#and this particular fic is proving an outlet for it

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

I didn't even come close to finishing this fic in time for Halloween, even though I've been working on it literally since I posted the first entry in the tim&steph role swap au, but it turns out detective stories take way more effort to write than dumb, cheesy character interactions. who knew! (I did. I just also watched 32 horror movies this month.) anyway, I wanted to share something spooky for the holiday regardless, so here's a peek at what's to come...

"I'm not crazy," Melanie Diaz said, tightly. Her long, wavy dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun, slightly stringy with oil and sweat, and her jaw was clenched tight. She picked at her long sleeve tshirt, where it was pilling near the bend of her elbow.

"I know."

She snorted, rolling her eyes, and took a step away from him as she waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, it's that simple. I tell you I'm seeing ghosts, and you just--"

"Hey," Tim interjected calmly, holding up a placating hand. "Look, first, there are lots of things that can cause hallucinations. Mold, gas leaks, fear gas. This is Gotham, after all."

"I told you, I'm not--"

"That would not make you crazy," Tim told her firmly. "It would mean that there was a physical substance in your apartment causing a measurable chemical reaction in your brain. Hell," he snorted, "even if you are just hallucinating because you're hallucinating, there's still a chemical reaction happening in your brain. What's happening to you is very real, in one way or another. Alright?" He gestured her over to the couch, crouching down next to her as she sat and offering her his hand. After a short, distrustful moment, she took it, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

"But I actually had both a second and a third point that you never let me get to," Tim added gently. "Second is that there is plenty of technology that could be utilized to make you think you were hallucinating. Speakers, projectors, stuff along those lines. And, third, and perhaps most importantly, we live in a world where Wonder Woman exists, and a stage magician who is actually magic is one of the most powerful members of the Justice League." He settled his other hand over hers and offered a gentle squeeze. "Those kinds of things don't bleed over to boring, normal people like us all that often, but it still wouldn't be completely unheard of if you were actually being haunted."

"Oh, god." Melanie groaned, setting her other hand over top of Tim's and bending over to press her forehead to it.

"Whatever is happening, we are going to figure it out together," Tim promised her. Something wet slipped between her fingers as her chest heaved silently.

[nerdyshrew]

“Haili cetare, Mandolorian” | The Mandolorian

Pairing: The Mandolorian/Din Djarin x mystery!Reader (no y/n)

Warnings: None

Summary: The Mandolorian and Grogu find themselves in Tatooine in preparation for a mission and Peli’s found herself an apprentice. When the young woman proves herself useful for the assignment, Din Djarin finds himself drawn to this mysterious and enigmatic stranger during a quiet moment.

Author’s Note: Barely edited so apologies in advance. Not a full story so much as an overfed plot bunny. Got a few of these running around and this was the first one that came out. I hope I used that title phrase correctly. 🤷🏻‍♀️

My body is at about a stage 4 out of 5 on the Pedro Pandemic scale. It’s real bad. I can’t believe I’m writing fics again. It’s been YEARS, ya’ll. Allegedly it’s healthy outlet so I’m gonna let it happen. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

___________________________________________

“Hungry?”

Din spun around and found Peli’s apprentice standing in the foyer with her arms crossed, eyeing him curiously.

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” He replied sheepishly, standing up a little straighter than he had intended, unconsciously scratching a nonexistent itch on his neck. She smirked at his hesitancy and uncrossed her arms.

“We have some left over ronto roast from earlier this week. I can get it.” She walked around the counter and began shuffling through the cooler.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he heard her retort while her back was turned. She turned back to face him as she dressed his plate and took a beat to look up at him.

“For you all know, I’m just the distraction while Peli absconds with your kid.”

Din tilted his helmet down at her curiously and noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes. He had observed over the course of the day that they were a perfect reflection of her emotions, becoming cloudy when she was concentrating on what someone was saying or dark and piercing when she was pressed. He had also noticed that they sparkled with light after she laughed. It was a simple observation, really, her eyes were just expressive.

He chuckled lightly, imagining the wily old woman running towards town with reckless abandon, a highly amused Grogu babbling and laughing in her arms and nowhere in particular to go. He knew for a fact that they were both sleeping soundly in Peli’s room, the woman’s snores heard when he walked past her room to get to the kitchen. “She can try.”

The apprentice laughed, her head bobbing in agreement, busying herself with warming up his food. “Peli can barely lift a wrench without pulling something in her back. Grogu is the only thing I’ve seen her pick up without complaining.” She glanced back over at him. “I don’t imagine she’d get very far from the likes of you,” she finished with a smirk.

The Mandolorian ignored the skip in his heartbeat and nodded in agreement. “You’d be right.”

He allowed himself to get comfortable, relaxing his shoulders and leaning on the opposite side of the counter where she had situated herself. There was a quiet pause as she spun and put the rest of the food back into the cooler, her first joke breaking the tentative tension in the room. Din realized then that this was the first time they occupied a space together without anyone else present. Strangely, the silence that hung between them didn’t feel like the common one among strangers, awkward and tepid. This was surprisingly light, almost comfortable as he watched her finish wandering about the kitchen.

She placed the plate in front of him and began to roll some utensils into a napkin, speaking again. “You didn’t get anything with the rest of us at the cantina so I assumed that you were the kind of Mandolorian that eats in private where you could take your helmet off.” She tilted her chin, gesturing at the plate.

His head snapped from the food to her face, studying. “That is correct.” He responded, slowly. Many would press, make jokes, ask questions. He was used to it, often responding with silence until people got the hint not to ask. She did none of those, she just knew. Accepted it. How did she know that?

As if reading his mind, she stopped what she was doing and gave him a small smile. “You are not the first Mandolorian I’ve met.”

Oh? “You are familiar with the Creed?” He gently pressed, his tone perhaps giving away his curiosity.

She shrugged nonchalantly with one shoulder, face turned down back towards the task that busied her hands. “I know that coverts have interpreted the Creed in their own ways.” She finished rolling and set the bundle of utensils next to the plate in front of him before she finally met his gaze again. “But I also know that any one who lives by the honor of that core Creed is one to be respected, no matter how different their custom is to the majority.” Her eyes were clear and bright, reflecting back at her from the t-visor in his helmet. Somehow, Din thought in the recesses of his mind in the quietest of whispers, they reminded him of swirling galaxies, sparkling in the dark vacuum of space.

Her opinion had been astute, thoughtful, and honorable. She spoke with resolve, as if telling him something as obvious as water being wet. It was incredibly refreshing. He nodded in agreement as he continued to study her, noticing how the loose tendrils of the day’s updo framed her face. The soft light of the kitchen made her skin radiate a warm glow, that fact which he tried to ignore until he noticed slightest hint of a furrow on her brow as she awaited a response.

“This is the way,” he said simply.

The apprentice gave him a small smile as she pushed herself off the counter. “Yes it is.”

She began to walk back around it, casually making her leave. She nodded her head at his food when she passed. “I’ll let you bring that back to your room while it’s still warm.”

His head followed her as she headed for the door, arms reaching for the plate on the counter. “Thank you again,” he started, catching her before she reached the entryway. She slowed and turned to look at him.

“For the food.” He continued. “And your respect to the Creed. Your opinion is rare, but it is an honorable one.”

Her lips turned up into a smile as she nodded in recognition.

“Of course.” She turned around and called out to him over her shoulder as she walked away. “Haili cetare, Mandolorian.”

What?

“Wait,” he uttered, trying to catch her and failing. He watched her figure disappear through the entryway and gave a silent prayer in thanks for his helmet, which hid the gaping, wide-eyed look that she had left on his face. Of all the things he might have expected her to say in her departure, Mando’a was certainly not one. At all.

Who is this woman?

Haili cetare!

Tuck in! Enjoy! (approx. Fill your boots.)

[house-of-lovin]

To my dear house-of-lovin:

I have a series of questions about Legally Binding bear with me, this is all merely speculation and possibly too much all at once so I apologize in advance.

Cherry-pick from this ask if you have to!ᵕ̈

How young was R when she’d been forced to start acting and singing?

I read somewhere on your page that you answered early teens! And you referenced Zendaya so I’m assuming she got her big break at possibly 14 and before that moderately small acting gigs?

R definitely seems to have a passion for music but how often does she get to produce?

She also seems like the type to make music more for herself than to share with the public given her history, I think not only something she really enjoys but uses as an outlet to cope with things.

Can you give us a few songs as reference to what music R’s produced?

I’m interested in listening to them from R’s POV! Personally, I thought of Never Felt So Alone by Labrinyth. I have no fucking clue at all what song R’s creating right now and I’m assuming since it’s for Coachella it has to be upbeat but might I suggest thinking about Good News by Mac Miller. Pfft or even The Spins by Mac Miller, fun, cocky and memorable like R.

Is there someone else in particular besides her family that made her start to think of everything she does in public from a ‘business standpoint’?

What character in the MCU does R play?

For me the first character that came to mind is possibly someone from the Spider-Verse! I mean why not bend some truths and pretend there’s one Spider-Verse comic that fits R’s description? I think it would align with the fact that R’s been an actor since her teen years and by now if a few movies have been released; her Spider-Verse character has got to be aligned with her age!

Hmm so I’ve read through someone else’s asks and you mentioned not having enough time to look up tv shows and movies aligning with R’s age. I was thinking for some of them, why not just have R’s character in said projects be someone that doesn’t necessarily exist in the current adaptation but is popular anyways?

For other fandoms you say? Is what you wrote still lurking on those platforms I’m curious! Your daydreaming keeps us supporters taken care of.

What kinda music do you play/listen to? I listen to just about everything under the sun except Heavy Metal, too much shouting and I’m already losing my hearing as is lmao.

(I love to trespass abandoned building/areas, for the first date just run when I do and we’ll be good but that’s at night, can and do you like swimming? If you say yes then during the day we’re exploring open waters/pretty nature on a jet ski (safe waters dw)

Am I possibly also picking the first activity to be be held? Ahem HEARSAY you can’t prove that)

Cordially,

Specter

I think yes early teens like 13 or 14 possibly. I think somewhere in my head Justin Bieber was lowkey a reference for R's character.

R gets her big break as a teen and does roles for smaller movies that gain her critical acclaim until major studios recognize her. (Sorry to Hailee but maybe Edge of Seventeen as one of those movies LOL) Before def small roles. (Idk what good movies have a 13 or 14 year old soooo)

I don't have a list of songs for R but with all the asks its def building. I'd love to hear what you guys think? But like I answered before, I see slow & modern R&B. Like SZA (cussing songs LOL), Frank Ocean, Omar Apollo, Yebba. BUT OMG I LOVE MAC.

I feel like with R's family background & starting so young it made her grow up faster than most. So I think over the years, she's just built a wall around herself around people in the industry giving her that 'business standpoint' mentality. I mean come on, there's no way she's had a whole career w/out getting burned by someone. It happens more often than ppl think.

I think her MCU role is def a spider-verse role too! Maybe there's a version of her a Spider-Gwen in the MCU movies LOL IDK.

There's a fic or two on AO3 for a totally unrelated fandom but its a couple years old so idk its kinda cringe LOL. (I also have a Kate Bishop unfinished series that I've just never posted LOL)

I play the guitar so I listen to a whole variety of genres! I like/am open to most music except heavy metal too lol. But I love R&B, Soul, Jazz, Rap. I like older music too so I listen to a lot of 50s, 60s and 70s. EVERYTHING. I WANT TO LISTEN TO EVERY SONG EVER MADE LOL. (but same my hearing is shit lol)

I CAN swin (somewhat) I just can't tread water (ik ik disgraceful) but jet ski you say👀

(I'm indecisive af so I need ppl to plan things for me LOL)

ENJOYED ANSWERING THIS <3

[magicshopaholic]

Hi! I just recently discovered your blog and I love the concept of a universe with interweaving storylines. It's so clever and unique. I wanted to ask, since you have such a huge number of fics, which one is your favorite? I also love the idea of original characters because that's quite uncommon in this fandom but reminds me of fanfiction I used to read when I was younger. What's your inspiration for the characters? Are any of them based on you? Can't wait to read more of your work :) - 🍓

Oh, anon. This is every author's dream question, istg.

First of all, welcome! I hope you enjoy my masterlist and future fics to come. My favourite fic: tough, but I'll probably say About You. It was a deeply personal one and needed to be handled just right, but I was really happy with the end product because it established a dynamic between Namjoon and Kaya that I can't quite put into words. It's not one of my more popular works and I can understand why, but it's definitely the one I'm proudest of.

This would probably be followed by The Fifth: Part 2 and You Make Me Live (honourable mentions to Double Take and In Time).

You've nailed my reasoning for going the OC route; my favourite thing about fanfiction in the days of yore (ie the 2000s and early 2010s) was the range of OCs and the excitement of making up your own. It limits my reader base but I can't imagine writing any other way.

Inspiration - this could be a long one. The first OC I came up with was Dilara, and she was supposed to be a protagonist for an F1 fanfic series I'd started writing (yes, shocker, I used to write F1 fanfic). A lot about her was inspired by another F1 OC I'd written, Tracy McNeil (a sports journalist), including the messed up family background and the lowkey insecurity coupled with the need to prove herself. Dilara is definitely far more of a romantic than Tracy, though, and I'd largely chalk that up to the support network she has that takes care of her and allows her to lead with her heart more.

Kaya was next - she's not inspired by anyone in particular, but I was thinking of what Namjoon would be like as a partner; after long gruelling days of arguing with the company, keeping the younger members in line, dealing with pushy journos, he would come home to the most comforting person in the world with whom he would be completely different, free to be himself, vent if he needed to, and show a softer side he'd keep secret from the rest of the world.

Lia was the third and she honestly came to life when I was working with the marketing team in my company and had a shit ton of work, and she was initially my outlet. She quickly moulded to Jungkook's character, though, and the dynamic we all know and love just fell into place. She arrives at the right time to pull Jungkook out of a bit of a low phase and is the right amount of opposite of someone else.

Nari and Sooah, an unlikely pair, came together for me because of another fic I'd written for a different fandom. It was the protagonist and her best friend, the former who was a bit of a party girl and was in a very messy FWB with the male protagonist, and the latter who was her taller friend who worked all the time and fell for the unlikeliest person she could think of without even realising it.

Miso and Chae were the last two. Miso was a bit tough, and is somewhat inspired by Marianne Sheridan from Normal People, just a bit, in terms of her being a bit of a loner and rubbing people the wrong way. Don't want to give too much away, but she could've only been written opposite Yoongi.

Chae, despite being my baby, was one of the hardest to create - although, once I did, I just connected with her instantly. I wanted to write Hoseok being the opposite of his sunshine self, and the person to bring that out would have to be a hell of a character. Their initial childhood meeting is inspired by one of my all time favourite movies, Flipped.

(While I don't think I'm anything like any of my characters, Kaya, Lia and I probably share some similar habits, primarily working a lot and being too tired for drama. Parts of Chaeyoung are also inspired by my teen years - I cringe so hard when I think of those days.)

[hertzwritings]

Play pretend

A/N: Exam season is ON, my loves, and despite my love for writing and my WIPS, I need to focus on those darn exams. So, instead, you’re getting a week of one-shots, because I need my creative outlet.

You can buy me a coffee here, and I’ll write you a personalized drabble (500-1000 words), one-shot (1500-5000 words) or a multichapter fic (5500-??? Words) with what you’ve always wanted. Want Henry to be homeless and a starving artist? Sure thing, babes. Want a BDSM relationship with Steve Rogers? Anytime. Fluffy love with August Walter? Yup. 40’s professor Bucky? YES.

I love y’all so much and thank you for your OUTPOUR of support. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Remember, feedback feeds the soul (mine, in particular), and my requests – and askbox – are always open – there’s no limits, because I am me and I have none.

MASTERLIST

ASK ME ANYTHING/REQUESTS

Pairing: Henry Cavill x female reader (Best friends to lovers)

Contains: Fluff, slight angst, please-pretend-to-be-my-boyfriend-to-make-my-ex-jealous-trope, smut (18+ MINORS DNI), fingering, p in v, oral (f and m recieving), unprotected sex, slight cum-play, cream-pie, praise-kink, slight voyerism, slight exhibitionism, language 

W.C.: 4.378

Play pretend

Fuck. Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck. You pace your room, trying to decide if you should just call and tell Abby you’d gotten sick, maybe fell and broke your leg, or if you should admit defeat and show up – there was nothing you’d want less than show up, single and still seething over your breakup, at a party where your damn ex was. Apparently, it had been a last-minute decision on his part, and Abby had been really sorry about it – she had invited him to her end-of-summer bash months ago, when you were still dating, and now he wanted to come.

With his new girlfriend. Who just so happened to be the same girl, he had cheated on you with. Classic.

You sighed and sat down on your bed, calling Henry; he usually made you feel eons better, so perhaps he had some sort of gold nugget for you and your current spiral of feelings. He picks up after three rings, his voice making you feel calm instantly.

“Hey, love. What’s up?” “Can you kill me? Just… Like for a day?” “Err… I think that might prove to be slightly problematic. Death is, as you probably know, pretty final.” You grunt and fall backwards on your bed. “Zach is coming to the damn party.” “Ouch.” You hummed. “Ouch indeed. He’s bringing his new fling. Girlfriend, whatever.” “Double ouch.” You narrowed your eyes and heard the sounds in the background. “Hang on, are you gaming through my panic?” He chuckled. “No, not at all. I would never.” The sounds stilled. “You just paused.” “I did not.” You laughed. “Fine, you left the lobby, then.” He was quiet for a heartbeat and then spoke again. “Maybe. Anyway, what are you going to do?” You sighed. “I don’t know. Break a leg to have an excuse to not show up?” “Abby’ll kill you. She’s been planning this for months, love.” “Yeah, yeah, I know… I just… Ugh.” You rolled to your stomach. “I just don’t want to show up single as a pringle.” “I never understood that term. Pringles are by definition not single. They’re literally spooning in the can.” “Okay, well, you know what I mean, you jerk.” You laughed. “I just want to feel… I don’t know. I’m over him, it isn’t that, but…” “You want to get the upper hand, right?” You nodded and remembered he couldn’t see you. “Yeah.” “Hm.” He was quiet for a while, clearly thinking over your options. “Do you still have that dress from the red carpet last year?” “Y-yeah, but that’s like… Too much.” “Not with me, it isn’t’.” You coughed and shot straight up. “What?” “Can you be ready in an hour?” You glanced at the clock and your reflection in the mirror – it might take some work, but you could get yourself ready in an hour or less. “I guess so.” “Good. I’m coming with you. Let’s make him jealous as hell.” “Wait, Henry, I can’t ask you…” “You’re not asking, I’m offering. Honestly, do you remember how jealous he got when you went with me to the premiere? And how much he hated the rumors after?” You did. It tore a right rift through your relationship, but you refused to budge – you had helped Henry and you wanted to go, even though Zach was losing his mind all night, texting you seven times a minute. “Yes…” “Good. Let’s make those fears real.” Your stomach flipflopped. “Huh?” “I’ll pretend to be your boyfriend for the night. Come on, it’s been forever since we’ve done something stupid, and I have several suits that would lend themselves perfectly for a gala.” You drew a deep breath. He wasn’t wrong. You knew Abby would be over the moon to see Henry again, you’d have a date for the night, and you’d be sipping champagne with Henry for a night. “Fine.” “I’ll be there in an hour.”

You sprang into action as soon as he hung up, shuffling through your closet to find the red silk dress that you had worn to the premiere; it still fit you perfectly and you even had the black pumps you wore the same night. Now, to your face.

--------

“Are you sure you’re cool with this? We can still turn around.” You said as the car pulled around a corner, leading to the mansion, Abby had rented for the day and night. “Oh, we’re not turning around. I hate that guy, if I get a chance to make him mad, I’ll take it.” “You don’t hate people, Henry.” You grinned and felt his fingers weave between yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t. But he’s not people, he’s an arse.” Your brows flew up. “What? It’s true! I even told you when you started dating!” he said with a huff. “Yeah, yeah, don’t give me the whole I told you so speech. You have dated idiots too.” “Let’s agree that we both suck at finding partners.” He said with a smirk and a wink.

The driver cleared his throat. “Sir, we’re here.” “Ah, thank you, Samuel. Ready? We gotta play the part.” He nudges you with his broad shoulder. “Sure thing. Let’s get this show on the road.”

As soon as you step outside, you’re hit with warm air and the gentle flow of music and light chatter. Henry wraps his arm around your waist and he’s practically lifting you to the garden, where lights shower the grass, people and cream-colored tablecloths in a golden hue. You spot Abby first, and she squeals when she sees you, and then squeals louder when she sees Henry. “Holy shit, you’re here!?” She pulls him in for a hug and sends you wide eyes. He chuckles. “Couldn’t leave my best girl to fend for herself. “Ooooh. Because of Zach?” “Yup. Let’s keep that between yourselves, please. We have a part to play.” You say with a grin and become vaguely aware of the chatter and eyes of people, looking to you and Henry. You didn’t realize until too late, that many probably would take pictures. With him and you in them. Which will definitely end up on a gossip site by morning. “Don’t worry about it, love.” He whispers, his lips catching the shell of your ear. You tremble a little. “Sure?” he nods. “Let’s go find asshat and his girl.” You notice the small gasps as people around you realize who’s next to you but pay them no mind – it wouldn’t be the first time you feel and hear the whispers and eyes on you. Occupational hazard, you supposed.

The trek through the garden and several pavilions was long, but you did manage to say hi to a few other friends, you hadn’t seen in a while; Grim was wearing the most dapper suit, you had ever seen, a midnight blue color littered with small, golden swirls and patterns; it looked amazing on him. “Dude. Look at you!” He twirled once, his purple hair flying out from his face. “Don’t even start with me. Look at you!” He pointed to the dress. “How the hell did you get yourself that?” You laughed. “Curtesy of the ever-amazing Henry, of course.” His eyes flicked up to meet Henry’s eyes and nodded once, said hey, man, before he gulped and looked back. “Shit. You’re Geralt.” “And Superman, but I rarely brag.” He held a hand out to Grim, who shook it with trembling hands. “I… Am a huge fan.” He whispered. “What the hell are you doing here with Y/N?” Right. Grim didn’t really know about your friendship. “Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Henry cocked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged in a didn’t get a chance to kind of way. He wrapped his arm around your waist again and kissed the top of your head. “We’re, er, well…” “Henry’s my boyfriend.” You blurted out and you wished you had a camera to capture Grim’s expression – it was priceless. “Holy… Fucking… Shit.” He breathed. “Oh, dude, when Zach sees this, he’s going to blow a few fuses.” You just laughed and followed Henry, when he led you on, waving at Grim, who instantly turned to his friend and began whispering in hushed, frantic tones.

You spotted him from miles away. He was wearing a gaudy powder blue suit, that didn’t fit right over his shoulders, and you couldn’t help but grin at Henry – he looked like a damn model, the grey suit fitting perfectly over his broad shoulders and he held himself in a way, that few men could boast to do. Zach’s eyes fell on you, widening as he took your appearance in, before narrowing at the man next to you. You grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter and tipped the glass to him. He stalked to you as you drank, while Henry bent down to whisper in your ear. “I hope you can act your pretty, little butt off.” You choked on your champagne.

“Y/N. Didn’t think to see you here.” Zach smiled tightly at you, his fingers digging into the side of his girlfriend’s hips – she was staring unabashedly at Henry. “It is my friend’s party, so…” You smiled sweetly. “Henry.” Zach pretty much spat the name out like it caused him great pain to say. “Zachariah.” Henry looked disinterested and tightened his grip on your waist, thumb drawing lazy circles over your dress. “Fancy meeting you here.” “Well, I wouldn’t let my girl come alone, would I?” He smiled at Zach, who seemed to shrink a little under Henry’s eyes. “This is Sophia.” He nodded to the girl, who batted her eyelids at Henry in what you assumed she thought was a coquettish way. It wasn’t. “Hello. I must say, I’m a huge fan of yours.” She extended her hand to Henry, who just looked at it with a raised brow. “Must say, I’m not a huge fan of yours.” He smiled. You snickered into his chest. “Henry.” “What?” he sounded amused. “I’m just being honest, my love.” He kissed your hair again. “So… You two are a thing now?” Zach asked, sneering. “Yeah. God, it was what, two weeks after we split up, right, babe?” You ask him innocently. “Yeah. Officially.” He grinned back at you. You could almost feel Zach’s anger radiating off his body, and Sophia shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “You cheated?” He asked tensely. You cocked your head to the side and narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t think you’re one to talk about cheating, are you?” You looked at Sophia, who at least had the damn curtesy to look slightly shameful. “Anyway, it’s been nice seeing you. Bye, Zach, Sophie.” You ignored her trying to correct you and walked away with Henry.

You were both laughing loudly as you waited for the car to come and pick you up, having seen Zach glare daggers at you both throughout the night – it had honestly been fun as hell, and you were thankful that Henry came with you. Abby had just shot you a knowing look – not that you were privy to what that was about – when you bid your goodbyes and walked to the end of the garden, sitting down in damp grass.

“God, did you see his face? I’m sure he’ll be seething into the next century.” Henry laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You nodded and snorted. “The man still think he had a claim, I guess. Not anymore.” You grinned back at Henry. “You know what we should do?” He asked, pulling you closer and grabbed your clutch, pulling your phone out. “We should take a picture of us. Kissing. Just to really get him going.” “I, uh…. What?” You asked, a lump in your throat. “Oh, come on! It’ll be great, he’ll finally get it. He definitely hasn’t by now, it would seem.” He glanced at your phone, where several texts from Zach lit up. You managed to read baby a few times. “Ugh.” You rolled your eyes. “You know what, fine.” He grinned and held out your phone in front of him. “Has anyone ever told you that you have weirdly long arms?” You asked, scooting closer to him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your dress is getting wet from the grass, and the slight chill of it makes goosebumps rise on your bare thighs. “No, but I have been told they’re way too big to be normal.” He said with a grin. “Come on, plant one on me.” You turn and kiss his cheek. “Aw, come on. We have to do that again.” He said exasperated. “What’s wrong with it?” You asked, dumbfounded. “On the cheek? What am I, your grandfather?” He scoffs. “Come on, give me a real kiss. Promise, I won’t make it weird.”

No, he might not, but you just might. Kissing him, here, in the darkness without anyone around, made your heartrate spike and despite being just fine with being friends with him for so long, your suppressed feelings slowly inch themselves closer to the surface at the very thought of kissing him. “Seriously, he won’t believe that.” He finds the picture and you have to agree; it looks to friendly and jovial to be anything more. “Alright, fine, but just…” You gesture wildly with your hands. “I got you.” He angles the phone a little and holds it out, looking at your reflections in the camera with furrowed brows. “Is this a good angle? I don’t want chubby cheeks.” “Like you’d ever get chubby cheeks. You’re chiseled by gods.” You murmur. “Heard that.” He grinned. “Come on, let’s just… We’ll count down.” He looks at you and you exhale deeply. “One… Two… Three.” On three, his lips found yours and you were a goner.

His lips were demanding but soft, gliding with ease across yours. Maybe it was the years of friendship, maybe he just had a special affinity with kissing, but he just knew how you liked it. His lips were perfect against yours, and you sighed into the kiss; he didn’t waste a golden opportunity, and slid his tongue inside of your mouth, letting your tongues tangle with each other. It was definitely longer than what was needed for a picture, but you really didn’t care. Your hands found the nape of his neck and pulled him closer, urgency coloring the kiss. He pulled away with a groan, his chest heaving, and the phone long forgotten in his hand. His eyes were on yours.

“You… That…” He breathed deeply. “That was insane. You felt that, right?” You didn’t have the capacity to talk right now, so you just nodded. “But just in case… We should try again, just to make sure that was insane, really.” “For science, of course.” You said in a voice, that was way breathier than you were used to. “Yeah, science.” He said quickly, slotting his lips over yours again and practically devoured you. You whined against his lips, the lust and desperation definitely leaking from you, but he just groaned, his teeth finding your lip and tugging it gently. His tongue was downright sinful against yours. He pulled away, but rested his forehead against yours, finding your eyes. You were both breathing heavily now, your hands tangled in his hair.

Something snapped inside of the both of you at the same time, and you scrambled to get on his lap, straddling him and pressed your lips against his again. He groaned against you, and you – to your joy – felt something twitch against your thigh. “You’re hard.” You mumbled against his lips, letting your own travel from his to his jawline. “Damn right, it’s fucking hard. Shit, Y/N…” His fingers were holding your waist with bruising force, but you needed more. You rolled your hips again. “I bet you’re wet as hell for me, aren’t you, love? So fucking wet, even without me touching you…” He gasped as you sucked on his neck. You hummed as his grip tightened. “Fuck this, come on.” He stood, lifting you off his lap with ease and grabbed your hand, almost running to a small pavilion on the far end of the garden, leading away from people. You struggled to keep up, your heels digging into the soft grass, and you huffed, stopped and pulled them off. The cold, wet grass felt somewhat calming on you as it hit the soles of your feet. “Come on.” He pulled you under the softly lit pavilion, his lips on yours in an instant again. His hands were desperately bunching your dress up over your hips, and you mewled, when the tip of his finger hit your soaking underwear. He grinned deviously against your lips. “All that already? Darling, I’d think you’ve wanted me for far longer than just…” You shut him up with a kiss. “Shut up and fuck me.” He complied easily, tugging his jacket off and throwing it behind him, before he began unbuttoning his pants, lips still dancing on yours. You were busy trying to get your underwear off without breaking the kiss, but he didn’t care – he pulled away and got on his damn knees, his teeth dragging against your bare skin, until he found the waistband and tugged it down with his teeth, sending you a sinful glance. You grabbed the railing behind you with tense fingers; you had never seen a more erotic sight than Henry on his knees, dragging your soaked underwear down your legs with his fucking teeth. He hummed as your naked folds came to view and he cocked an eyebrow as a question to you. You didn’t answer with words but jumped a little and rested your ass on the – thankfully thick – railing, spreading your legs for him. “Fucking hell, love, look at you…” His mouth slotted over your dripping folds, and you were already seeing stars. His tongue was deviously good at what it did, and when he sucked on your clit, you almost lost your balance. “Henry…” You whined his name, desperate for the release that was building as a tight ache in your entire body. He hummed against you, his hands snaking up to hold your thighs in place, and by proxy, you, before he began relentlessly eating you out. “Come on, darling, don’t hold those pretty, little noises back for me…” he mumbled against your dripping pussy, and the feeling of his stubble scratching against your thighs became your undoing, when it paired with his tongue and lips.

You came with a loud scream of pleasure, the orgasm washing over you – your nipples pebbled, and you grasped his hair, pulling him closer to your core as you rode your orgasm out on his face. He grinned against you, and you moaned loudly. “Good girl… Fuck, you taste fucking amazing, love.” He kissed his way to your face, and you tasted yourself on his tongue. You jumped down and got on your knees in front of him, deftly undoing his pants fully and pushed them down to his ankles.

“Shit…” he groaned when you wrapped your hand around his – honestly, damn beautiful length – and gave it a soft stroke, your eyes locking on his. “Y/N, you… Shit…” he lost his train of thought when you wrapped your lips around the tip, licking a stripe along the slit and collecting the precum on your tongue. You moaned at the taste and rolled your eyes back; fuck, you could get used to this.

You slowly inched down on him, taking as much as you could before you gagged, and he hit the back of your throat. His hands found a home in your hair, grabbing it tightly. “Good girl… Look at you, being so good for me on your knees. You can take more, baby…” he grinned deviously and pushed your head slowly, but surely, down to make you take even more of him. Tears welled in your eyes, and you gagged around him, while spit pooled from your open mouth; it was so fucking hot, your legs trembled. The sounds he made, gave you serious whiplash, trying to keep out and savor every single one. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long… Playing pretend… Shit, Y/N…” He groaned as you swallowed even more of him, your head bopping up and down on his length, depraved sounds filling the air. “was so fucking easy, because I’ve wanted you for so long…” You moved your head with his guidance, swallowing as much you could of him – he was rolling his hips, meeting your face as he thrust against you – you felt him twitch and you sped up. “Shit, fuck, stop… baby, stop, I don’t want to… Y/N…” He moaned, and with willpower you could never possess, he withdrew from your warm mouth, a string of spit connecting you. “Fuck, you are amazing.” He said in awe. You grinned at him, and he grabbed your shoulder, pulling you to your feet. His eyes were wild and dark, and you wanted to be fucking ruined by him, right here, right now. He sat down on a bench next to him, pulling you to his lap; your dress bunched even higher on your hips now, his fingers tightly holding you, and his lips split into a devilish smile. “Let me film us, love… He needs to see what he’s missing out on.” He kissed your neck, drawing small whimpers from you and you rolled your hips, your folds spreading against his hard length. He growled and moved your hips, letting you glide against him in a faster motion. “Let him see what he’s missing, and never getting back, baby…” “Henry…” “You’re mine, darling… Mine…” His lips found yours in a heated kiss and you moaned against his lips. “Yes, fucking… Do whatever you want, just… Fill me, please…” you whined with shaking legs. He grinned and pulled your phone out, placing it in the slots between the boards of the bench, starting a video. “Hey, asshole…” he mumbled, his fingers finding your dripping hole. You whimpered when he began moving them, curling up to hit every single spot, you needed him to. “You’re so wet for me, love… Can’t wait to be inside of you… Fuck…” He rolled his hips as he fucked you with his fingers, his hard cock pressing against your clit. You moaned his name. “Feeling you cum on my cock, filling you up…” “Just fuck me, Henry!” you snarled, desperate for him to fill you with his cock. He chuckled darkly.

  “As you wish, baby.” You whined when his fingers left you, but moments later, your head lolled back and he had you hold you up with his large hands on your back, as he entered you swiftly – he was big, stretching you deliciously. He groaned as you clenched down on him, and his resolve broke in the second, your fingers tugged his hair.

He growled and his head found the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your collarbone and he began fucking up into you; you were meeting his thrusts, the wet sounds of you filling the warm night air. You were pulsing around him, his cock dragging against your walls and his head hitting your g-spot over and over. “Your pussy is dripping for me, love… You’re taking me so well, look at you…” He grinned against your skin. “My cock splitting you completely, my good girl taking me so well…” His praise made you moan even louder, and you bit your lip to hold it back. “Don’t hold back, baby, let everyone know… Fuck… How well you’re being fucked…” He growled and angled his hips a little more, hitting you deeper than you thought possible. “Let everyone hear those pretty, little sounds you make for me…” You moaned loudly. “I don’t care… Oh, god… Who hears you, baby, I need everyone to know who you belong to…” Your orgasm hit you out of nowhere, his voice toppling you over the edge; you came hard around him, your pussy clenching down on his hard length, and he sped up, letting you feel every inch of him as you came undone around him. He fucked you with reckless abandon, trying to reach his own high. “Tell me. Tell me who you belong to, baby…” He moved his head from your neck and looked at you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he fucked you deeply. “H-henry… Fuck, I belong… T-to you…” Your voice was broken now, and he groaned as your walls fluttered again. “You want to cum again, love? Soak my cock, huh?” He hissed. “Cum with me, love, fuck…” you let go when he tightened his grip on your neck tightened and he threw any caution to the wind, fucking you as hard as he could, his own orgasm hitting seconds after yours.

He filled you with hot ropes of cum, warming you inside out, and you both moaned loudly, gripping each other as tightly as you could, as you came down from your highs. He peppered kisses along your neck and rubbed soothing circles on bare thighs. You kissed him lazily and he smiled against your lips, his fingers fumbling for the phone. You watched him turn the video off.

“I’m not sharing that with anyone.” He mumbled. “That belongs to me and you, love.” You chuckled and kissed him again, slowly getting off him. He hissed and you moaned as he slipped out from you. “Don’t even bother with your underwear.” He said happily, as he closed his pants and kissed your neck. “Why?” you asked, following his fingers as he grabbed your panties and pocketed them. He wrapped his arm around you and as you walked down to the waiting car (when did it even come?) you felt his spend slowly coat your thighs. It made you whine a little. “Oh, darling…” He opened the door for you and kissed you before flashing you a deadly smile. “Don’t think for one second, I’m done with you.” He got in himself, and his large hand came to rest on your thigh, his long fingers drawing circles in his own spend on your thighs. “Samuel, can you take us to my house, please?”

  ----------------------

TAGLIST:  @acaceta @a-skov @angelmather1 @cooldreamlandsandwich @doubletriplepowerbomb @est1887 @enchantedbytomandhenry​ @fionnthebandersnacc @herroyalbubbliness​ @keiva1000​ @kebabgirl67​ @luclittlepond @mis-lil-red​ @multifanficdom @one-sweet-gubler​ @pandaxnienke​ @perfunctory-username69 @sleutherclaw​ @sofiebstar​ @summersong69​ @spookyboogyuniverse​ @stardusted26​ @thereisa8ella​ @timetraveller4​ @thatonechickhere​ @themanfromu​ @thelastpyle​ @tragicphoenix13​ @yourlocalhoney​ @wheretheriversrunintothesea​           

[sixth-light]

The Crusades: A Fandom Primer

Like many of you, I am very excited to see a whole lot of fic about everybody’s favourite new Crusades-era Muslim/Christian immortal warrior husbands! However, a preliminary reading indicates that fandom is a bit hazy on what actually happened during the Crusades. Or where. Or why. They’re a much-mythologised piece of history so this isn’t surprising, but at popular request – ok like five people that counts – I’m here with a fandom-oriented Crusades primer.

Please bear in mind that I’m not a historian and this primer is largely based on my notes and recollections from several undergraduate history courses I took in the mid ‘00s. I expect the field has moved on somewhat, and I welcome corrections from people with more up-to-date knowledge! There’s also this very good post by someone who is a lot less lazy about links than I am.

Where did they take place?

The Crusades, broadly, describe a series of invasions of the Eastern Mediterranean (modern Israel, Syria, Lebanon, Beirut, Jordan, Cyprus, and parts of Turkey and Greece) by (mostly) Western European armies, religiously justified by their belief that the city of Jerusalem should be part of ‘Christendom’, i.e. ruled by a Christian monarch. In the first expression of European settler colonialism, nobles from the area of modern France and Germany founded four Crusader Kingdoms (aka ‘Outremer’, ‘overseas’) – the County of Edessa, the Principality of Antioch, the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and County of Tripoli.

  After a first unexpected wave of success in the First Crusade (1096-1099), which surprised everybody including the participants by conquering Jerusalem, the Crusaders were gradually driven and the last part of Outremer was lost to European control with the fall of the city of Acre in 1291. Crusades after that still nominally aimed to take Jerusalem but rarely got very far, with the Fourth Crusade famously sacking the city of Byzantium, their nominal Christian allies, in 1204. During this whole period activity that can be considered part of the ‘Crusades’ took place around the Eastern Mediterranean.

The most important thing to remember is that modern national boundaries didn’t exist in the same way; Italy, Germany, France, Spain, and the UK were not unified nations. Most of the southern Iberian peninsula (modern Spain) was ‘al-Andalus’, Muslim kingdoms ruled by nobility originally from North Africa. Sicily had been an Emirate up until very recently, when it had been conquered by Normans (Vikings with a one-century stopover in France). Italy and Germany in particular were a series of city-states and small duchies; Genoa, if you’re curious about it for some reason, ;), was a maritime power with more or less a distinct language, Genoese Ligurian (their dialect had enough of a navy to qualify). England had recently become part of the Anglo-Norman Empire, which ruled most of England (but not Wales or Scotland) and also large parts of modern France, particularly Normandy.

The Muslim world was similarly fragmented in ways that don’t correspond to modern national boundaries - there were multiple taifa states in Iberia, the Almoravid Caliphate in Morocco, the Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt, and (nominally) the Abbasid Caliphate in Baghdad, one of the great cities of the era, although the Seljuq Turks were the major power in Anatolia (modern Turkey) and what we describe as the ‘Middle East’. 

The largest Christian unified power in the wider European/Mediterranean region was the Byzantine Empire, centered on the city of Constantinople (modern Istanbul), which quite fairly considered itself the direct continuation of the Roman Empire, the capital having been moved there by the Emperor Constantine in 323. In fact, the really big political and religious question of the time for Christians was who got to be considered the centre of Christendom (there was no real concept of ‘Europe’ at this point) – the Orthodox Church, the Byzantine Emperor, and the Patriarch of Constantinople in Constantinople, or the Holy Roman Emperor (er…dude in nominal charge of a lot of German and Italian principalities) and the Roman Catholic Church led by the Pope in Rome. The Orthodox Church in Constantinople and the Roman Catholic Church had agreed to disagree in 1054 in the Great Schism, so in 1096 this issue was still what you’d call fresh.

Onto this stage of East-West disagreement and the heritage of Rome crashed the Seljuq Turks, a Muslim group from Central Asia who swept through Anatolia (modern Turkey), Byzantium’s richest province, culminating in the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 which wiped out Byzantium as an independent military force. The southern provinces had fallen under Muslim rule long ago, during the era of the first Umayyad Caliphate – including Jerusalem, famous as the birthplace of Christianity and a holy site for Judaism and Islam as well, but also a fairly uninteresting provincial town. Until...

Until…what?

Here’s why all the geography matters: It is generally accepted that the First Crusade kicked off largely because Alexios I Comnenus, the then-current Byzantine Emperor, requested aid from Western Europe against the Muslim Seljuq Turks. Byzantium often recruited mercenaries from Western Europe; the Normans (aka the Vikings), who had settled Normandy and southern Italy in the past century were frequent hires. Hence those runes in the Hagia Sophia.

Meanwhile in Western Europe, the Pope – Urban II – was having difficulty with the current Emperor, and was eager to heal the Schism and establish the primacy of the Roman church. He declared that an expedition to aid the Byzantines would have the blessing of the church, and that a new kind of pilgrimage – an armed pilgrimage – was religiously acceptable, if aimed against the enemies of Christendom.

Pilgrimages (travelling to holy sites, such as churches that held saints’ relics) were a major part of European Christianity at the time and many people went on pilgrimage in their lives, so this was a familiar concept. Western Europe was also somewhat overpopulated with knights – don’t think plate armour, this is 1096, think very murderous rich men with good swords – who could always use forgiveness, on account of all the murder. The Roman Catholic church, unlike the Eastern Orthodox church, also subscribed to the concept of ‘just war’, that war could be acceptable for the right reasons. And so a whole lot of nobles from the area of modern France, Belgium, England, Germany, and Italy decided that this new Crusade thing was something they wanted in on – and they took several armies with them.

I’m going to skip over a bunch of stuff involving the People’s Crusade (a popular movement of poorer people, got literally slaughtered in Anatolia), the massacres of Jews in Eastern Europe, and a lot of battles, but the takeaway is this: Alexios probably thought he was getting mercenaries. He got a popular religious movement that, somewhat unfortunately, actually achieved its goal (Jerusalem), did next to nothing to solve his Anatolia problem, and gave a succession of Popes a convenient outlet for errant knights, nobles, and rulers: going on Crusade.  

How many were there?

Official Crusades that anybody cares about: Nine, technically. Crusade-like military events that immortal soldiers might have got involved with, plus local stoushes in Outremer: way more. WAY more.

The First Crusade (1096-1099): First and original, set a frankly (heh) terrible precedent, founded the Crusader States and captured Jerusalem. Only regarded as a clash of civilisations by the Western Christians involved. For the local Muslims it was just another day at the ‘Byzantium hires Frankish mercenaries to make our lives difficult’ office.

The Crusade of 1101: Everybody who peaced out on the First Crusade hurried to prove they were actually up for it, once the remaining First Crusaders took Jerusalem. Didn’t do much.

The Second Crusade (1147-1150): The County of Edessa falls, Eleanor of Aquitaine happens (my fave), the only winners are the people who semi-accidentally conquer Lisbon (in Portugal) (but from Muslim rulers so that…counts?).

The Third Crusade (1189-1192): You all know this one because it has RICHARD THE LIONHEART and SALADIN. Much Clash of Civilisations, very Noble, did enough to keep the remaining Crusader kingdoms going but access to Jerusalem for Christian pilgrims was obtained by treaty, not conquest. Indirectly responsible for the Robin Hood mythos when Richard gets banged up in prison on the way home and is away from England for ages.

The Fourth Crusade (1202-1204): Aims for Jerusalem, ends up sacking the Eastern Orthodox city of Constantinople, just not a great time for anybody, more or less the eventual cause of the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans in 1453.  

The Fifth Crusade (1217-1221): Still going for Jerusalem, starts with Cairo instead, does not get anywhere it wants to even after allying with the Anatolian Sultanate of Rum, making the whole ‘Christians vs Muslims’ thing even murkier than it already was post the Fourth Crusade.

The Sixth Crusade (1228-1229): Somehow these things are still going. Nobody even does very much fighting. Access to Jerusalem is negotiated by treaty, yet again.

The Seventh, Eight, and Ninth Crusades: Seriously nobody cares anymore and also nobody is trying very hard. Kings have better things to do, mostly. People end up in Egypt a lot. We covered these in one lecture and I have forgotten all of it.

The Albigensian Crusade (1209-1229): Why take a three-year trip to the Holy Land to fight pagans when you can fight the ones in your own backyard (southern France), AND take their stuff? Famously the source of the probably apocryphal ‘Kill them all, God will know His own’ quote, regarding the massacre of most of a city harbouring Cathars (a Christian sect deemed heretical).

Can we circle back to that ‘massacres of Jews’ bit? WTF?

Crusades, historically, were Not A Good Time for Jewish communities in Europe; when Christians were riled up to go and Fight The Infidel, it was a lot quicker to massacre local Jews than travel to the Holy Land. Also, then you could take their stuff. I will note here that it is VERY TACKY to use historical pogroms as backdrops for your non-Jewish main characters so keep this in mind but, like, use with extreme caution in fanfic, okay? Generally life was a lot easier for Jewish communities in Muslim-ruled states in this period, which is why so many Hispanic Jews ended up in Turkey after they were expelled from Spain. 

What were they really about, then?

Historians still Have Opinions about this. Genuine religious fervour was absolutely a key motivator, especially of the First Crusade. The ability to wage war sanctioned by the Church, or to redeem your local sins by going and fighting against the pagans, was part of that, too. Control of key trade routes to the East was probably not not a part of it. The Crusader States were definitely Baby’s First Experiment With Settler Colonialism, and paved the theological and rhetorical ground for the colonisation of the Americas. But many individuals on the Christian side would absolutely have believed they were doing God’s work. The various Muslim rulers and certainly the local Christian, Jewish, and Muslim inhabitants of the Holy Land itself were mostly just getting invaded by Franks. As time wound on the Crusades became more and more political (frequently featuring intra-religious violence and inter-religious alliances) and less and less about their forever nominal goal, control of Jerusalem.

How’s Wikipedia on this?

Basically not too bad but I’m not totally confident on some of the bits about motivation (see: white supremacists love this period, ugh.)

Why did they stop?

The prospect of re-taking Jerusalem vanished entirely as the Ottoman Empire centralised and took a firm hold over most of the Levant (and made inroads into Europe, as far as Austria, taking Constantinople in 1453 and finally ending the continuous Roman Empire), the Spanish Reconquista and various intra-European conflicts (the Hundred Years’ War, for example) absorbed military attention, and then the Reformation happened and half of Europe stopped listening to the Pope and started stabbing each other over who was the right kind of Christian. But the concept lingered; white supremacists love the Crusades. Which is why it is a very good idea to be sparing with Crusader imagery around Niccolò in fanfic set in the modern era, and please for fuck’s sake stop with the ‘crugayders’ tag, Yusuf wasn’t a Crusader.  

What other fun facts should I keep in mind re: Nicky | Nicolò and Joe | Yusuf?

·        Genoa is not the same as Italy; Nicolò is Nicolò di Genova and would have spoken Genoese (Ligurian) and considered himself to be Genoese. Italian as a language didn’t really exist yet. The language he and Yusuf would most likely have had in common was the ‘lingua franca’ (Frankish language, literally) of the Mediterranean trading region, a pidgin based heavily on maritime Italian languages. Yusuf 300% would have thought of him as a ‘Frank’ (the generic term for Western Christians) and probably annoyed him by calling him that until at least 1200 or so.

·        Yusuf is apparently from ‘Maghrib’, which I assume means al-Maghrib/the Maghreb (as his actor is IIRC of Tunisian descent), i.e. North Africa. He could have had relatives in al-Andalus (southern modern Spain), he may have spoken languages other than Arabic natively (Mozarabic or Berber), his native area had universities before Europe did. Basically: this is as useful as saying he’s ‘from Europe’, do better backstory writers.

·        Taking the whole ‘Nicky used to be a priest’ backstory at face value: being a priest in 1096 looked pretty different to how it did even 200 years later. They were still working on the celibacy thing. The famous monastic orders were still forming. Some priests could and did hold lands and go to war (this wasn’t common but it happened, especially if they were nobles by birth). Nicolò di Genova would not necessarily have seen a conflict between going on Crusade and being a priest, is what I’m getting at. If he was ALSO trained as a knight, he was from a wealthy family; it took the equivalent several villages to support a knight.

·        ‘Period-typical homophobia’ is going to look very different for this period. They are NOT getting beaten up for holding hands. Or sharing a bed! Or even kissing, depending on the circumstances! I am not an expert on Islamic sexual mores of the era but Christian ones were heavily on the side of ‘unsanctioned sex is bad, sanctioned (marital) sex is slightly less bad’, and there was no concept of ‘being gay’. An interfaith relationship would be in some ways more of a problem for them than the same-sex one (and in some ways less difficult to navigate than a heterosexual interfaith relationship.) The past is another country.

·        Look just no more fanfics where Yusuf is trying to learn ‘Italian’ in the early twelfth century I am BEGGING you all

[nightreaderenigma]

Answers to Silent Questions ~

Why?  

It’s time.  Over a year past a deal I brokered with myself, the deadline extended repeatedly, pushed back over and over again, until I could no longer delay.  

But why?  A culmination of a million little things and nothing in particular.  

I still don’t understand? Dreams cannot set sail when they circle the same harbour, when there is only twenty-four hours in a day.

 Are you gone completely? 

An emphatic ‘No’ – such a cold sever would be too painful.  But I am stepping back from my continual fandom interaction and retiring from my rigorous fic writing/posting schedule spanning the last two and a half years.  I will not be a ghost, but I will not be a constant as I have been.  

 Have you lost interest in Jaime and Brienne?  

Not at all. I love them tremendously and continue to ship them with every fibre of my being.  I remain on board the good ship Braime for the long sail.  I carry them in my heart.  

 Will you miss us? 

Very much.  I am tearing up (again) at the thought of not hearing from my regular readers. The names and icons I have come to know and love as my dearest friends.  I will mourn the loss of the Ao3 email in my inbox every night and am likely to cry an ocean when the reality of this hits home.  But it must be – so I persevere.   Bidding farewell to my obsession, addiction and distraction. My constant companion, outlet and vice. Free to chase the beckoning possibilities presented by the free time I have reclaimed.  

 When will you return? 

When the Winds of Winter gust through pages written by GRRM’s hand.  When our beloved couple go canon and we rejoice as one.  When the muses whisper and temptation proves too irresistible to deny. But first I must distance myself – lest I be pulled back in by their magnetism and my love of fic writing, thus beginning my pattern anew.  

 Until then, I thank you all for being a part of my days and nights.  You have brought immeasurable happiness to my life.  I am beyond appreciative to every reader, for every comment and kudos. Please try not to forget me entirely, because I will still be around - this blog remains open (though the content will be more varied) and my Ao3 is still active.  I am sure I will write for Braime again one day in the future.       

In the meantime, we ship on and I… Dream of Spring.  

<3 NightReaderEnigma

[ageofevermore]

Lights Up

summary → in which Harry hates that the two of you can’t enjoy a night on the town without the blinding lights of paparazzi 

word count → 1.3k

warning(s) → mentions of the current pandemic, mask wearing if that somehow triggers you, the slightest implication of paternal guilt, parenting is hard folks

request → @gwen-and-harry ‘could you possibly do a fic where maybe they get swarmed with paps and they try to cover goldie’s face or something and get defensive??’

add yourself to my taglist

In all honesty, you should have expected this. It was never ideal, but it was the life of an up and rising music celebrity who happened to fall away from the public eye for months. You couldn't deny that the time Harry spent locked away with you and Goldie was blissful, but it had lead to a craze of deprived fans and entertainment outlets practically putting a bounty on his head. That's how you ended up here, outside of Nobu with Goldie and an enraged Harry, desperate to keep the flashing lights from yours and her eyes.

It started earlier that afternoon, when Harry had proposed a date night with you and the little love. You had flown out to Malibu weeks ago through a private airline, Harry hoping to maintain some level of secrecy with you and Goldie. He had rented a beach front property for the weeks leading into September, ready to spend countless dusks and dawns with the both of you. Well, your visit to America was coming to an end within the month, and Harry figured you might as well take advantage of the high class restaurants nearby.

You had booked a seven-thirty dinner reservation, and had specifically asked for a table in the back and a need-to-know status. You wanted nothing slipping through the cracks of the industry, and yet somehow that had happened anyway despite the high end service Nobu was providing you with.

Harry was bent down over Goldie's high chair when you noticed the first glint of silver in the distance, contracting the warm tone yellow and golden hues of Nobu's known aesthetic. Your baby was nearly asleep on herself, little fingers and face a mess of overpriced chocolate from the ice cream and cake you had spooned her. Harry had brought a wipe down to her, shushing her whines and wiggles while he cleaned up her sticky features. When he pulled her out of the seat and into his lap, you noticed a definite ruffle in the bushes. At first your heart stopped with the irrational thought of a violent ambush, but when a camera came into view and your worry turned to anger.

"You alright, Petal?" He asked, adorning green pools looking you over with worry. Your loose features had tightened considerably since ordering a round of coffee. His gaze broke when Goldie shifted against his chest, little hand pushing into his suit and laying against his skin, but you knew you still had his attention. He had a way of multi-tasking when it came to the two of you.

"There's a bunch of them outside." You enlightened, eyes looking over your fussy baby who was trying to get comfortable against her father's expensive suit. The sight of her always calmed you, but that was proving unsuccessful now. "We should go before she's asleep and they wake her."

The idea of so many flashing lights in your daughters face was unsettling, and entirely intrusive. She was untouched by the traces of harsh media, shared through approved pictured and short clips. You hadn't prepared for such an invasive encounter yet.

Harry didn't object, thankful that the bill had been paid when your round of desert was cleared from the table. He flagged down the nearest waiter, asking for the coffee to be forgotten, and with a vote of confidence for the both of you, stood from the table. His hand found the small of your back quickly, leading you through the restaurant with a clenched jaw and tight hold around Goldie.

"Her eyes, Harry." You reminded softly, uneasy when his hand left your back and instead went to your daughters head, pushing her face into his neck gently. The both of you were lucky enough to have masks covering the majority of your face, concealing the anger written across your locked jaws, but Goldie didn't. You faintly heard her whine at the shift of temperature when the glass doors were pushed open, but Harry shushed her quickly with a few pats on the back.

It had taken only moments for the dark streets of Malibu to light up with white flashes. Your eyes watered at the abrupt change in lighting, and unconsciously your arms locked around Harry's bicep. He looked down at you quickly, flexing his muscles beneath your hold as a way of reassurance. His hand was still holding Goldie's face to his neck, knowing your baby was as curious as he was.

Harry cursed beneath his breath when a particular flash blinded him, sending a deep fluttering sensation through his stomach when he couldn't make out a clear path towards the car. You knew he never liked feeling trapped, or like he couldn't get the lot of you to privacy quickly and safely. It also didn't help that despite the masks, the paps were not abiding by social distancing guidelines.

"We've got a baby, mate. Can you please back up?" You called softly, maternal instincts blazing at the sight of four or five media outlets treating you and Harry as nothing more then paychecks. You were sure a high resolution snap of Goldie was worth all the same as one of you, which was borderline infuriating.

You had chosen this life at seventeen years old, Harry just a year younger. You had both grown up in dainty English towns, wholesome experiences and tight budgets with a clear and chosen career path in sight. That was everything you had dreamed of sharing with your children, and yes, Harry had built an empire for himself and invited you along, but it meant that in times of desperate privacy you were denied. The industry came with just as many losses as it did wins, if not more.

Goldie let out a strangled whine, nose running along Harry's collarbone as she wiggled. It was nearing nine forty-five, hours after her seven o'clock bedtime, so you weren't surprised by her irritated huffs and whimpers. Usually, she could fall asleep anywhere, but it would be hard for anyone to sleep through the blinding flashes and camera shutters.

"Daddy's got ya, moppet." Harry's voice traveled smoothly through your memory, his light kisses to her crown not doing the trick anymore as gentle cries bubbled in her chest. That was all it took for Harry to see red, barely keeping his head on straight as the photographers acted as though they were heartless.

Harry had an understanding for their line of work, but that didn't mean he was any less appreciative towards their invasive tendencies. He knew that sometimes you were desperate for a paycheck, that these men had families at home they were trying t support. But, hardly ever did they show any compassion towards his own family. "Shh, come on now, Goldie. You're okay." He mumbled, lifting her higher in his arms, making sure to keep her eyes away from the flashes.

"Seriously, give us some space." Your words were coated in venom as you reached up to adjust the mask over your nose, feeling less then protected by the close proximity of frantic strangers.

Maybe it was the edge to your tone, or just that they'd maxed out their storage, but all at once the crown dispersed around the pair of you. You were left with a few stragglers, but they were respectful in a sense that they abided by the CDC requested guidelines of six or more feet apart. The flashes didn't start when you got to the rented black SUV, though you were thankful for the tinted windows.

Harry managed to get Goldie into her car seat with only a few tears, and once the door was closed it was like a weight from within you was lifted. You climbed into the passenger seat, looking over at Harry when he closed the drivers side door and breathed out deeply and guiltily.

"Hey," You whispered, laying a hand on his and searching in the darkness for the gentle green of her endless pools. "It's not your fault. It's never your fault."

[mittensmorgul]

Incoming sad rant about the spn ending. Don't read if you're not interested in reading something like that, but I literally don't know anyone in real life I can talk about this with, and I really need an outlet:

Sometimes I can put the way SPN ended out of my head and think "it's just a stupid show. I don't have to accept the finale, and the writers/network are wrong." But other times I just get gripped with really intense sadness at the disrespect that was done to my favorite characters. To the point where I'll sit still for hours a day, just wallowing in it. It ruins my whole day and mood. And then I think to myself "I'll just find some other stories that end better!" but then I get sad again, cuz I don't think I will ever love other characters as much as I love Dean and Cas, and then I spiral again thinking about all the potential this unique beautiful love story had, and how we're never going to get the closure we deserve.

I really hate that after all this time, I'm a grown ass adult getting sad over fictional characters. I know it's not that trivial, but I sometimes wish it was so I could get over it 😞

Hi hi, and first of all *socially distanced internet hugs* I’m sorry you don’t have an outlet, but you’re always welcome to chat with me (if you come off anon we can talk privately if you want. My DM’s are always open, even when it takes me a bit to reply. no one should have to feel alone in this.)

I’m actually gonna start at the bottom of your message and work my way up, because I also, as a grown-ass adult, get sad over fictional characters. And I need to emphasize that this is the *point* of fiction. A well-written and developed fictional character is *indistinguishable in our minds from an actual real human being.* The way we react to them *feels exactly the same to our brains and bodies* as how we react to real people, and that’s a testament to just how well developed Dean and Cas were in canon.

I am not a young person. I have engaged with a lot of media over my life, and have *never* felt this strongly about fictional characters before, so I understand what you mean when you struggle to think about finding another story that ended better, or struggle to think about finding other characters you might become this attached to or experience this sort of emotional investment in. And I think there is another factor you didn’t consider there: The vast majority of other media I have engaged with, I was able to relate to on a level of “oh that’s nice for them” or “wow that sucks for them.” I have never, and possibly never will again, feel so utterly invested in fictional characters, to the point where it affects my real life as much as Supernatural has. Period.

I will likely never experience *literal physical lovesickness* over two fictional characters ever again. I hadn’t ever experienced it *in my own real life* before, and yet 15.18 triggered all those symptoms in me. As an aromantic person, this was pretty shocking to me. It also says a lot about just how real these characters feel to us, and how important they have become to us. They make us feel this! This is not an accident. It’s *incredibly difficult* to create fictional characters with this range and depth of emotional connection, and yet here we are.

I think that’s the biggest evidence possibly to present in defense of the statement that THIS IS NOT JUST SOME STUPID SHOW.

Other evidence: this fandom, still going strong after 15 years. Look at every SPN convention for proof. Look at AO3, where there are more posted stories about Dean and Cas than literally any other pairing on the planet (by a not-small margin, too). If that isn’t enough evidence, we have fanart to look at as well. Look through @theroadsofararchive where at the time of this posting there are over 40,000 artworks catalogued, and more being added all the time. Same with @canonspngifs where you can search through through nearly 75,000 gifsets organized by an excellent tagging system and made by dedicated fans out of love for the thing. This is all proof that you are not alone, that so many of us care just as deeply about them as you do. Not even mentioning the people who have written hundreds of millions of words of meta, articles, and even masters theses and doctoral dissertations on Supernatural and the fandom. This is a unique thing, even within the larger fandom culture. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your feelings for it are stupid or irrelevant or wrong.

But also don’t let anyone try to convince you that you must accept the finale as part of the story if you don’t want to. Don’t even let *yourself* believe that if you don’t want to. This show has done more to play with the themes of “what is reality” and “who gives a story meaning” and alternate universes and curses and djinn dreams to easily account for whatever the heck the finale was.

my current go-to theory: everything after Chuck’s defeat takes place in the Mockumentary Alternate Universe... it fits way too uncomfortably well... and then I just apply the fic I received in a cosmic transmission from the actual supernatural universe wrote detailing the events of what *I* hoped would transpire afterward. I know this doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me, mostly because it *has* to. It means far too much to me not to.

You are not alone in having invested yourself into this story, and these characters. Your feelings about them are not wrong or stupid or frivolous. And the proof is everyone else who feels the same exact way, who connected to this story (and to each other through this story), and whose lives have been forever altered through this journey together. The fact that Dabb turned out to have been Chuck Junior and couldn’t see (or was prevented from showing us) what Team Free Will would’ve chosen to do with that after defeating their original creator just stands to prove to me that the finale can’t possibly be The Truth, you know?

I don’t know if any of this will help you, or provide you some small comfort right now, but maybe it will eventually. We’re all processing the loss of the show and the abject failure of story that was the finale in different ways, and I’m sure our emotional reactions will shift over time. It was just A Lot to process all in the span of a few incredibly emotional weeks-- not even mentioning how all of that emotional response was compounded by the american elections and surrounding nonsense, the general stress of enduring a global pandemic and all that entails, and *waves hands around broadly at everything else contributing to the trauma occurring in the collective of humankind right now.* We’ve all been emotionally compromised, so be kind to yourself in how you feel you’re coping with it all.

And know that no matter what, you are not alone in how you’re feeling. The grief is real, and our brains don’t care if it’s felt for fictional characters or real people. This was honestly a once in a lifetime experience for a lot of us, and not even the wtf of the finale can kill it for us if we don’t let it. I reject that particular piece of rusty rebar and choose to believe in a just and narratively coherent resolution. To do anything less feels like dishonoring the story and characters who have drawn me in and made me feel so much for them over the years. If the story itself couldn’t honor them properly, then I can choose to do so myself.

<3

[intoevernightfanfic]

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

Ahh, so I'll answer this in several different ways heehee. I'll start with other people's fics.

I'd say that VelvetMoon99's Above and Beyond series (18+) is my favorite that someone else has written. The series is very creative and the imagery is some of my favorite from any fic I've read! I love the universe the author created. ❤️ It feels magical and otherworldly, and Tomoe feels very mysterious in it. 💖

I'd say of my own fics, that would be Arranged Marriage (18+), although (again) Double Trouble comes in second (simply because it makes me laugh a lot). I say AM takes the top spot because it's the fic that got me back into writing after a very long hiatus, and it also kept me sane through quarantine. I also used the story to do some reflection and healing after a really devastating breakup at the beginning of 2020.

KH (and AM in particular) helped me realize some things about myself, my bad habits, and toxic patterns. It helped me come to terms with what had happened and the way I was letting other people treat me. It also made me realize I was a trainwreck and had been going on a path of self-destruction just for the sake of proving to everyone that "I was fine." I'm glad that I got out of that.

AM provided me with a lot of comfort during a very dark time in my life. I recognize that it is muchhhhh too long and that other stories I've written are "tighter" plot wise, but AM served its purpose. It kept me afloat. It healed me. It gave me a creative outlet and something to look forward to. So I often re-read it and feel happy when I do. I love that universe more than any other universe I've created.

Thanks for the asks! Have a happy new year! ✨❤️

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

To be named GGMU fic: Part two - A Derby to be Forgotten

Here it is my dear friends. This fic still feels blasphemous to write but I'm doing it anyway. I'm getting on a plane in four hours and I'm scared out of my mind but I finished this part so everything's fine! Here's part one if you haven't read it!

Jamie slammed his phone down on the table of the bar as he collapsed into the booth opposite his oldest friend. He let his head drop and it slammed, with more force than Jamie expected, into the table. Fuck. It had been such a long day. Jamie couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head up out of the indent he was sure his skull made on the table. He felt a bony finger jab the sore muscles of his shoulder.

“Jamie,” another jab, “Jamie, mate. You alright?” Jamie groaned and lifted his head slightly to peek at Stevie. Jamie didn’t know why Stevie would even ask him that question when he so clearly knew the answer. When Jamie saw the dazed, twitchy, beer-soaked look in his eyes, he found his explanation.

“Course I’m not fucking alright. Everything sucks. I hate football. I hate United. I hate Manchester. I hate television--” Jamie felt drunk and he’d only had one, two, three--oh, definitely too many pints. Jamie couldn’t blame himself for the nightmarish morning he would surely have. No, he was driven to drink. For starters, there were few things Jamie liked less than losing. When you retire, watching your team lose gets so much worse, because that’s all you can do: watch. There’s nothing you can do to turn things around, to steer things in the right direction; you have to watch as the team you love more than the air you breathe goes down in flames. Looking over at Stevie, Jamie thought he too was having trouble adjusting to his new role: that of a fan, not a player.

To make matters worse, it was the Northwest Derby. Jamie hated Northwest Derbies: he hated them to the very core of his being. Sure there’s a thrill to it: the chance to beat your bitter rivals is inviting, but it never seemed to work out that way for Jamie. It certainly didn’t pan out that way in his playing days that often. Northwest Derbies were a reminder of broken ribs, harsh words, own goals, and most of all the bitter sting of defeat. And despite all of that, he would’ve chosen to be a player losing again over a day like this one.

Jamie was in an unfortunate situation. He found himself somehow entirely smitten with his obnoxiously unprofessional, Mancunian, united-till-I-die co-pundit. Gary had apparently thought it was a great idea to do victory laps around the studio right before they went on air. When they went live Gary was sat across from him at the table, a smug smirk on his face and panting slightly. Jamie tried not to think about that night, that first night that Gary had burst into his hotel room, but ultimately failed. He could almost feel Gary’s hot breath whispering across his nose and cheeks as they embraced. He could almost taste the sweet, artificial fruit of Gary’s mouth when he pulled Jamie into a closet for a pre-match snog: it was a great way to release some energy. Jamie spent the rest of the show stumbling along as he tried to get the image of Gary flustered, panting, and thoroughly kissed out of his brain.

On top of all of that catastrophe, Gary managed to make things worse in the dressing room after. He practically floated into the room, something Jamie would have found attractive if he hadn’t known the context. If Jamie was honest with himself he found it attractive even in context but in the way that made Jamie want to pull his hair and push him to his knees rather than wrap him in his arms and kiss him. He hummed softly across the dressing room as he unbuttoned his shirt, doing Jamie’s job for him.

“Glory Glory Man United,” Gary sang just once to make sure Jamie knew before he went back to humming. Not that it would have been easy to ignore otherwise. He looked over at Gary expecting to see him searching for Jamie’s reaction: Jamie wanted to show his neutral face, to let Gary know he couldn’t be manipulated. Except that he could, so, so easily. Gary was looking at him for a reaction as expected. Jamie did not expect Gary to be wearing an old United shirt, Neville proudly written on the back. Yet another reminder to Jamie that the man he had not chosen but had come anyway to love (yes he said it, Gary might have been in denial but Jamie Carragher was not an idiot or a coward) was so different from himself in the ways that matter both the most and the least.

“What’d Neville do this time, mate?” Even Drunk Stevie seemed to know how smitten Jamie was and Drunk Stevie was an idiot. Jamie had videos on his phone to categorically prove that. Jamie loved one in particular of Drunk Stevie trying to strip off his shirt, instead getting the fabric stuck around his head and laughing so hard he fell into a lamp post. But that's another story. Jamie took another sip from his beer. Given the amount of beer left in his pint, it seemed that he’d taken a lot of sips while lost in thought.

“He won’t stop singing that fucking song, Stevie. It makes me want to throw him off a bridge every time.” Stevie nodded solemnly. Jamie appreciated Stevie’s humouring him and decided to continue. It wasn’t like he had many other outlets he could rant to about his infuriating, Mancunian coworker. “He’s such a stubborn idiot, Stevie. I mean, God, he’s so dense. We fucking fuck every other fucking day and every time he fucking comes up with some fucking shit excuse and fucking runs out like a fucking coward. He’s fucking stubborn that’s what he is. He’s so stubborn. It’s against his fucking principle or something to hang out with a fucking scouser. Mate! He wouldn’t eat the fucking cereal, Stevie! I bought fucking Weetabix--Weetabix! I bought it just for him and he doesn’t have the fucking decency to fucking stick around to fucking eat it!” Jamie gasped for breath as he finished his sentences and chased his breath with a large gulp of beer. Stevie grabbed his hand and pulled the pint out of his now loose fingers.

“Think we should call it a night, eh, Carra?” Stevie went to get up and slid down into the booth further. “I think I’ll call Alex.” Jamie grunted. Even in his swirly, tired mind, it seemed like a good idea. Jamie melted down onto the table and for the second time on the night, his cheek was smushed against the cold wood.

“I just love ‘im, Stevie. I don’t want to. I just do. I love him sooooooo much,” Jamie was really slurring by now. Jamie’s head was spinning and there was a dull throbbing pain in the centre of his skull. They definitely needed to call it a night. Preferably an hour ago, maybe longer.

The next thing Jamie knew he was in the back of a car with his head resting in Stevie’s lap. Stevie looked down at him and ran his fingers through Jamie’s short hair comfortingly. Jamie thought Stevie’s breath didn’t smell nearly as good as Gary’s did.

“I just love ‘im,” Jamie murmured once again. He didn’t even mean to this time; the words just came out. When they left his mouth the words blended together into one mush of a word but Stevie still seemed to understand him. Stevie always understood him.

“I know, mate,” Stevie said, softly, “it’s okay.” And as long as Stevie said so, it was.

[zet-sway]

@the-wip-project day 100

What have you learned over these 100 days? How will you apply this new knowledge to grow as a writer from here on?

First of all how the fuck did I make it this far? When I started, I never actually thought I would finish.

So the number one thing I've learned is not to take myself too seriously.

That seems like an oversimplification but my favorite parts of this endeavor were the small writing challenges along the way, stopping to write things that aren't smutty oneshots. Little exercises to fluff my writing skills and try new things.

I learned I can write about my own experiences to help put the bad ones to rest and the good ones to my heart. I learned I don't have to write the feeling, I just have to frame it. Give it context. Fill in the edges around the thing and let it indirectly give shape to what I'm trying to say.

Believe it or not, the interaction these posts got has been extremely inspirational.

I learned that people are far more supportive than I give them credit for. And I don't need to prove myself to anyone. I can just be. It felt good to write nonsense even if no one saw it. In the last 100 days I actually do feel like I've put some ghosts to bed. Life is no less complicated than ever, but I have never felt this unburdened by the events of the years before 2020.

I learned I don't care to be a professional writer, but I still want to grow. And I learned I need to actually *read stuff,* like, actual THINGS that aren't just reblogs of writing advice. Advice is good, but reading other shit is also just as valuable. Reading in and of itself counts toward growth as a writer.

I learned that I am older, and more tired than I have ever been before. But I still attempted a chaptered fic anyway. I only posted two chapters (technically 3 but you know), but that's still the first time I did that!! It's a big deal for me!! And yeah it may not have been a fucking earthshattering fanfic but it's still work I ruminated very much on, an actual plotline I thought out in my head. New information and new headcanon. I have a story in my head! That's new and exciting.

And allow me a soapbox here for a second because my heart feels full right now -

I'm a skeptic and I really have not been very touched by the supernatural or divine in any way that is obvious to me. Except this year. When I was suddenly and randomly struck by the desire to look back on my old fanfiction for no reason in particular. I felt swelled with pride. I felt so good, like I could flatten whatever stood in my way. While I was reminiscing, I wondered - when is the new Mass Effect coming out? I looked it up, and lo and behold, it was coming out in two fucking days. I don't believe this was an accident. For some fucking reason, forces I don't understand wanted me to experience this again. I was called. I was pulled back in. For whatever reason, whatever purpose, I'm here because of a random blip on my radar that came like serendipity out of the fucking sky. It all happened so fast. The legendary edition, the Spiritual Shrios Summer challenge, the 100 days challenge. I was certain I wouldn't finish. But I did. So holy fucking shit, right?

I'm prone to losing interest in things - so everyone knows. It might be more accurate to say I get distracted and pulled along by another shiny thing in my life. I didn't think about fandom for years but I never forgot. And if I was called back to it, that means it's important to my heart and not something I did as part of a "phase" or whatever. This is a positive outlet, a creative endeavor, something that has actually enriched the lives of strangers, many of whom have never spoken a word to me but likely read and enjoyed anyway. I've touched lives in whatever small way. That's so cool.

Finally, I learned an awful fucking lot about my characters of choice. Shout out to you guys who are always feeding me new information. You know who you are. All of you. If you think this might be about you, it probably is. Please accept this digital hug from me. A handmade quilted hug from yours truly. Thank you.

And of course thank you @barbex for your enormous and appreciated effort of hosting this event. Thank you for being so supportive, I have never seen you say a bad thing about anyone and I respect you so much. Thank you for hosting :) I had so much fun, and learned so much, not all of which I expected to learn but I am so grateful for anyway.

[spagbol99]

4,12,13 :)

Phew, three at once! Wowsa!

4. Are there any writers who inspire you?

I have been blown away by so many writers that I’ve come across on fanfiction. There is literally not enough time to write them all out. I like how varied they are: some people have these insanely creative plots that I sit there and just think, ‘how on earth did you think of that?’ Others use language in such a beautiful way that I just am in awe of. Other people just dig into me emotionally. I have a terrible memory so I will miss people out but I’m going to just pick a few that inspire me.

I’m a big fan of long multi-chaptered works so @mshermia’s “If They All Knew About You” was one of the first fics I read, and then re-read, and then re-read, and then bugged her to update, on Ao3. Great storytelling with realistic dialogue and characterisation. That, along with @winterda’s “Lost Boy”, also served to inspire me towards starting my current BioDad WIP.

I’ve also enjoyed everything I have read by @jolinarjackson. She has a great way of weaving a story and consistently believable dialogue which is such an important element for me. Good dialogue is my jam.

I’m also going to take the opportunity to wax lyrical about a particular fic and author which is “Cycle Through” by @ambivalentmarvel or well I think it is ambivialentangst on Ao3. I went to re-read it, again, after I had recommended it, again, and was shocked that it has not received more reads tbh. So if you are looking for something incredibly well written with a forward driving plot and lots of feels, this is for you.

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

Well, it has to be my BioDad/Kidnapped/Homeless fic that I am about 60K into writing at the moment. It is so far proving to be pretty angsty which if you have read A Peter Parker Problem ( https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649073) will know is something I LOVE to write. Premise is Tony finding his previously kidnapped son in the form of Peter Parker, who is determined to keep his Spider-man identity a secret (and supposed father at a distance) while he hunts down Ben’s killer. Setting is post CW with the Rogues returned and pardoned with Bucky returning to New York and finding his way and you now know why I am 60K deep and haven’t even gotten into it yet. It’s gonna be another long one I’m afraid. I have a beta this time ( @tufteatsunglasses might not realise she is but I keep sending her stuff 😉) so there is some hope of my reining it in...just a smidge...maybe.

13. First fandom you ever wrote for.

IronDad/MCU is the first and only fandom I have ever written for. In fact, Ive said it before but I only started reading fanfiction for the first time in April (thank you pandemic) and I fell in love with it and was inspired to write. I’m no spring chicken, so a part of me is annoyed that I didn’t find this wonderful outlet sooner but I am certainly making up for lost time now!

[pleasantwizardphilosopher]

Here it is! Chapter 2 of my current fic, based on the first one. Here I explore Lena's past.

Lena always wanted to help, even when her whole family acted otherwise, she wanted to do good. She had been adopted by the Luthors at the young age of 4, and before that, well, there wasn’t much, she had already forgotten her birth mother’s face, all that was left was warmth and melodic birdsong-like voice, soft, gentle, and caring in a way she’d soon forget, and a light smell of lavender and cotton. Her mother drowned, she is still not sure how that happened, one instant they were both on the shore of the lake, laughing and playing with the sand, the next moment it was all splashing sounds and bubbling, then, nothing. No scream, no cries, the green-eyed girl never cried and never mourned.

When she arrived at the Luthor Manor for the first time she felt how the cold halls and whispering air took an enormous spot on her heart and body, cold ice climbing up her nerves and settling as a cold hand on her skin. That feeling never went away. Her stepmother, Lillian only took one full look at her, from her small school-girl shoes to her loose raven hair and forest-green eyes and decided she hated her and would make the little girl’s life a living hell. She never broke her self-promise. She started right away, throwing her stuffed teddy bear, which still had her mother’s scent, to the trash and forbidding her to take it out. Even going as far as to send her to a boarding school in Ireland for most of Lena’s education. Lena always learnt fast, she was a certified genius after all, and learnt to control her reactions, her expressions and to lock up her emotions deep within her mind every time those ice-cold blue eyes looked at her as if she was worth nothing, every time a seething instruction came out of those fine lips, or when they turned into a disgusted scowl towards her. Lillian will never know but she helped build those two very opposite sides of Lena, the cold, calculating and rehearsed woman, and whoever Lena might be like on the inside, when no one is watching.

Actually, it was all of them, who help built Lena like that, cold, controlled, manipulative. Putting in place slowly every brick that would ultimately represent their own destruction (which she hadn’t planned, obviously).

Lionel always cared for her, in his own “here’s money” way, and loved (?) her, she’ll never really know that hell, are Luthors even capable of love? He was a first, that day in her new foster home, after the rescue teams and paramedics managed to untangle little Lena from the cold, lifeless body of her mother, hours after someone had finally noticed the bright green-eyed girl staring fixatedly and intently into the lake. Hours after rescuers and search parties came and dug her mother’s body out of the lake, blue-ish and stiff; he came into the house as someone used to be the most powerful person in the room, he stood tall as his lawyers arranged everything for Lena to go with him. She’ll never forget his eyes, cold, measured and absolutely broken, he smelled like fine tobacco, ironed clothes, and expensive vodka. The Irish girl didn’t know it, but that day Lena Kieran died, and Lena Luthor was born.

Her father did love her, or so he endlessly sore, albeit it definitely didn’t seem like it every time he got home drunk (asshole). It was, fortunately, easy to predict, most days dear Father would come home taking full swings from a very expensive whiskey bottle. It usually happened after a successful expansion, board meeting or launched project, however, other times, he seemingly just wanted to get lost, to run away from the ghosts that plagued his mind. The first signs of his arrival were the roaring engine of his sports car, roaring fiercely as the driver lacked control, almost pushing it through the front double doors. Then, after the front heavy wooden doors were closed behind him by some unfortunate staff member, the scent of sweat, saliva and booze would fill the hallways, a telltale of fear. The first time it happened, she was 5 years old and she didn’t know why Lex and Lillian had suddenly disappeared, so, she went straight to daddy, who had just arrived. Sure, he smelled sour, and his blue eyes were unfocused, glassy, but who could blame her for wanting her father’s attention? When he lifted his hand she innocently and naively thought he was going to lift her, that illusion shattered the moment his ringed hand found her cheek. The stinging pain she felt was drowned down by the hollow sound it made, like broken porcelain, fear squeezing her lungs, taking every breath from them. Tiny drops of splattered blood prickled her white blouse and light green skirt, dripping slowly from her split lip, and she prayed for someone to come rescue her. The air around them stilled, a strong smell of iron filling the hall. Just when he was about to get his second hit, with the back of his hand this time and the full blow of his rings, Lex pulled her away and dragged her to his room, far from Lionel’s grasp, her hero.

After that fatidic night her half-brother Lex, short for Alexander (how sweet), took her under his wing, teaching her everything he knew, he was the only member of the Luthor’s household who actually made her feel welcomed. Their sibling’s relationship started off easy and innocent, with Lex teaching her how to play chess, where she proved her superior ability for the game. Astonished by her abilities and smartness, Lex pulled her into more of his projects, lending her philosophy and physics books, challenging her mind, becoming her mentor, always pushing her harder. Always praised by her older brother, Lena got to overcome great problems and let her bright mind loose, coming up with revolutionary ideas and theories that Lex let her test out in his lab, by his side.

And by his side she designed many innovations that would potentially revolutionize bioengineering and medicine. Her first grand scale development was a first-aid drone, which could be programmed to arrive on site in less than 5 minutes, providing immediate help to people in need with precious extra minutes and allowing medical experts to control it remotely, giving first-instance attention to severely injured people. Its main use was car accidents. She also realized significative advances in cancer research, with nanoparticles and DNA targeted vectors. However, she also worked doing important scientific theorizing and advances with inter-dimensional travel and near-light’s speed travel, she was a certified genius after all, and could understand advanced physics as if it were a kid’s game. It was this particular work that got her giving a magistral conference during an important science colloquium. She was at her first year of PhD studies, after getting a Master’s Degrees from MIT (studied simultaneously) at the surprising age of 20, making people in scientific communities and media outlets go insane.

In that particular fair she crossed paths with several bright-minded people. There were amazing projects, as the one from a South African guy, who theorized that Tesla coils could be supercharged and employed as main power sources for industrial plants. Listening to the guy speak, adding a few helpful comments here and there, as was expected from the genius green-eyed woman; she overheard a couple of investors talking about a water purification system based solely on solar radiation. She was stunned, from what she heard of the project it could be built in series with minor costs and given at an extremely low cost to the general public. An action plan was already being envisioned in her mind, and if her numbers were correct (they always were), the overall fabrication cost would be of five dollars, selling it at seven dollars each unit would represent great profits, simultaneously making the product available for anyone anywhere in the world. She needed to see that. She needed to help them help others, as it was her wish.

She wouldn’t get to see said mind-blowing project though, as the conference she was going to give attracted more attention than previously thought, she had to get together with the staff earlier than planned in order for them to place some microphones on her person and put on a little camera-adequate make up on her face. While she was with that, several TV-screens were placed outside the venue’s auditorium for everyone to watch. Lena thought they were overreacting. She was wrong (gladly). Her conference blew out the auditorium’s capacity as nearly everyone present wanted to hear about her work, there were a few narrow-minded colleagues that tried to throw her off-balance with ironic and physically impossible theories and enquiries and a few others where there just to ogle her. However, most of them were there to marvel at her intelligence and praise her brilliance. By the end of the conference, she was quickly ushered towards a waiting car, she had received a call from Lillian that she was needed in Metropolis as soon as possible, dear father had died (such pity) from a heart attack and Lex would take over LuthorCorp.

When Lex lost his mind, she was also there, by his side. This time, unlike the many other moments she had spent next to him, she didn’t feel safe, nor free, she didn’t feel anything. There was only silence. If the world had stopped spinning right at that instant, Lena couldn’t tell. And then all noises came rushing back, like a tsunami, flooding her mind with unbearable hurt, making her throat close and her fist clench on the armrests in a desperate attempt to ground herself. His breath smelled like vodka, a nasty habit they both had taken up from Lionel, drowning their feelings, he was laughing madly, extremely loud, splitting saliva everywhere, as he told his baby sister about his mass-murder, race-wiping, plan to end Superman and all aliens on Earth. He went on and on, about how other races didn’t belong there and how humans like him (fucking psychopath) had been chosen to protect Earth, he was a savior you see (he wished). Lena wasn’t entirely listening, as her body started to get numb both from being tied to a chair and from the endless hurt and betrayal she was feeling. Her brother, the only truth she knew, the only one who always stood by her, defending her from Lionel’s worst and standing by her on Lillian’s best. Who supported her scientific quests, no matter how out of the box and unlikely they were, who held her in his arms until she felt asleep that first time Lionel hit her, rocking her softly and humming a slow melody, who gave her every book she loved. And now he was gone. The only trace left from her loving brother was his face, now twisted in a scowl almost beyond recognition. At that moment, everything Lena Luthor had built herself to be broke apart.

The FBI freed her hours later, hours from listening to Lex’s xenophobic world-domination plan. By the time they managed to hold Lex down, her tears had already dried on her face, the only trace of them being the mild light grey marks on her cheeks, where they rolled endlessly while she begged her brother to stop and come back to her, and her smeared mascara, from rubbing her eyes with her shoulders in a futile attempt to stop new tears from streaming down her face. The raven-haired woman could only listen above the piercing ringing in her ears, not minding the FBI’s questions, nor her lawyer’s. She felt empty, truly empty, up to a level where the pain seemed to have rooted into her bones and muscles, making her slow and heavy, filled only with sorrow. Just as the man being taken away was Lex’s shell, the brother who loved her and whom she admired; she had now become a shell of her own. Broken beyond recognition, irreparably, the same way glass shatters under a hammer.

She got to her apartment and packed a bag; she didn’t even need to think about it, she grabbed her most important necessities and threw them carelessly into a suitcase, closing it without even bothering to verify its contents. Calling a car to pick her up and telling Jess, her new assistant, to get the board members of LuthorCorp and her personal jet at the ready, as there were modifications that needed to take place at that moment. Without looking back, she strode out of her apartment directly into her waiting car, it took every ounce of her willpower for her not to simply run towards traffic and fling herself to the first taxi in sight. That definitely wasn’t what was expected from her, the new CEO of LuthorCorp since she was next in the succession line after Lex. Feeling her mouth go dry and the huge lump in her throat tighten at the thought of her former half-brother, she instead focused on the road to her private hangar.

Taking two Advil with a generous amount of scotch (thank you very much) she stated for the nth time to her investors why she was moving LuthorCorp’s headquarters to National City (breathe Lena), the company needed a fresh start after everything her blood had done with it, particularly a bald someone she used to know; the throbbing of her head getting worse every instant as those old white misogynists debate her ability to rule the company, as newly promoted CEO. After several more excruciating back and forth arguments her decision was accepted, and it definitely had not anything to do with the ice-cold fear that had settled in her lower back and lungs after that day’s events, nor with the horrors she saw every time she closed her eyes.

She needed a fresh start, one that allowed her to never look back, and so she did, she moved to National City, getting a penthouse in the highest building in the city, she never thought about it, she never regretted it, and furthermore, she never looked back. Not even after the moving company left all her belongings in her new home and she found a picture of her and Lex smiling, not when she first got rid of everything that reminded her of her Luthor upbringing, not when she finally cried herself to sleep, two days after arriving in the new city, two days which she spent napping for less than 20 minutes as the nightmares of her insane brother haunted her, holding her tears back with bench-press strength. She didn’t. And she didn’t regret it, as it was the least she could have asked for after the experience she had lived, seared in her mind and marked in her skin in the shape of dark red lines around her wrists and ankles, bruising slightly. As she unconsciously rubbed her left wrist softy, looking out to the city, seeing the sun rise, bringing with it the soft smell of baked bread and coffee, she thought that maybe this is where she was meant to be after all. Maybe she could forget.

Let me know your thoughts.

You can read both chapters on AO3

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Haymitch, Effie, and Hayffie

(Musings, character analysis, my headcanons about their backstories and forward stories, especially about their relating and relationships. I felt like I needed to think through some of these ideas before writing more fics. These reflections got incredibly long, and I considered just keeping this in my drafts for myself, but maybe something here will resonate with someone else too, so here we go.)

I’ve been writing about Hayffie for a month, and I have some thoughts about their relationships/sexual histories both individually and together. It’s film-Hayffie that I’m into, so some of my ideas might conflict with what’s canon in the books, which I haven’t read in nearly a decade. When I eventually reread the books, I may feel differently, but these are my musings for now.

Haymitch:

We know Haymitch had a girlfriend when he won the second Quarter Quell at age 16. Snow had her murdered along with Haymitch’s mom and younger brother, so I’m guessing Haymitch loved her, otherwise Snow wouldn’t have bothered to have her killed since Snow always kills with intention.

Haymitch I imagine has probably always been good-looking-enough, but not extremely handsome. (I say this despite the big crush I have on Woody). I can see Haymitch as a kid having been witty, reasonably athletic, reasonably popular, a class clown and fairly obnoxious. As a teen without a father present/alive, home would have been a place of hard work, so school was likely Haymitch’s primary outlet for fun. I figure that particular girlfriend may have been his first serious love (and probably his only love).

I think he and she had some experience with sex but not a lot. They probably explored each other and discovered things together. They may have had sex only soon before the reaping, just in case the worst happened and one of their names was pulled. I’m remembering the guy I dated when I was 16. I loved him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. However, if it had been the feeling of the end of the world, I probably would have slept with him. So, logic tells me they did.

Fast forward. Traumatized post-Games Haymitch wouldn’t have been with anyone else for a long time. I think it may be canon that he refused prostitution because he had no loved ones left to lose, but even if Snow did prostitute him, it would have been maybe once when Haymitch was still a minor, like Snow’s last nail in the coffin of crushing him. But Haymitch would have ultimately proven himself to be too much of a loose cannon/liability for Snow to use in that way.

So I imagine Haymitch has some history of sexual trauma. First in the intensity of sex with his beloved girlfriend within the feeling of coercion (let’s do it now or maybe never). Then with being prostituted to likely some wealthy middle aged woman. Rather than being the prostitute of a man, I think Haymitch would have killed the man or killed himself, depending on his trauma state at the time. So I don’t see sex with men, forced or otherwise, in his history.

It’s canon that Haymitch is basically a loner/shut-in who doesn’t like people in his house and sleeps holding a knife (when he’s able to sleep). I see him having the potential to be quite desirable to women and the potential for being a player. But trauma put a damper on those potentials. I think he could have sex whenever he feels like it, but for a couple of decades after his Games he just doesn’t very often (on average over those years once or occasionally twice a month maybe) because women are too much of a hassle, and they aren’t the love he lost. Alcohol is strongly his drug of choice over sex.

When he does have sex, I believe it’s one-night stands or casual sex with women who are players themselves and probably who he mildly dislikes. He steers clear of relationships that seem at all likely to become emotional. He firmly does not want to get attached to anyone again. Liking people is something he perceives as risky. Loving people is something he perceives as suicidal.

Haymitch is perceptive. Over the years, he’s learned some basics about what feels good to women physically. Pleasuring women has never been his first priority during sex, but I see him as the kind of guy who gets off on them getting off, so he would have made an effort to experiment a little and pay attention to the results. Unfortunately, alcohol often gets in the way of really focusing on women while he is with them. Which is one of the reasons Effie likes him better sober...

Effie:

I like to imagine Effie in early life, 0-9 maybe, with a very old great-grandmother in her 80s-90s. This great-grandma had memories of growing up in a free-er nation before the dictatorship gained in intensity, before the first revolution, before tyranny. I imagine she told Effie folktales that Effie remembers as bedtime stories. Those appeared to be fictional but were filled with archetypes and the roots of humanity. Her great-grandma was careful to protect the family, so she never spoke openly against the Capitol, but she understood and communicated deeper truths which shaped Effie’s heart/unconscious mind. I like to imagine Great-grandma offered Effie a reflection of the girl’s authentic self and offered her a small taste of empowerment. “Never forget you’re more than a pretty, well-mannered girl. Your wit is sharp. You have the capacity to be so much more than a face and a body bending to someone else’s will.”

To Effie’s controlling parents, and even to Effie herself in time, the great-grandma would seem eccentric. I envision her telling Effie that a woman doesn’t need a man to please her or to achieve greatness, and teaching her that she can please herself in all ways including financially and physically. Those lessons sunk in. I see Effie’s great-grandma having possibly been widowed young and surviving on her own awhile, with kids including Effie’s grandparent. In many ways Great-grandma was a self-made woman in her time.

Effie lost most of that connection to antiquity and to her authentic self when her great-grandma died, and she had nothing substantial to shield herself against the tight control and will of her family and Capitol life.

I imagine Effie mostly complied with that control but claimed autonomy in subtle ways. I think she had sex throughout the second half of her teens and throughout her 20’s, always being discerning, discrete, and selective about partners, rather than *sleeping around.* She had an intention behind each conquest. These conquests often had to do with aspects of self discovery, the desire for validation, and facilitating what she wanted in life, especially the ability to project a certain image in order to get where she wanted to go.

Did Effie fall in love with some of those young men? Probably, because underneath her thick facade, Effie has a tender heart which the facade protects like armor. Did she ever have her heart broken? Seldom. For the most part, she inherited and practiced ways of staying in control of her emotions within relationships. Most men thought of her as a desirable pain in the ass, but worth the high maintenance because she knows how to pleasure a man, she gives that focused attention during significant times including sex.

Did she ever experiment with sex with women? Possibly at some point out of curiosity and in seeking validation, but I don’t see women as her jam. Pretty and popular in childhood, she got along with girls in school. Later in her teens and adulthood, women mostly resented her natural beauty, fashion sense, drive to achieve, ability to attract attention, and her perfected facade. I see Effie feeling wistful at times for the quality of connections she had in youth, but her understanding of survival in Capitol society dictated that image and career-based connections were more important than purely emotional ones.

By age 30, during her years as an escort, Effie is quite singularly driven. She knows her body well, but there’s a veil over much of her inner self. The facade she’s built up is so thick that she doesn’t know much anymore about the vulnerable self beneath it. Haymitch can see the softness in her, whether he’s sober or drunk. She is both terrified and thrilled by his capacity to see the self she hides.

Hayffie:

I picture Haymitch as one of the first crushes Effie can remember having. I think of her as 8-9 years younger than him, so she would have been 7, nearly 8, when he was in the second Quarter Quell. She would have been quite taken with the way he held Maysilee’s hand as she died. Just as Effie was genuinely touched by Katniss caring for Rue as she died.

I see Effie having only been an escort since maybe the 72nd Hunger Games — long enough for the District 12 folks to know and mock her, but not too long. She had ambitions to move up in the districts, and she was on her way to proving herself as an effective tool of the Capitol: looking, sounding, and acting the part she was playing, and keeping herself veiled to the injustice of the Games and of tyranny in general. She was brainwashed by a lifetime of coercive propaganda, not because her mind is weak, but because the propaganda was so prevalent and multifaceted, including coming directly from her primary caregivers.

I think she probably expressed interest in Haymitch early on in their work together, seeing him as his idealized younger self. I think he turned her down then, in part because there was something about her that he enjoyed too much, even though he may not have been able to pinpoint what it was, because in the beginning he perceived her to be mostly ridiculous.

I see Hayffie playing cat and mouse for a few years — teasing, taunting, holding each other at bay and not doing much beyond tormenting one another during games 72-74, and learning each other’s nuances along the way. Effie would find Haymitch’s uncoothness off-putting and his wildness tantalizing. He would find her poshness annoying and the woman underneath all those layers a sensual curiosity.

The third Quarter Quell effected a personal transformation for each of them. Haymitch accepted the reality that he was caring about people; he couldn’t stop those emotions, even with alcohol, and he really didn’t want to. Effie’s eyes were opened to the injustice of the Games through her deep affection for her team of victors. Her armor came down enough to experience heartbreak — a related heartbreak to what Haymitch was experiencing as he lost old friends, like Chaff and Mags, and as he cared for Katniss and Peeta and helped launch a revolution.

I see this as the vulnerable time for Hayffie when their personal games of cat and mouse would pause, and intimacy would creep in and feel scary. They’d banter it away for a while but by then they’ve seen each other’s heartbreak, and the contents of a heart once seen, can’t be unseen.

In the absence of liquor for him and in the absence of facades for her (i.e. in District 13), hiding authenticity from each other would be tough. The taunting chase would continue in spirit, but physically they’d be ready to catch each other and play with that physicality if for no other reason to provide distraction.

“Let’s keep this casual,” they’d say. “No strings.” But the tapestry that had been weaving so long would take shape nonetheless. Strings would be everywhere, drawing them together faster than they could cut them.

Sex between them, after years of avoiding it with each other, would feel easy and alive, like breathing. Their bodies would fit well, so neither would have to work too hard to pleasure the other. I can see that sex between them has the potential to be very rough at times, though always with mutual consent. They both would be this interesting mix of selfish and giving. Their parting and coming together I see going on for years with feigned casualness. Cat and mouse again. The lightness would become more and more of a lie. Sex with other people would eventually whittle to nothing without much discussion about it.

They’d meet themselves in time as free individuals, and they’d realize they had fallen for each other all along, despite everything and because of everything. They would keep trying to stop it, and they’d keep failing miserably until finally moving into acceptance.

I don’t picture them ever married. Haymitch would want no government or religious bullshit in their personal business. But I see them eventually sharing their lives with increasing intimacy, how ever that might show up. I’m not sure yet how it would show up, though I like to think that several years down the road, Effie will move to District 12 “as the place becomes more civilized,” and when she perceives that there is meaningful work for her there. I also believe Effie’s perception of “meaningful work” will shift in time, initially out of necessity and then organically as she reconnects with her deep self and reclaims it.

I don’t picture Hayffie with kids. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally picture them with a kid and would have a blast writing the humor, affection, and angst inherent for them within that choice, but I don’t think that choice is in character for them. If they conceived a child, that would happen inadvertently. They’d both be terrified of parenthood, given their histories individually and together. Most likely Effie would terminate the pregnancy, but she’d be conflicted. And the more opportunity Haymitch would have to think about it, the more conflicted he would be as well.

The Hunger Games takes a toll in both ways. Kill a fetus to keep it from being born into a world where they’ve participated in and witnessed the killing of children? Or let the fetus become a baby with traumatized dysfunctional parents and hope for the best? I think they’d see it as a lose-lose, but also would feel so much tenderness about the possibility, especially if it happens years down the line in the feeling of “let’s do it now or maybe never.” Sound familiar? There’s some trauma reenactment there.

Trauma bonding and secure attachment:

I think that Hayffie could fall easily into reenacting trauma with each other. Here are some ways I see that playing out...

Haymitch experienced severe attachment trauma while still in early life, losing his parents and everyone he loved. This was on top of the trauma of being hunted and killing and witnessing death within the Games. This trauma was inflicted directly or indirectly by the Capitol. Haymitch has a lot of unresolved anger at the Capitol. Without integration there’s no healthy way for someone to cope with that severity of trauma. Hence, his addiction/alcoholism.

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see him drawn to Effie because she’s a Capitol girl, controlled/controlling and emotionally abandoning. She doesn’t show up all warm and fuzzy and “talk to me, honey.” She shows up with open criticism and disdain for him. On the surface, she has those fundamental qualities in common with the primary abuser throughout his life (Snow). So through the lens of trauma reenactment, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to fuck her.

I imagine Effie experienced early life trauma that was more subtle but still impactful. She grew up in a place where one misstep could lead to her family’s ruin. She grew up with parents who likely demanded no missteps and were emotionally unavailable, being so focused on achievement over emotional health. To keep her parents’ approval Efffie needed to do everything precisely: appearance, manners, attitude, performance. When she didn’t exceed par, I imagine she was criticized and chastised. When she exceeded par she was praised. (Intermittent reinforcement.) Throughout her early life, she marinated in rigidity with constant reminders of what happened to people who were imperfect. Effie became an attention seeker and a people-pleaser. She sought validation from not just the masses, but also specifically from people who were the most critical of her and dependent in some way upon her *performance.*

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see her drawn to Haymitch because he doesn’t offer her consistent validation. Even his *compliments* are teases, taunts, and mocking sarcasm. His alcoholism makes him emotionally unavailable and at times intermittently reinforcing. In moments, he’ll look right into her with unmistakable genuine attraction, and she’ll feel high when he does. The high comes because the attention is intermittent and unpredictable. In that state of emotional drugs flowing through her, it makes total sense that she’d want to fuck him.

Their potential for trauma bonding will make their relationship at times explosive and volatile, not overtly abusive but with sharp tongues and intense physicality that at times borders on punishing. Their desire for each other grows like wildfire, their bond tightens, and sex between them is compelling and delicious in a way that I don’t think either of them has experienced before.

I like to believe their potential for trauma bonding is only part of what draws them together.

I think Haymitch’s compassion in the second Quarter Quell touched young Effie’s heart very genuinely, and her young heart was also shaped by her great-grandmother’s unconditional love. With that heart, she in time grows deep affection for “her victors,” not just as validations of her self-worth, but as people who are truly deserving because of who they are, not what they do.

I think Haymitch has the capacity to see through Effie’s walls of makeup, clothing, and attitude to the heart of the girl who has watched him kill but doesn’t regard him as a murderer, rather she sees him still as the boy who held his friend’s hand in death. I like to think of him seeing that core aspect of himself through her eyes. Each time he sees it, he forgives himself a little more for the responsibility he feels for the death of his loved ones and everyone he ever killed in order to stay alive, and evey tribute who died under his mentorship. Haymitch carries impossibly heavy burdens on his shoulders, hence the alcoholism. Effie’s regard for him as a victor, a victor who showed compassion to Maysilee, to Katniss, to Peeta, and so on, lightens more and more over time the burden he carries.

I think their relationship is an interesting mix of dysfunction and healing. It’s raw and messy, and Effie desperately needs raw and messy, even though she fights against that a long time. Their relationship also has the capacity for deep tenderness and connection, and Haymitch desperately needs tenderness and connection, even though he fights against it a long time.

I so want to see Effie raw and messy. I so want to see Haymitch tender and connecting. That’s the unfolding I write for them together. It’s tough not to rush it, because it’s so interesting, and I want to see it all so badly.

After all these years, I am adoring Hayffie in this unexpected way. This ship is surprisingly intricate and beautiful.

P.S. If you made it this far, wow, and thanks for caring about the characters enough to read my extended ramblings. Comments welcome. I love to hear other people’s thoughts about Hayffie.

[cutegirlmayra]

Oh? The first out of 10, you say..?

DA: (x), Wattpad: (x), Archive: (x) Fanfiction link is above.

Fic 1: Back when they were still unfinished, Metal Amy and Metal Sonic when he was constructing her and she turned on unexpectedly, he has a conversation with her that piques his interest in this little robot he's constructing, and that's where the evil fondness first starts... but she is innocent and knows nothing, so he kinda stoically continues and teaches her of her functions along the way Also, the beginning of him admiring his handiwork on her and her alone.

----

I also decided to make some prompts, about 10 maybe? ALL ARE UNEDITED but enjoy :)b

1/10, - - <--will have link to others shortly.

Prompt: 

Metal Sonic, still on the old junkyard space shuttle that held the remains of Eggman’s past failures and memories. Salaving through them, Metal Sonic had successfully found useful tools, items, and computer software to build his support systems. Not only would they return to Sonic’s planet with him, but he would also rebuild himself and them to stand against Sonic’s perilous friends that gave his data processing a headache…

Metal Tails’s first prototype was given a stronger brain, a way to calculate and strategize better than the two he would construct later… but with a limit; not to succeed his own programming.

Metal Knuckles was given a sturdy, defensive armor and way to barge through enemy strikes like a battering ram, shock-absorbers and thick, cone-like shovels to dig through their often tough hides… but with a limit to his power; not to succeed his own design.

Lastly… the most trickiest to construct of all.

Metal Sonic scanned the heaps of trash left… he had gathered into piles useful materials vs. trash that would prove unnecessary or too worn to be useful anymore. Some of it had been melted through, shredded by Sonic and his friends in the past, and…

His eyes landed upon an … interesting… power source.

His memories of Rosy the Rascal were limited to a fearful child, one who later could summon a hammer and somehow find the implausible strength and courage to face even the most impossible foe.

And yet… through Sonic’s indirect encouragement and idealized image of a hero, she triumphed.

But how to utilize such a rare and indiscernible talent? Was it even worth replicating? And by his theories, this new Rosy would need the abilities to improve him somehow, along with combating and mimicking the strengths of her mortal counterpart.

He suddenly trembled, growing in rage as he dug through the metal scrap with vigorous swings of his lengthened steel claws, having the ability to reach out far and extend his limps as he continued to track the piece of equipment that had fascinated him so…

Encouragement… bravery… how could that help Sonic?

His eyes then blared red as the light faded while he continued to submerge himself in the chords, slashing through the metal remnants of Eggman’s badniks and old machinery before finally grabbing the square like compartment…

How could it benefit… him?

His eye-lights scanned the object again, checking it’s functionality as he withdrew his long claws and tapped the box with an electrical pulse running down his arm into the box.

The box jolted to life, and shocked him back with an even more powerful electric signal.

The lightning actually caused his finger to sizzle, and he shook it in a very organic way… staring at the box as though an idea had popped into his head.

He checked his energy levels, realizing it had juiced him quite a bit.

There was… fight left in this little package of a square electrical unit.

A battery…. Charged and ready to pulse life again into a form… a form Metal Sonic would provide.

His eye-lights dimmed and he made his way out of the tunnel he had created, blasting the parts away as he swiped his arm out to make sure none of the undeserving debris would even touch him.

He placed the box on the counter he had been working on, which used to be filled with pictures and documented plans all stored on USP drives that were useless to Metal Sonic, already having taken the ones of Tails, Knuckles, and even Rosy to use for later purposes in crafting their metal selves’s brains.

He tapped the box a moment… as though still wondering how to make this function well enough for his needs…

Crafting a Metal Rosy out of scratch… what would he need?

He looked through his memories, blueprinting but scrapping it at every new idea he formed.

Turning over his shoulder, he looked at the finished prototypes of Metal Tails and Metal Knuckles, dangling on chained hooks just barely off the ground.

It took a moment more… before he started on the pile he had already formed, and began to fuze with a fire torch the parts necessary to make the look work.

He thought about Amy Rose… and stopped.

He had almost forgotten how much she had changed… with her pathic Team Rose, he had successfully copied their data too… and was it right not to consider her change?

Change…

He looked at his unchanging metallic hand.

The fire flickered in his sights… lighting up his face as he realized that even with the copied data from her… what good would an Amy Rose serve either?

Was she not the same? Though her appearance changed?

He looked around for more suitable armor that would be light enough for the moves Amy Rose used with her Piko Piko Hammer. She had some strength, so to balance that with possibly an ‘armored form’ would suffice.

Amy wasn’t always violent, and if this Metal Amy’s abilities would mostly be charging and keeping the battle going… then some offensive form would be necessary to preserve herself until the battle was won… and Sonic’s lifeless body and friends littered the battlefield.

He noticed an electric spark down at the end of the long, rectangular space shuttle and began to follow it. Seeing that this was something that helped revive him, he picked up the long chord and looked up, seeing it was connected to the ship’s main power supply.

If he wanted a large battery support unit… he may need to harness that.

That would mean the entire ship would be left drifting without power… and he needed some of that power to engage the systems of himself and his supports when they were ready to become functional.

He tightened his grip on the heavy chord, pretty decently sized, like an elephant’s trunk.

He looked at the box on the counter… quite a distance away now.

Near him lay a large robot’s hide, and Metal Sonic finally had a decent enough set of supplies to craft her now.

Hauling the large robot from it’s resting place, he carried it on his back to drop in front of the counter.

Connecting many other wires he ripped from other sources, he created a long snake-vine that connected the sparking wire to his counter.

Steadily… he brought the chord to the box… It sparked like a firework with electricity sprinkling the dull, steel, long hall of Eggman’s contraptions put to an endless grave…

Metal Sonic’s eyes rested on the beautiful scene, his hand moving over the sparks, almost as though fond of the sight and the embers that flew off of the battery.

It was in perfect condition… and still had so much to give... in the ways of destruction and obliterating resistance to Metal Sonic’s ultimate objectives.

He lowered his head, determined to utilize this new strategy of the only useful thing he could think of for why Sonic kept Amy around.

Light. Energy. A spark of powerful life..!

A few days went by, much longer than Metal Sonic had anticipated. He was being too picky about this and that, too particular about her shape, the range of her electrical charging limits, and realizing the large box could be used so much more than what he was offering it to do.

He wanted to see it’s limits, test it’s abilities…

But with all the experiments, he worried it would drain the battery beyond use… however, it proved him wrong time and time again.

Her brain would need to match its energy outlet… so he made it more uniquely able to take in lots of energy sources… unlike Metal Tails.

Her body would have a surplus of kinetic energy to store, and therefore needed a sturdy, limber enough body to fully mobilize herself in both combat and recharging them while in battle… Also giving her the strength to wield such a large, hammered weapon which he took the hide of the battery to forge with the large metal body he salvaged. She would need to be agile, like her counterpart, able to wield the hammer with ease and not have so much tension in her body, but withstand the heavy blows the hammer would power would whiplash or ricocheted back to her. So not only her brain capabilities to calculate battle moves and adjust her weight accordingly would need to be improved, but so would her sense of gravity, and springs and shock absorbers as well… along with an immense tolerance to electrical burnouts, creating a revolving cycle that would allow her to expel and store an impressive amount of power... Unlike Metal Knuckles.

Such care… into a rather insignificant chess piece.

Almost successfully created, Metal Sonic was working on her jets below her rounded, half-cone of a dress, deciding to capture the look of Amy Rose instead of Rosy the Rascal.

While he did so, his long, slender claw accidentally looped and hooked around a chord that tugged on her interal engine, sparking the jet on as a puff of smoke flooded into Metal Sonic’s eyelines.

He blinked, before seeing a spark and removing his hands, watching the flame flicker out from actually making the jets turn on…

But then he heard a crink, and looked up in amazement to see that the electricity created from the slight, unforeseen engine rotation from her inner-motor actually was sent to her kenketic storage unit… starting up the battery as it sent invisible sparks to activate throughout her whole body… kick starting her up.

And awake.

He looked up to see her head begin to unlock on it’s rotating neck made within the head’s construction, and heard the scraping of her metallic coat against the turning motion of her head to look over her shoulder.

She was locked in position, but that was quickly changing as her arms remained straight out….

She buzzed a moment, but he already set up communication links in her software, and felt the signal translate to him.

His eyes opened slightly wider, registering her for the first time and identifying her within the communication wavelengths, his systems automatically translating her meanings to him.

“What?”

It was the first word her still processing brain could communicate.

His eyes lowered, hoping for a bit more of an intelligent response.

“Metal Amy.”

He knew she wouldn’t remember this moment, having not installed a memory core chip into her yet. It was sitting behind him on a counter, with some functions and objectives already pre-programmed through the functioning computers on Eggman’s junkcraft out in space.

He continued working, expecting her battery to give out since the engine didn’t rotate for that long.

But he forgot… how that battery could take one little shock… and expand it through the power already stored previously from within it.

She tried to twitch an eye down to see him, but there was clearly some glitching going on, and the eye kept wobbling up as though vibrating between up and down.

“No.” she responded, and in a bit of aggravation at his ‘creation’ being sentient for a moment, he glared up at her. “What you?”

He was surprised she wanted to know more about him than her own self. He tilted his head, “What am I?” he gave a low, metallic hum as a laugh. He lowered his head from her and closed his eyes, thinking this quite suitable for a support unit he literally created to care about his functionality than it’s own.

He gave her a snarky look as he met her barely functioning eye again, “Your master.”

She remained unresponsive.

He glared, “Metal Sonic.” he stated more abruptly, as though having figured her systems should immediately respond to that.

But they didn’t.

She looked away from him and towards the dark expanse of the long hallway down the corridor of Eggman’s ship.

“What that?” her communication was evolving, but Metal Sonic was infuriated by her dismissal of his stature.

“What is your objective?” To test how well her brain was actually operating, he began to question her to answer in her most basic of commands. Her module should immediately respond, but instead, she continued to have her shifting, shaking eyes examine the world around her.

“...Useless.” he had spent so long… so many days more of labor that he wasn’t even sure should have been wasted on this metallic folly of a machine!

He rose up, and gripped her head, threateningly. “You will answer to me. What is your objective?”

Her head jolted up and immediately, her attack mode was activated.

“What!?” He released her and watched as the panels on her dress shifted, her soft edges creaked and folded into a hard edge and like a jack-in-the-box, her hammer was deployed out behind her like a spring… shooting Metal Sonic all the way back into the counter…

Her engine was now flaring, and causing her to smoke. Her jets engaged and without proper control over them, she blazed forward and rammed into the walls, destroying her right hand and arm… then shot over to bash the left side of her face, destroying the eye that was there and leaving it to be missing in the rubble below. Her hand grinded quickly against the walls, almost destroying her left arm as well before Metal Sonic blasted after her, his hand looping around her waist from above and behind, and gripping her arm to twirl them both into the center of the lane. Dodging left and right the standing machines, dead badniks, and large obstructions that plagued them in the air.

“Shut down!” he commanded, as her single eye looked up to him, and startled him to his very core.

They were bent… they almost looked… afraid.

There was a sudden feeling in Metal Sonic… as though code that had never before been triggered before.

He turned around and kicked off a robot, skidding his own foot against the steel wall to try and fight against her one-functioning jet.

Like trying to stop a speeding rocket, he gripped her and pushed with his own rockets to the front, and slowly… his determination did slow down her momentum.

‘Her battery is more unlimited than I logically thought possible,’ he determined, though didn’t want to admit he couldn’t imagine, such an organic term, that her power supply would be this complexed to compliment.

He had striven to find suitable power outlets for the battery to fully send it’s power too, but it looked like might have thought it too small… it was proving to him that it was large for a reason… and carried a willful punch.

“Help.” the signal suddenly caught him off guard.

He looked to the struggling robot, unable to comprehend or control itself.

She was still looking at him… for guidance and aid. “Save.” … what did she mean by that..?

He felt them travel further down the corridor, and looked to see they were far passed the sparking chord he had connected through many more abandoned chords previously…

They were going deeper into the graveyard than he had been…

They could bash against the safety lock at the end and end up getting sucked out into space… he’d have to drain her battery to get them back.

Why… did he care about getting her back with him?

Was it all that time spent? Or the fact that she needed him to survive?

He shook his head, ‘Organic! Stop thinking with such foul terminology!’

He wondered if she meant ‘save’ as in to save this new data into memory, but couldn’t. Was she just pointing out her obvious flaws with being half-finished?

“You weren’t meant to awaken.” He didn’t care about terminology, looking behind him, he knew they were at risk if they didn’t slow down enough to brace for an impact that at least wouldn’t rip a hole in the large junkship.

“But since you are…” he was dedicated to saving her… why?

The old data of Organic Sonic’s influence began to spark new life in him, he gained a power he had not before known possible to a being made of oil and steel.

His jets suddenly launched out a flame so bright and big, it shouldn’t calculably be possible for him to transcend his own rusted makeup to be able to pull off.

He held her closer, yanking the now loosened jet off from her under as she tipped up turned him into a spin.

He had the moment in hand, though, and straightened himself out as he and the unfinished Metal Amy bashed into the wall of sealed steel behind them.

They made a dent… but they didn’t destroy the seal.

He fumed with rage as she slid off from him and started trying to toddle along like an organic infant, making her way through the piles of scraps and looking at the figures of older makes of Metal Sonic.

Silver Sonic..? Scrapped into an orb it looked like… but also tossed aside.

“You…” Metal Sonic’s eyes blared red, watching her waddle over and climb through the messes with no hands, but using her one little stick arm to reach the silver model that used to be a before-model to his own.

He jammed an arm out from it’s indent in the wall, raging with how everything turned out.

“You could have ruined everything!!!” still holding her jet, he felt it finally give way, now disconnected from its power source, and blasted towards her, bent on just scrapping the whole idea of a Metal Amy anyway.

But her battle mode disengaged and she looked to him with one that eye… that looked tenderly towards him in innocence.

He halted his assault and stared at her, floating in spot in the air.

She took her little stem of an arm and tried to point it over at him, tilting as she did so in her damage. “M… Master… Master is … in need of… recharging…” she communicated, a little stream of electricity pulsing from her arm that sparked through the air in an attempt to reach him.

He just watched, amazed she wasn’t afraid, but even more so… that with this limited about of potential… her battery kept her functioning for so long… and now her mind seemed to understand her objective.

Unaware of her own existence, she was trying to send a long enough beam of electricity to spark through the air like a lightning rod to reach his metallic frame.

It was a pathetic attempt… but the display of loyalty…

He had only programmed her to obey and fulfill a functionality… this determination of using her entire power, the last strands of her energy,... to recharge him?

“Heal…” 

He hadn’t taught her that word.

Wasn’t even in her systems.

His eyes dimmed in their red.

“Thank… you…”

As she fell back, her one eye dulling into a grey, she sent one last shockingly powerful bolt of lightning that did reach him.

“Ah!” he exclaimed as his systems were recharged and the sensation left a permeant impact on his engine…

A small stream of red heat created a shimmer… then some simmering smoke on the affected area…

His eyes shook in wonder, “This… can’t be.” It was more than impressive… his trembling hand turned from aggression to an admiring shaking that he held up in front of him. He gripped the spot she had hit… like his heart.

He watched her continue to fry her systems… but determined then and there he would finish what he could of her.

Though the others thought she was unfinished, to him… he knew she had lost her hands and what have you from the little ‘adventure’ previously.

He knew when she looked and saw the universe that her processing had somehow found some of Metal Sonic’s organic-tendencies… and it bothered him immensely under the surface.

She knew how to use organic-like tendencies to get an idea across… but just didn’t seem to understand the languages implied pretext.

Life.

The one thing he could never fully give to her, craft for her,... create with her.

Unless..?