#but the mind truly is the worst traitor!

[propheticbride]

Doing It All For Love

𐙚 Reeling after her meeting with Rhaenyra in the sept, she takes advantage of the one thing that reminds her most of her true love; you. Even if you are Aegon’s wife, Rhaenyra’s only daughter and technically, her step-granddaughter.

𐙚 Alicent x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader (tw: step-incest, age gap; alicent is reader's step-grandmother and 38/reader is 20, manipulation, slight dub-con)

AN: i am still writing lamb to slaughter i am just rlly turned on by alicent being manipulative and being in power <3 reader is of age, no i am not doing the math

Alicent can't breathe. The power, her very control on matters is slipping. Aegon is lost, Aemond a violent monster. Helaena lost to her grief. Matters possibly be any worse. Of course they could. They always can.

She had told Rhaenyra to her face that war was due, that it was inevitable. Alicent knew the succession had not been changed, that Viserys did not change his mind.

But was Alicent to blame for wanting power of her own? To have developed a taste for it since it was first forced down her throat? Was it so bad of her? Her father had drilled in her so hard Aegon’s claim that had to be what she truly wanted. Why else would she forcibly usurp the only person that has ever loved her.

But it was far too late. All of it set in place. The board was set. Time to play the game before them. But she couldn't deny her feelings. Noy truly. She was angry. Angry at her father, angry at her king, at Aegon.

“Your grace?” you call softly.

Alicent half smiles, but it isn't sincere. She isn't the queen anymore, you are. She foolishly thought if she rushed and married you to a newly crowned Aegon that Rhaenyra would bend. She didn't know Daemon would simply declare war for his better half as you were now considered a 'hostage’ in the capital.

“You are the queen. You can call me Alicent, or mother…” Alicent walks towards you, and allows her hand to reach your face. “...or grandmother.”

“You're so young to be a grandmother.” you assure her.

“You think I look young?” Alicent feeds off your validation, so eager to please. You don't know if it's sincere or a survival tactic but she doesn't care, it turns her on all the same. “You’re such a dove, aren't you? Flaunting about the keep as you please. So insistent on making me and your betters happy.”

“I just want to please you all so you don't take my head.” you admit rashly.

“Take your head?” she cocks hers. “Why would we?”

“Because my mother is…my mother is a traitor and so is my father. I have traitor’s blood.” you say softly.

“You have the blood of the dragon and you share Aegon’s blood. Not all is treacherous.” Alicent tries to calm you, even though the words affirm what you fear people say about you is true. You are the blood of a whore, a traitor. And the worst is you are no bastard, but the daughter of an even worse fate, Daemon Targaryen.

“I wish to be a good queen to you, to Aegon and them.” Alicent reaches to hold your hand and pulls you closer. You gaze up at her.

“You are a good queen. Probably more loved than I.” Alicent’s voice is calming, but not to be sweet or kind or caring. No. She wants you in a false state of comfort.

The more Alicent looks at you, studies your face. The more you look like Rhaenyra. She could see why the court confused you two at times. You didn't have a shred of Daemon in your face, she thanks the gods for that. But you have her former friend’s face. The friend she so desperately clung to as a child. The one who turned her back on her. And now her daughter was clinging to her.

Alicent leans in and kisses you, it’s gentle and she can physically feel you react to it.

You immediately pull back, “Your grace-”

“I am not the queen, you stupid girl.” she grabs your hands firmer, her nails digging into you. “You took that position, usurped it from me.”

“As you have usurped my mother.” you speak back, matching her cold tone. As soon as the words leave you, you regret it.

“I am so sorry, have I hurt you?” she asks as she brings your hands to her face to inspect. Her tone changes to soft again, as she watches blood pool around the moons her nails left in your skin.

“I want to go home!” you admit, tears streaming your face. “I want my mother.”

“I wanted your mother too once. She was my…friend. But she has turned her back on me, on you.” Alicent kisses your hands gently.

“You lie.”

“Do I sweetling? Where is your mother? If I had heard my daughter had married my enemy I’d swarm the palace with my dragon and burn it to ash. But she has not yet even made a move and it has been weeks.” she shakes her head at you, almost mocking you for being so naive.

Alicent holds your head, and leans in to kiss you again, this time more roughly. You don't react, you let it happen. Alicent controls it, every movement she has the power and orchestrates it. And you're so stupid, naive and powerless, you let her.

“What would Aegon say?” you break away, mostly to catch your breath.

“He's with painted whores as we speak.” She licks her lips. You taste like fruit, something she knew you were fond of. She watches your face fall. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” you shake your head. “I do not think so. I don't love him.”

“I know.” Alicent goes to kiss you again, and this time you kiss back.

Your hands go to her waist and you whimper into her mouth. Her hands begin peeling you of your gown, a soft white and gold, and you work to untie the strings on the back of hers.

It’s all happening so fast you can't control anything, she's in charge. You can't help it, you miss your mother. Your gown is slipped off onto the floor and Alicent reaches to pull you closer, gently turns you and then throws you lightly on her bed.

“Have you two lied together?” she asks, finishing stripping her gown down, the dark green material pooling at her feet.

You can't help but stare at her body, despite four pregnancies her body still was slender, and a soft warm color painted her skin. You watched Alicent remove her seven pointed star necklace, kiss it and set it down.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” she asks, beginning to sit beside you on the bed.

You shake your head and watch her take pieces of your silver hair in her hands. God you looked so much like Rhaenyra, she needed to have you.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, snapping her out of her trance.

She smiles, mostly because she knows she has you, and she does. She kisses you again, and places herself above you.

You wonder what Rhaenyra would say, what she would think. They had been childhood friends, and now you were kissing her old friend and newest enemy, about to sleep with her. It was all entrancing. Would Daemon have your head when they eventually stormed Kings Landing?

Alicent dips her fingers in her mouth, coating them with spit before settling inside your cunt. You groan, and arch your back at her touch. Pure pleasure shoots through you as she continues to pump her digits in and out of you. She watches you with hungry eyes, picturing your mother in your spot.

You're a gentle little girl, always so keen on pleasing others, Alicent smiled slightly at you finally being pleased. She knew Aegon did not take your pleasure into account, her nasty excuse of a son could not please anyone. Not even the maids he took his pleasure from.

“Feel good sweet dove?” Alicent coos, voice full of sex.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you cry out, pressure building as you become closer to orgasm. “Please don't stop.”

“I won't, I won't.” she says softly, mostly to herself.

You looked good like this, sweat stuck to your forehead, writhing in pleasure, pleasure given by her. Alicent pulls her fingers out, which causes you to omit soft pleading for her to go back to what she was doing.

She settles between your legs, and gives small kisses on your thighs.

“Don't tease me, please your grace.” you beg.

“I’ll do what I want, won't I?” Alicent doesn't wait for your answer until she's latching her mouth on your now wet cunt, sucking and licking away, the sounds of your moans growing louder and filling the chamber.

She didn't care if maids heard, or passed by and saw. All she cared about was that you were close to cumming on her tongue. She traced your cunt up and down with the wet muscle, ensuring your clit got the most attention.

Your orgasm hits hard, causing you to wrap your legs around her head, “Gods gods gods gods!”

As you ride your wave of pleasure, Alicent licks up the mess and gives your cunt one last kiss before pulling up and looking at you. Her mouth was wet, no soaked with your cum. You blush at the sight.

“Sweet girl.” Alicent wipes her mouth on the duvet, and lays beside you.

“Do you want me to…please you, your grace?” you ask.

She shakes her head, “Dowager queen.”

As you cuddle into her side, still breathing heavily, the one thing that crosses Alicent’s mind is your mother.

[serpentface]

Taighr A Teng, current high priest of Finnerich and beloved populist monarch, posing in his eclectic mix of royal regalia, a simple commoner's cloak, and dancer's garb.

---

His career as king has, so far, been notably impressive.

He had his starts as a lesser nobleman from the plains on the northwestern edge of the region. This northern region was never directly occupied by the Imperial Wardi invaders and only loosely controlled by the tributary puppet government, and the rebellion against this loyalist government and the resulting Finnerich civil war originated here. He rose to prominence in this war, eventually functioning as the general of these rebelling forces.

These forces utilized guerilla tactics and light archer cavalry (the latter being central to the warrior culture of northern Finns) to great effectiveness, and Taighr received a bulk of the credit for this. He claimed to have been visited by the solar chief god Neghri and cloaked in his armor. He never declared himself a possible king, but his confidants (conveniently) publicly urged him to undergo a rite of kingship to prove his god-given invulnerability, and he was successfully seen to perform the naked dance through fire unscathed. This granted him acknowledgment as truly chosen by Neghri, and planted the notion of Taighr being potentially a legitimate king (a status that is usually hereditary, and only granted to high lords when not) in the minds of many of his people.

Afterwords, he prominently fought on khaitback half-naked, clad only in the garb of a dancer (Neghri is a god of the dance among many other things). His claims of divine armor seemed to hold true- he never suffered any more than flesh wounds in over three years of sustained warfare.

He led battle in which the Wardi general Odomache was captured and killed, and is heavily suspected to be/popularly championed as the one who executed her with her own handcannon. He will neither confirm or deny this, but has the gun in his possession and sometimes appears with it in public. Either way, his role in this pivotal battle, subsequent expelling of Wardi troops, recapture of the capital and eradication of the Wardi-loyalist government cemented his status in the minds of a significant majority of his people. He performed the fire dance yet again in the capital and was formally declared king in the aftermath of the war.

He entered into kingship under the near-worst of circumstances. His kingdom has been decimated and politically fragmented in the aftermath of two decades of Imperial Wardi occupation as a grain tributary/colony, and the onset of a multi-year drought began that very year.

Part of his success against this adversity rested in seizing unprecedented and wholly centralized power. The former system of kingship rested upon a council of lords that each governed their own territories, with a king's power Publicly resting in his authority as high priest but practically resting in his lords' alliance and loyalty. He declared this system to be responsible for Old Finnerich's downfall (already a very widely held belief in the general public) and executed almost all the remaining lords (who were also political rivals, having a claim to the crown more legitimate than his own by the traditional standard) and their kin under accusations of being Wardi loyalists.

These executions extended further to many lesser nobles and other identified traitors, in the end wiping out a sizeable portion of previous authority figures. He replaced executed lords and nobility with trusted loyal compatriots and popular public figures, and made efforts to legitimize his reign by taking the daughter of a former lord (who had died a martyr resisting the original Wardi invasion and was widely beloved) as his queen.

This capitalized on general public sentiment of distrust of surviving former leadership (who, if not loyalists, at least Submitted to Wardi occupation) and was a move favored by the majority of commoners (who received none of the fringe benefits that benefited loyalist nobility under Wardi rule, and this invasion occurred in the context of Preexisting tension and peasant revolts). This was not, of course, a universally accepted move, but Taighr's merciless treatment towards accused traitors along with general public favor for his action has gone a long ways towards dissuading dissent in these first years of his reign.

He has so far used his heavily centralized power to great effectiveness in rebuilding efforts and famine response. He reduced taxes on commoners, supplementing this lost income with the very substantial liquidated assets of the former lordship. Much of these assets were grain, which has been stored en-masse and rationed and periodically redistributed to alleviate the famine. The hardier, more drought resistant grain (particularly a strain of barley) has been heavily invested in planting projects. He divided the lands of his executed nobility and civilians killed in war and granted it to members of the peasantry to farm with increased status as landowners, which has caused a sizable migration to the fertile southeast of the region.

Some of his most recent maneuvers have involved resumption of raiding Wardin and Bur's trade ships and coastlines. The piracy has been beneficial to securing needed resources and wealth, while the raids (which have largely hit villages and small towns that don't have a Lot to offer mid-drought) have more of a function of terrorizing weakened enemies and building public morale in trying times. He's also in the process of courting a neighboring kingdom of Hrolje (with historical trade ties to Finnerich) into full allyship against their shared enemies (Imperial Wardin, the Burri republic, and several Royal Dain kingdoms).

A drought (which has lasted six years so far) occurring the very year he took the crown is a spiritual issue as well as a practical one. As the people's high priest, he should have the power to commune with the gods (particularly Neghri, chief of the gods with whom he has a singular connection as king) and prevent such a thing from happening. The public reaction to this drought has been varied, but most see its occurrence immediately following the expulsion of Imperial Wardin and defeat of its high priestess as significant. Many consider this to be the foreign god Odomache's vengeance, and question why their own gods (who are much more powerful and hold total sovereignty over this land) have not intervened to help them.

Taighr's public stance is that this is not quite the case. Their own gods have sent this drought to both punish their enemies and to test the Finn people. They have not forgiven Finnerich's surrender to their enemies, and require proof of the people's loyalty and strength before they will call the drought away. This message is harsh but hopeful in tone, and has been embraced (or at least accepted) by a sizeable majority. A sense of purpose to their suffering (HEAVILY bolstered by effective practical measures of famine alleviation) has gone a long way to keep Finnerich's general populace unified and confident in their new king in the face of adversity.

He has had tremendous success so far, but his rule has clear potential for future instability. While he is very popular among the peasantry, not everyone loved the whole 'mass execution of political rivals and their families' thing. Some members of these families are known or suspected to have escaped (and potentially have more legitimate claims by tradition than Taighr does). His reduced taxation on the commoner class cannot last forever, and his functional creation of a new landed peasantry class is untested and likely will not remain stable in the long term. A small but not insignificant minority interprets the drought not as a test but punishment from the gods for the acceptance of a false king.

---

Taighr has shunned most regalia for his public image. His outfit here has only the bare minimum regalia of the torc and headdress (along with his tattoos), and the rest is dancer's garb and a simple cloak. His image is partly as a maneuver to appeal to his people, who simultaneously desire a traditional king (as their protector and benefactor who can commune with the gods) but are utterly disillusioned with their former dynasty for having so deeply failed them (and being somewhat unfavored even before their surrender to Imperial Wardin).

His choice to partly neglect a traditional 'royal' image emphasizes his outsider status from this now heavily scorned ex-dynasty, while still appearing in such a way that legitimatizes him as a king to public perception.

The arm tattoos and banded motifs on the headgear contain symbols widely used in Finn art, but are forbidden to be worn as tattoos for anyone other than kings (unless the right has been granted by a king in recognition and blessing). A kings rule is marked with arm and leg bands added for each year of sovereignty, with symbols chosen to represent the character of each year and a king's accomplishments and actions therein. These tattoos tend to be flattering in their meaning and serve to cement a chosen narrative into the king's very skin- his successes are lauded, his difficulties are acknowledged but framed as a struggle in which he remained strong/will ultimately be triumphant.

The first year shows an abstract symbol of unification and brotherhood, representing his role early in the war when he had already emerged as a military leader was first acknowledged as a potential king. The second denotes clouded skies and an obscured sun, representing the struggle and uncertainty in the height of war. The third shows victory by the arrowhead, celebrating the end to the war, Finnerich's restored sovereignty, and the expulsion of invasive elements. The fourth shows the motif of maize, denoting the sense of hope and regrowth in the first year free of tributary occupation (somewhat in contrast to the reality of the drought). The fifth shows clouded skies yet again, as this was when public elation over their victory was thoroughly quashed by the drought not only Not Stopping but having its worst year of all, one of the more difficult years of his sovereignty. The sixth shows foundations, a sense of rebuilding in regards to great public works and triumphant management of the famine, a year in which more rain came and his land/grain distribution system entered full swing. The seventh shows an abstract symbol of clasped hands in unity and arrowheads, celebrating allegiance with Hrolje and great success in raids against enemies. He is in the eighth year of being recognized as a king, and the latest one has been outlined but not completed.

The tattoos on the back of his hands mark his status as legitimate king chosen by Neghri, capable of communing with the gods and performing acts of magic. This symbol is completely forbidden to be worn by anyone besides a king (including on clothing/jewelry/etc) and is the ultimate symbol of lordship, sovereignty, and connection to the chief of the gods.

His head (not directly visible here) is artificially lengthened, having been bound in infancy. Artificial cranial deformation is a widespread practice among many of the North Viper peoples, where it tends to be associated with beauty, nobility, and/or a semi-divine status. This practice is reserved exclusively for the hereditary nobility (kings, lords, and lesser nobles) of Finn culture. The trend for most Finn headgear to be very tall and pointed is at least related, giving a person a noble and dignified bearing (regardless of their skull's actual length).

[beckyninja]

Revelation

Pairing: Lt. Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: descriptions of torture

Description: Our favorite Ultramarine Captain Lieutenant realizes his personal serf means far more to him than he thought. And all it took was his subconscious concocting a truly horrific scenario.

Alright guys, you seemed to like my fluff. Now I thought I'd try my hand at some angst. As always, please forgive any non-canonical details. And thanks to @solspina who's Dante dream fic heavily inspired this.

Pain.

Demetrian Titus knew this feeling. In his long life as an Astartes, he’d experienced more kinds of pain than most Imperial citizens dreamed of in their worst nightmares. Stab wounds, shattered bones, burns, bites. He’d endured them all, healed, and moved on.

Not this time, though. This pain… lingered. It welled and pulsed within his very nerves, bypassing all attempts by his enhanced body to neutralize it. It stemmed from the chains bolted to his wrists and ankles, from the hundreds of injection sites scattered across his skin.

And from the mind of one Inquisitor.

“Ah, awake again, I see.”

The deceptively calm voice echoed inside his skull. A face came into view, seeming to float in the endless void.

It smiled.

Once, he would have lunged at that smug face. He would have strained against the shackles that bound him, warrior’s instincts screaming at him. Fight back! Kill!

No longer. That time had passed. Days? Months? Years ago, perhaps. Now he simply stared. He would not speak. He could not give the answers this madman desired, and he would not dishonor himself by lying. 

His silence was the only resistance he could give.

Normally, this infuriated his tormentor. He would rant and rail, promising new and varied forms of agony. 

“There is heresy within you, traitor. And I will dig it out, if I have to do so from your broken corpse!”

The Inquisitor often promised death, either as punishment… or reward. At times, Titus welcomed the idea. Then thoughts of the shame such a ignoble death would bring his Chapter filled him and he silently vowed to live another day. 

Eternal service. The vow of an Astartes. The vow of an Ultramarine. It did not matter the circumstances. He would endure. He would-

“I have something new planned for you this time, Titus.”

A sickly light illuminated his surroundings. It slowly revealed a figure crouched at the Inquisitor’s feet. After years of silence, a word fell from Titus’s torn lips.

“No…”

You. It was you. How? Titus’s mind whirled, trying to piece together a timeline that suddenly made no sense. You couldn’t be here. He hadn’t even met you yet! A deception. It had to be.

Then the Inquisitor reached down and yanked your head back. The hood of your serf’s robe fell and Titus looked into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes that had looked at him with hope and adoration. Now full of terror.

He jerked against his bonds without thinking, trying to reach you, trying to shield you from what was to come.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Such a reaction! And here I thought Astartes were above such mortal frailties as affection,” his hand left your head and strayed lower, “and desire.”

You yelped as that hand groped your flesh. Blind fury filled Titus and he lunged once again. 

“Do not touch her!”

“Or you will do what, exactly?” The Inquisitor gripped your chin and forced it up. “Look at him, girl. Look at your hero.” Another cruel laugh. “So strong and noble. And now all he can do is watch as I do this… and this…”

Your cries brought a pain greater than all the Inquisition’s tortures combined. Your eyes fixed on him, begging him to save you. He thrashed against his chains harder than ever before.

They only grew tighter.

The Inquisitor’s laughter rose to a shriek. “You swore to protect her, Titus! You swore to never let her come to harm again!”

He drew back his hand and struck you across the face. Again. And again. Titus watched welts and bruises bloom across your skin. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed. 

“This is your fault, Titus.” The Inquisitor grinned.

My fault. 

He had taken you for his own. Your companionship, in a galaxy that had abandoned him, soothed the ache in his soul. 

Now you suffered the consequences of his selfishness. 

For the first time in his life, the proud Ultramarine begged. “Stop, please!”

The Inquisitor threw you to the ground and brought his booted foot down on your arm with a sickening crack! You screamed.

Titus felt something break within him as well. “I WILL CONFESS!”

Silence. Darkness. He found himself alone in the void. He could no longer see you or the Inquisitor. For an eternity he hung there, waiting for something… anything.

Then, a voice whispered in his ear. “She means so much to you, doesn’t she?”

The sound of a blade splitting flesh. The overwhelming scent of blood. 

***

Titus’s eyes snapped open. All three of his lungs expanded as he gasped for breath. He lay on his cot, in his quarters, surrounded by the soft glow of candles. The omnipresent hum of the ship buzzed in his ears. 

His torment at the hands of the Inquisitor had ended over a century ago. You were not there. You had never been there. 

Why, then, did he still smell your blood?

At that moment, a soft beep came from the door as it slid open. You stepped inside, a bucket of cleaning supplies perched upon your hip. You glanced at him with a smile.

The scent of blood grew stronger.

In the blink of an eye he knelt before you, hands grasping your shoulders. “Where are you wounded?” 

“My Lord?” You gasped, the cleaning supplies clattering to the floor.

He noticed the reddish marks on your sleeves and growled, low and predatory. “Who hurt you?”

He’d find them and tear them limb from limb.

“No one, my Lord. I am not hurt.”

“Do not lie to me!”

You flinched. He winced, removing his hands.

“I am not injured.” You repeated. “The medicae are short-staffed at the moment and I offered to assist with the wounded in the infirmary. I know I should have asked your permission, but I didn’t think you’d disapprove. I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“I… I do not disapprove.” Titus closed his eyes and tried to regulate the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “There is no need for you to apologize.”

You were silent for a moment.

“You had another nightmare.”

“Yes.”

“It involved… me?”

“Yes. You were… injured. I could not… I tried to…”

Emotions ran riot through him. Some he could name: anger, guilt. Others were entirely foreign. He felt unmoored, severed from the comforting order of practical and theoretical.

“Perhaps I am indeed corrupted in some way.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Perhaps I deserve to suffer.”

“No!”

Something soft pressed against his face. He opened his eyes to find your hands cupping his cheeks. 

“Forgive me, but I hate it when you say such things.” Your beautiful eyes burned with conviction. “You saved me when no one else would. You are honorable and courageous and deserving of whatever happiness can be found in this life. You, Demetrian Titus, are a good man.” You hesitated then, your voice dropped to a whisper only an Astartes’ ears could have heard. “Emperor forgive me, I love you for it.”

Your words. Your touch. The strange emotions stirred up by his subconscious. All these things ignited in his mind… and Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines experienced a revelation.

He covered your mouth with his own.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @lemon-russ @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

I hope I tagged everyone who asked!

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

TRAITOR:

Niragi x reader

Requested: Niragi feels betrayed when his once-close ally sides with Chishiya to rebel against the Militants.

TW: Violence, Emotional manipulation, Physical abuse, Gun violence, Murder, Death threats, Betrayal.

--

If you asked Y/N what she regretted in her life, she would have a clear answer. She would say she regretted trusting that man, getting caught up in his charms, and betraying the only person who truly mattered to her. She would also say that she wished she had listened to Niragi when he warned her about the blonde, and even though she didn’t expect him to forgive her, she prayed that at least he would know her intention had never been to hurt him.

She had spent enough time in The Beah to start feeling comfortable there. She wasn’t stupid; she didn’t believe in the ideology that underpinned the principles of The Beach, nor did she trust the words of that eccentric man who called himself The Mad Hatter and was obsessed with loyalty. She also didn’t believe there could ever be anything or anyone that would make her reconsider all her convictions. But above all, she could never have imagined that she would betray the man she considered her friend, her other half. Her soulmate.

Soulmates don’t have to resemble each other to be one. Y/N was convinced of this since Niragi was the most different person she had ever known. Still, amidst their differences and disagreements, she always found her safe place in him. Whether in his arms during a particularly cruel game night, resting in his lap at the pool bar, or playing in the water on his back… they were made for each other; everyone in The Beach knew it. And he did too.

Chishiya had no particular interest in the girl, in the woman who had arrived at The Beach gates drenched in blood and struggling to balance on one leg. “Obvious contusion accompanied by visible bleeding,” Chishiya diagnosed from his position on the terrace. However, what caught his attention was the garment covering her torso: a shirt with an irregular pattern of black and white splotches resembling a leopard's skin. Chishiya would recognize that shirt anywhere, and alarms would ring in his head, but this time, the wearer of that singular garment sparked a deep curiosity within him that needed to be satisfied.

Days later, he learned that Niragi had saved her life in a game, staying behind to ensure that no one followed them. It seemed to have been a brutal game of hearts, one in which only two especially intimate people could have survived. The pieces of the puzzle quickly fell into place in the blonde man's mind, and he immediately recognized the power he held in his hands and was ready to use it.

Kuina had always been a good pawn. A charming, sociable, and friendly woman who could easily disarm anyone’s mental alarms. So it was no surprise when the woman, who he learned was named Y/N, opened up to her and told her her entire story. Niragi and Y/N, Y/N and Niragi… that’s how it had always been, and they hoped it would continue that way… Chishiya chuckled at the mere thought.

It didn’t take long for him to convince her that the best option to escape this dystopian world was to steal the cards. His theory made sense, and using Niragi as a pawn, he had the girl eating out of his hand.

“It’s the only way to get back to the real world. You can be with him and not fear that he’ll drop dead every time you blink,” he told her in a firm voice. Kuina trembled at his words.

Later, that new couple also wanted to join the plan. At first, they were reluctant, but Chishiya ensured they wouldn’t influence the girl’s mindset by feeding her each night with the worst possible scenarios for her life and Niragi’s. If she wanted to save herself, if she wanted to save him, she had to follow his plan.

By the time the strategy took shape, Y/N had already distanced herself from Niragi. She no longer went to their nightly meetings or waited for him in the dining hall to have breakfast together. She avoided contact with him since she knew, deep down, that what she was doing went against everything he stood for, and if he found out, he would stop her from continuing with it. She wouldn’t allow that. No matter how much it hurt to ignore the man and turn away every time he desperately searched for her with his gaze, she was doing it for him because she loved him and it was his life she wanted to protect.

A few nights before the big day, Niragi surprised her at her door and without giving her a chance to protest, pulled her inside, closing the door behind him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said aggressively as he approached the girl who, startled, fell onto the bed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied robotically, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and keeping her gaze on the floor.

“It’s that blonde, isn’t it? I’ve told you a thousand times to stay away from him, but you never listen to me, and you’ll pay the consequences,” he shouted.

A few seconds of silence passed, during which tears began to fill the girl’s eyes. Perhaps it was the familiar scent or the tone of his voice, but her heart tightened in her chest, and she was on the verge of breaking down, of throwing herself into his arms and promising him she would never betray him. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because a gentle knock at the door brought her back to reality. She was doing this for him.

Niragi opened the door, huffing with displeasure and frustration, facing the blonde man who had decided to meddle in his life and mess everything up.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were here. I was looking for Y/N,” Chishiya said in a calm voice, false surprise gracing his features along with a lazy smile. Of course, he knew Niragi was there; he had seen him pull his toy in with aggression, locking himself away with her in the room, probably trying to convince her of the mistake she was making by associating with him. He wasn’t going to allow that.

Chishiya playfully tilted his head to observe the girl sitting on the bed, frozen in place, probably having a mental breakdown.

“Y/N? Shall we go?” he said sweetly, extending his hand to urge her to come closer to him.

To Niragi’s surprise, the girl stood up and walked past him without looking at him. He felt her hand brush against his arm unintentionally and knew, call it intuition, that he had lost her.

The Niragi Chishiya knew would have chased him down the hall to reclaim what he considered his, but when he turned his head, he saw Niragi frozen in the doorway. Chishiya smiled, savoring the taste of his victory on his tongue.

And then it happened. Chishiya sent Arisu to enter the Mad Hatter’s suite while Y/N, Kuina, and Usagi kept watch at different points. He remained secure in a protected spot where he would never be incriminated if something happened. If you asked Chishiya, he would say he never intended for them to get caught. Yes, he had given Arisu a code that would undoubtedly trigger the alarm in the room, and yes, he had left Y/N in a particularly vulnerable position, but there was always a chance they wouldn’t be discovered, in which case the outcome for him would be the same as if Y/N and Arisu were caught and declared traitors.

Chishiya wasn’t surprised when he heard the alarm and rushed to feign concern to the higher-ups. He also wasn’t surprised to see all the Militants mobilizing to check what was happening in the Hatter’s room. What did surprise him was feeling a minimal, almost nonexistent, pang of guilt that intensified when he entered the room and saw the woman being violently held by one of the Militants.

Thinking clearly, Y/N had just been a pawn in his game. But it was Niragi’s expression that made him reconsider, for a brief moment, whether it should have been that way.

“Thanks for letting us know, Chishiya,” Aguni said, to which the man simply smiled and nodded.

For his part, Niragi, upon seeing Chishiya enter the high-ranking officers' room to inform them anxiously and agitatedly that the alarm was going off in the Hatter’s room, knew something was definitely wrong. His thoughts led him to the worst possible scenario, which became even worse when he entered the room and saw the woman he considered his soulmate being kicked on the floor.

At that moment, the world he knew crumbled into pieces, raising a cloud of dust that clouded his thoughts. He heard the girl’s cries, but for some reason, his vision was blurred, and he couldn’t see her. The rifle in his hands felt light, so light that he stopped feeling it, and when it fell to his feet with a dull thud, he returned to reality.

“Niragi, take these two traitors away. You know what to do,” Aguni ordered.

The man acted automatically, grabbing the girl by the arm as she writhed in his grip and dragging her out of the room. Behind him, two more men grabbed Arisu, who was nearly immobile from the beating, and hurried to follow. Niragi's feet carried him to his room. Maybe he sought the comfort of laying her down on his bed, holding her close, and waking up to realize it had all been a nightmare—but it wasn’t. The girl’s sobs assured him it was real, so real that it was probably the end of everything.

He sat the girl in a chair while the other men tied Arisu to another one with tape. Niragi positioned himself in front of Y/N, holding her firmly down by the shoulder, though there was no need since she had stopped struggling, and now only a steady stream of tears flowed down her cheeks, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her.

“There, that’s it,” the men laughed as they finished tying Arisu up. “Want to do it?” They offered the tape to Niragi.

The man simply shook his head, watching as Arisu tried to keep his eyes open. He vaguely heard the men continue mocking the boy.

“Don’t you know what happens to traitors? Have you forgotten the rules? Let’s remind you: Death to the traitors!” Niragi felt the girl shudder under his hand, still resting on her shoulder, and her sobs grew louder.

“Get out,” he said suddenly, his voice hoarse and dry from holding it in for so long. It trembled slightly, and he feared it wasn’t authoritative enough to make the two militants leave the room.

Luckily, it was. The two men left, laughing and throwing threats about what was to come.

“Niragi will take care of you.”

“Say your goodbyes.”

When the door closed, the air in the room grew even heavier. Without looking at the girl, he removed his hand from her shoulder, already longing for the contact. He looked over at Arisu, who, despite his pitiful state, still glared at him defiantly. Niragi sighed and met Y/N’s eyes, from which tears still flowed steadily as she stared ahead. Niragi crouched in front of her and tried to wipe the endless flow of tears with his thumbs.

“Shh, shh... I know... I know, calm down. I’m here. Don’t cry, I’m here,” Niragi whispered. He didn’t notice Arisu turn his head, watching in surprise. “It’s okay... just calm down.”

A few minutes passed until the girl’s breathing became more or less steady, and the tears finally ceased. Niragi remained in that position the whole time, and when he saw she had calmed down, he stood up and gently stroked her head. Then he walked across the room to where his rifle rested against the wall. When Y/N saw the movement and the deadly weapon, she began to tremble again, on the verge of breaking down once more. Niragi noticed the change in her behaviour and walked slowly back toward her, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, the rifle pointed at the ground. When he reached her, he crouched down again, running his fingers through her hair once more and this time leaning closer to her face. He kissed her softly, holding her with the arm that wasn’t holding the weapon. Niragi clung to that kiss, tasting the salt of her tears, and wished it would last a lifetime. But it didn’t. He slowly pulled his lips away from hers, and with tenderness, he turned her face to whisper in her ear.

“Close your eyes,” he murmured.

The girl started shaking her head frantically, hyperventilating and sobbing once again.

“Shh... shh... close your eyes, darling,” Niragi insisted softly, trying to still her movements.

With a shaky sigh, the girl did as he asked. She was tired of pretending, of carrying this burden that had weighed her down for weeks. She felt his touch leave her skin and heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her breathing grew even heavier as she finally accepted the fate that awaited her, fighting the instinct to survive. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and tucked her hands beneath her thighs. She wouldn’t fight, she wouldn’t resist him. “What would be the point?” she thought. After all, everything she did, she did for him.

Two loud gunshots echoed through the room. And then, silence.

…

Sometime later.

Niragi knew very well the meaning of betrayal and its consequences. As a militant, he had sworn to protect The Hatter and act against anything that threatened The Beach’s hierarchy. He obeyed orders without questioning or probing beyond what he was told. Niragi had killed, yes. He had killed because he was told to, and he had never felt guilty about it. In all those bodies, he saw the people who had made his life hell for so long in the real world, and he had no regrets about ending the lives of every one of those traitors.

But it turned out that Niragi was also a traitor. He became one when he discarded Arisu’s body in a dumpster and carried Y/N’s limp form in his arms to the outskirts of The Beach, gently placing her in the back seat of a car and driving off into the night without permission.

He became a traitor when he helped Y/N out of the car and made her promise never to return to The Beach, and that if she ever encountered anyone who recognized her, she would kill them immediately.

But above all, he became a traitor when he got back into that vehicle, leaving the woman behind, a rifle on the ground, and a thousand words that would never be spoken.

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

---

Hey everyone! I’m so excited to finally share this imagine with you! It’s been a request I’ve been holding onto for a while, and I might’ve gotten a bit carried away while writing—oops! Sorry for the length, I just couldn’t help myself!😂

I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your thoughts and feedback mean everything to me, so don’t hold back! 💬💖

Thanks for all your support, and I can't wait to bring you more soon!✨

[fandomlit]

reunited (sirius black x reader)

summary after a year free from azkaban, sirius is dying to leave number twelve grimmauld place. but after a year of also craving to see you, one of his wishes is met.

warnings mentions of loneliness and depression

a/n if you couldn't tell i'm on a harry potter kick rn (requests please!!!)

gif cred belongs to @peaceseller

sirius was losing his mind sitting around headquarters. with little to do other than to stare at his family's old possessions and vanquish bitter creatures (and kreatcher), he was beginning to harbor a feeling similar to his time in azkaban--not nearly as hopeless, but just as desperately bored.

he heard the door open from the armchair he had been lounging in and a voice gasp, "professor l/n!" before the screeches of his mother filled the hall. he jumped to his feet--not due to the screams, he was truly becoming used to that--but at the sound of your name.

someone managed to close the curtains around his mother's portrait as he practically ran down the stairs. the last time he had glimpsed you had been too brief, not even being able to show you that he was there in his disguised animagus form. when dumbledore told him he had recruited you, sirius was less than surprised, but desperate for the day you would finally drop by headquarters. when after fourteen long years, he would get to speak to you. and, as he reached the last step, you were finally here.

"old bat never liked me," you were chuckling, shaking your head at harry, ron, and hermione as you faced the drawn curtains. "screamed very similar to that in person, as well." ron spoke something to you just as your gaze landed on sirius, who was still clutching the banister with his mouth slightly agape.

you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. your face was more mature than he had last seen and you were an inch or two taller, but you still had that bright glint in your eyes, like you were always on the verge of a joke, and a confidence in your stance that no one he had ever met managed to compare to.

he was muttering your name before he even realized it. he was acutely aware of the trio flipping their gazes between the two of you.

you smiled fondly at him. "sirius black, you finally grew out your hair!"

he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he opened his arms, walking toward you quicker than he would have cared for you to acknowledge. luckily, you met him halfway and let his arms squeeze you tightly to him. he let out an unconscious laugh.

"holy merlin, i never thought i'd ever touch you again," he confessed before realizing how odd it sounded. but you only responded with a laugh of your own.

"me neither," you confessed, drawing black slightly to see his grinning face. "but lord am i glad you're not the murderer the world was tricked to think." his smile dimmed in the slightest, but even those difficult thoughts couldn't weigh his heart down. you were actually here. "how's the old house treating you?"

he raised his eyebrows at you. "really? just going to keep bringing up the worst things of my day-to-day?"

you let out a laugh that he couldn't help but grin at. "i'm sorry, i am." you smiled fondly again as you two drew completely apart, but sirius kept your hand clamped in his and you squeezed it to show you didn't mind it. you shook your head at him. "godric, you look good! for a convict and blood traitor, you look like a dream, sirius!"

he let out a loud laugh this time, glimpsing the trio all trading glances behind you two. "you should see yourself! hogwarts has been kind to you, my dear." you let out a surprised sound at the old nickname. "you haven't changed an ounce, y/n. you're the same woman i dreamed of on my worst nights."

he took pride in the pink that crept up your neck. "you're a slightly aged version of the man i couldn't keep out of my dreams," you admitted. sirius smiled. "no matter what they said about you sirius.. my mind could never let you go."

he pressed your locked hands to his heart, soft gaze holding yours in what he hoped didn't look at all like the desperation he felt. "now it never has to." you pulled him into a wordless hug before he slipped his arm around your shoulders and lead you toward the kitchen.

sirius knew that later, away from the eyes of the curious teenagers of the house, you two would share a heavy hearted moment. one where he wouldn't be able to deny himself the exhaustion of his hardships in your presence, which has always been able to get past his tough, playful facade. but for now, the way you smiled and joked and radiated in his presence gripped his heart in a way that wasn't at all like he had felt in years.

[ethanedwardsnumberonefan]

Is It Over Now?

Rafe Cameron x Reader

angst, angst, angst

Word Count: 1K

Summary: Breaking up with Rafe was one of the hardest things to do, but at least you’d be free and feel good right? …Right?

A/N: I’ve never written a fic before um

And did you think I didn't see you?

There were flashing lights

At least I had the decency

To keep my nights out of sight

Rafe Cameron, a name you hear all throughout Kildare, not always in a good context but often with the name Y/N L/N attached to it. Since in diapers you and Rafe knew each other. Best friends to lovers is what it was, the perfect trust fund kids who were destined to eventually fall in love, wed and have the perfect fairytale family together.

It truly was all on that track before the small cracks in the relationship weren’t talked through and patched but left neglected and unattended till there were too many to handle and she cracked.

After the break up you took the time to reconnect with everything you neglected throughout your romantic relationship with Rafe. Your friends, family, yourself. This time was the first time you’ve felt free since you started dating Rafe, the memories and time with him prior that were strictly as friends were the best years of your life, and so was the beginning of dating him. Till you realized while Rafe slowly destroyed himself with his malicious coping behaviours of drugs and violence, he was also destroying you.

Consoling him and endless ways to help him always worked with him, honestly anything that was just with you. But focusing all your attention into making sure he was okay, drained from your duties to make sure you were okay.

Suddenly everything just revolved around Rafe and you couldn’t take it anymore. I mean, you took a whole gap year for him from university that eventually turned into two, which eventually turned into not going anymore because you were scared he was going to get himself killed.

Even after everything you did for Rafe including putting your life on hold, gave him no mercy to show he was “okay” without you. The rates of parties at the Tanney Hill spiked up and so did the amount of girls in the Outer Banks whispering about their amazing night together with Rafe Cameron.

Worst of all you couldn’t say it didn’t bother you. Even with everything you still loved Rafe, a person and love that you had can’t just be erased. Then again, your journey to reconnect with everyone meant reconnecting with friends, which meant reconnecting with the party life.

The difference between you and Rafe was at least you had the decency to keep your nights out of sight, keeping it low and minimal and not throwing it out to the entire country that you were now single and ready to do anything with anyone now.

Let's fast forward to three hundred awkward blind dates later

If she's got blue eyes, I will surmise that you'll probably date her

You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor

You search in every model's bed for something greater

Perfect, everything’s been “perfect”. Three weeks after the break up you’d say you’d been doing okay but some things just don’t feel right anymore. The high of being free was finally settling into the reality that you’ve lost your best friend and boyfriend.

Although Rafe was draining and depended on you like you were his nurse, he also was still your boyfriend. Or now ex-boyfriend. All the little things you began to miss and thoughts of “did i make the right decision?” Scathed your mind over and over. You didn’t think you could go anywhere without seeing something that reminded you of him, not even your own bedroom.

It wasn’t till a trip to the country club when you saw Rafe with an oddly familiar aura with him.

The girl he was with looked exactly like you. Her hair, her eyes, her smile. Irritation fills your body, you thought you’d been going crazy when the other night you told your friends the theory that Rafe was only going with other girls that resembled you but this really confirmed it because this girl was an exact clone of you.

Did he dream of my mouth while he kissed her? While he did anything with her? Because he knew well off in no matter how many girls beds he climbed into he’d never find anything greater.

Let's fast forward to three hundred takeout coffees later

(Flashing lights) I was hoping you'd be there

And say the one thing (oh, Lord) I've been wanting (oh, Lord)

But no

2 AM, you’ve been at this party for eight hours in honest hopes you’d bump into Rafe. You couldn’t take it anymore. You were weak and missed him. Every thought you had was of him and seeing him so easily run off with half Kildare’s population was killing you. That’s why you were here. You took the entire day to mentally and physically prepare yourself to see him at the party and get him back. It was pathetic but you couldn’t take it anymore.

But he never came. You sat in the corner of all these sweaty people dancing and snorting drugs for hours and Rafe never showed up. You thought about calling him, or just texting him but even that was too much.

On your way out of the party you hear a ping from your phone and open it to a message from your friend that sent you Rafe’s most recent post.

It was of her. That girl from the country club. The girl from the club sitting in your spot, your hidden, secret secluded beach spot that you and Rafe discovered in sixth grade near the water that tourists and locals didn’t even know about.

Your heart shattered. Tears spilled down your face as you crumbled down to take a seat on the houses front steps.

It was so naïve of you to even think that Rafe wouldn’t exploit that spot. You knew how petty he was. You should of seen in coming. Yet deep down you were hoping that it would never get to that point.

But here you were, on the front steps of a random house party sobbing into your hands all because you truly believe that Rafe Cameron was going to come to the party and say the words you’ve been yearning to hear from him again.

I Love You

How foolish.

pt. 2…?

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Neither of you are getting it.”

Twin sighs come from his laptop speakers. Lance lifts his head up from where he’s smushed it into his pillow to glare at his two best friends who apparently hate him, for some reason.

“I mean, there’s not much to get,” Pidge says. “You’re a big dumb gay loser and this predicament effects you emotionally.” She looks at Hunk as if to ask, right?, and Hunk, who is a traitor of the worst kind, shrugs in agreement.

“I don’t even get what you’re worried about, man. You have consistently been the one to get him the best gifts for years. None of us even try to beat you.”

“That’s the point!” Lance shrieks. “You’re not listening! I had ideas every other year, Hunk! This year I have nothing!” He taps his head aggressively. “There is not one thing in here! Nada!”

Pidge snickers. “Well, that’s not new.”

“Can it, Pidgeon.”

Hunk holds his hands up placatingly before the two of them can really start to go at it. “Alright, alright. Pidge, have mercy on him. He’s suffering. Lance —” he falters. “Dude, you walked into that one. Sorry.”

Lance will concede to that point. He kind of set his own trap. But still, he’s having a crisis, Pidge as his best friend should be going easy on him, so he sticks his tongue out at her.

“I just — ugh.” He takes a moment to fluff his pillows back up before falling backwards on them and throwing a hand over his face. This is a ridiculous thing to be so bothered by, and he knows it, but he is. Bothered by it, that is. He hasn’t been this lost since the first year they were in space.

“Lance,” Hunk says gently, startling him. “It’s August, dude. Keith’s birthday is two months away. You really, truly, do not need to be stressing about it.”

Lance’s eyes trace the long-faded glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. His gazes unfocuses on the red-orange star that represents Pollux, which has always been his favourite.

“This will be the first time I’ve seen him in months,” Lance says quietly. “I want him —” he swallows. The dryness of his throat makes his voice scratchy. “I want to be perfect.”

It. He had meant to say, I want it to be perfect. Because that’s what he wants — he wants Keith to get here safely and actually be able to stay this time and nothing to go wrong and him to celebrate his birthday surrounded by his loved ones, his friends and family. And — Lance. Wants to be there. Also.

He swallows again. It’s harder this time.

“He’s going to love anything you give him,” Pidge says, uncharacteristically soft. “You know he’s just going to be glad to see you upright and in one piece.”

Lance winces and the strained quality of her voice, the sudden darkness in Hunk’s expression. He knows he’s the cause of it.

It was hard on the team, his death.

He knows it was. That’s why he never talks about it. (They were never supposed to even know about it. When Lance’s soul was yanked back into his body and Allura gasped in relief and hugged him to her chest and sobbed out, I thought I was too late, Lance clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way. When he had rare moments on their long trip home where the adrenaline began to fade and he felt his heart begin to slow, he picked fights. He ran sims. He made stupid decisions. He kept his body distracted and his mind wound so tightly around Red’s that there was no chance for it to slip, to remember what had happened to him, to fade back into that dark and silent place. He kept his mouth shut and kept his quintessence dragged up to the highest level he could bring it.

And when they defeated Sendak, and they had to sacrifice their lions or sacrifice their friend, Lance’s hands shook and he made the obvious choice. And he doesn’t know what happened, when the adrenaline finally faded and the one thing keeping him tethered to their plane disappeared, but he knows when his soul was yanked back into his body, permanently this time, his friends wouldn’t answer his questions or let him out of their sight and all of them had the same haunted look to their eyes. He has never had the strength to ask. But he has been careful with himself, since. He covers his Altean marks — a testament of how much Allura gave of herself to keep him alive — and keeps his feet planted on Earth and out of danger and knows that he owes it to them to keep himself safe.)

“Well, anything I could give him would be better than what you got him last year,” Lance says loudly, beating back the oppressive silence that has fallen over them. It works — Pidge scowls at him, remembering the plant she had got him that had turned out to be highly toxic to any Galra. Hunk snickers at the memory of the bright blue hives that had covered Keith’s skin for weeks.

“How was I to know?” Pidge cries. Hunk and Lance’s increasing laughter only seems to make her angrier “He — ugh! It doesn’t matter, anyway, because you handmade him a leather sheath for his knife so he wasn’t looking at what I was giving him anyway! Shut up! Ugh!”

“It’s true,” Hunk agrees, chuckling. “We should make you gift stuff last. It’s not fair and makes everyone else look bad. He couldn’t take his eyes off that sheath, last year. He still wears it every day.”

Pidge mutters something in her hand that sounds suspiciously like “he couldn’t take his eyes off of someone,” so Lance ignores her in favour of whining again.

“Yeah, well, there’s no point this year because I’ve got nothing. I started making that sheath in June. I started making his jacket from two years ago in March. But this year I didn’t have any ideas and now I don’t have the time, even if I do come up with something. ” He sighs, defeated. “It sucks. I’ve hardly seen him outside of a computer screen and I’m only going to see him less, and I can’t even give him something to remember me by.”

“You’re talking like you’re never going to see him again,” Pidge points out. “There would be way less pressure if you just — saw him more, dude.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, right. Lemme just pack up and run off to space with him. Boom, all problems solved.”

He blinks.

He sits up so fast he very nearly brains himself on his bed frame.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. He looks over at his friends, who are smiling widely. His heart pounds.

Holy shit.

“I gotta go,” he shouts, scrambling to grab his laptop.

“Goodbye, Lance,” Hunk says, rolling his eyes fondly.

Pidge makes a crude gesture at him because she’s the worst. “Bye, gay pining loser!”

He slams the laptop lid shut and holds it tightly to his chest. Everything, finally, starts to click into place — Lance smiles; small at first, but quickly his mouth spreads so wide his cheeks ache, and his eyes practically squish shut.

He knows what to do.

———

On the morning of October 23rd, he is stressing.

“You’re embarrassing,” calls Allura, from where she‘s been lazing on the couch and eating pineapples for the last three days.

“I regret asking for your help,” Lance grunts, struggling to lift a sack of flour. He side eyes her. “Especially because you’re supposed to be helping, Miss Superstrength.”

Allura snorts, shoving another chunk of pineapple in her mouth. “I am helping. If I wasn’t here you would have talked yourself out of this several times over. You’re welcome!”

“Ugh,” Lance says, because she’s right and he knows it. “I’m not letting you lick the spoon.”

“What? Hey!”

He does let her lick the spoon. Because he has no discipline. But to her eternal credit she does actually help, too, and in more ways than just picking him up and physically shaking him out of his many freak outs, and he has a lot of them.

He’s been planning this for weeks. There are so many aspects, so many moving parts, that it’s just — stressful. Trying to put together a party that balances all the people who want to come together and celebrate Keith’s 25th with every single time constraint and restoration effort and even Keith’s own discomfort with too much fanfare is…a lot. Plus all the actual stuff that goes into hosting people at a party — Lance absolutely would not be able to do any of this without Allura’s help. She is, after all, his best friend, even though she drives him crazy and always has, in more ways than one.

At eleven thirty, when all the (tasteful, despite what his siblings had insisted was too boring) decorations have been set up and most of the food has been prepared, Allura clasps her palms to his cheeks and says, “Lance, breathe.”

Lance looks at her with wide eyes and says, “I’m cancelling everything.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I can’t do this. What was I thinking? This is — cringe. Ridiculous.” His chest shakes on an inhale. “What was I thinking, ‘Llura?”

She hums thoughtfully. Her thumbs trace his cheekbones, wiping away the makeup that covers his Altean marks, making Lance twitch but not move.

“You were thinking,” she says quietly, “about how long it has been since everyone has been on the same planet.”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“And how much we have all missed each other.

His shaking hands come up to grip her wrists, breath shuddering as he exhales.

“Yes.”

“And. Maybe. How much you miss Keith.” She pulls her hands away from his face and wraps them around his hands. “How much you miss the stars, even.”

“I’m scared,” he admits.

She squeezes his hands. “When has that stopped you?”

———

It’s three thirty and there’s still no sign of Keith.

Shiro and the rest of the Atlas crew, including Hunk and Veronica, arrived arrived sometime around one. The Holts came in right on their heels. Kolivan, Krolia, and a few other Blades Keith has kept up with over the years showed up a few hours ago. Lance’s family has been here the whole time, and Coran and Romelle came with Allura. Everyone that Lance had invited to come is here.

Except the one person Lance actually wants to come.

“Lance,” Shiro greets, somehow sensing his anxiety like the guru goody goody he is and popping up next to him.

Lance smiles anyway. He’s missed him too much to do anything else — he hasn’t seen anyone on the Atlas since their last restock, ten weeks ago.

“Hey, Shiro.”

“You freaking out?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’d be shocked if you weren’t, you walking Xanax advertisement.”

That startles a laugh out of Lance, and he shoves him, grateful for the distraction. Shiro grins wide and throws an arm around him, guiding him away from the front door — where he’s been biting his nails and staring at the sky in anxious hope for the last twenty minutes — and back to the rest of the party, ducking under flailing limbs and the random football that someone has brought out for some reason (Marco, probably).

“He’s gonna come, you know. He’s been excited about it since you invited him. I have received no less than nine hundred and twenty-two texts about it. It’s all very sweet and embarrassing. He’s coming, Lance.”

Lance huffs. “Unless he’s dead or maimed somewhere. I did some quick stat evals and there’s at 37% chance he was attacked on the flight to Earth and is bleeding out as we speak.”

Shiro stops them. He blinks at Lance several times. He sighs.

“You actually need to see a psychiatrist. Genuinely.”

“Nah.”

Shiro flicks him on the forehead, but the fond smile stays affixed to his face. Soon Lance finds himself relaxing, tucked under Shiro’s arm. He’s probably right — he usually is. Keith is chronically late, just as a person. Lance even told him the party started at ten just to make it more likely that he’d show up before everyone left. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be places — he just struggles with the concept of time passing, and also gets distracted a lot. (There are a lot of people who need Keith’s help, after all, and he’s a bleeding heart if Lance has ever known one. All humans are wired to respond to calls for help, but Keith seems almost attuned to them. If Lance thinks about his crooked smile and kind eyes for too long he gets physically nauseous.)

As Lance’s watch ticks its way to four o’clock, a light streaks across the sky, and before Lance knows what he’s doing he ducks under Shiro’s arm and starts running. He flings open the back gate and slides down the sandy hills, barely managing not to trip on rocks and pits in the sand where children have dug little pools. He doesn’t bother to slow as the aircraft makes its fiery descent, confident the pilot will not hit him, and by the time he makes it across the beach his bare feet burn and he’s stepped on a sharp shell and lost his jacket somewhere near the house. But it doesn’t matter, because the craft lands and seconds later the door flings open and Keith comes sprinting out, still clad in armour, hair long and thick and braided back, and he runs at Lance at full speed and they collide at the top of a sand dune and Lance leaps into his arms and Keith loses his balance and they go tumbling down, laughing, Keith’s hand on his waist and Lance’s fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders.

“You made it!” Lance shouts, smile wider than he ever thought capable.

Keith laughs again, full-bodied and relieved, crooked incisors on full display and long neck pulled back as his head rests on the ground.

“I know! I’m late, I’m sorry, I lost track of time and —”

“You always lose track of time,” Lance says warmly. He traces a strand of hair that has loosened from Keith’s braid, brushing it off his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. He stays where he is, half-pinning Keith into the sand, knees on either side of him, re-memorizing the curve of his grin and the indigo of his eyes and the scars on his face and the softness of his gaze. Suddenly his chest aches, painful in the best possible way, and his stomach pits and swirls and butterflies flutter wildly in his abdomen. Heat zaps up his veins and sparks through his arteries. The slowly setting mid-autumn sun casts golden light on Keith’s face and Lance is reminded, again, how breathtaking things are outside of Earth.

“Happy birthday,” he breathes, choking on the words.

Keith’s eyes crinkle. His hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb pressing gently on the gold Altean marks. They curve perfectly around the shape of his fingerprint.

“I missed you, Bluebell.”

Someone huffs. “Yeah, and he nearly killed us trying to get here. Some kind of leader you are, Captain.”

Keith flushes, gently pushing Lance up so he can get up and glare at Ezor properly. “We were fine!”

“We crossed nine hundred million lightyears in two days!”

“I took a shortcut!”

“Through weblum mating grounds!”

Lance punches his friend in the shoulder. Keith pouts at him, wounded.

“You flew through weblum mating grounds?!”

“It was fine!” Keith defends. “It wasn’t even an issue!”

Acxa scoffs incredulously. “We were chased by fourteen weblums at once, Kogane.”

“But did you die?”

All three of Keith’s crew roll their eyes. Keith crosses his arms smugly. Lance loves him so fiercely that it hurts.

“Keith!”

With what Lance can only call divine instinct, he has enough forethought to throw himself out of the way before a five foot nothing blur throws herself at Keith’s person and sends them both crashing to the ground, significantly more painfully that Keith and Lance’s whole thing. Keith groans loudly, but Pidge doesn’t even give him half a second to complain, dragging him back upright and hugging him properly. Keith, softie that he is, hugs her back immediately, smiling into her hair.

“Hey, Pidge.”

“Happy birthday, loser! Birthday beats!”

She, immediately, starts to let him have it, impervious to Keith’s yelps. He attempts to squirm away, but Zethrid, lover of violence and also loud supporter of Pidge in general, firmly clamps onto his shoulder to allow Pidge to assault him in peace.

“That was twenty-six!” he says in outrage when she finishes.

She smiles pleasantly. “You were late.”

Hunk, thankfully, chooses that moment to jog over, carrying an ice pack because he’s an angel and also a genius.

“Figured Pidge would come in fists swinging,” he jokes, leaning down to hug Keith tightly. “Happy birthday, man. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Keith protests, but he looks like he agrees.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the party to flock over, despite the fact that it would be much easier for everyone to just wait for Keith to walk over to them. Lance isn’t surprised — it’s not like he could wait, after all. When Keith is around, people gather. Such is the way of the world.

He smiles at the crowd of Keith’s loved ones, and especially at the bewilderment on his face. It’s been years, but Lance knows that he still gets surprised when he’s reminded how big his family has gotten. It’s nice to see that reminder written all over his face. He edges out of the smattering of people and starts to head back to the house, figuring he might as well start setting up the table to get dinner started now that Keith’s here. Most of it is already cooked and keeping warm in the oven, but he figured it would be best to wait until everyone was ready to —

“Hey, Lance, wait up.”

He startles when a hand wraps its way around his wrist, relaxing when he recognises the calloused fingers and leather-covered palm. Keith jogs over the rest of the way now that he has Lance stopped, falling into step next to him.

“What’re you doing?” Lance asks, looking at him urgently. “Go say hi to everyone!”

Keith shrugs. “I’ll get there.” He flashes another smile at Lance and it’s crooked and familiar and Lance is weak in the knees. “I started an argument about human versus Altean time measuring systems. Everyone is now picking sides. They won’t notice I’m gone for the next ten minutes at least. I’m all yours, Sharpshooter.”

Lance resists the urge to bury himself in the sand and die of mortification. There’s actually no physical reason for Keith to look the way that he does. It’s — too much. The smouldering eyes and sturdy shoulders are one thing, but with the whole — grin and hair and wide hands and fucking — everything else; it’s too much. It’s a lot. Keith should maybe — wear a mask, or something. Or a hood. Or be more of a klutz, just so he’s humbled slightly.

“Oh,” Lance croaks, trying desperately not to focus on the way Keith’s hand is still holding onto Lance. “That’s — cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Blue, Red, if your spirits are still kicking around somewhere, send help, he prays at the heavens.

Apparently they are, because the heavens do indeed provide.

The air in front of the sparks and warps, flashing blue so bright Lance had to squeeze his eyes shut. He hears a loud bark, and opens his eyes again just in time to catch the ball of fur and floof that throws himself into his arms.

“Kosmo!” he cries, pulling away from Keith in his haste to hug the space-wolf tightly. Kosmo yips in delight, covering Lance’s face in dog slobber as he wiggles around in excitement. “Oh, buddy, I was wondering where you were! Mwah! Mwah mwah mwah!”

“He saw the crowd on the descent and got nervous,” Keith explains, scratching Kosmo’s fur fondly. “He was hiding in the back, huh, buddy?”

“Like father like son,” Lance teases. He adjusts the big dog into his arms so he’s half on his shoulders, panting right next to his ear and giving him gross slobbery kisses every three seconds.

“I do not hide from crowds,” Keith huffs. “And he can walk, Lance. Don’t baby him. He’s always spoiled after he hangs out with you.”

“You do so. And of course I spoil the little baby!” Lance coos, scratching under his chin. Kosmo howls in excitement, tail thumping hard against Lance’s hip. “Who’s the bestest boy? Who is my favourite in the whole big universe? It’s you! Yes, Kosmo-baby, it’s you! Good boy!”

“He’s not your favourite,” Keith grumps.

“Yes he is! Oh, yes he is!”

He coos over Kosmo for the whole walk back to the house, only setting him down when they make their way to the kitchen. Keith grabs the dog gently under the ear when he finally stands on his own, bending down to look him straight in the eyes.

“Kosmo,” he says quietly, angling himself slightly away from Lance, “remember what we Talked About.” He stares at the wolf for several moments. “You know. About the — thing.”

Amazingly, the dog seems to bark in understand. Keith nods in satisfaction, patting him on the head. “Good. Go do.” With a poof Kosmo disappears again, leaving just the two of them in the kitchen.

Lance pouts. “Aw. I wanted to spend more time with him. I haven’t seen him in months.”

Keith looks affronted. “You haven’t seen me in months!”

Lance turns away to hide his smile, busying himself with the food. “Eh.” He waves an oven-mitt-clad hand dismissively. “I text you all the time.

“You’re a bully,” Keith pouts. “You’re being mean to me on my birthday.”

“At the party I put together for you, dweeb. Don’t you pout at me.”

In response, Keith inserts himself into Lance with the guise of helping him plate and pouts harder.

“Bully,” he emphasizes.

Lance flicks him on the nose. Keith catches his hand and holds it hostage between two of his, rubbing his thumb along the bump of Lance’s wrist. Lance considers screaming.

“Help or get out of my kitchen,” he manages instead.

Smirking, Keith does, loading garlic knots onto a plate and stealing several, thinking he’s slick. He’s not — Lance notices, but it’s Keith’s birthday and Lance also ate like six already, so he lets it slide.

They have everything ready to go in under five minutes, loading up as much as they can carry and heading outside to set it all out. Everyone else is back by the time they get there, and Hunk and Shiro scramble to come help set up. Very quickly the party is in full swing, people eating and laughing and wishing Keith a thousand happy birthdays. Keith has always claimed to hate attention and crowds, but he’s — glowing, really. His smile doesn’t leave his face. Maybe it’s that he’s older and maybe it’s that he knows everyone. But more likely it’s the easy confidence that’s grown in him over the years, sprouting from the knowledge that he is good and he is kind and he is loved, and trusting everyone who assures him this is true. Lance remembers when he hunched his shoulders and scowled at anyone who looked at him too long. Now he smiles when someone calls his name.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the party. Lance had attempted to plan it, but given up quickly — he knows his people. They’ll flutter around something until inspiration hits and they’ll flutter around something else. The only constant has been food and loading Kosmo up with affection.

As the sun begins its journey below the horizon, someone — Adam — forces Keith into a random lawnchair and says, “Open your gifts, gremlin.”

Immediately, everyone else clambers to grab their gifts and gather around, ignoring Keith’s protests of “I’m twenty-five goddamn years old, I don’t need gifts, you people waste your time and money —” and arguing over who goes first.

Adam goes first. Obviously.

Despite Keith’s grumbling, he’s very obviously touched. He gets a range of things, from a fancy knife from his mother (again) to a framed photo from Shiro, with he and Adam grinning widely at a camera as a young Keith snores in Shiro’s lap. Keith starts bawling some time around gift number three and never really stops. Lance tries to hand him tissues, but after he uses up an entire box decides to let him be a big emotional dork in piece.

“Is this a crystal from the first Balmera we ever visited,” Keith sobs.

Hunk smiles, amused. “It is.”

He makes his way over to Keith’s lawn chair and hugs him tightly for several minutes, muttering something and pressing dozens of kisses into his hair. Keith holds him tightly. Lance himself cries on several occasions, but he’s not alone.

“I just love everyone so much,” Keith blubbers.

“Here we go,” teases Allura, but she’s the one to shoo everyone out of his space to give him a break. “Take a few minutes, darling. Gather yourself. Let me know when you’re up for company again.”

Keith nods at her gratefully. Kosmo makes his way onto Keith’s lap and plants himself there, curling up and laying his head on Keith’s knees. Lance sits on the lawn chair next to Keith, offering him a glass of water that he accepts gratefully.

“I do this every year,” Keith laments, attempting to dry his eyes.

Lance pats him delicately on the hand. “Don’t worry. It’s charming.”

Keith sniffles. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.”

Lance is the only one who hasn’t given Keith his present. Well, and Allura, technically, since she’s part of it. Part of him wants to do it now, get it over with. He even finds the words for it, but then Pidge hollers something about cake, and Keith, who has the biggest sweet tooth in the entire universe, brightens, looking at Lance hopefully, and Lance swallows it down.

“Go sit at the table,” Lance orders. “I’m doing candles and you’re blowing them out.”

“That’s babyish,” Keith protests stubbornly.

“No candles, no cake.”

“Ugh.”

Keith gets up and goes to sit at the table, Kosmo pattering after him.

Smiling to himself, cheeks redder than he would like, Lance ducks back into the kitchen, digging around the cupboards for the candles he bought the other day and carefully pulling the cake out of the fridge.

It’s chocolate-chocolate-chocolate-chocolate. Quadruple chocolate. It’s chocolate cake with chocolate custard and chocolate frosting covered in chocolate decorations. What it is is sugar on a platter, and Keith will devour it. Lance spent more hours than he’s willing to admit on making it. If anyone questions him even a little he is going to die on the spot.

He carefully sticks twenty six candles — one for wishing — on the top of the cake, lighting twenty-five of them. Everyone is already sat down by the time he walks back outside, and the second Coran sees them he starts singing loudly, and everyone else is quick to join in. As much as Keith tries to roll his eyes about the truly startling amount of flame on his cake, nothing he can do can hide the obvious excitement that lights up his face upon sight of the chocolate monstrosity. He takes a deep breath and blows out the candles when the song ends, extinguishing all but one. Immediatey, a ripple of teasing snickers and ooooooou’s fill the air.

“One candle left! You’re gonna get a boyfriend this year!” Pidge shouts, looking directly at Lance.

Both Keith and Lance flush up to their foreheads.

“Cut the cake!” Allura shouts, because she is a true ally and Lance loves her.

Grateful for the distraction, Lance does, nudging Keith out of the way when he tries.

“If you cut the cake then you can’t get the first slice, dorkbrain. Sit down. Let me.”

He does let Lance cut the cake, which makes Lance feel touched for some reason. God, Shiro is right. He needs a psychiatrist. He hates it when Shiro is right.

He’s very smug to receive dozens of compliments on his cake, highest of all from Keith, who scarfs down his first piece in literal seconds (thirty seven, to be exact). He has several more. There will be no leftovers.

But Lance knew that.

It doesn’t take long for people to start milling about again; finishing their dessert and picking at the various fruit trays and chatting and watching the last rays of sun disappear. Lance twitches nervously, stealing glances at Keith, until Allura walks up to him, pinches him on the shoulder, and says, “Get your quiznak together.”

And Lance grumbles, “Yeesh, woman. Alright,” and forces himself to walk over to Keith, who is spinning some hugely exaggerated story to Nadia and Sylvio.

“Children,” Lance says when Keith finally takes a breath, “Tío Lance has to talk to Keith about boring adult things. Go harass your Tío Marco, it will be fun.”

“Quieres tiempo a solas con tu nooooooovioooooo,” the twins singsong in unison, and then run away cackling. Lance flushes bright red and considers pelting strawberries at them like the little shits deserve.

“What was that?” Keith asks, bewildered.

“Probable cause,” Lance mutters darkly.

Keith snorts. “Please don’t murder your niblings.”

“That’ll be my gift to you. Not committing homicide on your birthday.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, not really.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “You mean…” He gestures vaguely at everything. “This isn’t already my gift?”

Lance shrugs.

“Lance, come on! This is more than enough. It must have taken you weeks to prepare.” He shakes his head, looking at Lance with soft, kind eyes. “You always do so much for me.”

Lance shudders, weak under Keith’s gaze.

“I like to.” He pauses. “I miss you. Always. It — fills the time, to do things for you.”

Keith reaches up and brushes some sand from Lance’s hair. He lingers, after, tracing his fingers along the shell of his ear, resting his hand against Lance’s neck. Lance closes his eyes, leaning into it, letting himself have this affection he’s craved like nothing else for months.

“I miss you, too. Constantly. Sometimes you’re all I think about, up there.” He sighs, and Lance can hear the tired, enticing smile on his face. “Wish you were watching my back again, Sharpshooter. No one else does it quite like you.”

Lance forces his eyes open again, although he can’t bring himself to meet Keith’s eyes. He traces the crooked line of his nose, instead, the tilt of his thick brows.

“You going back tonight?”

“Nah, I’ll stay a couple days. I’ve got nothing pressing for another week.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him, chants the Allura that lives in his head.

Give me a goddamn second, he snaps back at it.

“Uh, Allura and I have been. Working. On a project.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s here a lot. Obviously.” He gestures to his Altean marks, which he has just remembered are uncovered. He’s fine — all systems are running and he is a-okay. But his situation was a little different than Shiro’s. A little more Frankenstein. Lance depends on quintessence heavier than anyone else — he’s probably fine to make his own and live his life, but…he’s always struggled with depression. And Allura worries. So she wormholes to Earth regularly to hang out and make sure he’s not too low.

They have a lot of time to scheme, the Blue Paladins of Voltron.

“Obviously,” Keith agrees. Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t avoid looking at his marks; doesn’t wince when he’s reminded of them. The only change in his eyes is a look of determination, a renewed intensity in which he watches Lance. It’s a little bit intoxicating.

“I love Earth,” Lance says quietly. “It will always be my home. I will always want to come back here. I want to die here.” He finally meets Keith’s eyes. “But.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. The hand still resting on the curve of Lance’s neck twitches, slightly.

“But?” he asks, breathless.

“I’ve been helping her organize plans for a castleship. A little smaller than the old one, but — you know. Similar. It’s something to do. I’ll feel better knowing you guys are together, up there, fighting as a team together. There’s the Atlas, but it’s not the same. It’s not Voltron.”

“Oh.” Some of the excitement dims from Keith’s expression, although he takes great care to keep the smile firmly on his face. “That’s great, Lance. I miss the castle too. It’ll be a little more stable, and missions will —”

“And I’m coming with you,” Lance blurts.

Keith freezes.

“To space. Permanently. Um, mostly. I still want to come back to Earth and see my mom and everybody but you know. I miss everybody. I’m lonely. And being a farmer is actually super duper boring. No offense to farmers, but I want to shoot shit again. I even miss training, which is crazy, because I hate training —”

“Lance,” Keith says, and Lance says “Yeah?” and then he’s being pulled forward and Keith’s other hand comes to rest on his hip and he is being kissed.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut and words fading from his brain. His hands slide into Keith’s hair without his conscious thought, and he tilts his head and lets Keith devour him as the butterflies storm in his stomach and kisses Keith back like he will get all the breath he needs from Keith’s lungs. His head spins and his knees go weak and Keith smells like pine and sandalwood and his lips are chapped and his hands are calloused and it’s the most wonderfully strange mix of foreign and familiar, bexause Lance knows all these things, but he has never known them in this way.

“Finally!” someone shouts, and soon there are wolf whistles and catcalls and Keith’s smile is pressed against his and Lance can feel the press of his crooked incisors against his bottom lip and he could live off the sensation.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, half-drowned out by the noise of their teasing friends.

“Exactly as I wished it to be,” Keith whispers back, and then kisses him again and again and again.

[maxdibert]

Why do you think Sirius gave up on his family? Do you think he thought they would forgive him for becoming friends with a blood traitor so he just did what he wanted but as the war progressed he realized he has to actually make a choice? Like he took it as a rebellion and angst at the beginning and only later realized how real the pressure was? Did he not love them enough? What was the deal there? (I know you are a Snape account but I love your takes on other characters as well that's why I'm asking for your opinion on this. Btw I read your fic and I love the way you write Snape's internal dilemas)

Well, you can ask me about any character—I don’t exclusively talk about Severus hahaha and i love to rant about things so... Also, Sirius? Can’t stand him. But I like him as a character because I find him so cynical and hypocritical that he’s absolutely fascinating. I’ve always had this love-hate relationship with rich kids from ultra-conservative families who play at being progressives and think they’re these righteous justice warriors but, at the end of the day, are still just privileged kids with privileged prejudices and privileged habits. And I mean that sincerely—no irony intended. I’ve met plenty of people like that in my life, and I think Sirius is a very realistic representation of the cognitive dissonance that people like this tend to have.

That said, here’s something I’ve always thought. Obviously, this is a personal headcanon based on my own experiences with people who fit his profile, but I think it holds water. Usually, people like this—those who grow up in oppressive environments and eventually become atheist anti-religion types, join the communist party to scandalize their ultra-right-wing parents, or turn into crypto bros after ditching the vegan hippie commune their parents raised them in—do this stuff in late adolescence, almost as adults. But Sirius? He starts rebelling really early, as a kid. By the time he’s 11, he already feels the need to rebel against his family.

It happens the moment he meets James, when James establishes that Slytherin is the worst. Sirius comments—offhandedly, without any resentment or anger—that his whole family’s been in Slytherin. He doesn’t seem like he’s at war with them yet, but you can tell he kind of likes the idea of not being in Slytherin just to piss them off. Add to that the fact that he hints in OotP that his dad was a pushover and calls Regulus an idiot—like he was just a fool—but he doesn’t seem truly resentful toward either of them. Sure, they didn’t have a great relationship, but when he talks about them, it’s more with antipathy than hatred. All of this leads me to the same conclusion: mommy issues.

Sirius had major mommy issues—or at least, that’s how I see it. Rich boys with daddy issues rebel by trying to become powerful men, detached from the arena where their fathers succeeded, but determined to surpass them. Rich boys with mommy issues? They turn into psychos. Seriously, that’s just how it works—I don’t make the rules. I think Sirius always clashed hard with Walburga because (and this is my favorite part, because this isn’t just a headcanon; I’m absolutely convinced of this from the little we see of their interactions—or of him with the portrait—in the books) they had the same shitty personality.

Walburga was a dominant, explosive woman with an imposing, even despotic, character. It’s very reminiscent of Bellatrix and, by extension, very much like Sirius. I think Regulus and Orion had similar personalities—the same kind Narcissa shows: arrogant, smug, classist, but restrained and composed. Egocentric, but calm. Walburga, Sirius, and Bellatrix are the other side of that aristocratic coin: the type who believe they’re entitled to everything and everyone, the kind who bulldoze over everything in their path. They’re wild and uncontrollable personalities, especially if someone tries to rein them in.

In my mind, Sirius took after his mom, and Walburga couldn’t stand having someone so much like her constantly challenging her authority. Sirius, meanwhile, couldn’t stand her trying to control him. So at age 11, his rebellion was probably just a tantrum aimed at his mom, a way to piss her off as much as possible. From there—and thanks to James’s influence, as well as the credit Sirius gave James because, spoiler-not-spoiler, James was also a rich pureblood wizard like him—he started adopting James’s worldview. Not because it was rooted in firm beliefs or clear reasoning, but because James had a family that wasn’t insane, so he was probably right. And if parroting James’s ideas at home gave his mom a few gray hairs, all the better.

It snowballed and escalated until the relationship was unsalvageable. James offered him a place to stay if he wanted to leave, and Sirius moved out. But the start of it all? A tantrum aimed at mommy. Sirius has some massive mommy issues he just can’t handle. And the funniest part? He’ll do anything to avoid being like her. He’ll go to any length to do the exact opposite of what she would do. But in the end, because they share the same awful personality, he behaves in the same violent, despotic, narcissistic way she did—just with different victims: Kreacher or Severus, for example.

It’s a brilliant little Oedipal case study.

[earthmoonz]

WIFEY. | EPISODE TEN (10.10) [ACT THREE]

start / previous / next

Luis and Lourdes had driven in heavy silence, neither willing to speak first for fear of igniting another argument. Being at odds was new to them, and in the deepest recesses of Luis’ mind he wondered if this dynamic would be permanent, further distancing him from his already fractured family. 

Lourdes, who typically preferred peace over conflict, found herself bubbling with a rage so potent, she felt like a stranger to herself. For the first time she seemed to truly understand the truth of womanhood in her family. So much pain to hold back. So much poison to swallow down. It was clear to her now why her sister behaved the way she did. Before, Lourdes had loved Lena in spite of her violent nature. Now she wondered if that same violence was bravery instead.

(transcript below)

(LUIS): [Noticing Lena’s car] Let’s get this over with.

[As the siblings walk towards each other, the air is thick with tension. The one-two punch of seeing both of her siblings arrive mixes with Lena’s ongoing anxieties over Max. Betrayal and fear distil themselves into an ache in her chest, giving her a brief pause before she speaks. However, the silence proves too much for Lourdes and her rising panic makes her talk first]

(LOURDES): Lena…I know how this looks, but please. If you let us explain then I’m sure we can have a civil conv-

(LENA): Sure? Oh that’s funny. An hour ago I was sure my sister wasn’t a traitorous bitch. 

(LOURDES): Lena! You don’t understand! 

(LENA): Get the fuck out of my sight Lourdes, before I change my mind.

(LOURDES): I-

(LUIS): Go wait in the car. 

[Lourdes, now devastated, stomps off in the direction of the car]

(LUIS): If it’s any consolation, she hated lying to you and mami, and probably she hates me now too.

(LENA): She can join the fucking club. What is wrong with you Luis? [Gritted teeth] Why would you do this? What was there to gain?

(LUIS): Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand. You have no idea what it’s like to atone for the sins of this fucking family.

(LENA): Oh give me a break! Do you think you’re the only one who’s been through shit? Who’s fucking sacrificed?

(LUIS): No. But unlike you, my shit isn’t self-inflicted.

[Lena punches Luis to the ground]

(LOURDES): [witnessing it] here we fucking go.

(LENA): [Flexing her hand] get up.

[Luis scrambles to get back on his feet]

(LENA): Do you know what your problem is? You don’t know how to de-escalate. You just expect people to back down and acquiesce to your point of view. [Luis gets back up, breathing heavily] …And if you can’t get your way, you provoke people into being their worst selves, so that you can say your hand was forced. Now we both know that shit doesn’t run with me, so how about you try telling the truth instead?

[Luis takes this opportunity to shove Lena to the ground, they fall together and immediately start fighting.]

(LUIS): [Breathless, mocking] that ‘I’m so tough’ shit is getting old, Lena.

(LENA): [venomous] Prick. [She surprises Luis by shoving him off her, quickly regaining the upper hand. Her gun clatters to the floor in the process.] 

(LOURDES): [quiet, panicked] Oh fuck!

(LENA): Aw poor Luis, it’s so hard being daddy’s favourite, I’m such an angel! It’s my sister who’s a big bad monster! Boo-fucking-Hoo. [deadly] You know I promised mami I’d bring you home, I just didn’t say what condition…

[Lourdes sprints back into view, Roy’s black SUV pulls up]

(LOURDES): Lena! That’s enough!

[Lena releases him immediately, shocked out of her blind rage, the two sit, facing each other]

(LENA): …He’s fine. 

[Car door slams, Roy steps out, but so does someone else]

(LENA): [Now standing] Max?

(MAX): …Hi.

[hyog-blog]

Fangs of Fortune (ep. 18 - ep. 20)

I've just noticed the truly abnormal amount of crying all the characters do in this show (like, it's so pretty I'm not complaining, but poor actor babies, I can't imagine the amount of work and emotional turmoil that went into acting all this out for us to enjoy). God bless them pretty people who cry so beautifully - this is truly an art form!

As Zhuo Yichen wisely mentioned in ep.20 "the sea of suffering is endless" - I think it's an actual motto of this show. Like, how many characters can you make suffer in the course of one episode? Quick answer - many, and then some more.

First and foremost - we lost Li Lun! I didn't expect he'd go so early in the series (checks episode count), well, okay, not too early, but I kind of expected him to torment Zhu Yan till the very end. He was such a poor and bitter meow-meow I can't even hate him despite whatever wrongs he has done. Deeply hurt, wounded, lost, and 'betrayed' by his probably only friend. Never even tried to understand his point of view, just went on hurting and hating and plotting his revenge to hurt Zhu Yan the same way he hurt him, and probably even more.

Whatever happened to them was fate (well, at least at this point in the series), but then he chose to follow the path of pain and suffering. Judging by how toxic his revenge has gotten in the end, he must have really loved Zhu Yan. And the irony of Li Lun joining forces with the very people who caught and tortured demons back then, when he and Zhu Yan parted ways. I mean it was kind of narrow-minded of Li Lun to just ditch his only friend so fast. And condemning the whole of humanity just because a few people are bad apples, well, is the same as condemning all demons because some of them are violent. But still, there are those who aren't. What an epic saga of grief and misunderstanding D:

At this point, Zhu Yan must be the saddest Great Demon in the history of Great Demons. I mean come on, how many more deaths and sufferings can he take? (nope, don't answer that, there are still 14 episodes left, I'm sure the show will surprise me more than once XD). I mean, when speaking about being unfortunate, he has had it the worst in the series (he was just 'lucky' to survive long enough to get some happy days and encounters mixed in there as well). But with a countdown of 1 month hanging over his head, I have a feeling things won't be all sunshine and roses for him (again, and again, and again, ah).

"You don't have a heart, but aren't you living in agony, too?" Spot on, Yichen-baby, spot on. I think Zhu Yan's heart might just be bigger than most human's.

Also, how come Zhuo Yichen has gotten even prettier? I love his new look with hair tied up in a bun, official robes and all. He has also matured. The way he was talking about Zhao Yuanzhou merely being the blade of that malicious force and that he shouldn't be punished for what it did through him - my thoughts exactly! The screenwriters conveyed this message so well and I'm happy that the characters also realize this inside the show (still, I have a bad feeling about how things will end for him).

Bai Jiu being a 'traitor' was a fresh take! Cool plot twist. But this is how this Chongwu camp operates - finds people's soft spots and uses either threats or bribes to make them do bad stuff for them. Luckily, no one got hurt (well, uh, not yet). And Pei Sijing has been working with Zhu Yan all this time, yay))) I never wanted to believe that she was an actual traitor, the girl is too cool (and they have a cute thing going on with Wen Xiao, hehe).

Also, I've noticed how in the course of the last few episodes both Zhu Yan and Zhuo Yichen acknowledged each other's, how should I put it, awesomeness? Zhu Yan calling the other guy a dignified gentleman with a righteous heart, unbreakable will, and a character as strong as gold, and Zhuo Yichen admitting that Zhu Yan was a compassionate and righteous demon and that he didn't want to kill him any longer :3 A little bit of honey to balance out the bitterness, ah.

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle]

Day 7: Alcohol of @/Black00Cat’s (twt) SKKtober

Dazai knows the phases of Chuuya’s alcohol intake (see: Book 7 of Dazai Osamu’s Grievances against Nakahara Chuuya) like the back of his hand.

Can picture them so clearly that it’s a movie playing in his head, each detail highlighted in his mind’s eye.

And yet he never imagined a scenario like this in all his daydreams of how to kill Chuuya.

No, no, it seems Chuuya has accepted Dazai’s proposal of double suicide in the worst way possible.

The slug? On his unknown number of glasses of wine, absolutely plastered. And Dazai? He’s feeling his soul leave his body thanks to Chuuya, who has decided his preferred seat for the evening is Dazai’s lap.

The worst part? They’re out with their coworkers, a celebration for another joint mission done well. Woohoo…

“Chibi,” Dazai hisses into Chuuya’s ear for the nth time. He’s tried pushing his dog off — did not work, earned a punch — he’s tried squeezing Chuuya enough to annoy him — did not work, the brat got even more comfortable — and now he’s been pestering him to gain his attention.

Which, for the record, has not been working, much to Dazai’s, and everyone else’s, unfortunately growing horror.

Chuuya continues to blab to Yosano and Ranpo, the only ones not in a state of shock throughout this, giving them a plethora of gossip to talk (and tease) about later.

“How much did you let him drink?” Kouyou glares at Dazai, tone telling Dazai all he needs to know about how fucked he is for this.

“Me? Ane-san’s the one that usually stops him,” Dazai argues back. He steels himself as Chuuya shifts around before deciding his shoulder is the perfect pillow. Dazai’s just praying he’ll knock out soon.

Distantly, he registers Yosano and Ranpo whispering to each other but the threat of Kouyou takes his foremost attention.

She opens her mouth to say something, likely a threat in the form of death by sword, but Atsushi speaks up, voice hesitant.

“I mean, at least he’s not hurting anyone.”

Dazai rounds on Atsushi, mouthing ‘Me! He’s hurting me!’ — specifically his pride — at the boy.

Atsushi, the traitor, merely shrugs.

Dazai’s movement from earlier had roused Chuuya off his upper body, and soon a weak punch is thrown at his shoulder with a growl.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Dazai never wanted it to really come to this but—

“Akutagawa-kun~” He throws his most charming (read: threatening) smile at the man.

Beside the raven-haired, Atsushi gets ready to tell Dazai off but a quiet ‘ahem’ draws his attention.

Akutagawa, with a glance at Chuuya, meets Dazai’s eyes to deliver “Unlike you, Dazai-san, I do value my life,” sealing the brunet’s fate.

All Dazai can do in his shock is mutter, “You’ve been hanging out with Atsushi-kun too much.”

Dazai chooses to ignore Atsushi’s protest of “Isn’t that our assignment?”, instead turning his attention to Kunikida—

who gives him the most adamant death stare with a shake of a head he’s ever gotten from the man.

Lovely.

“Yosano-sen—“

“The night’s still young! What do you guys say to a game~?” The doctor asks, the glint in her eye telling Dazai he is truly fucked.

“Mr. Fancy Hat~! Truth or dare?” And there’s no chance to even bribe Ranpo to help Dazai out before Chuuya is sitting up straight, determined to overcome his

“Dare.”

Maybe Dazai’s had too many to drink too because he’s unable to control his heartbeat in this moment.

“Kiss him.” Ranpo smirks.

Dazai isn’t able to protest with who exactly “him” is before lips are all over his, the taste of wine taking over all of his taste buds.

Thinking back on this night, he vaguely heard hollers and hoots and laughs. Presently, though, all he can hear is his heart in his ears as red hair takes over his vision.

He’s sure his face is red — and he really hopes he can blame it on the alcohol.

He can’t pull away — Chuuya’s making sure of that with the vice grip he has on his shoulders — and he can’t lean into it because these are his coworkers, for crying out loud.

As the need for air nears, some divine being out there must take pity on Dazai.

Chuuya pops off with a lick of his lips — that Dazai can’t help but stare at — and promptly passes out.

Dazai catches him from falling off without thinking. And before he can stop himself, he hisses out, “You’re so fucking dumb!”

The only reason he braves looking up is the stash of money that crosses the corner of his vision.

“I hate all of you.” He glares as he watches their bets pass around, Yosano and Ranpo the clear victors.

“No, you don’t,” Yosano replies back with a wink as she counts her earnings.

/No, I don’t,/ Dazai can’t help himself from thinking as his eyes wander back down to the sleeping beauty in his arms, completely out as he probably dreams about dogs, bringing a smile to Dazai’s face, even if drool is already threatening to drip onto his shoulder.

God, Dazai really is pathetically down-bad, isn’t he?

[oros-ash3s]

₊ ˚ ⭒ 𓆩✦𓆪 Sibling Questionnaire 𓆩✦𓆪 ⊹ ˚₊

✧ Who looks more like their dad? ✧

Out of the three of them, Elmira is the only one who has her dad present in her life. Crow was the bastard child of the family, the product of an 4-year affair their mother had with a commoner, while Aurora was adopted into the family when she was young. Which leaves Elmira as the only one who closely resembles their father, with his sharp nose, dark red hair, and pale skin.

✧ Who looks more like their mom? ✧

Crow looks much more like his mother than Elmira does, at least he used to, anyway. It’s a fact that he hated growing up, especially because it didn’t make his “father” any more sympathetic to him.

✧ Who eats the most? ✧

To be honest, none of them. The three of them have developed horrendous eating habits, all of them eating as little as possible. Though, when compared to her younger siblings, Elmira makes sure to eat at least one decent meal per day.

✧ Who has been in the weirdest situations? ✧

Definitely Crow. Having left home when he was only a teenager, he ran into quite a few odd people during his time on the streets. Elmira and Aurora both had very structured, orderly lives under their father’s command, which left them with not much room to get into weird situations.

✧ Who sleeps the most? ✧

Elmira, which isn’t saying a lot, seeing as Crow can’t sleep and Aurora is the definition of a workaholic.

✧ Who has the most stable romantic life? ✧

Crow, who actually has the experience for that statement to be true. Both Elmira and Aurora have never had the time to date, even if they wanted to.

✧ What is the worst habit of each? ✧

Elmira is easily persuaded by others, and doesn’t follow her gut instinct, instead just following along with the orders she’s given.

Crow is extremely defensive and apathetic, especially to those he doesn’t care for. He always puts himself first, because he’s the only person he can truly count on.

Aurora is angry and driven by rage. She sacrifices her health, her mental well-being, her relationships, all in the search of revenge.

✧ Who is the most dramatic? ✧

Aurora, who also loses her shit over practically any inconvenience.

✧ Who had the weirdest phase? ✧

Probably Aurora, who had a full-fledged emo phase as a teen.

✧ Who is the best cook in the family? ✧

Elmira is the best, and can cook quite well. She made many meals for Crow and Aurora while growing up. Both Crow and Aurora are terrible cooks.

✧ What is their best memory together? ✧

Though there are not many memories the three of them can name as happy, there are a few that they have as children that they all look back fondly on.

✧ What is their worst memory together? ✧

The day that Crow left — the day the three of them recognize as his death. After he disappeared, everything only got worse at the Koroleva estate.

✧ What is their dream trip together? ✧

Nowhere.

✧ Would you rather: Not be able to shower OR not be able to change clothes? ✧

Elmira: “I’m not extremely particular to fashion if it comes at the expense of my personal hygiene, so I’d say…. change clothes.”

Crow: “Shower. No question about it.”

Aurora: “Shower.”

✧ Who's older? ✧

Elmira is the oldest out of the three!!

✧ Describe each other in three words. ✧

Elmira: “Z… I mean, my brother, is caring, empathetic, and resilient. Aurora is hard-headed, determined, and goal-oriented.”

Crow: “Elmira? Stuck-up, small-minded, and ‘family-oriented’.” [He sneers the last word and laughs.] “And Aurora, hmm… Naive, hot-headed, and stubborn — as fucking hell.”

Aurora: “Elmira is bossy, responsible, and closed-off. And that… traitor?” [Her expression twists up in obvious distaste, eyes border-lining hatred.] “Dangerous, savage, and disgusting.”

✧ Who's their role model? ✧

Elmira: “I don’t have one that I can think of.”

Crow: “Myself.”

Aurora: “Father.”

✧ Who usually has the worst ideas? ✧

Elmira. I don’t even need to say anything else.

✧ Who is the certified "Bug Killer"? ✧

Aurora is DEATHLY afraid of bugs, ironically enough, considering what she does for work, and always has Elmira kill them for her. Crow likes chewing on whatever bugs he sees lying around.

ty for the tag @seastarblue, as per usual ^^

I already did this on my alt account @dioles-writes, but I thought I’d also do another one here!! this may or may not have been my attempt at soft-dropping my new WIP, with the three most complicated siblings ever: Elmira (she/her), Crow (he/him), and Aurora (she/her).

Taglist: @seastarblue @vesanal @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @bioniclechronicles @ohagi505 @lostcryptidinthewoods @lancedoncrimsonwings @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @whump-till-ya-jump @sharkblizzardblogs @sugaredparchment @scoundrelwithboba

[padfootastic]

truly one of the worst ways james and sirius’ characters were butchered (both by canon and fanon) is the implication that they thought remus was the traitor or spy because he’s a werewolf.

those boys did not spend 3 YEARS becoming ANIMAGI and risking their body, mind, and soul, as well as courting azkaban just to turn around and give in to prejudice against creatures???? like yes, i realise war makes enemies of everyone and it heightens paranoia, suspicion etc etc but this is just the laziest of all reasons??? if they weren’t scared of remus in school, after watching him transform, and they still used the damn nicknames, then why would they suddenly think his furry little problem made him unreliable??

and at that!!!! what tf kind of sense does it make for them to believe that remus was the traitor and then…do absolutely nothing about it???? the whole bullshit only checks out if they all firmly believed each other. if they thought one of them was a spy for the DARK LORD, then why would they shut up about it??? both james and sirius clearly realised the war was about more than just them; they would not be hiding a potential spy if they knew about it.

this is honestly why the whole thing, and r/s reconciliation rubs me the wrong way. if they thought remus was untrustworthy, then give me a reliable reason other than him being a were. (i’ve got a few but none of them are ever used in fics). and even if they had some doubts about remus, it would still never make up for his belief that sirius betrayed the potters and joined the DEs. ever. that’s entirely a false equivalence.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 16

content warnings: mentions of royal whump, mention of murder, mentions of the worst possible work environment, panic attack

masterlist | prev chapter

True to Kieran’s word, someone entered my room with a cart of food and clothes and soaps and more things that people didn’t usually give me. They woke me up when they walked in. I hadn’t expected to actually fall asleep.

I watched them with eyes half open as they walked around the room. They looked to be about seventeen. I hadn’t spoken with anyone that young since the nobility had stopped seeing me. Cecily Olan would’ve been fifteen now, but I hadn’t seen her since she was twelve.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t fucking matter. I had to focus on the issue at hand. The servant in the room I was supposed to be sleeping in. They put clothes in the closet, left towels and a toothbrush in the bathroom, did all the right things a servant was supposed to do. I just wasn’t used to being on this end of it.

I would’ve been quieter than them, anyway. My footsteps were lighter, softer, practiced not to interrupt anyone. I was better as a servant than a guest.

They were putting a tray of food on the table next to my bed when they noticed my open eyes. They yelped, dropping the tray the last couple inches it had to go, and I flinched into the pillow. “My apologies, Mx.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” they whispered, as if still nervous of waking me. “Sorry. I just didn’t notice you. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

I stood up, getting unsteadily off of the bed and onto my knees. “May I ask a question of you, Mx?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure. But you don’t have to, like, do… that.”

I leaned forward further, too tired to fight against the instincts that I’d been given by the royal family. “Kieran believes himself to be king, Mx. Do the subjects believe that as well?”

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, we all willingly pay taxes to him, so I’m not sure how much more believing we’re supposed to get. I don’t know how philosophical you want me to be here, I’m really just working during school holidays for extra cash.”

“He said that the royal- um. The Rao family, Mx. He said that they were cruel to- to their servants.” I was withholding information. Not technically allowed. But this person would act differently toward me if I told them the whole truth. “Is Kieran… is your king less cruel?”

“He doesn’t kill people, which is nice. Also, he pays us living wages. The bar’s low, but Lucia didn’t check either of those boxes, so yeah, I’d say he’s pretty nice. Were you a servant back when they were ruling? One of the cooks yesterday said that the princes would just watch servants do their jobs sometimes. Just… waiting for them to mess up so that they could berate them. Is that true?”

I stared intently at the floor. “Does Kieran not, Mx?”

“No. That’s creepy as shit. Also, he has better things to do, like actually take care of the kingdom. Best part of working here, though, is the gossip. Friend of a friend said that the royal family’s locked up downstairs. Sorry that you had to do that, but nice that they won’t get another servant ever again, right? Do you need anything else?”

“... No, Mx. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Sure. That button by the light switch will call someone if you change your mind.”

If I changed my mind. Right. As if I was ever going to ask for another person to come serve me. And a traitor, no less. The kingdom had truly abandoned the royal family because they’d kept their servants performing at top quality? Or- what had they said about Kieran?

I’d say he’s pretty nice.

The kingdom had abandoned the royal family in the pursuit of kindness. Was that enough reason to abandon someone? Not the royal family. Certainly not the royal family. There was never enough reason to abandon the royal family.

Kindness didn’t factor into that. It didn’t matter. It never could.

~

The clothes left in my closet were close to my measurements. Closer, at least, than the clothes I usually wore—old clothes of the princes. I wondered if Kieran had gotten these clothes made just for me. Like breakfast had been made for me. Like the tray of food I hadn’t yet touched, sitting on the bedside table in the room that Kieran had prepared for me.

All of a sudden, it was too much. Too much for me to ever think of repaying. Was this his plan? To give me things I couldn’t reject until my debt was too great to ever leave? I crumpled to the floor and buried my head in my arms. Crying wouldn’t help me now. Crying didn’t ever help. That didn’t stop the physical reaction.

I let myself be frustrated for about two minutes before standing up unsteadily and wiping away any wetness left on my face. If Kieran had given me clothes, he must have wanted me to wear them. This was not some unsolvable mystery, and I did not have time to cry about it as if it were. All I had to do was put on the clothes. But they were clean clothes, and I was disgusting. I had been busy here, aiding the royal family in the attempted overthrow, instead of showering last night. I had slept here, against a wall, instead of changing into clean clothes.

Fine. A shower and then I would change.

The shower was different, too. I kept the lights off to avoid staring at the tiles. It did not help. The blue and white pattern had burned its way into my memory. Blue and white like the wallpaper, like the bedding. Fit for a king. Not for a servant.

I didn’t feel that much cleaner by the time I got out, but since when had it ever mattered how I felt? Logically, I was more clean.

Waiting in the closet were jeans and a t-shirt. Different from the dress that the other servant had been wearing, which either meant that there was not a uniform or that I wasn’t supposed to be a servant. The collar of the t-shirt had not been cut out, which meant that it stretched uncomfortably tight under my wings. But it was not painful. And I could have handled it even if it was.

The servant had not left me a clock. And even if they had, it would not have mattered, because Kieran did not say when he was coming back for me.

All I could do was wait.

I sat on the bed counting seconds. I got to about two hundred before the itch in my fingers became too strong to ignore. It was Tuesday. I was supposed to be cleaning bathrooms. And I had showered anyway, so I could clean up after myself and wash the blue and white tiles, at the least. There were brushes and baking soda under the sink.

This was easy. This was what I was supposed to be doing, I thought as I scrubbed back and forth. It was so much easier than guessing at what I was supposed to say or do. Cleaning had a routine, and I knew it, and I was good at it. I was a good servant. I could be a good servant, no matter where I was, right?

I had to be.

~

taglist: @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606 @jay--o

@fuckcapitalismasshole @cepheusgalaxy

[lythea-creation]

The Price Of Family - Draco Malfoy x sister reader (Part 1)

summary: (f/n) isn't exactly a perfect heir to the Malfoy family. How will Draco deal with his sister sticking out?

warnings: reference to abuse

word count: 944

Author's note: Feel free to check out my Masterlists and make requests. No reposting please! Reblogging, comments and requests are always appreciated <3 If you like the story/my writing, please don't be shy to say it via comments or asks! It takes you a few seconds and might make my day. It's the best appreciation you can show to a writer you like.

Requested? Yes

--------------------

Being a Malfoy was not coming naturally to me.

For starters I despised the whole pureblood supremacy shit. Not even talking about the dark lord.

At school I was an outcast. Most Slytherins stayed away from me due to my beliefs which I did not hesitate to declare. A lot of other students avoided me because of my brother.

Luna was one of the only people I truly came along with. Maybe because she was the odd one out as well. I loved that about her though. She was true to herself and never questioned being herself. It was inspiring honestly.

But there were also somerismatic and cunning twins who I liked to hang around with. It was always fun to be with Fred and George and they did not care about my family. They saw me and not just my name.

Draco and I used to come along well when we were younger and life easier. But he preferred impressing our father over me nowadays and we were drifting apart the more time passed.

The year was over sooner than I had wished for.

I was sitting in a train compartment with Luna and Neville, enjoying our conversation. At the same time I could not help but dread the end of this ride. The summer break was the worst time of the year for me.

So I hesitated to say goodbye to my friends to join the family reunion that was already taking place at the gate.

Our parents were delighted to see Draco. They were all smiling and talking. Sometimes I wondered if I should just not return home one day to improve all our lives. But that would feel like running away and everything inside of me was clenching at the thought of giving up when it was getting hard.

Reluctantly I stepped over to my family who actually greeted me properly.

Our mother let us talk about our school year the whole way home. But as soon as we arrived I escaped into my room.

I unpacked my stuff immediately to get it done quickly. But that did not work out as I was interrupted by Draco bursting into my room.

“I've wanted to talk to you for a long time now”, he proclaimed.

“You can't just come into my room like that”, I noted.

“Of course I can and I just did”, he insisted. “The Weasley twins? Seriously? Do you want to ruin our reputation for good?”

“Just get out”, I shot back.

“I won't. You may not care about our family, but I do. I wasn't exactly excited when you started hanging out with that Ravenclaw weirdo, but this is a different level. Why do you keep interacting with blood traitors?”, he ranted.

“This is stupid”, I mumbled, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“The future of our family is a joke to you? When did all of that even happen? You used to hang around the right people”, he recalled.

“Oh, you mean your friends? Our rather the kids of our parents' friends? They're narrow-minded and total jerks”, I stated.

“What did you just say?” He growled, getting dangerously close.

“Drop the act, Draco! I'm not scared of you”, I enlightened him.

“You should be”, he warned me.

“You're weak, Draco. Always have been. You only do what everyone around is expecting you to do”, I proposed.

My brother clenched his fist before snapping his fingers and that way calling one of our house elves. “Go and get my father”, he ordered.

“That's another thing. You all treat the house elves like shit. I just don't get it. They're doing so much for us. A little appreciation and kindness isn't too much to ask for”, I remarked.

“What is going on here?”, our father questioned.

“(f/n)'s going insane. She's spending all her time with blood traitors and wants us to treat the house elves better”, Draco revealed.

“Is that so?”, father reassured.

I gulped. Honestly I was slightly scared of him because he was always afraid our family honor may be at risk.

“It is”, I confirmed.

“Alright then. I've given you enough time to redeem yourself. It's time for you to learn the hard way”, he announced.

“What do you mean?”, I inquired anxiously.

“You're going to spend the summer with your aunt. Maybe she can put you back on the right path”, he considered.

I could feel all color drain from my face. “You mean aunt Bellatrix? Are you serious? She's a maniac”, I reminded him.

“Don't talk about your family like that! Apparently I failed to teach you properly. Maybe I was too soft on you. I'm sure she won't be”, he assumed.

“No, you … you can't do that”, I protested.

Now I was scared to no end. Facing my father was one thing, but my aunt. That was a completely different story.

“I'm taking your wand in the meantime”, he decided.

My wand flew his way with a flick of his own before I could react.

“I'll contact Bellatrix immediately. You don't get to take anything with you. I'm sure she can provide you with the essentials. Draco, you will watch over your sister until your aunt arrives to make sure she doesn't do anything reckless”, he ordered.

“Yes, father”, Draco replied obediently, although he was looking a bit paler than before as well.

My mind was racing to find a way to get out. Suddenly I wished I had just run away after all.

--------------------

What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments or asks!

Next Part

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

A big thing of importance when attempting to predict or understand a plot point or character in a work of fiction is that you really have to approach it from what the story itself is trying to tell you.

Yeah, yeah, I know, but you really do need your starting point to be "what is the intention of this story? What is it trying to say?" Every story will have thematic elements that are core to its premise, and a lot of things will make sense more if you actively view them through this lens. You can't cast aside the intent of the story before you take the time to understand what the story is trying to do in the first place.

For instance, BSD has a knack for not killing off its characters, despite the violence of the world in which this story takes place. But BSD at its core is about survival and life, and particularly seeking a way to live even if your purpose and meaning and future are uncertain. It was created for people who need stories to live. This is why it wouldn't make a whole lot of sense for them to kill off a bunch of characters, as that would conflict with the kind of story BSD is. I do not expect character death in this series, because unless there are some very specific circumstances (ie. Bram), it just wouldn't fit. Any death just isn't going to hold.

Dead Boy Detectives is extremely obvious in its theming - The good you do comes back around and will allow you to heal in turn. If you continue to be cruel to others, then you will only succeed in perpetuating that cycle, and become the toxic one in turn. This is the core of Crystal, Niko and Esther's story arcs in particular: the character who changes over the story, the character who exemplifies the themes, and the character who acts as the warning.

Themes are the connecting threads that help you understand why choices are made. It also really helps when trying to narrow down to a general idea of where something is going.

For one, the To the Moon/Sigcorp series is about things like memories, regrets, legacies, grief, and final moments before death. Due to this consistent theming, it really didn't come as a surprise to learn the major secret that one of the characters was hiding... or the kind of ending it's leading up to.

As another example, Persona 5 is about a lot of things: rebellion, anger against injustice, the failure of adults to protect the youth, etc., but more than anything I think, P5 is about building a support system after trauma; a support system which is a necessary crutch for people to get their feet back under them and learn how to heal so that they can find themselves and a way forwards again. But a support system doesn't just come to you - you have to trust in people, and let them help you. This is seen in all the characters' arcs, but is taken to extremes with both Futaba and Akechi. Futaba could not start to heal without choosing to allow people to help her. She stagnated in her own guilt and grief due to her isolation, and her decision to open herself up is made literal by a locked door in her heart that could only be opened if she chose to let them in. And, as a result, this running theme is how I knew, even during the worst of the traitor arc, that Akechi was going to end up complicated, yes, but also sympathetic. P5 is not subtle. We are told and shown again and again that this character had no one in his life to rely on, and was cast aside by society. But unfortunately, Akechi rebuffs any attempts to offer him help. As a result, he becomes more and more single-minded, strays further from what he truly seems to believe, and ultimately spirals into self-destruction.

Now we can start asking other questions, like "Was the story successful in what it tried to tell us? Did any of the themes conflict? Were thematically relevant threads left hanging?"

Going back to BSD, this is still a major issue I have with the prison arc. Objectively, the characters were in-character, and the logic holds (for BSD anyways lol). But thematically, it was unsatisfying - the intense setup of this arc made the audience expect much more in the way of story themes than was actually delivered.

This, to me, is where you get into "was the story good" without getting caught in the "well, I didn't like it/agree with it so it was bad".

And then there's where you come into it! Your initial reading of the themes of the story are also going to be shaped by your amount of practice in critical analysis, and also by your personal experiences and interpretations. This is where we get into things like "do I agree with what the story is trying to say" and "oh this was a missed opportunity to add in this little detail" or "objectively it was good, but it didn't really do it for me" or even "objectively it was bad, but something about it still makes me want to chew plaster". It's awesome and part of the joy of being in a community for these things. It's both limiting and lonely to see a story from only one perspective.