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Author Interview: Ashley Godschild [Vacancies in Time]

Authors note: I know this isn't something I would typically post, but due to my Professor being a literal joke, and the fact that I had the chance to interview a great local author AND the fact that people deserve the chance to read my interview with her, it's getting posted here.

Check out the Vacancies in Time trilogy here.

Follow her on Instagram and TikTok.

For the sake of some sort of timeline, the interview was conducted on February 20th, 2024 and the write-up was completed on March 20th, 2024.

Introductory Questions

Q: Tell me a bit about yourself and your background as an author (name, age, etc).

A: My name is Ashley Godschild, I turn 25 in a week (which I’m kind of looking forward to because with age comes grace). I started writing in grade 4, we had a writing assignment to write four pages, and I wrote 12. We had an author come to class and she explained to us that she wrote as a career, and I knew immediately that was what I wanted to do with my life. After that, I wrote for one hour every day until I finished my first book at age 12. I showed my mom, and she kindly pointed out there were no dialogue tags and so many, just so many run-on sentences. Looking back on it now I can see the perfectionism I had because after hearing that I deleted the whole thing. Cause it was easier to start from the beginning than to go through and edit it.

At 16 I did have an agent who had seen my manuscript and wanted to publish. But I still don’t know why I said no. I’m not sure if it was God saying “It’s not the right time” or if it was me if it was a gut feeling of discernment of “this person is not going to do it for you”. I also was not doing great mentally and I think the pressure I put on myself mixed with the pressure that would come from other people would have been bad. I think my biggest complaint was that they hadn’t had any problem with my manuscript, it was just “Wow this is so good, I’m so impressed someone as young as you could have something as good as this”. I’m not one for flattery, and I appreciate encouragement, and I’m not great with criticism, but having absolutely zero feedback, absolutely zero thought on something that could make it better, just sounds like you’re not someone who is going to look out for my best interest, you’re just gonna look out for money and for what you could make from me. I consider myself someone who prioritizes integrity, and there's the fact that everything can get better. There is no such thing as perfection. You can get close to it, you can kind of on it, but you can’t tell me that at 16 this book I had written was perfect and ready to publish – like no, absolutely not. I never want to have to compromise my own story and what I’m trying to tell people for the sake of sales for this big publisher.

Q: Who or what inspired you to become an author, and how did you start your journey?

A: I feel like it’s a lot of little different things, and I actually can't remember a time when I didn’t want to be an author. I know for a fact that the first person who ever said “Oh, so you’re an author” was my fourth-grade teacher. I’ve always been a storyteller. Even as a three-year-old, I used to go up to the cashiers at Superstore and tell them my real parents had died so I could get suckers. But I honestly can’t think of a time when I didn’t tell stories. It was a very natural progression, and having a lot of people help me along the way to say “This is how to better it, how to funnel it, this is how it should go”. My Oma was also a huge part of that because she used to come over and read with us, so books were always very important to her – she wasn’t born speaking English, and so language and the ability to learn and education to her was just such a huge deal to her. And she loved reading. Until her death, she was still reading and still looking for the next great story. I think she was the first one to print off one of my books and she brought my book around to all of my family members at a family reunion and told them to read it. She was very much a support and an inspiration for that. And I would say my mom, too. My eldest sister had tried writing, but it wasn’t her dream. My mom had tried writing – which I didn’t know – and my Oma tried writing, and it was like all these different things, I felt, were in accumulation to me. It was like it all built up to me trying to pursue it and do it right. Ms. Gordey was also a huge inspiration because, at 16-17, you’re trying to figure out “Okay, Lord. If this is what you truly called me to, what the heck am I supposed to do with this? Where am I supposed to go with this?” I was struggling with personal life, and mental health and all this other stuff and at the end of grade 12, Ms. Gordey had written all of us a letter. And in it, she had said “I’m not worried about telling you to always keep writing because you’re a writer. It's oxygen to your lungs. That is who you are. But I will say that you aren’t a teen author, you’re not a developing author, you’re not an aspiring novelist, you are an author, And I can't wait to see where you go from here and to follow your career from here.” And even just having that unshakeable belief in me was mind-boggling. It means so much from someone outside of your family to say “you’ve got this.” I still have that letter.

Book Related Questions

Q: Can you give a brief overview of Vacancies in Time and its central themes?

A: It’s based on a dream I had about my younger sister, it is… It’s hard to do anything with it and summarize it because I genuinely feel like there’s nothing like it. As I said, I try hard to be humble and say it how it is, but I’ve struggled marketing this because what do you even say? Who is the audience for this? It’s based on a dream, and that in and of itself is a challenge – it's something only you have seen, something only you have thought, and trying to turn it into something other people want to read, it’s hard.

I would honestly say it’s a story about an older sister's love and a journey into adulthood and figuring out what that means, and independence. Because, everyone has to get to the point where they, not leave their family, but spread their wings. I think Emma never wanted to be the burden, she never wanted to be the person that kind of stuck out or made her family's life harder. So she tried to be the responsible one, to be the person that her sibling needed. And then comes along this complete curve ball that she has never even thought about, and suddenly this person, this thing, is requiring her to choose between her family and herself. And that’s never been something Emma has had to think about.

Central Themes: Love conquers all, is huge throughout the entire trilogy. Fighting fate, which I find ironic because I don’t believe in fate, destiny or soulmates. I am very cut-and-dry with that sort of thing. And the irony does not leave me that I wrote a trilogy based on fate and time travel – which are two things I hate. I don’t like writing it, reading it, or watching it. But I think I did a pretty good job. Time and the value of it is another huge theme. And, again, just the irony of that alongside everything that happened throughout publishing, where it’s just all summed up in a quote from my second book: “Time is the commodity we cannot make more of”. And in the sense that, you can make more money and material things, but you can’t create more time. It’s a huge theme through it all to say, what will you do with the time you have? What are your priorities with it? Walk by faith, not by sight. That, again, was a huge thing with the publishing journey of this series. I almost threw up when I felt like God was telling me to drain my savings and publish this – and I went to my family and told them, and no one told me I was crazy. Everyone told me that now was the time to do it. There were a lot of ups and downs throughout the entire thing, and it's reflected from my personal life in the books. When you have a calling, or that gut feeling, or that thing, you just have to go and run with it. In my Oma’s words: you just gotta give’r!

Q: What was the timeline for writing and publishing Vacancies in Time?

A: I planned the entire trilogy in 3 hours, from start to finish. At first, I didn’t want to write it, but I was persuaded by the comments I got on my TikTok to go through with writing it. I wrote book 1 within a month (started in July and finished by the end of the month), and it was close to one month for each book. Finished 3rd book in 21 days. It took just over a year to decide to publish and go through with it. It was between August 2022 and June 2023 to publish all 3.

I’m not someone who regrets things; I refuse to regret the things I have done because I don’t think it's helpful. But, in the future, I know that I didn’t give it the time and the energy that it deserved. And I stand by the fact that it’s a good story, in fact, I would argue a great story. However, I don’t necessarily think the writing and the editing portrays that as well as it should. And, I know the first book is difficult to get into – basing a book on a dream, it’s hard to set up, and it takes a lot of time to get into. The first book is boring, let's be honest. It hasabout 27 filler chapters, with a few chapters with big action in them that make you want to keep reading. Books two and three are fast – like every page, you are on it and you’re rushing through it. I would almost argue that book one is a different genre than the other two. Book one is more romance, and books two and three are more sci-fi.

Q: How did this idea come to you? Was there any pop culture that inspired it?

A: I’ve always had very vivid dreams about my younger sister. The dream was only the first book, from start to finish. Some of the things that are in the book didn’t necessarily happen in the dream, but everything that did happen in the dream went into the book. I remember picking up my sister, bringing her to the condo, her sleeping, the massive (iconic) windows, the neon lights, hearing the bang, looking at the museum, seeing the people inside the museum dead, making eye contact, and feeling the sudden heart-stopping dread and thinking “there's no way he can see me”, seeing and hearing the door of the condo opening and watching them come in. I don’t remember a lot within the timeframe of them being in the condo, just a lot of questions and weirdly invasive eye contact. And I very clearly remember the feeling of “I’m never going to see you again”, and the feeling of Darcy’s hand on my face. The weirdest part was the shift from myself to Bingley in the car, and seeing from like a third POV, and watching the conversation and witnessing the switch from “No, we’re leaving” to “this is something I’m going to fight for”, and then realizing that I wasn’t there when they got back. Right to the moment of eye contact, running to each other, reaching for one another and then nothing.

I always kinda say that I write books for myself, but I am happy that I gave in to the peer pressure to write it. My goal is always to get it out of my head, otherwise it takes up space. And the quote I always refer back to is by Maya Angelou, and it is “there is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”.

Pop culture Influences: Pride and Prejudice had an inspiration on it, but I wouldn’t say that it’s a retelling of it. I do remember having those conversations about classical literature in my dream, and I really do love Pride and Prejudice, and I thought “If I’m going to write this book, then I might as well include some of the things I love”. I also would say, based on the time period, the TV series Loki and the TVA probably had some kind of bearing on the dream. Just knowing that I had watched it within 3 months before having the dream, it's very likely it was a subconscious inspiration.

Q: What were some of the challenges you faced while developing your characters?

A: This goes back to when I was saying that I wish I took more time. It's not that I don’t think the characters are well-rounded – I do think they are, and they’re very dimensional characters. But how am I, as a white woman who is 25 living in a northern, western country, supposed to properly represent all these different people, who have had these awful things happen to them? Like having someone who is black and was a slave, someone who is Chinese, someone who is Jewish. Writing these people who have these awful pieces of history they are representing and not being able to grasp that fully because I can’t. It doesn’t matter how much I try to put myself in their shoes, I can’t accurately and entirely represent their stories. Arguably, you can say that no one can because those things are so far removed, though we continue to see them crop up, and we see the effects of them. You don’t have people who have experienced it firsthand, anymore. But I do wish I had taken the time and will take the time in the future to look through and make sure that I am doing my best to tell stories that aren’t mine, that are humanity’s stories. So that was a big challenge – trying to make sure I didn’t whitewash my characters, and to make sure I respect the history that has been told as well as respecting the history that possibly hasn’t been told or represented.

Q: Family appears to be a key theme in the novel – how did or did not your family inspire some of Emma’s family in the book?

A: Avery was inspired/based on my 12-year-old sister, who is now 15 and it's very weird for me to think about that. She got to pick what Avery looked like, she insisted on the ferret, and she chose everything about Avery. So writing her and drawing inspiration from other events in life and trying to not give too much away but also at the same time share. Avery's journey with leukemia is not based on truth – I did have a sibling who almost died, and it definitely shook the family, there was a lot of fear and anxiety that comes with that, and there’s always the thought of trying to lower the amount of pressure on your family because this thing has happened. I wouldn’t say Mo is based on anyone – she is an archetype of a person, and I really just feel like I should put that on the record. I remember my Oma asking me if she was meant to be someone, and I was like “Nope, not at all.” It's funny because I wouldn’t say anyone else is heavily based on someone from my family, but all of them are an inspiration to it. Because no matter what you do, what you read, who you see, who you talk to, you're constantly drawing in that information. There were a couple of times reading back where I read something that I didn’t even remember putting into the book and it felt a little too revealing on my psyche and I decided to cut it out.

Q: How did your family react to A) the book being written and published, and B) to finding themselves written into the book (if they were)?

A: My family was very supportive, obviously they had been waiting for years for me to publish because I’d been doing it for ten years by this point. I had started a gofundme to cover bills and whatnot while I was in the process of publishing and they really showed up with that. Even that December they had given me a new laptop because mine had broken, and I had no idea about it and I was so heartbroken because that was the first Christmas I didn’t have gifts for anyone because I couldn’t afford it. They really showed up, time and time again. My mom and my roommate found out that I had published it a day early just to make sure everything was working, and they raced to see who could buy it first and then who would get it first. My roommate ended up reading it first, and that was super special to have people competing to read my work. My mom sent me a photo of a picture of my dad lying on our giant bean bag chair with his headphones on, reading on his Kindle. It was very sweet to see the way they showed up. There's so much doubt that happens when you’re writing and publishing, and having my Oma pass a month before the release date, it was super hard.

As for my sister, I don’t think she ever told me what she thought about Avery and if she liked the representation. I had gotten to surprise her because it’s partially dedicated to her, and I surprised her with that and she had no idea so she just started crying. She’s such a cute kid, she said she didn’t want anything else for Christmas except my book. So I got to surprise her with that and give her a signed copy. I’m very fortunate.

Q: What do you hope readers will take away from reading Vacancies in Time?

A: In context to the first book, I relate it to a verse in the bible that says to be open to inviting people into your home, because you will never know if you're feeding angels. It’s the idea of loving your neighbour the way they should be loved and never closing yourself off from showing the love of God, providing for your neighbour and inviting them to your table. I think that is something that Emma did very well, which is something I don’t always do super well. For Emma to just stop and relax in her faith and the certainty that she had that God would sort this out. She just let it happen and allowed the agents to make themselves at home in her apartment. It was very important to me that Agent Darcy never tried to placate her, never tried to comfort her or make up for her lack of social graces while he was talking about his history.

I think the biggest thing I want to be taken away from that is just to have compassion for people, to have a willingness to hear and be open to others' stories, and to be aware of how it impacts you. I think in terms of history and how people can argue so much about different historical events and what it means, I truly believe that history lies within the person telling it. That’s often the victors who want you to believe that they should be the victor, and to understand that sometimes not everything is what you see.

Always have an open mind and see people for more than what they appear to be. And also be willing to take a chance; I think that is a lot of what Emma was scared to do and Carter came in and told her “No, you have to take the chance”. I was fortunate enough to have people like that on this journey, and without them, I never would have taken this chance.

Q: Who is/was your favourite character to write, and why?

A: Carter. I really appreciate who he is, and I know that’s ironic because I wrote him. But I would say in so many ways he is everything I’m not. To just be so unapologetically himself – in the best and worst ways. He is a little off, thinking the moon landing was faked is… interesting. And I think people who are conspiracy theorists and question things get a bad rap. I have people in my life who think like that, and so it was interesting to explore that character and question “Who is he, what is he and why is he this way?” And I don’t think there's anything wrong with questioning, now I do sometimes think they can get a bit too intense over it, but to have a character who stood by his guns and is always willing to question everything and to seek the truth and not willing to take everything at face value. And on top of that all, he is an amazing friend to Emma. It shows more in the second and third books how smart and driven he is, even though he appears to be a dishevelled mess, he is who he is. And he's pretty great. And he’s got a special place in my heart because he’s such an amazing, supportive friend.

Q: Are there any particular scenes/moments that hold personal significance to you?

A: Chapter 19 You Make Me Feel So Young. It's this moment where Emma is really rushing to get things done. She’s watching everyone have a good time and dancing around her. But she’s also scared to join them; she needs to be responsible and it reminded me of a bible story. It’s the story of Mary and Martha – Martha is trying to be a good hostess while Jesus is speaking to his followers, and her sister Mary is just lying there just listening to Jesus. And the lesson from that is, you are always going to have the next job to do, and more people to take care of but you’re not always going to have this moment. I think even what Darcy was talking about when he said “I finally understand what it means to be young” and this idea of there is no responsibility, there's no deadline, and you just exist in your own world. And that’s not necessarily the best thing, but I think in a culture that emphasizes the hustle and the grind. And even myself, I place so many deadlines and expectations on myself and there's this constant need to do a full day of work and then come home and do more author stuff, because if I don’t do it now, then it’s not going to happen. To have those moments where you stop and just live in the moment without any of the distractions, it’s priceless.

So that chapter has a big significance to me. It’s not just because I love Frank Sinatra and I love that song - but because did Darcy recognized that Emma wanted to join them but wasn’t willing to. And also the fact that Darcy was willing to be vulnerable and share that part of himself and say “To me, youth has always been foolish. But with you, I feel young and I can be foolish with you.” And I think every girl has that dream of dancing around their apartment with someone, and I think having that moment and having that intimacy shown was nice. And just shows that you will find that person and that there is timeless love, and you can take a moment to breathe and absorb the moment and be with the people you love. I think it’s important to make space for those moments, otherwise life will pass you by.   

Q: Discuss the significance of the title of Vacancies in Time and how it shaped the book.

A: I had gotten the book planned, and I sat there trying to figure out what to call it. Based on the dream and the contents of the first book, you can't really use the metric for a science fiction title. You don’t want to give too much away, but you also want to hint at what’s in it. I knew I wanted something to do with time, and it just hit me – Vacancies in Time. And it works, and it makes sense because there are vacancies in time.

Q: Book covers play an integral role in attracting readers – how involved were you in the design process, did you have any specific concepts or themes you wanted to convey on the cover of Vacancies in Time? (Read in acknowledgements you made it on your own, on Canva)

A: In three hours, the day before the release. Once again, I don’t suggest the way I’ve done this, it was so not a good idea. I didn’t do the art myself, necessarily. Canva has a lot of artists that it pulls from, and they have to put on it if it is AI-generated. I feel very strongly about AI-generated things, especially art. But I found an artist who had a lot of Sci-fi kind of things – and the cover is nothing like the idea that I had, and still have. I would love to, in the future, republish and include a pronunciation guide, the cover I wanted at the very beginning, and all these different things.

Q: What was your concept for the cover?

A: On the front of the book is Emma looking out, from the POV of her bed, almost, looking out onto the street with the neon lights and everything. On the back cover, you see the outside of her building with her looking onto the street, and at the bottom corner, you see a head (who would be Darcy) looking up at her. In like an animation style.

I had someone lined up to do this kind of cover that I wanted but the timeline just didn’t work, and unfortunately, when I had talked to them it was the day my Oma died. So obviously things were derailed. I didn’t touch anything for two or three weeks, and I just didn’t have the time to make that cover happen. I’m happy with the cover now, I don’t love it necessarily, but I love it for what it is. The big thing for me was that, it is a science fiction novel, and I wanted it to convey that. The neon was important, but every single one of my books has an element that hints at something that happens in the book.

I’m not sure if you noticed, but on the back cover the rain is going upside down. And that kind of thing continues throughout all of the books.

Writing Process Questions

Q: What does your writing process look like? Do you follow a routine or have any rituals for when you’re writing?

A: Getting a full-time job has ruined the process that I had. But what has remained the same is that I open my laptop, and bring up my characterization sheets, my cheat sheet. And I bring up the manuscript – I just use Word. I know other people use Scrivener and other things, but I’m not fancy. I was 10 or 12 when I started, and I don’t like new things, so Word is where it’s at. When I was 20 I started doing novel outlines – so by the time I actually started writing it I already had every single chapter planned. I have, from start to finish, everything that is supposed to happen, chapter by chapter. I taught myself to be a plotter because I found it so much easier. And I would say, by doing this, I don’t struggle with writer's block anymore. There is occasionally the moment where I realize what I am writing just doesn’t fit anymore, but other than that I am never out of inspiration because it’s all written down.

I send myself notes on Messenger all the time, so I often check that before I start writing and add it to my sheets. With work, however, I have been trying to use what’s called the “Momentum Method” – the idea is you go to work, come home and immediately start writing or editing, and use that inspiration and motivation to get going. It doesn’t always work for me, because sometimes I find that I need like half an hour to decompress after work and get my brain settled before writing. I also have a walking pad, and I try to walk while I’m writing and editing – I haven’t been super great with that lately, just because I’ve been putting a lot of effort into the newsletter and getting it finished.

Q: Can you share a memorable moment from your writing journey that had a significant impact on your development as an author?

A: I can’t pinpoint one specific moment, because this journey has been a lot of highs and lows, and even in the lows I have found something to keep me going. I would say for publishing specifically, I had come across this interview with Leigh Bardugo, and she said “Your job is to make art when no one cares, that’s the battle”. Because as soon as you get the recognition, and you get the readers, everyone wants to praise you. It’s when you’re in the trenches with no readers or money, that’s when it matters most. Continuing to go forward is a skill you have to learn. I’ve always had that thought in my head, and it meant a lot to me to see a very well-known author, at one point, felt the same way and had the same doubts as myself. It was enough to push me forward and to publish the third book.

Q: Are there any specific authors or literary figures who have influenced your writing style? If so, in what ways?

A: The answer always goes back to every little thing is an inspiration. I would say Jane Austen is definitely someone who I aspired to be like. I think she always had a very personal way of telling stories, I feel like you always saw her in her novels. And, it is my hope (because I am planning on writing so many books) that I’m never predictable, but I do hope there is always a moment in every book I write where the reader goes, “Oh, this is Ashley”. I think Jane Austen does that very well.

I also really love C.S. Lewis – he is a huge inspiration of mine, in just the way he wrote books, how he wrote them, and who he wrote them for. I also like J.R.R. Tolkien for how descriptive he is, even though he spent three pages just talking about a blade of grass – I think that’s excessive, but I appreciate the way he could just paint the world for you. Leigh Bardugo, also, I just love the way she makes her characters. She does “found family” really well, and it's interesting because I would say so many of her characters aren’t really likable. Which sounds crazy, but it's like almost every single one of her characters has these massive flaws that are staring you in the face, so you almost have to question why you like them so much. But at the same time, that’s what makes you human – it’s your flaws. You can’t love someone without loving their flaws.

Q: What role does research play in your writing process, especially when tackling subjects that may require in-depth knowledge or understanding?

A: I try and do research, but there is a bit of previous knowledge because I took Wester-European AP, and history has always been very interesting to me. I remember in grade five learning about Greece and Athens, and the birth of democracy, and that has always had a place in my heart – history in general has always had a place in my heart. Mostly because it’s our story; they call it his-tory, but when you’re looking at history, you’re looking at the story of the world, of humans, and you can see where we’ve been and if you look hard enough you can see, in my opinion, where we’re going. I would say I gained a lot of knowledge from my education and my love of history, but then there was also a lot of research.

One of my biggest things while developing characters was figuring out what dictators am I going to use, who was going to be connected to each of these people, and what is it going to eventually lead to. Now, admittedly, and I won’t give too much detail, but one of the dictators I chose is just because I like them and learning about them. Obviously, they’re a dictator so they’re not the best but I think if any dictator was “good”, it would be this person. There was a lot of research, and there were times when I had to stop writing to look something up.

Q: How do you handle writer’s block or challenges in the creative process, and what strategies do you find most effective in overcoming them?

A: More often than not, in my experience, writer's block happens because there’s something wrong in the story. Whether that means you’re trying to force something, or because this idea you had no longer works and you’re not sure how to fix it, or if there’s something you left behind that needs to be brought in. Most of the time when I would get writer's block I would just go back and read it and find what was wrong. There have been times when I’ve deleted entire chapters and started over because something from however long ago caused things to not work. And even with using a novel outline, there have been times when I realized I’ve shot myself in the foot and I need to do it over again. I can admit that sometimes you have off days, but I’ve learned that you sometimes just need to force yourself to write – discipline doesn’t grow out of nothing, it's something you have to practice. But I also believe in taking a break, and that having a bad day can affect your writing. So going back and reading what you wrote on that bad day is definitely worthwhile because your mood does impact your writing and you might be putting something in that you don’t necessarily mean to put in.

While I do believe that your book is you and you should be able to do whatever you want with it, at the same time you’re not honoring the story if you’re basing your characters off people you know and killing them off because that person hurt you. You’re not honouring the story, or yourself, or the reader. That person may have existed to you through this character, but to everyone else, they exist in the book, separate from you and your life. Once you have people reading your novels, you have to acknowledge their interpretation might not be the right interpretation. Don’t get me wrong, you can think whatever you want about something that’s been written, but that doesn’t mean your interpretation is right.

Personal/Fun Questions

Q: Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice seems to be an influence on Vacancies in Time, can you elaborate on any inspiration drawn from it?

A: I think for every romance, people need to have something in common. And how do you find something in common between a black slave from the eighteen hundreds and a mostly white woman from the 2050’s? I was trying to find a common thread, and I think in the argument of “timeless love” and the idea of history being a form of storytelling, and having a thread that connects all of us – I don’t believe in soulmates – but I do believe that sometimes people are cut from the same cloth. It wasn’t a process of “how do I bring these two together” – I knew it had to be a connection and a shared experience, and I thought about what brought Darcy and everyone else together and it was this idea of wanting adventure and having this craving for the unusual. I think every reader has that craving; you might not be the bravest person but you do want a taste of a new experience – and that is what brought both Emma and Darcy to reading.

Pride and Prejudice is my favourite book, and I think because stories were what always connected me to people, I wanted to play with that idea in the book and play with the idea of “What is going to bring you all together and keep you together?”, and that’s how it turned out in the book.

Q: Religion is openly present in Vacancies in Time, how has your faith or religious background influenced the theme and messages you explored in the novel?

A: It influenced my writing in so many ways because God is so integral to who I am. I know for a fact I would not be alive if it wasn’t for him, and I never would have written and published if it wasn’t for him. Sometimes I struggle with saying the right thing and being understood by people because I often am not presenting myself well, or people will misconstrue what I am saying – which makes me relate to Darcy, in a way. But my writing is where I get to shine. And I believe that I can use my writing to accurately give people an idea of who I am, but also who God is and what he has done for me.

Q: If you could travel through space and time and meet anyone (fictional or real) where would you go and who would you meet?

A: I would probably go to the UK and meet C.S. Lewis – and I would probably try to convince him to come back to our time so he wouldn’t have to deal with the bombs and the war. On a more personal note, I would probably meet my Opa Morris – my Oma was married to Opa Morris before my current Opa, and I hear so much about him and I live his legacy every day. I just think to see where it all comes from would be very special. On the other hand, I might choose one of my ancestors from the other side of my family. I was raised with the belief that half of my family was indigenous, and there have been questions raised in recent years about whether or not that is true, so I would probably want to meet an ancestor from the other side of our family to figure out if it's true. It was something I used to be so proud of, and now there’s so much that has happened surrounding my ancestry – so I would like to get some answers about that.  

Q: What’s some advice you can give to emerging authors?

A: You need to genuinely understand that it’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to suck at times. Big time. There’s going to be times where you’re going to question yourself, you’re going to have other people question you. You’re going to have moments of shame and moments of excitement, and it’s a bit of a rollercoaster of questioning.

The other thing is that you should know what your reason is. I've said since I was 16 that I am writing because if my books change even just one person's life, that would be enough. If one person feels seen, if they identify with a character, if they get help because of something I write that would be enough for me. Reading was always an escape for me, so if I can create a safe space where someone can escape from the turmoil that is life – that’s enough for me. Just figure out what your reason is for writing, and stick by it – despite having bad reviews, or no reviews or when you’re having those moments of self-questioning.

Q: What’s next for you?

A:  I have two possible books that I can publish next – both are the start of a trilogy. I’m leaving it up to people to vote on through Google Forms because I genuinely don’t know which one to do next. One is a Werewolf-Hunter paranormal romance, kind of like Shadowhunters meets Vampire Academy, meets Twilight. The other one is about a group of young adults who create this group called “The Outcasts”, loosely based on Robin Hood, and they steal from the rich and they learn that this treasure they’ve read about is real and it’s hidden in this castle – and the leader decides they're going to get it, but for her, it’s not just business, it’s personal. I’m not sure which one I want to publish more, and part of me wants to publish both at the same time, but I know that’s crazy. So one of those two will pop up within the next… who knows.

I’m editing another book right now, and reverse outlining another book and rewriting that. My goal for this year was to shift my focus to becoming a better author – so I’ve gotten books about being an author, I didn’t know that books were supposed to have a three-act structure. I didn’t know about story framing or the eight-beat story. So I’ve been learning a lot about that, and learning about how to better my craft and refine it. I learned about the Writers Helping Writers series. So I’m trying to slow down and learn more and to build on the basics and get better as a writer.

[villainousauthor]

"I'm tired." Hero speaks in a rough voice, exhausted. "I'm so tired." They repeat like a mantra, a lifeline. One look in their eyes shows that their weariness goes beyond just today's battle.

Villain steps closer, gaze raking up and down Hero's beaten form.

"So stop. Quit this fight and run home, tail tucked between your legs." Villain's tone is amused but not quite judgemental. "I'm sure your higher-ups will understand. Tell them another tale of how brutal I am, how merciless, and beg for their forgiveness like a dog."

Shaking their head, Hero lets out a choked protest. "I'm tired." They speak in a more desperate voice, more insistent. "I'm tired of begging and apologizing. I'm tired of fighting for people who don't care if I live or die."

Hero's eyes have a hungry fire in them now, a look of selfish desire along with the agony. Stepping closer to them, Villain smirks devilishly and offers them a hand.

"So join me."

[scealaiscoite]

head of state x captain of their personal guard prompts ˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🕊️ ꒱

¹⁾ “must you always make my job so very difficult, your highness?”¹ “someone with your prowess must be challenged, captain. how else will i see to it that i made the right choice in selecting you for the job?”²

²⁾ “*name*, i’m begging you. if you won’t listen to me as your guard, then listen to me as someone who loves you - please let me get you to safety before it’s too late.”

³⁾ “what were you playing at, looking at me like that from across the court?!”

“since when do you feel permitted to give your opinion on matters of the crown?!”¹ “since i fell in love with the person wearing it.”²

⁴⁾ “when i told you to forget our titles during our sparring lessons, i didn’t think you’d actually follow through.”

⁵⁾ “i’m beginning to think you’ve only taken to spending so much time in the throne room to show off for me.”

⁶⁾ “i’ve dreamt of making you my consort more than i’d like to admit.”

⁷⁾ “so not only have you been ‘entertaining’ marriage prospects, but you didn’t even deem fit to tell me about it yourself? am i not even worth that to you?”

⁸⁾ “if the lords/ladies-in-waiting spy you leaving my quarters in the morning again, i fear we’ll be fielding more question than we can answer.”

⁹⁾ “you know how direly i hate these balls, my love.”¹ “yes, i do. but i also know how very much you love me, so i’m hoping one will cancel the other out.”²

¹⁰⁾ “you do remember that i’m supposed to be the one protecting you, yes?”

[dreamgirljune]

sometimes when the grief gets to be too much i sit outside, even under the heat of texas sun. i listen to the wind blow through the trees in my backyard. i see the sun shining down on me. i hear neighbors laughing down the street. i look at the flowers blooming amongst green grass. i listen to songs i've loved for years and songs i'm only just now learning. i see the sky melt into the most beautiful sunset, bursts of pink and orange and purple breaking apart the blue of the day. i hear the baby birds. when the grief gets to be too much, i sit outside and remember living. i am still here. i still want to be here.

[apradonite]

kaneanigans

[flimsy-spine]

my favorite madney scenes: [4/?] ⇢ Buck, Actually, 2.08

[stealingpotatoes]

just watched mando s3 it’s great that we TOTALLY had a whole season about din coming to grips with being mand’alor & life without grogu and about dueteragonist bo-katan coming to realise she was only trying to lead mand’alor bc of her sister not bc she thought she was the best leader. and the whole season centred around the theme of accepting who you really are even if you’re certain you’re something else and was about how heroes and leaders can come from anywhere, they don’t have to come from a special bloodline (a sorta thesis against the skywalker saga) and about the uniting power of grief and oppression. isn’t it great we had that instead of a season with no plot 

isn’t it great that there were no mando cameos in tbobf and mando season 3 started with him on a bounty, cringefailing at using the darksaber and stabbing himself but he did the job and got paid in a nubian starfighter (he wanted a razor crest but he’s injured so he doesnt argue much) which he then used to find his covert on the canyon planet. then he revealed to the armorer and paz that he had the darksaber which after some time leads to paz duelling din for the saber (without telling the others bc they dont know din has it) and din wins but its revealed he took his helmet off. he’s made apostate IN FRONT OF EVERYONE (EVERYONE!!) with only one IMPOSSIBLE chance of redemption (nobody can go to mandalore anymore!!) and has to leave and now has nothing — no child, no clan. so he does the only thing he can think to and goes to a green planet we’ve never seen before. he lands safely but still injured from his fight with Paz and not fully healed from the original injury he passes out. and the episode ends with a kid running over and telling another kid to call master skywalker

and sure episode 2 was the fanservice episode but its disney! we have to expect a marketable plushie cameo episode — except of course that didn’t mean it wasn’t plot relevant! din wakes up and we realise he’s at luke’s jedi academy and this is great n stuff we finally get to see luke in his prime teaching a whole bunch of students! and we get to see grogu happy and having fun with his kind (which makes din happy but miss his own covert). luke notices din has a saber himself (despite it being well-hidden — luke can sense it) and din admits he can’t use it and that he doesnt think it even belongs to him while luke shows him saber forms (but pretends its for his own training and not din’s bc din refuses to learn). they have a discussion and din reveals he came here bc he got kicked out and has no way to redeem himself bc there are no mines left and even then the planet’s poisonous. luke spouts some jedi stuff asking din if he’s certain and says blind certainty is the enemies of hope and progress or whatever (setting up the larger theme of identity certainty in the season). luke also points out that if they imps r there then they have to have some way of getting around the environment they caused. inspired and knowing grogu is safe here, din is ready to go redeem himself on mandalore. he says he’ll come to see grogu again and luke makes it clear that while attachments can’t get in front of duty, din is always welcome here <3 

episode 3 of course had din go to the ruins of mandalore to redeem himself, inspired by luke’s words about certainty he goes to the ruins of sundari, where he knows there was once living waters (the other option is the one surviving and imperial-controlled city, but he’s not that dumb). also bc the imps only hang around the cities so that must be where it's survivable. there’s some imperials about the edge of the city (not many) and he does have to subtly fight them but he gets spotted. he wins but he’s panicking bc during the fight his breathing system got hit but then he notices a plant growing. and he realises he’s not dying — the air isn’t poisonous anymore or whatever! so he turns off his failing life support and goes to the city. he explores the city and finds many remnants of mandalorian culture there in the small parts that survived. ash-covered murals, mostly-burnt toys, something that could have once been a palace. he finds a memorial to a duchess satine kryze and thinks huh like bo katan? (because of course the show wouldn’t ignore bo’s motivations) anyway after some slow but meaningful exploring (its quietness eerie, unlike the quietness of the previous stealth section) he manages to make his way below the city. he finds the mines, reads the inscription and then goes in. except of course its no longer shallow and he falls and he falls and he realises well fuck he’s gonna die. his life support got hit earlier and he doesnt have his jetpack he’s going to sink. but then in the darkness, a great looming eye opens and before din knows it, SOMETHING is throwing him out that sinking water. it had to have been a freak current right? he was hallucinating. surely a MYTHOSAUR didn’t just save him… those are all dead, only to return with a new age of mandalore! he shakes his head, ignores it, and collects the water with something new to bring to his people

episode 4 reintroduced us to old fan favourite bo katan in her depression girl era bc din shows up to her empty palace ready to help her take back mandalore… only to find her in a depression pit and— oh my god is she drunk??! she drops that her ppl left her bc she didn’t have the darksaber and din’s looking at the depression pit like. right. bc of the darksaber. he briefly tries to convince her to fight him for it but she’s like no you’ll throw the fight it won’t be true comba— oh no! explosion nearby bc looks like din wasn’t as careful as he thought and the imperials followed him to bo’s place so both of them have to fucking skeet outta there and bo’s home’s destroyed so din’s like hey come on let’s go to my people we can take back mandalore with them or smthn. so they head back to the covert, din reveals he’s no longer apostate and that mandalore isnt cursed it’s breathable + you can successfully walk on the surface now. this is however interrupted by a beast showing up and trying to kill some ppl. it almost kills paz’s son but din kills the beast first in his starfighter. anyway back to the conversation (now within the cave) and din’s trying to convince his clan that they can take back mandalore (with bo as leader) but none of them want to follow her or risk what few numbers they have left. dejected, din and bo make to leave again, but paz follows them out and is like ?? din you literally have the darksaber why didn’t you use it to get at least SOME of them to follow you and din’s like i don’t want people to follow me bc of a legend, if they follow me it has to be bc they want to and paz and bo r internally like wow damn. anyway paz then says he’ll always fight w din if needed bc he saved his son but if he wants the people to follow him they should try get some of the other clans to help so it looks less dangerous. so bo and din leave on their quest. also throughout this episode, we’re introduced to some random civilian in the reintegration program. its implied they worked with gideon and that they’re preparing for something, but we don’t get much more than that. 

episode 5 is the bo episode, this is where we explore her character, have her arc, and ya know really cover her motivations (bc disney would NEVER make it so her motivation is invisible unless you’d seen two other tv shows). din and bo head to where her clan is. they just want to see the clan but they end up being dragged into a b-plot about helping the local pacifist duchess (& duke). din tries to say no but bo-katan says smthn abt diplomacy. this quest initially doesn’t seem plot relevant but throughout bo opens up about her own pacifist duchess sister and she comes to realise how much of this quest has been about trying to live up to satine and not bc she thinks herself the best mand’alor. the thing she said abt diplomacy earlier, she reveals, is just a quote from her sister. anyway they’re finally able to go to bo’s old clan and she, now reinvigorated in accepting and knowing who she is and what she wants (no longer depression girl) challenges axe for leadership of the clan. she wins and in a speech is like we’re gonna retake unpoisonous mandalore by uniting the clans!! most agree but theyre like HOW are we supposed to convince the other clans? and it descends into insane yelling UNTIL a low hum and a black-white light falls over the group. silence falls. everyone looks on. high above his head, din is holding the darksaber (proudly!!) and he’s like we’ll unite them with this. but axe has to constantly be chatting shit and getting up from the floor where he got his ass whipped he’s like really???? you wanna follow him???? he doesn’t even have any mandalorian blood in him!!! and bo makes a great speech about blood doesn’t make a good leader what makes a good leader is knowing when to use your power. and then she’s like he is my mand’alor amen and kneels before him. everyone else follows and din awkwardly stands there still not fully accepting his role 

episode 6 was the great prep episode. we start with din and bo helping and getting a new tribe on their side and heading back to Concordia we realise they’ve got this HUGEEEE war camp of mandalorians!! there are so many clans with them now (except one, which din is really missing)!!!!! this episode mostly focuses on mandalorian culture and them training/ planning and din and bo trying to keep the clans from biting each other’s heads off. but this is interrupted when a small group of imperials try to pre-attack them (like they did w bo’s palace) but the mandos all manage to fight back and take them down, which then leads to a whole speech from din and bo about how mandalorians are all fighting but theyre united now in their grief and with this they can fight the empire. the b-plot of the episode comes back to that random civilian from episode 4 and whoomp turns out their plan was to BREAK MOFF GIDEON OUT OF JAIL!! shitttt!!!! oh no!! he’s back now, that’s gonna make their very decent plan to take back mandalore harder but they dont knowww (irony!)

episodes 7 and 8 were the battle of mandalore, woo! it had to be two episodes because it’s a taking whole occupied planet and not a single base, a pretty damn difficult task that definitely can’t be done by two single clans in like 40 minutes! there’s all those mini tiny bases scattered throughout the planet on the ruins (like din encountered in episode 3) AND more importantly there’s the one domed city that the imperials kept alive as their main base — which means they have to be careful, bc they can’t do any sort of aerial assault or great deal of damage to the imperials without also destroying the one surviving place for them to live. so the plan is smaller strike teams to go the bases plopped around the planet as a distraction and to stop reinforcements to the city while the main force surround the city and take it. the first city team (with din and bo) has to open up all the ports and stuff to allow the HUGE armies to get in. unfortunately this is in the main imp base in the centre of the city so they have to get there. (they’d prefer 2 strike teams but they can only spare 1) MOST of the mini-bases r meanwhile being successfully captured. the strike team gets to the centre to de-activate the port shielding n stuff and GASP! IT’S GIDEON!! FROM JAIL!! and he’s surrounded by fucking MANDO STORMTROOPERS and IN BESKAR ARMOUR oh no!! ambush!! he knew they’d have to go here to allow a full-scale assault! the small strike team at sundari also gets captured bc there were some mandotroopers there (they increased security post episode 3). episode 7 ends on a cliffhanger bc all seems lost and the strike team’s surrounded 

episode 8 starts straight off the cliffhanger and oh no they’re all gonna die gasp WHEN BAM fighting noises elsewhere, everyone’s confused, when paz’s voice crackles over din’s comm like hey bro! BC DIN’S CLAN FINALLY SHOWED UP TO HELP AND THEY WERE ABLE TO MAKE THAT SECOND STRIKE TEAM and in the confusion din & bo’s team take out the mandotroopers, gideon gets away. din and paz and the armorer come face to face and paz calls him mand’alor or smthn bc he’s also accepted it and they’re like woo let’s go now we can fight fr!! din heads to help lead the battle ig but bo’s like nah i have to end gideon for what he did to our planet. and din’s like well he’s wearing beskar armour so you’ll need this and gives her his beskar spear WHICH IS SYMBOLIC BC he’s finally giving up his other weapon and is going to solely use the darksaber!! he’s accepted who he is and is going to lead their ppl!! so yeah instead of having din fight gideon, who he already beat once, bo fights him and its incredibly cathartic. at sundari that strike team who got captured is also not looking great but MYTHOSAUR EX MACHINA COMES AND FUCKS UP THE IMPERIALS THERE (its returned!!). so big battle and gideon’s down and the darksaber DOESN’T get destroyed yay! afterwards they all vibe and they go to the forge and the armorer relights it and they proclaim din mand’alor fr and he accepts it and throne. sure he's still a BIT uneasy (mand'alor the reluctant anyone?) but he's not saying NOO now loll. yayyy!! AND THEN final scene is din returns to the jedi academy like hii thanks for ur advice u were right being blindly certain abt stuff is meh and leaves no room for hope. uh could i show grogu mandalore i promise i’ll bring him right back and it ends on din showing grogu the planet finally bc thats cute and fanservice

anyway isn’t it great this is exactly what happened, it’s all canon and definitely not the stealingpotatoes sequels canon continuity rewrite! 

[bitchkovsky]

finally got to a country doctor's notebook on my meandering reading list and while i knew dankovsky must have been inspired by this but internal monologue is making me lose it

my youthful appearance made my life intolerable for me......

[corgate-epistolary]

May 3rd, 624

(Transcript under the cut) (Read on Ao3 HERE)

[Written on off-white writing paper with a smooth but lightly textured hand, in golden yellow-brown ink, in cursive. Letter was folded into its own rectangular envelope, and sealed with a wax seal depicting a cat surrounded by moons, mountains, and window-like arch frame. The wax seal is silver, pale green, and gold swirled together]

Elowen Vance, A.Mg. Corgate Village Post Office

May 3rd, 624

Eris Mirrows, A.Mg. 87 Lancedragon Street Avalon

Mx. Mirrows:

We have arrived safely at Corgate.  The [scratch-out] villagers have been, on the whole, extremely [scratch-out] welcoming to Mg. Hawkins & myself. For once, Mg. Hawkins country manners are serving him far better than my own, as the locals see him as one of their own come home again.  I know Mg. Equlee is bitterly disappointed by the council’s decision (and if it were in my power I [scratch-out] would have [scratch-out, “recom”] recommended to send both, [scratch-out, appears to have been a closed parenthesis] as irritable as they can be to [scratch-out, “the”] each other) but I do not believe he would enjoy this section of the trip.  Please do express my condolences & apologies if you feel it

[end of page 1]

would be in his best interest.

The train journey was fine, & the tracks in this area are in good repair.  Should you ever have cause to visit, it is about one day’s journey via the train from the city to the station in Corgate, which is very small but well kept.  I am told from here it is another two hours’ [scratch-out, “tra”] travel to the ruins.  As such, I am intending to make the journey to the station for mail & supplies once weekly, and will consider it a morning’s work.

While I am away from Avalon, would you please keep me abreast of the latest happenings with the council?  And of course the general public knowledge of our colleagues & their doings.  I know you find it a little trivial, however [scratch-out, “evew”] even you must recognize the importance of good information before some other magician drags yours into some risky scheme.  We have a duty to ensure that they do not blow themselves up, after all.  I ask only because Mg. Hawkins (and I, in my less charitable moments) is convinced that this posting, far from the city & the university, is intended as a quiet exile as punishment for Mg. Hawkins’ lack of interest

[end of page 2]

in pursuing more formalized proofs & magical education.  I am sure you can hear in your mind his perennial exclamation that he is “getting along just fine as I am!”  I know I can even though I can hear him snoring quite plainly through the inn walls.

Such walls!  The buildings in Corgate seem made [scratch-out, “of”, but written poorly] of tissue paper to my eye - all frame, wattle, & daub and no bricks to be seen.  I am not so sure I will be truly suited to agent’s work in the field, but I can certainly see that Mg. Hawkins is quite in his element.  He seems quite at peace with himself here in a way he has [scratch-out, “nev”] never seemed back home.  Like a bird let loose from a cage, I suppose.  I am ever so glad he is happy, but I will have to learn his trick of avoiding the country mud before I go mad.

On an unrelated note, however, would you please stop by Vimes Place and look for my brown satchel?  In the scramble to get Mg. Hawkins (and all his supplies) out the door, I believe I left it

[end of page 3]

on the front table. It [scratch-out, “on”] only has a few novels & my copy of the notes on the ruins, which I could copy over again if needed, but I do not want to, AND you have the key.  I would trust it to you & to the post office [scratch-out, at the bottom of “office”] here in Corgate, but ask Mg. Equlee to put a little locking on it first.

I will look [scratch-out, “y”] for [scratch-out] your letter when I come down to Corgate next.  [scratch-out, “Stay we”] Stay well!

Ms. Elowen Vance, A.Mg.

P.S. Please let me know if any of my plants start looking sorrowful.  And do forward a newspaper [scratch-out] or two from time to time if you can

[end of page 4][end of letter]

[ria-starstruck]

final artfight attack on @foileadeux!

They stand at an impasse for a moment, their stances mirrored: Halesia with her hand on the hilt of her blade, Lilith with her hand on the spine of her grimoire. Their single point of connection is where Halesia grips Lilith’s wrist. Lilith’s eyes flash as she glares at Halesia, while Halesia herself does her utmost to project cold warning, icy calm. “Lilith,” she begins. “I need this blade to legitimize my position. So long as I am reliant on it to keep up the appearance of a knight, I cannot hand it over to you.” Lilith wriggles her wrist, but Halesia holds her fast. “And who was it that helped you secure that blade? If it wasn’t for me, your act would have been unmasked entirely. You still owe me. and that blade is the only thing of value you’ve got!”

famous last words:

[enlitment]

I know the Eiffel Tower has got to be one of the most cliched settings for this, but believe it or not, it's based on a real event which involved a high school trip to France and one of my very far-right supporting classmates

[sseniita]

hello op, I adore the villain you've created in the medical malpractice piece. their energy, their quips, their motivations, their dynamic with the hero. it's brilliant and perfect and please, please do write more about them. "firework" now has permanently changed my mind. maybe a continuation or maybe another one-shot if you're interested? it's great stuff

omg thank u sm,, i was proud of it! and ofc! i didn't have a story laid out for them but im always happy to revisit my works (maybe even w/ suggestions wink wink nudge nudge) !! sorry for the late update, i may be silent but trust, i am lurking

medical malpractice: healing boredom

The villain hadn't expected for this to go on for this long, but the little hero was resilient. If the villain didn't know any better, he'd think the hero was getting as much as a kick out of this as he was. His thoughts took over his mind, only snapping out of it when he heard the squeak from the hero and the flinch away from his healing hands.

"Ouch." Hero cradled their newly healed fingers to their chest.

"Oh, so sorry, firework. I was distracted." The hero returned their hand and the villain got to work on their thumb. Maybe snapping each of their fingers last night was overkill they thought- he shouldn't be giving himself this much work. Each heal was a meticulous and fragile process; it took more power than messing with a frontal lobe or blocking an artery. The villain cursed silently as he moved to the hero's other hand.

"I didn't know you could do that." The villain hummed in confusion, asking for elaboration with a raised eyebrow. "Hurt."

The hero was smarter than the villain thought, but apparently also vulnerable to charm. They dismissed things when disguised as a joke or flirtatious comment. Which explains why the villain now spent their Tuesday and Thursday afternoons playing footsies with the Hero under oval tables at meetings. He had had many close calls.

"Mmm. Everyone can hurt someone, Hero." He responded, focused on the hero's untrimmed cuticles.

"Yes, but I didn't think you could do it physically, with your powers."

"Well, healing involves pain, does it not?"

"You don't make it hurt."

"Ah, you've never been healed by someone as talented as me is all."

The hero chuckled. "So it's a skill thing?"

"Of course. A bad nurse would draw blood during a vaccination," He smiled up at the hero, healing the hero's pinky without breaking eye contact. "but you wouldn't feel a thing with a practiced nurse"

The hero's eyes widened at the realization their pinky had been healed. They wiggled each finger that only an hour earlier had turned purple and gone limp.

"Oh, you are good. Thank you, Nurse." They said, impressed, batting their eyelashes and smiling at their fully functioning fingers. The villain stared at the clock, ticking towards 9 PM and letting him know it had taken almost an hour to heal the hero's fingers. Never breaking fingers again, he thought.

"You're all set. Anything else you needed from me?" The hero leaned back against their arms on the examination table, leisurely displaying themselves in their ripped suit with half lidded eyes. They crossed their legs and tilted their head to the side.

What are you playing at, Firework?

"Well, I don't know. I hate that our little meetings run so short."

"They're very frequent." The villain shrugged.

The hero rubbed over the tissue on the examination table, making an infuriating crackling noise. They continued at it while speaking. "I have a kink in my neck."

"I'm a doctor, not a masseuse, Firework." The villain said, turning his back toward the hero, distracting himself from the noise of Hero's fidgeting by organizing paperwork and folders at his desk.

The hero had been at this game the past few visits. Coming up with excuses and making up stories about them and the villain that he knew didn't happen. Last week the hero had said the villain threw them against a brick wall and broke their arm. The villain had certainly not done that.

He was starting to get annoyed at how peculiar the hero actually was. They blabbered non-stop while he took x-rays, they became very sweaty very fast, and they had acquired a staring problem when he inspected them. He assumed the fighting had finally gotten to them. It always does.

"Well, could you maybe at least look at it?" The villain sighed, mourning the fun he had had the past months. Was the joy of fighting the hero really worth the effort of healing them over and over again?

He turned to the hero, a red and sweaty mess, and moved his hands up their neck, getting close to inspect under their hair, to know exactly where to press. If they were lucky, they'd hit pressure point and the hero would drop dead.

The hero wouldn't stay still, squirming under him and leaning their head back. Their hand reached for his elbow and a light tug had made an effort to make them face each other. Noses just inches away from each other. The villain was about to ask what was wrong before he noticed the hero's glance to his lips.

Oh.

The villain was pleasantly surprised at the hero's delusion about their relationship, but that was neither here nor there. He smiled softly at the hero, taking complete control and kissing them even softer on the lips. He liked being a few steps ahead of them. The villain knew the hero had no self control and so was prepared when they grabbed onto the lapel of his lab coat and pushed him on top of them, deepening the kiss as they went.

The hero was very different in this state. Grasping onto the villain to save their life, throwing the stethoscope around his neck to the floor. Hero was in bliss, and the villain decided to keep going along. After the villain's coat was on the floor but before the hero could reach for the villain's belt, the pair was distracted by a knock on the frosted door.

"Shoot." The hero hissed, finally regaining themself, sitting up and diving for the villain's coat on the floor. Sorry they mouthed before yelling towards the door.

"Justaminute!"

"Hurry up in there!" A voice called from the other side.

The hero was red in the face as they fixed their suit, struggling with the zipper the villain had started pulling down. The villain smirked, taking the liberty of zipping it up the rest of the way, his cold hands earning a flinch from the hero. They turned back towards him, before the hero opened their mouth the villain hushed them.

"I'll come see you later, okay Firework?" Their head tilted, their eyes lustful, and their hands right at his sides, exactly where the hero didn't want them. All the hero could utter out was a pathetic Ok, biting their lip to hide their gushing smile before rushing out of the office, only mouthing a bye halfway down the hall.

The villain watched them leave. They didn't mind the 6 or so heroes awaiting treatment. They had begun to regret their choice, chalking it up to a waste of time and effort. All they had wanted from the hero was the occasional fight to get out of boring afternoons lazing around the mayor's office- that had gotten stale. But this could work too. Oh, this could definitely work too, he thought with a dreamy smile. As he gestured for his next client to come in, he knew it would be a messy healing job- he found himself a tad bit distracted.

Healing his boredom would hurt, it just wouldn't hurt him. If he played his cards right, the hero wouldn't even notice their own destruction. After all, he was a very talented doctor.

[un-pearable]

one of the parts of the fanon “PK/DA was an active superhero sometime before DT2017 and donald retired either before or because of the boys” fic premise/microgenre that i think about a lot but have never seen explored is that. chronologically paperinik could very well have been what in the in-universe Darkwing Duck television series was parodying. in a world without actual batman or dc comics to parody the DWD tv show is Paperinik fanfic that later becomes real life again. sorry to break it to you drake but you’re PK through the fandom telephone. i love it.

[poppiesandpromises]

When good things happen

To good people; it makes my

Heart so very glad

[captainsy-cookiemonster]

The Hunter

Warnings: open ending, possible character death. Not nsfw, but mdni.

Characters: unnamed OFC, unnamed OMC, unspecified monster. A/N: I wanted to post this a while ago but didn't get to it until now. This is the one shortstory from the creative writing course I'm not planning to continue. The task was to show a character's character trait in a situation, well and this took a darker, scary-ish turn. Word count: ~700

Enjoy ❤🌸

The Hunter

It is a day like any other. The men had returned from their work out in the fields and forest, hungry and exhausted, in need of a hearty meal and ale to quench their thirst. So the tavern was quite busy. The dimly lit room smells of sweat and ale, fire and roast meats. It’s loud, voices mingling to an incomprehensible chatter. I pick up bits and pieces now and then, but it’s not the usual gossip. They all talk about a hooded stranger they saw on the road. I try listening more, but there is too much work to be done.

But the moment he enters the tavern, I can’t take my eyes off him. There is something so intriguing about the way he carries himself, and the weapons on his back. I try listening in on his conversation with the barkeep, but my attention has to be on the other patrons as well. There were mutters. “We don’t want his kind here.” Some even worse. 

Still, I keep my eyes on him, trying to get a better look at him, this monster hunter. I hear his voice, too, through the murmur of the tavern. A deep voice, almost a growl. Scary. Intriguing. He’s asking something about a contract, recent attacks, but before I can hear more, another tray is placed in my hands and I’m sent off to serve another round of ale to the patrons. Once I return to the bar, the hunter is gone. I hear the creaking of the tavern’s door and look over, just in time to see the hooded stranger leave.

I frown, and without thinking for longer than a split second, I put the tray down on the bar, take off my apron and hurry after him.

Damn, he’s quick.

He had already started walking towards the forest. The sun was already beginning to set. A cool gust of wind announces the end of summer.

I follow the stranger. I couldn’t help it. I know it was dangerous; he was, and so was his profession. But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. To see a monster hunter at work. And I am not going to miss out on it. So I follow the hunter, quietly and keeping my distance. I don’t want him to catch me. Deeper and deeper into the forest. It’s dark by now. I know I should turn back. But I can’t . But I have to see this. 

The hunter suddenly stops and crouches down. He looks around and I dash behind a tree to hide.

I hope he didn’t see me.

I watch him as he leaves the path and heads even deeper into the thick forest, following the traces of the beast. And I follow him. 

Turn back! Turn back before it’s too late! 

But I don’t. I need to see this!

The full moon stands high, its light breaking through the thick roof of leaves occasionally.

The beast’s lair must be close, the hunter draws his weapon. A silver glint in the darkness. I hold my breath in anticipation. Now… This would be it. The moment I’ve been waiting for since I first learned about the existence of these monsters and the hunters.

A growl. A snapping of a branch. A scream. My own!

 I feel the beast’s claws dig into my skin, I hear its jaws snap close right by my ear, smell the stench of its maw. I scream again. Fear and pain, and a voice in my head telling me I should have turned back when I had the chance. But you had to see it, stupid girl.

Then, a shout, and the unmistakable slashing of a blade through air. The beast yelps and I feel it let off my body. I gasp for air. Another shout and slash of the blade, and the beast lets out a final, bloodcurdling scream, before it collapses on the ground with a thud.

I see the hunter’s face, blurred, as he leans over me. I feel his hands. It stings when he applies pressure to my wounds.

“Stupid girl,” he mutters, it sounds far away, before my world goes black.

[leiawritesstories]

The Heroine: A Piratical Comedy

So I mentioned this earlier, but I took the inspiration for a fanfic piece that I wrote called "swords and sea breezes" and turned it into an original short story. and I had so much fun writing the original work that I'd love love love to share it with you all :D

it is...quite different from my fanfic style, primarily because the heroine is supposed to be completely ridiculous and shallow and maybe a little self-centered, which was a challenge to write but a very very fun challenge. anyway. here is the story, and i hope you enjoy!!! please please please let me know what you think (i'm nervous)

word count: 3,854

warnings: none ;)

enjoy!! hopefully *nervous quiver*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say she “hadn’t wanted to be on this ship” would have been a gross understatement. There was not a single molecule of Lady Cassandra Antoinetta Ellianna Worplesmith’s being that had not resisted this journey, but despite her valiant, eloquent attempts to stay off the ship, there she stood. Apparently her meddlesome parents would stop at nothing to force their only child into marriage with a foreign prince. 

It was positively medieval. She was sure that was the correct word. Cassandrietta—as her darling friends called her—was always receiving compliments for the wondrously dizzying quality of her speech. However, she was not prideful about her vocabulary, because her nurses and her tutors had been ever so careful to instruct her in cultivation of humility, and Cassa—which was the beastly nickname that her rotten little brother used to taunt her—was most cultivating of her humility. It groweth and bloometh’d like the flower of a rose, as she recalled that the poets said. 

Where was she? 

Ah—the ship. Positively medieval. She was entirely certain that her parents had laced her evening tea with a soporific sedative, because the honey and chamomile brew had tasted suspiciously of citrus. Cassandra loathed citrus; it tasted far too much like that ghastly orange juice that her governess insisted upon drinking every morning instead of a perfectly normal and acceptable cup of tea. 

When she awoke from her drugged sleep, Cassandra had locked herself in her cabin for three whole days and sat firmly on her bed with her arms folded across her dècolletage (which was a polite term for a lady’s, erm, chest), only emerging when the growling in her stomach increased to something akin to a lion’s gentle roar. The moment she cracked open her bedroom door, she immediately discovered a rotating patrol of soldiers posted outside in the narrow hallway, and it took her all of a week to convince the blue-jacketed young men that she was perfectly capable of relieving herself without supervision. They had blushed most endearingly when she first fluttered her fair lashes and implied that she required le toilette, because young men of course did not understand that proper young women like Lady Cassandra Antoinetta Ellianna Worplesmith required personal relief. 

It had taken her two additional weeks to convince her guards that her daily stroll about the deck was decidedly not enough fresh air for her delicate complexion, and they had finally allowed her to walk around the ship throughout the day, provided there was at least one guard tailing her at all times. She had taken to standing at the polished railing and staring off longingly into the horizon, affecting a pose that the heroines of her favorite romance novels always assumed whenever they were taken captive at sea and faced a fate most horrid. Those beautiful young ladies’ longing stares and sighing sighs always brought a handsome, wealthy, noble young man to the rescue. 

Cassandra had always dreamt of being rescued from a fate most horrid by a handsome, wealthy, noble young man. 

She folded her arms delicately upon the railing and propped the smart little point of her chin upon her gloved hands. Her favorite white silk gloves were unthinkably filthy after three full weeks without the proper staff to launder them, but a lady must not be seen without her gloves, even when said gloves were horridly speckled with dust and dirt from three entire weeks at sea. Besides, if a handsome, wealthy, noble young man were to suddenly appear for her rescue, she certainly could not be seen with bare hands. 

As the setting sun drifted airily beneath the horizon in a waterfall of pink, coral, rose, blush, mauve, and orange hues (oh! she did so love when she could exercise her artistic vocabulary), Cassandra felt a sea breeze ruffle her hems, and rather than risk exposing her ankles, an unspeakable offense against ladylikeness, she gathered her skirts in one hand and cleared her throat delicately. 

“Ahem! Corporal, I believe I shall retire to my chamber.” She lowered her gaze and peered up at her current guard ’neath demure lashes (another expression that her favorite romance heroines always wore on their dainty faces), for a proper lady could never look a man in the eye, particularly not one so shy as Corporal Smyth. 

The corporal cleared his throat several times. “Of-of course, my lady, p-p-please allow me to escort you.” Off he went, tripping over his oversized boots as he stumbled to open the door to the stairs. 

Cassandra graced the gangly young corporal with a sympathetic smile. She was fond of the boy soldier; he reminded her of the butler’s boy at home that she always sent on the most trivial errands purely because he had the prettiest manners. And—unlike Sergeant Wilbur, who was old and crotchety and communicated solely in surly commands—Smyth actually conversed with her. 

She was just about to ask Corporal Smyth if he would help her select her dress for dinner when the ship’s bell started up the most obnoxious clamor. “Why on earth must it be so loud?” she complained with a frown. An instant later, though, she smoothed out her expression, for frowning led to wrinkles, and wrinkles were worse than bare hands. 

“I-I am not certain, my lady,” Smyth replied. “Shall I—?” 

“All hands on deck!” bellowed Sergeant Wilbur, rushing past in a flurry of red cheeks and heavy, thumping bootsteps. “That means, you, Smyth!” He reached over and grasped the door to Cassandra’s room. “You—stay put.”

He slammed the door in her face! 

Cassandra was so incredibly outraged that she stood stock-still, gasping for an adequate retort. She snapped her mouth shut and crossed firmly to the door, but found it barred from the outside. No matter how hard she pushed or pounded the wood with her sensitive, small hands, it refused to budge. 

Incensed, she searched for an appropriately horrific epithet. “You absolute spinster!” she shrieked. There! Mamma always did say that a spinster was the worst fate that could befall a woman. That should be satisfactorily offensive. 

Cassandra returned to her bed, sat down, crossed her arms, and glared at the solidly barred door, counting her heaving breaths until her pulse slowed to a more ladylike pace. Up on deck, she heard all sorts of noises—yells from the sailors, barked commands from Sergeant Wilbur, clangs of metal, assorted booms and bangs and pops that sounded oddly like the annual fireworks show for the King’s birthday. If she had been locked in her room to prevent her from watching, Cassandra might have to become quite indignant. She walked to the small window and peered outside, squinting in the darkness. 

Something bright and fiery streaked across the sky in a blur. She gasped—it was fireworks! And those awful sailors had locked her in her room! 

Cassandra became quite indignant. 

She picked up a book from her valise, one of those terribly heavy, stuffy, dull books on etiquette that her governess made her read, and beat upon her door with the thick volume. To her surprise, she found it strangely satisfying. “Can none of you gentlemen hear me?” she cried, indignant. Goodness, but it was fun to be indignant! “I must see the fireworks!” 

She stopped hitting the door with the book when she ran out of breath, and she sat back down upon her bed and hurled the book at the door. It collided with her door with an immensely satisfying thump, but the door did not so much as budge. Cassandra scowled, her arms once again folded crossly over her dècolletage, and leant down to retrieve another horrid etiquette book to throw at the door. 

Just as that book thudded into it, the door collapsed inwards in a shower of splinters. 

Cassandra squeaked in shock and ducked her head under her pillow for safety. After a very long time (she counted all the way to twenty-five), she lifted a corner of the pillow and peeked out. Her door had been ripped clean off its hinges and laid in shambles upon the floor. Gaining confidence, she sat up slowly, picking up one more smaller book. She must ensure that the door was truly down, because she had once read a story wherein the heroine thought that her door was open but had discovered that she was dreaming, and Cassandra could not possibly risk that fate. So she threw the book. 

It hit the man in her doorway squarely in the nose. 

Cassandra shrieked. 

The man dropped his knife and clamped his hand across his profusely-bleeding nose. 

The book hit the ground with a dull thunk. 

“Alack!” It seemed the proper thing to cry as she hurried out towards the upper deck. 

She made it all of four steps before a rough, calloused hand wrapped around her upper arm and cut her escape short. “I don’t think so, my lady.” She was spun around to face the sailor with the bloodied nose, which was swollen and turning purple. 

Cassandra was so stunned by his flagrant breach of decorum that it took her ten full seconds to recover her speech. “One does not simply touch a lady!” she snapped, swatting his hand with her fan. A lady always had her fan tucked discreetly into her sleeve, of course. 

The man hissed, removing his hand. “You’re a fiery little thing, aren’t you?” 

“I am not the one who violates proper manners,” she retorted coldly, treating him to a blazing stare as her favorite heroines did. She huffed and turned on her heel, but once again, he stopped her. 

“I wouldn’t go up there if I were you, my lady.” This time, her fan was useless against his vice-like grip. To her horror, he lowered his scruffy jaw towards her ear. She squirmed in his grasp, tilting herself as far away from his smirking face as possible. “There be pirates up there.” 

Pirates?

Unable to recall a better solution, Cassandra swooned. 

~

She blinked awake to the familiar scent of salt water and the decidedly unfamiliar sensation of unblocked sun beating down upon her brow. With a sudden start, she roused herself and reached for her parasol, only to discover that her hands—her bare hands! The horror!—had been restrained by a roughly knotted length of rope. 

For a moment, she became so incensed that she could only stamp her dainty little foot and utter muffled squeaks of rage. “Untie me at once!” she finally managed to utter. “I am a lady!” 

“Aye, that we can tell, lassie.” A very large, very dirty, very grinning man with innumerable stains and rips in his shirt and trousers and a leather patch strapped across his left eye loomed up in front of her. “Why’d ya think we took ya?” 

Cassandra gaped in shock before she recalled that a lady must never allow her teeth to be visible and snapped her jaw closed. “And where, pray tell, have you taken me?”

“Welcome to Haitch Hemm Hess Cleavage, me lassie!” boomed the stout, redheaded, grossly unkempt sailor, his wide grin revealing atrociously crooked teeth and rancid breath that nearly caused Cassandra to swoon. And furthermore, he had the most vile Liverpudlian accent, which no doubt marked him as a man of ill repute. Her mother always said that men of ill repute spoke with Liverpudlian accents. 

“Ach, don’t ya be scarin’ the lass, now,” interjected another man, forcibly shoving the redheaded boor out of her view. This one was mildly easier on the eyes, with brown eyes and a patchwork kerchief tied around his dark hair, and he had the decency to sheathe his bloody dagger before he bowed to Cassandra. “After all, we have just kidnapped her.” 

Cassandra nearly swooned again—indeed, she would have swooned if it were not for the fortitudinous remembrance that heroines in romance novels were often kidnapped before a handsome, wealthy, noble young man could rescue them. “I do not recall seeing you upon my parents’ ship,” she sniffed, staring down her nose as best as she could when looking up at the abominably rude man. 

“’Twould be because he was up on deck, cutting down the idiots you called soldiers.” Oh, she knew that voice. 

Very slowly, Cassandra turned half around, her gaze descending upon the man who had rudely broken down her door (yes, she knew her etiquette books could not have made the stubborn thing implode) and lain his hands upon her person. It gratified her somewhat to notice that he bore a bandage on his swollen, crooked, purple-blue nose. She sneered. “Do explain why you saw fit to remove my person from my ship, sailor.” 

“Ah-ah, miss.” He clicked his tongue as if she were some impertinent child. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Kit Lancelot of this very fine vessel, Her Majesty’s Bosom, and if you would direct your gaze upwards, miss, you will soon discover just what kind of a ship we are.” 

“That is a ridiculous name, not to mention incredibly inappropriate.” Cassandra blushed but covered it by clicking her tongue as she looked upwards, her gaze tracing a vast expanse of sails, ropes, and dirty sailors lounging around in those ropes before alighting upon the black flag atop the tallest mast. As the flag bent in the breeze, it revealed the viciously grinning skull stitched upon its surface. 

And the rather artfully wrought…erm, bustier…beneath the skull. 

For the second time that day, Cassandra gaped. “You…pirates!”

“I did warn you, miss,” the pirate captain chuckled. He turned his attention to his crew of ne’er-do-wells, which was her novels’ common term for pirates. “Gents! This here is the Lady Cassie—”

“Excuse me!” She huffed furiously, wishing her hands were free so that she could throw another book at Captain Kit Lancelot’s smug face. “My name is Lady Cassandra Antoinetta Ellianna Worplesmith, and you may address me as ‘my lady’ or ‘Lady Cassandra.’” 

The pirate had the absolute gall to quirk up one eyebrow, stare at her, and laugh. 

“I was not brought here to be the object of your amusement,” Cassandra huffed. 

“Ah, that’s where you’d be wrong, Cassie.��� The pirate captain strolled down from the slightly elevated deck and stopped just in front of her, so tall that she was forced to raise her eyes to meet his mirth-filled gaze. He apparently drew delight in calling her by an abhorrently shortened version of her proper name, the rogue. 

Although…for a rogue, he was quite handsome. 

Cassandra nearly slapped herself clear across the face. This man was a pirate—precisely the opposite of the handsome, wealthy, noble young man that would no doubt come to rescue her. Handsome he may be, but noble he was decidedly not. But he was quite handsome…

“I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay here on the fine ship Her Majesty’s Bosom,” Captain Lancelot drawled, raising one hand to his brow in a mocking sort of salute. “Allow me to show you to your chamber.” He looped her arm through his and escorted her (though his pace was so swift that he might as well have dragged her) below decks, down a corridor, and into a surprisingly clean room with a freshly made bed and a proper washstand in the corner. 

It was, if she could admit it, quite a noble act. Which made him both handsome and noble. 

“This is—I—” Before Cassandra could formulate a coherent sentence, the captain strode out of her room and barred the door, and in that instant, her flash of surprise curdled like spoilt milk into sour bitterness, and she spoke an epithet so horrific that her mother had threatened to slap her hands with a leather strap if it was uttered. “Blast you, pirate!” 

Though, if she told the proper truth, she quite wanted to kiss him, not blast him.

~

Three weeks passed upon the pirate ship with the name that Cassandra still could not hear without blushing, and her fate had yet to change. She began to wonder if these pirates (who, it was to be admitted, although begrudgingly, seemed almost decent men save for the fact that they practiced piracy) were in truth going to bring her to their lair and keep her in captivity forever, as the redheaded one had suggested. During her daily walks, which Captain Kit Lancelot had allowed her to take after she protested that her delicate complexion was wasting away in the belowdecks dampness (her beloved romance heroines were always complaining of belowdecks dampness), she always paused at the railing and stared across the empty ocean for a moment, wondering if she lived in a waking dream. 

That evening, as per usual, she paused at the railing, her bare hands clasping the weathered wood, and stared out over the endless expanse of waves and skies. Is this truly to be my fate? 

When the cannonball blazed across the pirate ship’s deck, there was no soldier by her side to order her to duck. 

Cassandra screamed and dropped to the deck, her heartbeat immediately racing. She half wondered if her sighing and wishing had brought this attack upon the pirate ship, but there was a tiny, soft voice in the back of her head that reminded her she was aboard a pirate ship. Attacks on pirates were as regular as rain in London. 

“Get below, Cassie!” Captain Kit Lancelot roughly yanked her to her feet, his firm grip around her upper arms shocking her back into reality. 

She gasped, outraged. “I am perfectly capable of walking without your assistance!” 

He smirked. “There’s that feisty spirit.” 

“I am not ‘feisty,’ Kit.” She spat his name with as much vitriol as she could muster. 

His smirk only widened. “Ah, Cassie, I do like it when you say my name.” He released her arms from his grasp. “Now get. Below.” 

Before she could whirl about and head for the stairs, there was a mighty chorus of yells as a group of blue-jacketed sailors stormed onto the deck of Her Majesty’s Bosom from the naval ship that had grappled itself to the pirate’s side. The leader of the group, sword in one hand and pistol in the other, charged straight for Kit and Cassandra, righteous fury smoldering across his handsome, noble face. 

The pieces suddenly clicked in her mind. 

Her rescue! She knew he would come for her. 

Swiftly, she ducked behind a nearby barrel, crouching down so that she could witness the fight unfolding before her but still have some protection from the battle that raged across the ship’s deck. Pirates and soldiers flung punches, kicks, swords, blades, guns, and curses at each other, darting back and forth in a sort of deathly dance. 

And none were more closely locked in deathly, mortal combat than Captain Kit Lancelot and Cassandra’s rescuer. 

Kit slammed the hilt of his dagger into the other man’s gun hand, knocking the pistol away. “Just what d’ye think yer doing on me ship, Lord Richard Emsberry?” 

Lord Richard Emsberry. Goodness, but it was a lovely, noble name for a lovely, noble man! 

“I’ve come to take the Lady Cassandra from your clutches, of course.” Lord Emsberry’s sword clashed with Kit’s, and she could have sworn that sparks flew from the impact of the blades. 

“That’s a delightfully noble plan, Lord Dick.” Kit laughed as he lunged. “Too bad you must fail.” 

“No more unfortunate than your remarkable ego,” Emsberry returned. He struck low, catching Kit off guard and slicing a crimson stripe across the pirate’s upper leg. 

Kit grunted. “You’ll pay for that.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Emsberry glanced over towards Cassandra’s shelter. “I shall be with you in a mere moment, my lady!” He delivered a vicious punch to Kit’s shoulder, and Kit swore filthily, causing Cassandra to cover her ears and avert her gaze. 

She never could stand it when there were men swearing in her presence. 

A long moment passed, and when she ventured another peek, the deck had gone eerily quiet. She crept out from behind her barrel, delighted hope swelling within her heart when she beheld the wondrous sight of Lord Emsberry holding a weakened Kit by the collar, sword poised to execute his justice. It was a scene straight out of her favorite romance novel, and she could scarcely believe that her own romance would contain the same scene. 

Emsberry flourished his sword. “Come, Lady Cassandra! You are safe with me!” 

Cassandra stepped forth, gaining confidence with each stride she took. She envisioned the scene as it would be written—a noble young lady crossing the embattled deck to her handsome, noble, wealthy rescuer, who awaited for her blessing. She was two paces from Lord Richard Emsberry when she stopped and lowered her lashes, remembering that she must recall her demure, ladylike manners. “I thank you for your most noble and virtuous rescue, my lord.” 

He released the pirate captain’s collar, letting Kit drop to the deck, and extended his hand to Cassandra. “My ship awaits your fair presence, my lady.” 

“Oh, I do believe I’ve dreamt of this rescue!” She delicately placed her fingertips over his palm. 

Metal screeched against wood as Captain Kit Lancelot shoved himself to his feet, sword grasped firmly in his bloodied hand. “Cassie, don’t tell me you see this as your ideal romance.” 

She sighed plaintively, like the heroine always did at this juncture. “Perhaps, if you had turned out to be noble, I might have cast you as the hero.” 

Kit scoffed. “There is no world in which I am a hero.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off. “And you should really think twice about believing everything you read in books.” Sunlight glinted off Kit’s blade as he thrust forwards in a powerful, brutally beautiful arc. 

It plunged clean through Lord Richard Emsberry’s chest.

And as Kit jerked his sword free, the lord stumbled backwards and toppled into the sea with a pathetic final splash. 

Cassandra’s entire being froze, stunned to the core. “You…he…my lord!”

Kit tipped his head back and laughed, wild and raucous. “Like I told you when we first met, Cassie, here there be pirates. And I’m king of them all.” A breeze brushed across the deck, tousling his dark hair in a delightfully artful way. 

She did appreciate the sight of a handsome man with windblown hair, and the men who won the heroine did always have windblown hair. And…well…if a proper lord was not in her story, could her story end with a pirate king?

Kit’s hand wrapped around her arm. “Gents, take Lady Cassie to the brig.” 

To the—that was not what the hero of the novel was supposed to do! 

As the iron bars of the brig door slammed shut with a resounding clang, Cassandra dropped to the floor, her formerly perfectly coiffed head falling despondently into her hands. Melancholy (it had to be melancholy, as always behooved a proper lady in dire straits) swept over her, and for the first time since she’d been taken to the pirate ship, she…doubted. 

She doubted happy endings. 

She doubted her happy ending most of all. 

~~~

Tags--please lmk if you want to be tagged for original work :)

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