these are all reader inserts, using the second person “you”.
everything about a certain series, including my fics and things I’ve reblogged that fit their vibe, will be tagged as “#Garrick and Angel”, “#Brennan and Duchess”, etc. see this post for further information.
requests are currently CLOSED / VERY SLOW until I get more caught up, but my ask box is always open to chat about FW, the girlfriends, or whatever!
last updated: 2.19.25
standalone fics / headcanons
Aaric Graycastle
- intimacy alphabet
Bodhi Durran
- by your side
- where were you in the morning?
- not that bad at all
- the night we met
- intimacy alphabet
- fractured
- defective 🆕
Brennan Sorrengail
- you're somebody else
- this is me trying
- intimacy alphabet
- older (agegap!Bren)
- you called
- rest
- defective (platonic) 🆕
Dain Aetos
- midnight snow
- part of the family
- intimacy alphabet
Garrick Tavis
- all the small things
- intimacy alphabet
- one for the books
Imogen Cardulo
- the dress
Liam Mairi
- harvest day
- intimacy alphabet 🆕
1. the spider
2. one too many
3. change of plans
Mira Sorrengail
- reunited
- mercy
Ridoc Gamlyn
- not joking
- love at first fight
Xaden Riorson
- a brief history of Navarre
- intimacy alphabet
- together
1. i wish i hated you
all fourth wing boys:
- excuses, excuses
- under the weather
- that time of the month
- bedtime 🆕
- pet 🆕
all fourth wing boys + girls
- study season
random thoughts about multiple boys
- dragon rings
- xaden's birthday
girlfriendverse
Sawyer and Peach masterlist
Liam and Spark masterlist
- relationship questions
Garrick and Angel
about Angel
1. keep her safe
2. resson (garrick's version)
3. letters from samara
4. what was I made for?
4.5 thank you (optional spicy chapter in the middle of #4)
- misc relationship asks
- together (platonic Angel / Gare / Xaden)
- he can call me angel if he wants to
Brennan and Duchess masterlist
Ridoc and Sweetheart
about Sweetheart
1. love at first fight
2. like snow on the beach
3. questions 🆕
4. not alone
- relationship questions
Bodhi and Darling (no particular reading order)
about Darling
- not that bad at all
- by your side
- the night we met
- deja vu
- glad it was you
Dain and Love
about Love
1. falling, floating, flying
2. reunification day:
3. five thirty
4. two reunions
Aaric and Sunny
1. conscription day
2. assessments
misc girlfriend stuff
- modern!girlfriends' music tastes
poly fics
Dain + Xaden
- our girl
Ridoc + Sawyer
1. hey roomie
Garrick + Bodhi
- three in the morning
Xaden + Liam
- liam's lesson
not reader inserts
Garrick / Sloane
- wrong to love you
Ridoc and Sawyer
- lean on me 🆕
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
“All I’m askin’ is that you take it easy on her. And on our girl. I did some readin’ on Kaldean culture when I took her in, yknow, because I had no idea what I was doing. And her fighting with you today… that was a lot.”
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
and is a re-run from our very first word game back in 2020!
--
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
“Mmm. It rains there at least once a standard week. It’s comforting to listen to, it sustains all beings... And it’s a weird sentiment, maybe, but knowing that there’s even a tiny bit of danger and discomfort out there, while you’re safe and dry inside, with people you love… that’s it for me.”
yes it's back for a few weeks for the 40th anniversary of the og ('86)! and i feel you, i made myself go in the middle of the work week because that's the discounted movie day in my country lol. i will broadcast it to you with my brain ✨
oh that makes more sense! and broadcast received, thank you 🫡
🏷️: inquisitor!cal is addicted to stims and needs them like air at an increasing rate. his nerves are shot, he’s fidgety and sleep deprived, everything hurts, and he’s starting to question his sanity. intervention comes along in the form of a pretty Jedi girl he’s been ordered to capture. 1.8k words.
It’s happened four times, if you count right now; you cross paths with the inquisitor, in some enclosed space with no clear way out, and you duel, until you’re able to escape by the skin of your teeth.
He always charges first, forcing you to react, to lock blades with him and give him a fight. It’s starting to feel like he’s in this more for the free entertainment than for the actual mission of killing you.
Only this time, he takes one step toward you — and collapses into the dirt.
You don’t hesitate a second, dropping to your knees beside the man who’s been hunting you down for almost three weeks now, who has been inches away from ending your life on multiple occasions, cradling his cheeks in your hands.
His skin is burning — he definitely has a fever, probably caused by some kind of infection. But he doesn’t have any major wounds visible. Maybe it’s something airborne? Kashyyyk has some weird species that are definitely bloodthirsty, if not venomous. They probably have some especially gross diseases, too. Maybe he caught a virus last week when he was stalking you.
You cast a glance over at his little droid, who has lowered the foot he’d had extended out, having been ready to zap you should you cause his master harm. You must have passed the sniff test, then, proven yourself soft enough not to take advantage of Cal in his state of delirium.
Really, it’s almost like he’s drunk.
“You’re too… too good,” he slurs, lips parting to expose the blood between his teeth. “Thas’… your problem.”
“So you’ve told me before.“
What is wrong with him? He seemed perfectly healthy the last time you met — well. As healthy as someone who has proceeded that far toward the Dark Side can be.
You continue with the basic trauma assessment that Cody taught you, smoothing a hand over each of his arms, then his sides, and when he cringes, you know you’ve found it.
There’s a piece of metal embedded in his side — a jagged, rusty one, at that. How the fuck did he not notice, or why the fuck did he not pause his hunt to seek treatment?
“I hope the empire gave you a tetanus shot.”
He stirs. “Hm?”
“Nothing. Just… c’mere. Let’s get you up and somewhere I can work on this.”
He makes a few sounds of discomfort as you help him up from the ground and sling his arm over your shoulders, but is largely obedient, focusing on his footsteps and not falling over.
“We should be safe in here.”
The droid turns his lamp on, lighting your way as you move through the cramped hallway of what must be an abandoned imperial base. They’ll feel right at home, then.
“Are you attached to this uniform?”
His voice is weak. “That a joke, Jedi?”
His sense of humor is still intact. That’s a good sign.
The pocket knife you keep on you for non-lightsaber emergencies slices through the glossy material of his uniform with surprising ease, along with the thin black shirt he wears underneath.
Now you can truly see the wound, and exactly how red and irritated the skin around it is. It isn’t actively bleeding, which is even more concerning — how long has it been there, for things to have crusted over?
As soon as your fingers brush his skin, his hand flies up, curling around your wrist.
“Look at me,” you coax.
Yellow irises meet yours, seemingly struggling to focus. His pupils are constricted, even in the very low light of the building you’re currently occupying. Is he… high? Or is this just a Dark Side thing?
“You have my word that I’m not going to hurt you.”
He’s silent for a moment, likely considering how much your word means to him. You had limped him all the way here, after all, and not taken the cheap shot at killing him when he was down. That means something, right?
“This game of ours isn’t any fun if you die.”
That’s enough for him to crack a pained smile and loosen his grip, but he still squirms every time your fingers brush his skin as you clean the edges of the wound.
Either it hurts really bad, or no one has touched him there before. Probably both, actually. He’d gone from being a Jedi, and a child one at that, to years of laying low, to being an instrument of the empire. And he really doesn’t seem the type to avail himself of the galaxy’s many brothels.
Master Kenobi had once mentioned to you how Jedi could clear someone’s mind, effectively rendering them unconscious with a focused thought and a wave of their hand — but it would take skill, and for the other person to be soft-minded enough to be manipulated. Being strong in the force means that it probably won’t work on him. But he’s basically drunk right now, so it’s worth a shot.
Deep breaths.
I’m just a conduit. The force flows through me, and does what it wills to achieve balance. And right now, balance means helping him back to the light. Helping him survive, so he can fight alongside me rather than against me.
He’s been curled in on himself in pain, but his posture starts to relax, his eyelids no longer scrunched closed but gently shut, as if he’s sleeping.
Success.
Now you just need to maintain that state until you’re done. And not cause any further damage when you remove the metal.
I am one with the force. The force is with me. I can do this. I am one with the force. The force is with me. I can do this.
———————
When the thirteenth brother wakes, he’s sitting in his ship, in the hangar of the fortress on Nur. BD hops onto the dashboard, with an urgent whoop-woo!
“What… what just happened?”
The droid adjusts his position, so that he can project the recording onto the ship’s windshield — at several times the speed of reality, Cal watches Jedi girl limp him into that abandoned workshop, settle him on the table, knock him out, perform minor surgery, limp him back to his ship, settle him in the pilot seat, and give BD an affectionate pat before closing the hatch.
BD must have piloted them out, somehow. That would be really impressive if Cal wasn’t so angry, if his head wasn’t still spinning and his wound still throbbing.
“Go charge up,” he says over his shoulder by way of goodbye, his saber flying into his outstretched hand.
BD knows exactly what will happen next, because droids are creatures of observation, and this pattern has held firm for weeks now.
Cal fights with that pretty Jedi girl (check), and she escapes, or he lets her escape, against his better judgment (check). He returns to base, fuming (check), and immediately seeks out any of the other inquisitors who are willing to fight (in progress).
In an hour or so, he’ll return, sore and bruised if not mildly burnt by their saber, and need another stim, or even two.
But Cal isn’t a bad fighter. He can hold his own against the grand inquisitor, and had to do so repeatedly to prove himself worthy before he was assigned to you. So why he always returns with one more bruise or one more burn doesn’t make sense.
Not a lot of things about Cal have made sense lately.
BD still stays up at night most of the time, watching Cal from his charging pad, counting his breaths and wondering how the two of them got here — what moment, exactly, Cal made the decision to change sides in this whole intergalactic scheme, or what moment it was decided for him, more like.
It feels like there are memories missing, days and weeks that just aren’t there, but BD knows that they happened— even if they’d been wiped from his drives.
Had Cal been the one to do it, or someone else? Probably whoever was responsible for reconditioning Cal, turning him into the aggressive, often volatile inquisitor he is today.
The little droid has had half a mind to run off with Jedi girl, because being on the side of the empire feels wrong, and the path of destruction Cal has cut through this sector of the galaxy in search of her is deeply upsetting.
But that would mean abandoning Cal. Giving up on his best friend, who’d explored four entire planets with him, spent hours working on lightsabers and modifications to make them a stronger team. He might not remember any of it, but it still happened, damn it, and Cal is still good, deep down.
Good, but sick. Very sick. And that’s probably in part BD’s fault. He’d given Cal the first shot as a quick fix for a moment of panic — a simultaneous injection of caffeine and painkiller to get him through a fight with some creature that wanted to kill him. They’d both intended it to remain that way.
But of course it didn’t.
Cal kept getting into near-death situations and encountering stronger and stronger foes, and it became a habit. They’d even developed a signal — Cal would raise his arm and snap, and BD would toss one of the little vials to him, ready to be administered.
Cal was never good at pacing himself, either. He’d worked a hard-labor job in the Bracca scrapyards, 12-hour shifts that may as well have been 12-hour workouts. That pattern continued once they’d met, and Cal had taken on the quest for the holocron. He’d explore in long stretches, spending hours at a time away from the Mantis, and sleeping less and less as the situation became more dire.
So, more stims.
And now… it’s like Cal isn’t even trying to avoid injury. Even if he did, he’d probably still need them.
Cal knows he has a problem. He’d all but admitted it to BD the other day, when the droid had to break the news about his stim tray being empty. Cal had used all four of them, one when he woke up and three to get through the day with that wound on his leg that he refused further treatment for.
He’d flung his datapad onto his bed, or tried to, at least, but it hit the wall, hard enough to dent the durasteel.
BD had stepped back, wanting to avoid any other projectiles — but Cal saw him flinch, and snapped out of it, dragged his hands down his face while muffling an expletive into his palms. “I’m not mad at you, buddy. Just… fuck.”
And then he’d left like he did now, to go get his ass kicked.
He’ll be back, to drag himself through a cold shower and into bed for maybe five hours of fitful sleep, and then the cycle will repeat again.
It’ll only be a day or two before the two of them are back on the hunt for Jedi girl. And if anyone could help Cal, it would be her.
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
She grins, but shows restraint — bowing a perfect forty-five degrees, the metallic beads of her hair ornament tinkling against each other with the movement.
“Still so formal after all these years?” The older woman asks.
it is always narratively correct to make your characters sleep together before they sort through the hundreds of lies and misdirections between them. make things worse make things worse make things worse #i love betrayal #i love lying #i love people feeling bad about themselves
liz are you going to see top gun / tgm back in theatres this week? 🥰
I didn’t realize it was back in theaters! is it because of the 250th?
and probably not tbh, all the theaters in my area want like $12-15 for a matinee + pushing $20 for after dark, and I am still not over my awkwardness about going to the movies alone. so if you’re going, please send bob an air kiss on my behalf 🥲
How to play: Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.
🏷️: one business year later, we continue! our sweet prince is the best teacher slash personal trainer ever <3, no spoilers in this one, dain cameo, a lot of the girlfriends like subdueing challenge opponents with knives because I’m bad at writing fight scenes and know nothing about hand fighting at all lol
You are absolutely going to lose this challenge match. There is no other possible outcome than you getting your shit kicked, even with the week’s worth of extra training you’ve gotten from Aaric.
He’s been endlessly patient, holding his tongue when he realized you didn’t know some of the most basic things about hand combat, being gentle with his critique and careful not to startle you with any physical contact he needs to correct your form.
Like he knows.
No, if he knew, he wouldn’t spend so much time on keeping you alive and afloat in class, and would have decided weeks ago that you were hopeless, and weren’t worth the effort.
He’d put you through the paces yesterday, in the hopes of you not being stomped on the mat today, and asked you at the end of your lesson — “So, what are you going to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” you’d panted from where you laid flat on your back on the gross floor of the training room.
“Then use what you do know.”
Well… It might not be allowed, but you could plead ignorance afterward; you still haven’t made it to the halfway point of the Codex they’d given you. Your days are hard enough without a mental workout on top of everything you’re already struggling with so desperately. Any free time that isn’t spent working with Aaric is spent asleep.
But... fuck it. What do you have to lose, except your life, which isn’t even really yours?
This girl likes to fight at close range, and she doesn’t seem as poised and as sharp as Aaric, not by a long shot. She probably wouldn’t notice. Especially if you can time things right, get a good hit in somewhere.
She lacks something else Aaric has, too — tact. It’s widely known that you suck, and she’s eager to be seen taking someone down. That’s probably why she comes in swinging as soon as Emeterrio gives the go-ahead.
If she had done any research, she would have known that the one thing you’re good at is dodging. And not to throw her entire weight into a blow like that, because if it doesn’t land, she’ll trip.
She also should have taken off her knives before she got on the mat, because this is supposed to be a test of hand combat, not weaponry.
Her loss, literally. She’s too busy regaining her balance to notice the weight disappear.
You fall into a pattern of trading hits, just like you would with Aaric, only hers actually land instead of falling an inch from your skin. And she’s getting two or three for your one. But these matches are timed, and you’ve managed to add a good thirty seconds to your defeat time each round.
And taking longer to be “killed” is good. If an enemy would tire themself out by fighting you, then at least your squad will have a better chance at survival, more time to rest or to run or to come save your sorry ass.
It’s unclear what the consequence of failing every week is, but it probably isn’t good. And how will you figure out what works if you don’t fuck around a little and take a few risks?
There had been one thing Aaric mentioned offhandedly, but unable to demonstrate it to you without hurting you or another squad member -- but if you dig your thumb into the skin below her collarbone hard enough, in just the right spot…
Yep.
Her knees hit the floor with a scream that has even the third-years looking your way. You release the pressure near immediately, but keep her in place with your newest acquisition — that she finally realizes isn’t yours.
She pushes your arm away easily, going after the professor instead. “She cheated!”
He looks completely unfazed. “She clearly had full control of you, and a knife to your throat. That’s where it ends, because that’s where your life could have ended.”
“But she didn’t — it’s not hers!”
“Professor, you said if we strip them off an opponent in a fight, they’re ours to keep, right?” Sloane adds for you, looking innocent.
“That is correct.”
“Sucks to be you, then,” Dain says dryly, before turning to you. “Sleep with one eye open, kid. Though I guess you have the advantage over her with those.”
You fight a smile as you see it dawn on her — Dain said those, plural. She had a second knife, too, that is now tucked into the waistband of your pants. Thankfully she decides to quit while she’s behind, storming off to pout with her squad.
“That was pretty sick,” Ridoc says, grinning ear to ear on your behalf.
Aaric hands you back your original knife and your necklace, giving you a curt nod of approval before his focus returns to the new match that is about to start.
———
“You feeling okay?” He asks as he slides into his seat in the lecture hall with his usual grace and ease.
“Mm. Just tired. The reading took me forever,” you explain through a yawn. “I didn’t get to sleep until late.”
“It was only ten pages,” Sloane says, cocking her head to the side.
“Oh,” you manage. “I must have read more than one chapter then. Guess I’ll be ahead for next week.”
As if. The idea of you being ahead in anything academic is laughable. You’d only managed to keep up because winning your match yesterday earned you a night off from extra sparring with Aaric.
Thankfully she doesn’t think much of your excuse, settling into the seat beside you and getting out her notebook as Kaori starts his lesson. Hearing it discussed aloud, the reading makes more sense. No wonder everyone else considered it easy — it was.
It should have been, at least.
How do you even spell Gormfil— whatever he just said? It definitely isn’t Krovlish. Maybe not even the common language. But then again, you aren’t the gold standard for vocabulary around here.
A quick look around shows that everyone else is still writing, following along easily, their eyes still on the professor. No looks of confusion anywhere.
But if you spend too long puzzling this out, you’ll miss more information.
Aaric underlines the word on his own page with a quick scratch of his quill, and you copy it down before he notices, committing the proper spelling to memory.
This isn’t technically cheating, right? It’s not a test or anything, just a lecture. And if Kaori had written that on the board when he first mentioned it, you wouldn’t have needed to copy Aaric, anyway.
The guilty feeling is replaced with more scrambling to keep up, to glean every bit of information you can from this lecture so you can squeak by with only half the reading.
Aaric hears the scratching of your quill stop again, sees the tip hovering over the page in hesitation.
He underlines another word, this time scooting the notebook over toward you ever so slightly. All of the letters on his page are immaculate, the lines of text perfectly straight and structured, organized — unlike your sprawling web of arrows, with circles around things you’d deemed important.
Most of the points on your page have circles around them. And most of said circles have been smudged before they could dry. How his page and his hand is perfectly clean is beyond you.
———
You don’t want to know how long you’ve been sitting in this damn chair. But the bell tower tells you anyway, with its quarterly chiming, that it’s approaching eight. You’d settled here after sunset, when you were required to go back to the dorms, and thankfully very few people decided to use the rest of the night to study, as you three — as Aaric, really — had.
“I’m calling it,” Sloane announces, stacking up her books and papers. “I’m going to bed. If I know it, I know it; if I don’t, I don’t.”
“Fair enough,” you reply, equally exhausted, but you’re nowhere near done with your review. “Do you want me to walk back with you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she says with a wave of her hand, holding up her textbook. “If anyone tries anything, I’ll just swing this at them.”
You manage a laugh. “Sounds like a plan. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
There’s a moment of quiet after Sloane’s footsteps recede. You shake your head to clear it, looking back at the page in front of you. You can do this. Just work through it and get it done so you can get some sleep. How hard can it be?
Hard. Very hard, actually.
Aaric chooses his words carefully. “It’s not the subject that’s hard for you, it’s the reading, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you admit quietly, still focusing your gaze on the textbook, the blurring wall of words that takes up the whole page. “I didn’t spend a lot of time in school as a child.”
He doesn’t ask why, nor dig any deeper. “Would it help if I read it to you?”
It would be so easy to say yes, so you can get this over with and go to bed, but he’s already helped you so much… and he won’t always be there to hold your hand. You can’t get used to relying on him for everything — you need to soldier up and figure this out yourself.
“I can do it,” you answer. “I just need time.”
“I know you can do it. I asked if it would help.”
You chew your lip for a moment, your resolve crumbling. “It would.”
“Okay,” he says simply, sliding the book toward him and starting to read aloud from where you’d left off.
You focus on his voice, closing your eyes and imagining the words as musical notes, working together to create phrases and verse.
It all starts to make sense.
You reach for your notebook, scribbling rapidly, not concerning yourself with the spelling, just the facts and the formulas, and the way things are connected.
“That’s the end of it. Do you want me to read any of it again?”
“I think I got it, thank you,” you say softly. “That really helped.”
He gives you a soft smile. “Of course.”
Something about Aaric is just different. Attention from him feels warm and fluttery, unlike the unsettling, sticky feeling of the men in Calldyr City. His smiles are warm and genuine, not creepy, and he’s always been gentle, aware of the strength of his hands — the one time he’d caused you pain, he’d noticed, and withdrawn immediately, going so far as to apologize.
