#SHE SAID I WAS NO DIFFERENT FROM HER BROTHERS BOYS

[ak319]

i hope this one is different so you dont think it's repetitive... arthur become jealous whenever (teen?) reader show affection/politeness to the members of van der linde gang!! she is so kind and caring, it's like arthur gave all of his positive emotions to her.

i hope you're not too overwhelmed <3

(AN: It was fun to write this, lmao, and I'm good, thanks for asking! <3<3)

Warnings: Not incest, strictly platonic, fluff

Arthur stretched, savoring the cool evening breeze as he woke from his afternoon nap. Rubbing his eyes, he scanned the camp, noticing some of the boys lounging around, and then his gaze fell on you. You were nestled beside Hosea, who was explaining something, gesturing with a worn book in hand. The two of you looked deep in conversation, and Arthur’s jaw tightened just a touch.

Of course. You and Hosea with those endless stories.

Arthur strolled over, trying to keep his voice casual. “(Y/n)... my coffee?”

You looked up, blinking as if you’d just noticed him. “It’s in the pot.”

“So?”

“So… go get it?” You turned back to Hosea without a second thought, the two of you picking up right where you left off, as if Arthur wasn’t even there.

Arthur’s mouth opened in slight disbelief. So he’s gotta get it himself now? Is that how it is? He clearly saw you serving one to Hosea before he went to nap.

He stomped over to the coffee pot, pouring a little too forcefully, spilling half of it over the side. Huffing, he took a bitter sip, casting a sidelong glare at you and Hosea. You were still engrossed, nodding eagerly as Hosea continued his storytelling, clearly delighted by the attention.

You, Hosea, and those books. Why didn’t you tell him stories like that, like when you were little, always rambling on about what you’d read or about anything? He couldn’t help thinking, Maybe if he’d acted interested back then…Even now, both of you barely chatted ever since settling here.

Determined to stake his claim, he grabbed a chair, dragging it loudly across the ground until he was right in front of you both. He plopped down with his coffee, not budging.

You and Hosea paused, exchanging a look as Arthur sat there, arms crossed, expression defiant. He took a loud sip, smirking a bit. “What? Go on, I’m only listenin’. ”

Hosea chuckled, giving you a gentle nudge to continue, but Arthur’s smirk softened as he watched you. He wasn’t about to let anyone else claim his spot as the one you looked up to, even if he had to work for it sometimes.

⋆⋆⋆

“Charles, here, I bought it,” you said, holding out a small glass bottle.

Charles put down his dagger, inspecting the vial with a pleased nod. “Hm, thanks, (Y/n). This’ll be really helpful. I'll be sure to use it.”

Before Charles could say much else, Arthur’s gun clattered down onto the table, his gaze zeroed in on the bottle in his hand. “Woah, woah, what is that?”

You folded your arms, already anticipating his reaction. “It’s rosemary oil. It’s good for hair, you know? I use it too, and Charles was complaining about hair fall. You should use it too Arthur.”

Arthur’s eyebrow shot up, his lips pressing together as he rolled his eyes and resumed cleaning his gun. Hair oil? Really? He bit back a scoff, the faint irritation simmering in his expression. The things you’d done for Charles lately, you were really taking him being your 'other brother' thing too seriously, acting like he was the camp’s best friend and personal confidant. More like 'other better brother' at this point.

"My hair's fine." He pouted which was subtle enough for both of you to miss.

Maybe you thought Charles was better than him somehow. Was it because of his hair? Arthur’s eyes flicked over to Charles’s neatly braided locks and he bristled, pushing away that little jab of jealousy. Those braids were another evidence of your craft and experiments on him.

“By the way, Charles-" you started.

Arthur snapped up, feigning nonchalance as he muttered, “What’re you askin’ him now, huh? Got another herbal concoction to fuss over or a new hairstyle?”

“Actually,” you continued, ignoring his tone, “I was thinking Charles could teach me some tracking. Thought it’d be useful when you sometimes take me to hunt.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened slightly. He tried to play it cool, returning to his gun, but not before muttering, “Right… and just let me know when you’re done with all that ‘learnin’. Don’t need you forgettin’ your real chores now, got it?” You huffed slightly in reply, embarrassed and stomped away. He seemed to love bringing up your damn chores.

⋆⋆⋆

You peeked through the tent flap, hesitating slightly before stepping in. Arthur lay back on his cot, one knee propped up as he casually read through his journal. The sight of him looking so calm made your stomach twist just a bit, this wasn’t the look of someone who called you in for a friendly chat.

“Arthur… you called?” you asked cautiously, stepping inside.

He didn’t even look up, but you could sense the tension in his posture. “What is up with what I heard?”

You chuckled nervously, playing innocent. “Heard what?”

Finally, he glanced at you, setting his journal aside. "Feeding Kieran. An O’Driscoll, for God’s sake, and a captive one at that. You think that’s a good idea? Are you nuts?!”

You folded your arms, barely batting an eye. “What, we’re just gonna starve him to death in camp? That’s a great plan,” you said, throwing a glance toward Dutch’s tent with an exaggerated scowl.

Arthur caught the look, his gaze hardening. "Hey, don’t go blaming Dutch for making sense. You think Kieran’s just some stray dog? He’s a danger, and feeding him, treating him like… like one of us, it just ain’t wise.”

"But Mary- Beth did it too, why didn't-"

"I don't care what she did! I am talkin' to you right now! Also, she only gave him water while you served a damn feast to his ass. So, you...listen to me. Got it?" Not your fault that you cooked well and wanted everyone to have a taste. Poor guy was dying out there just from the smell of it.

“But why?” you retorted, the fire in your voice undeniable. “You’re all acting like he’s gonna break loose and take us all down with a spoon. He’s tied up. He's a person, Arthur, not a monster. And maybe, just maybe, if everyone here wasn’t so fast to turn people into enemies, half of this mess wouldn’t even exist! This isn't what mother taught us, Arthur.”

Arthur’s expression shifted from anger to something deeper, like a storm passing over. “Don't bring her into this! This is a different life from what we came from, why do you keep insisting upon those memories?” His voice softened but kept its edge. “And that big heart of yours? It’ll get you hurt if you’re not careful. I don’t want to be pulling you outta trouble because you’re tryin’ to see the good in a damn O’Driscoll. Now, are we clear?”

You stared back at him, the defiance slipping just a little as you noticed the strain in his eyes. Beneath his anger was worry, and for a moment, you softened too.

“Fine, fine, I made a mistake, apparently, and I’ll stay clear of him,” you mumbled. Being human here seems to be a crime.

⋆⋆⋆

You walked into the camp’s small, makeshift office, the familiar smell of paper and ink in the air. Strauss was hunched over a pile of bills and coins, his glasses perched precariously on his nose as he jotted down figures. His furrowed brow and concentration didn’t go unnoticed.

"Hey, Strauss," you called out softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, adjusting his glasses as a small smile appeared on his face. “Ah, (Y/n), good to see you. Just trying to get these numbers in order, but it’s a bit too much for one pair of hands.”

You moved closer, casually offering your assistance. “Mind if I help?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’d be willing to help count all this?”

“Sure,” you replied, already rolling up your sleeves. “Looks like you’ve got a lot on your hands.”

Strauss chuckled softly, clearly appreciative. “I suppose that’s why I always need help with these things. It’s too much to do alone, even for someone as meticulous as me.”

You settled next to him, carefully picking up a stack of bills and sorting them by denomination. The coins came next, their jingling noise filling the air as you organized them into neat little piles. Strauss watched, impressed by how quickly and efficiently you worked, and before long, everything was sorted and ready to be counted.

“By my word, (Y/n), you’ve done this faster than I could’ve hoped,” he said, adjusting his glasses again, his tone warm with praise. “It’s quite clear you have an eye for details.”

You smiled, grateful for the compliment. “I’ve had some practice.”

Strauss leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Then, with a slight flourish, he pulled a few bills from the pile and handed them to you. “As a token of my appreciation, take this,” he said, his voice warm. “A few dollars for your help. I think you’ve earned it.”

"No, no , please, no need for this. Thank you, though."

"C'mon, kid, like I said you earned it or just think of it as a gift."

You kept politely declining him but he forced the cash in your hand and the flap of the tent suddenly opened, and Arthur stepped inside, his boots thudding loudly against the floor as his eyes immediately narrowed at the scene.

Ugh.

"You givin' her a loan or something, Strauss?" He threw you a sharp look. You were well aware that he didn't appreciate you asking others for things.

"It’s not like that!" you snapped, already feeling your frustration building. “I helped him, that’s all. I didn’t ask for anything, Arthur. I wasn’t even about to take it!”

Arthur’s expression didn’t soften. In one swift motion, he turned back to the desk, and without a second thought, he placed the money you had been holding, still in your hand, back onto the table. He dropped it with a bit more force than necessary, the sound of it clinking harshly against the wood "Well, like I said, no need," he muttered, his voice polite but edged with an authority that suggested he just wanted to end the conversation. “Let’s go.”

You stumbled slightly as he nudged you toward the door. "You takin' handouts from him? Don't I give you enough pocket money already?" Arthur’s voice was tight with disapproval as he guided you out of the small room, his fingers almost too firm on your arm.

You shook your head, refusing to let the tension get the best of you. "Oh my God, he was just being nice, you damn well know I am not like that!" you muttered, glancing back at Strauss, who had returned to his work, probably already regretting offering you anything at all. "I didn’t ask for anything."

Arthur huffed, his mood sour. “And never do. I don’t trust that man with money.” He gave you a quick, pointed look as he nudged you forward, his steps quick and purposeful. “Go do somethin' else. Get out of here, kid. I don’t want to see you dealin’ with him.”

You bit back the sharp retort that formed on your lips. Instead, you let out a sigh, recognizing the stubbornness in your brother’s tone. “Fine. I’m going. Jeez,” you muttered, feeling a little put out as you walked away, already knowing this conversation wasn’t going to be the last of it.

⋆⋆⋆

Arthur nearly choked as he took another bite of the stew, his throat burning with the intense heat. He quickly grabbed his canteen, taking a few desperate gulps, trying to quench the fiery sensation that was assaulting him. What the hell was this? He wiped his mouth, glaring at the bowl like it personally offended him. What the fuck…

His hand slammed the canteen back down onto the table, and he stomped over to Pearson’s cooking station, frustration bubbling up inside him. “Why the hell is this so spicy?!”

Pearson looked up with a nonchalant grin, clearly unbothered by Arthur’s indignation. “It is? I think it’s scrumptious. Plus, (Y/N) cooked it, some Mexican recipe. Javier was feeling a little down today, so I thought I’d let her make it for him...cheer him up a bit.”

Javier, huh? Arthur’s blood began to simmer with something far more heated than the stew he just choked down. His jaw tightened as he turned on his heel and stormed towards you, who was happily swinging under the tree, carefree and unaware of the storm brewing in your brother’s chest.

"If he’s sad, does that mean you get to give me an ulcer?!" Arthur’s voice cracked like thunder, cutting through the air. “What, did you pour the whole damn bottle of chilies in this thing?”

You rolled your eyes without missing a beat and kept swinging like a kid, not even bothering to look at him as you kicked your legs lazily, enjoying the gentle breeze. “You’re being dramatic. Everyone licked their fingers clean. Even Molly liked it."

Arthur’s face contorted with disbelief as he approached you, the irritation in his veins flaring up like wildfire. Everyone? Of course. Everyone loved what you made. How could they not? You were sweet, and everything you did, even if it caused chaos, seemed to be met with nothing but approval. It’s a strange cycle, really, if you think about it. You’ve got this sweetness about you that makes it impossible for anyone to complain, even when you’re walking all over boundaries, like cooking up some wild, fiery dish for Javier. No one says a word, not even when you turn the camp upside down, because they’re all too afraid of making you upset, or worse, 'messing with Arthur's sister'.

And that’s when it gets tricky for him. All this unspoken leniency has slowly given you free rein, a field to roam in, and it’s hurting him in ways he can’t even explain. It's like you've unknowingly got the upper hand, and every little thing you do chips away at his patience, even when you’re just being you.

His lips curled into a hard, annoyed frown, and he leaned in close, voice low and harsh. “You listen here, brat," he growled, irritation lacing every word. "I’ve had a long day, and I damn well deserve a proper meal when I come back.”

Before you could even respond, Javier appeared from behind, sensing the rising tension between you two. He flashed a grin and confidently strolled over, his voice smooth and cheerful as he clapped his hands together. “Ah, but hermano Arthur,” Javier teased in his thick accent, completely unfazed by the tension. “Maybe it is not the food that is the problem, hmm? Maybe it’s your taste buds that need some...adjusting.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed, his temper threatening to snap. He was about to retaliate when Javier continued, his voice warm and inviting.

“No no,” Javier continued, ignoring Arthur’s scowl entirely. “(Y/N)'s cooking is the best here. Nobody can do it quite like she can.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head, but part of you could feel the tension between them rise, even if it wasn’t entirely apparent to you, "Oh , it's nothing really."

As Arthur glared at you, his frustration mounting with every word that left your mouth, Javier, ever the peacekeeper and always with a grin on his face, flashed his usual cheeky smile, and before either of you could say anything, he burst into song, his deep voice carrying through the air with effortless charm. The dulcet tone of the guitar was sweet to you, yet bitter to Arthur.

“Oh, (Y/N), who brings the light,

To the fire, and to the night,

His voice was smooth, almost theatrical as he continued, completely ignoring the scowl Arthur was throwing his way.

“The stew you make, so full of spice,

Turns every frown to something nice,

And though it burns, we can’t resist,

The magic in your tender twist...”

Arthur muttered under his breath. "You better stop singing before I lose my damn mind," he grumbled, but his voice was laced with an unmistakable irritation that he couldn’t quite hide, even if he tried.

Javier finished his song with a flourish, giving you a playful wink as he stepped back, clearly proud of his impromptu performance. “And that, mi amiga, is a little song of thanks,” he said, his grin wide, while he sauntered away while Arthur bore daggers at his back.

Arthur turned back to you, arms folded tightly over his chest as he narrowed his eyes. “Was that all a silly prank of yours or something?” he asked, his tone stiff with a mix of irritation and jealousy.

You, however, couldn’t hold back the laughter. The ridiculousness of it all was just too much. You burst into a guffaw, your shoulders shaking with amusement, and the sound was enough to disarm Arthur, just a little.

You looked up at him, barely able to contain your grin. “Depends…” you teased, still giggling, making it worse for Arthur.

Arthur’s scowl deepened, but only for a moment. When he saw that sparkle in your eyes and how you couldn’t stop smiling, he felt a soft tug at his heart. "Kid, you’re a menace for real," he muttered, the words half-hearted, even though he was secretly relieved to see you happy in this new life.

[clubsmarties]

"Ugh," Juju rolled her eyes and sighed. This she knew. "It was peer pressure from the people there. They spooked them into thinking it wouldn't work. That stress from the job would pull them apart and would get them to hate each other like it did to so many others before them. It was just nonsense and these two bought into it. They didn't realize that they were always built different."

She shook her head but understood. "I'm an only child but I do have Laurel and I've treated her like a sister. I get the protective mode. It's why I didn't let your brother drag her down. I can jump in to defend her. He doesn't scare me. Agency boys don't frighten me. If someone comes for her then they better prepare to square up. I bite back." Releasing a sigh she shrugged. "So I understand where you're all coming from. It doesn't mean I agree with the tactics."

"They're both that meme of idiots in love." she said that lovingly. "These two will risk their own lives if it means the other gets to live. Believe me, I wrangle Laurel in a lot of the time. It's that love and dedication to each other that proves they're not like anyone else. No matter what they're loyal to the other. I agree. I'd very much like for them to find a new career. But you can only lead a horse to water not make them drink it."

She shook the apology away quickly. "No, don't do that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Least of all apologize for your brother's bedside manner. He needs to do it himself. Not to me either. But to Laurel. I can't say I've lost anyone close to me. So, I can't even begin to imagine how different I'd react if I was in your shoes but I do understand fear over someone not making it. Your brother isn't the only one who could leave. Laurel has been in my life for years. I can't even begin to think about what happens if I lose her. So I get it."

"No sense at all." Inez couldn't help but join in on her laughter, beginning to feel ridiculous for the intense attitude she carried since arriving here (only increasing with her brother's encouragement). "Mhm, I'm inclined to agree." She had not seen her brother with that goofy smile, not the way he had when he talked about her. "We never really understood why, it just seemed bizarre that they broke up right before they began their time at the academy." Inez didn't like to pry, so she didn't ask much, and didn't question when they remained friends. "It's not that simple," but explaining it wouldn't be easy. "Do you have any siblings? It's impossible to not jump at their defense, even when there's no one to blame. Oddly enough, we find someone to blame." Some siblings, like Isaac, more than others. Inez usually tried maintaining neutrality, but she did tend to side with her siblings when needed. "We just want to protect him, but you may have a point. It sounds like they were both pretty torn up." Pretty confirmed, upon hearing how she kept his sweaters on. Isa had mentioned he always had the same blanket wrapped around him during their calls.

Inez was only half-surprised when Julia confirmed she was still in love with him. She hadn't asked her brother anything related to feelings or dating, knowing there was probably more to the story if they were still best friends and even lived together. But, hearing someone else confirm her vague suspicions was vindicating. Making Isaac understand would be a whole other thing though. "No, it's not that. I didn't think the love was lost, I just didn't expect both of them to be so...devoted, to the point of risking their life. They can't keep doing this, putting each other at risk. I'm grateful, of course, but it's not good."

Clown party of the century seemed too accurate, especially knowing she missed a good portion of it, and only knew what Isaac had shared thus far. Then again, it seemed Isaac was too clouded by his emotions to provide an accurate retelling. "I apologize, for our behavior." It was the first time an actual apology came from her lips, on behalf of the entire family. "I do see that you guys care for him and her, being here all this time. I see that, and I do appreciate it. As mentioned, we're just very protective of our family. We've lost too much, the thought of losing another puts us in a spot where we don't recognize ourselves."

[leapingbadger]

The Fallen

Summary - Hunter regrets not being able to save the young Jedi on Kaller. It’s through Omega joining the rebellion that he finally gets some closure.

Read on AO3

Hunter pulled himself up into the storage locker over the top of the Marauder’s main cabin. Crates had fallen haphazardly on their side from Tech’s latest evasive maneuvers. He set about straightening them and shifting them back into place. He came across a long storage locker at the far end, Crosshair’s armor. He hesitated to touch it, before surging forward and methodically securing it into place.

He sat down and wiped sweat off his brow. The heat of Ord Mantel of late was oppressive, just another reason Hunter was hoping they could leave soon and find a more suitable base for themselves.

“Omega,” Hunter called down, “Comm Tech, tell him to pick up more power converters. We’re out up here.”

“On it,” she said, excitedly pressing the button of her comm and relaying the request to her brother. He heard his brother’s taciturn response and lowered himself back down into the ship, his heavy boots hitting the floor with a clang.

He sighed. How had this ship become such a mess? Half eaten ration bars, medical wipes, dirt and pieces of discarded detritus littered the floor. They’d have to clean it up before their next mission.

“Hunter?” Omega asked

“Hmm,” he responded, distractedly picking up bits of rubbish from the floor and throwing them out the door to the space port.

“Why did you take me off of Kamino?” she asked.

“What do you mean? it wasn’t safe,” he said simply without taking his eyes off his current task.

“I know,” she responded twisting the hem of her tunic in her fingers, “but why did you come back for me? What’s so special about me?”

Hunter turned to meet her eyes and took in the look on her face. He couldn’t decide if it was curiosity or something else. “You’re one of us Omega. If I’d known that at the time we wouldn’t have left you behind in the first place.” His words stung in his throat as he thought of Crosshair, the last member of Clone Force 99 on Kamino.

She signed and gave him a small smile, but she didn’t seem satisfied with his answer. “There wasn’t…another reason?” she asked quietly, not meeting his gaze.

Hunter sank into the nearby chair by the communications array. “Omega, tell me what you need to know.”

Her large brown eyes looked up at him sadly, her bright, blonde, cropped hair still too short to be tucked behind her ear, fell over her forehead.

“Tech told me about Kaller.”

“Okay,” Hunter said, “is this about… Crosshair?”

Omega looked alarmed and shook her head, “No it’s not that…Tech mentioned something, the other day. About a boy you tried to save…but couldn’t.”

Hunter felt his stomach clench as he finally understood. “How did this even come up?”

Omega shrugged, “Tech was going through Imperial files. He said he was checking on something for you.”

Hunter let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, kid. There was a boy, a Jedi. Caleb. We were on a mission, our last mission for the Republic actually when…when things changed…” Hunter paused and felt a rush of cold over his whole body as though he were back on that ice planet, standing at the cliff edge, begging to be heard by a scared kid.

“What happened?” Omega asked in a tiny voice, as though trying not to intrude on Hunter’s memories.

He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head, “The inhibitor chips activated in the middle of the mission. The Regs executed the General…” Hunter heard the General’s cries of ‘Run, Caleb,’ and tried to shake them off. “We tried to help the kid, but we didn’t know that Crosshair was… affected…didn’t understand what was happening. Caleb escaped; but…I couldn’t protect him. He didn’t trust me. When we met you, I thought maybe I could help protect you.” He said simply. Hoping he’d explained it right. Hoping she didn’t feel like a runner up or that their choice would have been different if they had managed to save Caleb as well.

“What happened to Caleb?” Omega asked, eyes wide.

“Tech checks the imperial records periodically for any mention of him. If he was captured, they’d make it known. So far, we haven’t found anything.”

“So, he survived?” she asked optimistically.

Hunter smiled, “I hope so.”

Hunter watched as Omega paused, clearly thinking through her next question carefully. She was still ringing her tunic through her hands as though nervous.

Hunter rested his hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him, “Omega, even if we had succeeded in helping Caleb, we would still have wanted to take you off Kamino. You weren’t a consolation prize. You’re a member of our squad, were a member of our squad even then. We just didn’t know it yet. Do you understand?”

Omega’s shoulders relaxed as he spoke, her smile becoming broad, pink patches appearing on her cheeks, “Okay, Hunter.”

He smiled and patted her shoulder.  “Can you help me clear this mess up before the others get back?”

“Of course,” she said happily, flitting around the ship, making herself useful.

Hunter and Omega moved to opposite ends of the Ship. Hunter came across Tech’s secondary datapad resting on the pilot seat and turned it on. The imperial data was still up. He stood as the sun streamed through the window of the Marauders cockpit. Scrolling through the data slowly, not wanting to miss any hints or mentions. Finally, setting it down he breathed a sigh of relief. There was no mention of Jedi Caleb Doom.

“Are we done?” Omega asked, looking around the ship.

“Yeah, I think so. Let’s go find the others,” he said leading the young clone out in to steamy Ord Mantell.

***

The sunlight streamed into the pabu cottage. Hunter was fixing himself some caf when he felt a buzzing on the edge of his senses.

“Wrecker, check the comm. Omega’s calling,”

A few seconds later the comm on the common room table trilled, signaling a call.

“How do you do that?” Wrecker grumbled as he made his way out of this bedroom. He pressed the button to connect the call and grinned as Omega’s smiling face came into the frame.

“Now, there’s a site” he said joyfully, collapsing on the sofa behind him and reaching out to touch her face.

“Where’s Hunter?” she asked breathlessly. Wrecker looked taken aback and she quickly took a breath, “Sorry Wrecker. How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said, waving her bluntness away. “Hunter’s coming, just in the Kitchen,”

“I’m here,” Hunter said, striding into the room with his cup and sitting next to his brother. “How are you? You look tired,”

Omega rolled her eyes and took a breath, “There’s something I have to tell you.” she said, hands up for emphasis as she talked. “Where’s Crosshair?”

“Still sleeping,” Hunter interjected. “Should we wake him?”

“Um…probably not just yet.”

Wrecker and Hunter traded a glance and turned back to their kid. Her hair was pulled back into a braid that trailed down her back, her bangs still draped over her right eye. She wore a bright yellow jacket over a brown jumpsuit that looked old and stained.

“Are you okay? Anything happen?” Hunter asked, leaning forward to try and read her face. He noticed a bruise under her right eye but didn’t say anything. Noting it for later.

“No… I mean, yes something did happen but nothing bad. I just…I had to tell you,”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. She was dancing around whatever she wanted to tell him, and he felt a knot grow in his stomach. If she needed something, help, he couldn’t get to her in time. Although, it didn’t seem like she was in trouble.

“I found him,” She took a deep breath again, closing her eyes as though to center herself. “I found Caleb Dume, Hunter, He’s here. On the base. With Hera.”

“Wait, Hera from Ryloth?” Hunter’s eyes flicked left and right, trying to remember the green Twi’lek girl they had helped all those years ago.

“Yes,” Omega said jubilantly. “She’s in the rebellion. I ran into her yesterday, her and her crew. We got a chance to catch up this morning and her, I dunno, boyfriend maybe, his name in Kanen but she told me it used to be Caleb. That he changed it after the war because he was a jedi. He’s here, Hunter. He survived.”

The words spilled out of Omega’s mouth as though she couldn’t contain them any longer. Hunter felt like he had been struck in the face. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his beard, thinking back to that fateful day. He felt a cool breeze sweep down his spine. Part of his chest released, as though he had been holding something there all these years.

“Hunter? Are you okay?” Omega said, shooting Wrecker with a worried look.

“Yeah. Yeah, kid. I’m…great. That’s…that’s amazing news.” He said with a smile.

“Do you want to talk to him, I can see if I can…”

“No.” Hunter said firmly. Again, Omega and Wrecker exchanged glances. “I don’t think he’d want to see us. I’m sure that’s something he’s been trying to forget.”

“But you tried to save him…”

“I know that, and you know that. He doesn’t know that. He didn’t feel that, or he would have come with us all those years ago. I think…I think it’s best if you just let it lie. He’s alive and that’s amazing news.”

Wrecker nodded solemnly next to him and clapped Hunter on the back.

“Okay,” Omega said, slightly deflated.

“Why don’t you tell us about your adventures.” Hunter said encouragingly, hoping to change the subject.

Omega’s face lit up and she spoke about her most recent mission for the rebellion. Hunter winced at the occasional close call and knew she was keeping the really dangerous information to herself for their sake. Crosshair joined the conversation halfway through, waking up to the sound of Omega’s voice and leaping out of bed.

They talked for a while, laughing about old times, drinking up the stories of Omega’s missions when an alarm blared behind her.

“Oh, that’s me. I have to go,” she said hastily.

“Bye Omega,” Wrecker called, waving at her.

“Be Safe.” Said Crosshair.

They both walked back to their respective rooms.

“Hunter?” Omega asked, the alarm still blaring in the background.

“Yeah, Kid?”

“Should I lie if they ask where I’m from? If Hera asks about you?”

Hunter smiled and took in the worry in her eyes. “You don’t have to lie about who you are Omega. We’re proud that you’re a member of our squad and I know you are too. Maybe just let Hera know and see if she has any suggestions on how to handle things. She was pretty perceptive as a kid.”

Omega smiled and nodded. “Will do,” She have a little salute that Hunter returned with a smile.

“We miss you, Kid. Stay safe. Come home soon.”

The connection broke and the room fell silent. Hunter sat back on the couch, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. After all this time, finally knowing that Caleb had survived to adulthood was overwhelming. He felt his chest constrict and tears prickle in the corner of his eyes. He took a deep breath, forcing them to pass. He had survived.

***

Hunter, Wrecker and Crosshair stood back as the ship’s ramp lowered onto the stone top of Pabu. Blossoms from the weeping maya tree scattered in the warm breeze. The scent of honey and salt water wafting in the air.

Hunter smiled as he saw Omega as soon as she rounded the corner. She charged down the ramp her long blond hair streaking behind her as she leapt into his arms, almost knocking him over.

“It’s so good to see you,” She cried into his neck.

“New ship?” Hunter asked, gazing up at the yellow and red stiped freighter.

“Not exactly. I just bummed a ride,” she said, hugging Wrecker and Crosshair in turn.

She looked smug as she turned back to the ship in time to see a tall, green Twi’lek exit, an orange droid trailing obediently after her.

“Is that..?” Wrecker started.

“Hera Syndulla,” Hunter said with a smile. She was almost as tall as Omega and waved as she came down the ramp.

“What brings you here?” Hunter asked.

“I thought it was about time I brought your daughter back to you before she tried to get herself blown up again.” She said with a laugh, her Lekku swaying in the breeze.

Omega rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

“Besides, I could do with a vacation, and I hear this is quite the restful spot.”

“It is when Omega’s not around,” Crosshair said sarcastically.

“You must be Crosshair,” Hera said, extending her hand. Crosshair took it and smiled over at Omega.

“Been telling stories?” he asked her.

“Only the good ones.” she replied, putting her arm around his shoulder.

“How long ya staying, Megs” Wrecker asked hopefully.

“Only a couple of rotations. The rest of the team are still on Lothal so we can’t be gone too long.”

“Do you want to head to the house? Or are you staying on the ship?” Hunter asked

“I think Hera is staying on the ship, but I’d like my own bed, at least for a couple of nights.” Omega said, and Hunter tried to suppress his joy. The house was never quiet, but it was certainly more so when Omega was gone. “But first, there’s something I want you to see on the Ship. Hunter? Maybe just you first?”

Hunter’s brow furrowed as he looked at Omega. She and Hera traded glances but smiled.

“I promise it’s nothing bad.” She said, taking his hand and leading him up the ramp. Hunter shrugged at his brothers and followed. They walked through the cargo hold and up into the body of the ship, past some living quarters. He paused as they came to the door of the common room.

“You know my senses aren’t completely dead, right?”

Omega gave an embarrassed smile and pressed the panel for the door release.

Sitting at the console table in the middle of the room was a man. Long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, much like his own. Lightsaber hilt hanging from his belt. His Intense eyes gazed at Hunter.

Hunter’s feet took him into the room without his body being conscious of it.

“Commander,” Hunter said in greeting with a slight nod of his head.

“Sergeant,” Caleb replied in a raspy voice.

“It’s just Hunter now,” Hunter said with a shrug, moving further into the room.

“Kanan,” he replied.

Omega and Hera hovered in the hallway, eyes flicking from one to another as though wondering if they needed to supervise.

“Its fine.” Kanan said, waving his hand, closing the door.

Hunter sighed. Trying not to stare at the face that had haunted him. His eyes were darker, his face more severe but he could easily see the young padawan in the bones on the jedi in front of him.

“I’m glad you survived,” Hunter said, his voice hoarser than he was expecting.

“Thanks. It wasn’t easy.”

“I bet,” Hunter said.

A silence fell in the room. The sounds of the ship, the murmur of conversation from Omega and Hera in the hallway, the squeaks of the moon-yos on the island seem tampered in the room, as though sound couldn’t penetrate the atmosphere.

“Omega told me about your squad.” Kanan continued, getting up from his seat and crossing over to Hunter. “can’t say I was surprised that you took in a helpless kid.”

Hunter shrugged. “She was one of us.”

“Yeah, so she said. She mentioned that you tried to find me in imperial files.”

Hunter nodded but didn’t say more. He felt uneasy, like he was in two places at once. Two versions of himself were colliding.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you,” he said, after a long pause.

Kanan shrugged, “If you had I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t have met Hera. The force works in mysterious ways…But thank you for trying.”

Hunter smiled. “Any time.”

Kanan laughed, “don’t let Here hear you say that. She’ll have you signed up for the rebellion in no time.”

Hunter laughed too, “Sorry, we’re officially retired.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rex said too.” Kanan said with a smile.

Time in the cockpit of the ghost passed easily after the initial shock had worn off. Kanan had caught Hunter up on his teams exploits on Lothal and some of Omega’s more harrowing missions she had neglected to mention. He’d be sure to ask her about that later.

“A padawan of your own.” He said, after listening to Kanan divulge the inner workings of a life with a young force user. “I bet General Balaba would be very proud of the life you’ve made for yourself.” Hunter said, hoping he wasn’t crossing the line in invoking her name.

“Thank you” Kanan said “I hope so. Any advice on raising a kid in a war zone?”

Hunter laughed, “Well technically Omega’s older than us, so you may have to ask her. The only advice I got was that she wasn’t a soldier and that I couldn’t expect her to act like one. We just followed that track, taught her what she needed to know to stay safe, trusted her intuition and expertise and fought for her with every fiber of our being. It wasn’t easy but it ended up okay…in the end.”

Kanan smiled. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

***

Two rotations went by too quickly for Hunter’s liking. He was just getting used to Omega being home when it was time for her to leave. She smiled as she left her bedroom that morning, bed bandana pushing her hair back off her face.

“Uh, I’m not ready for you to go yet,” he said to her as she swept into the kitchen and grabbed a mug of caf.

“I know, but we’re finally making some progress, we can’t give up now.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

“Where’s everyone else?” Omega asked, peeking around the corner into the common room.

“Up top with the Ghost,” Hunter replied.

“Did Crosshair and Kanan…”

“Yeah, a little. I don’t think either of them want to think about that time. We all just need to move on.”

Omega nodded, swallowing the last of her caf and wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“We’re you raised in a barn?” Hunter asked, exasperated.

She laughed, “no, with a bunch of fugitives though.”

Hunter chuckled and followed her out the door, up the path and to the crest of Pabu.

***

Hunter woke with a start. It was the middle of the night. The comm in the common room had sprung to life. It could only be one person. He was out of bed and had sprung over the back of the couch before the comm chimed a second time.

“Hunter?” Omega wailed into the comm. Her face was tear stained; her hair disheveled, large black bags hung under her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days. The dark room was illuminated with nothing but the blue light of the comm.

“Omega, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asked desperation in his voice. He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheek, interrupting the feed as he did so. She flickered and disappeared before coming back.

“He’s dead,” she whispered. Hunter felt as though a brick had dropped into his chest. He knew who she was talking about, without having to ask. He just knew. “Kanan’s dead.”

She was completely incoherent now. Hunter tried his best to comfort her. “It’s okay Omega. Tell me what happened. Do you need us to come to you? Where are you? Are you safe? Is Hera safe?”

Minutes passed as Omega tried to regain control. He hadn’t seen her like this in years, not since Tech. She took deep, shuddering breaths and finally regained some control.

The noise had woken his brothers. Wrecker and Crosshair were both out of bed, Hunter sandwiched between them on the couch.

“…there was an explosion. They were trying to rescue Hera. He saved her. Saved them all but he was…he died.”

Hunter hung his head. Of course he died protecting his family. Hunter would have done the same thing.

“I’m sorry, Omega. Do you need to come home?”

“No. No, I’ll be fine.” she said, sniffing heavily. “I just… wanted to tell you. I know you…he was important to…”

“I’m fine, Omega. Focus on yourself and Hera. Come home when you’re ready. We miss you.”

His brothers nodded an affirmative. The call ended and Crosshair and Wrecker padded back to their rooms, lost in their own thoughts.

The room was dark but for the moonlight streaming in the kitchen window. Hunter padded quietly over to the far cabinet and pulled a bottle of spirit down. Uncorking it he poured himself and glass, opened the front door and strode out to the wooden bench on the patio.  The moonlight danced on the waves below.

He closed his eyes.

“You ready for this Kid, we move fast.”

“Good, that’s the only way I know.”

Hunter ran his hand over his hair and sighed. “May the force be with you, Caleb.” he said, holding the glass up to the midnight sky. He lowered it to his lips and took a deep drink.

[starsreminisce]

LucienWeek2024 Day Three Daylight

Clarity

Word Count: 5000 Rating: T @lucienweekofficial

Summary:

It had been a century since Lucien Vanserra went into exile for the uprising he caused against his father and eldest brother. Now, it's his brother's turn as he extends an invitation to the Day Court Equinox Ball, where his mate, whom he has not seen while in exile, will be.

Read on AO3

It had been a century since Lucien the Usurper launched his coup against High Lord Beron, ending centuries of tyranny.

When the magic of the land bypassed Lucien to crown his older brother, Eris, as the new High Lord, revolts began to stir. Many claimed Eris would be no different from Beron, that the change was only in name. The return of the Seventh Son from exile was supposed to breathe in new life, but doubt crept within their citizens.

Determined to take the seat of power himself, True Lord Lucien challenged his brother to a Blood Duel. Eris won, but in the final moment, chose to show mercy. Instead of killing Lucien the Betrayer, he banished him—to never set foot on Prythian unless he deems it so.

Yet, as the sons of Orla were taught, truth and lies always intertwined.

The coup had taken place, but it was only half-executed. Eris and Rhys were still in the midst of planning how Rhys would fulfill his end of the bargain when Lucien winnowed in, intending to resign. Both older brothers seized the unexpected opportunity. The Blood Duel? Staged. It was no different from the countless duels their father had forced them into as boys.

As for the exile? It was nothing more than a small patch of land—situated between the Autumn, Summer, and Spring Courts—gifted to Lucien by Eris as a token of reward.

Lucien would be remembered in history as the first fae to kill a High Lord and not claim a title. But in truth, he never sought the Lordship for himself. Never wanted it to begin with. Yet none of that mattered to him when he looked back on that day.

No, for Lucien, that day was burned into his memory for an entirely different reason: the day his mate rejected him.

It had been a month since he’d seen her in the streets of Velaris. What he witnessed had gnawed at him, day after day, until the need for answers became unbearable. When he finally confronted her, demanded the truth, she could not speak. Her face turned pale, almost green, as she stood there in silence.

“Lady,” he had said, his voice edged with exhaustion and hurt. “Just… reject it. If you care for me at all, just say it.”

Perhaps he had hoped she would argue, would deny what he had seen, or offer some explanation that might soften the blow. But instead, she closed her eyes. Silent tears traced down her cheeks, and her shoulders shook with the weight of her decision.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if seeking his permission. “Okay.”

Lucien had been angry before, but this was something different—something darker, older, and deadlier taking root within him. Heat rose in him at the thought of Elain rejecting their bond, the connection that had haunted him, that he had hoped would someday mean something. In the back of his mind, a warning flared—he worried, even now, about what he might become if he let this anger consume him.

“A bargain,” he forced himself to say, fighting to keep his voice steady. “You do not see me. You do not seek me. You do not ask about me. I will extend the same to you.”

“Lucien,” she murmured, her tone turning soft, almost conciliatory. “I am still a seer.”

He scoffed. “You haven’t had a vision since Hybern.”

“I cannot accept that bargain,” Elain said, her gaze meeting his, defiant even through her tears. “If you appear in my vision and I can’t see you…”

He stared at her, jaw clenched. “Fine. Unless you receive a vision that specifically involves me, you will have no reason to reach out.”

She chewed her lip, considering, then nodded. “I accept.”

A faint mark appeared on the backs of their hands, sealing the bargain—a mocking reminder that even rejected bonds could leave scars.

With nothing left to say, Lucien turned and left, intent on finding Rhysand to hand in his resignation. His thoughts spiraled between anger and heartbreak, but when he entered the room, he was surprised to find Eris there, pressing Rhys about what he intended to do about the bargain.

The tension in the room spiked as Lucien entered, his bloodlust evident in the fury radiating off him. Both males turned to him, their expressions sharpening.

“I want to resign as emissary for the Night Court,” Lucien said, his voice steady but laced with rage.

Rhys’s shadows flickered, a claw scraping gently at the edge of Lucien’s mind. Lucien didn’t resist, allowing his High Lord to peer into his thoughts, letting him see exactly what he and Elain had done. Rhys’s eyes widened, then narrowed, darkening with understanding.

“Well, you’re in luck,” Rhys purred, a deadly edge to his tone. “Eris has a pesky Beron problem.”

Eris’s expression remained impassive, but there was a glint of something dangerous in his gaze.

Lucien’s jaw tightened. “Give me an opening—and make sure she rejects it.”

“I’ll see to it that she rejects it tonight,” Rhysand promised, his tone laced with deadly intent toward the one who had driven Elain to reject their bond. Lucien met his High Lord’s gaze, understanding the fury there, even as his own heart shattered.

They had mere hours to coordinate. And when the night descended, they would be ready.

The tears they thought he shed that night had been for his father. But they weren’t. They were for Elain.

When the rejection came, it struck like a final, devastating blow. And in the hollow ache left behind, Lucien unleashed everything he’d held back, pouring his heartbreak and fury into a blazing assault upon his father and the Autumn Court. His power tore through the land, searing everything in its path.

That night, as word spread of the Seventh Son’s retribution—of the fire and blood he unleashed upon his father’s court—Lucien’s name became etched into history. No longer remembered as a loyal emissary, but as an unstoppable force of vengeance, a reckoning that could not be tamed.

—

The days were quiet and peaceful, just as Lucien had once hoped. He lived simply now, even in the absence of Jesminda by his side. He closed his eyes, clinging to her name as if it were a lifeline, though her face had slowly eroded from his memory since the bond with Elain had snapped. No, that bond—fragile as it was—remained a flickering flame, one that refused to die. Sometimes, he could feel Elain’s euphoria, especially in the beginning, when she’d chosen a relationship over their bond. And afterward, the wrenching heartache when that relationship ended.

He didn’t know the details, and perhaps it was better that way. He could pretend not to care, but there were moments—when her sadness pressed into him, or her loneliness crept in—that he was tempted to check on her. Instead, he buried himself in his role as laird over the tiny patch of land Eris had given him.

Gone were the days of political maneuvering, double-crossing, and scheming. He might have once thrived in that world, but now, he found he did not miss it. In truth, everything he had ever wanted was here.

Lucien had taken a hands-on approach to his land—helping with farming, overseeing repairs, settling disputes among his tenants. They were glamoured to forget who he was the moment they stepped beyond the borders. He still trained with weapons, but it felt different now—calmer, without the weight of constant conflict.

Eris and Rhys had upheld their end of the bargain for helping to end Beron’s reign, leaving Lucien in his quiet exile.

Not even a year after Beron’s death, his mother, Orla, had shocked everyone by celebrating her mating ceremony with Helion. Lucien had been surprised, to say the least, considering Helion’s deep-seated hatred for Beron—and, by extension, for Lucien himself. The Mother indeed had a sense of humor.

But Lucien didn’t attend the ceremony.

Nor did he attend the birth of his two half-brothers, Kieran and Roshan. Still, he was happy for his mother, relieved that she no longer mourned the two sons he had caused her to lose.

Those who knew the truth of the uprising—Feyre, Cassian, Rhys—visited him occasionally, but the visits became shorter and less frequent as time passed. Lucien had stopped accepting their invitations to visit the Night Court, and he wasn’t sure what else there was to say between them anymore.

As for Vassa and Jurian, they were long gone, their children’s children now ruling in their place.

The one puzzle Lucien couldn’t solve was why his heir markers remained so prevalent. He had hoped they would vanish after he forfeited his claim to any court, but instead, they seemed to grow stronger over time. In the end, he found a glamour to hide them almost permanently, to the point where he almost forgot they existed.

He was content. Or at least, as content as someone with a rejected bond could be.

Until he saw the smokehounds.

The sleek, lean dog-like creatures lingered near his house one evening as Lucien returned from the fields. There was no mistaking who owns them—Eris. Lucien gritted his teeth but played the host regardless, inviting his brother to dine with his tenants, who gawked that the benevolent High Lord was joining them. The evening stretched on, filled with the bard’s music and the low hum of conversation, until the candles burned low and the shadows thickened. Finally, Eris turned to him with a smile, his eyes gleaming with something Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“The Day Court is hosting the Equinox Ball,” Eris announced, his tone casual, almost too casual. “Mother would like you to attend.”

Lucien raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not sure I can still be considered ‘exiled’ if I show up at a ball. I’m supposed to be on the continent, remember?”

Eris waved a dismissive hand. “Helion can grant you access as his guest—or, if it’s easier, I could always revoke your exile.”

Lucien narrowed his eyes, watching his brother closely. A century had passed since he had last set foot in any court, but even after all that time, he could still sense when Eris was hiding something.

Eris caught the look and sighed. “You left the courts. There isn’t anything I can tell you that matters anymore.”

“Then why is it so important that I’m there?” Lucien asked, his voice sharp. “I see Mother often enough, and quite frankly, the sight of her with Helion is... disturbing.”

He shuddered for emphasis, but Eris merely smirked.

“It’s nice, seeing Mother finally in love,” Eris replied, his voice softening, eyes distant, as if lost in some wistful memory.

Lucien held his tongue. Of course Eris would remember their mother’s brighter days—when she was full of light and laughter. Lucien, though, had only seen her at her lowest: withdrawn, broken. His only memories were the late nights when she would creep into his room, hugging him tightly, her tears soaking his forehead after days of ignoring him.

“I suppose,” Lucien finally muttered, though the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

A silence stretched between them. Finally, Eris rose from his seat and reached into his coat. He pulled out a small envelope, sealed with the Day Court’s bright insignia, and extended it to Lucien.

Lucien hesitated before reaching for the invitation, his fingers brushing against the crisp paper. But the moment he touched it, a subtle shift rippled through him—a familiar, long-forgotten sensation. His eyes darted to the back of his hand, and his heart skipped a beat.

The mark. The faint mark that had once bound him to Elain, a constant reminder of their rejected bond and the bargain they had made—gone.

The realization hit him like a wave. The bargain had ended.

Elain could now speak to him.

For the first time in decades, Lucien felt something stir deep inside him, something restless and unresolved. He glanced up at Eris, who wore the same unreadable smile, as if he had known this would happen all along.

“I’ll think about it,” Lucien said quietly, his voice steady, though his mind was anything but.

—

Even though Lucien arrived fashionably late as he could, he could still feel the weight of their stares and the hushed whispers that trailed behind him. The Usurper. The High Lord Killer. The labels clung to him, but none of it compared to the sharp jolt in his chest when his gaze swept across the grand ballroom. Beneath the twinkling fae lanterns and a ceiling draped in purple wisteria, amidst the glittering partygoers in their silks and brocades, he spotted her instantly.

Elain, standing with her sisters.

She always looked radiant in amethyst. Tonight, the rhinestone-heavy bodice of her gown sparkled under the warm glow of the lanterns. The sweetheart neckline framed her delicate collarbones, and the dress cinched tightly at her waist before cascading into an elegant A-line. Her hair was pinned up, dotted with pearls that glistened like stars.

He hadn’t seen her in a century, he realized. The last time they spoke, she had cried then.

But now—she was smiling, a breathtaking sight that twisted in his chest. Lucien forced himself to turn away, not wanting the familiar ache of longing to show on his face. He hadn’t come here to be reminded of what he could never have. He only meant to make an appearance, speak to his mother, have two drinks and leave. Already, the walls of the ballroom felt too close, the urge to disappear back to his quiet life called to him.

He stalked towards his mother and Helion, weaving his way through the crowd. The two of them were too preoccupied with their smoldering looks to notice him at first. Lucien cleared his throat. Helion still regarded him with that cool, aloof expression. 

Don’t worry, daddy, Lucien thought bitterly, I’m not here to kill you.

But his mother, Orla, lit up when she saw him, immediately pulling him into a doting embrace, her lips pressing against his cheeks.

“Darling,” she cooed, her tone warm and affectionate. “You made it! Are you planning to stay here for the night?”

“No, Mother,” Lucien replied. “I wish I could stay, but I’ve got repairs to handle back in my land. The last storm knocked out half the fence, and if I don’t fix it soon, the livestock will be running wild.”

Orla pouted. “But we so rarely get to see you.”

Helion’s voice cut in, sharp and commanding, exactly like Rhys when someone displeased Feyre. “Your mother would like you to stay.”

Lucien met Helion’s gaze evenly, resisting the urge to snap back. A retort burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it, forcing his face into a sarcastic smile. “We’ll see.”

Helion mimicked his smile, but colder. “See to it.”

Lucien, not one to let the jab pass, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Has Kieran or Roshan shown any heir markers yet?”

The question landed as intended. Helion gave a curt response. “No.”

Lucien’s smirk widened. The insult was subtle but sharp—a reminder that, despite Helion’s status, the magic of their court had not deemed his children worthy to lead. But it was Orla who delivered the next blow.

“Elain wouldn’t mind if you stayed,” Orla remarked offhandedly, as though she were discussing the weather. “She’s been such a wonderful courtier for the Day Court.”

Lucien’s smile dropped, his face stiffening into a frown. “Why.”

“She needed some time away from the Night Court after… well, after everything,” Orla explained, her gaze flitting around the room. “Poor thing. Rhysand and Feyre thought a change of scenery might do her good, so I offered to take her in.”

Lucien’s lips pressed into a tight line. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Elain being so close to his family in the decades he had been apart. He tried to remind himself that his mother had gained something of a daughter after losing another son. Still, the idea of Elain sharing this space with them—of her integrating so seamlessly into the Day Court—prickled at him.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” Lucien replied reluctantly, the urge to find something to relieve him of this conversation.

He turned away, eager to put distance between himself and the interaction. But as he moved through the crowd, he could feel the bond tugging. He glanced over his shoulder, and his heart stopped when his eyes met Elain again.

Her gaze locked onto his, wide and unblinking, as if she’d been watching him. The lively chatter around them muted, the music fading into the background. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Something unreadable flickered in her countenance—surprise, guilt, or perhaps something more.

Lucien’s chest tightened. He couldn’t tell if she’d been waiting for him to notice, or if she, too, was startled by their shared glance. But the weight of it settled deep, cutting through the air between them like a taut string waiting to snap.

He broke the spell and strode toward the bar, ordering the specialty without much thought, the thrum of tension still lingering in his veins. His eyes roamed the room as he waited, scanning what had changed since he’d left. The Night Court kept to their tight-knit circle, as usual, but now with two new females among them. He could feel their gazes shift to him.

They’ll find me eventually, he mused, if I decide to stay long.

Something else caught his attention this time. Each member of the circle seemed tethered by a golden thread—mating bonds, he realized. This time, his attention was drawn to something else. The detail made him furrow his brows, leaving him to ponder how and when it happened.

Lucien’s jaw clenched, and his gaze slid to Elain. She was across the room, a vision as she floated through the courtiers, laughing with Nuan of all people, as if she’d known her her entire life. She sparked the damned longing within him, but before he could get sucked into that vortex—

A shift in the air.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. His mechanical eye whirred, the lens automatically adjusting, recalibrating as it scanned the room for danger. Everything appeared normal. No one else seemed to notice. Yet Lucien knew better —he felt it, deep in his gut from instincts honed from hunting.

He glanced up.

His eye zeroed in on the ceiling. Something off. His eye broke through the marble surface, seeing beyond it—into something more sinister.

And then the ceiling gave way.

A thunderous crack, huge pieces of stone plummeting toward the floor, but by the time they began to fall, Lucien had already moved. His body reacted before his mind could, and in the course of a moment, he was across the room. His arms wrapped tightly around Elain, pulling her tightly against his chest. His eyes screwed shut in protection against the dust and debris.

“Lucien,” Elain said, her soft voice close that it tickled his ear.

He opened his eyes—and blinked in disbelief. Golden light surrounded them, a shimmering sphere holding the falling debris at bay. A shield of daylight, radiant and warm, encased them in safety. His glamour dissolved, his skin now glowing with a pearlescent bronze sheen, and molten red hair cascaded over his shoulders. Inside him, a core of heat burned brighter, brighter than it had ever felt before, protecting the one thing that was ever his.

“Are you alright?” he asked, still holding her close.

Elain nodded, but her wide eyes remained fixed on him, her breath catching as she took in the soft glow of the golden light that surrounded them.

“An attack!” someone shouted, but Lucien’s focus stayed locked on the glowing shield. Through the sphere, he saw them—thousands of bird-like shadows, clawing at the edges, desperate to break through.

He didn’t want to let Elain go. His instincts screamed that it wasn’t safe. But the way she held him back—the way her eyes searched his face as if seeing him for the first time—made him hesitate. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her gaze was filled with wonder.

The shield expanded, stretching outward with Lucien’s will until it touched the crumbling ceiling. And then, with a soft pop, the bubble dissolved, transforming into tiny golden flames that licked through the air, disintegrating the debris and creatures in an instant as golden dust fell.

Elain whispered. “So it is you.”

“What?” Lucien asked, still disoriented.

“You are the Day Court heir.”

Lucien’s stomach churned as reality crashed down around him. His heart pounded in his chest, louder than the stunned silence that had settled over the ballroom. He tore his gaze from Elain and looked around.

The entire room had frozen. Every fae in attendance—guests, courtiers, High Lords and their partners alike—stared at him.

At him.

No. His mind raced, grasping at something, anything, to make sense of this. This couldn’t be happening.

Eris was the heir. Lucien was of Autumn Court. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be the Day Court heir. Because if he was, that would mean…

His breath hitched. That would mean Beron wasn’t his father.

Before Lucien could fully process the thought, Helion stepped forward, his eyes wide with shock and begrudging recognition.

“The Day Court heir has been found,” Helion’s voice boomed with command. His gaze flicked between Orla and Lucien. “Lucien Vanserra is the Day Court heir.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, but Lucien barely heard it. His heart stuttered. His world tilted. Oh, fuck.

Helion had just legitimized him.

The weight of what that meant pressed down on him, suffocating. Panic clawed at his chest, each new realization crashing into him. The responsibilities. The title. The Court. The political alliances he’d left behind. His place beside Helion—no, at the head of the Day Court.

And Elain.

The closeness to her that would come with this new role. The proximity he could no longer ignore, no matter how hard he had tried.

His mind spiraled, and in that moment of pure panic, he did the dumbest thing possible.

He released Elain and spun around, only to find himself trapped—shimmering wards pulsed around him, thrumming with Helion’s magic, a cage of blazing power.

A rush of heat exploded from him, brilliant and blinding, tearing through the wards and spells encasing the room. It was Helion’s power, but fiercer, sharper, channeled with raw, unrestrained force through Lucien. And then, before anyone could react, he winnowed, disappearing in a blaze of light and heat.

But when he landed—back on the edge of his quiet farm—something was wrong.

He felt her before he saw her, the warmth of her body pressed against his back. Her arms clung tightly around his waist, her breath shallow between his shoulder blades.

She hadn’t let go.

Lucien’s heart stuttered as truth set in. He had let her go. He’d tried to leave her behind. But she—she hadn’t released him. She had chosen to hold on, even as his world fell apart around them.

He stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing to process what had just happened. The rows of crops lay stretched out beneath the moonlit sky, his patch of land quiet and serene—a meager fraction to the truth he had just uncovered about his birthright.

“Lady…” he whispered hoarsely, half-questioning, half-apologizing.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You are very hard to find,” she whispered, her grip still firm. “Had to find a way to get you to come.”

His throat constricted as he stared at her, the weight of her words-and all those words implied-settling between them like a loaded question.

He had winnowed to escape.

Yet she had held on.

—

“So you knew?” Lucien’s voice emerged sharper than he intended.

He wasn’t used to his patience being tested like this—especially not by her. Yet here she was, wandering around his property, deliberately ignoring his pointed offers to take her back. It annoyed him. He followed her as she headed toward the house, her gaze wandering over everything, taking in small details of the life he’d built in exile.

She wheeled abruptly on him, her wrist flicking so the back of her hand flashed in his direction. “I was wondering when you’d finally ask around about this.”

Lucien pressed his tongue against his cheek. He refused to rise to the bait.

“You really didn’t notice,” Elain sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lucien didn’t say a word, but his silence spoke volumes. Of course, he had noticed—the mark gone—when the invitation had arrived… a day or two ago.…

“So much has passed in a hundred years,” Elain whispered, her arms wrapping tightly around herself.

It was then that he felt it: their bond flickered. No longer as dull, not as hushed as it had been for so long. His heart was hammering in his chest, and she turned pink as her eyes darted away from him.

It was too much—too much to process all at once, with everything else hanging over his head. The responsibilities of an heir weighed upon him like a boulder, and the events of the night were catching up, threatening to crush him.

“I’m going to bed,” Lucien said shortly, the tone a full stop. “If you wish to stay, there’s a spare bedroom upstairs on the left. If not, you’ll find sheets on my desk to send a message. Good night.”

He turned on his heel, ready to leave her standing there, but her voice stopped him cold.

“We ruled the Day Court.”

Lucien froze. Slowly, he turned back to face her. “We?”

Elain shut her eyes a moment, as though steeling herself. When she opened them again, her voice was firm, but low. “You and me. That was the vision.”

Lucien’s snort was harsh, filled with skepticism. “What, as separate rulers or—”

“No.” Her voice cut him off, sharper now, her patience visibly thinning. “Not separate. And that doesn’t explain…” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing as she looked away, clearly struggling to find the right words.

“Explain what, lady?” he demanded, his tone clipped, irritation simmering beneath the surface.

She pressed her lips together, her eyes flicking away, looking both frustrated and mortified. Lucien raised an eyebrow, watching her struggle, his own annoyance flaring. He’d had enough of vague half-answers and the way she seemed to dance around the truth.

She took a breath, forcing herself to continue. “It doesn’t explain… the amount of sex we had in that vision. Or the children… who looked like you and me.”

Lucien stilled, his eyes blinking as the meaning of her words registered. He stared, and then a laugh escaped him—deep and disbelieving. He snorted, his head shaking, as laughter bubbled up from his chest.

But Elain wasn’t laughing. She didn’t look at him, her face red as her lips pursed into a thin line. And that was when it hit him—she wasn’t joking.

“You rejected it, remember?” His tone was bitter and confused. “You rejected the bond, my lady.”

There was a flash of anger in Elain’s eyes, no longer the timid female he remembered. She scowled at him as she shot back, “As Orla did with Helion when you were born.”

Lucien blinked, momentarily stunned by the comparison. Elain stood taller, her shoulders squared, no longer shrinking under his gaze. The fierceness in Elain’s eyes caught him off guard—a spark of shock mixed with something raw, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

It reminded him, just for a moment, of Jesminda—alive and bright in her defiance, a fading memory that still lingered painfully close to the surface.

His mother. Mated to Helion. Long before Lucien killed Beron.

Elain. Looking like Jesminda. Long after she was gone.

He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to set those revelations aside—things to confront later, with the people who held the answers. But what did any of that mean for him and Elain?

“So, what?” Lucien demanded, his irritation simmering beneath the surface. “You had a vision, and that’s why you’re here now? That’s what changed your mind about giving this—” he gestured between them, “—a shot?”

“No,” Elain said softly, the sharpness yielding to something much softer as she looked down, exhaling heavily. “No. The vision happened after.”

“After what?” he pressed hotly.

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, as if trying to shield herself from his words, her gaze dropping to the ground. It was her posture—the way she seemed to shrink into herself—that cut through his frustration, softening his resolve. And then the weight of her silence settled between them like a chasm.

Unable to hold back, he did the unthinkable: he took a step closer, closing the distance until there was barely any space left between them.

“After what?” he coaxed gently, his voice low, trying to draw her out.

Elain’s eyes flickered up, meeting his. Her face was raw, unguarded, and she swallowed hard before she spoke. “After I fell in love with the Day Court.” Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling with a vulnerability he hadn’t expected. “Until I realized… how much I saw you in it.”

Lucien stared, the words clawing through the walls he’d built around his heart. For a very long moment, he said nothing. There was nothing to say. The truth hovered between them, weak and throbbing.

And for the first time in a hundred years, he couldn’t look away from the bond between them—the hum of it, a pulse stronger than it had ever been.

[athanasius-symposium-of-writings]

Your Knight

-screaming in writing nov- 4k omg we going guys! Anyway here is a fic based on @/jackthepeeper's amazing art of richard ft his other form -feral sounds- LETS GOOOOOO

art links: one, two, three, final (nsft)

Edit Rating: Explicit | Warning: fauxcest (ty anon and sorry about tht), monster x human, power bottom!reader

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Richard greets you with a bow as you walk down the stairs in your night robe and yawn. “Rest well?”

You raise an eyebrow at him as he knows you slept late because of him. He and his insatiable needs that left you touching yourself in your room, the wall is the cruelest barrier between him and you. He has taken to sneaking his way over from his balcony to yours, an experienced jump over a small distance and he is on your balcony, the glass door slightly ajar for him.

Every night, Richard slips into his princess' room to be in her bed, to have you gripping the sheets and biting into your pillow so you do not make a sound— The servants know the unruly adopted children of the Sterlings are not so sibling-like. They have never been since Richard Sterling became part of this family.

Your daily recording of your days with your brother, as they told you to address the stranger, is written in your diary. Each strange thing you noticed was documented, you kept a close eye on him.

“Good morning, dear brother.” Waving him away once you reached the bottom of the stairs, “Are mother and father home?” Another yawn and this time you followed it up with a stretch. Richard's eyes go from head to toe taking in your body, the slight bounce of your breasts as you relax and groan in minor discomfort.

“No, they left for a holiday an hour ago.” He leans on the stair banister, “France this time, sister” A growing mischievous smirk on his pretty lips.

“Figures.” You shrug, “A bit of trouble and they go into hiding and leave us.” This is not the first time they left to let things simmer down but in doing so as you both got older, responsibilities fell onto you— Well, Richard as he is the boy here, but you do the work as you know well how to talk down the investors and gossiping ladies. “Must be bad if they are going to France…” Thinking out loud as you fold your arms over your chest and your finger tapping your chin.

“Fret not, princess!” Going over to you and taking your hand, “Let us use it as time for us to enjoy our freedom.” Kissing your knuckles.

You sigh, “I suppose that is all we can do.” Going to pull your hand away but he pulls you into his arms causing you to gasp as you nearly trip onto him. “Richard!” About to scold him for his actions.

“I smell us on you.” His nose is buried in the crook of your neck.

“Of course you do, your damn cum was still dripping down my legs this morning!” Whispering your words for maids and butlers not to overhear an intimate conversation. “Don't you be proud of yourself! I told you not to cum inside of me.”

“My deepest apologies,” You cover your mouth as he backs you against a wall, “Shall I clean my mess?” His hand tugged on the silk string of your robe.

You do not get a chance to speak as you push him off when one of the maids comes out of the door beside the wall, a cart of cleaning supplies before she can see what you both are doing. “Make sure you have a copy of our father's scheduled clients ready by brunch, brother.”

Oh, you are very cross with him if you are using that annoying title that holds no weight between you both.

It is a joke! This game of playing house when you both are not close nor related.

You look nothing like your adopted parents, a stolen child because they wanted a cute little girl to dress up.

Richard, who does favor their late son, though the mismatched eyes are different.

A fucked up family, you hate them yet you love Richard. He protects you… He is true to his oath to you as your knight.

A shapeshifter, from what the book said about them, usually are witches or limited to only turning into creatures. Yet, here is Richard posing as a replacement. You have long since given up trying to get rid of him as you feared he would eat your parents— He will when the time is right— But you have your hatred. Hatred for being stolen away, for your kidnappers to force your real parents to never send you letters, and for having Richard at first keep you on a leash with him.

You walk to the dining room as you are in a foul mood, there is work to be done, and Richard needs to focus on other responsibilities and not being at your feet like a dog. However, you do find comfort in his changed desire for you after he shows you how beneficial it is to be his princess. You are unsure where that idea came from but he was right… The clever creature knew you were smart enough to do your research on him, close to finding a way to kill him, you were doing it for yourself in fear.

The first order of the day is breakfast, return to your room to bathe last night you properly, get dressed in something comfortable and nice for outside brunch treats and then see about taking a nap before evening tea.

The first and second day you allow yourself a chance to relax, the quietness of the house a comfort… And Richard not having to sneak his way into your room is a bonus.

When you are in a very foul mood, you have Richard take you to your kidnappers’ bed for long hours as a twisted form of retaliation (he is all too pleased to give you a long night of heavy passion). Of course, the butler cleans the sheets after.

Breakfast is light, mostly fruits and freshly baked bread with butter.

Next, take a bath and you drag it out until your fingers are nearly pruned. Richard, damn him, the bite marks are not noticeable but there are so many! His fascination with your breasts and thighs was getting the worst of it.

Next, you go through your closet.

A blue dress? No. Pink? No, the season is fall. Oh, red is lovely. No, you aren't in the mood to look too fancy. Your eyes then drift to another dress you touch with great care. Richard bought you this after posing as you to see your parents in secret. Mother, your real mother, picked this out for you. Richard had bought it without your mother knowing the money she gave him wasn't enough. The money was used to pay off the debt at the local store that was kind enough to let your parents use credit, they always paid as much as possible at the end of the month before the next month's rent.

This is a dress you find pretty and you will wear it when the Sterlings fall at your feet.

You choose the blue dress.

The gardens are well known to you for three reasons.

Tea time, hiding, and now Richard.

Looking at him while reading some of the paperwork he found left behind by the shared father. There are two sets of schedules he keeps, one for public clients and one for private clients.

Private clients’ schedule list was taken with him to France meaning business will go on as usual but not in England. So it seems the holiday is a business trip.

Your eyes are taking in the sight of your knight's body, the style of clothing he has not changed much from during the shared childhood here.

You try not to think about how many childhoods this creature has had over the years of its life, shapeshifters are an odd bunch with little information about them due to being masters of deception.

“Do you truly love me, knight?” You had not meant to say it out loud while leaning your arm on the table and using your hand to hold your face up, “Will you not eat me when the time comes to move on?” Your eyes are not on his face, you rather listen to lies of comfort right now.

“Of course, not, princess.” You wonder if he truly can experience love or grief, maybe he mimics it like he does with faces. “I am bound by my oath to you, I will protect and adore you, your highness.”

You hum as your other hand traces the rim of your teacup with mild interest, “Would you kill for me?”

“Yes, of course, I will.” No hesitation as he has killed for you in order to keep you safe, he will not fail you. Such loyalty, fierce and unwavering, has you question him; nothing in life is free.

“Hmm,” Looking out to the garden, a quiet morning with singing birds and the warm glow of the sun, and the beautiful creature who dares to appear concerned for you. “Richard.”

“Yes, my princess?”

“Strip for me.”

That must have eased him as he moved from standing by your side to sitting on the chair to have your view of the bushes cut off by him.

“Shall I give you a show, my princess?”

You look at him with a coy smile, “Of course. Slowly.”

He has done this before, and many times this has caught your attention. First opening his legs to give a full view of what you soon will be revealed, oh you know well what is underneath those clothes— You bite down on the corner of your lips as he removes his vest placing it on the clear side of the table. Smoothly with practiced skill, he slips out of the chair posing playfully as a gentle breeze blows the petals of flowers past him.

You can't help but laugh at how dramatic that looked.

Next, he unbuttons his shirt, eyes locked on you, he leaves it open as he slips off the sash, the sound fabric slipping off and you lean back in the chair as he tosses it to you and you catch it.

When he sits back down with a smirk on his face as sees you shift in your seat, next are his trousers and calf-high boots. His bare hand slides up his chest as he lets out an exaggerated moan, “Princess, shall I take you here?” When he stands leaning on the table to let his shirt slip off his shoulder, you reach out your hand for him to take and kiss the back of your hand. You grin as you get up and walk around the small tea table over to him, he stands at attention, “Shirt.”

Letting go of your hand, he turns around and one sleeve falls off his arm then another, Richard looking behind him when your hand touches the center of his back. “Princess.”

“Now you are going to be a good knight and go to my room,” Kissing his shoulder, “You are to be ready for me once I finish my tea.”

“Like this?”

“Just like this,” Your hand slid down his back then around to cup his hardening cock, “That is my order,” You want him to suffer a little, “Sir Richard.” Your other hand takes his shirt out of his hands as he shivers in delight.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” This is all part of the game.

You release him after giving him a good squeeze on his cock, the breathy moan of your name has you grinning. You are enjoying watching him walk away, he will have to find a creative way to get to your room without the servants finding him.

Then your expression goes neutral, “Agatha,” The old woman appears from behind the rose bushes.

“Yes, miss?” Agatha is the only maid, the head maid, you trust. She would help you sneak out to see your family before Richard came along. She is an old woman, who used to be a wet nurse too for the original children of the Sterlings before they went missing (a secret they were murdered).

You touch your heart, “I fear you were right about my heart.”

“Love is a powerful force, miss.” She says, “Shapeshifters are masters of drawing all types of emotions from us. It is in their nature.” The old woman had been the one to guard you as best she could from the strange man. Listening to you ramble about his behaviors and connecting him to the creature you read about from a book you bought from an oddities shop.

The truth did not get you killed, the truth got you loyalty in a house of wolves

“Did you find… What we discussed?”

“Yes, as well as I found a way to make it tasteless.”

“Good,” You sigh with a small smile on your face, “He will be my end, his hunger will kill me but my love for him will haunt him.” Looking up at your balcony, “Forever until death brings him to me.”

Agatha nods, “I pray your heart captures his before this happens, miss.”

You chuckle, “Of course.” Taking the teacup to finish it, “My thanks, Agatha. Please, take the day off if you wish.”

She bows as you gather Richard’s belongings and go inside to meet him in your room.

Though you do not enter your room immediately, you listen to him touching himself for a good minute or five through the door. Giddy as he sounds desperate for you.

The creek of your door opening didn't stop him from touching his cock, nor did the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor stop him from saying your name, but he did stop to watch you remove your dress.

Only your dress.

Oh, the gem he found in this place is dazzling. What fools they are to always leave him alone with you, it is their fault the precious daughter found love in her brother. Richard is going to laugh in their faces when he devours them!

The consequences they reap are a product of their foolishness and greed, parents are so easy to manipulate to care for the parasite they willingly adopted.

Richard is quite happy here as he found his golden ticket, he enjoyed being given a life of luxury before killing his adopted parents. Richard, the current name he is using, found shaping himself to appear similar to a missing or dead child of a family, getting him targets faster.

He is enjoying the benefits of riches until they run out, then he will destroy everything to cover his tracks before starting all over again. A perfect cycle.

“Come now, princess,” His plan however has a minor complication, though he likes surprises, “Enough teasing,” There is always the chance of a clever human seeing past his facade, “Making your knight strip all the way…” On the bed on full display for his princess to see. This is your bedroom, your sanctuary, he knows this room like the back of his hand. “It's your turn.” Begging to be granted the affection of one moral he found himself attached to.

Crawling on the bed has him twitching, you are so beautiful and deadly as a lioness.

You shake your head, “Not yet,” Kissing his cheek, “I want you to show me your devotion.” Your hand wanders his defined chest. “Do this for your princess.”

He groans as the hand on his already hard, pre cum dripping, cock starts moving at a slow pace. He wraps his arm around you as you push him against the headboards of your bed, a sharp intake of air when you bite his nipple before licking it to soothe it.

“How cruel you are, my— Agh!” You stop him mid-sentence by biting his neck, a good hard bite on the spot that makes him feel claimed. “Princess.”

“Richard, faster. Move your hand the way I do.”

“But,” If he does then he won't last long and he rather cum within the princess of his desire, “Please.” Richard knows he can simply talk his way between your legs, taste you until your mind is fuzzy, and then give you his cock. To live the fantasy of breeding a human to make more like him, to keep you forever in this fairytale illusion; you are his to keep like a dragon with his hoard.

“Is my knight denying me what I desire of him,” Words whispered into his ear, “Is my order too much for him?” Your hand goes down his naval, fingers brushing against his tamed bush of hair, his cock twitching as your fingers slide over his fingers and cock.

“N-not ah all! An-Anything you wish of me is ah yours.” Long ago he would not give you this power over him, his vice of control demanded you to behave how he saw a princess. As time went on, he found you far more willing to betray your adopted parents (both parents could not have more children and they wanted a daughter); where he enjoyed the caged benefits, you wanted freedom from those who stole you from your parents.

“Good boy.” Licking the shell of his ear before biting it, “You are so beautiful.” You moan, “Part your legs a bit wider.” He nods as he loses himself to the very drug he used on you, lust. You hush his whine when your hand moves away, then he groans when you sit on his thigh so he can feel how wet you are, “Richard.” Moaning his name as you rock your hips to grind yourself on his thigh. His eyes lock onto the sight of you, the underlings are damningly blocking his view yet adds to the scene. Your breasts bubbling over the corset you are wearing, your petticoat skirt spread out over his leg, your hands on his shoulders as leverage.

“(Name),” He wants to rip everything off of you and sink himself deep within your quim already! “Princess, please.”

“Not yet,” You say between moans, “Let me see you fall apart.” Wrapping your arms around his neck, the hand around your waist grabs your ass through the underskirt, his growling as you kiss him. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth.

The shared taste of sweets from brunch is because your knight can never say no to an opportunity to make you smile.

Anything for his princess.

His hand goes behind your head, fingers in your hair before a sharp grip, he always wants more, always more— Devour you whole so you may never part from him. You try pushing him back to breathe but he is relentless in kissing you. Richard only pulls away to bury his face in your breast as he cums all over his hand and stomach. The tremble of his body, sharp rip of fabric as the hand on your ass grows out his claws, you hiss as his fangs bite into the top of one of your breasts; you pump his cock as he tried to stop himself from cumming too much by squeezing the base of his cock.

“Stop,” Growling his want, “I need to—”

“What you need to do is please your princess.” So close, you want to cum but you need him to stop holding back. Sharp gold and red eyes look up at you, you know he is fighting to retain his visual of Richard Sterling.

“Richard!” Pinning you down on the bed with your petticoat torn off and tossed away, “Ah!” Diving between your legs not caring as you pull his hair trying to gain your control back. Instead, your hands go to your pillow and sheets as he returns the favor with his tongue.

Longer, you can feel it deep with your cunt— He is losing his shape all because of you. There is pride in that.

Your thighs squeeze against your chest, feet curved and toes curling in your shoes, you cannot keep your voice down, “Richard, Richard, Richard!” Chanting his name over and over, your hair ruined from how much you have been tossing and turning.

Richard grins when he tastes your essence spill into his awaiting mouth, drinking you as if you are made of ambrosia, consuming you until you are whimpering his name. He is out of breath, “Allow me to be inside of you once more.” Sitting up as he keeps your legs pinned down thus you as well.

You nod your head quickly.

“Say it, confess it.”

“Richard,” You are a mess, a mess in love with this monster. His eyes are still mismatched with one is gold and the other red, his hair white with the tips red like fire, his skin paler, and you want him to consume you so you never part from him. “Take me, I need you, my beloved knight.”

And he does.

The shared moan of his cock sinking into your hot cunt, the way you have become home to him. You feel complete, he is your missing half the Gods divided and had you seek out. Romantically you both believe your hearts are in sync in this moment before the high of lust demands movements.

“I love you!” Said midst of you cumming as Richard is merciless, he let himself be consumed by desire, “Richard, more!” It will never be enough, you will never have enough of him, and that should make you hate the monster. 

A monster you can see the beauty of as your hands hold his shoulders, where some of his red scales are exposed. You have seen them a handful of times, mostly when he was shedding, you find them pretty like rubies.

“I love you, (Name).” The cruelest poison, it is as thick and sweet as honey, you swallow it without a second thought. Yet, the creature means it— Repeats it over and over as he changes positions to you lying on your side. One leg on the bed bent towards your chest and the other over his shoulder. One hand is on your leg while the other is rubbing your sensitive clit.

Both cumming again.

“My princess,” He groans as the position is changed again to you on all fours, hands gripping the top of your headboard, his hands on your waist as he fucks you from behind, “Just a bit more, hold on for me.” He isn't done yet as his stamina is a blessing and a curse in these moments.

The next position is one you begged for, the scene outside changing as the sun is now high in the sky, you do not want to stop. You want to keep going to forget everything painful and just stay in the illusion Richard created, be only the princess and her faithful knight.

“Richard, cum, please!” You are on his lap as he holds you, his mouth on your chest and hands on your ass to help you bounce on his cock. “I need it,” Drunk on sex makes it easier to expose parts of your yearning heart, “I want your bastard,” Sobbing as you are so close again, “You can't leave me. I won't let you.”

Richard stops you moving and pulls back to see his weeping princess, glowing from sex and her heart bare for him to see, “I will never abandon you.” He is serious as his hands touch your face as you choke out whimpers and shake your head, “My sweet princess.” Kissing your tears away, tears because though he can cum inside of you as many times as he wishes… Shapeshifters can't impregnate a human.

“I love you.” You want to believe him, he wants you to believe him.

“Show me,” Glossy eyes on his face, “Show me everything you are.” The highest form of trust to show the monster she once feared and now loves, a monster you have in your bed every night. Richard lays you down as he pulls out of you, kissing your hand as he wants you to see him completely. You place your hands over your stomach, your overused cunt leaking out the generous amount of cum he released inside of you, your eyes locked on him as sheds the final part of his false approach.

The face and body remain the same as he modeled himself into the persona of the dead son of the Sterlings, but you can see the differences between the creature and pictures of the dead son (the few that remain untouched by the knight). The decorative scales on his arms and parts of his chest, a tail that wraps your chest, and when he takes your hand to feel his cock— The barbs are different and you know it is going to be a very interesting sensation. The black tendrils leak the sticky substance of cum, there are others within the parted skin— The ungentle reminder you are bedding a monster— You find him to be the most fascinating thing in your life.

“You are the first to see this.” Groaning as you sit up and start exploring him with your mouth and hands, “Are you not—” Surprised at how you kiss him and eagerly explore him.

“Richard, if you ever think I would find you hideous, I will tie you to this bed and ride you.”

“Careful, princess, such a promise might not work in your favor.”

“I believe it will. After all, I know how to handle my knight's sword quite well.” Kissing his nose as he lets out groans as you make your point with his cock, the main tendril that has a barb-like base. “You are going to take me as if you can breed me, understand?”

“Of course, how beautiful you would be carrying our child.” A fantasy he can play into.

You appreciate him going slow but it makes the feeling of his size and barbs nearly too much, your nails scratching deep into his skin close to cutting it, he whispers the sweetest of praises and amazement at how well you are taking him. The idea of having him take you like this all the time is brought up though realistically he can't, the risk of being caught both as your brother and a monster would not end for either of you.

You cling to him desperately as the kiss shared between seals your fate to him as it did many years ago.

It is late afternoon now, Richard is awake with his fingers playing with your hair. His eyes looking up at the ceiling, you are sleeping on him sharing your warmth with him. His eyes will glance over at you from time to time, enjoying the peace sleep gives you; though his eyes would drift to your neck to where the fresh marks you will have to hide with a high collar.

The knight kisses your forehead before going back to thinking… The end will come soon.

Upon their return from holiday, these loving parents have arrangements to meet a matchmaker to marry you off. A young woman at your age is perfect and the family has already set their eyes on a young man from a family friend.

Richard met him once, he is an idiot. Perfect for them to use you to control the idiot. They believe they can simply ship you off, to take away the princess from her knight. You have no idea about this, Richard aims to keep it that way until the time is right.

Soon.

Soon you will be free and he will remain by your side until the end.

[syndrossi]

Jon and Daemon arriving right behind one another is a juicy scenario I hadn't even considered.

Angst potential is definitely off the charts, especially with how it plays into Jon's curse to never know his mother, other than through stories (Lyanna) or his original counterpart's memories of Rhea. And Rhea herself is in a complicated place as a mother. I could easily see Jon hardening his heart to her memory, a bit like Resonant!Jon tries, because of what she did both with him and the twins--though I'm sure original!Jon doesn't fully let him, since she would have been a constant presence in his secret life until his kidnapping.

Honestly, even that is complicated. I'm sure Volantis's tactics included convincing him that his mother did not care to find/rescue him, and that his father clearly did not want him at all. And they had ample examples to drive that home. Perhaps they even pointed to the twins, after their birth. "See? She already replaced you." For younger Jon, especially.

Absolute agony, of course, for Rhea when she sees that he's alive and not dead like she'd been led to believe by whatever fire had been conjured to cover his disappearance. Had she known to look, how differently might things have gone? I like to think she found some peace at least in being able to give him his birthright, and his apparent love for siblings he had never met.

Very wtf for Jon though, to be sure. He's already rolling with all the punches that have been thrown his way since waking up. I think he judges Rhea and finds her wanting--Ned hiding the circumstances of his birth and raising him as his bastard came from a place of love for his sister and for Jon. Rhea hiding him away had come from a place of selfish (paranoid) fear that she might be replaced. To the outside eye, it would seem like she had not wanted to relinquish power.

Daemon's pain and confusion puts all others to shame, of course. Talk about punch after punch after punch. He has twin sons! Wait, three sons. Teens? No, one teen, two younger. This one--had been kidnapped? But now safe, with a dragon. The other two: definitely kidnapped, likely by the same bastards who took his firstborn, and BOY HOWDY does Daemon want to get to burninating Volantis. Gather up the dragon posse, incinerate the Triarchy's forces and fire a few warning shots over their Free Cities, then continue on until Volantis is leveled and no longer able to threaten his children again.

But who is available in that moment for his wrath? As you said, not Rhea. He has to be gentle for Jon's sake, to let her pass in silence as he seethes. And then in walks Allard, all but cheerfully whistling at his successful maneuvering. (I mean, he did care for Rhea and wasn't glad that she died, but what a nice inheritance to salve that sorrow!)

I think you're right. I don't know if it occurs to Jon in the moment, still reeling, but definitely after he's had some time to think things through after. When they're in the eventual debriefing with Viserys, and he wants to know how Jon knew that the twins were in danger, he has the brightest yarn to spin about the evils of Allard Royce...

I like to think that Jon pushes for him to be allowed to take the Black. Allard Royce was ambitious, but he didn't commit any actual crime, and he is no threat at the Wall.

Uuuugh but going back to Jon and Daemon and the twins now. New siblings, surrogates for Dany (Rhaegar) and...hm, himself, I suppose in little!Jon (Baelon, with Daemon getting his way). Daemon also has so much more power with Jon as an ally with Rhaegal? Like, where he has to bow and cater to Viserys's every whim and mistake in Resonant, he and Jon can just...do things. They have the carrying capacity for the twins, the might of Runestone as a refuge from which to protect their family, and dragons. Jon hears about what Crayne threatened his little brother(s) with, and he's organizing the man hunt himself across Essos, pulling Jaehaerys-style "threatening you with dragons but not actually threatening you...you hope" maneuvers to secure the cooperation of the other Free Cities. It especially helps if they did singe the Triarchy cities just a little.

Jon also protecting the shit out everyone, including Daemon, who keeps trying to be his protector and restore some of his shortened childhood to him. Jon finding it much harder to put down his sword vs Baelon, who's not strong enough to wield it and is dealing with eight-year-old emotions and limitations. Jon understanding Baelon in a way that no one else can. Seeing pieces of Dany in Rhaegar and missing them both somehow. Daemon...being like no one he's ever been close to in his life, pure intensity and warmth, more like the Free Folk than he'd ever dare tell someone so proud of his dragonlord heritage.

On the topic of what Viserys does when he has the political headache of a severely ascendant Daemon with three prophecy children... I think he cuts his Velaryon losses, possibly. Jon's dragon makes up for the loss of Vhagar, and the twins' hatchlings will only grow. So a scandal is made about Laenor's "bastards" (aka Corlys's bastards), the marriage annulled, and Viserys gets his Rhaenyra-Daemon match to both cement his loyalty and achieve future prophecy babies (he thinks/hopes) of their shared line.

Plus it would be plain cruel to skip over Daemon for his son, given Daemon's feelings for Rhaenyra and vice versa.

Jon meanwhile could be offered as a match for Laena, but it will depend on how House Velyaron feels about what happened with Laenor. Maybe Viserys eases the sting by offering to have the Crown dissolve her betrothal to the sealord's son? I could definitely see Jon being quite into Laena, given her own fire, and since he was nineteen before, a woman of twenty-three doesn't seem that old to him.

The ultimate loser in all of this is Otto and House Hightower, if Viserys gets all the things he wants, which means Otto will be doing his best to sabotage everything he can without kicking off the Dance early, which he can't afford because he has no dragons.

So I have another "what if" prompt that is very out of left field. Jon gets brought back as his 14 year old self in the 8 year old body (same as Rhaegar) only he's not the only version of himself that the got Summerhalled. They managed to grab 19 year old war vet Jon who is transported into the actual conception child Rhea and Daemon would have had. Rhaegal and Ghost come with (he doesn't get an emotional support twin so he gets 2 service pets to compensate). He's the one who stops in and saves the twins and inadvertently helps sell Daemon's fiction that the twins are true born because he is literally an older version of Jon.

This ask predates Restoration AU, I think, which is funny because it's sort of a reverse Restoration AU? Two Jons but in Resonant era, and one of them the same age as Winterfell!Jon in Restoration, while the other is the nineteen-year-old vet version.

I don't think the math quite works out for 19-year-old Jon to be the consummation baby of Daemon and Rhea's marriage unless he's a few years younger in the Dance era, and Daemon wouldn't have abandoned a trueborn son (nor would early marriage Rhea have hidden him). Maybe it works if he's 14, aka born 3 years into Daemon's marriage with Rhea, when she was much more embittered against him, though again we have to handwave that Rhea was willing to hide an actual trueborn son when Jaehaerys himself was still alive!

The logistics of Rhaegal suddenly appearing in the world would certainly be...interesting. Vet!Jon would have to be pretty clever with his explanation there! Once the Volantis shenanigans are known to him, maybe he can claim that he was kidnapped by them as a child and only recently escaped/returned to Westeros.

[glisten-inthedark]

Sorry if its too much to ask but im a mileven turning into a byler and i honestly doubt it happening, can you convince me or at least explain so i can understand

Hello, how are you doing?

Ok, so first things first. I won't try and convince you of anything because I genuinely do feel that shipping should be organic, but I'll provide textual evidence and comparisons you can use to guide you.

This got extremely long lmao.

Will Byers was always meant to be canonically homosexual

I think the most important point to start with is this. Will was always meant to be gay, and his queercoding was present from the start. His own father used the f- slur to talk about him, his bullies always attacked his sexuality and even Hopper assumed he was the victim of a hate crime.

So we know that from the very beginning, they wanted him to be gay but his sexuality was never treated as a joke. I think is important to note the difference between internal dialogue and external dialogue when it comes to writing or presenting an idea.

Mike and Will's relationship has been treated differently from the start

Let's assume they were always meant to be viewed as closer friends. This could possibly work if weren't for Dustin and Mike's conversation during season 1 where Mike explicitly tells him that he and Lucas are his best friends. So theoretically, there should be no difference in how their relationships are shown within canon.

It'd be one thing for the three boys to address that Mike and Will are different, is another thing for the story to show and tell us that.

And you might be asking yourself, how do they do that?

Firstly, they do it by singling Mike out. When Will's "body" was found, we see all of their reactions right? But the only person that snaps to someone he was being kind to up until that point is Mike.

Just him.

Lucas says: "It's really him" and Dustin appears to want to cry, but Mike is the one who snaps at El, who tells her she told him Will was alive, and then he asks "What is wrong with you?"

He's the only person we follow home, he's the only one we see breaking down in his mother's arms. He's the only person they really focus on, and this is where I need you to ask yourself why.

I won't give you an answer because I really want you to think about it, but if all these boys are best friends, if all of them collectively care about Will like we know they do, why was Mike singled out for his reaction?

Mike is also the only person, besides Will's own mother, who believes wholeheartedly he is alive. When questioned by Lucas about it, he claims he doesn't have an explanation for the body, but he just "knows" is not him.

Considering that not even Jonathan believed Will was alive - and we all know he loves his brother more than anything - I also ask you to ask yourself why that is.

Why did Mike seemingly "just know" Will was alive when the only person who had that same gut feeling was Will's mother, the person who gave birth to him? No one else did. Not Lucas, not Dustin, not Jonathan.

Just Mike and Joyce.

Again, if these boys have been friends for years at this point, why is Mike's belief system the one that diverges from the others? Why didn't he also keep assuming Will was dead until he heard his voice?

And if all of their friendships were meant to be seen as equal, why did the reveal of the walkie-talkie happen with just Mike there? I mean, all of them cared about Will, so why not have all of them there? Why not show them collectively reacting to it?

During season 2, we again see Mike being singled out when it comes to Will.

Again, Mike himself told Dustin they were all his best friends. That's what was said to us, so is not really about friendship, but rather about the intricacies of caring and of love.

In season 2, Mike says: "He's quiet today" and Lucas says: "He's always quiet" and Mike says something along the lines of "This feels different or this is different". Again, they are showing us that Mike appears to be more in tune with Will.

This proves to be the point whenever Will is having one of his visions and Mike is the one who pulls him out of them. When Will calls Mike during Halloween, Mike mysteriously shows up there almost as if he heard him call.

They also drew a very explicit parallel between Will and Mike and Nancy and Jonathan. When Nancy got through the mini portal, she started calling out to him and he pulled her back. When Will was in that vision state, he called Mike and Mike pulled him out of it.

And just a forewarning, I will make comparisons to Mike and El's relationship but I mean no disrespect to you or your ship. Is just how I perceive things but that doesn't mean you are less valid for seeing things differently and I'll try not to get into deep about how I feel about their relationship.

When El called Mike, he never heard her. He never felt her.

He thought he saw Eleven, but didn't go after her nor did he actively try and find her even when he kept trying to reach her in his walkie-talkie. He never dragged himself to the middle of the woods to find her, he never went against explicit orders from a police officer to go after her.

And then we have a scene that tells us exactly how Mike and Will met.

We face the same conundrum when Mike blows daggers at Dustin for trying to help Will and tells Will "he'd take him home" only to take him to his own house.

When Will explains to him what is happening, he tells him not to tell the others because they wouldn't understand and then he says he feels like he's going crazy and well Mike says they'll go crazy together. And the thing is, the writers could have easily thrown in something innocuous like: "No you're not going crazy", or "This feeling will pass" or not have Will say anything about going crazy at all. The scene would come off as way less romantic and it would still have worked.

And again, we know all of them care about each other, that they'd do anything for each other. But, Mike is the only one of them who is there.

He is standing there, watching his friend be in pain, and he tells him that asking him to be his friend was the best thing he ever done.

So I ask you again, why was Mike singled out. Why was he the only one there from the party?

And let's compare the content of what is said, shall we?

Joyce informs Will of his birthday, and how he gave someone a toy because the person was sad.

Jonathan tells Will about the day their father left and they built Castle Byers together.

All of those moments start to sound really small compared to this monumental thing Mike shares because the thing is. Will is aware that his birthday is March 22 (and so are the writers but I digress), and he knows that he and Jonathan built the castle when Lonnie left.

And he also knows when he and Mike met. What he didn't know, up until that point, is that it meant that much to Mike. Was that, canonically, Mike viewed it as the best choice he ever made.

During season 3, both Lucas and Mike were the source of Will's anger, and yet Mike is the only one who follows Mike out of the basement and he immediately backtracks and tells Will it was a cool campaign.

Now, did at any point Will tell Mike he didn't like girls? Did he, at any point, make passing remarks about not feeling attraction towards them?

Was there any realistic reason for Mike to say the words: "Is not my fault you don't like girls" instead of saying: "Is not my fault you can't get a girlfriend?" or "Is it too bad that I want to spend some time with my girlfriend?" All of these are far more acceptable responses to Will's argument than what he said and yet he went straight for the jugular with no reason whatsoever.

In canon there was no reason for him to assume Will didn't like girls - especially considering he urged Will to dance with a girl a few months prior -. So how the hell did he go from Will should dance with a girl (which implies he didn't assume anything other than Will being straight) to: "Is not my fault you don't like girls?

And we can see he immediately feels sorry, and when Will bikes away he goes out after him without hesitation in the pouring rain to apologize.

Now, another parallel to Mike and El. When they break up everything around them is colorful and bright, Mike doesn't look upset, or heartbroken, he just looks pissed and Max straight up tells El he'll come crawling back and asking for forgiveness in no time.

Does he do it?

No.

But who does he go after immediately after fighting? I don't have to tell you.

Mike had been dating El for a while up to that point, you'd think he'd be upset that she broke up with him, instead, he looked at him like "What the fuck" and kept complaining about it. He looked more guilty about what he said to Will than about the fact he was lying to El.

And by the end of the season, we can see he looks terrified the moment El kisses him and tells him he loves her. He doesn't close his eyes, and he doesn't kiss her back, he just stands there looking utterly lost and confused.

And then they did something that is particularly gut-punching.

They used Heroes by Peter Gabriel again - the same song was used when Will's body was found.

Not only the music was the same, but we saw Mike staring at Will's house with this somber expression and biking away. As he gets home, he holds his mother and if you're thinking that this sounds familiar is because it is. We saw it before: The same exact thing happened when Will's body was found.

Now we have to remember that Mike was losing both El and Will. That both of them are leaving, and yet every single visual and musical cue tells us who Mike is subconsciously thinking about.

They could have chosen any other song, they didn't need to make it look like Mike was about to have a panic attack when El kissed him (and make it look like he was terrified) and they sure as hell didn't have to use the same song they used when Will's body was found and for Mike to hug his mother the same way he did that fateful night.

And I saw someone argue that he looks like that because he realized he loved. If that was the case, why didn't he just say it then? She heard him say it before, and she tells him she loves him too, so not only does that let him know she feels the same, but it should also help with his insecurity about not being sure he feels like that in season 4. And also, she signed all her letters as "Love, El", and he didn't pick up on it? Unlikely.

Not only do we have Finn's acting to rely on, but we also have the script that explicitly states that as El kisses him, Mike feels confused and asks "What is wrong with me?"

And oh my am I rambling, I am so sorry lmao but I still have thoughts™ so I hope you don't mind lmao.

In season 4, we see that Mike has no issue hugging Dustin and that he has no issue maintaining his friendships with his other friends or with talking to El but wouldn't you know it? He hasn't been talking to Will for months.

Then there's the infamous airport awkward af half hug, and Mike casting furtive glances toward Will the entire time (you can rewatch the scene and see it for yourself).

Another important thing to note is that there was no single moment between Mike and El where they were alone if we don't count their argument about him not telling her he loves her.

Every other single moment of the season they share has Will standing there. They force us to feel sorry for him, they force us to confront the fact that Mike and El being together is breaking his heart, and they make us feel even sorrier for a boy who's already been through too much.

They even tell us a few facts while they are it:

Will loves Mike. Mike doesn't make him like a mistake at all, he makes him feel better for being himself. Will pictures himself with Mike by his side forever, and he doesn't think he'll be ever able to move on from him and from how he feels.

He literally Cyrano de Bergerac's the shit out of the situation because he couldn't stand the thought of Mike thinking about himself in that way. He loves Mike so much that he gives up something sacred to him just so that Mike gets to be happy. He rips off the band-aid because he lost all hope, and he has come to accept that he won't get his happy ending.

And there's something even more inherently tragic in what Will does - from an anthropological standpoint that is, because he's not giving Mike just a painting, but a sacred part of himself, of what makes him "him"". He wraps it up with lies, closes it with a beautiful bow, and signs El's name on it. He says what he feels and assigns those feelings to El, but what Mike truly has will always be a part of Will, not a part of El.

We don't even know if and where Mike keeps El's letters, and yet, every single one of Will's drawings was kept safely by Mike.

And finally, we have the final shot of the season.

At first, we see El Mike and Will standing together in the middle. Then we have Jancy and Jopper at their side.

Then El steps away and goes to the front, while Mike and Will stay behind, right in the middle, with the other couples of the show. I have a really hard time believing that was coincidental.

They could have ended the season a million different ways and yet, they didn't.

So again, ask yourself why that is.

There's a lot more I could say, but I feel like I already scared you enough as it is lmao.

I know I'm not giving you all of the answers, but I genuinely believe that the best you can do is analyze the show in its entirety. Is for you to approach with questions instead of preconceived answers. Ask yourself: If they could go this way, why did they go that way?

I hope this helped you in some way, and I also wanted you to remember this is a process. The show was meant to be redigested and reassessed, it was meant to be watched over and over again.

If you pay attention, if you look closely, you'll see small moments of Will and Mike's relationship since season 1. If you pay more attention, they'll become more noticeable as you go.

But if you take a step back, if you start to wonder why Will has to fall in love, if you question why his love had to be implied as unrequited; why at the same time Mike and El never really talk after his supposed love speech, why is this happening at all, that should also tell you a feel things.

I don't know if this helps at all, but I hope it does, somehow.

[bam-bi-buck]

911 8x06 SPOILERS

I was looking for my phone so I came to my moms room at 8:01 and my mama said “his wife took his mom” and I was like oh dang and was then it was an urn 🙃

When he dropped the urn my mama went “there goes your fortune… and your mama” lmao

Eddie really put this priest through the ringer, his expressions: ↘️↖️↗️↔️

Your son, your best friend hmmm?

You deserve forgiveness Eddie 😭 promise

Madney second baby!!!

Did they fix the “mama” from Jee? It sounds better than the sneak peek I think

Buck is such an awkward duckling

I love you

Some Himbo? I know where this is going

“Abby Clark”

My mama “WHAT!!? i-i-ie, that’s not something you want in common”

“Like a root canal with lawyers” 🤣

I’m literally traumatized

Just his guts 🤢

“I’m dying and this shirt is ruined”

Mama “that’s what you’re worried about?”

I wonder how many guys

“She didn’t bring her business to work” glances at Maddie “Unlike some other people” Josh 🤣

I know you tell Maddie everything too, don’t even

Maddie is so confused by Josh’s speech 🤣

I get what Josh is trying to say but there’s a difference between being in the closet and getting engaged to someone knowing you’re not into them

Chim 😭

Was it worth it the last time - damn Maddie

Maddie take off your jewelry!

That look on Maddie’s face - “omgod she’s pregnant”

My mama “how do you know!?”

“Did you not see the look on her face?”

Me glancing up from the floor to see her scrolling on her phone

“No”

Me “Hmmm”

Oooh the priest was behind Eddie in line

“Why did you denied yourself the juice”

I love you Father Brian

I am loving this discussion between Eddie and Father Brian

We can’t take care of others if we don’t first take care of ourselves

That little look back 🤣

My mama “Jacks in the hole!”

Aww these brothers 😭

Chim wants another baby 🥺

Buck, you’ve been dating six months, why are you asking him to move in 😭

Here’s the thing Bucks been my boy since 1x01 so I’m really sad that what he said looks like it’s gonna stick with him 😭

Ngl it was a jerk move for Tommy to say it so definitive like that, Bucks definitely gonna internalize it

(Also movies were not good luck for them huh?)

Chim & Maddie 🥺

I love them

I love them being so open and honest with each other

They’re gonna have another baby 🥹

Rip mustache - you made things funny 🫡

Love the dance (mom had to tell me it was a reference to risky business lol, will prob look up that scene on YT later lol)

Eddie feeling joy!!! 🥹

Buck going to Eddie 🥺

Also mom could not get over Eddie not putting on pants

I was like “Buck’s probably seen everything already taking care of him after the shooting”

And she was like “would you open the door to (friend) in your bra and undies”

And I was like “nooo but I’ve never take care of (friend) the way Buck has sooo”

Also (friend) and I are not whatever Buck & Eddie are lol cuz they are not typical besties (they love each other 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨) (& I don’t get out enough to find a 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩)

Anyways! What an eventful episode!!!

Can’t wait for next week!!! 👀

[kaytheday]

The Weight of the Eldest Brother

Hello! This is my submission for Day 4 of @outsidersweek

This submission is pretty long. I know that today has been a difficult day for everyone (which is probably why this fic is so long 😭), if anyone needs someone to talk to or vent to, just PM me! I am here for anyone who needs it. More under the cut!

On the rare occasions that Darry Curtis Jr. got nervous, he would feel irritable. Sweating incessantly as his fuse was cut short. He knew that a nervous Ponyboy would start shaking, going pale and sometimes even throwing up. Ponyboy had confessed that the few track meets that college scouts had stopped by to watch, he’d been so nervous he’d thrown up. Soda would turn into a firecracker, unpredictable and unable to concentrate, sleep, or even sit still for more than a few seconds. His restlessness would only grow as the nerves ate at him. 

Now, Darry sat completely still on that hospital bench. He was sweating and staring at the floor and feeling like he might throw up. He was nervous. That’s what he assumed this feeling was anyway.

This felt worse than the time with his parents. Somehow, this was ten thousand times worse. He didn’t know what he would do if-

“Mr. Curtis?” He turned to find the coroner looking at him expectantly. “Are you ready to go down?” 

Soda had been missing for upwards of three days. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for small stretches of time, it wasn’t like he lived at home anyway. But he usually found Ponyboy or Steve and went to hunt down some action. Neither of them had seen him since the fight. 

Darry and him had gotten into a terrible fight. The kind of fight that no longer becomes about what you were first fighting about, instead becoming a contest of who can say the nastiest thing. 

So Soda had stormed out. 

And Darry doesn’t even remember what it is that he said. He said a lot of terrible things that night, any one of them could have been the reason Soda stormed out. But he doesn’t remember. And now it might be the last thing he ever said to his brother. And he doesn’t even remember it. What an asshole. 

There in the hospital's ground floor, Darry just gulps and gives the Coroner a nod. Standing on shaky legs and following him to the hospital morgue… the same one where his brother might be lying. 

“Are you feeling alright Mr. Curtis?” Darry jumps a little, of course he’s not feeling alright. The last time he was here it was to identify two different members of the Curtis family.

It seemed like a lifetime ago but he still remembers it like it was yesterday. Their bodies were still fresh from the crash. Mottled and bloody but despite the disfiguration, Darry knew it was them. It just reminded him of something that his Momma used to say to him when he was little and wanted to help hold Ponyboy. 

“How come he only stops crying when you hold him?”

“Ponyboy loves you very much but sometimes babies just want their momma. A baby will always know his momma.” 

His mothers words certainly rang true on that terrible night. Even in death his mother was very beautiful. She would have been glad that her baby boy always knew his momma… even in death. 

He’d hoped that would be the last time he would ever receive a call from the coroner's office.

Luckily, it was his day off and even more luckily, he was the only one home. 

“Hello Mr. Curtis, this is Jeff Alberts. I am a chief coroner with St. Francis hospital, I may have some very bad news regarding your brother…” That was all Darry heard before his world shattered into a million pieces. 

Somehow this was worse. He thought the universe would have cut them a break by now, but this was worse. This was worse than his parents, worse than Johnny and Dally, worse than that damned draft letter that started this whole mess in the first place. 

“I feel fine.” Darry told the coroner. “Just a little lightheaded.” He doesn't know what it was in him that told the coroner that. Probably the fact that this coroner seemed like a real adult and Darry felt like the same scared little kid that had to identify their parents' disfigured bodies with his little brothers at home. Darry was still that same scared kid that stepped up to raise his two little brothers all while simultaneously messing things up even more. 

He didn’t have time to think about Ponyboy right now. He couldn’t imagine what Ponyboy would do if the body he found in the morgue was-

“I know these situations are very difficult, do you need to sit down for a minute? I can grab you some water if you’d like.” 

“No, I’m okay.” 

“Okay.” They went down a few more stairs. “The man we received in the morgue came in with a stab wound among other lacerations…” With each word Darry felt himself getting sicker. He needed to throw up or punch something or maybe both. “...also found various evidence that he may have been on drugs or with someone who was using.” Then the coroner launched into an explanation of the man’s physical description, a lot of which matched Soda exactly. 

Stay standing. Darry told himself. You can’t stop now. It was the same stuff he had told himself the first time he had come here. It was awful when his parents were killed. Darry had felt worse than he’d ever felt before. Beyond terrible, Ponyboy had been throwing up because of how hard he was crying and Sodapop looked about ready to combust at the way he was moving. But Darry was the one that couldn’t stop, the one that had to pull them together, take charge, and make sure everything was okay. Nobody else was going to do it. 

“Are you ready to go in Mr. Curtis?” Darry took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst. He could say no, he could tell the coroner that he needed a minute. But it was better that he just do it now. It was better that he just went in immediately. Afterwards he would need to call Ponyboy and tell him that it was Sod-

“Do you need another minute son?” Darry couldn’t breathe. Just breathe. Just calm down. He tried to take another deep breath. “Son?” 

“Okay. Let’s go in.” 

The room smelled the same way that it had when he’d been there the first time. The body was underneath a sheet on a metal table. The table had some flecks of blood on its shiny exterior. Darry went and stood next to the body on one side. 

“I’m going to pull the sheet down now. Is it alright if I do that Mr. Curtis?” Darry bit his lip and nodded. He didn’t really have a choice, he had to know. He had to know so he could figure out a way to pull their family back together again. How would Ponyboy take this? Darry hadn’t even told him about this, Pony was at work anyway. Home from school for the summer but more importantly to see Soda after his tour  in Vietnam. Darry didn’t know what Ponyboy would do if he found out his favorite brother had been killed. Ponyboy had already lost so much. He couldn’t take losing one more. How could Darry take it?

The sheet came down. 

The relief that flooded through him was instant. It had him nearly swaying on his feet, his eyes growing hot and wet as he stared at the body that wasn’t Sodapop. 

He could understand how the coroner thought it was Sodapop, especially considering it was Soda’s wallet they found in his pocket. This guy looked nearly the same, but there were a couple clear differences. This guy's nose had been broken more than once and his hair was longer. Soda had barely had time to grow out his hair since the four months he’d been out of the army.  This guy was also missing the scar that Soda had on his neck from Two-Bit throwing a bottle at him three years ago. 

“Is this your brother, son?” 

It’s not him. It’s not Sodapop. 

“No, it's not him.” The doctor looked skeptical. 

“Are you sure? Sometimes in death our loved ones can-.” 

“I’m sure. It’s not him.” Darry interrupted. This wasn’t like the first time, with his parents. He had known immediately as soon as he’d seen their mangled faces that it was them. This was completely different. 

“Okay.” The doctor said softly, pulling the sheet back over the man's face. “You are free to go Mr. Curtis. Thank you for coming in.” Darry still had Soda’s wallet in his back pocket. He was relieved but still worried. If he wasn’t here, where was he?

Before he knew it Darry was putting a dime in the slot of the hospital payphone. 

“Hello?” Ponyboy.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Hey Darry, what’s going on?” He sounded genuinely confused and maybe a little worried. He had a right to be. Darry didn’t usually leave the house during his days off and then mysteriously call home and not say anything. 

Darry thought about telling him. He thought about telling him everything. The coroner's office, the guy who looked like Sodapop, the pit in his stomach. But he couldn’t tell Ponyboy. He shouldn’t even have to be worrying about Darry in the first place.  

“Just makin’ sure you made it home from work okay.” 

“Sure.” Pony said slowly, still confused. “You okay? Where are you calling from?” Of course the kid would pick up that something was wrong. 

“Just the gas station. I’m headed home in a minute.” 

“Okay, I’ll see you when I get home then.”

“Okay, bye Pone.” 

“Bye Darry.” And just like that the call dropped. At least he had one brother accounted for. 

Darry didn’t even really remember the drive home. He did that sometimes. His head filled with so much worry and stress that he simply went on autopilot, somehow managing to find the way home without crashing the car. Today was no different. 

He could hear the racket before he even stepped through the front door. Ponyboy and Steve were on the floor, a hand of poker set out before them and Soda… Soda?

Soda was home. The same Soda that had come back from Vietnam so different. The same Soda he had fought with and driven out of the house. The same Soda that he had driven to the hospital to identify. The same Soda that was sitting on the couch in front of him, unharmed and not dead in a hospital morgue. 

“...arry?” Ponyboy was looking at him, something like concern written in his eyes. 

“Sodapop?” He asked, completely ignoring Ponyboy for a moment. “Where you been?” 

“Around. Didn’t know if you’d want me back for a while after… that night.” He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable with everyone's eyes on him. 

“You’re always welcome here, no matter what.” Darry said in that no nonsense tone. Darry wiped his hands on his jeans. “You guys start dinner?” He asked, itching to change the subject. 

“I preheated the oven.” 

“Thanks Pone, I’ll finish it.” He felt their eyes on him as he went to the kitchen. Get a grip. He told himself. Of course Soda is fine. He began to slather the thawing chicken in sauce.  He went to get some butter out of the fridge when he nearly ran into Soda. 

“What’s this about?” He asked, running a nervous hand through his hair. 

“What’s what about?” Darry asks, taking some frozen vegetables out of the freezer. 

“You were lookin’ at me like you saw a ghost. That’s gotta be something.” 

“I’m fine, I’m just really glad you’re okay Sodapop.” Soda’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“Sure, I was only gone a few days. Are you still mad about our fight?” Soda asked.

Darry thought about telling him. He really did. About telling him everything. He thought about telling him that he thought Soda was dead and he was the one to blame. He thought about telling him about the smell and even mom and dad. He thought about yelling his head off that Soda should have called, should have told Darry where he was, that he could have been killed and it would be all Darrys fault. 

After all, Darry hadn’t had anybody to tell for so long.

But he didn’t.

Over the years he had a lot of practice of knowing which things his little brothers needed to know. His little visit to the coroner's office and hospital morgue was not something either of his little brothers needed to know about. 

“No, I’m not mad about that. Not anymore little buddy. Now how about you help me with dinner, huh?” 

“Sure Dar.” Soda says easily, knocking his shoulder against Darrys. “Though we might be having blue chicken.” Darry laughs, thinking about how close he was to thinking Sodapop was dead. How he had felt like this might never happen again. Everything would be fine. Soda was alive and Darry would keep it that way if it killed him. 

[vaegonposting]

IDK if you're on tumblr rn or if you're watching HOTD, but in case you're not watching the show... well there's a development in S2E7 that made me think of you.

(Alas, not Vaegon. But another one of your Jaehaerys child-related headcanons, at least...)

oh I’m sorry do you mean my boy HUGH HAMMER who I did not care about at all until the lore drop but is now my most specialest princess????

Offhand nameless mention lasting less than thirty seconds by a side character Saera nation we stay winning 🏆

((But seriously with the information we got from that one, maybe two sentences a lot of my head canons about Saera as a parent have been confirmed and if anyone would like to talk to me about it please do because I may die if I don’t alleviate this pressure somewhat))

[dulcewrites]

After I finish fool me once, I want my next multiple part “project” to be something with multiple characters/ocs stories intertwining

I was thinking about doing something that involved rhaena, Helaena, and an oc. And how their lives all interlock 🤔. Nothing is set in stone obvi… just thinking outloud

[ajdrawshq]

i love sending my brother screenshots of lil manga Akechis where he looks all sweet n innocent to make it seem funny how badly hes treated in our au with him. and pretending the canon horrors he doesnt know abt dont exist

[ghostbsuter]

Those were quite the news to hear.

To think that the Duo of Jon and Damian would grow into a Trio...

He wondered how the girl did it, Elle Nightingale, she must have fit right in.

To say Clark and Bruce weren't surprised would be a lie when those two boys brought in their new third companion and proceeded to roughhouse Robin-Superboy style with her.

And she seemed to retaliate just as hard.

Both fathers wondered if she was the child of a former colleague or another vigilante, that or she was a meta/alien.

So when they went to Central City to meet Elle's parent and let the kids have their fun— well.

They didn't expect a young adult– barely out of the teenage years— greeting them with a grin in a hoodie.

"Sup."

And down the rabbit hole they went.

—

Over the weeks of meet ups, Clark and Bruce have gathered around 4 different kind of responses to their questions of Elle's other parent/relationship with elle.

It went like this:

("Brother? Aww, you flatter me. I'm her dad, actually.")

("Hm? Elle's other parent? She doesn't have one.")

(A shrug. "I decided I wanted to have a kid. Elle is the result.")

("Plasmius has always been a moron. Elle! On his next weekend, rob him broke!" To which he got an enthusiastic nod from said girl.)

They've gathered;

1. Danny and Elle weren't meta-humans. Instead, at least, half something/alien.

2. Whoever Plasmius is, he was involved.

3. The boys know. Elle seemed to have shared some of her past with them, and they're holding onto the promise of safekeeping and secrecy.

[newspecies]

hi. im normal about books. now everyone go read Lone Women by Victor LaValle

[inwinterhell]

As a female athlete myself, I just want to quickly appreciate how George R.R Martin writes his women who fight. It’s never, “she wanted to be a warrior so she worked harder than everyone and eventually she could beat all the boys.” He actually gives his characters strengths and weaknesses—as well as cultural ties to fighting— and he makes these traits enhance the already existing plot lines these characters follow. The mental game is also always just as important, if not more, than the physical game, which I’ve found is true in sports and probably much more true in actual life-threatening situations.

Arya is a small child. She’s nine, she’s skinny; she would probably never excel at being a knight, so instead she learns a different type of fighting. She’ll never overpower anyone, but she can be quick and sneaky and use her left hand which most people don’t know how to fight against. Also, I would argue that Syrio’s teachings about “looking with your eyes” were far more important to her than the physical part of water dancing. Most of the time she isn’t using her skills to directly fight people, but to run away, to spy on people, to catch food and survive. Syrio is her friend, Needle is Jon Snow’s smile, etc. Arya learning how to use her stature to her advantage is part of a greater connection to her identity and the people who helped her.

Brienne is stronger than most men, but she faces constant misogyny because of that (which is all too realistic). She constantly faces internal battles with her own self-image and harassment wherever she goes. She gets taught to use men’s pride and anger to her advantage:

“Old Ser Goodwin was long in his grave, yet she could hear him whispering in her ear. Men will always underestimate you, he said, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly, lest it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch (AFFC Brienne 7)”

Finally, “no chance, and no choice” is her most memorable line for a reason. It’s not her martial prowess that makes her a great character; it’s her bravery and honor.

Cultural ties are also so important to the reasons many women in the series fight. Asha is Balon’s last remaining child when all her brothers are dead and gone. Of course she knows how to fight and sail. Her tension with Theon is less about her showing off and more about her proving how much she actually knows her people while he doesn’t (of course that isn’t Theon’s fault but that’s a whole other post). The Mormont women learned to fight because they historically had to fight off invaders; the Sand snakes’ skills show their connection to Oberyn, etc.

Anyway I just love how George uses fighting to enhance his characters’ personalities and not define them. None of them are physically or mentally infallible, and none are exempt from misogyny. They just learned to do something that empowers and protects them despite society’s expectations. George’s writing of women is definitely not perfect, but this is something I really appreciate.

[cherrynflowergarden]

disgusting(ly in love) || matt sturniolo

an; hiiii my loves how are y'all?? someone please give me some ideas for this i wanna make one for chris too:( this was originally supposed to be for 10 mins but i ran out of ideas and ended up making it 8 mins THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 400 FOLLOWERS I LOVE YOU ALL<33

summary; a youtube compilation of matt and yn being in love for 8 mins.

tagged; @t1llysblogs

matt was bored. and on youtube. having stumbled upon a video titled "MATT AND YN BEING DISGUSTING(LY IN LOVE)!!!??? tw happy couple (ew)" he decided he had nothing better to do than watch this.

clip one; sleeping beauties

the clip started with nick going down the stairs and screaming for matt. what he didn't know was yn, matt's girlfriend had stayed over.

expecting matt to be awake, he pushed the door open with his vlog camera on.

there laid matt and yn, all cuddled up on the bed. the blanket covered their tangled legs yet the way matt held his girl against his chest was enough to make everyone jealous of the couple. near them mr wrinkleton, matt's pug plushie and ms bubbles, yn's rabbit plushie cuddled too, almost making it look just like the couple in plushie forms.

a small laugh left nick, as he zoomed the camera into their faces.

clip two; twitch stream

matt was streaming on twitch with his brothers while his girlfriend went out on lunch with her friends.

coming back home, yn did not expect to hear shouts from each brother's room. assuming they were only playing video games with each other, she yelled "honeyyyyyy i'm homeeeeee" right as she entered in matt's room. not giving him any time to answer the girl skipped her way to her boyfriend and sat on his lap; all excited to tell him about the latest gossip session she had with her girls.

but that could wait for a while.

he looked so beautiful that she couldn't help but wrap her arms around his neck, giving a sweet kiss on his lips. pulling away she kissed his cheeks and mumbled "god you're so cute".

giggling softly, the boy pulled her face up and said "thank you baby" she was about to say something when chris screamed "OH MY VIRGIN EYES". laughing at the way her eyes got wide, matt explained "we're streaming baby"

clip three; birthday gift

sometimes yn vloged. since the triplets' birthday was coming soon, she decided to vlog the entire process of shopping for the brothers.

twelve minutes into the video, she was all set and ready with meaningful gifts for each brother. once she put all the gifts in separate bags for each brother, she smiled at the camera. "finally. it was such a tiring day. now only one thing is left to do. y'all remember the paints i brought? well we're doing a fun little craft." taking out the red and pink paints, she went to grab a plain black tshirt.

cutting a heart stencil out of a paper, she stuck the paper to the tshirt's back. applying the fabric paint on her lips she started kissing the cloth between the cutout paper heart. applying different shades of pink and red, she filled kisses in the shape of a heart. laughing at her now smudged 'lipstick' she showed the camera her now ready gift.

"gonna let it dry now. i think i will maybe do something in the front also. not sure. will keep you guys updated!!"

safe to say, matt loved his gift so much that he demanded another kiss tshirt so that he could wear her kisses every day.

clip four; beach

this was a short clip from the hawaii vlog. the triplets, yn, maddie and nate where walking to the beach near hotel. well not all of them were walking through.

yn decided she was too tired to walk today and matt being the absolute angel he is, let her to hop on his back as he carried the girl to the beach.

maddie had vlogged matt carrying his girl on his back, humming to whatever she had to say. the camera captured matt listening carefully to his girlfriend as she spoke animatedly about penguins. the last thing the camera captured was yn repeatedly kissing the boy's cheek as he smiled before chris pushed the couple claiming "it was sick to watch people in love"

clip five; beach again

this was a clip from the same vlog as the last. matt and yn were seen enjoying in the water. splashing water against eachother their joyous laughs could be heard.

suddenly matt lifted the girl up, enjoying her screams of fear. dropping her a little, matt laughed harder as his girl tightened her hold on his neck. "matt i swear to god if you throw me in the water" laughing at her empty threats, matt dropped her down a little.

"MATTEW STURNIOLO"

"but baby i love you" he said as he completely dropped her down.

clip six; deaf, mute and blind challenge

yn sometimes participated in the triplets' videos. right now she was a part of the deaf mute and blind challenge. nick and chris were deaf, matt was mute and she was blind.

it was tough to be blind when she was only one who could actually cook something but nothing goes according to her wish, right?

which brings us to this moment. yn, desperately trying to find the bowl which contained the pancake mixture. looking at his struggling girlfriend, matt came behind her and pulled the bowl towards them. putting the whisk in her hand, he grabbed her from behind and helped her whisk the ingredients together. mumbling a small thank you the girl was finally relieved as the process was almost over.

all while nick and chris danced and screamed to doja cat.

clip seven; grwm

yn was filming a get ready with me to go to a date. while she was putting the make up on, her boyfriend entered the room. saying a quick hi to him she turned back to explain her makeup process to her followers.

"—oh y'all need to try this mascara. it's sooooo good. i literally cried—" hugging the girl matt cut off her rant. he squeezed the girl in his arms as she turned around to place a kiss on his cheek. laughing at the bright red stain her lipstick left on his cheeks she tried to grab a tissue to wipe it off. protesting against it, the boy pulled her closer to him.

clip eight; dancing in the snow

the clip was from a random vlog yn posted. it started off with yn putting her vlog camera on the car's bonet and running towards matt. the two, fully covered in wools from head to toe danced in the snow without any music.

matt twirled his girl, a small laugh leaving him as the girl lost balance and collided with him, pushing the two to the ground.

it may seem silly to others, dancing without any music or laughing like madmen in the snow but to them this was the best moment of their life.

as the video ended, matt pouted at the screen. he now missed his girlfriend. he decided to facetime his girl not knowing chris was right behind him and he recorded matt smiling and blushing at moments with his girlfriend. probably this would end up in another compilation of matt and yn being in love.