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#sibling dynamics
zalrin · 17 hours
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Eve and Astarion get along, I swear!
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theharetic · 1 month
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Lego Monkie Kid | “You Peach Thief. ”
This is a commissioned piece from @ChopShopT. Please do not repost or reuse this work for anything and support the original artist.
“Stay away from my fruit, Stone Monkey!”
“Well you should learn to share, Bonnie!”
Xī Tiānkōng does not appreciate fruit thieves invading her garden. Sun Wukong thinks she should share.
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that-bitch-kat3 · 11 months
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sirius: i feel totally useless
regulus: you are not totally useless
sirius, hopefully: yeah?
regulus: you could serve as a bad example
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nonymous06 · 1 year
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I drew a lil smt for a dtiys
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Also my human designs for the disaster twins cause the brain rot is real
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patg2227 · 2 years
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leodehurlvant · 2 months
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Atsushi went from 0 to 4 siblings by the sheer power of association
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glassesfreekjr · 10 months
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Can we analyse Tulin for a bit?
Apart from being the keet birb boy, perhaps what makes his character so enthralling is how it so brilliantly reflects and offers commentary on the influences that have shaped him.
Whether that be Revali, his father Teba, and ESPECIALLY Link. Hell, it's no wonder that Link & Tulin have garnered such a sibling dynamic. Tulin essentially IS Link, from a time before the burden of responsibility and pain caused Link to cave in on himself pre-Breath of the Wild.
Right down to the veteran warrior father figure (Link's father was captain of the guard) and their acceptance of a newfound legacy out of forthright integrity. Tulin, at this point in his life, has yet to give himself away until there's nothing of him left to give, and let's pray he never needs to.
But Tulin would do that in a heartbeat, if called upon. He is very much his father's son.
You can see it in how archtypical childish spunk is tempered, like steel, by Teba's down-to-earth bluntness and sheer work ethic.
(BTW I wonder if Link sees his own father in Teba? That'd check out.)
But what caught me most pleasantly off-guard is Tulin's skepticism, which has become one of his most compelling traits for me. It's not something you would expect.
He did not believe that the Stormwind Ark existed, and while ultimately proven wrong, it frankly wasn't an illogical assumption to make. Tulin clearly thought through that opinion. He'd also grown frustrated that the Rito placed their faith on a songbook miracle — a eucatastrophe, if you will — instead of something more concrete like personal skill or, say, Link's whole-ass existence.
The second Link arrived and offered his aid, Tulin accepted his help without hesitation. He turned his skepticism inward to reevaluate his own tenets. And it's as a duo that they brought about said eucatastrophe through no one's strength but their own. They are siblings, Your Honor. Aryll 2.0
(If Revali had been blessed with a support network saying "it's okay to accept help. no man is an island," doubtless he still would have perished in Vah Medoh. But there would be less of an ego to shatter. He would have faced death with less blind panic and more dignity. And most importantly, he'd have other people to bolster the wind beneath his wings during his short life. (At the very least, Revali would not have as big an ass not be as big an ass, just as Tulin would be a different person without his family.)
dammit quaquaval you have RUINED me
Also, one thing that everyone seems to miss is just how deceptively intelligent Tulin turns out to be. This kid fuckin' knows his stuff. His mastery of aerodynamics beyond the instinctual is almost on par with Revali at such a young age. And how many precision headshots has his avatar saved your ass with, don't lie.
He somehow managed to follow his father back through time. Tulin can see Koroks.
It's not the same kind of passion-fuelled intellect as, say, Zelda has. More of an unyeilding conviction to learn all he can and put it into practice. About as understated a quality as Yunobo's inexplicable business acumen and economic sense.
As his mother Saki put it, for Tulin to develop as an individual, he needs to experience more of reality and its hardships. Shooting bullseyes and improving one's flying prowess / wind magic can't contend with genuine combat. True to her word, Tulin had to experience mistakes firsthand, and critically examine his own naïve ways of thinking in order to take those necessary steps.
...
So then, uh, is it wrong for me to wish something horrible upon him, if only to witness the positive character growth that springs from it? Tulin isn't the sort who'll shatter under pressure, like Revali did at the end of his life, or like Link did under the weight of expectation. Buckle, yes — but not break. Tulin's steadfast conviction, inherited from his father and guided by the people he loves, would assuredly see him through.
In any event, his Hero's Journey isn't close to over. I'd be curious to see Tulin at its conclusion.
tl;dr I wanna Emesis Blue his bitch-ass, AITA?
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icequeenlila · 6 months
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The youngest sibling when they realize they are about to lose the sibling play fight:
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justaturtleindisguise · 10 months
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BANDAID DUO !!!
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my little trans kids, why are u so clumsy and silly
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xdacted · 5 months
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The art of sibling hood
Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc
Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 3,815
Status: Complete
***Request made by reader***
Summer break offers us a sliver of peace. 
No teams are calling, no coaches screaming, no clients to take care of - there is nothing but family. For a few weeks out of the year, all we have is each other. I can’t ask for anything better. 
We all gather at our mother’s house, hiding away there with her. It’s nice, to all be under the same roof again, we haven’t been since Lorenzo first moved out. It only worsened when I decided to take my training to France. 16 years of living under one roof was gone in an instant. We had lived together our entire lives until that point. 
It was like losing a piece of myself. 
But then, after the sadness rolled away, I was filled with so much joy. To know that both Charles and Arthur were chasing their dream, to see them every weekend battling it out on the track. Though my mother refused to watch, I always did. 
But there is always more I want to know, more I want to see. I can’t help myself from asking questions. The countries they see, the people they meet - it’s a world I’ll never know. I almost got involved, my father put me in karting as a child, but it was never my passion. Not the way it was with Arthur and Charles. I found my calling in school. 
At six, I was sitting among my classmates in the gymnasium, watching as our instructor introduced the sport of fencing. He was trying to start a club, with a school as small as ours, it wasn’t very likely to happen. 
He brandished the swords, explaining the rules. My friend, Anies, had fallen asleep on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was transfixed, hooked. That day, I ran home, with the club papers in my hand and begged my parents.
At first, Papa was hesitant, telling me that this sport was a fighting spot - I wasn’t a ‘fighting girl’. But I pleaded, hooking my arms around his neck and staring up at him. This was my dream. Fencing was racing to me. Fencing was everything. 
What I didn’t understand was that fencing was also incredibly expensive. With two children karting and one in fencing, I remember the night I caught Mum and Papa talking it over, they couldn’t afford it. 
I was lucky enough to be given a scholarship by a fencing club, I would have the funding to chase my dream. Arthur, however, was not so lucky. I remember how he cried, screaming and howling into his pillow. He mourned the loss of his sport, but he was never angry. Just sad. 
I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name. 
“What?”
He looks at me, staring at me from his seat on the floor, arms holding his knees close to him. He and Arthur are playing some card game they explained more than once - but I have never cared to learn. Arthur glares at the cards below him, flipping them over in his hand.
He laughs, “I asked how training was going?”
“Good,” I burrow further into the couch, pulling a blanket across my shoulders, “When I go back, I have a tournament in Italy.”
“Well,” Arthur huffs, still fixed on the game, “You’re already a World Champion - Ugh! Charles, you’re cheating! This is why I hate playing with you!”
Charles throws his hands up, turning to Arthur with an indignant expression, “I am not a cheater. I am a man of honor, you just suck.”
With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down. 
He stands, “You’re a cheat and you know it.”
“You just don’t know how to lose.”
Arthur throws himself beside me, moving the pillows so he can lean against them, crossing his arms in front of him. I don’t have to hide my laughter, I let it slip from me. The laughter is easy, the tension from yesterday gone. Charles had still been insistent on apologizing, even when I told him to just drop it. 
My brother is one of the kindest people in the world. 
“What about you?” I dare to ask, offering Arthur some of my blanket, “How’s Ferrari treating you?”
I don’t need to ask because I already know. Even from across the world, every Sunday, I watch him. Every Sunday, I watch my brother get into that car and put his life on the line. And every Sunday I watch Ferrari screw him over. My teammates were getting far too tired of my outbursts. 
Charles clears his throat, looking down at the cards scattered across the floor. He sweeps them together, shuffling them, “Fine.”
“Fine?”
I’m stepping on thin ice. My brothers like to assume that when it came to racing they knew everything, but I had grown up around this. My father was a racer and now my brothers were racers - it was in my blood. I had just chosen not to pursue it. 
“Yes, fine.” He pushes himself up, standing and walking to the edge of the couch. 
“If you say so, brother,” Charles opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off. 
He practically leaps over the couches, nearly tripping over the carpet, to throw the door open. My mother hardly has time to scold him as she steps inside her room because cheery voices are ringing out through the house. 
“Hello!”
Lorenzo comes bounding from upstairs and Arthur rolls off the couch, kicking the blanket away from him. The three women who step inside the house bring the light of the shining sun with them. 
“Girls!” I cry, it has been so long since I’ve last seen them. 
Carla sees me first, throwing her hands in the air. She pushes past Arthur to sweep me into a hug. The position is awkward, as her body curves over the couch and I attempt to reach up to her, but I can feel her laughter vibrate within her chest. 
“Did you get in today?” Her eyes are shining and the glasses perched atop her head threaten to fall, “Why didn’t you text me?”
“I wanted to surprise you, of course!” When we pull away, Charlotte and Alexandria are right beside us. 
“We need to get breakfast while you’re here,” Charlotte says, pressing her hands together. It isn’t so much a request as it is a plan in motion. 
I just nod along. I look around, my brother’s waiting behind them with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased expression. 
“What?”
“They’re supposed to be here to see us.”
“No,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arms around me, “We’re here for her and of course - Pascale.”
“Hello, dear,” Mum says, Carla placing welcoming kisses on her cheeks. 
I turn to my left, Alex having taken a seat in the open space that Arthur left. 
“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close. 
“Hi,” She whispers back. 
There’s something different. I can tell when she hugs me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. When we pull away, there’s a glow to her skin and a twinkle in her eyes. 
“Is there -?” 
Charles is draped across her in a second, gentle hands on her shoulders, “She is my girlfriend. Please, do not be selfish.”
Alex only rolls her eyes and I can’t help but follow. 
What a drama queen. 
__________
I watch Charles and Alex as Mum bustles around the kitchen. It’s little, but something is different. I can feel it. Something about the way Charles has an arm curled around her waist or the way she clings to his arm. They keep eyeing the rest of us, Alex turning around to whisper in his ear. 
Hm. How strange. 
Alex was quite shy, this much became evident when I first met her, but she was by no means afraid of the family. Just a few weeks earlier she had come to visit me in France, we spent the day together and had been texting each other constantly. 
What could it be?
I met her eyes and she sharply turned away from me. 
A secret then. 
Papa liked to say that I inherited Mum’s gift for reading people, especially my brothers. Even when we’re separated by seas, I know when something’s bothering them. I know when something is wrong. 
But this - this was different. 
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. 
But, my mind can help but wonder, what if - no. Could it be?
“Arthur.”
He hardly looks up from his phone, “Hm?”
“Wanna make a bet?”
“What kind of bet?” He asks, still scrolling. 
I lean in closer, “I think Alex is pregnant.”
Arthur nearly drops his phone. He whips his head over to look at me, mouth agape, “What?!”
“Sh!” I smack his arm, he is going to give us away, “You’re so loud…”
“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” He whisper-shouts, “That’s crazy. Charles would’ve told us.”
“Maybe he’s going to tell us tonight,” I shrug, pulling away from him. 
“Are you in or out?” I crossed my legs, my gut feelings were always strong. I’d guessed many things over the years and felt a change within the people around me before they told me. I’d known Charles got signed to Ferrari before he told us, or that Arthur was going to be moved to F2, or that Lorenzo had met someone new - all of these things, I’d felt. All of these things I guessed. 
Maybe I was a bit psychic. 
“You’re on,” He stuck his hand out, “€10?”
I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”
“You could be wrong.”
“I could be right,” I looked down at his waiting hand. 
“€50?”
I slapped my hand in his, “€50 it is!”
“You’re going down,” He whispered, squeezing my hand. I kick at his shin.
“Ow!”
“That’s what you get, dumbass.”
“LANGUAGE!”
__________
Dinner is an easy affair. The time ticks by slowly, but none of us mind. Warm and laughter fill the house, everyone staying at the table after the food has long been eaten. Stories are tossed around and jokes float about, it's peaceful. 
A peace that’s so very addicting. 
Here, I can forget that I have to leave in only a few days. I can tell that the boys forget too, throwing themselves over Mum and the table. Arthur laughs so hard that he snorts and Lorenzo’s jokes have Charles reduced to tears - it’s all so nostalgic. 
As we eat, I can see Charles and Alex glance at each other, watching as he scoops her hand in his. She whispers something in his ear and he nods. 
Before I know it, they are both standing. 
“I,” He clears his throat, “I have something to say - well, we do, actually...”
“Well,” Alex begins, a bright smile pulling over her face, “Charles and I are expecting a - a child.”
The table erupts into cheers and exclamations. Mum drops her head into her hands, and before we can rush over, she looks up with tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her lips. We stand to offer them hugs and kisses, pats, and words of encouragement. 
“I told you!” I cry. 
Arthur lets out a loud groan, pushing his face into his hands, “Why?”
Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh
I hold out a waiting hand.
With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he shoves his hand into his pockets, pulling out the €50 I’m owed. The bill is crunched and he drops it into my palm with little fanfare. 
“This is so unfair,” Arthur throws his arms around my shoulders, “How could you have possibly known?”
“I just do,” I shrug, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m just that good.”
“I knew it,” Carla giggles, “You are a psychic.”
I lock eyes with Mum over the table, she flashes me a smile.
“Of course,” I say, “I learned from the very best.”
__________
The ocean calls our name, the lull of the tides and the crashing of the waves. Such a beautiful song and we can do nothing but dance to it. With the sun shining down on our backs, we pile into Charles’s boat, clinging to the railing as we push away from the dock. The salt of the air tangles in my hair, and gentle winds give us a beautiful day. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm. What more could we ever ask for?
We spend the day lounging about the boat, pushing and shoving each other in the water. I manage to convince Charles to let me take the smaller boat out for a spin, with Carla clinging to the seats, and Charolette cheering us on from the deck above. I can’t help but dissolve into laughter at his face, twisted with worry. 
The water is cool against our heated skin, it invites us in for more. The longer we stay, the more we forget about the world that surrounds us. It is nearly enough to make me forget about my flight in only a few days. I will have to leave and this will all become a memory. 
But what a beautiful memory it will be. 
I can’t dwell on my thoughts, because Charlotte demands that we all jump. There is little fanfare for Charles and Lorenzo as they practically wrestle to the sea below. Arthur grips my hand as we jump, throwing ourselves into the Moncao air, caught by the arms of the sea. 
It is perfect. It is home. 
When the sun begins to dip in the sky, my mother draws herself up from the couch and claims that dinner will not ready itself. The others agree and begin to shuffle off but Carla and I are the last to get back from the boat. Though Charles has always held the title of ‘captain’, I have always maintained that the sea is but a little requirement for boating. We stayed behind to just lounge about in the sun, only coming back to the house when she got a frantic call from Arthur, telling her to come back. 
“What’s…” The words die in our throats when we see Alex huddled in the corner, sobbing into her hands. Charlotte stands over her, rubbing a reassuring hand over her back, whispering something into her ear. 
Before we can say another word, Arthur and Lorenzo interrupt us. He pulls us into a corner of the house, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes dart around the room, lip caught between his teeth. 
“What happened?” Carla demands. 
“It - it was the press,” Arthur manages, “They got pictures from earlier, on the boat.”
I need to hear little else. I dig my phone from my bag.
Finding the photo doesn’t take much work. It’s there as soon as I open Twitter, Alexandria and Charles standing on the balcony of the boat. Her hands on her stomach, nothing there to show - not yet - but the implication is enough for the media to run with. 
I can hardly breathe. 
Anger coils tight within me. 
Fucking vultures. 
Carla gasps from beside me, pressing a hand to her mouth. The headlines make my stomach turn. Far too atrocious to look at, I shove my phone back into my bag. Carla is quick to slip from beside me, rushing over to the couch, and dropping to her knees beside Alex. 
Haven’t they gone through enough? Have people not thrown Alex into the fire already? Had they not already ripped her apart? I remember the articles and the tweets when their relationship went public, the look of sadness on her face. People hated her simply because she loved Charles. How they got together and why they got together was no one’s business but their own. 
“Where -” I cut myself off, dropping my voice lower, “Where’s Charles?”
For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t answer me, phone in hand. I can’t tell who’s calling, but the grave look on his face is all I need to know. He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. 
“He’s outside,” He whispers, sparing a look over at Alex, “He stormed out and won’t come back in.”
“Of course! He’s upset!” I hiss, this was private. This was personal. The media has taken that away from him. 
Lorenzo holds his hands up, “I’m not saying he shouldn’t be - I’m not saying that I’m not,” He sighs, “But this is more - this is more than just…”
He looks away, rubbing a hand over his face, “He can’t run from this now.” 
I turn away from Lorenzo and the tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can gather the courage to force them back. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid that I might throw something across the room. 
This wasn’t right. 
Summer is our time. 
There is never any anger, never any sadness. That’s the world that waits beyond the walls of our home, that is the world we leave behind. We shut it all out because summer break is just us. I don’t realize that I’ve begun to dig my fingers into the flesh of my arm until Arthur yanks my hands away. 
He doesn’t say anything, just squeezing my hands in his. I can’t look at him, but I feel his gaze on me. When he releases me, my hands drop back down to my sides. I suck in a large gulp of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heartbeat. 
Before I can make my way to Alex, Charlotte stops me. She holds her hand up, a sad smile on her face. 
‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’
Her eyes flicker to the terrace, doors closed tightly. I can see, in the shadows of the darkness, Charles. 
“I’ll be back,” I whisper, reaching out to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder before I walk towards the doors. 
I gently push them open, waiting for Charles to scream out that he wasn’t privacy, that he needs space, but he never does
I step through. 
Charles stands out on the balcony, hands clutching onto the terrace railing. He stares into the swaying trees of our backyard, the melting sun casting a glow around the shadow of the house. Though the wind blows, there is no twinkle of windchimes. There is no echo of laughter or memory of youth, there is nothing. The light from the entry room spills across his back, but he doesn’t turn. 
The silence is thick, sitting heavily atop the both of us. With his back turned to me, I can’t see his face. There’s a selfish part of me that never wants to. I never want to see the pain and anger on my brother’s face. I never want to watch his heart fall apart before me. He is my family, an extension of myself. 
“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” 
His voice is hardly above a whisper, nearly consumed by the distant sounds of the city, but I hear. It cuts through the silence, piercing it with ease. There is sadness in his voice and I can feel the tears burn once more. His shoulders slump forward, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. For a movement, I fear that he might collapse. 
I take a tentative step forward. 
My brother is many things. Charles is competitive and rash, he is hard-working and self-deprecating. But he is also kind and forgiving, with a smile like the sun and a laugh like the sea. He is good. Our Papa used to say that Lorenzo and I got all the anger and bite, as it never seemed that Charles could hate, to be spiteful. 
Always the first to take the blame, always the first to vouch, always the first to arrive, always the last to go. 
My brother is good. 
And the world is cruel. 
“Charles,” I whisper, he doesn’t turn.
I reach for him, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, “Charles.”
He finally turns, biting his lip, tears in his eyes. The words die in my throat. There is nothing I can say to fix his pain, nothing I can do to take his unhappiness away. It kills me. They may be my older brothers, but I have always been fiercely protective of them. To hurt them was to hurt me - and to hurt them was unforgivable. 
And Charles. 
Charles, who flew through the night to catch my competitions. Charles, who cheered me on, even if he knew nothing about fencing. Charles, who always had an extra Paddock Pass for me. Charles, who always let me have his last cookie or pastry. Charles, who held me when I wailed for weeks after Papa’s passing. Charles put the money he earned in Formula 1 into getting Arthur back into carting. Charles, who always called to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear. 
That Charles. 
My brother Charles, would forgive. He will see it as a mistake, he will blame himself. In only a few hours, he will make a statement and tell the truth - because that’s just who he is. 
I throw my arms open and catch him as he falls into them. 
He doesn’t cry, not at first, just clinging onto me. But then, the moment that Alex’s cries drift onto the open terrace, he begins to weep. He sobbed into my shoulder, pressing his wet face into the fabric of my shirt. He clutches my hand, and I can do nothing but hold him. 
I hold him and let him fall apart. 
From over Charle’s shoulder, I see Arthur peeking out at us. He wrings his hands, twisting his fingers around. He can’t sit still, pacing around the room, brushing Carla away when she tries to calm him. 
I gesture for him to come and he does. 
Before I can say a word, he’s wrapping his arms around Charles, burying his face into his back. 
“We’ll fix this,” He mumbles, “I - I don’t know how, but we will.”
Charles doesn’t speak, he just searches for Arthur’s hand blindly in the pile of libs and holds on. It’s all we can do. I feel like I am 15 years old, losing our father again. It feels just as it did then, unbearable. But we do just what we did then, we hold each other. Clinging onto the only people that we have known since before we knew them, the only people that will love us even when no one else does. 
The only person -
Lorenzo is there, strong arms trying to tuck us all into him. I can feel his warmth against my back and push my face into his chest. 
“We’ve got you, Charlie,” He says, “We’ve got you.”
We do. 
We always will. 
_________________________
A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3
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throwingstuffhere · 7 months
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linnea-bowiesversion · 11 months
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Regulus: have you heard the joke about the gaslighter?
Sirius: no..
Regulus: yeah you have.
Sirius: no I haven’t.
Regulus: you’ve literally heard it already.
Sirius: NO I HAVEN’T
Regulus: yes, you have.
Sirius: I DON’T KNOW IT!?
Regulus: you’re crazy.
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You know Dick is the oldest child by being cursed with siblings that outgrow you
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overlord-of-fantasy · 1 month
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The Silmarills weren´t the only thing that burned him that day!
Melkor: Any advice, before I fight that elf?
A wind from the west, with a souspiciously Manwe-sounding voice: Try not to wet yourself in public!
Melkor, angryliy raising his fist up to the sky: Not the type of advice I was looking for!
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nonymous06 · 1 year
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they do be napping tho
Also an extra doodle I did;
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It’s just the twins being idiots ft my design headcannons for Donnie
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boltedbee · 4 months
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The way the writers treat certain dynamics in this show is genuinely disturbing to me. In this essay I will talk about Mylo and Powder vs Vi and Mylo.
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The framing to how Mylo acts towards Powder when she messes up is always serious, dark, angled to make Mylo seem like the asshole. As if his being mad at his kid sister for sabotaging her older siblings for the umpteenth time is totally out of line and invalid.
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Meanwhile, we have Vi who is much more verbally and physically abusive to Mylo. Any time she does something to him, it's framed as funny, humorous, as if "haha Mylo is such a dick and deserves this 🤭".
To recap, Vi:
Kicks a door open that Mylo is actively working on, with no warning, scaring the shit out of him. Mylo is left locked into place, curled on himself until he's swatted in the head by Claggor to bring him back to earth. No wonder this poor kid has anxiety.
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Passively insults Mylo while they raid Jayce's apartment, accusing him of "filling the bag with junk" as if she knows jack what to look for, either. As if Claggor didn't dump a drawer full of "junk" into their bag. Powder knows what these fancy rich folk toys are because the plot demands it and Mylo has to look dumber for it.
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Kicks him down a drain pipe. KICKS him. Face first. And this is framed as so super funny because he didn't want to get his new shirt dirty. And don't @me with "he was wasting time" when actually, Mylo could have fallen on his head/neck and been seriously injured or worse, not to mention if Claggor fell on him (as he kinda does anyway). Or something toxic got in his mouth on the way down. This is the only time plot armor saves him, because teenagers could probably just walk off being put through a wood-chipper, and he has to die for his sister's character development later.
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Criticizes Mylo for having the audacity to speak up about Powder being a liability, because she has no argument of her own against him. Physically intimidates him and tells him to shut up. It's a little funny I guess, but the blatant fear in Mylo’s eyes feels telling. This likely isn't the first time Vi has threatened him, or even deliberately hurt him. Because she's hot-headed and can only deal with her problems with violence.
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Meanwhile, Mylo:
Has been deeply annoyed at Powder because she's a frequent liability, and calls her out. If she's going to go on important heists with her older siblings, she needs to be held just as responsible when she messes up and she isn't.
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Is further annoyed that Vi would frequently give her a pass for every transgression, while invalidating him in return. He's too young to realize he should be more miffed at Vi for all her bs, but he looks up to her, and the resentment turns back to Powder.
Picks on Powder occasionally because he's an older sibling and it's extremely normal behavior. What a nightmare.
Vi is so clearly the bigger bully here, but she and Powder are main characters granted privileges and angles that cannon-fodder like Mylo are not. We're supposed to sympathize with and side with Vi because we see more emotional beats with her, and because Mylo is "mean" to her baby sister, the audience at large will be on her side. Even if Mylo’s own little arc is on display (if people would open their eyes, anyway) and we can understand and appreciate his totally valid feelings at the end of the day, his behavior won't be framed as any way positive like it is for Vi. Mylo’s negative behavior has to be framed the way it is or it won't seem as serious when jinx hallucinates him later. If the roles were swapped, it would be Vi's abuse ringing in the back of Mylo’s mind had he gotten to adulthood, causing severe damage to his psyche. But unfortunately it's not about him.
Vi was infinitely worse to Mylo than he was to Powder. It's genuinely fucked up the way she treats him is framed as funny and deserved while his justified bitterness toward Powder is framed as terrible and makes Mylo nothing but an asshole for it. He wasn't even given the chance to grow out of it, making his lasting impression almost entirely negative to those refusing to see nuance in his character.
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