#most are fics I won't ever write

[writer-rider-flirty-thirties]

Every song I've heard today made me think of him...

Lol idk why

(this last gif is just for me because... 😏🤭)

[autisticrosewilson]

Um if you write Jason having to get drugs for Catherine I want you dead btw. Not only does it tell me you assume the average drug dealer would give the hard shit to a very small child and then not supervise them at all (classist stereotype that all drug dealers are inherently evil + lazy writing with no grasp on reality) and you genuinely think that Catherine was CONSTANTLY high, as if that's even possible without overdosing far sooner than she did. That's without even getting into the bad mom Catherine propaganda.

[anistarrose]

desperately want to write an essay about aromantic themes in my own fic but. that would require finishing and posting the fic if I wanted to make an ounce of sense to anyone

[otterandterrier]

I might have to be less mean about book editors because I'm editing just 30k/three chapters of my own fic and that's HARD

[gingerpeachtea]

🦆 Anything from a MR! wip pls!! (If you are still doing this game)

YIPPIEEEE gladly!!! here is a quote from the wip that's closest to being done :) it doesn't have a title yet (none of them do oops)

“Oh, you truly don’t have to—” “I don’t mind. I want to,” Christian said, looking up at her with an adoration she couldn’t understand. He placed her shoes neatly beside each other beneath her vanity, where she always kept them. He was being awfully kind; she was almost afraid she didn’t deserve it.

(wip game of birds!!)

[mxanigel]

Fic update: An emotion I won't name

Ehh, I'm still capable of writing Dragon Age fanfic?!

After more than a year (I'm so sorry), I've finally posted another chapter for Neri's Awakening longfic, "An emotion I won't name." Above art by the amazing @/lilithkb!

Fic summary: Neri Surana: former Circle mage. Hero of Ferelden. Warden-Commander. Never been in love (probably), never sought it out (definitely). But after an unexpected kiss from Anders, Neri can't stop thinking about him, and they aren't ready for what those thoughts imply.

Chapter 11 summary: After the best birthday ever, Neri catches up on a few things around the Keep, including a long-overdue conversation with Justice.

Rating: M

Relationships: Anders/Surana, Nathaniel Howe & Surana, Oghren & Surana, Felsi/Oghren, Sigrun/Velanna

Additional Tags: Agender Character, Genderqueer Character, Banter, Companionable Snark, Angst, intimate medical attention, Sexual Tension, Flirting, Explicit Consent, Past Sexual Experience, LGBTQ Themes, LGBTQ Character, Minor Spoilers, Smut, Self-Doubt, Politics, Intrigue, Blood and Violence, Anders Positive , Found Family, art as a little treat, Gender Dysphoria

Chapter 11 snippet below the cut

-----

Early morning sunlight illuminates the room as I gingerly run my fingers through the hair of the man still sleeping next to me. Anders must be deeply asleep for my gesture not to wake him. I don’t know when his hair tie vanished last night, our entwined bodies capturing far too much of my attention for me to notice.

One of his hands rests on top of the quilt. Dry, lined skin hallmarks the many washings subjected upon a healer’s hands, the ministrations he offers without demand of compensation or debt. I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear and then lean down to brush my lips against each of his knuckles. He may never realize how many times these hands have saved me.

I glance up at his face to find his eyes meeting mine. “Good morning,” he murmurs.

“When did you wake up?”

“Mm, not long after you did.”

“Why pretend to be asleep?”

“Because I was enjoying your touch, and I feared you might stop if you knew.”

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

Sometimes I want to read my friends' fics bc like... friends! Their fics! But then like... my brain reminds me the only fic I read is dmcl.

[allylikethecat]

30: describe a fic that almost happened but then didn't (and then maybe the reverse... one you thought about scrapping but then came back to!!)

YAY MORE QUESTIONS 🎉

30. Describe a fic that almost happened but then didn't

So. Every time I answer one of these with a little story about a fic I started to write or wanted to write but then didn't, I end up getting lovingly bullied into writing it 😂 As of right now a fic that has "almost happened but then didn't" would be the sequel to (Sometimes). It has an outline, it has been started, it lives in the notes app of my phone because it hasn't graduated to Google Docs yet and at this time will probably not be finished anytime soon or at all. The reverse... Rid Me of the Blues was never going to happen but then a nice Anon convinced me that I should write it. You Know Where the City Is was also supposed to just live in my day dreams but people on here were very nice and supportive and encouraging about it, and it has now ended up my favorite (sorry) precious baby that one day I will actually finish lol (also please note that the You Know Where the City Is situation started way before whatever that IRL situation was this spring)

Thank you so much for sending these in and playing the Yet another writing ask question game with me! I hope you continue to enjoy my work and have a great rest of your night!

❤️Ally

[whysamwhy123]

Still unwell and I'm going to babble incoherently under the cut about my blorbo DG again because it's my blog and I'll do dumb shit if I want and I'm sick right now so I can't be held responsible for anything, those are the rules OKAY

DG absolutely tried to pick up girls while dressed as Waluigi. I am fascinated by how this man's mind works. He is the fuckboyest fuckboy who ever fuckboyed and I just find that so compelling? I'm wanting more and more to write some weird character study of him for a fic. Like, a multi-chapter fic that's just him Doing Stuff and being weird about it and angsting over the state of his life, just full on psychoanalysis. But, like, nobody would give a shit? Because there wouldn't even be a pairing, it would probably just be Daniel's internal monologue as he goes about his life, facing setback after setback, challenge after challenge, loss after loss and then trying to distract himself/numb the pain by going out with his boys, partying, dancing up a storm (because he just wants to DANCE GODDAMNIT) and trying to get laid. Literally, I'm imagining every fucking chapter would ultimately be about which girl he's trying to take home this week and what stupid fuckboy way he goes about it. Maybe sometimes he succeeds, or maybe he fails yet again and goes back to his hotel room feeling profoundly alone and then jerks off in the shower while crying. But regardless of whether he scores or not, it'll never fix the emptiness he feels inside. It will never quiet the doubts. It'll never stop him regretting his past choices. It won't make the people around him - his chosen family, his friends - understand him or stop them from rejecting outright. He looks at his life, all the missed opportunities and wonders if he'll ever get the chance to be the man he's always wanted to be. The man he felt destined to become. But now that man feels more and more like a pipe dream, like a vague, fading dream that perhaps never was. He doesn't know what to do with that information. He doesn't know who he is when he's not trying to be that man. It's soul-crushing and terrifying and it just makes him feel even worse about himself.

But for now, all he can do is dance.

[supercantaloupe]

ao3 stats game

tagged by @malcolm-f-tucker, ty!!

Rules: Give us the links to your wonderful words with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and fewest words.

expect this to be skewed towards d20 bc while i haven't written much for that in a while it is easily the biggest fandom i've written anything for

Most hits: The Disappearance of Adaine Abernant - dimension 20 (fantasy high), 2,637 hits

Most kudos: ^, 193 kudos

Most comments: Extra Credit - dimension 20 (fantasy high), 73 comments

Most bookmarks: ^, 54 bookmarks

Most words: Starlight - oklahoma!, currently sitting at 34,091 words.

Fewest words: The Symphony of Hadestown - hadesotwn, 191 words. my first posted fic ever! look at her, she's so tiny, lol. my next shortest clocks in at exactly 400 words longer; even when i'm trying to be brief i tend to go on a bit, haha

i shall tag @tragedyposting @theresa-of-liechtenstein @kingfisherkink @grasslandgirl and @druid-for-hire! idk who else of my mutuals really uses ao3 at all so i'll just leave it there lol

[ukrainian-groove-metal]

reading long, multi-chapter fic really does expose you to the most harmless but asinine turns of phrase ever concocted huh

[marypsue]

not to be a horrible shipper all over your plotfic but what would the ships look like in your ageswap au?

The sample I posted does rather invite the question!

I should put out there, as a general rule, I'm not all that interested in Mike/Will and I don't have plans to write it anywhere. I don't really vibe with it, generally, and I believe I've mentioned previously (but maybe only in tags) that I really hate the way the Duffers conceived of and have been handling the possibility that Will might be gay. And many of the ways parts of the fandom have acted in response. I get that it's important to some people, and I don't want to rain on anybody's parade, but I've seen so much bad behaviour from the showrunners all the way down that it's pretty firmly put me off.

With that said, though. This fic was undertaken before I'd had much exposure to the fandom, and also, the roleswap plays...well, a role. I'm a sucker for a good triad relationship, especially the Monster Hunting Trio, and in this version of things, that's Mike and El and Will. So this is probably the only time you're ever going to see me writing reciprocated romantic feelings between Mike and Will. It's just that El is also there. And the entire context of their previous relationships with each other has changed. It feels different. I don't know. I'm operating on vibes, here.

Also because of the roleswap, this is one of those rare places where I'm not mashing Steve and Nancy and Jonathan's faces all together. Nancy and Jonathan are the Hopper and Joyce of this fic, and Steve is the Karen Wheeler. He'll be fine in his loveless marriage while the other two are off having fantastic post-saving-the-world sex. Maybe he'll have an ill-advised affair in the future. Who can say.

(Also Nancy and Barb had a brief on-again-off-again fling post-Nancy's-divorce, which has been over for some time as of the action taking place. Long enough for Barb to find a more stable relationship with the other local lesbian...)

I'm pretty sure that's it, as far as romance goes. Apart from the teen squad, it's pretty secondary to the plot in season 1, and I'm sticking with that. (Also, I need lots of time and space to fully mine the hilarity of Steve being Mike's literal actual father.)

[nny11writes]

Let's Try This Again: 79,560

A Hunter is a Hunter, Even in a Dream: 24

Difference of 79,536 hits from most viewed to least viewed.

As you can see, I only ever write fics that are universally loved and are never self indulgent 😌

Fic writers, put in the tags what the difference in hits is between your most and least viewed fics. Mine is 7,720 (7,779-59).

[tenok]

.

[musical-chick-13]

Wow, area woman complains about Weird Cultural Judgment Around How People Approach Sex In Fiction again. I'm sure everyone is tired of this! Not least of all me!! But here we are anyway!!!!!

Minors do not interact with this post, I mean it.

I am BEGGING y'all to just let the rest of us live. Lmao.

(I mean, maybe these people would tell me my kink negotiation dialogue sounds natural, and not BDSM-manual-esque, but I doubt it. Most people who say things like this think it's bad if you include any sort of discussion or safe sex practices at all.)

How many times do I have to reiterate that it is fun for some people to figure out what individual characters' boundaries are and how characters would communicate in a given situation. How many times do I have to reiterate that the point is not always to be "hot."

No offense, but I'm here to examine a fictional relationship I find interesting, I do not fucking care whether you find my writing "hot" or not. The kink directly interacts with trauma--notably not a very appealing topic! It's also a way of digging into one of the character's guilt in a heightened way that I might not have been able to otherwise. This kink negotiation is not supposed to be hot, that is so incredibly far from the intention here. I actually, no joke, considered not even making this story explicit and skipping the sex scene. That is how significant the other moving parts in this thing are.

Also, I think we just need to get used to the fact that sex is not always going to be an Amazing Experience™. Sometimes it just...is. It exists. Sometimes it's awkward or silly or weird or unsatisfying or underwhelming or unexpectedly overwhelming or any number of things that aren't an idealized version of this. Not that there's anything wrong with writing idealized sex!! But we hardly have. Any examples. Of a sex scene being mediocre or unsatisfying or strange/off-the-wall without those things being seen as some kind of moral or personal judgment. We need ways to make that evident. Again, we are still putting sex on a pedestal, even if the reasons for doing it are different than the usual purity-obsession fare. And I think that elevation is unhelpful at best.

I'm sorry to break it to y'all (I'm not), but being "good at sex" is not the holy grail of skills or the sole universal key to happiness. There's no way to universally be "good at sex" anyway because every person is different. And different people have. Different preferences. And you know how you discover those preferences so everyone involved has a good time?

You fucking communicate.

Yes, I know that people get caught up in presenting the sex in their stories as The Good Kind That's Acceptable and Right™ (and thus sometimes awkwardly shoehorning in things that haven't been set up by the story or beating you over the head with the fact that I'm Not Problematic I Swear), but for the love of our collective remaining braincells, use some nuance here. Not everything is meant to be titillating! Characters talking about shit is usually meant to tell you something about who they are!!! If you aren't interested in that, there's plenty of erotica out there for you to read, you really can just go find something else.

Also, lmao, the idea of an After School Special about. CNC. A hard kink that's an offshoot of BDSM. Please do not make After School Specials about this.

And, absolutely, yeah, it's nice if someone finds your explicit material appealing, I'm not going to say that those comments are meaningless or give no kind of affirmation at all, or that they're not really nice surprises to find in my inbox. But JESUS FUCKING CHRIST am I tired of this idea that something is meaningless if it's not ✨sexy.✨ You get told you're worthless and inherently unlikable because you're not conventionally attractive, you get told you'll be alone for the rest of your life with no support if you can't "offer" some sort of physical prettiness, you get told (if you were in the entertainment industry like I used to be) that you'll never get a stable job if you don't meet some standard of societally-approved "hotness", like we really do not need to be putting this much stock in how ✨sexy✨ or titillating something is.

With all due respect. If you can't find an example of niche erotica that you like. You are not going to die. That's a relatively minor (if frustrating) inconvenience. Use your imagination. Or write something yourself. If you don't find a story "hot" then just. Get over it? It'll be okay, you won't disintegrate.

If it's not the creator's job to reflect reality (which I agree, it's not), then it's not the creator's job to cater to what you or anybody else or general society (or any subsection of it) wants. I don't know what it's going to take to get it through everyone's heads that artists making general art for public viewing don't actually owe you anything!

I'm also thinking about that one post I saw that said, "If characters are literally in the middle of sex, don't ever have one of them ask for consent clarification again, it's a mood-killer." But, again, this axiom assumes that the point of a sex scene is always to be "hot." Randomly asking for consent at a "non-sexy" point can in and of itself be a characterization choice. For example, if one of the people involved was at some point an assault victim, they might be oversensitive to the other person's boundaries and want to make sure (at inopportune times, because surprise, surprise, people do things that aren't perfect sometimes) that they aren't somehow doing to someone else what was done to them. There are certain types of OCD that fixate specifically on being a predator or other kind of danger in a sexual context, and I could absolutely see a character with this type of OCD doing this extra clarification of consent as a compulsion. If someone is unlearning shame from an unhealthy church background, it could come out as a nervous outburst. All of these are things I came up with off the top of my head that might justify a character acting this way, I just don't think absolutes in writing advice are helpful!!!

Genuinely what are you hoping to accomplish here!!!!!!!!!

Idk. Not reading things you don't like is free. Being nice to people and giving them a minuscule degree of grace is also free. I'm tired.

[kyowritesstuff]

Goldencast - Harry Potter Si-Oc

 Being a Hogwarts student is fun.

 In theory.

 In actuality, having to relive your childhood as someone that you’re not, in a country you have no loyalty for, and with a war fast approaching, is certainly upsetting.

 …more than a little upsetting.

 Four Hogwarts students decide they’re not going to fall to the war, and in spite of all the prejudices that rule Britain, they decide to do it together.

 Now if only they figured out they’re not the only real person in the group...

PROLOGUE

Sky Clarksong boards the Hogwarts Express five years younger than she actually is.

Her not-parents – Michael Clarksong and Emma Smith, both Muggles – wait patiently on the platform while she searches for an empty compartment. She finds one near the end of the train, and hurrying as to not obstruct people on the corridor, she finally settles inside. Lait, her recently adopted cat, rises her head curiously for a second before accommodating inside of her cage, dozing off with a purr.

With a quiet sight, Sky sits next to the window and searches for her parents. Their house is just a few blocks from King’s Cross, and so there was no rush to arrive early to platform nine and three-quarters. In fact, Sky can still taste her morning coffee with milk at the back of her throat, a sweet, caramel aftertaste that’s sure to last till she reaches school.

Humming pleasantly, she waves to her mom when their eyes meet, and lets out a well-practiced chuckle when she instantly smacks her dad in the face to let him know where she is. Getting comfortable on her seat, she takes out her wand – Hazel, dragon heartstring, nine inches, swishy – and, her fingers gliding across its markings, visualizes in her mind’s eye two simple words.

[Magical Prodigy.]

That was Sky’s pick from the list of magical skills. She’s supposedly naturally gifted with magic, because of it. It came with a small cost – being naturally slow in learning subjects non related to magic. As she was almost done with high school at the time, the risk seemed worth it.

Now thirty years into the past, she’s more than assured in her choices.

She has to admit, though, that the sudden change in era and country has left her quite disarmed. First time she saw her parents, she almost forgot how to speak. And don’t get her started on school. History quickly became her least favorite subject, despite having loved it in her previous life. She tried to find solace in Literature, but that was just another disappointment. None of the authors she knew existed in this world, and if they did, they hadn’t written their books yet.

Sad, yes. But all Sky has to do to read proper stories again, i.e. fanfiction, i.e. ao3, is survive the war. Whatever comes after that, she should be able to deal with appropriately.

Or so she hopes.

…that’s why she picked the Magical Prodigy skill, she allows herself to admit, internally. Magic will leave her enthralled, she knows, and the thought of being able to perform it impeccably was a much needed comfort when she woke up in the White Void. But in reality, it’s not to entertain herself. It’s a net. A safety net. If all else fails, either during the war or after it, she’ll always have her magic to fall back on.

She’ll live past her teenage years, that’s one thing she’s sure of. But the way she’ll live, in this wonderful, terrifying, magical new world, that’s what she’s afraid of. What will she work as? Towards what goal? Will she live in a magical neighborhood, or will she try to live in Muggle Britain hiding her magic? Will her new, not-parents be part of her life? Will anyone else?

So many variants and terrifying maybes, and the one thing that remains true in every single one is that her future will be determined by her skill with magic.

So Sky picked the Magical Prodigy skill, and she’s gonna ace every challenge Hogwarts presents her with, so whatever happens to her after school, she can assure herself it’ll be ok. She’s in the world of Harry Potter, her true family only a memory now, but she has magic, and she’ll be ok.

Everything will be ok.

An unexpected, strong knock comes from the doors to her compartment, startling Sky out of her thoughts, and when she whips her head around, she sees…

Rook Brindlestone boards the Hogwarts Express five years younger than he actually is.

Having been Apparated by one of the Brindlestone’s house elves, he’s left disoriented before one of the train’s entrances, it’s scarlet metal shining obnoxiously. Shaking his head firmly, he takes a step towards the train. The world swims around him as he does, but he powers through it and manages to get his luggage up with him with no one’s help.

Once inside, his surroundings seem to clear, and no longer dizzy, he walks straight down the corridor until the very end of the train. Most of the compartments there are empty, except for one housing a girl seemingly lost in thought while staring at her wand.

Wavy brown hair, tan skin, caramel eyes, from what he can see from behind the glass. She’s small and has no colored tie, so she’s probably a first year, like him. He doesn’t recognize her, though, and that might be a problem. When he read The Philosopher’s Stone at the wee young age of ten, he didn’t give much focus to descriptions and mostly made his own guesses on how the characters looked, save except for some key aspects such as Harry’s lightning scar or Snape’s greasy hair. So now, living in the same reality as those characters, he has next to no clue who anyone is.

That leaves two options with this girl: Either she’s a main character he heavily misinterpreted during his childhood, or she’s a side character whose only purpose is to fill up the halls.

Welp. No matter who she is, Rook needs friends. It’s not like he can’t figure out who she is, either. She’s a kid, and he’s a kid, too, so all he really needs to do is ask.

Or, you know, read her mind.

[Natural Legilimens/Occlumens.]

…ok so he’s just looking for excuses to use his Legilimens abilities, but he really needs to practice on someone who won’t immediately notice him intruding their thoughts, or else he might risk his life during the war.

…that probably doesn’t justify using his powers on an eleven-year-old, but. Still.

…has he even knocked on the door yet?

Fuck.

Regaining focus, Rook knocks on the girl’s door, although with much more force than required. He grimaces for half a second, and then the girl inside the compartment looks up from her wand and towards him, properly startled. He offers her an apologetic smile from behind the glass, and patiently waits for her to open the door. When she does…

“Um, hi.”

“Hello,” he says, voice warm. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Slowly, almost calculatingly, she nods. Rook drags his luggage inside and places it atop the overhead racks, next to a cage where a fluffy calico-looking cat sleeps. The cat opens one of its eyes. Rook blinks at it. As he does so, he introduces himself.

“I’m Rook. Rook Brindlestone. You?”

“…I’m Sky. Clarksong.”

…no, that doesn’t ring any bells. Humming, he sits across from her.

“That’s a pretty name.”

“…thanks?”

Seemingly awkward, Sky starts to fidget with her wand. Despite the clear show of discomfort, though, Rook is overwhelmed by a sudden rush of thrill. The first magical person his age he’s talking to. It might be a leftover trait from the Rook Brindlestone whose body he took over, that characteristically childish urge to befriend people of his kind, because in reality, he’s sixteen years old, not eleven. When Sky meets eyes with him again, it is that same excited thrum under his skin which guides his magic out, reaching out towards her in curiosity – and he’s immediately driven blind by a wall of white fire.

Smile sharpening, Rook blinks the sudden rush of emotions out of his system and thinks, privately, to himself: ‘What the fuck?’

“Do you want a brownie?” he says on autopilot, not quite seeing Sky anymore but bright, silver flames.

Sky blinks.

 “Brownies?”

“I had my house elves bake them for me.”

“Oh.” And then, almost meekly, she says, “…are they chocolate?”

By the time his vision clears, he’s already taken his brownie-filled tupper out and offering one out to Sky. It is immediately snatched from his hand.

But not by Sky.

Both of them turn to stare at their compartment door, where they’re met by…

Amber Cedargust boards the Hogwarts Express five years younger than she actually is.

Her parents gush over her with all the grace their name allows them to up until they arrive at platform nine and three-quarters, where they let her off into the train with curt nods. Amber doesn’t believe, like they do, that Pureblood families should act all prim and mighty all the time, but decides to humor her parents by bowing to them before setting down the hall, a wry smile on her lips as she does so.

She takes note of all the people she passes by: The curls of their hair, the shape of their eyes, the exact shade of their skin. Once she’s nearing the end of the hall she deduces that Harry Potter must not have yet arrived to Kings Cross, for she hasn’t seen even a hint of either his famously messy mop of hair or the ginger ones of his best friend’s family.

What she does see is the heir of the Brindlestone family, handing off a delectable looking piece of chocolate brownie to a girl she doesn’t recognize. A Muggleborn, then, and a very cute one at that. And given that Brindlestone’s talking to her, she must have some kind of charm, too.

Amber decides, right then and there, that she’s befriending both of them. As so, she approaches their compartment door, left open to the rest of the train. Without thinking, she snatches the chocolate brownie right out of Brindlestone’s hand. This causes both kids to look at her, perplexed.

…well, father did always say first impression should be memorable.

Hiding her surprise at her own actions behind a smirk, she takes a bite out of the brownie. A sweet warmth blooms inside her mouth, and so delighted she is by the taste she can’t help but let out a pleased hum.

“This,” she starts, barely resisting the urge to shove the whole treat in her mouth, “is so good.”

Brindlestone blinks at her. In his eyes there’s a spark of recognition.

“I’m glad,” he says, smiling cordially at her. “But that wasn’t for you.”

Amber merely rolls her eyes, the smile on her face smeared with chocolate. “I know that perfectly well, but I figured since we’re friends now, neither of you would mind.”

“Friends?” Asks the girl opposite Brindlestone, a small frown on her face. It is so unbelievingly childish, the way her hair curls around her tiny, round face. Amber has to resist the urge to squish her cheeks.

“Well, of course!” Amber says, fully entering the compartment and seating herself next to Brindlestone. Smile widening, she reaches a hand out towards the girl, still frowning adorably at her. “I’m Amber Cedargust, and I’m your best friend now.”

The girl blinks owlishly at her. Slowly, frown easing away into an uncertain smile, she takes her hand and shakes it.

“Sky Clarksong.”

“Rook Brindlestone,” says the boy by her side, and Amber finally has a name to one of the many heirs her parents insisted she befriend. She turns to look at the boy – Rook – and, now that she’s so close to him, notices just how pretty he is: Fluffy black hair, dark skin, and piercing, ice blue eyes. And then, of course, now that his compartment partner has approved of her, he offers Amber a disarmingly charming smile.

He’s going to grow up to be a heartbreaker, she knows.

She wonders if she can take advantage of that.

[Metamorphagus.]

“Oh, I already know of you, dear,” Amber says with all the flair she can mend into her voice. “Any wizard worth a Sickle does. You’re the Brindlestone heir. Your family owns the gold mines north of the Thistleberry Forest.” Then, leaning closer to him, eyes glinting with mischief, she asks “The question is, do you know of me?”

To his merit, Rook doesn’t lean away from her, not even an inch. He just sits and stares at her, eyes frowning slightly in concentration.

“…you’re the Cedargust heir,” he eventually says, words coming out slowly. “Daughter of Silver Cedargust and Yvonne Cedargust-Honeywood, owners of the Cedargust Vineyard and the…Honeywood Library?”

Amber allows herself to snort.

“I think you mean the Honeywood Magical Sanctuary, dear. The Ancient Library belongs to the Redsoot family, I’m afraid.”

Rook blinks. “Oh.”

“I take it you’re both Purebloods, then?” Asks Sky, making Amber remember they’re not alone on the compartment. Leaning back on her seat, Amber laughs airily, smiling at Sky with crinkling eyes.

“Yeah, we are. And you’re a Muggleborn, aren’t you? Your clothes aren’t very…witchy.”

To that, Sky smiles bashfully, bringing a hand up to tap her wand against her lips.  Amber takes this – and the fact that she doesn’t remember her parents mentioning any Clarksong family – as answer enough.

Rook starts shuffling at her side, and it’s only when he hands out another brownie to Sky that Amber remembers her own – stolen – treat.

Blushing, she takes another bite of it and hopes none of her companions notice her now pink cheeks. Sky follows her lead and tries the brownie, and Amber can only assume her delighted expression was the same one she wore when she was the one trying the chocolate delicacy.

“Oh my god,” she says, dropping her wand to cover her face. “Rook, this is- you are legally obliged to tell your house elves that I love this now.”

Rook smiles warmly and, after he’s lifted Amber’s stuff into a rack above them, gets one brownie for himself. Winking at Sky, he takes a bite of it and says, “Will do.”

Amber feels this warmth of Rook’s extending to her, blooming in her chest like a golden ray of sunshine. She thinks she just chose the best compartment to sit into, apart from the one which would house the Golden Trio, of course. And from the looks of it, both Rook and Sky, all chocolate smiles and wonder, were thinking the same.

Then the train’s whistle sounds, and the three of them are abruptly reminded their compartment has four seats.

“Um, this looks like a very sweet moment but, uh, can I sit with you?”

Alex Aspenvine boards the Hogwarts Express five years younger than he actually is.

His mom had been excited when his Hogwarts letter arrived. His dad, who was completely unaware of her status as a witch, not so much. He got over it quickly enough – a week or two after his letter arrived, he thinks – and was all too enamored by the sight of Diagon Alley to hold any resentment towards his wife after that.

Even now, on platform nine and three-quarters, he’s looking around in amazement, holding tightly onto his wife’s hand. Alex is too concerned with the train leaving without him to pay them any mind.

Nervous beyond belief because of their late arrival, he rushes through the platform to the end of the train, where he knows the compartments are more likely to be empty. His cat, Bandit, lets out an excited trill as Alex all but throws himself through the doors. Alex is too breathless to actually chastise him for it, so he just shakes his cage a little as he searches for an empty compartment.

To his dismay, there is none: None of the compartments were completely filled, as this was the very end of the train, but all were occupied. One compartment to his left only had one person in it, though, so that was probably Alex’s best option.

‘Huh…that guy’s hair is really messy…he has really pretty green eyes, though…’

…

Yeah, no, fuck sitting with Harry Potter.

Again in a rush, he promptly turns to the compartment to his right, where three kids are sitting and sharing pieces of cake. They all look very cute, but Harry Potter is right there and now that he’s facing the way of the doors he can actually see a family full of redheads on the platform just a few compartments down and he really, really doesn’t want to get involved with anything regarding the main plot. Not so early on, when he’s weak like this and on the verge of a panic attack.

And so, he’s left standing awkwardly in front of these kids’ compartment door, waiting for one of them to notice him.

None does.

The Hogwarts Express’ whistle rings sharply around the platform.

Without his permission, his mouth moves.

“Um, this looks like a very sweet moment but, uh, can I sit with you?”

All three kids turn to look at him, momentarily confused. The girl who’s closest to him is the first to regain focus, giving him a blinding smile.

“Well, of course, dear! Sit, sit, the train’s just about to part.”

Alex tries to smile back at her as he comes in, but all he manages is a grimace, shoving his stuff and Bandit’s cage under the seats. He ends up sitting opposite her and next to a brown haired girl, the boy next to the window raising a brow curiously at him as Alex quickly closes the door shut. Heaving a relieved sigh, he finally allows himself to relax. It’s then that the train starts moving, and the girl next to him shuffles to get closer to the window. That’s how Alex is reminded that his parents are people that exists.

Leaning closer to the window himself, he tries not to intrude on the girl’s space while also frantically looking for his parents. To his immense relief, they’re right outside their compartment window, having watched him make a run for the end of the train. The kids opposite them also pile up next to the window, and they all call out to their parents as the Hogwarts Express leaves the station – all except for the black haired boy, who looks out to the platform serene and quiet.

Once the platform gives way to tree-filled fields, they all return to their seats.

“Well, that’s that, I guess,” the girl next to him mutters. Leaning back on her seat, she turns to him and offers him a warm, if tired, smile. “I’m Sky Clarksong.”

“Alex Aspenvine,” is his automatic answer.

“Rook Brindlestone,” says the guy with black hair, smiling politely. And then, finally…

“Amber Cedargust,” says the girl who allowed him in. Now that the train has finally left the station, Alex lets himself study her carefully.

She’s blonde, and unlike him, her hair seems soft and well cared for, sunrays covering it in a golden shine. His own hair rests messy and untamable, a tangle of dusty blond curls pulled up in a small bun. Her skin is light and clear, lips a soft pink color that, were Alex actually the same age as her, would probably ensure her as his first crush.  But being older than he should, and knowing things nobody else on this universe knows, the sight only makes Alex wonder if kids are supposed to look that elegant. That…mature.

…it’s probably Harry Potter logic, somehow. Rowling wouldn’t want ugly characters.

…no, actually, she definitely would want them, if only to slander them and have them live through unsavory events. But, still.

This Amber Cedargust is simply far too perceptive-looking. Too cleverish.

This knowledge settles into the depths of Alex’s gut, and he can tell by the way his chest tightens that it’ll be the cause of many restless nights.

That doesn’t stop him from admiring Amber’s eyes.

At first glance, when he got in the compartment, they looked an olive green. Now that he’s paying more attention, though, he can see that they’re actually the color of the sea, threatening to pull him in and leave him breathless. But then, no- her sea-colored eyes seem to swirl, and slowly, almost invisibly, they gain an emerald light.

Amber blinks.

Alex flinches, and the charm is gone.

Amber frowns curiously at him, still sporting a smile, but Alex makes a point of not staring directly at her eyes, instead directing his grey gaze to the bridge of her nose.

Veela.

This Amber Cedargust has Veela blood.

Just his fucking luck.

“So, um,” is his magnificent, eloquently put together conversation starter. “You all Purebloods?”

“Us two are,” says Rook, nodding towards himself and Amber. “Sky’s a Muggleborn.” Next to him, Sky offers him a smile. To Alex, though, who’s a self-declared expert on introverts and social anxiety, it looks more like a grimace. Rook continues on. “You?”

“Half-blood.”

Amber gains a curious glint in her eyes.

“Half-blood?” she asks, straightening in her seat. “Who’s your magical parent?”

“My mom,” Alex admits, fidgeting in his seat. In his mind, he’s already screaming, desperately trying to remember if he ever read about a Cedargust Death Eater. The only knowledge his memories supply him with, however, is that the wizarding community frowns upon witches who marry Muggles more than they do wizards. “Elowen Aspenvine. She’s, um, a Portraiture Master.”

Amber raises one careful brow.

“A Portraiture Master?” she asks, voice now much more sharp. “Why, I’ve never heard of an Aspenvine with such a title. Only ever Lemongrass. Far as I knew, he was the only Portraiture Master Britain had.”

Alex bristles, or at least he comes close to it. He bites his tongue, though, far too aware of the consequences of making a foe out of a Slytherin-prospect Pureblood heir. No matter how small and cute she may look.

“She’s a polyglot. She works for people all over Europe.” And, feeling a spark of protectiveness too fierce for him to tame down, he adds. “Last month she even went over to Indonesia.”

“Sounds like a good job,” Sky says from beside him. Alex turns to her and focuses on her encouraging smile to try and calm down, even as he sees, from his peripheral vision, Rook turning to Amber and muttering what he thinks is the Pureblood version of ‘easy, girl.’ “I bet she has had lots of good experiences.”

“…yeah,” he murmurs, trying once again to get his memory to work. Clarksong, Sky had said. Had Harry ever encountered any Clarksongs? “She went over to Spain, once. She painted a wedding. The couple was happy.”

“I’m sure they were,” Sky mutters back, just as lowly. “My parents run a café in London. It’s not that big, but people like it a lot.”

“My dad’s a beekeeper. Maybe we could lend you some honey?”

“They’d love that.” Then, Sky’s brow furrows. “Are you from London, too?”

Alex blinks. “Er, no.” Sky’s frown turns vaguely more disappointed, and Alex rushes to make the kid smile again. “But I’m sure we can find a way to mail it to you! You know, magic and all that.” Then he chuckles. It is the most horrible, awkward chuckle he’s ever let out on both of his lives.

“You could use my owl,” Rook offers from across them, apparently done chastising Amber from whatever her little interrogation was. He flashes him a warm, blinding smile, and were he not so obviously a Slytherin-prospect, too, Alex would say it makes him look Gryffindor-ish. “Unless you have one, that is.”

“Huh,” is all Alex says, still not sure how to feel about this weird gang of kids he’s found himself surrounded with. “Yeah, I uh, I think I’ll take you up on that offer, yes.”

Her mom doesn’t own an owl. From what he had managed to gather from her, she has a personal enchanted diary that lets her speak with people all over the world as long as they have a book from the wizarding world and the correct charm. Alex himself had decided to adopt Bandit, a bastard, hyperactive cat, over an owl as his designated Hogwarts pet.

He thought that, with some luck, he would be able to deliver his letters himself.

[Animagus.]

At the time it didn’t strike him that, if his Animagus form were to be an owl or a bird of any kind, he wouldn’t need to send letters to anybody, as he could simply fly over and speak his mind himself. Now in the flesh of a wizard attending Hogwarts for the first time, he can admit to himself that maybe a mammal would be just as good. He’d even take a rat, as offensive as the animal was because of Pettigrew. In the case he couldn’t stop Voldemort from rising again, going about as a rat or a snake might be enough to save his life.

A trill coming from above them breaks Alex out of his thoughts. Sky dutifully stands up and offers Alex a- a brownie? Since when did she have a brownie? Was Alex really so nervous about today he didn’t notice her holding it? Shit, Hogwarts is going to absolutely fuck him if he keeps on like this.

When Sky seats again, there’s a fluffy calico cat on her arms. The cat in question looks around at all of them with silvery blue eyes, and with a meow and a wave of the tail, the cat settles onto Sky’s lap purring.

“This is Lait,” she says, with all the confidence and charm of an eleven-year-old. “We bought her on Diagon Alley.”

In a blink, Amber’s kneeling on the floor and petting at her, cooing and awing at the way Lait presses against her hands.

“Glorious.”

“Ok.”

Then, of course, because he’s a drama queen, Bandit shrieks from inside his cage, and Alex’s got no option but to take him out. It all goes downhill from there.

When they arrive at Hogwarts hours later, all four of them can safely say the ride went much better than expected. Sky and Alex spent most of their time either quietly chatting while looking over their pets or sleeping against each other, despite the nerves of their Sorting growing closer every second. Rook and Amber kept the compartment alive even as their companions slept, talking about everything and anything for the entire ride, playing cards and chess and guess-the-spell. All in all, it was a very enjoyable day, all kids having momentarily forgotten the weight of the war laying ahead.

This comfort keeps them together all the way over the Black Lake, where they all huddle together in a boat and marvel at the sights both over and under them, and through the ghosts’ visit to the first years waiting before the entrance to the Great Hall.

Of course, as the books had predicted, all kids, real or not, are left breathless at the sight of the enchanted roof, showing a smattering of white, twinkling stars against the endless depth of a velvet black sky. It is all so very surreal, the four long tables decorated in the school’s colors, the hundreds of students and thousands of candles lighting up the room. And then, of course, there’s Albus Dumbledore, sitting atop a golden chair and looking over his charges with a smile.

Then there’s the Sorting Hat.

Alex had thought, fleetingly, when they were still on the train, that things went downhill when Bandit decided to be a bitch and scream.

But no. Of course not.

Things go downhill here.

“SLYTHERIN.”

“HUFFLEPUFF.”

“GRYFFINDOR.”

“RAVENCLAW.”