#anon (affectionate)

amazed that anyone still remembers her lol. uhhh have some of chapter 2? that i still desperately need to write?

Izumi was awake with the pearl-gray dawn. Most of her candles had gone out in the night, but some still burned softly, and she blew them out now that the dark had ceded its territory. Henry’s snores rattled the wall that separated their bedrooms, and she could not help but laugh under her breath. There was not much for her to pack: a few changes of underclothes; a boar-bristle brush; rags for her monthly bleedings; basic herbs and medicine; and a few satchels of gunpowder they had squirreled away. She dithered for a long moment in the sitting room, staring at her grandfather’s swords above the mantel while Henry snored away, before eventually bringing them down and setting them by her pack. She blew out the rest of the candles and grabbed the rusty watering pail by the front door. She opened the door, saw Gibbs standing near a patch of her beloved pink hibiscus, and got the urge to close it again. “You didn’t spend the night in my garden, did you?” Her eyes scanned the neat rows of tropical flowers for any sign that something was out of place, but they were all fine, if bent slightly under the humid air. Gibbs chuckled. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. “No, no. I wouldn’t dare.” She began to water. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon. “Something must have changed then if you’re at my door before the sun is up.” “There’s been a…slight adjustment.” “Not enough madmen signed onto your cause.” It wasn’t a question. “One more day,” Gibbs urged. “I can wrangle enough by then.” He gave her a meaningful look. “With some help.” She feigned ignorance. “Henry and I already agreed to join Sparrow’s crew.” Gibbs blanched. “You’re joining too?” “Henry wouldn’t leave me behind.” She shrugged, hoping the gesture was convincingly casual. “Besides, I miss the sea.” He muttered something that sounded like “Bad luck” and then shook his head as if he had reached some conclusion he did not like. “Aye, you and Henry,” he said grudgingly, “but good sailors you are, we need more. A dozen, I reckon, if we’re to take the Pearl unawares.” “How many do you have?” “Including us?” He raised a bushy black eyebrow. “Five. Six, if I can find the drunkard I got to agree last night.” Izumi stopped watering. “If there’s one thing pirates value above gold, it’s their own skin. No doubt they see your venture as suicidal, not profitable.” “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t know that.” He leaned against her front gate wearily. “Your voice carries weight on this island. If you tell people that you believe Jack will lead us to success, they’ll follow.” She gave him a wry glance over her shoulder as she continued her watering. “Joshamee Gibbs, are you asking for my aid? You know I charge for that.” He spread his arms. “I’m skint right now. You’ll have to collect later, I’m afraid.” “I’ll put it on your tab.” They shared a grin before she went back to her garden. “I’ll wake Henry. You can meet us at the tavern whenever you feel it’s time for a drink.” “Aye, I’ll do that. I’ll bring Jack as well.” “And Will Turner,” she called when he started for the street. “We’ll need him.” Gibbs frowned. “What for?” “Persuasion.” She smirked at his expression. “When the wives and the ladies of the night take notice of a handsome lad, their husbands and customers will too; and when those men become jealous, they’ll do anything to prove themselves the better.” “Like join a pirate crew for the riches and glory.” He smiled slowly. “Aye, right you are, Miss Jin. I’ll bring the boy.”

Realistically, no. I don’t even want to acknowledge that show. There is no show, as far as I’m concerned, and I will definitely not be watching it!

As for my fics, I haven’t updated any of them in well over a year, and probably won’t continue them until after the real life death of the author. I tried very hard to separate art from artist, because I began my Marauders fics and originally uploaded them before said author’s headfirst dive into shitbaggery, but to continue to engage in the fandom and write for a universe that feels so twisted and tainted by the author’s present-day vileness and cruelty has no appeal to me. All the “Miku and Daniel Radcliffe are the real authors of Harry Potter” jokes really do nothing to wash out the icky feeling I, personally, experience when engaging with even fan works now, especially with the ridiculous and revolting cash grab and retcon of the original movies I loved as a child in regards to this new show, when its intention is to erase and replace the people who publicly disagreed with her and cut them out of the royalties they make from the Wizarding World IP.

(And, let’s face it, the Marauders fandom is not what it used to be in the early and mid-2010s, and it’s not my cup of tea anymore even outside of the author’s sphere. #NotMyMarauders.)

It’s a very disappointing and bitter feeling. I know it’s common to hate on HP now (for good reason!) and its fans and say it was never that good a series anyway, but for a lonely and neglected kid who dreamed of friends and adventures and magic and saw themselves in Harry, to see its creator come fully mask-off and actively contribute to making society worse and regressive, it’s actually pretty gutting. Like sorry to be an HP loser on main, but it really is kind of grieving a lost piece of my childhood. I’ll do my best to honor the stories and characters I created (it’s what I made my side blog @moon-and-prongs for — a personal archive of my HP works), but I don’t see myself coming back to them anytime soon, if at all.