#but. when it’s your little sibling. and it’s clearly not been treated or allowed to drain

[mycological-mariner]

My brother’s just left. Not feeling great bout it, perla because yes he’s my brother and I’ve missed the fucker, mainly because he’s just left with an infected leg.

Couple of days ago he had to change the dressings on it. And I’m thinking it’s a cut or a nasty scrape like he’d said. So, as Im cutting squares of bandage (already kinda sus for a cut), he rolls up his pant leg and There. There is a chunk of flesh missing. Boy had a hole in his flesh and was like “Just a cut that got a little infected, no worries!” YES WORRIES. I HAVE MANY WORRIES WHY IS YOUR FLESH GONE, WHITE BOY????

[cdragons]

Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

[luxraine]

"Why is loving you not fair?"

Earth 1610! Miles x Reader: angst with a happy ending.

word count: 2.3k

Author's note: This is inspired by littyhoney. As my first post, feedback would be appreciated. I sincerely apologize for any of the poor spanish translation as I am not fluent, but I still tried for the sake of the character. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. ♡

You, [Name] [Last Name] grew up in Brooklyn, New York. The city that is so compelling, with numerous crimes making appearances over the years. But the said city wasn’t any less beautiful with Spiderman, serving as its hero for more than 10 years and preventing fear and terror from taking over the citizens. Growing up, your parents have been out of the picture due to an Incident involving Spiderman and the villains who he was fighting against. No matter how hard it was to force yourself to mature faster than any normal kid resulting from the absence of your parents, you never blamed Spiderman for failing to save them. You understood the responsibilities that come with being a hero and to your eyes, he will always be. You have an older sibling, who is the reason why you managed to keep your childhood home. But the only thing is that they live in another state because of their job. It didn’t make you feel lonely, though. And you owe it to the Davis, whose family your parents were close with. Mrs. Rio, who treats you so kindly and invites you in for every lunch and dinner to eat the meals she deliciously makes and Mr. Jefferson, who never forgets to make you feel welcome in his home.

But on top of that… Miles. Miles Morales, the courteous boy you did everything together with, the overprotective boy who instructed you to update him on whatever you do and wherever you go, and the boy who has your heart.

Having to live and raise yourself on your own, you believe in achieving things through hard work. That’s how it is and always has for you. However, there is one thing that you’ll never be able to have.

His heart.

No matter how much love, passion, and patience you put into it.

Ever since he got bitten by a radioactive spider, which alternated his dna and gave him spider-like abilities, you couldn’t be more proud of Miles. The boy has always been wanting to prove himself throughout his life, that by doing the things he’s passionate about can bring changes into his life that is full of expectations. Ever since you found out, you have been with him through thick and thin. Never once doubting his capabilities. Being in your family who has a record for being geniuses in science and technology allowed you to be a use of your best friend, Spiderman. By giving database information to be able to catch bad guys, to adding features to his spider suit. You were the one constantly making adjustments to his web shooters, by enhancing its strength and expanding its abilities. You provided him with support and company, along with loving him silently over the years. Being involved with the spider allowed him to meet Gwen Stacy, another spider with blonde hair and a pair of blue eyes. A girl who Miles seemed to fall head over heels in such an unbelievably short amount of time. Frequently fonding, talking, and making sketches about her.

“In every universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.” You wish the universe favoured you like how Miles’ parents clearly favoured you over Gwen the moment she displayed an ill mannered gesture by addressing them by their first names. But at the end of the day, you knew that Mrs. and Mr. Davis would eventually have to come to an acceptance. A nature every parent would have seeing their son being fond of a girl so dearly.

…

You woke up in a dark, cold room. With the flickering of the little light that illuminates the place and the incredibly tense atmosphere surrounding you, you recall the events that previously took place. You arrived back into your dimension. At least you thought you did, as something was incredibly wrong when you saw the figure of Uncle Aaron, well and alive. And something was certainly wrong when you saw the mural of the remembrance of Mr. Jefferson, and beside it was you. You were dead, apparently. The spider that bit Miles wasn’t from your dimension and when it scanned him, you two were sent where the spider was originally from. You didn’t go back home.

You studied the stone cold, dark room, the sense of familiarity creeped up. You recognized that this was Uncle Aaron’s place, where Miles would often go to hang out with his uncle, who he can be himself around with. Your eyes caught the sight of the figure who was tied up against the punching bag. “Miles!” you called, attempting to wake him up from unconsciousness. You were about to approach him when an arm grabbed you all of a sudden, yanking you back gently. Your eyes widened, it was someone in the familiar Prowler suit. However, the height and the figure of the man in the suit tells you that unlike in your dimension, this was not Uncle Aaron. “...Shh, mi querida.” (...Shh, my darling). Your blood turned cold, that voice… no no no. “Let me go!” You managed to let out, your heart beating at a fast rate as you hoped that what you were feeling was wrong. “I’m afraid, I cannot do that.” The alluring voice chuckled so softly. You repeatedly tried pulling back your arm from his grasp. You can’t stay here any longer as danger awaits for Mr. Jefferson and Mrs. Rio. You have to escape with Miles and save them. The hand covered in dark gloves moved towards your cheeks, caressing it. You tried to budge but that moved him to push you towards the table, trapping you in between his arms.

You came back to him and he won’t let you leave ever again.

“W… Who are you?” He adjusted the mask that is covering his face, revealing two long braids, and

“No!” … confirming your suspicion. “I’m Miles Morales. But you… you can call me the Prowler.” Your heart broke at the sight of this Miles. He seems rather solemn, than giving off a bright energy like the Miles you have. And the usual glint in his eyes that makes you melt is missing. They no longer shine. “Miles…” you trailed off. Oh how he missed you calling out his name so captivating. “Soy yo, hermosa.” (It’s me, beautiful.) He responded, eyes not leaving the sight of your beautiful, well built perfect body. You didn’t change, still being the [Name] he loved and believed that he would never stop loving. “Miles, you have to let us go.” You begged. “Why would I do that?” He tilted his head, “It is my job… as the Prowler.” Your eyes widened in epiphany, “There’s a world out there with no Spiderman to protect them because it bit you instead!”. “I am the Prowler because this world offers nothing but agony. It took my dad and it took you from me.” The crack in his voice while mentioning you made your heart drop. Like you and your Miles, he too, had his [Name] and they were also close-

Now you felt your heart being torn apart. The names… the endearing names he has called you!“Now that you’re back, I’ll make sure this time that you’ll never leave.” You turn to look at the burning desire painted deep in his eyes, staring at you. “Hey, bonita…” (Hey, pretty…) He moved his thumb over the corner of your lip, “You never seem to change, do you? … still looking just as pretty as you were the day you left.” His lips curled up into a smirk.

He said the words that would make your heart sing, If only he was the Miles from your world.

“...Please, you have to let us go. He’s needed before anything bad happens to his father.” You whispered weakly. Your heart, your voice, everything wanted to give up but you remained wanting to be strong for both you and Miles, who is not yet awake. Miles’ eyes narrowed while glancing at his other self, he couldn’t hide the envy he was feeling. He let out a hum, turning back to you. “The love you feel for him is deep within your heart. Although he doesn’t bear the same feelings as you do.” Your heart clenched at his words. “If he really did, I would’ve felt him break. The same way I did the day you were gone! But he didn’t feel anything nor spared your mural a glance, instead his gaze was focused on his father.” He knew you were about to break, seeing your glossy eyes. He’d never forgive the other Miles for being the reason for your tears. “Be with me, baby.” He leaned in.

There was the man of your dreams finally kissing you the way you’ve always been wishing to. Your feelings were finally reciprocated. But no, this isn’t the Miles that you grew loving with all your heart. Just another version of him. Warm tears threaten to fall as you grab the back of his head, tracing the pattern of his beautiful braid and the kiss deepens just a few seconds before you pull away. The boy may have the same features as the one you loved, but you remind yourself that he is not your Miles, a heart wrenching reminder that you have to endure as you stay longing for his feelings for you. Hopelessly wishing that your Miles have felt the same way about you as this Miles does.

Because of your strong connection with Miles Morales, you find yourself getting attached, no matter what versions of him. Your heart couldn’t turn away no matter what… Even at the fact that he committed a series of crimes, and is a threat to the city he was fated to be protecting, if it wasn’t for the spider biting your Miles instead of him.

You wanted to mend his broken heart, put the pieces back together. However, you noticed the pattern and it got you asking, “Why has the universe been cruel to you and him?” Both being the reason for each other’s wounded, bleeding hearts.

The tears finally escaped your eyes, He swore they were shining jewels under the moonlight.

“Miles, because of me you changed…” You weakly said, “can feel nothing but hatred in your heart. You’ve caused fear to the innocents!” You two weren’t aware of the previous twitching of the other Miles, tied up. He regained his consciousness, finding you being pinned down by a guy who looks just like him. Guilt consumed him whole as he felt the pit on his stomach watching the other version of him shower you with love and he was not afraid of expressing them at all.

“Why is loving you not fair?” Your voice quavered, exclaiming the words of your weeping heart. He’s come to realize that you’ve had the heart of gold that allowed you to love him unconditionally. But in return, you suffered. The cost of loving him is to suffer immeasurably that you were willing to pay every second.

He couldn’t stomach the way your voice drips with honey as you say his name, “Miles”, while referring to the other version of him.

Maybe his other self is the answer to his confused feelings. Why the memory of his parents gushing at him, telling him how much they would love you as their daughter-in-law is playing on the back of his head while Introducing Gwen to his parents.

…Why your voice, along with your promise of never leaving him, were playing over Gwen’s voice of pleas before snapping her webs off of him.

You don’t know what you’ve done to his heart when you had fearlessly stood up for him, letting him know that he will never be alone when every other spider went against him.

In every universe, Gwen Stacy falls for spiderman. However…

Why [name]?

Why not Gwen?

Is what he finds himself asking all the time.

He sympathises with the broken version of him who lost his version of you. However, Miles could no longer stand the thought of losing you as well. He no longer wanted to waste the chance to be the man you deserve.

Miles wanted to be worthy of the love that is as pure as yours.

His eyes were focused on you two as he activated his electricity powers. Next thing, you felt what seemed like an explosion. As the other Miles gets knocked out from the sudden impact, your Miles swiftly wraps his arm around your waist as he uses his web to open the window and swings both of you out of the building. You look at him, he didn’t utter a word but he was quietly sobbing and swinging past every building at a fast rate.

You landed on a rooftop. You turned to Miles, who was still quiet. “Miles?” You called out to him. He returned your gaze with an equal pained look in his eyes. You were surprised when he suddenly grabbed you and wrapped his arms around you so tightly like you’d disappear.

Your eyes widened as he trembled, “I’m so sorry, [Name]. I truly am. I took you for granted... I’m in love with you, always have.” Your heartbeat quickens while hearing his words, “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you because I didn’t know any better. For Invalidating my feelings because I was confused.” He took your hand, wrapping it with his own, “You were my first love, and everyday I’ll prove that you’re the only one.” You stared at his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity and the fear of losing you. “Let me love you, baby. Please, love me again.” He trailed off, pressing your foreheads together. You brought your arms up to wrap them around his neck as you brought your bodies, pressing tightly against each other’s.

There you are, there you are… always there with open arms. Your pure love is what constantly reminds him why he fell for you.

“I never stopped loving you, Miles.” Both of your hands cupped his cheeks. He leaned in, pressing your lips together. He inserted his tongue inside, deepening the passionate kiss you two shared. He was afraid to let go.

In every universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman. But the universe planned [Name] [Last name] to captivate the heart of Miles Morales.

[secretwhumplair]

Good morning

1,047 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Duties)

Content | Slavery, fucked up takes on slavery, power imbalance, low-key fantasy racism

Notes | Elgar and Orafin sure live in a society.

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations @neverthelass @whumplr-reader @vampiresprite @pleasestaywithmedarling

When Elgar woke the next morning, there was a flutter in his chest, like tears or laughter just waiting to burst out.

He sat up. The slave who always attended to them in the mornings, bringing them water to wash, laying out fresh clothes for Elgar and personally helping the prince to dress, was already in the room. Elgar felt bad for not remembering his name yet—there simply had been too many names in the last few days.

»Good morning, Sir,« the man said quietly as he put the freshly filled jar down at the washstand.

Elgar didn’t know much Ochurian beyond greetings yet, after these brief days, but he thought he managed a decent »Good morning,« in return.

The other man smiled, gave a little bow—to him, Elgar—and left with a last glance at the prince, who seemed to be sleeping in today.

The princess’s personal slaves, Elgar had learned, had been a wedding gift, brought into her marriage with the Ochurian Crown by the queen. Thirty of them total, to be split up between the siblings and the queen; in fact, two of the ones now in the princess’s entourage belonged to the prince, having been redistributed after his assumed death.

They seemed as pleased to have him back as anyone. Elgar was dying to talk to them, to learn from their own words that they were alright and being treated well, but of course his language skills were far from that. For what it was worth, he hadn’t noticed any injuries, even bruises, and they all seemed well-fed. They were expected to follow orders, of course, but who wasn’t? He’d even seen them chat and laugh among themselves, the way he and the prince would never have been allowed to.

Surely, they had drawn a fair enough lot, for slaves.

They seemed to regard him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, especially when he tried to stay closer to them during the journeying. He didn’t fit with the royalty, he knew that, but clearly the slaves didn’t think he fit with them either; maybe they were worried what the prince would think if they treated him as an equal.

Elgar couldn’t blame them. He didn’t know what the prince would think, either, though more and more he started to entertain a faint hope his kindness would last, that his gentleness was genuine.

That flutter he had woken with was an echo of last night. He remembered, although it seemed almost like a dream. He touched his own forehead, where the prince had asked to kiss.

As if it was Elgar’s decision what happened with his body.

He swallowed, looked down at the prince—he slept so soundly, when Elgar knew he had always woken early these past days, and suspected why—and then got up to look out the window, which the slave had thrown open for the prince to wake to fresh air. The breeze helped clear Elgar’s mind, too.

The golden morning sun that just crept over the horizon poured its light over a rocky hillside, at the bottom of which a few houses huddled, with more scattered on the surrounding hills. Flocks of goats dotted the rugged landscape. The road had been getting rougher and rougher, and it had to zigzag up to the local manor they now resided in.

It was different from what Elgar knew. But maybe that could be a comfort.

A soft yawn called his attention back into the room. The prince had sat up, caught his eye, and smiled, giving him a little wave.

»Good morning, your Highness.«

The prince smiled wider hearing him speak in his language, and gave him a little thumbs-up, so brief it almost seemed shy.

»Have you slept well?« The question just popped out; he couldn’t usually bring himself to be casual with the prince, how could he? He had to switch back to Teeradian, too.

For a moment, the prince looked thoughtful, his smile running away; then he nodded, just as thoughtful, and the smile came back.

He pointed at Elgar, questioning, and now Elgar couldn’t help a smile of his own.

»Me too, thanks.«

* Orafin had never really seen Elgar smile before.

He realized it with perfect certainty now, because while Elgar had been handsome before—the curse that was a significant part of landing him in their master’s bed—now, in a moment, he was beautiful in a way that went beyond mere looks, something his fearful false smiles couldn’t begin to emulate.

He must be finally feeling better, and that was the best part of it all. Orafin’s heart felt fragile, after whatever it was that had happened last night, but now it felt lighter.

He got up and went to look out the window beside Elgar. He wondered what Elgar saw, looking out at this landscape that was so familiar to him, but, by all accounts, much different from flat, seaside Teeradia.

Elgar must have noticed something about his expression; he answered. Orafin was more than glad to hear it. Elgar had avoided speaking without being spoken to, and he, Orafin, couldn’t speak to him.

»It’s, um. It’s pretty. Different, but… pretty.«

For a moment, the thought dashed through Orafin’s mind that these words might as well describe Elgar himself; but he cast it out just as quickly. Others might think that, but he knew how alike they were.

He gave Elgar another smile, then went to wash. When he was done, he knocked on the door for Lilon, one of the slaves now returned to his service. Of course he could dress himself, but it was proper for a prince to be attended to—even if the thought sat askew in his soul now, somehow. He pushed that feeling aside, as well.

He didn’t want to cry again so soon.

Lilon entered in a moment, bowing to him before he went to assist him. »Good morning, Sir.«

Orafin accepted the help, like he had a thousand times before without sparing it a second thought. And yet… that, too, felt uneasy.

He had to remind himself that no slave in their family would ever suffer like he had, or like Elgar had. The laws of Ochuria didn’t even allow it.

And yet.

[closetnerd62]

me ! i’m asking for more marbit hocus pocus

admittedly most of the plot would stay the same but here’s my general ideas

after recently moving to salem, two bit mathews is clearly skeptical of the towns local legend, the sanderson sisters, witches from the 1600s who sucked the souls of children in order to stay young

when he is forced to take his little sister out trick or treating he stumbles upon the house of the rich and popular Marcia

upon talking to her, marcia reveals that her family used to help operate the museum based around the sisters and two bit convinces her to take him there to “make a believer out of me”

the legend says that when a virgin lights the black flame candle, the witches will come back and continue their mission of sucking the souls of all of the children of salem

two bit of course, being the skeptic he is and wanting to show off his bravery to marcia, lights the candle when they visiting the museum, bringing the sisters back to life where they find their newest target in two bits little sister

after saving his sister from the sandersons grasp once, a black cat speaks to two bit, revealing himself to be Darrel Curtis, one of the victims of the sisters according to legend

Darrel was turned into an immortal cat when he tried and failed to save his little brother ponyboy from the witches grasp back in the 1600s, he has since vowed to protect and prepare himself for if the sisters ever came back, aiming to finally banish their souls and in turn free his own

Two Bit, Marcia, and Twos sister go about the town trying to find help or a way to rid themselves of the sanderson sisters while the sisters experience their own hijinks in the modern world while trying to track down the kids

at one point the sisters raise the zombie soda pop from the grave, winnifred sanderson had poisoned him after he began to flirt with her sister sarah despite her own crush on him

soda pop searches for the children throughout the town as well, constantly finding himself one step behind

after they thought they had killed the sisters, the kids go back to the mathew’s house to regroup, they end up all falling asleep, two bit and marcia cuddling.

upon waking, marcia and twobit look through the witches spell book to try and find a way to free darry’s soul, learning that a circle of salt can protect someone from the witches and accidentally sending a beacon to the sisters before darry and shut the book.

while looking for salt in the kitchen, twobit and marcia almost share a kiss but are pulled away when they hear a crash in the room where they left two bits sister sleeping

they come back to find that she has been taken by the witches who have also begun to lure all the children of salem back to their house where they can suck theirs souls

after freeing his two bits sister once again, the characters have a final battle in the cemetery where it’s revealed that soda hates the sandersons and tries to protect the kids

right as the witches are about to suck two bits sisters soul, he drinks the potion that allows them to suck souls, forcing them to take him instead

fortunately this all occurs as the sun comes up, as the sisters were only brought back for one halloween night and they failed to suck any souls, they are turned to dust and their souls are banished.

Darrel is freed from his immortality and is seen as a ghost by the kids where he says his goodbyes and is reunited with the little brother he lost so long ago

Two bits relationship with his sister is left far better than how it started and Marcia may not be as far out of his league as he might have thought

some non plot based bonus content

Ice and Jay are bob and paul respectively

I almost made Dally the cat and Johnny the sibling he lost but Binx in the movie seemed more like darry than dally to me but if dally binx is your thing have at it i think it’s also really interesting

if someone wanted to write this fic it even just fucking rewrite the script of the movie with these characters names, you don’t even need to give me inspired credit just please tag me in it so i can read it

[waywardstation]

Learned Behavior

Powder the sneasel kit picks up on an annoying habit she learned from Akari and Zisu, to get treats from Ingo.

I wrote this off a request to expand on Until Then, Don't Worry with more about mischievous Powder, a request for more ticklish Ingo, and three requests to just write more Powder in general. So sorry it took so long to get to this, I kind of forgot I had this WIP for a few months!! ^^

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

————

“Powder, I can assure you I have no food for yOu-!”

“Snea!”

Zisu watched Ingo reach into the flap of his coat and tug Powder off of his side for what felt like the twentieth time that day. 

“She is still searching for more plump beans,” Ingo set Powder down on the ground gently, but the tiny creature mewled loudly and latched back onto his pant leg, attempting to clamber up again. “Beans that I do not have!”

“You’re sure you don’t have any in your pockets or anything?” Zisu crossed her arms as she observed; Powder was being particularly persistent. “She’s been doing that all morning!”

“I checked, I am positive!” Ingo attempted to intercept Powder’s path, but she’d simply zip out of the way, tiny claws hooking into the fabric flexibly. “I do not understand her persistence!”

“Snea!” As if disagreeing, the sneaslet let out another chirp as she continued to climb Ingo despite his efforts. He could have easily shaken his leg and knocked her off, something that wouldn’t have done any harm to a full-grown sneasel, but it was obvious Ingo was doing his best not to harm the comparatively fragile runt.

His leniency allowed her to latch onto his tunic, and she quickly escaped under the concealing safety of his coat flaps. Ingo cut himself off with a sudden jerk and a funny sound, scrunching his side as if a qwilfish had stung him with a spine. “Ahg- Powder-!”

“It’s almost like she knows the best spots!” Zisu clearly found the whole predicament entertaining; she herself was laughing, crossing her arms and standing idly by as she watched Ingo try and deal with Powder.

“It’s because she does! Miss Zisu, you set her on these trACKs-!” The little sneaslet chirped demandingly within his coat and nuzzled her muzzle somewhere ticklish in search of food, earning a flinch out of Ingo and making his voice jump. “She learned from watching you, and Miss Akari! She is simply mimicking what you enCOURaged her to do!”

“Well you did want her to practice her gathering skills.” Again, Zisu was no help. Something about watching Ingo fumble like this so uncharacteristically was entertaining - who was she to stop it?

“This is hardly a reliable method in the highlands; and against my wishes, she’s relayed this method to all of her other siblings as well, you know!”  The warden continued, trying to reach around for Powder. The runt let out a squeak, and the bump under his coat crawled behind his back - she had quickly become aware he could not grab her there. “It is quite difficult to defend myself from all nine of Lady Sneasler’s kits when they get hungry. And currently, that is a constant!”

Ingo’s words provided a visual in Zisu’s head - his legs sticking out of a pile of yowling sneasels clumped all over him. The imagery made her snort.

“Sounds truely vicious, Ingo.” She joked with him. “I don’t know how you survive that.”

“You have no idEA-!” Another jump in his voice as the Powder-shaped bump under his coat shuffled about dangerously close to his underarm. Then-

“-GAH!” Ingo wrapped his arms around himself, in an effort to isolate the Powder-shaped bump that was now moving under his tunic, by his shoulder. “She- she has traveled up my sleeve-!”

Ingo seemed about ready to just tear his coat off in an effort to alleviate the situation. But before he could, Powder’s tiny head popped out of the hood of his Pearl Clan tunic. Her eyes were scrunched in sly pride, a plump bean secured tight between her teeth - the prized fruit of her efforts.

Powder chirped, bean clutched tight, and jumped off Ingo’s shoulder to zip away and enjoy her hard-earned reward in peace under the training ground’s wooden platform.

“Looks like you had one after all!” Zisu laughed heartily, making Ingo’s ears burn faintly. But she was right - somewhere, he did have a bean, and Powder had probably been aware of this the entire time. 

Well, at least her hunting skills were indeed improving, it seemed.

“But, where did..?” Rubbing the sensations away, brief confusion in Ingo’s features gave way to realization; he sighed. “-Miss Akari. Of course.”

In retrospect, he probably should have checked the hood of his tunic when the teen had suspiciously reached up to hug him around the neck that morning, instead of around his middle like usual. 

Akari had found the whole situation more amusing than he had expected when he relayed to her the kits’ new habit of attempting to pry food from him - of course she had snuck a plump bean into his hood when she knew he’d be watching over Powder today.

Ingo was going to have a talk with her when she returned from her fieldwork, but he had a feeling she would only laugh when she found out her prank had worked so well.

[firedrakegirl]

I stared tiredly up at the now shattered Stark tower, before taking a breath and heading inside. The fighting had literally just stopped, but something was pulling me in…something needed me. I’d learned to follow those pulls. They’d never steered me wrong. I walked up and up and up, all the way to the floor where Ironman had been thrown through the window. There…the reason for everything. I knew instantly upon seeing the green clad god that it was all his fault. “You absolute asshole.” I stormed over to where he was lying on the ground, clearly in pain. “What did you do to me?” Despite my tone, I was gentle as I started looking him over for more than bruising, carefully removing his armor and tunic. “Roll over, let me see your back.”

“Who are you?” He did, and there was something….right about the fact that this being who didn’t trust anyone was giving me his back.

I hissed in sympathy at the mottled bruising that was getting worse even as I watched. “What hit you?”

“I believe he is called the Hulk.” Green eyes looked over his shoulder at me with curiosity.

“Then I think you’re lucky. From what I know, he’s stupidly strong. I’m gonna go find you some ice for the swelling so you can at least move a bit more easily.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the person who’s been dreaming about you for years. Didn’t know it was you til now though.”

Confusion then understanding dawned in his eyes. “I did a spell, a very long time ago. I always thought it failed.”

“What kind of spell?” I stood and headed toward the half ruined bar.

“Someone to be by my side as my brother should have been.” His voice was soft, vulnerable. I froze.

“Well then.” I gathered some ice and brought it back to him after a moment. “Guess I’ll do that then. Everyone deserves someone by their side.”

He struggled to sit up fully then smiled at me. It was a small, sad thing. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive.” I nodded, smiling back. “I know a little of what you’ve been through. I have your back.”

He laughed and rested his forehead against mine….then all of the sudden…

I was so different from everyone around me. Bright gold hair and muscles were everywhere, even my brother, but I was long and lanky with dark hair.  I didn’t have the muscles, but I so wanted to be like my amazing older brother. Mother did her best to teach me the best ways to fight while being small, and it worked! I could almost keep up on the training grounds, without my magic! Mother taught me magic too, helping me learn and grow and nurturing my interests in a way no one else did.

I learned and grew and idolized my brother. father told us we were both meant to rule as he told us stories of the glories of past wars.  Brother and I

Brother gained new friends, the warriors three. They had another hanger on, a girl, Sif. I thought maybe we could be friends because we were both so different. It was not to be, as she took more after my golden brother. One would think she was his sibling rather than me. That was okay. I was just grateful he and his friends let me tag along. They liked it more when I could help them thanks to my magic.

Brother told me magic wasn’t a manly thing to do. It’s always amused him though. But…I suppose Asgardians are more about the muscle, aren’t they. I tried to build muscle like he did, but it didn't work. I got better with throwing knives, learning to strike before anyone realized I was even there. It was considered cowardly, but I didn't have the sheer strength of the other Aesir. Decades of adventures and danger and being treated worse and worse led me to spending more and more time in the library until I found an old spell. The concept intrigued me. Forgotten sedir that would allow him to find that bond, that connection with someone that he'd once had with his brother before they grew apart so harshly. That bond he so desperately desired and craved, as the outcast of the royal family. No one in his life gave me that bond, and as time passed and I still lacked such a close connection to anyone, I gave the idea up as a failed experiment. Life continued, Thor's adventures and having to talk them out of danger, a few memorable moments of mischief, Thor in a wedding gown, Odin manipulating me into seducing a stallion, my first child ripped away before I could even get to hold him, rumors circulating, my brother becoming more of a stranger, secluding myself in the library more and more. Then the day of Thor's attempted coronation, trying to talk to the man I still thought of as my father about my concerns and being brushed off. Having to trick a couple Jotun into appearing in the Vault. Everything going so terribly, horrifically wrong. Heimdall committing treason, turning blue, Thor's banishment, learning about being adopted, Father falling into the Odinsleep, being the temporary king, Thor still managing to cause trouble, Heimdall committing treason again, Laufey, the fight on the bifrost, falling....falling falling...pain, so much pain. a blue jeweled scepter, new thoughts and ideas, preparing to lead and army to Midgard, the defenders, the green beast, then a human, covered in dust and bruises, calling me an asshole with soft eyes and gentle hands as she helped and...oh. That bond was so much better than I ever thought it could be.

I opened my eyes again as myself and smiled at Loki. "You are so amazing."

"W-What?"

"You are amazing. You've experienced so much and done so much and are just amazing." I pulled him into a close hug, squeezing him tightly. "I'm so proud of you." For a moment, Loki was stiff in my hug before utterly melting, burying his face in my shoulder. It wasn't long before I felt my shoulder growing damp as he cried. I just held him tightly and hummed softly and off key to whatever showtunes were in my brain.

"Don't leave?" His voice was so much smaller than it should have been, thick with tears and the pain he'd been dealing with alone for far too long.

"Never Loki. You're mine." I assured, stroking his hair. "I'm not leaving your side, as long as I live."

"You'll live a very long time now." He muttered, starting to pull himself off of me.

"I know. And you'll live a much shorter time. I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay. I'd rather a short life with someone who truly cares than a long one without."

"I know." It was weird to know all these things I hadn't before. "I love you, big brother."

"And I love you too, Sister."

"You need rest. I'd say let's go somewhere but..."

"But I attacked the city and need to atone for the crimes I committed."

"And I think you're too worn out to actually do anything to protect us if we ran."

"Indeed." He sighed and laid back into the hole created by the Hulk. "At least this spot is exactly the right size."

I winced at the feeling of rubble pressing into bruises. "I'll grab the cushions from the couch. It'll be better for our back."

"Good thinking."

"I'm used to caring for bruises."

"I've noticed. I'm not exactly sure how you've managed to live this long."

"Oh, don't worry. You're not the only one wondering that." I laughed, pulling ruined cushions off a couch that probably cost more than I made in a year.

"You should sleep too." He snagged them easily as I tossed them over.

"I'll be fine. I want to make sure no one tries anything while you're out of it." I helped him tuck the cushions behind him so that he could rest more comfortably.

"We're tied closely enough that I don't know you'll have a choice."

I hummed my agreement, curling up next to him. "Either way, I'm staying here and doing my best to protect you."

"Puny mortal." He teased, gently stroking my hair.

I lightly slapped his chest before resting my head over his heart. "Silly god."

"Trix are for kids?" I could feel the sleep pulling at our consciousness.

"Mmhm. Sleep hun."

"K..."

[darkfictionjude]

I was thinking about an ask I made some time ago (which was about if MC behaved the same way before the mental hospital as they can behave in game), and now I realized something evident, but to which I had not noticed entirely, mostly due to being so focused on MC's POV and not the rest of their family.

Basically, while I do play MC as someone who is kind and polite as much as the game allows, it became clear to me that this wouldn't truly make MC dear to anyone. If anything, MC being so friendly (or, at least, attempting to be friendly), made them significantly more terrifying to their siblings. Just imagine your little sibling, who is mostly polite and well mannered, suddenly going violent, unpredictable and self harming in front of everyone. Uncaring about harming you, themselves. And unable to take responsibility for this actions.

Like, especially when young, it's only natural for MC's siblings to not become close to MC. It makes sense Sally dehumanizes MC to the degree he does. It makes sense that Percy, while also jealous and hurt about the attention MC received and the consequence of him being ignored because of it, also wouldn't pursue a closer relationship with MC. Not only does MC seem two-faced, but even after understanding MC has no control over these episodes, how can you trust them? How can you feel safe at their side?

Then there's Orla, who clearly seemed to try to be affectionate and love MC at some point before distancing herself. But, from her perspective, it was the safe thing to do. She has been harmed by MC. And MC, as I have established in another ask, is basically anti Orla. Orla sees herself in MC whether she likes it or not, because MC shares her birthday, and is linked to her in ways MC is not linked to the other siblings. This is especially true for a female MC, since they would be sharing gender, and it would be expected for sisters to be closer. Maybe Orla dreamed about how she was going to play with her little sister, how they would be beautiful and great together. Only to be stuck with a unsettling little girl. But even if MC is a boy, MC is still the baby sibling. She would like, perhaps, to pamper them. To spoil them. And instead is confronted with a nightmarish scenario that she cannot truly escape nor ignore.

Now, I have mostly been sympathetic towards MC. Not only do we have their POV, but is clear this POV is unreliable. There are things MC simply doesn't understand, or is unable to see because they are focused on what's happening to them. But, for example, the siblings ignore that MC may be trying to resist acting out, but is simply unable to do so. Worse, even if they knew, does it change anything for them? They are still confronted with a sibling that is alien, that is different, that they are, to some extent (different for each), scared of.

Sadly, I don't know if the relationship could be repaired. Maybe. The thing is, it is going to be hard. Especially with Sally, I think. Percy is able to see MC as an individual, and both have this 'black sheep' aura to them (although for different reasons). Both are misunderstood. But MC would have to gain their own personhood and identity before trying to actually fix (or rather, build) their relationships with the siblings they have left.

Nice analysis. I think it’s great to sympathize with mc, it’s easy if to sympathize with the mc character in an IF. But I’ve seen how readers turn and hate those that don’t particular like mc or those that treat them differently when in this IF the siblings have seen mc be violent towards them and themself. They have endured years of this. Even if they believed mc tries to resist being this way, what does it change? The violence still occurs. How could it be easy to be close to someone who at the drop of a hat could accidentally kill you? I kind of view it like having a family member that’s an addict, yes it is a disease that is hard to control but the family members have all the right to still be angry or frightened.

Yes Orla’s abuse horrible but it didn’t start randomly one day. You can hate her still obviously but it didn’t occur from nowhere. Yes it sucks that Sally cannot see mc as anything more than a child, but that’s how he was raised and mc is unpredictable. Yes it sucks that Percy is not closer to mc nor does he particularly want to be but it makes sense for his character, the fact that they’re both black sheep doesn’t immediately spawn bonding. These kids were never taught to take each other’s side as equals. MC is not the only one that suffers and I think the problem is the siblings are unable to see how they aren’t the only ones that have it bad too

[sgt-morgan]

Sweet Thing🏞️🎶

Whiskey sunrise part 3

Whiskey Sunrise Masterlist

Pedro Masterlist

Summary: Everyone is very sentimental. Wounds still bleeding from loss, we all look to the past for happy memories, and when we do we find soulmates.

Warnings: none in particular, allusions to sex maybe? Idk. Anyway. AFAB! Female identifying reader, nicknamed reader. Also as per usual, all songs mentioned are not mine, they live in the whiskey sunrise playlist and all lyrics are the artist’s property.

A/N: I got hella sentimental on this one y’all, but next week the girls are gonna get to their scheme.

Frank has always been a believer in soulmates. Bill was like coming home when he first met him, the spark instantly catching between them and now years later they’re still together. Your mother and Father weren’t soulmates, no, Frank fully believes that his soul was for his children. The man was meant to be a father, and loved his children with ferocity until he was forced to leave them, and he was sure even in death the old bastard clung to you and Llewyn, protecting and comforting you as well he could from the beyond. Llewyn and Amber Lee were soulmates. He remembers watching the kid scramble to get into the production of Romeo and Juliet to be with her, and was not at all surprised when he proposed to her while they were still in high school, and he was even less surprised by the fact he never dated another when she died. Maria and Tommy were soulmates, their whirlwind romance and very predictable shotgun marriage was no surprise to the older man. He even believes Sarah and Ellie to be a kind of soulmates. The girls being siblings more true than blood could ever allow, in fact, he kinda felt sorry for whatever man and woman fell for them, because they would always have that troublesome super duo to deal with for the rest of their lives. You and Joel though, you and Joel were clearly meant to be from the beginning. Nothing had ever been more clear to the man, he can in fact remember to the moment when he realized, and it’s one of his most favorite memories.

In this memory you are seven. Your favorite uncles are visiting, and you all go to the river. Joel and Tommy come along, their overworked mother always happy to let them go off with your dad to give her some peace. The boys are unruly, and your ex military father can handle them.

Besides, as all of the adults in your lives knew, Joel was gonna complain until he saw you anyway, might as well give in before the whining starts. So they all go, the three men and four children are set to have a day of fun in the sun. Joel and Tommy’s mom graciously packed a lunch, you’re all slathered in sunscreen, and everyone is ready to have a good day.

You’re twirling around like a princess, the only girl of the group and they all treat you like you’re a delicate little flower. Back then you were, you cried at the drop of a hat, stray kitten? Dead bird? Crying baby? Movie? Sad commercial? Somebody talks to you a little too mean? You dissolve into tears. You were very sensitive, and very soft, and clocking in at the youngest made you the baby of the group. Woe betide any man who would go on to hurt you in the future, and a speedy recovery to whoever hurt you in the present, you were a well protected individual, and you needed to be. You were naive, always believing everyone only held the best intentions, and being so easily crushed when they didn’t.

Joel is besotted with you. Has been from the moment you met. He’s 8 years old, and he knows with clear certainty that this dancing six year old has got some kind of hold on him, a hold he doesn’t have a name for yet, but feels with an intensity of someone thrice his age. He loved her vibrancy. As a kid who quickly became ‘the man of the house’ when his dad died, she is such a clear picture of unbridled joy and levity he never really got. Nobody messes with Sugar if he can help it, not even Tommy and Llewyn, his two best friends in the world.

Tommy and Llewyn liked to pick, they picked on Sugar, and sometimes Joel, and mostly at each other, but they sometimes go too far. They don’t mean it, lord knows the two boys never intend to upset anyone, their brand of affection just borders on mean sometimes. They were two peas in a pod in that way, always tugging on each other one way or another trying to get the other to crack. They think it’s funny, and Joel thinks it’s annoying, but sugar? Well… sugar doesn’t get it.

Sugar’s latest obsession is being ‘lady like.’ She watched one too many princess movies and she’s decided that if she wants to be a princess, all she has to do is mind her manners. She has been parading around in a plastic tiara and dresses for weeks, and today is no exception. The three adults are sat on the river bank, drinking beers and dipping their toes in the river, while the kids are running and splashing around. Sugar is splashing along the edge, picking up pretty rocks and Joel is watching her with an eagle eye while he sits with the adults and listens to them tell stories about the tours they’ve worked on and the wars they’ve fought. He was an introspective kid, it’s what made him and Llewyn good songwriters later on in life. Then he peaks trouble on the horizon. Tommy and Llewyn have approached the girl, linking arms with her and lifting her slightly. She harrumphs any angry ‘get off me!’ The two boys plop her in the water with a giggle, soaking her through. She’s a sad sight as they run off giggling at being chased down by your dad. You’re sniffling in the water and sucking back your tears to not be seen as a ‘cry baby’ and Joel scrambles to go to you.

“Oh boy.” Frank giggles, bumping shoulders with Bill to point out the boy scrambling to the waters edge to make you feel better while your dad scolds your scoundrel brother and his partner in crime.

“Oh no, well, at least I will know the man I’ll have to threaten when she goes to prom.” Bill grumbles, wrapping an arm around his partner who is diligently snapping photos of Joel straightening your tiara and lifting you from the water.

Frank smiled when he saw the way Joel played the knight in shining armor to a tee. He helps you ring out your dress and smoothes your hair, before giving an exaggerated bow and proceeding to shove Tommy and Llewyn headfirst into the river when they came to apologize. Your father rolls his eyes as he approaches his best friends, flopping g down with a huff and muttering "Those two are meant to be, I know it."

Now it was early morning, you and Joel were sitting on the patio, playing guitar and chatting about the day ahead. You were waiting for the girls to wake up, and you were noodling back and forth on some songs you’d both gotten an ear for. Elephant in the Corn by Nickel Creek you think. One of those moments where you just get the mood to play around with a song, and you remember moments similar to this when you were eighteen and he was twenty and you wrote a song that would change your lives for good.

“Then like a- yeah! That! Good!” Joel laughed a bit as you carefully plunked out the next part of the tune you were writing. He presses a kiss to the Side of your forehead, he can’t remember a time in his life when he was happier than this.

“So what’s next.” You giggle enthusiastically, grabbing his jaw and turning to kiss him.

“Next is- well let’s see.” He gives an over exaggerated frown and you laugh.

“I know it ain’t All that late

but you should probably leave.

And I recognize that look in your eyes

Yeah you should probably leave.”

Your eyes glimmer and you look at him in awestruck recognition. There’s that look he’s singing about, he thinks with a grin. He picks a jaunty little riff and you laugh.

“Joel Miller-“ he cuts you off with another lyric and you laugh disbelieving.

“‘Cause I know you

And you know me

And we both know

where this is gonna lead

You want me to say

that I want you to stay

So you should probably leave.”

You laugh out loud and continue what he started.

“There’s still time

for you to finish your wine

Then you should probably leave.” You croon, grin infectious.

He laughs and plucks some more notes and continues the lyric you’ve started.

“And it’s hard to resist,

Alright, Just one kiss.” He leans forward and lays one on you while you’re still giggling. “Then you should probably leave. Go again on the chorus.” He sings and you grin strumming along, doing your best to add in a harmony. Then Joel leans real close and sings a bridge.

“Like the devil on my shoulder

you been whispering in my ear

And it’s gettin kind of hard for me

To do the right thing here.

I wanna do the right thing baby.”

You grin and picture all the nights he was singing about, you sneaking in the window of his little matchbox house he shared with Llewelyn and Tommy, talking, laughing, kissing, whatever. You’re not ashamed to say Joel was your first. Hell if it came to it, you’re pretty sure everyone in your life would be glad it was Joel, but testing that theory was not something you felt like doing. You remember all the nights you’ve spent since, pressed together in his room on a too small mattress, waking up to him running his hand up your back as the morning sun haloed him in the light of day, making him look like some kind of Angel. Then as if reading your mind Joel comes back in.

“Sun on your skin

Six AM and I’ve been watching you sleep

And honey I’m so afraid

You’re gonna wake up and say

That you should probably leave.”

The song you wrote that day would go on to win you Grammys for best new artists, country song, and country album, and then some. All because of one little songwriting session on your front porch, and mornings spent in sappy, lovestruck, bliss with Joel.

You look radiant. Your bare face looks tear stained, but Joel can still see the echoes of all the smiles in your eyes while you bask in the glow of the sun. The beat up six string you’re plucking on was a gift. He gave it to you on your sixteenth birthday. He remembers working long hard days in the blistering sun that summer to get it for you. Being a ranch hand was no easy feat but the owner of the ranch was kind, and the pay was as decent as he could expect at 18 with no prior experience in the field so to speak. He learned a lot of valuable lessons that summer, and one of them was that there was no greater value to be had in anything than the value he found in your smile. The joy in your eyes and the kiss he received proved that point a million times over he thinks.

replacing your dad’s beat up old twelve string was a gift unto itself.

His heart ached to think about you having waited all day to celebrate your sixteenth birthday for him. You were a vision of beauty, sitting on your front porch, barefoot, hair blowing in the gentle breeze. You’re leaning on your hands, a piece of cake sitting next to you with a fork sticking out of it. The radio is playing a Van Morrison tune, he can’t place it from this distance, but he knows it’s a perfect soundtrack to the beautiful girl who has waited all evening for the likes of him.

“Joel!” When you finally spot him, your face eclipses the sun in its radiance, and he counts himself lucky it was him who put it there.

“Hey Sugar baby.” He laughs, swinging you up into his arms.

“I saved you cake,” you grinned. He still held you up high and you looked down at him with your hands on his shoulders, leaning down to give him a kiss. “There was pizza but Tommy and Llew got to it before I could blink. I made sure there was cake for you though, couldn’t let my favorite sugar fiend go without.” He grins, so happy to have someone be so considerate of him for once.

It was different for Joel, his mom died last year and because he and Tommy were 16 and 17 years old with a place to crash, they had to work extra hard to keep up, Joel taking the brunt of the burden because it was easier for him to get a job. He was so used to being the protector and provider, it warmed his soul when someone did the same for him. You were considerate like that though, you noticed everything and appreciated all. Even remembering his famed love of sweets and making sure there was enough for him. It’s a small thing, but it’s still something he’s grateful for.

“You didn’t have to Sugar, I got the sweetest thing in the world right here.” He grinned bumping noses with you and laughing.

“Ugh, that was sappy.” You playfully scrunch your nose in disgust. Then the longer you looked at him, the softer your eyes became, and once again he was dazzled by how much he loved every second he had with you. “I’m glad you’re here cowboy.”

“Hey, check this out.” He puts you down and reached into his truck and pulls out the gift, a black guitar case with a red bow, when you open it you gasp, tears flooding your eyes and he grins as you practically tackle him with kisses.

“Joel oh my god!” You squeal, kissing him hard on the lips. It makes him damn near breathless. When you let him go he was dazed and grinning like mad. He was so Star struck he swore he could hear the angels singing, but the clearer his head got the more it sounded like Tommy and Llew laughing at his dumbstruck grin.

While it was fun for recreating Beatles tunes, the twelve string wasn’t much good for the music you were wanting to make, and the sound you were trying to accomplish. Watching you play the new guitar he got you for the first time, was like untethering you from some strange shackle, your playing was improved by tenfold because you weren’t having to compensate for six extra strings, but the most important thing was it made you happy. He loved the giddy joy the shitty cheap guitar gave you, and he promised he’d do whatever he could for the rest of his life to keep that smile on your face. If only he could have kept it.

Inside the house, your family was still making plans. The adults at the table looking out the window and murmuring about how they would get you alone, but the teens were in their rooms, planning what would happen once they did.

“Research. Let’s do research.” Sarah nodded, pulling out her phone and pulling up the early interviews of the band.

“Dude, we’re their kids, what’s a fuckin interview gonna tell us that we don’t know already?” Ellie snorted, still squishing into her sister to see the screen. The interview was a song association thing, and Ellie hadn’t seen them do anything so quaint in a long time. At this point in their careers, these fun buzzfeed and side show interviews were few and far between. Not that they didn’t happen, they did, popular internet corners attracting big stars or whatever, but you just didn’t really do interviews much anymore so when you did do then they were generally saved for prime time.

“Yeah, I get that, but before they were all that, some of these interviews held some nuggets of truth yah know? Stuff they told before they started censoring.” Sarah shrugged and pressed play.

“Hi I’m Llewyn Davis,” Llewyn winked at the camera.

“I’m Tommy Miller.” Tommy salutes.

“I’m Sugar Davis.” Your smile was bright and they noticed Joel was staring at you like you hung the moon.

“And that’s Joel Miller.” You grinned squishing his face as he scowled his usual grimace.

Then all at once you all said “And this is The Family Affair.”

“We’re here to play a game of song association.” Llewyn said, handing Joel a guitars before picking up his own.

“We’re gonna be the best to ever play. Watch.” You giggle, ruffling Tommy’s hair.

“Sugar is so sure of our prowess, because before we got big we were a house band for a bar and we took many many requests.” Tommy laughs, batting you off playfully.

“Baby Boy, we will be the best.” You nodded again, grabbing a slip from the bowl.

“First word?” She groans and hands it to Llewyn who cackled. “Lost.”

“Joel?” He sing songs.

“Yeah?” He grumbled with an upturned lip.

“I think she’s lost that loving feeling.” Joel chuckles at Llewyn’s obvious reference and starts strumming.

“No she hasn’t.” Joel laughs.

“Yes she has goose, She’s lost it man.” Llewyn grins.

“I hate it when she does that.” Joel mutters and the Llewyn sings.

“You're trying hard not to show it

But baby, baby I know it

You lost that lovin' feelin'

Whoa, that lovin' feelin'

You lost that lovin' feelin'

Now it's gone, gone, gone, whoa-oh.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen that was Lost That Loving Feeling by the incomparable Righteous Brothers” Llewyn laughs.

“The boys were obsessed with the film Top Gun for a long time.” Sugar laughs. “It’s also an instant crowd pleaser in any bar with a military presence.”

“Truth. That and Top Gun is the shit.” Tommy nods and picks the next paper.

“Our word… is…. Season.”

Sugar dramatically throws her arms out and smacks Joel and Llewyn and begins singing. She animatedly sings the lyrics to a musical both the girls know very well at this point, it being one of their mother’s favorites.

“Everything has its Season!

Everything has its time.

Show me a reason

and I’ll soon show you a rhyme.

Cats sit in a windowsill

Children sit in the snow

Why do I feel I don’t fit in anywhere I go?”

She grabs Joel’s shoulders and holds a fake microphone, sliding a hand down Joels face as his eyes roll.

“Rivers belong where they can ramble

Eagles belong where they can fly

I’ve got to be where my spirit can run free

Gotta find my corner of the sky.”

“THAT.” Sugar exclaims when she’s done, slinging an arm around a rather annoyed looking Joel. “Was Corner of the Sky from the musical Pippin. In high school, I played Fastrada and had the time of my young life. I got to be the villain, I loved that role.” She sighs and Joel playfully muttered ‘And I loved the leotard.’ Causing sugar to laugh, and Tommy and Llew to gag.

“Our next word is… Joy.” Llewyn grinned. A few more songs went on like this, them taking turns pulling words from the bowl, until a very intriguing word was pulled by Joel.

“Our word is Sweet. Hit it Llew.” he grinned standing and Pulling Sugar to her feet, nodding at Llewyn who grinned and started playing the opening chords to ‘Sweet Thing’ by Van Morrison. Then, Joel began to sing.

“And I will stroll the merry way and jump the hedges first

And I will drink the clear, clean water for to quench my thirst

And I shall watch the ferry-boats, and they'll get high

On a bluer ocean against tomorrow's sky

And I will never grow so old again

And I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain

Oh, whoa-oh, sweet thing, this sweet thing

Eh-hey, yeah, sweet thing, yeah

Yeah-yeah-yeah, my, my, my, my sweet thing.”

The whole time he sang he swayed a giggling and blushing Sugar around the space in a slow dance while Tommy and Llewyn fondly laughed and played along.

“It’s Sweet Thing by Van Morrison. That’s our song.” Joel shrugged by way of explanation, never a man of many words. Sugar smiled and kissed him sweetly on the cheeks and his lips tilted up in a small grin, as was his way.

“This has been song association, and we’ve been the Family Affair, and this is once again Van Morrison.” Llewyn started up the Chorus again and Joel more than willingly stood to dance with you again as the video showed the credits and the people on set as they all continued to sing Van Morrison together. Old tour dates scrolled across the screen and the girls sighed, watching how happily in love you were.

“They were so cute.” Sarah muttered, and Ellie nodded.

“So their song is by Van Morrison. I didn’t know that. What else can we learn.” Ellie mutters and clicks on the next video.

“Hi we’re The Family Affair and this is our wired auto complete interview.” Llewyn starts and reaches for a board, smacking Tommy with it immediately.

“Is The Family Affair from Texas?” Llewyn peels the sticker and puts it on Joel’s knee. Joel peels it and hands it to you and you crumple it up and toss the tiny ball and it lands in Llewyn’s hair, causing you and Joel to have to stifle your laughter while Llew answers the question. “Yes we’re from Arlington Texas, home of the Bowie High Volunteers. Go Vols.” Llew pumps an arm and you all laugh with a ‘Go Vols!’

“Is the Family Affair a family band?” Llew peels and sticks it to Tommy who promptly takes it and uses it to tape his mouth shut.

“I guess I’ll answer.” Sugar laughs. “Yes, we’re two sets of siblings, so we consider ourselves a family band.”

“Is there a couple in The Family Affair.” Tommy reads, after Llew peels, still pretending he can’t talk with his mouth taped closed. When the question is read,

Llew rips off the tape and answers.

“Yes, Tommy and I have been happily married since 2008.” Tommy grins and they lean in to pretend to kiss each other, and Joel sticks a board between them.

“Sugar and I are dating.” He grumbles and Sugar kisses him on the cheek. They move onto a board all about Joel.

“Does Joel Miller ever speak?” The whole band answers ‘No.’ and they move on.

“Does Joel Miller act?” Was the next question and he looks confused as Sugar giggles.

“No he does not, but his actual twin Pedro Pascal certainly does.” She giggles and Joel rolls his eyes. “Quit it Joel, you know that man is your twin, don’t be bitter.”

Sarah and Ellie giggle. “Dad does kinda look like Pedro though, it’s true. We should do the Mandalorian as a family costume.” Ellie laughs. “I’ll paint myself green and say ‘Patu’ a lot.”

“Does Joel Miller have a daughter?” Joel smiles and answers for once. “I do, I actually kinda have two, I have my Sare Bear and my Bellie.” He grins and the girls smile fondly at their dad on the screen. Even if Joel wasn’t her real dad, Ellie would always be glad that he claimed her. His answer earned him another kiss from Sugar and he smiled.

“Is Sugar Davis single.” Sugar pretended to think about it and Joel bonked her on the head with a board. “No, Sugar is happily dating Joel Miller.”

“Is Sugar Davis a mom?” She grinned and pulled up her phone, showing her lock screen to be a picture of Sarah and Ellie in ugly Christmas sweaters. “Yes, I have my Ellie Bell and my Silly Sarah. If we were to answer honestly, Ellie is mine and Sarah is Joel’s, but they’re our babies.” She grins and Joel kisses her knuckles.

“Is Sugar Sugar’s real name?” This strip is placed over Llew’s mouth again as he tried to answer, probably with some horrid nickname. “No, but a Lady never tells.” She winks. They move on to the next question.

“What is Sugar’s perfect date?” They all laugh at that question and shake their heads. “I presume this has something to do with that interview you did for Rolling Stone?” Tommy laughs squeezing his brother’s kneecap.

“I don’t know Sugar, what do you think?” Joel grumbles, wrapping an arm around you.

“I think ours are similar.” She shrugs, twisting her fingers through Joel’s. “A good dinner, a walk around the park with Ice cream, a good movie, taking the kids to the Aero Space museum and getting in trouble for kissing in the model rocket.” She shrugs and Joel laughs a deep belly laugh.

“That’s it Sarah!” Ellie laughs, throwing up her hands in victory. “We can make them the perfect date night.”

Sarah squeals and throws her arms around her excited sister. “We did it!” She grinned, ecstatic that they were able to pull it off from just a couple YouTube videos. “Now we gotta get everyone else in on it.”

A conspiratorial thirty minutes later, they had come up with a plan, get them to go out together for a day, get them on a date. Starting today with their trip to the museum.

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[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (11/22)

Still not feeling much like writing, but I'm pushing myself so I don't fall completely off the wagon. Just a snippet of Chapter 22 of Best-Laid Plans (737 words). Miranja's experience with Nelkir and the Ebony Blade.

No pressure to read or share, my friends, but if you do share, tag me so I can read yours! @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

What she found in the locked room horrified her: a sword of Mephala designed to grow stronger when the wielder betrays and kills people who trust them. The sound of Mephala’s voice made her skin crawl.

She wanted to take this evil blade away and hide it somewhere – but where? It had remained safely in this room for an unknown length of time – or had it? If its presence allowed Mephala to seduce young Nelkir, was it really safe for it to be here? Was Nelkir miserable and lonely, bullied by his brother and sister with a different mother? If so, was this what made him susceptible to Mephala’s voice? Were the things Mephala told him even true? She had many questions about this sword and its effect upon vulnerable minds. Where could she put it where no one would accidentally stumble upon it and she could check on it frequently? What sort of mind was vulnerable? Yes, she could clearly hear Mephala speak to her, but she had no compulsion to murder the people she cared about for this dark Daedra. Clearly, if this sword fell into Nelkir’s hands, he would kill his own father, probably his siblings, even Farengar.

She felt she had no choice but to remove the sword from Dragonsreach before a great tragedy befell the place. The blade was long, but Miranja had worn a dress to visit the keep today, and she could hide the sword along her side and leg under her dress, if she could just find something to secure it and keep it from sliding down. Returning to the storage room outside the secret room, she relieved a large burlap bag filled with flour sacks of its rope tie. It was long enough to tie around her thigh, though too fat to fit it through the metal loop on the scabbard where the weapon could be attached to a support strap on a sword belt.

She went back into the secret room and hoisted her skirts to put the hilt end of the sword up the side of her bodice, to her armpit. The ebony was cold, unusually so. Holding her skirts under her chin, she wrapped the rope first around her inner thigh, crossing it against the outer side, then completed and tied off the figure eight around the scabbard, stretching her arms and trying not to bend too much so the rope would be secure. Dropping her skirts, she took a little walk around the room to test her work. The sword shifted a bit with her steps, but she pressed her arm to her side and that stilled it. She left the room, locking the door behind her, and returned to the great hall to make her way out.

Nelkir was loitering against the long dining table, munching on a boiled cream treat, obviously waiting for her. She struggled to hide her discomfort and nervousness, but the boy’s expression was one of knowing.

“You know the Whispering Lady, too, don’t you? I can tell.” He gave her a conspiratorial smirk.

Miranja glanced around and, seeing  no one very close, leaned toward him and whispered, “The Whispering Lady is evil, and I hope that what I’ve done today will keep her from troubling you ever again. The atmosphere in Dragonsreach should lighten up for you soon. I’ll be back to check on you next time I’m in town.”

“As if you really care about me,” Nelkir scowled. “No one does.”

Miranja looked past Mephala’s influence and saw the boy’s pain. “It’s very possible that your brother and sister…”

“Half-brother and sister,” Nelkir interjected adamantly.

Miranja ignored his interruption and continued. “…have also been under the influence of the Whispering Lady. That could be why they’ve been cruel to you.”

Now Nelkir was suspicious. “What makes you think they’ve…”

“Call it a hunch. But I’ve talked to your father in private, before you and I talked, and he told me about the circumstances leading to your birth. He loved your mother, and he loves you, too. You’re all he has left of her. And I may not know you well enough to say that I love you, but I care about your father, a dear friend, and by extension I care about his family and his entire household.”

Nelkir scoffed, but something in his eyes told Miranja that she had planted a seed.

“Have a good afternoon, Nelkir. I’ll see you again soon.”

[summerwritesfics]

🌎A Truce

Pairing: None Length: 1669 Words Rating: Teen Warnings: Modern AU, Child!Tomas Vrbada, Child!Bi-Han, Baby!Kuai Liang, Adoption, Adopted Children, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Fluff, Family Fluff, Past Character Death, Babies, Childbirth, Hospitals, Jealousy, Tomas has very little concept of how long childbirth can take, Bi-Han is a little shit (But a little shit with a soft spot for Kuai Liang so)

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist

Notes: You know, at this point MK1 could explicitly tell me Tomas is the youngest and I would still be here like “yeah but he has middle child energy so idc” lol. For ages in this I was thinking Bi-Han maybe being 9-10 and Tomas being 7-8. Kuai is obviously a newborn, somewhere between half-and-hour to an hour old.

Tomas didn’t really understand why the Song family had adopted him.

Not that they treated him badly. In fact, despite his new elder brother’s complaints, his new parents treated him extremely well and had gone out of their way to make sure he was happy and comfortable in his new home. They’d done everything to make sure he knew they adopted him because they wanted him. He had his own room, filled with toys and clothes, Father always helped him with his homework, Mother would sit up and sing lullabies when he had nightmares. They’d even found Doctor Ashrah, the nice lady who Tomas talked to about the deaths of his Sister and Mother.

But he still didn’t understand, mostly on the grounds that his new Mother had been very clearly pregnant when they first met. If they were expecting another child already, then what was Tomas for? They could clearly still have their own children, so why did they need Tomas too? It was confusing, even if he was thankful for their strange decision.

But that was why he was now sitting in a hospital waiting room, Bi-Han explicitly ignoring him. Mother had gone into labour some time ago and Father had gone straight to her. Madame Bo, the kindly elderly lady who ran a nearby cafe, had brought Tomas and Bi-Han to the hospital from school. Tomas wasn’t exactly an expert on babies and childbirth, but they’d been here for an hour, their parents even longer, surely the baby had to be out of her by now, right?

As if to answer his question, the door opposite them opened, and their Father stuck his head out of the door. He looked tired, but excited, so that was probably a good sign. He smiled at them both.

“Come on, there’s someone who’d like to meet you both,” Father gently told them, moving aside to allow them through the door.

Bi-Han immediately jumped off the chair and stepped forward. Tomas scrambled to keep up. As they entered, Father shut the door behind them. Across the room, Mother was sitting up in the bed, holding a bundle of cloth to her chest. As she looked at them, she smiled brightly. Although, if Tomas thought Father looked tired, she looked positively exhausted. Her usually immaculate hair was a complete mess, and her eyelids looked heavy.

“Hello boys,” she greeted softly, as they both approached her. “Meet Kuai Liang, he’s your little brother.”

She moved the bundle slightly, and indeed, wrapped up inside the cloth was a baby. His eyes were shut and it seemed he was fast asleep, not making a sound. Kuai Liang, huh? That was a nice name.

“Would you like to hold him?” Father asked them, and Tomas froze. He’d never held a baby before, what if he dropped him? Father clearly saw the fear on Tomas’ face as he gently chuckled and continued with “I’ll help you support him.”

He turned to Mother as she held out Kuai Liang for him to take. He turned to Bi-Han first. Gently instructing Bi-Han on how to hold his arms. Once he was in the acceptable position, Father placed the baby in his arms. His hands didn’t leave completely, holding Bi-Han steady and telling him how to hold the head.

Bi-Han stared down at his new baby brother. Tomas wasn’t sure how he’d react. He did not like Tomas' presence, he likely couldn’t stand yet another brother fighting for their parents attention.

Then, to Tomas' eternal surprise, Bi-Han actually began to smile.

“Hi, Kuai Liang,” he softly said, his eyes never leaving the baby in his arms. “I’m Bi-Han. Your big brother.”

Tomas hated that he felt a pang of jealousy at Bi-Han referring to himself as that. He shouldn’t be envious of a literal baby, Kuai had barely taken a breath and didn’t even know what a brother was. And yet… Tomas wished Bi-Han could have said the same thing to him when he arrived at the Song’s house.

“Tomas, do you want a turn?” Father asked, taking Kuai Liang back from Bi-Han. Tomas nodded, still a little unsure and scared he could accidentally hurt him. “It’s okay. I’ll help you, okay? Hold the head with one hand, and the lower half with the other.”

Tomas did as he was told as the baby was passed to him. Father kept hold of his arms, making sure to give him a little bit of extra support.

Now he was up close, he could see Kuai Liang better. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was cute, in the ugly sort of way that only a baby could be. As the baby squirmed slightly in his arms, all Tomas could think was how this was his brother. His little brother.

When his sister, Tamara, was still alive, they both agreed they wanted a younger sibling. Being twins they were exactly the same age, so even though Tomas was slightly older he didn’t have the age gap to be a typical elder sibling you’d see on TV. So, they had agreed that if their Mother ever became pregnant again, they would be the best big brother and sister the world had ever seen.

But his Mother and Tamara were gone now, and he was with this new family who loved him despite him not being of their blood.

Kuai Liang wasn’t his blood, but he was his brother, and he owed it to Tamara to be the absolute best big brother he could to Kuai Liang.

I won’t let you down, sister. 

“Hey Kuai Liang,” he finally spoke aloud, letting himself smile. It was amazing, how in just a few seconds he knew he’d adore his new brother for the rest of his life. “I’m Tomas, I’m your other big brother.”

To his surprise, there was no cutting or sarcastic remark from Bi-Han about that.

He let Father take Kuai Liang again, feeling sad at the loss but realising that Mother was really the one who deserved the most time with him. She’d done the majority of the work after all. When she took hold of him again, he made a small fussy sound, but settled quickly. Mother lent down and gently kissed Kuai Liang’s tiny forehead.

“Why don’t you boys go get yourself some snacks from a vending machine?” Father suddenly suggested, reaching into his pocket to get his wallet out. He took out a few dollars, and pressed them into Bi-Han’s palm.

Bi-Han silently looked at Tomas, gaze so neutral that Tomas could not tell at all what he was feeling at that moment. Still, when he turned to leave the room, Tomas followed obediently. As he stepped through the door, he took a look over his shoulder, just in time to see Mother and Father kiss each other on the lips. They looked so happy, despite the air of exhaustion.

He followed Bi-Han through the halls, both boys keeping silent. Tomas kept stealing occasional glances at his brother. He still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and it was making Tomas’ gut twist. They rounded a corner, finding a vending machine behind it. Before they reached it, Bi-Han turned on the spot and stared Tomas down. He felt himself shrink. Why did it feel like this was how he was going to die?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Bi-Han snarled, pointing at Tomas threateningly. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me.” Tomas actually whimpered at that. He had no idea why Bi-Han thought he didn’t like him, he’d tried his best. “But… I think we can both agree that we both like Kuai Liang.”

Well… That’s true. Where is he going with this? 

“So. I am offering you a truce.” A truce? Tomas knew what one was, he’d learnt that in school quite recently, but it was usually in the context of war, and as far as he was aware, he and Bi-Han were not in a war. “From this point on, everything we do is for Kuai Liang.”

“Agreed,” Tomas said simply with a huge grin. He didn’t even need to think about it. He already knew he was going to look after Kuai Liang, and if that came with the benefit of Bi-Han maybe being nicer to him, then that really was just a bonus.

“Good. We should shake on it.” Bi-Han suddenly spat into his hand and held it out to Tomas, much to his disgust. “Now you spit into yours and then we shake. It’s how adults make deals.”

“Do they really spit into their hands?” Tomas questioned. He’d seen plenty of adults shaking hands, especially while he was in the orphanage. He couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone spitting.

Still, Bi-Han seemed insistent on that detail, so reluctantly, he spat into his hand. He hated how it felt, and hated even more how when his hand met Bi-Han’s there was a weird squishing between their palms. Bi-Han shook their hands vigorously, which only seemed to spread the saliva. Eventually he let go and Tomas pulled his hand back, grimacing at it.

“Right, now that’s done.” Bi-Han was wiping off the spit on his shirt, and seeing no other option, Tomas reluctantly did the same with his own. “What d’you want from the vending machine?”

“You’re actually letting me get something?” Tomas questioned, he’d genuinely expected Bi-Han to just get snacks for himself.

“Well, yeah,” Bi-Han drawled, like it should have been obvious. “You can’t look after our brother on an empty stomach, moron.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say to that, but he did step up to the vending machine and check out its wares. “Hm. Can I get that chocolate bar? Uh, B3?”

“B3 it is.”

Tomas watched Bi-Han put the money into the machine. His elder brother really was a weird boy, but maybe he wasn’t as bad as he first thought.

United with a goal, maybe they really could put their differences aside for Kuai Liang.

[cuntwrap--supreme]

Something a little fucked about going to dinner with people who have told your mom that you're "not ok" and shit since you were 8 and them entirely ignoring you, instead leaning over to whisper to your brother that they needed to talk later (about me) when I'm quite literally directly across from him. He texted me saying his aunt wanted to discuss me later.

So they're all talking further down the table and at some point I interject and say, "Yeah, ha ha, I heard you had some questions about me. Where better to get that information than the horse's mouth?" And this woman - who pretends to be Cherokee to, like, get sympathy and Liz Warren'd her way into school saying she was Cherokee when she knew she wasn't, got whole scholarships meant for minorities because of it - looks to my mother and goes, "Girl, I think you need to control your thing down there." So I stood up and said I'd rather walk 14 miles home in the rain than be in the presence of such vacant, soulless ghouls for a moment longer, told this woman she can pay for my meal with her husband's money, and walked. My dad, one of my sisters, and her boyfriend came after me and said that was fucked and they weren't gonna sit there after that. My dad said he was going to walk with me if no one handed over their keys because it was either that or he was going to jail for murdering this woman. Said he looked at my mom and asked what her response to that was, and all she said was that I'm clearly mentally unwell. As if 1) that's not directly her fault and 2) that's grounds to let someone call me a thing and talk shit about me for decades.

Pretty sure your parents are supposed to have your back? So he said after that was her response he told her good luck with her bills, he's done supporting her 20 years after they got divorced. I've been telling him this is how she treats me since I was a child, but he's never seen it in action until tonight. Like, I'd be 10 or so and doing 10 year old shit and she'd make sure I knew it was a sign of being depraved to pretend you're a wizard for fun or some shit and that I was probably going to end up a whore for work because I have no value; meanwhile, she's smoking crack with her boyfriend all the fucking time, exposing me to that and domestic violence, forcing me to be an adult and protect my siblings from her and her boyfriend's drug use from 8 years old onward, and allowing her boyfriend to psychologically torture me because well I'm weird so i deserve it, etc! Wow! It's almost as if isolating people in their formative years and instead forcing them to deal with constant stresses such as "will my mom die the next time she's thrown bodily across the room?" and "what happens if DCS doesn't believe my mom's lies next time? Will I be placed in a home full of other troubled kids, but some of them will rape me?" and "I've been told no adults will believe me when I mentioned my home life and surprise! they don't!" isn't good for someone.

I'm irreparable. Yeah. Sure. You got me there. But I'll be fucking damned if I'm going to sit idly by as these people talk shit about me when I'm 5ft away. Last time they saw me they talked to my mother about how I need to be institutionalized for - get this - not being feminine. Apparently that's a mental disorder now! Sorry, afab people! You have to be traditionally feminine or you're mentally fucked! I don't make the rules! Some people who got rich by marrying scam artists do! Or they told my youngest sister to stop talking to me because I'll only drag her down with me. Whatever that means. As if I didn't fucking raise that child more than either of her parents ever did. As if I didn't protect her from her father when he'd get high and want something to strangle while tweaking out and chose infant her. I should have punched this vapid excuse for a human square in the nose.

I'm so sick of how these people have treated me forever and how no one has ever had the balls to stand up to them because they all have money and they want to mooch off of that. They've hated me from Day One because I don't suck up to them. As far back as I can remember, they've told me I should dye my hair blonde, do makeup, wear high heels and slutty clothes so I can find a "good man" who will take care of me, then call me a weird dyke when I say none of that sounds like a way to find a man I'd get along with.

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

So, I went to a national park yesterday with my siblings, and while there I thought over my own little np au, and really got thinking about it when we were stuck waiting for a huge herd of bison to pass by.

So, here’s a fun little one-shot for the au with Crowley, Aziraphale, and wild animals.

Warning: for the love of fuck, please do not approach wild animals of any sort in a national or state park! And do not feed them human food, this is not good for them, and this gets them too used to humans, meaning that they could get hurt, or you could get hurt if you bother them too much.

On with the fic!

--

“You’d think that people would be a bit more considerate about the beauty of this park when, ya know, they’re fawning over it while they toss their trash about.” Crowley grumbled as he speared at a half empty bag of chips, clearly discarded and left for some animal to get into. He tossed it into his mobile trashcan. 

“It is a darn shame.” Aziraphale sighed, following along, gesturing with a finger at a crumpled beer can. It vanished, but it ended up in the can to be tossed away. “We’ve got signs posted all over the park, especially at the rest areas and campgrounds! They’re even in a variety of languages!”

“Humans are just like that, angel. They take this world for granted.”

“Have you ever tossed your rubbish about like this?”

“Ehhh... when I was younger, didn’t even seem to care, didn’t know any better. Auntie Ash got on me about it, put the fear of her into me, been a lot better about it since.” Crowley replied, stabbing more trash with his spiked pole. “And since workin’ here... uhg. Yeah, no. Not throwin’ anymore trash on the ground.”

“Good call.” Aziraphale smiled before frowning, turning his head in the direction of one of the picnic tables nearby. He had noticed something going on out of the corner of his eye (and his unseen Eyes), a bit of excited chattering and activity with a group of tourists. 

He could see a group of young college-aged humans, giggling and laughing, chatting about something they were circled around. A few of them even had out their cellular telephones, and Aziraphale gently put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Dear, what are they doing over there?”

“Hm?” Crowley turned, glancing over. “What, that group? Looks like they’re excited about something. Can you see what they’re looking at with your spooky eyes?”

Aziraphale scoffed, muttering under his breath that his extra Eyes were not ‘spooky’. He could see, in just a blink, what the group was surrounding. It appeared to be two raccoons, and they were feeding them junk food.

“Oh! OH! No, no, stop, don’t do that!” Aziraphale shouted, rushing over, startling the group. “Don’t feed those animals!”

“What’re you freaking about, old man?” One of the young men said, and Aziraphale made a face at being called ‘old man’, how rude some humans could be! He was neither old nor a man! “

“Yeah, they came up to us!” A girl complained. “How could we say no to those li’l faces!”

“Easily.” Crowley stated as he approached. “Look, it’s cute and shit when you see people online feedin’ animals in videos from people involved in animal conservation and stuff. I get that, I love that kinda shit, but you are not qualified to do that. And these are wild animals, they live in the park, they’re not at a center or a zoo, or whatever.”

“Yeah, but, like, they’re totally sweet and nice, came right up to us without a problem. Look, they’re not even sick! They like eating oreos!” Another girl smiled at the two raccoons, who didn’t seem to care at all of what was happening, they were busy munching on the treats left within reach.

Crowley slapped his forehead, dragging his hand down his face. “They’re not allowed to eat that. This is why animals get into the trash cans, which, mind you, are meant to have their lids on them, and are not meant to be left open for any number of animals to get into. You want bears? This is how you get bears! And they will not gently eat outta your hands, they’ll bite ‘em off!”

One of the other boys snorted. “As if we’re gonna listen to a janitor.”

“It’s basic knowledge for all park employees, you dumbass! And for tourists as well!” Crowley looked about ten seconds from screaming at these humans like he did his plants and Aziraphale held up a hand, gently patting it against his human’s chest.

“Here, let me handle this, my dear. I’ll talk some sense into these rowdy children.”

Before anyone could say anything, he turned to the group and smiled, ever so sweetly as he felt the Eye tattoos on his arms warm. “Now, if I were you, I think it would be wise to properly pack up all food items in secured containers, especially meat products. Those can be tied up with a rope and strung up in a tree for easy access for you, but it is difficult access for animals. And I think you should clean up all your trash, disposing of everything properly, without any fussing. Oh, and you owe Crowley here an apology.”

The college students blinked a few times, saying apologies to Crowley, all sounding like they meant it, as they started to pack up their food and trash. Aziraphale smiled sweetly still and then gently shooed off the raccoons, saying that there was probably a yummy blackberry bush a bit away from here just asking for someone to eat its berries. 

He turned to Crowley, who looked a bit gobsmacked. “The hell did you just...”

“I’m very persuasive, Crowley.” Aziraphale flashed him a smile before returning to the trash can. “Come along, love, we’ve got to finish this before our date! We have reservations!” 

--

Crowley probably would have gotten into a fight, because from what my sister told me from her own experience working at a national park, a lot of employees were down to fight tourists. 

[marlasomething]

The Street Where You Live (Bugborg Week - June 16)

Summary: Nebula is tired of Mantis being an useless student, so she decided that, instead, is going to waster her time with hear with small talk…apparently, none of them are good at speaking in a chill manner.

Relationships: Nebula/Mantis

A/N: Written for day 5 of @bugborgweek2023

Prompt: Based on a song

Word count: 920

CW: parental abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of death

Also on AO3!

Nebula didn’t understand why on Earth she had said yes to this job offer. Yes; she wanted to be able to leave home as soon as possible, and it wasn’t as if she had many talents apart from physical defence and formal etiquette (things that happen when your father is a mafia boss), but she had never been good with nice people of around her age…

Still, there she was, in front of a smiling girl a couple of years younger than herself, sitting in the most uncomfortable position imaginable while wearing green raggedy clothes. Between her posture and the outfit…she got why people called her Mantis. Also, she wished she could be squashed as easy as the insect, since this was already their fourth session and she couldn’t even choose the proper spoon for soup.

Still, she actually felt pity for the girl; all her siblings had died either under mysterious circumstances after having tried to face their father or in the line of duty while trying to make him proud. Mantis’ only reason to still be alive was that the 1920s weren’t exactly a progressive time, and his father wouldn’t allow a girl to either become part of the Army or the Police Forces, nor give her enough free space to get a formed opinion that would make her want to rebel against him.

Nebula hated his father; he was abusive and there was barely anything good to be said about him even outside of how he treated his multiple suspiciously adopted children, but, at least, he valued them having a mind of their own and didn’t care about their gender or interests under the sheets , as he called them.

“Ok, we are getting nowhere and after this I have to go and try to stole a prisoner from my sister so my father actually realised I am the best out of the two of us. Maybe I will kill him, just in case he decides to speak well of Gamora. He won’t be the first idiot falling for her…wonder why” she reflected out loud while sitting down. “…what do you like doing?”

“What do you mean?” the younger lady was clearly perplexed by the question.

“What do you like doing? For example: I like fighting and not having useless conversations”.

“This is a useless conversation, and that is not something you do. That is something you avoid doing…wait, do you only like the stuff your father thought you?”

Nebula scoffed.

“As if you were any different, Miss Perfect Mantis Planet” Mantis lowered her eyes, and Nebula thought she had hurt her with a far too brutal honesty. Then, before she could even form an educated opinion whereas that made her feel good or bad, the other young woman kneeled on the floor and dismantled a couple of wooden panels, to show a complete painting set, showing drawings of faraway lands.

“When I was little, my dad was an ambassador and we travelled a lot . I wish I could travel again…I really don’t care where, though I’ve heard Seville in Spain is really nice and hot; I am tired of London’s clouds. I also draw; feelings, mostly. I just…put the colours where the feelings would go. Of people, or for people. I like to make people feel things ; like I make you be frustrated”.

This shouldn’t have been enough for Nebula to open her absolutely hardened heart but, here was the thing: she was so unused to people being honest without being scared of her, or purposely cruel to her, that the difference was enough for her to do something that would commonly be absolutely out of character for her.

“Yeah, you are pretty good at this…I…I might like when…when I got people that also want my classes, but the self-defence ones, the crap that is actually fun and not only for appearances. Especially when it is when actual kids, not like you, I…think I kind of like kids”.

“I do too, but at a distance. Except for the girl of my bodyguard. She is really kind, and strong. Maybe you would get along. See? They are here” she pointed at a painting of a very muscular man with a woman and child, not small by any measures either. It was painting in warm, peaceful colours.

“Wait, why is it in this colours? Your bodyguard is pretty infamous for his violent temper and this, this brings me…”

“…peace, I know. Because that is who he really is, but don’t get it mistaken: there is also some aggressiveness painted into it. The only reason you don’t get it is because it is already too deep within you, but, don’t worry. I think your palette wouldn’t be as violent as you think either. Maybe…yes, a lot of blue”.

“A lot of blue for the murderous ginger? Yeah, sure”.

“Yes, sure . Now, let’s talk illegal, it’s always fun” she sat somehow in an even more uncomfortable position and, holding her head in between her hands, asked “what was your favourite place to go drink while pretending to be within legal age? I need names”.

Nebula contained a cackle and answered. Perhaps, this class would be a bit longer than usual.

Back on the street, Nebula observed the panel with the name of the street in which the Planet Household was situated “Gunn Street”.

She let a sight scape. She would be walking around said street much more from that moment on.

[girljeremystrong]

Ramble inbound, your tags made me think :) personally I love how cold rava can be towards ken. I really enjoy that aspect of her character, IMO it tells us everything we need to know about the progression of their relationship up to when we first meet them. I would think her coldness is a direct result of Kendall being an almost entirely absent father & husband for years upon years, one who makes no genuine effort to meaningfully reach out & connect to her or his kids, who instead tries to develop closeness by centering his life & asking her to play the role he envisions for her as Wife Of The Waystar Royco CEO. She clearly has underlying love for him, I do think she just can’t let go of her fondness for him, but he chooses work over family 100% of the time (always in the Kendall Roy: CEO Of Waystar mindset, and never the mindset of Kendall Roy: Husband And Father) and she’s just tired of fighting upstream with him. Cos let’s be honest Kenny is very stubborn and doesn’t take no for an answer when he’s decided what he wants. He has this pattern with his other flings too, that girl he whisked away from the play for example; the way he was always brushing off the consequences she’d face from jumping out of her life and into his, because he thinks he could patch it all up with his money and influence and it’d all be fine. As if the material cost is the problem and not his self centered relationship style. He doesn’t make an effort to truly invest in his partners’ personal lives/priorities/interests outside of the context of the Roy familial corporate structure, because that’s the only environment in which he has any practice connecting with people. He has 0 normal family experience to draw on so he really can’t leave the Roy headspace and connect with his family as a human person. Obviously it’s Logan’s fault that ken has a hard time fostering stable relationships outside of the context of the corporate world, as business IS love to Logan. I think this is why his closest relationships are with people already in the belly of the corporate world (stewi, naomi), and why he doesn’t really Get why she doesn’t want to be with him even if he becomes The Man. This is one of many ways he’s inherited Logan’s worldview. He treats his family much less abrasively than his father (at least until the end when he goes Full Loge and aggressively threatens to sever custody in an attempt to keep his life from crumbling), but even accounting for the extra kindness it’s still the same fundamental way Logan treated his family; narcissistically. Poison drips through innit. So TLDR I think rava’s coldness is justified, from the perspective of a long-embittered ex wife, left to be their children’s sole parent while their father focused exclusively on his work life and the enmeshed family relationships within. Ok that’s all my thoughts hope you enjoy. ^_^

wow this is very eloquent and very well said. fundamentally i agree with everything you said (and you said it very well) especially the point you made about him being way too immersed in the corporate world and being too focused on his role as the man at the top and it's true that he's treated rava like crap and he's been a horrible father BUT consider this: i love him!!!!!

he's my sopping little wet rat who grew up in a very unstable environment with a man who was borderline abusive to him and his siblings while at the same time being promised he was gonna be just like him when he grew up only to be disappointed and castigated time and time again and of course it's on him to learn and grow and be a better man and father than logan but at the same time he was made to think that he had to be this strong cynical unaffected man so that he could be like his father from his childhood and that's difficult!!!! and once more he's a fictional character and i love him!!!!!

of course rava is allowed to be cold and tough towards him and i understand she must have been let down so so many times and she must be so worried about their kids but so many times he went to her for some assurance and she's just always been so stern!!!! i wish my boy could have heard a "good job" from a person he clearly still values in his life

[yanderefairyangel]

*sight*

Alright I have two rants to do because this fandom is very exhausting.

1/ the minor one because I still saw people arguing whether or not the Fell twins are Alear's sibling and I am being like "How are you still involved into this stupid discourse it's been 6 month since the Dlc came out I though it was finally over 4 month ago (ಥ﹏ಥ)". They are confirmed to be romance, that mean they aren't. Idc if you think it makes you morally superior to acts like they are siblings when the writing doesn't treat them as such, it just makes you looks like a weirdo for arguing you can date your half sibling in a video game and dumb as it shows you don't even pay attention to the writing of said game ! And I know they aren't genuinely wanting to view Alear and them as a platonic/family relationship because if they did they wouldn't even try to argue on them being canon related. I am the first one to correct people on Byleth's lack of kinship with the Nabateans, doesn't prevent me from having some draft of Byleth acting as family with Sothie and Rhea and the whole point of Engage is that family is based on connection through bond not blood ! The only reason why they want to prove that is because they don't like the option being a thing, even though the Fell twins's relationship with Alear has no relevance in the main story outside of shipping. I am tired to see that the only thing people have to say about them is that, they don't deserves it. And I am not even saying you have no right to prefer to view them as family, if you genuinely like them like that please go on, you are doing an amazing job and have fun, but the fact that those people who argue clearly are doing it just to shame anyone who want to waifu Nel or Rafal is annoying and toxic when IS themselves allowed it to be a thing. I respect not liking it, but I don't respect using it as way to look down on others and claim to be moraly superior.

2/The biggest one because I am tired : NO liking 3H and disliking Engage doesn't make you more intelligent or superior then fans who don't. I am tired of people acting as if Engage fans had low IQ and calling us "weeb trash with no taste". This is the exact same mentality as people liking "modern trendy songs"looking down on people who likes doujin music. I am so sorry for liking a game who has an enjoyable gameplay and is an actual strategy game with funny custom and an actual place where I can take a break from the story and do little mini games, griding or skip it to my heart's content over the one that is very easy to break, punishes me for not playing it "the correct way" forcing me to do boring shores for support or training grinding, being an actual paradox of a game with features making it all easy yet punishing me for skipping the most boring part of the game with this monastery and hellish calendar system that breaks the pacing. I am sorry for liking a game with much smaller and tamer world builing using most basic references that French/European speakers like me can get over one that has this gigantic wordbuliding barely using it correctly and shoved with 1 000 of references that most people I am sure have no idea existed or are familiar with. I am sorry for liking a game that uses symbolism as a way to strenghen its narrative over one that uses symbolism as a way to tell its story. I am sorry for liking a story that actually rewards me for replaying it by letting me noticing the amount of thoughts that were put into it since it's obvious that everything was planned as confirmed by the early concept art of Alear and its sheer amount of foreshadowing and clever use of japanese over a story that objectively lacks focus and was confirmed to not be planned by the devs in the interview where they joked about 3H seeming to write itself on its own without them understanding how or about the 1000 year worth worldbuiliding that "no one truly knew about" and it shows that needs me to play all the routes to feel emotionally invested despite it not making sense with the context of said route despite having a team of 3 writers. I am sorry to prefer a tame worldbuiling I can actually explore and feel immersed into over that gigantic worldbuilings that is the epitome of tell don't show, infodumped on me 99% of the time with some of them never used again and so big that even the writers got lost into it as they confirmed themselves in the interview. I am sorry for liking the anime chessey opening that has more variety in its musicality and feels like a love song to the fans and franchise over the opening song that feels like an anime ending sung by a character who I ended up feeling nothing but indifference and that is being recycled over and over and over again in 99% of the soundtracks. I am sorry for liking a game that is so fun to replay that I have problem switching to another one over a game that is very tedious at some point and would actually gave you a burn out if you don't do some break. I am sorry for liking a game with beautiful graphics and animations, colorful, going as far as changing the sheath the character is wearing depending on which sword they are using over the game whose graphics makes it look bleak and unappealing and whose fruits looks like that

I am sorry for liking a game who had actual care and fun put into its developpement despite a lesser budget as felt throught the gameplay and the writing who despite not being the priority still felt more prepared and though about then the game who has a rushed developpement, was delayed for non covid reason, was literaly a collab because of the budget put into it and has far more cut content that were essential to its writing, including entire chapters. I am sorry for liking a game that has villain who are actual character with some depth even if they aren't morally conflicted individual over villains who are nothing of character but pure comically evil in a so called "morally grey" masterpiece and whose motivation needs you to get Buddhist references leaving room for people to make up story about how they were colonized. I am sorry for liking a game who has a satifisfactory ending over one that solve no conflict and every big thing happens off screen. I am sorry for liking a game capable of showing and not telling over one that keeps telling me stuff and barely shows anything. I am sorry for liking a game that despite being linear has a freaking bad ending over the one that is a split route and that should have some by laws but doesn't because you actually have no meaningful decision. I am sorry for liking a game where character have actual moral compass working on a moral system that speaks to my mind over one that ended up falling into moral relativism. I am sorry for liking a game whose story is much simplier and a breath of fresh air over the one who was so complex and over the top that people still have no idea what happened in said story 4 years later while keeping in mind that the only canon event is chapter 1-2. I am so so sorry for liking a game whose cast is fun and doesn't infodump you on their personal trauma 99% of the time creating convoluted backstory over a game that keeps making fun of the traumatic experience of their character and their ptsd. I am so very sorry so sorry sorry for liking a game whose protagonist might be an avatar but is an established characters with quality, flaws and struggles, dream to pursue, a character arc, character developpement, who is very endearing, whose female counterpart has an outfit that i love and has actual interaction with the cast even if it took a whole DLC to have one character having genuine chemistry with them to give me shipping brainrot over an avatar that is hated by it's own game and was the only thing I ended up liking from said game since they were the only reason why I kept on playing it and who makes me looks at them with sad eyes because of how much a spin off did them better and is the reason why the game's quality in story telling is lesser then it was supposed to be while waiting for an entire spin off to have someone having genuine chemistry with them and give me shipbrainrot. I am definetely very soorry for having things used in the game, having character whose backstory actually matter over the game that pretends to tackle serious subject but ignoring an entire freaking genocide. I am sooo very sorry for liking a game that is essentially a love letter to the franchise and to me and the others fans over one that divided the fandom into the most toxic conversation ever. Really sorry for being that stupid and tasteless.

Look, I might look like I do, but I don't hate 3H, it was still an enjoyable experience and I still think its a competent game that has a lot of strengh, but story and gameplay aren't its strengh. 3H still has one of the best cast in the entire franchise but I am tired of seeing people constantly accusing you of sheeting on the game for poiting its legitimate flaws and deluded or telling you to cope when you have actual reason to points out that there is things Engage objectively does better then 3H when it comes to writing. And I am tired to see tons of pathetic bad reviews that keeps proving to me that people lacks basic reading skills or are unable to understand the most basic and simple things with whatsmore no freaking body ever correcting their straight up wrong bad takes !! I am not saying Engage is a perfect masterpiece with no flaws, it has flaws, perfection is something that doesn't exist but the amount of bad faith criticism against that game is just baffling and it makes it worse since for some reason if you are an Engage fan and have some critics against 3H's way of handling things then you are automatically "just salty and jealous because 3h is more awesome then that L boring anime story" creating a magic shiel against critics 3h received 3 years before Engage ever came out and that we knew about it existing that are now deemed to be "being salty" or "drinking copium to thing Engage is good". I have encountered many 3H fans that are the first one to point out how the game creates its own plot holes because it was so ambitious it tripped over what it tried to do and said fans said they didn't talked as much about Engage because they though that they were less "fixing to do" which isn't surprising since the story was actually planned even if some moments still needs polishing. And I can't help but die a little inside each time I see comments or take of the style "if only we could get a game with the gameplay of Engage and the story of 3H then we would have the perfect fire emblem game" because No. Never, ever again. I don't want any more 3H style kind of story. Because I know that IS or rather KT is incapable of improving this mess. I though they would with the demo of 3 hopes seeing how it did the prologue better by miles but quickly realised they are unable to write this kind of story properly. They simply cannot improve Houses/Hopes kind of story. The perfect fire emblem would be an Engage 2.0 : not only from the gameplay, but with the story because Engage has genuinely little to improve and can be improved very easily unlike what the people who try to rewrite it completely changing the story or showing they didn't even understand it to begin with tries to gaslight you into thinking. That kind of storytelling works with Fire Emblem and is easy to do better. I want a good Fe game but a good Fe game would be an improved version of Engage's story that is to say with polishing rather then bringing back 3H kind of narrative. Never again.

And I repeat I don't hate 3H but I am tired of having to pretend it's a masterpiece and Engage is trashfire bad just because the fandom insist on comparing the incomparable when Engage ends up doing much better then 3H by far on both gameplay and storytelling, that's why I have much more fun dissecting Engage then 3H and the fandom's attitude plus the ambitions of 3H makes me less and less and less forgiving of it's flaws as time pass. And I also hate this stupid mentality that if a products fails then that means it's not finished or were made by incompetent people or had no care put into it because even if you dislike Engage, there is no denying the game is a finished products where love and care where put into and doing everything to make the player feel loved and rewarded each time they grab their switch because Engage was finished by 2019-2020 and would have launched if it were not for Covid, it might have sold less then 3H but it doesn't make it a failure because it never was supposed to and seeing the budget that was put into it, its current sale might be considered to be a success by the team compared to the game that was definetely delayed and costed much more just for the voice actors. I would never apply it to Houses because while I think it's story isn't its strengh at ALL, I can't deny that the devs genuinely wanted it to be a success on the story with the amount of references and worldbuiling showing they spend maybe days or weeks working and making researches for their work and I still enjoy 3H story analysis a lot like that super interesting essay on 3H's use of its soundtrack and I respect 3H for what it was trying to do, I even respect it more then Hopes that I did enjoyed more because it at least didn't ruin its story in an pathetic attempt to pander to the fandom as a bigger fanservice then implementing Marth and turning him into a mentor and angel guardian for Alear, because it was the biggest hommage FE could have done for its very first hero, showing how much he matured as a hero and paying hommage to his role as a Guide/Hero king.

In short I am tired to see people who don't even read the freaking game thinking they have the right to critize it and trash on it and be quoted religiously as references when freaking nobody bother correcting them even though anyone that has been paying attention to the events of the game would be able to answer their stupid bad takes that exist just for the sake of clickbaiting and looking down on other fans for loving and cherishing the love letter they have been given !!! I just want to enjoy all Fire Emblem games for what they do right and despite their flaws without having to feel like I have the IQ of a goldfish or doubting my intelligence for being able to do that. And I hate that people try to defend Engage by brining down Fe as a whole : No, Fe doesn't have all bad story, all story have their strengh and their weakness. No, Fe didn't always had bad writing, all of FE game's writing have their strengh and flaws even if some are improvements over others. And NO, FREAKING NO on Engage isn't meant to be taken seriously and wasn't meant to be good : this is a light hearted game with very vanilla shouneny writing, but it still takes itself seriously, even if it's not as much as game like Fe4 or Fe16 tried to. Yes it takes itself as seriously as Sailor Moon but when you write a vanilla kind of story that is inevitable. And BIG NO on that second part because Engage story is genuinely competent and good. Maybe not the greatest of Fe but it does more good things then bad things, it has more quality then flaws and trust me when something is really, reallly bad the redeeming quality can be counted on the finger's hand.

I am also tired to see people act as if Engage was a total failure when it is not : it still sold well for a title of this year, it still is played to this day by the likes of me, the only reason why I had to wait before buying it rather then preordering it was because I wanted to have a game I had the time to play and wanted to wait to be on holidays so I could have all my freetime occupied by it. It has people who likes it for what it is and aren't blind on its flaws, that loves the cast, loves the world building and makes content for it. And I hate that people justify comparing it to 3H by saying "we have to compare it to the previous entry" because it's not even true, would it be the case you would compare it to 3 Hopes, the game which Engage pull the rug out from under since we weren't supposed to have a Hopes in the first place but no one does that because they just want to compare it to something they think is superior to have the pleasure to trash on it while looking objective and smart just because they didn't liked it and want to feel right in doing so! To give an example, for my literary study one year ago I had to read Le Journal du Voleur by Jean Genet. I didn't liked it. My classmate didn't like it. Even the teacher didn't like it. But not because it was trash, but because it's not tasteful and is too dark for my and visibly their tastes too, to the point we had a pikachu face when our teacher told us we were studying the censored version of the book and even now I still can't believe it, and when we were finished with it, I got rid of it immediately. But objectively speaking, it has to be one of the most well written book I have ever read with a unique style and a writing showing its author is capable of turning the most rancy thing into the most poetic thing ever and you can feel it was empowering for him to write his life like that and that he loved the world he re-created. So while I wouldn't recommend it to anybody because I care about you, I will never ever claim I didn't like it because it was badly written because that would be dumb and stupid of me, it definetely deserves to be considered a literary work and I do think it's underrated for what it does with language. And if I did based things only on my taste then I'd call Houses garbage without any redeeming quality, but it's not true and we all know it.

I like both games even if I do it differentely and I can't stand people looking down on me for it or thinking I can't have genuine good points, especially when I spend over 400 hours into Engage, and I am not even counting the time I rewatched the over 1 long hour full movie version uploaded on youtube despite the salty and hateful comments just for the sake of making analysis when I could just check that because in that case I would have spend over 800 hours into the story. I even played with the JPN dub and checked the OG script to give the writing a fair chance, something I never did for any FE game before and wished I did.

If you asked me to pick Engage or 3H, I'd pick Engage any day because of how much more welcoming it is with it's simplier story and fun gameplay compared to Houses, a game that each time I had the wish to replay it ended up giving up because of how tedious it gets. I still try to be positive of Houses because of the genuine fun I had despite my personal gripes and the fact it has genius character writing, but the constant negativity against Engage to literaly worship Houses is so annoying it sour me on it, and it makes me fear that from now one every single game IS release will constantly end up being compared to 3H. I just can't.