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queenlucythevaliant · 1 year

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Once, Always

(Edmund has an abundance of birthdays)

“I say,” murmured Edmund sleepily as the fire burned low. “When do you suppose it is here? I mean—what time of year? Do you think it’s the beginning of September, the same as it was in England?”

“Summer,” said Lucy. “Certainly summer.”

Peter agreed. “I think it must be Highgrass, if I had to guess. Perhaps later. Greenroof?”

“If it’s Greenroof, then Edmund gets another birthday,” Lucy sighed. “Eleven or twelve, Ed?”

“Neither,” put in Susan. “A thousand, if you’re going to rationalize it that way. Now everyone hush, please, and get some sleep.”

Edmund’s birthday was the fifteenth day of Greenroof by the Narnian reckoning. Greenroof, late summer, when all the leaves were dark and broad. Narnian summers were long, but Greenroof was the last and best of the summer months. Greenroof was hunts through the dense foliage, blackberries heavy with juice, lazy afternoons, bonfires, wild romps, and the pleasant kind of sweat. Edmund’s birthday celebrations were always held on Dancing Lawn in the old days: the sort of long, laughter-bright nights that summer was made for.

The second time Edmund celebrated his eleventh birthday, it was just past three months since he and his siblings had returned home from the country. Their house was glass-strewn and battered, but still standing when they arrived home. By August it was beginning to feel really safe again, but sometimes Edmund still woke in the night to find his mother standing silent in the doorway, drinking in the sight of her two sons returned to her.

The professor sent one of Ivy’s famous spice cakes for Edmund’s birthday. It arrived tied in red string, which made Lucy reminisce fondly about dear Mr. Tumnus. Edmund’s siblings pooled their allowances to buy him the new Nero Wolfe detective novel, and his mother gave him a new cap and an electric torch.

“How do you feel?” his mother asked over dinner.

“I don’t feel any older, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “Eleven feels just the same as ten did yesterday.”

All four of them missed their birthdays the first year in Narnia. Too much else was going on at the time, and none of them was quite sure when their birthdays were supposed to be besides. The measurement of time was a thoroughly tangled issue.

The Narnian year had four hundred days even, divided into fourteen months of inconsistent lengths. Furthermore, the kingdom had only known winter for the last hundred years. The Narnians themselves were still remembering how the calendar worked in a world where the seasons changed. They didn’t have the words yet to explain it to their sovereigns.

“Eustace,” said Edmund, “your journal is wrong.”

“Give me that,” Eustace scowled at once. “I know it’s wrong, but there’s no need to rub my face in it. Aren’t I trying to make up for how I was?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. The month is wrong. You’ve got September written here, but time works differently in Narnia than it does in the Other Place. Haven’t you noticed that it’s summer, not autumn?”

“Oh.” Eustace shrugged. “I followed Occam’s Razor and assumed that the climate here was different rather than time itself.”

“Occam’s what?” This was Lucy.

“Occam’s Razor: the simplest solution to a problem is the most likely—never mind. Well, go on, what month is it?”

“Highgrass,” said Lucy.

“July,” said Edmund at the same moment. “More or less.”

They worked it all out one afternoon as the second spring of their reign was ending. Peter and Susan wrote out the English calendar on one stack of parchment while Edmund and Lucy sat down with the Narnian calendar and penciled in seasonal markers as best they could manage.

“The first crocuses came up right at the end of Cleardome, yes?”

“Yes, I think so. And the snowdrops were in their full glory that month too.”

“How do you want to deal with leap year?”

“Just forget about it. Narnia doesn’t have anything similar, so I think twenty-eight days for February is fine for our purposes.”

“Magnolia in Laceveil, yes?”

“Laceveil is a good marker in general. We ought to set that as May and go from there.”

Birthdays were guesses, no matter how much counting they did. Yet as memories of England receded and Narnia’s world blossomed into everything they knew, those guesses solidified into fact. Edmund turned eleven for the first time on the fifteenth day of Greenroof. He was the first of his siblings to celebrate a proper birthday in Narnia.

The fourth time Edmund turned twelve, he received another electric torch to replace the one he’d lost. He laughed for half a minute, holding that gift in his hand.

“Really, you should have expected it,” said Susan primly.

"I did."

Their mother tsked and added something about keeping track of one’s belongings, but that was alright. His siblings understood.

Edmund flicked on the light and watched the beam land on the far wall across the living room. Bright at the edges and dark towards the center where the bulb was. He moved his wrist sideways and watched the spot of light follow.

Edmund might have forgotten about his birthday aboard the Dawn Treader if Lucy hadn’t remembered. She conspired with the cook to have a spread of Edmund’s favorite foods at supper (such as could be managed at sea) and coerced Rynelf into playing jigs on his fiddle afterwards. While they were dancing, Caspian called for a cask of his best wine, and soon the ship’s whole company was making merry like only Narnians could.

“Didn’t you have a twelfth birthday the last time you were in Narnia?” Caspian asked curiously as the party was dying down.

“Yes,” Edmund replied, “and the time before that too. Confused yet?”

“Ed has all the luck,” Lucy pouted playfully. “We always seem to return to Narnia in the summer, so he gets all the extra birthdays.”

Caspian's face lit up. “How extraordinary! When’s yours then?”

“Cleardome. There’s a year and a half between Ed and me, and he never lets me forget it.”

“It’s really not as exciting as all that,” Edmund added. “We’re not living our lives backwards, or unstuck in time, or any such nonsense. It’s more like—our lives are folded in on themselves, you see? But never the same way twice.”

“I think it’s more like music than anything else,” Lucy said, a kind of fond wistfulness in her voice.

“Yes,” said Edmund. “I know what you mean.”

On the thirteenth of Greenroof, the Telmarines laid down their arms and surrendered to Old Narnia. The next day, messengers were sent forth across the land with news of the surrender and with terms for the Telmarines. Caspian’s coronation followed, and then Edmund woke and it was his birthday again.

Breakfast that morning was long and languid, for Peter and Susan knew that they must say farewell to Narnia, even if the younger ones did not. They lingered round the table with Caspian and Trumpkin and the rest, and presently Peter offered a toast.

“To my brother King Edmund, who is eleven and twelve and sixty-three and thirteen hundred years old today.”

Everyone raised their cups and repeated, “King Edmund.” Caspian nodded and added, “Long live the king,” with an almost ironic tilt to his head.

Naturally, Edmund nodded back. “And to you, King Caspian. Long may you reign.”

Another round of assent followed, and then Lucy cleared her throat. “But also,” she said, “To late summer and the rebirth of Our Narnia. And to the land, the sea, the hills, the trees, the sky, Cair Paravel-by-the-sea and Dancing Lawn and all the flowers that are still in bloom. And to the color green. To all of us here today, and to those who are gone. And to Aslan.”

“Here, here.”

There were tears in Susan’s eyes now. “Happy birthday,” she whispered, and squeezed Edmund’s hand tight. Edmund looked down at his plate, fiercely overcome with love for this place and these people. In a strict, chronological sense, it had been less than a month since his last birthday, but how did the saying go? Time was just a tangled string, or falling snow, or whatever else Aslan told it to be.

“Bother,” said Edmund, “I’ve left my new torch in Narnia.”

Everyone chuckled at this, but Susan said, “Wait a year. We’ll get you a new one for your next birthday.”

#Edmund has a late August birthday #which means that Lucy's must be early in the year if 'really there was only a year between them' holds #AND we still choose to go with the birth years from Jack's timeline #and idk i just really love the idea of the Pevensies repeating their birthdays and just kinda reflecting on it #not in an angsty 'adults in kids bodies' way (ugh)#but just in a sort of 'huh. what a neat opportunity to think about #who i am and who i've been and who i'm becoming' kind of way #that pulls out the growing up themes from the series and examines them #idk i hope that's what i've done here #this is a veeeeerrrrry loose re-write of a really old middle school piece about Lucy having multiple eleventh birthdays #it just makes more sense if it's Edmund given the setup with Prince Caspian #anyway #narnia #the traitor who mended #leah stories #pontifications and creations #working on crossposting to ao3 (hopefully w/i the hour)

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 4 months

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Amy Pond canon-compliant character study (I will rip your heart out just like I did mine)

You are Amy Pond and your best friend is a man who tumbled into your life when you were a child and turned you into the town’s Cassandra, doomed to never be believed, doomed to believe without salvation, and yet your faith in has never wavered, because what would you be without him? You don't remember existing in a world without your god.

You are Amy Pond and you are kind and you have faith until that faith is forcefully broken to save your life. You become Lucy Pevensie, cast out of your kingdom by the only god you have ever believed in, so you choose to build your own kingdom, to make a life out of the wreckage that he left behind.

But that is not enough. It will never be enough. You are not allowed to leave this story. You are not allowed to grow up in a way that matters, because every time you try to choose, every time that you try to build a life of your own, you are dragged back into this story.

You are Amy Pond and this is a horror story, a tragedy, because you were never allowed to make a choice unless that choice is to die. You are not allowed to choose unless it is to kill yourself. You die on Appalappachia. You die in Manhattan. Any time you get to make a decision, death is there, hand outstretched, ready to walk you off the stage.

You are Amy Pond and you are a ghost haunting other people's stories.

You are Amy Pond and you died before you were born.

You are Amy Pond and you are kind even though the world was never kind to you and maybe, just maybe, this would have been a kinder story if you hadn't believed. If you hadn't held faith. If you had let the memory of your imaginary friend slide away.

The world might have ended earlier. The universe might have been worse off. But would you have? Would you have been happier?

The answer doesn't matter in the end. It never did.

Because there's nothing you can do. No other way this story ends.

You are Amy Pond and you do not get to leave. You do not get to change your story.

You are Amy Pond and you are Amelia Williams and you are Amelia Pond and your story ends as it began: with a girl sitting in a garden, waiting for a man to pick you up and take you to your death.

(Amy Pond and being trapped within the narrative: aka, the question of narrative framing and the consequences of faith.)

Full version of the poem(? Character study?) here:

@twelvesbian @tenmartha @variousqueerthings @spoofymcgee

(Tagging people whose analysises inspired this)

#i did the thing #canon Amy is a fairytale with no happy ending #a story that rips her agency away from her at all times #she only ever gets to choose to die #(well in Season 6 and 7a at least)#come be ruined with me #aletterinthenameofsanity #my fics #fanfic #ao3 #doctor who #eleventh doctor #amy pond #rory williams #river song #it's a story about a girl who is a ghost and cassandra and sleeping beauty and persephone all at once #mentions of suicide #dark #meta

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baejax-the-great · 4 months

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Back on r/AO3 and I'm about to write a fucking etiquette book for how to comment

#and this is not about long vs short vs emoji comments #this is about what you actually choose to say to total strangers #the current debate on that sub is whether it is rude to comment on a fic only to gush about the commissioned art #I don't know who needs to hear this but commenting on a fic and not talking about the fic at all is rude #that's the long and the short of it #going onto a fic to talk about something random or your friend oryour fic or some art and saying nothing about the story in front of you #that is rude #it is always rude #r/aO3 seems to believe that commenters can do no wrong #which is an insane take btw #but every fucking interaction on AO3 is a social interaction #you are engaging with strangers #and nobody would stand in line at a book signing and tell the author 'I really loved the cover art' and say nothing else #if they did everyone would think that person was wack #including the fucking authork

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destiel-wings · 7 months

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i saw the umpteenth post on twitter about how fanfiction isn't literature and i am SO MAD, like, it's not hard to judge a story by its quality

but no, god forbid, it's only literature if you sell it for money.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #ao3 #writing #literature #just read a story and form an individual opinion #or do you need a price tag to tell you you're about to experience the mental journey of a lifetime?#we could write original fiction and gain from it but we choose to use our art for this because we love these characters #but fiction is fiction #all fiction is fiction #so many published books are actually terrible #and so many fics are masterpieces #look at that #it takes critical thinking through and i guess they don't really sell that one anywhere #🤷🏻‍♀️#rant post

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muizeke83 · 2 months

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New game: Share your three best fanworks. No thinking, just the three that instinctively occur to you. Then copy-paste this ask to anonymously share with as many people as you want.

Here are mine:

A Secret To Hide: A J/C Star Trek Voyager story

just because it was one of my firsts and a rather long one for a new writer and not in my native language. It has humor, angst, drunken Janeway, Q in it. Also friendship, depression, pregnancy… it has it all. Maybe not my best work, but I’m proud of it.

Remembering Lizzy: The Blacklist

Dementia and how it can effect a relationship.

A Swing Under The Tulip Tree: Star Trek Voyager

One of my latest. I don’t know why, but I love this one. And it has lots of the sex thingies ☺️

#st voy #captain kathryn janeway #st voyager #star trek voy #voy #kate mulgrew #janeway x chakotay #chakotay #star trek voyager #commander chakotay #share your stories #I have plenty on ao3 #hard to choose from your own stories #because you have invested in them

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camouflagedlove · 5 months

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the urge to make a quarry fic that is also choose your own story or whatever and have different paths and links

#the quarry #fic writing #ao3 #choose your own story #i just go crazy like in bandersnatch

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spideypoolsupremacy · 3 months

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"No one with money would go here."

"Aren't you like filthy rich?"

Wade shrugged. "I'm here just for the creepy atmosphere. And also, I feed the rats sometimes."

"No wonder there are so many of them."

"Hey, it's not my fault tortillas make rats horny."

#the way i choose these little snippets from chapters are completely based on vibes so sometimes i wonder #what people think this story is just from these #spideypool #deadpool #wade wilson #spider man #peter parker #ao3

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orcelito · 5 months

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I think the #1 thing to make writing good is to just. Stick to your guns. Take yourself seriously. If you treat your writing as if it's serious, even if you're doing some crazy shit, people are willing to believe it. The moment you doubt what you're doing in your writing, it's gonna shine through. So even if you're scared, pretend you're not until you get the hang of it & no longer feel so scared

It's worked for me so far 😅

#speculation nation #this kind of thing is why i never mention on ao3 when im nervous about a chapter #bc i do get nervous. i get nervous Plenty.#anytime i do something different from my norm. or bring in a new aspect of the story. Anything.#im nervous. i am!#but i dont mention it on ao3 bc so long as i portray that i know what im doing. people tend to believe it.#with this kind of thing you can do shit like 'so Yeah he has telepathy and can listen in on thoughts but he chooses not to #bc it would be an invasion of privacy'#i just kinda decided that and put it in the story. explained my thought process for the decision in the end notes #but ive never tried to over-defend it or anything. especially not in the text.#it's just a Thing that he can do. he accepts this as his reality. no need to over explain in the text where this comes from.#Stick To Your Guns. if your characters treat it as a given then your readers will too.#this has been Writing Advice by Fanny Orcelito. more to be shared later (maybe.)

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mecharlie-fox · 1 year

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Memoirs of a Summoner: Part 2

Holy hecc it's already 2023 and I just now made part 2 due to unexpectedly breaking my writer's block (for the wrong fic) and I think I've decided on what I'm gonna do for the love interest.

Ship intention: Alfonse X Reader / Summoner X Reader / Zacharias (Bruno) x Reader

Note: The Summoner and the Reader ARE TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE. The Summoner has no distinct gender or sexuality and can be you or your OC, and the same is for the reader. This will be posted in AO3 for a more organized approach in the future. Happy reading!

Ahem!

You didn't know why you even agreed to Anna's proposal. AT ALL.

A Stewardship is basically a position that meant you will do every single small detail for the Commander and the Summoner from having their breakfast scheduled to every single night report delivered to them before bed or right after they wake up the following morning.

You didn't want to sign up for it but your worry, sense of duty, perhaps a little but of pity, got the best of you by the end of it all.

By hierarchy, you automatically outrank everyone you knew except for the Commander and the Summoner. You will be with them all the time, learn every secret, be part of every council, every decision making — you found yourself from a unknown soldier to a sudden "councilor" for both the Commander and the Summoner.

In short, you are third-in-command after the Summoner who is second.

By Order rules, no title of nobility or royalty would be effective on Order grounds and jurisdiction. It goes the same for foreign heroes who were summoned or volunteered, or your local nobles and royals who feel like they wanted to be a hero. Their position outside of the Order meant nothing and should be nothing, because everyone has to work for their spot in the order.

Things were changing around you the moment you said yes.

Your quarters were suddenly placed in the fourth floor where the commanding officers sleep. You were suddenly in important meetings, training sessions, access to armor, potions, and weapons that you've never seen before. Big name heroes such as Marth or Ike were finally noticing you! And it felt weird! All too weird!

You were invisible since the day the Summoner came along and all of a sudden you were a big name with a big fancy title. "The Steward."

It wasn't as fancy as Commander or Summoner, but you didn't care anyway. It felt as if the castle you were living for the past years was suddenly foreign to you.

But the biggest, weirdest thing you've encountered was Prince Alfonse and his sister Princess Sharena.

You did not know how to act amongst the royalty. AT. ALL.

Yeah, sure the heroes came from royalty or nobility from other worlds. But that was different. They were foreigners who wanted to help, heroes who were humbled and eager to fight with you until the end. But Prince Alfonse and the Princess? The Heir and the Spare?

This was a whole different territory for you.

You internally prayed for the Summoner to waltz in the war room and save you. But you were stuck with those two, AND ONLY those two. Where was the Commander? Heck, where are the Heroes who were given captaincy positions? You were certain, VERY CERTAIN that there was a scheduled meeting today. You had to be right, you were the one who confirmed it with Anna and the Summoner. It wasn't helping that Princess Sharena kept on smiling your way and Prince Alfonse awkwardly standing by the window looking at Lord Askr knows what.

Mind you. This was your first day on the job as Steward.

"So... What's your name?" ...

...

You wanted to run away the moment the Princess asked you your name. "M-my name is (y/n)..."

The Princess simply smiled at you. "Ohhhhh~ that's a pretty name! No need to be all nervous around me though," said the princess as she had a more welcome aura compared to her brother... Who was simply sneaking occasionally glances at the two of you. "You can just call me Sharena! Is it okay if I call you (y/n)?"

The Princess' eyes were practically shining.

"Uhm..." Before you could even answer, the Summoner gave their morning greetings to the three of you. Holding a tray of tea with bread.

Now you've become nervous as to why the Summoner just did your job. You were in their bedroom this morning to wake them up, why didn't they say anything?

You've noticed Prince Alfonse finally turned his direction towards you all with a welcoming smile. To you, the Prince wasn't all that friendly. Polite, sure, but he had more walls around him than Midgard's Shield.

You immediately stood up and rushes towards the summoner in a panic. "Summoner please—"

But they just stopped you right there. You could see their lips curve into a smile under that hood of theirs. "You're mistaken, (y/n) this isn't for sharing. This is for you."

...

What? "I beg your pardon?" You were utterly confused all of a sudden.

"Anna said you didn't eat breakfast." The Summoner casually said as they put down the tray by the table since no map has been presented yet. "We don't want a hungry Steward working so hard you know."

"I ... uhmmm thank you Ma'am— Sir, I— I mean Summoner!"

Sharena wanted to laugh so bad but she was holding it in. The Summoner just waved it off. "Summoner would be just fine, you can also call me Kiran once you're more comfortable." The Summoner was happy when you nodded. They've noticed you've become flustered, perhaps out of embarrassment due to being in the presence of royalty. Or maybe it was because of them. They didn't know really.

Heroes were easier to talk to because they didn't put them on a pedestal, but it was different for Askrans who volunteered. The Summoner was their legend, their hero, it made a lot of sense that people would be on guard around them not because they were a public threat but rather... some sort of impossible idol on display. Like if you touch them, they would crack.

"Alfonse, introduce yourself." Your level of shock could not comprehend on how casual the Summoner just called the Crown Prince of Askr.

Your eyes met and you just froze there. Waiting for Askr to answer your prayer of this not going bad. Alfonse on the other hand had a different thought process.

Like you, he didn't know how to interact with you. Between him and Sharena, he was the introverted one. He acknowledged that he was distant when Kiran first came to them from another world, but after a few missions and discussions — Kiran wasn't as complicated as he thought they were. But you were a different story.

You are a citizen of his Kingdom. He is your Crown Prince, your future King. He was afraid on what he common folk would think about him. Alfonse was aware that people say he wasn't behaving like a prince should be. But he was hoping you thought differently, that you would give him a chance to at least prove himself that this is where he belongs for the time being before he becomes King.

He stretched out his hand towards you, although he smiled, you didn't know if he was even happy you're going to lessen the workload for the order. "I am Alfonse, Prince of Askr."

"They know that dummy!" Sharena couldn't help but tease from behind.

"Ack! A-apologies! I'm so used to introducing myself in such a manner — Wh—why are you laughing?!" This was the first time you saw Prince Alfonse so flustered and the Summoner practically on the floor laughing histerically as the prince failed to introduce himself to you.

Sharena was still trying to hold it in as well from where she sat.

You didn't need to be a genius to know why he introduced himself like that. You didn't even need his explanation. Considering how many heroes the Summoner would do each day, it was only natural for the prince to introduce himself in such a way — he would be a broken record at this point.

"Nice to meet you, Your Highness." You introduced yourself with a bow. "My name is (y/n), I look forward to working with you."

"L-likewise, (y/n)" The prince sounded so apologetic that you're starting to believe that the Summoner may tease him about this until the moment they both die. "S-stop laughing!"

Maybe the Summoner is a prankster? No, impossible. You refuse to believe it. The Summoner is THE Legendary Great Hero there is no way they would be so childish.

"Don't mind him, (y/n), Alfonse has always been a stick in the mud." Summoner Kiran simply patted you on the head like a child. Odd thing is that... You didn't dislike it. Their hand felt warm.

It didn't take long for the new Captains to come and arrive. None of them were the captains that you knew, and it breaks your heart. Most of them were Heroes that were summoned, very few were nobility who just joined — probably because they want to curry favor with the crown prince or his sister. It didn't sit right with you... It didn't feel right, it felt like a sin even — seeing these people standing where they stood.

"Now," the Summoner cleared their throat before facing the siblings. "I've already notified the captains about (y/n) so I'm giving you to a quick briefing. They're our Steward, anything that goes in and out of this castle, they should know. All the plans, all the names, all the resources, all the correspondence — everything. They are to receive the same amount of respect as the Commander and I as a veteran of this Order. Failure to comply with this will have consequences and you're not children for me to even say that..."

The summoner's voice sounded different for you. It had a different aura compared to earlier when they were still goofing around with the Prince and Princess. Their aura was respectable, commendable — there was something about them that just draws people in. And you were awed by it.

The Summoner explained that look like them, you were allowed to participate on missions but it's not a mandatory thing for you to do. As third-in-command, you have every authority to override the Captain's orders and decisions. You were allowed to discipline them, have access to secret files, every dark secret, every mission — you were allowed to go wherever in the castle, nor extractions whatsoever.

You were given actual authority, the same level of authority as the Commander. You were even allowed in the restricted section in the library. Not even the Summoner has access to that part of the castle!

Anna had asked for a second chance. But this wasn't the second chance you were hoping for.

It didn't felt like you earned your position at all.

You can name so many people who deserves to be third-in-command instead of you.

But they were all gone.

And you were alone.

Anna wasn't even present in the whole briefing as you finally swallowed your nervousness and brought out a parchment filled with agendas for the day, and reported it to the whole war council. It felt like every briefing you did with your old unit but at the same time, it felt so strange — not familiar. Surely these heroes are to be trusted, they're heroes after all but you couldn't help but have your own reservations.

Heroes didn't automatically mean trust.

And you trust none of them.

You only trust Anna because you worked with her before she became commander. She was one of you before any of this. But she wasn't around. She was in the capital with other Contains, trying to ease the situation with the King. She's doing her job. She's working hard.

And you should too.

"Okay!" The Summoner clapped their hands together as to catch the attention of the whole room. "You all have your missions, go and brief your team. The Steward and I will remind here to discuss our next course of action."

It was like a switch. One moment the Summoner was a professional tactics master, whenever you can call it and the next, they are a complete child. You can tell by how they smiles at you. It was a smile your own brother would give whenever he had something stupid in mind and you need to keep him out of trouble (your mother finds out anyway and you both get in trouble.) Somehow, you went from finding the summoner hateful, to them being weird, to you now just feeling scares that you're on a babysitting job with a grown adult who has the ability to control worlds.

"You, Steward, are the luckiest person in this Order. Do you want to know why?" ... you were scared to find out what's next to that sentence.

"No, Summoner." By that answer, you could have sworn you could have a pin drop all the way from Embla's capital.

"I'm telling you anyway!" They responded gleefully as they took out a map from one of the shelves. "Anna tells me that you've been doing covert assignments since you got here. Is that right?"

"Yes," you said. "I was under Captain Zacharias."

"Good. I need someone like you for tonight's assignment." Opening the map, the Summoner took out a few wooden pieces and placed them on the map as if they were trying to divise a plan on how to get to their location. "We'll be meeting an agent right around here," they pointed at the secluded forest just in the middle of Embla and Askr territory. "I figured you'd be enough as my companion."

"What?"

"What?" The summoner looked up towards you but it wasn't enough for you to even see their face. "You're trained in combat, right?"

"Yes."

"And you're trained in first aid?"

"Yes."

"And you know covert operation protocol, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you're perfect for the job!" There they go again with such a happy tone. No wonder the princess was so fond of them.

"I'm the only person qualified for the job, Summoner."

"Exactly!" Both of you weren't stupid to just realize that none of the Heroes were trained or brief in protocols such as this. Covert operations are often dangerous and kept on the dark, originally there are three separate teams of them and one of them was burnt and the other two were disbanded.

But if you were the only one that's left... Who was the Summoner's agent in Embla territory?

"You don't have to come if you don't want to you know," the Summoner's voice became... Soft for some reason. It felt unexpected.

"But isn't this assignment important?"

"It is." The Summoner nodded. But they didn't want to force you into anything you don't like. "But if you feel like you're not ready, I can reassign you to Alfonse and Sharena for today."

It was the guriella warfare task that you said earlier.

This choice will affect the story

#fire emblem heroes #feh #fire emblem #summoner #alfonse #fe #sharena #alfonse x reader #summoner x reader #bruno x reader #zacharias x reader #im allowing you all to choose so i wont be brain dead #summoner is their own character #Ao3 will have all 3 routes #yes there will be routes #choose your story #choose your own path #im going with Kiran in the comics because theyre goofy there

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pearblossommina · 1 year

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ACOTAR ship demographics taken from AO3 BECAUSE I'M STUPID.

Coming in at number 1, to no one's surprise, Ferye/Rhysand with almost 3000 works.

at number 2: we have Nesta/Cassian, a very strong runner-up, with 2350

number 3 Azriel/Elain with 1025

Number 4 Elain/Lucien with 836

Number 5: Azriel/Gwyneth with 689

Number 6: Azriel/Original characters with 300

Number 7: Feyre/Tamlin with 261

(IT GETS A LITTLE TRICKY AFTER THIS. Because the top 10 tags also include platonic pairings. IF YOU SORT THE FANDOM AS A WHOLE, these are the top pairings. If you sort by M/M and F/F, we get some clutter from the het pairings (because sometimes Rhys and Feyre being in a relationship still takes place in a lesbian story about Mor getting into it with Emerie. See? It's hard. We can't EXCLUDE the het pairings, because it would skew the data.)

Number 8: is Azriel/Morrigan with 216

Number 9 (OUR FIRST QUEER SHIP) Is Emerie/Morrigan with 173

Number 10: (OUR SECOND QUEER SHIP, WAY TO GO EVERYONE) is Azriel/Cassian with 143

Just for fun, here are some stats for the pairings that were included in @praetorqueenreyna's ACOTAR fandom Survey poll

Azriel/Eris - 97 works

Eris/Nesta (not inlcuded in the survey! I just thought we should showcase them) - 69 works (nice)

Lucien/Rhysand - 64 works

Azriel/Nesta - 59 works

Lucien/Azriel - 51 works

Feyre/Lucien - 39 works

Rhysand/Azriel - 29 works

Cassian/Elain - 23 works

Rhysand/Cassian - 21 works

Tamlin/Lucien - 20 works

Tamlin/Elain - 19 works

Tamlin/Rhysand - 16 works

Tamlin/Briar - 15 works

Lucien/Nesta - 10 works

Rhsyand/Nesta - 8 works

Tamlin/Nesta - 5 works

Rhysand/Elain - 4 works

Cassian/Eris - 0 works (This is the crack-iest pairing! Would love to see this number increase. I found 2 with Cassian/Nesta/Eris all together, so, perhaps that counts?)

#i'm so sorry #acotar headcanon #thanks for indulging me #this does not reflect the actual popularity of ships #just the popularity of authors who choose to write stories about them on AO3 #everybody check out some of these rare pairs because i bet the authors would love engagement #I BLED FOR THIS #Not really I just stayed up late sorting tags #I love you ACOTAR fandom #specifically the WLW portion of the fandom #y'all did me proud bringing Emerie/Morrigan to number 9 #bless

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scriveyner · 1 year

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chase forever down 1/31

It was a solid two weeks into January, and life had been busy enough that Atsushi hadn’t even noticed the time slipping away. It wasn’t like there was any set schedule for him to meet up with Akutagawa, it just…happened, and they would usually fight into the early dawn hours, as their life-and-death battles slowly morphed into something else. What, he’d never bothered to dwell on, as they weren’t friends and were hardly colleagues, so in the end it didn’t matter anyway. They just were.

Continue on AO3, or:

Together they were a unit, partners, ostensibly, learning to fight together for a purpose he wasn’t even certain he understood; but Dazai never did anything important without a reason, whether or not he could see what the reason was. Besides, he liked the exercise. Atsushi was working in concert not just with Akutagawa but with his own ability, learning more about it and himself, all the while.

That was more than enough justification for slipping out into the chilly winter night, even without a text from a burner phone number demanding his presence. Well, that, and the fact that he hadn’t heard a peep from Akutagawa since before the holidays, and somewhat wanted to see him.

It was quiet in their chosen spot, in the park, out of the way from where pedestrians and workers would be in any danger if they chose to fight. The cold air rolled off the water here, and Atsushi sat on a stone ledge, arms folded as he stared out into the dark. He didn’t have a way to contact Akutagawa himself—every text he received came from a different phone number, and he’d learned early on that his responses went nowhere, even though he’d tried, more than once.

The last time he attempted he got a very confused response from a middle-aged housewife questioning how he got her number and never bothered texting the numbers back again. Of course, the Port Mafia would have the technology to spoof numbers for their text messages. He should have figured.

The wind rustled through the bare branches above his head, pulling at a few brown leaves that had gamely clung on through the first frost and snow; and Atsushi tilted his head back, puffing a white cloud of steam into the winter air and watching it fade immediately. Something had compelled him here tonight, but it seemed like the evening would be a bust. There was no sign of Akutagawa…perhaps he should consider packing it in.

Atsushi pulled out his phone and looked at it again. Still no messages. He sighed and tucked his phone away, then stood and stretched his arms over his head. Out on the pavement he was under the waning light of a moon a week past full, and he shivered a little at the gentle caress of moonlight. He lifted his head and sniffed the air in an exaggerated motion…and caught the faintest whiff of metal, on the breeze.

Blood…?

There was no one else around when he stepped out onto the pavement, but when he opened his eyes he immediately jumped backward, almost tripping over his own feet because Akutagawa was standing right in front of him.

“Akutagawa!” Atsushi yelped, surprised; he managed somehow not to fall flat on his rear, instead coming to a stop with his legs spread wide for balance, prepared for a fight. “Don’t do that! Where did you come from?”

Akutagawa remained silent and just stared at Atsushi, the moonlight dancing off the edges of his familiar tattered black trench coat, his favorite vessel for Rashomon. Something seemed off, though…where the light touched it seemed shimmery, like it was having trouble maintaining its form. More weirdness he didn’t dwell on, maybe Akutagawa had learned a new technique while he was away and couldn’t wait to show it off to his favorite punching bag.

Atsushi glared, straightening out of his widened stance and storming forward. If Akutagawa wanted to play, he better show his hand because now Atsushi was pissed.

Akutagawa didn’t move or seem to acknowledge him, and Atsushi stopped close, a strange, sudden hesitation pausing his step. Something didn’t feel right, and he couldn’t identify what it was.

He looked…sickly.

Akutagawa always was somewhat frail, thin-framed, and boney, but he looked more like death tonight. “You’re paler than usual. Are you sick?”

There was no response to his question. Akutagawa had closed his eyes, head turned away, clearly disinterested now. Atsushi curled his hands into fists…he didn’t know what Akutagawa was playing at, and was already pissed at being startled as he was. He started to smart off when Akutagawa’s eyes snapped open, gaze fixing on Atsushi, eyes blood red and glowing in the night.

For a split second, Atsushi just stared back, attempting to process this.

Then they were both in motion at the same time, Atsushi flinging himself backward, sleeves shredding to the shoulder as he crossed his forearms to absorb the anticipated blow.

Even prepared as he was for the impact—of Akutagawa’s fist, not even Rashomon, he was startled to realize—it sent him sliding back, feed transforming through his shoes and claws scoring lines into the pavement. Atsushi swung at him and whiffed nothing but air.

“Akutagawa,” Atsushi roared, recovering and turning in one movement—but Akutagawa was already in his personal space again, eyes gleaming with that unnatural light.

There was no good way he could avoid the impact, and Atsushi sent him flying backward, though Rashomon rippled from his coat, catching him much like Atsushi’s claws had and halting his flight effortlessly.

Atsushi hadn’t bothered to pull his punch, and Akutagawa shook it off like it was nothing. He braced himself, feet spread, claws out—and how Akutagawa crossed that space so quickly he didn’t even begin to understand. Atsushi flung himself back again, but this time Akutagawa moved with him effortlessly, his hand catching in the open collar of Atsushi’s shirt and batting away Atsushi’s defensive blow like it was nothing.

This was insane. Akutagawa was moving faster than he’d ever seen before, faster than his own reaction time. Once again, before he could even begin processing the thought Akutagawa yanked his collar open, popping the top two buttons and jerking him forward, just before he sank his bared teeth into Atsushi’s throat.

They hit the ground together, Atsushi landing solidly on his back, air expelled from his lungs in a loud whuff as Akutagawa landed atop him and didn’t bother to disengage, mouth fastened tight. Atsushi took great, gulping breaths, head swimming as warmth spread through his body—and it took a solid thirty seconds for him to even think about trying to push Akutagawa away.

His limbs felt clumsy, though, arms sprawled out to the side, and he stared at the stars twinkling through the tree branches above his head. There were so many stars….

“Fuck,” he heard Akutagawa breathe, the first word he’d spoken. Atsushi lolled his head lazily. Akutagawa was sitting up now, straddling him, and he had pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, smearing the bright red blood across his face and staining the dainty white ruffles that framed his wrist. My blood, Atsushi thought, giddily. “Fuck, fuck!”

Akutagawa looked normal again. His eyes were coal-dark, glaring at Atsushi with a wave of heated anger, his skin a healthy color…and his lips bruised and painted crimson with blood. Atsushi wet his own lips without thinking, wondering dreamily about pressing his lips against Akutagawa’s soft mouth, and giggled.

For a brief moment, it seemed that Akutagawa was actually going to indulge him, as he leaned over Atsushi again—but instead, he grabbed Atsushi’s jaw roughly and twisted his head to the side, Atsushi groaning all the while. “God dammit,” Akutagawa muttered, and then he tilted close, breath ghosting warm over Atsushi’s skin before he licked Atsushi’s neck.

Atsushi moaned.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Akutagawa snarled, fingers clamped tight to Atsushi’s cheek. He yanked Atsushi’s head so that they made eye contact again. “Weretiger, do you know who you are?”

“Mm…” Atsushi hummed. Akutagawa’s fingers were dangerously close to his mouth. “Yeah.” Of course he knew who he was, what kind of silly question was that? Atsushi continued in his attempts to mouth Akutagawa’s fingers and Akutagawa released his face before he was successful, keeping his hand well away from Atsushi’s inquisitive lips and tongue.

“You shouldn’t have even been here tonight,” Akutagawa growled at him. Atsushi hummed again in response because he really wanted Akutagawa to touch him again, although he couldn’t seem to express the thought or even why that could be. “Why are you here?”

“Mm.” Atsushi blinked at him. He could see starlight caught in Akutagawa’s hair. “Missed you.”

Akutagawa froze.

Atsushi twisted his head a little, blinking slowly. Everything felt like he was swimming through mud, but at the same time he felt light as a feather, and the only thing keeping him from drifting away was Akutagawa’s weight across his midsection.

It felt…nice.

Really nice.

Akutagawa spoke again, though this time there was a weird tonal quality to his voice that Atsushi had never heard before. It vibrated in his head, not unpleasantly. “Atsushi. Look at me.”

His gaze immediately snapped to Akutagawa’s. There was a soft red glow to his eyes again, though not nearly as severe or frightening as before, and it faded shortly after they made eye contact. “You said my name,” Atsushi said, buoyant. “Say it again!”

“You are an idiot,” Akutagawa said in his normal voice with his normal expression. “I don’t know what I’m even worrying about.” His voice changed again, midstream. “You won’t remember any of this, in the morning.”

Akutagawa released him and slid back, preparing to hoist himself off Atsushi. The problem with this was that he managed to slide his weight over a currently very interested bit of Atsushi’s anatomy, and if the bulge in Atsushi’s trousers didn’t give him immediate pause the lewd moan that issued from Atsushi would have corrected the notion.

Frozen in place, Akutagawa said, “you must be fucking kidding.”

Atsushi’s hips squirmed under Akutagawa’s weight. Head thrown back and throat exposed, he moaned again, very vocally. Atsushi flailed his arm out, managed to remember how to make his fingers work, and grabbed Akutagawa by the sleeve, whining as he tilted his hips up, nearly dislodging Akutagawa in the process. “Absolutely not,” Akutagawa yelped, staggering to his feet and tearing his arm free.

With Akutagawa’s weight now gone, Atsushi rolled up onto his side and shoved his hand down the front of his pants. He couldn’t think about anything else except how turned on he was, and he palmed himself, eyes going half-lidded. He couldn’t recall the last time he was this turned on, and his cock ached when he touched it, needing something more. Something else.

Finally, his other arm came online, and Atsushi managed to work his pants open. He hissed when the cold night air struck his hot flesh, but he didn’t care about the discomfort, able to stroke himself freely now. He’d lost track of everything except the feeling burning in his veins, the need so desperately to climax…

…and Akutagawa’s dark eyes, staring down at him, widened in surprise.

Akutagawa hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, hand now tilted over the bottom half of his face. Idly, he ran his thumb over the blood still wet on his cheek and licked it clean as he continued to watch Atsushi, and oh god Atsushi’s hips jerked in response. His mouth hung open, gaze still locked with Akutagawa’s as he panted harshly, focused purely on the burning need between his legs.

It felt like it took forever, the pleasure crawling slowly through his limbs and Akutagawa’s gaze never flinching. Atsushi let a small laugh choke free as he shuddered, finally losing the thread, eyes rolling back as fluid painted his fingers and dribbled back over to his stomach.

Gasping, chest heaving, he looked up to see that Akutagawa’s eyes were still fixed on him, watching his hand smear through the mess on his belly.

There was cotton gauze stuffed between his ears. Atsushi should say something, but he wasn’t sure what, tilting off that cliff and now being pulled into the unfathomable dark…

Akutagawa’s eyes glimmered again, that unearthly red shimmer catching his gaze. “Sleep,” Akutagawa commanded him, forcefully, and Atsushi surrendered to the abyss.

==========

Atsushi’s head hit the bottom of the futon closet’s shelf so hard he was sure the whole dormitory felt the impact. He was still doubled over, both hands on his head, when Kyouka scooted the closet door aside, frowning at him. “Good morning,” Atsushi mumbled, and Kyouka sighed.

“Good morning. I’ll get the medical kit.”

Atsushi lifted his head to protest this treatment, only to find that Kyouka had risen to her feet and was crossing the room to where the medical kit was stored under the sink. Instead, Atsushi sighed and rubbed his neck. What a weird fucking dream that was.

He couldn’t decide if it meant he needed more sleep or less sleep.

Choosing not to dwell on it, Atsushi walked out of the closet on his knees. “I don’t think I need the medical kit,” he called, probing what would likely be a healthy bruise in a few hours, but Kyouka was already returning with it held in both hands. “I just think we need to raise the shelf.”

“Or,” Kyouka said, “you could sleep out here, with me.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Atsushi protested. “It’s not proper. I’m fine in the closet, I just need a little more head space.” He’d slept in smaller spaces and didn’t really want to examine how he felt safer, boxed in on all sides.

Kyouka studied him silently for an uncomfortably long time. Atsushi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” he added; but realized she was really scrutinizing him. “Kyouka-chan?”

She tapped the side of her neck. “How did you get that bruise?” she asked.

Atsushi closed his hand over the equivalent spot on his neck, feeling now the heat radiating off his skin. “What?” he said, weakly, because no, that was a dream. A really, really weird and uncomfortably horny dream, but a dream.

He staggered to his feet and surged for the bathroom. Kyouka followed behind him, clearly concerned about his behavior, and Atsushi leaned his hand on the sink and pulled at the collar of his pajamas, better revealing the bruise that sat, dark against his skin.

Electricity prickled in his veins.

It was a dream…wasn’t it?

“What,” Atsushi said, somehow sounding far calmer than he thought the situation warranted, “the hell!?”

Chapter 2 >>

#bungou stray dogs #shin soukoku #sskk #smarch #chaptered fic #lemony fresh #IT'S HERE SMARCH IS HERE #vampire akutagawa is go #tags will be updated on ao3 as story progresses #dead dove is loaded verbiage these days but be aware of what's on the tin #'chooses not to use archive warnings' is for A Reason

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cowboy-robooty · 8 months

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i am a landa x herrmann shipper in a world of aldo x landa......

#i dont even believe 'herrmann's name is actually herrmann #because landa calls all underranking soldiers he doesnt know 'herrmann'#since yknow that name translates to basically mr man #and i believe its for yaoi reasons because landa stumbles upon calling him herrmann because he knows his real name #but chooses to call him an anonymous herrmann because he wants to have absolute control and certainty that when they get their private #island on nantucket that he will be able to wipe away all of 'herrmann's past with no possibility of his name being sullied #he takes the extra step to further protect his 'herrmann' because even if he trusts his own name with the US #he doesnt trust 'herrmann's name in their hands #ouuuughh im sorry guys im sorry im sorry i sniff yaoi cocaine and think something is canon and will immediately live and die by it #i need to ship aldo x landa so bad.... but landa x herrmann calls for me #the babies i would sacrifice for inglourious basterds to be a TV show where we get to see landas backstory #idgaf ill risk him being confirmed not a faggot i just need moar inglourious basterds i want to know the backstory of each character deeply #PLEASE #delusional asf in the club creating entire backstory pulled outta my ass for landa #sorry guys im a freak #if i was a writer id be the guy on ao3 who writes a 300k fanfic about landas growing up n shit #doesnt even focus on the yaoi for 60% of it its basically just landa growing up and yaoi with herrmann was just needed to tell that story

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lunarsapphism · 10 months

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its crazy when i start reading like, an actual published book thats popular and well-loved and the whole time im reading it all i can think about is how ive read better fanfiction than this

#this book is so tropey and like. while fanfiction is practically built on tropes i think they just do it better somehow #its not even because i like the characters too #some people just have absolutely phenomenal writing skills and choose pour all of that into a 300k word shipfic on ao3 #and i eat it up every goddamn time #seriously some of the most beautiful and tragic stories ive ever read have been fanfics #and some of the shittiest and worst stories ive ever read have been actual published books that are popular #idk.#anyway #i love you writers i love you artists #aiilov-personal

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zmdd2017 · 1 year

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fuck star signs and mbti

if you were the main character in a first person pov original story would you be a y/n or an oc?

#y/n #fic #oc #original character #original story #fanfics #fanfiction #ao3 #what would it be #what would you choose?#mbti personality types #mbti #star signs #main character

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scarlettundrhett · 1 year

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fell onto love like a sword by dustbottle

Relationship: Vegas/Pete

Words: 6932

What do you do when there's nothing left to do? "I've got nothing left," says Vegas. That's right.

Everything is in limbo, life goes on even after such an armageddon as we experienced at the end of the series KinnPorsche. Well, Vegas is out of the hospital, Porsche has taken his place, what to do with such a predator as Vegas now? He feels trapped in the compound of the main family like in a cage. Not entirely without reason.

It’s safe to say the situation isn’t working for anyone. They need to come to a different solution before everything ends in blood. More blood.

So, the safehouse. Uncle Korn grants them permission to move out of the compound, benevolent as ever even as he holds them prisoner with an unforgiving hand. The old house is no longer an option for obvious reasons, and for the time being the safehouse is the most logical alternative. It’s relatively close to Bangkok, and easy to guard, which was always its main draw, but which also means they can be locked away there almost as effectively as they are here.

The safe house, the place of all traumas. This is where it all began, is this where it all ends?

They say a criminal always returns to the place of his crime, must the victim also? And what if the relationship of the perpetrator and the victim have changed so much? The feelings evoked by the place can be safely described as very oppressive.

The house is dark but obvious in the distance, looming silent and large. Pete makes a soft noise that Vegas can’t quite make sense of, then looks away from the house in a way that looks deliberate. A nameless void opens up inside Vegas’s chest, already yawning wide. He tries not to look at it too closely (…) Vegas turns his eyes to Pete, who isn’t looking back at him. He hasn’t said more than a few words since leaving the compound, and none of those words have been real. “Pete,” Vegas says, and it’s not a question, but Pete tilts his head toward him like it is. He’s still not quite meeting Vegas’s gaze. When Vegas doesn’t go on, Pete smiles. He looks tired, his face weary and drawn. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

This story enjoys the uncomfortable atmosphere. No one really talks to each other. Everyone, including Macao, is trapped in their own world. The silence that weighs on everyone becomes very vivid. Everyone avoids the other, smiles, says meaningless phrases, does not touch each other. Macau unintentionally puts its foot in its mouth.

Oh right, you probably haven’t been here before, right, P’Pete? (…),” Macau says, glancing up at Pete before immediately turning his attention back to his game, and it’s truly incredible how skilled he is at hitting the rawest nerve without even meaning to. It’s a talent Vegas would have had good use for, if the thought of Macau joining the family business hadn’t made him want to hurl.Pete flinches almost imperceptibly, then smiles, wide and bland. He’s a terrible liar. Vegas is going to have to make something up.

“Right, exactly,” he starts, just as Pete says, “Um,” sounding inexplicably guilty.

This atmosphere could certainly have been told in a few sentences, but the story takes its time. The agonizingly slow passing of time takes up a lot of space in your text. The reader thus also becomes part of the agony and I enjoyed the agony!

The Brothers Grimm wrote the fairy tale of the knight Bluebeard. In his house there is a room whose door Bluebeard forbids his young wife to open. Of course, she does and finds the literal corpses in the cellar - soon she is one of them.

The safehouse also has such a room. Vegas can't take it anymore and goes inside - and finds the memories.

The room looks exactly how he left it, which is somehow surprising, though it shouldn’t be. No one has been here since he took off to Hum Bar a lifetime ago. The people maintaining their safehouses probably died in the raid, or else tried their luck at getting out. Vegas almost hopes they succeeded.

He sits down on the bed, looking around the dim room. His gaze snags helplessly on the chains, the hedgehog enclosure sitting empty and purposeless, the steamer trunk shoved against the wall, Pete’s stupid personality type book discarded on top. If he looks closer, Vegas might still be able to make out the dark stains of Pete’s blood where it dripped onto the floor.

He doesn’t move. Being in this room hurts, dull and then sharp, like digging his thumb into an unhealed wound. He has no right to these feelings. They consume him anyway. Memories wash over him like a wave, churning into and over each other, blurring together in a cataclysm of misplaced grief. Pressure builds behind his eyes, sickening and inescapable, but he doesn’t let himself cry.

The memories, those of his own guilt, like those of faith, hope and love come over him like a catharsis.

There are sentences in every story that get under my skin. Sorry, dear reader, this story has two. Here's the first. It's about the hands of Vegas. These hands have done many a mischief, killed, tormented, and they don't seem to be good for being gentle, for binding wounds, for helping.

His desperate hands trembled over cleaning the wounds and changing the bandages and smoothing ointments into Pete’s ravaged skin, learning to be gentle

Vegas always feels unworthy of Pete's love. He still thinks it would be better if Pete left him. But finally the two talk to each other. Pete says this sentence (the second sentence) that hit me right in the heart.

„I choose you. Now I need you to choose me.”

Not only Pete chooses Vegas, no, Vegas dares to choose Pete. A choice of the soul, but also ( finally) a choice of two bodies. Enjoy !

„Vegas,” Pete says, low and quiet, half question and half plea, and it pulls Vegas from his thoughts. He pulls Pete close again, bites into his pretty mouth with something close to violence, closer to greed. He kisses his way down to Pete’s neck, sucking fresh bruises into the tender skin, tasting his rabbiting pulse against his tongue. He savours every single one of Pete’s tiny, breathless moans.

Eventually, Vegas shifts his attention back to Pete’s face. He ghosts across Pete’s mouth, almost close enough to kiss but not quite closing the distance, and smiles when Pete whines in clear frustration.

“Kneel,” Vegas says, right against Pete’s hopeful mouth, and Pete does.

#recommendation story ao3 kinnporsche #review ao3 stories kinnporsche #Back at the Safehouse #VegasPete story AO3 #I choose you. Now I need you to choose me #vegas kornwit theerapanyakun

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