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soscarlett1twas · 16 days

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A Twin's Anger

I've been thinking about Twin Marston lately

I don't think "Twin" ever hated Andrew. Or, at least, not to the extent he did his parents. Because for how terrible the dismissals were, the neglect he faced for the sake of Andrew, Twin doesn't seem the kind to have hated him solely for that. After all, with how Andrew talks about them, they seemed like best friends in their younger years. Playing video games, sneaking out, etc. Was he jealous? Absolutely. Hatred? Eh..

Then Isaac and Darling happened.

Canonically, Twin didn't (at the time) know about Andrew and Isaac's relationship (see here) and there's no way to tell if he saw the video/knows about Andrew's current relationship, but this entire post is in the realm of speculation so let me indulge.

Because if he did know about both relationships? Oh god.

Isaac's the difficult one. It lends credence to both forgiving and despising Andrew. On one hand, it's rational to think that maybe Andrew didn't speak up because he was in a similar situation to Twin (that is, being queer). But, from another perspective, Andrew also being queer gives more reason to help his brother - what's being a golden child worth if it's spent at the expense of a man scorned from your shared vice?

That’s where the disdain begins. For Andrew to silently choose their abusive parents before him, despite also being queer, it solidifies Andrew’s indecisiveness. Or perhaps he thinks he’s better than Twin. That even if he’s into men, that can be forgiven because he’s him.

Either way he feels, Andrew is a hypocrite. And Twin leaves. And they’re both left to deal with the fallout, each emotionally constipated.

Years pass. Twin’s only exposure to Andrew is the occasional call or text. Voicemails left unheard. And then the scandal happens.

News is plastered everywhere on his phone, curated from the years he googled Andrew’s name in midnight depressive spirals: Professor caught… professor groomed… there’s even more headlines. A video. Two videos. Thrown drinks. And him, the disgraced professor, defending the relationship.

And Twin is reminded of when he didn’t.

In defending someone he had barely known (because Andrew and Darling really didn’t know each other, they lusted after each other) Andrew showed that he was willing. He was able. Just not for his brother. Because what does it say about Andrew, who was willing to defend a near-stranger in some selfish desire to keep his relationship and wasn't for the man whom he shared a womb with?

Andrew had given up everything for Darling, we know this: But to Twin? Beyond the obvious, Andrew essentially threw away every year, the decade of abuse he suffered because of Andrew's "intelligence" for the sake of lust. And he was allowed to stay working at the university! Twin's love, the kind that got him thrown out and a reason he was discarded, was probably painted as just lust, not real love. But where he was so severely punished, Andrew didn't even loose his job — he made the choice to leave.

And if Andrew has a male listener? Then all this would be amplified ten fold. Golden-child Andrew is in a very public relationship with a man, defending them in some vain attempt to justify it! And they go out to museums together, they eat at nice restaurants, they get to be happy together. And Andrew is happier than he’s seemed in so long, because Twin knows his brother’s joy, and it sure as shit wasn’t there when he was alone and isolated as the young, prodigy professor. Andrew has turned Twin's eternal sin into his saving grace.

Could you imagine the anger? The bitterness? The feeling of watching the man you once called a ‘brother’ further drive the knife in your back?

That’s where the anger comes from. Not the original offense, but everything that came after. The ricochet of it all. If Twin wasn't coming back before, he certainly isn't now.

I guess the beauty of it all is how many parallels there are. A Marston is in a forbidden relationship, which is only forbidden due to the direct surrounding environment as outside of it there's really nothing wrong, and is found out by the very creators of said environment. They defend themselves, but upon lacking support from those he thought he could count on (Andrew or, in his case, the faculty) he leaves the situation completely and gives up on a huge factor of his life.

Crazy.

(Of course, this post doesn't take into account Andrew and Darling's POV, because Twin doesn't have that. We know that they argued and broke up, but he doesn't, and I really wanted to explore just how he may feel about all of this without further context.)

(Please somebody talk to me about Twin Marston I'm dying over here. Severe droughts in content for him I'm STARVING)

#self indulgent post bc it’s my birthday :]#pls just let me watch #not sex - his therapy session #sakuverse #zsakuva #twin marston #marston twins #andrew marston #zsakuva andrew

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sakuversetomodachilife · 4 months

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they’re so silly in this game 😭

#zsakuva #sakuverse #andrew marston #marston twins #darius marston

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caughtinred · 4 months

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luv u lots, cowboy!

#my art #rdr2 #rdr #rdr1 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #john marston #lovecore #Bollard Twins Outfit my beloved <3 #heartcore #cupidcore #artist of tumblr

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beeblelady · 1 month

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The World May Never Know and will remain a mystery.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #andrew marston #andrew zsakuva #zsakuva andrew #Twin where are you #where in the world is carmen sandiego

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insanostyle1231 · 1 year

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god jack marston is such an awful flirt, theres this thing called autistic rizz and he does NOT possess it

source: low honor jack talking to prostitutes

#autism jack is real but not in the way you think #john possessed autistic rizz and he didnt pass it on unfortunately #rdr #red dead redemption #jack marston #my poor little meow meow #im autistic and i dont have the rizz either we're twinning

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the-neigh-sayer · 1 year

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#john marston #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #twins

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kitxkatrp · 1 year

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Tag Dump 47

#{ Fiacre Dufour: The Eccentric Prince Main Verse }#{ Henry: The Surviving Vampire Main Verse }#{ Bianca Polla: Escaped Vampire Main Verse }#{ Dean Clemens: Half Vampire Main Verse }#{ Carry: Noble Vampire Main Verse }#{ Adsila: Pure Blood Werewolf Main Verse }#{ Buck Marston: Bloodthirsty Alpha Main Verse }#{ Mint: Retail Werewolf Main Verse }#{ Jacklyn: The Bitter Twin Main Verse }#{ Reuben Butler: The Ghost Hunter Main Verse }

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soleminisanction · 8 months

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I've always really liked DC's in-house choice of referring to their various superhero groupings as "families," but it has gotten a little frustrating recently with people both in canon and in fandom seeming to forget that families aren't just a parental-unit-and-kids formation. They're complicated, and a lot of the DC families are too messy to fit into that neat little nuclear family mode.

Which is to say... here's some scattered thoughts/summaries about how these families are actually structured in canon, because I think it's interesting:

Supers -- The smaller, more traditional Superfamily (Clark, Lois, Kara, Kon, etc.) is a pretty traditional Midwestern nuclear family, with Jimmy Olsen filling the role of close family friend/goofy neighbor sidekick (in the Silver Age, he was Kara's would-be suitor) and Steel feeling more like part of Clark's personal circle of friends. The recent line up, though, with Jon, the twins, Kong and Nat? Starts to feel more like some old dynasty or noble house, complete with fostered foundlings and the Steels acting almost like knights under a noble's banner, possibly reflective of what the House of El would have been on Krypton.

Arrows -- Might currently be the closet to a traditional nuclear family structure. You've got Ollie and Dinah, their younger sisters, Ollie's adopted and biological children, and Ollie's granddaughter through Roy, plus by some counts Roy's co-parent and her sister as "in-laws." Bonnie and Cissie King-Jones are adjacent to but not technically "part" of the family, though I believe it's implied at one point that Ollie might also be Cissie's bio-dad. Pretty straightforward, these guys are actually family and they act like it, for good and ill.

Shazam Family -- Also a literal, actual family. Not originally, the original golden age "Marvel Family" was considerably more complicated and only Billy and Mary were full siblings, but nowadays the whole point of the modern Shazam family is that they're foster siblings united by familial love and that's fantastic. Meanwhile your average Black Adam story is 75% angsty family drama, 25% Egyptian mythology references.

Flashes -- Technically closer to three nuclear families (the Allens, the Wests and the Garricks; four if you include the Quicks), two of whom are united by marriage and all of whom are bound by the Speedforce, which, given its semi-spiritual connections to things like Speedster afterlives, can act almost like a religious force that connects them to the additional members like Avery, Circuit Breaker and Max as Bart's foster-dad. They're a big, sprawling tree with more cousins than siblings, the kind of family that functionally has a reunion every Christmas and Thanksgiving.

Lanterns -- Now these guys are the exception that proves my point about the whole 'family' thing not being straightforward. The lanterns aren't a family, they're a corps. Soldiers. Space cops. Comrades-in-arms. They respect each other, have each other's backs, might even like or care about each other, but those last two are optional, and they don't have the same kind of assumed obligations towards each other that a family would have. They're friends and co-workers, not family, but that doesn't mean their relationships are less significant, they're just different.

Wonders -- Roughly half of them are either one of Hippolyta's daughters (Diana, Donna, Nubia pre-Crisis) or related to them through the gods (Cassie), and the other half (Artemis, Yara, modern-age Nubia) use sister as a term of endearment more in a utopian lesbian commune kind of way. I think they brought Steve Trevor back recently? He's basically the Ken in this equation and perfectly fine with that role. None of which should be surprising if you've seen Professor Marston and the Wonder Women.

Bats -- This is the one that people get really wrong when they try to force it into a traditional family structure. Don't let WFA fool you, the Bats are and have always been way more a snarled mess of tangled interpersonal relationships than they've ever been a cohesive family. Whether Dick is Bruce's son or his brother depends on what era you're talking about, and the former reading is much more recent than you think -- as in "started cropping up in the early 2000s" recent. Barbara is both Cassandra's sister and her mother. Duke and Steph both have living parents and neither of them want or would ever dream of treating Bruce like their dad; Tim was the same way until his dad died. None of the Robins ever lived in the mansion together, nor did Cass. Babs considered Jean-Paul Valley her brother and Huntress is so close to Tim she once hallucinated him calling her Big Sister. They're a beautiful mess of people finding places where their broken edges fit together into something that works for them and trying to reduce it down to a cozy nuclear family is just so goddamn reductive and lazy.

Blue Beetles -- Are only tangentially related to each other. Seriously, they never even get direct mentoring, each one just takes over when the previous one dies and works on completely different rules from the other two. They're complete strangers bound by a legacy and that's honestly pretty fun.

Zataras -- There's only three of them and they're literally a father, daughter and cousin.

Martians -- Not really a family because there's only the two of them, but an interesting case where the two survivors of what was functionally a war of mutually assured destruction came together in an attempt to find some peace in the aftermath of what they'd lost.

Titans -- The JLA and JSA aren't really in the "family" category, but the Titans lean into it hard, mostly because they're a textbook found family. They don't mirror a nuclear family structure, they're simply a group of people who came together to form a mutual support network. They're the idealized college friends you grew into your own with, some of them childhood companions and others you only met once you leave home for the first time, but all of them friends that you manage to maintain contact with for life, with everyone coming back together even as you scatter and do your own things.

Young Justice -- Meanwhile, this team is the chaotic group of misfits you hung out with when you were a teenager, especially when you were just starting to be allowed to act without adult supervision. You drive each other crazy, none of you know you're all queer as fuck, and you'd fight a bear for any of them even if they asked you not to. They'd probably be insulted if you tried to call them a family. They come out here to get away from their families, thank you very much.

#dc comics #meta #batfamily #super family #arrow family #flash family #wonder women #shazam family #batman #superman #wonder woman #green lantern #teen titans #young justice #kinda rambling #just kinda throwing some ideas together #families of choice #non-traditional families

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atopvisenyashill · 2 months

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and if House of the Dragon S1 were POV chapters? Would your opinion change?

OH like specifically HOTD verse? Hmmmm.

I'd still want Larys, even with him being like "Tyrion but slightly to the left" some of my favorite Tyrion chapters involve his relationship with Jaime and getting that dynamic but worse would certainly be beautifully written. But I'd also really want Harwin as well. We get all three Lannister kids (I say as if they aren't all like my age or older lmao) so I think it's fine to get Harwin and Larys, even interesting to see the differences in how they view their relationship with each other and their father. Absolutely we need dragon twins PoVs and Jacaerys PoV because they got paid jack shit in the show so far, especially the girls. I'd want a Laena PoV, a Rhaenys PoV, and a Helaena PoV here as well.

I think in the show, with the way it's vibe is, you could justify an Alicent and Rhaenyra PoV BUT only if there is absolutely NO Otto, Viserys, Daemon, or Corlys. Honestly the less men the better. Every man we get needs to either die before the main action - Laenor, Harwin, Harold Westerling - or just is NOT a grown man involved in the physical fighting - so still Jace, Larys, you could argue for Steffon largely because he's not inheriting anything, he's just in the Kingsguard, etc, but I'd be okay with dropping him in favor of one of Aegon's bastard Kingsguard like Mervyn Flowers or Marston Waters. I think Helaena and Alicent being our main looks into the minds of Aegon, Aemond, and Otto is really keeping on theme, and I think our main look at Daemon and Corlys being their wives and children also keeps on theme, even though Daemon is a second son who isn't inheriting anything.

I guess we should have Criston too but I'm listening on 3x speed like I do with Tyrion when I'm angry.

#asks #the dance of the dragons #this is interesting to think about actually great question anon #anons

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gwenllian-in-the-abbey · 4 months

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choose violence ask: 12 & 22 for F&B/HOTD

12. unpopular character you actually like: I feel like with F&B/HotD this is so team based that the definition of "unpopular" is going to vary widely. I like Aegon II, even though he's widely hated in the broader fandom, but that feels like a bit of a cop-out since he does have a lot of fans on TG, even if he's not as popular as Aemond. I really like the Lannister twins, Tyland and Jason, are they unpopular? Tyland gets villainized a lot for pulling that shit with the treasury but honestly, it was a smart move and respect to him for not cracking under torture. And regardless of what happens later with the Lyseni Spring, Marston Waters will always be a real one for reminding Aegon II twice that he shouldn't kill Baela, and luckily for everyone Aegon II listened.

22. favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores: Well, kind of related to the above, even though I generally do not like the end of Aegon II's reign/House of the Wolf/Regency of Aegon III, it's also the part of the book that made me appreciate Aegon II, because it's here where he shoes mercy when he really has no reason to, and when doing so actually kind of undermines him in some ways. At the tail end of the Dance people tend to focus on how Aegon had Essie tortured into admitting Gaemon wasn't his, and on the threats made to harm Aegon III, but it's frustrating how the context is ignored or kind of brushed over. Gaemon was a pretender to the throne and under any other circumstance that kid would be toast-- forced to take the Black at the very best. Forcing Essie to admit that he was a Lyseni bastard was a way to save him-- he's no longer a threat to the throne if his father is just a random Lyseni. Aegon then takes him into the royal household, where he later becomes Aegon III's only friend. Aegon also grants the request of another pretender to the throne, Trystane, and knights him before executing him, giving him the name Ser Trystane Fyre. But what's more, Aegon II keeps Aegon III and Baela alive for six months against the advice of two of the only three people left in King's Landing who he really trusted, one of whom was his mother. At this point Aegon II is in pain, he's not allowing himself milk of the poppy so he's drinking more, he's grieving, and yet he just refuses to kill this kid, even though realistically, killing Aegon III would have left Aegon II's opponents with only Daemon's daughters to rally around. From the moment he returns to King's Landing, Alicent is saying kill Aegon III. Tyland is saying kill Aegon III. But it is only in the final moments of his reign, with the Tullys and the Starks practically at the door, does Aegon reluctantly agree to take Aegon III's ear and send it to the Tullys, but he is poisoned before that order can be carried out. When the fandom talks about this, it's often framed as if Aegon started threatening to mutilate Aegon III right away, but it's six months, and this whole time Corlys is trying to negotiate some kind of treaty but Aegon also won't compromise. It's really poignant to me that the Dance starts with the deaths of children, but for whatever reason, Aegon II just refuses to end it that way.

#asks #choose violence #aegon ii targaryen #marston waters #tyland lannister #gaemon palehair

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sednonamoris · 6 months

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working for the knife

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: You and John return to camp, where an unexpected crisis awaits.

Warnings: Strong language, canon-typical injuries/aftermath of torture, references to gun violence, arguments, toxic family dynamics (Dutch being Dutch), lots and lots of dialogue, brief overtures of Christianity

Word count: 2,128

A/N: just a quick one before we get into the whirlwind chain of events that takes the gang from clemens point to shady belle… 👀❤️‍🔥

Series masterlist • AO3

—

You and John drag your feet the rest of the way to camp, and still your week’s-end arrival comes too soon. Out on the open road it’s so easy to feel like you’re the only two people in the world. You catch yourself staring at him with a lovestruck look enough that it should be embarrassing. It would be, if you didn’t catch him staring back just as often.

“What?” you ask this time with that sappy smile that hasn’t left your face.

“Nothin’,” John shrugs past a matching grin, but the creases at the corners of his eyes say that he loves you.

You love him too.

Always. Forever. You haven’t talked about what that night in the storm meant - not really - but mostly because there’s no need. The only thing that was ever waiting for the two of you were twin graves; together to the very end. As far as you’re concerned that hasn’t changed, and so there’s nothing to say. You’ve always understood one another’s silences, anyhow.

A companionable one stretches between you now, nearing camp on that wide dirt road that leads to Rhodes. The sun is a vivid orange, hung low in the early evening sky. It paints the lush landscape in a warm glow and colors the rich brown dirt beneath your horse’s hooves almost red. Creeping vines hang from tree branches bathed in gold. The crickets have started their choruses, ushering in the long shadows and pigmented sunset to come. This place is beautiful, you have to admit. Too humid, still, but beautiful.

As you admire it, movement catches your eye near the turn-off for camp; a horse and rider. You shade your eyes to see better. That big painted bay can only mean it’s Arthur, but something strikes you strange. He isn’t upright in the saddle, and his horse is flagging.

“John, somethin’ ain’t right,” you say.

The carefree mood dies in an instant. He pulls out his binoculars and clicks them in to get a closer look, cursing at what he sees.

That’s all it takes for you to spur your horses on, cantering up beside Arthur’s slumped form and cursing all over again. It’s not pretty. Dressed in nothing but his longjohns and a stolen bandolier, Arthur is half-conscious and hunched over like he’s got cracked ribs. Broken, maybe. And that says nothing about the bullet holes in his leg and shoulder. His skin is sallow and fevered. Eyes bleary. Blood is crusted across his hands and clothes.

“Jesus, Morgan, what happened to you?!” John says.

Arthur only groans in response.

You spare a furtive glance toward the road - empty, thankfully - and snag his horse’s reins. John tells you he’s going to track Arthur’s trail back a ways to make sure that whoever did this didn’t follow. If he finds them, they won't be following anyone for much longer.

Without further delay you take Arthur the rest of the way to camp, wincing in sympathy with every jostle and jerk of his saddle.

“Aw, shit,” Karen says from her post on watch when she sees you pass by. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles to follow you up.

Arthur falls from his saddle when you make it to the edge of camp, boneless, and you curse and jump down to get him. “I need some goddamn help here!”

Everyone comes running.

Karen and Mary-Beth and Dutch are the first to arrive, murmuring Arthur’s name in disbelief.

“I told you it was a set-up, Dutch,” Arthur wheezes from where he lies prone, eyes blinking sightless. “They got me, but I got away.”

“Miss Grimshaw, I need help!” Dutch shouts over Pearson’s wide-eyed apologies. “Swanson!”

More bodies rush in.

“Help me get him up,” you say, hoisting him upright in spite of his protests. Dutch takes his other side and Pearson supports his back.

“Let’s get him to bed…”

“Has anyone told Abigail?”

“Clear a path!”

The crowd moves with you, ready to catch him should he fall. He limps heavy between you and Dutch, feet stumbling and breath whinging past his cracked lips.

“You are safe now, Arthur,” Dutch promises as you set him down on his cot. It’s hard to tell which of them he’s comforting. “You’re safe now.”

Arthur laughs a wheezing laugh past his broken ribs and smiles stupidly at the tent canvas above him. “That’s pretty, Dutch. That’s real pretty.”

Your own chest constricts. This fever has him bad. You’ve seen folk die from less.

Dutch asks Ms. Grimshaw to sit with him while Reverend Swanson administers the morphine. Mary-Beth fetches Jack away so Abigail can stay by his side. Her eyes shine glassy with tears. You ask if they need you to hold him down while they cut away the bad flesh from his leg and shoulder, but they usher you away.

“What the hell happened?” you ask Dutch. He paces in front of his tent. “John and I been gone barely two weeks.”

“Where is he?” he asks instead.

“Scouting. Wanted to make sure Arthur wasn’t followed by whoever did this to him. What did he mean about a set-up?”

Dutch explains Pearson’s lead and his meeting with Colm and his boys. How Arthur was supposed to meet him and Micah back at the crossroads when things went south, but he never showed and they couldn’t stick around.

“And you never thought to look when he didn’t show up a few days later?” Having to run you can understand, but leaving one of your own behind? That’s never been the Van der Linde way. If it was, so many of you would be rotting in jailhouses right now.

“We might’ve,” Dutch says with a pointed stare, “if we weren’t missing two of our best guns. I got mouths to feed here, Ghost. Folk to protect. You should know that.”

“You think I don’t? John and I were out makin’ sure you could feed them!” you say. “I got us hundreds more on those horses than that fence would’ve. How was I s’posed to know you and Micah were back here trying to get Arthur killed in the meantime?”

Dutch stops his pacing all at once. His voice gets low and velvet-soft and dangerous. “Everything I do, I do to keep us all alive. Do you understand me?”

His change in demeanor alone is usually enough to have you begging his forgiveness, but nothing about this is usual. Arthur might die - your brother might die - because no one bothered to look for him. Family first, you’ve always been told. No one helps us but we damn well help each other. Dutch taught you that from the time you first joined up, some lost kid without a cause. He made you who you are, gave you that cause and that purpose you lacked in the family he collected over years and hardships, and now he throws it all back in your face.

“Sure,” you say venomously. “Sure. You’d better take this.”

You shove the camp’s share of cash into his chest and walk away. If he calls after you, you can’t hear it over the rush of blood and anger in your ears.

—

By the time John rides back into camp night has fully fallen. The stars shine in a blue-black sky, and the moon gazes, sly and wane, on your camp full of criminals. He slips silently past the flap of your tent and starts kicking his boots off.

“How is he?” he asks.

“Alive,” you say, seated on the edge of your cot. “At least for now. You find anyone?”

“Not a soul. He say who it was?”

“Colm.”

John’s brows lift in surprise. “Colm?”

You fill him in on the details while he strips down to his underthings and joins you on the cot, sitting close enough that his shoulders brush against yours. You lean into the contact and let your voice break when you explain your confrontation with Dutch. He reaches an arm around you to pull you close. The steady beat of his heart soothes the fresh ache in your chest.

“He didn’t mean all that,” he tells you. “Arthur’s like a son to him. He was just… lashin’ out. Tough to be that scared.”

“Okay,” you say, because that’s what you want to believe. “Okay.”

You hold him tighter.

—

That first week is rough, but Arthur recovers. The whole of camp - with very few exceptions - take turns at his bedside. On your watches you try to cheer him up any way that you can. You even break out your impression of John, which has been a sure way to get Arthur going since you were kids. He cusses you out for making him laugh with his ribs, but the smile on his face is infectious.

You send up a prayer to a silent God when you learn his wounds aren’t.

—

The girls tell you what you missed at camp while you were away. Javier sang. Grimshaw yelled. Dutch made pretty speeches. Bill made a fool of himself. Nothing much. They smile coyly when you insist that nothing much happened on your trip, either. John blushes as he passes by and they laugh.

Sean fills you in on what happened leading up to the O’Driscoll incident, gap-toothed grinning while he reminisces about the smell of burning tobacco fields. Them Grays never knew what hit ‘em, he tells you, preening. Even made off with their payroll. You have to hand it to the kid, he’s got spunk. Nevermind the fact that Hosea says he had to step on his toes in warning more than once during his game of cribbage with the Braithwaites.

Having played both families against the other, this feud business is little more than a waiting game now. Gold is about the only reason you can think to stick around, and Hosea says he’s close. He’s always had a nose for these things.

So you wait.

You busy yourself with chores around camp, careful to be present and helpful after your argument with Dutch. Neither of you apologizes, but when he nods at you chopping wood just a few days later you know things are alright. They always are, in the end.

You only ask Arthur about what happened with him and the O’Driscoll boys after he takes his first weak, wobbling steps to one of the logs along the shoreline. He sits down unassisted - just barely - and sighs. Tells you it’s a long story. Squints his eyes up at the gulls flying overhead and the shimmer of the early morning water. Sunrise reflected in blue-grey-greens.

You tell him you’ve got all day.

“Pearson called it peace,” he says after a long pause, “and Dutch, he kept goin’ on about Annabelle and his daddy and some kind of payback.”

“And you told them you’re not in the revenge business.”

He snorts his affirmation. “Whole lotta good that did. You know it really did seem like Colm was gonna stand down ‘til he brought her up again? Turns out he was after me, anyway, so peace weren’t much of an option all along. Still…”

He lets the unfinished thought hang between you.

“I’m convinced he loves them more now than he ever did when they were alive,” you say softly, shaking your head. “It’s easier, sometimes, when they’re gone. Death has made a lot of normal people into saints or martyrs - somethin’ more, now that they’re past all the annoying and betraying and disappointing us alive folk can’t seem to help.”

When your parents were alive you must have fought with them sometimes, but the few memories left to you are of golden summertimes learning to swim, grooming horses, wrapped in a loving embrace. Alive, Jenny must have annoyed you some. Dead you can’t help but miss her endless talking, always something clever to say. And the Callander boys. A meaner pair of bastards never walked this earth, but what wouldn’t you give to see their faces ‘round the fire one last time? A laughing, smiling bunch of killers.

People say only the good die young, but after seeing so much of death you’re convinced it’s about the only way people can be good.

“You might be right,” Arthur runs a hand down his face. “But either way it ain’t an excuse to keep this useless fight up. The law is after us all just the same. Dutch should know that as much as anyone.”

You shrug, and sigh. “Dutch ain’t the kind of man you can change. Some people lead and other people follow, and I reckon you and I will follow him to the very end.”

Whatever that end may be.

Arthur frowns, but he doesn’t disagree. The rest of the morning passes in thoughtful silence.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #ghost story #fran writes #ch. 24

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soscarlett1twas · 8 days

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Midnight Church Bells

↳ Andrew and his brother sneak out. ↳ 2k words / also available on ao3! ↳ This fic is literally a year old lmao?? I was sorting through docs and found this finished draft, so I polished it a bit and here we are. Please forgive past me if the prose is... how we say 'shit'.

The holidays always snuck up on Andrew the same - sudden and unwelcome, but inevitable. This year, he’d been too invested in his studies, and, surprisingly, his own love life to notice much of withering leaves or decorations, but when he turned on the radio and heard those familiar jingles, he groaned in recognition.

Really, it was none of those things (despite how much he did tire of those songs) that bittered Christmas for him. It was the fact that once the break started, his family would come calling. And despite all protests, his parents would never let him stay at college during the advent.

“It’s time for the Lord.” His mother’s voice lifted through the phone he propped up on his dashboard. “And family,” she added after a moment. He resisted the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel, instead opting for biting his tongue. The one time his parents didn’t want him studying.

Her saying that added to the sting of the season. And family. It seemed that this was the only time of year where that was on her mind.

Which all led him to the same spot he was every December 24th: Sitting on his childhood bed, with whatever book he was currently reading in his hands, and classical music playing from his phone.

Reclining into his pillow, Andrew lifted his glasses off and put them on the bedside table, a thumb folding the wings as the other worked as a bookmark.

Yet he didn’t close his eyes. For one of those brief moments in life, he wasn’t thinking, or sleeping, or doing really anything at all. He was just there, in a limbo between sleep and consciousness, hoping that if he purposely derived himself the next day wouldn’t come as quickly.

And he stayed like that for 5 minutes. Or maybe it was 10, or maybe no time passed at all. But eventually he gave in to rest. No matter what, the morning would come and he’d rather not fall asleep during the already tedious sermons in church. So he set an alarm, put his book on the nightstand, and laid down.

He closed his eyes, and it was like he could hear the ringing already.

Maybe he did.

A soft patter-ing rang just outside his door, the familiar sound of footsteps on carpet blotting the silence. And just as he was about to roll over, Andrew heard his door creak open, and the silhouette of a man leaned into the room.

“Want to go on a walk?” He whispered, twinged with a sense of boredom.

Andrew didn’t even need to turn to know who was asking. “Give me a moment,” he sighed, and motioned to push himself off the bed.

—

“How did you know I was awake?” Andrew asked, still pulling his overcoat over his arms.

“Your light was on, I saw it through your door.” His brother responded, turning off their driveway onto the sidewalk. He was slightly ahead of Andrew, but slowed a bit so that they were walking together.

A cloud of mist formed from his breath as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, pulling the coat closer to himself to save some of his last remaining body heat. A near-midnight flit wasn’t what he had planned, but he’d prefer it than trying to sleep. Besides, this may be the only quality time he could spend with his twin during the break. God knows the time they’ve spent at college has already distanced them enough.

“So,” he huffed, searching for a topic of conversation. “How have you been?”

“Fine. Uni’s been beating my ass though - we spent practically the entire week leading up to the holidays in the lab, just sweating over our assignments. Jesus, I’m not even a Biochem major but Chemistry is just not letting up.”

It had been years since he was in a lab, but with the track he was on, he got the stress with ‘crunch time’. “I understand. I’ve recently had to rush a project for my Literary Theory course.”

“What do you even do in that class?” He questioned, half serious, half mocking.

“Analyze texts, find out how the culture of the author influenced their works.” He could go on: Literary Theory was one of his favorite classes, no matter how rigorous the course was, but he knew his brother wouldn’t care to hear the details.

Winding down their street, the two carried on talking about academia with a partial interest, not fully understanding either’s field of study but trying to be supportive anyways. Soughing wind bent branches to a static beat as they approached the neighborhood's egress. By and by they were talking about the more social aspects of their schooling: Andrew’s literature club, the parties either rarely attended, his brother’s friends.

“How has your roommate been?” Andrew asked, kicking a rock under his shoe and watching it roll along the concrete.

“Good.” He sighed out a laugh. “He’s great, actually.”

Andrew glanced over to his brother, and if the slight warmth in his voice wasn’t enough, the red on his cheeks told him everything he needed to know. He chuckled too, and gave a soft nudge on his shoulder, making them both smile.

In a weird way, they never needed to tell eachother about any of this stuff. Equal parts the awkwardness that surrounded telling your sibling, your twin of all people, who you were interested in and an unspoken alliance against their parents had kept them from ever openly speaking it. But Andrew knew his brother was into guys ever since they were teens, he just didn’t know if his brother had caught on to his own preferences yet.

The stone made a sharp sound as it drifted over to his brother, who promptly kicked it back to Andrew with the inside of his shoe.

“Helios, right?”

His brother hummed in response.

His mind trailed to the man at his college, the one who he had desperately wanted to introduce to him, and found himself grinning at the mere thought. God, he hoped Isaac would like his brother.

He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. What would he even say? He trusted his brother, but to come out was something entirely different, and with Christmas just around the corner? No, he’d wait. Right after, though, he’d tell him. Andrew silently swore it to himself.

“Honestly, I prefer the dorms to the house.”

That snapped Andrew out of his thinking. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He stopped abruptly, and threw his arms out in exasperation. “Isn’t it suffocating to you too?”

Everytime he was in his room, Andrew could only remember the sleepless nights he spent hunched over and studying. The dining table was a barrage of moments he spent silent as his parents and brother fought. The living room was a danger zone, as he never wanted to catch his parents when they were disappointed in his brother, or worse, him. The whole house could burn down and the only memories that would go with it were the most futile. Worse was, even without flames, Andrew felt like he wadded through smoke every time he was in those walls.

He silently nodded his head. His brother just stared at him, as if he wanted voice confirmation. But how can one speak up against the pyre when its fumes had already scorched his vocal cords?

After a moment, his brother kept walking, and Andrew followed. “I contemplated not coming back this winter.” He muttered.

“As did I.” Andrew responded, suddenly getting his voice back.

“What could you possibly be avoiding?”

A million and one answers filled his head, but none escaped him - no matter what he said, not a single one would measure up to his brother's reasons. So why even bother trying to compare?

His twin huffed as he turned away, suddenly gaining some distance on Andrew, and he let him keep it.

For a while, the only sound they made was their shoes against concrete sidewalks and the crunch as they occasionally had to step into snow. Andrew brought his hands up to his face, cupping them to breathe and warm himself up. Normally he kept gloves in his pockets, just in case. But, of course, he just had to forget them tonight. His fingers combed through his hair, forcing him to look straight ahead at his brother's back. Again, he bit his tongue. But wasn’t that what had gotten him into this situation, unintentionally pushing his brother away by not talking? He didn’t understand it, but only continuing the cycle wasn’t going to help anything.

So he opened his mouth, just in time to slam right into his brother.

He stumbled, but his brother didn’t flinch. Or even look at Andrew. His eyes remained trained to the tree line, frozen in place.

Regaining his footing, Andrew tried again. “Dar-“

“Stop.” He whispered.

“No, D-“

“Shut up, Andrew, just listen.”

So he did.

For a few seconds, he didn’t hear anything. His eyes fell where his brother’s were focused, though without his glasses, the details were fuzzy.

Then, a distant chime hit his ear.

More followed.

A symphony of church bells rang, each peal like a glimmer in the air.

Andrew knew they rang the bells at midnight every Christmas Eve, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard them. During mass, he could imagine it would be unbearable. But from here? The sound was quite pleasant.

As the bells continued, the twins stood there, listening to it all. Andrew was the first to tear his eyes away from the church he couldn’t see, glancing over at his brother through the corner of his eye. It was the first good look he had gotten at him in a long time.

Andrew hadn’t realized how short a decade was. Though in context of anything else, the last ten years of his life had dawdled. But with his brother? It was like the blink of an eye. One moment they were running and laughing, a mirror image of one another - even the Christmas’ were tolerable. Fun, even. The next, blooming into adulthood - mimics of who they used to be.

In fact, the longer he looked at him, Andrew realized just how much his brother had changed. His hair had definitely grown, locked into a short ponytail that hung low with swooping bangs, and he made the full switch to contacts some time ago. He even got taller, and next to Andrew, he was a lofty inch or two higher. Though that could also be accredited to the boots he wore. (Ashamed to say, Andrew didn’t remember when or how he got them. They certainly weren’t a gift from their parents, but did his brother even have a job to afford them?) He was more muscular, which wasn’t saying much compared to Andrew, but he was certainly leaner. The man never made a mention of continuing his secondary school athletics, but maybe he did as an extracurricular? Again, Andrew was straining to remember specifics. Though, he supposed any reason to play was now null, as originally it was a brilliant excuse to come home late without his parents accusing him of deviancy.

But he wasn’t too alien to him. There was something still familiar to him, like flecks of gold shining through, no matter how small. After all, they began to sneak out when they were fourteen and are still doing it now. There must be something that still connected them.

Right?

Just as he had that thought, he missed his brother's pass, and the pebble went flying into a curb.

They walked in silence for a while longer, bells fading to the wind. Eventually they found themselves back on their driveway, and their silence became deafening as they lightened their footsteps. God knows what their parents would do if they found out they had been out so late.

They followed one another up the stairs, crossed the same hallway, and went to rooms adjoining. There was a time they shared one, but that was before they had moved.

Andrew slipped open his door, the knob turning slowly as to mute itself. As he slipped in, he turned half-way to see his brother doing the same.

His brother looked up, catching his gaze.

Andrew saw himself in the reflection of his eyes. They were bitter, burning with… not rage. But a violent form of disappointment.

Andrew was the center of it. And he could smell the smoke wafting.

#MARSTON TWINS I'VE MISSED YOU #this was the first fic I ever wrote for this fandom!!#finally saw the light of day (escaped google docs)#also yes this lines up with the underground ravens theory because of course it freaking does #sakuverse #zsakuva #andrew marston #zsakuva andrew #marston twins #“twin” marston #they kick rocks

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stromuprisahat · 7 months

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Fewer than a dozen maids remained, and the press had thinned considerably, when a sudden trumpet blast heralded the arrival of Baela Velaryon and Rhaena Corbray. The doors to the throne room were thrown open, and the daughters of Prince Daemon entered upon a blast of winter air. Lady Baela was great with child, Lady Rhaena wan and thin from her miscarriage, yet seldom had they seemed more as one. Both were dressed in gowns of soft black velvet with rubies at their throats, and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on their cloaks. Mounted on a pair of coal black chargers, the twins rode the length of the hall side by side. When Ser Marston Waters of the Kingsguard blocked their path and demanded they dismount, Lady Baela slashed him across the cheek with her riding crop. “His Grace my brother can command me. You cannot.” At the foot of the Iron Throne they reined up. Lord Unwin rushed forward, demanding to know the meaning of this. The twins paid him no more heed than they would a serving man. “Brother,” Lady Rhaena said to Aegon, “if it please you, we have brought your new queen.” Her lord husband, Ser Corwyn Corbray, brought the girl forward. A gasp went through the hall. “Lady Daenaera of House Velaryon,” boomed out the herald, somewhat hoarsely, “daughter of the late and lamented Daeron of that house and his lady wife, Hazel of House Harte, also departed, a ward of Lady Baela of House Targaryen and Alyn the Oakenfist of House Velaryon, Lord Admiral, Master of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.” Daenaera Velaryon was an orphan. Her mother had been carried off by the Winter Fever; her father had died in the Stepstones when his True Heart went down. His own father had been that Ser Vaemond beheaded by Queen Rhaenyra, but Daeron had been reconciled with Lord Alyn and had died fighting for him. As she stood before the king that Maiden’s Day, clad in pale white silk, Myrish lace, and pearls, her long hair shining in the torchlight and her cheeks flush with excitement, Daenaera was but six years old, yet so beautiful she took the breath away. The blood of Old Valyria was strong in her, as is oft seen in the sons and daughters of the seahorse; her hair was silver laced with gold, her eyes as blue as a summer sea, her skin as smooth and pale as winter snow. “She sparkled,” Mushroom says, “and when she smiled, the singers in the galley rejoiced, for they knew that here at last was a maid worthy of a song.” Daenaera’s smile transformed her face, men agreed; it was sweet and bold and mischievious, all at once. Those who saw it could not fail to think, “Here is a bright, sweet, happy little girl, the perfect antidote to the young king’s gloom.” When Aegon III returned her smile and said, “Thank you for coming, my lady, you look very pretty,” even Lord Unwin Peake surely must have known that the game was lost. The last few maidens were brought forward hurriedly to do their turns, but the king’s desire to put an end to the parade was so palpable that poor Henrietta Woodhull was sobbing as she curtsied. As she was led away, King Aegon summoned his young cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair. To him was given the honor of making the announcement. “His Grace will marry Lady Daenaera of House Velaryon!” Gaemon shouted happily.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

I need a painting of the twins on their horses. Blood of the Dragon, bitches!

#ASoIaF #Fire & Blood #valyrianscrolls #ch: Under the Regents: War and Peace and Cattle Shows #Maiden's Day Ball #Aegon III Targaryen #Baela Targaryen #Rhaena Targaryen (twin)#Daenaera Velaryon #Gaemon Palehair #V #GRRM #books #quotes

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