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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 5 months

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Duty, Sacrifice

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (HotD) x f!twin reader Warnings: Incest, mentions of murder, knife play, dub con if you squint, smut. Word count: ~2.7k

Summary: Her and Aemond have always loved to play hide and seek, however, the night he returns from Storm's End, their game takes a much more sinister turn. Based on this request.

Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond has always loved hide and seek. For as long as she can remember, her and her twin brother’s preferred way to pass the time is for her to hide while he searches for her. He has never been the hider, always naturally favouring the role of seeker. She does not mind. There is an exhilarating thrill in finding new places within the Red Keep to tuck herself into, listening out for the approaching sound of his footsteps. He always finds her. His eyesight and instincts must be sharper than hers, she reasons.

It is innocent enough when they are young children; holding her hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles as she presses her back against a pier of the Keep, squealing when Aemond grabs her as he shouts “found you!”

As they grow older he becomes more sullen, resentful of the attention that Jacaerys and Lucerys bestow upon her. He scowls as Jacaerys laughs and touches her arm as a pig is presented to him in place of a dragon.

“Ñuhor haedri renīs se nykēla avy ossēninna!” Aemond hisses angrily. Touch my sister and I'll kill you myself!

She knows it is a cruel trick for them to play upon him, her heart aches for her twin; her egg had hatched in their cradle, but his never had, leaving him dragonless. Regardless, she knows no good will come of his hateful attitude towards Rhaenyra’s children, and will only exacerbate their teasing of him.

“Aemond, you have a duty to our nephews, you must sacrifice your own pride and not say things like that!” She scolds.

He scoffs, shooting a derisive look towards Jacarys and Lucerys. “They cannot understand High Valyrian anyway, they are not true Targaryens, they are bastards.”

Later, Aemond receives a stern telling off from their mother for what he had said. “But they gave me a pig,” he retorts sulkily, “they all laughed!”

She hates seeing Aemond so miserable, shut away in his chambers, refusing to speak to anyone. With trepidation, she pushes his door open, not bothering to knock, she never does.

“Would you like to play a game?” She asks softly.

He nods. She already knows what he has in mind and runs away with a smile as he begins to count down from ten.

This time she hides beneath the small council table, yet as always, Aemond finds her almost instantly.

She does not giggle when his hands grip the tops of her arms, hard enough to bruise, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that causes icy fingers of fear to wrap around her heart.

“Found you,” he says with cool indifference. “You are mine, dōnus hāedus, do you understand? You are not to speak to those bastards ever again.” Sweet sister.

The overwhelming urge to cry forms a lump in her throat, but she nods anyway. Aemond is her world, and she would never do anything to hurt him.

His temperament becomes darker still when their mother reveals her plans to marry Aegon to Helaena. Their brother and sister are both visibly unhappy with the match, yet she knows it is a deliberate move to help secure Aegon’s claim to the throne. She suspects that her and Aemond will be married off to other houses, to strengthen alliances.

Aemond glowers as he watches Aegon and Helaena awkwardly attempt to interact. It is painful to witness, more than apparent that they have nothing in common beyond a shared lineage.

“If only mother had betrothed me to you,” Aemond mutters.

Her eyes go wide with shock. It is the first time she has ever heard her twin voice any desire for her. It causes a strange and unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, warmth to spread throughout her.

“We have a duty to strengthen our brother’s claim to the throne,” she reminds Aemond gently, “we must sacrifice our own desires for the good of our family.”

He simply rolls his eyes.

Aemond sneaks up on her from behind that evening, as she hides from him behind a tall shelf of books in the library. His breath is hot as it fans across the back of her neck, his arms encircling her waist.

“Found you. Tell me it is I you wish to marry, dōnus hāedus,” he commands, nuzzling the shell of her ear, making her shiver.

“It is you, only you, you know that.” Her words surprise herself as much as they do him, as they stare at each other wide eyed, too young to understand the feelings they inspire within each other. To her, Aemond is a prized toy that she wants for no one else to play with, and she suspects he feels a similar way about her.

She wails the night that Lucerys takes her twin brother’s eye. As the maester extracts the ruined organ from its socket it feels as though her heart is being torn asunder. Each prick of the needle that stitches up his ruined flesh brings with it a fresh wave of tears to her. His pain is her pain, and though he has now gained a dragon - the largest in the world - he has lost his eye.

It feels silly and selfish of her to worry about, but she wonders how they will ever play hide and seek again.

“I could be without both my eyes and I would still find you, dōnus hāedus,” Aemond reassures her. “It is not by sight that I search for you. Your heart is tied to mine, I will always find you.”

When he is healed, he proves her right, finding her huddled in the Godswood. She laughs earnestly at his “found you”, her heart feeling as though it may burst with joy. He is right, there is nothing that will keep him from her.

His seeing eye gazes adoringly into hers, as her fingertips delicately trace over the angry, red scar that runs the length of his cheek.

On their thirteenth name day, Aegon hurries Aemond away from the Red Keep in hushed secrecy. When they return hours later, the cloying scent of perfume sticks to Aemond’s clothes and he looks flushed and queasy.

“What did you do?” She asks, horrified, her stomach roiling in disgust.

“I didn’t want to,” is all he’s able to offer her.

This time when she hides, it is not part of a game, it is an attempt to be alone with her grief, to try to understand the bitter, acid jealousy that burns hotly in her chest. She crawls beneath the wooden frame of her bed, muffling her tears into the crook of her arm.

“Found you,” Aemond whispers sadly as he slides underneath the bed, laying on his belly next to her.

“Go away,” she cries piteously, turning to face him.

“Qrīdropēnna,” he says pleadingly, “I thought of nothing but you. Forgive me.” I am lost.

She gasps when he leans in, pressing his lips to hers, but quickly reciprocates. He is her other half, and she will forgive him anything.

Every game of hide and seek after that ends with them locked in a passionate embrace, though they are careful to never properly consummate their union, agreeing to wait until she has had her wedding night, so that her husband’s suspicion is not aroused by her lack of virtue.

She is proven right regarding the plans of her mother and grandfather to betroth her and Aemond to a lord and lady of differing houses, when they are paid a visit by a Lannister Lord. He is to be her husband in twelve moons’ time, she is told.

Dread forms a void in the pit of her stomach, her world feeling as though it is ending as the golden haired man sits opposite her, smiling at her with warmth and affection. It makes her feel nauseated, especially when she looks across to see her twin brother staring at him with hateful intent, the tip of his supper knife twisting forcefully into the wood of the tabletop.

Aemond finds her curled up in his armoire as he readies himself for bed that evening.

“Come out, dōnus hāedus,” he urges gently, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“I don’t want to marry him!” She sobs into his chest. “It isn’t fair!”

“‘Tis but a formality,” he tells her quietly, stroking her long, silver hair, “they will not keep you from me.”

“Do you promise?” She asks hopefully, looking up at him.

Aemond nods. “It is our duty, our sacrifice, but your heart will always be tied to mine.”

Their lives move as if in freefall after that. Their father passes away, and Aegon is quickly crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

To win favour to his claim, Aemond is to be sent to Storm’s End with an offer of marriage to one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters.

She and Aemond stand miserably in front of each other, as he is about to mount Vhagar, his leather glove clad hands cup her cheeks.

“Do not make me go, dōnus hāedus,” he pleads, seeing eye wide with anguish, “I cannot marry a woman who is not you.”

Her heart twists painfully in her chest, clutching at his black riding coat. “‘Tis but a formality,” she reminds him, “our duty, our sacrifice, but your heart will always be tied to mine.”

“I will return to you as soon as I am able,” he promises, kissing her fiercely, before climbing into his saddle.

She watches with tears in her eyes as he flies away, taking half of her heart with him.

His return is much sooner than she had anticipated. Just a few nights later, she is startled by the door to her chambers being flung open, Aemond stands in her doorway, soaked through from the rain. He looks changed. His face is hardened, the look in his eye is stern, it makes her feel uneasy.

“Lēkia?” She asks worriedly, rising from her bed. “You are back so soon, what has happened?” Brother.

His eye sweeps over her, as if seeing her for the first time, and there is something in his gaze that frightens her, causing the skin beneath her thin, white nightgown to erupt into gooseflesh.

He is quiet for a moment, before he speaks, his voice low, void of affection. “Shall we play a game, dōnus hāedus?”

Her brow furrows in confusion, she shakes her head. “I do not think–”

“It was a rhetorical question,” he interrupts, and begins to count down from ten.

Her mouth falls open, her heart racing, not liking the hungry intent with which he stares at her, and so she runs, because she fears there is no other choice.

She has never felt afraid of her twin, not properly, but tonight is different, there is a dangerous aura that hangs over him like a stormcloud and she breathes heavily with exertion as her bare feet thud against the flagstone floor of Maegor’s Holdfast, the sound drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears.

What will he do when he catches me?

If she hides, she knows he will find her. He always does. So, she elects to keep moving, panic fluttering in her chest as she takes every turn available to her in the Keep, in a vain attempt to evade her brother.

A shiver runs down her spine as she hears him call out “kesīr mastan”, the scuff of his boots feeling unfairly close behind. How had he caught up so quickly? Here I come.

She hurries into an unoccupied chamber, one usually reserved for guests, attempting to close and bar the door behind her, but Aemond shoves it open.

His arms are around her in an instant, making her squeal with fright. “Found you,” he chuckles, though there is no humour in it.

“Let me go, Aemond,” she begs helplessly, “you are scaring me.”

He turns her to face him, backing her up towards the bed that occupies the space in the centre of the room. “Scaring you? How can that be, dōnus hāedus? I love you.”

“There…there is something different about you, lēkia. Something you aren’t telling me.”

He smirks, pushing her back onto the mattress as though she weighs nothing.

She falls back, propping herself up on her elbows, looking at him in wide eyed disbelief. He is like a cat toying with a mouse. He has never been this cruel, at least not to her.

She whimpers in fear as he unsheathes his dagger, twirling it expertly between dexterous fingers. “Please…please don’t.”

Aemond eyes her with keen curiosity. “You think I mean to hurt the person I cherish above all others?”

She swallows thickly, too preoccupied by the glint of the Valyrian steel in the moonlight that shines through the window to answer him.

“I could,” he muses, “I am a kinslayer after all. But I won’t, you are too precious to me.”

Kinslayer?!

There is little time to query his statement, as he brings the blade down upon the neckline of her nightgown, slicing it in half effortlessly. His eye roams over her bare figure appreciatively, a low hum rumbling in his throat.

Her chest rises and falls with rapidity as she stares up at him. Though her chest is tightened by fear, she cannot deny the way her pulse races at seeing Aemond’s pupil dilated with lust at the sight of her.

Carefully, slowly, he drags the tip of his blade over her clavicle, mindful not to apply enough pressure to break the skin. The cold steel makes her shiver as he pulls it downwards, circling one breast and then the other.

“I am going to claim you tonight, dōnus hāedus, put a silver haired babe in your belly. Would you like that?”

She inhales a shaky breath.

Yes.

“What of your betrothal?”

“Null and void,” he says matter of factly, trailing the dagger across her sternum and down towards her stomach.

“What…what happened?”

“Little Lord Lucerys Strong happened,” Aemond replies with mild irritation. “He arrived while I was there, to petition Borros Baratheon’s support for our whore of a half sister. It is an outrage that we should have to give up so much to defend our brother’s birthright, while that bastard flies about the realm attempting to steal it from him.”

“Oh gods, Aemond,” she whispers, bile rising in her throat, “what did you do?”

“What I ought to have done nearly ten years ago.”

She flops back against the bed, pinching the bridge of her nose as tears prick at her eyes. He does not need to say the exact words for her to know. Lucerys is dead, Aemond has killed him.

Aemond drops the dagger to the floor, the clatter echoing off of the vaulted ceiling. “Do not worry, dōnus hāedus, now we can be together. Is that not what you wanted?”

“Not like this,” she chokes out.

His hands drag a downwards path on her body, squeezing her curves as they go. “I am not so sure of that, look at how you respond to your brother.”

She mewls at the feeling of his hands upon her flesh, arching into his touch. In spite of herself, she is unable to resist the effect that her twin has upon her.

Aemond chuckles drily, unlacing his trousers and freeing his already hardened cock. Her breath catches in her throat as he swipes his fingers through the wetness that has gathered between her legs.

“See? Where is your duty now?” He asks mockingly, lining himself up with her entrance before pushing forcefully inside, making her cry out with the sting and stretch of his sudden intrusion. “Where is your sacrifice? Or is it not so important now that your brother has made your cunt all wet?”

He has the maddened look of a wild animal as he hovers over her, but she cannot deny him. Duty and sacrifice have died alongside their nephew, and her heart is tied irrevocably to Aemond’s. She can never hide from him, and any hope of her ever being able to do so was snuffed out the moment she allowed him to bury himself inside of her.

“Lēkys jorrāeliarzus,” she whispers. Dearest brother. “Aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā,” he whispers back, beginning to thrust inside of her. I am yours and you are mine.

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teyamwa · 1 year

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⠀⠀⠀⠀🏹⠀⠀@teyamwa⠀ ──⠀(⠀avatar )

full of avatar fanfics (re-blogs) ! credits are given

note: this master list updates from time to time

these are the fics that I recommend (it's all good) 🫶 | authors will be tagged so if you don't want to get tagged again please tell me!

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎SULLY FAMILY ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎☆ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎platonic

l'appel du Vide by @neytiriswife

summary- You feel the urge to engage in destructive behaviors just to feel alive and your family wants to get to the bottom.

warnings- self destructive thoughts/actions, getting slapped, biting someone's ear off, hateful thoughts, description of self harm, self harm, blood/bleeding, crying

you're dead to me by @chaethewriter

warning: english isn't my first language, angst, fluff, barely proofread, kinda rushed, prologue type of part.

In which Jake Sully leaves his life on earth to settle down with the Omatikaya people as Toruk Makto. Having a family that consists of four kids with Neytiri, everything seems to work out just fine, but what if the past comes back for him? And his babygirl is right there in front of him?

tame impala series by @lvrcpid

general includes/warnings : reader is gender neutral. this au is really angsty but it has a good ending i promise. the chapters are based off of tame impala songs. the first two chapters aren’t even really chapters cause i didn’t expect to make this a series.

you’re the oldest sully child. only born a year before neteyam. everything was sweet until your siblings came along. your parents slowly forgot you, soon your siblings did too. you were the forgotten sully. but what happens when you’re given another chance at life after your death.

too late by @iikatsukii

synopsis: they loved you when it was too late.

warnings: mentions of death, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts(?), swearing, familial issues.

change is scary by @stomach-bugg09

summary: [y/n] sully is in love, and everyone is scared.

warnings: literally none, maybe some language, a bit of angst at first ( just sad — i made myself very unhappy ), emotionally hurt + comfort, a sickening amount of fluff, really long, [y/n] x oc but this oc is actually such a sweetie pie i love him, [y/n] being the cutest little patootie of all time

one last promise by @eywahasheardyou

content warning; — angst, mentions of death?

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎JAKE SULLY

jake sully x female! reader by @tojixz

warnings: No y/n? vomiting, pregnancy problems, fluffy!! I don't know how to mark

summary: jake sully x female!reader, where the reader is in Neytiri's shoes (that hurts me) and is currently pregnant with Tuk and with pregnancy comes her stages. Just Jake and his family taking care of mommy!

dilf jake who's obsessed with human! reader by @tojigasm

dilf!Jake who's obsessed with you from the second you show up with Norm's group of scientists from the lab; a daughter of one of the lab members.

dilf jake x reader by @tojigasm

It's when you confess. When you pour your heart and soul into sobs and tears that seem to swallow you whole as he holds you.

folklore by @theseuscmander

warnings: no use of y/n, angst, a marriage of convenience, jake being mean? but he is a grieving boy! mentions death

synopsis: widowed jake sully tries his hardest to heal from the loss of neytiri and you’re there to pick up the pieces and mend him back together, even if neither of you wanted to or realized.

i knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss by theseuscmander

summary: in which jake would haunt all your what ifs, angst, sad! not a folklore drabble

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎NETEYAM SULLY

special friends by @justasimps-blog

warnings: explicit smut, super heavy corruption kink, innocent / virgin reader, secret crush, slight age difference but both are adults, childhood friendship, hand job, masturbation, praise kink, he calls reader 'peach' a lot

summary: neteyam was so used to being the golden child of his family, always doing as he’s told… he wanted to be bad sometimes too. He wanted to be the one that would teach you all these filthy things. All the things you were never allowed to do, talk or even think about.

kitty, kitty by @loose-angel

neteyam x human! reader

obsessed with you by @astrxq

where neteyam is obsessed with you

warm hands by @loaksky

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is shackled by appearances, but you couldn’t care less.

the tags & warnings — language,, misunderstandings, neteyam’s friends can be shitty, but mean well ,, reader just wants to love up on her boy :(

stupid by @justmywriting1313

synopsis: “Fuck Yawne I am sorry... shit sweetheart please, please, please look at me... Y/N I swear I didn’t mean to–” or where you were reckless with your actions and Neteyam with his words

be mine by @randxmthxughts

warnings: none really, pure fluff, fake dating trope, jealousy, loak x tsireya canon, events take place five years after the battle between the metkayina and the sky people, so aged up characters

summary: the one, where neteyam pretends to court the reader to avoid all of the nagging from his parents and a group of admirers. of course, it doesn’t take long for her to fall for him too

neteyam sully masterlist [more story are there]

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎LO'AK SULLY

here with me by @lvrcpid

includes : nothing just dad! lo’ak telling his children about their uncle neteyam.

best friend! lo'ak by @lola-bunn1

you and Lo'ak have been best friends for the longest time, you did everything together. You grew up together and never left each other's side.

meet cute by @odysirena

“you make it a habit to look at everyone?” You ask him playfully.

he furrows the ink above his eyes in thought, “No, not really,” he smiles at you, “You would definitely catch my eye though.”

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TONOWARI

tonowari praising you by @tarrynightss

smut, fem!reader

soft dom! Tonowari headcanons by @alien-magnolia

tw: 18+ minors DNI, size kink, bj, major daddy kink, slight breeding kink, (hyperfem!clueless!sub reader x daddy!tonowari )

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎AO'NUNG

listen by @ohdeersthings

summary: ao'nung has loved you since childhood.

warning: fluff, ao'nung is a jerk to everyone but reader, some angst (I love emotional revelation of feelings), characters are aged up 18+ but no warnings here! Ronal ships reader and Ao'nung.

the weight of your words by @adrunkskeletonsduck

warnings: body shaming, mentions of having body image issues

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎TSU'TEY

way of the heart by @lovebeinaprincessworld

warnings: smut, fingering, oral (f! receiving), p in v, breeding kink

description: being Jake Sullys sister always came with consequences, mating with a tall, blue Na’vi warrior was one of the more unexpected ones.

to lose you by @neteyamslovrr

summary: tsu'tey had lost everyone he had ever loved. fearful of loving you to lose you, he pushes those feelings down just for you to dig them back up

★ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎MASTERLIST

avatar masterlist by @justasimps-blog

all of their stories are explicit — minors dni

all characters that you‘ll find here are either already of age or aged up. If that makes you uncomfortable please just leave or block me.

avatar masterlist by @neteyamslovrr

all fem! reader

avatar masterlist by @theseuscmander

content warning; — not really none but it's a lot so hehe

878 notes · View notes

lethalchiralium · 1 year

Note

part 2 of the 1940's fic with simon please 😭

I think we all need it...LOL

make sure you're taking care of yourself, though! we love you ❤

Jubilee Line | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: i can’t lie to y’all. this has been done for like two months, but i have been tweaking it and am still somehow still unhappy with it? it’s fine. i’m fine. i’m being an ass. PART THREE SOON I PROMISE (i have been taking care of myself, thanks babe!)

warnings: SET IN 1940’s AU. Mentions of war, sort of accurate WW2 event dates. Mentions of being a Prisoner of War, mentions of torture.

summary: Lieutenant Simon Riley was coming home. He was finally coming home to his beautiful wife, but little did he know that at the end of his journey, there would only be heartbreak.

This is the second part to You Leave Me Wounded and Bleeding!

“Hermano.”

Simon’s eyes flickered up from the ring in between his fingers, tugging it slightly on his leather ID tags. Alejandro looked at the ring before meeting Simon’s eyes.

“Married?”

The Lieutenant nodded, looking back to the ring, seeing how the once polished gold was now rough and scratched. He thought to polish it when he arrived home, hoping the jeweler in town was still there.

“How is Manchester, then?” Alejandro continued the interrogation, talking a lot more than he ever had before. Before the train ride across England, before the Japanese POW camp they were captive in, before the Pacific Theater. “And your wife? Any niños?”

Simon scratched his jaw a little, still staring at the ring. “No.” He’s thought about it when he was away - maybe it wasn’t so bad to have children to come home to. His wife was expected to have children by her young age and she was nervous about it, he was too. “Not yet, at least.” He wanted a daughter that looked just like his wife, wide smile and beautiful eyes. She would be named Winnie, short for Winter - a name that meant a lot to him.

“That’s too bad, hermano. Children are gifts,” He reminisced as he sat back in his train seat. Simon was all too aware of the emptiness of the train cabin now, noticing again that there was barely a handful of people on this train due to the amount of body bags in the other cars. It was a funeral train, and Simon could feel the ghosts all around him. Alejandro spoke again, “I used to take care of my little sister when I was young. I couldn’t imagine living without my family.”

“Are you married?” Simon gruffly pestered, the man opposite of him shrugged.

“Not yet.”

Simon hummed in response, his head then turned towards the window - rain pelted the glass. He let the ring fall, it hit his uniform with a dull thud. He wished then for the photo of her he usually kept in his breast pocket above his heart, but the camp had burned his last uniform and in turn, his last photo of you.

His friend cleared his throat, Simon did not move his gaze. “How long since you’ve been home?”

“Two and a half years.” The man answered, now settling his hands on his thighs. “Was sent home for six months since I was one of the first deployed from England.”

“Hermano, you have a lifetime of being on your knees and begging for forgiveness.” Alejandro’s boot hit his, Simon looked back to him. His friend sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “You have a lot to make up for.”

Simon grunted in response, sitting back against his seat. “She’s waiting for me.”

Alejandro huffed with a smirk, shaking his head. “Estás tan seguro. Eres un tonto.” He wiped his face before continuing, “No wife should have to wait that long. It’s rough being alone for so long, and waiting for someone you don’t know is alive or dead?” He sighed again. “La habrá destrozado.”

“See, you’re speakin’ all this Spanish, and won’t tell me what you mean.” The Lieutenant glared at him.

“You’re a pendejo. A fool.” Alejandro pulled a Lucky Strike cigarette from his jacket, handing it to Simon.

He nodded and took it, still waiting for Alejandro to speak so he could demolish his idea. “Yeah? Why’s that?” He pulled out the brand new Zippo lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and igniting a flame. He held it out for Alejandro, who had his cigarette in his teeth and leaned forwards - lighting his. He sat back when he was content with his cigarette, pulling a drag while Simon lit his.

Alejandro blew the smoke from his mouth, crossed his ankles and spoke. “You should have let her go.” Simon’s eyes darkened. The Colonel glared at him before sitting forwards again, letting his cigarette settle between his fingers. “That is torture, being away from the one you love for so long. I’ve done it - it’s not something you can be fine with. It’s impossible to be okay if you’ll never know if they’re coming home in a uniform or a casket, hermano.”

“Been through it with ya fiancé?”

He leaned over to the wall of the cab, tapping his ashes into the ashtray. “Twice.”

Simon did the same, taking another drag before answering, “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Alejandro blew a huff through his nose, eyes glaring at the Lieutenant. “You always have your soldiers go first, even though you have the priority.”

“Those muppets have kids, I don’t.” Ghost’s voice was flat, taking another drag and letting the smoke coil from his mouth.

“That’s the issue.” Alejandro kicked Ghost’s foot again. “You still have your wife.”

Dark eyes glared at the Colonel.

Alejandro continued. “You still had someone waiting for you.”

“Have, Vargas.” The man tapped the ashes of his cigarette in the ashtray before sitting straight up against his seat. “You’re wrong about her.” He took a long drag then, eyes staring out of the window, noticing how the trees and rainy fields turned into the outer city of Manchester. His heart jumped in his chest then, ready to jump out of the train and run home without any of his measly belongings.

He was ready to see you, his wife. Ready to settle his hands on her cheeks, kiss her like she had sculpted the sun with her bare hands. He was ready to hold her head to his chest, press her body into his because he had missed her. He wanted to hold her, tell her how he would make it up to her. Repaint the guest room, replace doors, get a dog, redo the siding. Anything she wanted, just so he could feel her skin underneath his fingertips.

The Colonel only hummed, taking a short drag before blowing the smoke through his nose. “You’re going to get hurt, hermano. I’d hate to see it.”

Simon finished speaking then, decided that if he were to continue, he’d pin Alejandro to his seat and press his knife into his friend’s throat. So, he took another long drag, watching as green trees went past with nothing but a whisper to the wind.

It was another hour before he had arrived at the Manchester Train Station, barely anyone stood in waiting for soldiers - he took in the familiar sight he hadn’t seen in years and scanned the crowd for his wife.

“Is she here?” Alejandro’s voice sounded from beside him.

Simon grunted. “Don’t see her. She’ll be at the house if she’s not here.”

“Okay.” Alejandro nodded as Simon walked forwards, his pace incredibly fast while the Colonel muttered, “Rezo por tu corazón, hermano.”

Simon didn’t take the time to admire how the streets were full of life, how the trees began to dim their lush colors - how as he got closer to his home, there was a ice cold thrum in his heart.

The lights were off, he noticed. He was halfway down his street, almost home - he could almost smell that perfume she loved so much. Alejandro was far behind, finally deciding to let Simon run home.

He stumbled up the porch, his hand engulfed the front door knob and he tried to twist it - it was locked. He growled in frustration before he looked up to the porch light shaped like a lantern and pulled up the little hood, digging his hand around until his fingers grasped the spare key. He didn’t even put the key back when he unlocked the door, shoving the door in and dropping his dufflebag to the floor.

He called your name, awaiting the sound of footsteps when his wife fluttered down the stairs. He waited in the foyer for a moment, nothing but silence canvased the house. His eyebrows furrowed, he walked forwards and into the kitchen - he almost walked into the living room to call his wife’s name again when he noticed a folded piece of paper, leaned against an old vase on the kitchen counter. He strode straight for it, only to take it in his hand.

Dear Simon,

I am writing to you this in case something happens. Something I cannot think about, something that can very well happen and I don’t wish to dwell upon it. These words are the only way I can express it if I am no longer able to voice them.

You’ve written me almost every week during this horrible time, about every thought and moment that caused you pain. It hurts me to know that I cannot ease your agony. It pains me that I cannot be by your side, even for a fleeting moment. You have such a kind soul, Simon Riley. I can only imagine how it will all of this affect you after the war.

Even long after your letters have stopped arriving, no British Army soldiers have appeared upon our doorstep yet - no telegrams have graced my fingers with your name upon them. That must mean something, right? That you are safe, breathing? For the past two and a half years, I’ve waited for your return; not to mention the three years before that. The danger is gone now, Simon, and you’re not here. They’ve been arriving by the train load for the past week, and none of the lists have your name. I musn’t worry, I know you will come back to me. You have a habit of keeping promises, my love - as well as secrets.

I’ve heard stories from wives, whispers among the streets about some soldiers coming home and no longer being themselves. They’re hollow, lifeless - I’ve seen a few myself. It is like the undead have invaded Manchester, they walk about with no emotion in their eye, no care for their family as they walk beside them. I’ve watched them from our bookstore, watching as their small children tug on their father’s hands and he vaguely responds with a lifeless smile, sending them away from himself. Their wives do not give away any note of worry, perfect smiles and small touches to their husbands as if to comfort them in a small way. It’s not hard to recognize the wife’s pain, it’s a pain I hope I will never know.

I’m scared, Simon. Terrified, really. What if you do not step off that train tomorrow? What will I do if I must return home in silence, no longer in your grasp? No longer sleep without the knowledge that you’ll be coming home? Well, I suppose I haven’t had that knowledge since February, but it still feels crushing to say. What will I do if you return to me and you are no longer yourself? I know war must change a man but I’m not sure how I will live if I never see your smile again.

What will I do if you do not return? Will I become like the hundreds of widowed wives, crying forever and waiting for their husband’s remains to return home? Will I be able to go to the plaza everyday, knowing that you’ve touched this place before? Will I be able to stay in our home that you’ve put sweat and blood into, just for us? I can’t think anymore of it.

I don’t think I could ever understand it, that I would ever want to. We’ve talked about it, but it still doesn’t make the ache in my soul any lighter. I cannot think of you anymore, it feels like my heart is playing a melancholy tune on a piano well beyond its years; playing a song I never knew it had memorized. And it’s like my fingers are stuck to the keys, dancing ever so slowly as if the crescendo in the sheet music keeps darting away. The climax of our story hasn’t even crossed the page yet; I keep playing this haunted tune and I don’t want to anymore. I want to rip my fingers from the keys and push myself away from the piano. But I only play this tune as I wait for you, only when you’re away from me. What will I do if this will be the only song I can play for the rest of my life?

My mother sent for me. This morning, actually. I was sitting in the study, going through the mail. My father is dying back home in America, and I must go. But I feel that I cannot leave here without knowing. I cannot leave our home without knowing if I get to kiss you or kiss the stone that will lay above your head.

I’ve wondered what it would be like for you if I leave for America this very moment. You place your key into the lock, twisting it and opening up the front door. The house would be dark, no warmth from the fireplace, nothing to signal that I would be home. Maybe you would think I abandoned you, maybe you would think I had perished. But, I know you. There will be no need to worry, Simon.

I’ve waited so long for you. So long for our life to grow, to spend more than a fleeting moment behind a bookshelf like we did when we were young. I’ve sat in every room of our home, praying and wishing for your safe return. I’ve hoped and wished so hard that I feel that the universe no longer hears me. Oh Simon, I’ve waited centuries in the collective almost six years you have been gone from my side. I’m not sure if I can wait any longer.

I will love you forever. Even if you have left this precious Earth, even if your feet still tread upon it. But I can’t wait for a ghost when I have been waiting for my husband almost our entire marriage. My father is stable enough, they believe. He has two months to live. And because I love you, Simon, I will wait exactly one month after the last train arrives in Manchester with a list of soldiers.

And if you arrive when I have gone, I am sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back to our home empty handed, even if you are there - because you always leave. You always leave and I have always needed you, Simon. Always. You have hurt me in unimaginable ways, my love, even if you always find your way back home to me. So, just this once - I will be the one leaving. I can’t come back. I won’t come back. I won’t come back to a house that is no longer ours. I will not come back to a house that is just mine.

I love you, Simon Riley. Don’t ever forget it.

Forever yours,

Y/N.

It only took him two minutes to read the letter.

It crumbled into a ball in Simon’s hand, the scarred palm of his right hand stung before he let it fall to the kitchen counter, abandoned.

It had taken him a month and a half to return from a prisoner camp in the Pacific. Alejandro and him were captured on their way back to base, tortured until the camp had finally gotten word that the war was over on the 25th of September. It was October 10th, past how long she would have stayed and waited with bated breath for him to return to her arms.

All he could think of was her. Every burn, slash, gunshot; every time they choked him, beat him, they could not erase the woman that was his wife. She was the only reason why he even made it through, why he was even alive. He had to make it home to her.

And now that he was home? She had gone. Flown from their nest, gone back home to her family. And all he could do was see red. He wanted to punch holes into the walls of his house, scream until his throat bled - but all he did was chase her ghost upstairs, almost busting his bedroom door off of the hinges when he burst into the room. The bed made, lights turned off - he ripped open the wardrobe, seeing that some of her favorite dresses had gone, but not all. Opened the dresser, seeing that it was empty of her belongings and all that was left were his undershirts. Half of them were gone too.

He turned back to the bed, he could almost see her laying there, a smile on her face as she would say, “Come to bed.”

He kneeled, tugging an old suitcase out from under the bed, standing and throwing it open upon the comforter. It was dusted, he didn’t even bother to cough when he rummaged through their papers. He pulled out his passport, flipping it open and seeing a different man upon the page. If this was another day Simon looked at his passport, he would’ve remembered a young man still in the throws of war, but he was still not what he is now. A villain, a monster.

A Ghost.

He slammed the passport closed when he made sure it was still in date. He shuffled through the papers again, seeing that hers was gone - but he began to notice papers that weren’t there before. He began to pull them out, one by one - seeing that they all had the same heading.

Dear Simon,

I don’t know how to

Dear Simon,

I don’t have the

Dear Simon,

I hate this. I can’t hate you. I can’t hate you I can’t hate you I can’t I can’t I can’t

Alejandro was right.

He had destroyed her.

It didn’t take him long to shove the passport in his jacket and bolt downstairs, skipping every other step. He grabbed his packed dufflebag and ripped open his front door, seeing Alejandro jump two feet in the air, dropping his cigarette.

“¡Qué carajo!” He sort of shouted as Ghost stomped past him, throwing his dufflebag on his back. Alejandro pulled closed his front door before running after the speeding Lieutenant. “What the fuck!”

“We have to go.” Alejandro grabbed his wrist but Ghost ripped his arm out of Alejandro’s grip, looking back at the man with a hollow expression. “She went home.”

“Hermano, lo siento.” He spoke immediately but Ghost didn’t stop walking when he turned back around. “¿Qué es lo que haces? Ghost, if she went home, that means-“

The Brit turned on his heel so fast that Alejandro couldn’t react when he was lifted into the air like a toothpick, the grip Ghost had on the man’s shirt sounded like it would rip at any second. He made direct eye contact and spat, “Her father is most likely dead. She can’t lose me too, so shut the fuck up, you muppet.”

Alejandro squawked, Ghost dropped him immediately and turned away, speed walking towards the train station. He called, “You know, I said I would escort you home, not to America!” The man didn’t respond, he just kept walking. Alejandro mumbled to himself before running to keep up, “Querido Señor, por favor, déjame matar a este hombre en un futuro próximo.”

———

taglist (thanks for being patient my loves): @oranoyaora @dest-nai @rafaelacallinybbay @belyyvolksblog @its-astrotea-love @redzscare @multitargaryen @efsa-lks @thehoneybunny @punziesworld @fanformany @ivycasket

———

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #call of duty #lethalchiralium #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley call of duty #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #simon riley call of duty #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x wife!reader #simon ghost riley x wife!reader

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spotsandsocks · 7 months

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Fuck it Friday

Here we go- a bit of self promo putting a touch of F in your Friday with one of my E fics that I was quite pleased with. 😏

Tagged by @jesuisici33 @hippolotamus @heartshapedvows @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @wikiangela @loserdiaz with wonderful snippets

Coming Home 8.5K first kiss to first time (sequel to I Missed You 11k an angsty little number where Buck leaves for several months until Eddie finds him and finally tells him how he feels but can be read alone) A bit from each chapter to tempt you in

Chapt 1 😚

“Buck we can’t.” Eddie doesn’t sound completely convinced.

“Why?” he tries not to whine

“Because if you kiss me I’m not going wanna stop and we’re at work.”

“I’m not, not back yet.” Eddie considers this a persuasive argument.

“One kiss Eds, please”

Eddie groans, moves infinitesimally closer then pulls back again, head thunking against the wall. His pupils are blown he’s panting and they haven’t done anything.

“We’re waiting.” he says but he lifts his hand and runs his fingers slowly over Buck’s parted lips. Buck closes his eyes and chases after them, catches Eddie’s hand by the wrist, if that’s all he gets he’ll take it. He pulls his hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, drags his lips up to a finger and slides the tip into his mouth.

Chapt 2 ☺️

Chris is already sat on the bed, he pats the spot next to him and Eddie eyes narrow suspiciously, half amused, half concerned.

“Everything ok?”

“Just sit down Dad”

“We need to talk.”

Eddie frowns, well that is a worry, few conversations that start with that end well. “We do?”

“Yes” Chris sounds serious. “It’s about Buck.”

Eddie sits down a little harder than he intended, oh God what if Chris has worked it out and disapproves, he never thought of that. Chris loves Buck so much he never thought he’d be unhappy if they got together. He keeps the nervousness out of his voice when he asks the tentatively, “What about Buck?”

“I don’t want him to go away again.” Some of his anxiety fades, that’s somewhat reassuring at least.

“Neither do I” Eddie reassures him quickly “but I don’t think he will bud.”

“He was sad before but he’s not anymore.” Eddie can’t work out what Chris is trying to say to him.

“No, I think he’s happy to be back.”

“With us?”

“Yes.”

Then Chris gets to his point.

“With you?” Chris fixes him with a look far more penetrating than a preteen should be capable of.

“Um” Eddie’s horrified to feel his cheeks start to go red.

Chris nods thoughtfully, taking his father’s embarrassment in his stride “That’s what I thought.” Then he follows up with a crushing statement, “Dad, why are grown ups so silly That makes him laugh and he bumps shoulders with his son, “no idea.”

Chris has another question, “Denny asked if I can go to his for a sleepover tonight. Can I?”

“That’s a bit short notice Chris” Eddie’s reluctant to agree and anyway he’s already asked Carla to babysit tonight while he’s out with Buck.

“Denny said it was his mom’s idea so it’s fine.”

“Was it now?” he mutters and thinks about his meddling friends fondly.

Chapt 3 😏

Buck pulls away to breathe deeply, mutters his name in a reverent tone with his eyes closed. Eddie’s dizzy, he doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed quite like that, like he was the oxygen necessary for Buck to breathe.

He thinks its finished but then his lips are taken again, harder, faster and he’s being moved backwards until he hits the door of the fridge with a thump. Eddie meets the fire from Buck eagerly, hands coming up and burying themselves in his curls. He tugs slightly and Buck groans, kisses him harder, presses then closer together. He can feel the aching hardness between his legs matched by Buck, pressed up close like this there is just enough friction to tease but not satisfy.

The kisses were a lot but then Buck shifts to his neck kissing downwards, when he bites lightly into the muscle Eddie cries out and his knees actually do stop working he slides a little down the refrigerator door. Buck stops to laugh his breath tickles and Eddie’s squirms. Buck bites again making him gasp once more.

“Like that huh?”

“Take a guess.”

“Nuh huh we said we’d talk,” he’s peppering more kisses along his skin “you gotta tell me these things Eds, I gotta know what feels good”

“You, you feel good” he’s arching back against the door, pressing himself harder against Buck, giving him more access to his neck. Buck hums a pleased little noise. When Eddie looks at him he’s blushing.

“Yeah?”

Eddie pushes his hip forward again to prove it and Buck takes a stuttering breath at the pressure against his cock, eyelids fluttering shut.

Eddie licks his lips “Wanna go somewhere more comfortable?”

@monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @shortsighted-owl @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @hippolotamus @buddierights @stagefoureddiediaz @thekristen999 @like-the-rest-of-la @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @spaceprincessem @eddiebabygirldiaz @exhuastedpigeon @hoodie-buck @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @elvensorceress @bekkachaos @giddyupbuck @housewifebuck hope I didn’t forget anyone

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 fox #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic

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thelordofgifs · 18 days

Text

20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @sallysavestheday and @grey-gazania! I was eyeing this one and hoping for a tag, some great questions here.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 51, although one's a podfic.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 250,683. More than half of which is from last year alone!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Currently exclusively the Silmarillion, with the occasional little LoTR ficlet.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? the fairest stars, Inflection, an ancient song, all those that follow, Ilimbë. I'm always surprised by an ancient song's popularity – it was a pretty low-effort ficlet – but a solid list nonetheless!

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, always! (Glances nervously at the pile I've accumulated in the last couple of weeks of travelling). I love replying to comments, though. It's so nice to be able to engage with all my lovely thoughtful readers and their excellent thoughts!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ever an anguish that pursued is pretty bleak. before the black gale is also a tragedy of sorts, though I'm not sure that makes it qualify as angsty as such.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Ilimbë ends quite joyfully, although while writing the final scene I did have the shadow of their unhappy future in mind! I think the cleaving's ending is also quite happy, or at the very least cathartic.

8. Do you get hate on fics? No, thankfully! All my readers have been very kind and appreciative <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Three fics so far! All of which were gifts for friends, and made me push my boundaries a little. I'm proud of all of them, though! Smut is less scary than I used to think :)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? No, never! If I did, it would probably be more of a retelling/AU than straight-up having characters from different fandoms meet.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No – I fear I am rather too much of a control freak for this, and would rather not inflict myself and my pedantry on an unsuspecting co-writer.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Russingon... it's the forbidden romance and the doomed nature of it all and the fact that love wasn't enough to save them :( also the murders, of course.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? boats against the current, the "Maedhros doesn't swear the Oath" AU I blithely started back in 2022, is simply not going anywhere at any sort of speed. Perhaps this is the year! Let's see.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and characterisation! I'm good at emotional beats, I think.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Description... I tend to write VERY minimally and then have to go back on edits and add in some descriptive language so that the entire story isn't just two talking heads in an empty room. Always very pleased when people compliment my descriptions for that reason – they take conscious effort!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? Fine if it's footnoted, I think. I tend to avoid it on the basis that all the dialogue I write has been "translated" from one of Tolkien's languages anyway; and I don't know any real languages well enough to write fic in them.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Harry Potter, although I've soured on the fandom now for obvious reasons :/ For a while I used to think that I could still enjoy the books I loved so much growing up while separating them from the author, but she's so continually hateful and bigoted that I just... can't gain any enjoyment from the franchise anymore. Which is painful, but I'm glad I have the silm fandom to absorb all my creative energy now!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? the fairest stars! My weird gremlin baby, I love it so. I never expected to care about this fic as much as I did, but I've poured so much thought and heart into it that it was perhaps inevitable. And it's taught me so much about writing cliffhangers :)

No-pressure tags for @eilinelsghost, @searchingforserendipity25, @welcomingdisaster, @that-angry-noldo, @swanmaids, @echo-bleu, @jouissants, @tanoraqui and anyone else who, like me, was eyeing this one hoping to be tagged – @ me and say I tagged you!

#tag game #my writing

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gothgril69 · 11 months

Text

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: none

Chapter Length: 9.5k

Next Chapter

ao3 link

Notes:

Thank you so much for starting a fic of mine <3 There's a few things I wanted to say before you get started.

-Reader has a default name of Aeron Reader. It plays into the story and that is why this is tagged appropriately as Levi/OC, but it is written in second person and all details relating to the female mc/reader are very vague. I do try to account for different hair types/skin tones and therefore leave it vague on purpose. -This is loosely based on 18th century conflict between France, England, and Scotland. Mirlenas represents France, Kaslogon represents England, and Navarre Scotland. There are historical accuracies but also inaccuracies for creative freedom regarding certain things. -I have been sitting on this fic since October 2022, and am just now posting it because I am way too hard on myself

I hope you enjoy <3 gothgril

Your parents always wanted another boy.

Your older brothers, Auguste and Theo, were the kingdom’s prized heirs to the throne, certain to fill your ancestors shoes to the fullest. You were supposed to be like them; supposed to be another boy that would marry and extend the family tree of royalty for the kingdom of Mirlenas.

Your mother carried you the same as your brothers; tummy hanging low, heartburn, unbelievable back pain. How could you not have been a boy? Your name was picked out for you and everything. All the midwives were prepared to have another boy and decorated your nursery with calming blues and greys to match the kingdom’s colours.

But out came you. A healthy baby girl, bright eyes and a full head of hair. It wasn’t that your parents were unhappy – no, they loved you regardless at the time – they just weren’t prepared. Your name was Aeron, the name picked out for you when they thought you’d be a boy, and you were the new child of the Reader family.

Aeron Reader has an ominous feel to it, the name of the same Goddess of War that comes from stories in your mother’s forgotten origin. Your parents never realized until one day one of the maids was overheard gossiping about it. Overheard hushed whispers about you circulated around the castle.

You were seven years old at the time and not happy about it. You’ve done all the research now about her origin and reputation – you quite like her.

Your mother simply chose to ignore her own heritage of Druvaria ever since she married your father. A deal had been struck between kingdoms and your mother fell victim to becoming the new Queen of Mirlenas, her own father giving her away to make peace between nations. The war had been ongoing for five years and needed to come to an end and finally, someone had come to their senses to offer up the princess of Druvaria in trade for peace. She didn’t know any better, simply believing it was the right thing to do for her nation and had no other choice.

Things did work out in her favor in the end. Your parents fell in love with each other before they even married and mated, telling you the story at least once a year over dinner about it. A bite to the nape of the neck only sealed their fate and ensured they would be mated for life. You’re happy for them, truly, but you know you weren’t a part of their plans.

It was supposed to be three healthy boys, and you felt the seclusion.

Ever since a young age you wanted to be like your brothers, refusing to wear the dresses your handmaidens sewed for you and playing in the grass instead. You distinctly remember being seven years old, covered in grass stains while your mother yelled at you from the courtyard in front of the castle. You had just finished wrestling with Theo, face shoved into the dirt and hair completely disheveled. You could never beat him even though he was only two years older than you – you just didn’t have the strength yet.

You remember your mother’s voice ringing out into the air, “I didn’t have a girl just for you to act like a boy!”

Seems like you can’t do anything right.

You pushed Theo off, angry that he had beaten you again and upset about your mother’s words. Defiance pulsed through you and you only wanted to be less ladylike in spite of her. You had stuck your tongue out at Theo as he did the same to you, Auguste coming over to break the two of you apart before you were tempted to lunge for his throat again. Auguste always seemed to be the voice of reason, calming Theo down with just a look before he’d look down at you with soft brown eyes, his curly brown locks falling slightly in front of them.

Perhaps you shouldn’t choose favorites, but Auguste always had this way about him. He was kind and charming even in his younger years before diplomacy truly got to him. Everyone loved him and he seemed to always know what to say, even sitting in on adult conversations despite his young age. He always knew what to say to make even you feel better.

He had sent Theo away to your mother and grabbed your hand, kneeling down to you so he was eye level. “Theo is just a brat sometimes. Don’t let him get to you, kid,” he had told you with a quick ruffle to your hair. He stood up, making sure he was still holding your hand to walk you inside to clean up. He was already thirteen at the time and strong enough to pick you up, so he’d lift you on top of the private bathroom counter that was located in his room. A soft wet rag would be wiped along your cheeks and nose to clean off the dirt that Theo graced upon your features – a gentle tap of your nose would indicate when he was done and you could jump down.

When you were eight Auguste promised he’d teach you all the things he knew: fencing, archery, horse riding, knife throwing, swordsmanship and even some of the studies Auguste was learning in school. You would do your duties as a princess during the day, pleasing your mother by learning your manners and all things women should know (sewing, cleaning, cooking, botany) and during the evening after dinner you would train with your brother. Occasionally, Theo would join and actually be quite tolerable – that’s where your relationship with him truly started to grow. He’d be serious and want to know everything Auguste did, trying his best to be patient with you as you learned and he would train with Auguste during your own breaks.

When your mother first caught you with them she was livid, claiming that your behavior was “boyish and unflattering” and something along the lines of you being “a disgraceful princess.” You’re almost positive there was more, but your brain has blocked out most of the memory of being talked down to so harshly by one of your parental figures. It’s not like you and your father talked much – he only really entertained Auguste to make sure he was prepared to take the throne one day. You envied Auguste in a way, but you could never hate him for being the golden child. He didn’t choose that life and quite frankly, it must be hard on him as well to carry that burden.

Your life truly changed when an extravagant ceremony was held for a new Chevalier that would be in the castle. The large hall designated for events had Mirlenas’ banners strung high above the grand windows, shrouding most of the light that would enter. Expensive chandeliers were lit, light fixtures along the walls providing warm light to envelop the area. Rows upon rows of people sat and waited for the entrance of the new Chevalier while you sat at the very front of the room. Your mother and father sat in their large wing-back chairs while you and Theo sat on your mother’s left side. Of course, you were given the smallest chair out of everyone. Auguste waited patiently for the entrance of the Chevalier, waiting to make his own appearance to complete the ceremony.

Your brother Auguste was of age to join the kingdom’s military at seventeen and should be accompanied by someone of a higher skill level than him. The one thing you didn’t expect was it to be a fifteen year old boy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else than bowing in front of your parents. You didn’t blame him, you hated all the formal bullshit too.

You had begun daydreaming when his name was announced, only coming to your senses when Theo bumped you so you wouldn’t get chastised later by your mother. The boy was wearing Mirlenas’ colours, navy blue and silver, and was being awarded a broche with the family crest to grace his uniform over his heart. A symbol of his dedication to the kingdom; a set of wings over a shield. The Chevalier formal uniform was tailored to him specifically: a navy blue tailcoat over a grey collared shirt with a white cravat hanging around his neck. You remember when he stood up from bowing to your parents and his piercing grey eyes landed on yours as you sat next to them, a slight furrow of his brows happening in an instant before his sharp features were stoic once again.

You kept your eyes on him when he looked away, analyzing him with a tilted head. You told yourself it was to make sure Auguste would have a proper Chevalier accompanying him, but there was something intriguing about him. His raven black hair was well kept, straight hair layered so most of it fell out of the small tie at the nape of his neck

“Dedicate your heart to not only my kingdom, but my son as well,” your father’s voice had droned on. You refrained from rolling your eyes at the formality of it all, knowing Auguste would never treat his Chevalier as less than him despite your father training him to do so. You had instead fidgeted with your thumbs, messing with the lace on the dress you were forced to wear for the event until your mother gave you one of her looks. The look that told you you’d be getting in trouble later for simply being a young girl with energy that prevented you from staying still at such a boring festivity.

You realized the boy was quite short when Auguste stood next to him, maybe a couple inches taller than you at your age at the time. You hadn’t quite hit puberty yet afterall, your courses hadn’t come yet and your mother seemed adamant about ignoring the inevitable anyway.

You didn’t figure out the boy’s name until days later when Auguste introduced you to him. “Name’s Levi,” he had told you in a bored tone. Your eleven year old self was eager to meet him until he had scoffed at your name. “What is that? A boy’s name?”

You’ve disliked him ever since.

Levi remembers seeing you that day, having no idea the royal family even consisted of a princess along with the other two princes. You were only eleven at the time, but it seemed as if your family was ashamed to have you on display. You were given the smallest chair at the end of the line of royalty, a dress that didn’t look as well sewn as your brother’s uniforms fell on your shoulders. You looked curious, which had intrigued Levi at the time, but incredibly sad in your eyes. He said the first thing that came to mind when Auguste introduced him to you. It was odd for a lady of royal standing to have such a gender neutral name, bordering on masculine, and he didn’t think you would be so offended. He noticed right away you weren’t like other princesses he had met when he noticed you were wearing trousers, stains all over you and hair sticking in every direction.

He had looked at you with such disdain when he saw the grass stains on your trousers or the dirt that was under your nails from wrestling with Theo just moments before. You never acted like a princess and Levi clearly hated that, always on your ass about not acting like a lady and getting so dirty he could “clean the stables and feel better than being next to you.” He’d plug his nose and mock gag at you to emphasize his point when Auguste wasn’t around.

You didn’t truly start to hate him until a boy named Furlan came around as Theo’s Chevalier. He was the same age as Theo, seventeen at the time, while you were fifteen. Your new handmaiden, Isabel, had arrived at the same time as him and quickly became your best friend, but you grew jealous when she became a part of your brother’s friend group consisting of Levi and Furlan as well. You were once again the outcast no matter how hard Isabel tried to get you to join. And you did try at some point, only to be made fun of by Theo and Levi while Isabel and Furlan shyly watched on.

You didn’t blame them. Levi was hard to argue with and Theo was royalty, even if he was just your stupid brother. Auguste was busy training to be the next heir, constantly under your father’s watch and unable to mediate childish arguments between you and your brother anymore.

Luckily, Levi wasn’t around as often as the other three were since he was Auguste’s Chevalier. He would accompany him on any personal affairs or duties he needed to fulfill off of the castle grounds.

Those were your moments of somewhat peace; when your mother would busy Theo with a task and you’d have a chance to spend time with Furlan and Isabel alone. Isabel was only twelve and being taught the proper ways of being a handmaiden, but during her free time she’d make sure you weren’t alone. Furlan ended up just following suit, keeping a watchful eye on Isabel, even though he had always been closer to Levi.

She tended to get herself into trouble, always wanting to bring animals into the home before your mother caught her one day. You had taken the fall for Isabel bringing in an injured dove, enduring the lecture about how “vile” these “creatures” could be. You helped Isabel tend to it’s wing and nursed it back to health before releasing it from your balcony without your mother’s knowledge.

When you were seventeen you started to stay in your room more, only coming out to train your skills in combat. Your mother had given up at this point on trying to make you a lady. You were always wearing trousers paired with at least a corset over your blouse to keep your “womanly figure” as your mother called it. You didn’t give a shit about it, but if you could at least wear trousers then you would do it to spare you from the pain of ridiculous skirts and dresses while you were on castle grounds.

Painting and reading became your new hobbies and you soon only really started to see Isabel when she visited your bedroom.

You were tired of being berated just for existing.

At the time, Levi had secretly missed your presence. He enjoyed picking on you and getting a reaction, sometimes doing it to push your buttons so far that you would yell at him. Isabel would always scold him as if she were his senior, telling him he’s being too harsh on you. You were just such a brat, always picking a fight with him if he didn’t do it first. When you were gone and holed away in your room he felt like there was a presence missing, but he blamed it on being bored while Auguste was busy with your father.

Your large room was lined with bookcases, shelves full with books you’ve read countless times. A few easels were scattered about, a painting resting on each so you could alternate what you were working on while the oils dried on the other two. You had taken down the large navy blue curtains, ripping them down one day to get all of the natural light possible inside of your room and shoving them into a confused handmaiden’s arms in the hallway. You’re positive your mother didn’t know what you did and still doesn’t, probably unaware of the curtain rods that no longer perch above your windows since she never visits your bedroom.

She doesn’t talk to you much. Only Auguste and Isabel know you paint.

Your navy blue blanket and grey sheets hardly ever got any use despite the comfortability of the silk. You wanted to rip down the harrateen that surrounded the four poster bed, but it was too much of a hassle if you weren’t even going to use it. You were never tired, only needing a few hours of sleep to function in your teen years. You’d tend to the fireplace while your mind would always be full of creative ideas, needing to spill them onto a canvas before they would be forgotten.

Auguste tried to get you to come out of your shell more, always asking you at dinner if you would join him for a walk around the castle grounds. Those were your favorite moments. The moments where you could talk to Auguste about anything you needed to, whether that was simply an idea for a painting you had or something more heavy like the way your mom was. He always tried to make you feel better, saying things like “you know mother loves you in her own way” or “father is just busy being king.”

When you told him about how your father had told you to never cry and show weakness when he caught you crying on the rare occasion that he sees you in the halls, Auguste comforted you without making excuses for him. “Father is incapable of human emotion. Everyone cries. Cry if you feel you must,” he had told you, grasping your shoulders to ensure you absorbed every word he said as you stared into those big brown eyes you love so much. Those were the only words that had ever truly made you feel better about your parents.

Things in your life didn’t take another turn until you were twenty. You were a grown woman and done with being kept to your room in fear of being talked down to by family members. You began taking your training more seriously, practically begging Auguste to train you again after dinner instead of going on your walks. He obliged and soon you were exceeding at everything, being especially good at archery. A bow just felt so natural in your hands – you could practically shoot with your eyes closed.

At age twenty-six he still wasn’t married – quite a taboo concept considering your father’s growing age. Auguste didn’t want to marry for duty, he always wanted to marry for love. You had a suspicion he didn’t admire women in the same way as other men – not that you would ever tell a soul. You simply enjoyed that he had more free time than he was supposed to and that he chose to spend it with you.

When you won against him in a fencing match is when you knew you had surpassed his expectations. The look on his face when he took off his mask told you everything you needed to know: he was proud of you. You remember being so happy, tears formed in your eyes before you could stop them, and you ran at your brother, colliding with him in a giant bear hug with full force. Auguste had taken you into your arms and swung you around like you were his whole world – he made you feel like you truly were.

Theo joined in after cheering, causing both him and Auguste to practically absorb you. Levi had been on the sidelines judging the match and you heard his scoff when you won. You were too excited to care at the time.

You were forced to spend more time with Levi when Auguste grew inevitably more busy. Theo had fallen behind in his training and would have private lessons with Furlan. Isabel was kept busy by the older handmaidens, tending to laundry and kitchen duties, leaving you with Levi. You refused to stay locked up in your room unless you were willingly painting or reading, but even now you preferred reading in the gardens so you could get some sunlight on your skin, even if only for a little while.

Auguste had tasked Levi with looking after you while he wasn’t around despite your – and Levi’s – protests. You insisted you were a grown woman and didn’t need someone to watch over you like a lost puppy – Levi just didn’t want to deal with the inevitable attitude that was thrown his way just for being there.

But he wasn’t simply just there. He would make fun of you for your book choices; if something got in your hair and you weren’t aware of it. He had at least given up on getting on your ass about acting like a lady – if anything he seemed to prefer it rather than you fretting about dresses and “frilly things” as he calls them.

“I just can’t pretend to care when they talk to me about how expensive their dresses are or how they bought the best perfume being made right now,” he had droned on to you one evening. Somehow, you had gotten on the topic of the ball that was held a few weeks prior. He was forced to attend with Auguste and “forced” to entertain women even younger than you that were fawning over him and your brother.

You had actually laughed and sympathized with him, sharing your own stories about disgusting older men trying to win your affections. He had cringed when you exaggerated the ugliness of a stout older gentleman with a gut that hung over his belt – the buttons of his shirt were hanging on for dear life.

The man had flirted with you incessantly, hardly ever straying from your side the whole night even as you attempted to excuse yourself – he always found a way to be next to you. You laughed it off, telling Levi it was just the usual for a woman of high status whether you liked it or not. He didn’t say anything that time, only a look of what you think was anger flashed in his eyes before he looked away with a quiet “tch.”

Levi had seen the wretched old man the whole night, ogling you and grimy hands inches away from touching you. He wanted to rip his fingers off for attempting to touch a member of the royal family like that and gouge his eyes out with the nearest fork for staring at you like a piece of meat. He told himself he would only be doing his job protecting a member of the royal family.

Levi had kept a watchful eye on you the whole night, watching you fake laugh at people’s jokes with a smile that never reached your eyes. He had never heard your real laugh before, and he could imagine it wouldn’t sound anything close to the small, half-hearted chuckles you gave out. The only time he ever saw you smile was when you were reading one of your stupid novels or daydreaming without realizing it before something snapped you back to reality.

You had actually felt pretty that night in a dress that was tailored just for you. You had convinced Isabel to go with your wishes of it being simple and less extravagant than your mother’s requests, so when you put it on it felt more appropriate for you. She had been in your bedroom for a whole day taking measurements to alter a gown you already liked a decent amount, asking what you wanted changed about it.

The day of she stood behind you, tugging on the laces of your corset to practically squeeze the life out of you, claiming she needed you to look perfect so your mother wouldn’t have her head. You even had your other handmaidens run you a hot bath with a sachet of lavender from the southern coast of your country.

You’ve made it a habit to bathe with lavender and have lavender oil around to calm your senses, leaving your skin smelling like the flower.

You were now twenty-three. Living the life of royalty that many would dream of.

You weren’t ungrateful for it – you knew how bad the lower class people of the kingdom had it – but you never asked for it. You never asked to be unloved by your parents, watching as your two older brothers received all of the attention. You never asked to be showered in fine silks and paraded around in dresses like you were some animal being put on display for purchase.

You wanted to run away, to live a simple life somewhere in the countryside. You’d make your living using the trades your mother had taught you at a young age. You could protect yourself with the combat skills Auguste had fine-tuned until he could no longer be your teacher. You knew botany and how to grow your own food; live off the land.

You were tired of feeling unwanted by everyone around you. You hardly felt okay anymore, eating only because Isabel forced you to and wouldn’t leave until your plate was empty. You would maybe complete a painting or two once a year now and tea was the only thing you could stomach for breakfast. The only thing that kept you here was your cowardice and getting lost in the stories you read. It could be romances or history, even war stories caught your eye sometimes, but it was something to escape to. Your mind would be occupied by something other than your heavy thoughts that weighed you down, allowing at least some respite.

You wonder if living a simple life would have allowed for you to flourish the way you were supposed to, or maybe if you lived in one of your novels and found love then you could be happy.

But things could never be that simple.

Levi watches you now as you stare off into the distance with that usual faraway look on your features. You’re sitting on a blanket you had sloppily thrown on the ground, one of your knees brushing against the grass and defeating the purpose of the piece of fabric below you. It bothered Levi more than he would care to admit when you did things like this, only committing to them half-heartedly. The forming grass stain glares at him.

He hated being out here with you. It was boring and typically hot in the summer months like it is now, but at least you had chosen the biggest oak tree to find reprieve from the sun’s rays. He simply leaned against the trunk of the tree, observing you when you were busy daydreaming. When you would snap out of it the air would be full of bickering again and he found peace in the silence.

You were wearing your usual black trousers and corset over a blouse, but sat as if you were wearing a skirt. Your hair was pulled back with a ribbon, but some rogue strands fought themselves free and blew in the wind and he fought the urge to either chastise you for it or just fix it himself since you couldn’t do it right.

You perplexed him still, even when the two of you had matured and Levi was now twenty-seven. It was less childish insults and more clever banter between the two of you now. You actually seemed to enjoy wearing dresses on occasion now that your figure suited them and he was even able to smell a hint of lavender oil on your skin whenever the two of you were forced to be too close. You had become a woman, but sometimes Levi still felt like he was looking at the neglected little girl he had first seen at his introductory ceremony.

Your eyes were the same sad ones he had seen that day and you still tended to fidget with the hem of your clothing whenever you were anxious. A genuine smile rarely makes it’s way to your features and he swears he’s only heard you genuinely laugh once with Auguste when he had trailed behind one of your evening walks. He almost pities you until he remembers how easy you truly have it.

You had no idea what it was like to grow up in poverty, never knowing when your next meal was or taking any article of clothing you could because it was the only option. No, you were picky about the clothes you wore and the things you ate and always took them for granted.

You were selfish, making Auguste worry about you all the time and borderline obsessively commanding Levi to make sure you were okay. He would do as he was told, of course, but you never realized how much turmoil you caused in your brother’s mind. Even Theo worries about you now that he’s matured and no longer finds amusement in ruffling your feathers.

The only thing he can understand about you is how big of assholes your parents are and how most of the time he feels the same way you do in their presence: neglected and frowned upon.

Your father commands Levi as if he were a dog while your mother chooses to ignore his presence altogether. He could admit that maybe you weren’t as bad as your parents – he’s watched them throw away untouched food because it had gotten cold (their own fault of course). The first time he had seen it happen he had to bite his tongue, holding back the onslaught of curses and insults he had ready to throw at them. As much as Levi hated them, he never wanted to go back to the slums he grew up in, knowing your father would never do anything to solve the problem. The amount of people in poverty would continue to grow and he could only hope your brother Auguste would do something to change the state of the kingdom once he becomes king.

Levi pulls himself out of his own thoughts when a harsh gust of wind strikes him to remind you about the evening’s events.

“Oi,” Levi snaps his fingers in front of your face. You look up at him, clearly dazed from being pulled out of your daydream and into the real world where you sit on the grass.

The day is bright and sunny as you sit under the cooling shade of the ancient oak tree that sits in the front lawn of the castle, a giant stretch of grass as far as you can see separating you from the rest of Mirlenas. The castle sits on 800 hectares and you enjoy being able to escape the bustling interior of the castle in favor of sitting on the lawn. Your book is open on your lap, but abandoned long ago in favor of daydreaming. You hardly remember what you got lost in thought about.

“Your mother has summoned you,” Levi reminds you. Of course. Your mother and her tendencies to summon you whenever she is in a particularly bad mood, annoys you – going back to your bedroom and painting until the moon is high in the sky sounds significantly more appealing.

You sigh and ignore his outstretched hand, knowing he’s only offering it because of his Chevalier status. He would never willingly touch you – he’s told you as much. Levi scoffs, muttering something along the lines of, “fine, I didn’t want to touch your hand anyway.” You don’t bite back with a response, done with the day already and not looking forward to entertaining your mother’s ridiculous ideas.

“What could she possibly want tonight?” you mostly muse to yourself as you fold up your blanket.

Levi, who follows closely behind, responds, “who knows. Swear she’s growing senile with her old age.”

You stifle a laugh, unwilling to give him the satisfaction, but pleased with his words about your mother. He says things about your father too, but only ever around you. Levi seems to be the only one that recognizes their behavior towards you – or lack thereof – and often criticizes them. You, of course, allow it and he knows it amuses you. However, you and Levi are still not remotely friends, still arguing and often ridiculing each other. The only bonding you have ever done with the man is regarding your positions in the royal family, finding everything to be unnecessary and cretinous. Everything else between the two of you is short and angry, much like the Chevalier that follows you now.

Auguste has been occupied with politics and diplomacy for the past year, giving Levi the order to keep watch on you as he becomes even more busy. It’s something the two of you were already quite accustomed to since he had given the order three years ago when you were twenty. It still isn’t any easier to have him around so often. Bickering is more common than not and he beats you at anything you ask him to do. Except for archery – you’re almost certain no one can beat you at that and you relish in the face Levi makes when you split your arrow on the target almost every time.

But Auguste had insisted Levi stuck by your side now that he couldn’t spend as much time with you. Especially now that a war had broken out between your kingdom and a neighboring nation: Kaslogon. The war had started a year ago, but it barely made a dent in Mirlenas’ forces – not enough for Levi to be sent away to serve as part of the royal guard. Your allies, the country Navarre, were taking most of the heat for it since they resided on the same landmass as Kaslogon – Mirlenas at least had an ocean separating the two countries.

This meant that your father needed to pull Auguste everywhere he went, showing him the ropes of how to wage a war – a seemingly favorite pastime for egotistical men. You missed your evening walks and training sessions, having to force Levi to accompany you outside after dinner.

You hoped this meeting was to simply discuss the current standings of the war. Your mother seemed to over exaggerate with her statements or letters, once summoning you to discuss “dire circumstances” – the castle had just run out of her favorite persimmons and she wouldn’t be able to get anymore until the next winter harvest. It was moments like these when you remembered how absurd it felt to be a part of a royal family that didn’t know anything different. Levi always referred to the lot of you as “spoiled brats.”

He wasn’t wrong, but you would never admit that to him.

“You have a grass stain on your trousers,” Levi informs you with a blank tone.

“Lovely,” you sigh, “I’m sure mother will enjoy it.”

“It’s sloppy.”

“It’s fine.”

You already know your mother will be waiting for you in the dining room after the table has been cleared post-supper. You never bothered to join anymore, finding the comfort of being outside until late evening more enticing instead and having Isabel bring you dinner to your bedroom so you can enjoy her company. She may force you to eat when you don’t want to, but you appreciate her all the same.

Levi always gives you shit for it, telling you it’s disgusting to eat in a place meant for sleeping, but you usually ignore those statements from him. You’re not going to waste your breath to tell him you have a small table on your balcony that you eat your meals at – he wouldn’t understand.

You walk across the grass, your blanket under your arm and Levi following two steps behind you like he’s been taught. “You know it feels like you’re going to murder me when you walk behind me,” you scoff.

“You’re not worth getting hanged for murder,” he mutters. “If I walk next to you and your father sees I’ll only be reprimanded. Plus, you smell.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Please, I smell worlds better than you ever do.”

“Now you’re a liar?”

“Honest as ever,” you reply smoothly, lifting your chin ever so slightly.

Your boots touch the dirt road that runs parallel with the front of the castle, crossing it to reach the gravel pathway that leads to the entrance. It’s all very grand compared to it’s surroundings on the outside of it’s gates, an elaborate garden with perfectly trimmed hedges greeting you once the guards open the gate for you.

You always make sure to give them a sweet smile, greeting them by name – Jean and Marco. Jean’s mother is a handmaiden while you believe Marco’s family lives somewhere in a nearby village. They’re sweet boys, at least five years younger than you, but as soon as they see Levi they seem to stand taller than before and look straight ahead. You hate when it happens and always turn your head to see him glaring daggers at the two boys. He gives you a small “tch” today when he sees your glare being directed at him again.

The gates close behind you and you grow impatient. “Please, just walk next to me. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“I expect you to take the fall for it then if your father sees,” Levi scoffs as he joins you at your side.

“As if I don’t with everything else,” you mutter. He doesn’t respond.

You observe that he’s acting more cordial with you today for some reason and it’s throwing you off balance. You’d rather him bicker with you, not the silence that seems to drape over the two of you more often today.

You step towards the grand, bifurcated staircase in front of you with far too many steps – eighty-six, to be exact, and it feels like it takes a lifetime to walk up them. You’ve counted the pale stones too many times, having nothing better to do on some of your outings.

“twenty-seven…” you mutter under your breath as you walk.

“Are you fucking counting them?” Levi asks incredulously, not minding his language – not that he ever does – since the two of you are practically alone.

“Does it matter?” you snap, looking over at him with a glare. You lost count.

“There’s eighty-six,” he mumbles, seemingly realizing what he said only after it’s come out. You don’t bother to tease him about it, simply enjoying the pink tint to his ears with a small laugh as he looks down at the steps.

The front doors of the castle are opened by another set of guards, Connie and Sasha, and you give the young kids a smile as well. They were definitely bickering before you arrived, seemingly nervous about getting caught by Levi next to you when they stand up straighter. Connie’s eyes are wide and Sasha’s brown locks are slightly disheveled in her updo. You roll your eyes at the sight, but at least he doesn’t say anything to them today about being “more aware of their surroundings” like he usually would. Perhaps he got the hint earlier with Jean and Marco.

You greet the handmaiden standing by the doorway, giving her your blanket to be washed free of any lingering grass and returned on top of your bed before turning down a hall. Levi is still walking next to you, practically escorting you to the dining hall despite being inside the castle walls. “You don’t need to walk me there,” you tell him, eager to free him of his post and rid of his presence. You don’t need another walking headache with you when you visit your mother – one is enough.

“Auguste is joining you and your mother. I’ll be accompanying him afterwards.”

You pause your footsteps, boots slightly squeaking against the polished parquet floors. “What does Auguste have to do with this?”

Levi stops a step ahead of you, turning so he’s at least facing you. “They have news for you,” his voice trails off, laced with hesitancy as he turns his head to the side and avoids your look of confusion. “It’s not my place to tell you, madame.”

You scoff at his formality as a servant walks by. “Don’t call me that,” you grumble as you resume your walk to the dining hall. He knows you hate the use of your titles.

Your heart is racing at the prospect of bad news. Levi didn’t hide his feelings about the topic very well. The slight wrinkle between his brows, or the subtle downturn of his lips when he thinks he isn’t letting his frown show give you all the signs you needed. When you were younger you used to think the man had no emotions besides annoying little shit and anger, but the more time you spent with him the more you had to learn how to read him. If you didn’t, how else were you going to survive the arrangement Auguste had so kindly forced upon you.

“I have to, brat,” Levi whispers when no one is around.

You reach the grand white doors, their edges trimmed in silver to show off the kingdom’s wealth, and look over at him with a glare. He simply opens one of the large doors for you, bowing as you enter to please the woman sitting at the head of the dining table before closing it behind you and taking his post at the entrance. You almost rather wish you were outside with Levi’s company instead of enduring whatever this was about to be.

You spot Auguste sitting in the chair closest to your mother, patiently waiting for you to sit next to him. Your feet feel frozen in place, unable to move in fear of the discussion that was waiting for you. Your mother never had Auguste accompany her in the lectures she gave you, always knowing he would take your side and defend you. The discussion had to be serious for his presence to be pertinent.

“Please, Aeron, take a seat,” Auguste requests. Only then, when you hear his soothing voice, do you move towards the long banquet table that hosts far too many chairs to be actually useful. Your boots echo throughout the entire room as the two sit in silence, your corset shifting slightly as you walk. Everything feels incredibly uncomfortable now, the fabric sticking to your skin in all of the wrong ways, the layer of dirt that seems to have settled on your skin after being outside now unbearable. Even the grass stain on your knee is bothering you more than it normally would under their watchful eyes.

Auguste stands to pull your chair out from the table as you make your way over, pushing it in gently as you sit down so you’re close enough to the stained oak wood in front of you. You feel like you can’t breathe this close, but it’s proper, and Auguste did it for you, so you would simply have to endure.

“Your pants are stained,” your mother chastises.

“Mother, please. This is not what we are here to discuss,” Auguste interrupts before the arguing and onslaught of insults can begin from you.

“Fine,” your mother yields. She crosses her arms and waves a flimsy arm at your brother. “Why don’t you inform her of what’s to come then.”

The room’s silence is deafening in the moments before your brother resumes his speaking. You’re fidgeting with the top of your trousers on your thighs, pulling the fabric between your thumb and index finger in attempts to calm your nerves, but nothing is working. It feels like ages before Auguste’s voice fills the room, delivering news you never wanted to hear, but knew your whole life was a possibility. You don’t hear the words that come after, only focusing on a small phrase.

“I’ll be joining the frontlines.”

Your heart feels like it’s in your throat as your mother attempts at speaking nonsense to you. You’re not listening – you can’t. The first thing you do is peel your eyes away from the wood in front of you and look over at Levi. He’s looking at the ground, eyebrows furrowed and an evident frown on his face. You know that look – he’s upset, angry even. You can’t quite pin an underlying emotion that lies on his features as well. Sadness, you think.

“Aeron,” Auguste’s voice tears your eyes away from Levi and onto him.

You know how you must look right now; glistening eyes wide, lips parted in shock. The world around you slowly pieces itself back together as you stare into those soft brown eyes. You focus on a lock of hair that’s fallen over his forehead, a small curl that seems too stubborn to stay in place.

“I won’t be alone,” he provides, as if that would make you feel any better, “Levi will be accompanying me and you know he’s the best Chevalier in our kingdom.” You scoff, knowing Levi is needing to use all of his restraint to not roll his eyes. “I’ll be accompanied by father, Theo, and Furlan as well. Do not fret while I am gone.”

For the first time since joining this conversation, clarity strikes your mind. “Theo? You’re having Theo go with you?!” You’re practically yelling now, standing up from your chair and taking a step back. Auguste is quick to follow, a frightened look on his face from the quick escalation in conversation.

“I told you she couldn’t handle this,” your mother supplies unhelpfully from behind him.

Auguste doesn’t spare her a glance, eyes purely focused on you. Levi has stepped away from the door, almost as if he’s afraid that you’ll hurt your brother and ready to spring into action. It just makes you more angry. “Theo can’t go.” Your palms rest against your temples, trying to press some sort of sense into this whole mess.

“It’s his duty, Aeron. You would be going too if you were…” His voice trails off.

“If I was a man, I know,” you snap at him. “I would be more useful than even Theo on the battlefield and you’re well aware of it.”

“He’s gotten more training since you’ve last had a match with him,” Auguste tries. “Furlan will be with him. Levi is more than capable of guarding the two of us. He’ll be protected.”

“This is fucking absurd!”

“Watch your tone young lady!” your mother shouts, now rising out of her own seat. You wish you could slap some sense into her, you wish she wasn’t here in this room while tears threaten to spill over.

You’re terrified. You trust Auguste to make it back to you, he’s trained and capable, but Theo has never been skilled in any combat. You think he takes after the creativity that seems to flow through your bloodline. Auguste was always miserable at the arts, but Theo knew how to play almost any instrument.

He was the best at piano, sometimes playing in his bedroom when he thought no one was awake into the late hours of the night. You always heard him, the sounds echoing through the halls and making their way through the cracks in your doorway or if both of you had your balcony doors open.

He was never meant for war.

You watch as the tears finally overflow and fall down onto the floor below you, almost landing onto the leather of your boots. Auguste lets go of all restraints holding him back, allowing himself to rush forwards and allow you to collapse into his arms. You never wanted any of this. You would do anything to not see them leave you behind with just your mother.

You bury your face into his chest, gripping at the hem of his coat that lays on his shoulders unbuttoned. Tears stain the fabric, but you know he couldn’t care less right now, only rubbing soothing circles in between your shoulder blades. Whispers of “it’ll be okay” and promises he knows he shouldn’t be making float down into your ears. He kisses the top of your head when you pull back enough to look up at him and into his brown eyes.

“You better make it back to me,” you choke out with your index finger poking into his sternum. “Y-you have to.”

“I will, I promise.” Auguste pushes a stray hair from your forehead and wipes his calloused thumbs on your cheeks to rid the tears that have trailed down your skin. He’s a little rough with his touch, but you would never have it any other way. You love your brothers dearly.

The loud slam of the doors to the dining hall pull your gaze away from Auguste as your mother takes her leave without a single word. You watch as Levi turns back around after releasing the handle, leaving just the three of you in the room.

You bid your goodbyes to Auguste, but not before he tells you to visit Theo in his room and asking Levi to escort you to your own. You tell him you’ll visit Theo tomorrow right after dinner, that way you don’t interrupt his evening activities that you assume involve some sort of instrument.

Two sets of boots echo in the halls, the sun long forgotten in the sky and the torches on the walls illuminating your steps. Your gaze is focused down at your feet, absorbing all of the information that was just given to you in such a short amount of time. You almost wish Levi had warned you about it, but he was right – it wasn’t his place – and you probably would’ve lost your mind without someone to comfort you. Auguste was the perfect person to do it.

“Oi,” Levi whispers, “you passed your room.”

You stop, turning around to see Levi standing by your door with a hand on the handle, ready to open it for you. You realize why he has been uncharacteristically nice to you today, treating you like he actually cares about the way you feel and knowing how you would probably react to the news. You walk towards him, footsteps slightly shuffling as you do.

“Levi,” you whisper when you get in front of him, gaze coming up just to look him in the eyes. You see him noticeably stiffen at the sound of his name leaving your lips – a rare occurrence if it’s not followed, or prefaced, by an insult in a snarky tone.

No, your voice is soft. You sound scared and as Levi looks at you now he feels a hint of remorse, like he’s the one at fault for the situation at hand. He wants to promise that he won’t let anything happen to your brothers, or to Furlan for that matter, but he knows better than to make promises he might not be able to keep unlike Auguste. His duty has always been to protect the members of the royal family and he has always taken that job seriously. He wants to tell you he will do all that he can on the battlefield to ensure their safety – hell, he would risk his own life if he has to if it meant everyone else would come back alive.

Instead, he whispers a quiet, “what,” his voice sounding softer than usual.

You notice his eyes are grey, something you’ve never seen or cared to look at. You tend to avoid being this close to him or even looking at him really, always too focused on something else to give his features any attention. “You have to promise me something,” you say quietly once you have your thoughts gathered.

“You know I can’t do that, brat.”

“All of you need to make it back here,” you tell him, pointing that same index finger at him that had touched Auguste’s chest before. “I’ll never forgive you if something happens to my brothers.”

Levi’s breath hitches, unsure of what to say to such a heavy demand. Of course, he would do anything for them. “I can’t promise you anything,” he whispers back, “but I’ll try.”

“Good,” is all you say before heading into your chambers and closing the door in Levi’s face.

Levi stands there, staring at the painted grey wood in front of him. He tries not to think about how you said the word “all”, as if you cared about whether or not he made it back alive too.

—

Theo is in the courtyard by the time you get ready, casually strolling with the company of Furlan. You hate to interrupt, but it’s the one moment you have before he’s busy for the rest of the evening and you still haven’t seen him since Auguste told you they’re leaving.

Levi is trailing behind you like usual since Auguste is busy in meetings with your father – they’re never ending it seems. You fight the urge to tell him to just walk next to you again, but the man is stubborn and will maintain his respectful position in front of your brothers. It’s only when you’re alone that he breaks the ridiculously strict set of rules your father imposes on him.

“Sister,” Theo greets you with surprise when he sees you strolling up to him.

You give him a small smile. You told yourself you’d remain strong throughout this interaction, but your emotions are slowly starting to peek through before you’ve even begun.

“Hello. Furlan, Levi, would you two mind sparing us some privacy?” you kindly ask them, mostly directing your eyes and voice towards Furlan.

He gives you a smile and small bow, excusing himself as Levi does the same – without the smile of course. “We’ll be close by,” Furlan reassures you.

You give him a small smile and nod, gesturing for Theo to join you on a walk through the front gardens. He offers his arm to you like a gentleman and you accept, intertwining your arm with his so your hand rests on his forearm as the two of you begin your stroll.

“Remember when we wrestled here instead of this,” you give a small laugh, awkwardly skirting around the real topic of conversation.

“When you ate dirt and grass? I’m quite familiar with the memory, yes,” he teases you, offering a small smirk of amusement.

You playfully slap his shoulder with your other hand. “I knew you were waiting for a moment to rub that in my face.”

“How could I not?” Theo muses, “you were quite the brat when you were little.”

“Well this brat kicked your ass eventually.”

Theo let’s out a genuine laugh. “Don’t let mother hear you speaking that way.”

“She’s heard much worse from me,” you grimace.

“I suppose she has.”

There’s a long moment of silence when you’re not sure what to say. You know he knows why you’re here; to express your reluctance to let him join your eldest brother on the battlefield.

“Theo–”

“Aeron–”

The two of you speak at the same time, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the chrysanthemums in the garden. You release your hold on his arm as you both face each other and the look of sorrow on his face tells you everything you need to know.

You hold back your tears, managing to get a few words out without breaking quite yet. “Please.” You gesture towards him gently.

He grabs both of your hands, a habit of both his and Auguste’s that they seem to think helps soothe you. “I know I never say it, but I do love you Aeron.” He lets out a heavy sigh, carrying on with a guilty look on his face. “I have to do my duty. It would be unfair for me to be the only one to stay no matter how much I wish I could be here with you.”

“You’re not ready for this, Theo.” You gently shake his hands. “Your training isn’t at that level yet. If I can surpass you, you’re not ready.”

Theo scoffs at this, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’ve surpassed even Auguste. Only Levi is your competition and even then the man could never come close to your archery skills. You’re a born fighter. I’ll never be ready with those expectations.”

“Then I’ll go in your stead. I’ll convince mother and father–”

“That’s nonsense, Aeron!” Theo’s voice raises as he releases his hold on your hands. “I could never live with myself if you went and something happened to you, but you’re a woman anyway. You can’t.”

“That’s ridiculous and you know it!”

“I don’t make the rules,” Theo sighs, running a hand over his features in distress. His voice softens, regarding you with such sympathy in his green eyes. “I’ll be there for Auguste and I truly hope I make it back to you. I’ll do everything within my power to do so. Please, trust us.”

“I do trust you Theo,” you choke out, tears already beginning to spill over and trail down your cheeks. “It’s not about trust. I just need you to make it back to me. You can’t leave me.”

“When I come back I’ll play you a song on the piano,” he reassures before pausing, seemingly thinking something through. “It was going to be a surprise for you, but you’re a stubborn woman,” he teases affectionately.

This gets a laugh out of you as you swipe the tears off your cheeks with your fingers. You break your composure further, pulling Theo into an embrace as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close with your face hidden in his shoulder. His arms embrace you, hands holding you close between your shoulder blades.

“I can’t wait.” Your voice sounds muffled in the fabric of his coat.

#levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi x reader #levi x you #fanfic #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman x reader #royalty au #angst #fluff #historical au #im scared

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fayes-fics · 6 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers!

I was tagged by @suspendingtime. Thanks my dear. 🫶🫶 Apologies I'm a little tipsy right now haha. 🤪

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

155. Ahem, hush you. I started writing 18 months ago. When I get a new hobby, I REALLY lean into it.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

481,485. Yup, almost half a million. Again, shhhh.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Only Bridgerton. Look, I have my hyperfixations, ok?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

On AO3:

In His Lap (Short Fic) 181

Temptation 177

The Lesson 155

Insatiable 149

Are We Friends? 148

Tumblr notes:

Second Son 3,436

Sonnet #29 2,199

Rescue & Ruin 1,841

Awakening 1,827

Temptation 1,788

Wattpad readers:

Innocence, 30,600

Benedict Bridgerton Regency One Shots 23,000

Kinktober 2022 collection 16,300

Anthony Bridgerton Regency One Shots 10,400

Moments 5,800

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. Always. It's just wonderful to get feedback. I read and respond to every single comment. They mean the world to me, truly.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably No Good Advice. I ended up writing Moments multi-chapter as I (and a friend) couldn't bear the idea they didn't end up together lolol.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them, tbh. I can't write an unhappy ending. Maybe the mushiest is Second Son, Moments, or It Had To Be You.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Luckily not much yet. I did get one hate anon early on. It wasn't about a specific fic, though. It said they didn't know why I had a 'please don't steal my work' disclaimer (the standard one that most writers here use) cos I was delusional that my work was worth stealing. 🤷‍♀️

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, it's my trademark. It's rare when I don't write smut. 😬 I'm not sure what is meant by kind of smut. I've written it all, from vanilla romantic sex to kink threesomes with harnesses and double penetration lol. I haven't had a request yet that I've turned down due to sexual content.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not yet. The closest I've gotten is It Had To Be You, which is based on When Harry Met Sally.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, sadly, it has happened quite a few times now. I was so fed up with filing copyright takedown notices that I set up a Wattpad account to try to counter it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I've been offered but have turned it down. I have no way to check that any translation would get across the nuance I aim for. So I know that may be anglo-centric, but its how I feel for now.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not yet, but I am always threatening to lolol.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Hmm, tough one. I do love Kanthony tbh.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Benedict as a virgin. I just urghhh.... it's been a WIP for 17 months now. I just dunno why I won't finish it; I just get the feeling I won't.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have no bloody idea. I'd prefer readers answer that tbh lol. My inclination is to say I don't have one, except perhaps a willingness to describe sex in ridiculous levels of detail? Is that a strength?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

World building. I will do anything to shortcut it. I'll find an economical way to describe a situation e.g. she's a widow; they're old friends. Got it? Good! Let's get down to business.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done a smidgeon of French as I studied it for ten years. But I doubt I'd do another language tbh.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Only Bridgerton so far.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Bloody hell, I have no fucking idea. It literally changes depending on my mood. But I don't really care for my own writing that much, all I see is flaws lol. I guess the universe I would most like to write more for one day is Mrs Bridgerton and its sequel. Does that count?

No Pressure Tagging: A couple of my talented writing moots were tagged along with me on this (the lovelies @colettebronte and @eleanor-bradstreet). So lets go: @thebabblingbrookenook @fiction-is-life @ferns-fics @silverhallow @mothdruid @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @urchintoast 😁🧡🧡

#tag games #things im tagged in #fic writer questions

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lilredghost · 6 months

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Tagged by @ragnarlothcat (hey I hope you feel better soon! I am making you soup and lending you my favourite blanket!!) and @wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

Technically 9 but it's really 8. I don't exactly count all tied up in knots as mine (more on this later)

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

82,315, excluding the fic above. I don't think I'll make it to 100k before the year is out, but it would be cool if I did

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Just Star Wars, actually. I thought about writing fic in my last big fandom (The Witcher), but I didn't really feel motivated to write until SW. My first fic was actually DinLuke, but then I fell in love with the Prequels!

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Tank Top - This is the DinLuke one! I guess it's in the lead cause it's got a 1-year headstart on everything else, maybe

Their fragrance came from you - Sir, that's my emotional support fic! I love this one to death, seriously. I know I kinda made my brand on kinky sex fics and this is very much not that, but...

Blindfold me (I'm the only witness) - I do feel like this one kinda embodies Obikin's insanity tbh. Weird boundary-crossing sex for sure

Lace Me Up, Hold Me Tight - Subby Obi-Wan in a healthy relationship my beloved <3

You can call me baby (You can call me love) - My first Obikin fic. Near and dear to my heart. Stands the test of time, I think. It's mostly just very sweet

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, absolutely! I didn't used to, but now I try to reply to all of them, even if it's just with a few heart emojis.

A lot of the times when I read fic, I like to browse the comments to see speculation from other readers and what the author has to say about it.

Sooo I guess I reply to comments to spark conversation! I think it makes it a bit easier to ask questions / engage with the material as a reader, because they know I'll try to answer as best I can (and I do!!)

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

None of them!!! I don't believe in unhappy endings. Life is hard enough as it is

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I mean, they all have happy endings. But maybe Take Care of Me, Please? The idea of being loved and taken care of unconditionally is very appealing to me. I guess that's not surprising

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not directly on the fics themselves, but I have gotten, at this point, several anons criticising my writing and my fics here on tumblr. It's kind of exhausting because I feel like the obikin community itself seems so nice but SOMEONE is sending me these anons and it could really be anyone. It kind of makes me jump at shadows a little bit?

It's probably someone I don't know, rather than someone playing nice to my face and then sending me shit behind my back, but... What if it isn't? :(

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Yep yep yep. Like I said, that's where I started. I'm sure people who subscribed to me were disappointed when I started Their fragrance came from you and Obikin didn't have sex for like... 40k words

I've done a little bit of a lot of different kinks, I think. Lingerie, somno, humiliation, boot worship, lactation, daddy kink... There are a couple I really wanna do still (pet play, body swap, etc), but at the same time I kind of want to do more of the ones I've already done? So idk, we'll see where it goes

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Noooope. I'm very interested in AUs, but I'm just not interested in crossovers

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nah, I think that mostly happens to bigger authors, and I'm pretty new. I haven't noticed anything of mine anywhere else, but I also don't spend a lot of time on other fansites these days

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also no! It's a dream of mine, a little bit, but at the same time I see why no one would be particularly interested in translating anything I've written so far. No biggie

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Okay this one is mixed. I have participated in round robins in an obikin server (that's what all tied up in knots is), but there was never any real commitment to writing those things. It was just based on whoever was free and had inspiration. I've actually been thinking I'll take my name off all tied up in knots, cause I don't particularly see that going anywhere, and I feel weird taking credit for it

HOWEVER. I would love to write a collab with someone I know. I'm not sure if I'd be any good at it, but I'd try!

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

I do feel like it has to be Obikin. I'm honestly a multishipper when it comes to Obi-Wan, but I got tired of all the anti-Jedi sentiment in some of the popular pairings (which is the same problem I had with DinLuke), so now I stick mostly to Jangobi/Kenfetti and Obikin.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Disregarding the whole round robin fic, I really do hope to finish all of them. Keeping this section optimistically blank!

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Hm... this question took me longest to come up with an answer. I guess it's worldbuilding and smut (which are sort of on opposite ends of the spectrum, lol)

Worldbuilding obviously is more of a thing in longer fics, but I feel like even in smaller ones I'm able to incorporate background details that I'm dangerously fond of. For example, the super soft blanket Obi-Wan is very territorial over in You can call me baby (You can call me love) is a gift from Ahsoka. And in Your Body, Superimpose It On Me, Anakin's Padawan braid is in an ornate glass box on Obi-Wan's nightstand, and Obi-Wan takes a moment to, like, caress the designs on the box every day.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Well... I can only really write according to the mood I'm in. This was not a problem for a year or two there as I wrote shorter fics, but then I started writing Their fragrance came from you... At first, I was super depressed and so was Obi-Wan. And then the tone got lighter as I started feeling better. But then, you know, I have several chapters where the characters are supposed to be happy and light-hearted and suddenly I'm depressed again and I can't write the next chapters of my fic and then I get more upset about it because it's really important to me and it just becomes kind of a vicious cycle of feeling bad and not writing.

Maybe I need a separate sort of vent fic for when I'm upset? But again, I don't like unhappy endings. And if it has to get better at some point, then I'll have a hard time writing that unless I'm actually feeling better. If that makes sense.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Sooo I do definitely borrow words from other languages, but I always explain them first, and they're usually more like... concepts or objects that are specific to that culture. Of course the character is thinking/speaking those words in that language; there is no translation!

I've never had a reason to have whole sentences of dialogue be in different languages, but I guess if there was a fic which needed that, I wouldn't necessarily mind doing it? But the default is writing everything in english, because, yknow, the fic is in english

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Okay I WAS gonna say that I already answered this with the dinluke thing. But I do remember writing fanfiction for Dinosaur King which (thankfully) never saw the light of day...

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I feel like, as my only longfic, that's gotta be Their fragrance came from you. I know a lot of people write it off immediately because it's a/b/o (or even because it's supposed to be alpha Obi-Wan), but to me it's got everything. Enemies to lovers. Fun side characters. Pining. Battles. Betrayal. Romance. Sex. Even anti-heteronormativity!

To me it feels very much like I set out to (overambitiously) write an epic, and somehow I'm succeeding. I'm not saying it's the best fic that's ever been written, but it's far exceeded any expectations I had for it when I started.

Bonus: What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

Not necessarily rewrite, but I do wanna do edits to Lace me up, because the first few chapters are just not up to a comfortable standard of writing for me. And I'd be okay with leaving it that way if it was a standalone, but I really like its sequel. Plus I have some ideas for other fics in that series, so it would kind of put all that up to scrutiny again if/when I post a third installment

Tagging

Some of my friends already did this one and I'm not EXACTLY sure who has/hasn't been tagged yet, but (if you want): @anakinsthot @demon----dean @fishnamedsushi @secretsolarsystem

#whew this was a long one #PS to ragnarlothcat babe your dialogue is sooo good and witty never doubt yourself #PS to wibz sith spells sound super cool and atmospheric!!#tag game

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thursdayinspace · 18 days

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twenty questions for fanfic writers

I was tagged by the amazing @oohnotvery, thank you!! <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10, but I orphaned my old account several years ago when I left fandom for a bit. I don't know how many I had back then, over 100 for sure.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

37.724

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files. There's most likely going to be some Star Trek in there eventually, and I ventured into other realms in the past, but right now, exclusively The X-Files.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

under construction (Torchwood)

wild side (The X-Files)

in conclusion (The X-Files)

the ghost circle (Torchwood)

the physics of being alive (Torchwood)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. If I ever forget, I'm sorry! I love every comment and it's important to me to say thank you.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

held safely in the dark (Torchwood). It's not even all that angsty by that fandom's standards, I suppose.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Good question. I rarely ever write unhappy endings. Fanfic is my happy place. But I think the one I most enjoyed writing because there was NO angst at all was in conclusion (The X-Files).

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Ohhhh my god one time in a different fandom on my old AO3, somebody left a scathing, vitriolic comment on one of my fics, but obviously meant to do it anonymously -- only they forgot to log out first. By the time I read it they had deleted their entire account. That made the whole thing actually funny in context.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, I do. What kind? Hmm. Mostly pretty plain and boring. It's all about the feeeeeelings.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I used to. Back in the good old livejournal days I loved a good crossover. I wrote a Stargate Atlantis/Firefly crossover once, that might have been the craziest.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I'm...not sure? I think so? But that would have been like 15 years ago, I'm not sure anymore whether that actually happened or not.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!! And it's so much fun. I've had a few co-writers over the years. Once life is less crazy, I might be tempted to give it another shot.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Mulder and Scully. There's a reason my tag for them is "the ship of all time."

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None, currently. ...I'm. Hold on. That can't be true. But I truly can't think of a single one. I can't remember the last time that happened. This doesn't happen. But no, not one.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. Because it's fun, and through years and years of practice. One of my first betas drilled "show, don't tell" into my head to the point where I feel it's permanently tattooed onto the backs of my eyelids and I see it every time I blink when I'm writing. And in my very specific case, that meant learning to make people use their words. BUT it has helped me getting rid of unnecessary exposition, which at the same time made me get a lot of practice with dialogue instead. (Let's ignore the fact that I literally just posted a fic that has almost no dialogue at all...)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action. I can't do it, I'm sorry. Whose hand goes where when? Does this guy need three arms to do what I just told him to? Wait, you were just over there, how did you get here suddenly? Anyone who can write action scenes has powerful magic and I envy you and please teach me.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm bilingual, so I could do that, I suppose? The need for it has never come up. Sounds fun though.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate Atlantis!! I still miss that fandom. Ahh the livejournal nostalgia is strong tonight...

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It's usually always the last one I posted, but I'm gonna say in conclusion. I'm very fond of that one.

Tagging...I don't know who has done this and who hasn't! @mr-iskender if you want to?

#this was fun!

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lilting-aurora · 6 months

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20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @fulcrumstardust !! thank u💞

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

2 on my main account browneyed_jedi , 1 I regret orphaning, and 1 on another account

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

6,321! baby steps :D

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars on the whole :)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. it’s the only one on my alt account….it’s hilarious how much better this smut fic did then anything else i’ve ever done

2. he was breathing, at least (1,052 words) - my whumptober prompt! it was quite hard for me to write so i’m glad people seem to like it :)

3. untitled high school AU (2,058 words) - this WILL be finished one day i promise!!

4. an unhappy medium (3,211 words) - this is the work i orphaned, it’s the half blood prince retold from draco’s perspective!

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

ALWAYS. comments are so precious to me ❤️

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

gotta be my whumptober prompt “he was breathing, at least”. i’m really proud of the ending in particular

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

“untitled high school AU” for sure. it’s nowhere near finished yet, but they sure made up quickly lol

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i’m not quite big enough for that. a bit scared for when that day comes haha

9. Do you write smut. If so, what kind?

I’ve written a LOT of smut, but never posted any on my main. i want to one day, though. seeing how well the other one performed is convincing me lmao

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

idk what counts as a crossover but i’m currently writing a rebelcaptain The Creator AU and i’m having so much fun with it. gonna try write a bit more before i post it

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Probably not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no but i would absolutely LOVE to!! if anyone wants to join me please dm me whenever

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

it’s rebelcaptain why are you even asking

but recently i’ve gotten into gwen/miles from the spider-verse movies! they’re just so cute 😭ñ

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

i’m gonna make it happen no matter what - but it’s the untitled high school AU. life has just been getting busier and busier and will only get worse over the next year, but this thing WILL be finished one day

16. What are your writing strengths?

i’d like to say description? like visual descriptions of things. i really enjoy it. also dialogue is really fun and easy to write

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

disciplining myself to actually write lmao. i also tend to write slowly cos im a perfectionist

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i like it but i prefer having at least a basic grip of the language

19. First Fandom you wrote for?

harry potter!

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

it’s the Creator AU i haven’t posted yet - i’m just so proud of the imagery :) from what ive posted it would be “he was breathing, at least.”

tagging: @quarantineddreamer @luciechat @imsfire2 @mosylufanfic

#rebelcaptain #star wars writers #ao3 writer #writeblr #star wars #rogue one

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forabeatofadrum · 7 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @wellbelesbian for the tag! Here goes:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

... 162. what the FUCK.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,323,028. WHAT THE FUCK

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Well, almost half of those 162 fics are Glee fics. My other two bigger fandoms are Check, Please! and the Simon Snow Series.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Everything will be alright, the only Brooklyn Nine-Nine fic I have ever written.

All shall know the wonder, probably my favourite Check, Please! fic that I've written, so hooray!

The last to know, which was a reaction fic for the end of year 3 of Check, Please!

How lucky we are to be alive right now, which is my first ever Carry On fic and I don't even like it that much anymore, but I guess it's the origin story yada, yada.

The 2020 Young America New Year’s Eve Gala, my sole Red, White & Royal Blue fic. I wrote it in 2020, but thanks to the movie, it got a lot more views and kudos.

I am actually surprised (but also not, I think I have seen this before) that there is no Glee fic in this list. My Glee/Klaine fic with most kudos is the 15th on the list!!! (It's Myosotis sylvatica, by the way.) (My goddamn Love, Victor fic is higher on the list WACK!!)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

No. I do read all of them, but I always feel super awkward responding. Idk. It's a me problem, I guess. So I only respond when I have something specific to say or if a comment totally blows me away and I want to at least acknowledge that. Although... I am behind on that as well.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. Does Your heart is in your chest again, not hanging from your sleeve count? It's a Next to Normal AU Klaine story, and if you know the musical, you know.

There's also My rose-coloured boy, a pre-Wayward Son Snowbaz fic that shows that Simon is not dealing with shit and it has an unhappy ending, I suppose, but it also fits in canon so does it count, because in canon, the entire Snowbaz story does have a happy end.

OH WAIT A HOT MINUTE THERE IS ALSO MY WIP Dalton 8 Days of Wrath. That fic is supposed to be Sad Shit Only!!!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I love writing happy endings, so I am not sure which one is the happiest.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope, luckily.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope. I uhhhh have a whole ass essay on why I don't.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Yes, I am one of those "how can I Klaine-ify" bitches. The craziest is probably my Glee/Animal Crossing fic Wandering. I don't like it THAT much, but it was fun. I also had a very extensive, not-published Glee/Barbie Mariposa and the Fairy Princess crossover (yeah) once.

And I've been talking for ages about how I will one day write a Glee/Winx Club crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I unfortunately assume that it's happened, since ya know, AO3 scrapers.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I know someone wanted to translate Charms & Pearls into Italian, but I don't know it's happened. @klaineship2 also translated one of my Hearing verse fics into German: Musik nur, wenn sie laut ist. I once read this translation out loud and sent it to my German friend @vreniii and I may have hurt her ears.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Call Me Maybe, my aroace Agatha fic with @captain-aralias and Stage Fright, a Halloween Klaine fic with @spookyklaine, @esperantoauthor, @justgleekout, @snarkyhag, sopheadraws, MissFlurry and keyiqiang.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

(Yes, Alex, I still say OTP.)

Klaine. Look, I will be a Klainer 12 till the day I die. You will catch me crying over Teenage Dream (gcv) at the nursing home.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have... so many WIPs. So. Many. WIPs. I don't want to give up on them yet.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I can write dialogue and that I can be pretty funny.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Alex, I so feel you on the second hand embarrasment thing with sappy stuff. I also bitch a lot about not being able to write romantic endings. I also have struggles with describing movement.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I mean. I have done it before, most noteably Paradiso, aap noot mies and Ik was meteen ondersteboven., so I am down for it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Published? Glee.

When I was a wee child writing stories about other media, Winx Club and Harry Potter, although I never published those.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

OH. Oof. In no order, split by my 3 main fandoms (because I cannot narrow it down!):

For Klaine: Myosotis series (especially part 1 and 5), Mendacious, I’d cry a river just for you, All the pretty things that we could be and Ljubim te.

For Snowbaz: Paradiso series (especially part 1 and 3, rip part 2), Time After Time and make a fire out of this flame.

For Zimbits: All shall know the wonder and Center Ice.

Forgive me for not tagging anyone. I am taking the lazy "everyone is free to do it!" approach because I am tired!!!

#tag game

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marypsue · 1 year

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Ahh also as an addendum to my previous ask about the age swap (which I might’ve accidentally labeled as the body swap fic due to the foibles of being awake unexpectedly early ), I was curious what your criticisms are regarding Robin and Will’s treatments by the Duffers? I know you’ve alluded to being bothered by both but I’d be curious to hear more ( if you have the time/hankering!)

Hooboy. Okay. Buckle in.

Obviously this is going to be a combination of actual literary analysis and Big Feelings That I Have, so like, please don’t take this as any kind of moral dictum on what to or not to watch, or how to or how not to interpret what you watch. Also, a lot of what makes me uneasy and unhappy about how canon deliberately handles queerness (as opposed to when it does queer things apparently by accident, which as you may have noticed, I have considerable amounts of fun with) has to do with behind-the-scenes context I’ve read about, so there’s a certain degree of Telephone involved. And I’m still only halfway through season four. There’s just so fucking much of it.

With all that said.

The behind-the-scenes context I’m most specifically concerned with are the season-one pitch bible(? I think that’s what it’s called) (which, it should be noted, ended up diverging in some quite significant ways from what ended up in the show) where the Duffers first raised the possibility that Will might be gay, and the anecdote that Joe Keery and Maya Hawke were the ones who decided Robin should be queer and had to really push for it and wrote and choreographed that scene in the bathroom. Put the two together, and it tells you that the Duffers planned that there would be One (potentially) Gay Character in their show.

And that character was the one they spent an entire season directing violent, vicious, eventually outright murderous homophobic hatred at through the mouthpiece of a couple of bullies. You can say what you want about revenge narratives and those characters ultimately getting their comeuppance, but for Me Personally, it sucks all the fun and escapism out of season one to watch it thinking that those bullies only got punished when they aimed that vitriol at someone to whom it didn’t literally apply. Also I still have to sit through however many episodes of that vicious homophobia onscreen regardless, so, like, that’s a walk in the park anyway. /sarcasm

And then there’s that whole bad business in season three, where it’s never been quite clear to me if we’re supposed to see Mike as having been in any way in the wrong. Kind of scuppers the argument, to me, that we’re supposed to be on Will’s side. And season four, which so far has had Will tagging along after people who are supposed to be his best friends but mostly don’t seem to give a single damn about him, doing absolutely nothing but looking morose and sullen and tragic and *coughcough* Artistic, and causing Problems for the nice straight couple.

(Tangential to the point I’m coming to, but also, my son deserves better than to be reduced to a soggy cardboard standee with ‘GAY’ scrawled across it in magic marker the way season four seems to be angling toward. All the Byers, but especially the Byers boys, deserve better than season four seems interested in giving them. But I digress.)

Also. I love Robin. If you follow me, you probably know that. I’m a hardcore, ride-or-die Robin girl. But. With Robin, from what I’ve heard of the context, the Duffers never intended for her to be queer. They wrote a girl who was smart and funny and sharp and talented and a little bit mean and a little bit insecure and a little bit weird but in an interesting, endearing way - as a love interest for Steve.

And then, as soon as season four rolled around, once they’d been pushed into making her canonically, on-screen queer (in a beautiful, tender, heartfelt, true-feeling scene that they didn’t fucking write), suddenly she’s had a complete personality transplant. Suddenly, she’s an awkward, bumbling, annoying loser who’s only funny when she’s the butt of the joke, who’s no good at anything and who nobody really likes except maybe for Steve, an outcast even amongst the freaks. When she does do something smart or competent, everyone around her reacts with shock, like it’s wildly out of character instead of how her character was originally written. One of these versions of Robin was written with ‘gay person’ in mind, and it unfortunately wasn’t the one we were obviously supposed to like.

In both cases, I get the feeling that the storytelling issues stem from this like...assumption that queerness equals isolation and misery and tragedy, and that there’s nothing to queerness outside of that. That there’s something inherent to queerness, something pitiable but repulsive, that causes the isolation and misery and tragedy (not that those things are imposed from outside, by, say, violent homophobia). That it would be absurd to imagine that queerness could ever be joyful, or playful, or that someone might ever, given the chance to choose, not choose to be straight instead. Or that there could be enormous friendship and community and heart and pride in queerness, or even that queer people might find friendship and community and strength in each other. Or even fucking talk to each other, ever.

Which is especially infuriating, because the whole central theme of season one (besides surface appearances being deceiving) is that community and care between people who are very different but discover they have more in common than there is that separates them is what saves the day! That love comes in all kinds of forms, and they’re all important, and that love can be stronger than fear!

But apparently, according to the Duffers, queer love doesn’t count and queer community doesn’t exist. It’s just isolation, misery, and tragedy, and I guess we the watchers are supposed to sit outside of it and pity Them for it (and be quietly, sneakily, a little bit nastily grateful that it’s not happening to Us). Because of course nobody watching the show is queer. Of course. This show is made for normal people.

It’s part of the same attitude I’ve also seen play out with the Duffers’ inability to just let a white dude be bad. Oh, they want to talk a big game about how they’re on the side of the freaks, and bullies are bad, and everybody should be respected and appreciated for who they are. But when it cuts down to the bone, when applying that precept to a girl or a person of colour or a queer person makes a straight white guy come off as a monster, they keep trying to dodge it.

The more antagonists they try desperately to rehab without ever acknowledging why they were antagonists in the first place, the more it starts to look like they simply don’t really believe that the people those antagonists hurt really matter. That, somewhere deep down where the assumptions that are so baked in you don’t even realise they’re assumptions live, they don’t really believe that girls, or Black kids, or queer people are as fundamentally human and deserving of respect and compassion as their beloved awful straight white men are. That what they really think about bullies is that bullies are bad because the bullies picked on them, instead of the kinds of people who deserved it.

(See also: that time a twelve- or thirteen-year-old Sadie Sink didn’t want to have to do a kiss in the Snow Ball scene, so the Duffers, who had just been joking about having her do it, actually made her do it. For multiple takes. Specifically because she didn’t want to. And then later related that anecdote to the press. Because they thought it was funny.)

Anyway. Personally, I’d prefer canon just never say anything definitive on the matter of Will’s sexuality and stop trying to push the narrative in that direction, so I don’t have to watch the Duffers spectacularly fumble yet another attempt at Writing About Marginalised Groups.

(Also, this is absolutely not me saying Watch A Different Show - I’m here writing fanfic for this stupid show, it’d be pretty fucking rich of me to try to tell people to stop watching it. But I’d really love for many of its fans to get some more exposure to less-mainstream, more deliberately queer literature and film, so y’all can see what it really feels like to be seen and acknowledged and loved by a story, on purpose. I get it! I do! I too have wanted very badly to feel like something I loved, loved me back.

But you don’t have to content yourselves with scraps. And you definitely don’t have to be so concerned with those scraps that you blame your friends, cousins, siblings, brothers in arms for ‘stealing’ some kind of ‘representation’ from you by asking to be seen and acknowledged and loved as well. The bastards who’ve been withholding that recognition from all of us would love nothing more than to watch with amusement, gorging themselves on a banquet, while we tear each other apart over a couple of discarded bones. Don’t give them the satisfaction. We don’t have to be isolated, pitiable, pathetic, miserable tragedies. Put the hollow promises of exclusionism and respectability down. There is queer art and literature and film and community and joy and love in abundance that you don’t have to beg anyone for, and you are invited to participate. This is me inviting you to participate.

And cordially inviting the Duffers to meet me in the woods behind the 7-Eleven.)

...

tl;dr the way the Duffers treat queerness when they do it on purpose feels like a combination of othering, contempt, and misery porn, and I hate it. And that, in a nutshell, is the rant I’ve been sitting on for the last two-and-a-bit years. I’m getting down off the cafeteria table now.

#chatter #stranger things #i have been first uneasy and then very fucking angry about all of this for Quite A While Now #but robin's personality transplant broke open the fucking dam #it's worse because they did such! a good job! with seasons one and two!#obviously Not Perfect but also painfully obviously Better Than This #and then I guess they'd made enough money for netflix that they stopped having creative reins and restrictions placed on them #and it all went to shit #just total anne rice/stephen king editor syndrome #anyway I won't be following anything they do after this bc i'm pretty sure I like the show in spite of its creators instead of because of th #*them #they also aren't applying season one's theme of appearances being deceiving when it comes to queer people!#they keep saying every shitty shallow queer stereotype is true!#(the tragic gay martyr #slash the obsessive possessive friend-borderline-stalker)#(the unfuckable lesbian)#(the predatory gay villain - I didn't talk about closeting and s2 Billy Hargrove bc hoo boy that's a can of worms #but I do think they took that angle with him on purpose #especially since his 'redemption arc' goes hand in hand with suddenly switching his focus from steve to karen #and he stands to gain nothing by manipulating karen in s3 so it's pretty obviously a cheap dodge #so the duffers can go 'what? no he wasn't sneeringly derogatory toward teenage girls bc he was so deep in the closet he could see narnia'#'nooooooooo he just...only likes ~mature women~'#which. yes boys jennifer coolidge was hot in american pie but please grow up.)#anyway yes that loss of sight of that central theme is exactly how we got the russians in season three #and we all know how much that fucking sucked #i do hope having the word 'fuck' in the tags still hides a post from search

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