#ill be free once i finish my eragon fic some day 😤

[battlinghurricanes]

hey if this is in any way invasive i apologize i do not mean to make you uncomfortable & obviously you do not have to answer…

for some reason the obsession i had with the iliad a year or so ago has come back full force & im looking everywhere for content lol so i was going through my likes and some tags and i found one of your posts about a gender hektor fic and fuck i got so excited lol i searched for it on ao3 & i didn’t find it so i guess it never got published

but i just had to ask did it ever get finished? what was it about?

anyway i love all of your work! youre a very talented writer and you’re literally carrying the hektor/andromache ao3 tag on your back !!!!!! so thank you 4 that

Ohhh this is very sweet, I'm so touched that you've found my writing so enjoyable and care to know more about it <3!!! Thank you so much for the kind words!

You're right, I never finished my Hektor gender fic so it hasn't been published. At the moment, I'm neck deep in another Very Long fic for a different fandom that I'm adamantly hoping I can finish, so I'm not currently working on this one. However, I am genuinely determined to finish it some day because I have a majority of it written, more of it planned out, and it means a lot to me. I reread the wip several weeks ago and there are a few small places I want to rework now, but I think it's very strong and it deserves to be finished up. Right now it's at ~18k words.

Essentially, the fic is a rather indulgent take with Hektor sometimes finding an urge to see himself in a new light, and grappling as that leads him towards more femininity. The initial idea rooted itself in the concept of gentleness and delicacy in the midst of a war, and how the extremities of war would really warp and alienate those concepts. I see Hektor struggling with gentleness, both as something he fears he doesn't deserve to receive anymore (alongside deeply longing for it in the midst of all the violence), and something he fears he's not capable of embodying in a meaningful way. The fic's mostly focused on him finding and longing for that in aspects of femininity, but also involves how that internal conflict shapes so many other parts of his life. I found the emotional core compelling enough to write, and even though looking at it through the lens of gender queerness is still quite indulgent and improbable, I do find it fits it surprisingly well, too. It’s also a Troy Wins au, because it felt a lot more satisfying to explore that way.

For you my friend, I'll share some excepts that I particularly like c:

“...you cannot keep shirking your duty ... why you feel the need to waste your time on jewelry and perfume and daintiness ... no- that’s not...you need to focus on the war on our doorstep...”

Hektor berates Paris for the nth time, even when he knows it’s no use. But his little brother simply refuses to muster himself and do what he needs to do to help the city. It makes their relationship grow more and more contentious.

That grieves him, in truth.

Hektor’s exasperation and increasing anger towards Paris is well familiar by now. It leaves him prickly and drained when they fight. Though, in the past months, he’s noticed something else and something new.

Not always, only in some particular moments, he feels something else towards Paris. The sight of him puts a tight, aching cinch in his chest. He can’t identify it, can’t prevent it. He tried once to allow for it, but when he opened his mouth, the feeling didn’t find its place in the words rebuking Paris for his avoidance of battle.

So now he always swallows down the inexplicable sensation, ignoring it, and hoping it will someday go away.

-

It’s quite difficult to grasp the full picture in the little mirror, so abruptly he tosses it aside and kicks around his big, bronze plated shield from where it rests against the wall.

The shape distorts the images somewhat, and the scratches obscure it, but in it Hektor sees himself donned in the flowing dress. His lips purse into a thin, tight line as he all but glares at his reflection. It’s not... repellant; in fact, on a solely surface level, he finds it kind of nice. But with that comes an overpowering feeling that he should not be wearing this. Much less have put it on himself. It may not be disgusting on him, but he is disgusting in it.

The cadence of his breathing has gone so strained and unnatural that a choked gasp escapes him as he hurriedly tugs off the dress. Hektor puts it back into Andromache’s chest as neatly as he can manage then reclaims his own clothes, and he hates himself for missing the sensation of the dress.

-

The feeling only grows as he lopes down the palace halls, distracted and thrown off track. No one he crosses paths with presumes to interrupt him, at least, until he bumps into Deiphobus, who always presumes he could use a disruption.

Deiphobus reverses direction to fall in step with him. “You look agitated,” he informs him bluntly.

“I am agitated,” Hektor growls.

“I was just about to guess that-! Ohh, I know you so well.” Hektor rolls his eyes. “Luckily for you, I have some wine that pairs perfectly with agitation, you just have to try it.” Slinging an arm across his shoulders, Deiphobus steers him towards his room and Hektor decides he could damn well use some wine right now.

Dei pours them both a cup once they reach his room. He sits, but Hektor stays on his feet as he takes a long, unceremonious draught before setting the wine aside, earning an amused snort.

“Do you think I would make a good king?”

Deiphobus cocks his head and he eyes him sharply. “Yeah,” he states like it’s obvious.

“Now?” Hektor clarifies demandingly. Dei furrows a brow, and Hektor can tell he doesn’t take his meaning. “Do you believe that as I am now?” he elaborates. “I’m not talking about when we were young, when I spent most all my time preparing to be king one day. For as anxious as I was about it then, even I ultimately believed I could be a good king. Maybe not great, but good.”

He juts his chin frustratedly to stretch the tight muscles of his neck. “That was a long time ago. Do you think the same holds true now?”

Deiphobus purses his lips in a thin, tight line, staring acutely at Hektor, watchfully. The piercing gaze is his only answer. Hektor waits as well for a minute. Then asks, “Do you think I’m a good warrior?”

Deiphobus blinks once. “Yes,” he replies.

“I think so too,” Hektor states. “Not just good, but great. And I’m beginning to fear what makes a great warrior, makes a bad king.”

-

Her fond attention weighs on him, not heavy but grounding. “You’re very pretty and I like you a lot. Anything after that would be redundant, really.”

Hektor turns his head and the clink of gold chimes in his ears and the cool touch of metal brushes his neck for a heartbeat. He tries to focus on the prickling in his fingers and the flutter of heart, he tries to glean something from his reaction, but it can’t hold his attention. Perhaps part of what’s stopped him from grasping the nature of his feelings is that the unfamiliar sensation of unfamiliar adornments keep him acutely alert and aware of himself. Their physical presence is demanding.

“How do you like them?” Andromache inquires. Hektor licks his lips and hesitates, unsure what he thinks. “How do you feel?” she offers instead.

“...Tense,” Hektor elects to answer. It’s not a condemnation, disparaging the experience. He doesn’t feel... uncomfortable, like he had before, like he expected to feel. Andromache’s company blunts the harshest sharp edge of his self loathing, though he is still tense.

“Well, that’s never all that uncommon for you,” she comments. That’s... true enough, really. Hektor is a bit prone to- oh, fine- extremely prone to tension and stress. He blames it on his raucous family, mostly.

He considers himself as objectively as possible. “Wearing these feels like I’ve been preened.” He picks the word as best he can. The finery feels like particular care has been doled onto him.

“Good, you deserve to feel pampered,” she declares heartily. The words catch Hektor off kilter. He takes in and releases a measured breath.

He wears the earrings for the better part of an hour until one snags his hair and he carefully removes them.

-

He exhales, then smiles softly and pecks another kiss to her skin. “You’ll want for nothing while you’re with child. I’ll give you anything and everything you ask.”

“Oh?” Andromache returns. When Hektor looks up and meets her eye, though muted by tiredness, he sees humor glinting there. “Do you mean to say that all this time before now, you’ve been willing to deprive me?”

Disguising the warmth running through his heart, Hektor sticks his nose up with a huff. “That’s such a harsh way to put it. I’ve always been willing to give you almost anything.” Andromache hums pointedly. “But yes, now that you’re pregnant, if you even go so far as to try to cheat again to suggest that the horses love you more than me...” He dramatically takes in and releases a deep, steadying breath. “I will let you.”

“Oh such noble sacrifices you’re willing to make for me now,” Andromache crows, rolling her eyes, “where did I find such a selfless husband?” She pokes the tip of his nose. “I have never once cheated to gain the horses’ favor- for your information- because I’ve never needed to. Every one of them loves me the most.”

Hektor pinches his expression and swallows like he’s forcing down something sour. Gazing at her, he bravely says, “Yes, of course they do, dear.”

Andromache snorts loudly and Hektor breaks with a wide grin. He snuggles up beside her and she drags up the blankets, shielding them from the chill. “I don’t think we can afford to stop competing over the horses. If they stop receiving their regular bribes, they’ll hate both of us.” Hektor hums in concession. “I fear that bodes ill for how spoiled our baby will be,” she muses.

Hektor tilts his head thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t think it’s cause for worry. I think the horses turned out great, and the gods know they’re all just big babies.”

Andromache’s shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re a fool!” she informs him.

Hektor gazes at her dark eyes, his mind swimming with warm fondness. “A happy one,” he declares, and Andromache shivers then pulls him into a kiss.

-

He feels like there’s nothing of him left. He has no avocations. He barely has any friends, at least any that aren’t his family too. Not that they mean less to him, but his family above all he feels obliged to, always he has put them above himself. They have needed him to. He can never truly separate that from any one of them, despite- because of- his endless love for them.

Of the rest... several already died. His companionship with Polydamas started fracturing early in the war. When Podes would implore that they drink together, he had to decline so many times he eventually stopped asking. Only Eniopeus and Helen really put up with him still. (She’s technically family too.)

If he could be detached, severed from his responsibilities, his family, his home, Hektor imagines he’d simply fade away, hollow and untethered on his own. Hektor can’t define himself outside of Troy. Brother. Leader. Protector. Trojan. Troy Troy Troy.

He doesn’t feel... bitter about losing those parts of himself, after all, they’re worth nothing in the face of what he can- what he needs to do for Troy. And yet, that does little to keep him from feeling empty and pained at their absence. It leaves him wounded and wanting even as he tells himself over and over that things are better this way, that the needs of his people deserve his time and strength over his trifling wants. Every last piece.

But Hektor’s only mortal and a mortal heart is selfish and fragile.