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@justadudeakotsk
I’ve Told You Things
Hear me out… Peter Claffey with shoulder-length hair in full Kingsguard armour.
Counterpoint: don’t hear me out. Just look.
Finn: Peter, I am asking this with the utmost respect.
Peter: Go on.
Finn: What the actual fuck.
Peter: What did I do?!
Finn: You can’t just—
Peter: Can’t just what?
Finn: Materialise looking like the patron saint of “kneel, my prince.”
I’ve Told You Things
Finn’s and Oscar’s new Instagram Posts for my AO3 fan fiction. Two besties being baddies💅🏻.
I've Told You Things
Peter: "So what does it mean?"
Finn: "All men must die. All men must serve."
Peter: "That's metal as fuck."
Finn: "Cheers."
Peter: "Anyway, can I lick it?"
Finn: "..."
Tattoo Artist: "ABSOLUTELY NOT."
I’ve Told You Things
AO3 Finally Let Me In!
After what felt like an eternity on the invitation waitlist, I can finally say this:
Chapter One is live.
It’s a modern college AU following Finn Bennett and Peter Claffey, where two university students begin remembering a love story that ended centuries ago. Expect theatre kids, rugby players, accidental collisions, history lectures, increasingly suspicious dreams, a healthy amount of chaos, and a very, very slow burn.
I’ve been carrying this story around in my head for a long time, so hitting “Post” was both terrifying and incredibly exciting.
If you decide to give it a chance, thank you. I genuinely hope you enjoy meeting these characters as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them.
Here’s to the beginning. ❤️
I've Told You Things
I'm just going to leave this here... A tiny piece of Chapter One.
Chapter One: Seven in the Fucking Morning
Finn Bennett was having an absolutely wonderful dream.
It was a landscape painted in impossible, water-logged logic: a grand concert piano anchored in the dead center of a glass-still lake. Around its polished ebony legs, white lilies drifted like fallen stars, their thick, waxy petals catching a light that didn't seem to come from a sun. Dragonflies skimmed the surface, their wings leaving silver fractures in the water, and from somewhere just beyond the reeds, a melody drifted.
It was a song he didn't know, yet his chest ached with the heavy, hollow weight of it. It smelled of old things—of summer rain baking on stone, of crushed clover, and a faint, metallic tang that made his tongue feel dry.
Then came the laughter.
It was a split-toned chorus. One voice was a low, warm rumble that seemed to vibrate through the water beneath him; the other answered it, sharp, theatrical, and dripping with an arrogant, golden malice that felt terrifyingly familiar.
Then the lake shattered.
"Friends say I'm stupid and I'm out of my mind..."
The piano vanished into the dark water with a violent groan.
"But without you, boy, I'd be bored all the time..."
The lilies didn't sink; they exploded into brilliant, choking plumes of violet smoke.
"No, I don't really care for the same conversation..."
Finn's eyes snapped open.
The lake was gone, replaced by the suffocating reality of a damp Tuesday morning. Above him, the familiar hairline crack stretched across the yellowed plaster ceiling of his dorm room like a lightning bolt frozen in stone. The heavy, dark curtains he'd pinned over the window did little to block the gray, persistent chill of early dawn, or the voice currently vibrating through the thin drywall from the corridor.
"Got everythin' I need and I'd rather be chasing..."
Finn dragged his pillow over his face, burying himself in the scent of cheap detergent, praying for a sudden, merciful aneurysm. The silence lasted for the space of two heartbeats.
"CHASING LOVE WITH A MONSTERRRRR!"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Finn muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp.
The door didn't just open; it slammed against the stopper with a crack that shook the loose sheet music stacked on Finn's desk. Henry Ashton burst into the room like a localized hurricane, entirely unbothered by the concept of boundaries, carrying two steaming paper cups and enough manic energy to power the entire campus grid.
He wasn't just walking. He was actively executing a theatrical jazz-walk across the linoleum. At seven in the morning.
Finn seriously weighed the legal ramifications of manslaughter.
Henry pointed a dramatic, manicured finger at the wardrobe, using his coffee cup as a makeshift microphone as he hit the crescendo. "I'm in loooove with a monster!"
Finn let out a groan so deep and wretched it sounded medically concerning, pressing his face harder into the mattress. "Can you, like, shut the fuck up, mate? It's seven in the fucking morning. Have some goddamn shame."
Henry didn't even blink. Instead, his eyes locked onto the lump under the duvet.
With the terrifying agility of a trained dancer, Henry launched himself through the air. Finn had a fraction of a second to register a blur of oversized knitwear and peroxide-blond hair before a hundred and seventy pounds of musical theatre chaos landed squarely on his spine.
The mattress springs shrieked in agony.
"So dramatic," Henry declared cheerfully, throwing his arms around Finn's pinned torso, burying his face in the hood of Finn's sweater. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. The stage awaits."
"I'm calling the police," Finn croaked from beneath the feathers.
"On what grounds?"
"Emotional terrorism. Breaking and entering. Aggravated assault."
Henry gasped, the sound deeply theatrical. "I brought a vanilla latte."
"I'll tell the jury that, too. It'll count as premeditation."
Henry only squeezed tighter, pinning him to the bed. They had known each other for exactly two years, three months, and twelve days, and in that time, Henry had weaponized his understanding of Finn's psychology. He knew Finn loathed the sun, but he also knew that Finn's prickly, volatile exterior was entirely useless against aggressive, unprompted physical affection. It was deeply manipulative. It was entirely unfair.
It worked every single time.
Finn let out a long, defeated sigh into the mattress, his muscles finally going slack. "Fine. Get off me, you giant parasite."
"I win." Henry scrambled off him, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed like a cat waiting for a treat.
"You always say that, Ashton."
"Because the record shows I am undefeated."
Finn finally pushed himself upright. His dark hair was a bird's nest sticking out in six different directions, his oversized university hoodie was twisted uncomfortably around his throat, and the left side of his face bore the red, ribbed imprint of his pillowcase.
Henry stared at him, his expression shifting from triumphant to wildly amused. The smile that crept across his face was the purely evil grin of a man who had just been handed comedic gold.
"You look like a Victorian child recovering from tuberculosis," Henry whispered in awe.
Finn blinked sleepily, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. "That is weirdly specific."
"I minored in history last term."
"You took one elective on the Tudors because you wanted to look at the costumes."
"It changed my soul, Finn. It changed how I view the world."
Finn reached blindly across his nightstand, his fingers wrapping around the nearest projectile—a stuffed frog wearing a tiny, hand-knitted green scarf. He hurled it straight at Henry's face.
Henry caught it by the leg without breaking eye contact. "Hugo would never hurt me. We have an understanding."
"Hugo isn't sentient. He's polyester filler."
"You don't know his heart."
"I literally bought him at a charity shop to stop you from crying because you lost your keys."
"So? Capitalism doesn't define consciousness," Henry countered smoothly, tossing the frog into the air and catching it.
Finn stared at him, utterly exhausted by the sheer volume of words already spoken before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Henry stared back, bright-eyed and entirely shameless.
Finally, Finn dragged his palms over his eyes, the friction scratching against his skin. "I need better friends. I need to go to a different uni. I need to join a monastery."
"No, you need caffeine, and then you need breakfast." Henry slid the paper cup into Finn's hands.
I’ve Told You Things
Some messages between Finn and Henry (for upcoming fanfic)
I've Told You Things
🚨 CAST UPDATE 🚨
Against my better judgment (and probably the university's), I've added more idiots to the ever-growing disaster family.
🏉 Jack Murphy
rugby player
built like an oak tree that learned how to tackle people
believes every problem can be solved by:
food
lifting something heavy
"have you tried not overthinking it?"
the second person Peter calls after Shaun doesn't answer
professionally third-wheels Peter and Finn without either of them noticing
says "lads..." at least forty-seven times a day
once convinced an entire pub that Finn and Peter had secretly eloped because he got bored
Past life achievements:
honestly? probably spent most of it wondering why Targaryens were Like That™.
Current life achievements:
still wondering why Finn is Like That™.
🍻 Shaun Thomas
(formerly Ser Raymun Fossoway)
rugby player
Peter's best friend since approximately the invention of fire
the sarcastic one
somehow has the most common sense in the friend group
unfortunately chooses to spend all of his free time with Murphy
can roast Peter in ways that permanently alter his brain chemistry
notices absolutely everything
clocked Peter's crush on Finn before Peter even knew Finn's phone number
has accepted that his role in life is watching his best friend fall in love with the weirdest theatre kid on campus
Past life achievements:
loyal knight.
sensible.
competent.
somehow survived being surrounded by Targaryens.
Current life achievements:
loyal rugby player.
sensible.
competent.
somehow survived being surrounded by theatre kids.
I’ve Told You Things
I am currently trapped in the most ridiculous fandom limbo imaginable.
On one hand, i have nine (9) chapters ready to go.
On the other hand…
AO3: “your invitation is still pending.”
me:
🧍🏻♀️
like… PLEASE. i am standing outside the gates with my manuscript like a Victorian orphan.
Technically i could post them on Wattpad.
Counterpoint: it’s Wattpad.
Every three paragraphs it’s like:
emotional confession between two idiots—
✨ADVERTISEMENT✨
“HAVE YOU CONSIDERED BUYING SHAMPOO?”
Thank you, capitalism. I was actually trying to make people feel emotions.
And don’t even get me started on the random pop-ups, coins, premium, mysterious algorithm and whatever eldritch curse is happening over there.
So now the fanfic is just… sitting on my laptop. Profoundly judging me.
AO3, my beloved, if you’re listening, please let me in.
I have traumatized, funny and unhinged Targaryens to upload.
I’ve Told You Things
Oscar Morgan’s Instagram Page (for upcoming fanfic)
I’ve Told You Things
Henry Ashton’s Instagram Page (for upcoming fanfic)
I’ve Told You Things
Peter Claffey’s Instagram page (for upcoming fanfic)
I’ve Told You Things
Finn Bennett’s Instagram Page (for upcoming fanfic)
I’ve Told You Things
stay tuned for:
• spontaneous identity crises
• musical numbers
• rugby
• dragons (metaphorical. probably.)
• and two idiots discovering that destiny apparently has excellent attendance.
I've Told You Things
introducing the disaster cast because therapy is expensive
🎭 Finn Bennett
(formerly: Aerion Targaryen, professional menace to society)
Theatre & Music student.
Gay.
Has been legally banned from singing in three academic buildings.
Makes friends faster than WiFi connects.
Walks backwards because "it's more theatrical."
Owns a stuffed frog named Hugo.
Can quote Disney, Victor Hugo and Shrek in the same conversation.
Apologizes to spiders before putting them outside.
Has absolutely no idea he used to be one of the most terrifying princes in Westeros.
Would cry if someone yelled at a pigeon.
Accidentally adopted a six-foot-six rugby player.
Past Life:
Started wars.
Bullied nobles.
Threatened kings.
Fell hopelessly in love with a hedge knight.
Character development is real.
🏉 Peter Claffey
(formerly: Ser Duncan the Tall, certified Biggest Guy Alive™)
Sports Rehabilitation student.
Rugby player.
Queer but spent twenty-two years going: "No, I just think he's neat."
Six foot six.
Built like an emotionally available oak tree.
Has been compared to Kristoff against his will.
Cried during Coco.
Thinks Frozen is the best Disney movie and will die on that hill.
Owns seven identical hoodies.
Laughs like his whole skeleton is involved.
Past Life:
Walked everywhere.
Protected everyone.
Somehow survived Aerion Targaryen.
Fell hopelessly in love with a prince.
Some things never change.
💛 Henry Ashton
(formerly: Daeron Targaryen, the family emotional support blond)
Finn's BFF
Catastrophically bisexual.
Musical Theatre menace.
Has exactly zero survival instincts.
Speaks fluent Medieval English whenever emotionally compromised.
Thinks interrogating Peter about his favourite dinosaur is completely normal.
Already planning Finn and Peter's wedding after witnessing two conversations.
Somehow always right.
Past Life:
Drank wine.
Made jokes.
Protected his unstable younger brother with sarcasm.
Probably invented emotional support.
Current status: Still emotionally supporting disasters.
🎥 Oscar Morgan
(formerly: Valarr Targaryen, the only functioning brain cell in the family)
Film student.
Gay.
Speaks approximately four sentences per day.
Every sentence permanently changes the course of human history.
Accidentally asked: "Would kissing an unconscious prince be politically advantageous?"
Has absolutely no idea why everyone laughed.
Quietly hands Henry half of his biscuit.
Doesn't realize Henry is catastrophically in love with him.
Would probably sign marriage papers thinking they're library forms.
Past Life:
Intelligent.
Responsible.
Calm.
Also surrounded by complete idiots.
Nothing has changed.
📚 Professor Sam Spruell
(formerly: Maekar Targaryen, exhausted father of exhausted children)
History professor.
Drinks coffee strong enough to remove paint.
Has accepted that Finn and Henry live in his office.
Says: "Language, Mister Bennett." at least twelve times a day.
Accidentally answers his students completely unhinged questions every single time.
Pretends not to have favourites.
Literally has emergency biscuits.
Past Life:
Prince.
Father.
Responsible adult.
Current life: Still raising Targaryens against his will. Still tired.
🎭 Director Bertie Carvel
(formerly: Baelor Targaryen, patron saint of patience)
College director.
Dresses like he owns seventeen castles.
Reads incident reports about Finn and Henry with the expression of a disappointed Victorian ghost.
Has never expelled them.
Has a soft spot for Oscar.
Secretly attends every theatre production.
Loves his students so much it physically hurts him.
Past Life:
Crown Prince.
Uncle.
Voice of reason.
Still somehow related to chaos.
🏉 Coach Daniel Ings
(formerly: Lyonel Baratheon, honorary Targaryen babysitter)
Rugby coach.
Looks like he wrestles bears recreationally.
Emotionally healthier than the entire humanities department combined.
Carries a speaker everywhere.
Makes the rugby team warm up to dancehall music.
Called Peter "Kristoff" exactly once and permanently lost his respect.
Watched Peter laugh with Finn and immediately went: "...Huh."
Past Life:
Loud.
Loyal.
Baratheon.
Still collecting emotionally damaged blondes.
currently experiencing a level of suffering previously thought impossible.
i have TWO (2) whole chapters of a college AU dunkaerion fic written.
TWO.
they’re sitting on my laptop like caged Victorian women staring wistfully out of the window because AO3 STILL HASN’T SENT ME MY INVITE.
meanwhile this is the plot i am being forced to keep inside my skull:
* peter claffey as the human equivalent of a golden retriever/rugby player who has never once had a coherent thought about another man.
* finn bennett as a theatre/music major whose natural state is “causing problems on purpose.”
* they meet.
* they become friends.
* peter starts having dreams about dragons and wakes up emotionally compromised.
* finn accidentally sees a hedge knight in the corner of the library for 0.2 seconds and decides he’s just sleep deprived.
* both of them collectively refuse to acknowledge the increasingly obvious supernatural homoeroticism occurring around them.
every week:
finn: haha weird dream. anyway.
peter: haha weird dream. anyway.
the dreams:
“my prince.”
“don’t call me that.”
“yes, your grace.”
intense eye contact across seven centuries
meanwhile henry, who has absolutely no context:
“you guys keep staring at each other like divorced medieval lesbians.”
AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE SLOW BURN.
because i apparently woke up and chose violence.
they’re going to spend approximately 200k words becoming best friends, accidentally touching hands, sharing hoodies, falling asleep on each other, remembering dying for one another in a previous life, and STILL convince themselves they’re just “really good mates.”
peter:
“i think about him every day.”
“i know exactly how he takes his coffee.”
“i would probably kill for him.”
“his laugh makes my chest hurt.”
“i keep dreaming about marrying him in 230 AC.”
also peter:
“he’s probably straight.”
finn:
“He’s just a friend.”
“i’m wearing his hoodie.”
“i have memorized his class schedule.”
“if he smiles at me again i’m going to throw myself into traffic.”
AO3 PLEASE.
I AM TRYING TO RELEASE TWO REINCARNATED IDIOTS INTO THE ECOSYSTEM.
Anyway dropping as soon as possible. Name of the story is gonna be: I’ve Told You Things