“coming from a place of respect” there is nothing respectful about a comment like this. this is exactly why I say witch hunt, speculations and accusations harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
I am not saying “you’re an asshole if you think a fic is ai”. I have come across fics that I believe were ai-generated. but instead of asking (accusing) the authors, I make my own decisions whether I’ll continue reading for the benefit of the doubt or quietly exit the fics and look for something else to read.
because with every accusation like this, there’s always a chance of a genuine, innocent writer getting wrongly accused.
last but not least, fanfic writers do NOT owe you anything. they write for themselves and their own enjoyment. their ao3 accounts are their houses and they were kind enough to let you in their houses. for free. (you get to read things for free.) you don’t go into other people’s houses and tell them “actually I think the way you decorate your room is sus. did you actually do it yourself or did you ask a robot to do it for you?”. THEY 👏🏻 DON’T 👏🏻 OWE 👏🏻 YOU 👏🏻 ANYTHING. and I say this as someone who is not a fan of ai fics. if you don’t like what you’re seeing, quietly leave.
*the following is not about the fic in this specific post. in general, I still strongly believe people who let ai write for them should tag their works as ai accordingly. but if we want more people to be honest about it, we’ll have to stop shaming and harassing people who actually tag their ai-generated fics accordingly. harassment is never justified. not to mention, it will only make “ai writers” refrain from tagging their ai-generated works as such. and then there’s no way for anyone to know for absolute certainty if it’s ai. therefore the raise of witch hunt.
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i get so emotional every time i think about fanfic culture. it's just so beautiful that people are writing and anonymously posting these thousand-word stories about characters we all love and not even getting any money or public fame from it. it's literally just for the love of the game.
shout out to everyone who participates in fanfic culture, be it reading or writing fanfics. you are contributing to such a lovely thing <3
I love your writing! Could I please request prompt 42 with Garrick?
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: "There's my favourite person."
Authors Note: I would love to be Garrick Tavis's favourite person ❤️
The infirmary is rapidly running out of patience with Garrick.
He'd returned from a mission a few hours earlier with a deep wound along his side where a blade had caught him.
Not life-threatening, but deep enough that every healer in the room had warned it needed cleaning and stitching before it became infected.
Garrick disagreed.
Now he sat on the edge of an infirmary bed, arms folded across his chest, stubbornly ignoring everyone around him while a healer glared daggers at him from across the room.
Xaden stood nearby looking thoroughly exhausted.
After nearly an hour of arguing, threatening, and attempting to reason with Garrick, he'd finally given up.
Instead, he'd sent a discreet message.
Because if even Xaden couldn't make him see reason, there was one person Garrick would actually listened to.
You arrived from where you had been on duty across the outpost twenty minutes later.
The moment you stepped through the infirmary doors, Garrick looked up in surprise and immediately smiled.
A genuine one, the kind that transformed his entire face.
"There she is. There’s my favourite person."
The warmth in his voice made several healers exchange knowing looks.
Xaden simply sighed in relief.
Finally.
You crossed the room quickly, only for your concern to grow as you took in the blood staining the bandages wrapped around Garrick's side.
"What happened?"
He looked almost sheepish.
"Got cut."
You stared.
Then looked at the healer. Then at Xaden.
Both wore identical expressions of frustration and impatience.
Understanding dawned across your face immediately as you realised why Xaden sent for you.
"You've been refusing treatment."
Garrick suddenly found the floor very interesting.
You closed your eyes briefly, crossing your arms across your chest.
Of course he had.
Stepping forward, you carefully lifted part of the bandage.
The skin around the wound was already irritated and angry-looking.
Your heart squeezed.
Not because it was serious, but because he was hurt.
And because he was apparently being an idiot about it and refusing treatment.
"Garrick."
The disappointment in your voice was enough.
His shoulders dropped instantly, like all the fight had suddenly left him.
You gently brushed your fingers through his hair before meeting his eyes.
"Please let them help you."
For a moment, he simply looked at you.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
The healer froze.
Xaden actually laughed.
An entire hour of arguing, and that was all it took.
You smiled despite yourself, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."
Garrick's expression softened immediately.
For you, he would have sat through almost anything.
The healer quickly moved before he could change his mind, beginning to clean the wound.
To everyone's amazement, Garrick stayed completely still.
No complaints. No arguments. No attempts to escape.
Instead, he simply reached for your hand.
You laced your fingers through his without hesitation and the tension melted from his face almost instantly.
Across the room, Xaden shook his head.
The healers looked equally unimpressed.
But Garrick didn't care that he had clearly been manipulated into sitting still.
Not even slightly, if it meant he got to spend some time with his girl.
His thumb brushed lazily across your knuckles as he looked at you.
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Prompt 53 with Garrick pretty please?! I’m obsessed with your writing…AGH
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: "Don't say things like that unless you mean them."
Authors Note: Thank you so much! I am just as obsessed with this man <3
It had always been uncomplicated with Garrick.
At least, that’s what the two of you pretended.
No promises. No labels.
Just him showing up at your door late at night with that lazy grin that always made your stomach flip, and you letting him in every single time.
It was easier that way.
Because Garrick had already graduated.
Because you still had another year at Basgiath.
Because riders died all the time, and getting attached to someone too deeply felt dangerously stupid.
And several other reasons you told yourself after the third time.
So instead, you settled into this strange in-between.
Friends who touched each other too much.
Who kissed like they had something to prove.
Who kept finding excuses to come back.
And now, with whispers of unrest spreading through Navarre and tension hanging thick through the college halls, everything feels sharper somehow.
The incoming threat of the attack hangs heavy in the air, tangled up with the choking stench of fear. Riders, healers and infantry cadets move through the halls with sharp, chaotic energy.
Like everyone suddenly understands how fragile everything really is and that tomorrow might not be guaranteed.
You’re standing on one of the outer balconies overlooking Basgiath when you hear footsteps behind you.
You don’t even have to turn around.
“You’re hiding.”
Garrick’s voice slides over your skin warm and familiar.
You lean against the stone railing. “Maybe I just wanted five minutes where nobody’s panicking.”
He hums softly in agreement before stepping beside you.
For a while, neither of you speak.
The wind catches his dark hair, and you glance at him from the corner of your eye.
He looks stressed, worried and tired, more tired than you’ve ever seen him.
Something twists painfully in your chest.
“You okay?” you ask quietly.
His eyes flick toward you.
“Now I am.”
You roll your eyes a little, but your pulse betrays you.
Because that look in his eyes—
Gods.
It’s too intense. Too serious.
Before you can think better of it, you step closer and fix the crooked collar of his jacket, brushing your fingers over the worn leather.
“You should try and get some sleep before it starts,” you murmur.
His hand catches your wrist gently before you can pull away.
The touch is careful, almost hesitant, which is so unlike Garrick that it immediately makes your stomach tighten.
“What?” you whisper.
He stares at you for a long moment, jaw tense like he’s fighting with himself.
Then quietly—
“I’m in love with you.”
Your breath catches.
The world seems to stop around you.
No sounds. No wind.
Nothing except the way he’s looking at you like he’s finally saying something he’s been holding back for far too long.
You let out a soft disbelieving laugh, mostly because your heart is suddenly trying to beat its way out of your chest.
“Garrick…”
“I mean it.”
“You don’t have to say that because everything’s about to go to shit.”
His brows pull together immediately. “That’s what you think this is?”
“I think,” you say carefully, trying and failing to keep your voice steady, “that people say reckless things before battles.”
His grip on your wrist tightens slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there.
“I’ve been in love with you for months.”
Your throat goes dry.
“You’re serious?”
He actually looks offended.
“Completely and utterly gone.”
You shake your head faintly, overwhelmed. “Don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”
The words come out smaller than you intended.
More vulnerable.
Because the truth is, Garrick has always had this terrifying ability to make you want things you promised yourself not to want.
Something in his expression softens instantly.
Then he steps closer.
Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.
Close enough that your breathing tangles together as you raise your head to meet his eye as he towers over you.
“I mean it,” he says again, quieter this time. “I mean every fucking word.”
Your heart stutters violently.
"I just kept telling myself not to say it because the timing’s shit and you deserve more than whatever this has been. But every time I've had to walk away from you, it's almost killed me."
His forehead rests lightly against yours.
"And I'll be damned if I don't tell you now, right before thing's are about to go to shit. I may never get another chance—"
Garrick's suddenly voice catches and he takes a deep breath and stops and watches your face to gauge your reaction.
“You’re an asshole for doing this to me,” you whisper weakly.
A grin tugs at his mouth. “Doing what?”
“Making me fall in love with you back.”
A soft laugh escapes him, but there’s something emotional underneath it.
“Let me make up for it then.”
Then his hand slides up to cup your jaw.
And when he kisses you—
Gods.
There’s nothing casual about it.
Nothing teasing or half-hearted like all the stolen kisses before this.
This kiss feels devastatingly deliberate.
Like he’s trying to pour every unspoken feeling into it.
His mouth moves against yours slowly at first, almost careful, before the restraint breaks completely when he feels you kiss him back. He kisses you deeper, more desperate, one hand sliding around your waist to pull you flush against him.
You make a small sound against his mouth, fingers gripping the front of his jacket.
He kisses you like he means it, like he’s been wanting to do this properly for a very long time.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder.
Your forehead falls against his.
“You picked a hell of a time to tell me,” you murmur.
His thumb brushes softly across your cheek.
“The possibility of losing you tends to put things into perspective.”
Emotion swells painfully in your chest.
So instead of saying anything, you kiss him again.
And this time, when Garrick smiles against your mouth, you realise neither of you are pretending anymore.
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Synopsis: Your first Solstice in Aretia is sure to bring all sorts of chaos -- especially when Garrick's never seen you in a dress before.
Pairing: Garrick Tavis X Reader (Cosette)
Word Count: 2.3k
Includes: Incredibly suggestive content and dialogue (18+!!), but no explicit smut, this is just me being horny during the Christmas season and taking it out on Garrick and Cosette. Inappropriate use of signets. There is no plot here; just ovulation. Takes place whenever.
The day went by faster than you'd have expected, but from the way Garrick leans against the threshold of your shared bedroom door, you'd think he'd been there for hours.
Dramatic bastard. Twenty minutes have barely passed; he sighs. "How's it going in there, lovely?"
"Good!" comes your reply, muffled through layers of wood and wards. "I'm almost done, I swear. I'm just doing some touch-ups."
Almost done, his ass. You'd been almost done an hour ago.
"Just touch-ups?" he repeats, a brow arching. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I am," you scoff. He winces as something clatters in the room, probably against the desk by the mirror. "I'm being precise."
At that, his impatience gives way to amusement. "You sound quite serious about this precision."
"I'm excited!" you tell him, your voice brighter than it's sounded in, admittedly, a long time. "I haven't gotten the chance to be dolled up in…gods know how long. I like my leathers, but I missed my dresses, too."
Garrick groans softly. "When can I look, then? I want to see you."
A laugh. "I never said you weren't allowed in. Just don't look yet; I want it to be a surprise."
He's never entered a room so fast in his life. Per your request, he keeps his gaze on the floor (funny, since he's seen you naked a number of times) and plops down on the bed.
A sweet laugh sounds from your side of the room. "You're looking quite handsome."
"Don't tease me," he whines. "When can I look, sweetheart?"
"I don't tease," you sniff, setting something back down on the desk. "All I said is that you look handsome. Can a woman not appreciate her husband verbally?"
"Not if he can't appreciate his woman back," he grumbles, his pretty lips dipping into a pout. "That's a wedding tradition, not a Solstice one."
"It'll be the same then, too." His shoulders sink a little, but he straightens once you click your tongue. "That should do it, I think. You can look now."
His head snaps up, and—
…Oh.
Oh, fuck.
It's one thing to know that your girl is a princess. To see her dressed like one is another.
The dress suits you well. Too well. The fabric is sage green, the kind more suited for summer than winter, but the color is absolutely perfect for you. The bodice molds to your skin and enters a shallow V between your breasts. Those sleeves — gods, the sleeves — are long, hanging like the dresses of elves in storybooks his mother used to read before bedtime, and…what kind of fabric is that? Tulle? Silk? Whatever the fuck it is, it's pretty sheer, and it's beautiful.
He can't stop staring.
"Well?" you ask, a tad shy from his silence. "Is the color okay?"
Garrick remains wordless, his eyes trailing from your to the end of your dress and back again. He shifts imperceptibly, his hips, and meets your gaze.
Then, he raises a hand — his index finger. Twirls it around in a silent request.
Spin for me.
Your cheeks heat, perhaps from the intensity of his stare, but you obey nonetheless, twirling slowly so that he can get an eyeful of the back and see it move. You come to face him once more, giggling quietly at his awe. It's cute; you mean, it's not like he's never seen you in a dress—
…
Wait.
No.
This is the first Solstice you've celebrated since coming to Aretia. The first event outside of Basgiath; outside of uniforms. Outside of black leather.
Garrick has never seen you in a dress before — and certainly not one like this.
…That would explain a lot, actually. Like the way his eyes keep traveling up and down your body, as if he's calculating every detail and inch of what you're wearing like some type of tactical pursuit. That's what he is, at heart: a strategist. He's just never had to think so hard about what to do next when it comes to you.
Then, faster than your eye can track, he's standing, sweeping you into his arms and turning you back to the mirror. His chest rises and falls under your back, a tad unsteady, his hands finding and palming your hips under the fabric of your skirt. Your breath catches in your throat; the hazel of his eyes has vanished to a tiny sliver compared to the dialation of his pupils, making his gaze darker, hypnotic.
"…Gare?" you breath, not even sure where your hands should be. "What are you—"
His head drops into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent shakily. Fuck, he thinks. You smell of clean air and lemons — it completely drowns out every other thought in his brain.
"…I can't fucking believe I'm marrying you," he mumbles into your skin, his lips working against your neck in the familiar way that sends chills through you. "Oh, gods, I fucking adore you."
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline and then furrow as he cups your jaw with one hand and begins mouthing at your skin, rolling it between his teeth and sucking softly. Your back arches, allowing him to press further into you and the heat of your flustered form.
You can barely hold back a quiet whine. "Wha— Stop that," you try to scold him, albeit weakly. "There's no neck on this dress! If you leave a mark, everyone will see it."
He groans. "That's the point, lovely. That's entirely the point."
You can't even look away with how his hand holds your head forward, leaving you to stare at the (frankly, erotic) sight of Garrick's head moving against your neck, biting and sucking little marks that you know you'll have to cover up before you leave the room. It's irresponsible, completely reckless….
And extremely hot.
"Not now," you protest, using your freer hand to bat at his chest gently. "Later. You can — fuck — have me later, baby. Not now, though. I wanna…enjoy Solstice."
"We can still enjoy it in here," he reminds you, his other hand leaving your hip to travel up, up to the bottom of that V — dangerously close to your breasts. "Alone. All night."
You can't be threatened by a good time, but you still insist, "Later. I want to spend time with friends, and then you can take this off of me."
It takes a couple of moments for him to disconnect from your neck, his mouth leaving with a tiny pop that goes straight to your heat. He pouts, but there's no masking the pure desire that glitters in his eyes as he leans down to press his mouth to your ear.
"Okay," he agrees, a bit breathless. "But the moment this door closes behind us…"
You shudder, reaching up and threading your fingers in his hair. Gods — if he's this turned on now, how are you supposed to last for the next few hours?
When you don't reply, his tongue darts out to trace the shell of your ear. "Your choice. Desk, or bed. Dress stays on."
How flushed is your face right now?
He laughs, but it's not as firm as he probably likes it to be. "Don't drink too much, lovely. Can't have you falling asleep tonight." Then, with some reluctance, he releases you and forces himself to plop right back down to his place on the bed like he didn't just fucking ruin you for the night.
You sigh, staring at the darkening marks now decorating your skin. The next few hours are going to be long.
⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊
He doesn't make it two hours before he starts messing with you.
You knew it would happen, honestly. Despite Garrick's stubborn streak and usual composure, he's never been one to hold back around you. Two hours, really, is probably a new record.
Your friend, vowing to stick by you for the night, throws back a shot — one that has your brow knitting. "Are you okay? That's, like, your fourth drink."
She tucks some hair behind her ear and shrugs. "Drinking game."
Your head tilts — you were never told about a game. "What are we drinking for?"
The corner of her lips twitch into a wry smile. "No one told you?" At the shake of your head, she chuckles. "Every time you and Garrick do something suggestive, we take a shot."
Your jaw drops. "What?!" Your head snaps up to stare at everyone around the room that you know personally, analyzing their drinks. "Who the fuck is involved?"
"Relax." The shot glass clinks against your table. "Only friends. Four in an hour is a new high, though."
You scowl and scan the room for Garrick; if they're drinking for suggestive actions, and you've just been sitting there for a while—
Ah. That's why.
Garrick sits across the room with Xaden and Bodhi; you figured for the sake of your sanity that staying away from him was probably the safest option. He looks like he's having a grand old time, as always, but once your eyes meet…
There's no mistaking that stare. That's the one that clearly says, "You. Me. Bedroom. Now."
Heat curls low in your stomach, darting through your careful composure and forcing you to grip the edge of your seat loosely. Gods, he's so obvious. No wonder this has been made into a game by your friends.
A single brow raises, and you meet his gaze head-on. The word that leaves your lips is silent, but mouthed clearly enough to see it from where he is.
Behave.
As if summoned by the words, a gentle breeze slips against the back of your neck, and you know straight away that it's nothing natural; Garrick has used his air-wielding to mess with you since your first year, and he hasn't stopped since.
It starts teasing; his wind continues to play with your hair gently, reverently. A sign that speaks of his affection — one that you'd welcome anywhere else.
Then, it slips lower. Down your neck, your collarbone. Toying with the detailing of your neckline—
And down the valley of your breasts.
You straighten, cheeks growing hot in spite of the cool touch at the way your nipples peak. Eyes narrowing, you level a glare at Garrick, who stares back innocently, that infuriating dimple popping in his cheek with the quick smile he flashes you.
You overestimate his shame when it comes to yourself. As soon as your lips part to utter a curse, a twin breeze flutters lower around the end of your skirt. Snakes its way around your ankle, your calf, sending tingles through your body and an ache to your center.
Your teeth sink into your lower lip, and your glare sharpens.
Garrick's own smile turns feline, because he knows that you're not asking him to stop.
You're daring him to stop. And, oh — he loves a challenge.
So, he does what every reasonable man would do: he keeps going.
It's slow. He traces gentle patterns up your leg, his fingers flexing with the movements as he pretends to listen to whatever Bodhi and Xaden argue about next to him. It's almost unbelievable that a fucking dress would be making him act like this, but then again, it's Garrick. If he was acting any different, you'd be worried.
Well. You couldn't be worried if you wanted to be right now. All you can feel is the cool wind trailing around your leg possessively, like a light extension of his fingers — although less calloused. It lingers at the back of your knee, stroking coaxingly at the sensitive skin before it moves again.
Your thoughts dissolve the moment it curls further up your leg and squeezes around the plush of your thigh.
A cough rips from you, barely disguising a laugh, and you lean over to your friend. "Drink," you murmur softly. "I'm out of here."
Her face goes blank. "You both disgust me."
You gather your skirts and push away from the table, gliding confidently through the throng of people towards the exit. Garrick's eyes never leave your form as you approach, never leave the tempting sway of your hips or the intoxicating grace of which you always walk with. You catch him off-guard by making a beeline for him and leaning in to whisper in his ear, but something in him settles when your fingers skim along his broad shoulders. Then, you whisper something low in his ear, and all bets are off.
He's grabbed and made off with you before anyone else can lift their shot glasses.
⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊
You squeak as he lets you go, sending your form stumbling against the desk you'd sat at mere hours before. Despite the rough movement, you laugh. "Was that really necessary?"
He corners you, his intense gaze turning predatory once his hands meet the wood, caging you in. "You just told me," he growls, "that you're not wearing anything under that dress."
Your smile turns absolutely wicked, and all he can do is chuckle dirty and low. "You're so cruel to me, lovely. So very cruel."
"I'm cruel?" You feign innocence as your arms wind around his neck, drawing him closer. "You were eye-fucking me and groping me in front of everyone!"
"And you liked it," he coos, his lips finding your neck again. "I wouldn't have minded doing more if you hadn't gotten up."
You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, your mismatched eyes catching the light so sinfully that Garrick swears you're messing with the lights on purpose. "You don't want to do more now?"
His grin screams of chaos, and from the way his hands begin to roam against your body, against the dress, you know you've started something that won't be stopped anytime soon.
"Of course I do," he murmurs, his teeth catching your jaw playfully. "Now, have you decided? Desk or bed, lovely?"
You pretend to think on it before shrugging plainly. "Surprise me."
