#mute virgil

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: Muted/Unmuted

Summary: A visit to his brother's university doesn't go as planned - but it's what was needed.

Characters: Virgil, John

Words: 3K

Warnings: depression, hinted.

A/N: I have a small contribution. Look, it's been so long, I'm going to drop this and run. Have 3K of Virgil playing piano.

Or, Read on Ao3

~*~

Muted/Unmuted

The restaurant had a coat check, and that’s how John knew he’d have to use the Tracy name to get himself a table coming in without a reservation like he was. Taking advantage of their privilege wasn’t among his favorite things to do - or any of theirs really - but he made a mental note to donate to a local food kitchen, deciding the time with Virgil was worth him using his name for personal reasons.

“Near the music, if available,” he advised the hostess once he’d handed over his gray overcoat. Though it looked flat on the hanger, it was specially tailored to his silhouette. Around his neck, he continued to wear the long, wide scarf he’d walked in with. It had kept him warm walking through the campus of Denver Tech. Though it was warmer inside the building, he’d carried some of the outside chill with him. He’d been out walking a lot longer than he’d intended - once he’d managed to find the Edwards building from Virgil’s scrawl, one of his suitemates had redirected him into town, here, where Virgil had apparently picked up a last minute shift. 

John hadn’t even known that Virgil was working, not with the coursework he had on his plate to keep up with his two majors. But Virgil was like Scott, like John himself, and like their father before them: a man of action. He liked to keep his hands busy. 

He couldn’t deny the skip in his step, for it had been too long since he’d had a chance to visit Virgil in person, let alone had the chance to listen to his music live. Gordon or Alan or even Scott would’ve lamented the time lost, especially when the weekend was already so short to begin with, before finding something else to keep themselves busy. But John had arrived earlier than expected and it made him smile to know nothing had really changed about his brother since going their separate ways to University. Virgil would always step up when he was needed. 

There was nothing John would rather be doing with his first evening visiting than spending a few hours listening to his brother play the piano. The large textbook adding weight to his satchel reminded him he had his own studying he could do. It would be just like old times -  him lounging in the armchair deep in a book and Virgil practicing his scales and arpeggios before launching immediately into whichever piece was his current creative outlet. Sometimes it was the school play, sometimes a competition piece, and for a while his Juilliard entry, back when he thought he might apply. 

“I’ll likely settle down here for a while,” he advised the woman seating him as he relieved himself of the weight on his shoulder and placed his bag on the private booth before sliding in himself. 

“Of course, Mr. Tracy.” 

Privacy curtains blocked out the tables in his periphery, and though he wasn’t directly in front of where Virgil would play, they had secured him a space adjacent to the small stage space with two pianos, currently empty. 

He worried not about the clientele, letting the people fade away from his mind. But he was curious about the place his brother spent so much of his time, noting the soft, warm lighting, swirls of cloudy marble for each table counter, and seating cushioned with velvet. The kind of luxury they’d grown up with. 

Movement at his left caught his eye as Virgil situated himself at the piano. A black suit, slimming, but not among those specially tailored to his form, gave him the appearance of similar elegance. John recognized it for what it was, a uniform just as much as those worn by the other employees. A tie, nondescript enough that he couldn’t make out its coloring in this light. Though his hair was gelled into his usual coif. 

When he noticed John's eyes on him, Virgil gave him a small smile in acknowledgement from across the tables as he flexed his wrists in preparation for his set. John waved back, then opened his textbook to the latest chapter.

The piano keys, pliant under Virgil's capable fingertips, fluttered familiar melodies with the accompaniment of gently clinking glassware and the hum of dinner chatter. For awhile, John lost himself in physics, math, possibility, and theory. A glass of amber, cooled by stone, opened his mind to think a little looser and with a little less pressure sitting behind his brow. 

He thanked the server for bringing out his first course and used the opportunity to glance around the room. For as much as he liked to keep to himself, people-watching was among his favorite pastimes. When they were younger, he and Virgil used to make up backstories for the people they encountered. It had been a simple form of entertainment and yet great practice for their respective creative endeavors where they both relied on their powers of observation and expression. 

But for all the exercises in years past, his brother stole his gaze this evening, so familiar and yet changed in the months since they'd seen each other last. His face had filled out a little around his high cheekbones, five o'clock shadow a bit more prominent in the evening light. The suit squared his strong shoulders, and it made him seem bigger behind the instrument. Not that Virgil ever seemed small sitting at the piano keys, not with the way he enchanted audiences and conjured emotions in tones. 

Virgil was unaware of his prying eyes, his expression locked on the space where his sheet music usually rested. It was blank. Where his fingers flew over the keys with ease, the music itself was beautiful. Light and ever so gentle. But looking over the crowd, enamored with their respective dining partners or focused on the business portions of their dealings that evening, not one gave a care to the direction of the music. So much so that Virgil was practically background; when he paused between songs, there was no applause or acknowledgement to his performance. 

John’s antipasto turned in his stomach, the silverware suddenly loudening in his ears in a moment where Virgil paused and caught him looking, no doubt his expression bewildered. Barely a breath, and his brother was back in his set. And this time, with his mind less divided with his schoolwork set to the side, John heard it. 

The music was beautiful. That hadn’t changed, and Virgil was as precise as ever.

But it was soulless, as lifeless as the chestnut eyes that refused to meet his. 

~*~

Virgil performed two more sets after the first finished, three in total spanning from six to half after nine, with short breaks in between where he scurried somewhere in the back. John tried both times to catch him on his way to the restroom, but both times his brother had eluded him. After the second, a part of him wondered if the disappearing act was intentional. 

“Would you like a refill, Mr. Tracy?” a server asked, a gloved hand reaching for his glass of water before he could answer. “Do you know him, sir?” she asked, noticing his gaze during the final set. “The pianist?”

The more he watched, the more he noticed. There was a lack of embellishment, and his heart pounded over the lack of flourishes in the melodies. After a while, every tune started to sound like the same song repeated, Virgil’s movements rote and uninspired. 

“No.” 

“Oh, well, if you are into music, we have dueling pianos every Thursday night. It’s a bit more lively with two of them.”  

“Does V- he ever play?” 

“Oh, yes, sometimes he’s on the schedule. But you’ll want to come for Monsieur Allard. Should I see about securing you a reservation this upcoming week, Mr. Tracy?” 

John shook his head and broke the news that he was just in town for the weekend, waiting until she’d left to hiss out the breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t the server’s fault that Virgil was playing at barely half his talent, stifled and muted in this space of opulent luxury. It was apparent they didn’t know who Virgil really was, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked. And if John knew his brother, that had been intentional, a place to unwind where he could just play and not be his father’s son with their name marketed for the clientele. 

But, oh, the cost. He didn't know everything, yet. He intended to find out, but one thing he knew - this place was bleeding the life from him. 

He paid his check long before Virgil finished, loath to linger any longer than he needed to in the restaurant. His meal had been as luxurious as their menu boasted, and though the decadent flavors had turned flavorless in his observations, he sent his compliments to the chef and left a generous tip nonetheless. 

Out front, he received in message form. And with that he slung his messenger bag back over his shoulder, retrieved his coat, and happily left the building behind him.

Virgil beamed when he saw him, his arms laden with a garment bag and struggling with his phone. He'd since changed into casual jeans and flannel where the collar peeked through a similar overcoat. 

"You made it!" he laughed, pushing off the wall he was leaning on and slinging his free arm around John's thin shoulders. 

"A bit early," John admitted, the excitement infectious. 

"Come on," Virgil gestured In the direction of campus. "A short walk then we can get you out of the cold." 

They walked in step, and Virgil voiced the directions as they went. John had memorized them on his way in the first time, but there was no reason for him to tell Virgil that, especially when the instructions came with storytelling about which classes he had in the buildings they passed or which dormitories had the most drama. 

"The arts building is to your left." 

John didn't know what to say. He knew Virgil didn't have any classes there; they'd discussed their respective semesters at length this past summer. 

Virgil smiled at him, and it seemed genuine. 

But those eyes. John couldn't ease the turn in his stomach left by the way they looked through him. The glassiness he'd witnessed was long gone, but that didn't mean whatever was doing that to his brother was resolved. 

And they'd seen this before. 

"Are you okay?" The words burst out of him. "You'd tell one of us if you weren't, right?" 

Virgil's expression crumpled. 

John stopped in his tracks, a tentative hand reaching for his elbow "Virgil?"

"Why do you ask?" he replied, spinning toward him. 

“You - you just didn’t seem like yourself.” John dropped his hold on him.

Virgil sighed, wincing as the instinct to tug at his hair left residue on his fingers. He rubbed them anxiously on his jeans. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”

“It’s who they want you to be.”

He bowed his head. “I’m Vince Tanner there; I really thought I’d be doing right by mom’s name. I’d be playing after all. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t come say hello; they have rules around us approaching the dinner patrons.” 

“They what?!”

“Anything on the set list has to be pre-approved, all these crowd pleasers. They all sound the same after a while, you know? And I’m not normally so irritated by repetition; but I can’t even -”

Virgil reached out his hands before him, as if invisible keys had sprung out to answer where the words couldn’t, and he played a tune John couldn’t hear. “I tried once. They said I was too disruptive to the guests.” 

John hummed. “What about this Allard person? He any good?”

Virgil snorted. “He sounds sophisticated and smart.”

“Do you get to release any of that,” - he didn’t have the music theory knowledge for the right descriptions, but he knew Virgil understood what he meant - “during the dueling piano nights?”

“No. That whole thing is a joke, and we’re supposed to be there to make Andre sound good. That’s all.”

“Virgil!” At this time of night, the campus was still busy with night owls like themselves or those returning from evening festivities at their party or tavern of choice -  some even on their way to. John didn’t care how his voice raised. There was no visible wound, but Virgil was being bled dry nonetheless. “Why do you even show up?”

“Diego called out sick.” 

“Not just today. Any day. Why are you letting them do this?”

For that, if Virgil had an answer he didn’t share it, his jaw tight. In the yellow light of the street lamps, his skin turned sallow, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest. To protect himself from the cold or from the conversation, John didn’t know fully. But Virgil always did wear his heart on his sleeve. 

“You’ve given me an explanation. Thank you,” John stepped in front of him and grasped him by the shoulders. “But that’s still not an answer.” 

“Can you let it go?” Virgil pleaded, his voice small and deflated. “I don’t want to bring this visit down anymore than it has been.”

“No, I can’t.”  

He glanced up, his eyes welling. “I’m fi-”

“You’re not.”

“No,” Virgil shook his head finally, “I’m really not.” He tightened his arms around himself, breathing deep to push back the swell of tears threatening to fall. “I’m not okay. I’m not.”

This would be the moment big brother would have wrapped him in a hug, Gordon would’ve done the same long before, and Alan wouldn’t have known to push that hard. But John? John had a different answer. Keeping his hands firmly on his brother’s heaving shoulders, he urged them both out of the walkway and toward the building they’d just passed. 

~*~

John let Virgil believe the door had just been open; his rule-abiding would’ve had him running all the way back to Kansas if he’d known they’d broken into the music and arts building. The lock jammer built into his watch was a gift from Parker upon John’s graduation. He hadn’t known if it would work on its own; he’d only had his hope that Denver was as unaware of their security issues as Cambridge. But sure enough, John budged the door open easily and ushered his older brother through the threshold. 

After admitting his struggles Virgil had gone silent. That was ok, John knew. At this stage, the music would speak where Virgil couldn’t yet. 

“Do you know where the music room is?” he asked him. “That’s ok,” he continued when Virgil shook his head mutedly. “We’ll find it.” To the center seemed to be a concert hall, with a gallery lined along the walls of the surrounding hallways. Likely the classrooms would be further back. John stepped further into the left hall, looking for any indication of whether it was approaching the art wing or the music one. 

“Here.” John cocked his head at his brother’s voice, where Virgil was holding the door to the concert hall open and gesturing for John to come back the way he came. “They have a few performances this weekend,” Virgil explained thinly. “I figured the piano might still be here.” 

The theater was Virgil’s space, not John’s, and within a few minutes, Virgil had found the controls he needed to give them a bit of light. The grand piano was situated stage right, facing towards the orchestra seating to provide the audience a side view of the instrument and the pianist. 

While the audience seating looked much more comfortable, John opted for grabbing one of the chairs set up for the back violins and pulled it closer to Virgil’s side. He wanted to stay close. Virgil hands hovered over the keys. Bright eyes looked over to him, unsure.

 “I don’t know where to start.” 

“Play something you wanted to play tonight. Something not on the approved setlist.” John couldn’t help the condemnation laced in his words, nor did he try to. 

Virgil’s flat smile twitched at the edges, and he huffed in agreement, though the sound was shadowed by a trickle of tones that molded into an elaborate musical story. 

Angry and somber, the melody from Virgil’s hands was familiar and the instinct to fill in the poetry of the words overtook him - not enough for John to sing out loud, but with each progressing chord he felt a jolt to his gut. 

It was a cry, a song lamenting the loss of times of war. 

“It feels so wrong to feel the way I feel when there’s this happening. Every day, when I wake up my thoughts drift to Scott, and I wonder what he’s seen that day. How much worse it must be to be in the thick of all this violence.” 

His breath hitched. 

“I want to play something that matters.” 

A harsh crescendo of notes from Virgil’s left hand. The right continuing the melody, softly while the chord bounced along the auditorium and faded. 

“Something mom would be proud of.” 

He stopped. 

“You know,” John tried. “Others’ experiences don’t negate your own just by being worse. I’m worried for Scott too.” 

A flicker of life with a trill, and his hands fell to his sides. 

He looked at John. “Every day my decisions feel like mistakes. Would dad be proud of the path I’ve chosen? Would mom understand? I feel so wrong and worthless. All the time.”

“Oh, Virgil.” 

He sucked in a breath and turned away, hands poised back above the ivory. “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Doesn’t need to be, just make it real.” John leaned forward, then asked if Virgil wanted him to go.

Virgil shook his head. “No. You can stay.”

Vulnerable with the cover of night, in a space sacred to Virgil, emotion poured from him, fragmented at first - anger, sadness, jubilance quieted all too quickly - before they converged into a jumble of sound and frustration. 

His soul bled beat after beat. A refrain of Juilliard’s audition pounded from the heart. 

Slashed with another, until it was the two melodies speaking to each other before one assimilated the other.

The cry of war mashed with the trill from earlier, turned minor with panic and worry, persisting. Unrelenting - soulless and lifeless. 

And then it built back up from a singular note, repeated into a quickened pulse, blurred with discordance, then the themes came back, louder, fiercer. Crescendoed while Virgil’s heart purged itself upon the keys.

Songs from the restaurant cascaded around them, the pretty made furious as it washed over them.

Virgil pushed back from the piano stool, standing, his whole self looming over the the movement of his hands, while he borrowed from the strength of his trembling arms and shoulders and back as he pounded on the instrument - and pounded until the music left them breathless, choked of air until there was only heat and noise. Until -

He broke.

A sob slashed the last chord, and Virgil fell to the stage with a thump of his large form. John tumbled forward to his knees in front of him, the pressure behind his own eyes released from watching. But at least Virgil hadn’t been alone. And as soon as he was near enough, Virgil launched himself at the closest brother he had while John gathered him close and whispered not that he was ok, but that he wouldn't be alone.

[sebs-anxiety-and-insanity]

Not Just Another Bloody Mary,

Analogical, zombie apocalypse au, mute!Virgil

TW: religious imagery, blood, vague description of injury

__________________________________

Virgil himself had never been one to believe in God. After all he had seen, it's hard to not become a cynic. At least that was the general consensus. He preferred the term 'realist'.

But, he was ready to get on his hands and knees to thank the god who had given him this vision-

There Logan stood, lab coat and all, covered in blood.

It wasn't the type you might see Janus or Remus in. If they were covered in blood they ranged from happy to psychotic. But, Logan just seemed his normal self. Well, apart from the gut wound.

For the first time, Virgil had found himself unable to move. The man before him was slumped against the wall now, chest heaving with labored breaths, and Virgil knew he should move quicker, but he couldn't bring himself to.

Logan had his eyes shut, muttering about needing attention, and only then did he break out of his stupor.

Virgil rushed to his side, unsure of what to do, Logan had leaned on him instead, noting that Logan was close to limp in his arms. Logan, bloodied and heaving, leaving blood on his own hands and he felt just about ready to pray to this man.

"Hey, Virgil, do you still have those bandages from the east building-?" Patton gasped upon turning the corner. "Oh my god-" Virgil nodded along with the statement. For entirely different reasons.

"I uh- set him on the table, alright?" Patton rushed, turning to yell for Remy.

Virgil did as told, albeit in a daze, but still. Logan had basically lost consciousness, although Virgil was admittedly right there with him on that aspect.

Patton calmly told Virgil that he needs to leave and got to work.

Virgil had taken a seat outside the small corner Logan had found him in, and he noted the trail of blood that had went unnoticed on the floor. It reminded him of the virgin Mary statues that would litter monasteries. One in particular came to mind, a bronze virgin Mary in Guadalupe, but instead of picturing the virgin weeping olive oil, he pictured Logan weeping blood.

He had long forgone the many aspects of religion, but he would glady wear it all out and start traditions all over again.

He never went far from Logans side, worrying about him most of the day. He thought that when Patton came out and said he should be fine that he would feel better, however that was not the case.

He sat beside Logan until he came around. If he was cold, Virgil would give him a blanket, if he was hungry, Virgil would fetch him food; anything of which he had the slightest notion of want, Virgil gave to him.

He knew that he was gonna be Logans personal follower till the end of his days when Logan started asking him to eat, warm up, and take his medicine.

He was an absolute goner. Not that he minded anyway.

_______________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed! 💜

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@reiney-weather @helloidkwhatimdoing-0 @hedgiehoggles @autumnpleaves @from-the-gall0ws @skylar-pansexualnerd19

[two-am-outlines-only]

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! They made this amazing piece for this this work; go support them with reblogs so it can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this as well! You’re input means a lot and I’m truly grateful.

Chapter Summary: Logan and Virgil share a quiet moment away from their ship as Logan tells stories with the stars.

Day 2 Prompt: Songs/Stars

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1349

AO3 link

Chapter Two: The Lines Trace Back to You

The night was still and calm, bringing a quiet respite for the crew of a ship docked on the beach nearby. Waves lapped quietly at the ships hull and lulled even the most dutiful night watcher into a light slumber, entrusting the safety of their fellow shipmates to the vast expanse of peaceful nothing that lay beyond the beach. Soft winds whistled through the sparse trees and kicked up the sand at their bases, irritating the crabs hiding underneath as they hastened to rebury themselves before sunrise. Crickets sang out the last notes of their songs while birds chirped the first of theirs. Up on a nearby hill a man sighed blissfully, hidden from view even from the keenest of eyes and leaning back to relax into the sturdy chest behind him.

Virgil felt a low rumble against his back and smiled, tilting his head back to look at what his designated pillow could be laughing at. Deep green eyes met a deeper blue and not for the first time he felt himself get lost in the other’s gaze. He would sooner throw himself off his own ship in a storm than admit he might be a sap but those eyes had always compromised any notion he might have had that his heart was anything other than soft. A hand came up to cup his jaw and he closed his eyes to feel the ghost of a kiss brush against his forehead. Too soon the feeling passed, replaced instead with the hand crossing over to grip his shoulder and pull him tighter into the heat that radiated off the body behind him. In the chill of the early morning he had never been more grateful to have a living space heater to call his own.

Nuzzling back as Logan rested their chin on top of his head he sighed happily, pouting slightly as another chuckle jostled his position somewhat. He brought his hand up to tap at Logan’s arm to get their attention, snapping out quick motions with his fingers when he was sure he had it.

"What’s so funny?"

“You’re too easy to rile up.” Logan answered affectionately. “I was just thinking how lucky I am to see this side of you. You give orders all day like you were born to the violence of the sea and yet cling to me like a damsel in distress when away from prying eyes. It’s cute.”

Laughing outright as their forearm was bit gently in warning they brought their other hand up to comb through Virgil’s fluffy hair, earning a content purr for their efforts which they figured meant their apologetic offer had been accepted. They leaned back against the tree again, tightening their grip to bring Virgil with them so they could gaze up at the sky. It was still dark enough to see the stars relatively clearly, the barely there threat of dawn lighting the horizon just enough to show the purple of the other’s hair. They hummed softly in triumph as they found what they were looking for, bringing their hand up to point at a cluster of stars.

“Can you see that bright star there? Slightly left of the treeline?” They waited until Virgil tapped his confirmation before continuing. “There are three more dimmer stars that sort of make a line see? And crossing them are three stars with a row of three set right on the edge making a curve shape. Altogether they resemble a swan.”

Virgil tapped their arm again that he understood as he relaxed completely into the secure hold. He always loved to hear Logan talk about stars- a lot of the time the only thing they were used for was navigation, old stories forgotten and rewritten to better suit a life of sailing the seas. But when Logan talked about them there were always stories attached that dated back to Roman philosophers or amazonian astrologists. Where Virgil had been trained to see calculations in the sky Logan told of great battles won and lost, of Great Hunts led by archers on elk and bears doomed to wander the void for eternity- all told with the deep rumbling voice he had grown accustomed to falling asleep to when the night allowed it.

“It’s called Cygnus.” That voice called Virgil’s attention back from his wandering thoughts. “It’s Greek history is quite dreary, as the stories of their gods tend to be. But it’s relevance in Hinduism is quite lovely. It correlates with Brahmamuhurtha which translates to ‘a moment in the universe’. Between 4:24 and 5;12 in the morning is supposed to be a favorable time to do anything important or get a running start to the day. It’s a much better story to whatever family drama the Greek Gods had to earn them a constellation.”

Virgil snorted at the last bit; even if Logan knew almost everything there was to know when it came to Greek, Roman and Norse mythology they held a particular disdain for the dramatic and hyperbolized tragedy that made up the majority of the former’s myths and legends. Often if he needed a distraction from something Virgil would start them up on a rant about who should have talked to who about this certain subject so that this group of people wasn’t doomed to be cursed because of those people’s actions. Once Virgil had left the room to do a small task in the next one over, surprisingly unnoticed by Logan who had continued pacing and ranting like he had never left, voice carrying clearly through the walls all while ripping Zeus a new one for not being able to quote “Just keep it in his pants.”

Deciding the air was much too peaceful to start up another one of those discussions he instead raised his hands so Logan could see them, black nail polish glinting in the first rays of dawn as he signed. “What would you be doing right now, with your moment in the universe? Would you be back home waking up at dawn to feed the cows instead of leading a life of crime?”

Smiling, Logan shook their head. They hadn't thought when they were a teenager that someday they'd be sailing around on a pirates’ ship with one of most ruthless (as far as rumors went) crews in all the seas. They’d been trying to swipe Virgil’s coinpurse, not knowing who he was at the time, and had of course been caught before the bag had even left the pirate’s belt. The moment their skin had touched however, a thousand and one lives had flashed in an instant, leaving them blinking in astonishment into green eyes that glimmered with reserved mischief and buried kindness.

Prayers they hadn’t even known they had had been answered that day as an anonymous envelope containing the money their family had needed was found on their doorstep along with hidden coordinates along the edge that was thankfully overlooked by their mother. They missed her some days but their life had taken a better turn when they had turned up on the boat at the crack of dawn, hauling themself over the railing and waving the envelope at the person who had their face pinned to the deck with their sword before they could breathe a word. Home? That was with Virgil. Looking down at the man still curled comfortably in their lap worrying at his bottom lip they expressed as much in earnest.

“I’d be right here, doing exactly as I am right now. You are my moment always, and there’s nowhere else in the universe that I’d rather be.”

Tracing lines in the freckles on their cheeks, Logan felt Virgil spell out “sap” on their cheekbones, making them grin and lean over to cup the other’s cheeks in their own hands.

“All the lines between the stars- they all trace back to you my love.”

The hill obscured the kiss shared between them from any eyes that may have wandered in their direction, allowing only the stars to bear witness to their moment in the universe.

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for not inviting a friend of mine into my dnd campaign?

so i (18nb) have a friend (18nb, Martin) who i play in a main dnd campaign with with all our other friends (Ill name them Dan, Virgil, Mark, and Ray). Dan is our DM after we kicked out the old one bc she was horrible. We're a pretty close group of friends, but lately we've all been really busy with respective school & work, ect. so we didnt play dnd for a solid, like,, 4 months. I DMed a one shot for everyone besides Ray cause she was flaky anyway, and added in my boyfriend Zeke for it.

Everyone had a really fun time w it and I loved everyones characters, especially Dan's. I watch a lot of dnd shows, so i just keep getting more ideas- but while the one shot was fun it was messy as hell. Ive been wanting to write a campaign for a smaller group for a while, (because when i tried making a campaign with the whole group the character creations were... disappointing to say the least. this sounds mean but i created a fairy world that was very magical & told everyone to go crazy on character creation in a world with few/no humans, and like 5/6 people opted to be a human with a fighting class :/ )

ive been writing a campaign that im really proud of and have a good vision for, and decided to include Mark (because we're best friends) Zeke (because he wants to play dnd more and has no opportunities) Dan (bc he never gets to be a player) and then another close friend of mine outside the group named Gabe (who i love but never get to see) I love their characters & we're all super excited.

Thing is. I was briefly talking with Dan, Zeke and Mark about it at school bc I'd sent everyone a little intro message for the world and they were all super excited and wanted to talk to me about their classes. Virgil had no problem with this and was excitedly asking abt the world + characters along with some other friends from school, but Martin got quiet and went and sat by himself. I could tell they were off, but Martin is generally a quiet person anyway and is often sad + doesnt want to talk for like a hundred different reasons, so i left her alone. Later that day in a different class I have with Virgil he showed me his phone where Martin had sent him a message saying she was really disappointed & felt left out that i hadnt invited them to my campaign.

i instantly felt bad and started to text him, but,,,, to be honest, i dont think im at all responsible for this.

i have reasons for leaving Martin out, the main one being that they just..... arent a very active player. Hes soft spoken and doesnt actually like rping their characters- her character in our main campaign is/was literally mute bc they said they didnt want to have to speak as him. (theyve since taken this back and went through with a curse breaking thing to be able to speak, but her character,,, still doesnt talk much.) he writes really good, sad backstories but doesnt actually play or do anything with them and gets uncomfortable acting. Their characters are not only emotional, but like. crazy. they play a bunch of cool tieflings with insane magic classes & features and then, again,,,, dont roleplay them. I didnt want the group to be big and had a good reason for including everyone that i did, and our other friends that arent in it (Virgil, Ray who is Martins sister btw, all our other d&d interested friends at school) literally dont mind at all. i just wrote a campaign that theyre not in. Martin also has their feelings hurt very easily, so to be honest i just find her being sad about not being in it just... stupid. id never say that to his face & i get that he feels bad, but like....cmon.

im aware im a very very incredibly low empathy person- to be honest i struggle with depression and bpd very heavily and am often mean to my friends & loved ones without really processing why or how much it affects them. i told Virgil that i thought Martins reaction was stupid, and he said that that wasnt fair bc Martin had always been in my campaigns before (which is, yknow, one. Martin and I were even in a campaign with a completely different group a while back and Martin willingly left it very early because the group was loud & their character wasnt doing anything (yeah)). Every time Martins expressed (or i guess not expressed) sorrow for not being invited to it ive just sort of ignored them. this again isnt that uncommon cuz when shes sad he doesnt like to talk about it, and also they havent directly confronted me with this at all.

ive been talking about the campaign a lot because it occupies frankly a lot of my brain because i have so much to write, and i especially talk to the people that arent in it bc theres no risk of slipping up and telling them something they arent supposed to know. The other friend, Gabe, is friends with Zeke and Mark and I, and Dan is good around new people,, but Martins really quiet around people he doesnt know well, so if i invited her anyway they'd probably play the game even less than they already do.

again, im really bad at having an actual perspecitve on this. Virgil said he feels bad for Martin but not for himself, as far as i know Dan doesnt know about the situation, and i literally just dont wanna involve Mark and Zeke (Zeke HATES conflict and when people fight so he really doesnt have to be involved.) Mark Martin and I have all been really close friends since literally 7th grade and I guess Martin especially feels left out that I involved Mark and not them but Marks both really good at character creation and also talking in character, and like, hes my best friend who i do everything with.

I dont wanna blow off Martins emotions but but i truly dont give a shit that they feel betrayed by my not inviting him. especially because they havent bothered actually telling me this. objectively i dont think its my fault even a little, and Martin is really horrible at handling their emotions anyway (this isnt an insult, just a fact. i am too). aita for not inviting him + not caring that shes upset by it and acting like they arent?

sorry this is so long i really like providing context

What are these acronyms?

[analogicalreasoning]

Another Analogical ramble

Am I ORIGINAL?, in my opinion, seems to be where Virgil starts to take a liking to Logan. He likes that Logan is opposing Roman's idea of pure originality, he's impressed by his rapping, he smirks when Logan remarks "this is what we get for making [Roman] the leader", etc

He starts to feel a sense of affection for Logan, despite it being very muted, because he doesn't feel alone anymore. He's not the only one who opposes Roman, he's not the only one getting insulted and put down.

That's why when Logan calls Virgil a defeatist at the end of the episode, Virgil really seems to take it to heart. He doesn't say anything after that and sinks out in silence. He's hurt that the person he thought he could relate to was never actually on his side like he thought he was.

Cut to My NEGATIVE Thinking, and Virgil is SOUR. As soon as Logan starts to oppose Virgil's ideas about Thomas' performance, he claims that he's taking Roman's side. Logan makes it a point to underline that he's not on Roman's side and never said that he was. That says to me that Virgil is so stuck in the idea that he's alone again that he jumps to accuse Logan without substantial evidence.

It's obvious that when Logan begins to compliment Virgil he's shocked. He thought that Logan didn't like him not only because he called him a defeatist, but also because he felt isolated by him at the end of Am I ORIGINAL?. Logan telling him that he did good for participating despite not wanting to, claiming that he doesn't mind his company because the other two are overwhelming, and even saying (albeit not outright) that he thinks Virgil is capable of sophisticated thinking is surprising.

That's the springboard for their relationship. In previous episodes they had a very weak connection (including Logan saying that Virgil was the antagonist and Virgil just kind of weakly defending himself) but obviously there's more to My NEGATIVE Thinking than just a debate between the two characters.

I love them so much, AnalogicalReasoning ramble over <3

[amazing-spiderlad]

Aperture definitely made some of those super cheesy corporate videos. I'm picturing a pride month video that just opens with Cave Johnson and Caroline standing in his office like

"Here at Aperture, we fully support the lgbt community. Isn't that right, Caroline?"

Caroline, holding a pride flag: Yes sir, Mr Johnson!

"Just ask one of our many homosexual employees!"

Then it cuts to Wheatley reading off a piece of paper without having been told what it's for

Wheatley: I feel accepted and supported at Aperture, my low intelligence and liking men won't stop me from being a part of science-

"At Aperture, we're fully committed to diversity. From our test subjects-"

Then there's just a shot of Chell standing there with a subtitle saying "mute lesbian"

"To our maintenance team-"

Virgil, holding a pride flag and literally the only one who looks like he's participating willingly: I like men, and that's okay!

Then it just shows the company logo but rainbow coloured

[sleepyvirgilprompts]

Sitting there, finally, Virgil was warm and full and safe. And, he noticed with muted surprise, absolutely fucking exhausted.

How had he not realized until then? Well, it made sense. Of course he was tired. Still, though, to not notice at all... But for once, he didn't worry about it for long. No, before long, he had fallen fast asleep.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 34 - Anniversary

What went before

Four whole chapters of 90% proof fluff?

Pfffft, can’t be letting that streak continue… 😂

I know what’ll fix it, some good old Scotty inner-monologue.

But lest he get too angst-ridden, there’ll be some puppy piling and some Babs to fluffen things out…

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Hey, how’s things? Fancy a chat?

Always. Give me 2 mins to escape.

Scott carefully extracted his legs from under a pile of snoozing younger brothers and shuffled his way off the couch, staggering slightly as the blood rushed back into his tingling feet.

As much as he loved the traditional puppy pile, he knew he was never going to sleep tonight - too many thoughts were circling like vultures over a half dead sheep. If he let himself relax they’d swoop and… let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.

It was best he stayed awake.

This particular day of the year was always tricky, for all his family’s cunning attempts to distract him from it (and Virgil really had outdone himself this year). But it was the anniversary of the date he’d been shot down. The date everything had gone to hell. The date his life had split in two and there was a before-Scott and an After-Scott. Because despite his best efforts, he’d never been the same since.

And nor had they.

He paused and looked back at them, peacefully jigsawed together - Alan sprawled across the laps of John and Virgil, Kayo curled like a cat on Virgil’s opposite side and Gordon had somehow entwined himself between their legs. He would swear he could actually taste the bitterness of the regret that surged up, yet again, for having been the reason they’d experienced so much pain at that time...

Little Allie had been too young to understand that his Scotty wasn’t mad at him, hadn’t deliberately chosen not to come home to him… he’d apparently gone mute for weeks. John had been in the middle of exams and had just stopped sleeping. He’d aced them, sure, in the eyes of the rest of the world at least, but Scott knew the eventual scores hadn’t been what John had wanted or expected. Gordon had ended up suspended from school for trashing the library, until Virgil had met the headmaster to explain the situation and the suspension was replaced by authorised compassionate leave until the end of term. That should have been his job, not Virgil’s. Well… maybe Dad’s. But he’d sworn to be there when their father couldn’t be and the fact that on that occasion it was because of Scott himself that their father was unavailable… it felt like a double failure.

And then his Virgil… It had nearly destroyed him.

Scott didn’t know the detail. He only knew what he knew about the others because he’d overheard conversations, seen school records, noticed the twitch in John’s jaw when he’d belatedly congratulated him on his results. But his closest brother… all he knew was that it had been bad. Really bad. There was nothing more to overhear, because people just didn’t talk about it. Ever.

Kayo, thankfully, hadn’t been around at the time, but he still worried about what she knew and what impact that had. She knew a lot of things nobody else did… it was her job after all… and it shouldn’t matter. But occasionally when certain parts of the world, certain organisations came up he would catch her looking at him in a way that… well, worried him.

He really wished mind bleach was a thing.

He shook his foot impatiently and limped out of the lounge. His left shoulder twinged insistently and he tried to ignore it. It was purely psychological, he knew that very well. The scans had been clear for years and it only bothered him at this time of year. Ironic really, that this was the only phantom pain that remained. After all the violence that had been inflicted on him… all the fractures and internal damage… the only thing that still bothered him was the injury that had been his own fault. The one he’d given himself when he finally gave into despair and tried to smash his way through a steel door.

He shivered. This wasn’t a great line of thought to be pursuing. He mouthed the lines he’d been grounding himself with all day:

Sunward I’ve climbed and joined the tumbling mirth of sun-split clouds…

He was free. He was loved.

It was all in the past.

All except for the bits that still managed to hurt them all.

Recent events had dispelled the illusion that, with time, his brothers might forget that for too long their strong eldest brother had been the weakest of them all. His bout of illness had given them a little refresher in why loving him would cause them pain. He wished it didn’t. It was too unfair that the people he most wanted to protect from his fallibility were the ones was most likely to be hurt by it.

The little voice that often sounded a lot like Patricia’s questioned whether it made any sense to feel guilty merely for being loved that much and pointed out that loving them back didn’t require shielding them from every kind of pain the world could inflict either. He was trying to believe it. Really. But the need to protect had always been so central to who he was… it was easy enough for Patricia to say these things because she didn’t have to live in his head.

Estera had made a similar point. He’d found that harder to shrug off, though, perhaps because she wasn’t being paid to make him feel better.

After a few weeks of respite the same old dream had returned with a vengeance this morning, almost unchanged, and he’d woken in a cold sweat, nauseous and confused. He’d spent most of the day wanting to call her, to reassure himself it wasn’t real, that the invisible thread was intact… that she was ok. He knew she was… and that his memories were false. But sometimes they could still be so vivid.

And today he just couldn’t get the memory of her screaming out of his head.

Except, of course, he’d never heard it. Not really. He stopped for a moment to let that fact sink in, tracing his fingertips across the stone walls of the stairwell.

He made it to the privacy of his room and called as he walked through the door, feeling a little as though he could actually, finally relax as she answered:

“Hi Blue, how are you?”

He wasn’t sure when the nickname had crept into use, and he wasn’t unaware that she was now effectively referring to him by the same name as the damn hellhound, but he found he didn’t dislike it at all. In fact it made him feel kind of warm inside. It was so very her.

“Hey! Nice to hear from you! Not a lot going on here, everyone else fell asleep during movie night so I’m just chilling on the balcony now. What are you up to?”

“Having a little lunchtime walk. Just sent the kids off to lunch and managed to persuade Barbara to switch my playground duty to Monday as I just cannot mediate any more battles this week.”

“Ah, dear old Babs, she doing alright?”

Estera chuckled “Well the reception desk collection of news-clippings featuring your face is increasing on an almost daily basis. She keeps asking when you’re coming back to visit us again.”

“Good to know someone out there appreciates the Scott Tracy. Send her my love.”

“You are a ridiculous creature.”

“Guilty as charged.” Scott grinned to himself.

She snorted and then hummed thoughtfully.

“You didn’t answer my question you know, don’t think I didn’t spot that.”

“I didn’t? What question?”

“I asked how you were and you told me what you were doing. That’s not the same thing.”

“Ah… Huh. Nothing gets past you does it?”

“Nope.” Scott could picture the raised eyebrow that would likely have been deployed in the brief pause that followed. He sighed.

“I’m… mixed? It’s ridiculous really because I’m perfectly aware it’s just a calendar date, an arbitrary system imposed by some ancient guys, and it’s not as if we’re even in the same point in space or anything… so just because the number is the same it doesn’t make the day particularly special… but…”

“It’s an anniversary?”

“Yeah. It is.” He fidgeted absent-mindedly with the mechanism of the lounger and only narrowly avoided trapping his fingers as it shifted suddenly. He pinned his free hand between his knees and cleared his throat, continuing: “Virgil and co have been trying to distract me all day.”

“Did it work?”

“Not really… but we had a nice time anyway.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Scott thought about this. He probably should. Ten minutes beforehand he thought he did. But now… he didn’t actually want to. The compulsion to overanalyse every memory that had been swirling through his head had eased, the cycling thoughts dissipated and, for now, he was happy to let them go. It was enough that she knew and understood.

“Actually… no. Is that ok? I’ve been thinking about it a lot all day and would rather just focus on something else for a bit?”

“Of course it’s ok. As long as you talk to someone when you need to.”

She and Virgil could be tag-teaming. He briefly wondered if his brother had tipped her off, but then realised she would have a similar date this weekend and probably didn’t need prompting.

“I’m getting better at that, I promise.

“I’m always here if that helps.”

“Noted, thank you. Really.”

He let his shoulders relax into the backrest and his hand fall to rest at his side. He could hear seabirds - such a familiar sound yet a bizarre experience when he was looking out over a quiet moonlight ocean himself. Given his ship could have him by her side in less than an hour, it always made him feel a little unbalanced to remember how topsy turvy their days were.

“So, lunch with Penny tomorrow, you excited?”

“Yes! I mean, I think so? Or slightly terrified?”

They talked of Penny-Event survival tactics and Scott heard the word “shenanigans” in context for the first time, vowing to use it constantly from now on. Estera expressed doubts about his tried and tested methods of upper class social engagement which she unfairly summarised as “flirting outrageously with everything that moves” and suggested she might need another less “Scott Tracy” approach. He feigned outrage and offence. She called him ridiculous again and laughed wholeheartedly. Mission accomplished. He closed his eyes and tried to fix in his memory that sound he realised he’d needed to hear so badly… hoping it would at some point become the stronger one. She was happy. She was ok. All of them were ok.

He realised he’d drifted, listening to the melody of her voice but not the words. Mentally slapping himself he refocused and realised she was now talking about a mixed martial arts competition she was thinking about entering.

“You should do it.”

“You think so?”

“If you’d enjoy it, why not?”

“I might not win…”

“Ha! Competitive much?”

“Isn’t everyone? Wait, what time is it?”

“Here it’s about ten to midnight, what are you, 11 hours behind?”

“Ok, good. I have time, will just walk a little quicker. Ugh my watch just won’t hold a charge anymore, I swear I plugged it in last night... why don’t they make things to last anymore?”

“Oh that’s frustrating, is it still in warranty? They should replace the battery for you?”

She mumbled something.

“Sorry, E, I didn’t catch that.”

“Don’t worry. Hey, I’m nearly back, so I’ll have to go in a minute… maybe you should actually get some sleep, Scott? I’d put money on you not having had a decent chunk of shut eye for a week at least.”

He laughed again but slightly awkwardly this time.

“Yes, Miss.”

He heard the jangling of the school entrance buzzer and Estera quietly greeting someone.

“Hey, before you go…”

He’d had a sudden idea but before he could get any further he heard a familiar voice calling “Hellooooo Scott Tracy!” in the background.

He could tell Estera was smothering the giggles and then she muttered quietly “Oh dear I’m sorry, there’s really no point denying it, my poker face is awful… could you do me a favour and say hello? If this works I’ll get the best rota slots for a month.” He heard the phone being passed over and braced himself before adopting the voice:

“Well hey there Babs, my dear, how are you keeping?”

A peal of tittering before she returned the greeting and informed him she was keeping very well and had been following his progress. He was then mildly scolded for being so silly as to fall off a skyscraper. He found himself apologising. Then promising to come back and visit again soon. Eventually the phone was handed back and Estera’s voice was a blessed relief to hear.

“I owe you one. She’s just concluded Alastair hasn’t coordinated sports day in a long time and I’m sure she had me lined up for that this morning.”

“Happy to be of assistance, I think? Although sports day sounds like a fun thing…”

“Not the planning part, Scott. It’s like building a bridge out of jellyfish. Anyway, you were going to ask something?”

Had he? Oh! He had… perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, she probably had things to do but he couldn’t think of anything else to say on the spot so cleared his throat and asked anyway:

“Um, it was just… did you have any plans for Sunday? I know it will be… a day… for you but maybe did you want to do something together? Ten years since we met and all? You could update me on the lunch… schenanigans? But… of course I totally understand if you’d rather be on your own, I wouldn’t want to interfere with whatever you… might… have um…” he was rambling now, suddenly unsure of himself.

“No, I… it would be nice not to be alone. That would be good.”

“Great, I’ll get Alan to cover for me. Your choice as to what we do, I’ll turn up where you tell me.”

“I think I have an idea. How about my place at 8am? Bring your running shoes.”

“F-A-B”

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He smiled as she hung up and lay back for a minute, enjoying the slower pace of his thoughts. His eyelids drooped and he startled - he couldn’t fall asleep here, they’d miss him. But maybe now he could have a little doze out there, in the company of his precious family. He quickly switched his habitual jeans for more comfortable sweatpants and quietly opened the door with the intention of sneaking back downstairs. Then nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Vee! What…?”

Virgil sat on the floor opposite the doorway, head leaning back, eyes heavy with sleep. He jolted awake, slightly headbutting the wall as he did so and struggled to his feet.

“Y’rite Scotty?”

Bleary eyed as Virgil was, Scott could almost feel the assessment in his brother’s gaze, more probing than any of his beloved medi-scanners. Scott suddenly realised how waking to find him gone might have felt.

“Yeah, I’m ok. Sorry to disappear. Was chatting to Estera and didn’t want to disturb you all.”

“No problem. Just didn’t want you to…” Virgil paused to yawn so widely it made Scott wince, sure he must have dislocated his jaw in the process. His little brother then blinked rapidly and looked around as if trying to locate his train of thought. Scott threw an arm around his shoulders and steered them both back in the direction of the lounge.

“You didn’t want me to what?”

“Oh. Right… Be alone. Feel alone. Think that you had to be alone… if you didn’t want to… be alone… you know?”

Virgil yawned again and Scott squeezed his shoulder a little tighter.

“I do know. And I don’t feel alone. It’s ok. I know I always have you.”

Virgil smirked “And not just us anymore… right?” Even his sleepy eyebrows were capable of behaving outrageously it seemed.

“I’m going to assume you’re too tired to know what you’re saying which would make it unsporting to throw you in the pool.”

Virgil snorted “You could try!”

“Ssssh, you’ll wake the others.”

They’d reached the lounge. Alan had shuffled into the space Virgil had vacated and John had pivoted to the horizontal and was drooling elegantly into the couch cushions. Scott made the speedy situational assessment that reintegrating into the original pile was going to be excessively complicated and thus setting up camp afresh on the other couch would be a better bet.

“Sit” he ordered in as commanding big brother a whisper as he could manage. Virgil obeyed and immediately lost the ability to sit upright. By the time Scott returned with a heap of blankets his head was resting on the arm rest and he was adding his bass rumble to the familiar symphony of Tracy sleep noises.

Scott distributed his stash, ensuring the whole family was adequately tucked in and took a moment to thank God, the universe, whoever it was that finally brought him home to them. Then he lifted Virgil’s legs, acknowledging privately he might have had a point about the pool-throwing thing, and carefully manoeuvred his way on to the couch, snuggling under his own blue blanket. He leant back and allowed his eyes to finally close, enjoying the sense of security the weight of his brother’s feet across his lap provided. As he drifted off he mused on that metaphor… how what an onlooker might see as a burden, could in fact be the most spectacular privilege he could ever ask for.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[edutainer2022]

I'm in a very complicated (non)relationship with faith and religion. Loss, grief, and war do a number on that. And I'm in a weird mood (also insanely busy). I would assume the Tracies too have a complicated (and different for each) relationship with faith and spirituality, in their line of work. It's Easter time. So here's a little Earth and Sky piece centered around that time of the year, memories, fears, and love, of course. All blatant parallels with religious symbolism are all on my agnostic self, I mean no disrespect whatsoever!

EASTER

Christmas was easy. Approachable. Christmas was always about family and snuggling, comfy pijamas and Lord of the Rings rewatch maraphons, and gifts for everyone, cinnamon, cocoa, decorations and garlands. Christmas was manageable even after Mom. Then after Dad. Never the same, but manageable.

Easter was weird... In their childhood Easter was always a whirl of colors and activities - egg die on every surface besides the eggshells, egg hunts on the farm and ranch, chocolate prizes, bright baskets, and laughter. And Mom. Always Mom at the center of it all, orchestrating and directing the colorful chaos. Mom told them stories. An Irish Catholic, Mom made a point to go to mass on Easter morning, although she didn't insist they go with. They usually did, dressed in Sunday best, even Gordie on his best behavior. There would be waffles and ice-cream on the way back from the church, and sprinkles in John's hair. With Mom gone the colors muted. The whirlwind stopped. The spring lost its promise. It felt almost a blasphemy to celebrate a resurrection after a loss they suffered. Scott tried to uphold the egghunts for Gordie, who barely remembered his with Mom, and for Allie, who didn't, but it fell flat.

Dad never much discussed spirituality with them. An astronaut, a war veteran, a widower, he held certain cards close to his soul. They grew up with boundless belief in scientific knowledge and answers to be pursued by scientific methods. If there were no answers this side of known universe, that meant the science was yet to catch up. They all helped with catching up a lot. As much as they grew up with boundless belief in each other (that and an elaborate array of superstitions, given their respective specializations). And a firm conviction Mom was an angel up in heaven, watching over them. It all made sense when a brother's comms were silent in the danger zone or a brother's hand was limp and cold over hospital covers. Unbeknowest to them, through the endless night alone in outer space, their father always had but one prayer: "Look after them, my love! Keep them all safe as I can't!"

In a rare arrangement of circumstances, they were all at the farm for Easter weekend, for a change. Some issues needed to be dealt with the estate. And it was an unspoken opportunity to visit Mom's grave. (And Dad's headstone over an empty casket, right next to her). Virgil found Scott at the backporch, seated on the stairs overlooking the meadow. Alone. As he suspected he would. Virgil would have been happy to just plop down and sit it out with biggest brother shoulder to shoulder till dusk, giving him room to just be and a friendly ear, should he want one. Scott had been in a mood all day, maybe all week. So much so even John was worried, who didn't get to observe Scott in his natural brooding state up close often. Biggest brother was obviously not forthcoming with any conversation starters. Virgil took his chances and nudged a flannel clad shoulder to his right. In their childhood home Scott always dug out old, broken in flannel, albeit in blue.

"I think about going to Mom's church tomorrow morning. You wanna come with?"

It was a multi-layered invitation and Virgil knew it. It would imply quality time away from the general mayhem for just the two of them, a chance to gather one's thoughts and to connect to Mom in a way that was special to her, even a chance to bring home a decent breakfast from the diner in the town, across the church. They would then all pack up in two cars, make a trip to the cemetery, pay their respects, and have an Easter dinner all together as a family. Virgil nudged his brother's shoulder again, looking up with hope. Scott's gaze was still far away.

"You wanna go to Easter mass?"

Virgil felt self-conscious suddenly. He loved the music and the spirit of celebration. Generally loved the idea of connecting to something bigger. Connecting to Mom. He tried another angle.

"You don't believe?"

Mom did - left unspoken over the evening meadow. Scott hummed at that, blue eyes finally landing on his brother. The sadness there left Virgil breathless.

"What? Whether a guy could resurrect in three days? I don't honestly know if I believe that, Virg. But I do believe one could die for all of himanity."

Dad did - another silent echo over the meadow.

That, right there, was Virgil's deepest fear. That one day Scott would leave him behind, crying and helpless, on the sideway of his own via dolorosa, dragging a crucifix through the dust and grime of a danger zone. By Dad's unspoken command.

"Please go with me to Mom's church tomorrow! We can have waffles after."

That was blatant food bribery (aka a tried and true way to get Scott to go to concerts and art galleries). But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scott responded with an amused chuckle and lifted an arm to invite his brother into a hug. Virgil didn't need to be asked twice. Scott's old flannel shirt smelled of old machine oil from the farm tractor, fabric softener and the inextinguishable odor of his very first, hideous aftershave from way back in basic training. Virgil closed his eyes against the steady heartbeat. "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from him."

[thedryswan]

Scott scowled in the direction of the pile of rubble which had been a shopping mall. The damned building was nearly new, built using the latest technology and materials so architect and construction companies arses would be hanging from sharp, painful walls if he had anything to do with it.

Beside him, Virgil was discussing with the local fire chief who had led the rescue, finalizing their comments for the report while Gordon packed up the last of their equipment in the pod.

It had been a bloody mess, they'd rescued more survivors than expected but as always, each person the teams failed to bring out alive was one person too many.

Chief Halford tugged his helmet off and ran a hand through his grey, sweaty hair.

"My guys are bringing out the last pair they could find." he said, groaning at the stiff cramp in his neck.

There were calls for extra hands as firefighters slowly emerged carrying a stretcher with a young woman strapped to it.

They had immobilised her neck with a brace and she had cuts on her face and arms, her dark jeans had traces of concrete and plaster dust and dark patches here and there which were likely more bleeding injuries.

Her shoulder length hair was brown but the ends had been bleached and dyed blue and around her right wrist was a charm bracelet.

"What?" murmured Scott under his breath. "No." he said a little louder, starting to walk towards the group, then running. "No-no-no-No-no!"

"Scott?" Virgil called after him.

Stopping next to the stretcher, Scott looked down in horror at a familiar face.

"Is she alive?" he asked, fighting a wave of nausea, brushing blood stained hair from her pale, lifeless face.

"Yes, but we need to evac her now."

As the paramedics took the stretcher and moved towards the ambulance, Scott kept pace with them, grabbing Hannah's hand. Virgil had caught up with him and was surprised not only to see who the injured woman was but also his brother's reaction.

"We're taking her to Pearce Memorial Hospital, if you wanna meet us there?"

Scott nodded mutely, watching as the doors slammed shut and the driver fired up the engine and their sirens, pulling away and speeding for the hospital.

"What the hell?" Scott groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why was she even here? This isn't her neighborhood, she's supposed to be working today! She told me she was working the lunch shift."

"Was that Havoc?" asked Gordon.

"Her name's Hannah!" snapped Scott, without thinking, digging his phone out and plotting the quickest route to the hospital. He needed to be there when she woke up. When, not if. Because she had to. She had to wake up, if she didn't... Well, that was a possibility Scott didn't want to consider.

[boonasaurusrex]

In honor of that post going around about how To Wong Foo is a groundbreaking piece of queer history (which it is), I wanted to type up some of my favorite scenes, because not only is it a groundbreaking piece of queer history, its also goddamn hilarious and a great movie all around that everyone should watch more. So, in no particular order (favorites or order of appearance), some of my favorite scenes

(Many of these are half remembered so apologies if they're not the exact dialogue)

Vida: No way, that's the last straw, you've lost all of your princess points! *makes random arm gestures* Chi Chi: *surprise pikachu face* Nuh-uh, she can't do that!

Chi Chi: *in response to being told she can't hitchhike in the middle of the night* Maybe not you two, but I've got more legs than a bucket of chicken

Carol Ann: *slightly tipsy and freshly freed of her abusive husband* You know, I think we should just get rid of all the men Noxeema and Vida: *exchange a look* M-maybe not All the men, sweetie Carol Ann: No, we need to get rid of All Of The Men!

Carol Ann: Okay, we can keep [a couple of male celebrities] but they're not allowed to think or speak.

Noxeema: *applying makeup to a teenage girl in preparation for her first dance* Honey, I've lived in apartments smaller than these pores!

Vida: *walks in on Carol Ann crying after Virgil hit her* Honey, do you like, ever not cry in this room?

Carol Ann: *crying as Vida goes to confront Virgil* He's gonna hurt her so bad! Noxeema: There's...something you need to know about Vida Carol Ann: What? Noxeema and Chi Chi: *panicked look between them* Chi Chi: Vida works out! Noxeema: Vida works out A Lot

Vida: Virgil, I hear that you like to hit women Virgil: Well, some women just need to get hit Vida: Well, conversely, some men just need to get hit back *decks him*

Vida: I think I'll wear a Say Something Hat today. Today feels like a Say Something Hat Day.

Noxeema: *After talking with the lady everyone thought was mute* You're not gonna start walking on water now, are you?

Noxeema: *running around out of sight, making a lot of excited noises* Vida: What is it Noxy, are you dying? Noxeema: *armfulls of colorful clothes* Look! They're from the 60's!

Clara: *reaching for fringe skirt* Oh, this one's for me Noxeema: Oh no no, honey, this is fringe! This is - *hugs skirt* - I think I might pass out -

Store Clerk: Oh no, you can't go up there, that's old stock that didn't sell Noxeema: *Ignoring him entirely*

There's SO MANY MORE but I'm very tired. I might add to this later, anyone else is free to pile on!



[crrative]

New Year - Sanders Sides

It's like 2am and it's appropriate. Prinxiety nation, human roommate au. You know the drill.

Having a community of young people who look to you and your work for comfort and feeling unable to provide when you didn't expect the pressure in the first place sounds heavy to shoulder alone. It makes sense that the last few years have been unstructured with the context. Because I know there's a chance Sanders himself is seeing this: you did something great.

Happy New Year, fuckbags

It's a tame environment. There are only six of them and everyone would rather be in bed, but the year has been so taxing that it feels right to sign it off with a huge middle finger and then go to bed. All there is to do is wait.

Barely a minute left until New York lights up on the TV and Logan has finished his second glass of wine in the last five. Patton is hunched with his obnoxiously long fingers against his temple, resisting the temptation of accepting yet another offer for a glass and opting to nurse the sleep-deprived headache in stead. Roman has put himself on the couch, fiddling with a pen and its lid from the coffee table. Virgil is on the arm of the couch, crouched like an obnoxious prick in an attempt to express his edge, which only really serves to make him look like a dork and unintentionally lightens the mood a smidge.

"Where are the chuckle twins?" Logan poses, observing the swirl in his drink as it settles from being poured.

"Janus said 'surprise' when he went into his room," Patton answers.

"Remus went with him," Virgil grumbles.

The silence reignites as a door opens from down the hall. Remus walks out with a tray of six shot glasses, brimming with syrupy liqueur. Janus walks a metre behind him, head held high.

"We'll all sleep better after this," he insists proudly as Remus parades the tray around, face blank and ashy as slate. He doesn't take sleep deprevation particularly well, but he handles it better than Roman copes with Janus sitting beside him. Where Virgil has turned and planted his feet on the couch seat, Roman parks himself, arms curling around his waist as the countdown starts. The crowd on the street chants and the six watch, breath held.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" It screeches, fireworks filling the screen with a blinding light, flooding the living room with a rectangular explosion of warm white. The group heaves a collective sigh.

Before the festivities can draw themselves out too long, Virgil leans down and over Roman, placing his fingers flat and sideways beneath his chin. In compliance with a rhythm long established, Roman closes his eyes and allows Virgil control. Their lips part, connect, and close around the other's in a chaste display of commitment and affection. Roman seasons the display by running his hand up Virgil's outer thigh.

"Oh! Well, if we're getting crazy," Patton posits with a muted smile, skirting the breakfast bar he'd been slumped on and bending over the couch. Janus looks up and to the side to recieve and return what he had rightly expected to be a sweet, tired peck. It brings a modest and satisfied smile out of the shadow that was his bored expression.

"This does not constitute crazy," Logan commented, unbeknownst to the presence lurking behind him. It makes first contact with his waist, cold fingers slid beneath his sleep shirt. He sucks in a shocked breath as the ice burns his skin. "You do."

"Love you, too."

Janus sits up and addresses the three behind them with a raise of his glass. "Are we ready?"

"Affirmative."

"Yeah."

"Okay..."

"Indeed!"

"I don't have to, do I?"

"No, dear, but it's not ordinary spirit. I think you'll like it." Patton grimaces at his glass and observes the others. A beat passes, Janus gestures to the room with his drink and everyone follows his lead in taking the shot.

"It's almost unbearably sweet."

"I did not expect that coming from you, Logan," Roman comments as he inspects his cup. "Do you not like toffee?"

"I didn't say that."

"No need for the defenses, Doc, I only asked."

"He just wants us to know to save him some whenever it's goin' 'round," Virgil swoops in, smile on his face, voice raspy. Roman takes his glass and hands it to Patton.

"I wonder why you chose something so sweet," Roman implicates. Janus turns around and looks up at Patton, who is smiling with such soulful conviction that it hurts.

"I loved it."

'Score,' Janus thinks as he settles into the couch and joins the others in watching the screen.

[randomnerd737]

so I was thinking about the old update video where Emile popped up and said he was "In the wrong office", and this implies that Emile and the Thomas work in the same office building. we also know that Emile has been called disruptive to the point where he was kicked out of some older office buildings. so imagine Emile is doing a therapy session and this happens:

Emile: so anyway thats why infinity train can teach us a lot about mental health!

Eliot: yeah but I don't see how that can hel-

*muted noise from downstairs* FALSEHOOD!

Eliot: what?

Emile: and they say I'M disruptive!

Eliot: huh?

Logan from downstairs: well MAYBE if you weren't yelling about your cartoons all the time I would try to be a bit quieter!

Virgil from downstairs: Logan Its really not that big a deal-

Emile: omg you are such a-

(*unintelligible loud fighting noises*)

Elioit: what the fuck?

this happens at least twice a week.

[unethicalex]

nails i think each side would wear (if they wore acrylics)

-

Virgil: he would obviously want purple and i think a dark matte would fit his aesthetic. he would also like the sharp stiletto nails because they make a nice tapping sound. he would end up accidentally scratching himself/others

-

Roman: he would want red nails that look shiny and new all the time. in his opinion stilettos look the most regal. he would also not want them too long cause they'd be hard to manage but long enough that they'd have attention drawn to them

-

Remus: he would want LONG nails and SHARP nails. and of course, green. not only are they the coolest kinds of nails but they are easier to scratch people with.

-

Patton: he wouldn't want to have sharp nails and they'd be baby blue. he'd want them because they look pretty but not too long because he doesn't want them to be cumbersome

-

Janus: i couldn't find the actual shade of yellow, it would be a muted yellow not so bright. he would want the sharp ones because they look dangerous but he wouldn't actually scratch anyone.

-

Logan: I don't see him as someone who likes having long nails. either a sensory reason or just to be more practical. so he keeps his natural nails short enough to be safe/clean but long enough to be able to do things still.

[whatgaviiformes]

Get to know your fic writer ask!

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

😁

It depends on the fic, but most of the time I try to let the content inspire along the way... or I'll sit there after the story's done trying to think of something that fits. I wish I had a formula to make it easier, but alas. That one is a constantly moving target.

I have a few themes though that help. Everything in vox delphini - the one with the dolphins - is from song titles by an artist called Lights & Motion. His work is atmospheric, and I listen to it often to find inspiration in that Universe.

I also really like single word titles that hint at the story within, usually an adjective. But sometimes a noun. Fathoms, Variegated, Directionless, Opus, Windswept

For Privateers, if a name doesn't come straight away like Hold Fast - which that one was called Hold Fast before I ever wrote a word - I'll look to shanty lyrics. Fathoms comes from the phrase fathoms below somewhere in my playlists. So does blow, ye winds blow. I don't exclusively use songs for this one the way I do for the dolphins. So you also have Oak and Ivory, a play on some key materials and colors laced together in that story. And Brother's Oath which is very what it says on the tin.

That two things interacting with each other is another. Oak and Ivory, Chocolate and Hazel <- this one is my give-Virgil-a-love -interest story. And to be honest, I chose it so I would never forget the color of Everett's eyes.

My favorites of just the titles alone... I really like Muted/Unmuted as a play on the progression in that story. And I think it's eye catching. And I like In Stitches which is a nice little double play on words for the fact that it's a hydrofoil fic story and that it shows his healing g through yarn crafts.

So long winded, but hopefully that provides some insight. 😁

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

Take this ask as your opportunity to yell about your babies because I love them and I want to know more so badly

YAY

Gender terms quick list

Sibling: sisser for collie, sibber for mimi

(Place of boy/girl): berchte and green man/boy

(Place of daughter/son): hys (pronounced like ice with an h at the start) for collie, aughter for mimi

(add grand, also grandchild or grandbaby)

Nibling and/or niece for both

Misser for both and missie for collie

Collie is a berchte, (burk-tuh, and the k is a bit glottal) a type of germanic snow nymph. she's a nymph of snow and mistletoe. fae talks and stands before Mimi does, but he properly walks first. she is talkative (tho for now this mostly means about 20 actual words and lots of babbling) and often talks for both herself and faer sibber.

she's chaotically mischievous in the way of most winter children, tho this young she is extremely bad at fae word gymnastics and usually just comes straight toward faer parents all excited like "kitchen on fire lala :D"

Family terms collie uses:

Io - Lala

Remus - Papa

Logan - Granddad

Roman - Papaw

Patton - Grandpa/Grandpat

Virgil - Opa

Linda - Lannie (baby-slur of Linda + Auntie)

Mimi is a green man of evergreen trees and shrubs, and has a fondness for yew in particular. he is completely mute - he does not and will never learn to verbally speak. lu does make noise very rarely, but usually only when very upset. his "laugh" is a sort of hard exhale, more of a huff, with no vocalization.

Lu speaks in a combination of ASL and fae hand-speech, the two nonverbal languages ly parents know. he will also learn morse code eventually, but that's more of a private language he uses to talk just to collie, and eventually their other siblings (think tapping directly on them out of sight so other fae dont have a chance to see and learn it)

Family terms Mimi uses

Io - Handspeech: song-parent

Remus - Handspeech: green-parent

Logan - handspeech: spring-grandfather, ASL: green-grandpa

Roman - ASL, red-grandpa

Patton - ASL, yellow-grandpa

Virgil - handspeech, winter-grandfather

Linda - Handspeech: autumn-parent-sibling, ASL: L-N-Aunt

As you can maybe tell, Mimi tends to use handspeech for fae and fae-related things, and ASL for humans and human-related things. lots of codeswitching going on here

fae hand speech is a full language just like ASL, but its constructed in a way thats harder for humans to learn. it has comparatively few signs to ASL, all of them for nouns or abstract concepts, and most words and sentences are constructed via compounding them in ways that are not standardized, and so rely on faes ability to intuit language better than a human can.

"i saw a bird" might be constructed as "eye-bird" or as "myself-bird-meeting" and both are equally correct and intelligible to fae. those are pretty obvious examples, but you can see how a sufficiently esoteric or complex sentence would trip a human up