terror settles into you.  Zombies are pushing their way through the open door.  Their rotting bodies and white eyes focused on the area where the alarm is coming from.  There weren't many around when you broke in, but now it seems like they are multiplying by the moment.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Dabi curses under his breath, quickly turning around and pulling you towards the building's back exit.  You follow behind adrenaline surging through your veins fueled by your flight response.  Dabi grasps at the metal handle to the back door and shakes it only to find it locked.  "Damnit!"  he shouts before kicking the door violently.

Your heart is pounding, and you feel helpless as you stare at Dabi while he continues to slam himself at the door.  While the front door was glass and flimsier, this door was only budging slightly.  With all your focus on the door, you don't notice the continuously growing herd filtering into the gas station.  Not until you feel one brush against your shoulder.

Your eyes widen as you feel a scream bubbling in your throat.  This is it.   This is where the two of you die and either become fodder for a herd of living dead or turn into one yourself.   Your brain is pure panic as thoughts fly through faster than you can catch them.  You don't even realize you have screamed out Dabi's name until you see his face turn towards yours.

His typically blue eyes are almost entirely covered by his dark pupils as he takes in the monstrosities behind you.  But unlike you, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls out a knife he keeps in one of his pockets and slams it into the decaying skull of the zombie that is right behind you.  Splurts of dark blood hit your cheek as he pulls out the knife, and the creature behind you crumples to the floor.

"Keep trying the door! I'll keep them off you."  Dabi shouts, pulling you into the spot he previously stood.  Your heartbeat is so loud you can feel it in your head, and you can't even make a coherent response as you begin to slam your body against the solid surface.  You can feel it give a little more with each push of your body, and everything in you is screaming not to give up.  Doing your best not to glance at Dabi's grunting and movements as he continues to try and put down zombie after zombie.

You can't give up; this can't be the end . Desperately your brain is screaming as you continue to feel the door give more and more.  Your shoulder hurts from the continued impact, but you aren't letting it slow you down.  You can feel it; it's almost there.

Suddenly the door gives, and you can see the sun shining through on the other side.  You cry out in  relief and turn back to tell Dabi to come with you.  But as your eyes meet, fear fills every ounce of you.

He's still fighting them off, but there is a gaping bite wound on his right arm— rows of teeth marks embedded in his skin.  You feel like you're going to be sick. There is no coming back from this; there's no known cure.  At any point within the next twenty-four hours, he would be another one of the walking dead, no sense, no logic, and looking to consume others. This can't be happening, this can't be happening.  Your heart is sinking with every second that ticks by.

"What the fuck are you waiting for? Get out! Get out!"  Dabi screams at you as he embeds his knife in another zombie.

"No, no, I can't leave without you!  I-we can find something.  I'll find something, please! Come on, Dabi, I can't do this without you!"  You are sobbing now, hot tears streaming through the dirt and blood mixed on your face.  An ache in your heart starts to form.  You know you don't know how to help him, but you'll do anything to not leave him behind.

Dabi lets out a grin despite the feral dead people closing in on him.  And gives you a wink before saying in a voice that seems too calm for the situation, "Come on, doll, you are the most intelligent person I know.  You have to go.  Live for us, babe.  Look at how far we've come.  Go show this world that it won't ever break you down. I love you, and I'll come to find you wherever you are in the afterlife and annoy the shit out of you.  Now go!"

It's like your heart is being ripped into a thousand pieces. Your breath comes out in short huffs, moving towards hyperventilating.  You want to go back to Dabi and cling on for dear life, but you won't let him die in vain.  Not after that speech.  That would be an insult to everything the two of you have overcome.  So with all your strength, you give your lover, the man who has come so far with you, the last look before letting out a final "I love you too" and burst out the door.

You don't look back, aching feet propelling you forward as tears continue to stream and fall off your face.  When you first met Dabi, you would have never thought you'd miss him.  But you will , you'll miss every snarky comment, every flirty glance, and the tender way only he has loved you.  The man that you were sure was just some asshole trying to get laid became the love of your life and sacrificed himself so you could live.  And you could never let that go to waste.

[willow-salix]

TAG MiniBang 2021

Because the combined bad influences of Flyboy and Sonata were at work here we also decided to bend the rules a little and post early...

I was privileged to work with one of my best friends on this project,  @misssquidtracy​ . We went a little rogue (seems to be a theme for us) and shared both parts of the challenge with both of us contributing to the art and the writing. Squiddy provided a beautifully done pallet knife piece as the background for my foreground art and we plotted the story together to ensure that it worked for both of us. We had been looking forward to sharing the writing but unfortunately, due to life constraints on her part she was only able to write a little of the fic but what she did add perfectly compliments the tone and style of my writing. 

Big thanks to @tagminibang ) @godsliltippy​ ) for organising this event.

So, here it is, our offering to the TAG Mini Bang. We hope you enjoy it. 

Ting ting ting

“Not again,” Virgil groaned, hauling himself up the stairs from the kitchen to the lounge. He regretted ever giving Gordon that bell, he really did. Yes his brother had gone through a tough time, yes he had scared the hell out of them when the Chaos Crew had left him at the bottom of the ocean in his mangled craft, yes they were incredibly grateful that he was alive and mostly whole, but if they had to hear that dinging one more time they might possibly murder him themselves. 

“Yes, Gordy, what do you need?” 

“I’m lonely, and I’m hungry, come and sit with me for a bit?”

“Sure-”

“But maybe make me a sandwich first?”

“A sandwich?” 

“Yeah, with extra cheese and a pickle on the side, not too large a pickle but not too small that it’s gone in one bite. I want to taste it, you know, but not be overwhelmed.”

“Sure-”

“And can you get me a drink too? One of my special milkyshakes, you know, with the ice cream and frozen banana in it?”

“Coming right up,” Virgil sighed, heading back down to the kitchen again.

“Gordon still demanding everything and anything?” Scott asked as he jogged in from the poolside. His T-shirt was sticking to his chest and his hair was damp with sweat but he still looked like he could do it all again. Not that they would have time, they were lucky if they got to do any planned exercise at all, usually they were forced to skip it and work out on the job when a call came in.

“Of course he is,” Virgil growled, slapping a slice of cheese on a piece of bread with far more force than necessary.

“What did the cheese do to you?”

“It’s guilty by association.”

“Ah,” Scott said, like that explained things perfectly. 

A few slices of chicken received the same treatment and Scott wondered if the meat had actually been dead when it arrived on the island or if Virgil had simply smacked it into submission so well that the chicken had flown clear into next week and arrived as sandwich filling.

“Can you fix his drink?” Virgil asked.

“Can’t gotta shower this off before Grandma accuses me of stinking up the place again.”

“Any excuse,” Virgil scowled. “It would only take you a second.”

“A second too long, bro, I’m escaping while I can and you’d be wise to do the same,” Scott said, heading for the stairs and freedom.

“How can I escape when Gordon needs help?”

“You’re forgetting one important thing,” Scott told him wisely. 

“I am? And that would be…”

“John’s home.”

Virgil snorted out a laugh. “He’s less likely to do it than you are.”

“No, you're misunderstanding me. If John’s home that means…” Scott let his sentence trail off into silence heavily filled with insinuation.

“Sel’s here,” Virgil finished triumphantly, catching on perfectly.

“Give that Tracy a prize,” Scott grinned, shooting triumphant finger guns his brother’s way as he headed up the stairs. 

And they said that John was the genius in the family, they hadn’t seen Scott at his most devious. Virgil wasted no time in yanking out his phone and texting the witch to come and take over.

“Here’s your sammich, Squidward,” Selene cooed, plonking the plate down on Gordon’s lap while smacking a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil started it but I finished it for you, Brains called him down to his lab with some kind of air filter emergency so I took over. I brought you some of those crisps you like from my private stash too.”

“The cheesy curl ones?” Gordon asked hopefully.

“Yep,” she grinned, waggling a family sized bag of Quavers in his general direction.

“Did you bring my drink?” Gordon asked around a mouthful of chickeny goodness. Say what you wanted about Virgil but he made a damn good sandwich, even if Gordon could taste that this was made with a little less love and a little more impatience than usual.

“No, sorry, did you want one? Virgil didn’t say that. I’ll go get you something, just wait right there.”

"Not like I can leave if the mood takes me," Gordon grumbled as he opened the chip bag. 

She was already gone, only to race back in a few moments later with a can of coke.

“What? What’s wrong, boo?” Selene asked when she saw the pouting look of disappointment on Gordon’s face.

“It was supposed to be one of my special milkyshakes,” he whined.

“Right, got it, my bad!”

She was gone again, taking off to the kitchen where, upon closer inspections, she did indeed find the beginnings of a milkshake. There were two scoops of ice cream already in the blender, melting in the warmth of the room. A half peeled banana sat abandoned on the counter next to a carton of milk. 

“Typical,” she groused as she set about breaking up the banana, pouring the milk and setting it to blend as she tidied the mess away. Once done she poured it into a tall glass, added a straw and a few slices of fresh banana to decorate the edges, just as he liked it, and delivered it to the waiting aquanaut.

“Great, thanks, Sel,” he grinned, handing her his now empty plate and swapping it for the glass. She put the plate on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

 “Sit with me and keep me company?” he begged, looking so miserable and pathetic that she couldn’t say no.

“Of course I will.” 

Gordon swung his injured leg up and she moved to sit next to him on the couch, placing a cushion on her lap for him to rest his cast covered foot on.

Gordon settled down with a contented sigh, sucking happily on his straw, the milkshake level in the glass steadily dropping.

“I’m bored,” Gordon bitched five minutes later.

“That peace lasted a long time,” Selene laughed, putting her phone down on the side table to give him her full attention. “What can I do to help? Do you want to watch something or play a game?”

Gordon made a face. “You’re crap at games, Sel.”

One eyebrow rose in disbelief. “I wouldn’t exactly say crap…”

“You tried to play with Alan and died three times in two minutes, lost all your lives and were forced to float along behind him as a ghost for the rest of his turn.”

“Anything is crap when you say it like that,” Selene huffed. 

“Only when it’s true.”

“Tell me then, oh great games master, what do you want to do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t moan you’re bored,” she pointed out.

“I mean there’s nothing to do. No one is around.”

Selene gestured to her chest. “Am I suddenly invisible?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffed. “That would be far too cool, why don’t you have witch powers like that?”

“Because I live in the real world, not a movie?”

“Lame,” he declared, dismissing it.

“Back to the original point that I am, in fact, right here. Therefore your comment that no one is around is redundant.”

“I meant no one I can do anything with.”

“Thin ice, bub, thin ice.”

“I meant like my brothers or someone. Alan is busy revising for his final exams, Virgil’s with Brains and I’ve no idea where Scott is but I think he’s avoiding me, which is just mean if you ask me. I’m a delight.”

“Yeah, you sure are,” she drawled, not sounding too convinced. “You’re also forgetting a brother.”

“Who?”

“John? You know, gorgeous ginger love of my life that’s chilling in his room right this minute? That brother?”

“John? No way.”

“What’s wrong with John?” she squawked indignantly. Her man was the most perfect of people, amazing and fabulous, just all round awesome. Although she might be a tad biased.

Gordon shrugged, scrunching his nose up in a ‘meh’ kinda way that said everything and nothing.

“No, come on, tell me what you meant,” she demanded.

“No offence, Sel, but John’s a bit…”

“A bit what?” she asked, her tone warning him that he was in very dangerous territory.

Gordon, with the grace of an elephant and confidence of a man that knew he was injured and therefore wouldn’t get slapped, plowed on.

“A bit boring.”

“Boring?!” she hollered, her voice travelling to the four corners of the island so effectively that Alan lifted his head, wondering if some distant God was echoing his thoughts as he slogged through his history homework.

“How very dare you!” Selene continued, working up a good glare that Gordon was completely immune to. He simply sipped the last of his milkshake, smacked his lips and raised an eyebrow, daring her to do something about it.

“He is not boring.”

“Matter of opinion,” Gordon shrugged, handing her the glass to put down on the table. 

“Right, that’s it, you can besmirch my fun factor but I will not allow you to do so to my man. That’s a step too far.” She gently, for which he was thankful, shoved his leg off her lap and dragged his hover chair over from its spot beside Virgil’s piano.

“Get the hell in, hoppy, we’re going for a ride.”

-x-

"You deal with him, he's driving me nuts and pissing me off at the same time."

"Me? I'm the very picture of perfection, I could never drive anyone nuts."

John declined to comment on that one for fear of never stopping, he had twenty-four years worth of stories after all. 

“The pissing you off is subjective too,” Gordon finished triumphantly. 

"He's your problem now," Selene announced, shoving Gordon's hover chair further into the room before making her escape, slamming the door shut behind her. 

John closed his eyes, praying for patience. His fiancée was well known for her legendary patience when it came to pampering and mothering his family whenever any of them were sick or injured. She'd spent almost every day with Gordon since his run in with the Chaos Crew and had done so with relentless cheer, for her to have given up now was not a good sign. 

"What did you do?" 

"Nothing!" Gordon protested hotly.

"Are you sure?" 

Gordon averted his gaze, suddenly taking great interest in a dust particle dancing across the shaft of sunlight filtering in through the window, "Yes, I'm sure. I wasn't doing anything. That was part of the problem."

"Ah," there it was. "Is there anything I can do to help?" 

"I'm so bored," Gordon wailed. "And your girlfriend is being mean to me."

"Fiancée," John corrected him, not looking up from his work. 

"It's not my fault I hate sitting around doing nothing all day. I’ve gone from a physically and mentally intensive, fifty plus hour a week job, to sitting on my ass from dawn until dusk. Can you blame a guy for getting twitchy?"

"Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice at the moment," John reminded him, quite needlessly he thought. 

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Gordon huffed, trying to cross his arms although the cast and sling he was sporting prevented it. That just seemed to annoy him even more. 

"I can't do anything right now! How do you do it?" 

"Do what?" John asked, squinting through his magnifier at the small window frame he was carving from a piece of polymer clay. 

"Just sit around all day."

John raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "I don't sit around all day."

"OK, float around then. It's not like you're actively running around like the rest of us are."

"I'll pretend I never heard you say that," John scowled, wishing Selene had dumped his brother into the sea instead of into his quiet, peaceful room. 

"You're sitting around right now," Gordon pointed out, gesturing to the desk John was  sitting at, which was currently doing double duty as a work table for his latest project. 

"One day you'll learn to appreciate the benefits of a quiet, occupied mind and a still body," John told him. 

Gordon sighed, propping his good elbow on the desktop, his chin resting in his upturned palm as he watched his brother fiddling with tiny things that seemed utterly useless to him. 

"What are you even doing?" 

"Working on a series of book nooks for Sel's side of the bookcase," John answered, sounding slightly distracted as he measured the finished window against its place in an intricately carved brick wall. 

"Why?" 

"Because she likes them."

"I mean why are you making it? Can't you just buy her one? It's not like you can't afford it."

"Where's the challenge in that? Besides, things are always more special when you make them yourself."

Gordon yawned and leant forward to rest his head on the tabletop. 

"Do you want to help?" John offered, although honestly Gordon's version of helping was always patchy at best. 

Gordon scooted closer to look over John's shoulder, eyes darting over the rectangular box that he was building the nook inside. About the size of two thick books sandwiched together, the nook already had a little cobbled street and two shop fronts in place. The tabletop was scattered with a selection of impossibly tiny screwdrivers, picks, scalpels and other instruments of possible torture that he couldn't hope to name. 

"Pass," he announced decisively, flicking the control of his hoverchair so he spun in a wide circle, pointing to the door. "I'm out."

"Peace at last," John sighed, flicking his magnifier back into place over his right eye as he set aside the window to be baked later and reached for a fresh blob of clay. 

-x-

"What ya dooooooing?" Gordon yodelled, slamming the bedroom door open so hard that it smacked into the wall and shook several picture frames. He scooted his way into the room without even waiting for an invite. 

"Gordon!" John huffed, clutching his heart where it was trying to leap out of his chest from the shock of his brother’s sudden, and very noisy, entrance. 

"Hi, I got bored, thought I'd drop in on my favourite big brother," Gordon grinned as he glided his hoverchair closer. 

"Are Scott and Virgil busy?" John asked, that would be the only reason Gordon would have promoted him to his favourite. 

"Yes," Gordon admitted, "but that's not the reason why I'm here."

John turned his head to shoot him a raised eyebrow of doom, clearly communicating without words that he didn't believe him in the slightest. 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Working on this book nook," John replied patiently, holding up the small cauldron he was crafting. 

"The same one?" 

"Yes."

Gordon’s eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Still? It’s been four days!"

"Yes," John hissed out, starting to get frustrated by the constant questions. 

"Why?" 

"Because it takes a long time. If you're going to do a project you should do it right."

"At the speed you're going it's gonna take forever," Gordon snorted, casting an assessing eye over the work John had already done. 

"That doesn't matter," John assured him. "It's not really about the time it takes or the end result, it's about the process, the journey to get there."

"Sounds lame to me," Gordon yawned. 

"Obviously," John drawled, rolling his eyes. 

"What do you mean by that?" Gordon demanded to know, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

"Because it's you."

"Hey! Rude."

"Accurate," John said, placing the little cauldron down and selecting another piece of clay which he placed on a ceramic tile. 

"Why?"

"Because it requires a calm mind. It's good to slow down sometimes and just be still."

"Says the console jockey." 

Console Jockey? He did not just say that!

"So you don't think my job is stressful? Or as tiring and important as yours?" John snapped, wondering if it was bad form to smack your injured brother around the head with a partially constructed book nook. He glanced at the nook, he had put a lot of work into it… It would be a shame to waste it. That thought alone saved Gordon. 

“Well, yeah I get that it might be a bit stressful, but it’s not like you have to do much that puts you in danger, not like us,” Gordon continued, digging his hole even deeper, a hole that John was looking forward to shoving him into.

“We all have our specialities, you couldn’t do your job without me doing mine,” John retorted, trying very hard not to let Gordon’s comments get to him. Gordon would never understand what it was like for him to be stuck so far away from the action, away from his brothers when things were going wrong. 

Gordon, thankfully for him, had been unconscious from the moment he had activated his emergency code. He hadn’t heard the frantic calls going out over the comms as the family mobilized to help him.  He hadn’t heard the desperate scramble as Thunderbirds took off, racing to the scene. But John had heard it all. 

John had been the one to stay on the line with Gordon, talking to him the entire time, knowing that he probably wouldn’t hear it but feeling that he needed to say it all the same. He wanted to know that if his little brother regained consciousness for even a second he would hear a familiar voice, that he would know that they were coming, that they would rescue him. He would know that he wasn’t alone.

 He knew what it was like for people that were in danger, knew the comfort they got from someone talking to them, listening to their stories, being there for them verbally if not physically. John was often the one that spent the most amount of time with those they rescued, keeping their spirits up as much as possible until his brothers got there. 

His brothers were seen by their rescuees as the real heroes, the ones that leapt in and plucked them out of danger, but John was the one that got them that help, the one that made sure the rescue played out as best it could, liaising and coordinating until the job was done. But Virgil, Scott, Gordon and Alan were the ones that got the thanks , the ones that got the hugs after they dropped their charges off, not John. 

Not that he minded too much, he knew that his job was just as important as theirs, maybe even more so because, when someone put out that call for help, when they sent their desperate plea out into the world, they deserved to know that someone would always be listening out for it, that someone would hear and that help would come.

He knew all of this, and he knew that Gordon did too, it was just the frustration of inactivity that was making him say the things that he was. John just wished that that knowledge made it easier to listen to. 

“I might not be doing the physical rescuing,” John continued, feeling the need to push his point home. “But I work just as hard, when you’re home you’re off duty until a call comes in, you can relax, swim, watch movies and laze around until you’re needed. When I’m up there I’m on duty 24/7 and even when I do manage to catch some sleep it’s not deep or particularly restful. Any little noise, any call that triggers the system's keyword algorithm gets transferred automatically, I have to go from asleep to awake in seconds to take it.”

Gordon was quiet for once, watching him closely. John didn’t like it, it made him feel like an exhibit in a zoo. And here we have the little seen Tracy, see how he stays inside his hide and hardly ever ventures out… he knew how they saw him, why they likely thought he had the easy job. 

“These help, they give me something else to focus on. I need to keep my mind active and challenged while still trying to relax.” John paused, trying to think of a way to explain his thinking that Gordon might understand. 

“These are almost like a meditation,” he started. Gordon understood meditation and finding your zone. “Creating something out of almost nothing. It keeps my mind focused, helps with finger dexterity and hand eye coordination with the added bonus of it relaxing me. It’s good to slow down and take some time to do something creative, you should try it some time.” 

Gordon listened to his brother and he tried to take in all his words, he tried to understand the meaning behind them, he really did, but it just didn’t make any sense to him. He understood about wanting to be lazy, to sit around and do nothing sometimes. He loved to laze on the couch with his snackies and an Into the Unknown marathon playing out on the holoscreen, but that was watching something exciting, interesting, to him that was relaxing. This...whatever it was that John was actually doing, made no sense whatsoever to him. The idea of trying to relax by actually thinking...that was the most alien concept of all. 

Gordon knew, probably better than his family gave him credit for, what it was like to be mislabelled. Within every sibling pool, there were the mandatory roles: the serious one, the caring one, the smart one, the funny one, the calm one, the angry one, the one who sang in the shower, et cetera. He’d proudly embraced the role of ‘the funny one’, and had diligently flown the flag for the humour camp for as long as he could remember. If a brother came home from a rescue in a slump and needed a cheery pick-me-up, it was Gordon who stepped up to the task, irrespective of his own mood. His smile and laugh were infectious, and he had yet to encounter a frown he couldn’t (eventually) turn upside down.

But with every ‘role’ came misconceptions. Scott was serious, therefore people were quick to automatically assume that he was a killjoy.  Similarly, John’s intellect and preference for solitude often went hand in hand with him being branded antisocial, since there was apparently no possible way someone could enjoy their own company so much, yet still pursue and maintain meaningful relationships with actual people.

Gordon was no stranger to this treatment. He liked to laugh and be spontaneous, and consequently, was often regarded as the Tracy who didn’t take his work seriously, the Tracy who had the attention span of a gnat (albeit a very handsome one), and the Tracy who couldn’t be trusted with anything that required delicacy, be it physical or emotional. His affinity for making people laugh, though an exceptional quality, frequently acted as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his relentless optimism made him the most effective of the bunch when it came to emergencies involving children and young adults. On the other hand, it sentenced him to a fate where the bad jokes he cracked would always be two steps ahead of the secret deep thinker that lay within.

“Let me see it again,” Gordon sighed, trying his best to be a supportive and understanding brother, since he did feel a little bad about the things he had just said. He hadn’t meant to say them, they had just come out. That was the trouble with being laid up from an injury, not only were you out of action but you were in pain, and pain made you grumpy and less likely to monitor the things that came out of your mouth the way you should.

He knew that John worked hard, hell he knew that what his brother had said was right, John was never truly off duty. They were all aware that he didn’t get enough sleep, enough down time, enough time to relax and just be. They knew that if John was on Five he would consider himself on duty, at work, and therefore he’d never allow himself to take time out. Things had changed since Selene had blundered her way into his life, now he spent a lot more time on the Island, which meant that he was finally taking some time out for himself. If one of the ways he chose to do that was by crafting ridiculously tiny things out of clay to stick in a hollowed out box that was his business. Gordon wasn’t there to judge, he was there to spend time with his brother.

John moved aside a little so Gordon could get a closer look, trying to resist the urge to smack his hand away every time Gordon reached for a tiny piece that had taken him hours to perfect. 

“These are really small,” Gordon mused, poking at a window that John had just finished painting, leaving behind a smudged fingerprint. “Woops, sorry, Bro.”

“Maybe you should try making something of your own,“ John suggested, carefully removing the window from his brother's possession and picking up a brush in order to attempt a fix.

Gordon nodded and John passed him a ceramic tile and a miniature rolling pin. 

“How about you try cutting me out a few shop sign bases?” John suggested.

“Do I get one of those scalpel things?” Gordon asked, a little too eagerly for John’s liking.

“Maybe we can work up to that,” John hedged, subtly moving the scalpel out of his brother’s reach and passing him a square cookie cutter. “Use this cutter for now.”

Gordon shrugged and spent a few minutes rolling and squishing the clay trying to get the thickness to the exact measurement that John insisted on. It wasn’t easy or fun.

“Nope!” Gordon announced, giving up and pushing the tile away. “It’s still boring. Pass.”

He swung his hoverchair around and headed in the direction of the door. “Later, Bro.”

“Oh...OK...later, I guess,” John stuttered, wondering just what he had done to deserve such a chaotic family as his.

“Oh, hey, boo, where are you go- WAHH!”

John’s head shot up as Selene’s yelp rang out from the hallway.

“Sorry!” 

“So you should be, you little shit,” she grumbled to his retreating back as she thumped into the room.

“What happened, love?”

“Let’s just say that if his chair had wheels I’d have lost a few toes,” she said, wincing in imagined pain. 

John scooted his desk chair back and patted his lap in offer, one that she happily accepted.

“So, why was Gordy doing his boy racer bit? What did you say to him?”

“Me? What makes you think I said anything to him?”

“Because I know you two?” 

“Fair,” he sighed, sliding his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

Selene turned her head to look at him, not liking the helpless look on his face.

“Babe, you are helping him, you’re there to keep him company or talk to him if he needs it, that’s more important than anything. What happened to make you think that you weren’t helping?”

“He was asking me about these again,” John nodded towards his work area on the desktop. “But he didn’t seem to understand, that or he just didn’t want to.”

“He’s Gordon,” she sighed. “You know what he’s like, he’s full on, he’s in your face and he’s not at all subtle. Taking his time with things just doesn’t compute with him.”

“It would do him good though, if he doesn’t learn to embrace it he’ll be exactly the same as he was last time.”

“Was he really that bad?” she asked, concern lacing her voice. 

John nodded. “He doesn’t do inactivity well. When he had his hydrofoil accident his therapist talked him into signing up for a virtual college degree in Environmental Management of Rivers and Wetlands. It was supposed to take him at least a year as a part time course with ANU in Canberra, but he blew through it in the first semester and earned himself a distinction for his insights on the impact of Anthropogenic Noise on Wetland Habitats. His professor was so impressed he offered him a fully funded PhD, citing his time with WASP and the time he spent in the bathyscaphe as practical experience that would make up for his lack of degree. Obviously he turned it down, but he still likes to rub our faces in it now and then.”

“Wow,” Selene breathed. “Forget his professor being impressed, I’m impressed.”

“He has a phenomenal brain,” John said, a small but very proud smile on his face. “When he actually decides to use it to its full potential, that is. There is nothing he can't do when he chooses to focus on something, he’s all in. It really helped him to feel like he was gaining something and moving forward even though he was sitting still.”

Selene nodded, understanding completely. She knew that all of her boys were wicked smart, but Gordon always presented himself as the least academic. He was more of a doer, wanting to be out in the field, learning as he went, diving in head first to every situation. 

But as Selene and John both knew, appearances could be deceiving.

“If that’s what helped him last time, then we need to find a way to convince him to try something new,” Selene insisted. 

“I tried, he’s not interested.”

“That was with your things, babe. We need to find something that’s a little more him, and I think I know just the thing.”

-x-

“I have arrived!” Gordon yodelled, announcing his entrance in his own unique way. He slid his hover chair in through the open door like the boss that he was, bringing his shining presence in to brighten up his middle brother's obviously dull existence. “Didja miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head,” John grumbled, turning to look at the grinning face of his brother. His eyes immediately began to water as they were assaulted by the far too bright colours of the shirt Gordon was wearing, a tie dyed monstrosity that Selene had made for him for his birthday. 

“A little more gratitude, if you please," Gordon huffed. 

“Grandma finally released you?”

“Yep,” Gordon stretched out his injured leg and patted the air cast on his now slingless arm. “Got time off for good behaviour.”

“I find that hard to believe,” John teased, then nodded to Gordon’s arm. “How’s it feeling?”

“Not too bad, my grip still isn't great but Grandma promised me that once the bone has finished knitting I’ll just need to exercise it and build the muscle strength up, then it’ll be as good as new.”

“That’s great, it won't be long before you're able to go back out with Virgil and stop, how did Sel put it, 'haunting the house like the ghost of Christmas future'?"

"Can't come soon enough," Gordon sighed, butting his chair right up close to John's, knocking his arm in the process. "What you do- you're still doing that? Still? It's been a week!" 

"It's not like I get a huge amount of down time," John pointed out. "I'm only here now because Sel said she'd dump me if I didn't make an effort to come down earlier in the evenings so I could actually eat a meal with you all."

"You actually believed that threat?" Gordon laughed. 

"Of course not, she'd never dump me, but I thought I had better humour her and let her feel like she at least had a little sway," John shrugged, pushing aside the little piece of doorstep he had been painting. "Honestly, it's nice to come down for a meal and family time, I hadn't realised how much I'd missed it until it was happening again."

"I guess we all got a bit too caught up in International Rescue after we lost Dad," Gordon admitted. 

"Like we had nothing else in our lives," John nodded, completely understanding. 

"Yep."

Gordon fell silent and John let him, concentrating on mixing the perfect colour acrylic to add a few highlights to his stones. 

"Can I have a go at making something? I bet I could do it quicker than you," Gordon asked, reaching towards what Selene called the sharps tub. John smacked the lid down on it just in time. 

"Actually, we got you a present."

"You did?" Instantly distracted, Gordon sat up straighter, excited by the prospect of a gift. "What did you get me?" 

This," John answered, opening his desk drawer and extracting an interestingly shaped bottle, upright with a thicker, rounded bottom and a thinner neck, ending a cork stopper. 

"Wow, is that an original?" Gordon asked, taking the bottle carefully and turning it to  study it from all angles. He knew exactly what this shaped bottle was, there had been a collection of them in Commander Shore’s office that he would stare at every time he got called in for some reprimand or another.

"19th century," John nodded. "Sel found it in a little shop in Mayfair. They assured her it was a genuine, used on a ship, captain's decanter from around the time of the civil war. They hadn’t fully traced it when Sel bought it but they think it came from one of the ships that fought in one of the smaller skirmishes around 1861.”

“This is really cool, thanks,” Gordon smiled, still turning the bottle over and over.

“It’s to hold this,” John continued, drawing Gordon’s attention back to him.

Grinning, John delved back into his desk drawer and pulled out a rather faded and quite dusty box. He brushed the dirt off the top and slid it over to Gordon. 

"A ship?" Gordon frowned. 

"Yep, Selene and I thought that you needed a little project of your own, so she had the idea to get you a ship in a bottle. You don’t see them a lot these days, but apparently her Grandfather had a couple and they always fascinated her.”

“So you put the ship in the bottle?”

“Yep, instructions are inside, go nuts.”

“Pfft, instructions,” Gordon snorted. “No one needs instructions, they’re a waste of time.”

-x-

“Ouch,” John hissed, hopping in place on one foot as he bent down to pick up what looked to be a tiny piece of mast that had attacked the sole of his foot. “Gordon, why are there bits of ship all over my floor?”

“Because I dropped them,” Gordon replied, his voice muffled due to the tongue of concentration that was peeking out from between his teeth.

Huffing, John gathered all the pieces off the floor, both pieces of ship and bits that they had been cut out of, and deposited them on the desk next to Gordon.

“How’s it coming along?” John asked, settling in his own chair. He’d only been gone a day but Gordon had managed to take over the entire bedroom, spreading his belongings, bottles, snack wrappers, his phone and a discarded hoodie, all over the place, as well as half the contents of the vintage ship box.

“It’s ridiculous. I think it’s missing pieces or something, it’s broken.”

“Well it was an old kit, but we were assured that it was complete,” John frowned, sliding the tray over that Gordon was supposed to be storing all the pieces in. “Have you checked the contents list and matched each piece to make sure they’re all there?”

Gordon looked at him blankly, like he was talking a foreign language.

“Did you check that everything was there before you started?" John elaborated.

“Of course I did,” Gordon promised, crossing his fingers and hoping his brother didn’t see. 

“Against the list?” John clarified.

“I eyeballed it, OK?”

“Not good enough,” John insisted. “That’s not how you go about doing things like this, you can’t just slap them together and hope for the best.”

“Why not?” Gordon whined. It worked for him in almost everything else he did in life. 

“Because this happens," John gestured to the mess surrounding them.

“Fine, I’ll read the damn instructions.”

Leaving Gordon to it John slid his almost completed book nook over and picked up his paintbrush to start adding some finishing touches before he started on the wiring for the lights. He’d barely done more than five minutes when Gordon started huffing.

John waited a little longer, trying his hardest to ignore the ever increasing sounds of frustration and impatience from his brother. In the end he couldn't stand it a moment longer, he had to ask the most loaded question ever.

“What’s the problem?” John asked, pushing his own work aside.

“These instructions don’t make sense,” Gordon bitched, flapping the paper in John’s face. “Look at the little picture here, you have to stick this little pole into that hole in the deck but the deck doesn’t want to stay together and that piece there keeps sliding and the pictures make no sense.”

“That’s because you missed around eight steps in between,” John told him, praying for patience. 

“No I didn't, I followed the pictures exactly,” Gordon insisted. 

“The steps aren’t in the pictures,” John explained. “See right there?” he pointed to the words above the pictures. “The pictures are a diagram of each finished stage, not how to get there. They are for reference only, not instructions.”

“Urghhh, this is going to take forever,” Gordon pouted, crossing his arms. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that by the end of it you’ll have something unique that no one else does, something you can be proud of and know that you built with your own two hands.”

“I’m not sure it’s worth the effort,” Gordon muttered.

“It is,” John promised. “I’ll help. How about I read out the instructions and you follow along? We’ll get through it quicker that way.”

Gordon wasn’t convinced, but John looked so hopeful that he didn’t have the heart to refuse him, especially since he and Selene had gone to so much trouble to get the things for him in the first place. He might be a miserable little sod, but he wasn’t that ungrateful. He knew that they had gone out of their way to get something they thought he’d like, the least he could do was make the thing, even if he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it. Maybe John was right, working together they could get through it quicker, and that could only be a good thing.

“Alright,” Gordon agreed, “let’s give it a go.”

Slowly, methodically, John read out each piece that was needed and Gordon located them, storing them neatly in a wooden box that Selene provided when she popped in to bring them drinks an hour or so later. She stayed just long enough to steal a kiss from John and drop one on the top of Gordon’s head before she beat a hasty retreat, not wanting to get roped into helping. She wasn’t the best at following instructions and didn’t want to get grumped at.

By the time they had all the pieces checked and catalogued they had discovered there were indeed two pieces missing, but thankfully they were easy fixes, just a small , round piece of wood to represent a porthole, which they could easily make a replacement for and a piece of mast. One snipped toothpick later and that was sorted too.

John started with the first set of instructions, reading them out patiently as Gordon found and fitted them together. 

“So, how’s work been?” Gordon asked, like a chatty hairstylist, as he carefully dipped the end of a thin dowel into a small pot of wood glue. 

“Same as ever,” John deadpanned, “a bunch of idiots that got themselves into trouble and needed help, and only half of them related to us.”

Gordon sniggered, glancing at John, seeing the sly smile on his brother’s face. He’d forgotten just how amusing John could be when he delivered something sarcastically witty with such a serious tone. Gordon hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it, wondering just what his more serious brother would come out with next. John was always like that, he seemed so quiet and reserved but, when he was relaxed and in company he was comfortable with he’d take you by surprise by letting loose a zinger that you couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Let’s not talk about work,” Gordon suggested, “we haven’t hung out properly in ages, you’re either up in Five or there are other people around.”

“Is that your way of saying you’ve missed me?” John teased.

“Maybe,” Gordon allowed, “but if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll deny it and tell Grandma you want her to make your birthday cake this year.”

John held his hands up in surrender, although he couldn’t hold in the laugh that bubbled up as he reached for the instructions again.

“OK, let’s get this done before we stop enjoying each other’s company.”

They worked slowly but steadily over the next few hours, putting together the structure for the first mast. Once it was done they called it quits and abandoned it for another day, the smell of something tasty coming from the kitchen proving to be too much to ignore.

-x-

 “Gordon, that’s my finger.”

“Oh, sorry, can you just like… I don’t know, yank it off?”

“If I wish to leave half my identifying fingerprints behind, yes.”

“Do you really need them?”

John didn’t dignify that with an answer, the look he threw at his brother communicated his thoughts perfectly. 

“OK, OK, I’ll get some dissolver from Virgil’s studio, wait right there,” Gordon instructed him, grabbing his crutches and hobbling his way out of the room. 

John sighed, keeping his hand perfectly still, the hull of the boat dangling from his fingertip. He was still there five minutes later when Gordon clumped his way back in, Selene hot on his heels. She had the glue dissolver under one arm, a large bag of chips under the other and a plate of sandwiches in each hand. 

She dumped the plates on the desk, then the chips, before turning to see the state her fiancé was in.

“Do I even want to know?” 

“Probably not,” Gordon winced, dropping down into his abandoned desk chair and reaching for a plate.

“Can you at least help me before you start stuffing your face?” John asked, waggling his hand, which made the boat sway violently from side to side.

“Can’t, eating,” Gordon mumbled around the massive mouthful he had just taken.

“What did I say?” she demanded to know. “No hurting the hands, you know how I feel about that.” 

John wiggled his fingers again, drawing her attention to his plight. He looked so pathetic with the half built little ship swinging from his hand that Selene took pity on him, intervening when he looked like he was about to grab the thing and yank it off himself, fingerprints be damned.

“Oh for the love of the Gods, let me do it!” Taking his hand she used a paintbrush to smear glue dissolver around the area of skin it was stuck to. She took her time, rewetting and using the brush bristles to push the dissolver under the boat, trying to  ease it free from his skin with minimal pulling.

“Thank you,” he sighed, sitting patiently while she worked. Thankfully it didn’t take her too long, although it took a lot of cursing under her breath and the odd ouch from him to get there. 

“One boat,” she announced, placing it triumphantly on the desk. 

“Fanks,” Gordon said, spraying chip crumbs as he did so.

“Welcome,” she said, brushing at her leg which had unfortunately been in splatter range. Still holding John’s hand she bestowed a kiss to each of his abused digits before releasing him. 

“Right, I’m out of here. Play nicely, you two, I don’t want to have to send Grandma in to babysit you both.”

“It won’t come to that,” John assured her, reaching for his own sandwich. “We’ve not got much left to do now. We just have to attach the rigging to the masts, check that they fold properly then insert th-”

“I’m out, I don’t need to hear anything about insertion, not after you just glued a boat to your hand,” Selene declared, her exit swift and to the point, the door shutting firmly behind her.

“She has a point,” Gordon admitted, swallowing his last bite. He pushed the chip bag in John’s direction, although there was barely more than a handful and a few crumbs left in it. 

“But we’ll never admit it to her face,” John insisted, steadily munching through the large sub she had brought for him. 

“Never,” Gordon agreed. 

-x- 

Gordon sighed dramatically as he crutched his way down the hall from his bedroom. John’s bedroom door was open but his brother wasn’t inside. The ship, now fully rigged, sat beside the bottle on the desk, just waiting to be placed inside once some sand had been poured in as a base. Gordon had chosen all different shades of blue to represent the sea and had even watched a few videos on how to do sand pouring art, something he’d never expected to find even remotely interesting, yet he couldn’t bring himself to go in and make a start on it.

John had barely been home the past week and when he had it had only been for food and enforced sleep. Even then he had been known to sneak out of bed the second Selene was asleep, being discovered on numerous occasions sitting at their father’s desk until the small hours working on this, that or the other. 

Emergencies, and therefore the need for their services, had seemed to increase three fold, something Selene was blaming on the moon phase and mercury going retrograde and, for want of a better explanation, they were all inclined to agree. There was no rhyme or reason for the surge in idiots that were calling in at all hours of the day and night with trucks caught under a too low bridge causing a pile up, hands stuck down toilets, drunks climbing to the top of electricity pylons and repair men getting trapped inside ATM machines they had been fixing.

His brothers had been on the go near constantly, whether it was from rescue call outs or working on their plan to find their father,  but none more so than John. While Selene had always been good at what she liked to call Tracy Wrangling, none more so that when she was dealing with a stressed out Scott, even she had admitted defeat and left them to their own devices. Self preservation was key after all. 

John had been dealing with not only rescue calls and Chaos Crew sightings, but signal tracking, GDF liaising and general hoop jumping, all of which had kept him far too busy.

It had been over a week since they had done anything to their project and Gordon was feeling the loss. Not so much of the project, although that really had helped with his frustrations at his lack of physical ability, not that he would ever admit that to John, but in spending time with his brother.

Much to his surprise he’d found that he was reluctant to work on it alone, it had become their thing to do together. It was a time where they would hang out, shoot the shit, reminisce about childhood memories, times that they had spent together talking about their hope for the future where they would find their father alive and bring him home.

Both of them knew that it wouldn’t be easy, that if they did manage to find him there would be no telling what physical or mental state he would be in. Gordon knew from experience just how tough physical injury, limitations, and recovery could be on the mind and the body,  especially in someone who had been as active and viril as Jeff Tracy. 

They all knew, although no one seemed to want to talk about it, that as hard as it was going to be to actually locate him and hopefully bring him home, that would only be the beginning of what could potentially be an incredibly long and difficult journey of rehabilitation and reintegration into the family and the world as a whole. 

John had been right, taking some time to be quiet, to slow down and think while keeping your mind and hands busy really was a productive way to spend your rest hours and, stupid as it sounded, Gordon didn’t really want that to end. 

He was only a week or two away from potential cast removal and a return to physical activities like his beloved swimming and strength training in their home gym and, while he couldn’t wait to get back to it, he knew he’d feel the loss of his enforced quiet time. 

He glanced again at the abandoned ship on the desk and turned away, clumping down the hall towards the stairs. So it would take them a little longer to get it finished, Gordon was fine with that because for once he wasn’t feeling the need to rush.

-x-

“Remember to pour it slowly,” Gordon instructed as he held the funnel in place, its long pipe reaching right down into the bottom of the jar. “Start with the darkest one, that’s going to be our base colour.”

“I’ve got it,” John assured him, selecting the tub of midnight blue sand and scooping some out into a smaller pot to make things easier. At Gordon’s nod he began to slowly and steadily pour the sand into the open neck of the funnel. As he watched Gordon expertly directed the tube, allowing the sand to pour out to pool in the bottom of the bottle.

At Gordon’s signal John stopped pouring and waited while Gordon carefully removed the tube and used a long metal skewer to poke and prod the sand into something that looked vaguely like waves.

“The next colour up,” Gordon requested and John did as he was asked. They repeated the process four more times with different shades of blue, John pouring in a little at a time, Gordon directing the tube to deposit  more in one place than others, mimicking the movement of sea waves as best they could. In between each layer Gordon used the skewer to poke and mix the colours here and there, blending the layers into a smoother transition.

“That’ll do,” Gordon said confidently, twisting the bottle so John could see the full effect. 

John had to admit that he had been pleasantly surprised when Gordon had announced that he had ordered some coloured sand and looked up how to do sand art on the internet. He hadn’t really known what to expect, although he would admit, if only to himself, that he had thought that Gordon would be a little heavy handed and impatient, but once again he had proved him wrong. He really had done his research and the result was a beautiful mix of colours that really did give a perfect impression of a gently moving sea.

“That’s looking great.”

“I know,” Gordon grinned, modest as always. “Where’s that resin gone?”

“Here,” John answered, pushing it across the desk towards his brother. “Make sure you read the instructions and measure the amounts accurately or it won’t set and you’ll ruin the sand and the bottle.”

“Yeah, yeah I got this,” Gordon assured him as he did indeed read the instructions through properly. Once he had familiarised himself with the ratio of resin to hardener, he measured carefully and poured them into a mixing jug. Once it was fully mixed he slowly, gently, poured the mixture a little at a time into the bottle on top of the sand. With each little pour he waited for the resin to trickle down between the grains, slowly adding to it until all the sand was covered. 

“And now we wait,” John said, carefully placing the bottle in the patch of bright sunlight coming in through the window. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Gordon offered casually, not really expecting his brother to agree. John hardly ever watched anything with just him, they had vastly different tastes in movies and John usually made some polite excuse to escape.

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Really?” Gordon goggled, his eyes almost falling out of his head. “You don’t have anything more important to do?”

“More important than watching a movie with my little brother? I don’t think so,” John grinned, retrieving Gordon’s crutches from where they were leaning against his bookshelf and tossing them to him one by one. “Come on, last one to the lounge picks the movie.”

“Hey, no fair!” Gordon yelled, scrambling to his feet as he fumbled with his crutches. “You’ve got legs like a giraffe and neither of them are broken!”

“Sucks to be you,” John tossed over his shoulder as he took off down the hall to victory.

-x-

“Careful,” John warned.

“I am being careful,” Gordon snapped. “I got this.”

“Your hand’s shaking.”

“Thanks for that, Captain Obvious.” He steadied his, only slightly shaky, hand by propping his elbow on the desk for stability. “OK, let’s do this.”

They both held their breath as Gordon maneuvered the body of the boat through the opening in the bottle, making sure each sail stayed carefully folded down and the strings remained untangled before he fed it down the neck and into the bottle.

“Phase one, complete,” John intoned in such a serious voice that Gordon couldn’t help the laugh that he snorted out.

“Pass me those long nosed tweezers?” Gordon asked, holding out a hand.

John slapped the requested instrument into his brother's hand like a nurse in an operating theater, provoking another burst of laughter.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

Making sure the strings of the sails were still dangling outside of the bottle, Gordon carefully moved the body of the boat further down into the bottle with the metal skewer until the stern touched the top of the resin and sand layer. 

“Now the sails,” Gordon whispered, hardly daring to breathe as John moved in to help, taking over the holding of the strings while Gordon reached in with the tweezers.

Gently, working together, they started the delicate process of tugging gently on each string, unfolding the paper sails and locking them in place.

“String one.”

“Got it. Watch number four sail.”

“Yep, thanks...OK… can you just give string five a little pull? Perfect.”

“Sail three is flopping!”

“Gah, hang on, just got to tighten that...yep that’s got it.”

“Maybe if I gather…”

“Yep, that’s good, do that again.”

“This next bit is going to require a delicate touch, maybe I should-”

“Hey! I can be delicate!”

“It’s not coming up...back sail two is stuck, release it...careful!”

“There, saved it.”

John gently pulled the strings a little more and there it was, their ship, sails proudly upright and everything. He kept hold of the strings, while Gordon held on to the boat with the tweezers as they carefully lifted the bottle from its side to its proper upright position.

Using the skewer John maneuvered around Gordon’s hand and nudged the boat into a better position before he carefully released the strings. They both held their breath, hoping and praying that the sails wouldn't collapse the second the strings fell. 

The boat, with its sails, stayed strong.

“Yes!” Gordon cheered, holding up his free hand for a high five, grinning when his brother’s palm smacked against his own.

“Scalpel,” Gordon joked as John handed it to him so they could lop off a little of the trailing strings. Then, using the skewer, they arranged the strings around the edges of the boat. 

With the boat finally upright and in place, they added another layer of light blue coloured sand with a sprinkling of white to mimic the tips of the waves. They finished it off by pouring in a little more resin, both to set the sand and hold the boat in place, using the tweezers to make sure it was correctly positioned.

“Phew,” Gordon breathed, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his cast covered leg. “We did it. Go team.”

“We did,” John smiled. “And it looks damn good.”

“It really does,” Gordon agreed, shifting his head to look at the bottle from all angles. 

“Nothing left to do but let it dry and put the stopper in,” John said. “How do you feel now it’s done? Was it worth the time?”

“I still think we could have done it a lot faster if you’d just let me skip a few steps in the instructions and do it my way, but it wasn’t that bad,” Gordon admitted. “I’m oddly proud of it.”

“You should be, you did good,” John leant back in his chair, crossing his arms as he relaxed. “Are you going to stop teasing me about my book nooks now?”

“Pssh, no,” Gordon snorted. “Ships are cool, yours will always be boring.”

He didn’t see the bottle of water coming until it was too late.

-x-

Gordon walked straight to John’s room from the infirmary,  feeling oddly free without his crutches and casts. Six weeks was a long time, after all.

The bottle with its little ship sat exactly where they had left it in the center of John’s desk next to the abandoned book nook that was still not finished. It took him very little time to insert the cork stopper and pour a little of Selene’s spell bottle sealing wax around the top, a bright, cheery yellow wax that matched his beloved Thunderbird Four.

He smiled as he thought of his little craft, waiting down in her dock for him, ready to be taken out when the next call came in. It had been a long and frustrating time but finally, blessedly, that time was over.

He poked an experimental finger into the wax seal, checking that it had set properly. It had, and he couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. It had been a project that at first he’d had very little interest in, but slowly it had turned into so much more. Not just something to wile away a few hours but a chance for him to reconnect with the brother he spent the least amount of time with. 

Years ago, back when he had been small, John had been his everything. When Alan had been too tiny to be of any use and Scott and Virgil had been too old to be bothered with him hanging around, it had been John that had been there for him. It was John that had patiently listened as he read aloud from his sealife books, who had watched movies with him, played with him, and spent the most amount of time with him. Back then, their three year age difference had seemed like so little but so much at the same time, an older brother that made him feel wanted and included when the other two saw him as an annoyance.

Gordon couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed, when they had slowly drifted apart. John had seemed to grow up so much faster than he had, Alan had welded himself to his side, looking up to Gordon as he had to John  and things had never been the same again. 

It had been too long since they had been able to just hang out, to laugh, to tease each other without things going too far and one of them getting annoyed. It had been nice and Gordon had realised that he didn’t want to go back to nothing but hollocalls to Five when an emergency came in or the odd family dinner and movie night where he had to share with the rest of the family. John was the only brother that Gordon didn’t spend one on one time with as standard and he realised that, no matter how much he might blame it on John being so far away, in reality it was as much his fault as John’s.

Gordon picked up the bottle, leaving a box in its place. The model kit of the Mercury Project space capsule and its launch pad had been hard to find even with his junker contacts. In fact, he had almost given up and  admitted defeat before he'd thought to look at the label on his ship box and sent the shop owner an email.

Smiling to himself, knowing that there was no way John would be able to resist that challenge, he took the finished bottle, with its little ship, to his room where it would take pride of place on his bookshelf, a constant reminder that even in the worst of times, positivity could still be found.

“Thanks, Bro.”

[electromelancholy]

I got tagged by @sashacore, thankss!!

Last Show Severance! I really enjoyed that lost-your-footing kind of tension it had even though I still am like... ALL those poor women, whose lives are nothing but looking after poor wet matt? That last episode was really fantastic but too over the top, win/lose for me, and I'm supremely interested in how the next season will be set up.

Last Song I'm listening to a daily mix right now so it's all songs I've not heard before. Right now it's Where Gravity is Dead by Shamir. I love Shamir so much! I've not actually heard this one before and I really like it, it's got that soft discordant sort of americana vibe that I like. In a more general 'last song to catch your ear in a big way', the change in weather has me listening to Doja Cat pretty heavily.

Currently Watching Nothin, lol. I HAVE started playing Final Fantasy 7 though! I bought the original on steam for like three quarters and finally started playing it. It's extremely 1997 in the fact that everyone is made of 3 shapes, and I keep getting lost in maps with no direction, but I'm really enjoying it. It's the first FF game I've played.

Currently reading Still reading huge amounts of Disco Elysium fanfiction. Even if the hyperfixation fire's been put out in my brain I still really enjoy the long casefics that people post. I also read a lot of the older well-known works in the fandom over the week I was off for my surgery. STILL getting through The City & The City by China Miéville. Really enjoying it but it's slow going for me. Reading articles for school -- a bunch of really interesting readings for a class on digital labour and precarious online work that I had to ultimately drop because it was way too theoretical for my 'hands on learning' brain, and then readings for the class i chose instead on the history of programming.

Tagging: @rosemochi @catsanddiscoballs anyone else who wants in! lemme know if you wanna be tagged too I'll add you