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beautifulbuckys · 2 years

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Can’t Stay Away (2)

PART 1

George Weasley x Reader

Pedestrians were beginning to stare at the scene playing out in front of them. George has yet to release my wrist from his firm grip. It was kind of painful. To those who didn’t understand, we looked like a couple arguing. So close yet so far from the truth.

Warnings: Language, enemies to lovers, some arguing/tension from George and reader. No use of Y/N.

Summer flew away like a broomstick who had a little too much pumpkin juice to drink.

The gorgeous soft breezes of England slowly transitioned to a frigid, crisp wind. The green leaves of the oak trees surrounding the Burrow found themselves turning shades of crimson and gold. This was my favorite time of year. It always had been. To me, the changing of the leaves symbolized change. Nature embraced this change. It never fought it. The trees and the leaves were simply in agreement. I adored it.

Fall also brought the beginning of the school year. I never feared or dreaded returning to Hogwarts. Besides the Weasley family home, it was the closest I could get to a warm, secure home. When Harry and I had lived with our Aunt and Uncle, nothing about that home was warm. It lacked the friendly spirit Hogwarts welcomed with open arms. For the first few years, I was at Hogwarts and Harry wasn’t, I felt guilty. Depriving my younger brother of this homey school felt cruel. Vernon had sworn me to secrecy. As far as Harry knew, I was at boarding school. I was forbidden from speaking a peep of ‘magical gibberish’. The second Harry got his letter; I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders.

Watching him now was a gleeful sight. His worn-down Nike sneakers stomping on the cobblestone ground gave me joy. Here, he had no Dursley’s or boarding school to deal with. His only concern was finding the correct herbology book for the year.

Molly and Arthur had sent Bill to babysit us while we shopped around Diagon Ally for our school supplies. He was super thrilled. Obviously. That’s why he sat at the nearby corner cafe and paid us all hush money to not snitch. The group had split up. Fred, Percy, and Ginny took off towards the robes and cloaks shop. Since Scabbers had ruined Percy’s prefect robes, Fred promised to purchase him a new set. That meant Ron, George, Harry, and I covered textbooks first.

“Why on Earth do I need 3 different textbooks for defense against the dark arts?” Harry groaned, throwing his sweater-clad arms down in frustration.

Ron snatched a small list out of Harry’s hand. It had the entire array of various things the boys would need for the year. “I reckon it’s one for every teacher we’ll have to teach the class this year,” Both Harry and I snickered at the comment.

“Yeah? I reckon it’s because they’re trying to make all the 4th years cry. I heard Snape had bets that he could make everyone cry the most. I would have my money on McGonagall. She can be a nasty woman,” George chimed in. He shot Harry a slight grin before opening the shop door. A wave of a paper aroma hit my nose instantly. Smelt like the Hogwarts library on steroids. Harry and Ron pushed their way through the doors, running to the ‘Legendary Aurors’ section.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Ron run so fast for a book,” George joked, motioning his hand towards the door to let me in.

I rolled my eyes. “And I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much,” The casual chatter of the bookstore washed out whatever wise comeback was sprouting from George’s mouth. “Harry!” I yell. “I’m praying you’re not looking at some nonsense books by that Lockhart fraud than studying the store for the correct transfiguration textbook.”

I heard some quicked footsteps at the back of the store, they were heading towards the ‘Hogwarts School Year’ section of the shop.

I began making my way toward the herbology section. Recently, Fred and George had spilled their newest concoction all over my previous book. The originally gold-lined pages were covered in sticky pink goo. The once leather-bound hardcover was now illegible due to the pigment from the experiment.

The faint writing of “Herbology” stamped across one of the wooden shelves directed me to the right area. The red-stained shelf was covered floor to ceiling with volumes of various herbology topics. Aged green and yellow spines poked out from the bookshelf, the depth of the books not being very universal. There were a few holes where books were missing. It was like in the movies. I could see through into the next aisle. Maybe if I was lucky, I could scare Harry or spy on some random first year. Scaring Harry sounds only a tiny bit more fun.

Browsing the tall shelving, it took me a minute before I could find the book I needed. It had a small yellow sticker; ‘Used’. I could tell it had been loved. Definitely not ‘Weasley Prank Experiment’ loved. Loved by a caring student. Like Harry and Ron’s friend, the girl. I can’t even remember her name for the life of me.

A wide pair of blue eyes appeared in one of the holes caused by missing volumes. “Hey. Can we talk for a second? It’s rather important.” The soft voice of Ron broke the calm silence of this corner of the book shop.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

Ron pushed one of the books off the shelf, causing the paperback to topple to the floor.

“I’m kind of worried about Harry. He’s been really absent-minded and has been complaining about nightmares and such. I act like I don’t notice, but he doesn’t fall asleep until far after he says he does. We’re not 11 anymore. He’s seen some stuff. I’m just worried that something up that he’s not telling me.” Ron mumbled, attempting to keep his voice down. The worry on his face was apparent. He wasn’t faking his worry. “I just wanted to know if he’s said anything to you, being his sister and stuff.”

This conversation isn’t easy. It’s one I’ve tried to have with Harry a million times. I’ve sat down with him and shared how our lives aren’t normal and we’re in it together. It always seems that it goes in one ear and out the other, though. I’ve attempted the ‘our parents are dead’ talk. I’ve tried my chances with the ‘you’re the chosen one’ discussion. He just always tunes me out.

Ron is right. He’s not 11 anymore. He’s in serious danger and it’s becoming things I can’t protect him from.

No big deal. Only my worst fear.

I take a deep breath, “I’ve tried talking to him. He hasn’t shared anything with me. I don’t think he really wants to. I wanted to actually speak with your mum when we get home. Sit down with her and see if there is any sort of counseling we can get him. You’re not wrong. Harry has witnessed things nobody would normally see. I just want to give him the most semi-normal life he can get,”

“Counseling?” A third party chimed in.

Jumping, I turned my entire body in the direction of this familiar voice. It’s my favorite redhead, George. His face matched his hair color, deep red. George’s brows were furrowed furiously and his scowl was staring me in the face.

“You want to give Harry a normal life and your suggestion is therapy. Be realistic. That’s not going to make him feel more normal. The kid fought off one of the most powerful dark wizards last year and you wanna stick him in a room with an unfamiliar doctor and expect them to get it?”

I feel my cheeks start to burn. “How dare you tell me how to help my fucking brother. Are you a fucking dunce? My job isn’t to make Harry feel more normal. We’re wizards for Godrick’s sake. My job is to make sure Harry doesn’t spiral due to all the trauma he’s witnessed. And it’s certainly not your job telling me how to do my job. Got me?”

George wraps his large hand around my wrist and tugs me outside. His grip felt suffocating. It was tight and unforgiving. The streets are less crowded than it was before. Foot traffic significantly dropped. As the sun was coming down. Many returned home to their fireplaces and warm beds for the night.

“Listen,” George spoke through his teeth. His jaw was squeezed shut. “I understand that it isn’t my place. But I care about him too, okay? You’re jumping past the important stuff. You guys can sit down with us and we can have a group conversation.” George spoke sternly. His eyes never broke contact with mine once. If I’m not mistaken, this is the longest George and I have held unbroken eye contact. His point made sense. However, he wasn’t going to deprive Harry of professional help. We can get the best of both worlds.

George’s proposal was met without an answer. He noticed. I noticed. His eyebrows raised, signaling me to reply.

“Okay.” I shrug.

“Erm, what’s going on here?” Fred’s voice interrupted…whatever we did have going on. Is hands were full with various paper and burlap bags. The contents of the bags nearly spilled onto the cobbled road. Percy and Ginny were trailing behind him, quietly arguing about something Percy had said.

George dropped my wrist immediately. Like it was diseased. “Nothing. I was just going to get Ron and Harry and double-check on them. I know they had a lot of books. I guess I also gotta pay for her book,” George’s shoulder slightly moved towards me to show who he was talking about. “Since you paid for the new dress socks last time.” George disappeared once he finished his sentence. His lengthy legs hustled inside before anyone else could ask any more questions.

“Interesting.”

Walking back to Bill was interesting. The sun had completely set at this point. The lamp posts helped cover the streets in soft yellow light. The group was divided. Percy and Ginny were walking together, still engulfed in the argument they’d started earlier. Fred, Harry, and Ron were passionately discussing famous beaters in Quidditch history.

That left George and I. As always. We walked side by side. We were a tiny bit behind Ginny and Percy but ahead of the other three. Sandwiched between the Weasley family with my least favorite Weasley. This is awesome!

“It really hurt when you grabbed my wrist,” I spoke softly.

George glanced over at me, raising an eyebrow. “Hm?”

I sighed. “Earlier. At the bookshop. You grabbed my wrist and dragged me outside so you could argue with me out there. You squeezed my wrist really tight and it hurt. It was actually red for a while. I’m sure you didn’t mean it, but still. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt,”

George’s face dropped. Even in the yellow light, I could see the deep crimson that dusted his cheeks. He shoved his left hand into his purple trouser pocket. George left his left hand to fiddle with the button that is hanging onto his jacket with its dear life. He was silent for a minute. I was comfortable with it. I believe it was the first time I rendered George Weasley completely speechless. It was a rare opportunity. Silence with the loudest Weasley. The rowdiest of the bunch. Yet, all of today, he’s been quiet and has kept to himself. In fact, lately, he’s been rather calm and quiet. Uncharacteristically so.

“Oh. I’m sorry ‘bout that. Truly wasn’t my intention. I hope I didn’t cause any bruising or anything.”

I smiled softly. “I’ll be okay.”

The rest of the walk was spent with blissful silence. George kicked a small rock the entire way home, much to the dismay of Percy. The entire family seemed to be in good spirits. Myself included.

As we found ourselves in the living room of the house, Molly bombarded everyone with questions. Did we get everything we needed? Did Fred and George get me a replacement book? Why was Percy complaining about a pebble in his shoe? Quickly, members of the clan began retreating to their bedrooms for a dose of well-earned sleep.

George and I were the last ones to greet Molly. We were also the last ones to the stairs.

“Goodnight, Potter girl,” George whispered as we reached the top of the steps.

I smile. “G’nite George.”

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procrastinatorimagines · 3 years

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We'll Make It Down The Aisle

Fandom: Chicago PD

Series: Adding it to THIS series because I can

Part 1 // Part 2

Pairing/s: Jay Halstead x Reader

Warning/s:

Word Count: 967

Summary: After 10 years of being friends and more, Jay and the reader are finally tying the knot, but a medical emergency throws a spanner in the works

Looking at yourself in the mirror one last time before heading to the limo, you could barely believe this was happening. Smoothing down your dress lightly, taking it all in, you couldn't help but smile.

When you'd met Jay he'd been uncover, working for a shady mobster named Arthur and shaking down Molly's for cash, you couldn't quite believe that you were about to walk down the aisle to him.

After years of friendship, consulting on a number of cases with Intelligence as a psychiatrist, a few new death experiences, and wasted time denying your feelings for each other, you were finally doing it.

The wedding was no expenses spared, especially thanks to Voight's donation - you'd been smart enough not to ask where that money had come from.

So there you were, climbing carefully into your carriage, well, limo, with your Maid of Honour, Sylvie, and bridesmaids: Stella, Kim and Maggie. It was perfect.

"Ready?" Sylvie asked, looking at you with the biggest grin you'd ever seen as Stella pulled the door shut.

You nodded, "without a doubt." She knocked on the separating window and the limo began to move, taking you to the only place you wanted to be, with Jay.

"Oh I bet he's going to look good," Stella nudged you playfully.

"Of course he will, he's a Halstead," Maggie added and you all laughed.

You conversation didn't last long, however, your laughter being cut short by a loud crash from outside and the breaks of the limo were slammed on, throwing you all forward into each other as you screeched to a halt.

"What was that?" Kim asked, rolling down the closest tinted window as you all leaned forward to see what looked like the aftermath of a traffic collision.

A truck had hit... "Is that a school bus?" Sylvie asked, eyes wide and you swallowed hard, commotion already starting to form around the accident.

You all exchanged a knowing look and sprang into action, pulling open the door as you all ran to the scene, hoisting up your skirt as you did.

"Y/N, what about the wedding?" Stella asked as you reached the crash, the crowd already doing a double take at the 5 glamorously dressed women racing towards them, your heels clicking on the concrete.

"It'll have to wait," you replied, surveying the scene. The others did the same, each having their own specialty in the field.

"I'll take triage, tell Med we have a mass-casualty situation," Maggie declared, noticing the walking wounded and a number of injured pedestrians spread along the street.

"I'm with you," Sylvie added and you all nodded.

"I'm on crowd control, I'll call it in," Kim said, already working to direct some of the crowd away so you could work.

You and Stella glanced at one another, "I guess that means we're going in."

You nodded, face grim but focused. Psychiatrist or not, you worked in the E.D, and you'd had plenty of extra field training; you were as good as any paramedic.

You both made your way to the bus. The truck was on its side but the bus was still upright, a dangerously tilted lamppost stopping it in its tracks, a giant dent in the side where the impact occurred.

People were trapped, and injured, so you and Stella got to work trying to pry the doors open.

It didn't take long, and the driver, who had been slumped close to the door, held out a hand towards you. He had a large gash on his thigh and was bleeding profusely.

"I got him," you told Stella, tearing off your veil to use as a tourniquet as she went down the bus.

"I know I may not look like it right now, but I'm a firefighter and I'm here to help," she told them, "if you can walk, please vacate the vehicle and make your way to where the other two lovely dressed ladies to your left are treating people, ambulances will be here shortly."

As if on queue sirens could be heard. You sighed with relief, determined your driver could wait until the ambulance arrived, and went to help others off of the bus.

You were helping a mercifully unhurt elderly lady down when Kim approached, phone in hand, as police, fire and ambulances pulled up.

"It's for you," she passed you the phone, squeezing your arm, she didn't need to tell you who it is.

"Hey baby," you said, putting the phone to your ear and stepping out the way of the door so Stella could clear some passengers.

"Hey," came a voice from the other end of the line, a voice that always kept you calm and grounded, "I take it you're going to be a little late."

"Just a little, sorry," you replied, looking around you at number of injured.

"Don't be, you wouldn't be you if you hadn't stopped," he told you, knowing you better than anyone, "we're on the way, Intelligence is the closest unit to provide back up anyway, we're a few minutes out with as many trained professionals from the guest list as we could bring."

"Best dressed emergency services anyone's ever seen," you joked, picturing tux and dress clad police officers, firefighters and medical personnel rocking up in full force to take control of the situation.

Jay laughed, "isn't it bad luck to see the bride in her wedding dress?" He asked.

"Oh honey this is so not going to be my wedding dress anymore," you informed him, glancing down at your white dress, now covered in dirt and blood.

"Noted," he said, "and hey, we'll make it down the aisle."

Despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but smile, "I know we will, and I'll see you soon, I love you."

"I love you too."

#jay halstead #chicago pd #one chicago #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead imagine #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead imagines #chicago pd imagines #jay halstead one shot #chicago pd one shot #one shot

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hchollym · 2 years

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Your hc of bill and Fleur getting divorced is something I don’t see often but I’ve had similar thoughts before!! I love both characters but I think it went to fast and there were so many differences between them that didn’t bring them closer. Potentially there’s a chance of it working but I, like you, can’t imagine Bill willing going to therapy.

Thank you! I’m glad that I’m not the only one! 😊

Yeah, I don’t think Bill would have any issues with his siblings getting therapy, but I just don’t think he would go himself (likely because of a subconscious pride and toxic masculinity thing - “It’s okay for them, but I don’t need it”).

I’ll admit that I’m biased about Bill x Fleur, because I'm one of the few people that dislikes this pairing, which I wrote about in this post. I know it’s an unpopular opinion, but there are just so many things that bother me about them, so here comes a rant. 🤣

My Issues with Bill x Fleur

1. When they started dating, Fleur was just out of high school while Bill was in his mid-twenties.

2. Fleur jumped into a relationship right after she moved to a new country and was suddenly isolated (physically) from her friends and family.

3. Bill never defended her to his family.

4. To continue with my first point, Fleur seemed like a lovesick teenager around Bill:

“’E is always so thoughtful,” purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill’s nose.

...Fleur, who was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork...

“Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?” asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur.

There’s nothing wrong with that, per se, but it makes her seem too young (in my opinion), and they just don’t feel like a mature, established couple.

5. I also think there's something to be said about the fact that they did get married during a war - yes, they could have definitely done so for the right reasons, but it's also possible that it was more of a reaction to the unstable situation that caused the feeling of "life is short." It's a little telling that Bill takes a desk job because of the war, and suddenly he's in a serious relationship with the woman he's going to marry. It could be a coincidence, but it could not be. 🤷‍♀️

6. Bill & Fleur seem to be the next generation of Molly & Arthur in terms of their relationship dynamic - the dominant woman and the passive man who only contributes when prompted. This is obvious by the way he never intervenes with Molly & Fleur and in scenes like this:

They needed Griphook. The goblin ate only grudgingly with the rest of them. Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still-frail Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue.

I would assume that this does not suddenly change when they have children. Again, there's nothing wrong with that, per se, but it does make the relationship seem unbalanced, and it's unfair that Molly/Fleur are left to handle the discipline and be the "bad guy" most of the time. For many people, that would eventually lead to resentment because they do not feel like their spouse is contributing to the emotional work of raising children (unless specifically asked to do so).

7. This is more of a side complaint (not a major one), but we literally never see any actual conversations take place between them. They occasionally address each other in one sentence, but it’s never anything more than that, which is odd. We see each of them have conversations with other characters, but not with each other. Yes, Harry's perspective is limited, but he's been around them together several times, and we’ve seen conversations take place between every other pairing in the books (like Remus x Tonks). I don't know; it not a big deal, but it just feels off to me.

That's just my interpretation though, and it's certainly based partially on my own experiences in life/relationships, so feel free to ignore it!

Thanks for the comment! 😊

#ask me #anon ask #anti bill x fleur #hp #my thoughts #my headcanons #post-canon

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bikelock28 · 3 years

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Can you explain what you mean by “Lupin's Pottermore bio doesn't fit with canon Remadora.”?

Ohhh boy, thank you for asking this question. I've been wanting to get this off my chest for a while. There are 3 main inconsistencies so prepare for a long answer!

Inconsistency 1: OotP According to Pottermore, the whole Lupin/Tonks thing kicks off with: One night when they lay in hiding outside a known Death Eater’s house, after a year of increasingly warm friendship, Tonks made an idle remark about one of their fellow Order members (‘He’s still handsome, isn’t he, even after Azkaban?’). Before he could stop himself, Remus had replied bitterly that he supposed she had fallen for his old friend (‘He always got the women.’). At this, Tonks became suddenly angry. ‘You’d know perfectly well who I’ve fallen for, if you weren’t too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice.’

Then Lupin goes Full Lupin about it and, "avoided any further excursions with [Tonks], barely talked to her, and started volunteering for the most dangerous missions. Tonks became desperately unhappy". This all happened BEFORE Sirius' death.

There's a few things to unpack here. I'll start with the fact that "I suppose you've fallen for him. He always got the women," is a crazy thing to say to someone about their cousin. JK is a fan of the Tonks-loves-Sirius fake-out and it's understandable from Harry's PoV but a weird take from Lupin (*cough* especially if you also ship Wolfstar *cough*).

Next, in the final scene of OotP, Tonks is described as, "her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight"- her hair is still working and she is specifically described as standing in sunlight, #patheticfallacy. "Next to Tonks was Lupin"- THEY ARE SPECIFICALLY MENTIONED AS BEING BESIDE EACH OTHER. And then they start finishing each other's sandwiches sentences. Not the behaviour of a guy who is desperately trying to avoid someone.

Inconsistency 2: HBP After all that, Lupin goes off to Greyback Land for most of HBP. Pottermore says that around Bill's hospital bed in HBP Ch 29, "Tonks made a brave, public declaration of her feelings for Remus, who was forced to admit the strength of his love for her". This fits with what Pottermore has previously suggested- that HBP Ch29 is the first time these feelings have been discussed by either party since the "You’d know perfectly well who I’ve fallen for". Except here's the dialogue from the book: Tonks: “You see! She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!"

Lupin: “It’s different. Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely —”

Tonks: “But I don’t care either, I don’t care! I’ve told you a million times…”

Lupin: “And I’ve told you a million times that I am too old for you, too poor…too dangerous…”

Molly: “I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,”

Lupin: “I am not being ridiculous. Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.”

Arthur: “But she wants you. And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so,"

Lupin: “This is…not the moment to discuss it. Dumbledore is dead…”

Professor McGonagall: "Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” This is not a "brave, public declaration of feelings for Remus"! And in no way does Lupin "admit the strength of his love for her"! It's almost the opposite, he can barely look at her. Nobody mentions love until McGonogall right at the end. This isn't a declaration of love, this is a follow-up argument from a conversation which has already happened, and which all the adults in the room are aware of. It doesn't fit with the Pottermore implication that this has all been repressed for a year- this situation has been well-known, and it's clearly not the first time Tonks and Lupin have discussed their relationship.

Inconsistency 3: HBP/DH The above scene happens on 30/6, and by 31/7, they're married and they both know she's pregnant. Even if you headcanon the unlikely idea that Teddy was conceived as soon as Harry left the room in HBP Ch29, 31 days is pretty quick to develop pregnancy symptoms at all, let alone decide the symptoms are consistent enough to warrant a test, and then actually get hold of and do the test. And that's just for Tonks to find out herself, she might have taken a while to tell Lupin. And it wasn't a normal 31 days, it was a pretty busy time in which you might not have time to worry about missing a period or sourcing a pregnancy test! So while technically yes, it could have happened, it seems a pretty tight turnaround to me (full disclosure: I've never been or tried to get pregnant, so my evidence for this is anecdotal/from Google. Happy to be corrected if anybody has anything about this to add).

(Also Pottermore says, "Remus realised that Tonks was pregnant," which irritates me because I’m pretty sure that Tonks realised Tonks was pregnant before anybody else did).

Conclusion Those are the three main inconsistencies imo. I vaguely included that “You’d know perfectly well who I’ve fallen for, if you weren’t too busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice” scene in Pluto because I quite like it (despite having to find a reason why Lupin would suggest that cousins fancy each other), although I had it be a catalyst to Tonks and Lupin having a relationship in OotP. I suppose I was trying to cover all basis/ have my cake and eat it, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t included that Pottermore scene at all tbh, but there we are. For me, Book Canon is gospel and Pottermore etc is a lesser form of canon, so the inconsistencies don't, like, ruin my life. They're just kind of annoying. I don't think they're huge errors or fails on JK's part, I reckon she overlooked a few details from the books when she wrote Pottermore, which is forgivable considering there's over a million words of the books in total. Phew! Glad to get that off my chest. Thanks for asking, have a fantastic week :) x

#questions or something #my rambles #this is a big ramble #pottermore #hbp #hp #jkr #remadora #pluto #bikelock28 #remus lupin #hp meta #is it called a meta?#tonks #nymphadora tonks #dh #ootp

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thatslikely · 4 years

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Fred Weasley’s Day Off (Part 1) - F.W.

Fred Weasley’s Day Off- Fred Weasley x Gender Neutral!Reader [Ferris Bueller’s Day Off AU]

Warnings: only occasional mild language

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this is Part 1 of my new 5 part series, Fred Weasley’s Day Off! You can find the series masterlist here. This part is going pretty similar to the movie, but as the story unfolds, I promise it isn’t a carbon copy of John Hughe’s masterpiece. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, Y/L/N is Your Last Name, and thoughts are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @probably-peeves @horrorxweasley @weasleywh0r3s

if you want to be added to be added to my general (or this series!)’s taglist, send me a dm or ask!

If you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day off or just need a refresher, HERE all all the scenes included in this part in chronilogical order! I HIGHLY reccomend giving these a watch, for they make the situations a lot easier to understand (and they’re hilarious).

----

It’s a beautiful day today, temperatures in the upper 70’s. You can expect plenty of sun and not a cloud in sight. Right now, it’s 75 at lakefront, 74 at Midway, 73 at the O’hare.

“Arthur!” Molly Weasley screeched, beckoning her husband to Fred and George’s messy bedroom. The walls were plastered with large posters of their favorite bands and sports teams (mainly Fred’s), and an expensive computer sat on the desk in the corner. The door to the room was ajar, a frantic mother feeling a haggard Fred Weasley’s forehead.

“What's the matter?” Arthur asked, briefcase in hand.

“It’s Fred, for Merlin’s sake look at him!”

Fred laid slumped under the hand-knitted quilt like a corpse, his hair tousled and his chin unshaved. She continued, “he doesn’t have a fever, but his stomach hurts and he’s seeing spots!” Fred peeled his pained, umber eyes open, his weak gaze pointed to his suit-clad father.

A sympathetic Arthur reached for Fred’s cold and clammy hands, feeling them with a shudder. He’s got a bad cold, he thought, poor boy needs to stay home and rest.

“I’m fine, I’ll get up. I have a test today.” Fred leaned up slightly, his stuffy nose attempting to breathe. His baggy eyes drifted around the room, glazing the empty bed parallel to his’. “No!” Molly and Arthur Weasley stated firmly in unison, pressing his aching chest into the soft bed.

“I have to take it. I-I wanna go to a good college, so I can have a fruitful life.” Fred kept attempting to get out of bed, only for Molly’s gentle hands to guide him back down.

“Oh fine, what’s this? What’s his problem?” Ron leaned against the untidy bedroom’s door frame, his arms crossed, his face donning an unamused expression tinged with jealousy. He was looking daggers into Fred, who reciprocated nothing but a wink.

“He doesn’t feel well,” Molly stated, not pleased in the slightest with Ron’s distasteful demeanor.

“Yeah, right,” Ron rebutted with a scowl. The tips of Ron’s ears seared with resentment for his brother and anger at his naive and biased parents.

“Ronnie? Is that you?” Fred asked, his blurry vision making the outline of his brother near indistinguishable from the rest of his room. “Ronnie? I can’t see that far.” Fred leaned up in an attempt to see his brother, before falling backward with a dramatic moan.

“Dry that one out, you could fertilize the garden,” the younger ginger spat, tapping his toe furiously.

“Ronald, you get to school!” Molly demanded, vehemently gesturing for him to leave.

“You’re letting him stay home? If I was bleeding out my eyes you’d still make me go to school! This is so unfair.” Jealousy oozed from Ron’s clenched jaw like venom.

“Ron, please don’t be upset with me. You have your health, be thankful,” Fred said coolly. His eyes remained glinted with mischief, causing a furious Ron to storm off in a huff.

The concerned mother and father turned back to a wheezing Fred. Molly tucked him in tighter, cooing, “Now listen, I’ll be showing that new family some houses today, so I’ll be in the area. The office will know just where to find me if you need anything, okay?” A wave of gratefulness swept over Fred’s face.

“It’s nice to know I have such loving, caring parents. You’re both very special people.” Molly caressed Fred’s ashen cheek before planting a compassionate kiss on his warm forehead.

“G’bye champ,” Arthur said to his son before carefully shutting his door and walking to the garage.

They bought it.

Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career, and they never doubted it for a second. Fred peeled back the curtains blocking the beautiful view from his large windows with a smirk. He looked out the panes, admiring the gorgeous weather. How could I be expected to go to school on a day like this?

This is my ninth sick day this semester; it’s getting pretty tough coming up with new illnesses. If I go for ten, I’ll have to barf up a lung, so I’d better make this one count. Fred carefully adjusted his extortionate stereo, his fail-proof plan slowly piecing together.

Fred then stepped over to his desk, reaching for an old, hefty soccer trophy of his and some rope. The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. He started knotting the rope around the shiny golden award methodically. A lot of people’ll tell you to go for the old ‘phony fever’, but if you’ve got a nervous mother, you could wind up in the doctor's office. That’s worse than school.

“It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.”

He scrupulously placed the trophy contraption behind his door with a satisfied nod, proceeding to the bathroom dressed in his grey and maroon striped bathrobe. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Fred undressed and stepped into the steamy shower, quickly shampoo-ing his ginger mop into a spiky mohawk. He gave some thought about his plans for the leisurely day before removing the showerhead, gripping it like a microphone, serenading an imaginary audience, “I recall Central Park in fall. How you tore your dress, what a mess, I must confess…”

----

“Spinnet?” A greasy Mr. Snape drawled, spectacled eyes darting around the dingy classroom, illuminated with corporate fluorescent lights. “Spinnet?”

“Here!”

“Smith?” Silence. “Smith?”

“Present.”

“Weasley?” Snape asked, scanning the room for any signs of the irresponsible redhead.

“Weasley?” he repeated, uninterested and monotone. “Weasley?”

“Um, he’s sick,” a perky Cho Chang cut through the tense silence with a smile, “my best friend’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother’s girlfriend heard from this guy, who knows this kid who saw Fred pass out at Florean’s last night! I guess it’s pretty serious.”

“Thank you, Cho,” Snape said impassively.

“No problem, whatsoever!”

----

A robotic ring emitted from the phone next to Lee Jordan’s bed, disturbing the perturbed ambiance of the inert bedroom. The hypochondriac occupying the sheets clicked the silver ‘answer’ button with a shallow sigh.

“Hello?” George Weasley asked, his voice deep and groggy.

“Georgie, babe, what’s happening?” Fred’s exuberant voice questioned from the other end of the line, starkly contrasting his twin’s nonbelligerent energy.

“Very little,” he responded in a trance-like state, eyes spacing out at the blank ceiling, his mind nearly detached from his aching body.

“How do you feel?”

“Shredded.” Half-empty pill bottles and antihypertensive drugs lined the bleak nightstand to his left.

“Get dressed and come on back home. I’m taking the day off,” Fred imposed. He sat in a lounge chair, next to the turquoise pool, soaking in the bright morning sun, which starkly contrasted George’s dark atmosphere. He held a Brick to his ear, sipping an iced Hawaiian drink from a swirly straw. The only thing covering his body was a pair of floral swim trunks; plastic sunglasses rested in the ginger nest atop his head.

“I can’t stupid, I’m sick. I think I got food poisoning from Lee’s awful cooking.”

“It’s all in your head, George, come back home,” Fred said more firmly, taking another sip of the fruity drink in the souvenir cup.

“I feel like complete shit, Fred. I can’t go anywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now come on over here so I can have a fun day off!” Fred demanded, hanging up the phone promptly. “Sheesh.”

George remained stiffly on the sheets, still as a statue, muttering, “I’m dying.” The phone chimed again with another call. Click.

“You’re not dying, you just can’t think of anything good to do!” Fred’s voice echoed through the dimly-lit room before the tone of an ended call took its place.

“Pardon my French,” said Fred to no one in particular, “but George is so tight, that if you stuck a lump of coal up his ass, in two weeks, you’d have a diamond.”

Fred quickly abandoned the pool deck, instead continuing random antics around the vacant house, whether it was (horribly) playing his centuries-old clarinet, or prank calling gullible freshmen claiming he had an impending kidney transplant. This was the life.

“I’m so disappointed in George. Twenty bucks says he’s sitting in his car debating whether or not he should go out.”

Fred had hit the nail on the head. George sat in his four-wheeled hunk of junk for minutes, muttering to himself, “He’ll keep calling me. He’ll keep calling me until I go home. He’ll make me feel guilty. This is ridiculous! Okay, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go, I’ll go.” He turned the key of the run-down car, only for the engine to cough and heave. “Goddamn it!”

----

“Molly Weasley,” Molly introduced herself to the caller from her desk at the local real estate office. She held the landline phone in one hand, the other scratching numerals and figures onto some spreadsheets.

“This is Dolores J. Umbridge, Dean of Students. Are you aware that Fred is not at school today, Miss Weasley?” she asked punctually, her voice laced with irritation.

“Yes, I am. Poor Fred is home sick.”

“Are you also aware that Fred does not have what we consider an exemplary attendance record? He has missed an unacceptable number of school days.” Umbridge looked icy and collected on the outside, but deep down she was fuming with anger. “I have no reservation whatsoever about holding him back another year.”

“This is all news to me,” Molly replied, taken aback by Umbridge’s blunt threats.

“It usually is.” Dolores turned her attention to the hunky computer opposite her, ready with Fred’s academic profile, scanning the pixels signifying his number of absent days. When she finally opened her jaw to announce the number to Mrs. Weasley with a devious grin, she was horrified to see the number of days slowly ticking down to two.

“I asked for a car, I got a computer,” Fred said with an unamused but smug smirk as he typed lines of code into his computer back at the Weasley household, “how’s that for being born under a bad sign?”

“I can appreciate how this time of year, children are prone to taking the day off. However, in Fred’s case, I can assure you, he’s a very sick boy.” And with that, Dolores hung up on a sympathetic Molly, her tight brunette curls gradually frizzing from aggravation.

“I don’t trust this… Fred Weasley,” Umbridge confided to her secretary, Augustus Filch. “What’s so dangerous about a character like Fred is that he gives good students bad ideas. The last thing I need is fifteen-hundred Fred Weasley disciples running around these halls. He jeopardizes my ability to effectively govern this student body.”

“Well, he makes you look like a bitch is what he does, Dolores,” Filch said with a smirk.

“You’re wrong,” Dolores asserted, fiery gaze piercing through Filch’s soul.

“Well, he is very popular. The sportos and motorheads, geeks, wastoids, dweebies, dickheads, they all adore him. They think he’s some righteous dude,” Filch said astutely.

“That is why I’ve got to catch him this time. Show these kids that you can’t just skip school nine times a semester like he has and get away with it!”

----

Mr. Binns, a prehistoric-looking man with novel-thick glasses, stood at the head of the classroom, giving his usual dull lecture. While he etched utter nonsense onto the chalkboard, you couldn’t help but release a bone-cracking yawn.

After years of sitting in your uncomfortable plastic chair, drowning out Mr. Binn’s boring babble, your saving grace arrived in the form of a grave Nurse Pomfrey.

You quickly slipped on your pale, leather jacket and stuffed your blank notebook into your backpack at the sight of the frail woman donning white scrubs like a dove, eager to escape class. Nurse Pomfrey had on a solemn face as she quickly whispered something into Mr. Binns’ ear before announcing to the uninterested class, “Y/N, Y/L/N, may I have a word with you?” You painted a look of surprise on your face before stepping into the hallway with the disturbed grey-haired woman.

“My dear, I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad tidings,” she said sorrowfully once out of the earshot of the small lecture hall, “your father called. Your grandmother has just passed.”

Your eyes welled with artificial tears, face drenched with heartbreak.

----

The landline echoed through Umbridge’s dreary, pale pink office.

“Dolores Umbridge,” she said pseudo-cheerfully into the handset held by her thulian claws.

“This is Phil Y/L/N,” a middle-aged man said, his voice slathered with a thick Chicago accent.

“How are you today, sir?” Dolores asked suspiciously.

“Well, today we’ve had a bit of bad luck. It’s been a tough morning,” he croaked, “now if you wouldn’t mind excusing Y/N, we have a lot of family business to attend to.”

“I’d be happy to, just produce a corpse and I’ll release Y/N. I want to see this ‘dead grandmother’ firsthand.” She peeled the phone away from her face, smiling valiantly at a mortified Filch, saying slyly, “It’s okay, it’s Fred Weasley. I’m setting a trap for him.”

“Dolores, I’m sorry, did you say you wanted to see a body?” an ill-tempered Mr. Y/L/N questioned in disbelief through the speaker.

“Yes. Just roll her old bones up here and I’ll gladly retrieve Y/N for you. That’s school policy.” Dolores looked so pleased with herself, a devilish smirk resting on her lips. The telephone in Filch’s office chimed, and he quickly dashed to answer it.

“Hello, Dolores Umbridge, Dean of Students’ office,” his gravelly voice answered.

“Hi. This is Fred Weasley. Can I speak to Miss Umbridge, please?” Filch’s mouth went desert-dry in horror, his aged, grey eyes bulging out of his skull. He dashed to a taunting Umbridge, jumping and waving for her to shut up.

“I’ll tell you what, if you don’t like my policies, you can come down here and kiss my-”

“Fred Weasley’s on line two, Dolores!” Umbridge’s eyes went as wide as saucers; her whole face, even her bright fuchsia lipstick, turned as white as a sheet.

She was quick to switch to line two, listening to Fred Weasley’s voice which filled the otherwise silent room.

“Miss Umbridge, I’m not feeling too well today,” Fred started, a smug and valiant grin on his face. He adjusted his clean and gelled hair, which perfectly complemented the perfectly-tailored suit he donned. “Would it be possible for Ron to bring home any assignments from my classes? Have a nice day.”

The only sound left in the office was the droning disconnect tone.

The ‘line one’ buttoned flashed bright red like a siren. With a shaky, wrinkled pointer finger painted with a coat of magenta nail polish, she hesitantly pressed the button, sucking in a breath.

“Mr. Y/L/N, I-I think I owe you an apology,” she said, mortified.

“I should say you do!” the deep voice on the other line boomed. Umbridge peeled open her lips for an apology, only to be cut off with, “Well I think you should be sorry for Merlin’s sake! A family member dies, and you insult me! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“W-well I really don’t know. I didn’t think I was talking to you, I thought you were someone else,” Umbridge barely managed to spit out. “You know I would never deliberately insult you like that!”

“Find out where she is!” Umbridge hissed to an idle but nervous Filch, her palm covering the phone’s mouthpiece. He promptly scrambled around the surrounding metal filing cabinets, reaching for various binders and manilla folders.

“This isn’t over yet, do you read me?” The infuriated voice’s threat yelled into the frantic principal’s ear.

“Loud and clear, Mr. Y/L/N!” she responded while scouring the various sets of drawers for Y/N’s schedule.

“Call me sir, goddammit!”

“Yes sir!”

----

“That’s better. Mind your P’s and Q’s buster, and remember who you’re dealing with!” an exasperated George Weasley shouted into the kitchen’s phone, his voice at least an octave lower than usual. His look of fury was soon replaced with a smile from ear to ear, quite proud of the convincing-ness of his impression.

A dashing, suit-clad Fred Weasley soon strutted into the lemon-yellow kitchen, charismatically introducing himself, “Weasley, Fred Weasley.”

George held his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone, asking, “I’m scared. What if she recognizes my voice?”

“Impossible. You’re doing great.”

The self-conscious redhead brought the phone back to his ear, shouting “Umbridge!” furiously. Groaning echoed from the other end of the line. “Umbridge, calm down!”

“I don’t have all day to bark at you, so I’ll make this short, and sweet. I want my child outside of the school in ten minutes by themself!”

Fred gave George a harsh tap on his shoulder, hissing, “That’s too suspicious! She’ll think something’s up!”

“You do it then!” the other twin whispered back.

“Talk.”

“You!”

“Talk.”

“Fine!” he fizzled. “Umbridge! Pay Attention!” The magenta-suited principal was scuttering around her office, frantically searching for your schedule and something to repair the escalating situation.

“Umbridge! Changed my mind. I want you out there with them, I’d like to have a few words with you!” Fred swiftly slapped the phone from George’s clutches, causing it to fall on the tile carelessly. The identical gingers both scrambled for the phone, ending up in George’s grasp once again.

He yelled to the mouthpiece rapidly, “On second thought, we don’t have time to talk right now! We’ll get together soon and have lunch!”

Fred kicked George’s rear hard, causing a small yelp to escape George’s lips. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” he spat at Fred, who quickly slammed the phone back to the base.

“Where’s your brain?” he harshly asked his irritated brother.

“Why’d you kick me?” George retorted, hurt.

“Where’s your brain?”

“Why’d you kick me?”

“Where’s your brain?”

“I asked you first!”

“How are we gonna pick up Y/N if Umbitch is out there with them?” Fred rhetorically asked, seething.

“I- I said for them to be alone and you freaked,” George stated, reverting back to his timid tendencies.

“Now, I didn’t… I didn’t hit you. I lightly slapped you.”

“You hit me.” Tension sliceable with a butterknife filled the kitchen.

“Look, don’t ask me to participate in your stupid antics if you don’t like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed. You make me come over here. You made me make a phony phone call to Dolores Umbridge? That woman could expel me, expel us, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings!”

“No… I didn’t deliberately hurt your feelings,” Fred said, his words tinged with guilt. “What’re you doing?” George grabbed his red hockey jersey and keys that previously laid on the island.

“I’m going back to Lee’s, Fred. I need some rest. Have a nice life.”

“No, no, c’mon. Don’t do that, George,” Fred pleaded ruefully, “George, come back. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I’m sorry.”

“You serious?”

Fred gave a slow and sincere nod. George swiveled back around, setting his belongings back on the counter, his face lightened slightly.

“Now, to fix the situation, we’re gonna have to do something you’re not going to like.”

----

Fred and George peeled the sliding glass doors of the luxurious garage apart, revealing the interior, which was mainly lined with thousands of dollars worth of vintage car memorabilia, save for the treasured vehicle in the center.

“The 1961 Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe,” George said, his eyes pointed down at the prized pompadour blue car resting idly in front of the duo. Fred's eyes were also fixed on the vehicle, though his’ were illuminated with awe and mischief.

“Dad spent 3 years restoring this car,” he continued, hands behind his back, not daring to leave fingerprints on its shiny surface, “it is his love, it is his passion…”

“It is his fault he didn’t lock the garage,” Fred smirked, sauntering around the exterior of the automobile, slobbering all over the surface like a dog with fresh meat.

“Fred, what are you talking about?” George asked nervously, already knowing what Fred was plotting, “Dad loves this car even more than he loves you!”

“Fred, no.” Fred swiped his fingers over the perfect coat of paint, occasionally posing with the car as if he was a model on the front cover of a magazine.

“Que Bella!” he said with a chef’s kiss, still drooling over the car’s magnificence.

“Remember how insane he went when I snapped my retainer? And that was a tiny piece of plastic!” Fred paid an anxious George no mind, instead continuing his admiration for Arthur’s most valuable possession.

“George, I’m sorry, but we can’t pick up Y/N in that piece of scrap. He’d never believe Mr. Y/L/N would drive something like that!”

“It’s not a piece of scrap.”

Fred opened the driver’s side door, slowly sitting down in the comfortable cushioned seat, his umber eyes never breaking contact with George’s identical ones.

“He knows the mileage, Fred.”

“Look, this is real simple. Whatever miles we put on, we’ll take off.” Fred said, barely giving George the time of day.

“How?”

“We’ll drive home backwards.”

“No,” George said firmly, almost like a mother. Fred turned the key of the Anglia, its restored engine roaring ten times better than George’s hunk of junk’s.

“How about we rent a nice Cadillac, my treat!” He yelled as Fred slowly drove away, the revving of the vintage engine drowning out his voice. George stood frozen in disbelief, before Fred slowly backed up, beckoning George to join him.

With a heavy heart, George warily climbed into the back seat of the vehicle. And with that, Fred floored the gas, speeding off towards the Shermer High.

----

“I had a grandmother once,” Umbridge awkwardly stated, in an attempt to soothe your heart overcome with (fake) grief. “Two, actually.”

The suburbs outside of the Windy City lived up to their name today; Umbridge’s frizzy brown curls swayed in the strong breeze. The temperature today was the best it had been since last Autumn; it was a given that Fred would skip.

You patiently waited on the concrete steps outside the school, Umbridge continuing her “comforting” words, attempting to stitch the wounds caused by your grandmother’s staged death. You weren’t focused on the thulian tyrant, however, instead, your eyes waited on the road for the sight of a ruby-red-haired boy.

“Between grief and nothing, I’d take grief,” Umbridge said flatly.

“Great,” you replied softly, eager to shut the toadish old lady up. She opened her magenta-tinted lips to add something else, but she decided against it, promptly shutting her mouth without a sound escaping.

The stentorian roaring of the engine residing in cerulean Ford Anglia filled the silent air and idle parking lot, lightening your spirits instantly. While you didn’t doubt that Fred would’ve shown up eventually, his timing was impeccable. It didn’t hurt that he showed up in a killer ride, either.

A tall, lanky man drenched in a long beige trench coat, horn-rimmed sunglasses, and a businessman-looking fedora, which masked his fiery orange hair, emerged from the car, leaning against its body.

“Oh Y/N honey, hurry along now,” the stranger in disguise bellowed, his voice slightly higher pitched than ‘Mr. Y/L/N’s’ from the phone, a thickly-slathered Chicago accent present nonetheless.

“I guess that’s my dad.”

You grabbed the annoying principal’s wrinkly, cold hand, reciting, “Miss Umbridge, Dolores. You’re a beautiful woman, I wanna thank you for your warmth and compassion.”

A furious Ron watched from the scene play out from the large front windows of the school, immediately recognizing Fred and his infuriating antics with a scowl. Why should he get to skip while the rest of us have to stay? I’ve gotta catch him.

Umbridge looked near disturbed at your counterfeit words on thankfulness, before you eagerly stepped down to the car, giving ‘Mister Y/L/N’ a quick hug.

“Do you have a kiss for Daddy?” Fred jokingly asked with a smirk.

“Are you kidding?” you replied, leaning into his soft lips for a passionate kiss, which maybe would have escalated a little further if he didn’t drag you in the passenger seat of the Anglia.

“So that's how it is in their family,” Umbridge uttered as she watched the nearly-French kiss perched from her spot at the top of the stairway. She swiftly pivoted around walking to the front entrance to the school, when Fred floored the Ford again, its loud engine roaring off into the distance.

“Hi Georgie, you comfortable?” you asked, eyes towards the crampted back seat.

Once the three of you were out of Umbridge’s eyeline, a compact George sprung up from the lonely backseat, saying, “Hi, Y/N. No.”

“So, what're we gonna do?” you asked the dashingly handsome driver next to you with a smile.

“The question isn’t: What are we going to do? The question is: What aren’t we going to do?”

“Don’t say we’re not going to take the car home. Please don’t say that we’re not going to take the car home,” George mumbled, hopeful that Fred would comply, though he already knew that Fred would be doing the exact opposite.

If you had access to a car like this, Fred mentally narrated, gesturing to the amenities-rich Anglia, would you take it back right away? Me neither.

And with that, Fred recklessly rounded the bendy road, speeding off towards downtown Chicago.

103 notes · View notes

lupinlongbottom · 4 years

Text

Practically a Weasley pt. 2

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: Home for the holidays! Finally, after the end of a bitter war, the Weasleys have some much needed family time to catch up on. The holidays are the perfect time to celebrate family, no? Charlie and (Y/N) seem to agree.

Word Count: 3.8k+

Warnings: None

A/N: A much anticipated part 2 to my Practically a Weasley fic! I love writing for Charlie. Dragon boy just doesn’t get much love, does he? Also Fred ain’t dead. My heart couldn’t handle that if it were true.

Part 1 ... Part 1.5 ... Part 3 ... Epilogue

The Burrow was fluttering with delight, the holidays had been finally sworn in with the arrival of the entire Weasley clan. How long had it been since most of the redheaded family sat under one roof, let alone one table? With everyone’s various lines of work and hectic schedules, it was a surprise and a holiday miracle even half of them had shown up.

Bill was enchanting the younger children with vast stories of his work as a curse-breaker (with a little exaggeration, of course). Molly and Arthur were bickering about him bringing yet another Muggle artifact home for the holidays. And Charlie? He sat quietly at the end of the table, humming along to Celestina Warbeck’s newest album, gingerly holding (Y/N)’s hand with delight.

Nothing had changed, not really, not ever.

“How do you know all of the words already? She just released these songs like, two days ago?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking a small sip of the hot beverage in front of her.

“I have a perfect memory,” Charlie mused, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “Or, did you forget?”

“I suppose I did, Mr. Weasley.” (Y/N) grinned, eyes flitting across the various freckles under his brown eyes.

“Such a shame, you really ought to know better, Mrs. Weasley.” A soft peck danced across their lips.

Ah. So something had changed.

“Ew.” Fred spat, eyeing his older brother down from across the table.

“Double ew,” George retorted. “Get a room.”

“They’re married, you gits,” said Ginny, bumping Fred in the arm. “Let them be.”

“She’s my best friend!” groaned Fred.

“Wow,” muttered George, a hand rising to his chest. “After all we’ve been through, Freddie? I’m gutted.”

(Y/N) chuckled quietly at the twins, now not-so-playfully fighting each other across the table. “They’ll never grow up, will they?” Whilst the twins began their fight to the death via dull forks, the newlywed couple pulled away from one another for the first time in hours.

“No, I reckon not,” Charlie hummed, rising from his seat. “If they’re going to continue on like this, I might as well pour myself a glass of firewhisky. Did you want one, love?”

Silently, (Y/N) shook her head, allowing Charlie to flee the scene for a few moments. The album had finally reached the end of the track, resulting in Molly starting it right back up. Ron and Ginny groaned gaudily, as this had been the fifth time she had done so this evening. The two shut right up after Bill had sent them both a quick and sharp glance.

“I must say,” Molly began. “I never imagined the lot of us sitting around one table again,” The war had reached its climatic end only a few months prior, wounds starting to finally heal. “I’m truly blessed to have almost my entire family together for the holidays—”

“—minus Perce, Fleur and Harry, of course!” George piped up.

“Right,” Molly cleared her throat. “As I said, almost the entire family.”

“Fleur sends her regards, truly. But with the condition her mother is in right now, she needed to be home,” Bill responded, again apologizing for his wife’s lack of attendance. “And Percy and Harry will be joining us in the coming days, no?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, leaving the absence of his brother and best friend at that. “Harry’s got some errands to run, or whatever. I reckon he’s out buying gifts even when we asked him not to.” Ron chuckled.

“Well, regardless of who isn’t here, we still have a large family. A growing family at that!” Arthur rejoiced, causing (Y/N)’s face to drop slightly. “It’s (Y/N)’s first holidays as an official Weasley!”

(Y/N) felt her face flush. A sigh of relief. “Oh Arthur, that’s hardly anything to celebrate…”

“Hogwash,” Charlie retorted, returning with his promised firewhisky, and a glass of water for (Y/N). “You can’t escape now, you’re sorta in it for life, yeah?”

“I feel like it’s already been a lifetime, love.” She chuckled. “Besides, just because we signed some stupid paper and wear these rings—”

“—wonderfully selected by your adoring husband.” Charlie mused, wriggling his left hand. The cool silver shone off his hand, a matching band with (Y/N)’s delicate ring.

“You know what I mean, Charles.” snickered (Y/N). “I mean, I’ve practically been a Weasley since second year!”

“It’s true,” George paused, setting his fork down. “I mean, we would’ve married her first but—”

“—we were too busy being repulsed by the thought!” Fred finished, poking his tongue out slightly.

(Y/N) returned the gesture.

“You lot will never grow up,” said Molly, shaking her head. “Whatever the case, I’m truly blessed to have another daughter.”

“Mum, just remember to think about the daughter you’ve always had, yeah?” Ginny laughed, causing the entire table to join in.

Hours passed, with it, a final read through of (Y/N)’s latest project. The sequel to The Distracted Dragon. While she had intended to finish the novel earlier, something larger than herself had erupted in their little world that needed attending to. The various fans of the first story were surely gutted, but to be completely fair to all involved, a war seemed like a pretty eminent reason to move the newest addition on the back burner.

“So you’re telling me… Bancroft gets a girlfriend?” Ron asks, looking to (Y/N) for an answer. She hesitantly gave a nod. “That’s the moral of the story? Get yourself a girlfriend and all your problems will be solved?”

“No,” Fred sniffed, moved by the book. “Ronnie, the moral is that sometimes we need help from another person to grow and accept our past!” With a loud honk into a tissue, he continued to weep.

“Nah, I still think that Harriet solved his problems.” Ron shrugged, popping a crisp into his mouth.

As Fred began to argue with Ron louder, chiming in about Hermione, Charlie gave (Y/N) a simple nod, aiming upwards towards the stairs. She got the hint quickly and excused herself.

“Tired of it yet?” asked Charlie, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand gingerly as they walked up the stairs towards his room. Bill had offered to stay in the twins room while (Y/N) was here, letting the newlyweds to have a space to themselves.

“No, not yet,” replied (Y/N). “Though,” She opened the door. “I’m rather pleased at how keenly Fred took to the book.”

“Ah,” He sat on the bed, waving his wand to shut the door once more. “He’s a bit of a romantic, no?”

“Fred? A romantic?” She laughed, pulling on her pajamas. A simple purple nightie, just touching the tops of her knees. “As if. He’s just… more in tune with the details I reckon.”

“Details… sure. Whatever you say, flower.” Charlie began to pull his socks off, eyeing his wife up and down. “You know… I bet the entire lot downstairs is going to be busy for a while.”

“Oh?” (Y/N) mused, flicking the lights off. “Busy, you say?”

Charlie nodded. “With Ron and Fred’s arguing, they sure drown out the sound, no?” He wriggled his eyebrows, climbing under the quilt next to his wife. A gentle hand caressed her thigh lightly.

“Charlie,” (Y/N) sighed, almost annoyed. “As lovely as the thought is,” He began peppering kisses to her neck, slowly down to her collarbone. “We shouldn’t.”

“Love,” more kisses. “It’s not like we’ve never fooled around up here before,” said Charlie, leaving a suckling mark below (Y/N)’s ear. “You love the risk.”

(Y/N) gently pushes Charlie away. “You’ve had too much firewhisky,” said (Y/N), pecking her husband once on the lips. “And I’m not feeling up for it.”

“Flower, I barely had any firewhisky,” he laughed. “Not nearly as much as you drink, well, normally anyhow,” a puzzled look adorned his freckled face. “Why didn’t you drink tonight? It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Are you saying I need to drink to have a good time?” (Y/N) accused, only half offended.

“Of course not! But you do find any and all reasons to have a nice drink at gatherings like these, it's odd, s’all,” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s a holiday! With the family. Our family. What better time to drink?”

“I didn’t feel like it.” (Y/N) mumbled, flopping down under the covers, turning away from her husband.

“I sense that you’re lying, love.” Charlie said, rubbing her arm gently. “You’re my wife…” mewled Charlie, hanging onto the last word longer than usual. “I’m keen to noticing these things.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Indeed,” he quipped. “You have a rather easy tell, too.” Charlie gave a quick side glance in (Y/N)’s direction, smirking. “You tend to push your hair behind your ears, bite your lip and flick your eyes ever so slightly.”

“I do that all the time.” mumbled (Y/N).

“Does that mean? No…” Charlie gasped. “Could you’ve been lying to me the whole time I’ve known you?”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) groaned.

“Okay, fine,” He laughed. “But you’ve been acting off these last couple of weeks. Not drinking, barely getting any sleep—”

“—which I’m trying to do right now, thank you!” (Y/N) quipped, pulling the covers higher.

“Your mood has been real shit lately too. One moment you’re all smiles, the next you want to send me to the dog house just for looking at you.” Charlie sighed. “And I know it’s not,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “‘that time of the month’ yet, because it was last week, right?”

“No, and stop talking about my period like you’re afraid to say it.”

“Huh… It’s normally around the third week of the month, no?” He mumbled. With a gentle shake of his head, he continued. “Flower, all I’m trying to say is that even when you went to the doctor, they didn’t diagnose you with anything, right? I’m just worried something is wrong with you, (Y/N)”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Charlie.”

“Nothing? You run to the loo to empty your lunch like it’s your job,” He laughed. “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s almost as if—”

He stopped.

“Charlie?” (Y/N) turned around to check on her husband. Charlie just sat, staring forward. “Honey?”

“(Y/N),” He continued to stare forward. “Are you…?”

“Darling,” She sat up, gingerly grabbing his hands. “Look at me.”

Charlie’s eyes were brimming with tears, begging to be let go.

“I wanted to tell you tomorrow, a Christmas present,” (Y/N)’s eyes were swimming with matching tears. “But I guess one present early couldn’t hurt, no?”

His eyes flicked back and forth from his wife’s, waiting for any sign of an answer. (Y/N) nodded her head slightly, fighting back the tears. Charlie wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her tightly, afraid to let her go. “You’re kidding!” A flurry of kisses brimmed (Y/N)’s head, forming a crown upon her temple. “Love! This is a great—no—the best gift you could’ve given me”

“You’re excited?” asked (Y/N), giggling in her husband’s embrace.

“Of course I’m excited,” Charlie pulled away slightly, meeting his brown eyes with (Y/N)’s, darting between the two rapidly. “A baby. Our baby.”

In an instant, their lips met. Softly at first, crescendoing slowly into an intensity as bright as the stars above, burning hot at the sight. The moment was broken only by the parting for air, quickly returning to the fire before. Was it the thrill of their family below? Or the joy of the family growing between the two? Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“How long?” asked Charlie, rubbing (Y/N)’s upper arm gently. “I mean, how far along are you?”

“Remember that Quidditch match your friend Andre invited us to?” (Y/N) giggled.

“I don’t remember much of the match,” Charlie said, scratching his head. “Come to think of it, you pulled me into an empty stall and we—” His cheeks flushed, burning up to the tips of his ears. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) laughed, brushing Charlie’s hair out of his eyes. “Andre’s team won in the end, by the way.” Another laugh.

“Well, I suppose we both scored,” Charlie joined in the laughter. “But that was about two months ago, no?”

“Something like that. I found out last week at the doctor’s office,” said (Y/N). “It was the hardest thing to keep from you! I was so scared that—”

“—that I’d be upset?”

“Something of that sort, yeah,” (Y/N) mumbled. “Of course I was being a real idiot about the whole thing, I realized that the second you figured it out.”

“Love, I come from a family of nine,” Charlie held his breath. “Now, that’s not to say I want to rival my parents in the baby-making contest, but I’ve always wanted a little piece of that happiness. Especially with you.”

“Charlie if you keep saying shit like that I’m going to cry,” (Y/N) warned, choking back tears, a common theme in the past few minutes. “I can’t believe I was even remotely worried.”

“What was there to be worried about?” Charlie asked, stroking (Y/N)’s hair, fingers twisting the ends lightly.

“I’m not sure. We just got married a little over a year ago, after a bloody war had started no less—”

“—to be fair, we got married during the war.”

“I suppose we technically eloped before the war was over.” (Y/N) mumbled, tracing her hand up Charlie’s chest, resting gently.

“We also got married before Bill,” Charlie laughed. “Not an important detail, but one that I like to rub in his face.”

“Besides your points,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “We’re newlyweds! We’re young! I mean, we never even really had the whole ‘baby’ talk before. I was worried we weren’t ready, hardly after a war,” (Y/N) gulped. “I was worried you’d be scared.”

“Love, of course I’m scared. Babies are terrifying,” said Charlie. “With their little hands and tiny feet.” He feigned a grimace, clearly joking. “But you’re right. We are young, but that just means more years of being a family, no?”

“I guess…”

“Now, you’re also right about the ‘baby’ talk. We haven’t really talked about it,” Charlie looked down at (Y/N). “Let’s have it now.”

“I think it’s a little late for that.” (Y/N) giggled.

“Do you ever want to have kids?” Charlie asked, ignoring his wife’s growing laughter.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever want to have a child together?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s all that matters, right?” Charlie said, his brown eyes meeting (Y/N)’s. “Who cares if it’s a little before we might have planned? I know that we’re going to love the shit out of our child.”

“I know you’re right,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But you don’t have any worries about all of this?”

“Only one,” said Charlie. “I mean, if it’s not a boy to take on the Weasley name, I may consider a divorce.” Charlie hummed, smirking lightly.

“Charlie!” (Y/N) slapped his chest rather firmly, eliciting a slight groan from the redhead. “If you keep joking like that, I may consider divorce first.”

“Flower, you know I could never divorce you,” Charlie laughed, placing a kiss to his wife’s temple. “Besides, with the amount of brothers I have, the Weasley name is rather safe I reckon,” Another kiss to her temple. “Come on, let's get some sleep.” It took only a few fleeting kisses, happy murmurs and mumblings before the couple finally retired for the night.

—

“Well, look at the lovebirds!” George sang from the kitchen table, setting his coffee mug down, eyeing up (Y/N) and Charlie descending from the stairs. “Unusually well rested. Obviously not taking advantage of their own room I see.”

“George,” said Molly, sternly shooting a glance at her son. “Happy Christmas you two.”

“Happy Christmas, mum,” said Charlie, placing a peck to his mother’s cheek. “Happy Christmas George.”

“Yeah, yeah. Christmas or whatever,” George sipped from his mug. “You lot slept in a bit, the rest of the family is outside. You know, completing a family tradition and whatnot. So disgraceful.”

“Ah, but the real disgrace, George, is the fact you also are missing out on the snow angels,” (Y/N) chirped, grabbing a plate of hot breakfast from Molly. “Besides, everyone’s coming in for breakfast soon anyway. No one can resist Molly’s cooking.”

“Oh (Y/N), you humor me,” Molly laughed, opening the window. “Breakfast!” She called out to the rest of her family. One by one, the clan filed into the kitchen, sitting in their respective seats.

“Mum, you outdid yourself again! This food looks delicious.” Bill said, piling a load of eggs onto his plate. He handed the skillet over in Ginny’s direction, eliciting a scowl to the yellow mush beneath her nose.

“Kiss-up.” Ginny mumbled, immediately passing the cooked eggs over to Ron.

The rest of the family began eating, enjoying a rare moment of silence in the Burrow. Only sounds of scraping forks and the occasional burp echoed through the walls. Fred and George were the first to finish their plate, diving into another round of home cooking immediately after. Charlie and (Y/N) sat together, gently hold each other’s hands while they ate, Charlie sitting at the end.

“While you’re all sitting down, I suppose now’s the best time for your gifts!” said Molly, cleaning up the table. She quickly exited the kitchen only to reappear with a rather large bag. “Careful not to get any muck on them, I don’t want to do any washing today.” With a flick of her wand, the colorful stack of wool dispersed evenly among the family, a jumper settling in everyone’s lap.

“Jumpers? Oh boy, what a surprise!” George laughed.

“Really shocked our socks off, mum!” Fred added, unfurling his pile of purple.

“Oh hush,” Molly smirked. “Just go put them on and humor your mother, would you? You seem to find every other opportunity to do so.”

The twins groaned and pulled the fabric over their heads, both of the violet jumpers were adorned with their store’s logo on the front. Bill’s had a niffler, Ron’s had a Chudley Cannons print, Ginny’s had two crossing brooms and Charlie’s had (not surprising anyone) a large white dragon.

“What about yours, love?” said Charlie, elbowing (Y/N) slightly, the light blue wool rubbing against her arm. She turned to face him, the green jumper was decorated with a book and quill, the cover oddly resembling her first book. “Wow! That looks amazing!” He exclaimed. “Mum, how do you keep making these year after year?”

“With patience and a whole lot of love.” Molly smiled.

“Her enchanted knitting needles help too,” Arthur added, brushing biscuit crumbs off his new maroon sweater, ignoring the icy glare from his wife. “Besides, it’s a tradition.”

“A tradition getting harder every year,” Molly sighed. “Thankfully none of you are getting married any time soon, no need to worry about adding any other jumpers to my long list!” She laughed.

“Besides for next year, of course.” said Charlie offhandedly. (Y/N) froze.

“Next year? What’s next year?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I don’t reckon Fred or George are going to meet anyone by next Christmas.” said Ron.

“Hey!” The twins exclaimed.

“Well…” Charlie looked up, all eyes were on him. A quick glance was given to (Y/N), who shared an equally pale face as him. He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “You never know when people can meet each other, no? I mean, (Y/N) and I met in a coffee shop of all places!”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) began.

“Hell, we even eloped! Do you know how easy it is to do that?” Charlie continued, nervously bumbling longer sentences. “We got married in like, an hour once we set our sights on it!” He chuckled loudly, trying to drown the attention away from his sweat.

(Y/N) stood up, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Before Charlie continues to blabber like a right idiot,” she said, shutting her husband up successfully. He sighed loudly. “I’m pregnant.” The entire table sat in stunned silence.

“That’s amazing!” Fred shouted, breaking the silence, jumping from his seat. “My best friend is having a baby!” He wrapped (Y/N) in a large hug, gripping her tightly.

“Again, am I chopped liver?” George laughed, running over to join the hug. “A baby! Promise that you’ll name him George! Or Fred. Not terribly picky on that.”

“Boys! You shouldn’t hug (Y/N) that hard,” said Arthur. The twins loosened their grip slightly. “Congratulations you two,” He glanced between the happy couple. “Children are a blessing.”

“Is that why you had seven of them?” Ron asked, getting slapped on the shoulder by his mother.

“Oh (Y/N),” Molly cooed, fighting back her tears. "My first grandchild! We couldn’t be more thrilled for you!” She ran over to Charlie, embracing him in the warmest bearhug she could’ve mustered. “I can’t wait to start knitting their jumper! It’ll be so tiny I won’t mind the extra on the list.”

“How long have you been keeping that secret, Charlie?” Bill asked, smiling at his brother, amused at the kisses their mother was placing on Charlie’s cheek.

“He’s barely known a day,” (Y/N) frowned in Charlie’s direction. He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve only known for a week. It’s still early, but we’re excited.”

“I hope it’s a girl,” Ginny added. “That way we’d finally be on our way to have a boys versus girls Weasley quidditch match!”

“With my quidditch skills and (Y/N)'s creative mind? I’m sure they’d be an amazing quidditch player!” Charlie bubbled in delight. “Though, how young would be too young to get them on a broom?”

“Charlie! We’re not putting our baby on a broom!” (Y/N) scolded. “Besides, they could easily get my quidditch skills.”

“But you don’t have any quidditch skills?” Fred said, cocking his head.

“You can hardly keep yourself up on a broom!” George added.

“Exactly,” (Y/N) hummed, sitting down, a hand resting on her barely existing bump. “I say we stop hypothesizing and projecting onto the baby. Whatever they choose to be and do will be great…” (Y/N) sighed. “Because Charlie and I are the best, so our baby is going to be the best baby ever.”

“Nailed it, darling.” said Charlie, high-fiving his wife.

“You two really deserve each other.” Ron groaned.

“We do,” Charlie hummed, beaming down to his wife. “We really do.”

With the big news out of the way, the Weasley’s enjoyed the rest of their holiday morning, welcoming Percy and Harry home later in the afternoon. Once the two were caught up on gifts and laughter, the family had finally found peace in their holiday. No more big secrets, no more stressing about keeping said secrets. Just a relaxing and calming holiday before the whirlwind of parenthood whisked Charlie and (Y/N) up into a tizzy. But they were ready.

They’re Weasleys, after all.

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart23 , @biatheintrovert , @luna-xxxxx , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra , @crescent-ia , @phantom-pheonix , @dccomicnerd-world , @marveltrash99 , @graymountaingal, @storiesbycaroline, @mytinybaguette , @garbdump

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #hphm #harry potter #weasley x reader #harry potter x reader #hogwarts mystery #charlie weasley imagine #harry potter imagine #charlie weasley x you #dragon boi

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discordantwords · 4 years

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@khorazir asked: 1, 18, 23, ...

Thanks for the ask!

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Funny you should ask, @khorazir, since my current project is your FTH fic! :)

Without giving too much away, the fic has Sherlock and John forced to spend the night in the London Aquarium while waiting for a suspect. Awkward silences! Conversations! Uncomfortable truths! And angst, though slightly less angst than might be expected given the setting. There's a funny-ish scene that I've had in my head since the initial planning, and I'm really looking forward to writing it down.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Actually, yes! I make small changes to my outlines all the time as I'm writing, but there are three instances where I really deviated from what I'd first intended:

In my original outline for Borrowed Ghosts, Arthur Bell was a lot more menacing than sad-- much more of a villain character. And I was leaning a little too heavily on the S4 imagery, so John was going to wind up struggling with Bell and falling into a well on the farm property. Sherlock would find him there, and they were then going to spend the night huddling for warmth in the farmhouse. But none of that really felt right, and once I put John in the ramshackle, crumbling farmhouse instead, all of the parallels about how he'd let his own life collapse around him while he let himself fester with rage and anger and misplaced blame just sort of came together. I can't imagine the story any other way at this point.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea was originally intended to switch perspectives between Sherlock, John, and Mycroft throughout the story. I wrote a few draft chapters before deciding that it didn't really work, and that the story was much stronger when restricted to just Sherlock's perspective. There was also a plotline involving Molly and the Borgia pearl that I cut because it seemed too lighthearted. I posted some of the outtakes to AO3 in my Little Contributions collection (chapters 5-10).

And Out There, my Sherlock/X-Files fusion and the longest thing I've ever written by far, was actually supposed to be even longer. The story is structured where each chapter is an "episode" and the place where the fic ends is only the midpoint of my original outline. I realized pretty early on in drafting that there was just no way I was ever going to reach the end, and reworked the story to wrap up with John's abduction and return.

There's a sequel that lives in my head that incorporates a lot of the elements of my original outline. I've never actually typed this all out before, but here's a brief hint of some of the planned events:

John and Sherlock are sharing an apartment (which the FBI is aware of), and secretly in a relationship (which the FBI is decidedly not aware of). Things are good for a while, until they are assigned to a case involving the disappearance of two children. The case seems tailor-made for Sherlock, with details incredibly similar to the night of his brother's disappearance. He's forced to confront his unreliable memories, and it shakes his faith in what he's believed for so long. This puts him at odds with John, who is still reeling from his disappearance and is determined to uncover what was done to him. In the midst of their suddenly unstable partnership, we roll into a mashup of HLV/Bad Blood, where Sherlock is accused of murdering a news baron he believes to be a vampire. After that, Irene, Sherlock's first partner on the X-Files, makes an unexpected return, and John is j-e-a-l-o-u-s. There's an Abominable Bride/Triangle mashup where Sherlock vanishes in the Bermuda Triangle looking for a ship where the crew was rumored to have been the victim of a murderous bride. Then we rush into Gethsemane/Reichenbach, with faked deaths and uncertain alliances, and FINALLY it would end on a reimagining of the events of the first XF movie and a reaffirmation of both the relationship and partnership.

I really, really hope to have the chance to write that all down one day. I think it could be a lot of fun.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

A crackfic taken entirely seriously-- a fusion with Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Essentially, this would be an excuse to write Sherlock and Moriarty locked in battle and tumbling off of a cliff over a chocolate waterfall.

Writer Asks!

#dw does memes #meta asks for writers #writer ask meme

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lapuslazulli · 5 years

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Chapters: 69/69 Fandom: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC Sherlock Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Greg Lestrade, Lestrade (Sherlock Holmes), Philip Anderson, Anderson, Mrs. Hudson, Molly Hooper, Eleanor Scott, Asian smuggler gang, Michael Scott, Henry Scott, Detective Olivia Chalmers, Reverend Paul Delaney Additional Tags: Alternative Perspective, Drug Use, Rehabilitation, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV John Watson, Chess, Case Fic, Animated GIFs, Gifset, Inspired by GIFs, Asia, Tea, Fluff and Angst, Feels, Panic, Panic Attacks, Best Friends, Gangsters, Gang Violence, Torture, Psychological Torture, Aftermath of Torture, army doctor, Shanghai - Freeform, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans, 221B Baker Street, Lestrade - Freeform, Anderson Is An Idiot, Fluff, Angst, Humor, Beekeeping, Crime Scenes, Organized Crime, Letters, Clues, Mandarin, Flight Attendants, Long flight, Alcohol, Hotels, Imprisonment, Bargains, Surgery, Doctor John Watson, Nanjing, Love interest - Freeform, Confused John, Dreaming, bicurious, Johnlock Feels, Drunklock, Aftermath of a Case, It's For a Case, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Second case, Trains, Underground, Secrets, planes, Boats, Somerset, Minehead, Old Man, beach, Police, Paris (City), Road Trips, Crab hunt, Calais, ships Summary:

This was inspired by an image I found on my Instagram. It shows an alternative Sherlock Holmes universe in which Mycroft sends Sherlock to rehab and John is the Doctor that covers his treatment. The story of Sherlock's recovery turns into a case for both John and he which leads them on an international quest to find the murderer of a smuggler. This in turn leads them on a dark road and a personal sense of justice, not only for the victim, but both John and Sherlock alike.

A second case takes Sherlock and John to a beach to solve an international crime. Where will it take them? Who knows... Enjoy x

Gifs at the end of every chapter---- Just saying ( https://instagram.com/watson_to_my_holmes/ )

#Fanfic #AO3 Link

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melyzard · 6 years

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Fic questions

Tagged by @ruby-red-inky-blue, @thestarbirdfromtheashes, and a couple others. Thanks! I made an attempt to write these out as stories rather than just answer them...but it was a bit surreal and required way too much explanation.

1. What was the first fandom you ever wrote fic for? Gundam Wing. I was 13 and under the impression that every troubled teenager was eventually issued a giant robot/fighter jet and sent to fight fascists in space. It was a dark day when I learned my mistake. I’m still not over it.

2. What was your very first ship? CVN 76 Ronald Reagan (nuclear aircraft carrier). Haha, good joke, Mel, we all know you’re a Navy nerd. In honesty, I can’t remember my first ‘ship because I have been a hopeless and ridiculous romantic since I understood that people could make each other happy. I have the vague impression that I shipped my kindergarten teacher with Batman.

3. What fandoms have you written for, and what are your ships? Gundam Wing (I had several ships, each more embarrassing than the last). The Last Unicorn (Schmendrick/Molly Grue). Lord of the Rings (Faramir/Eowyn, and approximately 18 more). Harry Potter (Ron/Hermione, about a dozen more that I never wrote for but strongly support). Labyrinth. Avatar the Last Airbender. Brick. Inception (Arthur/Ariadne). Naruto (many,many ships). Final Fantasy X. Samurai Champloo (Mugen/Fuu). Mirrormask (Helena/Valentine). Rogue One (Cassian/Jyn, Chirrut/Baze). And hundreds of others that I started writing something and then abruptly stopped.

4. What ships do you tend to gravitate to?

Equals, both competent in whatever field they are in (or at the very least, excellent at pretending to be competent, which is still a pretty good skill to have). Usually one or both of them is emotionally fractured around the edges, but they still absolutely respect, admire, and in their own way, support one another. I don’t do abusive relationships no matter how passionate*, and I’m not really into protracted “will they/won’t they” scenarios because hell, if you can’t make up your mind, you’re not suited, move on.

* by “abusive” I also mean “relationships where both characters spend more time crying/yelling/fighting than actually being happy or strong together.”

5. Current OTP(s)? All of my OTPs are forever. Currently I write for Jyn/Cassian, because nobody can stop me.

6. Former OTP(s)? See above.

7. What do you think have been some of your best fic ideas? I really loved writing ‘you give me something,’ largely because I managed to turn the worldbuilding into a relevant part of the story and character development arcs. I also liked writing ‘between your bones and your soul’ because I feel like big, flashy injuries in media get treated like they are only important while the injured is actively bleeding or hovering in a coma or whatever. Once we’re told they will live, it’s like the injury just vanishes and everyone forgets it even happened. Not only is this wildly unrealistic (my friends, I have injuries that happened when I was a toddler and they still cause problems), but it also is highly unimaginative. Give me hurt/comfort that takes more than just one good hug or a few minutes of bandage wrapping. Give me long-term recovery stories.

Also really like re-reading ‘your words are mine to keep’ and ‘a light to you’. Look, I write what I want to read, okay?

8. Your worst? The last thing I just posted, at least for about a week after I post it. And then I write something new, and it steals the garbage crown. It usually takes about ten days or so before I decide that wait, I really did like that thing. As for the Worst Thing I Ever Came Up With: I guess it’s the self-insert Lord Of The Rings/Fellowship of the Ring I wrote when I was a teen, but let the one who has not sinned that particular sin cast the first stone.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

9. What kind of fic do you most love to write? action scenes, complex plots, overly-detailed world building, romance that maybe doesn’t look like romance on the surface, stories with a small but interesting twist, stories where Chekov’s Gun comes into play, stories with lots of background characters, Found Family stories, stories involving differing but complementary personalities, stories about people coming together to face something terrible and ultimately triumphing over it but never being the same again afterwards and probably not being Totally Normal ever again either.

10. What do you dread writing? smut fic. kid fic. happily ever after and everything is okay and now we are just like Normal People Who Had A Good Childhood fic. I feel like an intruder on the first, awkward on the second, and I simply can’t relate to the third.

12. What is a fic you would love to write one day? I’m writing them. As fast as I can.

13. What’s a fic you wish someone else would write? Someone re-write the prequels so that Padme not only lives but gets to face Anakin without wearing her little girl pajamas and crying the whole time. The prequels where someone recognizes how badly the Jedi Council screwed up with Anakin and the whole ‘make a slave boy call us Master’ thing. The prequels where JarJar wasn’t a terrible stereotype (or if he was, it paid off by turning out to be a carefully calculated plan that the heroes never saw coming because they were Prejudice). The prequels where we get to see Mothma and Padme and Breha being incredible politicians and the corruption of the Old Republic was faced and handled with some nuance and understanding. The prequels where we get to see not only where Luke and Leia come from but where the other broken children of the war came from, too (Han, Cassian, Jyn, etc). Look, I don’t hate the prequels, I just feel like they were written from a very Western White Male point of view, and we could have had so much more.

Tagging:@sleepykalena, @venusmelody, @jeeno2, @grexigone, @brynnmclean, @yavemiel, @allatariel

#writing #fanfic #stuff

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227snewfacebookfries · 6 years

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227's Tragedy Alert! 7 Dead! Murder-Suicide! Australia's worst murder in 22 Years! Spread the Word: News By Tag:* Australia Mass River Shooting* Nike Facebook World News* 227's YouTube Chili NBA By Industry:* Society BOISE, Idaho - May 12, 2018 - PRLog -- 227's™ TRAGEDY ALERT! 7 Shot Dead! Australia's worst in 22 years! Murder-Suicide! News #Nike'Spicy' NBA! Margaret River family tragedy left 7 people dead in worst mass shooting since Port Arthur. The Spicy' Chili' murder-suicide shocked the world! #Walmart'Spicy'Tunes #Nike'Spicy'Tunes Spicy' NBA Mix! 227's Per ABC News commentary: The mystery of the Miles family and a Margaret River murder-suicide that has shocked the world RELATED STORY: Guns found at scene of Margaret River murder-suicide belonged to grandfather RELATED STORY: Margaret River reeling as mass shooting casts a dark pall over a tight-knit town RELATED STORY: Four children, three adults found shot dead in Margaret River murder-suicide 227's™ Facebook Fries!¡' everything tasty with hot, crispy fries and a specialty order of #Trending'Spicy' News #Nike'Spicy' FRIES' sauce! Spicy' NBA Mix! 227's™ Facebook Fries!¡' (aka YouTube Chili' NBA) #Nike'Spicy' Trending News! Mass Shooting in Australia! 7 Dead! Australia's worst Spicy' Chili' massacre in 22 years! #Nike'Spicy'Tunes Spicy' NBA Chili' Headlines (5/12/2018): Mass Shooting in Australia Leaves a Tiny Community in Shock and Grief The New York Times MARGARET RIVER, Australia — On the road to the property where seven people f…A mother and her children were among seven killed in Australia's first mas… The Washington Post Australia mass shooting leaves relatives of slain family 'stunned' ABC News Australia shooting victims 3 generations of same family: reports MSN Osmington shooting From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia On 11 May 2018, seven members of an extended family were shot and killed on a property at Osmington, Western Australia, near Margaret River. Those killed were Cynda and Peter Miles, their daughter Katrina Miles, and her four children aged between eight and thirteen. It was the worst mass shooting in Australia since the Port Arthur massacre of 1996. 227's™ YouTube Chili' Mass Shooting in Australia! 7 Dead! Australia's worst Spicy' Chili' massacre in 22 years! #Nike'Spicy'FRIES and NBA Spicy' Chili' Videos (5/12/2018): Breaking News - Family 'stunned' by Australia shooting * Margaret River shooting: Relatives 'devastated' by killings * Relatives of the family at the centre of a suspected murder-suicide in ...* Latest on WA mass shooting Australia grieves and searches for answers after worst mass shooting in * Family of Seven Found Shot Dead in Australia * A family of seven including four children was found dead with gunshot wounds Friday at a rural property in southwest Australia in ...* Police investigate 'horrific' tragedy in Western Australia * Seven people, including four children, have been found dead on a property in Western Australia after a suspected shooting. * Margaret River Tragedy | 9 News Perth * A Margaret River family tragedy has left seven people dead in the worst mass shooting since Port Arthur. * Kevin Durant Best Plays | 2018 Playoffs | Western Conference Semifinals * LeBron James' Best Plays First and Second Round: 2018 NBA Playoffs * Best Alley-oop Dunks of the 2017-2018 NBA Regular Season * Gianni's NBA breakdown with influencer Marcelas * NBA 2K League: BEST Moments from Day 1 of the Regular Season * NBA 2K League | Regular Season | Full Recap | Week 1 | Day 1 * NBA Daily Show: May 11 - The Starters * Best of the NBA's Second Round in Phantom - "Gloves Are Comin' Off" by 7kingZ ft. The Phantoms * Best All-Access Mic'd Up Moments of the 2018 NBA Playoffs: Conference Semifinals Jamaal Al-Din's Hoops 227, Inc. (227's™ Facebook Fries!¡' [aka YouTube Chili' NBA] 227's™ TRAGEDY ALERT! 7 Shot Dead! Australia's worst murder in 22 years! Murder-Suicide! News #Nike'Spicy' NBA! Margaret River family tragedy left 7 people dead in worst mass shooting since Port Arthur. The Spicy' Chili' murder-suicide shocked the world! #Walmart'Spicy'Tunes #Nike'Spicy'Tunes Spicy' NBA Mix! Video: Family of Seven Found Shot Dead in Chili' Australia Spicy' NBA Mix! 227's #Nike'Spicy' NBA Mix)

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227's™ TRAGEDY ALERT! 7 Shot Dead! Australia's worst in 22 years! Spicy' Chili' Murder-Suicide! Margaret Chili' River, Osmington! News #Walmart'Spicy'Tunes #Nike'Spicy'Tunes Spicy' NBA Mix! -- Jamaal Al-Din's Hoops 227, Inc. | PRLog

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