#since this is old i did some reworking of some of the sentences

[cameronsprincess]

— summary: it’s been a month since you and rafe broke up, and when the two of you end up at the same party, rafe wants closure. but things go differently.

— pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

— warnings: strong language, toxic relationship, some angst, pet names, praising, dom!rafe, unprotected sex, fingering, slightly sweet!rafe in the end.

— note: my first fic i posted on my old blog, only fair it’s the first reposted on my new blog <3 it’s also slightly reworked but not by much!

❥ closure— r.c

It’s been a month since you’d seen him. A month of dodging calls and texts, begging you to just come talk.

The truth was, you missed him, but you knew it was for the best if you steered clear of him.

He was toxic in every way imaginable; controlling, mentally abusive, he had a drug problem he wasn’t willing to shake, not even for you. He had so many problems within himself and he wasn’t willing to try and fix them. It had been a long but rewarding month, and you finally felt happy again.

But you knew you’d see him eventually, given y’all live on a small island in North Carolina, and now here you were, standing in the middle of his best friends living room at a party, hoping you can make it through the night without seeing him.

“Y/N? You okay?” you hear your best friend ask from beside you, completely pulling you from your thoughts.

You look over at her and give a small smile, trying your hardest not to give away that your mind is on Rafe.

“Yeah i’m fine, just a little on edge. This is the first party i’ve came to since…” The sentence dies on your tongue when you see him, standing at the opposite side of the house, glass full of whiskey in hand, his eyes locked on you.

“Fuck” you say under your breath and looking to your best friend again.

“What? Y/N/N what’s wro-“ she starts, but is cut off by an all too familiar voice. Rafe.

“Hey Y/N… I was wondering if we could talk?” Rafe asks, his eyes trained on the ground beneath him.

You stand frozen in your spot, unable to form a coherent thought. You hadn’t seen him in an entire month, you hadn’t heard his voice in an entire month, you hadn’t felt the feeling you were feeling right now in an entire month.

You look up at him, trying to get a read on his face, hoping you could figure out his true intentions through his eyes. But when he locks his blue eyes with yours, they’re filled with nothing but sadness. You’d never seen Rafe look so sad before, not even when his dad spent the entire day tearing him apart, he never looked as sad as he did right now.

You look toward your friend who is just watching the two of you like it’s her favorite show, causing you to roll your eyes at her. She gives you an apologetic smile before she looks back at Rafe, “Sorry bud, I don’t think she’s much up for talking to you”

He gives her a shit eating glare, his head slowly turning back to you. You notice his features soften when he meets your eyes again, “Look Y/N it’s just a talk. We need better closure, I need better closure… Please?”

You let out a deep sigh and let your fall to look at the ground before looking back into his eyes. You really missed him. Missed those deep blue eyes, his plump pink lips, you missed everything about him.

“Rafe, I don’t think I can give you what you’re looking for. I just- We were toxic together, you know that. What more is there to say?”

Rafe frowns. “Look I just need you to know I will fucking change. I need you. I’ve been a mess this last month, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, all i’ve done is try and drink you away. I even quit doing coke for you, I thought maybe if I try and change who I am, then fuck, I don’t know.. Maybe you’d love me again. I fucking need you though”

You stand there in shock at his revelation. You never thought you’d hear Rafe Cameron say he needs someone. He’s the Kook Prince, he has everything he wants, he could have any girl he wants, so why does he need you? Fuck why does he want you?

Rafe pulls you from your thoughts, his hands placed softly on your shoulders. “Y/N?”

You shake his hands from your shoulders. “Let’s go talk. But just talk, Rafe”

He gives a small smile, taking your hand in his and leading you up the stairs and into a small guest bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

You move to sit on the end of the bed, eyes finding Rafe who was still standing by the door, his eyes raking your figure up and down. You felt your face grow hot from his intense stare, he’d always had this sort of affect on you, even though you’d been together for three years, he always knew how to get you flustered.

“Rafe, you said you wanted to talk, so let’s talk” you say with a shaky voice.

He begins moving closer to you, making your entire body grow hot, “I do wanna talk, but y’know it’s hard to just talk when you look so goddamn sexy baby”

“D-don’t call me that. We’re not together anymore”

“And that’s the problem baby girl, we should be together. We were meant to be together, why can’t you see that?”

“Rafe” you begin, but are cut off by his lips hovering over yours, he was so close you could smell his expensive cologne that you love so much.

“What is it baby? I know you miss me like I miss you. Fuck. I miss your smell, your laugh, your smile, I miss the way your hands feel in mine. I really miss the way your pretty lips look wrapped around my cock, I miss everything about you”

You suck in shaky breath, his words causing an ache to grow between your legs. You squeeze your legs together and push him back, finally able to catch a good breath. You look up into his eyes, normally beautiful and blue, but right now they’re darkened over and full of lust for you.

“Rafe I can’t do this with you. You always try and use sex to pull me back in, and it usually works, but fuck, I can’t do this” You stand from the bed, pushing past him and making your way toward the door, unlocking the door. Before you can pull the door open you’re pushed into the door, hearing it locked again before you’re spun around to face Rafe.

“Fucking hell Y/N stop! You wanna talk? Let’s talk”

“Rafe let me go” You say sternly, trying your hardest to push him off of you.

He loosens his grip on your arms, and steps back a little. You look into his eyes, noticing the tears that were threatening to fall.

You give him a sad smile and exhale deeply, “Look, Rafe. You know I love you, fuck you’re the one person i’ve loved more than anything in all mu years in this earth, and we were good together, but we weren’t at the same time.. The bad outweighs the good..”

You see a single tear fall from his eye, the sight breaks your already broken heart more, but you know you can’t give in. If you do it’ll be the same cycle repeated all over again. Years of dealing with the fights, the tears, him shutting you out when his dad has been a royal ass. You couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Y/N I promise i’ll change. I know you say the bad outweighs the good, and I understand that, but if you just let me have this one last chance, I swear I will spend every single goddamn day proving to you that I fucking love you. You’re the only happiness i’ve had in my miserable existence, I can’t fucking lose you”

You feel your heart shatter in that moment, you knew he loved you, that much you never doubted, but you weren’t sure you could allow yourself to go through all the heart ache again.

You slowly move toward him, wanting to take all his pain away, let him know you were here. You bring him into your arms, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he let choked sobs escape him. You rub at his back softly, whispering sweetly to him as you tried to calm him down.

You know you miss him, why is it so hard to let someone go? Why is it so hard to stop loving someone when they’ve given you every reason to hate them?

You pull away from him, looking into his sparkling blue eyes, seeing him this way hurt, and you knew you were going to forgive him. Take him back. You couldn’t help it. You loved him. You lift up on your toes and place a soft kiss on his lips before quickly pulling away. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign that he could kiss you again.

He slowly bends down and captures your lips with his again, softly and slowly at first to make sure you were okay with it, but he quickly deepens the kiss when he realizes you weren’t going to shove him away. You melt into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth and explore as your arms fly around his neck.

He moves his hands down the curves of your body, reaching your thighs and giving a light tap, signaling for you to jump and wrap your legs around his torso.

He holds onto the bottom of your thighs, walking the two of you over to the bed. He never breaks the kiss until he softly drops you onto the bed.

You watch in awe as he tears his shirt off, tossing it to the side and crawling on top of you. He keeps his gaze on you, a small smirk on his lips before he leans down and kisses you deeply again.

Yo whimper against his lips, “R-Rafe, please. I need you. I’ve missed you”

He breaks the kiss and looks down at you with that cocky smirk you know all too well, “Tell me what you want sweetheart, and I’m sure I can help you out”

“Touch me, please” You whine, grabbing his hand and leading it to where you need him the most.

He begins quickly unbuttoning your shorts, sliding them down your legs and tossing them across the room. He palms your cunt through your panties, rubbing his thumb over your soaked core, “Shit princess, so wet. You’ve ruined these” he says lowly, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and sliding them down your legs.

“Shirt off” he demands, moving to unbutton his pants, eyes never leaving you as he watches you pull your shirt over your head.

He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees you’d opted for no bra tonight, “Fuck baby, I missed you like this”

“Prove it”

Before you have time to think, Rafe pushes your back onto the mattress and begins littering your neck with kisses, pulling moans and whines from your lips. “Rafe! Please, do something”

“So needy for me aren’t you baby?” He says as he begins rubbing slow circles on your clit. You squirm underneath his touch, your hips bucking forward as you try and gain more friction. He takes his free hand, pushing your hips down into the mattress.

“Be a good girl, and don’t move. You know i’ll take care of you, alright?”

He slowly rubs your clit with his thumb, inserting his middle finger into your soaked pussy, forcing a moan to fall from you, your gummy walls clenching around his finger. You try and focus on your breathing, the pace of his finger mixed with the pressure he was applying to your clit pushing you toward the edge fast.

“My needy girl, clenching around my finger, you like when my fingers are inside you baby?” He asks, voice low and raspy as he sinks another finger inside you, quickening his pace.

You nod your head, back arching off the mattress, pushing his fingers deeper into you. He chuckles darkly, curling his fingers slightly and hitting at your sweet spot before he pulls them from you completely.

“Rafe what the f-“ you were about to complain, but the words die on your tongue when he sinks both fingers back inside you, thrusting them in and out harshly, the slight curve of his fingers repeatedly hitting at your g-spot.

“Oh shit, keep going baby, i’m gonna cum, Rafe! Fuck!”

Rafe slows his pace, leaning forward and kissing your lips softly. “I know baby, I can feel your pussy clenching around my fingers, but you can’t cut, not yet princess. You’re gonna cum on my cock”

You moan out at the slow pace of his fingers, your eyes squeezed shut as he pulls them from you. You open your eyes and watch as he strips his briefs from his body, letting his hard cock spring free. You prop yourself up on your elbows and stare in awe at the beauty of the man in front of you. After three years you still find yourself drooling over him like this, but who wouldn’t ?

“I almost forgot how big you are baby” you stay while moving to bring him into your mouth, but he stops you before you can even begin.

“Tonight’s all about you sweetheart, we’ll have plenty of time to let you put that pretty mouth to use, but for now, i’m going to fuck you. Lay back”

He begins stroking himself slowly, bringing his free hand and wrapping it around your throat, “I’ve always loved how you look with my hand wrapped around your throat, such a pretty girl”

You squirm beneath him, wanting nothing but the feeling of his cock inside you. You begin to whine, begging for him to fuck you when he finally sinks himself inside you, moans and groans falling from both of you as he fills you perfectly.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet, so tight, and just for me”

He begins thrusting himself into you slowly, your inner walls squeezing at him tightly.

“Tell me you only get this fucking wet for me, that this pussy belongs to me!” He demands, his hips pounding into you harder and faster.

You open your mouth to speak but nothing but moans and whines come out, you can’t think straight, much less form a coherent sentence.

Rafe slows his thrusts to an agonizingly slow pace, stilling inside you completely. He tightens the grip he has on your throat, forcing your eyes open and onto him, “Answer me baby, or i’ll stop”

“Fuck, Rafe! Only you, It’s all for you!”

He smirks, his hips pounding into yours again. “That’s my good girl”

You feel yourself clenching around him, your walls sucking him further into you. You bring your hands to his face and pull his lips down to meet yours, kissing him sloppily and hungrily.

“Fuck Rafe! I’m about to cum!” You whine, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingernails digging into the flesh.

He takes one hand and grips at your hip tightly, surely leaving a bruise. He pulls your body further into him, his thrusts growing sloppier and harder as he buries his face into your neck, sucking a bruise into the skin.

“Come for me baby, come all over me”

You feel the pressure build up in your stomach, your pussy clamping down on him harder. You begin to move your hops with his, trying to push him closer to his release.

The room is filled with nothing but the sounds of both your moans, and skin slapping against skin. You feel the band snap, your legs shaking uncontrollably beneath him and your release rushes through you.

“Fuck baby, i’m so close, fuck!” Rafe groans out, his dick twitching inside you as the hot ropes of his cum spill inside you.

He lets his body fall onto yours, fighting to catch his breath, “I love you”

You place a soft kiss to his cheek, smiling, “I love you too”

He pulls himself from inside you, rolling onto his side and off the bed. You watch as he disappears into the bathroom, emerging seconds later with a warm washcloth in hand. He begins cleaning the inside of your thighs.

Once he’s done cleaning you up, he grabs his briefs from the floor, slipping them back on and moving to grab your t-shirt.

The two of you quickly get dressed, the room completely silent until Rafe clears his throat and grabs your hands, pulling you toward him.

“So I just want you to know, this wasn’t me using sex to pull you back into my fucked up life.. I understand if you still don’t want to be with me..”

You sigh, bringing your hands to his face and kissing his lips, “Rafe I know we’ve been through this before, and we go through the same cycle time and time again, but I love you. So i’m willing to try this again”

A big smile takes over his face, and he pulls you into a long, sweet kiss. When he breaks the kiss he looks deeply into your eyes, “I promise i’ll show you how much you mean to me, how much I love you. I promise you’ll see the change in me, i’ll be the man you deserve”

You giggle. “I trust you, Rafe. And most importantly I love you. Now let’s get back down there before everyone thinks we killed each other”

RAFE TAGLIST: @whore-4-drewstarkey @ivy-34 @aemonddtargaryen @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @starkeypankowsbae @lizcameron @m-1234 @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @alexisbaumann2004 @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @mel119g @rafetopia @rafecameronnslut @rafemotherfuckincameron @jade-is-jaded @jjmaybankisbae @lexasaurs634 @softlilacarrest @fayerite @exhaustedbutelated @lyndys @urmyslxt @presleyanswrites @sierraluvz @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes

rafe masterlist | taglist form

[bettsfic]

craft essay a day #1

(since i'm embarking on putting together a proposal for a craft book, i thought i'd read [or re-read] some some of the two dozen or so craft books on my shelf. and since i've gotten a lot of interest in craft book/essay recs i thought i'd summarize them here. will i manage to do this every day? who knows. but an attempt will be made.)

"Beginnings" by Ann Hood, The Writer's Notebook II: Craft Essays from Tin House

beginner | intermediate | advanced | masterclass

filed under: structure, conflict, prose, process

summary

Hood begins the essay by talking about process, namely that she has to know her first sentence before she can start writing a novel, but that once the novel is finished, the beginning changes anyway.

"Yet, after I've finished a story and started the revision process, I almost always find myself right back at the beginning, reworking it again. While I was writing, characters changed, new ideas intruded, mistakes in the original plan revealed themselves, and sometimes a different story altogether has taken over. In his book The Triggering Town, the poet Richard Hugo says there are actually two beginnings: the one that comes from your initiating or triggering subject and the one that is generated as you write and discover your real subject. Your challenge is to let go of your triggering beginning and find your real one."

she then goes on to analyze a few dozen beginning sentences of famous novels and place them into 10 categories:

Introduction

An Old Saw

Character Description

A Setting

In Media Res

Facts

A Truism or Philosophical Idea

Dialogue

Overture

Otherworld

my thoughts

good essay for an intro cw course/workshop (i always love essays that break things down into categories).

i am in desperate need to find this exact essay but for ending sentences, yet i suspect it doesn't exist because no one is good at endings. still, the search continues. surely someone somewhere has attempted it.

made me think of my own beginning sentences in a new way and how i have a hard time letting go of my "triggering subject" beginnings.

would have liked to see a little more sentence-level analysis, really dig into the meat of why these sentences work (rhetorically, structurally, narratively), not just what kind of sentences they are. but that's probably a different essay. i've read a lot of tin house essays and they tend to stick to surface-level thoughts on craft. nothing mind-blowing, but great for teaching/referencing because they define craft concepts in memorable ways.

(additional note: i did the tin house workshop five years ago. great experience! highly recommended.)

[areseebee]

✿ - I know "Someday" isn't finished yet, but I'd like to know for up to what you've already published. Also ✎, if you find yourself extra bored while travelling

✿ did anything major change when you started writing someday to when you finished?

yes! i had originally intended to not only switch between POVs, but to switch between moments in time/alternate with past vs “present.” a remnant of this can be seen with the los angeles chapters, but ultimately it was going to be technically very tricky to carry it through the whole fic. my first dreams for someday would have turned into a truly massive fic/world, and i felt very overwhelmed by it once i started in on it. anyone around during the early chapters may remember an unexpected gap between when i posted chapters 2 and 3, and it was because i was totally reworking the structure and trying to figure out how to scale back. i have lots of weird bits and pieces of things written that were never finished/will never be incorporated, and there’s so much original backstory that’s never going to end up being narratively relevant. it’s a very good example of having greater ambition than skill (and time).

another little tidbit about how i originally conceptualized someday is that i also would have loved to actually write the interviews that james is conducting with different characters. i had once considered intersplicing the derry chapters with fictional transcripts of interviews with joe, and mary, and the girls, and other characters, but the amount of research that would take, and the weight of what some of those stories would likely be, are way beyond my scope.

other than that, the basic tenants of the story are all still there! i’ve had the climactic moment planned since i first began writing the chapter 1 emails, and have an old draft of that moment that i wrote the same night as the emails.

✎ how do you think readers would guess a fic was yours if you posted anonymously?

i’m not sure exactly - maybe too many commas/run on sentences, adverbs, and hyphens/parentheticals? but i think i’d be found out pretty quickly just based on the fact that the derry girls tag is so quiet and i sound so much like me when i’m writing. i’ve thought about it before - for pairings that seem a little weird or maybe to really try my hand at smut, but then the whole point of anonymous would probably end up meaning nothing lol. i’ll just have to be brave if i ever want to write something that i’d have wanted to publish anonymously.

fic ask game

[morganaseren]

“don’t smile at me like that !”

((So this was a prompt off this list. I believed you requested this for Niamh and Morrigan. I had to rework prompt sentence a bit, but let me spoil you with a scene from Niamh's Warden AU. )) It was a calm morning.

Morrigan could admit there had been remarkably more of those ever since Niamh had joined her within the Eluvian. At the time, she had thought it a moment of weakness for giving into the other woman's request. By all logic, she should have refused it just as she had the first time following the aftermath of the ritual.

Yet, here Niamh was all the same.

Morrigan could hear her at the campfire, preparing the afternoon meal while she herself could indulge in some light reading now that Kieran had settled down for a nap. Curled protectively next to him was Bain---Niamh's adolescent warhound. Both were laid out on a pile of warm furs---a bounty that had been caught and expertly-skinned by Niamh herself.

While there was no prey to be found in this mysterious realm, ever present were the myriad of other Eluvians, which led to other parts of Thedas. Some were dim or shattered, of course, but there were others that fluctuated with endless energy. Through their time together here, Niamh could now travel through them just as deftly. It was necessary for one of them to leave this place in order to replenish their supplies, and more often than not, it was Niamh who took such a role.

While Morrigan hardly considered herself a helpless damsel of any kind, Niamh simply sought to provide for both her and Kieran however and whenever she could. Even so, she never forced her aid; it would have earned Morrigan's ire more easily otherwise. If anything, Niamh merely adapted to Morrigan's needs in that quiet, seamless way of hers.

And another pair of hands and eyes were... appreciated.

Morrigan was still recovering from the birth of their son after all, and with it came all the pains and aches of such labor.

As such, she was no longer startled from sleep by the sound of infantile wailing, and tension never filled her body whenever she wandered back into Thedas with Kieran in her arms.

Niamh was always at her side now after all.

The other woman would softly encourage her to continue resting as she rose from their bedrolls to tend to Kieran, and she'd offer a calm, comforting presence on the occasions they had to leave the safety of the Eluvian realm. For the Wardens' prime role in stopping the Blight, none would dare accost the woman widely-recognized as Ferelden's Constable of the Grey.

And as infuriatingly as always, Niamh had wanted nothing in return for such acts of kindness---not even at Morrigan's own insistence, material or otherwise. The other mage had simply desired nothing from the world that would have adorned her with all the privilege that both her title and status would have earned her.

Just as she had when they'd first reunited after nearly a year apart from one another, Niamh had wanted only to remain at her side.

"In whatever way you will have me," she had said in that quiet, earnest way of hers, sincerity bleeding through the misty-grey hue of her eyes.

Morrigan was not blind to Niamh's love and affection for her.

...nor was she blind to her own feelings in regards to the other woman.

But she wasn't ignorant of the respective paths they had to walk.

With the Old God Soul resting within Kieran, Morrigan would eventually have to guide him toward his destiny while Niamh's duties to the Grey Wardens would inevitably lead her away from them.

It was the idea of such impermanence that unsettled her more than anything else.

If anything, Niamh had long proven her loyalty to Morrigan then and now, and perhaps it was true that far better souls could love a heart so pure and devoted.

...but they'd have to fight their way through her first, Morrigan thought darkly.

"You've been engrossed with that tome for the last candlemark. Did you manage to find something?" a soft-spoken voice asked.

Morrigan blinked then, coming out of her thoughts to see that Niamh had wandered over to her side without her notice. A hand-carved mug of tea---if the aroma wafting from the vessel was any indication---was held between her palms as pale eyes regarded her in question.

"No," she admitted with some reluctance. "'Tis the act that soothes me as much as any discovery." That, and even Morrigan could admit that finding any evidence that could purge the tainted blood from Niamh's veins was a distant hope at best.

But Morrigan had to have something to offer the woman who had already given up so much of her life to others. Her pride wouldn't allow otherwise.

Still, Niamh only hummed understandably. "I'm in no hurry," she reassured. "I thought you might at least enjoy some tea during your research."

Morrigan murmured her thanks as she blindly took the mug from the other woman's hands, never taking her eyes off the pages before her. When she felt the soft press of lips against her temple, however, she nearly dropped the vessel entirely.

"I'll bring your meal over when it's ready," Niamh said simply as she straightened in place before wandering back over to the campfire, unaware of the state that she had left Morrigan in.

It was only when she realized that she'd been trying to reread the same sentence for the last several minutes that Morrigan slowly came out of her haze. When she did, she realized that Bain had picked his head off his paws and was looking at her. The mabari's tongue was lolling out of his mouth, seeming utterly pleased with the situation.

Morrigan scowled. "Cease that at once. 'Tis nothing to smile over."

[thesorcererspen]

How did the main characters meet?

@arigalefantasynovels Thank you for the ask!

I'll focus on Dragon Slayers for this question since I am currently reworking the plot of Traitors of the Nation.

Some of the people who become integral in Casimir's adulthood he first meets when he's a kid.

He first meets Regimar the day he runs away from home to get away from his father. He uses his solar magic to summon his Phoenix so he can go beyond the wall, which is forbidden in the place he lives. He loses control of his Phoenix and ends up in a barren wasteland. His Phoenix goes into a cave, and he follows after it. In the cave, he encounters a figure, which he assumes is one of the Watchers at the time, but it turns out it was a dragon disguising himself as a man. The dragon attacks him and his Phoenix, nearly killing both of them. At this time, Regimar was already on his way to Asharia (he's an old friend of Casimir's father) and rescues them from the dragon. Regimar is a powerful and skilled hemomancers so he defeats the dragon easily.

He first meets Florian when he's waiting in line to get his rations. Florian's younger brother picks a fight with him because he thinks Casimir should go to the back of the line since he's only a mere human. They engage in a fist fight, and Florian is the one who breaks up when he sees what's going on. In adulthood, these two will meet again because they're both forced to become dragon slayers. There's ill feelings between them initially, but they become best friends.

When he first meets Maximilian, they don't really see or talk to each other, but he does witness Maximilian killing his older brother and taking his father prisoner. This moment informs a lot of his choices as an adult and changes fundamental parts of his personality.

He meets Jinsei and Izumi in adulthood. A dragon attacks the village he's living in, and because it's nighttime, he isn't able to use his solar magic, so he risks exposure by using his hemomancy ability. Being a half-breed is outlawed so, they take him hostage and bring him to the God of Judgment where he's then sentenced to be in the dragon slayer corp. Casimir, Florian, Jinsei, and Izumi will be part of the same team.

[eienias20]

Remember Xenoblade Chronicles Mira?

Published December 7th, 2019 with the last uploaded chapter being 40 on December 21st, 2020. it's been over two years since I update it and yeah i'm super mad at myself for that

Recently i've read a really long and really good fanfic. add my feelings on XC3 to the mix and i've finally pushed myself to try and write more for my Xenoblade Chronicles X AU

to answer why the long hiatus for those who want to know. i do this a lot when i write a long story. i get really into it, i write like 75% of the story, update regularly. then it slows down and stops.

at first it was just a break, then it kept going and i couldn't find the drive. i did try in 2022 to write chapter 41 and it was awful. i tried to reread the last few chapters but i couldn't get back into the mindset

so i'm trying something new. i'm rewriting the entire fic. how? well i have the story open in one window and a blank doc on another. i transcribe the old version, changing some sentence structures, actions and whatnot. scenes are reworked and even new scenes are added. its a big ol update to the whole fic.

currently i have rewritten 7 of 40 chapters and i say its going pretty well. once i've rewritten and edited them i post them on my discord. anyone want to join the discord and get a sneak peek, i'll get a link to you.

the goal right now is to rewrite part 1 (21 chapters that cover 4 years on Earth and 2 aboard the White Whale) then once that's done, i will update the fic on archiveofourown with the new chapters, then the same with part 2, then what i wrote of part 3 and the hope is that this will spur me beyond 40 and push me to the conclusion cause i really do wanna finish this fic.

AO3 link to the current version of Xenoblade Chronicles Mira

All this is just to say for anyone who still remembers or is still curious after 2 years. i'm working on it for real and i really do want to complete it.

For those who don't know, XCM is my own version of Xenoblade Chronicles X most of the main cast is in it, i've got quite a lot of OCs. The two main protags are Elma of course and my girl, Jaynix.

The fic is divided into 3 parts.

Part 1 covers two timelines, 2050 - 2054 (ends when humanity leaves Earth, the Exodus) and 2054 - 2056 (ends when the white whale crashes on Mira)

Part 2 covers two timelines 2056 (the first two months before the game would begin, ending with Elma in Starfall Basin) and a certain set of events in 2060 (3 and a half years after the end of XCX itself)

Part 3 has one single timeline continuing right after part 2 and is the final part

[kirachama]

escape artist (707 x reader)

rating + warning: 15+ (foul language and mild sexual situations, read making out)

notes: more at the end since lengthy. but if it seems familiar it’s because it’s the original version of hide and seek. normally i don’t explain setting but, mc and saeran part of a phantom thief faction and the RFA are their rivals (and also trying to catch them to turn them into the authorities).

>>read it on ao3 <<

You need to be quiet.

And yet the ragged breaths heave in and out of your chest at a volume slightly louder than silent. In any other situation that probably would have been fine, but not here. If you’re just a little too loud he’ll find you and then it’s game over. You slump back against the wall in the small hallway you’ve hidden yourself in. It’s pretty far from where you came in and isn’t too close to any potential exit points so you’re hoping you’ll be safe here. At least for a little bit.

You should have listened to Saeran. He told you that this stunt was too dangerous, too risky. If you did it there was a high chance you’d get caught, and if you did that he ‘wouldn’t be saving your ass.’

Of course that made it all the more tempting. After all, who doesn’t like a challenge?

Then again, there’s a difference between challenging yourself and being just plain cocky. And this time it’s possible that you may have done the latter. You can’t let yourself give up though. It’s not over until he catches you and the cuffs are snug around your wrists.

And even then, there’s still the chance that Saeran, despite what he had said, would come save you. He’d never let you live it down if he had to bail you out, but he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on the security cameras so it doesn’t come to that.

If anything, you need to calm down. Deep breaths. In… and out. You can get out of this mess, after all, you’ve been playing this game of cat and mouse with 707 for the past year. It’s certainly not the first time he’s cornered you, and you’re determined to make sure that it’s not the last. You figure if you can lay low for a while he might think you slipped through his fingers once again.

“I found you~”

Shit.

You whip your head in the direction of the voice and see 707 standing there proudly with his hands on his hips. There’s really nowhere you could possibly hide in this hallway, but Saeran should have seen him coming on the cameras. There’s no way he wouldn’t have warned you, right? You reach up to touch the receiver in your ear, but Seven notices and just wags a finger at you, expression smug.

“I did a pretty good job jamming your friend’s signal~ Gotta give them props though~”

You can practically see Saeran fuming at Seven besting him like this. He’s probably screaming his head off in the van.

“Well, anyway~ Any last words before I bring you in?”

You place a hand on the pouch at your hip where your smoke grenades are. It's not your first time using them against Seven so you know that he's probably expecting it at some point. That means you have one chance, so long as he doesn't incapacitate you first.

He takes a step closer and you yank out a grenade, skillfully pulling the pin as you toss it toward him. Smoke pours out almost instantly as the grenade lands a few feet from him. Your plan is to run through the smoke as soon as it's filled a good portion of the hallway since Seven’s vision will be impaired. Unfortunately, there’s only one way out, so you won’t really be able to throw him off your tail, but hopefully you’ll be able to get a head start. In preparation for this heist, you’d memorized the entire building’s layout, so even if the smoke blocks your vision, you should be able to get around. With that in mind, you pull out another grenade and prepare to throw it.

However, you don’t get that far.

You feel a hand wrap firmly around your wrist and it’s feels as if someone’s tossed a bucket of ice cold water over you. “I caught you~”

At the same time, you wince from a loud burst of static ringing in your ear. Saeran must have taken care of whatever was jamming his signal.

“--act… him…”

It seems like there’s still some interference. He’s appears to be aware of that though, so he repeats himself, “Distract him!”

“H-?!” You start to protest, but Saeran beats you to the punch.

“I don’t give a shit how you do it! But I need you to buy me at least a couple minutes!”

Sounds like he’s got a plan, so you need to trust him and get him the time he needs. The question remains though: how? Should you try to break free from Seven’s grip? But wouldn’t it be more ‘distracting’ to remain captive until Saeran is done? If anything, you need Seven to lower his guard before you can even think of breaking free.

A tug on your arm pulls you from your thoughts and you realize that Seven is dragging you somewhere, presumably, to the rest of his team. You know that aside from him there are five others. You’ve only personally encountered three of them on previous ventures. Seven’s group has been trying to stop you and Saeran for a little over a year and Seven’s been personally trying to beat and catch you for most of that time. Originally, your rival, if he could even be called that, was some blond boy, but you can run circles around him in your sleep.

“...Wow, you’re more obedient than I thought you’d be…” Seven muses quietly as he leads you down the hall.

“Hmph.” You won’t admit to him that you’d been caught up in your own thoughts. “Aren’t you gonna cuff me?”

Though, when you really think about it, that’s probably a bad idea. You hear an angry grumble from your receiver that seems to reinforce that thought. You’re supposed to be stalling for Saeran, and even following Seven like you’re doing right now is anything but that.

“You want me to~?” He glances back at you with a mischievous grin. “I wasn’t sure if it was necessary since you’re following me like a good girl.”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

He laughs and the melodic sound rings pleasantly in your ears, “Don’t you think it’d be better to give up?”

“You wish,” you reply automatically. Saeran starts to scream in your ear, telling you that you’re doing a shitty job at distracting Seven since you keep moving. He might be trying to grab you from the nearest exit point if he’s keeping an eye on your GPS tracker.

You wrack your brain, trying to think up a plan. The first thing you need to do is stop moving, so you plant your feet down. Seven, not realizing that you’d stopped, stumbles back a little when he tries to keep moving. He turns back to look at you, lips upturned in an easy smile.

“Oh~? Did you change your mind?”

“What are you talking about?”

Seven backtracks a bit so he’s standing closer to you. He flashes another friendly smile, but you can see the dangerous undertones. His grip on your wrist tightens a little as he says, “Do you really think you’ll be able to get away from me this time?”

He leans even closer, as if you mock you. His face is right up against yours and your heart is drumming a wild beat in your chest. When he’s up close like this you remember, to your disdain, how attractive he is, and…

An idea pops in your head.

It’s crazy as hell.

But it just might work.

With your free hand, you reach out and wrap it around the side of his face, then, in one fluid motion, you close the distance between you, crashing your mouth against his. The second your lips connect, you feel an electric shock shoot through your veins.

Unfortunately, though, Seven’s grip on you only tightens.

You need to try harder. You need to convince Seven that this is a genuine kiss, not a distraction. So, with as much as force as you can get away with for a kiss, you push toward him. The action seems to surprise him, and he stumbles backwards until his back hits the window behind him. Seven manages to pull away and stares down at you, clearly confused. “Wh-what are you…”

“I…” What do you say? There’s really no time to think so you end up blurting out the first words that come to mind. “I… I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Seven’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. Does he believe you? There’s no denying that there have been a few times that you’ve thought his face looked really kissable. And yes, maybe you have played with the thought of actually kissing him, but those are off the clock thoughts and right now, you’re clocked in.

Before he can say anything else, you press your lips against his once more, partly because you still need to distract him and partly because you want to.

Although you’re not sure which part is stronger.

He breaks away from you again, and stares down at you, his gaze unreadable. Your stomach nearly drops. Did you fail? Were you not convincing enough? Your lip quivers as your mind races to think up a back-up plan.

“Really?” Seven breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “Is that… true?”

Perhaps all hope isn’t lost. Your head bobs up and down in a slow and hesitant nod. He continues to stare at you with wide eyes. Obviously, he’s unsure what to do with this new tidbit of information. You squirm nervously as he watches you. Is he… actually in shock? If that’s the case, you really should try and see if you can at least break free of his grip.

“You know…” he drawls, his voice louder and evidently more amused. Seven appears to regain himself, since his lips curve upwards into that mischievous grin you know so well. Each time you see it, your heart starts to pitter-patter at a faster rate, and this time is no exception. “What if… I felt the same way…?”

You don’t even have the time to reach before his lips are on yours again. His free hand wraps tightly around your waist. Seven’s far more intense than you would have pegged him for and your mind empties out as he kisses you hungrily.

Finally, finally, he lets go of your wrist, only to use both hands to whirl you around so now you’re the one pressed up against the window. You gasp a tiny bit from the impact and Seven takes this opportunity to slip his tongue in and explore your mouth. A tiny moan slips out as his hands begin to wander up and down your body. Seven’s lips travel away from yours to press quick and sloppy kisses to your jaw and neck.

It occurs to you that maybe you should be keeping track of the time. Saeran only told you ‘a couple of minutes’ which could be anywhere from two to ten minutes in his book. You’re a bit embarrassed to admit that you got so caught up figuring out how to distract Seven and that kiss that you don’t know how long it’s been. It can’t have been that long though, right? Maybe a few minutes?

Seven nibbles at your neck before he moves back up and his lips meet yours once more. He goes at you with even more ferocity than he did before and it takes all the willpower you have not get lost in him and keep track of the passing time.

It’s not going very well though. Each time he pulls away, even for just a second, your entire thought process resets. Your fingers tangle and tug at his hair, yanking him back toward you each time he breaks the kiss. One of his hands travels down your hips and pulls it up, hooking it around his waist, pressing you even harder against the window. Your faintly aware of a voice ringing in your ear, but you’re far too preoccupied with Seven to give any thought to focusing on what its saying.

Seven pulls back once again and stares down at you with a strange look in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by an explosion down the hall.

“You have twenty seconds, otherwise I’m ditching you.” Saeran’s voice echos flatly in your ear.

That’s right! You were buying time for Saeran so he could help you get the hell out of here. You’d been more caught up in that kiss than you had intended. You immediately shove Seven off of you with all the strength you can muster. He tries to grab you, but you somehow manage to dodge him and start running toward the explosion. If your memory serves you correctly, there’s a road on the other side of the wall. Saeran must have brought the van over to create an escape route here. But moving the van means that Saeran’s no longer hidden, which puts him at risk of being caught too. You need to hurry. You can’t let him get caught.

Glancing back, you see that Seven is not too far behind. If you slow down, even for a second, he’s sure to catch you. There’s part of you that’s actually fine with that, so long as you get to continue what you were doing before.

Which is wrong.

Even if he’s a good kisser, he’s still the enemy.

You reach the source of the explosion. Saeran did indeed blast a hole in the wall. He’s waiting just outside in the van with the passenger door wide open. You turn back toward Seven, who’s a few feet away and blow him a kiss, “Looks like out time’s up! It was fun~!”

Then you hurdle through the hole in the wall. Seven makes a lunge for you, but barely misses. You throw yourself into the passenger seat next to Saeran. Before you can even shut the door or even make sure you’re secure in the van, Saeran slams his foot on the accelerator. Part of you wants to look back again, but between the open door and Saeran’s reckless driving, you can’t.

After a few minutes, Saeran slows the van down enough so you can shut the door and right yourself. Once you’re settled you look at him and he shoots you a dirty look. “... you have fun sucking face?”

“You were watching?!”

“No, but I saw!” he spits, sounding completely disgusted.

“What?!”

“You were by a window! The whole damn world could see!”

Your face flushes red, both from embarrassment and from the memory of how intense that kiss had been. You really had no intention of getting carried away like that… It just kind of happened.

Saeran lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re fucking gross, you know that?”

“...you said distract him…” You finally mumble, in an attempt to defend yourself.

It doesn’t work though, because he grumbles, “...I should have set up the bomb by that window instead.”

notes continued: 

so. as mentioned this is the original version of hide and seek. i rewrote it because despite the fact that i really liked this version, it was too out of context to work as a stand-alone piece. actually, after i finished writing hide and seek i deleted the doc with this fic and the story only existed in the screenshots i took of the doc to share it with people. 

flash forward to a few months ago. i found two screen shots and posted them to my main where @jozstanko-art found them, and i managed dig up the rest of the screens to show them since they were curious. and so here we are! if you enjoy this fic, please thank them since i don’t think i would have posted it otherwise. >////<

[ayameyumesaki]

SO LISTEN, MY TOKYO BABYLON CPC VERSION HAS COME HOME 🥺 So I must do this

Tokyo Babylon - CLAMP Premium Collection - Commentary

FIRST OF ALL, THE RED IN VOLUME 1 IS INDEED, MY FAVORITE RED. My camera doesn't do justice. And Subaru here is super cute, and handsome! I really love Subaru's vibes from CLAMP's recent artworks. Also, when he is alone or with Seishiro in CPC cover, he looks pretty much 15/16 y.o. to me, but he gets extra cuter when he is with Hokuto. Anyways, Volume 1 is amazing and even for the sake of collection, please buy it.

(I want to add that CLAMP did say that xxxHOLiC's symbol is pipe's smoke, and they decided that Tokyo Babylon's will be crown. It's kinda strange because it's clear that TB's symbol is a cross, seeing how it appears in original covers and Subaru/Hokuto's clothes, but I think they probably chose cross for X since they also have cross as one of their symbol, a heavier one compared to TB, but maybe also due to other reasons.)

I will comment every chapters and talk about some interesting, cute, or parts I want to highlight! First, I read the chapter 0, T.Y.O and the first thing I noticed is since Subaru used a fedora here, whenever he jumps or evading something, he keeps his hand on his fedora so it doesn't fall, and that's just... so cute of him 🥺 In case you forgot, we have character introduction and two cases in this chapter: the case of cheating entertainment figure, and Chanel suit.

Hokuto and Seishiro: talk about Subaru chose to exorcise (is this even a word in English) because of the girl's sake, not the man.

Subaru: Play with lil (unfortunate) dog

Hokuto: You don't need to hide (your relationship). Sei-chan said he falls in love with at the first sight!

The queen has spoken the truth. This man, indeed, falls in love with Subaru on the first sight and since then, hasn't been able to let him go even after his death. This man!

Subaru really gave the dog a red-bean paste bread 😭 I'm soft

Subaru: I'm just a normal onmyoji

Hokuto: EVEN ONMYOJI ITSELF ISN'T NORMAL AT ALL!

Honestly, the first half of her appearance in this chapter is just her screaming 😭

Subaru evading the lady's attacks and the notes next to him said "the nails of an office lady who did coating when manicure is strong" 😭 I'm dying

And in this panel, finally, we are shown how a normal 16 years old boy would react when he realized that he needs to take off the jacket. Hilariously panicked. Probably the only moment that's normal out of all Subaru's personality burned in my memory. This is so so so cute...

Then this is one panel that I have no recollection at all, and after reading the translation again, I was confused whether it was the translation that decided to exaggerate things or the text is actually changed from original to CPC version. Then again, I don't think CLAMP members said about changing the text, only Mokona-sensei reworked some background drawings. Then again, it doesn't differ that much though.

Hokuto said "That's right! In front of human's power (selfishness), even monsters and ghosts are powerless. Things like environment destruction or riots in Eastern European is like a lullaby for Japanese girls!!". It's funny because this is released in 1990 (the first tankobon is released in 1991 but the chapter is written/released in 1990) and Uni Soviet was still a thing, and now it's being re-released in 2022 and there is another war raging in Eastern Europe. Time is only repeating themselves in a loophole, isn't it?

There is another panel that differs from the translation I read, which is what Seishiro said after Subaru told Hokuto that her thinking is scary. He said "in front of girls, no matter what logic or theory (you said), it will bounce back because they have an invicible barrier (which means girls won't listen to what you said no matter how logical or theoritical it is)". I think this panel is funny, because Seishiro literally described Hokuto in one sentence, and it's funnier because Seishiro is probably defeated due to the very line he said himself (not listening to Hokuto's warning of her curse. And Seishiro isn't even a girl.

And Hokuto's respond is "You understand such thing, Sei-chan!" Oh my. He did.

Additionally, I want to add that you can feel how hard Hokuto ships Seishiro and Subaru better in the Japanese version. She is so excited to that and we can never be her for SeiSub 😞 She just loved these two.

Also, I can't put another picture but, the final line for T.Y.O chapter, and the very tagline for Tokyo Babylon is 「あなたは東京をきらいですか。」, which means "Do you hate "Tokyo"?". Subaru did say he loves Tokyo by the end of this chapter though it's because different reason from Seishiro, but the question is, by the end of Tokyo Babylon, does Subaru's opinion stay still or changed?

EDIT: I’m so genious to link the newest commentary to the first one, but never direct it to the next one, SO click here for the next part!

[exalok]

1, 24, and 35!!

ah!!!! (under the cut after the first because it got Very Long)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

i've taken to writing in calibri (after a period of testing comic sans) because it's round and pleasing and large and helps my brain not think This Is Serious Business Mistakes Are Punishable By Death (so yes i do care) but also i write quite a lot on discord so in that case i just use the default, which works in a similar way

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

oh god oh god. well i guess it depends on what your idea of prep work is, and on the story. there are stories i will hash out a couple of scenes for (basically let the movie run in my head and take notes on dialogue and movement and position in the room/on the furniture and inner thought and possibly on occasion actual descriptions i'd like to use) then, during the typing phase, add in about 70% of the actual finished thing on improv, based on what feels right in terms of progression/setup/getting the characters where they need to be and also on the various ideas that will pop up as i go. there are stories i will have scene plans and chapter plans and extra character info and mapped-out arcs and This Is What I Want From The Story files for, and all of it will change three to ten times along the course of the writing/rewriting (generally these are the long ones, which are much harder to keep in my head as a whole, so i need written notes to keep track of the things i would otherwise just be aware of in some corner of my mind). i very rarely research and when i do i tend to discard what i need the research for anyway because the first try always sticks out like a sore information thumb. lastly, i am incapable of not writing five sentences in my head to every one that reaches the page, which makes for very slow writing but decent initial results (and even now i do this less than i used to -- in the past i'd basically never edit beyond surface typo/tense checks because i'd already put So Much into trying to get the right sentence down the first time. writing is much more fluid, though less poetic, since i've learned to calm that instinct down) i cannot function without prep work!!!! or like i can't finish a story without prep work. i have somehow managed to write 50k words once with barely any prep but what i'd invent as i went (though it very quickly acquired a lot of stuff to keep track of) and started a number of stories without thinking very hard about them (then stopped when i started thinking Super Hard about them and got overwhelmed by all the Not Knowing What Happens Next) but everything i've finished is something i've prepped, and to be honest i really like it. it clarifies things, it's satisfying. sometimes i kind of want to publish my notes as-is even though without some idea of the end result they very well may be incomprehensible, because i still keep half the information in my brain without meaning to. (the number of times i've returned to an old fic and squinted at my notes like what the fuck did past me mean by that. ugh.) also making brain movies is half the fun of fanfictioning. however i have frequently gotten stuck on the reworking-the-chapter-plan part of the story and that can get very frustrating, so sometimes i do look at my dumptruck of a fic file and think i should just start putting words down or i'll never leave the rut

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

an excellent question, as most of the writing rules i've encountered i have either forgotten or fully integrated over time, by which i mean i don't know -- i guess it's not something i consider or think about? i'll take into account things like how a sentence sounds in my head, whether a visual image makes my dopamine centers wiggle, a character's thoughts and their gradual progression through whatever journey i'm inflicting on the day's victim, but as most of the words kind of come to me naturally/automatically, beyond my systematic rewording of everything for the right Vibe, i just let the writing happen and don't think about what's Allowed or Not Allowed except for the every sentence has several uses rule. if i want a sentence because i think it's pretty, into the soup it goes. if two years down the line i reread that fic and decide it actually serves no purpose and the sense of pretty has run its course, then out it will go, but until then i'm throwing whatever i can get my hands on into the pot (oh yeah and i pop adverbs like they're seeds and i'm a hungry hungry bird) writing is weird!! writing is wonderful!! there is a voice in every silly little writer's hand!! you lego the words together into something pleasing and you lego the sentences together into something pleasing and you lego the scenes together into something pleasing and you have, hopefully, something that pleases you at the end, and maybe it will reveal Deep Thoughts about the world and society and people and what they do and maybe it will relieve Deep Feelings in somebody somewhere and maybe it will just be Deeply Stupid and allow the shutting off of brains and the producing of mental fizz i dunno. my point i guess is Writing Delicious the rule i want to smash the most is the one that says i should take myself seriously

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP: YAY I’m done! Now I can scrap it and start over!

The problem with reworking a story you’ve been working on since 2017 is that some of the scenes are in their third revision and therefore nice and smooth, while others are brand new.

I’ve spent the last few days straight up arguing with a new scene. Well, not new-new, exactly.  A version existed previously, but things have changed so much it might as well have been new. (This is a good thing. The old version involved a phone call that was clunky af and I hated it.) I’m pretty much to the end...

....and I just realized the problem: It should have been from Mrs. Hughes’s PoV instead of Thomas’s. Oops.

So, straight back to the drawing board! The good news is that this time I have more of an idea what I’m doing (although since we’re currently in the ‘mystery’ section of the story, I still have to figure out how to repeat information to a MILLION CHARACTERS without boring the audience) and things should go more smoothly.

In the meantime, have Mrs. Hughes and Thomas Whatever-His-Name-Is having a heart to heart.

-

Nodding, the housekeeper set her cup aside. “I can certainly understand why you’d be caught off guard by all of that.” She gave him a searching look. “Your parents, your real parents that is, do they know about this?”

He nodded. “They’ve been informed.”

“And do you know what they think about all of this?”

A humorless laugh escaped him. “They’re skeptical, as anyone would be. They’re not calling to have me arrested as a fraud, especially after this latest twist, but they don’t buy it. They’re waiting to see what Murray says when His Lordship goes to see him.”

She frowned at that. “If they’re peers, wouldn’t they want their own lawyers to look into it?”

Thomas froze, tea cup halfway to his mouth. Frantically, he tried to think of a way to back track. Finishing the sip of tea bought him time, but he still hadn’t come up with anything by the time he swallowed. “Ah, well, you see,” he hedged, but then found himself completely at a loss of how to finish the sentence. Despite his efforts not to, he’d neatly backed himself into a corner. “That’s what His Lordship wouldn’t want discussed.”

The housekeeper gave him a skeptical look. “I can understand not wanting their names out and about, but now it sounds as if there’s something deeper going on. Have they been exiled?”

As soon as she said it, he realized that he could have claimed his unspecified parents were out of the country and unable to handle things personally. Alright, he’d have been lying, but when the truth came out she’d have understood, surely. “No,” he sighed. He was getting too old for scheming.  How had O’Brien managed it, at her age? After a minute’s debate, he decided there was nothing for it. After all, Mrs. Hughes was not going to gossip to all and sundry. “It’s simply that they’re already talking to their solicitor. According to the journal, I’m Lady Mary’s twin brother.”

“Lady Mary?”

“It’s nonsense, of course,” Thomas insisted, helping himself to another biscuit, even though he wasn’t that hungry anymore. “Murray will prove that soon enough. Still,” he eyed the biscuit in his hand. He was so close to the crux of the entire thing, the point that was truly bothering him. If he could just put his finger on it… “When I was little, after Sammy was born and everyone started either ignoring me or being angry with me half the time, I used to pretend that I was the long lost heir to the throne. I’d imagine what it would be like, suddenly discovering that my actual parents were the king and queen and being whisked off to the palace. But not once did I imagine that I’d be Thomas Windsor. I’d still just be Thomas Barrow, living a better life.”

“Well, you’d never have been Thomas Windsor,” she informed him gently. “When you were born, the family name was still Saxe-Coburg-Gotha.”

He blinked at her, turning the name over in his head. Thomas Saxe-Coburg-Gotha? “Blimey. Good thing I wasn’t really a prince, isn’t it?”

“It would have been a mouthful,” she agreed, the tiniest of smiles on her face. “Thomas Barrow sounds much better, as, for that matter,  does Thomas Crawley. The thing to remember is that no matter what your name is or who your parents are, you’re still you. The life you’ve lived and the man you’ve become aren’t going to change just because your parents aren’t who you thought they were, no matter if they’re high born or low.” She reached over and laid a hand on his. “And I, for one, am glad of that.”

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

Because Disney can pry the Finn Skywalker headcanon from my cold, dead, fingers. And because Disney can’t stop me from reworking their movies if I darn well please.

Most of the fortress had been picked over by scavengers years ago. Any Imperial memorabilia had long since been looted and either auctioned off or confiscated by the First Order. Really, that was the only reason the scout team had considered it as a potential base at all. It had already been gutted, and was pretty well beneath the notice of Kylo Ren unless he was up for sentimental tours.

The general didn’t find that very likely.

Mustafar was far from a hospitable world for most species, but the heat shielding of the fortress was still highly efficient. The scouts had set up a base camp in what looked like it had once been some kind of audience chamber. Nobody had felt like exploring alone. The whole castle just felt...off. 

The young leader of the scouts sat on a pile of rubble, head tilted like he was listening for something. He frowned and glanced down at his team.

“What, Trache?” he asked.

The Twi’lek raised his brows at Finn. “I didn’t say anything.”

Finn seemed confused. “You sure? I could’ve sworn-”

Finn?

Finn looked up again. "Rose, you heard Trache call me just now, right?"

Rose Tico set down a power lamp and plugged it into their Artoo unit, then shook her head. “Sorry Finn,” she said, “All I heard was Artoo.”

Finn.

He whirled, squinting into the darkness of the derelict fortress. “There! You guys heard it that time, right?”

Rose fidgeted awkwardly. "Finn...I didn't hear anything."

Finn.

Finn turned again. He felt as though someone had tied a string around his soul and was pulling. As if under some other power than his own, the boy began to stumble into the shadows.

"W- what are you doing?" Trache hissed.

"Gotta check something out," Finn mumbled. He could just make out what looked like a figure, standing at the end of the corridor. "It's...it's okay. I think it's the Force."

His scout team's protests faded into static behind him. There was nothing but the voice.

Finn. Come to me.

Finn slowly reached down and loosened his blaster in its holster. There was a possibility that he was hearing this voice in his mind. And that had to mean enemies.

"Where are you?" he asked, tensed and ready to fight.

The shadowy figure he had glimpsed before reappeared, further away. It stood, as if waiting. Then it raised one arm, beckoning.

Finn didn't sense anything particularly hostile about the stranger, but he was wary nonetheless. He eased forward, following the dark shape into another chamber. The closer he got, the more he realized that it wasn't made of pure shadow after all. A faint flicker of blue light outlined the person, if a person it was, slowly illuminating more details. A black tabard. A heavy gauntlet. A cape that fell to the floor and seemed to swallow all light that touched it.

The rhythmic hiss that Finn had taken for some kind of machinery in the fortress took on a new volume.

It sounded like breathing.

Finn stopped dead in his tracks. He had seen that shape before. In the First Order barracks, as a little boy, he had seen that shape in the propaganda forced down the children's throats. 

"Aren't you dead?" he blurted out before he could stop himself. 

The giant inclined his head -- or, well, his helmet -- regally and turned. He gestured to one side.

"Walk with me."

The authoritative voice brooked no argument. 

Finn knew he should have been running. That was Darth Kriffing Vader, or his ghost, or a clone, or something. But...he didn't sense the kind of painful storm he'd always experienced around Kylo Ren. There was no hatred, filling the air with danger. Just a strange echo of regret.

With one hand firmly on the butt of his blaster, he gritted his teeth and stepped closer. 

"The Force is with you, young one," the late Sith Lord remarked, "but you are not a Jedi yet."

That rankled a little bit. Finn knew he couldn't do all the things Rey could yet. The General had told him that his connection to the Force was more like hers than Rey's, but he still didn't know what that meant. That didn't mean he wasn't learning. He was just going at his own pace.

"Maybe I'm not," he said, "But I will be."

Will I be?

Darth Vader began to walk. Hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back, steps slow and measured. Relentless. What did he want? And why was he even here?

Reluctantly, Finn followed a half step behind. 

"I'm not hallucinating this, right? Because my team can't see you." Getting lured into the depths of the castle by the ghost of a Sith probably wasn't a good thing. "Why'd you call me?"

"I have been expecting you for some time," Vader said, tipping his helmet down as if observing Finn. "It was inevitable that you would find me here."

His footsteps echoed on the stone, but did not disturb so much as a single mote of dust. The hair on the back of Finn's neck rose when he looked down and saw only one set of footprints behind them.

"You know who I am." It was not a question. 

Swallowing hard, Finn nodded. His mouth was dry, and despite himself, his fingers trembled. Like a death sentence the name fell from his lips.

"Darth Vader."

Abruptly, the man turned on his heel. His cape flared out around him as he raised a finger almost in warning.

"That name no longer has any meaning for me," he said sternly.

"Then..." Finn wrinkled his brow and tried to remember the legend. "You're um, you're a Skywalker-?"

His companion nodded. "I suspected that if I had chosen my true form, you would not have known me."

He raised his helmet as the chamber emptied out into another set of corridors. "Come. There is something I must show you."

Well. This was going to make an interesting story to tell the General later. Finn pulled the collar of his jacket up and shivered.

"Dar- I mean, uh...Master Skywalker? You didn't answer my question before. Aren't you dead?"

Anakin did not slow his steps. "The Force, young one, is a pathway to many abilities that some may consider to be...unnatural."

A wry chuckle wrenched itself from Finn's lips. He shook his head and took a jogging half step to keep up with the ghostly warrior. "You're telling me."

Anakin glanced down at him again. Finn wasn't sure how he knew the ghost's eyes were on him, but somehow he could guess where to look.

"You show remarkably little trepidation in the face of the impossible," he commented.

It was strange, but Finn was almost beginning to feel comfortable with the conversation. He shrugged. "Nobody ever told me how the Force was supposed to work. How am I supposed to know what's possible and what's not?"

He jumped when Anakin tipped back his helmet and laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound, utterly at odds with the mechanical whoosh of his respirator. 

"Indeed! Do not lose your open mind, Finn. It will serve you well."

"Did anybody ever tell you," Finn huffed, "That you make even compliments sound ominous?"

Another low chuckle. "Yes. Your father did."

His father?!

What was the ghost talking about?

Finn scowled at him. "Whoa, hold on. How do you know my father? I don't even know my father!"

Under his breath he added, "I don't even know what I'm doing here."

Abruptly, he began to sense a complicated tangle of emotions from the ghost of Anakin Skywalker. Regret, anger, concern.

"You remember nothing, child?"

Sometimes Finn thought he did remember. But they were just images. Feelings. A woman's voice and strong arms. A man's smile. Sometimes he heard snatches of a song in his dreams, always just out of reach by the time he opened his eyes.

Other times, the dreams were not so kind. Flashes of an old man, reaching for him even as he was shot in the back. His own tiny hands reaching desperately for an old woman screaming a name he couldn't hear. He wondered sometimes if they had been his grandparents. 

The Resistance was his family now. Rey and Chewie were his family. Poe and BB-8 were his family. The General was his family. But in his heart, Finn still wanted closure. To at least know where he had come from. 

"I...remember my grandfather dying." Finn said haltingly. 

"Not your grandfather," Anakin corrected him. "Your mother's cousin. Your grandfather died long before your birth."

He quickened his pace before Finn could insist on an answer. Through stone galleries and ominous archways he continued with a single-minded determination. He did not stop until he had reached what had once been an impressively secure door, long since reduced to ruin by looters. Inside sat a strange dome-like structure that reminded Finn of an egg.

"Did you see that in my head? Is that like a thing you can do?" Finn demanded. He was determined to get the truth. Maybe he could "sense" it somehow. "How did you see it if I can't?"

Anakin did not immediately answer. He waved his hand over the dome, and with a rumbling groan it separated neatly into two halves. It was an old-fashioned hyperbaric chamber. A few lights still flickered dimly inside. Anakin reached down to touch one small screen, and a hologram sprang up. A young man in Rebellion era fatigues smiled up at them from the hologram. Old though it was, the holo was still recognizable. 

"What the- That's Luke Skywalker!" Finn realized.

Anakin nodded. "He was no older than you are now when my spies brought me this image." He seemed almost lost in nostalgia for a moment. "Truly, I would have torn the very fabric of the universe apart to find him."

Finn watched the ghost, noting that he cupped the hologram in his hands as though he held something infinitely precious. 

"You...kept a holo of him in your chamber?" Seemed a little odd for a Sith.

He was pretty sure Ren didn't keep holos of his parents.

"Of course." Anakin did not look away from the tiny, grinning face of Luke. "He is my son."

Finn sat down carefully on the seat within the chamber. His feet didn't even touch the floor. "Hey...Master Skywalker?" he asked, "How did you know my grandfather died before I was born? If it was before I was born, I wouldn't have had any memory of that. Buried or no. Did you...meet him in the afterlife or something? Do all ghosts know each other?"

He sensed hesitation as Anakin answered, "No, I...I was...there."

That could mean a lot of things. "Did you kill him?" Finn guessed, "Like, was he a Rebel? Or a Jedi?"

He heard the creaking of leather as Anakin's hands tightened into fists.

"He was a rogue and peasant Sith. A knave who chased after power at the cost of his kin," Anakin snarled. 

Finn jolted back. A Sith?

A horrible thought slid into the back of his mind. What if his family had given him willingly to the First Order? What if they expected him to follow in his grandfather's footsteps?

"So...what does that make me?" he rasped. 

The tension drained quickly from Anakin's shoulders. He turned away from the hologram of his son and raised a spectral hand to rest against Finn's cheek. It did not pass through him, as he had expected it to. Instead, it lingered, like the brush of a curtain. 

"You are," Anakin said, almost reverently, "A valiant son of a worthy father. And the beloved grandchild of a grandmother who deserved a better life than she was given."

The Force was almost screaming at him that the answers to his questions were at last before him, but Finn was afraid to believe it. Afraid to get his hopes up and be wrong. If, after all this, his growing suspicion was wrong, he wasn't sure he could bear it. 

"Master Skywalker, please," he begged, "I don't know why I'm here, I don't know what you want from me. Just tell me the truth? Did you know my grandfather?"

The other glove rose, and Finn found his face being gently cradled by an ex-Sith Lord.

“No,” Anakin answered, quiet and inevitable. “I am your grandfather.”

[meggie-stardust]

Tagged by the always lovely @myletternevercame. Thanks babe < 3

how many works do you have on AO3? 57

what’s your total ao3 word count? 18,2645 (dang!)

what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Acts of Man | Merlin | Merlin/Arthur

Nightmares | PJO | Jason/Percy

Looking for the Things We Lost | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

Here I Am (Stuck in the Middle With You) | PJO | Jason/Percy

The Legend is True | Teen Wolf | Peter/Stiles

do you respond to comments, why or why not? I try to as often as I can. When I first post something and I get an influx of comments, I try to do it once a day. But when I get random comments on old stuff, I often forget to go back and reply, but I read every single one, and I do try to remember to write back.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Oh man. Most of my fics happy endings... But the happiest?? Probably Acts of Man, since it's a Christmas fic and it has this kind of storybook coda on the end of it.

what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Hmm. My older fics tended to be a little more angsty and open ended... probably this old Sterek fic Those Who Hunt Us or this Isaac Lahey study Bygone

do you write crossovers? Not much anymore, but I did a cool 3 sentence fic challenge back in 2014 and each prompt (from tumblr folks at the time) were things like MJN air + Supernatural or Sherlock and John work at Mooby's. I also have a soft spot for this Sherlock/Cowboy Bebop xover cleverly called 221Bebop: Honky Tonk Woman. And of course, there is the abandoned HP/Sherlock crossover bestie and I started and will never finish, so IDK why I even bring it up. Actually come to think of it, I also had the Sherlock Monstrumologist one... I just wrote a lot of Sherlock xover fic back in the day, huh.

have you ever received hate on a fic? Not on AO3 comments. I haven't gotten some odd reviews/comments, but I have been very fortunate to have not experienced much of this in my 20+ years in fandom.

do you write smut? if so, what kind? Yes. All of the kinds?? I remember thinking it was such a big deal to write a "lemon" back int the day, and now it's old hat. Of course, I can't really write PWPs (I think I have one maybe??), I always have to write a giant backstory just to get to the good stuff (see my 18k GW beast of a fic for a lemon/smut fest. smhd)

have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I'm aware of...

have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! And it's such an insanely wonderful honor. I've also had fics written that are inspired by mine and I just... blanket permission to anyone who wants to remix, translate, art, whatever my work. It's so flattering.

Most recently, I had Black Sails in the Sunset translated into Portuguese.

have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, but it was abandoned. I would love to do something like that again. Or something slightly different, like a comic *cough*@bettertasting*cough*

what’s your all-time favourite ship? How does one even answer that? Heero/Duo was the ship that got me into fandom; Harry/Draco is something I will still occasionally return to when I want like nostalgic comfort; Merlin/Arthur has some of the best fanworks I've ever consumed and they feel more like canon works than fanon; I've been reading and writing Stiles/Peter for like 5 years now... So, this is my non-answer. IDK man. I have a whole fleet and I'm ok with that.

what’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? I had this idea for a Stranger Things OT3 fic at the end of Season 1, and then I wrote the first chapter and never posted it or wrote more before Season 2 dropped, and meh. I'll never go back to it. I loved the idea, but the characters have changed so much, I don't think I could capture what I wanted anymore. Maybe I'll post my WIPs I'll never finish someday and clean out my WIP folder.

what are your writing strengths? I think I'm funny and can inject that well into characters? And I like to think that I am good at writing in the character voice.

what are your writing weaknesses? If I need a "real" plot. Like, I cannot write case fics or mission fics or anything like that. I spent ages reworking my last fic so I could "Kevin Smith" the action by only have characters talk about some stuff that happened to them, and never see any of it on screen.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I think I would take the easy way out and do it like: "blah blah blah" she said in French; or "she let out a rant in French" but never actually worry about translating anything.

what was the first fandom you wrote for? Gundam Wing! And back at it 20 years later!

what’s your favourite fic you’ve written? Hmmm. I really do like the last fic I wrote, my reentry to GW:

Our Love Keeps the Things it Finds | Gundam Wing | Heero/Duo/Trowa

And on the other end of the spectrum, and short 500 word fic that I really, really love:

A Slow Deep Panic | PJO | pre-Jason/Percy-ish

ok tagging: @punchedbymarkesmith @gatesofdisorder @lolahardy @pineappleglazedham @gentleranium @theheadgirl and you! Yes, you! Do you write fic? Are we mutuals? Do you want me to tag you in things? Let me know by doing this and tagging me!

[dragonswithjetpacks]

I did it! I started a fic on Ao3 to put everything together. You’ll probably see my Ao3 clear up a bit in Ferelith’s series. I’ll probably just keep everything up here on Tumblr because I’m lazy. Master list will be updated accordingly. Which means when I feel like it.

Theurgist

Chapter One: A Crone Warns of Darkness

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: A rework of my previous Astarion x Ferelith works turned into a full fledged fic. I basically did it. Started the fic. You’ll probably be seeing me update it as I go along.

Read here on Ao3.

The cool breeze brought from the afternoon shift in the clouds rustled the papers like frantic fingers in the loft of the library. There was the sudden sound of wood scraping against wood as the assistant pushed the ladder against the far the wall, rushing up it to close the the open window. It fluttered just out of her grasp, but with reflexes as quick as hers, there was little that escaped. She clutched the brass handle on the inside of the pane and pulled it against the sill tightly.

"Alright," she said quietly to herself. "There will be none of that today."

With a satisfied grin, she descended the steps, brushing off the front of her apron with it's many pockets. Noticing the disarray on the table, she turned to assess the damage. The notes were shifted a bit, but no harm was done to the original organization of the writings. As she picked them up, stacking them on top of each other with out of order pages between fingers, she took a quick glimpse at the writings. There were glyphs, many of which she knew, with incantations and rituals written in the margins. To the sides were components, mostly those of a a higher value, and the effects of the time of day the ritual would be cast. Her pale yellow eyes scanned over them quickly, but her research was cut short by the tapping of a loud cane up the wooden staircase.

"Ferelith! Ferelith, what have I told you about closing the window!"

For years Ferelith had studied the fey and their affect on the wild. The combinations of natural phenomenon and magical abilities were her specialty. Down to the very point her soul had fused with the fey itself. And yet, here she was... looking after an old bookshop replicating old tomes for a daft, blind, and nearly deaf old woman. The thoughts always lingered how she came to be in Baldur's Gate, why she had been there for so long. And it always brought her back to her simple path. The path of knowledge. One that rested in a single tome that she kept in her breast pocket at all times. A small tome with words that were unfamiliar to her.

"Get up there and open that window! I can't stand this stuffy place."

"Let me gather the papers, first, please," she bustled even quicker around the table.

"Don't leave such a mess and you wouldn't have to worry about!"

The old crone remained vigilant in the doorway. Her eyes could not see the study in where Ferelith worked, but she knew the shop as if it were part of her very flesh. And she required an open window for ventilation. This bothered the warlock she had employed, of course. As Ferelith was very adamant about closing all windows and doors to protect the books inside from ware. The old woman, though, she knew better. And she grinned knowingly as she could hear her assistant scrambling about the room.

"Oh how I long for your death," she grumbled quietly between gritted teeth.

"What was that?"

"How long until we receive winter's breath?" she perked her head up with a charming smile.

"How am I supposed to know that? Check the ledger."

"Right of course," she smiled just as the woman ducked down the hall out of sight. "Of course I'll check the ledger... the ledger I write in every day... that I memorize... you crazed old bat."

The woman was a terror to her stress, but she was beyond capable of producing ancient spells. No one believed this, of course. Which is why she ran a bookshop on a corner of the most run down part of Baldur's Gate. And it's why she sold makeshift herbs and potions on the side. And also why she agreed to hire Ferelith to begin with. It was low income, but she had endless access the tomes as well as a cot to sleep within the loft. The dust did her no good, but she had become quite friendly with the spiders and mice.

More importantly, she was left to study to her heart’s content once her work was finished. Being a transcribe would have been a difficult task for most. But Ferelith was different. With being a warlock and holding a close connection to her patron, she was able to read any language placed in front of her. This was something she used to make coin often during her early years of adventure and excitement. Though now, this was her career. A path she had chosen to stay comfortable as she pursued other and more important goals. For the past ten years, all Ferelith had known was the feeling of a quill at her fingertips, the beautiful art of calligraphy, and the constant image of words floating through her vision.

This kept her patron content. For the majority of the time. There were days it longed for the forest. And in those days, she would travel to gardens. Or to the edge of Neverwinter. But for the most part, he was happy to lose himself in a book just as she was. He was eager to learn. And she was happy to oblige. The more they learned together, the more they could use against the spell against them. She patted the book in her breast pocket lovingly with a sigh. The true meaning of a blessing... and a curse. It was best not to dwell on nostalgia, though, and she picked up a broom to head downstairs to close the shop for the night. There was a project that awaited her finishing touches. And she never left a book waiting.

Scratches of quill on paper filled the dusty loft among shelves of mahogany. A window open in the upper part of the high ceiling welcome a gentle breeze. Her papers shifted atop her writing desk causing her hands to leap out in haste to catch them. The damned window. Just a few more sentences and she was almost done. One hand resumed it’s stance, spread over the tome and holding it open so she could read the dwarvish inside. The other was equipped with her pen waving and twirling around giant pages, filling them with the common tongue others could understand. With a heavy sigh, she made her final dot.

"There," she said, sitting up and stretching her back that had been slumped over for several hours.

Sliding from the the chair, she grabbed her cloak that was draped over the back. She wrapped it around her, ignoring the scarf as the night seemed quite lovely outside despite the breeze. She climbed up the latter, shutting the window, and climbed back down, dusting her hands onto her apron once more. Carefully, she began to wrap the book she was reading into a burlap cloth. She placed it into an over shoulder bag on a coat rack nearby. And she repeated the process with three other books that rested nearby. Once the ink had dried on the book she had written in, she flipped through it one last time. A month's work finally finished. She shut the book, admiring it's deep blue cover and golden embroidery. It was too large to place into the bag.

"You're going out?" a throaty voice said from the doorway, disturbing her admiration for her own creation.

The disheveled old woman stood the doorway watching Ferelith run her hand across the book. She shifted onto her cane, her feet already bothering her from standing too long.

"The Thornbeards are eager customers," Ferelith slung the strap over her head. "They'll be grateful for the late delivery so long they don't have to wait until morning."

"Fair enough," the woman nodded. "Be careful tonight, Ferelith... It's dark out."

The cryptic bat was warning her, but she took most of her notions of danger with a grain of salt. The woman had barely left the comfort of her shop since Ferelith had started living there. She had done the shopping, the organizing, the promoting of their business, the deliveries. In truth, it had appeared the book shop was Ferelith's. Time would only tell if she would inherit it. Or it would get swallowed up with the rest of the run down buildings in a pile of dust when the woman passed.

"Don't worry," Ferelith grinned. "If I don't came back, that will give you the excuse you need to hire a much younger and handsome hand."

"Bah," the woman waved her hands. "Jokes all the time. Jokes from you. See if I care."

Ferelith touched her shoulder gently as she passed by with a sarcastic smile. Her feet were quick down the steps as she was determined to end the night. The taps of a cane echoed through the shop, even down to the lower floor where Ferelith searched her pockets for her keys. It was the last thing she heard as she left, turning to shut the door behind her and locking it with her silver keys. She took a look up at the old building, her home. For now. Just above, she could see the moon blanketed heavily by clouds. There would be no stars to light her way that night. The old crone was right... the night was dark indeed.

It was a long walk into the upper part of town. The district Ferelith resided in was known to be a rather unwealthy and large area commonly known as Heapside. While not entirely littered with crime, it still had it's fair share of homeless and pickpockets. Most of the buildings on the street she lived on were abandoned. And the shops that did exist were on their last leg. It was a mystery how the old woman had managed to have such a prosperous collection and business. Then again, Ferelith had raised it's reputation tenfold since her arrival. The beautiful elf with dark hair and a cold voice with an ethereal demeanor that could transcribe nearly anything was highly sought after. Yes... she was well known. Even to the extent of the some of the higher districts. Which was precisely where she was headed.

The wind began to pick up and it felt much colder than before. Ferelith looked up to the moon now completely covered in the sky. She had not sensed rain nor smelled it. Perhaps the old woman was right. There was an eeriness to the air. Picking up her pace, she began to trot down the street. She twisted and turned, careful which alleyways she ducked into. Until finally she had reached the black iron fence of the Thornbeards. It was a grand estate with two wondrous statues of goats at the door. Ferelith marched up the carved stone stairs and took the the door handle into her hand. She knocked loudly three times. And waited. The door opened, a good sized with dwarf with dark hair pulled back into a braid appearing to answer with alert eyes.

"Lady Moonshade?" he said, bringing his candle closer to her face. "My lady, it's terrible late."

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Brunan," she took the pack from off her shoulder still clutching the book in her hand. "But I've come to return Lord Thornbeard's collection."

"You're not bothering me at all!" he happily took the bag from her. "I'm just afraid for your safety, my dear!"

"No need to fret," she held her work proudly in both hands. "This is well worth it. The final piece."

She held it out, the gold shimmering in the candle light. Brunan's eyes widened at the sight of it. He sat the candle down at the edge of the stone railing and took the book into his own hands. Opening it carefully, he cherished the sound of the spine cracking. The old groundskeeper smiled, looking down at the first page, and seeing the tree drawn onto it.

"I didn't know you were an artist," he said.

"I'm most certainly not," she grinned. "It's a copy. From one of the originals."

"The family will be quite pleased with this. I'm sure," he nodded slowly. "You're done us a great services, Ferelith."

"That means more than you," she crossed her hands in front of her. "I can expect payment on the morning?"

"Always the greedy one, aren't we?" he chuckled. "Of course. But I do have something for you."

"Oh?" he ears perked.

Brunan leaned inside, setting the book down onto a corner table. He opened a drawer, pulling out a small wooden box. It was stained and smelled of sweet cherry wood. When Ferelith took it, she felt the smooth surface beneath her hand. It was fine craftsmanship. She lifted the lead seeing a red velvet cloth inside. And beneath that, a red leather bound book. The pages were crisp and white. And sewn into the cover was a red velvet bookmark.

"Lord Thornbeard wanted to thank you personally. But you know words aren't his forte."

"No," Ferelith smiled. "This is perfect. Thank you."

"I believe we are thankful to you. The family history will reside on Thornbeard shelves for generations."

"If there's anything else you need, Brunan, do not hesitate to visit us."

"In the meantime, Lady Moonshade, you take care."

"Until then," she gave a slight bow.

Brunan nodded back, shutting the door and disappearing inside. Ferelith took a step down, still staring at the door and listening. There was a slight shout from a distant room and she knew the lord of the house had his commission bestowed onto him. Finally pleased with herself, she took her leave, pulling her cloak tightly around her. It had somehow gotten colder. That didn't seem to affect the night life of the upper district, though. The tavern nearby was bustling and she could hear the music playing loudly from an open window. She paused for a moment, peering inside from her place on the cobblestone road. There were finely carved wooden chairs, polished tables, fancy lit scones, and beautiful tapestries. The nobles dancing inside were all dressed in fine silks and embroidered robes. Ferelith looked down, looking at her old tattered tunic. It had been nearly a century since she had last worn a dress.

Just as her mind began to wander back to her previous lives, a loud bang echoed through the streets. Pouring out of the now wide open door came two gentlemen, one with his arm wrapped around the other. They were smiling, smitten with one another. She lowered her hands, scanning over them. Clearly, they were drunk. For a moment, she thought they would not notice her. But one did. He looked up, his eyes shooting a warning glare. Ferelith did not get the best look at the man. But she noted his eyes and could only describe them with a single word of hunger. They stared at one another until he disappeared into the alley nearby. It wasn't the effort to follow and she began to head back down the road to her little and safe bookshop.

Until she heard a scream. Ferelith turned toward the alleyway, hearing the piercing cry of a man. She ran, feeling the books in her apron slapping against her thighs. She had forgotten to remove it. But it did not matter. She rounded the corner and followed the sounds. A scream had been silenced. And then more shouting ensued. The horrors of what she found left her speechless as she skidded to a halt in front of a pool of blood. A man lay face down, a hole bore into the top of his skull. Ferelith looked up, a tall tentacled monster holding another man by the neck.

"Do something!" he shouted before it tightened it’s grip

"What is this?" she faltered, her eyes widening.

Her presence alarmed the humanoid creature, drawing its small yellow eyes to her attention. She stammered back, her feet ready to run. But she held fast.

It's no use.

The voice in the back of her head was right. It usually was. She looked to the man, helpless and squirming against the wall. This was not her fight. And she was certain it was one not worth winning.

"Don't you dare leave me," the man gurgled, the hand wrapped around his neck tightening.

The creature reached out and Ferelith felt a tug at her head. The voice inside her thoughts cried out in pain, but Ferelith herself resisted. Red streaks of lightening flew across her fingertips as an anger trigger within. She began to run toward the monster, casting forth a blast of energy. The thing dodged, dropping the man to his knees and allowing him to gasp for air. Ferelith had no weapons, only her wits. If she could stall for just a bit longer, perhaps he could help. But as he looked up, she saw he would be of no use. Ferelith turned back to the humanoid, realizing how grave her mistake was. His hand reached out again. And Ferelith felt a cold grasp reach into her mind. Her feet lifted from the ground. It felt as if the air itself was suffocating her. The monster looked down to white haired man, striking him across the face with its other hand and causing him to fall unconscious. She began to gasp desperately. Everything turned black. And she never felt her body hit the ground.

[fanfictionaries]

Oh So Many Years: Ch. 5 - It Was You

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Just when Hermione thought nothing worse could plague her than her constant nightmare, she has a very different kind of dream. How is she ever going to look Ronald in the face again? All she wanted was to do well in her classes, get S.P.E.W. off the ground, and finally get a good nights sleep.

Fred continues to find himself more than amazed at the infinite facets of Hermione Granger.

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note: A second update this week because I like you guys so much! :) 

I will now be updating this story every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo

Masterlist

<< Chapter 4

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Moments fall like crimson nights Some stick to my skin tonight Take a breath and shake them off Eyes ahead, don't you wait too long

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“If I have to write one more word about the goblin rebellions, I think I might off myself.” Ron threw down his quill, ink splotching across this parchment, and let his head fall into his hands.

“Be careful. If you do, I guarantee Professor Trelawney will say she predicted it all along because Venus was in retrograde and you’re a Pisces,” Harry responded flatly, resulting in a smile from Ron.

Hermione would never admit it, but she secretly agreed with Ron. While not quite as distressed as her ginger friend, she did find the weekly essays assigned by Professor Binns tedious and incredibly lacking in challenge. Perhaps she found the whole thing tiresome because she already knew everything there was to know about the goblin rebellions, but it also didn’t help that the ghostly professor was about as exciting as an old shoe.

“Hermione…” Ron drew out her name like he had just come to an idea. Hermione, very familiar with this tone, knew exactly what his idea was.

“No,” she responded sternly, scribbling away at her own parchment about the various defense tactics utilized by the goblins.

“Pleeeaaase?”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeaaaaaaase?”

She sighed. “I will edit and revise Ronald Weasley, and nothing more.”

“You’re the best, honestly.” Ron grinned and picked up his quill again, dipping it in his ink and scribbling away with renewed energy. His stupid grin made Hermione smile and roll her eyes before returning to her own essay. While she wished that Ron and Harry could just do their own work themselves, she did realize that not everyone had the discipline that she had. However, that didn’t mean she had to stop trying to get them to work harder. She knew for a fact that their potential far exceeded their marks.

They worked in silence for a while, the scratching of quill on parchment and shuffle of students walking past filling Hermione’s ears as her brain turned over, pulling out fact after fact.

In a blazing sense of pride, she finished her last sentence, tying her conclusion together perfectly, and placed her quill down on the table. At the click, both Ron and Harry looked over to her with wide eyes of disbelief.

“You’re finished already?” gaped Harry.

“I’ve barely gotten three paragraphs written. How can you possibly be finished already?!” exclaimed Ron. Hermione shushed him, glancing over at Madame Pince’s disapproving glare.

“Some of us, Ronald, utilize our time efficiently,” Hermione responded coolly as she placed her things back into her bag. She didn’t bother mentioning that she spent her last three hours in the library as opposed to their meager thirty minutes, or that she took her break after morning Transfiguration to study as well. Her eyes itched from staring at off-white pages and black script and for once she finished all her work and read ahead in all her classes. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was attending five less classes than the previous year.

There was also the small fact that she no longer slept. Nearly a month into school and she still barely slept four hours a night. When panic inducing nightmares weren’t causing her to toss and turn, she was studying. And when she wasn’t studying, she was working on her new endeavor – the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, otherwise known as S.P.E.W. Ever since the Quidditch World Cup and the horrid treatment of Winky, the house elf, she knew she had to do something. This became even more clear when she found out Hogwarts was run almost entirely on house elf labor. In all her years never did she imagine that her beloved school used essentially slavery to cook and clean. It was wrong. It was barbaric. One would assume that in a world filled with magic, where one was only limited to the bounds of one’s imagination, they would be a bit more progressive. Unfortunately, though, it seemed to be the opposite. In fact, Hermione had never met a group of people so routed in their ways as the wizarding world. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that an entire world would be impermeable to prejudices when the muggle world was not.

Therefore, where all of her time was normally spent in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron or watching the Gryffindor quidditch team practice on the pitch, she now spent it nose deep in a book or attempting to recruit new S.P.E.W. members. Her absence had not gone unnoticed – in fact, it became so blatantly clear that Harry confronted her outright between Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.  

“I don’t understand Hermione, is it something I’ve done?” Harry ran a hand through his unruly locks, distress obvious on his face.

“No, it’s nothing you’ve done Harry,” Hermione picked at her nails, feeling uncomfortable.

“Was it, Ron? I’m sure whatever he said, he didn’t mean it.” Hermione ignored the grating irritation at Harry’s blind defense of Ronald.

“No, it’s not Ron.”

“Then what? Come on Hermione, you know you can tell me anything.”

Hermione looked at her best friend and sighed. His kind eyes shone from behind his round spectacles with sincerity and concern.

“I’m not avoiding you or Ron. I’m just stressed about our O.W.L.s next year—" she paused “—You can never be too prepared, and I need to do well on them.”

Harry looked at her with a confused expression, “Hermione, they’re not for another year! Are you seriously stressing over something so far away?”  

“Yes? No? I guess…I guess I’m just used to studying all the time. You know, what with the time-turner last year and all. And then of course there’s S.P.E.W. No one seems to care at all that these poor elves are being worked day and night without any pay. I mean, it’s horrendous!” Hermione half-lied, feeling stupid as the words left her mouth. She wanted to be honest with Harry, but she didn’t know how. The real reason felt stupid. What was she to say? Sorry I’ve thrust myself into my work more than ever Harry; I just can’t stop having nightmares about something that happened nearly two months ago and I’m trying to distract myself.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, “I get it.”

“You do?” His remark caught her off guard as she wasn’t even sure if she understood it.

“You’re an absolute swot. Don’t get me wrong, we all love that about you, but you need to learn when to relax and have some fun,” Harry finished with a grin.

“You prat—” Hermione hit his arm with the back of her book “—Don’t call me a swot. But you’re right. I need balance.”  

“And I guess as appointed Secretary of S.P.E.W., I could do a bit more for the cause.”

Hermione lit up at the words. “Really? Oh Harry, thank you so much! I’m making more buttons tonight, maybe you could help me? Then tomorrow we can try and canvas some of the other houses for new members!”

“Well, if you’re so efficient, you should be able to help me finish mine!” argued Ron desperately, bringing Hermione back to the present.

“Ronald, I told you before. I’m not doing your assignment for you. You have to learn it on your own,” she whispered.

“When am I ever going to need to know about all the goblin leaders? Besides, you like doing this sort of stuff.”

“Ronald, I said n—”

“Lovers’ quarrel?”

Merlin, Hermione thought at the sound of unified voices. Rolling her eyes, she turned to see Fred and George standing behind her.

“Hey Fred, hey George,” Harry greeted them cheerfully, placing his quill down – happy for an excuse to stop working.

“Hullo Harry,” they responded in unison.

“Any progress on entering our names for the tournament?” Ron asked expectantly. Much to Hermione’s disproval, Fred and George promised him a try at whatever they whipped up as soon as they knew it was successful, and Ron had not stopped talking about it.

“We’re nearly there,” George grinned.

“So, we’ll know in about two days whether it works or not,” said Fred, leaning against a bookshelf casually. Two days? Hermione thought with alarm. Was it really the 29th of October already? That meant the students from Beauxbaton and Durmstrang, the other competing schools, were to arrive tomorrow evening! She needed to go back to her dormitory and rework her schedule. She had no room to pencil in excitement and new student arrival that week. She opened her planner to begin revising.

“How confident are you that it’ll work?” asked Ron, leaning forward in excitement.

“Extremely,” the twins answered.

Hermione let out an indecent snort and rolled her eyes again. Fools.

“Something you’d like to add Granger?” asked George, looking over at her.

“Yes, hullo to you also. So nice of you to acknowledge us in a friendly manner,” accused Fred sarcastically.

“I think some lessons are best learned through experience, rather than lecture,” said Hermione, carefully picking her words before tucking her planner into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“But you love to lecture us, are you sure you aren’t raring to tell us how wrong we are?” asked Fred, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Hermione gave a short laugh, “Please. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“A lost cause? You hear that Georgie? We’re a lost cause.”

“I don’t know…sounds to me like she’s just afraid of a challenge Freddie.”

“It’s not a challenge if all I’m doing is slowly melting my brain trying to reason with the pair of you,” scoffed Hermione.

“Oh, I can melt your brain just fine, if that’s what you’d like,” stated Fred, stepping forward cockily.

“Is your wit really so primitive that you have to resort to sexual innuendo all the time?” Hermione asked, her heart rate picking up in her chest as their conversation turned more heated.

“Sexual innuendo? I have no idea what you’re referring to Granger. I was merely saying I might be smarter than you think. Are you sure you aren’t projecting a bit there?”

“You’re a child,” Hermione bit back, feathers ruffled that Fred seemed to be over his initial shock response to her comebacks and instead was meeting her beat for beat. His eyes held a shine to them as he smiled down at her in excitement.

“Resorting to name-calling now? I thought higher of you,” sighed Fred, tapping the end of her nose condescendingly. Hermione batted his hand away, feeling her hair begin to crackle. She was getting too upset. She needed to calm down and show him that she was better than him.

Taking a small, calming breath, she straightened her posture before replying, “That doesn’t surprise me Frederick. I’m sure it’s easy to think highly of me when your potential is so low.”

Hermione took that moment to make her exit. Turning on her heel, she walked out of the library, not bothering to say goodbye to anyone. A warm flush covered her face and bled down her neck as she scurried through the halls. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Despite his ample fight, she felt quite confident that she won the battle. His lack of biting response as she left, supported as much. Departing before he could speak might have been a cheap way to go about it, but she reasoned there was no clean way to fight when it came to the Weasley twins. A small giggle bubbled up in her chest as she replayed the conversation in her head. Invigorated by the whole event, she ran the rest of the way to the Gryffindor tower. Rounding corners and sprinting up staircases, exhaustion filled her small frame by the time she came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady. Her lungs ached from the exercise and her shoulder and back ached from the heavy books weighing her bag down. She gasped the password through pants and entered as she tried to catch her breath. Fellow Gryffindors cast odd looks in her direction as she scurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but she didn’t care. Her room was empty and for that she was grateful. The last thing she wanted was a forced conversation with Lavender or Pavarti. Perhaps the physical exertion would act as a sleeping agent and she would finally fall into a deep and peaceful sleep. Best to ride the wave and go to bed while I’m still tired¸ she thought. Sluggishly, she changed out of her uniform and crawled into bed. Nagging thoughts tugged at the back of her mind, telling her to brush her teeth, but the exhaustion in her body told her to sleep. Ultimately her body won, and sleep took over.

Hermione’s mind swam the next day as she sat in double potions with the Slytherins. It was nearing the end of class and Professor Snape was taking the time to explain to them why their potions had been improperly brewed in one way or another. Hermione’s hadn’t of course, but that didn’t stop him from berating her for being an ‘insufferable little know-it-all’, and then accusing her of helping any student that didn’t manage to burn a hole in their cauldrons. She diligently took notes as Snape droned on and on, but her mind failed to connect to the words she was writing down on the parchment. All thoughts and worries were currently focused on an embarrassing personal crisis. The dream.

While Hermione thought nightmares were the worst thing, she could possibly endure in her sleeping state, she had to admit she had been wrong. No, apparently there was something much, much worse stewing in her brain waiting for vulnerable unconsciousness to leap out and take form.

She had been in the library, wandering through the sections of towering shelves when she appeared in a section, she was unfamiliar with. Turning a corner her eyes grew wide at the sight of two older students locked in an intimate embrace. Her heart started to race, and her breathing began to pick up as she felt a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach. She tried to leave but found herself unable to move – her feet glued to the floor. That’s when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist and a pair of lips kissing up her neck. Her hands went up, one grabbing at the fingers that dug roughly into her flesh and the other threading itself through long thick hair. She turned her head only to see that the hair between her fingers was a brilliant shade of ginger. The realization was so shocking to her that she awoke from her dream, sitting ramrod straight – heart pounding, sweat-slicked, and breathing heavily.

Her face blushed just thinking about it. Turning her head casually to the right, she spied one of her best friends. Ronald Weasley sat next to Harry, slumped forward in his seat, head resting in his hand. His long hair hung way past his eyes, concealing them completely. Hermione, knowing Ron, would bet on her life that they were closed, and he was verging on sleep. She knew he wasn’t fully asleep though, because if he were there would be loud snores coming from his direction. Him. He was the one her mind decided to fantasize about. Why? She studied him, her eyes tracing the freckles on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking; she always quite liked his hair and pale complexion. He had a kind heart and could be quite charming when he wanted to be, the problem was that rarely did he want to be. He could be quite cruel and insensitive without knowing it, and he didn’t care for much other than Quidditch. Is that really what she wanted in a partner? Hermione scoffed at her mental ramblings. Here she was, wondering if Ronald Weasley were her potential first love without considering that he would probably never be interested in her. After all, her hair was a bushy, frizzy mess, her teeth were far too big for her mouth, and her otherwise plain features left much to be desired. Not to mention her overall swotty personality. Still, hadn’t he told her that she was ‘the best’? And he certainly didn’t mind being her friend. What if he did like her?

“Miss Granger, is there something on Mr. Weasley’s face that’s so interesting that you cannot be bothered to pay attention?” The sound of Professor Snape’s voice brought Hermione out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find all eyes on her. The Slytherins snickered around her, and Ron and Harry looked at her in surprise. Hermione felt her face flush with embarrassment.

“No Professor, my apologies,” she mumbled, looking down at her notes.

“Five points from Gryffindor for Miss Granger’s lack of interest. Class dismissed,” snipped Professor Snape as he turned towards his office. Hermione packed her bag and exited the classroom as quickly as possible.

“What was that all about?” Harry asked, him and Ron catching up to her with ease.

“Sorry guys, I got lost in thought and didn’t realize where I was looking. I guess I should have been paying attention,” Hermione stammered, readjusting her bag on her shoulder.

“No problem Hermione. Snape’s a git and no one blames you. I was almost asleep near the end there too,” Ron piped in with a friendly smile. Hermione felt her stomach flip.

“Thanks Ronald.” She smiled back.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a couple of love birds, boys,” Draco Malfoy sneered as he came up beside them. “When’s the wedding? I’m sure it’ll be just lovely, or at least as lovely as five knuts’ll get you.”

Hermione scowled at the silver-hair bully, with all his sharp pointed features and disgustingly greasy demeanor, as he laughed along with his goons. She rolled her eyes and grabbed both Harry and Ron by the arm, leading them on towards the front of the castle. Ridiculous. That’s what she was being. It was ridiculous to waste her time worrying about some absurd dream when that’s all it was – a dream. Besides, she didn’t know for certain it was Ron who she dreamed about. There were plenty of red heads in the world.

Outside the main entrance they found Ginny next to Neville in a crowd of students.

“Did we miss anything?” asked Ron, looking excitedly about.

“Nothing yet, you’ve made it just in time I think!” Ginny exclaimed in glee. The castle was in a fit of excitement. Even the Slytherins, who didn’t find much joy in anything school related, seemed to be chomping at the bit for their guests to arrive and the Triwizard Tournament to finally take off. Hermione, too, was excited but more at the thought of getting to meet students from other magical schools. She had taken the liberty of reading as much as she could on the histories of both Durmstrang and Beauxbaton and was informing Ginny on their key similarities and differences when several gasps and shouts erupted around them.

“Look!” Ginny yelled, pointing up at the sky above them. Hermione followed her finger upwards to see a large horse-drawn carriage flying through the clouds, pulled by a dozen flying horses the size of elephants. She watched as they soared through the air, their wings pumping up and down in synchronization. The size of the horses was comparable to what they were pulling, for as it got closer, Hermione estimated the carriage to be at least twice the size of her home back in Hampstead. The carriage floated prettily, a pale cream embellished with pastel blue designs and gold trim. Obviously of French provincial style, she concluded that this was clearly the Beauxbaton students. So enthralled by the ornate and bordering ostentatious carriage and the horses pulling it, Hermione failed to notice heads turning and mouths gaping at the Black Lake. In fact, her gaze only broke away from the magnificent beasts when Ron elbowed her from behind. She turned to scold him, but caught her tongue when she noticed a daunting, black ship floating on the lake. It rocked back and forth, sending large waves crashing away from it on the usually glass-smooth surface. Hermione thought it very much resembled what happened when you dropped a large rock into a pond and wondered how it got there. Someone was sure to tell her later – there were plenty of witnesses.

“Way to make an entrance!” exclaimed Ron, followed by loud whoops and cheers as he clapped.

“A bit flashy, if you ask me,” Pansy Parkinson sniffed from a nearby group of Slytherins.

“She’s one to talk,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

“Hah!” a boisterous laugh sounded behind her. Hermione swiveled and caught a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

Fred leaned towards her. “Nice one Granger,” he complimented over the babble of conversation around them. His warm breath fell on her neck, all too reminiscent of her dream. Her body jerked to attention, heat creeping up her face before she smiled politely and turned away from the older boy.

“They’re coming up to the entrance!” Seamus Finnigan announced. Hermione thanked Merlin for the distraction and looked down the path leading to the front of the castle. Sure enough, there was a large group of individuals walking towards them. As they neared, the Hogwarts students cheered and applauded them, trying to welcome the foreign students like Professor Dumbledore advised. Hermione clapped softly as the first students approached. A tall and unsettling man led the group. His dark hair, speckled with bits of silver, sat heavy on his head, slicked back from his angular face. The sharp features and the long, grey goatee gave him an ominous appearance fueled even further by the deep scowl set into his mouth and piercing black eyes. He wore midnight black robes paired with a brilliantly white fur pelt over his shoulders. Igor Karkaroff. Headmaster of Durmstrang. The students behind him wore robes of deep crimson, the color sharing an eerie resemblance to the color of blood. Like their headmaster, they too donned thick furs to fight the crisp cold, only theirs held a rich color of brown. They looked incredibly warm. Subconsciously, Hermione pulled her wool robes closer around her as a strong breeze blew around them.

“Bloody hell! It’s him!” Ron shouted, his voice taking on a hysterical tone.

“Who?” asked Harry.

“Victor Krum! It’s Victor Krum! Right there in the front!” Ron pushed himself forward and past Hermione to get a better look at the famous Quidditch player coming towards them. With Ron’s tall figure in front of her, she failed to confirm whether the Bulgarian seeker truly lead the group of Durmstrang students. Ron’s excitement only increased as the visiting students got closer and then passed them into the castle.

“Ronald! I can’t see!” Hermione pounded lightly on Ron’s back with her fists until he snapped out of his star struck trance. The ginger boy turned around, a sheepish grin across his face.

“Sorry about that Hermione. Here.” Awkwardly, Ron shifted over and led Hermione to the front by her waist. For the second time that afternoon a Weasley boy reminded her of her dream, Ron’s touch all too like the arms that held her sensually the night before. She took a small step forward, putting distance between herself and Ron’s grasp. The students from Beauxbaton were the next to make their way down the path. The crowd gawked at the elegant French students as they walked poised and beautiful down the cobblestone in their blue silk uniforms. Hermione, on the other hand couldn’t help but find them annoying. They shivered and chattered their teeth in such an exaggerated manner and looked up at the castle with such disgust and judgement that she immediately took a disliking to them.

“For Merlin’s sake! It’s not that cold,” Hermione groaned as the boys and girls huddled together for warmth. Hermione thought them incredibly rude and found it idiotic that they did not think to wear warmer robes. However, someone in their party evidently had sense, as their headmistress sauntered up the path in a heavy shawl, completely unbothered by the cold. Although, Hermione wasn’t sure anything could bother the woman as she stood twelve feet tall and sturdy. A neutral expression, bored some might even call it, covered her face and despite her size, she too glided gracefully across the ground. As they walked past, Hermione could hear little bits and pieces of snide remarks from the Beauxbaton students. Apparently, they thought Hogwarts would be much nicer than it was. Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She assumed that as guests, they would have much better manners.

“Honestly, can you believe that rubbish?” Hermione exclaimed, turning to Ron and Harry behind her. Instead of meeting commiserating sentiments like she expected, the pair continued to stare at the Beauxbaton students until they disappeared completely into the castle. Their mouths hung open widely, making them look quite dumb, and Hermione turned to Ginny with a questioning look. Ginny shrugged, also confused over her brother and Harry’s behavior.

Hermione waved her hand in front of the pairs’ faces.

“Hullo! Are you two listening to me?” she asked, frowning.

“Bloody hell, did you see her?” Ron asked, in more of a trance than when he saw Krum.

“Yeah…” Harry said dreamily.

“See who?” Hermione questioned. What was wrong with them? They hadn’t acted like this since…oh goodness. Not since the Veelas at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Ahhhh it seems our poor baby brother has fallen victim,” George stated woefully, placing a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She looked up at him and then back down at his hand.

“Why are you fine?” she asked, shrugging off his hand.

“Oh, Alicia and Angelina were sure to snap us out of it,” Fred stated, then placing his hand on her shoulder.

“And how exactly did they do that?” She raised an eyebrow, shrugging off his hand as well.

“Like this!” the twins shouted before reeling back and smacking both Harry and Ron in the back of the head. The two fourth year Gryffindors yelled out in pain, grasping at their heads before spinning around and glaring at Fred and George.

“What the hell was that for?!” Harry barked.

“You were drooling mates,” George smirked.

“And it’s time to go back in,” Fred pointed behind them at the entrance to the castle where most of the students were filing through already.

They followed the crowd back into the castle and through the corridor into the Great Hall. It seemed the Durmstrang students took a special liking to the Slytherins as almost all of them were seated at their table. The Beauxbaton students seated themselves at the Ravenclaw table, much to Ronald’s disdain. And it was Ronald’s unhappiness that also fueled Hermione’s sore mood as well. Silently she ate her dinner and watched as Ron fawned and drooled and ogled the girls from Beauxbaton for the entirety of the night. When a particularly pretty one approached their table asking him for the bouillabaisse, Ron was left speechless.

“Honestly, Ronald. She’s just a girl. You know, like every other girl in this school. Including myself,” Hermione tried to reason with him.

Eyes still trained on the French beauty, Ron responded with incredulity, “That’s ridiculous Hermione. She’s no girl. That right there is a woman. Leagues above any girl here at Hogwarts.”

A woman? What did that even mean? She was only a few years older than Hermione. She didn’t even look that much older. Hermione turned her attention back to the food on her plate and found that she had lost her appetite. So instead, she pulled a book from her bag and buried herself behind it, slowly sinking lower into her seat as the night went on. She missed the moment they revealed the cup that competitors were to put their name in, too engrossed in the words on the page, and when dinner was over, she was the first to leave the Great Hall. Only, she didn’t head straight for the common room like she usually did. Instead, her feet carried her through the castle until she found herself in the library once again. As she seated herself in her favorite corner, she was reminded of something Professor Trelawney had said her third year. ‘Oh you may be young in years, but the heart that beats beneath your bosom is as shriveled as an old maid’s, your soul as dry as the pages of the books to which you so desperately cleave.’

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“Another potion successfully made brother.” Fred grinned, stretching the muscles in his neck and back.

Fred and George Weasley currently sat in an abandoned classroom as they finished the answer to all their problems. Well past curfew, the pair had just filled two vials with the clear aging potion and capped them triumphantly.

“I’d say that one was particularly easy, wouldn’t you?” George replied, standing up.

“As easy as beating Percy in a game of wits.”

“Off to bed then?”

“Actually, I think I may pop down to the kitchen and grab myself a bite to eat. Clean up here?” Fred asked, motioning around the room. The classroom was their own personal haven; tucked away in an old corner of the castle that few ventured it was their go-to space for all their inventing and brewing needs. It was only thanks to their time with the Marauder’s Map that they knew about it.

“Yeah. See you in the morning Freddie.” George waved goodbye as Fred exited the classroom and headed down towards the kitchens. The low light of the hallway candles washed the castle in a soft glow that contrasted with the icy chill of nighttime. The castle was always cold at night. However, the frigid temperature didn’t bother Fred Weasley as much as usual that night. He was far too excited to be bothered by much of anything, really. Tomorrow was the big day. They were going to enter their names into the Goblet of Fire, and it was going to be glorious. Fred had no idea if one of them would even be picked to compete, but just the idea of winning the prize money was enough to keep a spring in his step and a surge of determination coursing through his veins.

He kept quiet as he tip-toed through the halls, just in case Filch was lurking around corners. Turning down the last corridor he was surprised to see, not the scraggly old Mr. Filch, but the familiar figure of a bushy-haired fourth year. Hermione Granger stood in front of a picture on the wall, the torches in front of her illuminating her and making her hair glow like an ethereal halo.

“Hermione?”

She spun around, glancing back and forth, looking like a frightened animal. Fred stepped closer, out of the shadows so she could see him more clearly. He watched her relax, her shoulders dropping from her ears and slumping forward. She laughed lightly.

“Merlin’s beard, Frederick! You scared me!” Hermione exclaimed with an edge of relief in her voice.

“Shhhh!” Fred hushed her, rushing forward, and covering her mouth with his hand. “Do you want to wake the whole castle with your yelling or just Filch in particular?”

Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm. She stiffened beneath him, the two of them silently listening for any signs of Filch or his wretched cat, Mrs. Norris. When Fred failed to hear anything, he let out a breath of relief and looked down at the little witch in his arms. Suddenly he was awash with the memory of the last time the two of them had been that close. The night in the forest when they were hiding for their lives. He removed his hand and stepped back.

“I didn’t realize it was so late. I was coming back from the library and decided to go for a bit of a walk,” whispered Hermione, looking up at him under the glowing light of the torches. “How are we going to get back to the tower without being seen?”  

“Simple. I know a shortcut. Come on.” Fred grabbed Hermione’s hand, pulling her along with him down the corridor. Her hand was small and cold but fit surprisingly well in his own. His stomach growled, and mournfully he thought of the late-night snack he originally set out to get. He continued down the halls at a quick pace until they reached the tapestry he had been looking for. Tapping his wand five times at its center, he pulled back the tapestry to reveal a hidden passageway. He let go of Hermione’s hand and the two slipped behind the tapestry, letting it fall back into place behind them.

“Lumos,” Fred spoke softly, lighting the dark space with the tip of his wand.

“Amazing, this must be one of the secret passageways on the Marauders’ Map,” marveled Hermione.

They made their way down the narrow passage, taking up a leisurely pace, not feeling the pressure of getting caught by Filch or his cat. The shuffling of their feet on the cold stone filled the silent space around them as they climbed up stairways and weaved around corners. As they walked, a nagging thought pricked at the back of Fred’s mind until he couldn’t help but voice it.

“So, walks about the castle past curfew. I didn’t take you for the type Granger,” Fred teased. Hermione let out a loud and vulgar scoff. Fred turned, looking down at her incredulously, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The young witch lifted her chin in indignation, “What sort of type did you take me for?”

Fred shrugged, “You know, the good girl type. Doesn’t get into trouble. Doesn’t break rules. Perfect Prefect material.”

“I’ll have you know I break plenty of rules.”

“Yeah, but only when it’s Harry or Ron’s idea,” pressed Fred, hoping to goad her into revealing something he didn’t already know.

“That’s not true!” She turned her head and glared at him.

“No, don’t believe it.” Fred shook his head.

“Well, believe it because it’s true.”

“Prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, tell me one rule that you’ve broken that wasn’t Harry or Ron’s idea.” He glanced at the younger witch out of the corner of his eye. Her brows were scrunched together, her pink lips pouting as she thought. Then her face opened in excitement, eyebrows lifting and mouth opening, revealing her large front teeth below her upper lip.

“In first year, it was my idea for Harry to sneak into the restricted section of the library over Christmas holiday,” she stated proudly.

“That doesn’t count! You only thought of the idea; you made Harry do all the dirty work,” countered Fred.

“Alright, in second year I brewed Polyjuice in the girl’s lavatory and nicked lacewing flies from Professor Snape’s office to do it,” said Hermione triumphantly as they reached the end of the passageway, coming out the other side right next to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Hermione spun around, crossing her arms in front of her as she waited for his response.

“Who’d have thought that the Hermione Granger was such a delinquent,” praised Fred, grinning widely. He was truly impressed. He had no idea that the bright little witch had it in her to steal from a teacher.

Hermione sniffed haughtily. “That’ll teach you to underestimate me, Frederick Weasley,” she stated coolly, but her golden brown eyes shown with flee, like he had just given her the best compliment in the world. He then watched in awe as she turned around, mutter the password, and disappeared through the portrait into Gryffindor tower.

“It sure will Granger, it sure will.”

Chapter 6 >>

Taglist: 

@theworldisugly-22

[countessofbiscuit]

Because I'm a sucker for people's thoughts on tropes, 2 and 3, and because I love people ruminating on old stuff, 23 ❤

Thanks muchly for the prompts!

2: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Hmm … not really? I write fic mainly to fill holes: to explore unseen/unexplored implications of canonical events and/or to make things make sense … and ya know, to see bodily holes filled where I can :p

I was eaten alive by my Regency AU until it was out on the page. Since then the only thing I’ve felt tickled to try is mer!fic, but with an octo! twist (I blame nyxtastic). Something, something SCUBA clone goes cave diving on a rescue operation, needs rescuing himself …

3: Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Time travel. My brain does NOT like all the slippery slimy cans that get opened with plot premises like that. I live and die by consistent timelines. I won’t even read it. 

23: If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

I’ll own up to something: I never stop editing fics. Works from three years ago still get tweaked. None of my stories look the same as when they were posted. Sentences get reworked, punctuation changed, a line of dialogue added here and there, etc. Mostly it’s just a case of, I’ve gotten better and finally figured out why *this sentence* always bothered me. Sometimes I just wake up in the middle of the night wishing I’d worded something differently. And because it’s mostly my old crap that people stumble across first (assuming people make the mistake of filtering by engagement metrics), I don’t want their first impression of my work to be something that I cringe to re-read.

Last summer I did delete a Rexsoka-lite fic that I’d written really early in my fic-publishing life. It was inspired by some fanart of Anakin Force-choking Rex, and as I matured within the fandom, I decided I wasn’t happy with how (comparatively) casually I’d treated some dark themes. I have considered rewriting that one wholesale.

. . . . . . 

40 Questions Meme for Fic Writers

[captaingondolin]

those are too many wips. 

here’s a list with brief summaries, and then you can tell me what to finish first because i am suffering from big time choice paralysis. anon is on. ask away.

ace Obi-Wan vague idea: what it says on the tin. it was going to involve teen Obi-Wan, friendship with Quinlan and Luminara. in which Obi-Wan is interested in sex... in theory. academically. he’s his suave, charming self, and will experiment for the hell of it. (i was slightly uncomfortable with the premise of, basically, a fic about an asexual character all about... well, sex. but i wanted to work some shit out and what better way than overprojecting over fictional characters?)

Anakin in lingerie: just polishing up an old tumblr post. modern AU.

Anakin in makeup obianidala: again from an old post with subskywalker. but i wanted to give it a structure

Ani5dala FIX IT: OH MAN I WAS SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS. i have tons of notes and no energy to proceed. in which Fox has a plan to keep Fives alive, Fives has a plan to keep the Republic alive - but Anakin is being a butt and Fives needs Pamé’s help. (probably Anakin and Fives were together before? + anidala open relationship, i was thinking, but idk yet)

AWOL Cody: oh boy, i started plotting this for my pod-together 2018 project with litra. in which Obi-Wan is declared KIA, but there is NO BODY and also suspicious footage/Ahsoka saw something and Cody is NOT having it so he goes on a solo mission to save him. codywan.

Darkness is but a passing thing: same as above, it was supposed to be written in 2018, good grief. post rots, sort of time-travellish, i’m not saying more bc most of the plot was litra’s and idk if she wants to share.

Detonate: translation into english of my italian obikin smut, which i promised ages ago.

enemies to colleagues to lovers codywan: this, but with a proper outline this is now being Properly Plotted. there are mindmaps. and a Scrivener file.

Jedi OC: from a prompt from last year’s rarepair exchange: Male Jedi Who Accidentally Keeps Causing Property Damage/Male Owner of Said Property (words written: 0, but the idea was funny)

Laurea traduzione: eng translation of my italian modern au obikin

Leia using the Force: a messy messy file with more than one idea in, actually. i wasn’t sure wether to go with child or teen Leia (post Princess of Alderaan plot) but then i got distracted with making Leia and Kaeden meet. Ahsoka/Kaeden.

million: from a fic exchange request in which someone said they’d read “a million words” of Bly and Aayla being disgustingly in love. just that. with a side of codywan (the irony of Bly being all like “ugh, THOSE TWO” fuelled the first few hundred words).

obianidala with nb Anakin: wait, isn’t this kinda related to the Anakin in makeup one? my plotbunnies are a mess. maybe from this or this post.

ObiBail Empire Era AND OR others: frankly. a disaster mess probably inspired by the beginning of Til the casket drops and Wild Space.

ObiBail obianidala Breha super poly dinner: this post, but in fic form

ObiBailRex: this one is funny. i found the first few sentences handwritten in a notebook and i have no memory of where i wanted to go from there, but damn, i liked those. Obi-Wan forces Cody to take some leave, and Cody forces Rex to play babysitter to his General and his Senator friend. shenanigans ensue.

storms: ahahah, another fic pending since..... uuuh...... the clone wars exchange from, again, 2018? (how much shit did i sign up for that summer? i was in the midst of moving!! why am i like this). sorry perspicacia, if you’re even still around. preparing for that fic was how i got in to obi/rex tho? and it still doesn’t have a plot.

unhinged Obi-Wan vs Grievous: this, but with a plot. if i can find the plot. why is plotting so hard? no plotting, only cool scenes. (sith/fallen!obi getting the 212th to follow him and go rogue?? maybe?) see “enemies to colleagues to lovers” above

when the numbers get to zero: a Rex/Padmé i love a lot but that, as usual with ALL my damn fic, has no structure. inspired by the blue shadow virus eps. (i posted a snippet ages ago - oh wait, here’s another one)

now onto the folders!

keep verse

untitled about other Clones finding out, and the consequences. “It’s Bly who finds out first through the GAR grapevine. Cody was supposed to be dead - and suddenly he wasn’t.”

Pilots (ot era)

Oblivious Pilots - The entire Rogue Squadron is made of oblivious disasters. They share one braincell, and Nawara is the only one who’s actually using it. 

Dark Imperial AU - Luke is raised by Vader. but when he meets Wedge and Tycho...

Skystrike Academy AU - Luke is raised by Owen, Beru... and Obi-Wan. And he signs up to train as TIE pilot as part of a Resistance plan

WedgeTycho - the tiniest spark of an idea. Alderanian philosophy, Tycho being pretentious, sad, grieving, and in need of a hug.

SitS - A Light from the Shadows

SitS stands for “the Sith in the Senate”, the working title for this epic I’ve been plotting since 2018 that might never see the light because I went “I want a well-adjusted, non traumatised Obi-Wan!”, build a whole new canon around that ......and then got bored of it, obviously, since I love to see Obes suffer. but there were tons of things I liked and maybe I should rework it somehow? (it was supposed to be obikin. then obianidala. then i think i got distracted and got Cody to flirt with Obi-Wan. who knows at this point. what if I throw in Jango)

soft now verse

parts 2.1 and 2.2 are there and almost ready and filled with clones feels (yes, this was a fix it obianidala fluff, but CLONES)

Space Dads Extraordinaire

Hope in Unexpected Places pt 2 and maybe 3 or maybe that’s a separate story? I have feelings about smol Boba interacting with Obi-Wan and learning to trust him, but don’t know how to handle them. There should also be the bit where they find Jango’s pet strill, which I promised to Lulu like a year ago.

the life and opinions

this is a cursed title, i started a fic with a similar title in another fandom almost 15 years ago and never finished it. it was supposed to be a biography of Rex and his rise through the ranks and into an AU where the vode have their own governing body. a shitton of Rex and Cody brotherly feels but maybe also ship? why can’t i pick a dynamic

Thrawn

browser history - Thranto moments told through Eli’s holonet searches

your silence is my favourite word - Emperor Eli angsty smut

new rules - Emperor Eli AU, but make it reasonably happy

see me like this - Emperor Eli AU, angst cranked up to the max

bb Thrawn - Thranto AU in which Thrawn is a weird child, the Chiss have some more contact with humans and Eli & Thrawn meet as kids

forgotten words - Thrawn growing up in the Empire, raised by Palpatine.