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divaofmads · 2 months ago

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Remember Me | Din Djarin

The account where I found the gif @tomshiddles

**WARNINGS**: Non-canon, no y/n (Crystalia/ Nickname as Cala: When your father noticed your abilities, he made a deal with Ahsoka, thinking that a Jedi should train you. You trained for three or four years, but Ahsoka had to leave.), Fluff, Soft Sex, Toxic, Obsession, Age Gap, Erotic, !!+18 Only!!, Death, Drama.

English is not my native language. I am just trying to improve my writing skills. So I apologize for any mistakes I made.

Word: 4k∼

Pre-Story: You are a princess. A warrior princess from a rich planet. You had a happy life until Moff Gideon invaded your planet. You learned that Moff Gideon wanted to marry you when he was collaborating with your family. So you ran away and found Din Djarin to get revenge and kill him. You knew about the war they had with Moff Gideon back then. But it was out of business, you fell in love. You were going to get married after the planet was saved. You gave up your right to the throne.

Although all the Mandalorians helped you save the planet, Moff Gideon understood the bond between you and Din Djarin and was tempted to kill you. He distracted Din Djarin so that you were alone, and eventually managed to kill you in the duel you had. Moff Gideon did not leave your lifeless body alone and took it with him as he boarded the ship.

Note: You've never seen Din's face.

Please leave comment and be my inspration :)))

You were playing with Grogu on your lap. Since Din couldn’t take care of you while you were on your way to the Mandalorian planet with the Razor Crest, it was up to you to find various games for the boy. You didn't want him to forget his powers, even though he didn't choose that path, he was a great Jedi to you. You always tried to keep what he learned fresh in the name of gaming. Grogu was an orphan. After Din adopted him, he had a father. Now had a mother too. His loneliness evolved from being an orphan to an adoring family.

You held your hand up in the air, just out of reach. You were throwing the metal ball you had hidden in your palm somewhere, waiting for him to stop it with his telekinesis ability and take it, encouraging him. When he finally caught it right in the air, you shouted with joy.

"You were amazing, Grogu!"

Din turned to you as soon as he heard the joyful scream. It might not have been possible to see his face through his helmet, but his voice showed how excited he was.

"I knew you would do it! You keep doing better!"

As a parent, you were so proud of your son. Grogu was smiling and cooing.

When Din looked back to the road, he thought about how lucky he was. You both brought color and joy to his lonely life. You taught him qualities he didn't know about himself. Hours later, this happy family portrait of yours would become official.

You stopped playing with Grogu and called out to Din. “How much is left, darling?"

"It's almost there. We'll be there soon."

You stood up, placing Grogu on the couch and fastening his seat belt before you approached Din and grabbed his shoulder, got support by him as the Razor Crest shook slightly.

Din spoke up before you could. “Once we get there, we’ll both be leaving our old lives behind. Are you ready for that?” he asked in an unsure tone without waiting for an answer. “You know me, but you’ve never seen me in person. What if you don’t like the man under the helmet? Don’t you ever think about that? Young ladies care about that.”

Grogu's ears perked up as soon as he heard Din's question. He was too young to understand what was going on, but he was smart enough to understand that it was an important matter and that it concerned the attraction between the two of you. That was why you didn't want to get into such topics around the boy. You patted his shoulder over the pauldron and smiled.

"As long as no Wookie comes out of the helmet, you'll be fine."

"No, I can't be that hairy," he said, returning your joke.

But he was serious in his question. Since he couldn't get the answer he wanted from you, his anxiety increased. Although he seemed to have forgotten about it, in the back of his mind, whether you would like him when you saw him or not was being processed. Many times he wanted to take off his helmet with him. But he didn't want to go out of his way again. Otherwise, he would be too dirty to wash in the living waters. But when you died, he couldn't stand the pain and took off his helmet. He was alone. After Moff Gideon killed you and boarded the ship with your body, Din was on his knees, hugging your lifeless body in his mind. The mourning lasted for days, weeks and months. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so strict, he thought. Then you would know who he was and decide to fall in love accordingly.

Din Djarin didn’t even notice they had reached the planet as he struggled with his “if onlys.” That was until you tapped him on the shoulder and took your place in the chair.

“Here we are!” You picked up Grogu.

Din winced and readied the ship for entry into Mandalorian’s atmosphere.

As you descended into the vast courtyard of the Razor Crest palace, you saw Bo Katan herself coming to greet you. You wanted to get Grogu into his vehicle and get downstairs as quickly as possible, but he had no intention of letting go of your arms. Din said in a tone of happiness,

“He missed you more than I thought. Let’s go down.”

You were moving forward as the passageway hatch opened downwards. Bo Katan still couldn’t believe she was seeing you. It was more logical that Din had gone mad. She hadn’t even considered the possibility that you would leave the ship. The last time she saw you was when your hologramic lifeless body was adorned with Auricula flowers in the coffin. She remembered how devastated Djarin had been, and he had followed your lifeless body to make it comfortable.

What kind of a greeting would seem more sincere? Maybe it would be more appropriate to pretend that none of this had happened and greet the 'woman her friend is going to marry'. He has already begun the greeting ceremony by alienating the word 'care'.

"You've finally made it. We've all been waiting for you."

Din spoke up. "It's good to be here, Bo Katan."

Bo Katan looked at you and Grogu. You still loved each other very much. So you weren’t just a ghost. You were standing in front of her, real flesh and blood.

She shook your hand. “Princess Crystalia, I hope you find our planet for favorable your wedding ceremony favorable. Our ancestors have strived to continue their traditions for centuries. It is an honor for us to be a part of one of these.”

You smiled. “The honor is mine, my lady.”

Since you both came from noble lineage, you knew the protocols and developed your style in a balanced way.

Yet Bo Katan’s friendly demeanor was tinged with meaningful looks. “I’m sorry there’s no wedding dress. Din’s announcement that you were alive had already surprised us, but the news that you were getting married two days ago caught us off guard.”

"No problem. I guess it didn't seem normal to be married in a white dress among Mandalorians," you answered.

"For a nation that has dedicated its entire life to war, yes," she replied. As you walked through the palace corridors, she said, "Everyone is here. They are waiting for you to swear an oath of allegiance. You will see them all at the banquet."

When you entered the throne room, The Armorer was waiting for you as the person who will marry you. Welcomed you.

Your gaze was strange. "Will we be alone when the promises are made?"

If you were Mandalorian, you didn't even have to be in the same room when you swore your oath of allegiance with the person you were going to marry. All you had to do was know the promises and accept them. Everything had to be as simple and private as possible. Only after the promises were made would the others join in and a feast be held.

The Armorer answered. "Of course, this is your special moment, and you must spend your first night in the living waters, as compensation for seeing Din Djarin without his helmet for the first time. Thus will your marriage be consummated."

As you looked at her in surprise, Djarin spoke up. "I didn't expect such a big organization, to be honest."

Bo Katan glanced at Djarin. It was impossible not to notice the mischievous smile on his face. “You’re marrying a noblewoman. Of course there had to be some showiness, right?”

Grogu was looking at you with question marks next to him, aware of the tension. You locked eyes. The nervousness that fed his curious gaze had fueled Bo Katan's sense of conscience. Se turned to him and winked.

"It's okay, Grogu! Mom and Dad will be making a promise to each other in a moment."

The person who would perform your wedding would be the leader of Djarin's clan, and the person who will witness your words will of course be the Mandalorian queen. Bo Katan climbed the stairs and stood in front of her throne. She began her speech by explaining the reason for your being here and her duties as queen.

Your head was slightly bowed, as you should have shown respect to your queen. Din turned his head to you as Lady Kryze continued speaking. You agreed to follow the Mandalorian teachings in order to marry him. It was a source of pride. The fact that the woman he loved was there to support him on his own path made him even more devoted to his love. He had lost you once, never again, he told himself. He would never lose you.

When The Armorer asked you to repeat the words, Din turned his head toward her, so caught up in the perfection of a lifetime with you that he flinched.

“Together we are one,” she said, and you felt uneasy as you repeated it. You were not well versed in Mandalorian culture. “When we are apart, we are one,” Din repeated, tensing with excitement at the prospect of removing his helmet. “We share everything,” Grogu grinned, watching you as you repeated. “We will raise warriors!” you repeated.

Bo Katan, "Princess Cala, you are now Din Djarin's future wife. Your name is Din Cala from now on!"

Taking a deep breath, you turned to Din. You were now officially married. You would fight together, raising your adopted son Grogu. Of course, you had something else on your mind: the moment had come for him to remove his helmet. You would physically see the man you married. You had a smile on your face that showed his anticipation.

The Armorer says, "You can go to the living waters whenever you want."

Djarin bowed his head in agreement. “This is the way!”

You smiled at Djarin expectantly.

Djarin said, "You can see it after the banquet when we are alone."

"Okay then," you said with dissatisfaction and together you went to the dining hall where the banquet would be held.

Finally, you were at the steps of the living waters while they continued their feast. Some Mandalorians were also taking care of Grogu. No one could disturb you here. Feeling the mystical energy of the sacred waters to your cells while being with each other on your first night would complete your marriage.

You stood between the mine walls, looking at each other.

"Din, are you really sure about this? I mean, is it right for us to be here? For the intercourse."

Din spoke up. He took your hands and said,

"Cala, in the presence of the living waters we will belong to each other. There could not be a more perfect moment. If you are ready, of course."

You raised your eyebrows. “Ready for what? To see the man under the helmet, or for you to touch me?”

Djarin didn't know what to say. He was slurring his words, stuttering. He was trying to remain secretive.

You stepped closer. "You know what, Din Djarin? I never expected to see you like this."

"What do you mean?"

"You've always been a mysterious man. Sometimes I thought you were an emotionless droid. But now I see the excited man under the helmet," you said and grinned. "It gives me pleasure to surprise you."

"I'm not excited or anything," Djarin said, his tone half angry, half indifferent. "I just don't want to disappoint a young woman. That's all." He was a hunter! There was no job he hadn't taken on for credit in his day. How strange that the truly emotionless, bounty hunter was now showing his emotional vulnerability in the presence of a young Jedi. He was looking for the old Djarin. Where was he, really?

You rolled your eyes and gave him a smug look. “Is that why the topic always comes down to the helmet?”

Djarin got angry. He continued to act indifferent. "Think whatever you want. Of course, I respect that a young girl thinks such things to satisfy her ego." He said.

You frowned. You looked much angrier than he did. You stood right in front of him with determined steps. You were looking at his helmet with the same determination. Finally, Djarin stopped, realizing his stupidity.

"Come on Cala. Take off the helmet."

Excluding the times when you were thought to be dead, you had been together for a year and a half and you had lost hope of ever seeing Djarin. To love without seeing him... To fall in love with his character and soul without discriminating between handsome, ugly, old, young, wouldn't that be the most innocent love in the world? That's why Djarin surrendered himself to you. The woman he fell in love with wasn't someone who would care about material values. That's why he married you, that's why he opened the doors of secrets wide open and let his guard down.

Djarin closed his eyes as he reached for the helmet. This would be the first time you would make real eye contact. You would hear his voice changing under the helmet in its purest form for the first time. How could it not be exciting? It was the most special moment.

You slowly took off his helmet. Djarin had been curious about your reaction the moment your eyes met. He was good at hiding his emotions, but you weren’t much different.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked suspiciously.

You placed the helmet between your arm and waist and brought your other hand to Djarin’s cheek. When your fingers touched his skin, he was reminded of how much he desired you, how hungry he was for you. It was like a dying madman finding an oasis in the desert.

The fact that you still didn't say a word was causing him to get lost in the dark well of the unknown. Just as he was about to repeat the same question to you with his lips parted, you approached him and pressed your lips to his gently. You felt the warmth of his skin on you. After the long kiss, you stepped back.

Djarin was grateful for the love you had shown him. “I guess that explains it all,” he said. He never lost his reserved demeanor, unable to tell you how he felt. The teachings he had spent on the Mandalorian path had taken some of his abilities from him, involuntarily. But the feelings were permanent. This time, he was the one who made the first move. He was much more passionate now. His hands slowly moved up from your hands, following your arms to your neck, and from there he continued to kiss you, holding your face tightly. His moist kiss was so passionate that you didn’t even notice the loud sound of Beskar steel hitting the ground when you forgot about the helmet you had under your arm and hugged him. The sound echoed off the walls of the cave, though. You just continued, not caring if anyone heard.

Djarin moved a few inches away and whispered to your lips. "I never expected this day to come. But you are in front of me, my skin touching yours," he said and caressed your jawbone and moved towards lower lip again. He left bites and kisses without hurting your, while at the same time he was taking off your white waistbands. After taking his place on the fabric step, it was your war costume's turn. Leaving your lips and slowly placing kisses under your chin, his long arms found your back. He started to untie your clothes. His breath was trembling with excitement. From the day he fell in love with you until the day he tasted his death, your skins were longing for each other.

As he pulled away from you and began to pull your clothes down, he was admiring the beauty of your skin, but you averted your eyes in embarrassment.

He frowned and stopped pulling back the fabric - just as he was about to see her breasts. "We can stop whenever you want, Cala, it's okay."

Your lips parted, and you looked as if you were trying to explain yourself in a hurry.

"No, please don't stop. I just think I got excited about a man I'm seeing for the first time."

"Okay then," he said, and Djarin continued to take off her clothing. Your breasts were revealed first. The nipples were already hard, waiting to be sucked by Djarin. Then he saw your stomach and groin. He was amazed by the velvety feel of your skin. He dropped to one knee as he peeled it down. You were looking down at him, at what he was doing.

Djarin was looking at his groin. His hands suddenly slid down to your waist, careful and gentle, as if he were holding a delicate flower.

The man on his knees in front of you, kissing your groin, seemed to be performing a religious ritual. He could feel the Mandalorian faith on his skin, as if his lips were worshipping you as they touched you. He was in awe of everything about you. He was intoxicated. He could only come to himself when he flinched when his warm breath touched his skin. He untied your boots and caressed your feet, taking them out. He got up from his knees and stood in front of you. You were completely naked.

"It's your turn," he said. He wanted you to undress him.

You started taking off his armor one by one. You looked into his eyes as you took off his pauldron. You thought he was going to look at your body but he waited a long time to actually meet your eyes. He was happy for you to see him. He was completely special to the two of you.

You took his hand and pulled off his glove, bringing it to your chest. Your gaze was Djarin’s aphrodisiac. You wore a naughty boy grin as if what you were about to experience was a great sin.

You tossed the gloves aside and brought his hands up to your lips, kissing the tips of his fingers.

Djarin took this gesture as a sign of respect. "You know these hands are going to make you moan with pleasure in a moment, right?" he asked.

You nodded. "I know."

Djarin and you were now completely naked. The hand you held was now supporting you as you descended the steps. You stood side by side. You could not take your eyes off each other as the sacred waters slowly rose from your feet. You were now in the sacred waters up to your waist.

The heat from your sexual desire radiating from your groins and spreading throughout your body combined with the coolness of the water and you shivered.

Djarin grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. His wet hands reached your cheek. His lips came to life on yours again. The day you died came to mind as they made love, and this made Din Djarin become much more passionate when they were in a relationship. Because he had never confessed his love to you. He regretted it. He should not make such a mistake again.

Thanks to the buoyancy of the water, you wrapped your legs around his waist very comfortably. As your bodies moved aesthetically as if they were twisting with pleasure, the waves of water were wetting you all over. You were soaked as your tongues danced with each other. The drops of water sliding down your forehead were cooling your lips, making them much more slippery; feeling your sensitive skin deeply was fueling your hunger.

Djarin's hands were exploring your body. He was holding hard by the hips, caressing you. You were so plump that you overflowed from his palm. He anticipated the pleasure he would soon experience when he fucked you.

"Oh, Cala! You have such beautiful skin! I know we were made for each other."

One of his hands suddenly went to your breast. When he stimulated your pointed nipple, you moaned without taking your lips off his. His erection had already accelerated with your moaning. You felt a hardness right on your vulva. He was pressing on your clit, forcing you. You expected his cock to be thick, but you were surprised by its length. You grinned, showing your teeth.

"Tell me, how do I take it in? It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

Djarin moved his hand from her breast to her vulva and began to caress it. "Don't worry, once I get you ready, you won't mind me coming in."

His cock was now pressing against your vagina. The arousal factor applied from two places caused you to frown, burying your face in his neck, and moan loudly.

"Cala, you moan so wonderfully, moaning for me only incites my lust more."

He moved his hand from your hip to your hair and pulled you closer to him. His face found your cheeks, nibbling on them little by little, while his other hand continued to quickly caress your inner lips.

When you least expected it, he grabbed your waist, lifted your body a few inches up, and sat you on his lap again, allowing his penis to enter your vagina. Your eyes widened in surprise. A weak scream escaped your lips. Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly. Your nails dug into his skin. Din Djarin was no different. He moaned along with you.

"Damn it Cala! I didn't think it would be this tight."

It was as if your vagina and his penis were trying to get used to each other. It was more pleasure than you could handle.

You asked breathlessly, but moans were escaping your lips with every word. “Aren’t you happy with this?”

"I'm actually very pleased!" he replied. It was impossible not to notice the pleasure on his face. He grabbed your hips again and started fucking you, slowly moving you up and down. Your genitals felt the pleasure equally, down to the smallest detail. It was impossible for you to speed up. You were shaking every time he lifted you up and down his lap. Your muscles could not resist any longer, and your body lay down on the surface of the water. Your back met the coldness of the living waters. Your hair was moving on the surface as the water rippled. In fact, the water flowing from your wet hair was sliding down your spine, making you shiver. Djarin was slowly increasing his pace and it felt like he couldn't hold back. But he had to hold himself back, he had to hold on. The glorious taste he was getting made him caress your breasts tightly.

You had lost yourself in each other's skin as if this was your last time making love. Your love was roaming in your veins and coming to life in your groins. Djarin pulled your body closer to his. He continued to bite your ears and neck. You could hear him breathing heavily. He was drawing circles on your clitoris, suddenly applying too much pressure, making you contract. Then he was surprising you with up and down movements. You were so full, so pleased, that your body could not stand it anymore and you threw yourself forward. You wrapped your arms around his neck. Your face looked like you were in pain, but everything was from pleasure.

As you got closer to your orgasm, you noticed Din Djarin was getting emotional. He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly as he continued to move inside you.

"I love you, baby. I love you more than you could ever imagine."

You were completely in love with Dinjarin.

"I love you too," you said in breathlessly. "I love you too, my love."

Djarin cried out your name as he orgasmed hip muscles contracted, his hands squeezed your skin so hard it hurt. You came right after Djarin. Your body was still shaking, responding to the orgasm. He pulled his penis out of your vagina and his semen mixed with the living waters inside you. Then, without letting you out of his arms, he carried you to the shore and collapsed next to you, the wet stone was cold, thanks to sex, your burning sensitive skin felt the texture more. Djarin stared at the water drops glistening on her smooth skin.

Holding your cheek. "How are you feeling?"

"Strange."

Djarin frowned. “What does this mean?”

"I never imagined I would make love in the waters of a mine." you smiled.

After that night, you spent a few more days in the Mandalorian palace. Grogu was happy with his parents' happiness. He was spreading joy to those around him. The bad days he had were left behind with you, he had made peace with his memories.

In the palace courtyard, you and Djarin were teaching him to be a good warrior, you were helping him develop his Jedi powers, and Djarin was introducing him to Mandalorian weapons.

Some nights, he would get scared because of the bad nightmares he had. Since you were both Jedi who knew how to manipulate the force, you would go to Grogu's room, feeling his fear. One night, it happened again. You entered Grogu's room and woke him up, hugging and telling him you were with him. At that moment, Din Djarin appeared at the door.

"He can sleep next to us tonight. What do you say?"

You looked towards the door as you picked up Grogu and rubbed his back. “I think this will be good.”

The three of you were now lying on the bed, Grogu in the middle of you, his eyes not showing the slightest sign of sleep.

"Come on, Grogu. You need to sleep," he said.

You offered with a satisfied grin. “How about you tell him one of your Mandalorian tales?”

Djarin sat up and looked at you. “Why should I tell? You’re the princess. I’m sure your nannies told you many fairy tales when you were little.”

You switched your position to Djarin and Grogu.

"Yes, they did. Now I want to listen to you."

Djarin gave in. "Okay, okay. I'll get started."

You were both listening to the story he told with curious eyes. The soothing tone of his voice had put you to sleep in a short time. He heard your snores at the most exciting part of the story. He muttered to himself. "Did you fall asleep that quickly? Anyway, good night and sweet dreams." He kissed the child on the cheek and you on the lips, then he put the blanket on you and watched how sweetly you slept for a while. He didn't need sleep. Besides, watching his wife and child rested him both mentally and physically.

A few hours after the sunlight had lit up the sky, Djarin saw the Imperial ship appear in the sky. He knew exactly who it belonged to. He quickly got up and began to put on his armor. The sound of Beskar steel woke you. You looked at Djarin, rubbing your eyes. “What’s going on?”

"We'll find out soon," he said.

The sound of the ship reached your ears. You got out of bed and headed towards the window. Your heart was beating rapidly, your breathing becoming irregular. “He came for me,” you muttered to yourself. The long absence of news from him had led you to assume he was dead. But it was Moff Gideon who stepped out of the gate shortly after the ship landed in the courtyard.

Din commanded as he walked out of the room with stiff and fast steps. "Crystalia! You and Grogu will stay here. I'll deal with him."

Of course, you didn’t listen to him. You put on your clothes and followed him. The Mandalorians had already appeared in the courtyard, their weapons trained on Gideon. While he was trying to negotiate with Lady Kryze, Djarin appeared.

"What are you doing here! You should be dead already!"

Gideon replied with his fake smile.

"But as you can see, I'm not dead. I'm more alive than ever. There's a lot of fake news these days, isn't there?"

Djarin knew that Moff Gideon had a sickening attachment to you. He had heard of your marriage, of course. He looked like he was going mad. He would kill her without mercy if she made the slightest move. You were his, no one could tear you apart. “What do you want from us? Wasn’t your defeat in our last encounter enough!”

Gideon looked at you standing behind Din Djarin. “I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I came to take what is mine.”

You looked at Djarin guiltily, Grogu in your arms. The tears in your eyes were not fearful, but regretful.

Djarin shouted with hatred. "Does it belong to you? We got married, now leave her alone!"

Gideon started to approach you.

“Being married doesn’t change the fact that Crystalia was made for me,” he said and stopped right in front of Djarin. You sighed in fear as he held the remote control in his hand at eye level.

"No!"

Lady Kryze, like the others, could not understand the worry on his face. The secret behind his death was hidden in his current reaction; it was clearly visible.

Djarin couldn't understand. Not your reaction, not the remote control Gideon was holding in his hand. "Whatever nonsense you're talking about, just say it clearly! I'm out of patience."

"The woman you married is nothing more than a clone created using Crystalia's DNA. Doctor Pershing and I created her so that her power would be much more intense than the real Crystalia's. When I became the ruler of the Empire, I was going to make her my queen and put her in charge of my army."

Djarin couldn't make sense of what Moff Gideon was telling him. You were Crystalia. Your looks, your voice, your personality. This couldn't be true. He turned to you.

" Cala! What is all this? Can you explain it to me!"

You were crying heartily. You placed Grogu in the arms of a Mandalorian standing next to you. You were about to approach him and apologize when Moff Gideon continued speaking.

“Crystalia was in love with you. When we created her clone, we reprogrammed the synapses in her brain in the hopes that you would be Din Djarin’s enemy,” he raised his voice angrily and glared at you accusingly. “Yet despite this, her consciousness brought you and your relationship to light! She escaped from my base and lost track of you! She found you, Din Djarin! She was supposed to obey me. She was supposed to worship me! And yet I see my clone, whom I created, marry Din Djarin!”

You walked over to Djarin and grabbed his shoulders.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" you sobbed.

Djarin was disappointed. He had lost you for the second time. The real Crystalia's body was still lying in the lab. But the woman standing in front of him was also a clone derived from your genes, with your consciousness. You lied to her, but you made her feel like Crystalia. He couldn't decide whether to be sad or to thank you, the clone.

He took one of her hands and placed it over your heart. "Can you tell me this isn't real? I need it so bad, please tell me this isn't real, I'm begging you! You're not dead, are you?"

Moff Gideon spoke up. “Crystalia is dead, Mandalorian. I swore I would never reunite you, and I have fulfilled my oath. You no longer have a body to cry over. She was wasted on an incompetent clone in my lab. Fortunately, I have three more clones. They are waiting to breathe.”

Bo Katan Kryze gritted her teeth. "You're not evil, Gideon, you're sick!"

Moff Gideon looked at her grimly. “Perhaps. But I came here to fix the mistake I made,” he said, and pressed the button on his remote. “Goodbye once more, my love.”

Your body slowly began to transform into energy. You were turning into a ghost, your body becoming transparent as your cells lost their tangibility and merged with nature. Djarin shouted, panicking at the prospect of losing you once more as he lost the sensation of your skin. “No! Cala!”

"If even a part of me belongs to the real Crystalia, then she loved Din Djarin more than anything in the world," you said. Those were your last words, and when your body was completely gone, Din cried out in great pain. He had already suffered greatly from losing you. Losing you again was almost enough to make him lose his mind. He fell to his knees and pounded the ground. His cries still echoed off the palace walls. Grogu landed on the ground and jumped into Djarin's arms, sharing his sadness with his father.

Moff Gideon may have been glad to have brought his mission, but Din Djarin's suffering gave him a special kind of pleasure.

"What a shame," he said and turned around and got back into his ship. As he left, some Mandalorians wanted to make him pay for what he did, but Bo Katan said that the current situation was not ready for that. This was revenge that would have to be taken later.

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zenaidamacrouras1 · 13 days ago

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This auction is for a fic with any Bucky-centric ship. This includes polyamorous relationships. The length of the fic will be based on the final total, unless otherwise requested by the auction winner.

1136 – Atsadi @Atsadi

The three characters I'm most comfortable writing for are MCU Steve, Tony, and Bucky, and any combination of ships thereof (Stony, Stucky, Winteriron, Stuckony). I will write other characters, ships, and some other universes, but you'll need to check this with me first.

1153 – hkandi @hkandiu

I would like to collaborate with you for this to really explore what you would like and make it worthwhile for you! I like to write humor into my stories, even if it's just sarcasm. Thanks for reading!

1111 – merrythoughts @merrythoughts

As much as we all need and love happy and fluffy fanwork, fandom can provide us with a safe space to explore darker and ambiguous dynamics and endings. That said, I try to be respectful when dealing with any serious subject matter, and darker themes aren't thrown around casually or for shock value.

1093 – Voylitscope @voylitscope

Some of the most frequently used tags on my fics are: romance, making out, and porn with feelings. I feel like this is an accurate summary of my strengths as a fic writer. You should be able to get a good idea of my style by looking through my A03. I'm open to any rating and to nearly all tropes/AU types, etc. I am primarily a Steve/Bucky writer, but I'm happy to branch out a little for this auction.

1139 – tessabennet @tessabennet

If you want a new fic, I'm open to certain AUs based on canon divergence. Contact me so we can work out what you'd like me to write, based on your suggestions or my own. The fic will have a minimum of 10k words, but depending on what we'll work out this can likely become more.

3007 – papermacherainbow @papermacherainbow

I love writing BDSM, omegaverse, daddy/mommy kink, loss of virginity, and general smut with a side of fluff. I also enjoy playing with sexual identity crises. If you have any questions about your prompt before bidding, feel free to contact me.

4005 – sparkagrace @sparkagrace

My works are usually on the plottier/character driven sides, but I can write a more straight-forward fic if you would prefer. I am very open to you being involved in the process to make sure it’s tailored to your wants for this bid.

1178 – Ginny_Potter @hipsterdiva

I enjoy writing pre-War and wartime Stucky because I am a history nerd. I am also very meticulous about my historical accuracy so this means period typical homophobia and such.

1167 – narqueen @narkik

I am most comfortable writing explicit/NSFW fic, especially darkfic. I am comfortable writing anything under the dead dove spectrum, including: rape, dubcon, incest, age gap, HTP, mpreg, A/B/O, kidnapping, etc. That being said, angst/dark content does not have to be the focus of the work. I am also open to romantic comedy premises, and hurt/comfort or angst with a happy ending is fine.

1119 – Metalbvcky @metalbvcky

I aim to provide a Stucky-centric story of the bidder’s desired flavor. I write Steve/Bucky primarily and have continued to do so for the past four years. Many of my works are AU, specifically Modern, but I also enjoy canon (divergence!) as well as Shrunkyclunks.

1079 – ThisOneSatellite @thisonesatellite

I can do lots of plot and action, or quiet character studies, or both. Anything with a real emotional connection and resonance. Baggage can be unpacked, trauma worked through, angst conquered, or pining pined - and all of this can happen in a hail of bullets or while holding hands and sharing a bed. i also love comic relief, sarcasm, sass, and snappy comebacks. Dialogue is actually one of my strengths.

1042 – Skarabrae_stone @captaintoomanybattles

I am offering a fic of up to 5k words. A bid of over $30 will receive a fic of up to 10k words. If there's a specific trope or plot idea you'd like to discuss with me before bidding, please feel free to contact me!

1088 – dharmashark @dharmasharks

I’m up for pretty much any era and flavor of Stucky (e.g. Prewar Pining, WW2 Battle Boyfriends, Recovery, Shrinkyclinks, Shrunkyclunks, modern setting, you get the idea) and most AUs.

1087 – Cass

Will create works that contain: AU (Sports, College, Street Racing), coffee shop, Enemies to lovers, Fake relationship, Best friend’s sibling, etc.

2014 – SquadOfCats @norelationtoatticus

I am offering one Stucky fic, specially for you! Smut is welcome but not required, and I'll do anything from a PWP to a more plotty story with romance in it. My general tone/style of fic tends to be bonkers, off-the-wall, highly specific concepts, executed with a surprising amount of humor and heart.

2052 – rillils @rillils

I’ll be happy to write fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, pretty much any AU, kidfics, most romantic tropes (e.g. there was only one bed, meet cute, arranged marriage, period romance, soulmates, friends to lovers, etc.), as well as smut (I’m fine with both mild and explicit sexual content).

1151 – Katie_Delaney

I write a lot of A/B/O, but happy to do non-A/B/O too. I'm open to most prompts as long as they're not on my don't like list. Please feel free to reach out to me if you want to discuss before bidding.

1063 – BonkyBornes

I'm more of a character-driven writer; you can take a look at my works on my A03. I am open to writing shrinkyclinks, shrunkyclunks, modern AUs, soulmate AUs, etc. Please note that I will not write any explicit scenes.

2043 – King Of Sorrow

Most of my work is AU and tends to have some humor/comedy/crack. Also my pairings are always truly madly deeply head over heels for each other (even if they don't realize it yet). My favorite is Stucky, but happy to do BuckyxClint and BuckyxTony and even Cap Quartet.

Caveats:

1. I have a fever and may have missed you on accident. Send me a note and I'll add and "I love you, I'm sorry" as the song goes.

2. I only put auctions that were under $100 at time of writing and had Stucky as a standalone ship because I had to narrow somehow. There is a LOT OF REALLY GOOD STUFF Y'ALL.

3. The order is random

4. also my own auction is still under $100!

#mth 2024 #marvel trumps hate #stucky #an embarrassment of riches #mischief and mayhem

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on-sinkingships · 3 days ago

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Fic Writer Interview

Thank you for the tag @formulaocean I really appreciate it <3

How many works do you have on ao3?

6 works! 5 are F1 related and the other is SoC.

What’s your total word count?

61,690 words. Which...I did not know it was that many bc I feel like I don't write a ton lol!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

and you understand now why they lost their minds (and fought the wars) - 817

fate (in slow motion) - 334

stranger skin - 310

call it conditioning - 172

what i create is chaos - 140

Do you respond to comments? Why/ why not?

I do my best to! Sometimes it's pretty difficult though. On wips I try to respond to old comments before posting the next chapter but sometimes I forget.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

So ignore the fact that I wrote a sequel but probably What I Create Is Chaos. I toyed with just leaving it there with the angst but decided against it. In my drafts, though, I have some really angsty fics, but I don't know if I will post them.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

and you understand now... but literally everything I write is a happy ending I feel. I love to read angst and whump but then when it comes to writing I feel like I need to have it all end up happy.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't yet, but I have considered it! The hard thing is I don't know what I would do for a crossover. I have had ideas (legally blonde lestappen) but I haven't taken the time to write them yet.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I don't think I'd call it hate? But there are people who have commented and just pointed out grammar errors or misspellings which like I get...but also it just kind of ruined my day and demotivated me? I know I need to do a better job editing, but also if you see something just send me a dm!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not that I have posted. I honestly don't think I'm very good at writing it and if I ever do end up trying it out, it will probably go on anon.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. I don't know why anyone would want to steal my fics lol.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Like YEARS ago. I started writing fics in middle-school and I collaborated a lot then.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

It is so hard to decide. Like, Lestappen was what got me to start writing fanfic again in college so they're definitely up there! But I was also a zutara girlie and would read anything that put Sansa Stark in a good light.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Here We Go Kentucky. It was a Loscar angst fic that I just can't find inspiration for. I really adored Loscar, but with Logan losing the seat mid-season, it's kind of hard to write this now because it followed until the end, and I can't get the timeline to work.

I had an F1 mythology AU too that I never got around to finishing! The general concept was kind of a character study looking at drivers that refuse gifts from the gods to earn their achievements on merit versus those who make deals to get ahead. There were some that started on merit and then cut deals later on and paid the price and those that became really disillusioned with it all...

There's also an Olympics AU lol. Charles is a diver, and Max is a cyclist, and they keep running into each other every 4 years. They hook up every time. Charles is obsessed with Max's thighs.

What are your writing strengths?

I don't know! All of my writing is self-indulgent, so I'm not sure what my strengths really are! I just like to write and get the ideas out. I'm sure when I have more time, I'll focus more on my technique but for now it's a fun hobby.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Time management, for sure. I should not do multichapter yet I keep doing multichapter. Also, there are grammar errors (see above, lol).

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It depends on the fic and the context. I think pet names are cute and easy to do! But full conversations can be a bit cumbersome. I think it works best when certain phrases are interspersed throughout, so it's not a full conversation in a different language, but you can still derive the meaning.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

It was Harry Potter or Percy Jackson. I was 12 and impressionable. To be fair though, there are fics from both of those that I still love to this day.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I've got some galex drafts going! I really love them as a ship, so I wanted to explore it a bit. They're kind of on the backburner though until Stranger Skin is finished :)

What's your favourite fic you've written?

I really liked fate (in slow motion), even if it isn't my best! There were some lines in it that I really enjoyed writing and it came together pretty quickly and felt cohesive. I like the vignette style too! I have to see if I can bring it back at some point.

tagging @mossistyping @13834 if you haven't already done it!

#tag game #my writing

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suzyq31 · 1 year ago

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20 Questions Game

Thanks for the tag @nodirectionhome-ao3 and @practicecourts

How many works do you have on AO3? Currently at 17

2. What's your total A03 words count? 696,804

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now just Harry Potter

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Maybe Tomorrow: Post War. Harry and Hermione are renovating Potter Manor over Christmas then wake up into a different life. (almost finished!)

Iris: My first story, and the bane of my existence. Hermione flees after the war, five years later she's dragged back in by a dangerous situations. Follows my series Seasons. Hidden child trope, angst fest, long as hell and on hiatus. H/Hr

It Had To Be You: Post war, completed, steamy romcom with some loose inspiration from the film When Harry Met Sally. Co-written with @bettertoflee

Found: A spin off of Iris, and another alternate ending to Seasons. Never thought I would write an OC protagonist, but here we are!

My next highest kudos is another Harmony, but that's boring so going with my highest rated Jily fic which is Plans. It's also more Sirius & Lily focused, takes place right after Harry's born.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try my best! Sometimes I can forget if I'm distracted/dealing with real life stuff. But I am SO grateful for people who take the time to let me know they've read my work.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angtiest ending?

For now probably Spring or Winter in my Seasons Series.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well seeing as how I struggle to finish anything...I guess the ones that are complete which is It Had To Be You and Home.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, so far only in Harmony. It's a huge reason I don't participate in the fandom much and why I moderate comments. Most of it has been concentrated on my stories Iris and Found, but I've also received rude comments on other works including It Had To Be You (which got some very incel type comments, and is the main reason I only allow registered users and block instantly).

9. Do you write smut. If so what kind?

Yes, mostly reluctantly as I still get uncomfortable writing it, but some stories feel incomplete without some. Love reading it though! Not sure what kind means? Like M or E? I would say my smut is relatively tame. I've only written one E rated fic, which was co-written haha.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Nope, can't imagine I ever would.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? No idea! People have asked me, but haven't seen them.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before? Yes! Working on my second collaboration with @bettertoflee. And my story Iris gets so much support from my beta Green_Eyes that it feels like she may as well be a co-writer!

14. What's your all-time favourite ship? I've shipped both my fave HP ships since around 2001 when I was a child and they haven't changed even with the dreaded epilogue for Harry and Hermione (I take Unlike a Sister as canon and breathe easier for it), or you know canon for James and Lily (which is why AU is so fun!)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Ideally I'd like to finish all of them. If I didn't have such a strong editor/beta reader for Iris it would likely stay unfinished. I REALLY struggle with endings at the best of times and that story has a variety of factors that make it difficult for me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm very hard on myself, so its hard to think of positives. I do think I'm creative, and as someone with ADHD I often think outside the box. I think I have a good ear for dialogue. I've also received compliments on my descriptions/scene writing, as well as for conveying emotions. The thing I do love best about writing is seeing the growth year by year, story by story.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting, getting stuck after the midway point. ADHD brain always wanting to jump to something new. Spelling/Grammar from years of French Immersion. Wordy, though REALLY have worked on this and I do so much slashing and cutting in my editing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

No strong opinion unless it's constant.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Probably Harry Potter as a child. Although me and a friend wrote a That 70s Show script and posted it on fanfic.net back in middle school haha.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is a hard one. I am really proud of Maybe Tomorrow, I put a lot of my heart into it and it's actually complete except for some edits and additional scenes I'm contemplating.

I also really enjoyed writing Plans. And I'm proud of this short micro where I managed to stay under 1000 words!

I think this has made the rounds already! At least for Jily. But will tag;

@bettertoflee @myst867 @glitterwitch1 @riverwriter @runawayminds @annonymouslyblonde

#fanfic writing

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eluvisen · 1 year ago

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twenty questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @commander-krios thank you! <3 If you'd like to do this, consider yourself tagged!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

43 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

838,649

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Fallout, KOTOR, Andromeda Six, Mass Effect and Dragon Age. I used to write for Elder Scrolls back in my FFNet days.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Marriage and Other Forms of War (Fallout 4)

One If By Land (Fallout 4)

Welcome Home (Fallout 4)

What Makes a Memory (Fallout 4)

Remnants of a Dream (Mass Effect: Andromeda)

I wasn’t expecting to see my ME:A fic make this list lol.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to respond to every one, but sometimes it takes a while to muster the energy to reply.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t usually go for angsty endings but probably Almost So Perfect. After some emotional hurt/comfort Bastila kisses Carth and then freaks out and immediately cuts things off.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

My personal rule is that I can torment my characters as much as I want as long as they get a happy ending, so most of my fics have happy endings, but the fic I think of first is What Makes a Memory. The difference between the first and last chapters is like night and day. Kaelyn begins the story wanting to forget it all because her grief overshadows everything, but by the end she’s ready to live in the present again. I’m still proud of that one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, no. Although I did turn off comment notifications on FFNet because commenters on my FO4 fics wouldn’t stop trying to outsmart me and play gotcha.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I used to, mainly M/F.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Crossovers aren’t my jam so I don’t write them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I’m aware, no.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nobody’s asked me if they could translate a fic, so I’m assuming no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have. As a teen, a cousin and I cowrote some stuff. More recently, a friend and I were working on a Fallout fic with our Sole Survivors, but we both burnt out before it was finished.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

If I had to pick one (and I don’t like choosing lol) I’d have to go with Revanasi since it's my oldest ship.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

The aforementioned Fallout collaboration would be nice to finish, but we’re both in different fandoms now so the inspiration isn’t there.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Characterisation, emotions, dialogue and description.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Combat, action and plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’ve used things like Mando’a and I made up some Catharese words for one fic since it doesn’t have its own conlang. My personal rule is that the meaning of words in another language should be clear based on context. A translation guide in the author’s notes is okay, but when I'm reading I know I won’t constantly scroll up and down to the translations because I'll lose my place in the chapter. So I won’t do that to my readers, either.

That said, I’ve seen workskins for AO3 that allow users to hover or tap on text and see a translation. If I were going to include other languages more often in a fic, I’d probably use that to make it easier on readers.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

KOTOR

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Probably Marriage and Other Forms of War. That fic remains the longest I’ve ever written, clocking in at 233k words, and I gave Kaelyn and Nate the ending they deserved.

That said, I have an Andromeda Six fic in the works that might take the cake once it’s finished…

#tagged

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luthien-under-bough · 1 year ago

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20 questions for fic writers

@anamazingangie tagged me - and what better way to procrastinate on actually writing any of my fics??

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 92

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 378,489

3. What fandoms do you write for? House of the Dragon (Daemyra) almost exclusively now; previously mainly Dragon Age: Inquisition and Horizon Zero Dawn, with several different single fic fandoms like Assassin's Creed: Valhalla, Mass Effect, Star Wars, Skyrim, and probably others I'm forgetting.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I found some hate for you, just for show

better not touch (i want it too much)

i got a bad desire (baby i'm on fire)

do you feel the hunger?

ain't nobody hurt you like i hurt you

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I respond right away - other times it takes me a while to get to it. Tbh sometimes it's harder to think of a comment reply than it is to write the fic - especially those amazing long, thoughtful comments. I always worry nothing I can possibly respond will properly express how happy I am to receive them. But I truly appreciate everyone who takes the time to comment - nothing makes my day more than seeing that Ao3 comment email.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's got to be i've looked at clouds from both sides now - the ending is just purely hopeless angst. Even my necro fic where Daemon & Rhaenyra both die somehow has a less angsty ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

It might surprise people to learn that a lot of my fics actually do end happily, despite my deep, abiding love of angst. peak ends very fluffy and happily; and after some angst in the middle, better not touch (i want it too much) has a very happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not outright hate - sometimes I get comments I don't necessarily appreciate, but I've been pretty lucky so far I guess? Maybe I'm not writing fucked up enough stuff, idk.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. Whatever I'm in the mood for - which in the past couple of months has been cannibalism and necrophilia. So. But usually it's some flavor of Daemon being dominant and dirty-talking a lot, featuring my not-so-subtle hand/finger/ring kink and choking kink. I also really enjoy writing Sad Men Jerking Off.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Crossovers aren't usually my thing, although I did recently write a ridiculous HotD/Naked Attraction crossover: Naked Attraction: The Lost Episode.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Only once that I know of, but it was quickly taken down. It was literally a copy/paste of do you really feel alive without me mixed with the work of another Daemyra author.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, with my permission.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, although I definitely take a lot of inspiration from conversations I have with other writers in the fandom. I like to think we all mutually enable each other's ideas, with excellent results. And the #ghost 2 au that you might see pop up from my asks has definitely been a collaborative idea with a number of anons! Otherwise, my writing process is too chaotic to make co-writing really viable. I would end up being too stressed over annoying my co-writer with my disorganization.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Daemyra quickly took root in my brain and became my forever OTP. <3

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have confidence I'll finish all my HotD WIPs. I have an outstanding fic I wrote for The Magicians for a prompt event that is supposed to have a second chapter, but I don't know that I'll ever get around to it since all my fandom energy is spent on Daemyra these days.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I come up with some interesting premises and can push myself creatively pretty regularly. I feel like I'm good at adjusting my prose and narrative voice to suit the setting? Idk, I like my own dialogue and am not ashamed to admit I make myself laugh when writing a lot of it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Uhhh plotting lmao. I mostly write based on vibes. Also planning, outlining, posting with any sort of regular schedule, etc. Like I said earlier about my writing process - it's pure chaos.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I use High Valyrian phrases mixed into dialogue a lot, but otherwise I'm way too lazy to write in a language other than English because I'm nowhere close to fluent in any other language, and I don't want to embarrass myself with shitty online translations.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. Dramione was my original OTP. <3

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

My favorites change constantly depending on what mood I'm in. Here's my current fave from each of my fandoms:

ain't nobody hurt you like i hurt you (House of the Dragon)

Something Wretched About This (Dragon Age)

Closer Than My Hands Have Been (Horizon Zero Dawn)

You Don't Have to Go It Alone or: How to Handle Personnel Issues Aboard the Normandy (Mass Effect - okay this is also my only Mass Effect fic but I really like it so I'm including it)

I’m tagging: @grandlovescheme, @delinquentpurplefox, @rainbowslinkyy, @bluegoldrose

(if they haven’t already done it)

#tag game #my fics

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ashes0909 · 1 year ago

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Fic Writer 20 Questions

Tagged by @luredin - thank you so much! This was a lot of fun!

How many works do you have on AO3?

195, including everything from drabbles and ficlets to more traditional length fic.

What's your total AO3 word count?

772,878, which includes collaborations.

What fandoms do you write for?

Heh. These days, its so random. My ao3 and tumblr include:

Marvel

Yuri!!! on Ice

Game Changers Series

Supernatural

Harry Potter

Check Please

Red White & Royal Blue

BTS (sort of)

a Star Wars drabble

and a partridge in a pear tree!

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Comic Books and Kings (Steve/Tony/Bucky)

False Names, Right Nets (Bucky/Tony)

Assemble (Steve/Tony)

Stories We Never Tell (Steve/Tony)

Stop, Drop, and Roll in the Hay (Steve/Tony) - a collab with my love @festiveferret

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I like chatting with readers and thanking them for their time/thoughts/insights/feedback

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

By far, it's Self-Preservation (Tony/Hydra Agents, TW: NonCon) which is still kind of hopeful but also very not.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I'm such a sucker for happy endings. Literally all my fics have a happy ending except for one.

Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully, I haven't. I have received hate from tumblr anons but it usually just makes me chuckle and ignore.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes. All the kinds. Every smut.

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I LOVE crossovers. I think my absolute favorite was Steve and Tony going to Hogwarts through a portal, finding their Wizard counterparts being all lovey-dovey and then being like, "Oh."

I'm also currently posting a True Blood fusion fic which is fun because vampires and telepaths.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so, but I also don't go searching for it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I love translations - Held is up in Russian and Employee of the Month in Chinese

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Oh, man. I've co-written an entire Roman Empire with @festiveferret along with a handful of other fics. I also had the delight of collaborating with @sirsapling on His Best Suit and @athletiger on Forever Linked.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Nope. :D

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

This Red, White and Royal Blue road trip fic I have 5k of but no real motivation.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think smut is a strength of mine, along with dialogue and overall characterizations.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I sometimes forget to describe literally anything about the setting.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Sure, why not! If I don't know the language well, I try to get an expert to help beta it.

First fandom you wrote for?

I tried to write a Harry/Draco fic over in Livejournal back in like 2004. I just found the link, and no I won't be sharing it.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

I don't knowww, they're all my babies. Holds them all close and gives them all kisses.

Tagging:

I really enjoyed doing this and hope you do to: @russilton @betheflame @wilmakins @sadieb798 and @festiveferret - but if you don't feel free to ignore! Anyone else who wants to join in, feel free!

#tagged #writing #ask meme #20 questions

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caesarclowningaround · 2 years ago

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Fanfic Writer 20 Questions!

I was tagged by the lovely @lumiereandcogsworth!! Thanks dearie!! :D

1. how many works do you have on ao3? 146 and counting!

2. what’s your total ao3 word count? 596,943

3. how many fandoms have you written for and what are they? A lot. Too many to name all of them here.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

The Broken Doll - my Grandmaster/Loki fix-it fic

A Word - a barisi fic

Runts Make Petty Kings - my Loki/Jane Foster epic space adventures fic, which I’m still pretty proud of

Plus One - another barisi fic

Let’s Hope This Goes Swimmingly - and another barisi fic

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not? I try to! Especially lately I’ve been trying to make it a habit to respond. Sometimes I don’t because either I simply don’t know what to say or I see the comment, but don’t have the energy to respond and i promise myself i will later but then i forget LOL

6. what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? I’ve written a few really angsty endings in my time, but maaaaaan Violet Skies really has to take the cake. Like, the ending was so angsty, I decided to write two sequels just so the story didn’t end on that note 😂 No other fic has ever compelled me to do that before

7. do you write crossovers? Bitch, that’s all I write 95% of the time these days! XD I’ve only written 2 non-crossover fics in the past year. Yes, i know I have a problem

8. have you ever received hate on a fic? I have, but it’s very rare and frankly only one particular time popped into my head from the past 5 years. There are benefits to writing niche crack crossover fics hardly anybody reads i guess

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind? YEEEEEP idk, go look at the tags on my E-rated fics and find out 😏

10. have you ever had a fic stolen? Yes, one of my older fics was uploaded to a website I had never heard of without my permission and honestly, I have no idea what happened after I filed my complaint

11. have you ever had a fic translated? Yep! My two Star Wars merman fics Horizon and Submerge were translated into Russian with my permission :D

12. have you ever co-written a fic before? Not really. I’ve had detailed discussions about ideas that I later wrote into fic or was written into fic by the person I was talking with, but nothing officially collaborated on

13. what’s your all-time favorite ship? (LA) Jafar/Prince Adam. not to sound like a narcissist, but it’s such a me ship. Cuz I started shipping it under very specific circumstances that I, personally, was going through and provided a very personal, safe space during a time I was still getting over being in a less than kind larger fandom. It’s a culmination of pieces of other fandoms I’ve been in over the years and am still in. I’m very protective of it, but I also get very excited when other people show interest. If you’re interested, please tell me! Please write and draw them! I need more people in this dinghy of a ship XD

14. what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Probably my Jafar/Adam Absolute Boyfriend/I’m Your Man AU. I started writing it around the time I’m Your Man premiered at the Berlin International Film Festival and Dan Stevens was doing a lot of promo for it and naturally it got me thinking about robot boyfriend!Adam which reminded me of that manga I read years ago. I would love to finish this AU someday. There’s a lot of fun ideas I put into it and I like what I wrote so far. But I reached a point with the fic where I didn’t know where I wanted to take it and I’ve been stumped ever since

15. what are your writing strengths? I’ve been told I’m good at writing angst and world building. And smut. Apparently I’m very good at writing smut lol

16. what are your writing weaknesses? Sometimes I’ll word things weirdly because I tend to write as my brain is thinking and y’know sometimes we don’t think in complete sentences or we think in concepts and those concepts don’t translate into a full sentence as easily as you picture it. It’s why I feel like my descriptions can get choppy. Also, I think I use unnecessary conjunctions and sequencers too much

17. what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? I think it’s fine as long as it’s done well and not over-used

18. what was the first fandom you ever wrote for? Pokémon. i was 6 and i wrote self-insert fic. it was very bad but i remember being very proud of myself for using the word “sighed”

19. what’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written? Violet Skies. I put so much into that fic. I got through some pretty dark times with that fic at my back. I don’t know if it’s my best fic, but it’s the one I put the most love into, which is saying a lot because (as sappy as this sounds) I try to write all my fics with love. I try to put my energy into writing characters and ideas that I love, or else what’s the point? write for love

20. who do you tag? Only if you want to <3 @pigsinablanketfort @zebsfloppyears @thatpratdragonlady @xavantina @loflight501 aaaand anybody else who wants to do it can consider themselves tagged!! :D

#all about me

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sqinsights · 9 months ago

Text

Navigating the Digital Transaction Management Jungle

Welcome, brave reader, to the enthralling world of Digital Transaction Management (DTM)! Forget about unveiling or empowering; let’s embark on a journey filled with sarcasm, timid humor, and a touch of wit as we dissect the intriguing insights from the Global DTM Market Report.

The Growth Saga:

Hold your horses, folks! The DTM market is experiencing growth that could make even the most seasoned marathon runners envious. From a modest USD 9.22 billion in 2021 to a whopping USD 49.70 billion forecasted by 2030, it’s like witnessing the rise of a tech-savvy superhero with a CAGR cape fluttering at 25.9%.

Why the Hype?

Apparently, everyone’s ditching old-school paperwork like it’s a sinking ship. DTM solutions are the life rafts, promising efficient and seamless business methods across industries. It’s like the Avengers assembling, but instead, it’s businesses assembling to eliminate traditional approaches.

The Hardware vs. Software Battle:

In the epic clash of titans, Hardware and Software are duking it out. Hardware, with its flashy Point of Sale (POS) machines, is dominating the arena. On the other hand, Software, the underdog, is gearing up for an epic comeback with a forecasted highest CAGR. It’s like a tech-based Game of Thrones, minus the dragons.

Component Wars:

The battle between Electronic Signatures and Workflow Automation is heating up. Electronic Signatures, the reigning champion, is flexing its muscles with a substantial revenue share. Meanwhile, Workflow Automation, the dark horse, is registering the highest CAGR, ready to steal the spotlight. It’s like witnessing a Hollywood awards ceremony, but for tech components.

Regional Showdown:

North America, with its mature IT infrastructure, is the undisputed champion, while the Asia Pacific region is the rising star. It’s like witnessing a boxing match where the experienced veteran faces off against the scrappy newcomer.

The Cybersecurity Soap Opera:

Ah, the plot twist! Concerns about cybersecurity and fraudulent activities are the villains in this story. Just when everything seems hunky-dory, the fear of cyberattacks and identity theft swoops in to create a cliffhanger. Picture a suspenseful soap opera, but with firewalls and encryption.

For More Information:

The Cast of Characters:

Let’s meet the real MVPs — the companies. DocuSign, Adobe Inc., and OneSpan are the headliners, leading the DTM market with their innovative solutions. It’s like a blockbuster movie where each company is a superhero fighting for the title of the ultimate DTM champion.

Recent Developments —

The Sequels: In the ever-evolving DTM cinematic universe, sequels are a must. HelloSign launches HelloWorks, DocuSign partners with Salesforce, and Adobe acquires SignRequest — it’s like the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but with e-signatures and workflow automation.

The Trends We Can’t Ignore:

Cloud-based DTM solutions are the rising stars, offering scalability, flexibility, and improved collaboration. It’s the tech trend equivalent of avocado toast — everyone wants a piece.

Conclusion:

And there you have it, dear reader! The Digital Transaction Management Market — a thrilling saga of growth, battles between hardware and software, and unexpected plot twists. As businesses worldwide embrace DTM solutions, it’s safe to say we’re in for a tech-filled rollercoaster ride. So buckle up, keep your hands and feet inside the blog at all times, and let’s navigate the DTM jungle together — one sarcastic remark at a time.

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Group is a Global Market Intelligence, Innovation Management & Commercialization organization that connects innovation to new markets, networks & collaborators for achieving Sustainable Development Goals.

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- [email protected]

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

0 notes

market-spy · 9 months ago

Text

Navigating the Digital Transaction Management Jungle: A Humorous Guide

The Growth Saga:

Why the Hype?

The Hardware vs. Software Battle:

Component Wars:

For More Information:

Regional Showdown:

The Cybersecurity Soap Opera:

The Cast of Characters:

Recent Developments —

The Trends We Can’t Ignore:

Cloud-based DTM solutions are the rising stars, offering scalability, flexibility, and improved collaboration. It’s the tech trend equivalent of avocado toast — everyone wants a piece.

Conclusion:

About Us-

SkyQuest Technology Consulting Pvt. Ltd.

1 Apache Way,

Westford,

Massachusetts 01886

USA (+1) 617–230–0741

Email- [email protected]

Website: https://www.skyquestt.com

0 notes

phykios · 3 years ago

Text

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12).

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog.

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation.

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.”

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut.

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other.

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets.

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…”

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.”

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up.

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…”

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements.

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.”

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.”

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun.

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.”

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?”

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.”

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper.

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise.

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!”

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release.

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene.

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says.

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…”

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea.

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?”

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--”

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much.

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.”

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit.

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles.

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door.

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom.

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street.

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing.

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things.

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question.

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?”

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand.

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile.

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice.

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared.

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear.

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him.

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend?

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice.

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?”

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps.

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly.

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…”

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?”

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock.

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before.

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his.

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could.

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.”

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan.

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today.

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor.

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit.

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision.

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…”

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.”

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him.

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together.

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together.

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all.

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time.

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him?

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode.

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust.

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner.

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks.

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar.

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books.

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra.

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself.

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look.

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?”

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness.

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch!

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?”

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes.

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?”

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes.

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask?

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.”

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.”

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.”

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head.

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21.

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music?

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth.

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly.

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill.

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it.

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…”

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake.

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window.

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos.

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks.

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her.

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers.

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit.

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him.

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin.

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

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fanficwritersinterviewed · 3 years ago

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MCM, spqr

<<This post is a part of a longer conversation about fanfic writers, how they view fanfic, and their writing process. All views are the fanfic writers’ own, and whatever fanfic they choose to write is entirely their own decision. No judgment value will be placed on fic content. These conversations are meant to provide insight for other fanfic writers in whatever stage they are at in their writing life.>>

Meet-Cute Monday (with spqr, @andthepeople )

AO3 Stats:

Pseud: spqr Pronouns: she/her Current fandoms: Star Wars? Harry Potter? Smallville? Marvel? Current pairings: I exist in a constant state of flux How many past fandoms: I am in all fandoms at all times How many total fic: 69 and orphans Total word count: 657,171 Longest fic word count: 49,758 Shortest fic: 3,591 Highest kudo count: 11,497 Lowest: 115

What's the story behind your pseud? SPQR is an abbreviation of "Senatus Populusque Romanus" which is a phrase that appeared on ancient Roman money/architecture/monuments in reference to the Roman government. I was a Latin nerd in high school.

How long have you been reading and writing fanfic? I have been reading fanfic I think since middle school? Which was around 2008-2011. I started out in, believe it or not, Chronicles of Narnia OC fic on fanfiction dot net. I was very much in love with Peter Pevensie. I didn't write fic until high school though, my first fic was for Pacific Rim, so....2013? It was under a pseud which shall never be named and which I have long since taken out back and dealt with.

Why did you start to write fanfic with your current writing incarnation? I started writing as spqr in 2015. I deleted my old pseud because I wanted to play with the big boys and be an artiste and my old Teen Wolf fics were dragging me down. I think my major goals with the pseud, and with fic in general, are just to really hone my narrative voice, and to get comfortable writing prose in all its varieties and incarnations. I think insomuch as my level of ability and the type of prose I write has changed, my goals have changed, but fic is definitely still a fun practice arena for me.

How much does reading fanfic factor into your fanfic life? I definitely read more than I write (which should be true of every writer in every medium). I also tend to read different ships than I like to write. For instance I've written a lot of dinluke and I genuinely have read maybe five fics in the ship. Same for lokius. I read a lot of batman and batman-adjacent fic and I barely write any. But I feel like you have to read fic in order to be able to write fic, because it's a genre in and of itself.

Ooo, yes, I like that. Elaborate on how it's a genre in itself, please. Well like, there's this quote–I forget who said it–that a lot of literary writers are disdainful of genre stuff and think they can swan in and write the next great sci-fi novel or whatever, without having read any, because they don't think that the "lesser" form of writing can have its own conventions and its own tradition–and of course they're wrong and they inevitably fall on their faces. I think fic is the same.

Obviously not all fic is good, and in fact the vast majority of it is very bad, but there are things that people expect in fic that have become expected because of decades and generations of fic writing and reading– you know, the collaborative fandom experience, whatever. So in order to write good fic you have to have a sense of that, of what people expect and what they want from the reading experience. A lot of those expectations are referred to disdainfully as "tropes"--but just like clichés, tropes are tropes for a reason. They work, people like to read them, so we write them over and over again and people read them over and over again. Anyway, the same way that in order to write a good novel you have to understand what a novel is, you have to have read and digested the classics– love them or hate them.

Fanfic is different in that there are no "classics" (there are in certain fandoms–but there are no cross-fandom classics); nevertheless you still have to be able to see and understand the format in order to work successfully in it. This is of course ignoring the fact that there is total fucking garbage on AO3 with like 20,000 kudos. Not all phenomena can be explained. In simpler terms, just like sci-fi or espionage thrillers or murder mysteries have conventions, fanfic also has conventions, and in my opinion that's as close to the mark of a "genre" as you're likely to get.

What do you admire that other writers do that you want to include in your writing? What have you picked up from other writers that you are aware of trying to include into your own stuff? The first part of this question is hard because I feel like I'm in a constant state of theft–I am always picking things up from other writers, fic and published and whatever, and stashing it away for later. I love when writers buck convention (having just rambled all about the importance of convention–sorry!). Still drooling blubbering rolling around on the floor over astolat's new fic "The Compact” (what a big-brain idea! How cool! Love those hags!) Also I am always jealous and left in awe by writers who find the perfect moment to slow down, because it's never the moment you think it is. By which I mean, the correct moment to turn around and look through your POV character's eyes into their skull, the correct moment to clobber the reader over the head with a sudden bout of self-awareness.

The second part of this question–I genuinely don't know, beyond rhythm. I do steal cadence and rhythm from writers I admire–I do this also in non-fic writing.

What comes easily to you when you write and what are the things that give you more trouble? How do you go about improving the things that are less natural for you? Hmm. This is going to sound extremely douchey but most of the mechanics of prose come pretty easy. What I have trouble with is when I try to write a longer fic. I have to slow down sometimes and give myself time to backtrack and figure out the plot. Occasionally I will write myself all the way to the end of the fic without having planned the ending. Rookie mistake! I am only just recently trying to be more conscious of the structure of my fic and less devil-may care. Stay tuned!

How long is a long fic to you? I'd say long is probably anything over 12k, that's when it starts getting unwieldy, I have to start scrolling back to the top of the doc to remember what I've written.

Where do you get inspiration when the creativity tank is low? Mostly from reading! I know this is not an advice question, but my advice to anyone feeling creatively drained is to just read as much as you can. Read whatever grabs you, whatever sparks your interest. Not just fic: novels, nonfiction, longform journalism, scripts, plays, poetry. I think I said earlier writers should always read more than they write. I tend to think of it like filling up a tank. You have to fill up your tank with 1,000 times as many words as you want to turn around and write, that's the conversion rate.

Any other advice? Don't ever pick up a snapping turtle. Even if you hold it near the back, its neck is long enough that it can bite you.

.... great. Lol, I don’t know! I guess just don't forget that you're writing to someone. You aren't just writing in a void, you're writing to your reader--there's something that you're trying to communicate across the weird crazy technological distance of the internet and the planet earth. That really helps me when I feel like I've lost the thread of a fic, to loop back and try and figure out what I'm trying to say, which is often what my (stolen, borrowed) characters are trying to say. I think this helps on the prose level as well. Don't get bogged down in unnecessary detail. Say what you're trying to say, as clearly and directly as you possibly can. Hemingway said, "Write hard and clear about what hurts," and that's something I am always trying–circuitously, with variable success–to do.

Love that. Say something nice about your own writing. Sometimes It Is Funny. And every once and a while I bleed into a Microsoft Word document and people seem to like it.

#fanfic writers interviewed #meet cute monday #spqr #fanfic #fanfic writing #fandom

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theharellan · 4 years ago

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Solas Fan Banter

Here’s a compilation of the fan banter I’ve written over the years between Solas and other canon Dragon Age characters, posted for Dragon Age Day 2020. There are references to a canon divergent Solas/nb!Lavellan companion romance. I’ve regretfully not written any Iron Bull banter that I’m proud enough of to feature here, but if anyone has any suggestions for topics I’d be glad to hear them.

Featured characters: Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Dorian, Cole, Morrigan, Cullen, Leliana, Valta, Renn, and Arcane Advisor Merrill!

Solas & Cassandra

(after receiving the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Cassandra: And he was not even a mage. Shameful. Solas: Would have it been justified if he was? Cassandra: The Templars have sanction to punish apostates. It would not have been beyond their authority. Solas: I would not call that justified, merely legal. Cassandra: The Templars should be better. Solas: The Chantry armed them and gave them an enemy. That might fuel an army, but will only serve to poison their minds against innocent people, apostates or no.

Solas & Varric

(after killing the Templars during the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Varric: I thought at least away from Kirkwall I could get away from crazy Templars. Solas: You believe they were mad? The men I saw were no different from those who confronted us in Val Royeaux.

(after delivering the ring)

Solas: She seems to be holding up well, considering. Varric: Yeah, but I know a front when I see one. Solas: You believe she was suffering more than she let on? Varric: Oh, I know it, Chuckles. That ring might comfort her when the country gets too quiet, but it won’t dry her tears or– shit, do much else, really. Solas: Some wounds only time heal. Varric: And they always seem to leave ugly scars.

(after beginning Here Lies the Abyss)

Solas: You found Hawke after all. Varric: Oh, you know. All those heroics jogged my memory. Solas: Naturally. Varric: What, you going to lay into me, too? Solas: No, no. I understand why you hesitated. (if Hawke is a mage) Solas: To involve her in a Chantry organisation would not have been wise, at least before it had a chance to prove itself. (otherwise) Solas: Given her involvement in this war, I can only imagine there are those on both sides who would blame her for their present predicament. Varric: You mind telling all that to Cassandra? Solas: I would prefer not to.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke is left behind)

Solas: I have read your book, you know. The Tale of the Champion. Varric: I don’t know if now’s the best time. Solas: I understand. I only wanted to say that in reading it, I felt your affection for Hawke in every word. I am... sorry, for what happened. Varric: Thanks, Chuckles. Solas: Of course.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke survives)

Solas: You said your farewells to Hawke? Varric: Sure did. Sent letters home, debated sending letters to Weisshaupt. The Wardens will need to know the storm coming their way. Solas: You believe Hawke will pose a problem? Varric: Well, maybe not on purpose.

(in the Hissing Wastes, while exploring dwarven ruins)

Varric: I’m surprised you’re not hounding me about how all this makes me feel, Chuckles. Solas: I had thought we established your disinterest. Varric: Yeah, well. I’m thinking about it, anyway. Solas: If you insist. How does this make you feel, Varric? Varric: There’s a tiny part of me that’s really satisfied, you know? Seeing a Paragon of all people living on the Surface, then the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit. Solas: Tradition is a difficult thing to shake, to be conflicted is expected. Do you think our discovery here ought to be shared with Orzammar? Varric: I don’t know about Orzammar, but I can think of a few Surface dwarves who’d be interested in this.

Solas & Sera

Solas: I could not help but notice what you were drawing at breakfast. Sera: What? I wasn’t drawing anything.

(if Sera is romanced)

Solas: You captured our Inquisitor’s likeness well. Sera: Better than you could.

(otherwise)

Solas: There was no mistaking Dagna’s likeness. What were you carrying? Sera: A bowblade. It’s not a thing yet, but if anyone can make one, Widdle can.

Solas: Have you ever given thought to collaborating together on a piece? Sera: Collaber-what? Piece of what? Solas: A painting, or a drawing if you prefer, what medium you decide upon makes little difference to me. Sera: You really think the two of us could work together on anything? Solas: I was under the impression we had been. Sera: That’s different. The Inquisition’s not an ‘us’ thing, or it is, but not us us.

Sera: Say if I wanted to make something with you, what’d we even make? Solas: You ask the question as if there are limitations. Sera: A dragon, then! No, wait, a butt! (beat) Sera: Nothing? Not even a nose wrinkle? Solas: I am not unopposed to the idea. Sera: Ugh, how can you even make butts boring?

Sera: (handing him a drawing) Here, made you something. Solas: What is this? Are those—shoes? Sera: That’s right. One for each toe. You’re welcome.

(After Solas initiates a relationship with Ian)

Sera: So, you and Freckles, huh? Interesting. Solas: Your interest is not my concern. Sera: I always figured you’d wind with someone who’d make the bumping bits matter. Y’know, drop ‘em and rebuild the empire. Solas: It is not the physical product of our love that matters so much as how he makes me feel when I’m with him. Sera: Eugh.

(If Ian is in the party)

Ian: (laughingly) Vhenan, I would choose your words more carefully next time. Solas: Oh. (slightly embarrassed) I did not mean it like that. Sera: Ha! I’ve made him blush. Solas: This is why I didn’t wish to discuss it.

Solas & Blackwall

(While near Ferb’s old fishing pier in the Exalted Plains)

Blackwall: Wonder if the fishing’s good. If we had an hour or two… Solas: Do you consider yourself an angler, Blackwall? Blackwall: I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy the sport of it. Solas: I’ve never considered it a sport. Blackwall: Probably because you’ve never gone fishing just for the fun of it. Next time we make camp, I’ll show you.

Inquisitor: So, how’d your fishing expedition go? Blackwall: You should’ve seen the size of the gar I wrangled. Solas: It was not half as impressive as he believes. Blackwall: He only says that because all’s he caught were minnows. Solas: (scoffs) Inquisitor: So... where is it? Blackwall: We threw it back, of course. Wasn’t like we were going to eat it. Solas: A convenient excuse.

(Along the Storm Coast)

Blackwall: Ever heard of the pale ship that appears on the mists? The Windy Marcher – I think that’s what they called it. Solas: I cannot say I have. Blackwall: An old story, no idea where it started. Must’ve heard it a dozen times in the Free Marches, always a different ending. Solas: As is often the case with legends, the content and moral changes with the teller. Blackwall: One man claimed he’d seen it himself, said the ship was captained by beautiful spirits who’d called him to the sea. Solas: A case of wishful thinking, I assume. Blackwall: He was a bit of a lonely bastard.

(After Revelations)

Solas: You and Cole seem more friendly, of late. Thom: He took some getting used to, but his heart’s in the right place. There’s enough darkness in the world without pushing away the good. Solas: I imagine it was chilling, knowing he could break your cover on a whim. Thom: That did keep me up some nights, yes. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t say anything. Solas: Perhaps he saw in you what the Inquisitor sees. Thom: Well, I’m grateful. On both counts.

Solas & Vivienne

(After the events of Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)

Solas: I heard the news of Duke De Ghislain’s death. As I understand it, the two of you were close. My condolences for your loss. (if the Inquisitor gave Vivienne a regular wyvern’s heart) Vivienne: (coldly) There was a chance at saving him, but he is beyond saving, now. At least, by mortal hands. Solas: Then I am all the sorrier. (otherwise) Vivienne: He was at peace, and we had the chance to meet at least one last chance before he passed. Solas: Be thankful for that closure, it will bring you comfort in the days to come. Vivienne: It already has.

Solas: How do you feel about the moniker ‘Madame de Fer?’ Vivienne: Oh, I think it’s darling. Why do you ask? Solas: Iron is cold, unyielding without the proper tools, some may use it as an insult rather than a mark of respect. Vivienne: Of that I’ve no doubt, but let them. I embraced it wholeheartedly, and from then on no one could ever truly use it against me. Solas: True enough, such a tactic has worked for others before.

Vivienne: You will be wearing shoes to the ball, won’t you? Solas: My comfort is not worth jeopardizing the Inquisition’s image, so yes. Vivienne: Many elven servants in Orlais go barefoot, it would hardly be a scandal. Still, it would be beneficial. We must all present as a unit when the time comes, not a single hair out of place. Solas: That will hardly pose a problem for the two of us. Vivienne: (makes a sound almost like a laugh) Right you are.

Solas: There are rumours that your name be put forward as the next Divine. Vivienne: I wonder who might have started those. Solas: After all that has happened these past few months, you believe it possible they will accept a mage into their fold? (if the Inquisitor completed In Hushed Whispers / is a mage) Vivienne: Whyever not? Magic is what solved the problem, after all. Solas: Magic has solved countless problems over the centuries, and yet it is still reviled. Vivienne: I am not any ordinary mage. If any mage can achieve status of Divine, I am she. Solas: On that, we agree. (if the Inquisitor completed Champions of the Just and is a non-mage) Vivienne: With the Inquisitor’s support there is nothing I cannot accomplish, my dear.

Vivienne: The Inquisitor gave you that hood not half a day ago and it already has a hole in it. Solas: Two, in fact. Vivienne: Are you afraid we’ll forget you’re an elf if we go five minutes without seeing your ears? Solas: My estimation of your abilities is not that low, Enchanter, and I would be careful were I you. Two holes cut in a hood is not nearly as desperate as donning a pair of horns every morning.

(After Ian is made Tranquil during his personal quest)

Vivienne: I hope you know what you are doing, my dear. The Rite of Tranquility is not something easily undone. Solas: As I understand it, the Seekers did it quite regularly. Vivienne: And through a far gentler process. What they did to Ian was barbaric, but undoing it is not necessarily a kindness. One might even call it selfish. Solas: I never made any claim to selflessness. Vivienne: Go through with it, and he will relive what happened to him every morning and night for the rest of his life. Solas: (with restrained anger) Do not pretend as though you suddenly care for his well-being now, you showed little regard for him before. Vivienne: It is a warning, nothing more. Solas: Your warning is heeded, but it changes nothing. I am under no illusion this will be simple, but to give up on him now— I would be no better than the Circle that once wanted this same fate for him.

Solas & Dorian

Dorian: That book you have on your desk, Solas… Solas: There are many. Which are you referring to? Dorian: There’s one that looked to be in Ancient Tevene. Do you speak it, or are you just keeping it around to look clever? Solas: I would not go so far as to say I speak it, but I understand it well enough. Dorian: How did you go about learning it? Solas: Memories of Tevinter’s empire litter the land, there is hardly a place in Thedas where the world does not remember it, and with memories come language. Dorian: So you learned through the Fade? Solas: I did, though my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. An unfortunate consequence of learning any language alone. Dorian: I might be able to help, but only if you give me the satisfaction of hearing you muddle through it out loud beforehand. Also, I’ll be next in line when you’ve finished reading that book of yours. Solas: (snorts) Very well.

Solas & Cole

Cole: So they’re nobody, but somebody. Empty shells, filled with someone else’s memory. Solas: For the most part, it seems. Cole: If they’re heartless, why are they so angry? Solas: Perhaps it was not so much the absence of feeling, but the lack of recognition of said feelings. Cole: Belief makes them real, even if they’ll always be different.

Cole: It remembered. Delight in discovery, always pushing further into the unknown— someone like that does not simply disappear, and yet... it cannot remember his name. Solas: Names are not so as important as the spirit of the person they belong to. Cole: It remembered the person. Sadder, but stronger. If I ever return to the Fade, I would like to meet it. Solas: Nothing would delight it more. Cole: Oh, I know. I think we’d be friends.

(After the banter where Solas helps prevent a panic attack)

Cole: You breathe in— one, two, three, four— then out— one, two, three, four— feel the grass beneath your feet, magic between your fingers, remember what is and what was. How long did it take you to learn? Solas: More time than is ideal. Cole: I’m sorry. Solas: There is some comfort in knowing I’ve learned enough to help others with such struggles. Cole: I’ll count with you, if you need. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Solas: I’m curious how your efforts are coming along since we last spoke. Cole: Josephine misses how saffron tastes, but she hasn’t asked the chef to purchase any. I wrote it on a list when no one was watching. Cullen doesn’t like my letters. He says they don’t make sense. Solas: I cannot imagine he devoted much time to understanding them. Cole: No. Listening is... difficult, when you’ve been taught not to.

Cole: Eyes fall shut, but they do not drift away. Their feet are tethered, tied to the ground. Solas: Even dwarves who lived and died on the Surface never dreamed. Cole: But they are still remembered. The song drowns out their thoughts, but it does not smother them. If I listen, I can hear. Solas: I have seen fewer glimpses of dwarven history than I would like, but there are always memories preserved by particular attentive spirits.

(When passing through the kitchen, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

Solas & Cullen

Cullen: I’m curious how you’ve avoided Templars all these years. Solas: I would prefer not to say. Cullen: I’m no longer a Templar, you know. Solas: Then why do you still wear their heraldry? Or am I mistaken? Cullen: I… Solas: Templar or no, your support for its cause endures. I would not endanger fellow apostates by revealing our methods.

Solas: Master Tethras tells me you served in Kirkwall. Cullen: Varric has no shortage of stories, that one just so happens to be true. Why do you bring it up? Solas: My travels have taken me there, on occasion. Cullen: I admit, I’m curious what your impression was. Solas: All the world is steeped in tragedy, but in Kirkwall the Fade overflows with it. Spells flow from the fingertips with such ease you may forget the Veil altogether. Cullen: That doesn’t surprise me, the amount of abominations I saw during my years there… Solas: They were but a symptom. Kirkwall’s sickness ran deeper than what any one spirit could cure.

Solas & Leliana

Solas: I have heard the Inquisition call you many titles. Sister, Nightingale, Spymaster. Leliana: I have worn many masks, some I’ve liked more than others. Why do you mention it? Solas: Which do I refer to you by? Leliana: (laughs) Whichever you prefer. You may use Leliana, if you wish. Solas: Then I shall see which suits you best.

Solas & Josephine

Josephine: It took several tries, but we managed to remove the wine stain from your sweater. I apologise again for Lady Vérène’s indiscretion. Solas: The fault is hardly yours. It is a pity she is not more open to an apostate’s perspective, but the loss is hers. Extend my sincere gratitude to whoever expunged the mark. I have only a few shirts to my name. Josephine: You know, Solas, now that the Inquisition finds itself in more favourable circumstances, we can afford to purchase you a new wardrobe. Solas: With respect, Ambassador, I value comfort over style. I’m uncertain the Summer Bazaar will be able to accommodate me. Josephine: It would be a most... unusual request, but I believe I know the tailor for the job.

Josephine: Have you found the library to your liking? Solas: I have. I cannot imagine any other circumstance where someone like me could have such unmitigated access to the written word. Most human libraries are not so liberal with their guests. Josephine: I confess, I have never been without books. Ever since I was a child they were always within reach. Solas: Then you must have recommendations. Josephine: One or two come to mind. If I can secure faithful translations, you will have them.

Solas & Morrigan

Solas: You seem well-versed in courtly manners for a woman raised in the wilderness. Morrigan: What are you implying? Solas: That you have a talent for winding nobles around your finger, or that the infamous ‘game’ is not so deadly as they like to believe. Vivienne: Or that more talented souls paved the wave for her. Solas: Another possibility. Morrigan: ‘Tis true that Orlesians overestimate the challenge of this ‘Game’ of theirs. Empress Celene had her desires, and ‘twas a simple matter to keep her satisfied. Vivienne: Which is why you’re with us. Morrigan: With you at my side, I could not help but notice. Vivienne: Believe me, dear. Court enchanter is a trifle compared to where my sights have set.

Solas: I found your son atop the rotunda’s scaffolding today. Morrigan: He has long been fond of climbing, and Skyhold’s trees are too new to bear his weight. Solas: It was no harm. My only regret is I did not have an answer to every question he asked. He is a curious boy. Morrigan: (laughs) That he is.

(During What Pride Had Wrought, upon finding the mosaic of June)

Morrigan: Ah, clever June. The most elusive of the elven gods, insofar as legends are concerned. Solas: Their silence is deafening. Morrigan: I take it you have insight? Solas: Merely that he does not deserve what little credit he is given. Time has forgotten the name of whosoever built the first aravel.

Solas: Rumour spread that Kieran went missing. I trust your presence here means you have found him? Morrigan: I… yes. Solas: He is unharmed? Morrigan: Yes. Solas: Then I am glad. And… you? Morrigan: I have much to think upon, but my son is safe. Everything else can come after.

Solas & Renn

Solas: Tell me, Lieutenant, why did you remain with the Legion? Renn: Having trouble seeing why it’s your business. Why d’you ask? Solas: Escaping would be a simple matter of finding the right battle to slip away from. Freedom would only be a few day’s journey from where we stand. Renn: I couldn’t abandon my men... or my city. Solas: You show great loyalty to Orzammar, considering you will never see it again. Renn: Yeah, well. You never forget your home. Solas: No. I suppose you don’t.

Solas & Valta

Solas: “But the truth is the truth— no matter how political it may be.” Valta: Do you disagree? Solas: Just the opposite. The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it. I am glad a historian such as yourself agrees. Valta: A shame the rest of the Shaperate doesn’t agree with us. Solas: True, but if they had you would not be here, on the brink of uncovering secrets buried centuries ago. In their attempt to keep you out of the way, they unknowingly set you upon the path to even greater knowledge. Valta: Orzammar will know the truth. If I don’t make it, then the Inquisitor— Solas: You are not yet dead, Shaper Valta. Do not count yourself apart from the living so soon.

Solas & Merrill

Merrill: You snort when you laugh. Solas: I’m well-aware. If you are about to ask me to stop, I’m afraid I’ve tried before. Merrill: Oh, it’s not a bad thing. It might be the most charming thing about you. Solas: Damned by faint praise. Merrill: It is a very charming laugh.

Solas: Why did you leave your clan? I read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but I suspect most of it was a lie. (if present) Varric: Hey! I’m right here. Solas: You did well to lie. To name her as a Dalish mage would be to paint a target upon her back. (otherwise) Merill: I left… I— it wasn’t exactly my choice. There was a mirror, tainted by the Blight. I thought we should fix it, even if it meant turning to blood magic. My Keeper disagreed. Solas: You cleansed the Blight from an eluvian? That is remarkable. Merrill: I used to wonder if it was worth it. I sacrificed so much to get it working, years of my life, my— I’m just glad we’re getting use out of it, now.

Merrill: You’re wrong about my people, Solas. The Dalish aren’t as lost as you think. Solas: They cast you to the streets of Kirkwall, exiled you for the crime of pursuing the duty they tasked you with. Merrill: Some of them said such awful things, they looked at me like I was already a demon, but… that doesn’t mean there isn’t good, too. Sometimes I wonder, had my Keeper not been so against me, if things might have been different. Merrill: I don’t know what they said to you, but I know what their scorn feels like. It hurts, but… there’s so much to admire. Solas: You still feel for them. Merrill: They’re my people, they always will be. No matter how much they might hate me, I’ll always love them. Solas: Put like that, I suppose I understand the sentiment. Merrill: It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it? Solas: It never ebbs, no. Merrill: Then just— remember them, when you think unkind thoughts about the Dalish. The people you miss, the people you don’t, and what you’d sacrifice for them both.

(in the Exalted Plains, outside the boundaries of Hawen’s camp)

Merrill: (giggles) Datishan was asking about you before we left. Solas: Datishan… Hawen’s little hunter? Merrill: Who else? She wanted to know when you’d be back. Solas: What did you tell her? Merrill: I told her you needed time, that good stories don’t grow on trees. You will go back, won’t you? Solas: It seems I shall have to, or else suffer the wrath of her arrows. Merrill: You joke, but she almost poked out my eye last night. Solas: (chuckles)

#dragonageday #solas #dragon age #dragon4geday #unofficialdragonageday #dragon age inquisition #fan banter #dare to be in the company of those stronger than you ( banter )#( my writing )#[ i'll be reposting the couple new things i wrote for this later ]#[ scheduled post ]

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reallifesultanas · 4 years ago

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Non real life sultanas

A little Christmas surprise post comes. One of my most popular videos on Youtube was the one, where I gathered non-historical characters, explaining how fictional or how historical they were, and if there was a real historical person behind them as an inspirer. Now, for Christmas, I would like to summarize for you the main fictional characters of the Muhteşem Yüzyil series.

Several fictional characters were present in the Muhteşem Yüzyil series, many from the very first minutes. The presence of some fictional characters was forgivable, as we were left with very little detailed information about the harem of Sultan Suleiman I. Thus, for example, the characters of Sümbül Agha, Gül Agha, Mercan Agha, and other eunuchs, although not portraying historical characters, were necessary for the dramaturgy of the series. Sümbül's character was the most important among the eunuchs and perhaps this is why many of us may think that Hürrem actually had such a close friend in the person of the chief eunuch. However, this is not true. During Suleiman's reign, many chief eunuchs took turns, and none of them were known to be particularly close to Hürrem. Of Hürrem's close servants, only one is known by name, a woman named Nevbahar. The characters of Nigar Kalfa, Gülsah Hatun, Fidan Hatun, Daye Hatun, Fahriye Kalfa were similar to Sümbül. None of them were historical, but surely every sultana had their own trusted servants, as they showed in the series. Like the eunuchs and kalfas, the concubines of Prince Mustafa and Prince Bayezid, Ayşe, Rana, Defne or Rumeysa Hatun, can also be considered forgivable fictional characters. We do not know anything about the harem of the two princes as neither of them had a major consort and as their children were born from different women.

However, there were also characters who were written into the story just for the sake of the drama. Which of these characters was acceptable is up to everyone and feel free to write your opinion about them in a comment here or on another platform! So here's the long-awaited list:

Sadika Hatun

Sadika was a Hungarian woman in the series whose husband was killed by Sultan Suleiman on the day of their wedding. Sadika then became the spy of the Hungarian king, Lajos II and she traveled to Istanbul to personally avenge her husband’s death. Matrakci Nasuh Efendi then, by chance, meets the girl and helps her get into the harem, where she immediately joins Ayşe Hafsa Valide Sultan's service and then becomes Hatice Sultan’s chief servant. During her job, of course, she gets close to Suleiman's bed several times, and then she had the opportunity to attack the sultan. However, she does not succeed, Suleiman survives, and Sadika is thrown in the Bosphorus.

In reality, this story would not be possible at all. Even if we assumed that Sadika really existed and Suleiman actually killed her husband, she would not have been able to get into the Sultan's harem and take revenge. On the one hand, Sadika was already a married woman, an adult woman. Such women could not enter the harem, only virgin, child girls could become the sultan's later concubines. However, even if Sadika had somehow been able to get in the harem, a long education would have awaited her before she could join the Valide Sultan's service. While there may have been some exceptional cases where older or non-virgin women wanted to be gifted to the Sultan, these are special cases. Such was the case, for example, when Hayreddin Barbarossa wanted to kidnap the beautiful Giulia Gonzaga, a widowed Italian noblewoman known far and wide, to send her to the Sultan's harem as a gift. In the end, he didn’t succeed, but even if he did, we don’t know if the sultan would had ever taken the woman to his bed.

Leo

In the series, he was the love of Hürrem from their youth. Leo came to Istanbul with the goal of finding her former sweetheart. Leo is a talented artist who, with the help of Nasuh Efendi (ahh Nasuh brought all the good people near to the Sultan…) will become the painter of Sultan Suleiman and Pargali Ibrahim. His former relationship with Hürrem will soon be revealed to Pargali Ibrahim, who is thus trying to blackmail Hürrem. Hürrem repeatedly begs Leo to leave the capital, but the man remains, which eventually leads to his death.

In reality, Hürrem - and all the other concubines - were taken into Ottoman captivity as little girls, so it is out of the question that they would have had a love or a fiance. And even if they had, they could never have found them. Nasuh Efendi, though one of the greatest suckers in the series - yet the dearest character - was not like that in reality at all, but he was a wonderful scholar who, by the way, was not so closely friends with either Sultan Suleiman or Pargali Ibrahim.

Princess Isabella

Princess Isabella Fortuna was a Spanish noble lady in the series who was on a ship to her future husband, the Austrian prince, when she was captured by Ottoman pirates and was taken to Istanbul to Sultan Suleiman. At first, Suleiman was only interested in the princess for political reasons, but later he fell in love. Princess Isabella initially resisted Suleiman's approach with all her cartilage, but over time she fell in love with the sultan and became his lover. This, of course, Hürrem could not stand and did everything she could to get rid of the princess who was eventually sent home by Suleiman himself.

In reality, of course, such a situation would have been unthinkable. Even assuming that Isabella existed and was captured by pirates, no princess raised in the Catholic faith would have voluntarily become the concubine of a Muslim sultan, she would have committed suicide instead. Let us not forget that Suleiman was loyal to Hürrem from the 1520s onwards, so in reality there was not a single woman who could make hard time for Hürrem during her decades-long relationship with Suleiman. Isabella Fortuna, on the other hand, never existed. Surprisingly, however, they could have patterned her from a real character. There was an Isabella of Castile in this period who was born in 1518 as the child of the widowed Queen of Aragon, Germaine of Foix and Charles V, but she was never captured by Ottoman pirates and was never the bride of the Austrian prince. Isabella's existence was kept secret by her parents all her life, only her mother's testament revealed that she ever existed. It is also known from there that Isabella died young in 1537.

Aybige Hatun

In the series, Aybige was the niece of Ayşe Hafsa, and so the daughter of the Crimean Sahib Giray khan. Aybige originally only came to visit her aunt in Istanbul, but later Hafsa Sultan wanted to see her as the wife of her favorite grandson, Prince Mustafa. However, Aybige was in love with Bali Bey and Mustafa longed for someone else aksi. Bali Bey was eventually almost executed for their love, and Aybige returned to Crimea with her father in the end.

Aybige’s storyline makes mistakes at almost every point. First, Ayşe Hafsa was never the sister of the Crimean khan, so the daughter of the Crimean khan could not have been her niece either. In addition, although Sahib Giray Khan had several daughters, none were called Aybige and none of his daughters ever traveled to Istanbul. The only true point in the whole storyline is that Sahib Giray Khan really collaborated with Sultan Suleiman in his Moldovan war. It is also important to mention Bali Bey at this point. Although Bali Bey was a real historical figure, there is not the slightest match between historical Bali Bey and the series Bali Bey. The real Bali Bey was not a romantic guy who fell in love with every second woman. Bali Bey was a cruel warlord. And if it comes to Bali Bey, let’s say a few words about Prince Mustafa as well. The idea of wanting to marry Mustafa to a khan’s daughter is completely absurd! Since the reign of Sultan Mehmed II, princes have been forbidden to marry anyone, so Prince Mustafa has not been allowed to marry anyone either. And the fact that Suleiman would have supported the idea - even if such a marriage had been able to occurre at all - is an even greater absurdity. Suleiman did not want Mustafa as his heir, so he would never have given him as much power as the support of the Crimean khan.

Firuze Hatun

In the series, Firuze was a Persian spy who, with her amazing abilities, was able to heal the pains of the sick Prince Cihangir, earning the love of Hürrem Sultan. Firuze, however, thanked Hürrem kindness in a disgusting way, and became Suleiman's secret lover, whom the sultan fell in love with. In the end, Hürrem was only able to overcome Firuzen with a little, Firuze was eventually exiled from the palace so she could return to Persia.

In reality, Suleiman was loyal to Hürrem, living in a monogamous relationship with her. Even if there was an occasional one-night-stands, Suleiman never fell in love with another woman, only Hürrem. Thus, the Firuze storyline has already failed here. The fact that there was a Persian spy in the harem would have been an interesting suggestion though. There were certainly spies in the royal court of every empire, but they were probably not hiding among the concubines. Eunuchs, for example, moved with much greater freedom, were much better candidates for being a spy…

Huricihan Sultan

In the series, Huricihan was the daughter of Ibrahim Pasha and Hatice Sultan, who grew up in the palace of Beyhan Sultan after the death of her parents. From there she returned to Istanbul, where she fell in love with her first cousin, Prince Bayezid. Their love became a relationship and then marriage without the Sultan’s permission. Huricihan became the head of Bayezid's harem and soon her relationship with Hürrem and Suleiman slowly became better. Huricihan's end eventually was brought by Prince Selim's concubine, Nurbanu, who knocked her out in the heat of a dispute, killing her.

In reality, Hatice and Ibrahim Pasha were never married, so they didn't have children either together, so Huricihan never existed. If she had existed, for the reasons already mentioned, it would have been utterly inconceivable for Bayezid to marry her, either secretly or openly. Especially knowing that Bayezid had never had a favourite singled out concubine, as all of his children were born to different women. With a background like this, it’s unlikely he’d ever wanted to marry anyone. Although Hatice Sultan did indeed have a daughter, she was born between 1510 and 1515, so she was well ahead of Bayezid in age, and of course she had nothing to do with the prince and was not even called Huricihan.

Mihrünissa Hatun

In the series, Mihrünissa was the daughter of Hayreddin Barbarossa the Head of the Fleet, whom her father sent to Prince Mustafa as a consultant. Later, the two young person fell in love with each other and married without the Sultan's knowledge. In time, Mihrünissa also gave birth to Mustafa's son Mehmed. After Prince Mustafa and his son Mehmed were executed, Mihrünissa went to the capital and cut her own throat before Hürrem's eyes.

In reality, for the reasons already detailed several times above, no prince could marry anyone, so Mustafa also never married. In addition, Barbarossa never had a daughter named Mihrünissa and Hayreddin Pasha was never a supporter of Prince Mustafa. However, even assuming that Mihrünissa existed, there is no chance that she could have committed suicide before Hürrem's eyes. Prince Mustafa's harem retired to Bursa, so that no member of the harem could travel to the capital, especially not to the palace and kill herself in front of Hürrem. So, in fact, the Mihrünissa storyline was just 100% fiction.

Nazenin Hatun

In the series, Nazenin arrived in Istanbul with Nurbanu, where Hürrem, who was struggling with menopause, sent her to the sultan herself. Nazenin thus became the sultan's concubine and soon gave birth to a daughter, Raziye Sultan. Eventually, on Hürrem's instructions, she was killed by Nurbanu.

In reality, as I have said many times, Suleiman was loyal to Hürrem. In addition, after the birth of Prince Cihangir in 1531/2, Suleiman had no more children, neither to Hürrem nor to anyone else. It is true that he had a daughter named Raziye, however, the child died in 1520 at the age of a few years as a result of an epidemic.

Surprising realities

After many fictional characters, one would think that all eunuchs and kalfas were fictional characters, as we know quite a bit about the harem. However, this is not true! There were some historically inspired characters, such as Gazanfer Agha, who, although existed and was one of the most influential eunuchs ever, was not a loyal man of Nurbanu, but Sultan Selim II. Gazanfer reached the peak of his career, by the way, during the reign of Safiye Sultan.

Similarly historical was Canfeda Hatun, who was Nurbanu’s most loyal servant and one of the most influential kalfas of her era. True, Canfeda’s character in the series was a fusion of two loyal servants of historic Nurbanu. In her young age, in the princely harem of Selim, Nurbanu became acquainted not with Canfeda but with another kalfa, who remained her faithful servant for the rest of her life. Canfeda only became Nurbanu’s main supporter during Selim’s reign.

Like them, Afife Hatun’s character was partly real also. Sultan Suleiman's wetnurse was really called Afife and the sultan always kept in touch with the woman. However, Afife Hatun never moved to Istanbul to rule the Sultan’s harem, but lived a simple life.

Gracia Mendes Nasi was introduced last season as a wealthy Portuguese Jewish woman who helped Portuguese refugees get to Istanbul. Later, Gracia became the lover of Grand Vizier Rüstem Pasha, which made her an enemy of Mihrimah Sultan. In reality, Gracia Mendes was a very benevolent soul who was committed to Jewish traditions and her Jewish brothers. She was never a lover of Rustem and an enemy of Mihrimah. However, like the series, Gracia actually enjoyed the Sultan’s support and, with his help, she made great improvements in Istanbul’s Jewish Quarter and helped many refugees start a new life in the Ottoman Empire.

One of the most interesting guest actors of the last season of the series was Anna Jagello, the daughter of the former King of Poland, the sister of the new King of Poland. Although the woman was a real historical figure, the historical Anna never traveled to Istanbul and never corresponded with Hürrem Sultan. However, Hürrem exchanged letters several times with Anna's mother Bona Sforza, Anna's father, King Sigismund I of Poland, and Anna's brother, the later Zsigmond Ágost II king of Poland, and even Anna's sisterm Isabella, the Hungarian queen. Thanks to the intercession of Hürrem, the relationship between the Kingdom of Poland and the Ottoman Empire was quite good and almost friendly during Suleiman's reign.

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Egy kis karácsonyi meglepetés poszt következik. Youtube-on az egyik legnépszerűbb videóm az volt, amelyben a nem történelmi karaktereket gyűjtöttem össze, elmagyarázva, mennyire voltak kitaláltak, mennyire volt mögöttük egy-egy valós történelmi személy, mint ihlető. Most karácsony alkalmából szeretném nektek összefoglalni a Muhteşem Yüzyil sorozat főbb kitalált karaktereit és történetüket.

A Muhteşem Yüzyil sorozatban több kitalált karakter is jelen volt, sokan már az első percektől kezdve. Egyes kitalált karakterek jelenléte megbocsátható volt, hiszen nagyon kevés részlet maradt ránk a Szulejmán háremében jelenlévő személyekről. Így például Sümbül Aga, Gül Aga, Mercan Aga és más eunuchok karakterei bár nem valódi személyeket keltenek életre, szükségesek voltak a sorozat dramaturgiája szempontjából. Sümbül karaktere volt a legfontosabb az eunuchok között és talán emiatt sokan gondolhatjuk úgy, hogy Hürremnek a valóságban is volt egy ilyen közeli barátja a fő eunuch személyében. Azonban ez nem igaz. Szulejmán uralkodása alatt rengeteg főeunuch váltotta egymást és egyikről sem ismert, hogy különösebben közel álltak volna Hürremhez. Hürrem közeli szolgálói közül csupán egy ismert név szerint, egy Nevbahar nevű nő. Sümbülhöz hasonló volt Nigar Kalfa, Gülsah Hatun, Fidan Hatun, Daye Hatun, Fahriye Kalfa karaktere is. Egyikük sem valós személy volt, ám bizonyosan minden szultánának megvoltak a saját megbízható szolgálói, ahogy ezt a sorozatban is mutatták. Hasonlóan az eunuchokhoz és kalfákhoz megbocsátható füllentésnek tekinthetőek Musztafa herceg és Bayezid herceg ágyasai is, Ayşe, Rana, Defne vagy Rumeysa Hatun. A két herceg asszonyairól ugyanis semmit sem tudunk, egyiküknek sem volt kiemelt jelentőségű főágyasa, gyermekeik más-más nőktől születtek.

Voltak azonban olyan karakterek is, akiket csupán a dráma kedvéért írtak bele a történetbe. Az, hogy ezek közül melyik karakter mennyire volt elfogadható, azt mindenki maga döntse el és nyugodtan írja meg kommentben itt vagy más platformon, hogy mit gondol róluk! Következzék hát a várva várt lista:

Sadika Hatun

Sadika a sorozatban egy magyar nő volt, akinek férjét az esküvőjük napján megölte Szulejmán szultán. Sadika ezek után a magyar király, II. Lajos parancsára Isztambulba utazott, hogy ott személyesen bosszulja meg férje halálát. Matrakci Nasuh Efendi aztán egy véletlen folytán megismerkedik a lánnyal és segít neki bekerülni a hárembe, ahol azonnal Ayşe Hafsa Valide Sultan szolgálatába áll, majd Hatice Sultan főszolgálója lesz. Menetközben természetesen többször is Szulejmán ágyának közelébe kerül, majd lehetősége nyílik a szultánra támadni. Azonban nem jár sikerrel, Szulejmán életben marad, Sadikát pedig a Boszporuszba fojtják.

A valóságban ez a történetszál egyáltalán nem lenne lehetséges. Ha feltételeznénk is azt, hogy Sadika valóban létezett és Szulejmán valóban megölte a férjét, akkor sem állt volna módjába bejutni a szultáni hárembe és bosszút állni. Egyrészt Sadika férjezett asszony volt már, felnőtt nő. A hárembe nem kerülhettek be ilyen nők, csupán szűz, gyermeklányokból válhattak a szultán ágyasai. Mindazonáltal ha Sadika valahogy mégis bekerült volna a hárembe hosszadalmas oktatás várt volna rá, mielőtt a Valide Sultan szolgálatába állhatott volna. Előfordulhatott ugyan néhány kivételes eset, amikor idősebb vagy nem szűz nőket akartak volna a szultánnak ajándékozni, azonban ezek különleges esetek. Ilyen volt például, amikor Hayreddin Barbarossa el akarta rabolni a messze földön ismert, gyönyörű Giulia Gonzagát, megözvegyült itáliai nemesasszonyt, hogy a szultán háremébe küldje ajándéknak. Végül nem járt sikerrel, ám ha sikerrel járt volna is, nem tudni, hogy a szultán valaha is ágyba vitte volna-e a nőt.

Leo

A sorozatban Leo Hürrem fiatalkori szerelme volt, aki azzal a céllal érkezett Isztambulba, hogy megtalálja egykori kedvesét. Leo tehetséges művész, aki Nasuh Efendi segítségével (ahh Nasuh csupa jó embert juttatott a szultán közelébe…) Szulejmán szultán és Pargali Ibrahim festője lesz. Egykori viszonya Hürremmel hamarosan kiderül Pargali Ibrahim számára, aki ezzel próbálja zsarolni Hürremet. Hürrem többször könyörög Leonak, hogy hagyja el a fővárost, de a szerelmes férfi marad, ami végül halálához vezet.

A valóságban Hürrem – és minden más ágyas – még kislányként került oszmán fogságba, tehát kizárt, hogy szerelmük vagy vőlegényük lett volna, ha pedig mégis, az sosem tudott volna rájuk találni. Nasuh Efendi, pedig aki a sorozat egyik legnagyobb baleke – ugyanakkor legkedvesebb karaktere – a valóságban egyáltalán nem ilyen volt, hanem egy csodálatos tudós, aki egyébként nem állt ilyen közeli barátságban sem Szulejmán szultánnal, sem Pargali Ibrahimmal.

Izabella Hercegnő

Izabella Fortuna hercegnő a sorozatban egy spanyol nemes hölgy volt, aki éppen jövendőbeli férjéhez, az osztrák herceghez tartott hajón, mikor az oszmán kalózok elragadták és Isztambulba vitték Szulejmán szultán elé. Először Szulejmán politikai okokból érdeklődött csupán a hercegnő iránt, később azonban beleszeretett. Izabella hercegnő eleinte minden porcikájával ellenállt Szulejmán közeledésének, idővel azonban beleszeretett a szultánba és a szeretője lett. Ezt természetesen Hürrem szultána nem állhatta és mindent megtett, hogy megszabaduljon a hercegnőtől, akit végül Szulejmán küldött el.

A valóságban természetesen elképzelhetetlen lett volna egy ilyen szituáció. Ha feltételezzük is, hogy Izabella létezett és a kalózok fogságába esett, egyetlen katolikus hitben nevelt hercegnő sem vált volna szabad akaratából a szultán ágyasává, előbb lett volna öngyilkos. Azt se felejtsük el, hogy Szulejmán az 1520-as évektől kezdve hűséges volt Hürremhez, a valóságban nem volt egyetlen nő sem, aki éket verhetett volna közéjük több évtizedes kapcsolatuk alatt. Másrészről pedig Izabella Fortuna sosem létezett. Meglepő azonban, hogy valós karakterről mintázhatták. Létezett egy Kasztíliai Izabella ebben a korban, aki 1518-ban született az özvegy aragóniai királyné Germaine Foix és V. Károly gyermekeként, azonban sosem esett oszmán kalózok csapdájába és sosem volt az osztrák herceg menyasszonya. Izabella létezését egész életében titokban tartották szülei, csupán édesanyja végrendeletéből derült fény arra, hogy valaha is létezett. Innen tudni azt is, hogy Izabella fiatalon elhunyt 1537-ben.

Aybige Hatun

A sorozatban Aybige Ayşe Hafsa Sultan unokahúga volt, a krími Sahib Giray kán lánya. Aybige eredetileg csak látogatóba érkezett Isztambulba, később azonban nagynénje szerette volna őt kedvenc unokája, Musztafa herceg feleségeként látni. Aybige azonban Bali Bégbe volt szerelmes és Musztafa is más után vágyakozott. Bali Béget végül majdnem kivégezték a szerelmük miatt, Aybige pedig apjával visszatért a Krímre.

Aybige történetszála szinte minden létező ponton hibádzik. Először is, Ayşe Hafsa sosem volt a Krími kán testvére, tehát a krími kán lánya sem lehetett az unokahúga. Emellett Sahib Giray kánnak bár több lánya volt, egyiket sem hívták Aybigének és egyik lánya sem utazott sosem Isztambulba. Az egész történetszál egyetlen igaz pontja, hogy Sahib Giray kán tényleg együttműködött Szulejmán szultánnal annak moldáv háborújában. Fontos megemlíteni ezen a ponton Bali Béget is. Bali Bég bár valós történelmi személy volt, de a legkisebb egyezés sincs a történelmi Bali Bég és a sorozat Bali Bége között. A valódi Bali Bég nem egy romantikus fickó volt, aki minden második nőbe beleszeretett, és akiért bolondultak a nők. Bali Bég egy kegyetlen hadvezér volt. És ha már Bali Bég szóba jött, ejtsünk néhány szót Musztafa hercegről is. Az ötlet, hogy Musztafát egy kán lányához akarják adni teljesen abszurd! II. Mehmed szultán uralkodása óta tilos volt a hercegeknek házasságot kötni, így Musztafa herceg sem köthetett senkivel házasságot. Az pedig, hogy Szulejmán támogatta volna az ötletet, már ha egyáltalán felmerült volna egy ilyen házasság, még nagyobb abszurdum. Szulejmán nem Musztafát akarta örökösének, így sosem adott volna a kezébe akkora hatalmat, mint a krími kán támogatása.

Firuze Hatun

A sorozatban Firuze egy perzsa kém volt, aki csodálatos képességeivel gyógyítani tudta a beteges Cihangir herceg fájdalmait, amivel kiérdemelte Hürrem szeretetét. Firuze azonban rút módon hálálta meg Hürrem kedvességét, ugyanis Szulejmán titkos szeretője lett, akibe a szultán halálosan beleszeretett. Végül Hürrem csak egy hajszállal volt képes felülkerekedni Firuzén, akit végül száműztek a palotából, így visszatérhetett Perzsiába.

A valóságban Szulejmán hűséges volt Hürremhez, monogám kapcsolatban éltek. Ha előfordult is alkalomadtán egy-egy egyéjszakás kaland, Szulejmán soha nem szeretett bele más nőbe, csak Hürremet szerette. Így a Firuze történetszál már itt el is bukott. A tény, hogy Firuze perzsa kém lett volna érdekes felvetés, bizonyára akadtak kémek minden birodalom királyi udvarába, azonban ők valószínűleg nem az ágyasok között rejtőztek. Az eunuchok például, sokkal nagyobb szabadsággal mozogtak, sokkal könnyebben lefizethetők voltak…

Huricihan Sultan

A sorozatban Huricihan Ibrahim Pasa és Hatice Sultan lánya volt, aki szülei halála után Beyhan Sultan palotájában nevelkedett. Onnan tért vissza Isztambulba, ahol beleszeretett elsőunokatestvérébe, Bayezid hercegbe. Szerelmükből kapcsolat, majd házasság lett a szultán engedélye nélkül. Huricihan Bayezid háremének feje lett és kapcsolata lassanként rendbejött Hürremmel és a szultánnal is. Huricihan végzete végül Szelim herceg ágyasa, Nurbanu lett, aki egy vita hevében leütötte őt, ezzel megölve.

A valóságban Hatice és Ibrahim Pasa sosem voltak házasok, így gyermekük sem született, tehát Huricihan sosem létezett. Ha létezett volna is, a már korábban említett okokból teljesen elképzelhetetlen lett volna, hogy Bayezid feleségül vegye őt akár titokban, akár nyíltan. Különösen tudva, hogy Bayezidnek nem volt sosem kiemelt ágyasa, minden gyermeke más nőtől született. Ilyen háttérrel nem valószínű, hogy valaha is feleségül akart volna venni bárkit. Hatice Sultannak bár valóban volt egy lánya, az 1510-1515 között született, így korban jóval megelőzte Bayezidet, és természetesen sosem volt semmi köze a herceghez és nem is Huricihannak hívták.

Mihrünissa Hatun

A sorozatban Mihrünissa Hayreddin Barbarossa flotta parancsnok lánya volt, akit édesapja küldött Musztafa herceg mellé tanácsadónak. Később a két fiatal egymásba szeretett és a szultán tudta nélkül egybe keltek. Idővel Mihrünissa életet adott Musztafa fiának, Mehmednek is. Miután Musztafa herceget és vele együtt fiát, Mehmedet is kivégezték, Mihrünissa a fővárosba ment és Hürrem szeme láttára elvágta a saját torkát.

A valóságban a már fent többszörösen részletezett okok miatt egy herceg sem köthetett házasságot, így Musztafa sem nősült meg soha. Emellett Barbarossának sosem volt Mihrünissa nevű lánya és Hayreddin Pasa sohasem volt Musztafa herceg támogatója. Ha azonban feltételeznénk is, hogy Mihrünissa létezett, nincs arra esély, hogy Hürrem szeme láttára lehetett volna öngyilkos. Musztafa herceg háreme Bursába vonult vissza, így a hárem egyik tagja sem utazhatott egyetlen percre sem a fővárosba, nemhogy a palotába, Hürrem elé. Így tulajdonképpen a Mihrünissa történet-szál 100%-ban kitaláció volt.

Nazenin Hatun

A sorozatban Nazenin Nurbanuval együtt érkezett Isztambulba, ahol aztán a menopauzával küszködő Hürrem maga küldte őt a szultán elé. Nazenin így a szultán ágyasa lett és hamarosan egy lánygyermeknek, Raziye Sultannak adott életet. Végül Hürrem utasítására Nurbanu ölte meg.

A valóságban, mint már sokszor mondtam, Szulejmán hűséges volt Hürremhez. Emellett Cihangir herceg 1531/2-es születése után Szulejmán nem nemzett több gyermeket, sem Hürremnek sem másnak. Az igaz, hogy volt egy Raziye nevű kislánya, azonban a gyermek 1520-ban néhány éves korában elhunyt egy járvány következtében.

Meglepő valóságok

A sok kitalált karakter után azt gondolhatnánk, hogy az összes eunuch és kalfa kitalált karakter volt, hiszen meglehetősen keveset tudunk a háremről. Azonban ez nem igaz! Volt néhány történelmi ihletésű karakter, mint például Gazanfer Aga, aki bár létezett, és a valaha volt egyik legbefolyásosabb eunuch volt, nem Nurbanu hű embere volt, hanem II. Szelim szultáné. Gazanfer pályája csúcsát egyébként Safiye Sultan uralkodása alatt érte el.

Hasonlóan valós volt Canfeda Hatun is, aki Nurbanu leghűségesebb szolgálója volt és az egyik legbefolyásosabb kalfája korának. Igaz, Canfeda sorozatbeli karaktere, a történelmi Nurbanu két hűséges szolgálójának ötvözéseként született meg. Nurbanu fiatal korában, Szelim hercegi háremében nem Canfedával, hanem egy másik kalfával ismerkedett meg, aki élete végéig hűséges szolgálója maradt. Canfeda csak Szelim uralkodása alatt került képbe és vált Nurbanu fő segítőjévé.

Hozzájuk hasonlóan Afife Hatun karaktere is részben valós volt. Szulejmán szultán szoptatósdajkáját tényleg Afifének hívták és a szultán mindig tartotta a kapcsolatot az asszonnyal. Azonban Afife Hatun sosem költözött Isztambulba, hogy irányítsa a szultáni háremet, hanem egyszerű életet élt.

Gracia Mendes Nasi az utolsó évadban került bemutatásra, mint gazdag portugál zsidóasszony, aki portugál menekülteknek segített Isztambulba jutni. Később Gracia a nagyvezír Rüsztem Pasa szeretője lett, aminek köszönhetően szembe került Mihrimah szultánával. A valóságban Gracia Mendes igen jótét lélek volt, aki elkötelezett volt a zsidó hagyományok és zsidó testvérei iránt. Sosem volt Rüsztem szeretője és Mihrimah ellensége. Azonban a sorozathoz hasonlóan, Gracia a valóságban is élvezte a szultán támogatását és segítségével nagy fejlesztéseket vitt véghez Isztambul zsidó negyedében és nagyon sok menekültnek segített új életet kezdeni az Oszmán Birodalomban.

A sorozat utolsó évadának egyik legérdekesebb vendégszereplője Jagelló Anna volt, az egykori lengyel király lánya, az új lengyel király testvére. Bár az asszony valós történelmi személy volt, a történelmi Anna sosem utazott Isztambulba és sosem levelezett Hürrem szultánával. Azonban Hürrem többször is váltott levelet Anna édesanyjával Bona Sforzával, Anna édesapjával, I. Zsigmond lengyel királlyal, valamint Anna testvérével, a későbbi II. Zsigmond Ágost lengyel királlyal, sőt Anna másik testvérével Izabella, magyar királynővel is. Hürrem közbenjárásának köszönhetően Szulejmán uralkodása alatt meglehetősen jó, szinte baráti volt a viszony a Lengyel Királyság és az Oszmán Birodalom között.

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