#like that to me seems like the sibling dynamic

[sokkastyles]

Why do you think Azula stans are so weird about Zuko?

And I'm not talking in general. I'm talking about /that/ specific cult on Tumblr, the ones who demonize him worse than Ozai, write fics about him SA-ing her or being ultra possessive of her in a romantic way. Like they loathe whatever fucked up version of Zuko they have in their head. But why do so many of them ship Zucest?

Because they want Azula to be the ultimate victim and Zuko's canon narrative challenges that. At the same time, they also hugely resent that Zuko got out and is no longer dependent on her or Ozai. They need Zuko to be the bad guy but they also need him to worship Azula and for her to be the center of his world.

It's not just about making Zuko a worse person to make Azula look better, it's not just about making a victim of abuse seem like the "real" abuser, although that's certainly part of it. But deeper than that, is a desire for Zuko to go down with Azula, because Zuko's redemption challenges the idea that Azula was just unfairly doomed by outside forces.

It's the same reason that Azula needed to convince Zuko to join her in the Crossroads of Destiny, the same reason she lies to Ozai about him killing Aang so that she can have something to hold over his head, while telling him she's doing it for his benefit. Because before that, Zuko was happy in a life that was completely separate from her, her father, and all the things that she was convinced made her superior.

Zuko HAS to be just as doomed as Azula in order to validate Azula's worldview. This is why I sideye (and often block on sight) when people refer to them as "doomed siblings" or "tragic siblings," in a way that implies that they are equal in this regard. Don't get me wrong, it is tragic that Zuko had to defeat his sister, but it's tragic for him because she hurt him. Azula's narrative is a tragedy because she's the cause of her own downfall. It's tragic that Zuko had to fight her in order to be free of that dynamic, but it's still a triumph that he is free. He is not "doomed" because he became a better person and his sister did not. He is not "doomed" for getting out. He is not obligated to go down with her. It's not wrong that Zuko is able to make a life for himself outside of his abusive family when Azula isn't.

This is also why I don't really believe all the Azula redemption stuff. Most of it isn't really about wanting to see her redeemed. These people are addicted to their manufactured outrage and anger and sense of victimhood. If Azula actually were redeemed, they would absolutely not know what to do.

It's why they hate Ursa and Iroh and Mai and Kiyi for the crime of loving Zuko, why they hate Zuko's redemption and they hate zutara. Zuko can't have a good life when Azula doesn't, especially one that doesn't revolve around his sister.

Also, there's already some predatory stuff in the way Azula behaves towards Zuko that can be interpreted as psychosexual, particularly in her possessiveness of him, and these people pick up on that but are doing the typical reverse victim and offender thing. It's victim blaming and also such a boringly heteronormative way to interpret their relationship. Like, we all know Zuko isn't the dominant one there.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Jesus & Mother Mary | Some Things Stay The Same | Platonic

You’re Jesus’ little sister, and the fact that He is the Messiah doesn’t change classic sibling-dynamics.

Requested by Xochilt

You leave Jerusalem behind you, the Holy City in your back and growing smaller on the horizon every time you turn over your shoulder to cast a glance at the rest of the group trailing after you. 

A refreshing week has left your spirits lifted and brought a spring in your step. The next stop is unknown to you as of now, but you don’t seem to mind that uncertainty in the slightest. With an air about you that makes you seem younger than you actually are, you bounce back and forth within the group, conversing with one person and then the other, wanting to speak to as many people as you can. 

“Sometimes I wonder if You and (Y/n) are even siblings to begin with,” Simon Peter tells his Master with slight amusement to his tone. “I mean, she’s all bubbly while You are… Well… How to put it…” 

Jesus raises an eyebrow at the former fisherman, a fond smile playing over His lips. “Yes?” 

Cephas plants his hands on his hips as your enthusiastic voice drifts crisply through the air, considering the words as you quip to Matthew and Thaddeus about whatever crosses your mind at that point. “Let me rephrase,” Peter muses, “You have more of a filter, Master. No offence towards (Y/n).”

“Which means a lot coming from you,” Andrew intersects himself into the conversation, causing his older brother to glare at him. All in good nature, though, for the chuckle of the Messiah causes Peter to relax right away.

“None taken, and I can say with confidence that I speak for her as well,” Jesus replies, eyes glittering with glee and amusement, “I understand what you mean. (Y/n) can be quite loud once in a blue moon.”

“She must know a lot of blue moons, then,” Andrew teases, causing the three men to laugh in unison.

The Messiah hums. “Well, perhaps she has inherited that from our Earthly abba Joseph. But you should ask our eema for clarification on that, if you’re curious about it.” Simon Peter pulls a thoughtful face at the Rabbi’s words, for he had not considered that side of the family yet. It was easy to forget that even though you were siblings, this family bond you shared with the Messiah was not ordinary.

“What are you guys talking about?” You suddenly pop your head between the sons of Jonah as if knowing that you had been the topic of conversation, putting your hands on their shoulders. 

“You, actually,” Simon admits, causing Andrew to flinch a bit awkwardly.

“Only good things, I hope,” you see no harm in the fact, smiling at your oldest brother. Jesus winks and nods, pursing His lips. He had been right about you not taking any offence in the slightest.

“Just about the fact that you and I have different personalities.” 

You click your tongue. “Ah, that. You’d sooner think that John the Baptist is my brother instead of You.” 

Silence befalls the three men, for it brings forth that your extraverted personality might not come from Joseph’s side of the family after all, since John the Baptist was related to Mother Mary. “Huh…” you muse to yourself as you piece that together.

“Characteristics may come from many branches of the family,” Andrew concludes with a shrug, “And that’s a good thing. What an insufferable family we would have been, had everyone been like Peter— Hey!”

You laugh when Simon swats the back of his younger brother’s head. The curly-haired fisherman simply couldn’t resist the cheeky comment.

You release the two sons of Jonah and walk between them properly. In relative silence, you stay there for a while, the road ahead reaching all the way to the far horizon. Footsteps approach from behind, causing your pace to fall back just slightly. 

“I come bearing gifts,” announces John the Beloved, who is holding several pieces of fruit in his hands. Due to the four of you walking at the front, this time around, it means you get the last pick of the bunch. Andrew chooses an apple and Simon Peter selects an apricot, leaving only another apple as well as a persimmon. 

You and your brother make eye-contact, both knowing what the shared expression means. You raise one eyebrow, Jesus soon mirroring it, before the two of you both reach for the persimmon at the same time. 

“Good luck,” John smirks, handing you the leftover apple before heading back to where he had been walking earlier. 

“I don’t want this,” you mutter, “I want the persimmon.” 

“Well, so does Jesus,” Peter comments, prying some apricot from between his teeth with his tongue. 

Andrew watches the two of you with mild amusement. Now this is going to be interesting; how will the Messiah resolve this issue together with His little sister? 

“I think I should have it,” you instantly establish with a matter-of-factly air about your voice, “After all, I’m the youngest. I should have the first pick and You should take care of me, not the other way around. That is just how it is.” 

Jesus hums, accepting the challenge. “It may have gone that way while we were children, (Y/n), but now that we are adults, you might have noticed that it is not how the world works for grown-ups.” 

You pout at Him and hold the persimmon a little tighter, now carrying it between you two as you walk together, holding back the group significantly speed-wise. The other followers begin gathering around, curious to see what the commotion is about. Whenever the Messiah slows down in the middle of the road, it usually means something serious. To find out that it is nothing but classic sibling-banter piques everyone’s interest maybe even just as much. 

“Well, I still think I should have it,” you say, “You want to be a good big brother, right?” 

“Of course,” Jesus says, “But not letting you have it teaches you a valuable lesson. That would make me a very responsible sibling, no?” 

You huff. “Well, You had the last persimmon last time as well, so there.” 

“If I recall correctly, you had begged for Mary to bring you a plum that day, so you didn’t even want the persimmon that day.” 

Rolling your eyes, you attempt to come up with a good argument. “Well, why do You think that You should have it?” 

“As the Creator of the universe, I know all the fruits inside and out. The fact that persimmons are amongst My favourites means quite a bit, doesn’t it?” 

In good nature, you laugh at that. “You always play the ‘I am the Messiah’ card! It’s not fair!” 

“You know that I don’t do that all the time, (Y/n).” 

“Okay, maybe not that often, but still… I’m your little sister. I’m a girl. You should get me what I want, as any other brother would do. It’s just how things should be.” 

Peter clears his throat and Andrew chuckles. “That doesn’t really hold up, you know? There is nothing to back up that claim, it’s purely speculation. And maybe it’s how things work in a child’s world, but not in actual adult society.” 

You gasp, feigning offence. “Are you taking His side?” 

Jesus chuckles heartily. “Well, I’m only making a sacrifice here. See all the brown spots on the persimmon? You hate them, always complaining that they make it taste bitter. So, I’m doing you a favour by eating it for you.” 

“Alright, this isn’t going anywhere.” 

A familiar feminine voice reaches your ears as well as Jesus’, and the two of you tense up the same way you used to do whenever you had been children upon being caught doing something that you hadn’t been supposed to do. No matter how much older you have gotten since then, a good mother’s reprimand always seems effective. 

“Jesus, (Y/n)…” Mother Mary steps in front of you, halting the entire group in their tracks. With her hands on her hips, she looks from you to her oldest Son, a stern expression on her face. “We are going to handle this the old-fashioned way.” 

“The old-fashioned way?” Peter wonders out loud, but before he can inquire further, Mother Mary conjures up a small knife from her bag. “Where did you even get that— Wait, you aren’t going to let them fight, are you? That would be highly questionable, especially coming from someone like you—” 

Andrew nudges his older brother. “Of course not, what are you even thinking?!” 

“I don’t know! She’s got a knife! What am I supposed to think?” 

“Well, not that they’re going tot use it to fight, I mean, comeon!” 

With a sigh, you take it from your eema, knowing the drill by now. Many arguments with Jesus and your other siblings alike over matters like food often led to this. “Can’t go wrong with this technique,” Mary muses, a smile gracing her lips to show the unserious nature of the issue, “One of my children will divide the food and the other is allowed to choose the half they would like to have for themselves. That way, it is cut up fairly and both parties must be content with the portion they receive.” 

A sound of understanding goes through the group and you give your eema a look to see if she is serious about resolving the issue of the persimmon this way. She gives you a nod, urging you to carry on. With a small sigh, you find the nearest rock and place down the piece of fruit, eyeing it carefully. 

Narrowing your eyes, you inspect it from up close, trying to find the middle line. Amused, Jesus watches how you do this. “What are you doing?” Nathanael questions, but you put up your hand without looking over your shoulder.

“Sssh, I’m trying to find the exact centre.” 

With bated breath, everyone watches how you inch the knife against the orange surface and cut the skin, making that first slice that cannot be undone. Sticking out your tongue for utter concentration, you shift the persimmon just a slightly to the left and push it in more firmly, certain of your honest division—

—As you make the cut, it rolls just a little, and even though you manage to catch it before it fully rolls off the stone, the blade slices through rather off-centre. You click your tongue and for a moment, your eyes shoot up to meet your mother’s in question, but she shakes her head. “You know the rules, (Y/n). You divide and Jesus can choose the half He wants. Once you’ve made the cut…” She shows her palms in defence. 

Arguing it is of no use, you know well enough by now. With a sigh, you have no choice but to pull through, slicing the fruit unevenly in half. Straightening up, you turn back to your older brother and hold out the large piece in His direction without even looking at Him, knowing He won this round. 

Part of you had already expected it; the Messiah naturally chooses the path that favours another over Himself, but it still makes your heart feel light and warm when He gently reaches for the other half and takes it from your grip, but not before you look up at Him. Jesus winks and gives you a lopsided grin before you release the smaller half. 

“I know how much you love your persimmons,” Jesus muses, “And what kind of brother would I be if I didn’t give My little sister the benefit of the doubt, hm?” 

You laugh at that softly, shrugging at Him before digging in, the entire group shifting back into motion to wherever you had been heading in the first place. The natural sugars in the fruit give you new energy to keep going. “Do you often let them resolve issues like that?” Peter asks your eema, and Mother Mary lets out a small, ambiguous hum. 

“Well,” she says, “You’d be surprised at just how much you can let your own children fix things fairly on their own, provided you give them the right tools to do so. But sometimes, they just need their dear eema to remind them on how to go about it in a civilised way. Even now that they are adults, they still need to rely on my motherly wisdom every so often.” Mary says in light jest, although there is a core of truth to her words. 

At that, you let out a chuckle and Jesus puts an arm around your shoulders, tugging you a bit closer into a half-hug as you walk, chewing on your sweet fruits and enjoying them together. 

“We will always need you, eema,” you tell your mother over your shoulder, and Jesus nods in agreement, finishing the last bit of His persimmon. 

“Now and always.” He agrees with you.

[piecesofchess]

I totally agree with your points, it was pretty divided for awhile. It did NOT help that Queen's content got cut and we only received a few lines from her in Book 15 to rely on for years, and Blind Mew once promising that "her relationship with Kane will be front and center". But it isn't! I dont think it ever has been with how many lines you can read in-between with them!

Especially with the line "children are meant to replace their fathers"....The Zigazag update and so on expressed that Queen *isn't* in charge of the Armada, doesn't seem to have the goal of reaching El Dorado in Kane's steed, seems to only have wanted to avenge him, so does that line of replacement not reflect Queen anymore? Was it ever meant to?

"It's not good to shine a light on it" I wonder why Sam backed out of clearing up Kane and Queen's relationship and left it intentionally creepy and subject to what the audience will make of them. I like nuanced and complicated relationships, but dividing it between "is she his daughter or wife?" just makes things unappealing for everybody on either side.

And, you know. There's already a married sibling couple in the game. The pattern in repeating relationships like these is concerning to me, as I think children playing this game can understand that the king and queen chess pieces are partners -- or even a father/daughter type of dynamic if that's what was solidified, but neither are!

Sam Johnson please stop writing incestuous pirate101 couples i am begging you

[shoezuki]

thinkin bout landau sibling dynamic and i bet serval is the gross sibling. like the sibling that licks her hand and tries to touch gepard w her spit while hes fucking screaming

[chthonic-cassandra]

You know that thing about the deaths or absences of parental figures in Dracula and how it makes Van Helsing and Dracula more important? Well, what there's also a notable absence of are siblings.

[coffeehelly]

genuinely i think a large part of what makes kuniharu such a bad father is that hes a manchild who thinks of kusuo more like a brother than a son

[krakenshipwreck]

10/31/24

[ok4ru]

My brain: What if Luxu really cares about Brain, like saw them as a little sibling…?

Me: Why would you-

[welcometoteyvat]

rewatching fontaine quest and like our first impression really is "wow these people are all theater weirdos" huh

[advocateforinterestingoddities]

Do have/ can we have a word for the kind of love that's like ambiguously found family. Like not romantically, not specifically friendship, it's been blurred into 'you are my home and family and a part of my life that is one of the most important things to me in the world', there's no mentor-mentee, parental, or sibling relationship like it, but you know all the little things about me and I know them about you. Family, but like how the person you're married to and/or live with is family, just not necessarily with romance if that makes sense

Is that just a QPR? I think it could be if that's your jam, but like is there a word for shipping people like that. Not a bromance or romance, but a secret third thing.

Because it is one of my favorite things in media, and honestly those relationships are the ones that fandoms spin all different ways, and I like reading different head canons based on the same characters, but sometimes I just like the 'characters mean so much to each other' without dealing with all of those other labels y'know?

[ahoyimlosingmymind]

i feel like a lot of Jason and Bruce's relationship can only be explained if you understand the depth of Jason's isolation while living with Bruce and the depths of codependency the dynamic fostered.

Unlike Jason's predecessor and his successors, Jason never had a superhero team. He wasn't deeply connected to the superhero community. He didn't really even have friends. His world was school, the manor, and Batman and Robin. Robin, being a piece of his identity and his first sense of belonging. Batman and Robin as a dynamic requires synchronicity and a lack of questioning. It's about doing what Batman says. Jason, who lived in constant fear of being abandoned again, or kicked out, did his damnedest to not step a toe out of line. Jason was looking for safety and a parent who loved him, and Bruce stepped into that role in a way Jason had never experienced before. (mind you, Bruce himself was dealing with the conflicts regarding his relationship with Dick and no longer have Dick's presence.)

When Bruce and Jason started to have tensions themselves over 'excessive force' and the Garzona's situation, that read to Jason like rejection. And rejection, in a codependent relationship is cause for severe alienation and isolation. Jason had zero people to turn to; and the single person he loved most in the world didn't trust him anymore. Bruce had ripped the little bit of emotional safety that Jason felt away. So Jason went to find a mother who might want him.

point is: Jason Todd can never leave Bruce Wayne. Not in the way his other siblings can. Bruce Wayne is the center of his universe, and the only person Jason ever fully trusted. Jason wrapped his identity into being loved by Bruce, into being the son of Bruce. Into being Batman's Robin. Which is why being replaced felt like confirmation of all of his worst fears. It's why nobody else seems to understand the depths of this betrayal the way Jason does. Jason thinks his relationship with Bruce is normal. He thinks that Tim has replaced Jason in this codependent bond. That Tim has somehow played the part better than Jason did.

It's why Red Hood can't ever move on without Bruce proving to him that he is worth killing the Joker for. It's why Jason keeps crawling back to the batfamily despite the constant cycle of abuse and conflict. Bruce is gravity, Bruce is the sun, and Jason's world revolves around him and what Bruce says about him. If Bruce says Jason isn't worth it, then he's not. If Bruce says Jason is, then he is. They're soOOoO "Love me like a god and I'll betray you like a man" "I bet on losing dogs" "i'm going to die in the universe you loved me in (before you decided you didn't)" "I was fifteen when you left and I have been fifteen ever since" "losing your faith in your parents feels like losing faith in your religion"

@prlssprfctn <- bless you for this panel <3

[artemisiasmuse]

princess treatment | rafe x low maintenance gf

cw: fluff, mentions of emotionally abusive family dynamics, slightly suggestive (mentions of sex but no details)

you’d always been treated as some sort of third parent, a therapist, a friend but never what you were: a daughter

that all changed when you started dating rafe

on top of being mistreated by your family, you’d never had a bf who treated you right

the first time rafe brought you flowers you cried, he thought he’d done something wrong but you were so touched you couldn’t say anything as you hugged him tight

he made sure to bring you flowers often, making sure you never ran out. you remember finding a flower from your bouquet in his car, asking him why he had it. “when it wilts i know i gotta get you more.” you’d proceeded to make him pull over.

it was like he was dead set on making you fall even more in love when he said, “as fucking great as that was, i don’t do these things for sex baby, i don’t expect anything okay?” you told him you knew that, which you didn’t actually since all the guys you had been with before seemed to be like that, and proceeded to kiss him some more.

to him treating you like a princess came naturally, he was never good at expressing himself so buying you presents, taking care of you, doing things for you was just second nature

in the beginning he thought it was cute how appreciative you were but when you still got shocked from his actions after months he realized you had just never been treated how you deserve

and that pissess him off

he makes it a point to treat you like an absolute princess, not even letting you open a single door by yourself, you don’t even remember the last time you put your heels on by yourself because he was always crouching down to help you before you could think about it

“rafe if you spoil me so much ill get used to it.” you murmured as you watched your 6’2 boyfriend lean down and gently place your heeled foot on his knee so he could buckle the shoe. his touch was always so gentle, as if he’d hurt you like this.

“that’s kinda the point angel,” he says it without hesitation, brows a bit furrowed as he looks for the best notch that won’t cause you discomfort. you think you might start crying again but you bite the inside of your cheek and kiss him when he stands up

rafe hates how your family treats you, but he holds his tongue because he knows you love them. it doesn’t matter to him if your family hates him, he knows he should seek their approval but he doesn’t think they deserve to dictate any part of your life

he’s holding back until your mom oversteps your boundaries in front of him and he just has to step in, taking over whatever thing she told you to do even though he knew your mother was perfectly capable. he guises it as being a good future son-in-law

“it’s okay rafe-“ you say it without realizing, so used to taking the load off of others. it’s reflexive and rafe shoots a glance that shuts you up.

“you can ask me from now on if you need anything,” he looks pointedly at your mother with a smile you know is fake. you just brush it off and think rafe is just trying to make a good impression. you don’t know he doesn’t give a fuck what your parents think. he even starts hating your sibling.

your brother is older than you but never acts that way. when you mentioned an older brother he expected someone protective of you. he was met with someone doted on by your mother, irresponsible and immature and uncaring of his sister. it seemed like you were the older sibling.

you’d been living with your parents while you both dated, you hadn’t seen anything wrong with it until rafe gets you to move out to live with him. your parents are against it at first but with the help rafe has been they have little reason to refuse him.

when you do move out you realize how much better everything is. you’re not your mother’s caretaker, or your parent’s marriage counselor, or even your brother’s mom. you’re you. and you can finally breathe. rafe doesn’t expect anything from you and it slightly unnerves you, how could he take care of you without expecting anything in return?

he pays for everything, even if you push back at first, he replaces your card in your wallet with his going as far as hiding your card and he knows you have a job and that you can afford it yourself but he doesn’t see why you have to

you’d gotten your nails done and shown them to him and when he didn’t see a charge on his card he pouted for a whole day until you gave in and agreed to use it next time

but rafe knows you’re holding back, he can see that you’re spending frugally. he doesn’t want you to, in fact nothing would make him happier than seeing a dent taken out of his bank account because of his beautiful caring girlfriend

you remember your first date when he got offended that you’d offered to split the bill, he was even more shocked when you thanked him profusely after for paying

when you whine about him taking your card he finally has to speak up, “baby, what’s yours is mine right?” you nod without pause, you loved when rafe drove your car or used your skincare. it felt so intimate and domestic like you were a married couple, the thought bringing heat to your face. “right, so what’s mine is yours.” and you can’t really refute that.

one day when he’s drying your hair after your shower, you can’t help but ask, “why are you so nice to me rafey?”

“i love you, s’that simple”

“i love you too but no one’s ever been this nice to me.”

“no one’s ever been as nice to me as you are either, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong right?” he always has a way of making you see his side so effortlessly you have to agree. you could never argue that rafe didn’t deserve the amount of love you gave him or more.

“yeah, thank you for taking care of me”

“‘you gonna thank me for the rest of our lives?” you just stare at him blankly and rafe watches the tears well up in your eyes. “hey don’t cry baby, you can thank me as many times as you want okay? just don’t go thinking you deserve any less than this.”

“i’m never letting you go.”

“i’m counting on it.”

on your anniversary, rafe buys you a car and even though you do thank him profusely and maybe cry a little it doesn’t turn your stomach with anxiety on how to thank him properly or that you don’t deserve it. instead you spend the night loving your boyfriend as much as he loves you. you realize rafe just has a different way of showing it.

a/n: instead of crashing out ab my family i wrote this :)

taglist: @ggraycelynn @clar2aa

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?” 

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him. 

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!” 

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart. 

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.” 

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment. 

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.” 

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy. 

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you. 

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside. 

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp. 

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.” 

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas. 

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you. 

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you. 

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…” 

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.” 

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort. 

“Think you can come like this, baby?” 

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs. 

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house. 

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right? 

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs. 

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself. 

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face. 

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs. 

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused. 

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding. 

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling. 

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him. 

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her. 

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face. 

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.” 

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles. 

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes. 

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?” 

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?” 

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.” 

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new. 

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass. 

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better. 

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.” 

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures. 

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.” 

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing. 

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.” 

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.” 

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now. 

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup. 

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand. 

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control. 

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork. 

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this." 

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing. 

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs. 

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva. 

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight. 

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.” 

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up. 

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.” 

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

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[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul (Here) | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Plan-Books (Inherited) : Riddle habitually carries a planner with all his tasks. A physical one, not an app in his cell phone like most students choose. You find it easier to manage and swap to paper-and-pen alternatives at his recommendation.

Tidiness (Inherited): Riddle is a nit-pickier when it comes to physical presentation. His habits of pressing his uniform, laying his clothes out every night, and dressing conservatively rub off. He has a point - ironed trousers do make a difference. Every morning he will redo your uniform tie. It's never knotted to his 'standard', and is his preferred excuse to greet you before class.

"Now, isn't that better? Surely you are more comfortable in ironed linens than those rags you'd been wearing as pajamas. You seriously found them lying in Ramshackle? Were you not given an allowance to buy basic needs? Ridiculous! The Headmaster's irresponsibility holds no bounds!" <- Utterly appalled that you've been sleeping in century-old robes. He supplies you with seven sets of pajamas, a spare uniform, and an iron + board for Ramshackle. All after reaming the Headmaster for neglect in the last dorm-head meeting - either Crowley coughed up the marks or Riddle will supply from his own bank. Seven have mercy if he chooses to become a lawyer instead of a doctor.

No Heels (Developed): Riddle has a height complex. He won't make a show of it, but you wearing heels does emasculate him. Especially if you're already taller naturally. For his sake, you choose to slay your outfits in flats.

"Are those new loafers? Oh - no, they're lovely. The embroidery is exquisite and I can see why Pomefiore's Housewarden models for their brand. I merely thought you preferred the heeled saddle-shoes we saw during the past weekend trip. I must have been mistaken. Never mind me. You look wonderful."

Playing Brain Teasers (Inherited): Riddle has this thing with memory - you don't know if he's really into preventing old-age Alzheimer's or what. He carries a book of teaser games like Sudoku, etc. for when he has downtime and you eventually get into them too.

"Oh! My Rose, would you care to join me for lunch? Trey's siblings recently mailed in a large collection of cross-words. You'll find they are both educational and entertaining - hm? I do not seem the 'type' for word-games? I assure you, even I can relax on occasion. There is no need to look so surprised." <- Riddle's been making a grand effort to do things he enjoys and become more personable. Trey's siblings did not send the collection. Riddle went into town and picked it out on his own. He also found a book on organizing excursions since he's big on quality time. He is dead-set on not being a neglectful or 'boring' partner.

Swear Jar (Developed): Tired of Riddle collaring Ace for his vulgar tongue, you suggest a Heartslabyul swear jar. When the jar gets filled, the money can be used to fund things like study materials and renovations for the dorm. Riddle liked this idea, but now implements it on anyone who sets foot in the Heartslabyul. Considering you spend most of your time there, you've had to develop a vast vocabulary beyond swearing. Oh - you also unironically use the word 'fiddlesticks' now.

Habits he steals:

Useless Expenses (Inherited): You are an enabler without a doubt. Riddle has always functioned with the bare bones - with function and efficiency being the number one priority. Ever so slowly - you've spoiled him with aesthetically pleasing stationary. At first all the needless purchases felt redundant - why buy the pillowcases with flowers when plain white is cheaper? You can invest in a higher quality this way. Yet you've ruined him with gifts that he had no choice but to use. Now he needs to buy the pens with little hedgehogs on them because studying doesn't feel the same with a plain ballpoint.

Slang Dictionary (Developed): With each passing day, all the students in Heartslabyul get more creative at bending the rules. That includes you. Riddle takes it upon himself to carry a 'little-black-book' full of all the sang words he is unfamiliar with. He does want to be a bit more 'hip' to understand you more, but at the same time he wants to bust any student being a smart-mouth. It's an ongoing battle *sigh*.

"Apologies, could you repeat that term for me? Surely it must be relevant to my lecture if you and Ace are whispering. 'Let him cook'? Do you think we are in a culinary lecture?! Have you not been listening to - ah. So it's in reference to letting me finish before interrupting...One moment. I need to make a note."

Chewing Gum (Developed): This is an ode to psychology. In short, eating is tied to a person's fight-or-flight. Instincts dictate that our bodies need to be in a calm state to eat comfortably. One day when Riddle was at his wits end, you tossed him a pack of sugarless gum and told him to chew. Disregarding Trey's unholy dental screeching, Riddle develops a gum dependence for when he's stressed out. On the bright side, his jaw has never been so sharp.

“Mimicry? You must be mistaken. Even if my influence has affected their person, surely there are only positive developments” == Riddle denies any changes if confronted. In truth, he’s well aware of how much you’ve helped him grow. It’s the opposite accusation that spikes concern. Riddle does not want others thinking you’re a mini-version of him. Rumors are not kind and neither is his current reputation. Making those amends is his burden to bare. He is flattered to see you paying attention to his mannerisms, and secretly proud that your bond is strong enough to affect the psyche.

Habits you steal:

Whistling (Inherited): Trey whistles while working in the kitchen or doing general chores around the dorm. He's not very loud with it, so not may students are bothered. Since you laze about in his shadow the tunes he goes through do become repetitive. Now you do the same when cleaning up Ramshackle. Grim wants to knock you both out because he can't take it anymore.

"Ah -- How'd you know it was me in here? Just because I bake for the un-birthday parties doesn't mean I live in the kitchen, you know. My whistling? Huh. Never thought that would be my calling card but there are worse things, haha"

Head-Scratching (Inherited): Trey's got a habit of scratching the back of his head when he's uncomfortable or nervous. That, or rubbing at the nape of his neck while adverting eye contact. You start doing this too whenever you're being scolded or put in a tough situation.

Dental Hygiene (Inherited): By far the most obvious shared trait. Trey enforces his dental habits onto everyone- you are no exception. You now own four different kinds of floss, two toothbrushes (one being electric), and have a strict hygiene routine. Your pearly whites have never been so clean. Eventually you become somewhat of a secondary enforcer, policing anyone who sleeps over your dorm to take care of themselves before bed. All of Heartslabyul learns that there is no going back when you scold Riddle for not brushing after his teatime tart, and live to tell the tale.

"Hey - uh, weird question? Were you handing out floss to the Spelldrive Team yesterday? Seriously? I though Grim was pulling my leg - oh, no! It's not weird at all! Those guys should have a better routine for all the meat they eat when bulking. I'm just shocked you got through to them." <- Very proud. Mildly cocky. He's been itching to get those negligent jocks to floss after their banquets his entire tenure, but steered away from that conflict like the plague. Thank you for making his dreams come true. Now if you could maybe get them to stop picking their gums with toothpicks?

Habits he steals:

Overbuying Food (Developed): Being a baker's son, Trey's good with finances and money. He's also meticulous with the ingredients he purchases for his bakes. You are not. You go to Sam's shop, buy whatever is on sale, and then bring it back home to improvise. This ends poorly more often than not, and behold! Trey has two Ramshackle sluggers snooping around his kitchen for eats. This is unpredictable and therefore he now never knows what amount to buy. You've ruined him.

Phone Calls (Developed): Texting is easier. Especially since phone calls can be a commitment that Trey dislikes being wrapped up in. Whenever Cater's name pops up as the caller, Trey knows he's getting an ear full. The thing is that you never. answer. your. phone. Either the text gets lumped in with the hundreds of missed messages you have, or Grim stole your cell to play mobile games. So Trey gives up and only ever calls. Either Grim will answer or you'll pick up thinking it's the snooze of your alarm.

"Hello? Prefect, where are you? It's me, Trey. Just calling to see if you're still coming to the Un-Birthday party? Riddle's getting a bit nervous since the schedule's set for the next hour. Grim's already here with Ace and Deuce - uh, want Cater to send a double to pick you up? I have a sinking feeling that you're asleep...Call me? Please?" <- He was correct. You called back not a moment after, half-asleep and hauling ass not to be late.

Speaking in Propositions (Inherited): Trey's normally good at keeping neutrality in a conversation, but getting a clear answer out of Yuu you is like solving a rubix cube. Either it's easy and instant, or a long game. Eventually your habit of indecisiveness rubs off on him and he asks questions more than answers them. Evidently this gets his younger classmen to stop asking for favors unless they really need to.

“Aha - really? I didn’t notice at all. Okay. Okay, I picked up on a few hints. What’s so wrong with them taking after me? It’s cute, right?” == Trey is the observant sort that picks up on his influence quickly. Not just anyone carries floss in their pocket at all times - and the looks from his dorm-mates when you offer some up is enough for the realization to click. Trey’s used to playing the respectable sort, and finds it endearing that you’re taking his good notes to heart. In truth, most of Trey’s mimicry is intentional. He’s a flexible guy who doesn’t mind altering his habits to fit your needs. Easier this way, y’know?

Habits you steal:

Speaking in Acronyms(Inherited): Now this is scary. The first time it happened, you had to take a pause and just re-evaluate your entire life. You don't use them nearly as often as Cater does, but somewhere along the line your brain must have rewired to speak in internet lingo. O-M-G you're TOTALLY twinning with him right now, period :)

Nicknames (Inherited): Again, frightening. You once swore against ever calling him Cay-Cay. It isn't very slay-slay. Yet you can only hear him use nicknames for so long until you're unconsciously calling people by them too. Especially since he's always dishing gossip. It starts in your head, which is fine. It's not like they know. Then you call Lilia 'Lils' and that old fart is just grinning behind his sleeve because ohoho~ young love <3

"Did you just- AHA! OMG DO IT AGAIN?! Wait, gotta get my camera out for this - wha? Oh, that's totes not fair! C'mon. Call me Cay-Cay. Just once! I won't even post it to Magicam, please? Lils won't believe me without proof! Pleasssssseeeee - " <- He actually doesn't want you to call him Cay-Cay all the time. Cater likes you using his given name, since it's more personal. Although the way it obviously slipped out on accident is just too cute to ignore.

Reality TV (Inherited): At first you don't like the gossip. It's cheesy, a bit annoying, and the shaky camera-work for nearly every show is headache inducing. Cater likes his dose of drama in his free-time, and Ramshackle has a tv that no one is using. It starts with him watching while you do other things around the dorm. Yet each time you pass the living area, you take longer to leave. Lingering around like one of the ghosts. Then he pulls you in with snacks and starts giving the low-down of what's going on, pulling out a bottle of tangerine shimmer polish to paint your nails. It's just one episode, watch it for him? Please? Oh no. No. No. Suddenly you're invested in who's the baby-daddy of little Ricky and what Chantel is going to do because her sister just lost the house to foreclosure.

"#KingdomOfDeadbeats - am I right? Ugh. I'm so glad we met if that's the dating scene back home...What?! I know it isn't real! Don't be a dummy, I was just joking! Ah! Stop! Don't hit me!" <- Half-hearted jokes about going on one of those talk-shows one day. You're an alien, after all - imagine the juicy drama and views his account would get from doing an interview? It's all jokes though. Cater likes spilling the tea, but hates being it. Don't ever abandon him and go out for milk though, kay? He doesn't want to pay Grim's child support. Otherwise he might have no choice smh

Habits he steals:

Phone/Web Games (Inherited): Cater's phone is mainly full of social media. He's not too into the gaming scene, it's not his peeps y'know? Alas, you download a few dress-up games and one MMO on his phone. First off - props on getting his phone. That's Cay-Cay's lifeline and not just anyone gets to play with it. Pray tell - what is this Wonderstar Planet (props if you know what is being ref.) and how can he become the most influential digital streamer on it? Congrats. He's addicted.

"Who's this Muscle Red and why's he bombing our raid - AH! He just tea-bagged me! So not cool...Prefect? STOP LAUGHING WE HAVE BETS ON THIS MATCH! There goes my collab opportunity, big fail" <- Muscle Red continues to make an appearance. Eventually he becomes Cater's official rival on stream, and Lils is all to invested in the tea cater drops during club meets. Side note. You're the one who gave 'muscle red' Cater's domain code. The lore thickens.

Internet Caution (Developed): This goes without saying, but Cater's well-known in the Magicam scene. He's very forward and knows his way around using charisma. Since you're not in the scene as much, he becomes more cautious of where and when he does streams. The change is so subtle that only the most observant people will pick up on it - but Cay-Cay doesn't want any creepos popping in if y'know what I'm saying. His sisters were the ones to instigate this change.

“Awe~ SRSLY?! That’s fresh news to my ears but good, right? Ne, are there any clips or pics? I need my evidence, y’see. Especially if my cutie is off taking notes from their one and only. C’mon, spill the tea!” == Cheeky Cater is well aware of what’s happening. He’d humor anyone out for some light teasing - after all, he isn’t by your side at all hours. His walls are probably the second most difficult in all of campus to bypass, so he’s both sweetened and nerved to see you picking up on his mannerisms. That’s proof of a strong attachment, after all.

Habits you steal:

Knuckle Cracking (Inherited): Deuce still does this from his biker days. It could be because joint pain from past fights, or possibly air retention in his knuckles from studying. Regardless, Deuce cracks his knuckles at least once every few hours and you began to mimic him. Some people groan at the popping sounds but it really does feel good to release the tension. Let's just hope neither of you dislocate any fingers on accident.

"Stop that! G-geez, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought you broke a finger...your hands are stiff? That just means you're studying a lot! I think...uh, let's break? I think there's some leftovers in the kitchen." <- Deuce 100% gets needing to pop those air bubbles. His hands get stiff from studying all the time, but don't crack them too much or you might dislocate something. Side note - he shows you how to wrap your fingers with a soothing salve. He used to do it after fights, but now it's a great help after class.

Double Notes (Developed): Deuce tries. He really does. Yet the lad just isn't great when it comes to book smarts. Seeing that he is dedicated to turning over a new leaf, you make a habit of copying all your notes. He isn't allowed to share them with Ace or Grim - else all bets are off. Sometimes you leave little 'good job' stickers on the last page for him. Is he a toddler? No. Does he peel the stickers off and save them? Totally. He is a good noodle. Suck it Ace.

Sewing (Developed): He breaks things. Most of the time it's an accident. You've learned to carry a mini-sewing kit for all the rips in Deuce's uniform. Same for mini remedies for stains and other problems. It's not like he's trying to get grass stains all over his under-shirt or to split the seam in his gloves (nearly every week). It just happens, and every time he comes to you with a kicked-puppy look with a promise of it being the last time. It is never the last time.

"Uhm...hun'? It happened again. I'm so sorry for bothering you but Housewarden is going to kill me if he sees the tear in my blazer! Can you fix it?! I can't handle another collar with my exam tomorrow! I need to breathe to focus! - really!? I owe you one! Snacks are on me tonight."

Habits he steals:

Bottomless Stomach (Developed): Have leftovers from dinner? Bring them over. He'll get the tubba-ware back in 1-2 days. Coupon for buy-one-get-one at Sam's? He'll take the extra and polish it off in less than a minute. Deuce becomes a human garbage disposal and is taking the unwanted condiments off your sandwich to eat. Just pick them off and leave 'em on the corner of his lunch plate. Even if he dislikes it, he'll down it so you don't have to.

"Mm. Oh, thanks hun' - its that all you're eatin'? You don't like the steam bun? It is a bit dry, but wasting food is disrespectful to the cooks! I'll finish it for you so have my fruit instead. You still need to eat" <- 10/10 very thoughtful and not picky at all. He is grateful to eat your cooking and will gobble up all leftovers at Ramshackle, but doesn't think twice to sharing meals in the cafeteria. He will notice though if you do not eat enough. Restocks the snack cabinet if he sees it's empty. Is touched if you routinely share things you know he enjoys, like saving half your frittata on purpose.

Early Riser (Inherited): See - even if you hate the mornings, there is no choice at Night Raven College. As Ramshackle Prefect you need to be up to take care of business before class. Deuce becomes your personal alarm clock because he wants some time with you before everyone else joins in. Mind you that he lives with three other dudes who threaten to end him every morning because his alarm wakes them up too. Eventually he can wake up without it, but the time leading is unpleasant.

"W-what? Seriously? I've been trying to be more like them! They're a good person and responsible so I've been trying to follow their example. To think we've been doing the same thing this entire time...." == Why would you ever imitate him? He's been trying his damn best to become an honor student worth respecting, and has a long way to go. To think you're comfortable enough with him to mimic his mannerisms? It's a pipe dream, one he doesn't grasp until it's put right in front of his face. You don't let anyone else pick off your plate other than Grim. The next time his clothes tear, he's already handing off his tie before realizing just what's happening. When you wrap his knuckles after a six-hour lock in at the library? He can't help but feel proud at how neat the bandages are. Suddenly the dark memories of hiding bruised knuckles from his mom are pacified with healing balm. Deuce views this development as a gift, and is grateful. Very, very grateful.

Habits you steal:

‘I owe you’ cards (Inherited): Ace's favorite social invention - the 'solid'. Nothing spells new-low like getting your friends to do stuff in exchange for a favor in the future. Most of the time Ace counts on people forgetting he owes them one, but you're not so gullible. The only difference between you both is that while Ace never fulfills his solid, you have a conscience. Give it a few more years. He'll get ya.

"I know this is the third ticket this week but - Oh! C'mon, cut a guy some slack, would you? I'm sorry for bein' late to our date. Yeah, it was shitty. I'm not trying to fight it, aright? I'm here now so let's have some fun and you can chalk three strikes on my tab. I'll even buy ya some candy - Ah! Okay! Two candies but that's where my charity ends!" <- Evidently, the 'I-owe-you' tabs cancel each other out from how often you both call in favors. It's just an excuse to do acts of service or express apologies without being too mushy. Ace is definitely keeping a track record of them though. Expect an ongoing log that dates back to the week you met, when he showed up homeless, collared, and looking to couch surf.

Profanity (Inherited): Ace swears like a sailor. Maybe not so much in his dorm because *cough* he's being policed. He holds no such reservations when you're both alone at Ramshackle. Unfortunately his potty mouth has a mind of it's own - it taints you, and you are a sham of a prefect. Ace earned a week-long collar for teaching you some Twisted-Wonderland exclusive curses. Riddle is not pleased.

Leaving the Windows Unlocked (Developed): There are only so many times he can sneak in through your window before the adrenaline-induced charm wears off. You have class in the morning, and can't be bothered to deal with him on nights he can't pass out in his dorm. Thank seven you have all of Ramshackle to yourself - because Heartslabyul sounds like a nightmare with the roommate situation. You can't leave the front door open for obvious reasons, but most nights the guest-bedroom window will be left slightly ajar in case he needs a place to crash.

"Pssst! Oi! Prefect! ...ugh, Grim! Wake them up, man! The latch is stuck. Don't go back to bed you furball! HEY! IT'S FREAKIN COLD OUT HERE SO LET ME IN ALREADY" <- Please let him in. If Ace has to spend one more night in that stinky dorm with three dudes, he'll string one of their dirty gym socks over your bed. No mercy.

Sleeping with Earplugs (Developed): Bitch Ace snores.

Habits he steals:

Notes Memo (Developed): Ace is bad with remembering things. Anniversaries? Dates? Allergies? He admits to not putting in a great amount of effort, but you can't say he doesn't try at all. He has a notes block on his phone dedicated to things like your go-to takeout orders and preferences. He even has a few alarms set days before any important events because even if you say no-gifts or plans...yeah, he's not that stupid.

Excessive Yawning (Inherited): You're always tired - it wasn't Ace's problem before but now he does feel a bit guilty. Dragging you into his messes felt different when you were just the prefect, y'know? Regardless, it's human instinct to mimic each other's demeanor so he'll openly yawn all the time - normally in succession of you.

"Hey...you're dozing off again. Am I seriously that boring to hang around? - Nah. Just messin' with you. I'd suggest taking a nap during next period but I doubt a goody-goody like you is gonna take that advice. Let's just ditch juice at lunch and go back to the dorm. Don't get mad if I forget to wake you up though"

Medications (Developed): Ace is the last person to become a human apothecary, but he's always got a pack of pain-reliever meds in his pocket with a few bandages, etc. He also attached one of those tiny capsule bottles to his keyring with some stomach meds inside. You took a spill running laps? Dang man. That sucks. Here's a band-aid for your knee. Curse you for making him the slightly-more responsible one.

"Eh..what, like it's a shock? You saying I'm a bad influence? Cause yeah, that checks. Nothin' I can do if they want to take a card outta my deck though," == Ace is entirely neutral on the topic. He is definitely smug that you're coming over to the dark side, but he doesn't need anyone to point it out. He was your first after all. Maybe the start could have been a bit better - but hey, you came around. It's not like he's hurting anyone by helping build your backbone. Although Ace will instantly deny going soft for you in any way, shape, or form.

[crescenthistory]

Where Padfoot Lays His Head

Summary: Inspired by @thewriterghost's reblog of my last animagus!reader fic, this is just a sweet drabble of Whiskers comforting Padfoot:,)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, your marauders/animagus name is whiskers, walburga black, black family dynamics and trauma, vaguely implied abuse, sirius spiraling into self-loathing, platonic physical affection, romantic!regulus x reader but platonic!sirius x reader is the main focus, background platonic!moonwater

Note: this is based on the same reader from Feline Touches, Sweet Like Honey and Padfoot vs. Whiskers, sirius' beloved almost-sister-in-law that he has frequent (loving) sibling squabbles with

Sirius pretended he didn’t feel the humiliation burning through his veins from his friends’ worrying looks.

Stop looking at me, stop caring so sodding much.

His internal begging was all for naught; this was apparently what he signed up for when he strolled into the train compartment that housed the largest smile Hogwarts had ever seen and his pack of make-shift slightly-fucked-up-but-lovable friends.

Most days, Sirius was grateful to the bone for the family he had been able to assemble at Hogwarts, stretching from his boyfriend to his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to his biological brother and the boys that became his brothers. However, on days that Walburga Black, the hag to end all hags, sends him a Howler berating him for leaving home over the summer, few sentiments besides anger, self-loathing and isolation remained in the young boy’s body.

When he eventually stops reeling and wallowing, all this attention would make him feel warm once more, especially when he sees they didn’t stop showering him in it even as he retreated perhaps a bit rudely from it. Right now, though, it just kept the wound open and Sirius was sure the infection would kill him this time around.

He was sure of that every time.

It became evident quickly that he would not be able to get away from his friends. James was practically glued to his side from the moment he left the Great Hall after Walburga ruined everyone’s lunch. His brown eyes were so wide beneath his glasses and Sirius was sure he could almost see tears in them as he swung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and kept telling jokes like his life depended on it. Remus was not much better. He had learned by now not to soften his touches when Sirius was in these moods – on the contrary, harsh, direct touches helped ground him – but his hands rarely left his being, as if he would fall apart without him. Even Lily tuned down her playful banter with him, swapping it for concerned questions and checking in on him throughout the day. Sirius loved them all, but he hated it.

Even Regulus showed him more compassion than normal, though he didn’t say much. His entire being seemed to radiate I get you, I understand more than anyone, because frankly he did. Even as hearing Walburga’s voice must have rattled Regulus too, he didn’t show it, instead holding space for Sirius, carrying what was supposed to be his burden.

Humiliating. 

All of which to say, Sirius did what Sirius does best; he ran from them all, in the one form none of them would be able to hold a conversation with him in.

Padfoot had turned out to be a blessing that way. Sirius picked up on it from you, who only ever was in your animagus form when you felt particularly well or horrifically poorly. Difficult to ask how a dog is feeling, yeah? 

He laid in front of the common room fireplace, stretched out in a position that showed he was ready to pounce should anyone try to pet him. Around him, his friends were cuddled up on the sofas and armchairs, chattering lowly amongst themselves and playing the occasional game of wizarding chess. Padfoot had his head placed on his front paws as his gaze flickered all over the room, unable to settle. His nerves always seemed to transform with him, manifesting as the most anxious dog Gryffindor had seen.

Perhaps the only one, but the sentiment remained.

Their stares were still on him, penetrating and with downturned frowns over their faces. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He couldn’t string too long sentences together in his dog brain – part of its fantastic appeal right now – but that sentiment remained steadfast.

You were sat in Regulus’ lap opposite the fireplace, murmuring something in his ear as you both intermittently looked at Padfoot. Your hands were playing with his hair, lips almost grazing his skin as you talked, even pressing the occasional kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Love. Padfoot loved love and he loved his little brother getting to experience it so wholly, even as he laid here, destroying the moment with the same misery that haunted any children raised by the Black family. He felt as if he was sucking the joy out of the room with his wallowing, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Padfoot couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him at the darkness swirling around inside him. Upon fearing having to meet the gazes of anyone who caught the noise and see the goddamn sympathy and pity in them, he brought his paws up to cover his eyes, pathetically hiding within himself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

In his internal chanting, he didn’t notice when the chatter died down a bit, nor did he see the glances exchanged. He felt the footsteps reverberating through the floorboards, suggesting somebody was walking away, but he didn’t register its true implications. Leave, was all he could think. Good, leave. Go.

What he did notice to its fullest extent was when a few moments later, soft fur collided with his own as something was rubbing against him.

A bit too quickly, almost too violently, Padfoot’s head snapped up from beneath his paws to see what this intrusion was – only to come face to face with a white-and-grey cat, blinking slowly at him. His mouth fell slightly open, and he thought a complaining bark may be on its way out, but then you – Whiskers – butted your head against the side of his neck, caressing him with your feline body.

The adventures of Whiskers and Padfoot were a running joke, especially one Remus and Regulus loved to team up to tell. Whether it was chasing each other around, hunting rats – preferably Wormtail, but any would do – and mice or playing with the house elves, you two loved to conduct mischief together in the one form you could never be properly caught in. There had been the occasion where you cuddle or pet one another, but it was rare and usually unspoken, attachment growing deeper and softer without either properly addressing it. 

So, this was not necessarily out of left field, but it surprised him nonetheless. He couldn’t say it wasn’t quite welcome, though.

You had started purring as you walked up and down his body where he was laid in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth he was bathed in and oddly calming the vibrating nerves within his own body. Whenever you reached his head, you bumped your snout against his, rubbing the space between your ears all over his face.

Cats are weird, Padfoot thought. Like it.

Mere minutes ago Sirius had been surveying his friends and his effect on them intently, digging himself deeper into his self-inflicted hole. Now, his attention was captured by the much smaller animal beside him, and he didn’t see how most conversation had stopped to witness the interaction. Lily and James looked at them in almost shocked awe, both having been snapped at and ran away from when they attempted to pet Padfoot themselves. Regulus and Remus, however, sat there with soft, knowing smiles – seeing the girl they loved most go for it with no fear and comforting their favourite dog. Remus would deny it to anyone who asked, but there were tears in his eyes.

The next time Whiskers came up beside his face, you stayed there, leaning yours against his. You laid your body down over the paws Padfoot had previously rested his own head on and made yourself comfortable in a position no one but a cat could possibly conjure up. From there, you began cleaning his fur like you were his personally-assigned cat mother, licking the strands in their correct direction. When his face was too far away, you lightly brought your paw up to his snout to bring him further towards you.

Despite being placed in front of a fire, warmth didn’t truly spread through Sirius before now. When he brought his head down, he laid it on top of you and let it rest there across your midsection, careful not to hurt you, as your upper body curled around his head. You continued cleaning up his fur as you purred loudly, easing the tension from Padfoot’s poor body.

A cuddle only animals could come up with, an embrace Sirius would deny anyone today, yet like this, it just worked.

When his eyes became heavy, Sirius let them fall. You continued your ministrations without hesitation, carefully and slowly tending to Sirius face, only stopping occasionally to nuzzle your forehead further into his fur and purr even louder. 

He didn’t quite fall asleep, he rarely did as Padfoot, too alert and awake in this form, but he let himself fall into a place of tranquillity. Walburga’s harsh words seemed almost funny in their anger now, and Sirius’ own spiral was becoming a thing of the past. 

Would he still be red-cheeked tomorrow and avoid his friends’ eyes for the first half of the day? Perhaps, but they would reel him into their arms and hearts regardless. Would he sputter and fall back into his evil cycle of thoughts if anyone brought this specific moment up? Without a doubt, but that’s why they would not, at least not before he settled. 

Padfoot was suddenly safe in the Gryffindor common room. He was safe with this warm weight over his paws and beneath his head, he was safe with love being quite literally carded into every strand of fur on his body. He was safe with the hearth behind him and his pack in front of him, quiet voices further lolling him further into a state of peace.

Padfoot was safe – maybe even loved.

Across the room, Remus and Regulus had gravitated further towards one another, as theirs were the only eyes who never left the scene of cat-dog-solidarity displayed before them. 

Regulus bumped into Remus’ arm with his elbow and whispered, “He doesn’t like cats, he says?” with a knowing smirk.

The other boy huffed a laugh at that, lips remaining softly upturned. “I believe he has an exception or two to that rule.”

[dollypopup]

Eloise was definitely spared because Daphne was the shield, but I fully disagree with you about Benedict. Benedict and Anthony are friends, and that's pretty evident in almost all of their interactions. Anthony hugs Benedict, he compliments him. Sure, Anthony doesn't think too hard about what asking Benny to be his second would force upon him, but at the same time, he trusts Benedict to take over his duties for the family. He believes in Benedict and thus wants to ensure his success in any way he can.

Anthony doesn't disrespect Benedict the way he does Colin or his sisters. He and Benedict are in similar age brackets, and they were both raised to have similar expectations. Anthony was raised from birth to be the viscount one day, and Benedict in a similar vein would have to receive an applicable level of care. Benedict was the one left in charge when Anthony left for his honeymoon. By and large, the respect Anthony shows Benedict doesn't contribute to the trauma that Benedict faced when his father died. A and B have each other's backs in a way that isn't extended to the rest of the family. Benedict is even given the grace to question and push back against Anthony, able to step up to bat for Colin in Season 2 with a 'He is only one and twenty, brother' comment.

It's not really a 'who had it worse' in the aftermath of grief, but when it comes to comparing how Anthony treats his siblings, there's definitely a hierarchy. Fran and Eloise are largely ignored, Hyacinth and Gregory are taken care of as though they're Anthony's children, Benedict is considered Anthony's equal and they share responsibilities, and Daphne and Colin are largely treated as burdens Anthony has to take care of. We've talked a lot about how there absolutely should be more shown with familial dynamics! And whilst I won't say that any of them had an easy ride, I can't agree that Benedict has been given even a fraction of the disrespect Anthony has shown Daphne and Colin.

Colin was literally virgin shamed by his brother, and when he apologized at the end of Season 1, Colin was astonished. Demonstrating that it is an incredibly rare event. Anthony is short with him, always upset with what Colin does , and in the aftermath of his engagement, insists on cleaning up Colin's messes because his bar is that low for him. When Anthony found out Benedict was seeing Gen, he said 'Good for you!'. When Anthony found out Colin was courting Marina, he said 'Obvs you're just doing it to wet your wick.' He has just about 0 faith in him. He doesn't even want Colin to invest what is the family's money, thus also belonging to him, into a family friend's business. He looks down on him for courting Marina and for being softhearted. He snaps at him at doesn't respond to his letters. How he treated Daphne was similarly egregious: forcing away her suitors because he thought he knew best, showing he has a similar low standard for her, challenging someone he considered a friend who she clearly liked to a duel, dictating the outcome of her life. He doesn't believe in either of them.

I will say that him paying for Benedict's art school behind his back was the biggest disrespect he delivered him, but even that doesn't hold a candle to trying to force Daphne to marry Berbrooke, or encouraging Colin's insecurities, making him feel like less of a man because Colin was different than he was. Anthony believes Benedict is capable, but he thinks Colin is a foolish child. The unfairness he foists onto them both is different, but very far from equal.

unpopular opinion. . .but I do NOT want Anthony to walk Penelope down the aisle. Not only because they don't really have much of a relationship, the two of them really haven't interacted at all, but also because Anthony has really been. . .pretty damn hard on Colin. Like of all the siblings, Anthony has been the most stern and displeased with Colin. There's just something about the idea of him walking Pen down the aisle to Colin that doesn't sit right with me when Anthony was also the one of the linchpins who encouraged and pushed Colin to put on his mask. S1 he made fun of him for being a virgin, S2 he yelled at him in full view of the entire family for investing money in Pen's family to the point where Benedict and Eloise called him out for it, and S3, the only praise he gave him was for the attention he got from others after putting on a persona

No, I want someone else to walk Penelope down the aisle. A man who is also a wife guy, completely besotted, and would completely get Colin's feelings toward Pen. A man who already has a good relationship with Penelope, to the point where he was absolutely delighted to see her looking beautiful in a new dress. A man who has taken up the mantle as the OG Featherington Husband and would be nothing but excited for the honor of walking his Sister in Law down the aisle

and the man for this job?

None other than

Albion Finch