#problem is i have quite a few wips and ideas and none of them involve idia

[apiigeon]

he's happy bc he got his fave's new ssr in his first 10 pull

[atlabeth]

hey! i love your zuko fics so much and was wondering if you’d like to write this, because the idea just popped up: maybe a zuko x reader fluff that takes place before/during LOK? maybe they’re reminiscing about their past adventures w the Gaang while helping out the new Team Avatar? idk it’s just that every time I see old zuko it makes me soft and emotional 🥲🔥❤️ anyways, much love! (and don’t feel pressured to do this at all, I was just thinking abt who I could submit this request to, and obvi my first choice was you 💕)

reminiscence - zuko x fem!reader

summary: just because you and your husband are retired doesn’t mean you don’t have amazing advice for the new team avatar.

a/n: this is so cute omg!! thank you so much for requesting this and thank you for much for your kind words i'm honored <33 im so sorry this took so long

sorry im posting so much lately im trying to stop slacking and publish things that have been wips for over a month sdkjfh

wc: 1.3k

warning(s): none bc i choose to ignore the news of zaheer’s plan right after this scene

-

Retirement was… nice.

You had spent your childhood fighting with the Avatar to end the Hundred Year War, a feat that was only made more difficult with your Fire Nation roots and connection to the banished prince. But all that’s well ends well, and you ended up getting your happy ending together — you had to fight hard for it, though.

You married Zuko at nineteen, three years after he ascended to the throne, and spent the subsequent years balancing your duties as Fire Lady and taking care of your daughter. Ruling the Fire Nation was a lot, but you knew you could get through anything with your husband at your side.

When he told you his plans to abdicate the throne, you were more than supportive. One of Zuko’s biggest fears was becoming his father, and by giving up his position willingly to Izumi, it guaranteed that he wouldn’t fall victim to the power-obsessed ways of his ancestors. It also gave him a well-deserved break after decades of being Fire Lord, and you were more than ready to get out of the world of Fire Nation politics. You had sat through enough meetings to fill multiple lifetimes.

But just because the two of you weren’t as involved in every day affairs of the world didn’t mean that you were completely out of it. No, that was far from the truth. You and Zuko were still some of the most important people in all of the nations, which meant it wasn’t a rare occurrence for your husband to be called off on some sort of mission.

One such mission was stopping the Order of the Red Lotus for the second time; Zuko had been part of the team that stopped them from kidnapping Avatar Korra as a child, so it was no surprise that he had been called to help for a second time. You knew even in his old age that your husband was powerful, but you couldn’t help but feel concerned about everything he was doing.

This concern was ultimately what led you to join Zuko on his trip to meet with Chief Beifong and Chief Tonraq in the Misty Palms Oasis. He had originally been against your involvement, claiming that the Red Lotus was far too dangerous, and he didn’t want to risk you getting injured in any way. You, of course, weren’t having it. “The Avatar’s in trouble, and I’d like to think I know a few things about getting out of trouble.”

One thing was certain after you arrived — it had been far too long since you had ridden on the back of a dragon. You truly adored Druk, and you felt bad for everyone that would never have the opportunity.

After conversing with Lin and Tonraq inside, you all exited to greet the new Team Avatar. If what you were told was true, then they had been through quite a lot since leaving Zaofu. For as long as you had been involved in foreign affairs, you had never met Avatar Korra nor her friends, so you didn’t know what to expect — an awestruck boy that could barely speak wasn’t at the top of your list though.

“Oh my gosh. It’s Lord Zuko and Lady Y/N. I can’t believe it!” He stared at the two of you with wide eyes, his voice getting higher and higher as he whimpered. He looked like he was going to fall over until another black-haired boy pulled him out of the way, his tone apologetic.

“Uh, forgive my brother,” he said as he put his fist against his open palm, his brother following suit. “We’re just really honored to meet you both.”

“It’s no problem,” you smiled as you and Zuko returned the greeting. It had been years since someone had reacted that way towards you, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t amuse you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

The two boys straightened again as the taller one gestured to them each in turn. “I’m Mako, and this is Bolin. We’re Korra’s friends.”

“Ah, she’s got her own Team Avatar?” You inquired with a twinkle in your eye. “You know, I traveled with Avatar Aang years back along with my husband.”

“Of course I know!” Bolin exclaimed. “Oh, I’ve heard so many stories about your adventures, they’re all so amazing!” His eyes widened and you actually thought that he was going to fall over. “Oh, oh, could you tell us about some of the things you went through?”

“Bolin, we really shouldn’t bother them—” Mako started, but you laughed and waved it off.

“I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s not often I get to relive my journeys to such avid listeners. What would you like to hear about?”

He thought for a couple seconds then shot back up again. “What was it like when you escaped the Boiling Rock together? You guys were the first people to ever break out, right? That had to be amazing!”

You and Zuko both laughed as you shot him a look. “It was… interesting,” he said.

“By interesting, he means it was a complete disaster,” you corrected. “Everywhere something could’ve gone wrong, it went wrong. They had originally come there to rescue Sokka’s dad, but instead they found Suki and I. Then Zuko got found out and thrown into prison, our first escape plan failed, Sokka almost got found out, Azula showed up… it was honestly a miracle we made it out at all.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” he protested. “Getting thrown into prison was part of the plan, we wouldn’t have been able to get the cooler out if I hadn’t been found out.”

“I guess I can’t complain,” you chuckled. “I did get to punch you a couple times.”

“They are so cool,” Bolin whispered as the two of you went on in the background. He elbowed Mako in the shoulder and gestured towards the couple with his head. “Come on, ask them something! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“I’m not going to ask them something, Bolin—”

“Excuse me, my brother has something he wants to ask too!” Mako shot him a dirty look which quickly disappeared when you and Zuko turned to him attentively.  

“Oh, um…” He coughed and scratched his head. “I guess.. is there any advice you have for us? With this whole Team Avatar thing, I mean.” You smiled at Mako and took Zuko’s hand.

“The friendships you forge during your journey are the most important thing — they’re the things that will keep you going during your darkest moments, and they will last a lifetime. There will be mountains and valleys, ebbs and flows, but no matter what, you will hold an unbreakable bond.”

You felt Zuko squeeze your hand and turned your smile on him as you returned the sentiment then nodded for him to continue. “Never take anything for granted, and trust in fate. You’re where you are for a reason — everything will end up working out in the end.”

You grinned and kissed him on the cheek, humming in agreement. “It did, didn’t it?”

-

After a few more minutes of talking with the two brothers, they went off to join the rest of their group. It was strange being on the outside of it all after how intense your childhood was, but it was… refreshing not to have the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore.

“The world’s in good hands with them,” you murmured as you leaned your head on Zuko’s shoulder.

“They all have that same fire you had when I first met you,” Zuko chuckled. You watched the four of them conversing and a smile graced your lips.

“Oh? Then I think the world’s in very good hands.”

-

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin

[blarrghe]

Tagged by @wavesofinkdrops @inquisitoracorn and @juliafied thank you for the tags! And tagging on @onionjuggler @fandomn00blr @aymayzing @cciarants @midnightprelude @whataboutbugs and anyone else who would like to do this!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

24

What's your total Ao3 wordcount?

436 317 (holy shit?)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Matchsies - DA (Pavellan) - 63

Twelve Nights - DA (the same Pavellan....) - 54

The Merrill Sessions - DA (genfic about found da2 crew family) - 50

I Hate You (and your little cat too) - DA (a Fenders meet-cute) - 43

Anders Has Several Problems - DA (Fenders) - 42

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Abolutely. Pretty much always, I’ve been lucky with comments and gotten some really nice ones and I love getting to have more of a conversation in the comments. Talk to me whenever tbh I crave interaction.

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

Hmmm none of them? This one really short Solavellan piece? The Merrill Sessions might have a kind of angsty one if I ever...write it.

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

Twelve Nights has the most predictable, tropey, perfect Hallmark Movie Ending ever and I love it very much.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

Not yet! I do love a good AU though so if the right world presents itself I could see that happening.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope! I’ve had largely positive responses or just no response at all :p

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Ehh kinda. My favourite stories to write tend to involve romance and quite a few of my fics have Sex Scenes but I tend to write soft-core, feelings-y smut when I do. The couple more explicitly smutty fics I’ve written just made me feel super self conscious and they always feel clunky to me, idk, but I really love an overly romantic (in the flowery prose sense not necesarrily the LOVE sense but also, usually) sex scene, they’re fun to write! Finding the mood to write anything more explicit is hard though so even though I have some ideas it’s slow going. 

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not translated but @protect-him was kind enough to do a podfic of Like Raindrops which was super cool!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I’d be down! HMU.

What's your all time favourite ship?

Pavellan.......

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

The Merrill Sessions...I left it in a good place so it’s easy to take a long break from but there IS supposed to be more. Eventually. Maybe. Also probably just straight up abandoning my DAI novelfication fic because honestly, it’s kind of boring and was mostly a place for me to dump my canon-ish daydreams when I first played the game. It has a special place in my heart as being the first fanfic I ever wrote, but like, I’m probably gonna straight delete that from AO3 it’s really For Me. (and I’m definitely never going to finish it lol)

What are your writing strengths?

Supposedly, characterization and scenery descriptions! At least that’s where the nice comments seem to be focused ;) Characterization is something that comes easily to me and I tend to be very proud of my work there, descriptive scenes were something I worked hard on this year and just really really love as well. I’d like to think my terrible jokes are also a strength, but that’s probably just me.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Planning/plotting. I’m definitely guilty of starting things with a good idea that’s based almost entirely in character work and not attached to a plot, so I’ve had a few meandering plots and unfinished things that just kind of...don’t go anywhere. These days I’m outlining ahead a lot more but endings are still pretty tough! Oh also “this is going to be like two chapters” gets me every time.

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

Totally fine just make it work? I dislike fictional languages that don’t really have much to them, so I try to use them kind of sparingly and tend to describe that something is said in another language rather than trying to put a bunch of like, elvhen in. (Because DA Elvhen sucks. A LOTR fic would be another story, but then I’d probably spend ages on being a perfectionist about the language because I feel like if you’re gonna do TOLKIEN boy you gotta) So I’ll use or make up a word here or there but I prefer the language I use to be something I can actually work with. But I think there are lots of ways to approach a multilingual work that could be cool. I’d consider using French or something I actually know in a more in-depth way sometime.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Dragon Age! A good three or four years before I started posting any of it lol.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

Twelve Nights for multiple reasons. It’s finished (!), it was the first longfic I ever did finish (!!), and IMO it’s impecable. I put so much heart and soul into that fic and it was such a joy to write. It’s basically a feel-good movie with a socialist subplot. I love it a lot. But! Matchsies is quickly becoming a close second, which is fun because it has Magic and Angst.

[carelessannie]

maybe it goes like this: tony courts peter (part 3)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Read on A03

Read the Stuckony backstory WIP

Starker focus (Tony x Peter), Stony (Tony x Steve), with reference to Stucky, Winteriron and Stuckony

Let’s see how Tony does courting an Omega...

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, Misunderstandings, Soulbonds (?) 

---

Maybe it goes like this:

Mr. Stark’s been acting weird.

None of the other interns have said anything, but Peter has noticed increased attention towards him, specifically, in the lab.

And it’s innocent, normal things like,

“Hey Pete, want any feedback on this project?”

Or,

“If you ever need extra time in the lab, just let me know, I’m often here after hours,”

And lately,

“I’d love to work with you one on one, Peter.”

It’s innocent. It’s frequent. And it’s infuriating.

Right now is one of those times where Mr. Stark— or, Tony, as he keeps insisting— is doing his rounds, and singles Peter out. Again.

“You know, Pete, sometimes working with a team is best for accurate results in this type of work. I’d love to help double check your numbers, if you’d like to stay after for a bit?”

And, as usual, Peter has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, instead responding with a clipped, “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

Peter can see his boss shifting uncomfortably in his peripheral, and just knows the man is going to respond with, “Oh… okay, Peter. Let me know if you change your mind,” and rocks back and forth for a moment, before moving on to the next intern.

And it wouldn’t bother Peter, alright, except he is the only person being singled out. The only one Mr. Stark makes sure to check up on, and certainly the only one offered extra work time for his projects and to double check his results.

It makes sense, he concluded a few days ago, I am the only Omega in the lab.

He honestly thought working with SI would be different, that he would be treated equally in an academic setting, similar to his classes at NYU. But even though he loves what he’s doing, it’s hard to go home feeling like he’s excelling in research and simultaneously falling short of his peers.

Now, after a few weeks of special treatment and Mr. Stark practically babysitting him in the lab, he plans on bringing it up with his boss after the other interns leave for the day.

---

“Mr. Stark, can I talk to you privately?”

Tony whips around from his workbench, where he was reviewing another intern's work, to see Peter waiting a few feet away in the otherwise empty lab. Huh.

“Tony, please. And yeah, of course. Uh, where did— are the others gone?”

Peter takes a look around, nervously nodding, “Yeah, they all went home, Tony, but I thought we could talk for a minute, if— well, this won’t take long.”

As Peter takes a seat, Tony’s confusion grows. Although he’s been subtle about his interest in the Omega, maybe Peter’s noticed and grown uncomfortable? Or maybe he’s having an issue with treatment from his peers? Either way, this can’t be good, and as Peter steals himself to talk, Tony’s concern grows.

“Alright Peter, what’s up?”

Peter takes a deep breath, “Tony, you know how thankful I am for this opportunity, and I’ve enjoyed it immensely,” he drops his eyes, and Tony lets him gather his courage to continue, “but, Tony, I feel as though I’m being treated differently in the lab.”

Okay, that’s not what he was expecting.

“Oh, okay Peter, I’m sorry you’re feeling that way. Is there anyone in particular who’s causing problems for you?”

“Tony— I just. I don’t. None of my peers cause problems for me. But you— ”

Oh, shit.

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, voice small,

“Is it, is it because I’m an Omega?”

After a beat of silence, Tony confused as hell, Peter’s eyes fly open and he continues, losing his timidity, “Because I honestly didn’t expect it from you of all people, Tony. I’m working hard, and I feel like I’m doing well, but every day it’s always, ‘you need help, Peter?’ or ‘need extra time for that, Peter?’ but never to the other interns, right?”

Tony is speechless, and Peter stands up, moving closer as he speaks,

“And Tony, I get that I’m young and I know since I presented late I’m not always the best Omega, but dammit if I didn’t work hard to be on this team. I deserve to be here just as much as the Alphas and doms do, and if you don’t believe that, I can—”

“Peter,”

“No, I’ll leave, I swear, Tony— ”

“Peter. Please.”

And Tony watches him visibly deflate, face setting into an upset pout as tears gather in his eyes.

“Peter, I— I’m so sorry. I had no idea my offers were patronizing to you, and you have to know that I’m convinced you are the smartest and most interesting person in this entire group.”

Confusion flashes over Peter’s beautiful expression, and he whispers a small what that has Tony shaking his head.

“I knew it would be a bad idea to do this, but Peter you need to know the truth.”

The younger man sits up straighter, Resolve in his scent, and wipes at his face with his long sleeves, gesturing for Tony to finish.

“Peter, I haven’t been giving you attention because I think you need it. I’m trying,” he sighs, and looks the omega in the eyes, “I’m trying to court you, Peter.”

---

I’m trying to court you, Peter.

Tony’s into him?

Peter reels as his entire worldview shifts around the new information, his mind turning rapidly to readjust how every time Tony offered his assistance, it was out of interest in his company instead of disappointment in his productivity.

“You— what!?"  Peter squeaks, sounding shrill even to his own ears. Tony stands, probably slowly, but much too quickly for Peter’s current processing speed, and Peter falls out of his stool.

He curls his hands over his head, bracing for an impact—

Cinnamon

Oh, not Chai after all.

And suddenly he’s sitting outside, cuddled into May as Ben kindles the fire. It’s chilly out, so he’s wrapped up tight in a quilt with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, spiked with spices that his uncle insists are “the exact ones they use in Mexico, Peter.” He sips at the spicy drink, inhaling deep the scent of  

Cinnamon and Fall Bonfires.

Strong arms haul him upright and he blinks his eyes open, staring helplessly into Tony’s deep, dark eyes.

And yeah, he gets it now.

Of course he’s always thought Tony Stark was attractive. From that first day in class he knew they were quite possibly compatible, but not like this. Never like this.

Pressed against each other and breathing each other’s air, Peter closes his eyes, lifts his chin, and relaxes his body.

Submitting.

He hears a faint growling and feels a tender touch to his face, but is just lost in the scent, and the tight hold, the warmth—

“Peter, baby, please. Please stay with me, okay?”

ConcernedUpset... Calming Beta scent filters through Peter’s haze along with pleading words, and it helps him climb out of the space he was certainly heading towards.

“Beta— ”

Tony groans and shifts, no doubt feeling his instincts wage war to Take and Claim the compatible Omega.

After a few minutes of grounding himself, Tony holding him the whole time, Peter returns the sweet touch on Tony’s face.

“Tony, do you— did you feel that?”

The Beta shakes his head, “Honey, I’ve never felt like that before in my life. You are so sweet, you scent so sweet.”

Peter hums in agreement, pulling back slightly to look at Tony, eyes blown wide and lips parted in awe.

“Please, sweet Omega, can I court you?”

Peter smiles wide, nodding, “Yes, please, Beta.”

With a sigh of relief, Tony pulls back all the way, keeping one of Peter’s hands in his larger ones. He scents so happy, and Peter promises him silently to always make him smell this way.

“Good, good Peter, I’m so happy. And I’m so sorry about the misunderstanding before, you know—”

“No, Tony, please I understand. You’re just— have you never courted an Omega before?”

The older Beta flushes slightly, avoiding eye contact, “That obvious?”

Peter can’t help but laugh, this man is adorable, and brushes his fingertips over Tony’s cheek. How did he miss this? Tony looks at him with such child-like wonder, and Peter feels so damn foolish.

“Don’t feel bad, I’ve never been courted before. I don’t even— are we even allowed to be together? You technically being my boss and all?”

Tony shakes his head, “I don’t know, but I’m convinced Pepper is actually your boss,” he pulls Peter over to the workbench, purposefully putting the table between the two of them, causing Peter to pout, “Aw, don’t do that. We need to talk logistics, and I cannot be holding you and trying to think straight, honey.”

Thankful for the direction, Peter settles in and checks the time, sending a quick text to his pack that he’ll be home later and not to worry.

Tony is watching him when he puts his phone away, “First, I want you to know that I’m in a pack, Peter. I have every intention of courting and possibly mating you, but want you to know I am intimately involved and intend to be bonded and mated to my entire pack. If this isn’t something you’re interested in, that’s fine, just please let me know before we get to know each other so I can prepare for something short term with you.”

“Do you want something short term with me?”

Tony looks hurt, “No, honey, I know I want long term with you. It’s just… you’re twenty. And so beautiful. And the smartest man I know. I don’t want to assume that you want a permanent pack.”

Peter feels his heart clench, “Oh, Tony. Please let me meet your pack. I have a Beta and Omega, although none of us are that intimate unless someone drops, and none of us primarily swing dominant. I’d love for you to meet them, and talk more about a permanent pack, okay? But let’s get on a date first, because as much as I could sit here with you forever and talk, if you want to court me we probably need a chaperone, right?”

“Shit , you’re right, Pete. Can we meet for coffee next week, one day after your classes if you have time?”

“Sounds perfect,” and it really does, “and we can both bring a chaperone from our pack, although can I request, maybe ask your Omega? One of my packmates has some bad history with Pack Alphas, and I’d feel more comfortable with you being the most dominant in the room, if that makes sense."

Tony’s hands flex and unfold, looking as though he wants to reach out and devour Peter,

“Perfect sense, beautiful, whatever you’d like.”

Peter could get used to hearing that.

---

As Peter leaves, Tony collapses onto the couch towards the back of the lab, waiting for Steve to come scrape him off of the floor and take him home, since they drove into the city together that morning.

He doesn’t even hear the doors to the lab open, but feels a solid weight settle on his left side.

“Rough day?”

Ah Steve, always so perceptive.

“Overwhelming, not bad,” Steve hums in acknowledgement, silently letting Tony continue.

“Steve— did you have a Compatible Memory when you first scented Bucky? Like, first really scented him?”

He can feel his Alpha tense up and pull him closer while considering, “I did, Tony. And so did he.”

“Did it— was it—”

“I was suddenly in my childhood home, sitting on my mother’s lap, as she cut up fresh fruit for a salad. She could rarely afford to feed us produce, but it was a special summer day. She had already poured me a glass of milk, handing me my bowl of fruits and a Hershey’s bar. I picked out my favorite fruits, and ate the Oranges and Milk Chocolate together.”

“Oh, Steve.”

“I don’t know if we have soulmates in this life, Tony, because I know you and I are compatible as hell. But I also know that moment is something Bucky and I share that we probably won’t have with someone else again.”

It’s silent for a moment.

“Tony, did you—“

“Yeah.”

“Who—“

“His name is Peter. He’s been working in the lab as an intern from NYU, and I’ve been trying to court him, Steve,” the Alpha looks surprised, then offended, and goes to complain, but Tony stops him, “we didn’t tell you because I hadn’t discussed it with Peter until today, and we knew you would overreact—“ and Tony realizes his mistake.

“We??"

Woops.

“Did Bucky give you this advice? Did you tell him before you told me?”

Tony rolls his eyes, thankful that Steve’s Dominant Alpha tone has no effect on him, and works to emit Calm Beta for the overexcited Alpha.

“It doesn’t matter, Steve. I needed advice about courting a submissive Omega—“

“And you didn’t think to ask me, a man who has successfully courted an Omega?”

Okay, good point.

“No, I didn’t, Steve. But I— babe, you’re gonna love him, I swear. He said yes when I asked him out next week, and we’re both bringing a chaperone.”

“Bucky?”

“You understand, right? Steve, he’s so submissive and such a sweet Omega, and I don’t know him at all.”

“No, I get it. I’ll meet him once we do official pack introductions, if it comes to that.”

Tony turns on the couch, looking up into his Alpha’s handsome face.

He reaches up to trace his thumb over Steve’s jaw, his brow, and leans in for a slow kiss, humming as Steve strengthens his hold and pulls him in closer. They’re both used to fighting for dominance in their relationship, so soft moments, where they can meet each other in intimacy, are Tony’s favorite.

He gives Steve’s lower lip a gentle tug as he pulls away, and admires the way his face has softened, filling Tony with pride at taking care of his packmate.

“He fell, right off the chair, and I didn’t even hesitate to jump and catch him.”

“Peter, right?”

“Yeah, and he fits so perfectly in my arms. I had caught scent of him before, and it was lovely, but this time I was out in the field behind my parents' house, running through my mother’s garden and out toward the tree line. I could hear my butler and mother chasing after me, calling my name, because I had stolen the cream for their coffee. I crawled under a few thick vine coverings, into my favorite hiding place under the trees, and settled down for a while to enjoy plucking and drinking Honeysuckles and sweet Vanilla Cream.”

Tony sighs and stands up, holding out a hand to pull Steve to his feet. Once Steve is standing, Tony pushes up on his toes to dot a kiss underneath his jaw, before pulling him towards the doors.

“Tony?”

He stops, turning, “Yeah?”

Steve steps up and pulls Tony into a quick hug, running his fingers through the short curls on the top of his head before kissing them.

“You’re right, I’m gonna love him.”

[philosophicalparadox]

Ok so I saw the ask and the Amaimon thing and I have to ask if you have any wip/au/fic ideas involving him or centered around him 👀 (he's my absolute favorite and I've been getting withdrawals bc it's been so long since he's shown up in the manga lololol)

God it's been too long but here i am, in a mood.

I'm gonna make these more like HC's since things are more transposable that way:

1. Amaimon actually loves to cuddle and can be very affectionate to the right person, in the right situation.

2. The boy isn't as awkward and clueless as he is made out to be. He knows how to use money (proven in canon) and has enough social flexibility to get by in the human world without too many rants and raves.

3. Humans get away with a lot in the company of Amaimon. He sees humans as just another animal, and therefore assumes they don't know any better when they do their stupid, silly things. But he has a threshold of tolerance where himself is involved, and it isn't very high.

4. Amaimon is truly very peaceful and non-confrontational in most situations. He enjoys fighting for fun, but real combat is something he actively likes to avoid. That said, he only really loses his cool when people are disrespectful or rude to him. That humans quite literally don't know any better half the time only works as an excuse for so long, and he won't tolerate rudeness from any other demon at all.

5. (DARK WARNING) Amaimon will eat anything made of meat - even if the meat is rotting. He's like a hyena in my mind. Likes to eat bones and is a very opportunistic scavenger, but can and does actively hunt live prey. Will absolutely eat humans given the chance, be them dead or alive, though if they are alive, he'd rather take one no one's going to miss. Regularly scours True Cross for murder victims, suicides or accidents (or pets that got into accidents) and has no problem cleaning up the corpses. Mephisto often reports these persons as missing and convinces law enforcement of the same.

6. Amaimon is not without social graces, and in fact communicates very effectively - with other demons. Hence, Samael using him as a messenger boy for Satan. He is proficient in but a few human languages and has some difficulty understanding the subtle nuances of verbal communication.

7. The boy is half blind. He has poor depth perception (those elliptical pupils are the only thing keeping him alive, lol) and unlike most demons, cant see in the dark much better than a human can. His colour vision is slightly duller than a humans too. What he does have is SUPERB senses of smell and hearing. He is also EXTREMELY sensitive to vibrations in the ground, and can, in effect, hear with his feet. Hence his "shoes" really aren't much more than cotton stockings and he prefers to go barefoot.

8. Those claws are made for digging, and dig he does. The earth is his terrain after all. He has burrows and tunnels and dens scattered through the training grounds. None of them are lit. He doesn't mind the dark and really doesn't need his eyes to see where he is going.

9. Amaimon is mortally terrified of Egyn. And shark boy knows it.

10. Lucifer and Amaimon do not get along at all. Amaimon is too stubborn and Lucifer is too proud. Amaimon is lazy and careless about his image, Lucifer is obsessed with it. Not only that but Amaimon probably isn't fond of tamers, and I think Homare would find herself in a precarious situation pretty quickly. Lucifer doesn't like drama he doesnt create, so that wouldn't last very long.

I could go on but I think the list is long enough. :)

[wendelah]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

There are 74.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

236,836

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

None of my fics have very many kudos. The "top five"? The first three are all TXF-RPF, followed by a holiday-themed MSR. Bringing up the rear, a Yuletide story in a book fandom that was recently turned into a streaming series on Netflix, maybe? I can't even say. I don't watch much TV anymore. We don't stream. Our internet is too slow to load Tumblr half the time, which is one of the reasons I'm not here anymore. (I need to figure out how to turn off infinite scrolling again.)

4. Do you respond to comments; why or why not?

Sure, when I see them. I like to be friendly.

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the most angsty ending?

An X-Files fic about the childhood of Jeffrey Spender. It's objectively my best story and the only one I considered rewriting for publication. Naturally, no one has read it.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

"Perfect Storm" has a perfect and happy ending.

7. Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest most ridiculous one you’ve ever written?

Yes. As it turns out, I have written quite a few.

"The Real Housewives of Hades" is pretty cracked, I guess. It's also quite funny. Go read it. Leave kudos.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really. I did have a reader express dislike for a favorite character, which was thoughtless and rude, but that's hardly the same thing.

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

Badfic? Back in the day, I wrote a little for a porn battle but otherwise, no.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Maybe? I honestly can't recall.

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

I did co-write a story once. Two betas gave us negative feedback and my co-writer decided that was the end of that. No regrets, though. It was the most fun I've ever had writing, and we're still good friends.

13. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I'm not really a shipper in the usual sense of the term but Mulder and Scully, of course (who else?).

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

I had a longish TXF-RPF that never got finished. What I had amounted to a bunch of disconnected scenes that needed a coherent main plot, and also a subplot that didn't involve writing a modern day version of A Midsummer's Night Dream set on a movie shoot. Crazy, right? That's not getting finished because I don't write anymore. Plus, the idea that there could ever be a third X-Files movie, given the travesty of seasons 10 and 11? I like a good AU as much as anyone who reads and writes RPF, but that's absurd.

15. What are your writing strengths?

Plot. Humor. Punctuation.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Sex and feelings. I don't know why but that's how it is.

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

I...don't?

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files

19. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

"Five Times David Duchovny Didn't Make Love to Gillian Anderson and One Time He Did." There is nothing I would change about this fic. It practically wrote itself. I mean, it was almost like I was channeling some other, better writer, one who didn't have a problem writing about sex and feelings.

Thank you, @hoidn, for the opportunity to write about my writing. It was kind of fun. I'm not tagging anyone because I don't know who's still here, but feel free to do so.

[pappydaddy]

A Lumberjack and A Mullet (b.h.)

A/N: This was requested by a lovely Anon who wanted the reader to be like Bender from The Breakfast Club. Pronouns were not specified in the request so I went with my default pronouns (she/her) like I explain in my request rules. I hope you like it anon, this was very fun to write and it challenged me to get a bit out of my comfort-zone so thank you!! I tried to keep this a bit more light-hearted so this is not a good depiction of someone suffering through a situation such as this one. Sorry for the name, I could not for the life of me figure out what else to name it!

Disclaimer: This is an imagine that involves a very sensitive topic. This piece involves drug use (recreational), smoking, alcoholism, child abuse, violence, burns, an unhealthy home life - please read with caution. Reader’s discretion is advised. 

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader 

Show/Movie: Stranger Things

Requested

Part One - You’re here! | Part Two | Part Three 

Warnings: Mentions of drug use (recreational), smoking, alcoholism, child abuse, violence, burns, an unhealthy home life. Reader’s discretion is advised.

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

Here are some resources from child abuse advocates:

- Child Maltreatment from World Health Organization   - Children Rights Organizations in Canada/some U.N.

If you or anyone you know faces the issues/treatment addressed in this imagine, please, please know that you are not alone, that someone out there can help you and understand what you are going through. Please never hesitate to reach out to organizations and advocates in your area. My DMs are always open for anyone who needs someone to talk to. Once again, please reach out to someone if you need help - there are tons of people to help. 

- not my gif - 

  Billy Hargrove was broken. There wasn’t any way to get around that fact. He thought that he was the only one in the world who was broken, he thought he was the only one who faced the problems he did. Not once did he think that someone could relate to him on any level - let alone have it worse in any way. It wasn’t until he met Y/N that he realized that Neil was a scumbag, but someone might just have it worse than him. 

  It was Saturday detention when it dawned on him. Of course, this was far from his first Saturday detention he had served since arriving in Hawkins, but this was by far the most ground-breaking one. He had noticed Y/N before, how could he not? Y/N was in Saturday detention more often than he was - it was rare for him to be there and for her not to be.

  While he had seen her around out of detention just as much as in detention, he had never once talked to her. She mostly stuck to herself, except for when she was hanging out in the alley behind the gym with her group of friends. The most he ever heard her talk was mumbling a snarky comment under her breath. While he had never talked to her, he did find something rather intriguing about her. The teachers, and principles seemed to despise her even though he had never once seen or heard her do anything to land herself in detention other than recreational drug use with her friends or smoking a cig. So now, with them sitting alone in the spacious library of Hawkins High together, he had jumped on the chance to finally strike up a conversation with the girl. 

  “Hey, you,” Billy nudged his chin in her direction as if he could be talking to anyone else. She let out a groan of displeasure, lifting her head up off her arm just enough to look at him sitting down the table from her. “How’d you land yourself here for another weekend detention? One of your little snide comments accidentally come out louder than you had hoped?” He asked, watching as she flopped back in her chair, rubbing her tired face as she did so. 

  “I could ask you that same thing, Mouth-breather.” She snapped back, her hands falling to her jean clad thighs before resting one wrist on the table surface to fiddle with the pen she was supposed to write her detention essay with - which neither of them were actually going to do. Billy sucked in a breath through his teeth, pretending like her words had hurt him. 

  “Ooo, the girl dressed like a lumberjack bites back,” He smirked, flicking his eyes up and down her seated form quickly. She rolled her upper lip into a sneer when she caught him. “If I tell you why I’m here, you have to tell me why you’re here.” Billy bargained, leaning his elbows on the table, his tongue poking out to swipe at his lower lip, looking at her like she was a mouse and he was a cat. 

  “If it’ll get you to shut up and let me get back to sleep, then fine.” She grunted, just wanting him to get on with it. He poked his tongue into the corner of his upturned lips, trying to stop the victorious smile from stretching onto his face as his eyes lit up. 

  “All right, a teacher caught me sliding a Polaroid of my dick to Savannah Queens,” Billy spoke as if he was proud that he got caught and was boasting about it. “Your turn, Lumberjack.” He winked, earning another sneer from Y/N in return. Heaving a sigh, she gave him an annoyed look. 

  “Since you’re so interested, I got caught putting my cig out on Mr. Hanson’s car while skipping class,” She informed him, shifting in her seat as she prepared herself to fall back to sleep. “Happy now?” 

  “Not quite, Lumberjack,” He shook his head. A loud groan omitted from her as she collected herself back up to look at him. “Why are you so tired?” He asked simply. 

  “Because I am, you talking mullet,” She bit back, just wanting to sleep. “Now if you don’t want your pretty blonde mullet ripped out of your skull, I suggest you let me sleep.” With that, she dropped her head back to her extended arm and turned her back to Billy. 

  “I’m so scared, the Lumberjack is threatening me.” He tried to keep the conversation up, finding her even more intriguing, but she ceased all attempted conversations by raising her middle finger and flicking him off without daring to move any other muscles than needed. It wasn’t fear that shut him up, but it was the fact that she didn’t seem phased or even scared of him. He was used to people cowering from him, but she didn’t. He watched her, totally confused by her lack of fear towards him. He most certainly wasn’t giving up on her.

____

  It was past lunch when she finally woke up. Sitting up and stretching her arms and back. Billy looked over at her from his obscure doodles in blue ink on the paper in front of him. “Look who finally wakes, the Sleeping Lumberjack.” He grins, looking back down at his current drawing. 

  “Piss off, Hargrove.” She rebutted. 

  “Sheesh, I thought you were just not a morning person, but I guess you’re just a bitch around the clock, huh?” He poked at her, tempted to see how far he could push her. She turned a deadly glare at him, picking up her own pen. 

  “You would be a bitch around the clock too if you didn’t get sleep, Hargrove. So shut up and leave me alone.” She snapped, pulling her eyes from him to look at her paper. 

  “And why, pray tell, did you not sleep last night, Y/L/N?” He mused, resting his chin on his fist, his elbow digging into the hard wooden table top. “

  None of your business,” She said defensively, trying to pretend like that question hadn’t affected her, but Billy noticed the way her pen stilled for a split second as her body tensed. He pressed his lips together, inspecting her. “Not like you’d understand anyway.” 

  Billy scoffed at this, rolling his eyes. “Try me, I bet I’ll understand the deep troubles of Y/N Y/L/N better than you think.”

  It was her turn to scoff. “I can guarantee that you won’t.” 

  “Is that so,” Billy asked, his teasing mood gone. His eyes stared cold at the side of her face, his nose flaring as she dared to question how much he knew trouble - though he couldn’t even begin to guess the trouble she knew. “Is it worse than your father throwing a whiskey glass at your head simply because you came home in the middle of his show? How about having him throw you against the wall because you accidentally bumped into your step-sister? Still think I can’t understand your little sleeping problem?” 

  She turned to look at him with an eerily calm face, but her eyes were as cold as the ice when they met his flaming ones. “You won’t until you can’t sleep because your father had burned your arms all over with a lit cigarette and is drunkenly yelling while trying to open your barricaded door as you huddle in a dark corner just hoping he will pass out soon so that maybe you can get some sleep that night,” Her words were calm, matching her eerie feeling. She perked an eyebrow at him in question. “Still think you can understand my little sleeping problem?” She asked sarcastically. He gulped, taken back by the information he was just given. He had no idea someone as docile as Y/N faced something so vulgar and monstrous as that. 

  “I’m sorry, I-I had no idea, Y/N-“ 

  “Yeah, no shit, nobody does,” She interrupted his uncharacteristic apology. He was too shocked to do anything but apologize. She stood up, her chair screeching against the tiled floor. Billy didn’t even cringe at the horrible sound as he watched her with his mouth hanging open. “I have to go get a book for my essay.” She lied, slinking off towards the back of the Library. Billy watched her until she disappeared behind one of the tall bookshelves, his eyes staying in the one spot he last saw her in. 

____

  It had been a few hours, they only had about one hour left of detention. Y/N had her nose stuffed in a book, her pen marking the pages of it. Billy wanted to apologize again, but he knew she probably wouldn’t take it. Casting another look towards her, he spoke up. “You know, I’ve got a really good spot where no one can find you if you want to use it to escape your father.” 

  She looked up from her book to set her gaze on him. “Why would you tell me your secret spot?” She asked him as if he was stupid and to her, the suggestion was completely stupid. Giving his secret spot he used to escape people to another person? 

  Billy sighed, shifting in his seat to fully face her. “Because I might not understand your issue with sleep, but I understand shitty fathers,” He connected to her. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know? I can help you, we can help each other.” He didn’t understand where the sudden sympathy and want to help someone came from, maybe it was her helping him already, maybe it was something else, but he did know that they could help each other with many different things. 

  She hummed, thinking it over. “Maybe we could go there together after detention, if I wait a few more hours before going home, my father will be either passed out drunk or off to some seedy motel for the weekend. Either way, it’s safer for me.” It was then that Billy had finally realized that his life sucked, but someone else could have a sucky life too. It wasn’t just him, there were other people in this world that are suffering too. 

  “Yeah, it’s a date.” He nodded, suddenly feeling like he never wanted her to go home. He felt like he wanted to help her in some way or another.

  “It’s a date.” She whispered, for once, no hostility in her voice or an eerily calm composure. It was almost warm and accepting. Just then, the library doors slammed open, revealing the principle marching in. They snapped their attention to the stern man, his dress shoes slapping against the pristine tiles. 

  “You two are free to go an hour early, apparently the Superintendent scheduled the Library’s ceiling tiles to be replaced today and tomorrow without telling anyone,” His gruff voice grumbled in displeasure. “You two will make the hour up in after-school detention on Monday, if you’re not there, it’s tacked onto another Saturday detention.” He warned them before making his exit. Billy and Y/N stood up, gathering their bags and jackets from the floor. 

  “Are you hungry? Neither of us have eaten anything so why don’t we stop for a burger and fries before heading to my spot?” Billy asked as they walked into the empty hall, slinging his bag over his shoulder as they walked.

  Y/N nodded, pulling her jacket on as she switched her bag from hand to hand to do so, finally placing it on her shoulder. Looking up at him, he could see the faintest smile playing at her lips and it was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. “I could go for a burger and fries.” 

  “Great, let’s hurry then, Lumberjack.” He sped up from their leisurely stroll over so slightly, her matching his new speed instantly. Seamlessly, their hands clasped each other’s, their fingers lacing together gently. 

  “Whatever you say, Mullet.”   

[tsarisfanfiction]

Please can I ask E, L, O and Z from the writer asks list.

Of course you can!  I’m always up for answering things :D

E. Have you ever written a crossover?

Yup!  I’ve written a handful of them actually, from my first and only bashing fic Vampire vs Shinobi (Twilight and Naruto - I have always hated Twilight) which ngl is only still up on my accounts because it’s something I’ve written and if I prune fics to only be the ones I’m currently proud of... many fics would not stay up very long.  My second-biggest fic, both in terms of wordcount and popularity, it also a crossover.  The Combat School was my twist on the super common 2012 trope “the exorcists from the manga D.Gray-Man take part in the Triwizard Tournament”, and was my first 100k word fic and I think still ranks highly if you look at Harry Potter/DGM crossovers on FFN by reviews/favourites/followers.  I think at one point it was as high as 4th but I doubt it’s that high any more.  Slightly sneaky is my TAG/Fight Rising crossover Stolen Shadows, because strictly speaking you could just call it a dragon!AU for TAG, but they’re based on the fandragons I’ve got for the Tracy boys+Thunderbirds on the site and FR does have its own category on AO3 and FFN.

I think those are my only published ones, but I do enjoy prodding at ‘what if these two ‘verses collided’ in my head so there are a few others floating around that’ll probably never be actually written, but they’re fun to play with.

L. What is your favourite fic idea that you don’t think you’ll ever write?

Oh boy, this one’s tough.  I usually try to write everything I think is worth anything, but some of them are just huge, so whether or not they’ll happen is another matter entirely.  Because I’m really bored I’ll talk about all the current ‘huge and too ambitious to probably ever finish’ ideas.  If they do end up one day happening, ah well, you heard them here first :P

Love Makes Fools (One Piece) - A retelling of the Wano Arc (most likely to be scrapped because the daydreaming I call planning happened long before the arc started so none of it is anything like how Oda’s actually shown) that’s actually a shipping fic, unusually for me.  Shachi saves Kid’s life and Kid falls in love with him, leaving Shachi to handle the Kid Pirates while the StrawHeart alliance are off doing their usual crazy shenanigans and winding Kaido up.

Fight Against the Tide (Boku no Hero Academia) - A retelling of the entire manga except it’s not Izuku that’s Quirkless, but Bakugo, and unlike Izuku, Bakugo is determined to make it on his own and turns down the offer of One for All (but still manipulates All Might into training him).  Lots of Bakugo and Mei chaos as she gives him the support gear he needs to keep up without a Quirk.

If They Never Were (One Piece) - A retelling of the entirety of One Piece (ahahah) except if Luffy never met Shanks and therefore a) never wanted to be a pirate and b) never ate the Gomu Gomu no Mi.  Follows Luffy’s adventures in the Marines, and explores what would have happened to the rest of the Straw Hats if they never met Luffy - or at least, never met pirate!Luffy.  I actually have a cast of OCs ready to go for this but this project is so ludicrously big I doubt it’ll ever be finished.

TAGxPJO thing - The Greek Gods foresaw the creation of IR and agreed with it, but there was one problem: the Tracy family are all suited to the sky, but most of the Earth is covered in water.  Cue Gordon Tracy, son of Lucille Tracy and... Poseidon!  The Tracys all know about demigods and gods and stuff but still consider Gordon their full brother, and to keep the monsters away from the powerful young demigod they ended up on the island where Poseidon could protect them (and a promise from Zeus that he won’t blast Thunderbirds out of the sky for having a son of Poseidon in them).  Chiron’s going crazy knowing there’s a demigod out there somewhere that he can’t find and train.

TAGxDCMK thing - Okay, so this one is probably my absolute favourite.  Scott sees something on a rescue that the Black Org didn’t want him to, so he got APTX’d, and TB1 got stolen.  Conan and Haibara take him in and hide him from the world (including his own family) and he joins the fight to take down the BO.  Meanwhile, the Tracys are going crazy looking for Scott.  In this AU no-one knows who IR really are, so Conan and co. don’t know Scott’s real name.  However, the Tracys are still a rich family so they’ve rubbed shoulders with the Kudos before and Scott’s met Shinichi as a kid and realises who he is.  At some point they end up going to Tracy Island?  idk, not sure where it would go after that.  And KID is involved because you can’t not involve KID.

O. Is there any fandom you’ve been into that you haven’t written fic for? Why not?

Many, usually because I’m just not inspired enough to actually write anything for them.  If they’ve got a really complex canon, or something I just can’t get my head into, I tend to not write, either.  Same with if there’s a character I can connect to enough.  Examples include Homestuck, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures (although I do have a vague wip for a Steel Ball Run fic, actually) and Miraculous Ladybug, but I’m sure there’s more if I think harder.

Z. Post an excerpt from either your first fic or your most recent one.

Oh hell, why don’t we do both so I can cringe and cry and what I used to be like vs what I’m like now.  Going with posted only (wips are a whole other kettle of fish).

First ever posted fic, from September 2009: Unwanted (Naruto).  The opening:

There was not a sound to be heard. For once, there was no breeze caressing the emerald leaves in the forest surrounding Konoha. Not a single bird sang; nothing stirred. The bright blue sky didn't contain one cloud - the sunshine was unbroken.

A raven haired teenager stood in the heart of the wood, gazing emotionlessly at the Village Hidden in the Leaves with cold, black eyes.

"It's changed," he murmured quietly. There was a rustle behind him and his three companions appeared.

"So there's your hometown, Sasuke," the silver haired shinobi said, violet eyes inspecting the village. "It's pretty busy." He was right - they could just about make out the general hubbub of village life. The dark haired adolescent said nothing.

"What's wrong, Sasuke-kun?" the only kunoichi in the team asked, putting one hand on Sasuke's chest where his shirt was open, and the other embracing him. He shrugged her off coldly.

"Quit flirting with Sasuke you cow, Karin," the silver haired ninja told the red head.

"I'm not a cow, Suigetsu you...you..." she spluttered, unable to think of a bad enough insult.

"Shut up you two," the final member of the team said quietly, his fiery eyes glinting in the sunlight. Karin and Suigetsu quickly stopped bickering. With much trepidation, Sasuke started to walk towards the gate. He hadn't eaten for days - starving himself, pushing himself further. His vision blurred slightly, but he carried on walking. It wasn't long, however, before everything went black and he fainted.

Most recent fic, from July 2020: Grounded (Thunderbirds).  The ending:

"Scott?" Virgil sounded worried, and he opened his eyes – when he had closed them? – to look up at his worried brother. Alan and Gordon hovered nearby, and he looked at them all in turn, even John's silent hologram – his ginger brother hadn't been there when the test had started, hadn't been expected after he pointed out their holotech's range didn't reach that far. "Are you okay?"

Was he okay? He had a broken rib, was recovering from a near-fatal spider bite and its side effects of dehydration, bradycardia and hypotension, and the man who had almost killed his brothers multiple times was standing the other end of the same balcony.

But they were one step, one significant step closer to Dad.

"Yeah," he said, staring out past them, at the platform cradling the most important engine International Rescue had ever created. For the first time since that horrid trash mine day five weeks earlier, he could honestly say, "I'm okay."

I’ll leave you guys to be the judge on whether or not I’ve improved at all.  I’d like to think I have.

[aeyaverseproject]

The Fear of Yesterday Interview Questions

these are my answers to the questions from @alexprompts WIP weekly event. thanks for featuring my wip!

SETTING:

Three main settings are mentioned in your post, being Soma, the Facility, and Purgatory. Can you give us a description of all three and the relevance to the story?

the majority of the story takes place on Soma. it’s a tropical island where travel is heavily restricted. whoever is running the show has done a good job of keeping the “zombie” thing a secret, so even most of the people who have gone there have been sworn to secrecy. Soma is part of Vafria, the country the story is set in. the only people that actually live on the island are scientists; military personnel can be seen all over the island as well. Soma is where the next two areas are located.

the Facility is an underground bunker/shelter. due to it being so unnecessarily extravagant, it is thought to be owned by someone rich and powerful. in the Facility are quite a few hallways. these lead to different rooms, including the ones the cast resides in while they are held there. there is also an upper level, which is where the two masterminds behind the deadly game are hanging out.

the most notable areas within the Facility are the Lobby, a circular room with a tall domed ceiling that mimics a skylight, and the Library, which is by far the most spacious room in the Facility.

Purgatory is another underground building. Purgatory is where Robin and the others are sent after they lose the game. it is crawling with the zombies (referred to as Infected in the story). Robin is initially under the impression that only children are down here, but that’s not quite the case.

even though it’s much larger than the Facility, most of the people sent there remain on the bottom floor indefinitely. while down there everyone is required to team up in groups to protect each other from the Infected and survive. there seems to be a way to get to the second floor, but going down that path is frowned upon.

every floor is like a labyrinth, consisting of many twists and turns. the people of Purgatory know their way around the first floor and have no problem teaching outsiders. the rest of the floors, however…yeah. they’ll have to learn as they go.

Purgatory has its own civilization that is hidden from the outside world. Robin can never really get used to the way things work down there.

Are there any other relevant settings?

one other relevant setting is Greenworth, Robin’s hometown. we won’t get to see much of it though, as it only appears briefly. there’s another location that’ll be shown near the very end, but i’m keeping that one a secret for now. :)

What do you draw your settings from? Your reality, imagination, a combination?

the Facility was inspired by some of the locations in the Zero Escape games and the whole tropical island idea was kind of inspired by Danganronpa 2.

Purgatory is mostly just drawn from my imagination. however, i watched a movie a few years ago (can’t remember the name) where a character mentioned an underground labyrinth that no one could escape and that really, really freaked me out. so that’s how that happened haha

CHARACTERS:

How does the main character, Robin, get caught up in the story you’re telling?

someone he trusts is about to start working on the island. this guy knew Robin and Marina’s parents when they were younger, and he also knows that they’re on Soma, as well. he never tells them how or why, but he is allowed to bring people with him. he already has the trust of Robin and Marina’s respective guardians, so they just kinda. let him do that. the people in Greenworth don’t know what’s going on on Soma, but they definitely didn’t expect it to be something like this.

after a tragic turn of events, Robin has no way to get home. things just go downhill from there.

What is the most important piece of character development you have written or planned so far?

so far, the most important piece of character development i have planned for the story has to do with some shared knowledge between Daphnis and Tiffiny. right now all i have is an overheard conversation between them, but it adds to the overall mystery of the story. without spoiling anything, i can say that they just know way too much. but they do use their knowledge to help their team out when they can.

Where do you choose your names from?

the character names so far have been mostly random. even One was random, to be honest. i don’t usually name the characters after anything or anyone in particular, and there’s no theme when it comes to names or anything. usually i’ll think of common names i’ve heard in the past, then if none of those work, i’ll think of japanese names i’ve heard.

however, Daphnis is an exception, here. i’m sure you’ve noticed his name is much different than the others’. i purposely named him after one of saturn’s moons, and i wasn’t sure why at first. but after looking through the plot in detail i’ve noticed that it fits very well. like eerily so. but that was a total coincidence.

STORY:

How do you plan?

when i first started this story, i didn’t have any plans, actually. over time i would type up any idea that came to mind and copy it to my notes later. eventually i had enough of those entries to start creating an outline. it’s not organized or anything, but it helps me keep the story in order.

Where did the inspiration for your story come from?

the Zero Escape series inspired this story, for sure. after i finished the trilogy, i decided i wanted to put my own spin on the whole deadly game thing.

THE FUTURE:

Do you plan sequels? If so, how many, and what will their connections/places in the universe be?

The Fear of Yesterday is part of a four-book series called Tomorrow’s Message! there is no direct sequel, but some of the characters in this book show up in the other entries. the other books are from the pov’s of two other characters in the series.

book two, The Door to Tomorrow, is the first half of book one told from Chuck’s perspective. it shows what really was going on in his head as well as his motives.

book three, Today and Forever, is about Joseph’s life (from his pov). it’ll reveal more of his involvement with this whole mess and how he feels about it. it’ll also showcase what’s really happening and why. as such, this book will answer a lot of the questions brought up in The Fear of Yesterday. there will be a detailed intrigue plot, a group of childhood friends, and lots more of that conspiracy stuff.

book four, New Century Endeavor, is told from Chuck’s pov once again. this focuses on his life after he’s come to terms with what he learned about himself in the Facility. this has almost nothing to do with the intrigue/conspiracy and is mostly about how his life gets totally derailed shortly after meeting a certain someone.

i’m currently trying to write the whole series at once. so far ive completed book two, which is actually quite short. this method is challenging and i’m not sure if i can recommend this kind of approach, but it’s fun connecting the stories together while they’re simultaneously being written.

Do you plan to publish? If so, what is your biggest goal in relation?

i plan to self-publish this series eventually. i’m not really sure what the goal is yet i just want a lot of people to enjoy my work.

If your story were to be turned into a movie, who would you want to play your main characters ideally?

well, i’d imagine it to be an anime-style movie. when i think of The Fear of Yesterday as a movie, i think of those netflix anime titles. so, i’d prefer for it to be a netflix movie, but a theatrical release would be cool, too. as for the cast, i… actually have no idea haha. but they’d be anime voice actors for sure.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

WIP Name Game

Rules: I post the names of all the files in my WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

I was tagged by @snowbellewells.  Sorry it took me so long to get to this, Marta!  My problem is that technically speaking, I have no current WIPs, but I do have several fics I’m mulling over.  The first several listed here are my plans for the remainder of Fluffy Fridays (which will most likely come to an end late in March or so.  I can’t believe this mammoth fic collection is actually coming to an end!).  The others are MCs that I’m considering writing.  Because none of these fics actually have names yet, I left a bit of a description, but by all means send me asks about them if you have questions (or suggestions, lol).

Captain Swan family Christmas fic (Fluffy Fridays)

Toddler Hope brings the Elf on the Shelf to life.  Shenanigans ensue.

  CS season 2 canon divergent New Year’s fic (Fluffy Fridays)

During the second half of season 2, Emma and Hook get trapped together on the roof where they will get married several seasons later on New Year’s Eve.

  Killian’s move-in day (Fluffy Fridays)

Lol, basically just what it sounds like.  Following Emma asking Killian to move-in, he brings his chest of belongings, and CS look through them together (kind of a parallel to the scene in season 4 where Emma shares her beginnings with Killian).

(The rest under a cut because, long)

Canon divergence during Neverland or just after (Fluffy Fridays)

Yeah, I have no idea what this is going to be about yet.  I just love the Neverland arc, and I want one more Neverland fic in Fluffy Fridays.

  Deleted Scene from the night before the wedding (Fluffy Fridays)

Emma calls Killian on the night before the wedding because she misses him.

  Valentines Day canon divergence/ (Fluffy Fridays)

I don’t know what this one will be about yet, but it’s Storybrooke, so it’s quite possible it involves Cupid creating mischief.

  Deleted scene during Emma’s pregnancy (Fluffy Fridays)

Emma’s nesting instincts are in overdrive as her pregnancy with Hope draws near its end, and she wants everything to be perfect before her baby is born

St. Patrick’s Day (Fluffy Fridays)

 Again, I don’t know exactly what this one is going to be about, but it will probably involve leprechauns.

  CS future fic (Fluffy Fridays)

Same.  I’m accepting suggestions if anyone has any prompts (roughly canon compliant) involving Captain Swan in the future.  

  Storybrooke during season 7 MC

I’m still mulling this one over (i.e. there’s not much plot yet), but I wanted to write a fic that shows what was happening in Storybrooke while the events of season 7 were happening in the alternate EF and in Hyperion Heights.  It will contain plenty of domestic CS goodness (finding out they’re pregnant and the pregnancy and Hope’s birth), but it will be set within the context of some new “villain” in Storybrooke.  (I put “villain” in parentheses, because at the end of season 6, the Storybrooke folks got their Happily Ever After, so whatever the menace, it won’t be terrible.  This will be a primarily fluffy MC)

  Season 8 MC

I have no real plot to this yet, but the “title” is kind of self explanatory.  I want to write a fic about what season 8 would have been like if there’d been a season 8.  (I wouldn’t hold my breath for this one, though, because I feel like season 7 left us with a lot of timeline issues that I’d need to find a way to resolve before I could proceed with another season.  Lol, I have a headache just thinking about it.)

  Once Upon a Time Book

Not sure it’s quite accurate to even call this a fanfic, per se, but one thing I plan to do is to write OUAT in story form.  Basically, I’ll take the scripts along with as much detail as I can record about what people are wearing, tone of voice, facial expressions, etc, and use that to write the episodes as a fic.  Each episode would be a chapter and each half season would be a fic (season 1 would probably be a fic by itself, because there isn’t really a half season format there).  My attempt would be to be as non-biased as possible here, but I mean, I’m a CSer and a Hook and Emma fan, so that will probably come out.

  Season 3 au/crossover with Manifest

I want to write a fic from just after the Neverland arc that’s inspired by Josh Dallas’s new show, Manifest.  (Loosely inspired, at least).  This fic would be a canon divergent from around 3x10 or so.  The gang stops Pan from casting the curse, so everyone but Emma and Henry don’t get sent back to the EF.  At some point Emma, Hook and Henry leave Storybrooke for some reason, and when they come back (what feels like a few hours later), they find that 5 years have passed and there’s a new curse or something going on.  (This one I actually have more of an idea what to do with than some of my other fic ideas, so most likely, it will be my next MC).

  CS au based on Jane Austen’s Persuasion

One of my favorite underrated Jane Austen books, and I think it would make a good CS au...only I think I might reverse the rolls.  Killian broke up with Emma for some reason (although it wouldn’t be because his family convinced him she wasn’t a good enough match for him), and Emma’s the one who has trouble trusting him again when they meet up several years later (even though she never stopped loving him).  This one would probably be angsty, but with a happy ending eventually.

  CS au based on the movie Kate and Leopold

Man from a few centuries past timetravels to the present and ends up hanging out with (and falling in love with) a kind of jaded present woman?  If that doesn’t scream CS I don’t know what does!

  CS Enchanted au

Again, this movie just about screams CS au to me--although like with Persuasion, I’d probably reverse the roles.  Killian would be the storybook character that was sent via curse to our world and Emma would be the cynical single parent who comes to his rescue.

[if-only-we-could-read-it]

( @ava-burton-writing you mentioned wanting to know more about my oc’s, so I hope you don’t mind me tagging you in this!)

It’s occurred to me (or, rather, it did occur to me, twelve days ago, when I started writing this post) that aside from a few responses to asks, I haven’t actually explained what prov is, or who anyone in it is. Which, considering I’m a writblr, and I made this blog to talk about my wips and oc’s, literally makes no sense. So here’s a post on Prov:

What is Prov? 

‘Prov’, short for ‘The Provect Gene’, is my current (main) wip. It’s a YA sci-fi set in a ‘post-dystopian’ society with a (large) ensemble cast. 

It’s ‘history’: It’s been building in the back of my brain for so long I can’t actually remember when I first came up with the idea. I do remember making a wattpad and debating uploading it, but instead using the account to read other people’s works and to make notes and write extracts for other works I had planned (including fanfiction). Eventually, some of my friends discovered and decided to write their own books, so I decided to write Prov at the same time. Initially, it was called Psykes, short for Psysimalae (or something like that), for some reason, was written in first person despite being a multipov book, and a lot of the characters were clearly my attempt at just inserting my friends into the book (I didn’t even… change their names…) instead of the half fleshed characters I wanted. It as nothing like what I envisioned and was so badly planned and written that I literally gave up. I tried several times to come back to it and couldn’t because the quality of writing was so poor and there was so many inconsistencies in the story. Considering I could write pretty well at that time, the only thing I could think of is that my desire to get the book written fast/at the same pace as my friends overruled my ability to write. Eventually, after years of continuing to write the story in my mind, I came back to it and started to write it properly. 

Summary (that started off ridiculous and somehow got serious at the end): Once upon a time, there was a very rich, very smart, but not particularly nice, man named Cyrus. After years of theorising and making calculations, he came to the conclusion he could create a superpowered race of people for an army. Because he was the kind of person who wants to make superpowered armies. Through coercion, manipulation, lying, the occasional murder and other generally unethical means, he brought the people he wanted to experiment on into his labs and began testing. The only problem was that these people were teenagers, and teenagers are in that in between stage where they’re full of rebelliousness and ‘fight the system’ urges, and didn’t appreciate being locked up and prodded with needles. Eventually one of them who’d figured out he had powers used them to blow up a large portion of the lab, killing some people but freeing many others. The main problem – or, in Cyrus’ case, consolation – was that most of them had not learnt about their powers in the lab, and therefore didn’t know they existed. This made it easier for Cyrus to recapture them. He also managed to spread the word that they were ‘dangerous individuals’, which, in a world that’s fueled by paranoia, has a major impact. So now the police and government are after them too, which isn’t good for them. 

The book starts approximately one year after these events, when three small groups of the experiments are forced together, only to discover they have powers. Tired of always hiding and running, they decide it’s time they tried to put a stop to Cyrus and his experiments, and convince everyone that they’re not dangerous. This, along with them trying to figure out their powers, and trying to avoid simply getting caught and thrown back into the tests, make life very hard for them. Along the way, they discover more people like them, and more factors than they ever could have imagined, including corruption that goes far beyond what they thought. Loyalties are questioned, families are torn apart and sanity balances on the edge of a knife. After all, what’s the point of morals if only you stick to them?

Characters

Mains:

Isabelle: Has the power to manipulate light. The literal mother of the group, makes sure everyone eats and sleeps and doesn’t get themselves killed. Knows everybody’s secrets but nobody knows hers. Very sarcastic. Just wants to sleep. Original squad. 

Damian*: Can manipulate electricity. Isabelle’s (slightly) younger brother. Kind of an asshole but it’s not intentional. Actually tries to be nice he’s just not used to other people (or their feelings). Very smart. Basically the tactician. Original squad.

Barry: Psychic. Drinks way too much coffee, he’s probably at least 85% caffeine at this point. Hyperactive. Basically the child of the group. Was sick before being taken by Cyptem and missed a lot of schooling. References TV shows a lot. Original squad.  

Calypso: Can manipulate water. Very into fashion. Is willing to die for the aesthetic. Seems like the kind of person who in any other situation would have her life together. Isn’t going to let a small thing like people wanting to kill her hold her back. Original squad. 

Will: Astral projection. The medic of the group. Wanted to be a doctor. Tries his best. Frequently questions how moral it is to hoard medicinal drugs. The most reasonable of the group. Done with everything. Original squad.

Leo: Can manipulate molecules to cause them to freeze or ignite. Makes a lot of bad jokes. Scared most of the time, but would do anything for his friends. Acts like he knows what’s going on but literally never does. Going through an internal identity crisis. Original squad.   

Pyra: Can manipulate her own molecular structure (basically, shapeshift). Smol but could kill you. Took about a million self-defense and fighting lessons. Always ready to fight. Tough exterior, slightly sweeter interior. Original squad.

Beth**: Relationship detection and empathy. Definitely hates you. Virtually unreadable. Good at manipulating people and situations. Thinks she’s the strategist of the team. Pessimistic. Usually right. Smart. Original squad.    

Lara: Can teleport. Badass. Basically saves everyone multiple times. Probably better than you at everything. Slightly paranoid. Would kill a man. Acts like she doesn’t like you but secretly would probably die for you. Doesn’t need a squad.

Chris: Telepath and telekinetic. Lived in a cave for like a year. Tries to be skeptical of people to protect himself but can’t resist helping everyone he meets. Uses obscure plants to treat injuries and illnesses. Book two squad.     

Matt: Molecular immobilisation. Strong. Good at fighting. Pretends to be quiet and grumpy but is actually a sweet heart. Could crush a rock with his hands. Likes hand-to-hand combat. Finds it funny that people are uncomfortable around him. Book two squad.

Seth: Molecular combustion. Matt’s twin. Not as strong as his brother. Very concerned about Matt’s tendency to get into fights. More prone to panicking in situations. The guy who tries to lean on the wall and act cool only to fall through an open doorway. Book two squad.       

Meg: Pain manipulation. Really a nice person but is being manipulated. Starts off hating everyone she meets but warms up to them quickly. Spends a lot of time being used. Doesn’t need anyone else. Technically book two squad, but also doesn’t need a squad.

Cyrus: Can manipulate shadows/darkness. The villain. Spent years trying to prove that superpowers were possible. Loose morals. A good actor. Could probably be a politician with all the lies he makes people believe.           

Wyatt: Shield manipulation. Literally a child. Was put through a lot before he was rescued from Cyptem. Is basically adopted by Isabelle. Generally distrustful of people, but very protective of the people he cares about.

Sides

Melody: Sound manipulation. 100% done. Not as mean as she initially seems. Doesn’t like people trying to control her. Would probably become a politician if she didn’t hate the government so much.           

Alex: None. Is an intern at Cyptem who discovered what was going on. Is willing to help everyone even though they seem crazy. Has no idea what’s going on most of the time. Spends a lot of his time eyerolling.

Paige: Heat manipulation. Isabelle and Damian’s older sister. Has done very questionable things but is still a good person. Cares about her siblings, but doesn’t show it well. Inadvertently causes drama.         

Renee: Illusion manipulation. Also a child. Spends more time in Cyptem than Wyatt. Likes to draw. Hard to explain without spoilers.

Amara: Fear manipulation. Cyrus’s right-hand women. Cold blooded. Willing to apply whatever force is necessary to get the job done – and in this case that involves helping get the kids back in and figure out how to make them more compliant.          

*The spelling of Damian has been a bit iffy through the years. When I initially wrote Prov, my friends asked if I’d spelled it wrong, and implied it wasn’t meant to be spelled the way it should. eventually, I changed the spelling, but I kept getting muddled up between the two. Then I went, ‘screw it, my character, my spelling’ - except I’d forgotten which was the original spelling. So for a while I just alternated between the two before settling on ‘Damian’. 

**Beth’s name has been subject to repeated change. Initially she was called Beth after someone I knew, and didn’t like, but who was part of my friendship group so I felt obliged to include. When I rewrote it, I changed her name along with everyone else’s, and she became Ellie. Except ‘Beth’ always fit her more so I eventually changed it back, before realising that meant I have a ‘Beth’ and a ‘Seth’ - who also have quite a lot of interaction, which is very important to the plot. I put my foot down at changing Seth’s name, so chances are, Beth is going to become Ellie, or some other not-Beth name. 

Tags: Prov tag, Isabelle, Damian/also-Damian, Barry, Calypso, Will, Leo, Pyra, Beth, Lara, Chris, Seth, and Matt. (Some characters have a lot more information in their tags than others, because I’m inconsistent with tagging. Which is going to change from this post on. Meg, Cyrus, Wyatt and the side characters do not yet have tags.)

So, there, finally: my wip and its characters laid out. So now when I talk about it, people will actually know what I’m talking about.

[kaoru-chibimaster]

How Not to Run an Event

Don’t Do What The Kingdom Hearts Big Bang Did.

Just Don’t.

Rant under the cut, so like... Seriously, scroll past this. This is me letting my feelings out and I doubt anyone’s interested in that.

-o-o-o-o-

So basically this event started out pretty hype. I was super excited to join in with something related to the Kingdom Hearts community. Before this, I just wrote fic. Like, I was so far in my bubble, I wasn’t aware of zines, I wasn’t aware of other collabs, I wasn’t even aware of some BNFs (so I’m sure I got weird looks for asking who some people were when basically everyone knew who these “some people” were). I just wanted to write and I crossed my fingers and hoped at least someone might enjoy it when I posted it. 

Joining fandom was not a sudden life-changing event for me or anything like that. I was 13 and just getting into forums and had essentially only had knowledge of the KH fanbase through gamefaqs, youtube, kh-vids and kh13 (and fanfiction.net a little later). Before then, my “fandom” was my close friends and I all being fans of the games. I saw posts and read fics and sometimes commented in forums but I was not involved. For the longest time I’d never really been involved.

Big Bang felt like a way to change that. I was so looking forward to the people I’d meet and the art and fics I’d get to see. I’d made friends over the past few months and I’m so, so grateful to BB for that. I was excited for all of the up and coming events planned for Dreamwidth. I’d started out in DW for FFXV related stuff but I’d never actually used my account, so I’m thankful for the opportunity to really learn DW and start using it more extensively. I loved the little events and activities like the posts where we could share our works in progress. That’s another thing I’m grateful for; there are a number of fics of mine that would’ve never gotten off the ground if not for WIP Wednesdays. I also really appreciated that this was set up as a pro-shipping community and that it emphasized that participants could ship what they wanted without being harassed.

Aside from that? 

Downhill. 

Like, at first it was a slow roll down the hill: the discord server would have some channels overrun with discussion I was either uninterested in or outright made me uncomfortable. I’m not going to name drop what these discussions were and who had started them but I muted them one by one until there were only maybe three or four channels (out of a good chunk, I didn’t count but it was a hell of a lot more than three or four) that were unmuted. It’d devolved from a lot of genuine and interesting discussions where we helped each other out with fics/art and just had general fun talking to each other into channels full of the same handful of people talking over each other or venting. Not at all what I was interested in from a community. It wasn’t too bad though because the server wasn’t necessary for the BB so if the people still there needed that space then it’s not my right to give them shit for it. It was, however, totally within my right to remove myself from it, just as it was my right to feel uncomfortable with it.

That was then though.

Right here and now? 

It’s a shitshow. It’s a dumpster fire. It’s basically anarchy.

My discomfort with the direction the server went in was hand in hand with my loss of motivation for my participation. I can’t even look at the fic I was writing for this event without feeling upset and stressed over it. So I dropped. 

And apparently, so did a good number of other people.

The mods made a post about how We’re Committed (which no one can find now because they deleted all their social media but I’ll get to that). They urged other people within the server to stay dedicated to the event. A rebuttal was made that pointed out the sort of environment they’d created that’d made a lot of people feel the same way as me: uncomfortable. The event mods were understaffed and constantly diverting attention to other/future events and one of them didn’t even communicate with the rest of the server save to make announcements, and the cherry on top? 

They expected the participants to make the effort. They expected to create a server and essentially let everyone grope around in the dark until they found a handhold. They outright told us they wouldn’t hold anyone’s hands, which was as condescending a statement as one could get, and then somehow expected the whole thing to work out? When the rest of the server occupants, including people who hadn’t spoken for ages and people who hadn’t spoken at all, started voicing their complaints, the mods acted like they were being backed into a corner they’d already placed themselves in.

They lashed out. Like children. Like a little kid on the playground confronted by their teacher after they pushed another kid and then loudly proclaimed “He pushed me first!”.

They backed out of the event and left it to the server mods. They, after having made a big deal out of commitment to the event, dropped it like a hot potato. 

And then they sent this nonsense:

Just. Out of nowhere.

It might’ve been salvaged if they left it in the hands of the other mods, but they cancelled it. They fucking cancelled all the people who put hard work into making fics and art and put time into this. Every single participant wasted their time on this. And it wasn’t just a few weeks, this fucking event started in April and they had the gall to just up and cancel it.

The rest of the email below, which is just as much a wall of text as this rant is, is essentially an overly worded temper tantrum in which the mods blame the participants for everything that went wrong. Like, I get it. You’re only human. You’re stressed too. You suffer anxiety like the rest of us. I get it. Yes, it was on us to communicate with our partners. But when we come to the mods for help? The last fucking thing you should ever tell us is “we don’t hold your hands”. No wonder no one ever came to you guys for help. 

But what really gets me is the fact that not every participant in this event was in the discord. Not everyone saw the drama that went down. Not everyone saw this coming. Imagine having joined this event only to find an email in your inbox a month before we were supposed to start posting telling you that the event is cancelled and it’s all your fault.

Makes the mods come across as incompetent at best. Malicious at worst.

And seriously, regardless of what’s going on in your life, what sort of hangups or problems you might have...

YOU DO NOT START AN EVENT LIKE THIS WITHOUT BEING READY TO FULLY COMMIT YOURSELF TO IT. IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE CRITICISM, IF YOU AREN’T GOOD AT COMMUNICATING WITH PEOPLE, IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE IDEA OF MODDING FOR AN EVENT THAT YOU STARTED THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE STARTED IT.

This is common sense. Seriously. I’d never put myself in a position of leadership without being able to accept the responsibility that comes with it. Because it leads to shit like this.

I’m upset. I’d dropped the event a few weeks ago and still I’m genuinely upset. Because nobody deserved this. None of the participants deserved to have their time wasted like this. Nobody deserved the drama and the bullshit that was dredged up from this. Nobody deserved to have this bomb dropped on them literally a month before posting was going to start.

It was supposed to be fun. For me, a chance to finally contribute something in the Kingdom Hearts fandom as part of a fandom effort. A chance to reach outside of my bubble and make friends and create. And while I did get to reach out, I did get to create, and I’m going to continue to contribute on my own as I always did, I can’t say anything good about the Big Bang beyond that. All good will there might’ve been for it was ruined the moment the former mods sent that passive aggressive email.

Who the hell wants to see that nonsense in their email anyway. Aren’t they grown ass adults? They ought to know better. A simple “We regret to inform you that we’re cancelling this event” would have been enough. The rest was unnecessary and, quite frankly, downright nasty and that was honestly what pissed me off enough to make this rant. 

In the end if it had silently died, I wouldn’t have even minded at this point.

But, well...

The Big Bang had to go out with a bang, I guess.

Too bad it was a shit grenade and now there’s shit all over the walls and I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to clean all that shit up.

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter II

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter I

Sam awoke to the strong smell of brine and fish, the sound of a loud argument in what he thought might be Portuguese, and a dog licking his face, which made him curse and push it away. He understood the principle of having a cat on board ship; they kept the rats down, tended to themselves, and stayed out of the crew’s way, but a dog must eat as much as a sailor while doing none of the work (what did it do, bark at dolphins?) This seemed a seriously questionable decision on the part of his current vessel, but as the theme of his adventures to date appeared to be shaping up,  he had not been left with a great deal of choice. He had approached one of the tender boats on the beach, thinking that he could pay for it to take him out to one of the Navy frigates in the harbor. He had reckoned without the – in hindsight, blindingly and idiotically obvious – fact that all the small craft ashore were Spanish, and had absolutely no interest in transporting this pair of gormless English striplings anywhere. So in sum, to start off Sam’s vital interception mission on which the very future of the war might hang, he had strolled up and volunteered himself to be abducted. Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful. If Nathaniel –

At that, Sam’s eyes flew open, even as his skull was still aching from the smart blow that one of the Portuguese pricks had administered to the back of it. Trying to avoid moving too fast, he glanced around cautiously, forced to console himself with the fact that at least Nathaniel had not thought of this beforehand either – fine pair of secret agents they made, the both of them. As it happened, the dog was now licking Nathaniel instead, slumped against a coil of rope across the way, and after a few more moments of the mangy mutt’s devoted attentions, his eyelids fluttered. He groaned, opened them, stared at Sam with the maximum amount of umbrage it was possible to convey in a facial expression, started to say something, then bit his tongue.

Having reassured himself that he had not – yet – gotten his friend killed, Sam edged slowly toward the sound of the argument from above. The one possibility he could see was that he was increasingly certain that they were indeed Portuguese, and not Spanish. While somewhat of an afterthought in the scheme of things, not quite to the class of the heavyweights England, Spain, and France, Portugal did hold the vast colony of Brazil and other possessions in the Indies and the Main, and while they more or less cooperated and allied with Spain in doing this, their allegiance to Madrid would not be guaranteed. That, now that Sam thought about it, was likely the cause for the argument. Half of the crew must want to hand them over to the guardas costas right now, and pocket a nice reward for their trouble. The other half (well, hopefully it was at least a half) must favor keeping them around, seeing if there was some further use to them, maybe even make Spain pay handsomely for the service of returning them.

It occurred to Sam that if so, he could possibly still salvage this. Convince them that he was important enough to be taken to Havana directly, as that was, after all, where he was trying to go. It might be harder if none of them spoke English, and how exactly Sam would pull this off without actually dying remained a sticking point, but that was a problem for later. As long as he was right about all this speculation as to their disagreement. If they were just squabbling about whether to drown them or shoot them, that, well, that lengthened the odds a bit.

At that, Sam pawed at his jacket, and discovered to his astonishment that the sack of money was still there. Evidently their captors had not even bothered to search them before knocking them over the head, confiscating their weapons, and tossing them in this fish-smelling predicament, and that was a morbidly hopeful idea. It might mean that the kidnappers were as thoroughly amateur as the kidnapped, and while they would still have the money if they wanted it – Sam could obviously not stop a dozen brawny sorts from helping themselves – its presence might at least convince them that there was more where that came from, or that he was rich enough to fetch a good ransom. And while Sam did not speak Portuguese, he could just barely scrape along in Spanish, and they would have at least one man who knew that. He was feeling more hopeful than he had five minutes ago, despite still being summarily abducted and held belowdecks of an enemy vessel with a superfluous dog and a deeply unimpressed friend. Now they were getting somewhere.

Just then, the ladder creaked, and with a look at Nathaniel imploring him to trust him despite all good reason to the contrary, Sam sat up straighter. The next instant, several pairs of feet descended into the dimness – this was a small ketch, with only one deck below the main and a crammed hold intended for a few hammocks and stowing cargo. As their owners came into sight, half a dozen bearded faces regarded the boys with deep suspicion. They seemed surprised that they had come to (perhaps they hadn’t hit them hard enough) and one of them called sharply to the dog, which sat where it was and whined. Sam felt a brief and unexpected affection for the fleabag, and when the silence turned excruciating, shrugged and took it upon himself to get on with whatever was about to happen. “Hola,” he said, in a friendly voice. “Me llamo Samuel.”

There were snorts and a few startled looks, but nobody clocked him a new one, so Sam took that as a good sign. “Mi amigo, Nathaniel. Estamos – ah, what’s the fucking word – deserters. Wait – somos? Somos desertores. From del campamento Inglés. Yo tengo – inteligencia? Inteligencia importante. For el gobernador. En Cuba. Havana.”

He held his breath, hoping that this was not the most obvious of all ploys in the history of attempted neck-saving, though this lot did not look like candidates for the famed All Souls exam in Oxford (which Sam had briefly aspired to, before realizing that it would involve far more of the Latin master than anyone needed in their life). When there was still no answer, he stoutly plowed on. “Havana. Necessito to go to Havana. Dinero. Tengo mucho – muchas? – dinero.”

As he had hoped, that got their attention immediately. He pulled out the money sack, wincing at the possibility of losing it less than forty-eight hours into the venture, but if it got them to Havana, it would be a very wise investment. Glances were exchanged among the crew, someone stepped forward and yanked it out of his hand, and there was a murmur as they opened it, saw it was real silver – and then remembered one small fact, stopped, and scowled heavily. It was of course English currency, and that would do them no good in any of their usual ports of call, as they couldn’t spend it and they couldn’t trade it without someone getting suspicious as to where they had come by so much of it. The man who had taken the bag, coming to this conclusion, flung it on the boards with a curse, sending coins rolling in every direction, and started toward Sam with what absolutely sounded like the Portuguese version of “Get him, lads!” In that moment, Sam could only think of one thing, despite its high likelihood of backfiring in any number of spectacular ways. No time for another.

“FLINT!” he yelled. “Mi abuelo. Capitán Flint!”

That, at last, caught them short in a way that not even the money had done. Everyone across the Caribbean, regardless of nationality, knew who Flint was – and more importantly, what he had left behind. Half the £87,000, or 120,000 pieces of eight, that Charles Vane and Henry Jennings had stolen from the Spanish salvage camp in 1715 had been lost with the wreck of the Walrus, Flint’s ship, on the fabled pirate hideout of Skeleton Island, and he had also buried another chest somewhere ashore. (The other half, aboard the Queen Anne’s Revenge, had been dispersed and spent in various avenues long ago.) Rumors had long swirled about the feasibility of retrieving such a legendary stash, whether it had actually sunk or might be trapped in the ship’s decaying hulk, but had been hindered by the fact that nobody knew where Skeleton Island actually was. The remaining charts had been lost with the Walrus, if Flint remembered the exact bearings he wasn’t saying, and besides, everyone believed that he was dead. The Spanish had never stopped brooding on the insult and their desire to recoup their lost loot, and the tale of the treasure had taken on a life of its own. If Sam could possibly lead anyone to it, the Portuguese could either charge a huge price to hand him over, or take advantage of it themselves. Win-bloody-win.

There was a very long silence. Then the one who looked like the mate said, in heavily accented English, “Captain Flint – dead.”

“Aye, he is.” Sam wasn’t so desperate to save his own neck as to sell out his grandfather, but now that he’d made the ploy, he couldn’t back down. “But I told you I have intelligence for Havana, didn’t I? You want to risk telling Güemes that you had the way to reclaim the lost treasure in your hands, and let me slip through?”

The mate squinted at him, not understanding all of this, so Sam sighed deeply and was once more obligated to patch it into his terrible Spanish. The gist of it, however, was that Don Juan Francisco de Güemes y Horcasitas, Count of Revillagigedo, the captain-general of Cuba and governor of Havana, would be extremely displeased if they did not bring Sam to him straightaway, and if that lost treasure was recovered, surely there would be a generous cut of it for them. Or if they wanted, they could just die poor and stupid. No skin off his back.

There was much frowning, more muttering, and a few dangerous looks at Sam, but the end result was that someone was finally dispatched to fetch the captain. He spoke better English, and introduced himself as João da Souza, a bearded man with a somewhat misleadingly genial air; he might slap your back and drink with you, but was clearly not about to brook any challenges to his command or actually consider you a friend. Sam had gotten adept at quickly reading people, and when da Souza pressed for details, merely repeated his earlier insistence that Flint was his grandfather and this was an unmissable business opportunity. Surely this couldn’t be a terribly profitable job, slaving on this rinkidink tender boat to sell to the Spaniards at ridiculously undercut prices. Money. Just think of it. Lots and lots of money.

Da Souza clearly wanted to believe him, for obvious reasons, but not without proof. “How do I know,” he asked at last, “that Flint is your grandfather? You are a very bad pirate.”

Sam winced. “I’m a wonderful pirate, actually. If you give me a chance.”

“Yes?” Da Souza tossed a complicated twist of rope at him. “What is that?”

“That is. . .” Sam considered the object in question with all the accumulated wisdom of his family’s legendary seafaring exploits and specialized knowledge of the most arcane difficulties in the owning and operation of sailing ships. “That is definitely a knot.”

Someone snorted audibly. “You cannot be of his line.”

“My mother’s his adopted daughter,” Sam said defensively. “Him and his wife. They’re – were – my grandparents. So – “

Da Souza’s eyes sharpened, and Sam struggled not to let his expression change. He was fairly sure the captain had caught that brief slippage into present tense, the hint that his grandfather might not be quite as dead as he was trying to insist. It was thus less than entirely reassuring when the captain smiled. “Havana. Yes. Güemes, we will take you to him.”

“Er, thanks.” Belatedly, Sam supposed that his gaffe in fact might not have been the worst thing in the world – sailing in aboard a Royal Navy ship would have put all of Cuba on alert and made it impossible for him to conduct his search for Montiano’s agent in private, if he wasn’t arrested the moment he set foot ashore. Arriving anonymously aboard a humble Portuguese supply tender would attract no notice whatsoever, and if da Souza had been safely assured of mythical riches, he might even go to the bother of actively trying to keep Sam alive long enough to reach the governor. And if Sam could find out what exactly the intelligence was – Oglethorpe had not told him that, after all, just that he needed to intercept it – he could decide what to do with it, stopping it or otherwise. It was somewhat of a surprise to hear himself thinking so calculatingly about this, actively planning where it might most benefit, but. . . prior evidence all aside, he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew this was dangerous. He had to keep his eyes open.

Sam and da Souza spat in their palms and shook hands on their agreement, Nathaniel let out a sagging breath of relief (he had certainly seen Sam talk them out of tight corners before, but that might have been the tightest) and Sam was given to wonder if, now that they were such mates, the crew might be induced to feed them. He had been constantly hungry since he left home, as subsisting on less-than-robust army rations was about the worst privation in the world for a nineteen-year-old boy (as he, like the rest of his ilk, could eat his parents out of house and home while remaining the exact dimensions of a beanpole). Asking this question finally landed him and Nathaniel with some hardtack and a weazened orange apiece. Evidently, while they may certainly die in the course of this, it would not be from scurvy. Dad would approve.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Nathaniel muttered, as they gnawed the peelings off. The crew had gone back to the deck to make ready to sail, and they could feel the ship starting to gain speed beneath them. “Next time, maybe we don’t get knocked out first?”

“Aye, maybe.” Sam chewed experimentally on the hardtack, hoping that there would not be a surprise weevil experience (that had happened to him when he was eight, which he supposed might be part of his dislike of sailing). He did not want to fall into all his successes in such an arse-backward fashion, but it was still preferable to failure. “It worked, though, didn’t it?”

“That was luck,” Nathaniel pointed out, cruelly but accurately. “Besides, I don’t trust da Souza. He’ll try to coax you to tell him the bearings to Skeleton Island before we ever get to Havana, then chuck us overboard if you can’t tell him. And I know you don’t know those.”

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Sam looked around edgily. He didn’t know who else on the crew spoke any English, and did not want to risk them finding out. He was also aware that this bluff only ran any chance of success if da Souza actually had an interest in bringing them to Cuba and assisting the Spanish war effort, as otherwise, he could indeed just throw the boys into the ocean without anyone ever knowing they had been there. He wouldn’t as long as the riches were on the table, but as soon as they weren’t, well. . .

There was, however, not exactly much either of them could do at the moment, and they settled uneasily by the bulkhead, heads still aching, as the tender boat made it further out to sea. Sam risked a peek through the anchor eyelet, clambering through the heaps of rope and sacks in the bow, to see that they were almost out of sight of land, as da Souza must have known a back route out of the harbor away from the Royal Navy blockade – probably the same one they had used to smuggle supplies through to St. Augustine in the first place. It wasn’t that long of a trip to Havana if the wind cooperated. He wasn’t going to have a lot of bloody time to come up with a plan, and the Spanish agent could be well ahead of him anyway. If so. . .

And yet, despite the admittedly uneven start to his venture, and the very real risks that remained to his family if he failed, Sam couldn’t help but enjoy himself, more than a little. Sure, he’d probably die, but he was young enough to feel immortal, invincible, and this would be enough of a ripping good yarn that he’d never have to sit tongue-tied at another family dinner while the rest of them swapped tall tales and sailing stories. He was deeply proud of being Killian Jones and Emma Swan’s son, James Flint and Miranda Barlow’s grandson, Sam Bellamy’s godson, and even Geneva Jones’ brother (though he was sure he couldn’t actually tell her that). He knew they loved him regardless, but he did not want to be the hatchmark, the asterisk, on the list of pirate legends – the runt of the litter, the black sheep. He wanted to be enough.

After a moment, Sam blew out a breath and turned away. He was still hungry, though he didn’t think any more food would be forthcoming, and besides, he had to see if he could scrounge up any of his coins from where they had rolled into dark corners. Da Souza and his crew might not be impressed with English money, but Don Juan Francisco de Güemes might, and Sam had plenty of uses for it otherwise. He was tired, but he wasn’t sure he’d sleep. He needed to think.

No comments on how well that has gone before. Sam muttered a brief prayer to Saint Jude, just because it couldn’t hurt, and went off to get started.

--------------------

At least from the harbor, Nassau Town, New Providence Island did not look like the formidable stronghold of hostis humani generis, enemies of all mankind, as the laws and tracts of all the colonial empires had – unsurprisingly – declared the pirates’ republic at the height of its influence. There were no ships flying the black flag, no roving gangs of wastrels, and, perhaps most disappointingly, no piles of treasure lying around on the beach. One John Tinker had been named the new governor in 1738, but due to the demands of the war and his concerns elsewhere, he had not yet bothered to take up residence, and nobody appeared to be missing him very much. Indeed it looked, exactly as promised, quite normal, an ordinary hub of lawful commerce. The fort on the headland remained only half-rebuilt, as Robert Gold had destroyed its predecessor during the last battle, and the Union Jack was flapping merrily overhead, which surely would have disgusted Geneva’s relations if they were present to observe. Indeed, while she hadn’t expected to arrive in some preserved bit of pirate Utopia, with rum and brawling and salty wenches and whatever else they liked, it was somewhat of a letdown. Like going to find a prince, and meeting an accountant.

Still, she did not intend to let an underwhelming first impression deter her from a closer acquaintance. She turned away, ordered her crew to put down anchor, and prepared to go ashore. It had been an uneventful voyage from Savannah, though she had veered well out to sea to avoid Spanish ships around Florida, and the mercury was holding steady, though that could never be trusted for long in the dog days of summer.

“It looks quite. . . benign,” her great-uncle said. “I suppose I had rather a different idea of it.”

Geneva had to laugh. “Aye, I was just thinking the same. Though I’m sure there is more to it than meets the eye. We might end up wishing it was as boring as it seemed.”

With that, she helped Thomas down into the boat, along with a few of her crew members, and took one of the sets of oars, pulling them toward the quays. No sooner had they bumped against the boards and disembarked, however, when a small and obnoxious individual in an excessively powdered peruke wig rushed up and thrust a ledger under Thomas’ nose, clearly taking him for the master of the arriving vessel. “Berthing fee is a shilling,” he announced. “There is the docking register and the cargo tariff to settle as well, sir, so if you would step to my office – ”

“I’m not the captain.” Thomas looked as if he was trying very hard not to laugh. “That would be my niece here.”

“You?” The man goggled at Geneva with irritating, if not unexpected, skepticism. “Are you – managing it in your father’s stead or something of the sort, miss?”

“No,” Geneva said. “I’m Captain Geneva Jones and that’s the Rose, my own ship. As for your ludicrous charges, it seems as if pirates of one bloody sort have just been exchanged for another, doesn’t it? Good to know Nassau is still a den of bald-faced thieves.”

“We are not thieves.” The port factor inflated territorially. “We charge the dues and customs as appointed by the merchant guilds and trading boards of His Majesty’s West Indian territories. Entirely lawful, I do assure you. So if you – ”

Geneva couldn’t help but flinching at the mention of New Providence being firmly back under British stewardship, no matter how peaceably it had worked out. She hadn’t expected it to affect her, since it was a fight she had never been part of except for the briefest imaginable time as a very newborn infant, but it still landed in some uncomfortable ancestral heart of her. Thomas – whose own experience of English law had been far from benevolent, even if not that of the open piracy and rebellion of his spouses – had an odd look on his face as well. Exiled to a work camp in the Colonies after his confinement in an asylum, announced to the world that he was dead, disinherited and bereft of his family name, title, and home and everything he had ever worked for in a respectable career as a peer of the House of Lords and the promising scion of a well-established family. He might be happily reunited with James and Miranda these days, and all of them had struggled to finally put the past to rest, but the wounds remained.

Still, however, Geneva – while she might have her grandfather’s advice in mind about getting into at least one fight while she was here – did not see it necessary to start off by assaulting the port factor and being shut promptly into jail. So she went to his office, paid the charges, signed the docking register, and returned to where Thomas was waiting for her in the shade. “Well,” she said, with an annoyed huff. “Being hit up for English taxes the instant we land? I suppose Nassau has changed after all.”

“Indeed.” Thomas’ cheek twitched again, but he offered her his arm, which Geneva took, and they started up toward the streets, her crew having hastened ahead in apparent eagerness to see if everything was civilized these days, or the legendary houses of booze, bawd, and bad decisions still remained for public inspection. She’d box their ears if they gambled away all their wages, or got themselves into an entanglement from which she would be obliged to extricate them. She could not blame them for curiosity, as it was after all a considerable part of the reason she herself had come here, but still.

“You’re very like him,” Thomas said unexpectedly, as Geneva pulled her skirts up with her free hand to avoid the muck – she captained a ship and managed her own trading business and took advantage of numerous other pursuits normally accorded to firstborn sons, but she still liked to wear dresses and to do her hair fashionably and to buy jewelry and trim her sleeves with lace. “Your grandfather, that is. And your grandmother. I see so much of both James and Miranda in you. I know you’re not theirs by blood, but it is easy to forget.”

“It’s never been any different for us, you know.” Geneva glanced at him sidelong. “I didn’t meet them – and you – until I was eight, but Mother and Daddy always told us about you. It didn’t feel like meeting strangers when I saw you at last. Just like family who had been away for a long time and finally came back.”

“I remember.” Thomas laughed, even as the half-sweet, half-painful shadow of memory crossed his face: the first time that Killian and Emma had seen Miranda and Flint in years, since losing them in Charlestown and Skeleton Island, respectively, and believing them dead. The introduction of them both to Thomas, and Flint and Miranda meeting all their grandchildren for the first time, as Henry, Geneva, and Sam had been fully willing to accept this in their stride and not sure why the adults were in tears. Geneva’s own recollection was of being relieved that the pirate they had hanged in the Savannah square was not actually her grandfather, hugging her grandmother for the first time as Miranda shook and shook, and being distracted with biscuits and put to bed while the adults sat up all night on the veranda. The Swan-Joneses had moved from Boston the next year, when Henry had taken his degree from Harvard, to be closer to them, to let Geneva and Sam grow up with the rest of their family, not wanting to miss any more time, and she remained deeply grateful for it.

They reached the top of the steep, cobbled street, lined with swinging signs and painted storefronts, food stands and scriveners, taverns and trading posts and other familiar features of an ordinary market town. If it was somewhat more grimy in places, it was usually down a back alley, and nobody was resorting to fisticuffs (at least not in the open). Palm trees shaded the handsomely colonnaded plaza before the governor’s mansion, which in the absence of the actual governor being in residence was evidently used as the city hall anyway, and the rich golden light slanted as thick as honey on canvas awnings and red-shingled roofs. It was. . . pretty, with a sense of being well lived in, comfortable as an old shawl or a favorite dress. Not wild, not anymore. Whether or not that had been vital to its character before, and this could only be a pale and cheap copy, Geneva could not say. Still, though. She liked it.

They went up the broad marble steps of the mansion, enquired after the whereabouts of Charles Swan, and were sent to a nearby half-timbered townhouse with a brass plaque on the door. They rang the bell, were shown in by a servant, and in a few more minutes, Geneva’s uncle – fair and blonde and retaining some of his old good looks, though his hairline had receded and his waistline had expanded – was effusively greeting them. “I had no idea you were coming to Nassau, you should have written! I don’t suppose your mum and dad. . .?”

“No, just me and Uncle Thomas.” Geneva gestured to him, as the men shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. “We weren’t intending to be here long, a fortnight or so, and we won’t impose if you – ”

“Nonsense,” Charles said heartily. “There’s plenty of room, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. None of you have ever visited me before, I should mark the occasion. Indeed, business is booming, and if you’re at all interested in remaining longer, my dear, I’m currently in the market for a new ship and captain. War always tends to be good for our bottom line, so there’s that – although there’s no guaranteeing the bloody Spanish wouldn’t ransack you. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t fancy explaining that to my sister, but the offer stands.”

“Ah – thank you, but I think I’m sorted.” With that, Geneva was induced to be shown upstairs by the maid, taking one room at the end of the hall as Thomas took another, and once she had washed and freshened up from the voyage, returned downstairs to the sitting room to visit. She, Thomas, and Charles passed a pleasant afternoon drinking tea and chatting and catching up with the news, and as dusk began to fall, Charles announced that he’d take them to his favorite supper club. No better way to really meet the locals.

Geneva, who had begun to suspect that her uncle was trying to butter her up to join the family business regardless of whatever she had politely refused earlier, agreed, rather amusedly, and fetched her hat and gloves. The evening was still very warm as they stepped out, the shadows ink-black among the waving palms and the sun a spill of claret wine in the west. Crickets shirred in the distance, torches and lanterns lit among the narrow wynds, and she and Thomas followed Charles to an appealing establishment on the harbor side of the city, where they opened the door and entered a lowlit, busy common room. Charles was evidently a regular, as he was greeted by name and seated promptly, and as they were waiting for their meal, Geneva was left to conclude that the whole thing had thus far been like a pleasant holiday. She was quite sure it had not been like this when her parents and grandparents had lived here, and briefly wondered if this could be considered any sort of authentic experience. Unless she was going to just –

“Mr. Swan?”

The table looked up with a start to see a man who seemed faintly, intangibly familiar, though for the life of her, Geneva could not have said why. He was sunburned and rough-weathered, with long black hair streaked with grey, a scraggly beard, an embroidered jacket, and – most noteworthy – a missing leg, though he wore a leather and iron replacement that allowed him to stump along with a crutch, which he laid against the table. His face was outwardly friendly, but his blue eyes were cool and shrewd, the face of a man who held the cards and shuffled the deck as he pleased. Spotting the empty chair next to Thomas, he took it without asking for permission, and smiled, once again in a friendly fashion, but with a clear sense that he was not about to be sent away without an answer. “Good evening. I regret having to interrupt you with company.”

“I.” Charles looked rather like a schoolchild who had stood up to recite before the class and forgotten his lines. “Mr. Silver. Good evening to you too.”

At that, Thomas twitched slightly, a reaction which the newcomer – clearly not a man who missed much – caught out of the corner of his eye. He turned to them. “Friends of Charles?”

“Family. This is his niece, Geneva, and I’m her great-uncle, Thomas.”

Likewise, a very strange expression crossed the man’s – Mr. Silver’s, as it evidently was – face. Something shock and curiosity and wonder and vindication and suspicion and fascination all at once, like the unearthing of a mysterious skeleton or fabled treasure from the ground where it had lain in secret for years, and was only now coming to life again. “Correct me if I presume,” he said slowly. “But you wouldn’t be – you could not possibly be – Thomas Hamilton?”

“Do you know me, sir?” Thomas was startled and wary, as any sudden arrivals with apparent familiarity of his past were far from reassuring. “Have we met – ?”

“We have not. You are him, then?”

“I am. Can I be of service?” The words were polite, but the tone was cool.

Silver did not answer immediately, continuing to regard him with an interest so intent as to nearly be rude. He realized it and glanced away, but could not help but looking back, as if Thomas was a museum exhibit or rare curio on which he intended to compose a lengthy treatise. At last he said, “I was well acquainted with a particular friend of yours, in the past. If he’s still alive – if you’ve crossed paths again – then I don’t suppose he’s mentioned me?”

“You’re – ” Just then it clicked, for Thomas at least, even as Geneva and Charles remained utterly baffled. “You’re him. John Silver, Long John Silver?”

“I’ve been called that in the past, yes. Even at times in the present.” Silver shrugged. “Well, then. This is – I scarcely know if serendipitous is enough of a word. And a great-niece?” He glanced back at Geneva. “No, wait. You’re theirs, aren’t you. Hook and Swan’s daughter?”

“Killian and Emma Jones are my parents, yes.” It was an unsettling feeling to be sitting across from someone who clearly knew far more about you than you did about them, and who might put that information to work in any number of ways. Geneva thought she might recall her grandfather mentioning someone named Silver, but he never said much about his old life, not to her and Henry and Sam. Kept it locked away, the old and wrathful mantle of Flint that he could never shed entirely, but which he had grown to master to the point that he could leave it where it lay, and just be James McGraw to his family. “You – you must have served on my grandfather’s crew. On the Walrus.”

“Your grandfather?” That seemed to intrigue Silver nearly as much as Thomas. “Captain Flint bouncing fat babies on his knee, letting them pull his beard and feeding them bonbons? I can’t see it.”

“Is it your concern?” Geneva did not feel obliged to disclose her personal history to this man, somehow both old friend and unsettling stranger, and she rather wished he would be on his way. “Do you go around bothering all the relatives of old business partners at supper, or just us?”

“Business partners?” Silver seemed amused. “That’s one word for it. I was his quartermaster, yes, so I suppose it is not entirely inaccurate. But as it happened, I was looking for your uncle. Charles, I have a venture, and I need a ship.”

“Most of my ships are abroad.” Charles fidgeted. “Indeed, all of them. I am grateful for your assistance in the past, of course, but I don’t think I can – ”

“More than assistance, wasn’t it? I daresay the Nolan enterprise on Nassau would never have gotten off the ground if Madi and I had not extensively facilitated it. There were also repeated loans on favorable terms of repayment, when your own difficulties cut into the profit margins, and introduction to those men who knew more about the Indies and the Caribbean and the general merchant business than you did. You have done well with sustaining the momentum once it was begun, certainly, but starting it? No.”

Charles, who had been about to take a sip of wine, choked and put it down, as Geneva glanced accusingly at her uncle. She was not about to say that he was openly trying to take advantage of her unexpected arrival, but this did explain quite a bit about both the warmth of his reaction and his determination to get her to stay, if Silver was holding him over a barrel for some favor that he either had to offer up, or watch his life become very difficult as a result. Thomas seemed to have come to the same conclusion, though his expression was very wry. “Well,” he said. “You are just as James described you.”

“Ah, so the two of you have been reunited. That is. . . touching.”

“I don’t believe you have a sentimental bone in your body, Mr. Silver.”

Silver smiled again, but with less humor. “We will have to agree to disagree about that, then. But given the arrival of you and your niece, surely there must be at least one ship at hand?”

“Aye,” Charles said uncomfortably. “Hers, the Rose, but – ”

“The Rose?” Silver looked as if he could barely believe his luck. “The ship which began her life as a Royal Navy sixth-rater, formerly under the command of Woodes Rogers himself, which – thanks to my own and extensive efforts – was captured and placed under the pirate flag on Skeleton Island? Which your mother then took over as captain, Miss Jones, and seems to have passed along to you? To speak of fortunate and fitting turns of fate, seeing as you owe ultimate possession of that ship to me, and given this venture’s own association with the place where that happened, that is as close as a clear-cut sign from heaven as any of us can ever believe in.”

“What venture?” Charles demanded, agitated. “What are you talking about?”

“The reason Rogers found us on Skeleton Island,” Silver said, “was because of the betrayal of another of our crewmates. Billy Bones went to Rogers and gave us up, in exchange for them both pursuing their mutual vendetta against Flint. So far as everyone knew, Flint killed Billy in their last fight there. But it has come to my attention that, rather like Flint himself, perhaps that death was not so final after all. That Bones is still alive, has emerged from whatever obscurity he has lurked in for the past twenty-five years, and may have taken ship to England to provide the coordinates and intelligence to reach Skeleton Island, and the Spanish treasure that remains lost there. Such an action would, needless to say, sharply swing the entire balance of the war, and to who knows what end. Do you follow?”

Geneva, Thomas, and Charles opened and shut their mouths in unison like a trio of goldfish, while Silver seemed gratified by the effect, but not enough to rest on his laurels. Geneva herself knew that Billy Bones had been a friend of her mother’s, at least before his betrayal of the pirates to the English crown, but everyone had likewise considered him to be dead, the loser of his final face-off with Flint, fallen into the water and drowned or stabbed or shot. Finally she said, “Why would Bones give up the location of Skeleton Island to the English now, even if he did survive? Whatever old quarrel he had with any of you, with my grandfather, it was years ago. Why just emerge from hiding and rekindle the feud? What would he have to gain from it?”

“Why, indeed?” Silver looked pleased. “Billy was – is – an utterly stubborn, blockheaded, self-righteous blonde bastard, but he wasn’t stupid. Nor was he overly burdened with a sense of loyalty to England. He was kidnapped by the press-gangs as a child, as he was out selling pamphlets for his parents – political activists, printers, the exact sort of thing that His Majesty does not want upsetting the apple-cart among his subjects. So if he is offering intelligence on Skeleton Island to the English authorities, he wants something in return for it. And since you’ve just confirmed that Flint is still alive, living out his days in happy retirement with his loved ones and family, perhaps that explains quite a large part of his motivation.”

“My grandfather has no interest in returning to the pirate life,” Geneva said, feeling slightly panicky. “Even if Bones learned that he was alive, he wouldn’t decide to just – ”

“Would he?” Silver sounded wry, almost sad. “Billy and I were also friends, once upon a time. Allied together to protect the crew, and our own interests, from the worst of Flint’s madness. But that, like much else, came to an end long ago. If he’s lived this time as a penniless mendicant, exiled and disgraced by pirate and English alike, taking work on this ship or that one, suffering, dwindling to nothing – can you really not think that learning this would make no difference? Suddenly, a quarter-century since his life was ruined, the man who ruined it has risen from the grave. He is in reach, a tangible flesh-and-blood entity to strangle with one’s own hands, a final and damning victory when Flint would altogether not see it coming, or have any reason to expect another attack, especially on this front. To make his joy turn to ashes in his mouth. That is the sort of prospect to give a man a new life, a possession of a cause, one last worthwhile thing to do before he dies. So aye. If Bones knows your grandfather is alive, you’re all in danger.”

Thomas started to say something else, then stopped, frowning and troubled. “But he – ” he began at last. “James has been reported dead half a dozen times, at least. How would Bones have any idea that those were a fraud, and what was the truth?”

“Again, another question that one might consider it imperative to investigate.” Silver leaned back in his chair, picked up Charles’ wine goblet, and took a sip, raising an eyebrow at Geneva. “But  of course, your uncle cannot spare a ship?”

Charles winced, looking at her with a guilty expression. It was reasonably clear that he was hoping for her to volunteer the Rose, rather than suffer the awkwardness of being strong-armed into doing it for her. She was aware that her family had come into possession of a Navy frigate by thievery, though not that Silver thought he was entitled to all the credit for it – yet she had no way to say that, born liar as he might be, he was fibbing about that. Thomas was not disagreeing, at any rate, which meant that whatever James had said to him about his old quartermaster and uncertain ally and ultimate friend and enemy alike, it must correspond at least roughly to this. The silence was excruciating. Then, gritting her teeth, Geneva said, “Well. I have a ship.”

“You do? Wonderful news.” Silver glanced at her with such nonchalance that it was almost impressive, despite the shameless operation of this entire little manipulation. “Available for our use, perhaps, if I was to find us a crew?”

Geneva glanced at her uncles for help, though she wasn’t sure how much to expect from either of them. Charles was clearly allowing this to happen if he wanted to stay in business, and Thomas wouldn’t argue against investigating this mystery, if there was a deranged and vengeful ex-nemesis of Flint’s out there who very much intended to see to his unfinished business. Finally she said, “We’re not provisioned for a crossing to England, we’d – ”

“That would be attended to.” Silver finished off Charles’ wine and put the cup down.

“So you want to stop Billy, do you?” Thomas looked as if he had been too well warned about Silver’s true nature to accept this explanation at face value. “That is what you’d have us believe? To prevent him from reaching Westminster with this kind of information – why?”

“I don’t believe that was the issue under discussion.” Silver’s tone remained polite, but his eyes were as guarded as castle walls. “The benefits for your family are obvious. I suppose your niece would have no objection to bringing you along. You are, after all, intimately and unfortunately familiar with the operation of English politics. You might have an old connection or two in Parliament you could approach – discreetly, naturally. It would be quite embarrassing for them to receive the disgraced and twice-dead Thomas Hamilton, banished first to Bethlem Royal Hospital and then some work plantation in the Americas, in public.”

Thomas’s fist clenched on the table, even as he fought for the poise of a lifetime diplomat and nobleman who knew he was being baited and had to resist the urge to take it. After a moment, he managed a gracious, if strained, smile and nod. “Yes. Of course.”

“Splendid. I’ll call at the house tomorrow to discuss arrangements.” Silver wiped his mouth and stood up. “So if that’s all, I’ll be – ”

“What does Mrs. Silver think of this?” Charles seemed to have taken himself aback by this interjection, but could not retreat once it had been made. “She is in accord, of course?”

Silver’s smile this time was the frostiest of all. “As we have never been married in the eyes of English law,” he said, “she is still customarily known as Madi Scott. As for her sentiments, I am afraid I would not know. Good evening, Miss Jones, Mr. Swan, Mr. Hamilton.”

With that, he took up the crutch from where it rested, tucked it under his arm, and made his determined way through the tavern crowds and out the door, leaving Geneva and her uncles in a state of mild shock. At last, she turned to the former of these in considerable outrage. “Why didn’t you tell me that this was why you were so pleased to see me?”

“I. . .” Charles trailed off under her stare. “To be fair, I had no way of knowing what exactly he was proposing. This was the first I heard the details as much as you. And, erm, if you and your great-uncle could see your way to doing it, I’d be very grateful. I would write to your parents, of course, mention that it was only a small errand and I would reimburse you for all reasonable expenses. I. . . really do not have any other candidates, and Mr. Silver has been helpful in the past, and it, well, it does sound rather serious. If you might. . .?”

Geneva chewed this over. She did not particularly want to say yes, but she was also not sure it was wise to say no, and if this did have to do with Bones and some revived revenge plot against her grandfather and by extension her family, it was best that she get to the bottom of it. She had wanted to make a trip abroad, after all. Might be able to fit in a side excursion to Paris to see her uncle Liam and aunt Regina, though she had meant to bring her parents along on that one. But as it would take more time to make another trip to Savannah and back, and as time was plainly one thing Silver did not want to waste, it did not look likely that she could pop by to pick them up. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, not that she needed her parents’ permission to sail as she pleased. She was a grown woman, and the Rose’s rightful captain. It was her call.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. But you owe me really bloody marvelous Christmas presents for at least the next ten years.”

“Ten?” The relief that spread across Charles’ face was palpable. “My dear, I would say twenty.”

------------------

Killian and Emma did not say much on the way back from the harbor. They had to drive James and Miranda home first, and as they pulled up and Flint climbed out of the buggy, thus to offer his hand to Miranda with somewhat stiff courtesy, they all knew him well enough to see that he was ruffled. Not necessarily at any of them, but Nassau was quite clearly a sensitive subject, and one which he could not help feeling haunted by. As Miranda took his hand and stepped down, she said, “Are you going to tell us what is troubling you, my dear, or wait for me to draw it out?”

“I still don’t know if it was wise to let them go alone.” Flint glanced at Killian and Emma, as if to say that surely they must have an opinion on letting their only begotten daughter walk into a nest of vipers without due and extensive preparation. “Who knows what scum is lurking around there, waiting for an opportune moment? Thomas doesn’t know the place like you and I did. If he or Jenny get themselves into a situation they can’t escape – ”

“They are both very clever people, and doubtless will endeavor all they can to remedy it.” Miranda squeezed his hand comfortingly. “If you really thought it was so dangerous, you could have said otherwise, or – ”

“I couldn’t have gone, we both know that.” Flint was still vigorous enough that he rarely looked his age, but just now, the weight of nearly seventy hard-battled years had settled on his shoulders. “And I didn’t want to leave you alone. It’s not that I think Thomas and Jenny can’t handle themselves, but we all know what that place made us, and how. It’s . . . easier to bear it yourself, than to watch.”

“Aye,” Emma said quietly. “Sam said something much the same to me once.”

There was a communal heavy silence, as all of them knew that she was not referring to their son and grandson, but to their late – well, there was never any easy word or way to define what Samuel Bellamy was to them, even in the comparatively brief time he had been in their lives. Sometimes Emma thought she had only ever loved Killian more, and the notion that they were now going on twenty-five years without him was an almost unbearable crime. Sometimes Sam seemed half a dream they had all had together, and still lingered at the edges of waking, never quite banished or sent to rest. Flint and Miranda could not regret having Thomas back, but she knew that sometimes they wondered if it would have been so easy to choose, if Sam had lived. They had shared him with each other, and their grief with him, and his death, coming so soon after Miranda’s apparent loss in Charlestown, had been the final heartbreak to push Flint over the edge and into his desire to seek his own end and cessation and the drowning of his burdens in the sea. Even now, Killian, Emma, James, and Miranda were careful with Sam’s memory, the moments at which they conjured him, the times at which they did not. They could not fail to hear his name spoken every day to the boy who carried it on, but that was different. Sam Jones was his own self, not a shadow of his godfather, and they were all grateful. And yet.

“Well,” Miranda said briskly, rousing everyone from their reverie. “I doubt even Nassau can wreak too much mischief in a fortnight, now can it? And I rather suspect you enjoyed the opportunity to tell Jenny to embrace her pirate roots, James, even if you won’t admit it. Come, help me inside, and let Killian and Emma be on their way.”

Flint looked briefly as if he was about to respond to this, but waited as Emma leaned down to kiss her mother. “We’ll be in touch,” she said. “If Sam comes home soon, we’ll all be by for supper, how does that sound? I’m sure he has a great deal to tell us.”

“Aye,” Flint said cynically. “Best hope he’s not wearing a red coat when he does.”

Emma shot him a look, as while Flint was generally very fond of his younger grandson, he had not ceased to offer his disparaging opinions on the vastly ill-conceived decision to take part in an English war on any side except that of their enemies. “I just want to see him safe.”

“Of course.” Flint nodded to them both, then took Miranda’s arm and walked them up the path to the house. He let them in and shut the door, and Emma paused, shook herself, then took up the reins and wheeled the buggy around. They had a few things to pick up on the way back, so she’d best get there before the shopkeepers all went to lunch. It would also be good to have something to take her mind off Geneva and Sam alike. She was likewise confident in their ability to take care of themselves, but trouble, especially for a Swan-Jones child, was rarely too far away.

They drove back into downtown Savannah, as Emma parked the buggy at a hitching post and went into the grocer’s with her list, as Killian stepped down to enjoy the shade. She stood out among the flurry of sensibly mob-capped, plainly-skirted women jostling to the counter and vying to attract the attention of the grocer or his apprentice. For a lady of her status – not ridiculously wealthy, but between the portion of the Spanish treasure they had invested, the income from Nassau, Killian’s owned shares in several ships, and Geneva’s trading business, more than comfortably off – doing one’s own errands was clearly déclassé.

Once Emma had been apportioned her goods, Killian appeared to help lug them out to the buggy, causing another stir among the women – whether for a gentleman hauling heavy flour sacks, his missing hand, or his striking good looks even in his mid-fifties, it was hard to say. Emma had just returned inside to fetch her potatoes when she overheard the grocer arguing with a particularly persistent customer who wanted two parcels of sugarcane, not one. “Miss, there’s no telling if there’ll be sugar next week or not, not if the Spaniards come marching up from the south! I need to be sensible about what I’m buying and selling, if they – ”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Emma leaned over. “Was there news about an invasion?”

The grocer squinted at her, but gave in, as Leroy Small could rarely resist the urge to do, to gossip. “Aye. The Spaniards, they might be here soon. Oglethorpe’s in full retreat, he’s even left his artillery behind, some said. Take my word on it, sister.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, as she did not want to be so pompous as to snobbily correct his assumption that she was another of the maidservants, but found it slightly irritating nonetheless. Especially as Small had been responsible for crying wolf several times in the past, she was not sure she entirely trusted a loud-mouthed purveyor of public hysteria, yet wanted to know just how bad the situation might be. “So he’s retreating with his army, then? Do you know when they left St. Augustine?”

“Week ago? That and a bit?” Small shrugged. “You have a son in the ranks, then?”

“Actually,” Emma said, “yes, I do.”

“Well. Hope he’s not dead, sister.” Evidently viewing this as a positive remark on which to close out the interaction, Small nodded chummily to her and went back to his argument about the sugar, while Emma rolled her eyes heavenward and hoisted the potato sack. She went out and put it with the others in the buggy, then got up with somewhat more emphasis than she intended. The confirmation about the retreat was grim, but at least Sam would be back soon. He was fine.

“Hey, love.” Killian put his hand on hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, just something he – Small – said.” Emma forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

Killian’s lips went thin, as he and the grocer had not been on the most spectacular of terms since Leroy had interrupted a romantic supper Killian and Emma were having on the waterfront for their twentieth wedding anniversary by shouting that the market was on fire (the market had not been on fire). “That short noisy bastard? I’ll sort him if you like, Swan.”

“No, no, nothing like that. He said Oglethorpe’s all but running out of Florida with his tail between his legs, and the Spaniards could be hot on the trail after him. You know him, it could be entirely hot air, but – ”

“You’re worried about Sam, and us if the Spanish get here,” Killian completed, reading her thoughts as usual. “Well, love, no need to panic until we hear it from a more reliable source. Come on, let’s get home before we melt in the heat.”

Emma nodded, banishing the faint chill that had touched her neck despite it, and prodded the horses into motion, clip-clopping the rest of the way home, up the drive, and into the carriage house to unhitch, while Killian unloaded the groceries. Once Emma had splashed some water on her face and dusted the mud off, she fetched her quill and inkwell and paper from the desk, sat down, and began to draft an advertisement to be sent off to the Gazette. Two household staff, a maidservant and footman, sought for a modest family estate. Pay would be generous and treatment fair, references and discretion appreciated. Address all correspondence to Mrs. E. Jones, care of the City Hall, Savannah, Prov. of Georgia.

Once Emma had folded it and set it on the side table, she went to the kitchen to start supper. Still unable to banish a certain lurking disquiet about Sam, she distracted herself with reading the letter from Henry and Violet that Geneva had brought back from Boston. Her grandchildren, Richard and Lucy, were eight and five years old respectively, and while Philadelphia was not much closer than Boston in the scheme of things, Emma thought it might be nice to have them continue to progress in a southward direction. She had missed so much of Henry’s childhood that she wanted to be there in some respect for the second generation, but time and distance made that difficult. They seemed to be happy, doing well. She would just have to take that for comfort. All of her children felt very far away right now, physically or otherwise.

Emma slept intermittently that night, woke early, and decided to take the letter to mail both in hopes of shaking her melancholy mood, and finding out if there was any more news to be had about Oglethorpe’s retreat. There were certainly other mothers anxious for word of sons, wives for husbands, and Emma felt a peculiar, shameful gratitude that Killian’s missing hand kept him at home – the thought of having to worry about him and Sam was too much to contemplate. For the same reason, when Henry had ventured the prospect of a visit last Christmas, Emma had advised him not to, fearing that he would be caught up in the militia recruitment. Henry was a scholar, not a soldier, and could barely fire a gun straight, but that would not have mattered.

Emma hitched up and drove into town, dropping the letter off with the packet boat that made the weekly trip between Savannah and Williamsburg. She was not quite so desperate as to subject herself to a return to Leroy’s, but she did not need to, as there were knots of worried civilians congregating in the square; this was clearly now the number one topic of public concern. There was no way to know if the governor was going to come rushing in to fortify the city for an expected attack, if this was just a prudent or even overly cautious strategical decision, or if the entire coast was burning behind him.

Emma debated joining one of these groups, but it felt rather too much like congregating at a wake, and she shook her head again, furious with herself. Yet the fact remained that the last time she had had one of these feelings, explainable only by motherly intuition and a strong sense of things simply being not right, was when Sam was eight years old, out too late on a stormy night, and when she had finally taken the lantern and gone to look for him, she found him trapped under a broken log, a few hundred yards out in the trees, the wind blowing his shouts for help in the wrong direction. He had a badly twisted ankle and was rattled and cold and upset, but otherwise right as rain by the morning, and she had always been grateful that it was not anything worse. But if she had ignored it for another few hours, if someone or something had happened by, if the storm had gotten worse, if anything. . .

Still, short of riding straight down to Florida herself and getting into the middle of whatever mess might be going on there, there was nothing for Emma to do, and she finally gave up and went home. Killian was sitting in the garden, reading another of the books that Geneva had brought back for them, but when he sensed her presence behind her, he marked his place, set it aside, and held out his arms. “Come here, love.”

Emma hesitated, then went over and sat down on his lap, settling her head against his shoulder as he linked his arms around her waist, brushing a blonde-grey strand of hair out of her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Aye, well, I do.” He pressed a light kiss against her collarbone. “I’ll promise to give Sam an extra-good bollocking when he comes home, for making you worry. If that would help.”

“If we did. . .” Emma trailed off, half-ashamed of herself for even suggesting it, but not enough to stop. “If we did go try to find him. . .”

Killian kissed her palm. “You know I want him back as much as you do, and Christ knows I’ve spent plenty of time thinking of all the terrible ways he’s likely gotten himself in hot water. But Sam’s a man now, not a boy. A young one, but still. You have to let him flap his wings a bit – aye, and crash, if only since it’s the only way he’ll ever learn. It’s hard for you, with the way you are in wanting to protect everyone, and being his mother to boot, but for better or worse, we can’t rush in and pull him out of every tight corner he ends up in. You know I’d take you seriously if you thought he was badly injured, or worse, but. . . do you feel like that, love?”

Emma considered. “No,” she admitted. “Just that something’s wrong.”

“That’s his usual state of being, isn’t it?” Killian said wryly. “You can blame me for that, if you wish.”

“I’m not sure, I think we might share it equally.” Feeling somewhat better, if still not entirely reassured, Emma nuzzled his cheek with her nose, then kissed it, and they sat in comfortable silence for some while, until a knock on the front door, echoing through the house, startled her. “Are we expecting someone?”

“Not that I know of.” Looking surprised, Killian slid her off his lap, and got to his feet. Both of them must have had the thought at the same instant that it might be one of Oglethorpe’s officers, or one of the militiamen, or – ”I’ll come with you, love. If you. . .”

“No,” Emma said, as firmly as she could. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be right back.”

With that, leaving him in the garden, she went back into the house, crossed the front foyer, had to swallow down a brief and unwelcome nervousness, and convulsively straightened her hair. Then she opened the door. “Yes? May I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Jones?” The man on the other side was a rough-hewn sort in a homespun brown coat, with callused hands and a faint whiff of the stockyard. “You put in a notice for a footman?”

“I did.” Emma was taken aback. “But I only sent it off this morning, it hasn’t even left Savannah yet, much less reached the Gazette. How did you – ?”

“The master of the packet boat is my cousin. He saw it, knew I was searching for work, thought to send me along. A chance you’re free to discuss the position, ma’am?”

“I. . .” Emma supposed this was possible, even if this individual was rather slovenly for a prospective footman and there was something about him that put her on guard. “I’m actually rather – maybe not at the moment, but if you return when the notice is published, we could – ”

“No, ma’am, I’d really like to.”

“I don’t think that will be – ”

With that, quick as a snake, he moved. He slammed one hand over her mouth, pushed her backwards through the door, and fumbled in his jacket for a knife – an ugly, ill-kept thing which he was currently trying to plunge between her stays. Emma grabbed his arm, wrenched it over his head, and slammed her knee up through her skirts to catch him smartly between the legs, then twisted him off her as he let out a yelp. She forced his fingers open, making him drop the knife, though he continued scrabbling for it. Emma knocked it away, worked up enough momentum to throw him off her, and both of them dove for it at the same instant – she had not fought like this in years, but it came to her without conscious thought, a deeply ingrained old reflex. She opened her mouth, about to yell for Killian, then panicked about him being caught in the middle of this, if someone who was certainly not a footman had turned up apparently for the express purpose of murdering her in her own front hall –

Just then, a pistol went off at close range, Emma’s ears rang, and the next thing she saw was her erstwhile assailant crumpling to his knees, a bloody hole blown through his forehead, and a grisly amount of brain and bone splashing the whitewashed wall behind him. He folded forward, then hit the floor facedown, as she whirled to see Killian pointing his flintlock with cold and deadly intent, making sure the bastard was not about to get up again. Then when there was no sound but the echoes of the gunshot, a slow crimson trail seeping out in all directions, he demanded, “Bloody fucking hell, what was that? Are you all right?”

“I’m – I’m fine, I – ” Emma discovered that her legs were shakier than she thought as she attempted to get to her feet. It had all happened so fast that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed it, except for the indubitable presence of a dead man on her nicely swept floorboards. “Killian, he tried to kill me, I don’t – ”

“Aye, I saw, hence why I made sure he couldn’t!” Killian’s eyes flashed, until for the first time in years, she could glimpse the dangerous blue-heat glimmer of Captain Hook. “Or did he – ”

Emma steadied herself on the banister of the stairs, took a deep breath, and went over to the corpse, swallowing down her revulsion. It certainly wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man abruptly shot to death – just not, again, for a while. She knelt down and went through his pockets, and finally pulled out a small knotted sack that when opened, spilled several freshly-minted golden guineas into her hand, Georgius II Dei Gratia stamped cleanly on the face around a portrait of the king in laurel-wreathed Roman style, the inscription continuing on the back to frame the royal coat of arms. This was more money than a humble tradesman might see in a year, or several, and Emma sucked in her breath. “Killian. Look.”

He leaned over her shoulder, catching her drift. “Bloody hell. Someone paid him.”

“Someone paid him a lot.” Emma put the coins back, having an unpleasant sensation of déjà-vu to when she had been recruited in a dark tavern in the Turks Islands, to the aim of capturing HMS Imperator and destroying its commanding officers – one of whom she had now been married to for almost twenty-five years, coincidentally. “To kill us, or at least to try. For this price, you think they could have found a decent hitman.”

“Unless they did,” Killian said, very grimly. “You advertised for two servants, didn’t you?”

“What do you – ”

“If you hired two assassins, one much better at their job than the other, and sent one here knowing he’d likely be killed, but considering it a useful diversion, and that you’d get your money back as soon as he was dead anyway, where might you send the other?” Killian was already grabbing for his boots. “Especially when he made a public appearance yesterday for the first time in bloody years, so if you were paying attention to such things, you’d know he wasn’t really dead?”

Emma remained blank an instant longer, than horrified. “What – Flint? You think someone sent this one over here to distract us and make sure we couldn’t interfere, so the actually competent one could – ?”

It was reasonably plain that that was indeed what Killian was saying, and there was no time to hitch up the buggy. Leaving the problem of the dead man in their front hall for later, they grabbed a pistol apiece, flew to their feet, out to the stable, saddled the horses as quickly as they could, and leapt astride, thundering down the road, avoiding the city proper, and out to the Hamilton-McGraw residence. They dismounted almost before they had reined in, ran up the walk, and Killian kicked the door in. “Hey. HEY!”

They could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from the back of the house, and raced in just in time to see Flint being pinned against the wall by some colossal – and colossally unfriendly-looking – man in a tattered black coat. He was snapping and punching and kicking like a shark on the line, but wheezing as his throat was progressively crushed, and Miranda was bleeding from the forehead, looking as if she had been thrown back against the bookcase. She struggled to her feet and threw a very heavy copy of Dr. Faustus at the man, clearly trying to get him to drop Flint and come after her, but even this literary ambush did not succeed in diverting him from his purpose. Miranda then looked set to charge him, but as a sixty-five-year-old woman who needed a cane to walk and who was already disoriented from being hit, she would not have done much good. Fortunately, Emma and Killian had arrived in the nick of time to do it for her. Emma rushed to cover her, while Killian – evidently deciding that one dead man was going to be hard enough to get rid of and doubtless wanting to press this one for more information – snatched up the fallen Marlowe and brutally concussed Flint’s attacker with it. He wavered, then staggered back, which gave Flint just enough opportunity to wrench free, snatch the heavy pistol from the desk drawer, and shoot him anyway. As he went down, it was just possible to see Killian slap a hand to his face. “Mate! No!”

As the ruckus belatedly quieted, everyone gasping for breath and struggling to regain their bearings, Flint sprinted across to Miranda, whom Emma was just helping to sit up. “Fucking hell! What just – are you – ?”

“I’m all right.” Miranda winced, pressing Emma’s offered handkerchief to the gash on her temple. “You know, I really did think we were past all this.”

“So did I,” Flint said darkly. Having assured himself of her safety, he spun around to glare at the corpse, then at Killian, as if blaming him for its presence. “The fuck was that all about?!”

“I was going to ask him, before you shot him!” Killian was clearly not about to be blamed for his father-in-law’s trigger-happy ways. “And there’s more, one of these bastards came by our house as well, I shot that one, which is why I was trying to keep this one alive for questioning. Seeing as if someone is paying them a handsome sum to kill us, I’d like to know why!”

“They came after you. . .?” Flint’s blood was still too up to focus on much beside the presence of someone who had tried to kill him and his wife in their own sitting room, but that at least made him frown. “What the – someone knows we’re here? That all of us are here?”

“So it would seem,” Emma said, wiping the last trickle of blood from Miranda’s cut. “I doubt there are odds long enough to cover this being a case of some other notorious ex-pirates that someone wanted dead, and we just happened to be in the way.”

“If we now have a pair of dead men in our houses, that is going to be a further difficulty.” Miranda pushed away Emma’s hand and looked around for her cane, struggling painfully to her feet. “Murder, no matter how justified, is not the sort of crime to make the authorities turn a blind eye. If our real names and identities are uncovered, there will be a trial and a spectacle. We’ll have to dispose of the bodies at once, and hope no one comes searching for them.”

Flint gave her a look as if to say that this was exactly why he loved her, that she could shake off an assassination attempt and then coolly plan how to hide the evidence. It was true that any run-in with a magistrate’s court or any other instrument of justice was not going to end well for the men, especially as they had only their own word that the killing had been in defense of themselves and their womenfolk – the victims, after all, were dead and not able to say otherwise. Any jury would be quick to suspect the worst of former pirates, especially two as notorious as Hook and Flint, the legendary terrors of the Caribbean. This was exactly what they did not need.

They had to wait until dark to proceed, at any rate. Then – with Flint armed to the teeth and keeping extremely vigilant watch until they returned – Emma and Killian rode back to their house at what they hoped was an unsuspicious speed, swung down, and while Emma hitched the horses up to their cart, Killian went inside and wrapped the dead man in an old sheet. They hefted him into the back – already smelling ripe from the heat – and tossed a few things on top, so they would not be very obviously out for a nice evening drive with a corpse. It was a nerve-wracking trip back to Flint and Miranda, who, having ransacked their own dead man for any potential evidence, and finding nothing of use, had likewise unceremoniously bundled him up for burial. Flint was not leaving Miranda by herself at the house with the slightest chance of more killers on the loose, so they all climbed aboard and rode as nonchalantly as they could into the woods, flies starting to buzz above their pungent burdens.

Once they had gotten far enough outside the city limits that they were not likely to be discovered or inopportunely interrupted, Emma reined in the horses, and Killian and Flint jumped down, found a suitably soft bit of ground, and pulled out the spades. Killian wasn’t the fastest at digging with one hand, so Emma took over, she and Flint laboring in the thick, sweltering blue-black night, intermittently pricked by the glow of fireflies. The lantern hung on the spar wavered in the haze, dancing like a will-o-the-wisp, as Emma struggled not to recall several memorable ghost stories she had heard about dark nights in remote woods. God, this was not good. Even if they could hastily bury the bodies and return to town with nobody any the wiser, someone still knew they were alive, lived here, and had made a serious attempt to have them killed. If so, Oglethorpe’s retreat was the very least of their problems.

Once Emma and Flint, sweating and swearing, had hollowed out a hole of suitable size, they crawled free, got the bodies out of the cart, and dumped them in. Emma felt a faint impulse to say a prayer, not out of any real concern for the souls of the not-so-dearly-departed, but to ward them off from any desire to stay around and haunt her. Not that she believed in ghosts, not really, but any good seafarer did not take superstition lightly, and Killian had already turned in a circle three times and tossed some dirt over his shoulder. Emma herself had a brief and horrible conviction that one of the dead men was stirring in his shroud as she and Flint began to throw on shovelfuls of rich damp earth, and had to fight the urge to just pile it on all at once and run away. Maybe set a boulder on top, just for good measure. Bloody hell, she was not sleeping tonight.

At last, they finished their macabre task, and climbed back onto the cart, uncorking the water skin Miranda passed over and taking a long guzzle apiece. The stench of decay and grave dirt clung to them both, so that Emma would need to wash thoroughly in the near future. Killian had led the horses away to stop them being spooked by the dead men, so he brought them back and they hitched up again. Emma did her best not to wheel them around and lay tracks back to town, but she wanted out of that place, and badly.

“I think perhaps you two should stay with us tonight,” she said, low-voiced, as they rolled through a stand of whispering trees, moonlight casting weird shadows on the ground. “I’d feel better about it. At least until we find out who was responsible for this.”

“Aye, I’d feel better about it as well.” Miranda glanced at her, the troubled look on her face plainly visible in the silver glow. None of them wanted to discuss the dread prospect of losing their home here in Savannah, everything they had built for many years, but they could all sense it hanging over their head like the sword of Damocles. It was almost a good thing that Sam was off wherever he was, that Geneva and Thomas were in Nassau, as at least it kept them at arm’s length from whatever ugly flower had started to bloom here. “But we must be very careful at pulling at any of these threads. We may find the answers, and wish we hadn’t.”

“I want to know who’s trying to kill me,” Flint said flatly. “These days, at least.”

“Of course. But anyone who knows about us is just the beginning of the danger. Anyone they told, any way they could spread it. . .” Miranda trailed off. “I’m not sure they’ll do us the favor of barging into our parlors to be conveniently shot.”

“But who would want us dead?” Emma asked. “The Georgia authorities know who we are, or at least who Killian and I are, and as long as we pay our taxes and live quietly, they’ve never troubled us. Why would that have changed? Under who?”

“I don’t know.” Miranda continued to regard her gravely. “Who?”

[victuuriwriters]

Welcome to the VWC’s Weekly Bulletin, where we feature what’s new and exciting in Victuuri fanfic every week. Look here to get a glimpse at new works that have been posted in the fandom, updated WIP fics, works from our Collective authors, and what the admins have been reading this week. 

New Works 

Fields of Gold by Haro: The story in which Yuuri Katsuki wins everything there is to win and retires as Japan's living legend, because he's incredible and beautiful and he deserves it. Aka 'Yuuri wins all the gold', the fic.

Meet Me by the River by c0rnfl0wer: Every Kupala Night has come and gone without his attending, but now that Viktor Nikiforov is getting older and taking over the position as leader of his village, he has to start taking his life in a different direction. He wasn't sure whether he expected anything at all in this way. But when Yuuri catches his wreath, he finds the path he had always longed for. 

Historical/Mythology AU based on Slavic mythology and traditions, specifically Kupala Night - a midsummer celebration involving merrymaking in a few different ways.

Bound to Please by paxton1976: By a small twist of Fate, Viktor and Yuuri meet in the Katsuki's secondhand bookstore 'Bound to Please'. Friendship comes fast as they offer something the other has never experienced before. As they strengthen and grow individually, they realize the other holds the pieces to make them whole.

Canoe-dling: Not Prohibited by primavitya: Yuuri is a seasoned counselor at Camp Okenoko who thought he was in for just another run of the mill, shenanigan filled summer with his friends. But he could not have been more wrong as he’s inevitably blindsided by the newest arrival.Enter one Viktor Nikiforov, who’s got the charms and good looks to woo whomever he pleases, and who’s interest is instantly peaked by none other than, Yuuri Katsuki.

Dawn in St. Petersburg by Multiple_Universes: To some people it’s just another morning, but for two skaters it’s much more than that.

WIP Updates

Like a Fairytale by lucycamui: In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his 'Cinderella' Yuuri. (And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he's doing).

Fatum ad Momentum by maydei: These are the moments that were lost in the rush for the Gold, and the things that were built within them. A re-evaluation of everything, from day one, the real day one. From, "Be my coach, Victor!!" And how trust, friendship, and love were built from there. Through Victor's eyes, the story unfolds—the journey and experience of knowing Yuuri.

Doveglion by reginar: Yuuri Katsuki would describe himself as a dime-a-dozen poet with a degree in comparative literature from Todai and only a couple of publications due to luck. By some miracle, he’d received an Asian Culture Council grant and a Bright scholarship to help him pursue MFA Creative Writing in America. He’d been so excited because he would be in the same country as his literary hero, V. Nikiforov, writer of countless, innovative poems.

Impostor Syndrome by renaissance: At some point, most people with a childhood crush will imagine meeting their idol, and might even pretend that they're dating. This is the story of how Yuuri Katsuki meets his childhood crush, and how they pretend that they're dating.

counterclockwise by viktyuuri (Empress_Arisu): Life after retirement, Yuuri thinks, is quite a nice change of pace. Although, not so much when he finds himself thrust back into the past.

In which married husbands Viktor and Yuuri somehow end up 5 years in the past without knowing how or why.

Or: Yuuri and Viktor try and fail to keep their relationship on the lie low. (Yuuri tries for a while, but having a clingy husband makes things 10x harder.)

Everyone's suspicious, and really, Yuuri just wants to go back and have some semblance of peace back in his life, damn it.

New in #victuuriwriters

Icicles Melt in Summer (WIP) by dystopiansushi: Victor Nikiforov. Oddly, no matter how many times Yuuri repeats the name to himself, it still sounds beautiful, the r rolling off his tongue and the v melting on the tips of his lips like a mint. But more to the point, Victor Nikiforov, model for the Agape shoe and accessory line and face of Stammi Vicino Menswear, is sitting in one of his chairs. 

Or, the one where model Victor Nikiforov is searching for his raison d'être in Brooklyn, New York, and finds much more than that in a small, jasmine-scented hair salon.

and once upon a song (WIP) by missmichellebelle: A popular high school ice hockey star and a shy, academically gifted transfer student discover they share a secret passion for singing. When they end up accidentally auditioning for the lead roles in the school musical, it threatens East High's rigid social order and sends their peers into an uproar.

Between the Lines by nikiforovs: Victor doesn't have a problem.In fact, he has the exact opposite of a problem if he's being entirely honest with himself. (He's not.) The cashier of that hole-in-the-wall bookstore was cute, but he wasn't the only reason Victor returned to Sweetest Reads early the following week.

Or: Bookstore AU where Victor keeps buying more books than necessary just so he can continue to see the cute cashier again.

Rock, Paper, Scissors by nerdlife4eva: Victor and Yuuri discover the only chore they both dislike is vacuuming and decide to rock, paper, scissors (RPS) each time the chore needs to be completed. Yuuri is an ace at RPS and Chris sends them personalized charts to track their successes. All adorable Victuuri hell breaks loose! (These two have no chill, in basically anything!)

Some Might Call it Fate by Chessala: The Katsuki family moves to Russia after they had to close their Hot Springs temporarily. Little Yuuri (3) has to go to a new Kindergarten where he doesn't know anyone. He sees a picture of an ice skater on the wall of his new Kindergarten and is instantly fascinated. He loved ice skating so maybe he can be friends with the person that drew this picture. But how can he talk to them?

Admin Picks

Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts (WIP) by Reiya: Viktor doesn’t remember the first time he met Yuuri Katsuki. This however, is what Viktor does remember…Part 2 of the Rivals series and companion fic to ‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’. One small change alters the course of both Viktor and Yuuri’s entire lives, throwing them into a bitter rivalry that spans across many years and creates a world where they both tell a very different side to the story.

so I’m pretty sure all of you have read Reiya’s fic Until my Feet Bleed and my Heart Aches and the sequel is finally here!! This fic, man. If you’re down for hella Victor angst in the form of pining, this is for you. (Although you should def read UMFBAMHA first)

urgent need of gravity (WIP) by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus): AU in which Yuuri is a make-up artist working in a small salon when he's suddenly invited to work for big time fashion brand Stammi Vicino right alongside its top male model, Viktor Nikiforov, and love isn't all glitter and perfectly-winged eyeliner.

Model Victor crushing on his makeup artist, Yuuri in badass makeup doing glorious things to a certain model’s face (sadly not kissing. yet.), fluff of epic proportions, need I go on? 

rubato (WIP) by indianchai: Yuri is a psychology major (who happens to play the cello) that moves to Detroit in his sophomore year of college to escape his ice skating past. Through his roommate Phichit, who is in their college’s orchestra, he encounters infamous pianist of the school– an overconfident senior named Victor who refuses to be an accompanist to anyone (until, that is, he hears Yuri play).

Am I obsessed with musician aus? hell yes. I could honestly wax lyrical about this au for a while, but...spoilers. Just, just read this okay.

Russian for Dummies by cutthroatpixie: “Are you a beginner? ”Viktor was not a beginner. Viktor was the TA supposedly in charge of this study session. Viktor spoke Russian. Viktor was Russian. “Sure!”

Need a cute fic to get you through the day? This one is it! Russian for Dummies is truly a fun and engaging fic that will take you five seconds to read, but will make your day 100% better. 

and I feel life (for the very first time) by smudgesofink: “What do you have in mind for the next season?” A reporter asks him during the press conference and Victor shoots them a smile, trying to buy himself some time. I don’t know, he wants to say. To be honest, after winning gold once more, Victor feels lost more than anything. What does one do after finally fulfilling a longtime promise?

In which Victor helps Yuuri with his skating, but Yuuri helps Victor find himself again.

A truly beautiful fic about picking up the pieces after a tragedy. Victor finding hope and love in Yuuri is wonderfully portrayed in this fic, and the writing is beautiful to match. A truly inspiring and gorgeous piece of work that everyone in this fandom needs to read. 

[shadowdianne]

The question for writers, 1-50 ;)

 Uhhh, you mean like all of them? xd This is going to be long…

Thank you for the ask anon. I hope you don’t get bored…

01: When did you first start writing?

I don’t have a clear memory of the moment I really started to write down my stories but I remember pretending to write when I couldn’t be more than six a story about a group of smugglers that were discovered by a group of children and therefore put in jail. (I read the whole series of the Famous Five and The three investigators about that age so I was quite influenced xd) However, my first story was when I was around nine in where I wrote a story about a girl that chatted with several greek deities… I don’t really remember how the story ended though xd

02: What was your favorite book growing up?

My favourite book is the divine comedy and has been for a really long time. I also loved (when I was a tween)  The Phantom Tollbooth and several others… I think I would need a really long list to put them all together!

03: Are you an avid reader?

Yup! I love to read, reading is, as writing, something that is a part of who I am. 

04: Have you ever thrown a book across the room?

Never xd I had the idea with my math’s textbook though because I sucked at them but a book I enjoyed reading? Never.

05: Did you take writing courses in school/college?

I did several courses back in school/high school and I’ve attended several short courses over my years at college, yes.

06: Have you read any writing-advice books?

Not entire books but I’ve always read about the worldbuilding of a world in order to make them more authentic, kind of phrases and character building. However, I tend to have the problem that I find that some of the books are very strong on the kind of rules they are trying to apply to one’s writing work and so even though I try to learn as much as possible I tend to not follow them as much as I should.

07: Have you ever been part of a critique group?

Nope. Not because I didn’t want but because the occasion never presented itself. 

08: What’s the best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten?

Uhm… I had a teacher when I was in my last year of high school that learnt that I wrote short stories in english xd He asked me to give one to him and I gave him one called Synopados in where I explored the idea of a girl looking at her emotions through a mirror as she fell in love with a girl. I still have the note he wrote me about how I had courage for writing that stories in a city like the one that is my childhood town. He told me I should keep writing, no matter what. I had already started to write fanfics but sparsely and almost everything in spanish so I’m deeply humbled and grateful by what he did.

09: What’s the worst piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten?

One in where I was asked to end my writing because it wasn’t good enough, never would be and it was a joke how I tried to be something when I couldn’t put one letter after the other.

10: What’s your biggest writer pet-peeve?

I can’t stand first POV(?) I mean, I’ve written some stories with that pov and I’ve read them as well but I always link that to roleplaying and not stories so in my head it doesn’t sound quite right.

11: What’s your favorite book cover?

There are too many lol But I think that one of the recent ones I like is Perdido street station from China Miéville

12: Who is your favorite author?

I don’t have one that surpases the others I’m afraid. However, one of the authors I deeply respect is Rowling so I will go with her and PD.James.

13: What’s your favorite writing quote?

If a story is in you it has got to come out. I believe it was said by Faulkner but I could be wrong.

14: What’s your favorite writing blog? c;

Hahaha, too many to count :P

15: What would you say has inspired you the most?

Reading. Without reading I wouldn’t want to create because I wouldn’t have the ideas of so many worlds and characters already in my head. There may be people who think otherwise but for me reading is a very big part of writing.

16: How do you feel about movies based on books?

That they tend to be an absolute disaster but not because of the general idea of “They didn’t put this scene in that moment.” but because they try to create a visual of abstract ideas sometimes the authors make the reader see by description that don’t necessarily need to be linked to a visual scene. The way that’s often presented make some ideas look cheaper than they are. There are some movies that got that beautifully though.

17: Would you like your books to be turned into TV shows, movies, video games, or none?

Mine? -looks down- I… would first need to believe that they could be turned into something xd However, I think I would like to see some of my ideas transformed into a game.

18: How do you feel about love triangles?

That they are boring and done again and again and again. I really don’t like them as well as most of the romantic tropes done so many times it’s impossible to escape them. 

19: Do you prefer writing on a computer or longhand?

My handwriting is awful so I only tend to write the general idea of my stories instead of the full-fleshed thing because, otherwise, it would be a nightmare to understand it all.

20: What’s your favorite writing program?

I really don’t have one to be honest.

21: Do you outline?

For short stories I always have a general idea on my head of what I want to write. It’s on long stories in where I outline full plot points, dialogue ideas and characters.

22: Do you start with characters or plot?

Plot, always plot. I prefer to know where I’m going to put my characters in because then I know how to move them through that space.

23: What’s your favorite & least favorite part of making characters?

My favourite is their inner voices, how all of them has different ideas and how I can write that into the story is amazing. From movement to how they talk. The least one is their names when I’m making them from scratch and if I’m writing with already created characters the style of clothing I want to describe them in. xd

24: What’s your favorite & least favorite part of plotting?

My favourite would be almost everything that involves worldbuilding, searching information and creating. The least would be the “filler” scenes in where nothing happens but helps to create a more realistic pace for a story. 

25: What advice would you give to young writers?

I’m still young! I’m still a novice! I don’t really know what I would say to them lol. Perhaps… write? Feedback will be sparse, bad words will stand out more than good ones and it’s okay to feel bad for that but writing and understanding how a story is created will help you greatly.

26: Which do you enjoy reading the most: physical, ebook, or both?

I have an ebook and I use it a lot but I prefer the physical copy of the book.

27: Which is your favorite genre to write?

Fantasy, Sci-Fi… and that taking into account all subgenres like cyberpunk, steampunk… I adore the new-weird but I don’t see myself writing that yet. It requires a level of expertise I don’t have.

28: Which do you find hardest: the beginning, the middle, or the end?

The end, but it’s also the part I enjoy the most.

29: Which do you find easiest: writing or editing?

-Groans- I prefer writing. Editing is a pain in the ass.

30: Have you ever written fan-fiction?

-snorts- Yuuup.

31: Have you ever been published?

Nope, I haven’t. I wish someday will be able to be good enough to even think about it tho’

32: How do you feel about friends and close relatives reading your work?

My relatives don’t so….. My girlfriend does it from time to time tho. It’s strange to see her read my stories but funny at the same time. Same goes with the friends that I manage to trick them into reading me.

33: Are you interested in having your work published?

As I said… yes. But I don’t know if I will ever be good enough.

34: Describe your writing space.

Almost everywhere. However I tend to prefer writing in my bed, with my pc propped up on my knees and a cup of tea next to me. Everything very instragram-ish.

35: What’s your favorite time of day for writing?

Night. I’m a night person.

36: Do you listen to music when you write?

Yup, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to focus.

37: What’s your oldest WIP?

Wow xd I think… The recognizable stranger is one of my oldest for this fandom.

38: What’s your current WIP?

Too many to count…

39: What’s the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had?

That I could write? nah, just kidding. (No really) I think it was the one about the mirror and the girl I said before. I’ve had weirded ones but I don’t really remember them as being impossible to tackle.

40: Which is your favorite original character, and why?

Samantha Somnos xd In fact, this character was written for a roleplaying community at twitter a few years back. Her avatar was Emily Blunt and she was this cold woman, effective on her job and lethal. She had a very convoluted relationship with a man on her youth… I loved writing for that character, not only her background but her history which I wrote alongside with my girlfriend. I adored how, at the end, she is just a bad person, one that doesn’t want to change but it’s that what leads the reader. I wish I could keep on writing her.

41: What do you do when characters don’t follow the outline?

I murder them… nah. I keep myself flexible. Some things need to be written down but others not so whenever that happens I redirect the situation using what the characters are giving me.

42: Do you enjoy making your characters suffer?

Not in a gore-way but I like making them suffer pain or loss. I like how creative I can get with that because I can work them inside and out and see how they can react to several things.

43: Have you ever killed a main character?

-nods- Several times.

44: What’s the weirdest character concept you’ve ever come up with?

An old woman whose imagination has kept her trapped into an ink cage from where she is able to see stories that are dreamt in the minds of those who seek sleep. She collects those stories in the form of ever growing chains around her wrists.

45: What’s your favorite character name?

I don’t really have one although I tend to prefer to choose names who have a hidden meaning for me, like a private joke.

46: Describe your perfect writing space.

As previously said I don’t have a preferred writing space since I write in almost everywhere so… perhaps a place in where I never felt cold?

47: If you could steal one character from another author and make then yours, who would it be and why?

By stealing them I would transform them in something different since I’m not the author that created them. However, since I write fanfiction as well as my own work I’m used to write characters that aren’t mine by default so… I would love to explore Katsa from Graceling. Or Alana from the Saga series.

48: If you could write the next book of any series, which one would it be, and what would you make the book about?

I’d probably transform it into a fantasy-driven book so… I will leave the series I would destroy as “not chosen” haha

49: If you could write a collaboration with another author, who would it be and what would you write about?

Currently I’m in love with China Miéville’s work so I will choose him. And taking into account what he write we would write a new-weird genre book lol-

50: If you could live in any fictional world, which would it be?

Perhaps Philip Pullman’s  Dark Material’s world.