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Psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent

AMBIGUOUS SIBLINGS

There's nothing wrong about loving your brother or sister; in fact, a deep bond between siblings is healthy and ideal. But when does closeness stop being a wonderful thing and start being...off?

Most people would say your and your brother or sister are just very, very close, perhaps a little co-dependent, yet that's understandable, perhaps, if the two of you have been through the wringer. Still, there a whispers that your relationship is more blurry than properly familial.

Is that just a misunderstanding, because you've only had each other for for so long others wouldn't understand how you've lived, or is their some truth to their suspicion?

Comment with your character, preferences, info, etc.
Assumed relatives AU will probably work best for ease of use.
Reply to others.
Thread. The nature of relationships are up to you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Canon-ly codependent with his partner, Diana, though they aren't romantic or sexual. He just. Tends to kill anyone who tries to be that way with her. Oops.

We could thread your character 'getting in the way' or being an AU replacement for Diana's role in his life!]

[ooc: She is very close with her brother. She has his back and he has hers.]

Hours upon hours were spent searching through the rubbish bins and trash heaps as Pietro looked for items that the shopkeepers deemed unsellable—items he and his sister needed to survive. The young man did not care if the bread was moldy or the produce wilted and the canned goods were out of date—starvation had a funny way of lowering one’s ideals about what constitutes a fine meal.

The pickings were scarce. Even when the twins moved their searching from the alleyways behind the stores to a more affluent residential part of town; it was only after they had scoured the whole area and come up empty handed that they realized the trash collection schedule must have changed. They were out of luck—their rumbling, empty stomachs would be left unsatisfied for the third night in a row.

"I could steal something from the market, you know. It is very foggy tonight; I doubt anyone would be able to spot me." Pietro offered, glancing at his sister for some sign of approval.

Edited 2016-05-08 06:43 (UTC)

It seemed that no matter where they searched things didn't go their way. Things went sideways nine times out of ten. They ate what they could when they could but the resources lately were out. No one getting rid of things, it would seem. Even when they thought the places would. Or maybe the owners had just gotten wise about what was going on.

So when that third night hits she's half tempted to do the one thing she wouldn't, shouldn't do. She could, after all, get into their heads but she knew that they didn't want anyone scared of them. They wouldn't get food that way. Not if all the people did was fear them.

Giving her brother a bit of a smile, she nods," Do that but be careful, Pietro. I've seen some of the men out there."

;; this is an incredibly late response and i apologize for that s: ! but may i clarify something? my starter was kind of indicating that our roleplay is situated before they consent themselves to the hydra experiments. which means that they are in their late teens-early adult years and are still trying to survive out on the streets. i just wanted to know if you'd like our roleplay to be pre-experiment or after? since you wrote something about her abilities, which she will not have after she is experimented on. just wanted to clarify the timeline before sending a reply, thank you ^^ !

[I have an Arya if you'd like, can play her at any age.]

[yes ok. what did you have in mind?]

[I really liked the dynamic between them in season 1, so I'm cool with them just being "bros." If we want to make them both flail maybe Jon meets Arya after a long separation (perhaps Arya finds her way to the wall, disguised as a boy?) and he doesn't recognize her at first.]

[Yes, that could work. Arya coming to the Wall and Jon thinking she's a boy.]

[Would you like to start or shall I?]

[Ladies first :)]

Against all odds, and much longer delayed than originally anticipated, Arya--or Arry, when she was dissembling as a male--had made it to the Wall. She had maintained the ruse for safety while traveling, but even now that she was standing face to face with her brother, she had yet to reveal her identity. She feared that if anyone else were to learn she was female, she would not be allowed to stay.

But how long before someone began to suspect?

Jon had heard about the new lad to the Wall and wasn't really surprised about the new addition to the brotherhood. Boys came all the time to serve the Night's Watch, whether is was their choice or not, usually not. Some have nowhere else to go, so the Wall was the only alternative than death or destitute. Right now Jon was patrolling along the top of the Wall, whilst Samwell was taking a break. He walked up behind the new boy and realised just how small he was. He couldn't have been more than twelve if that.

"You boy. What's your name?"

Edited 2015-05-12 19:32 (UTC)

Looking out over the wall, Arya realized just how breathtakingly high it was, and what a long way down it would be if one should fall. Bran had always been the one who had loved high places, but she would rather be here than trying to survive on the streets of King's Landing. Here, like Jon, she finally had the chance to be her own person.

Hearing Jon's familiar voice address her in such an unfamiliar manner was a bit startling, but she squared her shoulders, and turned to face him. "I'm called Arry, ser," she said. Thankfully, the cold, dry air made her voice a little hoarser than usual, so she hoped she sounded like a very young boy instead of Lady Arya of Winterfell.

Jon was about to answer the boy, when he noticed his face. He looked so familiar, yet how could he? In fact, he looked like a girl in many ways, with large eyes and a soft face. He hadn't even got a hair on his face, which most boys his age would have. How young was he? Jon swallowed thickly and then had the most stupid thought. He blinked once, twice and again, squinting at the face before him. The voice....even that was familiar.

No. He swallowed thickly and felt his heart leave his chest, as it finally dawned on him, as to who was standing right in front of him. This was no boy, but his younger sister, Arya. Arya from Winterfell. Gods, she was alive! What in the Seven Hells was she doing up here on the frozen Wall? Had she taken leave of her senses?

"Arya....Gods, it's you, isn't it? What are you doing here and what's happened to you?"

Arya froze in place, her heart pounding as Jon not only recognized her, but called her by name. She looked past him, over his shoulder; her eyes darting about to make sure no one else was near enough to have heard. It seemed they were alone, but for some reason, she could not stop herself from shaking.

She swallowed hard, willing herself not to shed tears up here on the Wall, lest she freeze her eyelids shut. "I had to come," she said, "It was the only place that I could think of, where no one else would look."

"You didn't have to come. It was a stupid and dangerous thing you did." Jon looked around and was glad no one was around when he called out his sister's name. Dread filled his heart and he couldn't believe that his youngest sister was now on the Wall with him.

"What if the others find out who you are? They could find out you're a girl and..." He swallowed thickly. He didn't want to know what the others would do to his little sister.

"Who's going to tell them?" Arya retorted stubbornly. She wasn't really thinking of the future, of how much harder it would be to disguise herself when she became a woman. She was only thinking of her immediate safety--and the wall had seemed to her as the lesser of many dangers.

"Where would you have me go, Jon? Would you rather I was locked up in a golden cage, like Sansa? Do you think she's safe with Joffrey?"

"No one." He sighed. What was he supposed to do now with his younger sister on the Wall with him. "People can't know your real identity, alright? You'll just have to pretend you're a boy whilst up here."

"Joffrey is a royal prick. If I had my way, I'd take Sansa away from Joffrey and get father to do it."

Edited 2015-06-08 19:19 (UTC)

"We should do it," Arya said, with passion. If she were a man, if she were just a little older, she would rise up and brin the wrath of the North down upon King's Landing. But she knew that she couldn't do it on her own, and Jon could not abandon the Wall.

She deflated a little, as she tried to bank the fire of conviction in her belly. "Anyway, people call me Arry. I suppose you might as well do the same. I'm used to it by now."

"Do what? March with what army to King's Landing? We're men of the Night's Watch, or I am at least. We can't do anything but make sure we follow our vows and defend the Wall." Jon just stared at her for a moment before smiling slightly. "You have good spirits though and I'd join you. Anything to get back at what the Lannisters did to us and father."

Edited 2015-06-08 20:59 (UTC)

Arya smiled back, feeling better than she had in a long time, despite frustration at their inability to avenge their family. Someday, she vowed, they'd set things right. Someday. "So what can I do here? Do you have a place for me?"

"Well, I can think of a good job for someone small like you. The lads' latrine needs emptying every dusk. How about you clean them out?" He was teasing, like any brother would.

Arya made a face, and looked for a minute like she was going to argue, but thought better of it. Nobody could know that Jon was her brother by blood, so there could be no special treatment. He had to delegate duties to her, just like everyone else. And besides... "Nobody's going to come near me after I've been mucking around in the shit-house."

She grinned, partly at the fact that she could use any kind of language she wanted here, and partly because it really was the perfect job to help hide her secret.

"So, you're not opposed to cleaning out the latrines? Arya, it's no place for a little lady like yourself." Jon just stared at her in disbelief then frowned as he heard her swear.

"Where did you learn to speak like that? Father would be angry if he were alive." Jon didn't really know if he agreed with his little sister swearing. He didn't want the Night's Watch to corrupt her somehow.

Arya just laughed. "Never mind father, mother would be furious. But I'm not a lady, remember? Not here." Nor was she a knight, as much as she might want to be. "Besides, can work twice as hard as any boy. Just try me. I'll prove it."

[She's extremely close to her younger brother - comes with practically having raised him - and is usually on the receiving end of his close-to-close displays of affection and love. Nariko spends most of her time pretending it isn't a problem, while also being part of it when someone exhibits even the slightest hostility towards her brother.

I'm up for a good friend/lover trying to bring up the awkwardness of it with her, AUing someone else into Nathan's place, or even someone being the target of Nariko's 'protectiveness'. It's an open playing field.]

[ooc: is in an incestuous relationship with his twin sister, Cersei.]

[While Doc doesn't have any siblings I am totally open for AU assumed siblings. For general fluffiness or intimacy.

Doc's kink list is here]

( no canon siblings, so AU is a-go. open to transplanting her into your character's canon! )

( in this karai's adaptation, she doesn't have any siblings. i'm game with playing her in a different canon setting or having your character being a member of the foot clan as well. )

[ no icons yet, but... want a meg? ]

[ oh, man, nothing would please me more! ]

[ The world hasn't been the same since Dad passed, like a distant cloud hanging low over the water, the sign of a readying storm system.

The guests don't feel it - how could they? Most of them didn't know him from Adam, content to spend their weekend or extended vacation in paradise. So happy they're sad to leave. She's lost count of the number of times any one of them have heard a guest express their reluctance to part, and she'd almost laugh at the irony of it now, the decision she's weighing over in her mind over whether or not to leave this place. How could anyone want to leave paradise? But paradise leaves a sour taste in her mouth when she thinks about its dark corners.

But she can't leave now, not when Mom needs her help. She'll never admit to it, of course, but Meg knows her mother, knows how much she appreciates all of them pitching in a little bit to ease the load. Even Danny. Especially Danny - though there's more going on there than a mere desire to be selfless for a change. Meg's convinced. She can't dwell too long on the reasons why. She just has to focus on what is, and what needs to get done. Right now, that consists of helping bring in several bottles of liquor to stock up.

She's hauling it in on the dolly - it might be absent-mindedness, or maybe she just misses a step - but one of the crates shifts, and the entire balance gets thrown off, and soon Meg is looking down at what's bound to be at least hundreds of dollars' worth of broken bottles and wasted booze. An idle breeze stirs the hem of her sundress around her knees and blows her hair into her face, and she lifts a hand to her temple. ]

Fuck.

[ The storm's been a long time coming. Danny's lived with the cloud on his shoulders, a sliver of bad weather in the incessant sunshine of the Keys, the most obvious Rayburn family fuck-up. As far as he's concerned, it's been raining ever since Sarah died.

(He lies about his last conversation with their father. He lies because he thinks it might be his chance to really come home, to actually be a part of the family and move past the lack of any closure with his father. But then Lenny fucking Potts shows up to the service, sends him a set of cassette tapes, and he comes face to face with what he's suspected all along—

—no matter what he might have hoped, he's never had a place in the family. Funny, right? The things people do for love.) ]

Still working on your sea legs, mister?

[ Danny appears, like he always does, practically out of nowhere. It's how he tends to manifest in Meg's life, after a certain point. He drifts in and out of the house, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober, usually around the holidays or at family events. Her high school graduation, for one; Janey's first birthday, for another. He doesn't acquit himself particularly well on either occasion, though it's not for lack of trying. At any rate, it's not different (or so they all tell themselves) now, his easy stride across the lawn broken only once as he stubs out his cigarette before getting too close to the liquor.

He doesn't ask if she needs his help, doesn't ask if she wants it. Instead, he flags Manny down as he makes his way over, instructing for a broom, a trash bag, and a hose. Whatever his ulterior motives are, he does a good job around the house. Or, at least, he knows how to take care of this kind of superficial mess. Their family history demonstrates how poorly they deal with anything worse.

Once he's closer, the teasing edge gone from his voice: ] You alright?

[ Danny practically materializes at her side before she finishes brushing her hair out of her eyes, and she doesn't start too noticeably - although there's a small shift in her gaze as it travels the distance from the pungent liquid seeping into the deck to the shape of Danny's mouth, and the way he often speaks volumes without it moving very much at all. Silence has always been his way, ever since -

She jars herself out of a self-induced reverie when Manny breaks her line of sight, ducking in between them to start sweeping up. She'd been seemingly mesmerized for a moment, but it doesn't take much to bring her back to herself again. The chuckle that follows Danny's question is almost hollow, and there's a second where she thinks it's possible she may start crying, as ridiculous as that sounds. Her lips form a tight line as she turns her head away, blinks rapidly to clear her vision - and by the time she finally glances back again, there's no sign whatsoever that she'd nearly come close to falling apart. ]

Fine. I'm fine. [ There's a look she gives then, when she's certain he doesn't believe what she's saying, convinced she may not entirely believe it herself. She takes a step back to avoid any small pieces of broken glass, her gaze idly sweeping their surroundings for any sign of their mother. She'd really like it if Mom didn't have to deal with any of this, even the quickly evaporating evidence. ]

No use crying over spilled alcohol, right?

[ He doesn't look away from her once.

He looks at people the way their father used to, sometimes, like he can see right through them, and the more time that passes, the more evident that it becomes that it's not just a pretense. (You don't have to marry Marco, he says, and it's the only thing he says in that entire conversation that he means with complete kindness, everything that comes before it loaded with the possibility of being disowned and everything that comes after it a reiteration of what they've both known their whole lives, living in Sarah's shadow in a way that John and Kevin never will.)

If he doesn't believe her, he doesn't make any indication of it — he doesn't have to — instead watching her a moment longer before nodding his head and letting it pass. It's a concession that manifests in the slope of his shoulders, the way his mouth twists as he glances away, the concern in his expression shifting back into a mild sort of amusement again. His hand finds the small of her back, steering her gently into the house. ]

The crying usually waits until you've had enough alcohol to start spillin' it, anyway. C'mon, baby, don't want you to step on any glass.

[ The scent of alcohol fades as they make their way to the kitchen, the fans in the house spinning lazily in the summer heat. Whatever Danny's original task had been, it's apparently been forgotten in favor of shepherding his sister, his hand dropping back to his side as he moves across to the sink, picking up a couple of empty glasses as he goes.

The sound of the tap cuts under his voice, though it isn't — never has been — enough to drown it out completely. ]

You need me to grab anything else? Don't want you to commit another party foul.

Edited 2015-05-15 17:33 (UTC)

[ If only she'd known. If only she'd been pulled aside once, just once in her life and been told - you don't have to do something simply because that's what everyone expects. So much could have changed as a result, and the reason she tries not to look back on the past is she doesn't want to dwell on what might have been. She was the little girl in the glasses sitting at the kitchen table with the detective answering questions. She was the young woman out of law school who knew Marco was the man their father approved of.

Even now, New York feels like a distant pipe dream, a selfish desire. Not that that's stopped her from giving in to spontaneity, but her moments of daring have always been punctuated with the guilt that feels like a hard sock in the gut.

She allows herself to be moved, gingerly stepping around the mess in her wedges even though a part of her wavers, wonders if it's even fair for Manny to have to take care of this himself. The interior of the house isn't much cooler at midday, though the open windows and doors and circulating ceiling fans give the illusion of relief. She's half-tempted to go and stand in front of the fridge, to let the chilled air ghost across the sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Instead, she settles for fishing around for a hair clip, twisting dark strands up off the back of her neck - though a few wisps manage to escape, curling defiantly in the heat. ]

No, that was the last of it. [ She leans forward over the island, resting on her forearms, eyes lifting to rest on Danny's back even as her head hangs low. ] You think Mom heard that?

Edited 2015-05-15 18:16 (UTC)

[ There are still five Rayburn children when he first starts calling her mister. She's the only one of his siblings for whom he bothers making up a nickname. He's no longer that young — no longer that boy with narrow shoulders, scrawny and rail-thin, his voice reedy and his eyes exactly like their mother's, wide and blue and poor at masking surprise or hurt — but he still calls her that. To be fair, none of them are that young anymore.

He's shaking his head as he turns around, setting down one glass — pushing it across the little kitchen island to her — and then the other, sitting down with a groan. ]

Don't think so, [ he says, pushing his hair back from his forehead. ] Maybe. Every window in the fuckin' house is open, but— she hasn't come down yet, so.

[ The shrug he offers is exaggerated, the kind he'd use when they were younger to downplay petty grievances and smaller troubles. (Big brother responsibilities, arguably, everything's gonna be alright, except it always sounded better coming from John.) Silence follows, Danny's gaze tracking up the length of Meg's arm, to her shoulder, to the curve of her neck, loose hair stuck to her skin. Meg Rayburn, prettiest girl in her class, family lawyer, and yet never good enough for their father. Danny considers telling her, just for a split second, what Dad's last words to him had been, but the moment is there and then gone.

He cocks his head to look at her, playful in a way that'd better suit someone younger but still sits well on him, like a part of him hasn't really aged after that shoulder fracture. ]

What's on your mind, mister?

[ None of them might be young, but they all have their moments - Kevin most of all, who often leaves Meg wondering if he'll ever stop and take responsibility. Sooner or later, he's not going to be able to skate by on being the life of the party. He's always been a ball of energy, though, and sometimes it's difficult to have patience when his energy starts to sour, to take on a negative cast. But that's Kevin, for better or worse, just like John has always been the one who assumes the leadership role. And Danny - well, when he's actually in town for a change, is anything but predictable. She can't pinpoint the exact moment when he became such a mystery to her. She doesn't think she wants to try. ]

Maybe I should go up there. I should go up there, right? I should check on her.

[ Although there's a part of her that holds back, that little girl inside remembering that their parents' bedroom has never really been open to them. She remembers waiting outside the door to talk to them, and even now she looks over her shoulder toward the staircase with a conflicted expression. When she turns back it's just in time to witness Danny's smile, that smile that's more of a wry quirk of his mouth, lips twitching without showing teeth. She pushes out a slow breath and reaches for her own glass - but doesn't pick it up right away, index finger tapping against the side. ]

It's stupid. Really, it's - not important.

[ Even as she says the words, she's anticipating his calling bullshit. And she knows that he knows she's anticipating. She takes a sip from her glass first. ]

I guess, after everything that's happened - it puts things into perspective. As clichéd as that sounds.

[ Mercurial is the best way of putting it. There's no one in the family — nor outside of it — who seems to be able to get a read on him. To the guests, he's congenial, easy to talk to and easy to get along with. To a certain degree, he's the same to his family (like the way he loves — loved — Meg), but he can turn on a dime, possessed, as both of his brothers are, too, of his father's temper, though in a crueler, colder form. He'll say, later on, that he's never felt safe in this house. The face he wears then is unrecognizable to any of them, finally fully the nightmare they've been telling themselves that he is because it's the only role that they've left for him, because it's his birthright, because he has nothing left to lose.

(You're all liars. It's a truth he wields like a knife.)

Whatever advice he has on the subject of guiding their mother through the wake of their father's death, he keeps to himself. Meg stays put, which is what he wants; his answer becomes irrelevant as soon as she moves on in the conversation. ]

You're startin' to sound like Mom.

[ He downs what seems like half of his glass in a single gulp. Though he puts it down, after, his hand doesn't stay on the countertop, drifting idly to the rise of his shoulder instead. He doesn't know whether to be jealous of her or not. Maybe now that Dad's gone, she'll stop trying to please him, but that's a strong maybe. Theirs isn't a family that's ever accommodated that kind of change. Still, she has a chance at being free. ]

So— [ he settles back in his seat, opens his hands in a beckoning gesture ] —perspective. The sappy kind or the serious kind?

[ It might be the best word for it, but it doesn't put her at ease. Even now she feels tense, on edge, like she's walking a fairly thin line with nothing but a steep drop on either side, and one wrong step -

There was a time, she thinks, when she used to be able to rely on all her brothers. They all looked after her, in their own ways. But the things she considers bringing up now - she's held onto them inside for too long to consider opening up. There are secrets that are simply her own to bear, regardless of whether or not talking about it would ease the burden of silence. And maybe, she thinks, maybe she doesn't truly deserve to have these weights lifted from her. Not when she hasn't been entirely good. ]

Somehow that doesn't sound like a compliment.

[ There's a bit of the old affection in her gaze as she glances at him then, but to see him reach for his shoulder, to try and alleviate the long-suffering injury - it all goes as suddenly as it had come. She pauses and listens - to the slow buzz of a nearby oscillating fan and then, further out, the sound of distant waves. ]

It's just - you have priorities, you have ideas, and then - it all seems a little...

[ She trails off, inevitably landing on the word as she stares towards some far-off point. ]

Selfish.

[ Despite the guests, the house seems dead silent in the lulls in their conversation. It reminds him of their childhood, when the world had just been this house and each other, reductive but still everything they knew. It's good and bad; hazy, considering how short-lived it was, to the point that he wonders, from time to time, if he's just making it up. It's a gut feeling, like he knows what his life should have been like, though he never really got to have it. Like it's someone else's life he's looking back on. He'd barely been old enough to understand what was happening when he'd realized that their parents weren't going to look out for them, that that responsibility fell to him as the oldest son.

How things have changed, since then.

The laugh that catches in his throat at her first comment fades as she continues on. He's slow to straighten up, shifting to lean over the kitchen island instead of leaning back, stretching out an arm so that his fingers just barely brush hers. ]

Where'd you go, Meg?

[ There's no judgment in his gaze — never has been. He looks tired, if anything, his gaze heavy as he looks at her, that single point of contact still shared between them. He waits to continue on until she's looking back.

He is quick, ruthless, and methodical in tearing their family apart. This is as close as he will get to telling his sister to leave before he sinks it all. ]

You don't think you've been trying to live someone else's life for long enough?

[ It reminds her of the evening of the party, the moment it seemed everyone had collectively held their breath when Danny had gotten up to give a toast. Anticipating, almost dreading. Not knowing what was brewing within, and for how long. And then the instant flooding of relief, when the moment had passed. Everything's going to be different this time, Mom had said. How she wishes she could believe that, wishes she could hold out hope.

Wishes she didn't have the track record of disappearing acts, and destruction left in the wake of another spontaneous visit. Wishes -

His touch draws her back, and she swallows quietly. ]

If it's not mine, then - whose is it?

[ The toast — that folded-up wad of paper — still sits amongst his things. He'd stood up with it in his hand, ready to say to his family god-only-knows-what (to cut the foot off to save the leg), and all it had taken was a split second for him to change his mind. Despite all of the vitriol he's been capable of, he's always, always wanted to come back home.

The line of his mouth pinches, like he's disappointed she had to ask. ]

Who you think Dad wanted you to be.

[ In a single beat, his attitude changes, the way it had at the party. His voice is bright again, quick instead of drawn out. ]

You know, I thought, I really thought—

[ He shifts into his usual, recalcitrant ease, leaning back again as he taps a finger to his mouth in mock consideration. ]

When you went to law school, I thought you were gonna get outta here. Still think you should've.

[ She bristles visibly at the first part of that - not because she's offended, but because he's so dead on that it makes her wish she'd never asked the question to begin with. He's always been a man of few words, careful and calculating, and when he actually does say something it usually hits closer to home than any of them are prepared to deal with.

She shifts her weight, slides over to sit in front of the island, hooking her heel against a rung. ]

Well, I think everyone was surprised when I came back.

[ Her voice drops lower, gets quiet. For a second, she allows it to happen. ]

I can't leave now. She needs us. All of us.

[ It takes him a moment to answer. When he does, his voice is— clear, somehow. ]

What about you?

[ A pause, and then, ] You need me to stay?

[ There are other things he could have said, other things on his mind. What do you need, for one; she's not gonna need us forever, for another. He chooses that, instead. Not that he'll leave if she says no, not that they haven't talked about his habit of leaving them behind only to crop up again later on down the line. But the way he asks it — the way he looks at her, like he's willing, just this once, to let his guard down — makes it clear he's not asking after their mother's sake.

He asks John the same thing, when he drives him to the bus station. Similarly, then, it's not about the dedication. It's about his place in his brother's life. The answer — silence — makes his answer clear enough. (It's almost not a surprise when, later on, he discovers that the decision not to let him stay had been his siblings'.) ]

I -

[ She starts to say something and then realizes - it's not about trying to make things go back to the way they were, because there's never been a way that things were. There's just a way that things always have been, and she can't expect that a simple word from her is going to suddenly be enough.

She shifts, and in that movement the contact between them, the faint touch of fingers, is broken. The glass sitting in front of her is starting to sweat in the heat, condensation forming on the surface. She watches one droplet grow heavy and then fall, slowly. ]

Look, all I know is that Mom - she can't stop talking about how glad she is that you're back.

[ He laughs.

It's just an exhale, a huff of breath as he turns away, just for an instant, to glance out at the lawn. There's nothing mean-spirited in it — just exhaustion, maybe. (He ought to have expected that answer, the same way he ought to have expected John's.) He's quick to turn back, and though his gaze remains bright, there's a warmth in his smile that doesn't quite mirror itself there. ]

It's good to be back.

[ A rote response to a rote answer. He doesn't sound insincere, not quite, but the words sound acted, for lack of a better term. ]

Feels like it's been a long fucking time since I've been back in this house.

And how do you feel? About being back?

[ It's a loaded question, sure, but somehow she can't help but ask. Chalk it up to curiosity, or a lawyer's line of questioning. She's not directly trying to fish answers out of him, but she's also convinced there's some ulterior motive at work here. It's tough not to ignore her instincts when what they're telling her to do is find out more.

She takes another sip of water in the interim. ]

Anything changed much?

Yeah— yeah.

[ The laugh he offers up is more obvious this time, almost a bark as he settles his weight on his arm, braced against the counter. The noise sticks in the air, suspended in the heat. ]

I mean, Dad's dead. That's a big change, isn't it?

[ It's facetious conversation. He knows straight off the bat that that's not what she's asking; he just enjoys the lead-up. He dismisses whatever reproach she has with a wave of his hand, bulldozing on before there's any silence to have to fill. That's his way, after all. Too blunt and to the point, sometimes, where the rest of the family can be too careful tiptoeing around the truth. A useless trait, though, when they're conditioned to believe that he's more likely to just tell lies. ]

Didn't think I'd ever see the day — Rayburn House without Papa Ray. Big shoes to fill for all of us.

[ When she stops to consider the potential gap left in the wake of their father's passing, there's no doubt in her mind as to who the most likely candidate would be to fill the role. John's been the unofficial caretaker, even if his duties have largely fallen to protecting more people than just his immediate family. (Dad had said as much in his toast a while back.)

But in terms of change - big change - she just doesn't see it happening with Danny. It's been a long road of disappointments and struggle. Most of it she hasn't had to deal with directly but it's easy to see how much something like that wears on their mother. It's also impossible to ignore the way Mama Rayburn lights up when Danny's around, so full of hope that Meg can't bear to do or say anything that would crush her spirit.

She wouldn't dream of doing it now. ]

So you're serious, then. About staying.

[ It both is and isn't a question, and Danny takes his time in responding, like he's weighing his options (like he'd laugh, if he thought he could get away with it). For a long moment, he just chews his lip, his head at an angle as he looks at his sister. They've had an iteration of this conversation before, and if he feels any differently about being confronted on the topic, there's no indication of it on his features.

He moves all at once, as he always seems to. His hand drops the countertop and his weight shifts from shoulder to shoulder. (Treat me like family — who is he fucking kidding. It's not an approach he tries again, at least not yet.) ]

Unless you guys've changed your minds about lettin' me.

No. No, of course not.

[ But there's also the way she answers a little too fast, too hastily, her gaze darting over and then away. For a lawyer, she often curses herself for being too easy to read sometimes. Then again, she's never really handling any conflicts of interest during her day job - except, of course, when it comes to Alec.

Her mouth goes dry. She takes another gulp of water. What she wouldn't give for this to suddenly be easy. ]

We want you here. I - it's good that you're here.

[ It's a sidestep, but one easily caught. ]

[ In that respect, she hasn't changed all that much from the little Meg he remembers. A little awkward, a little nervous, even though she's long outgrown the ugly duckling shadow that their sister had cast (or, well, maybe not). It endears her to him, stirring up the closest thing to sympathy he has in him despite the context.

Again, he takes his time in saying anything in return, hooded gaze slipping out of focus for a heartbeat before re-focusing. Sheepish, almost, in a way that seems at odds with how he's behaved during the conversation thus far. ]

Close, but no cigar, huh?

[ (He's never been above feigning vulnerability in order to get a reaction. That doesn't mean he's not actually capable of that soft kind of sentiment.) ]

I've missed seein' you around, sweetheart.

[ It's interesting now, when she looks at old family photos. There she is - the smallest, with glasses constantly slipping down the bridge of her nose because she had been deemed too young for contacts until she was practically in college.

She brushes a piece of hair back from her face and that same hand lands to rest on his knee, fingers curling in a barely perceptible squeeze. In that moment, however fleeting it may be, there's a sincerity in her voice, in her words. ]

I missed you too.

[ There's an unhappy irony to Danny's long journey home. He's yearned, all this time, for a place in the family to call his own, for the love he doesn't remember ever having, but when confronted with even the faintest glimmer of it, he doesn't know what to do. It's too foreign (and arguably too late). The furrow in his brow suggests confusion or hurt — it makes him look young, for once, his grasp on things tenuous instead of weighed down.

In fairness, that doesn't mean he wants it any less. ]

Yeah?

[ It's not a prodding question, for once. His hand finds hers on his knee, over the rise of her knuckles. With his other, he reaches out, brushes a few loose strands of hair back from her face the way he'd used to, from time to time, when they'd been children. Careful, slow, making her the center of his attention in a way that their father had failed to (in a way he'd never been, either, save as an object of hatred).

The corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles. ]

Well, shame on me for worryin', then.

[ There's an uncertainty within the brief smile that follows, as she wonders if this perhaps is too little too late. There's the reminder of the will sitting on her computer, the cursor blinking next to a list of names. And there's also the tenderness in such a simple gesture, which fosters a feeling the likes of which she can't recall experiencing in a long time.

When was the last time any one of them reached out to each other in affection, even in seemingly insignificant ways? It's not that she's starved for touch - by her own initiative, she's been able to satisfy that unconscious need - but the emotions it's attached to have been lacking. At least for her.

Maybe it's easier for her to shut it all off. That way no one can get in and tear her apart.

She finds herself leaning into his hand before she completely realizes what she's doing - and then a sound from the back porch (Manny) makes her start. ]

Thanks - for the water. I should probably get back out there.

Nah, nah, let me take care of it.

[ Danny's shaking his head even before he speaks, keeping her hand in his as he gets up. (The transformation is uncanny — open to closed off. All of them are too good at it; maybe that's why he underestimates John, later on. Why he ends up facedown in the water. Or maybe he hadn't underestimated his brother at all. What has he got to lose, after all?) ]

Let big brother take care of it. Go check on Mom, get some rest.

[ He keeps moving, keeps talking, to the point that he's too close too soon, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. The moment stretches out in the second that it lasts, again a reflection of intimacy that they've never found easy to share and yet feels so innate. Blood, thicker than water.

And then, as quickly as he'd drawn close, he pulls back, sloping away towards the door, back towards the mess. He turns just once, the grin on his features close-lipped but obvious. ]

Later, mister.

The battle was furious, and all Heimdall could do as his sister fought on Vanaheim was to wait at the Bifrost until her return. Golden eyes glared, and behind his helm his scowl grew more fierce with every enemy who dared take a swing at the young, Asgardian warrior.

Finally, the battle was over, and the living and the wounded returned on the rainbow bridge. Back to Asgard. They had won, yes. but at such a cost. And there would be more battles until the war was done.

"Lady Sif" His voice cut through the quiet murmuring as warrior aided warrior off to the healing rooms. "If you are not injured overmuch, you can clean up in my hall. Your wounds are not so bad as some others, and the healers will be busy a while. I can help you if you wish?"

The crowd parted easily for Lady Sif, nobody wished to get in her way when the heat of battle still sung in her blood, especially since getting between her and her brother was generally speaking a bad idea even on the calmest of days.

She moved as if she felt no pain at all, in part because she was still numbed by the agitation of warfare, and in part because she was too proud to do anything else.

"Are you not needed more here, gatekeeper?"

Formal, as they tended to be in public in spite of being brother and sister.

He didn't bother to look at her. He could hear her breathing, he could tell how close she had come.

"I am only needed here for so long as our wounded or dead are being brought home. I am under Odin's orders to close the Bifrost after that, and to keep it closed until after the next counsel meeting."

"Draw a bath, rest you a while. You will heal as fast or faster there than anywhere else."

"I will see you there, then."

And with that she turned away from him to make her way to his hall, needing no help from him to find her way around. She knew it as well as she knew the handle of her sword, and it fit her just as comfortably as her weapon rested in her hand. It was a second home, and she peeled her clothing off as she made her way inside, leaving a trail of armour and cloth in her wake as she allowed her steps to grow somewhat less determined and a bit more tired.

The hot bath was a blessing, and she let out a long sigh as she lowered herself into the water, washing grime and blood off herself with great efficiency and letting the dirty water run off before she filled the tub again, this time for no other purpose than pleasure and relaxation.

Without noticing it, she eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Not long after, the last of the wounded had walked, or been assisted off to the healers and Heimdall finally relinquished his post for a time. His footsteps echoed as he began walking through the halls of his home; tranquil and quiet. Not for him the many servants to come and go at all hours. They came on the days he requested them and left before nightfall to return to their own lives and families. Not for him a hall with a wife, full of children. And if he did have lovers, he kept knowledge of them to himself, they were not seen here.

Still, it was common enough for his younger sister to visit upon occasion, Sif even had a room here for those times the young warrior wished to get away from the gossip, the chaos and rush of the palace.

The older Asgardian said nothing but stopped every few feet to pick up a gorget, a cuirass, a pauldron here and there. Everything went into a pile by the door to be cleaned and repaired come morning. There were always buckles that had bent, leather straps to be to be re-cut, metal to be pounded back into shape. Such was the life of a warrior.

First Heimdall opened the door to her room, just enough to see that she wasn't there. A glance into his room was all the Asgardian needed to confirm she was not there either. The bathing chamber then? Of course. It was a long, rough battle - she was passed out in the water. The gatekeepr simply shook his head, no words needed.

When Sif would awake, she would find the water hot (again) and a full, stone goblet full of cold mead near her head. Drops of moisture would be clinging to the stone, the mead would be sweet, intoxicating, and leave the taste of flowered honey on the lips.

And her older brother would be resting opposite her in the deep, in-floor tub, laying back with eyes closed - almost a mirror to the way she'd herself had been sleeping.

She opened her eyes slowly, realising that she was not alone in the tub when her leg shifted and brushed against that of the large man sharing the tub with her. There was a moment of startled surprise where her instincts kicked in and she rose out of the tub with a hasty movement and a loud splash, and then her mind caught up with her training and she calmed herself, shaking her head with a sigh as she reached down for the mead, taking a deep swig.

The sudden splash and wave of water caused no change at all to her companion. In fact, only his eyes opened, and they only opened enough to see she was alright and not lunging for his throat before they closed. He knew better. If he had moved when she did, her warrior training would have had her going for his throat. Better to just relax, let her come to her awakened senses, and then enjoy the drink he had brought her.

His eyes opened once more, and he reached for his own stone, mead-filled cup. With it he saluted her silently before drinking. "To your success on the field, Warrior."

And then his mood changed. Slowly, subtly his lips curved into a smile. "Is the water hot enough?"

It was never easy to follow the shifts of Heimdall's moods, mostly because they were like the currents of an ocean. Invisibe on the surface, but nevertheless strong enough to get swept away by. Sif had learned to simply let it wash over her like waves, to dive in fearlessly and let that deep, dark ocean envelop her. She did not fear the moods of any man, why should she be daunted by those of her own brother?

Something about that soft little smile made her feel like a challenge was being issued, and so she remained standing, silently accepting it even if she did not even know what it was just yet.

She smiled a little as well, the expression less subtle than his in its warmth. If he was an ocean than Sif was perhaps more like the fire in a forge, tightly controlled but still burning bright.

"You are the only one who knows how I like it."

Probably because she wanted her bath water to be pretty damn close to scalding, and few servants were bold enough to risk burning one of the fiercest warriors in the realm.

[Oh, come on. It's canon for Hakkai.]

[Totally canon.]

( AU siblings only, not that anyone plays Usagi's canon sibling.

also available in medieval/fantasy flavor as princess serenity. )

Edited 2015-05-10 00:47 (UTC)

( as far as we know, there's no canon siblings for rapunzel, so AU's the thing! open to playing her as canon, modern, or canon-transplant. )

[ooc: oh look. the meme that was literally made for him. definitely some blurred lines going on with these two. especially if you're familiar with the comics.]

( canonically a twin with a speedster for a brother, so kind of related to op's pic? tangentially.

open to just about anything, in any setting. )

[ ooc; no smut. ]

[AU ok?]

[ ooc; oh hell yes, chemistry/potion bros. I'm familiar with your canon, so whichever way you want to swing it! ]

[A mash-up of both? Sherlock a squib and Severus the wizard? Close in age or twins?]

[ ooc; sounds perfect! whichever you prefer, though if they've got Sev's parents, they'd be better off twins. if they had Sherlock's parents they'd have had a much happier childhood and Mycroft to terrorize. ]

[I think them with Sherlock's parents and terrorizing Mycroft would be hilarious. Their both highly intelligent and intense types. So I imagine Mycroft having to 'watch over' them both could be fun. What shall we do with them?]

[ ooc; oh, Sherlock was a wild child - playing pirates and being a general hellion from far too young since he was frightfully smart - and still is in a lot of ways. they might have been thick as thieves until Severus got his Hogwarts letter and Sherlock didn't. There was probably a Lily/Petunia level of jealousy and distancing from that; he'd be more accepting now, though I don't know if they ever officially made up so much as someone just reached out and started talking again. Sherlock doesn't do apologies very well.

I imagine Mycroft in that setting would also be a wizard, if one seated inside the muggle government possibly being a double agent for the Ministry, because that's what he likes. Sherlock had problems with his own schooling and a history of drug abuse in his late teens/early 20's, and got into his current line of work during/after he got out of rehab.

maybe someone's coming to visit or Sherlock has to kip at Sev's because he can't keep a flatmate and he has no money? that'd be before he met John. there's also a period where Sherlock kind of has to disappear for a few years and pretend like he's dead, so that is also an option.

of course, around that age, I think Sev is in the Death Eaters and has a bunch of muggle-hating friends so that.. could be interesting. ]

Edited 2015-05-10 23:25 (UTC)

[I have a feeling Severus was more quiet and reserved. Went along with Sherlock, but likely was the one that tempered Sherlock. But in a way that showed he always was on Sherlock's side.

Severus probably hated that his magic separated them. Probably sulked and became severely withdrawn in response. As likely it was Sherlock that drew him out from himself. And likely being what this life would have geared him to... he'd likely have joined the DE's for Mycroft as a spy.

And Sherlock spending a few years hidden at his place wouldn't have been an issue. In my head, Severus' place was off limits and highly warded. No visitors ever. Perhaps an evening with them just finishing a game of Wizards Chess? Which could show Sherlock how being a spy with the DE's has changed his playing style...]

[ ooc; honestly that's the best way to hope to control him. and everything else sounds perfect - Mycroft does like making an agent of Sherlock when it suits him, so it's just as well Severus would get put out there too. all the wards would probably make it disappointingly difficult for Sherlock to just break in and be waiting for him at some point, but he probably bummed around where he knew the place was or sent an owl.

anyway, sounds like a great place to start! only question I've got left is if we're putting this back in the 80s or if we're moving this to the new millennium and I'll let you decide! ]

[I think Sherlock he would trust to have keyed into his wards. Twins and all, I think Sherlock is the only one he trusts enough.

Modern times?]

[ ooc; so you can expect he's been into everything and probably already 'moved in' by the time Severus shows up because of course there wouldn't be any problems piling his lab equipment on the kitchen table. why would there be? what's mine is mine and what's yours is mine - Sherlock's basic philosophy on family.

modern times works! would you start or should I? ]

While it hadn't been much of a surprise to come home and find Sherlock waiting for him, it had been a surprise to find his twin brother moved into his home. A decent sized home in a poor end of town. The house that had belonged to a pureblood witch and her muggle husband. They died childless and Spinner's End had been too perfect for Severus to pass up, especially as he could make all the needed repairs on his own.

Now it was a fortress, not easily found. In fact his parents and older brother had to specifically ask to be let in, though they rarely did. His home wasn't the most welcoming of places. Yet Sherlock always seemed to want to lurk about.

It had taken time, but he banished his twin's lab to the unused dining room, leaving the kitchen alone. Now, after his life had settled again, they were in the sitting room with a fire in the hearth, and the chess table out. Wizards Chess. Severus knew he won without great difficulty was because his method of playing had changed drastically since he and his twin last played.

"Mother floo'd this morning. She is worried. You should pop over for a visit soon."

To which Sherlock swats the air around his head, as if shooing a fly that were buzzing there, or perhaps the possibility of a guilty thought, concentrating on the board before him. It was always a low blow for the Holmes boys, brandishing their mother, mostly because it worked. Sherlock didn't appreciate it in the least.

"She knows I'm here - why would she be worried?"

It was a very subtle way of trying to flatter his twin, who had always been the more level-headed of the two of them. Sherlock liked games, though he disdained chess. Growing up with Mycroft, the humanized version of a calculator, he often lost. At least their mother, the other mathematical genius, had the good grace to let him win a few times when he first started. And with Sev, it'd always been more of an even keel.

Which was partially why he was playing now. Anyone outside of their family would have called Sherlock adequate which, stripped of the Britishisms, meant he was spectacular. Against more ordinary people. Mostly his strategy at that time revolved around dominating the middle ground, sacrificing pawns to make way for the higher point pieces to have more leeway, more offense if anything. He also especially liked wizards chess because it meant he could sit behind his laptop and multitask while calling out moves, though he'd paused in his browser searching now to study the board.

Playing chess was mathematical to Mycroft, but to Sherlock, it was playing the opponent. By the change of Severus' basic strategy, he was up on Sherlock a bit.

"Castle with left rook."

Pale eyes flicker to his twin as he seems to stretch and lounge back against the sofa, pulling his laptop up beneath his gaze.

"And that's all she's worried about, is it? Calling you to check up on me?"

Their mother worried about all of them, really, since they'd left the house, but their parents also tended to know the bare details of their lives from Mycroft. Even if no specifics had been given, their mother would have known Severus was daring into something dangerous. Even without their older brother's information, it wouldn't have been hard for a witch like their mother to look into Severus' reputation when he was at school - really, it'd only been Mycroft's word that kept her from sending howlers or trying to come over and cuff him for what sort of crowd he was running with now. Sherlock knew that, or rather, he'd observed it.

Sherlock was playing his opponent.

Edited 2015-05-11 19:50 (UTC)

[ ooc; he doesn't have canon siblings, so I'm down with assumed ones. if you want yours to have been born a werewolf like him, the way his canon works is that they need to be twins. of course, there are other ways to be changed and I'm also down with au's. let me know if you have any questions or need help, otherwise I'll roll with whatever. ]

(She's got a canon-esque older brother ~~who's not really her brother~~ who she cares for very much. And no 12.)

(Mind said canon-esque brother not brother?)

(Not at all! Did you wanna start us off or should I?)

(I can totally start but it won't be until tomorrow so if you want to get something up now, go for it otherwise I will hit you with something then.)

Onii-chan!

(Suguha had been busy working intensively on her Kendo training for most of the afternoon, only going back to it for a while after making sure Kirito had some dinner prepared. She knew her feelings for her brother ~~cousin~~ might never be reciprocated but if she could care for him like this, it would be enough.

Now that she'd finished her Kendo training, she heard about a mission that only required two people to complete on ALO and wanted to see if Kirito was up for it. Unless he'd already completed it with Asuna, which would've have surprised Sugu that much.)

( bring on the AU sibs.

daddy issues a prerequisite. )

( she's not your sister, not really. she's just taken on the form of your sister - or brother - or made you think that she's related via mindfuckery. being a demonic abomination has its perks.

she's also most likely using you as protection or to otherwise gain something. no love lost on her part, guys.

this will not end well, fyi. )

[i'm literally about to fall asleep, but if you're still interested come morning i offer this guy up. wiki entry is here, but in a nutshell he's a demonic-looking mutant from a post-apocalyptic earth, his wife was murdered horribly and as part of his revenge he killed his best friend. so yeah, his mind's in a bad place already. i'm totally okay with making it worse.]

[diiiiiid someone say unhealthy sibling relationship? AU family is fine, too!]

[Y/N?]

( ooc | yes, please! )

Mark no matter how much he says he is done, he can never turn away from his brothers. Especially it seems Rudy. There is a definite closeness there that some have questioned, and neither would ever betray and answer. Right now he was laying in bed with his brother curled against him. His fingers stroking slowly along Rudy's back in a moment of pure relation and safety.

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