#as for spelling i think there were a few times where i picked the british spelling for certain words. as i am known to do. as google docs

[frecht]

was looking back through the workshop responses i got in creative writing class to judge how short i can conceivably make mine for tomorrow's poems and noticed that the guy who told me i had spelling and grammar errors misspelled my name. POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK

[illumose]

darling • Klaus Mikaelson

⋆⭒˚.⋆ PAIRINGS: female reader x klaus mikaelson

⋆⭒˚.⋆ CONTENT: vampires, mention of a possible attack, a little bit of fluff

⋆⭒˚.⋆ SUMMARY: one night in New Orleans, you cross paths with a mysterious man and learn that vampires exist.

masterlist

Midnight strolls became your source of serenity. Maybe it was because of the way New Orleans transformed at night. Music filled the streets and aromas of spices infused the air. You walked past a couple making out on a bench, their bodies incredibly close. At night, people lost all sense of dignity. You couldn’t count how many people you witnessed behave like complete animals. It became a running joke with your best friend. Each week, you’d meet and exchange odd anecdotes. One time, she saw a man pee from the top of a tree into a glass bottle. Weirdly, he managed to fill it without wasting a drop on the pavement.

This time, you decided to stroll through the French Quarter. Lights sparkled and laughter erupted from bars and restaurants. Everyone knew it was the place to go. The place where you could drink endlessly, dance all night long until your legs gave out, and meet a cute boy to take home. You descended into

Someone moved past you in a brisk. A breath brushed your neck. You turned and saw a figure disappear inside a narrow alley. Perplexed, your eyes narrowed on a dark shadow. Was it a bat? A cat? You felt watched. Before you could even scream, hands covered your mouth.

"Don’t talk, darling. Someone’s been stalking you."

The voice was deep and held a hint of danger. You stood still, eyebrows furrowed. You tried to get out a few words, but the hand prevented any sound from escaping your lips. The man tossed you around. Your vision was blurred, you had moved from the French Quarter to a spot near the water.

"You should be more careful, darling. Some people have wicked intentions."

You focused on the man with a British accent with short curls and a wide smile. "Who are you? What happened?" Words rushed out of your mouth. Your breathing was erratic.

"A vampire almost made you his next meal," he said with a shrug, almost as if it were normal.

You were on a bench overlooking the Mississippi. The stranger was handsome. Such a shame he was a creep.

"There’s no such thing as vampires," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "I think you drank too much." Monsters did not exist. Your grandmother was a firm believer in the world of supernatural beings. She thought that UFOs had already colonized the planet and that witches performed spells to keep humans unaware of their existence.

He remained utterly silent. His steps were fast. Way too fast to be from a human being. His incisives changed into pointed daggers and his eyes turned yellow.

"What…" Your heartbeat picked up. This was a dream, a nasty dream. Vampires were old tales from Eastern Europe.

His eyes narrowed on your neck. He cleared his throat, painfully aware of your blood pulsing through your veins. “It’s risky to go out so late, ans alone, darling."

Before you could reply, he vanished. You scanned the surroundings, looking for him — a stranger who apparently saved you from a swift and painful death. You felt drawn to him. He oozed charism, even though he could have killed you with his sharp teeth.

Biting your lip, you wondered if he was still here, somehow hidden in the shadows. What you didn't know was that a year ago, his gaze randomly stopped on you. He was on his balcony, admiring the view, something he rarely appreciates. You were walking along the river, humming to the tune of a Ray Charles’ song. You looked deliciously sweet. And for the first time, he did not feel the need to feist on you.

From that point forward, every once in a while, he’d follow you and make sure you reached home unharmed. He knew how aggressive Marcel’s vampires could become during tourist season.

[ericdeggans]

Best TV of 2024: The Director's Cut - My full list of the best TV I saw over this year

Now that we’ve had a few days to show off the picks from all of NPR’s critics for Best Film and TV of 2024, I figured I could use my little corner of Tumblr to dish on my longer list of best TV shows from the past year.

I’ve been in this game since 1997, and for a long time the networks and studios which made TV assumed their audiences were less sophisticated and less demanding than filmgoers. They gave them simpler plots, which mostly revolved around people talking in rooms, with storylines that spelled out every emotional beat in excruciating detail.

No more. The best TV these days is indistinguishable from film – other than its length – with visual stylings and grand displays cribbed directly from the most influential figures in cinema.

Here's th list, starting with...

Shogun (FX) – It’s tough to describe how big a swing this show was for FX, which sunk many millions of dollars into an epic miniseries centered on feudal-era Japan with dialogue largely in Japanese and a story de-centered from the white, British sailor once used as a window into the culture in previous versions. Its story on the price of duty, the pain of loss, the courage required to resist dysfunctional leadership and sometimes unappreciated value of unfamiliar cultures spoke perfectly to the current moment.

LINK: Talking Shogun on Pop Culture Happy Hour

Shrinking (Apple TV+) – I’m a sucker for comedies that lean into the complexities of life, featuring characters who have been around tackling the issues which arise when you live long enough to learn how much you don’t know. This show manages all that and more, unlocking an ace supporting cast – including greats like Jessica Williams, Harrison Ford, Michael Urie, Ted McGinley (!!) and  Christa Miller.

Disclaimer (Apple TV+) -- Yeah, lots of people found this series manipulative and implausible. But I think director/writer Alfonso Cuaron delivered a series which took advantage of streaming’s breadth to deliver a story which evolves over episodes, leaving you rooting for different characters as the narrative unfolds, delivering a gut punch twist at the end.

Click here: Disclaimer is a thriller built for the streaming age.

The Diplomat (Netflix) – Feels like an alternate universe, where government staffers are good at their jobs and working hard to save the world, but Keri Russell is outstanding as a no-nonsense diplomat who stumbles into a sprawling conspiracy in Britain and then must face TV’s most formidable vice president, Alison Janney’s Grace Penn.

Click here: Diplomat is just as savvy in season 2.

Fight Night: The Million Dollar Heist (Peacock) -- It’s easy to dismiss whatever Kevin Hart does as empty, flashy comedy – okay, that may tell you what I think of his standup specials. But this is a blaxploitation-inspired, Black-culture-filled dramatic thriller masterpiece featuring heavyweights like Sam Jackson, Taraji P. Henson, Don Cheadle and Terrance Howard in the story of how America’s biggest Black gangsters came to Atlanta for a landmark Muhammad Ali fight and wound up getting robbed by thieves that had no idea who they were ripping off.

Steve! (Martin) A Documentary in Two Pieces (Apple TV+) – You don’t realize how much you don’t know about one of the most beloved comics in Hollywood, until you watch these two films, which dig into his life using an archive filled with items and footage from Martin’s own vaults – including a list of bits shows he used to do as a kid for Boy Scout troops.

LINK: New Steve Martin doc spotlights a legend with nothing left to prove.

Hot Ones (YouTube) – A magnificently unassuming reinvention of the celebrity TV talk show interview, turning the format on its head by having big names answer often-incisive questions which eating increasingly hot chicken wings (or a veggie version). The show’s not-so-secret weapon is host Sean Evans, whose easygoing style and talent for asking questions these often-interviewed celebrities have rarely heard, creates the show’s signature moments.

Have I Got News for You (CNN) – TV’s third place newschannel is not the place you would expect to see a fresh, funny American translation of a classic British news satire program. But when you put Roy Wood Jr. in the driver’s seat, backed by Amber Ruffin and Michael Ian Black, great things happen.

Somebody, Somewhere (HBO) – A sweet story about urbane misfits who build a potent found family, anchored by the ace team of Bridget Everett and Jeff Hiller.

Doctor Who (Disney+/BBC America) – Hiring Ncuti Gatwa and letting him bring his infectious, sultry wide-eyed energy to TV’s legendary Time Lord was the best idea this franchise has had in a very long time.

Click here: Doctor Who star Ncuti Gatwa feels sorry for critics of show’s diversity.

True Detective: Night Country (HBO) -- The only thing better than watching Jodie Foster and Kali Reis dig into heroically antiheroic character in this Alaska-set masterpiece was seeing how freaked out anthology creator Nic Pizzolato got in seeing showrunner Issa Lopez revitalize his fading anthology with a potent dose of female and indigenous energy.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith (Prime Video) -- Turning a reboot of a failed espionage story into a meditation on starting a new job, falling in love and maintaining a relationship across cultures is a heavy lift. But somehow Donald Glover and Maya Erskine managed it.

The Bear (FX) -- Sure, its third season has a lot of underwhelming moments. But the episode dedicated to Liza Colon-Zayas’ Tinas Marrero is better than most anything else I saw on TV this year.

Hollywood Black (MGM+) -- Dear White People creator/showrunner Justin Simien directs this amazing docuseries tracing the evolution of Black images and performers in Hollywood, based on the landmark book by historian Donald Bogle.

The Day of the Jackal (Peacock) – A smart, compelling way to turn a James Bond-esque thriller about the hunt for the world’s best assassin into a limited series that, despite its slightly outlandish ending, made me believe ginger scarecrow Eddie Redmayne could be a highly trained killer.

The Penguin (HBO) – The best superhero series without a superhero I have seen yet, anchored by Colin Farrell’s transformative performance.

Black Doves (Netflix) -- Keira Knightley is so good she makes you believe in a character who had two children with a man while spying on him over 10 years for a shadowy intelligence agency, whose life threatens to unravel when her lover is assassinated. And that’s not even factoring in Ben Whishaw, another scarecrow-thin British actor playing a hitman and Knightley’s backup.

Honorable mentions

Quiet on Set: The Dark Side of Kids TV (ID)

The Boys (Prime Video)

Batman: Caped Crusader (Prime Video)

X-Men ’97 (Disney+)

Only Murders in the Building (Hulu)

Photographer (National Geographic)

The Greatest Night in Pop (Netflix)

Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story

[icannotreadcursive]

Fannish Fest February, day 1: My First Fandom

Prompt from @thepromptfoundry

I really have two first fandoms, that I initially got into right around the same time, and I don’t think it’s worth digging into the calendar month by month to confirm which preceded the other.

One was Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats. My local PBS station ran every filmed version available of a bunch of ALW musicals one day, and I liked Joseph, wasn’t really into Jesus Christ Superstar, but Cats just tickled my little child brain something special.

I learned the whole show, front to back, including a fair bit of the choreography. I didn’t write it down because I couldn’t really write at the time, but I was making up fic—not that I knew to call it that.

I still love the show with my whole heart, have been in a production, it’ll always be dear to me, but I was obsessed as a kid.

The other was Harry Potter.

My mom started reading the series first, cuz she was unwell and couldn’t do a lot more than read. Then, she read the first two books to me.

Then we started getting me the audiobooks read by Jim Dale, and I really ought to find a fan mail address for him and send a thank you letter because that man taught me how to read.

I’m dyslexic and learning to read was a struggle for me, but long before I was diagnosed I learned to read by reading along over and over to the first few Harry Potter books. And, come to think of it, I’m not sure but I think my mom’s original copies must have been British editions because I picked up some British terminology and spellings that I’m pretty sure the original American releases localized.

As the series went on, I grew up with it, and was introduced to the concept of fannish community through it. My first written fanfic and my first published fanfic were for HP—that first published one is no longer up, and thinking back on it I cringe, but there’s also a fondness there for my unabashed unashamed enthusiasm and the real fun I had with that obvious self insert OC.

I learned media analysis and began honing my own story instincts, sitting down with my mom with those fan theory and prediction books that used to come out between HP book releases. We’d talk through the theories in those books, discuss their merits, how likely we thought they were based on the narrative trajectory so far. There’s a few things I called years before they were revealed, and in a couple cases, before me or my mom had seen anyone else in the fandom speculate about them.

That process, starting from when I was quite young, undoubtedly contributed to molding my brain into the story machine it is now and pointed me to my career and my calling as a writer.

I went from younger than the main cast, to their age, to older than them. Now I’m closer in age to Remus and Sirius. And, not entirely unlike them, I’ve had this dear part of my growing up cut off and the associations with it tainted by a betrayal from someone I respected and trusted.

That may sound overdramatic, and yeah yeah “it’s just a book,” but the sense of betrayal and loss is real.

There’s a line that I wrote in a fic a while back, where Remus is talking about finding a happy memory to cast a patronus, and the fact that all the memories he has for that are painful now, they’re bittersweet at best, because of the loss and betrayal that have come since. But regardless of all of that, they will always have been happy moments when he lived them, and that’s what he has to remember.

That’s kinda how I feel about the Harry Potter fandom now. It will always have been what it was to me, and no one can take that away.

[baerryjj]

O SHIT BALLS I FORGOT TO SEND YOU ONE OF THESE AAAAA

Some asks for Jo Mama the perfumer

👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

🥪 On a scale from ‘burns water’ to ‘5 course menu’ how well can your OC cook?

🌊 Has your OC ever seen the ocean? If not, do they want to? What do they think of it?

🤝 Does your OC have someone they want at their side when they are scared? Who?

🧙Does your OC level intelligence? What do they think about spells?

Some asks for smol Yani

🎒 If your OC had to pick three things of all their belongings to keep, which would they chose?

🔪 What does your OC think how they’ll die? 

OMG!!! MY FAV BRITISH MAN THE ONE AND ONLY

yay!!! asks on my fav depraved perfumer Joe mama!!!! Adding a read more cus this a long one

👎; yes, and it's Miquella. Though technically both stand against the golden order, Jhomara simply believes his methods are bullshit. Promise land? Abundance? Love and peace on planet earth were we all sing kumbaya and hold hands? Yeah look how well that turned out. Though it's not to say she doesn't hold some sort of reverence for him, she admires his dedication, though she scoffs at his fate.

🥪; burns water, air, dirt, you name it. She was raised in the shunning grounds, my girl eats rat and slugs on a stick.

🌊; She LOVES the ocean, it's the one of the few things she does. Since leaving the shunning grounds, she was enamoured by the beaches on Limgrave. It's tranquility reminds her of her foster mother.

🤝; her foster mother, Inenphaye the omen. Though now deceased, she swears sometimes she can hear her singing in the oceans waves. When she's afraid, which is hardly (bloodboil aromatic moment), she pretends she's in her arms again.

🧙; no , imagine leveling intelligence L + ratio+ get maidens + faith is better + dragon communion rules + ermmmmm comet azur user 🤓 + suck my balls + incantations are cooler

And now Yani 🩷🩷

🎒; an emerald pendant gifted to her by Miquella, a pen and an empty book. She spends most of her time writing poems, notes or just anything really. Plus, not everyone knows sign language, so it's good to have regardless of where she is.

🔪; ideally, she wishes to die of old age by the twins' side. She can't ever imagine anything bad happening in the Haligtree, so it would be a shame if something unexpectedly terrible would happen....like a certain queen shattering the elden ring. And a certain battle that left the Haligtree defenseless. And a certain demigod capturing her slumbering lord. And uh getting unfortunately caught up in it or something.....

But we ignore canon <3 shes healthy n well

[the-most-lamentable]

oh baby it's askin' time. 58, 66, 73, 90, and 21 for funs :)

Good evening, got booted out of my account for a moment but I am back and presently avoiding working on my writing projects ( will be working after this because my project list is ever expanding and I Still need do get done the ch3 illustration aaaaaa)

What's the last thing a fic made you Google when you were writing it?

Uhh the last thing was the bus system in the Tampa Bay area to Plant city for the immortal blade story. He starts off as a college student before having the worst night of his life brought to you by maybe a few too many Jaegerbombs.

In other research I tried an energy drink to see how it would feel as I have a scene in that Eugenia is an incredibly passive aggressive ghost wherein Keith absolutely crashes right before a show so Mickey gives him a monster thinking what's the worst that could happen? It goes poorly.

When have you felt the most confident in your writing?

Occasionally when I'm working on a project I'll have one of those moments where I realise Hey I just set up and paid off some very nice bits of theme and motif Ohoho it's all coming together, I've connected the dots. It's usually then.

Otherwise, my best writing? This line I wrote at 4 am.

"“Well- jokes on you! Both of my parents are dead!” Kevin sputtered.

Jeremy paused for a moment. Someone nearby shouted, “Her ghost is disappointed!” The crowd murmured in agreement."

How do you visualize scenes? Do you see it like a movie in your head, or do the words just flow?

So when I first start drafting a story I will be sitting there staring at a wall and there's a tiny film projector in my head playing out key beats, very visual but also vibe driven. The Great Imposter was very one to one in the scene beats and imagery I came up with initially like the imagery of the study sequence where he's stuck watching the action unable to act, or the whirring ambulance lights in sprinkling rain for Shock Blanket.

When I actually start writing it's a bit of both, my brain is multitasking to high hell. Those central images serve as a guide which is supported by insane amounts of character research and story structure. Most of the chapter illustrations are those initial clear images translated to drawing. I figure if the iconography is so effective to me, it should hopefully work on my audience too as a supplement to the vibes.

Do you notice your own voice in your writing?

Exceedingly so, yes. While I do make an effort to write within character logic and voice, it is still my writing. I have been told my usual voice is resemblant of a late 1800s British satirist, which seems fair (irony is the death of sincerity, my deepest struggle writing) however other inspirations include: Terry Pratchett, Lemony Snickett, Clue 1985, Tj Klune, David Sedaris, etc. All this to say always very dry humor, fast rhythm, and exceedingly long metaphors that are just a bit too specific.

Pick a writer to co-write a book and tell us what you'd write about.

Uhhhh I don't know but if you ever want to write a story together here's my pitches that I am coming up with on the spot (absolutely no pressure, i just dont know how else to answer this):

An AU of Homeward, Boumd where the Beans are all human, but still just as fucked up. Like Chris mentions offhand that his brother once threw him into a hole in their basement and left him for dead and everyone is just !!!??????

Celia Bean had an affair (outside of her one with Robert of course) which after an ancestry test brings James's number of suprise siblings up to 3. I just feel like him and Chris have similar vibes. Plus the chaos of introducing these two groups, particularly Cornley being perhaps a little too snooping over this (Jonathan and Dennis trying to casually hide behind a newspaper in a café only to be immediately clocked by Chris)

I've got an urban fantasy noir sorta story where magic is real and the whole thing kicks off with a spell backfiring and James's dad disappearing. Features things such as Keith and Mickey Co running a psychic shop (Keith runs the shop, Mickey is his glorified landlord, roommate, and self nominated HR department), Kevin getting up to shenanigans as a ghost, human glowsticks being abused for said glowing, werebear the ultimate bear, group sleepover (See: James and Mickey fall asleep and nobody has the heart to wake them). I believe I've mentioned this one before.

Anyways thanks for the ask, forgive me if it's A bit incomprehensible I am extremely sleep deprived from an absolute eager with my friend last night wherein we reorganized her bedroom and then discussed theology till 4 am. Best wishes, Jon, I don't know why I'm signing off like an email but it's there now

[saviourkingslut]

ok here's my day 1 review of engage. i just finished chapter 6 and did all the paralogues/side maps to chapter 7.

the first thing i noticed was the graphics. i don't normally care much about graphics, but in this game they are noticeable bc they are so good! like even better than xenoblade 3. i didn't think the switch was capable of such graphics.

the art style is still... Like That though. i am still not a fan of it, even after playing the game nearly all day. there are times when i am internally cringing bc the child character's eyes are the size of baseballs. speaking of child characters, there's a LOT of them. i am not a big fan of child characters so they're all getting benched in my playthrough. one also has a fake british accent.

no shade to anyone reading this who DOES like the art style! it's just a personal preference of mine, we all have our own preferences of what looks good and what doesn't.

anyway. i've gotten a few c supports by now and they are all pretty meh. very short and not much depth to them compared to previous installments of FE (i don't just mean 3h i mean fates, awakening, etc). i know i technically can't judge them by just c supports so i'm reserving some judgement until i get up to A supports.

the story is cheesy. not unpleasantly so, but at least in the first few chapters it wasn't very riveting. i'm hoping it gets more interesting soon. rn i'm more invested in meeting new characters than i am in the story. the story feels almost like a background thing to me. there's nothing inherently WRONG with the story, it's just more chill than other FE games. kind of like awakening but without the time travel stuff, and more relaxed (at least in the first 7 chapters)

now onto the game play- it's pretty good! the weapon triangle makes things interesting, as do the rings. the rings are actually pretty fun to use and can make characters more interesting to use. like one gives any character the ability to use healing spells, which is great bc otherwise all the healers are children units and i'm not a big fan of the healing brawler class so i just give the healer ring to a regular unit instead.

there are also side battles that are much akin to FEH battles. there is a tempest trials (it's literally called that) that i haven't unlocked yet but from the description it's basically just like feh. they also have a version of aether raids.

speaking of side battles, there are only occasional auxiliary battles. kind of like awakening, some of the monster dudes spawn on previous maps. which reminds me of something else i should mention - there's a map again, like awakening. you travel across it for different chapters.

oh also! class promotion is like fates/awakening again. level up to 10, then gain a master class and start at level 1 again. personally i kind of preferred the 3h way where anyone could be any class (even if they sucked at it) but whatever i think this is fine too.

that's basically my first impression of things! if you have any specific questions feel free to ask me, i'm happy to tell you anything about it so far.

woah, thanks for the extensive review! it's pretty interesting you mention the graphics, bc i didn't think the game looked good at all in the trailers - very blandly rendered overall. im not expecting botw here bc it's fire emblem, but it all felt pretty lifeless to me. maybe it's different in the game itself though?

also not the child characters... that is a bummer, i don't like them either. i guess it's going to be an exercise of choosing the few that really add something important to your gameplay and aren't too annoying, and benching everyone else lmfao.

as far as the story and supports go, i already thought they were going to be less than stellar after the first few trailers came out, and then that belief was more or less confirmed by the leak. unfortunate that it does turn out to hold true so far. it'd be great if the supports get better higher up the chain and the story picks itself up a little, but im not holding out too much hope tbh. knowing me im probably going to be irritated by their flimsiness, especially by the narrative itself if it doesn't really go anywhere interesting. a bit of cheese can be fun, but too cheesy stories often just feel too childish for me to enjoy. and idk. never great if a story doesn't really feel like the centre of the game as you're experiencing it in this case. hopefully that'll change?

good to know the gameplay is pretty fun at least! that was the one thing from the trailers that i thought looked engaging (lmfao). if im buying the game that's what ill be buying it for

[isimpfortoomanypeople]

Hellooo I have a request if that’s okay!!! Sooo I was thinking that you were Billy’s girlfriend before he passed ( so everyone thought) but billy is alive and stuck in the upside down but you run into him again when you, Eddie, Nancy and robin save steve from the demo bats, just something sweet and very heart felt if that’s okay thank you!

Hi, of course I love this idea. This is so sweet and it made me cry while writing this as the ending is so sweet, thanks for the suggestion I hope that you like it.

Sorry if it sounds overly British in some places as I’m from the U.K. and apologises for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy

Warnings: depression, grief, anxiety, the demo bats attack mentioned in detail. This fic is the hurt to comfort trope and I love it

I never stopped looking for you

The room felt suffocating like all the air was being vacuumed out of your lungs, you tried to take some deep breaths like your counselor told you to do when you felt like you were drowning under the tidal waves of panic. But the supposedly calming techniques only reminded you of the limited air the stuffy sports hall provided.

You heard Jason’s voice muffled and far away as if your whole head was submerged underwater. Reality felt too far away like you were stuck in the past watching as everyone else moved on forward, leaving you reliving that tragic night.

A few months ago you held your beloved as he bled out in your arms. There was nothing you could do but watch as that monster punctured a hole right through his chest, screaming out towards him but it was too late as blood erupted out of his mouth dripping down his jaw. You felt so helpless watching him die in agony knowing that there was nothing you could do to lessen his pain, just hold him close as his life slipped away.

“I love you princess”

You gripped his golden necklace in your fist, rubbing your thumb across the cool metal. Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill, squashed in the uncomfortable wooden bleachers hearing Jason the new basketball captain speak.

“And billy”

What did he just say?

Did he really just say his name! Wow Jason Carver you really are something else.

How dare he mention his name as if he was his friend, Jason barely knew Billy, No one knew Billy the way you did. This stupid town buried his name with him, no one had ever spoken about him since his funeral. And now Jason has the audacity to speak about him like they were the best of friends made you sick! Where was Jason at his funeral? Where were these people who pretended to care about him when you were crying in your room when you were morning the boy you loved, the boy who saved this town without anyone knowing?

Billy Hargrove was a hero and no one in this town knew it

“Hey are you okay?” Robin chased after you when they dismissed the school out of the hall

“How dare he speak his name” you seethed, gritting your teeth

“I know-“

“No you don’t! No one knows how I feel! Everyone can carry on as if it wasn’t only a few months ago, but me? I have to relive the same nightmare every damn day ” you snapped, you turn to face her dejected expression.

Robin knew that you were hurting, she couldn’t even begin to imagine how it must be to lose someone you loved. This was the first time she has seen her best friend since his funeral, she tried her hardest to reach out to you but her phone calls slowed when you didn’t pick up. Rather preferring to be consumed by your depression and wallowing the darkness of your room just wishing that this would all be over soon.

Sighing you clutched your backpack straps, pulling it closer to your body like it would steady you from this tidal wave of anguish Jason just threw over you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean that. It was a mistake me even coming here today, can you cover for me and tell Mrs O’Donnell that I felt sick and had to go home?”

“Y/N” Robin called after you but it was too late as you walked towards the exit, needing to get out of the building for it was killing you to even try to pretend that things are now normal. It might be okay for the posers of Hawkins only showing tears when it suited them, but for you it felt like the world was caving in as you choked back your tears.

——————————————————————————

You can recall the moment Steve informed you that the upside down has reopened again. You started shaking like a leaf in the wind, but wind was too gentle for how you were feeling as it felt more like a hurricane. You felt sick, you thickly swallowed down trying not to empty the little contents of your stomach, for eating wasn’t high upon your todo list, all you had the energy to do was to survive each day and pray that the night at the starcourt mall didn’t plague your dreams. But like clockwork you woke up in a cold sweat, with your throat throbbing from your heart wrenching screams, basic human function felt like something you were unable to do.

“We think that we know where the opening is so we’re going to try to close it. Me,Robin, Nance-“

“I’m coming with you”

“Y/N you can’t be serious? Look you know that I love you, but” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Trying to piece together what he wanted to say without offending you and worsening the pain you were already feeling.

“You haven’t been attending classes, you haven’t been eating and it looks like you haven’t even been sleeping in weeks”

“I am going Steve! That monster killed my Billy I had to watch him die in my arms while he was in so much pain. I want to give that monster hell for what it’s done. The only way to stop me is to kill me, so I’m going!” You demanded, your teeth gritted, slightly raising your voice to make sure that Steve knew that you were serious.

You knew that it was far from your capability to kill this Vecna, but you were going to die trying. He is going to pay and you’re going to do it for Billy

—————————————————————————-

And that’s how you found yourself crammed upon a small row boat clutching a baseball bat so tightly that your knuckles started to turn white, you all definitely exceeded the capacity, praying that it didn’t capsize at each rock the old boat made.

“Who’s little miss death stare over there?” Eddie asked leaning into Steve, it was meant to be a whisper but his own nerves of going into a different dimension, made his supposed whisper turn into his normal speaking volume.

“Hey asshole I have ears” you snapped at the metal head in front of you, rolling your eyes as his cheeks burnt red from being mortified that you overheard him.

“Sorry” he gulped, his knee bouncing with anxiety as he played with his chunky rings. “I’m sorry about your boyfriend”

“It’s okay” you muttered, sick and tired of people telling you that. That they’re sorry, they’re always fucking sorry like that’s going to make you feel better, like that’s going to bring him back. It’s just an empty phrase that doesn’t carry the emotional weight they’re trying to convey, for if they were truly sorry they would be as heartbroken as you were.

“I use to think that he was this massive dick like the rest of the jocks, this high and mighty arrogant douche bag-“

“All right she gets the message Munson!” Steve hissed trying to save Eddie from digging his grave any further

“Despite all the shit Steve use to say about him who would of thought that he had this secret sweet side”

“Yeah there’s a lot about Billy that no one cares to know”

The rest of the journey was spent in silence, everyone unsure what to say for this awkward atmosphere that was created was too heavy to shift.

You knew that Billy wasn’t too well liked around Hawkins high but he treated you like a princess (hence his pet name for you) and would give you the world if he could, he loved you dearly and that’s all that matters to you.

The boat came to a halt which snapped you out of your thoughts

“Steve what are you doing?”

“Someone’s gotta go down and check this thing out, unless one of you four can top being a Hawkins high swim co-captain, and a certified lifeguard for three years then..” he sighed taking off items of clothing hyping himself for jumping into the ice cold water, exploring a portal to the upside down where this monster is trying to kill people. Yep just a typical day in Hawkins Indiana.

“It’s gotta be me. No complaints alright?” He added, looking into your eyes that started to well up with tears

“Be careful okay? Your one of my closest friends, I’ve already lost someone I love, I can’t loose you too” you sniffed wiping the corners of your eyes where your tears started to fall

“Well unfortunately for you you’re stuck with me forever. I’ll see you guys in a minute”

The boat rocked violently back and forth as Steve leapt into the dark murky waters surrounding the boat. Your stomach sinking as quickly as Steve into the waters below. Biting your nails down to the nub trying to distract this dark thought that loomed over your mind, ‘something bad is about to happen’

“Hey, he’s going to be okay” Robin calmly spoke, gently squeezing your shoulder bringing you out of your dark thoughts. Nancy hummed in response to Robin trying to be supportive, but there was a small quiver in her voice saying that she didn’t fully believe what Robin just said.

What felt like an eternity of uncertainty Steve finally popped his head out of the water, resting his forearms on the boat trying to get his breath back. You let out a sigh of relief finally being able to breathe again.

“So what was down there?” Robin questioned

“It was pretty wild. It’s more a snack sized gate than the mama gate but still, it’s pretty damn big” breathlessly Steve informed everyone, he opened his mouth to continue speaking-

Suddenly he was being dragged under the water, you could see the fear radiating from his eyes. His hands flailing trying to cling to the boat to stop himself from going under. Steve opened his mouth trying to scream but bubbles erupted from his mouth.

You cried out in fear as his body quickly faded into the murky waters below.

“Steve!” Nancy sobbed, leaning over the boat searching into the lake trying to see where he was.

“What the hell was that!” You heard Eddie cry out, his voice as unsteady as the boat which almost capsized from the impact that the waters just faced.

“Y/N! What the hell are you doing?” Robbin screamed at you in alarm, as you leaned over the boat. Taking a deep breath, adrenalin coursing through your veins. The fight or flight response kicked in and right now you chose fight, you weren’t going to stay here helpless as someone else you loved died.

“Are you crazy?” Nancy shrieked as you grabbed your baseball bat, she stared at you, her eyes wide in alarm. Shaking her head at you silently saying ‘please not you too’

“I’ll be fine” it was unsure if you said this to calm those around you or to yourself, knowing that the chances of you resurfacing to the surface was almost zero to none, but that was the chance you were willing to make.

You took a final deep inhale of air before diving into the waters. You could hear screams of your name below the surface, the water pressure as you pushed down further made those screams become muffled, that they almost sounded like a whisper.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire at the lack of air they were receiving, you had to keep on pushing forward despite every part of your body screaming out to you to stop. Determination was your driving force not allowing you to stop, you couldn’t save Billy but there was a small chance that you could save Steve, and that was enough in that moment to keep you pushing forward.

You saw the angry red entrance to the upside down, pushing down the dread you felt, as you swam through the gate.

You gasped and spluttered as you finally took a deep breath of air, the fire in your lungs was finally starting to sooth. You felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey you okay?” Robin asked, you nodded shakily rising to your feet, ignoring the part of your brain that was terrified about what may happen or what state you may find Steve in, for if you thought about him dying you may not be able to stop crying.

Nancy ran past you in such a speed, she looked pale like all colour and emotion was wiped from her body. She could almost pass for a zombie if it wasn’t for her speed.

You and Robin looked at each other, gave a quick nod in agreement to follow Nancy. You picked up your bat and ran like hell towards the direction Nancy disappeared to, the peripherals of your vision faded into a blur of dark vague outlines. One thought rushed through your head, ‘Steve needs you’

You let out of strangled cry at the sight of Steve. One bat tangled his throat in a vine pulling it taut, gurgles left his lips that was turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Some bats fangs were dripping with his blood as they sunk them even further into his flesh.

You went into such a blind state of shock, you barely registered what was happening. Like you were watching a fucked up simulation of your own body, you grabbed your baseball bat and swung it up to the air. It landed on the bat who held his breaths captive with a loud thud, reality came flooding back at a dizzying pace, you felt momentarily disoriented. Looking down at your feet you saw the creature twitch before all movements stopped together.

Looking up you saw Eddie, Nancy and Robin panting and out of breath surrounded by the dead bodies of those demo bats.

Nancy rushed to Steve’s side, hugging him with tears in her eyes as he choked up blood.

“I’m okay” he croaked holding her tight, you sighed in relief lightly smiling that he is safe. You finally was able to save someone, tears welling in your eyes as you wished that how you could of saved the love of your life, how you could of save Billy.

“Princess?”

No! No! No! This has to be some form of sick joke!

“No” you sobbed falling to your knees, hot tears stung your face. You couldn’t stop trembling as if the earth below you was an epicentre for a violent earthquake. Pressing your hands so tight over your ears to block out the sound, your vision going blurry with each sob that wrecked through your body.

Believing that Vecna had took ahold of you, making you see things and laughing at your torment before he kills you in the most agonising way imaginable.

Flinching as a large pair of arms wrapped around your frame, these arms didn’t feel cold and lifeless like you’d expect the empty embrace of death to feel like. These arms felt warm and familiar, you slowly looked up nervously thinking this to be a dream. For you saw the face of Billy Hargrove holding you close to his chest, his eyes red as he cried dampening his cheeks.

“Billy?”

He lifted your face towards his smiling of happiness as joyful tears flushed down his face, he couldn’t stop shaking in relief.

Pressing his lips upon yours, this kiss was full of longing. His lips moving slowly against yours, trying to remind himself that this isn’t a dream, you’re here with him at long last.

——————————————————————————

“I love you Princess”

A sense of coldness passed through his body like his blood was made of ice as it slowly passed through his veins. His world faded to black, the pain was finally gone, he had accepted his fate dying in the arms of the only person he had ever loved.

When he blinked open his eyes he found himself lying on the floor of the mall. Disoriented by his new yet oddly familiar surroundings. This looked like the starcourt mall but through a dark red haze, it looked abandoned, with an eerie chill in the air.

He scrambled to his feet, something about his surroundings didn’t feel right. The first thought that came to his mind was that he needed to find you. He needs to make sure that you’re safe.

“Princess!” He called out, but his call fell upon deaf ears. The only response he got was his own echo bouncing off the empty walls.

“Y/N!” He called again but just as the first time no response was heard

He ran out into the streets, the silence was deafening. No cars was heard speeding down the highway, not a single sign that a single life form existed.

Panic started to take a hold of him, as awful thoughts flashed through his head, that you were seriously hurt or worse dead. He picked up the pace and ran towards your house.

He knocked on your door, yet again no response was heard. Not even the creak of a floorboard indicating that you were in. The door suddenly flung open, the house was just as you had left it, all furniture in tack, yet not a single sign of life. He felt his blood run cold, something wasn’t right.

Running up to your room, just as he dreaded your room was empty. The temperature was cold like a person hasn’t lived here in years.

A tear rolled down his cheek as reality hit him, he was alone without you for maybe eternity. Wishing that he would of died for living a life without you was the worst pain imaginable.

He hid in your house, holding his breath every time he heard a horrific blood curdling scream of Vecna’s newest victim. Praying that it wasn’t you that he could hear begging for their life.

A part of him died when he heard a cry that sounded too much like your voice, he started trembling as he ran towards where the scream was coming from. Hoping that he got to you in time.

He couldn’t describe the tidal wave of emotion he felt when he saw you still alive and unscathed. It was a mixture of relief, overjoyed and ecstatic, he had to call out your name to see if you were real, that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him.

——————————————————————————

“But how, I watched you die” you choked, pulling him closer towards your body desperate to feel his skin on yours, too scared that if you let go of him he’ll disappear. He could feel your rapid heart beating against your chest, as he kissed the back of your head.

“I thought that I died princess, but I woke up here and I couldn’t find you anywhere. I was so scared that I’d never see you again”

“I thought I lost you”

“I thought I had lost you too, I never stopped looking for you. Everyday I’d wonder these empty streets just hoping that one day I’d see your face again” he breathily smiled, you could feel his tears damping your shirt but you didn’t care. Your Billy was alive, he was actually alive.

He kissed your lips again, still not use to the fact that this is real. He may need to kiss you for the rest of his life just to prove to himself that you are real.

You smiled against his lips, looking in his ocean eyes finding salvation in the blue waters.

“Now let’s get you home”

You both spent the whole night not sleeping just holding each other close. His head upon your chest, holding your body close to his like a small child would to their favourite toy. You ran your fingers through his sandy curls, neither of you said a word just holding each other close. Finding the comfort that you’ve both been missing within each other’s embrace.

“I love you Billy”

“I love you too princess”

A/N: all I wanted to do is hug Billy, damn you Duffer brothers for doing my boy dirty! Again my requests are open, I write for most stranger things characters (as long as the actors aren’t minors, as someone who is 22 I feel uncomfortable writing a romantic story for a character who’s actor is a minor) I’m queer so I can write for Robin and I can also write gender neutral. Hope that you enjoy it.

[rumblelibrary]

Can I have something super soft and sweet with Andrea? I need some content from my cottagecore husband. You can decide whatever you want to do with it!

The Perfect Day [Andrea Marowski x fem!Reader]

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: fluff

A/N: thank you for making me write this lifesaver <3

The soft chirping of the birds woke you up. You stirred lightly, a smile coming across your lips as you felt the soft lavender scent over your young husband skin. You slept holding hands, your forehead against his chest as your eyes got used to the bright light outside the window.

The soft cotton sheets clung around your naked bodies along with some heavier quilted duvet, legs tangled as he breathed slowly still deep into his slumber.

You observed him into his simplest nature, he looked so much younger when asleep, his features perfect as kissed by the gentle morning light.

You slowly moved your hand away, he frowned but with time you mastered the art of leaving the bed without awakening him. He huffed, face buried into the pillows as he rolled onto his stomach covering the warm spot you left. Your hand gently onto his soft hair caressing them away from his face. The time seemed to be something unknown to you.

After adjusting the covers over his shoulder you shivered into your nakedness, your hands grasping onto your white nightdress pulling it over you to cover your frame before adding up a burgundy cardigan belonging to Andrea to protect you against the goosebumps your body suffered for leaving the warm comfort of his presence.

You stepped into the kitchen quietly, breathing in the soft smell of a new day. Your hands went immediately to unveil the dough that was covered by a cloth and you left to raise during the night, it was now ready to be baked and you’ll have your warm bread for the day. Andrea spent the day before picking up the mature fruits from your trees, so it was easy to wash them and cut them while you put on the pot for your morning tea.

You hummed softly a song that Andrea was rehearsing with his violin for few days, now helplessly stuck with you, your hands unveiling the pie you prepared the day before cutting some slices.

Before anything else you moved away going to your garden standing barefoot onto the cold stone of the steps, you hugged yourself enjoying the view before slipping on some comfortable shoes and settling the table. The summer day was amazing and the morning breeze made the heat unnoticeable. A white table cloth with fresh flowers and then your started going back and forth from the kitchen to the garden bringing dishes and plates

You blinked surprised as little Anthony, the 14 years old son of the local baker, passed by with his bike waving at you. He blushed as you just looked so calm and relaxed.

“Got the mail and the newspaper Mrs Marowski” he said as he hopped off his bike to hand it to you. You picked one of the peaches you got into a basket nearby handing it to him I return “Thank you Anthony, have a good day”

He smiled and nodded vehemently as he rushed off back to his duties.

You looked down onto the mails: an invite to a concert in London, something from your parents, something in polish coming from Andrea’s family and a voluminous yellow envelope that was coming from Andrea's favourite music shop in London and by the weight you could tell it was some new music sheets. Also a note from your seamstress telling you that the new winter coats need the last fittings.

You were about to check the first page of the newspaper as a loud meowing made you jump.

Andrea was standing in front of you, soft khaki pants with a loose white shirt, your cat draped onto him, a beautiful grey British short hair who was staring at you.

“Did Laszlo woke you up?”

“Did you doubt it?” Andrea asked with a chuckle as he leaned closer to you, a kiss resting onto your lips as the cat jumped off his arm.

“I hate to wake up on an empty bed, even if your table setting is the best” he assured as he smiled at you tangling you into another kiss.

“Mh, the tea” you just reminded yourself as he chuckled 

“One more, one more” he begged between chuckles stealing another kiss before letting you go inside and he proceeded to give the annoying boss of your cat the food he deserved and demanded.

He sat on the chair enjoying the soft breeze as you brought a small tray with the tea to complete the set up.

He hummed softly opening the package coming from London gleefully as he admired his new music sheets.

“Your presence is required to see a new concert, I think they want to show off to have you as solo violin” you said showing him the invitation while sitting with him. He admired you, he stared at you with a soft smile “I will have to hear my agent first” he said as he meant you. You always had a good gut feelings and often kept him from taking random impulsive decisions.

“There’s something from your family too” you added and he smirked 

“You read it first” he said as he was helping you with polish and you sighed softly using one of your butter knives to open the letter. His hand quickly went to your cookies taking one happy bite as he still stared at the music on paper.

His eyes darting up only to look at you focused onto the paper scribbled by his parents and you nodded explaining to him a letter that was mostly about every day updates

“This word” you signalled as he leaned in lightly in to read it as there was only one point you didn’t seem to grasp not even by the words before or after it.

He chuckled loudly almost chocking onto the crumbles covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?”

You asked as he blushed deeply.

“Oh no, they hated my knit work? Is it that?”

He shook his head as you frowned at him waving that letter expecting an answer before your mind went onto the worried train of thoughts.

“It means” he licked his lips, eyes shining “It means pregnancy, not literally it is a more discreet way to say it, more like expecting something, but they mean that, my mum wants to know when she can call herself grandmother”

You blushed deeply as you looked down, you are such a young couple and you’re actually enjoying this phase, now it is not like every little delay of your period didn’t make your heart do the backflips, but to be asked so directly felt weird.

“Don’t worry about it, she means it in a good way, they adore you and they keep saying how you brought some sense into me”

He smiled taking your hand gently kissing the back of it.

“We have Laszlo for now it is more than enough” he joked to light you up and you giggled “Indeed” you said as you looked around finding the cat running after some butterflies. Andrea always complained that Laszlo hated him, Laszlo was your cat even before the polish man came into your life, but truth to be told they were best buddies: the cat would always check where he was and Andrea was the first to always feed him.

“I was thinking we could go to town today, I promised Ursula to play for her tea party with some friends coming all the way from Edinburgh and maybe we can go past the bookshop and buy some flour and whatever else. I could plant some pumpkin seeds, I love your velvety pumpkin cream for autumn”

You smiled as he really can’t wait for the colder season even if that meant to see you more dressed and clothed he also loved to nuzzle with you in front of the fire.

“Agreed” you said and he smiled proudly as you handed him the letter from your family and he sighed softly but proceeded to read it like you did with his.

He was way better at English, but mostly spoken English, he still hated to read and you picked books for him too even if he always puppy eyed you into reading for him.

He read quietly the letter as you ate some pie. He frowned lightly as he spelled out loud some words, sometimes he did it to learn the difference from a word that he knows and how it was written.

When you both drank your tea and he finally indulged into the local news he hushed you to get dressed “You take the longest to get ready, I’ll clean up” he said winking at you making you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

So you did, you went to wash yourself and braided your hair into an updo hairstyle, a light white dressy shirt and a long pleaded skirt for you as you also prepared the clothes for him.

As you redid your bed and he walked inside after clearing up the kitchen you couldn’t help but adore him into his little routines, the way he shaved and got prepared, the way he wore the clothes you figured out for him with happy delight. He loved how you looked after him, he felt loved, the small attentions like that one put him at rest, he relaxed and he felt babied and he loved it.

He picked the case of his violin handing it to you using it to pull you closer and steal another kiss. You chuckled as he leaned in to kiss you again, and again, and once more.

“Andrea” you whispered as he chuckled softly kissing you once again, he smelled so good, his skin soft and perfumed thanks to his aftershave oil.

How could you resist him?

“Two minutes” you whispered leaning back down the violin over your vanity to be able to wrap your arms around his neck letting out a soft yelp as he fell over you on the bed.

Useless to say that it wasn’t two minutes and not even twenty, your trembling legs around him and the way you guided him to give you just what you wanted from him always drove him crazy.

After a short nap you really had to begin to get going, he helped you to dress up slowly zipping up your skirt and you had a new rush of pleasure just by buttoning up his shirt covering his chest peppered with hickeys.

You locked the house and he pulled out his black bike putting the violin box in the basket on the front along with your white one “I prefer when we go with one” he complained but you chuckled “yes, but if we buy few things we will have to go by walking” you made him notice and he sighed nodding.

He waited for you as you pedalled your way to the town centre, he was swaying in front of you and you raced a bit against each other until the stone bridge that welcomed you there.

“See you at Ursula’s” you said and he nodded leaning in to kiss you one more time, he indulged into that kiss a littlest as he opened his eyes slowly, a smile playing over his lips.

“My wife” he said, sometimes he repeated it like he had to remind himself. You chuckled as you kissed his cheek and you go parted.

You knew Ursula liked to pared Andrea off, you let her do it, she came with time to like you, she saw how much good you did to Andrea, how much balance you gave to him, his behaviour was stable, he settled down.

You stopped to the local grocery store taking up some spices, some cinnamon in particular as you knew how much Andrea loved it on sweets, few little cooking and baking items you missed and then off to the bookstore.

“Hello hello” you said as the old man there greeted you “The books you ordered arrived” he said as he moved his shaky legs into the back of the shop bringing you the easy books in polish you ordered to practice some reading. You smiled looking at them as Andrea gave you the titles of books that made his youth and also few new ones for him. You added to that stock a new cooking book and few novels for Andrea and his English. The old man was the sweetest, he kept the booster open no matter the weather and politics and he always made sure to find anything you might be looking for.

He helped you tie all your buyings together onto the bike so after paying you just pushed it walking through the town, just enjoying a good time around giving yourself time until you made it to Ursula’s home.

Well, you called Ursula’s but Janet as always there even if her presence was always quieter you teamed up with her most of the time letting Ursula enjoy her time with Andrea.

You smiled stopping in your track as you heard the soft sound of the violin, you closed your eyes breathing in, like you could enjoy the music through the air.

You adjusted your dress and smiling to yourself, the moment sinking in slowly.

Your husband, your life, the idea of coming back home together, cuddle on the couch, listen to his words, having his honey eyes on you.

A natural smiled appeared on your lips.

After few moments you decided to keep going, you pulled your bike  letting it rest against the fence, Janet appearing at the doorstep to welcome you in.

Your perfect day.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams@charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog

[freddie-weaselbee]

Grade A Business//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief semi-nudity, slight language, two suggestive comments, y/n drools on fred but like in a cute way

Summary: As one businessman makes a trip across the ocean to talk to new investors, he meets his new partner, someone a lot more familiar than he was expecting. 

Prompts: Only One Bed with dialogue prompts “if we get caught, I’m blaming you” and “I don't want to be alone”

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Day 2 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge

  Fred had never gotten used to traveling on Muggle airplanes. He never had a need to before, not with everything being a train ride, floo network, or apparition away. But as he and George progressed into adulthood, and the businessman life no less, they found themselves constantly on the move and needing a fast and easy way to travel without drawing suspicion. Except for the one time that Fred’s magical briefcase set off every airport security system imaginable, but he’d learned from that mistake. 

He was relieved to be exiting the JFK airport in New York City, clutching his luggage and thanking Merlin that his feet could now touch solid ground. Being in one of those huge steel contraptions was nothing like flying in a broom. He had no control over anything and it drove him absolutely insane. Luckily, he was safe now, and one step closer to being done with this awful business trip. 

At the beginning of their business endeavors, Fred and George would travel together, trying to pick up business at other locations for Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes. But as the shop grew and the locations became more and more foreign (so far having shops in Paris, Cairo, and Madrid) the brothers realized that the operations would have to be solo missions to allow for the other to run the shop for longer periods of time. Usually Fred didn’t mind taking the trips by himself. In fact, he rather enjoyed the alone time and flexibility in schedule. But this meeting was supposed to be a big one, and he was feeling quite nervous about having to tackle it himself. 

Big investors located in the states were meeting with him to discuss opening a joint operation in New York City, combining his shop with another renowned wizard business that they deemed would be most profitable. Fred groaned internally just thinking about it. He didn’t want to have to share this new shop with anyone, no matter what the new investors thought. What if the other co-owner was a horrible person? Or worse, what if they had no sense of humor? They’d ruin the Weasley reputation and make it some boring book store. Or puzzle shop? Honestly Fred didn’t know much about the other business, just that he already didn’t like it. 

Hailing a cab, a trick his sister-in-law Hermione had shown him years ago, Fred lugged all of his prototypes--skillfully hidden from Muggle eyes and detection systems by layers of spells--into the trunk before hopping in, giving the address of the hotel the investors had booked for him. He was about to shut the door when a panting scream startled him enough to make him stop. 

“Wait! Hold the cab!”

Doing as he was told, Fred kept the door open and allowed the stranger to climb in, suitcase and all. 

“Thanks,” you said, Fred noting your distinct British accent and strikingly familiar features. “I really need to get to my hotel, I appreciate it--”

“Y/N?”

Shocked, you finally looked at your ride partner’s face for the first time. Soft brown eyes. Freckled face. Bright ginger hair. 

“Fred?! Fred Weasley?” You knew for a fact you weren’t mistaken, this was definitely the Fred you remembered. Or maybe it could have been George? It had been so long since you had seen either of them. Since Hogwarts, in fact. 

Luckily, Fred nodded, confirming your belief that this was the older Weasley twin and saving yourself from heaps of embarrassment. “Y/N L/N, what are you doing here?”

Fred and you both wore matching grins, stretching from ear to ear. What an insane coincidence. What were the chances that you two would be in the same cab, in the same city, in the same foreign country?

“I’m actually here for business,” you said. “After Hogwarts I opened my own shop--”

“Excuse me,” the cab driver interrupted, wasting no time with politeness nor formalities. “But I have cars lined up behind me and I don’t know where you wanna go little lady. So let’s get on with it, if you will.”

“Oh, yeah of course. It’s, umm, oh shit which hotel was it? It’s on 53rd and 10th, I know that…” You trailed off, trying to remember what your hotel was called. You dug around in your purse, hoping to find a piece of paper with the name on it. “I think it was called--”

“Lotus Hotel.”

It was Fred who had interrupted you, once again, and once again you were just as bewildered as before.

“That’s right,” you said after a few seconds of confused silence. “Yes, yes the Lotus Hotel please,” you told the driver with confidence. Turning back to Fred you tried in earnest to understand what was happening. 

“So same location?” the driver asked, to which Fred confirmed before you were speeding off down the crowded streets of the city. 

“Oh, I get it,” you said in understanding. “Same hotel as me?”

“That is correct, love. What are the odds?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a half suggestive half just plain goofy manner, awkwardly shuffling so that his long legs had room amongst your many bags. 

“That is quite a coincidence,” you agreed. “Funny thing is, I didn’t even choose the location. I have a business meeting in the morning with possible investors and they set everything up for the stay.”

Fred’s mouth practically dropped open at what you had said. “You’re kidding. These investors don’t happen to be Robbie Goldstein and Rachel McMillan, do they?”

“Ok, you need to stop doing that,” you said, officially freaked. “That’s the third time you’ve predicted something and it’s starting to creep me out. You never were very good at legilimency.”

He hushed you quickly, hoping the cab driver hadn’t caught onto the magical term you just used. Thankfully, he was too focused on the roads to notice. 

“Ok, Y/N, one last question.”

“And then you’ll explain how you know all this?”

Fred ignored your question and continued with his own. “You said you opened a business. Are you perhaps meeting with another business owner to discuss a collaboration on a new store opening in the city?”

“Yes!” you said, eager to know how Fred could have known that. Was this another one of his pranks? Did he have hidden cameras in the cab somewhere? “How do you know all this?”

He only laughed, a joyous and very relieved grin overtaking his face. Sticking out his right hand, he grabbed yours and shook it eagerly. “Well, Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to be reacquainted. I’m Frederick Weasley, your new potential partner.”

------------------------------

“You know, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Oh thank Godric, I was worried you’d think I was grown up and mature now.”

You laughed heartily as you dragged your bags out of the cab, thanking the driver before he grunted annoyedly and drove off. Your drive from the airport had gone faster than expected, mostly due to the fact that you and Fred had so much to catch up on. 

After he and George had left Hogwarts in their grand exit, they’d created the shop they’d always dreamed of, parking it right in the middle of Diagon Alley. You, on the other hand, went about creating your success in a much more conventional way. After finishing your last year of school, you started working full time at Zonko’s at Hogsmeade, trying to save up enough money to start your own business. 

Many long hours and tiring days later, you opened up your little place, a toy store and puzzle shop. It was a similar setup to what the Weasleys did, but as you described it, “my toys don’t blow up in the user's face.”

You were now very excited for tomorrow’s meeting, the one you had been dreading beforehand. Your business was much smaller than Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and this would be your first international location. You were afraid that the owner you would be forced to work with would be some stuck up rich big whig who wouldn’t allow you to keep any of your small business charm in the new location. But learning that you would be working with Fred, well that was a relief for many reasons. 

Fred rang the hotel desk bell, chatting happily about ideas for the shared shop and new products that fit with what both of you wanted to do. 

“Hello there,” said the hotel receptionist, coming around the corner. “What can I do for you today?”

“Two night stay for Frederick Weasley,” said Fred. “Should’ve been booked by Robbie Goldstein.”

The young man typed quickly into his computer before offering Fred a hotel key card. “Here you are Mr. Weasley, room 504. We serve complimentary breakfast from 6 to 9 every morning down in our west hall. If you need anything don’t be afraid to call down and we’ll assist you in any way we can.”

Fred nodded at the man. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He turned to leave before you grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled him back. 

“Wait for me,” you said. “I’m not finished talking to you yet.”

Fred smiled and waited behind you as you took your turn at the desk. 

“Y/N L/N, also booked by Robbie Goldstein.” 

He clicked away again but paused for a few seconds, seemingly confused. “You said Y/N L/N?”

Starting to get nervous, you nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Is the reservation not there?” You didn’t want to think about having to find somewhere else to stay, especially because it was getting so late. 

“Oh no,” the man replied. “It’s here all right.” Ignoring the confused looks you and Fred were giving each other, the receptionist handed you a hotel key card and gestured to the elevator. “Thank you for choosing to stay with us. You’ll be staying for two nights in room 504. Don’t forget to enjoy our complimentary breakfast from 6--”

“I’m sorry,” Fred interrupted. “But that’s my room. You did say 504, right?”

“Yes sir,” he replied, not bothering to try to understand the predicament. “Mr. Goldstein booked one room for the both of you.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Fred, silently asking him to help you figure this out. But instead, Fred just broke out laughing, having to brace himself on the front desk. 

“I guess that’s what you expect when you let two investors who specialize in pranking shops make the room accommodations.”

“This isn’t funny Fred,” you said, although you had to give Robbie and Rachel credit for this joke. Turning to the receptionist, you sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “There’s at least two separate beds, right?”

He glanced down at his computer screen before looking back up at you with a guilty smile. “Well, about that…”

------------------------------

“Alright, I’ll take the couch, I’m sure it’s a pullout, it has to be.”

Fred stood in the doorway watching you mumble mostly to yourself. As tired as he was and as much as he wanted to just lie down and sleep, somehow watching you freak out about the sleeping arrangements was a much better use of his time. 

He watched as you threw the pillows and cushions off of the couch and felt around for a lever, something, anything that would allow you a place to rest. Your face lit up as you felt a small impression and yanked with all your might, only causing you to thump backwards onto your butt on the hotel room floor. 

Kicking off his shoes, Fred jumped onto the bed, sighing as he let his body relax. “Come on in darling, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

He opened one eye slightly, just enough to see your reaction. You were trying again to make the couch open, although you both knew that it wasn’t a pullout. Nevertheless, you kept pulling at every spot you thought could make a difference. 

It reminded Fred of the good old days, back at Hogwarts when you two were so close. You were always so stubborn, and he didn’t realize just how much he had missed having you in his life. He always wondered what happened to you after he and George left, but with the shop opening up and the war around the corner, he never had the thought to write you or track you down. He hoped this time after you two parted ways you would still remain in touch. 

You groaned loudly, slapping the couch with one of the pillows you had thrown earlier. Nothing was going as planned and you couldn’t be more annoyed. 

“Fine,” you huffed. “I’ll just sleep on the couch, no need for a pullout.” You stomped over to the bed and angrily pulled the blanket from off of him. 

“Hey!” he shouted, trying to grab it back but you were too quick. “That’s not fair, it’s cold!”

“If you get the bed,” you said, wrapping yourself up, “then I get to stay warm. Now go to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He couldn’t help but giggle at the small bundle of you wrapped up in the hotel quilt, looking like an angry little burrito. Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it in the corner, followed next by his undershirt before he unbuckled his belt. He turned to face you slowly, feeling your eyes on him as they peeked out of your wrapping. 

You quickly turned your gaze and glared at the floor. “What are you doing?” you said, hoping Fred didn’t see the blush rising to your cheeks. He did. 

He continued to undress, leaving him only in a pair of red boxers that left little to the imagination. “Going to bed, as you said,” he replied nonchalantly. He grabbed a toothbrush from his suitcase and made his way to the bathroom, making sure to walk extra slowly and give you a longer show. 

“This is so unprofessional!” you yelled after him. 

“We’re not business partners until tomorrow, love,” Fred said with a mouthful of toothpaste. “As far as I see it we can do anything we want tonight.”

Rolling your eyes, you shed the large blanket and grabbed an oversized t-shirt from your bag, hoping you’d be able to change before Fred finished in the bathroom. As he emerged, he saw the tail end of you throwing the shirt on, flashing your thighs and part of your panties for half a second. He averted his eyes out of respect, but that didn’t stop his imagination from running away with what he just saw. 

You shuffled past him, taking your turn in the bathroom. How in the world had this happened? How had a nice catch-up with a friend turned into an awkward back and forth the night before the most important business meeting of your life?

All you wanted to do was fall asleep, go through with whatever tomorrow brought you, and pretend like this never happened. But as you came out of the bathroom, you saw that Fred had taken the blanket back, leaving you with nothing except your t-shirt and an uncomfortable couch. 

“Fred, let me have it,” you said, trying to yank it from his grip. 

“No,” he mumbled, voice muffled by one of the many pillows he was cuddled with. 

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, give me the blanket now or so help me…”

Instead of responding, he just reached out and patted you on the top of your head before rolling over and pretending to snore. He was infuriating. 

You sulked back to the couch, accepting your defeat. You pulled out all of the clothes in your bag, hoping they could form as some sort of makeshift blanket. But after a few minutes of shivering and curling into the smallest ball possible, you realized that you’d never manage to sleep like this. Fred was staring at you, partially amused and partially concerned. You looked away. 

“You can always share with me, you know,” he said, patting the bed next to him. 

You scoffed and turned away. “Like I said, Fred, we’re soon-to-be business partners. Imagine how that would look! I’m fine right here, thank you.”

After a few seconds of silence you snuck another look at him. He hadn’t moved an inch, and was instead looking more concerned than before. “You’re going to freeze to death over there.”

“Well maybe that’s because someone stole my blanket.”

“The blanket comes with the bed, and the bed comes with me. Take it or leave it.”

It took everything in you not to scream. You wanted that warm, soft, comfortable bed more than anything at the moment. You needed it. Oh but it would send such a bad message if anyone ever found out…

“If we get caught I’m blaming you,” you relented, trudging over to the bed and crawling underneath the covers, ripping the blanket from a very amused Fred. 

“Who’s gonna catch us, Robbie and Rachel? They’re the ones that set this up! Trust me, nothing’s going to happen.” 

“It better not,” you said. “And make sure you stay on your side of the bed, I mean it! No touching.”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Fred said, rolling slightly closer to you. “You act as if we’ve never done this before. We’ve slept with each other dozens of times.”

Your face went red at his words, wishing he would have phrased it a different way. 

“You know what I mean,” he said quickly, hearing how his words came across. “But the amount of times we’ve cuddled up in the Gryffindor common room or up stargazing in the astronomy tower. It’s just me, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“We were also 17 and a lot closer back then,” you retorted, remembering the fond memories you had from your high school days. 

Fred huffed and returned to his side. “I’m not saying we weren’t. I just wish you weren’t acting so different now. It’s like we’re barely friends anymore…” His voice drifted off, wishing that he could go back and change the past. It had been 8 years since he last saw you. 8 whole years. Maybe things would’ve been different if he had tried to stay in touch. You’d never even visited his shop in those 8 years, never seen everything he was so proud of. He was stupid to think that one reunion was going to bring back a friendship that was practically already dead. He was even more stupid to think that maybe, just maybe, fate was giving him one last chance to shoot his shot, close to a decade later. What a right idiot he was. 

On the other side of the bed, less than a meter away, similar thoughts raced through your mind. 8 years. Why hadn’t you, in 8 years, made one trip to visit their shop. Sure, there was a war going on and you were busy starting your own shop, but things had been fairly calm the last few years. Why had you never reached out? Almost subconsciously, you reached out physically for Fred. Your hand brushed up against his back before you tensed and drew back. You both stilled for a few moments, before Fred rolled over, facing you. 

The two of you just stared at each other, both playing mental images of what your lives could have looked like the last 8 years if just one of you had done something. 

“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” Fred asked, breaking the silence. You shook your head. He moved closer. 

“Are you?” you asked. He shook his head. You moved closer. 

Your faces were now about a foot apart. You moved your hand to rest it between your face and the pillow. Fred copied your actions. You laughed softly, the movement causing a strand of hair to fall into your face. 

Fred reached his hand out to move it before hesitating. “Can I?” His voice was so soft, so full of care. His hand hesitated in the air for a second before you nodded. He brushed the strands behind your ear, fingertips so gentle that you got chills up and down your spine. He let his hand linger before it moved to cup your face. “I’ve missed you.”

You smiled and leaned into his touch. “I’ve missed you too, Freddie.”

His hand left your face and moved down to your waist, eyes not leaving yours in case you ever grew uncomfortable. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him just like you used to do all those years ago. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and hummed contently, before both of you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

------------------------------

“Freddie, Y/N! How are ya!”

Robbie Goldstein, a plump man with fading hair ran up to greet you and Fred in the lobby of his and his partner’s office, shaking both of your hands fervently. 

“Hey Robbie,” said Fred, slapping the man on the back. “I’m glad to be here.”

“Same with me,” you said, glad you could finally meet the man with whom you’d been discussing business through letters in person. 

Robbie looked between the two of you, sly grin on his face. “Ah, so I see you’ve already met them. Wouldn’t happen to be because of a little mishap at the hotel last night, would it?”

You groaned internally, hating that someone else knew about the previous night, but Fred only laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“A great prank, I must admit, but Y/N and I actually go way back. I’ve known her since I was 11 years old, so nice try. I couldn’t imagine how that would’ve gone if we were complete strangers.”

Robbie’s face fell a little before he shrugged and nodded his head in defeat. “Well, what are the odds of that?”

“Astronomical,” you said, giving Fred a subtle tap with your foot. 

Robbie gestured for the two of you to follow him into the conference room where discussions about the new business would commence. “Well, I’m glad that you two seem to get along then, this is going to make things a lot easier. Oh, and don’t worry about arrangements tonight, I’ve decided not to let my joke stretch on and I booked another room for one of you for your last night in town.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Fred, and stepped into the conference room. “Thanks Robbie, that makes things a lot easier.”

“Yeah,” said Fred hesitantly, “thanks for that.”

He shut the door behind you and straightened up. There was no place for personal feelings in this business negotiation. He needed to do what was best for his company and yours, no distractions. No thoughts of crushed hope that suddenly plagued his mind. 

------------------------------

Fred hated the bed he was sleeping on. Granted, it was the same bed as the night before, but this time it felt different. It felt like it was mocking him. You had been the one to offer to change rooms and it seemed like you couldn’t wait to get out of there and to your own bedroom, free of any Weasleys. It made Fred sick to think about. 

He had just gotten used to the idea of something happening between the two of you. Last night, it all seemed perfect. You had cuddled the same way you had before, talked like nothing had changed. Hell, he even woke up with you lying sprawled out on top of him, a little trickle of drool falling onto his chest. He didn’t mind. 

But now, everything that happened the night before seemed like a dream. 

Fred knew he’d at least get to see you sporadically from now on. Your business negotiations with Robbie and Rachel went great, and the two of you, three counting George, were going to be combining forces and opening a joke and toy shop in the city sometime within the next year. It went exactly how Fred had wanted it to go, and yet so horribly wrong at the same time. 

He didn’t want to only interact with you as a business partner and casual friend. He wanted so much more than you were willing to give him, and having to see you and write you and work with you was going to be torture for him. He buried his face in the pillows, gripping the large blanket to his chest, wishing it was you instead. Stupid Robbie and his stupid pranks and stupid business and--

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Fred lifted his head to check the clock. It was 2 in the morning. Who in the world would be knocking this late at night? Fred slowly got out of bed, too tired to bother putting anything more decent on. He looked through the peephole of the door but his eyes were too blurry to make anything out. Groaning, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

Standing in front of him, clothed in the oversized t-shirt from last night and a pair of booty shorts, was you, looking nervous and embarrassed. Fred hadn’t noticed the previous day, but the shirt you had been wearing was one of his old Quidditch practice jerseys, all beat up and way too huge on you. He remembered the day he gave that to you, or rather when you stole it from him because you complained about it being too cold. Fred had to hold back a laugh at the irony. 

“I, umm,” you started, not knowing what to say to him. How were you supposed to explain that you missed him so much that spending one night away from him was too much for you to bear? How last night had been the best sleep you had in years because of how content and at peace he made you feel. How could you convey all of your feelings to him at this very moment?

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Fred wasted no time in picking you up, laughing as you screamed and kicked your legs around. “Fred Weasley, you put me down!”

He did as he was told and threw you onto the bed before jumping, arms and legs spread out, and landing straight on top of you. “I’m so glad you're here,” he said, peppering your cheeks with kisses. He pushed himself up, scanning your face to make sure what he did was ok, but you grabbed his face in your cheeks and pulled him down into a long kiss. Fred smiled through the kiss, almost laughing at how everything was working out. Maybe fate did have something to do with it after all. 

Fred pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “So,” he said, mischief glinting in his eyes, “how about we put this bed to good use?”

Tag List: @famdomhideout​ @amourtentiaa​

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Happiness, I’m sorry you’ve been on hold.

Request: Could you do a one shot of Fred Weasley after the war, where he doesn’t die and actually falls in love with a muggle. And he tells her about wizards and meets his family? Thank you!

A/N: So this is now the longest thing I have ever written. My aim for this was to make it equal parts angst and equal parts fluff because I think Fred deserves all the fluff. Thank you so much for requesting this! I hope I have done it justice! Please read the warnings before reading this fic should anything trigger - you come first, not fic reading. Also, if anyone can name the TV shows I mention in this, you get a gold star! Title from Volbeat - For Evigt. I hope you all enjoy, I know it’s long!!

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of war, depression, insomnia, PTSD, swearing, food, but THERE IS SO MUCH FLUFF - SO MUCH (as well as a bit of steaminess).

Word count: 13.3k

The voices have blurred into a senseless mess; Fred can only just make out the deep timbre of adult males and the high pitched shouts of students. He doesn’t need to hear the words to know that spells are being thrown left, right, and centre.

He does his fair share of fighting; hurling jinx after jinx at any Death Eater he comes upon.

The corridor he runs down is moaning and groaning as if ready to collapse, but Fred continues, his breath coming in pants. His eyes run over the bodies of students and teachers; his heart beginning the painful mourning process then and there.

Someone shouts; he doesn’t know who.

Something creaks; he doesn’t know what.

A brilliant flash of light bounces in front of his eyes, and he feels himself blown away just as the wall beside him starts to collapse.

Whether from shock or from injury, his vision fades to black.

Fred wakes with a start; heart racing, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, hands gripping the bedsheets in a vice-tight hold.

With his eyes closed, he takes a deep breath before he begins to go through his exercise. An exercise he repeats nightly.

Aloud he says their names like a mantra: “Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny.”

He does this over and over again until his heart rate calms, and his hands can release the bedsheets.

Fred checks the clock; 3am. He nods, sighing. Three hours sleep.

Fred supposes he should be thankful. After all, it’s three hours more than he got the night before.

He leaves his bed, dragging his feet to the kitchen where with a flick of his wand, the kettle begins to boil, and teabag drops itself into his favourite mug – his only mug.

The Second Wizard War had been over for almost a year now, and for the most part, life had returned to normal. Routines were picked back up and time had simply started to move on.

But Fred felt stuck.

He couldn’t shake the nightmares; keeping the house up with his screams. He couldn’t face opening the shop up despite George’s best attempts at pleading.

He didn’t have it in him to laugh.

He felt broken; as if something vital within him snapped in two the day he avoided the winged clutches of death.

Settling on the couch with his now steeping mug of tea, Fred resigns himself to the fact that he won’t be getting anymore sleep tonight.

The TV plays lowly in the background, a rerun of an old British sitcom set in a prison playing. Fred pays it little to no attention; instead, looking around the small flat he’s called home for the last eight months of his life. The walls are sparsely decorated; a few photos hung up but nothing that screams his personality. His cupboards remain filled just enough for one person, as does his fridge. It’s a flat fit for a hermit; Fred thinks that’s what he’s become.

He decided to leave home two months after the end of the war. When he started to notice the dark circles underneath his mother’s eyes and realised that he was the cause of them – his nightmares and his screams.

Molly cried when he left; worried sick over how he would look after himself and cope. Fred reassured her and made a promise to send letters twice a week – a promise he has yet to break.

George was understandably angry with his twin’s decision, but he knew that deep down that Fred needed to go to heal so he can laugh in the shop once again.

With a tight hug from his parents and siblings alike, Fred began his new life in muggle society.

A frantic knock at his door has Fred spilling his tea and falling out of his reminiscing. Jumping up from the couch, his hand grabs his wand, ready to defend himself should he need to.

His breath comes in quick pants as a result of the adrenaline and panic coursing through his system. The only people who know where he lives are his family with the added bonus of Harry, Hermione and Lee Jordan; no-one else had his address.

The frantic knocking continues; becoming quicker if it was at all possible. Fred swallows past the lump in his throat as he unlocks his door, wrenching it open in a swift movement, ready to confront whatever was on the other side.

Fred wasn’t prepared for it to be you.

You stand in front of his flat with a wild look on your face; equal parts terror and panic. Your hand is still raised in a fist, ready to rain down on the faded red of his door. You only just stop yourself from pounding your fist into his chest.

“Can I help you?” Fred greets.

“I’m so sorry, I know how late it is, but I need your help.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “What with?”

You toe his welcome mat sheepishly, pointing towards your flat next door to his. “There’s a massive spider in my bathroom and I’m too scared to kill it myself.”

“You’re knocking down my door at this time in the morning for a spider?” Fred asks incredulously.

You glare at him, “This isn’t just any spider, okay? It’s massive; I can practically see its kneecaps!” You huff, placing your hands on your hips, “Will you please help me?”

Fred leans against the doorframe, a smirk gracing his lips, “What’s in it for me?”

You purse your lips; eyes glancing between the red-headed man vexing you and the door to your flat where you know the spider is waiting to make a mockery of you. You sigh, deciding the former is the lesser evil than the latter, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

“You’ll buy me breakfast for killing a spider?”

You nod rapidly, “Yes, I’ll buy you breakfast, and I’ll even fork out extra for hash browns, just please kill the spider.”

Fred pauses; pretending to think it over in order to annoy you that little bit more. It had been a while since he had taken the time to vex someone; he had to admit he was rather enjoying getting on your nerves.

“Well?” You press, tapping your foot on his welcome mat, “Will you help me or not?”

Fred pushes himself off the doorframe, keeping his wand concealed in his shirt sleeve. He bows at the waist with a cocky smile on his lips, “Lead the way, my lady.”

You roll your eyes at the man; not remembering a time when a man had gotten on your nerves to this extent. You lead him into your flat; his eyes wandering over the heavily decorated walls and the over-filled bookshelves. You pause outside the door to your bathroom, biting your lip as you face the red-haired man, “I last saw it in the sink. It could have moved now.”

Fred nods, “Don’t worry, I’ll find it. Do you have a boot or something I could use?”

You turn away from him, heading back to the entryway where he saw piles upon piles of shoes. “I don’t have a boot,” you start, “but I do have a pair of trainers.”

“They’ll work,” Fred reassures, taking them from your hands.

You throw him a thumbs-up before retreating a few paces into your living room. You haul yourself onto the couch, much to Fred’s amusement, as if the spider is going to come running out of the bathroom to exact its revenge on you for throwing your pot of face cream at it before you sprinted out of your flat.

“Good luck,” You state as Fred opens the door to your bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Fred runs his eyes around your bathroom, looking for the eight-legged arachnid that’s caused this much trouble at this time in the morning. He finds it in no time; still stuck in your sink, unable to make its way up the smooth porcelain sides.

It doesn’t take Fred long to dispose of the spider; trapping it with a spell and flinging it out of the window. For extra measure, and to not alert you to his magic, he slams the trainer down on the tiled floor of your bathroom. Fred even goes so far as to scrunch up some tissue in his hand to make it look as if he had gotten the spider.

If he can avoid it, Fred won’t kill another living creature. In the short span of his life, Fred had seen too much death, and he knows he doesn’t want to be witness to anymore.

Upon opening the door, Fred finds you stood in the exact same place but with a rolled up magazine in your hand. He wants to laugh at the sight, but he can’t dredge up the will to do so. Instead, he holds up the scrunched up tissue and your trainer, declaring, “It’s gone. I got rid of it.”

You jump down from the couch, pottering over to him. The rolled up magazine still in your hand, “It’s in there?”

Fred nods, a little white lie won’t hurt you and he doubts the spider would return. “Do you have somewhere I can put this?” he asks, waving the tissue around.

“Of course, the kitchen is over here.” You lead him to the small kitchenette where he disposes of the empty tissue. You take your trainer off him and Fred claps his hands together as if he’s completed a job well done.

“Right,” He starts, “If you don’t need me for anything else…”

Your eyes widen as if suddenly aware what time it is and how long you’ve kept him, “Of course!” you cry, “I didn’t realise the time, you’ll want to be getting back to sleep. Thank you for all your help…” you trail off, realising you don’t know his name.

“Fred. My name is Fred.”

“Fred,” You smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“I’m glad I could help, (Y/N),” Fred says, making his way to your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”

You frown, “Breakfast?”

“You owe me? For killing the spider, remember?”

You hold your hand to your forehead, “Yes! I remember. How does meeting at half past nine sound? I want to get some sleep before I meet you again.”

“Half nine it is. I’ll see you then.” Fred says as goodbye, shutting your front door behind him and making his way back to the couch that had been calling his name since he left it.

The TV has moved on now; showing another rerun of an old sitcom – this one about two brothers hustling their way through life in a borough of London. Fred rather likes this show, having gotten hooked his first month in muggle life. He turns the volume up, taking a sip of his now cold tea.

Fred tries to pay attention to scene currently playing; the brother’s elderly uncle unscrewing the fastenings to a very expensive chandelier they’ve been hired to clean. Little do they know they’ve got their wires crossed and disaster is about to strike.

Fred pays little attention to this, but rather than return to the wallowing he found himself in earlier, he lets himself think of breakfast tomorrow.

His eyes begin to flutter shut; the lack of sleep finally catching up to him. He slumps down onto the couch, reaching for the blanket he keeps draped across the back of it for this very reason, and he throws it across himself. He takes one last look at the television to see that the brothers had been underneath the wrong chandelier their elderly uncle was loosening, and he falls asleep with the thought of breakfast running through his mind.

------------------

Fred is ready too early; he knows he is.

He also thinks he’s overdressed but he doesn’t let himself think too much into that issue.

Another nightmare had awoken him an hour after he fell back asleep in front of the TV. Fred wasn’t too resigned though; four hours sleep in one night was the most he had gotten in a while. He was going to count this as a win.

For a while, he remained on the couch, flicking through the channels hoping to find something other than telly shopping. He skipped over the news channels, not needing to hear anything about muggle society that could potentially send him further into his spiral. He ran a hand over his face as he turned off the TV; he had moved away from home to start getting better; to start the healing process yet he felt as if he was only making things worse.

Before he could let himself dwell further on that subject, he hauled himself into the shower. Taking extra time to scrub at his hair and body; making himself look presentable for breakfast with you.

Fred took extra care in picking out his clothes. Once dressed, he did feel overdressed for the occasion, but as he sits on the couch, watching the hands on his analogue clock tick by slowly, he’s more bothered by the fact that he’s ready over an hour early.

He sighs as he watches the second hand make another circuit around the clock; one less minute to go, he thinks wryly to himself.

If his mother could see him now, Molly Weasley would proceed to smack him with a tea-towel before offering her advice on the matter. Thoughts of his mother has Fred overwhelmed with a strong sense of missing her. He misses his mother more than he misses anyone; how she would always have food on the table and tea ready to drink, how she would push back his hair from his forehead so she could kiss him there. She would do that a lot when the nightmares were very bad; she would sit with him on the couch where he had exiled himself after waking George up too many times – she would run her hands through his hair in a comforting manner, kissing his forehead as his eyes would start to droop. Molly would only let herself rest once her beloved son was sleeping somewhat peacefully.

Fred thinks of this memory as he digs around his flat for some spare parchment and a self-inking quill. He had already sent his two letters for the week, but Molly would be delighted to receive a third unexpectedly.

Quill scratches on parchment for some time. Fred inquires after the wellness of his siblings – did Charlie pull his finger out and ask out Evie? How was Ron and Hermione? How was Dad? Would he like any more of the muggle sweets he’s become so fond of?

Fred asks the inane questions before asking about George. Fred knows that George loves him; they’re twins, they’re closer than any other sibling would hope to be. George knew Fred’s moods like the back of his hand and he only wants the best for his brother. Which is why Fred struggles with the guilt at leaving George to cope with the joke shop alone. George has reassured him that it’s okay, that he needs to take time and the shop will always be here when he’s ready to come back.

But it still doesn’t lessen the guilt that sits in his stomach like a lead balloon.

Black ink covers his hand by the he’s finished his letter; finishing his letter with the news of breakfast with someone he could see being a good friend. That would be enough to quash his mother’s worries that he doesn’t leave his flat enough. He seals the envelope with wax, making a mental note to go to a wizarding post office after breakfast so he can send it off in express time to his mother.

Cracking his knuckles – a nasty habit he picked up at Hogwarts – Fred checks the time to see that it’s almost half past nine. He slips on his denim jacket, tucking his letter into an inside pocket, patting it to reassure himself it’s there.

As he’s locking up the door, he sees you exiting your flat. Fred realises that when you aren’t dressed in mismatched pyjamas with a terrified look on your face, you’re rather beautiful.

You hurry over to him; your bag bouncing against your hip as you come to a stop in front of him. “Good Morning,” you greet.

“Good Morning. How did you sleep? Any more spiders?”

You direct your gaze to the floor, feeling somewhat sheepish in the light of day, “I know I said it last night, but thank you again. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep if you hadn’t have got it.”

Fred smiles softly, “I didn’t mind. Besides, I get breakfast out of it.”

You perk up, “That you do! Off we go then.”

You lead him out of the building, continuing on the main road before turning left and then a right. Fred follows you all the way; making small attempts at idle conversation which you gladly take up, chatting to him about anything and everything as you lead him down a side street to where a small café sits.

The bell above the door chimes happily as you enter the building, holding the door open for Fred to duck in first.

You lead him to a table by the window that’s big enough for two. He pulls out your chair for you, letting you sit first before shrugging off his jacket and hanging it over the back of his chair. Fred may have been a little shit through his childhood and adolescence, but he had listened to his mother when she explained the etiquette for dining with a lady whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Menus are handed to the both of you by a waitress who looks to be wanting to be anywhere but here right now. Fred sympathises with her a little; remembering the early starts for the shop. They order their food in no time; you ordering a latte and Fred ordering a Yorkshire Tea to go with your Full English’s with extra hash browns.

You grin at him from across the table, “Thanks for agreeing to this.”

“Thanks for offering.”

“Did you get back to sleep okay after I woke you up?” You asks, face lined with worry.

Fred nods, clearing his throat, “I nodded back off, yeah.”

You sigh with relief, “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept very well in my spider-free flat, yes.”

You fall silent as your drinks are placed in front of you with a promise that your food would be with you shortly. Fred smiles at the waitress in thanks as she leaves.

He turns his attention back to you, “How long have you lived in the building? I’m sure I would have seen you before.”

You wave a hand nonchalantly, “Not very long, I moved in a couple of months ago. How long have you lived there?”

Fred sips at his tea, adding a dash of sugar and milk before answering, “Around eight months now.”

You nod at his answer, taking a drink of your latte. The caffeine was needed; the adrenaline from the spider incident had taken a while to leave your body, leaving you tossing and turning in your bed and providing you more opportunity to think about the red-headed neighbour you had just met.

“I’m going to propose an idea.”

“Oh?”

“I say we play twenty-one questions and get to know each other.”

“Get to know each other?”

You blink at him, “Yes. We’re neighbours and we’re having breakfast. What else should we talk about? The weather?”

Fred glances out the window at your words, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Well the weather is particularly lovely for London.”

You hush him, “That’s not very neighbourly of you.”

“Perhaps I’m not very neighbourly,” Fred taunts.

You gasp dramatically, “I refuse to believe that. If you weren’t neighbourly, you would have shut the door in my face last night.”

Fred raises an eyebrow, “Would you have started to knock again if I did?”

You purse your lips, repressing a smile, “Maybe.”

“Then I simply helped to lessen the noise.”

You scoff, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“You don’t have to.”

You glare at him, “Fred, stop being an arsehole and let me get to know you.”

Fred barks out a laugh, covering his mouth at the volume of the noise, “Well, when you put it like that. What do you want to know?”

You beam at him, and Fred can’t help but smile back. “How old are you?” you ask.

“I’m 22.”

“Are you at university?”

Fred shakes his head, “I thought I was supposed to ask the next question.”

You level him with a look, “Answer this one and then you can ask the next one.”

“Alright, but you can’t go jumping in with another question before I’ve asked mine. No, I’m not at university,” You open your mouth to interrupt but close it when you remember Fred’s words. He smiles at you, “How old are you?”

“You can’t repeat questions!”

“Why not?” Fred asks, affronted, “It’s only fair I know your age too!”

“Fine,” you mutter, “I’m 22 as well. 23 in a month.”

Fred nods, waiting patiently for your next question. You open your mouth, the words ready on the tip of your tongue but the waitress returns with your breakfast. The very smell of it has Fred’s stomach rumbling; he hadn’t a cooked breakfast like this since he left the Burrow. He digs in with renewed vigour; repressing a moan at the taste of the fried bread.

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

Fred nods, unable to reply due to the mouthful of food he’s chewing.

You nod in understanding, swallowing your mouthful before saying, “I found this place in my final year of university; I needed somewhere that reminded me of my mum’s breakfasts. Her breakfasts will always be number one, but this comes pretty close.”

Fred pauses with a forkful of scrambled egg halfway to his mouth, “That’s what I miss most about home – my mum and her cooking.”

“Are you not from London originally?” You asks around a mouthful of bacon.

Fred shakes his head, “Devon originally. A tiny village in the county; it’s more of a hamlet really.”

Your eyes widen; eyebrows flying into your hairline, “Devon? That’s a while away. How often do you get to see your family?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Fred says, drinking his tea.

For a moment, it’s silent between the two of you. The scraping of cutlery on plates being the only sound. Fred thinks of his family as he eats his breakfast; wondering what their plans are for the day – whether they’d be gnome hunting or playing quidditch or simply helping Molly with her vegetable garden. His heart hurts as he thinks of them; overcome with the absence of them from his life. It makes him shiver as he reaches for another drink of tea.

Fred breaks the comfortable silence, “What about you? Where are you from originally?”

“Lancashire originally but I moved to the south when I was young – it’s why my accent is so odd.”

Fred frown; he hadn’t noticed anything odd about your accent, thinking the way that you pronounced your vowels was similar to the way young Neville Longbottom does his, but yours are cut shorter.

“Tell me,” He starts, “Do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

“You’re going to repeat my every question, aren’t you?”

Fred grins, “Maybe… Maybe not. You’ll have to stick around to find out. Now, do you see your family as often as you’d like?”

You shake your head, “Not really. My parents like to travel a lot; a cruise here, a two week holiday there, a road trip across America through the summer. I don’t blame them though; they worked hard for the time they have now. I just wish they’d drop in more.”

“Are you rich?” Fred asks before he can stop himself. He cringes as the words leave his mouth.

You chuckle at the awkward expression on his face, “I’m not. My parents are. I’m a humble student working towards their master’s degree. My father created his company in printing greeting cards; he sold it off a few years back for a lot of money and they’ve been enjoying themselves since.”

“You’re a master’s student?” Fred asks; his knowledge on muggle degrees somewhat limited to what Hermione had told him.

You nod, scraping up the last forkful of food on your plate. “Yeah, I’m getting my master’s in Library Science.”

“What do you hope to do after that?”

“Work in a library or well, continue to work in a library, I already work at my university one. I’d love to work in an archives one day though, cataloguing pieces of history.”

Fred nods, enraptured by your words. He didn’t realise how much choice there was for muggles and their education. The wizarding world was somewhat limited to how witches and wizards could harness their talents; Fred and George were practically pariahs for choosing to dedicate their lives to pranks and happiness. He had always assumed the muggle world worked in the same way, but here you were, proving him wrong.

Knives and forks are crossed on plates when you ask, “You aren’t a university student, so you must have a job. What do you do for a living, Fred?”

Fred decides a kernel of truth wouldn’t do too much harm, “I own a joke shop with my twin brother.”

You laugh, clapping your hands together, “That’s incredible! Is the shop here in London?”

Fred nods, “It is. My twin brother is running it for the time being.”

“Can we go see it?”

Fred freezes; he hadn’t anticipated this. He glances down at the watch wrapped around his wrist then back up at you, not missing the glint of mischief in your eyes. “Perhaps another time?” he suggest, “I have some errands I need to run today that I can’t avoid.”

You lean back in your chair, feeling somewhat sad but you shake it off. “Of course, but I’ll hold you to that Fred. I won’t rest until I see your shop.”

Fred grins, “I have a feeling you’ll stick to your word.”

You move to reply but are interrupted by the waitress coming by to collect your plates and ask if you want anything else. She leaves the bill behind when her question is declined. Fred reaches for his wallet, but you stop him by snatching the bill.

“I made you a promise last night. Breakfast for your excellent services.”

Fred rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “I feel bad letting you pay.”

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” You tease, “No, I said I would buy you breakfast so I’m buying you breakfast. You can buy it next time.”

“So there’s going to be a next time?”

You shrug, biting your lip. “Sure – you might need my services for something. A blocked pipe or a blow fuse.”

Fred stands, pulling on his denim jacket, patting his inside pocket to find that his letter is still there.

You walk back to the main road together; waving goodbye to him as you head towards your university and he to a side street where he can apparate to the nearest wizarding post office. Fred hands his letter over to the clerk, paying a few extra knuts for express delivery.

Fred takes his time walking back to his flat; enjoying the spring day that was blooming around him. He felt lighter as he walked; as if he didn’t need to put as much effort into putting one foot in front of the other. He put it down to you and your presence; there was something about you that evoked all sorts of emotions from him. There was something about you that made him want to see you again.

However, he knew by tonight, the familiar fog will have settled over him – dulling the light of everything around him. He knew that he would still struggle to sleep; being lucky enough to get even an hour in before being pulled to consciousness kicking and screaming his way out of the same nightmare.

-----------------

His time over the next month is split three ways. He spends a third of it on his couch; watching old reruns of sitcoms – his new favourite being set in second muggle war and follows the Home Guard; Fred finds himself whistling the theme song more often than he’d like to admit. He uses his time on the couch to write his letters to Molly who was thrilled at the aspect of Fred making a friend; she wrote question after question about wanting to know their star sign to their hair colour. Fred smiles fondly; a smile reserved only for his mother – one that got even bigger when a second owl arrived with a small note with another question. Through all of her excited questioning, Molly forgot one crucial detail – what was their name?

He spends the second third of his time running. Fred had always been sporty; had always had an athletic build that helped him gain his spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team as a Beater with George on the team too. However, there are few places in muggle London where he can play the sport freely, so he gets it into his head to pretend to train for a match. Fred begins to run; every morning and every evening. Two runs a day, seven days a week. The runs on an evening tire out his body so he has more of a chance of falling into bed with the hopeless prayer of a dreamless sleep uttered from his lips. However, the runs on a morning are more frantic as he runs off the excess adrenaline and panic running through his system as a result of the night terror his mind unleashed upon him, dragging him from sleep less than two hours after his eyes closed.

Then Fred spends the final third of his time with you. In your flat or walking around Hyde Park or visiting your university.

Fred finds himself spending more and more time with you; he starts to crave your company. And he feels ridiculous for feeling that way because he’s only known you for over a month and he should be using this time to start the healing process.

But he’s already told his mother about you; and who isn’t to say that he can’t work on healing from the trauma of the war with you by his side being a warm, comforting presence?

Fred sits on his couch at nearing two in the morning; questioning his entire existence and reasoning for moving to muggle society when he realises that whilst it’s only been just over a month, if he wants to start healing with you by his side, he needs to be entirely honest with you.

He needs to confess.

----------------

Fred inhales a deep breath before knocking on your door. He shuffles from side to side, nerves rioting in his stomach. In less than a minute, you’ve wrenched open your door, smiling widely as you take in Fred standing before you.

“Freddie! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He holds his hands behind his back as he rocks back onto his heels, “Do you want to go on a walk?”

Your eyes run over his face; taking in the dark circles underneath his eyes. He had told you about his insomnia soon after the friendship began; it worried you, but Fred had reassured you that he had it controlled. “Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Fred nods, “That, and I really need to talk to you.”

“No problem. Let me just get my shoes on.”

Fred smiles as he watches you toe on the slip on trainers he had come to know as Vans. You told him just last week about your obsession with them; unable to resist buying a new pair each time you passed the shop.

You grab your jacket from the hook, pulling it on as you lock the door behind you, bumping into Fred as you step out into the hallway.

Fred leads you out of the building, turning the usual left that heads in the direction of the park. You struggle to keep up with his long strides; calling out for him to slow down a little so you can at least walk side by side. He smiles at you as you catch up to him; apologising for his speed, he is just anxious.

The walk to the park is walked in silence. Fred’s mind occupied with how he’s going to tell you the most important thing about himself and how you’re going to react when you find out that a lot of your friendship was built on a lie.

The park settles on the horizon too soon and his heart is in his mouth. Fred used to be a confident guy; happily getting involved in scheme after scheme that would bring chaos and laughter to the corridors of Hogwarts, but he had lost that part of him in the battle. He wondered if he would ever be that guy again.

You bump his shoulder, “We’re at the park, what did you want to talk about?”

Fred settles on a nearby bench; fiddling with his fingers, “I need to tell you something  but I’m not sure how to say it.”

“That’s fine. Why don’t you tell me why we’re in the park?”

Fred sighs, “It’s so you have the freedom and the choice to leave after I tell you what I’ve been keeping from you.”

Your heart starts to pound in your chest; panic rising slowly in your gut. “What have you been keeping from me that’s so bad that I would need to walk away from you?”

Fred turns in his spot, staring into your eyes, “Do you promise to hear me out and not interrupt?”

“Fred, you’re worrying me. What’s the matter?”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise! Now what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been lying to you… about so much.”

The air is knocked out of you, “I’m going to need more than that, Fred,” you whisper breathlessly.

“Do you remember when we first had breakfast? And I told you about the joke shop I own with my twin?”

“Yes… so what did you lie about? The joke shop or the twin?”

“Neither. I just lied about why you couldn’t see it.”

“Why?” You ask; your tone incredulous.

“Because I’m a wizard, and the joke shop I own with my twin – who is also a wizard – is a magical joke shops selling pranks and potions to witches and wizards attending Hogwarts.”

You stand from the bench, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself, wondering when the TV cameras are going to show up, “That isn’t funny, Fred.”

“I’m not joking, (Y/N). I’m not lying to you now.”

“How do I know? What’s Hogwarts? Who is your twin? What’s the name of your shop? Why aren’t you there?”

Fred had prepared himself for the barrage of questions he knew would inevitably fall from your mouth; curiosity being your besetting sin. He hadn’t prepared himself for the look of betrayal and hurt that crosses over face as you continue to stare at him. Fred feels his already broken heart break some more at the sight of it.

He runs a hand over his face, “(Y/N), love, please sit down. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Everything?” You question, “I want to know it all.”

Fred crosses over his heart, “I promise. Now please sit down.”

You sit next to him; a few inches away as if the small distance will help to protect the heart that you had already started to give to the broken red-headed man.

You remain silent as Fred sorts out his words; you can see the cogs in his mind working as he figures out how to explain an entire society that you hadn’t known existed until less than a minute ago.

Finally he releases a breath and begins.

“Witches and wizards have always been around, but after famous witch hunts such as Salem, Pendle, and Samlesbury, we had to go into hiding to protect our numbers. From the age of eleven, we go to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is a school in the highlands of Scotland dedicated to teaching young witches and wizards the art of magic as well as how to control it. My twin is called George; we’re identical and sometimes, our own mother struggles to tell us apart,” Fred breaks off with a short laugh, thinking of Molly with fondness.

“He’s my rock, he’s my best friend. We bought the joke shop when we were eighteen – it’s called Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and it’s found in Diagon Alley. For your sake, it’s found near Charing Cross Road.”

Fred pauses once again, readying himself to explain his absence from the shop and his presence in your life. “I’m not there because I moved away. In our society, there was a dark wizard who started a war for purposes beyond me. I just know that when I was 21 I was running through the corridors of the school I used to attend fighting for my life and watching people I knew die. I almost died myself when a wall was blown apart; luckily, someone spelled me out of the way. I’ll be forever grateful to them for that.

“After the war, I couldn’t cope. I was doing more harm than good by being with my family – my insomnia stems from nightmares of the war so I left. I left them and moved here where I’ve started to heal from my experiences and where I met you after you started to bang on my door. I wanted to tell you sooner; my mother told me to in her letters, but I was enjoying my time with you, and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. It means a lot to me.”

Fred falls silent with a smile aimed at you. Your mouth hangs open from his words; unsure on whether to take them for the truth they sounded like or to question him to find the holes in his story.

But he looks so vulnerable; the smile is watery, and his eyes are lined with tears. You realise that it’s taken a lot for him to confess this to you, but that it had been weighing on his mind for some time.

You don’t say anything immediately. Instead, you draw his head to your shoulder, and he lets out the sob he’s been holding in since he started to talk about his past. You wrap your arms around him tightly; holding him together as he lets himself fall to pieces in your arms. You’re in public, and this is a scene but the both of you don’t care. You hold him to you until his sobs begin to quieten into sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” Fred murmurs, pulling away from you as he wipes his eyes.

“Never apologise for crying.”

He sniffles, “Do you believe me?”

You nod, “I do. I don’t think anyone could have made up what you just said. I don’t think there’s enough imagination in the world for it. But there’s one thing I want to know.”

Fred watches you warily, “What is it?”

You grip his hand tightly, “Are you healing, Fred? Are you coping?”

Fred’s shoulders slump as the tension leaves his body; he had tensed at your words, worried at what you might say. He stares into your eyes as he answers, “I am. I was struggling at first, but I think I’m starting to heal.”

“Can I help? How can I help?”

Fred pats your hand, “Continue doing what you’re doing, it’s enough.”

And it is. Fred finds it easier to breathe in your presence as if the weight of the world is no longer on his shoulders like he were Atlas. Instead, he finds it easier to focus on other things such as plans for the day or listening to you talk about your latest assignment. He doesn’t feel his mind drift off as much when he’s around you; which is a good thing, he thinks.

You smile at him, still holding onto his hand, “I can do that.”

You both fall into quiet; eyes now focused on the expanse of the park. Fred watches a young mother push her young son the swings, hearing his delighted laughter, whilst your eyes land on the teenage couple making out underneath a tree; you move your eyes away quickly, focusing instead, on the ducks swimming in the pond.

You break the silence, “Fred?”

He hums in answer.

“Would you cast a spell for me?” You ask tentatively, “If that’s okay!”

Fred smiles softly; letting go of your hand to reach for the dogwood wand he keeps hidden up his sleeve. With flare he hasn’t shown since opening the store, he pulls the wand out. He rolls the wand over his fingers, “Wizards can practice magic outside of school from the age of seventeen; I can show you a spell.”

“Really?” You ask, bouncing in your place.

“Are you ready?”

“Hold on, let me think for a minute… YES.” You shout, stamping your feet in the grass.

Fred grins; his eyes crinkling in the corners from the size of his smile. He checks for witnesses before holding his wand up whispering the incantation ‘Lumos’. The tip of his wand begins to glow with a pale light which in the falling darkness of the day only helps him see the beauty in your features.

You gasp at the sight of the light emanating from Fred’s wand, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. “I can’t believe it,” you sigh, “All this time I asked you to change lightbulbs and you could create light with a single word.”

“You’re not scared or freaked out?” He asks, unable to stop himself. The small voice in the back of his head needed to know whether you were going to leave him.

You shake your head, still watching the pale white light. With a single whisper of ‘Nox’, Fred turns out the light and slides his wand back into his sleeve. You turn your attention back to Fred, “I’m not scared or freaked out. I’m just in awe of you and this entire society that’s survived in secret. I feel like I’m privy to a secret organisation.”

“You’re in awe of me?” Fred asks; those being the only words he focused on in your entire sentence after confirming you weren’t scared of him.

“Absolutely. You can conjure magic, Fred! Actual magic! It’s incredible,” Your hands frame his face, keeping his eyes on you as you lean close and whisper, “You are incredible.”

He covers your hands with his; wondering when he’d become so soft. “Thank you,” he replies.

You pull away too soon; Fred’s hands dropping to his side, feeling suddenly cold at the loss of contact.

Standing from the bench, you hold your hand out for Fred to take. “Come on, magic man. It’s time we went home.”

“Magic man?” He asks, amused. He takes your offered hand, pulling himself up from the park bench.

“It’s my new nickname for you, do you like?”

“Magic man… magic man,” Fred repeats, testing the name out on his tongue, “I suppose I do.”

“Good, because I don’t think I’ll call you anything else.”

The walk back to the flat is quicker than the walk to the park. Fred’s steps lighter now than they were earlier. Chased by the turning on of street lights, you reach your building and lead him into your flat, offering him a warm drink as he takes a seat on your cream coloured couch.

Fred takes the hot mug of tea from you as you sit down next to him. He takes a shy sip, careful not to burn his tongue. It’s perfect, as it always is. You always know the right amount of sugar and milk to add.

“Thank you for telling me that today, I know it wasn’t easy for you.”

“It wasn’t, but it got easier when you didn’t walk away. I was so worried that you were going to.”

“I don’t think I’d have forgiven myself if I had.”

Teas are drank after that, and Fred whispers goodnight to you before kissing your cheek in a rare moment of tenderness. He lets himself out of your flat, making the short walk back to his where he throws himself on the couch and lets himself wonder when exactly he had started to fall in love with you.

-----------------

Two more months follow, and Fred knows that he’s now arse over tea kettle in love you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, that you like to shove under legs when laid on the couch together, so he yelps at their temperature.

Two more months follow, and Fred feels like he’s maybe able to start living his life again, but in small doses. He writes to his mother more who’s delighted by the tales he tells of you and your growing relationship; he could never keep anything from Molly – her face too trusting and her manner too warm. All Molly is concerned about in her letters is whether Fred is happy, and for the first time in over a year, Fred can reply saying he thinks he could be.

Molly won’t ever tell Fred this, but she cried at that letter, feeling her heart burst with happiness for the son she had always worried about.

Time passes, and Fred spends more and more time with you. Breakfast dates, lunch dates, movie marathons on the couch – he does it all with you. You even go so far as to make him decorate his flat more; pictures of his family now line the walls as well as the picture of him and George on the opening day of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

That’s when he knows he needs to go back to Diagon Alley, and he’s taking you with him.

-----------------

At nine am on the dot, Fred knocks on your door until you open it. You glare at the red-headed man, demanding to know his presence at your door when he only left at four am after binging the entire Godfather trilogy without realising how long the films are.

Fred beams at your state, “Go get dressed, I’ll make you some coffee.”

“Why?” You ask, puzzled.

“I’m taking you to Diagon Alley and my joke shop.”

You stagger back a couple of steps, “Really? Are you sure? Are you ready?”

Fred’s grin moulds into something softer at your concern. “I am, and I want you to come with me.”

A slow smile breaks across your face, “Give me ten minutes and we can go!”

You rush into your room; pulling open the doors to your wardrobe and raking through to find any sort of clothes you’d wear to visit a magical shop, and possibly meet the twin brother of the man you’d fallen in love with.

Minutes later, you exit your room, pulling a brush through your hair to make yourself look more presentable. Gratefully, you take the cup of coffee from Fred’s hand before rushing into your bathroom to brush your teeth and spritz yourself in your favourite perfume – jasmine, lavender and citrus.

You drain the dregs of your coffee as you leave the bathroom. Dropping the pale pink mug in the sink, you turn to find Fred leaning against your kitchen counter with an amused and entertained look on his face.

“Someone’s excited, I see.” He teases.

You pout, “It’s not every day I get to go see magical London, magic man.”

Fred claps his hands, laughing quietly. “Come on then, let’s get you to Diagon Alley.”

--------------

Diagon Alley is nestled behind Charing Cross Road; it’s the largest area of wizarding London and is completely hidden from the muggle world.

Fred has been visiting Diagon Alley for as long as he can remember; flooing there with his mother and Bill, Charlie and Percy to collect their things for the latest school year. As a child, he loved visiting Florean Fortescue’s when the budget permitted it; getting a single scoop cone with rainbow sprinkles.

As he enters the Leaky Cauldron, leading you in by the hand, Fred is a mix of fear and excitement making him act jittery as he approaches the familiar face of Tom, the barman.

“Fred Weasley? Is that you?” Tom asks, a large smile on his face, “I haven’t seen you in over a year! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well, Tom. How have you been?”

“Never better – you know me.”

Fred smiles, nodding. “I’m heading out back, is that okay?”

“Anything for a Weasley. Does this have something to do with the muggle hiding behind your back?”

You reveal yourself from where you’ve hidden yourself behind Fred. Keeping a tight hold on his hand, you smile shyly at the barman, “I’m (Y/N). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Tom smiles politely, “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Tom turns his attention back to Fred, “You know what to do.”

Fred parts ways with barman he had grown up knowing, pulling you to the back door which opens into a small courtyard.

“Fred, love, it’s a dead end.”

“Are you sure?” Fred asks with a smirk, reaching for his wand. “Want to see some proper magic?”

“Always, magic man.”

He grins at the use of your nickname for him before tapping his wand on the bricks blocking your way. You cry out as the bricks begin to move; shifting to the side to reveal an entryway to a cobbled street lined with shop after shop all varying in colours.

Letting go of Fred’s hand, you take your first step into the wizarding world; already in love with every aspect of it, just as you’re in love with every aspect of the man making his way to your side.

“What do you think?” He asks, breathless at the sight of the place he hasn’t seen in a year.

“This is unlike any other place I’ve seen.” You hold your hand out for Fred to grab, “Show me around?”

“With pleasure,” Fred replies, wrapping your hand in his, tangling your fingers.

Fred takes you on a tour of the Alley; stopping outside Ollivander’s and getting out his wand to explain the importance of the place, turning his wand around to show you what he means. He tells you the story of Harry Potter; of what his wand meant, being the twin of the wand that had killed his parents. Your heart breaks for the boy you had never met; had never even heard of until today – you ask after him, how is he now? Fred reassures you; after all, he’s fine, Harry’s dating his younger sister much to Fred’s chagrin.

He takes you into Florean Fortescue’s, buying you ice cream for breakfast as any adult should have. Your eyes widen at the taste of the Butterbeer ice cream; butterscotch and buttercream icing bursting on your tongue. Fred smiles at your expression, licking his way through his own ice cream – strawberries and cream for nostalgia’s sake.

Sitting down at a small table, you tap your ice creams to each other in a toast. “Where are we going next?” You ask, catching a drip of the melting ice cream with your tongue – not missing the way Fred’s eyes track the movement.

“I thought we could visit my shop.”

“Your shop?” You ask in disbelief, “Are you sure?”

Fred nods, catching a drip on his own ice cream. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes also track the movement of his mouth. “Yes, I’m sure.” He looks away, ashamed, “I’ve left George alone too long.”

You reach for his hand across the table, “I’m sure he understands, Fred.”

“I know he does, but it doesn’t stop the guilt.”

You rub your thumb across the back of his hand in a comforting motion, “Are you sure you’re okay to go? We can always come back another day.”

“You’d come back with me?”

You grin, “Of course, this is the best ice cream I’ve ever had. I’m here for you, magic man – who else is going to kill the spiders in my bathroom?”

Fred relaxes, “You’re the best, you know that right?”

You take another lick of your ice cream, “I do know that. Do you want to stay and see your brother, or do you want to go? I’m happy with either, but you’re going to have to give me time to get more ice cream.”

Fred laughs at your words, “It is good ice cream,” he takes a lick of his, “No, let’s go. I need to see him; I need to apologise.”

“Alright then. We’ll finish here and then we’ll go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes… at last.”

He nods, remaining silent. The ice creams are finished in silence; questioning looks sent to each other across the table. Your feelings for Fred often overwhelmed you with their strength; never imagining that knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning could ever lead to something like this. In the short time you had known the man, you had fallen head over heels for him and also had your entire worldview altered by finding out about the existence of magic.

He’d quite literally turned your world upside down, and the only thing that ran through your mind through it all was: I hope he feels the same.

Soon though, faces are wiped on napkins and hands are back to hold each other’s as Fred leads you from the ice cream parlour to where the orange top hat stands out against the darkly coloured shops.

In a last minute attempt to delay the inevitable, Fred pulls you over to the pet shop. You coo over the animals; pointing to the Puffskein with questions burning on your tongue. Fred answers them all happily, delighted to delay walking into the shop and brother he’s neglected for so long.

After a few more minutes, you step away from the shop window citing the temptation being too great and you may end up smuggling the Puffskeins to the muggle world.

“That was a fantastic distraction, magic man.”

“Wasn’t it?” He admits, blushing at having been caught out but not wanting to lie to you, “It worked like a treat.”

You chuckle, “It really did. They remind me of clouds do the Puffskeins; neon, furry clouds.”

Fred snorts, “An excellent description.”

The joke shop now looms in front of the two of you; the bright orange and purple of the paintwork almost luminous in the morning light. Fred stops in the middle of the pavement; feet stuck to the floor, unable to carry him forward. He’s avoided this for so long, but he finally feels ready to insert himself back into the life of pranks, jokes, and happiness.

Your grip on his hand tightens, “I’m here, magic man. I’m not going anywhere.”

His nod is the only sign you get to know that he’s heard your words.

Taking a deep breath, Fred begins to put one foot in front of the other; a hand outstretched for the door handle to the shop, giving it a light push. The bell above the door rings, signalling his entrance into the shop but also his entrance into his old life.

The shop is quiet; it being still too early in the day to get masses and masses of shoppers. Their busy season is the three weeks in August before terms starts where students come to buy their school books but to also stock up on items of mischief.

A near identical man to Fred stands up straighter from his position behind the counter. He starts to open his mouth, to welcome the new customers to the shop but when he looks up, the words never leave his mouth.

He simply freezes in place.

His eyes flicker between the two of you quickly, before running over the man stood next to you. Looking for what, you don’t know.

In between one blink of an eye and the next, he’s thrown himself across the counter, sprinting to where Fred stands in the entryway.

No words are spoken; he just holds Fred’s face in his hands before pulling him in for a hug that’s been long overdue.

You step away from their reunion, letting your eyes roam over the shop. They need this moment alone; you don’t need to invade by watching them. You wander a little; fingers running over displays. You frown when you see you an area lit up in pink titled ‘Love Potion’.

You pick up one of the little bottles shaped like a heart; the bright pink liquid inside jostling as you examine it.

“Careful,” A voice sounds behind you, “It’s a powerful potion.”

Turning you find Fred’s twin, George watching you with inquisitive eyes. “What does it do?” You ask, fiddling with the stopper.

“It mimics the effects of love and obsession. If you smell it, you smell the person you love.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Truly?”

George nods, “Truly. We sell crates full of the stuff nearing Valentine’s Day.”

Releasing the stopper from the neck of the bottle, you take a delicate sniff. Peonies, rain, and Yorkshire tea come filtering through. The very smells you’ve become to associate with the man who had never really been your neighbour but has always been something more.

Replacing the stopper, you drop the potion into George’s waiting hand. He pockets it before turning back to face his twin.

“What did you smell?” Fred asks as you settle back next to him.

You shrug, “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

George grins at the two of you, “Is this the famous (Y/N) from your letters to mum?”

You nudge Fred with your elbow, beaming, “You write to your mum about me, magic man?”

“Hold on – magic man?” George asks, eyes glancing at both Fred and you.

You nod, “It’s my nickname for him.”

George chuckles, “It’s brilliant. I may have to use it myself.”

Fred blushes at his brother’s use of your nickname for him. He doesn’t say it, but it doesn’t sound right coming from anyone else’s mouth but yours.

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/N). Mum already loves you. I’m George.” George introduces, holding a hand out to you.

You shake his hand twice before dropping it, “It’s very nice to meet you too, George. Fred has told me so much.”

“He has?”

You nod, “He’s told me all about the pranks you played at Hogwarts and why you set up this shop – which I think is wonderful by the way – I feel like I already know you.”

George shifts his gaze to his twin, “I don’t know why but I didn’t think you’d talk about me.”

Fred gapes, “Of course I talk about you. You’re my twin brother, you’re practically half of me.”

George shrugs, “You only send letters to mum… I just assumed.”

Fred steps forward, placing his hands on George’s shoulders, “Mum made me promise to write, I couldn’t break that. I wanted to write to you so much, George, but the guilt I felt as just leaving you and the shop was too much and then more time passed. I’ve been an awful brother; can you forgive me?”

George laughs, tears falling freely down his face. “There’s nothing to forgive now that I know why.”

Fred hauls George into a hug; neither afraid to show their emotions through this reunion. Fred had been so worried before this; thinking his brother might turn him away at the door, but now holding him in his arms, he’s just happy to have his twin by his side once more.

They pull away with a sob; George clapping Fred on the back. “Will you be returning to work, Freddie?”

Fred’s eyes land on you; where you’ve stood silently through the whole exchange, just happy to see the two brothers reunite. His eyes search your face for something, and he finds it in your smile. “Yeah, George. I think I might do.”

George glances between you and Fred as if seeing the connection there. He keeps his mouth shut but smiles at the fact that his twin has found someone to share his life with.

You spend a couple more hours in the shop; pottering freely as Fred and George discuss the state of the business and when Fred would like to start work again. Pride runs through your veins as you listen to them from the upper floor; Fred has achieved so much in such a short space of time and you couldn’t be more prouder of him.

You also couldn’t be more in love with him. He handles himself with such grace; standing taller, smiling more. The more time you spent with him, the more you could feel yourself falling for him. Nights alone in your flat had you thinking of what it would be like to be laid in bed next to him – would he cuddle? Would he let you lay your head on his chest? Or would he prefer to spoon? You had spent so many nights thinking of these questions, trying to think of answers.

“(Y/N)?” Fred calls from the lower floor, “Are you ready to go?”

“Already?” You ask, descending the staircase.

Fred nods, “I’ll come back tomorrow and talk more to George about what I need to do. It’s time we got some lunch, however.”

Your stomach grumbles at his words, “You’ve got great timing it seems, magic man.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly, “No. I just know you too well.”

You smile at him before turning to George to say goodbye. George smiles at you, saying, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other very soon,” with a wink at Fred.

The tips of Fred’s ears burn red as he claps his twin on the shoulder, promising he’ll call in tomorrow. “Tell mum you’ve seen me, will you? I know she worries,” Fred calls on his way out.

“Already on it!” are George’s final words before the door closes.

----------------------

Sitting at a corner table in The Leaky Cauldron, Fred continues to ride on the high from seeing his twin brother after a year apart. He’s positively ravenous; the nerves before having dampened his appetite. He takes it upon himself to order for the both you; checking that you don’t mind. You wave him away, stating that you wouldn’t even know where to begin with ordering.

Tom hands Fred your drinks after ordering, letting him know it’d be around ten minutes before food was with you. Fred thanks the barman, picking up the drinks to return you.

“I’m really proud of you, Fred.” You state, taking a sip of the sweet Butterbeer.

“You are?” He asks bashfully.

“I am. It took a lot of bravery to do what you did today.”

Fred blushes, but doesn’t drop his eyes from yours. “I think I’m going to be brave one last time.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” He states, reaching for your hand, “I’ve only known you for less than six months but in that time you’ve helped me find who I was before the war. You’ve helped me find the laughter that was missing. What I’m trying to say is, is that I’ve fallen in love with you, (Y/N).”

“Oh, Fred,” You sniffle, “I love you too.”

“You do?”

You nod, “I really do. I love every last bit of you.

Fred sags in his chair; holding onto your hand tighter, “I was so worried you wouldn’t love me back.”

“No chance of that, magic man.”

The smile that breaks across his face is simply breathtaking, and you thank your lucky stars that the man you’ve fallen in love with, loves you back, just as much.

Tom fetches your food over then, settling two plates onto table. It smells divine and without letting go of Fred’s hand, you pick up your fork and dig in.

The meal is eaten in silence; happy looks and secret smiles exchanged over the steaming plates of food. Fred’s thumb rubs over the back of your hand; the motion now having another meaning alongside ‘I’m here’. Elation bubbles within you, flooding your veins. The love you feel for this man is entirely encompassing, filling your very pores, combining with your genetic makeup.

For as delicious as the meal is, the both of you barely taste it. Plates are empty in no time, and Fred leaves Tom a tip on the table. He pulls you up with him, dragging you to the door and back to muggle London.

It feels like a fever dream; stepping back into the reality you’ve known all your life until you met the red-headed man stood next to you.

Fred tugs you into him; his arm wrapping around your waist. He drops your hand in favour of caressing your cheek. His brown eyes sparkle with love and joy as he dips his head, pausing just before he touches his lips to yours, waiting for permission. You grant him in the form of pushing your mouth to his.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him in close, feeling all of him pressed against all you. He tastes of the butterscotch from the dregs of his Butterbeer and you hum against his mouth – it’s intoxicating. He’s intoxicating; you could lose yourself entirely in him and you wouldn’t mind a bit. Your hand runs through his hair, tugging lightly. Your toes curl at the sound of the low moan from the back of his throat.

From the outside, this looks like a simple passionate embrace between a young couple. They don’t know how long this kiss has been in the making; how many time you’ve wondered exactly what Fred would taste like, and now you have that knowledge, it’s not something you’ll be parting with soon.

Eventually, you pull away from him, coming back to the surface for breath but Fred doesn’t let you go. He holds onto you tightly, pressing kiss after kiss to your face making you giggle at his affectionate side.

He lets you go for a single instant to pull you into the side street beside The Leaky Cauldron. He wraps you tightly into his side, savouring the feel of you lined next to him.

“This is going to make you dizzy,” is his only warning before he apparates back to your flat.

----------------

Though confessions have been uttered, Fred takes his time to learn your body.

Kissing you slowly; peeling your clothes off your body with the air of someone who has all the time in the world – and he does. He takes his time to memorise every inch of your body; every dip, every curve, every freckle. He commits it all to memory though the both of you know that you’ll be doing this for a very long time. He whispers words of worship into your skin; your body was a cathedral and he was going to worship at your feet.

You take your time with him; running your hand through the hair on his chest before trailing it lower, watching how the muscles in his toned stomach jump at your touch. A simple touch, and it drives him wild.

He draws you in for a kiss; flipping the both of you so you’re underneath him. He braces himself above and you spend the rest of the night, and most of the morning, learning the noises that can be evoked from a kiss in the right place.

-----------------

It surprised Fred that it takes his mother almost a month to send him a letter demanding that she finally get to meet the person who had stolen her son’s heart.

Fred reads the letter beside you at the breakfast table; chuckling at his mother’s words over his morning cup of tea. He hands you the letter once he’s finished reading, watching your face for every emotion as well as letting his gaze drop to the small purple bruises at the base of your neck, laid there by his mouth.

You hold a hand up to your mouth, repressing the smile. “Your mother wants to meet me?”

Fred nods, “She has for a while, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“There’s no chance of that now, magic man, especially after last night.”

Fred blushes but beams, satisfied. “Would you like to meet them?”

You pause, tilting your head to one side as you think of how to phrase your next few sentences, “I don’t want to presume anything, but I’d like to think I’m going to be in your life for a long while. I think the earlier I meet your family, the better.”

Fred takes your hand in his, dropping a kiss to the top of it. “You aren’t presuming anything; I want you in my life for an eternity and more. But are you sure you want to meet them? I’m from a very large family, and if I know them, it’ll be partners as well.”

You lean over to press a kiss to his cheek then to peck his lips quickly, “I love the worry, but it’s okay. I want to meet them, and I want to see pictures of my magic man as a baby.”

Fred groans; he’s forgotten about the baby pictures but from the look on your face, he know he’s fighting a losing battle. He kisses you quick, “I’ll send an owl to my mum now, letting her know we’ll come tomorrow, how does that sound?”

You hum happily, “That sounds like just enough time for me to find an outfit good enough.”

-----------------

Molly Weasley opened Fred’s letter with a shriek; rushing to reply before getting started on calling the family together. She sends her Patronus to Charlie in Romania; threatening death should he not return home for this occasion. Charlie replies within two hours by showing up on the doorstep with his girlfriend, Evie in tow.

The whole family under one roof again would be something of an event; and one Molly would not waste by having petty squabbles and nasty reminders. She lines her family up in the living room; boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands and wives and proceeds to lecture about what this means. She’s grateful it being a Friday evening so she can lecture the whole family without absentees claiming work as the excuse.

Halfway through her lecture to her family, Arthur places a soft hand on her shoulder, “Molly, dear, we’re going to be on our best behaviour.”

She whimpers, “I haven’t seen my son is so long, Arthur.”

He wraps an arm around his wife’s shoulder, knowing the toll Fred’s absence took on her. He had been the unexpected twin; but they didn’t love him any less for it. On the contrary, Molly loved him more for the fear of his siblings making him feel unwanted.

“I know, dear. But we all promise to be on our bestest behaviour, don’t we gang?”

Confirmation rings out across all six of their children and their partners. Molly levels them all with a look, “Fred is bringing his muggle girlfriend with him, and George has told me it’s serious. We aren’t going to have a problem with that are we?”

“Definitely not,” George calls out to the agreement of his siblings and siblings-in-law, “(Y/N) is a sweetheart; you’ll see the moment they both arrive.”

Molly dismisses her family; dispersing them to different rooms with different jobs to make the house presentable for Fred and (Y/N)’s visit tomorrow.

-------------------

Tomorrow arrives quickly, and before you know it, the sun is shining through your window and the birds have begun their morning song. Fred’s arm hangs over your waist in a dead weight; you shift him gently as you make your way out of your bed and into the bathroom to begin your day.

By the time Fred wakes, you’re dressed and are brushing through your hair. With a lazy grin, he watches you get ready for the day. He’s in utter awe of how he met someone like you, but then you meet his eyes in the mirror and that awe transforms into something warmer.

He drags himself out of the warm bed desperate to feel you under his hands. He places his hands on your shoulder, dropping a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Good Morning,” He whispers, his voice still raspy with sleep, “You look beautiful.”

You hum, “Good Morning sleepy head. The kettle boiled a few minutes ago and there’s a teabag waiting in your favourite pot.”

“You’re a dream,” Fred calls out, pottering into the kitchen.

“And you’re a flatterer, magic man,” You call back; grinning when you hear his laughter.

Time flies by in a rush of breakfast, clothes, and kisses and before you know it, it’s time to apparate all the way to Devon.

“Are you ready?” Fred asks; your hand tight in his. You don’t miss the double meaning to his words.

“Take me to Devon, magic man,” is all you reply before your flat turns into a whirlpool of blended colours and you’re spat back out on the outskirts of green, green farmland.

Not letting go of your hand, Fred leads you in the direction of his childhood home. Air he hasn’t smelt in over a year wash over him, bringing with it a tidal wave of memories. Nostalgia settles within him as he glances down at you to gauge your reaction to his home.

The Burrow stands proudly in the valley between two hills. You gasp at the sheer height of it, “This is where you grew up?”

Fred nods, eyes on you, “It is. I lived here until I moved to London.”

“It’s incredible,” You whisper, taking a step forward, and then another, and then another until you break through the long grass into a clearing. A garage is situated to the left of the large house, and you can just make out the canes for a vegetable garden. You nod as if understanding every motive for the placement of everything; if you were to live somewhere like here, you’d too grow your own food.

Fred draws your attention back to him by speaking, “Through there is where we practice Quidditch; the game I told you about from Hogwarts?” He continues when he sees you nod, “Then behind there is a pond that a family of frogs live in. To the right of us is mum’s garden, it’s her pride and hoy – she excels at household charms, but she’s a wonder in the garden too.”

“Fred, this place is incredible. I already love it and I haven’t even met your family.”

Fred smiles, “You won’t need to wait very long; here’s George.”

You turn from the sight of the growing vegetables to see George making his way over to you. “Fred! (Y/N)! How are you?” he calls out.

Fred waves at his twin, leading you to him. “We’re good, Georgie. How is everyone?”

George beams at his twin and then you, “They’re beside themselves with excitement. Mum screeched when she got your letter; gave us a lecture on decorum and everything.”

Fred laughs; his heart swelling with love and fondness for the woman who had raised him with such love and care.

“What do you say, (Y/N)?” George starts, “Ready to meet the Weasley clan?”

You grin at George and then at Fred; utterly besotted by this man, “Lead the way.”

George claps his hands before turning his back on you, heading towards the open door. You follow him at a faster pace than the one you had done when walking up to the house. Eagerness settling in your stomach as you keep your eyes on the open door.

Fred keeps pace with you easily; both nerves and excitement coursing through his veins.

He hears his mother before he sees her, “Fred! My darling,” she cries, tackling him into a hug so tight Fred thinks his ribs might break. You pause next to him; Fred’s arm angled awkwardly as he hugs his mum with one arm – you move to let go of his hand so he can hug his mother properly, but his hold on you tightens.

“Hi Mum, I’ve missed you,” Fred says at the sound of her cries, “I’m home mum, and I’m starving so let’s get something to eat, shall we? I’ve missed your cooking too much.”

Molly wipes her eyes, running them over her son, “I think you have. You’re looking far too thin, darling,” Her eyes land on you; they widen for a second before she’s tackling you in a hug. She whispers, “Thank you” in your ear before saying much louder, “I’m so glad I finally get to meet you, dear. I’ve read so much about you I feel I know you already but it’s never the same thing.”

You return her hug with just as much vigour, “Thank you for having me, I love your home.”

Molly pulls away, “You’re lovely; you’re perfect for Fred, I know it. Come on in, it’s time we ate, and you can meet the rest of the family.”

Your stomach ties itself in knots as you follow Fred into his childhood home. Voices starts to shout upon the sight of Fred entering the home; he grins at them all, greeting them by name, passing out kiss after kiss on the cheek as well as hugs to his brothers.

Then it’s all silent as the crowd turns to you. Fred’s hand drops your and his arm wraps around your waist, “Everyone this is (Y/N). Please be nice, I’m rather fond as you’ve probably heard from mum and George.”

Everyone greets you as if you’ve been part of the family for years; kisses on cheeks and tight hugs as everyone introduces themselves. A dream of your since you were child was to have  a large family, and now with Fred, it seems as if that dream would finally be possible.

His arm rests on the back of your chair as the family take their seats at the table. The food is served with loudness and love; Molly taking extra care with her cooking to make sure it’s perfect for you. From your first bite, you understand what Fred was on about all those months ago. After eating Molly’s food, you would be ruined for anyone else’s.

It’s wonderful; they take you in with open arms, ignoring the fact that you’re a muggle because to them, it doesn’t matter. They aren’t bothered whether you have magic or not, just that you love Fred and make him happy.

------------------

After the meal, Fred watches you interact with his family; explaining to his father the purpose of your degrees and your plans for the future as Arthur sits there entirely enraptured. He watches you asking Charlie question after question about Dragons with Charlie only being too happy to answer – his girlfriend Evie chiming in every now and then with her own knowledge on the subject matter.

He watches you talk animatedly; eyed wide and hands gesturing wildly, fitting in with his family better than he could have dreamed of.

Sighing happily, Fred realises three things:

One – his family would always be there for him, no matter the issue. They’re there to help, to never hinder.

Two – he’s still healing. It will be a long time before he’s recovered from the war, and he’s accepted that.

And three – he’s moving forward with all that in tow because he’s found the love of his life and he’s finally ready to start living it.

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​ @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @black-lake-confessions​ @annasofiaearlobe​ 

Fred Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

[brotherslayer]

I was going through the manhwa and it hit me that unlike Athy and Jennette's dresses, we never see anyone dissecting the meaning behind Claude or Anastacius's costume, even though they have much underlying symbolism to offer with all their varying colours and motifs. And these are the two most rich characters in terms of backstory and human relationships. Ur detailed dissection on Jennette's costumes are so good that I'm scarily tempted to tempt u to do this one. Will u do this one analysis🥺???

I don't know anything about the medals or the flowers on Claude's clothings since I'm don’t know flower language... But I can give my thoughts on some of his clothings.

Claude wears three types of clothings throughout the manhwa: 1. royal military uniforms 2. togas 3. victorian children clothings of the upper/middle class (play suits + sailor suits).

What is striking is that all three types of clothings he wore can be associated with freedom and oppression equally (1. military 2. ancient romans 3. royal navy).

Let's start with the first outfit he wore as a child: The sailor suit.

In 1846, the four-year-old Albert Edward, Prince of Wales was given a scaled-down version of an enlisted man’s sailor suit. It was almost certainly a carefully chosen decision calculated to make the public associate the monarchy which had declined in popularity with the most popular institution in Britain -The Royal Navy.

What do we know about the royal navy? Besides it’s role in British colonialism and the suppression of many Asian and African peoples, it helped to defeat a series of opponents for the most part countries goverened by authoritarian or dictatorial rulers (Philip II, Louis XIV, Napoleon, Kaiser Wilhelm II), in other words: tyrants.

Sailor suits which are associated with childishness and innocence stand in juxtaposition to it’s militaristic origin . It’s a reminder how young Claude was still pure and innocent, yet without being fully aware of it he was thrown into a battle for succession at such a young age, and expected to survive or die trying.

We could also dvelve into color theory a little bit: Brown is mostly associated with humility, plainness and poverty. It could be a reminder of his commoner origin. Perhaps it tells us that his mother didn’t have much money back then and Claude had to get dressed in clothes that didn’t gave away easily how often they got mended or got dirty, because his mother could only afford a few sets of clothing. This is only a speculation: perhaps the money meant for Claude was mostly used for the treatment of his mother’s sickness. (I can’t see the Emperor paying the treatment of a chronically ill lover. Unless he actually loved her).

We could also assume that Claude intentionally picked out plain brown clothing that would allow him to blend well with the environment. The flashback in chapter 73 shows us little Claude hiding behind the bushes from the palace guards. Considering his state of increased alertness, he seemed to be used to sense danger approaching and find ways to hide quickly and efficiently.

Ah before I forget too much brown can also create feelings of sadness, isolation and loneliness...alright, you get what I mean, I stop here. 

Now to Anastacius. While Claude’s attire is more lowkey about it’s violent origin: Anastacius’ is more upfront. He’s already aware of the situation he is in. He knows his little brother is more talented than him and feels threatened enough to consider the words of Caracks who tried to lure him away. Anastacius wears something resembling a mix of military uniform and a victorian play suit in blue and red.

Blue was also considered the most prestigious colour, and was granted to “royal” regiments.

I think Anastacius and Claude’s outfits were meant to show that they were at a crossroad in life. When Ana was still friendly with Claude he started out wearing play outfits and then as his relationship with Anastacius deteriorated, gradually started to wear normal suits and uniforms until he was wearing his ceremonial military uniform at the day he killed Ana.

The Obelia brother’s wearing a military uniform signifies that they are at war with someone. They are ready to spill blood. You can see it in The Lovely Princess, where when Athy meets Claude for the first time, instead of a toga he is wearing a military uniform and continues to do so almost until his death. We know that Diana was the one who introduced him to Siodonna’s fashion. With the memories of her gone, so was the peaceful presence in his life and he became a misanthrope. The memory spell had taken full affect and he was incapable to love or care for Athy in any way. Athy became his biggest torment, his enemy. Similarly our! Claude is only wearing a military uniform at official occations like Athy’s debutante ball, where he had to face the nobles which he resented so much. And even now, in the latest chapters he bothered to change his clothes with magic from a toga into a uniform when he reunited with his elder brother.

Whenever Anastacius and Claude are wearing a military uniform they are meeting someone hated (LP verse Claude met Athy, birthday baquet! Claude met the nobles (Roger), and now in chapter 109 he met his brother who had tried to kill him), they either want to demonstrate strenght (the uniform at Athy’s birthday baquet was more show) or they are ready to attack (the uniform in the recent chapters was more practical to move in).

However they are also stress on the fact that they belong to the royal family and are ought to be respected.

Ana wore almost constantly military uniforms, because he felt the need to show that he was the heir. Not only by birthright, but also in appearance. Only when he went undercover he switched his wardrobe to suits (still, in purple in the color of royality) and puffy shirts. You can see it when Anastacius entered the palace with Jennette. When Ana is fighting against Claude he is either wearing a royal blue (past) or a combination of red and black (present).

“ Black and red. In western culture, these are the two most sinister colors, as red typically conveys the meaning of blood or anger, and black is that of darkness or death. Being a very visually striking combination, they can also convey a sense of power. Together, they additionally give the impression of burning coal or wood, i.e. "fire and destruction".”

(TV Tropes: Red and Black and Evil All Over)

In his previous life he bought fire and destruction upon Obelia...like in Athy’s nightmare remember? So it’s is kind of a bad omen as well.

Anastacius uniform in black and red forms a strong contrast to Claude’s uniform, which is dyed in colors of purple and pure white. “The color purple is often associated with royalty, nobility, luxury, power, and ambition. Purple also represents meanings of wealth, extravagance, creativity, wisdom, dignity, grandeur, devotion, peace, pride, mystery, independence, and magic.”

My point is that Ana’s appearance reflect his state of mind. Being all the time at war with his brother. The paranoia to get overthrown.  The fear not to be enought. He insisted on wearing the ceremonial royal uniform, the crown and the coat, in royal colors, because he felt inferior towards Claude and it made him feel safer. If he thought his own skills as heir were lacking he sought to compensate with the way he presented himself in public (his inferiority complex might have contributed to his lavish livestyle and tendency to waste money). 

The only exception where Ana is not wearing a uniform is a scene during the time of Ana and Claude’s falling out. But he still emphasizes that he belongs to the Imperial family in another way: The brooch on his vest, has the same blue shade as the color of his eyes, which are a trademark sign that only the Imperial family possesses. In chapter 109, Claude and Athy chose to wear a similary colored brooch to show that they are the “true” heirs.

[random-imagines-blog]

4 AM {Cedric Diggory x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3665 Summary: You’re a transfer student at Hogwarts, and all of these changes are feeling restless. You develop a late-night hobby, but a handsome Hufflepuff catches on.

Everybody needed a bit of time to adjust to new surroundings, like a new school. You took a bit of extra time, considering you were in a new continent, a new culture, a new school and a new house on top of all of it. Transferring from Ilvermorny was a tough thing to do, but you did it at the insistence of your parents, who felt that being at Hogwarts under Albus Dumbledore was far better than your old situation. Much safer, they had put it, despite the Chamber of Secrets and Quirrel and Sirius Black. But hey - safety right? At least there was the opportunity to meet new people, something that you liked doing. And maybe you could pick up a cool British accent while you’re over here. They always sounded so sophisticated, while your American accent was just ... American.

You had been sorted privately into the Slytherin house, which sounded well and good until you reached the common room. It was a bit dreary, you thought. Too much leather on these couches, not enough comfortable fabrics. You became too nervous to sit down in case the seats would squeak and make people think that you had farted. The other Slytherins weren’t the most welcoming, and they didn’t give you a hand as you brought your bags up the staircase to your dormitory. You had to use magic to get them there. The most that you had been given were a couple of side glances. This wasn’t going to be as easy as you had hoped.

On your first night, you had a lot of trouble sleeping. Tossing and turning in the old fashioned four-poster bed. In America, waterbeds were in fashion and you had gotten used to the rolling feeling rather than the roughness of a mattress. It was a good thing that you brought a couple of pepper-up potions to take in the morning just in case this exact thing were to happen.

-

You had carefully chosen your classes for your sixth year. You planned on doing big things with your life after you had graduated, even if you weren’t sure exactly yet what these things were. You took many of the basics, Potions, DADA, Charms, Transfigurations, etc, but also some things like Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies. You didn’t plan on living among muggles, especially, but you loved the way that they did things. They found inventive ways to work around magic, and you always felt more accomplished when you did things in the muggle way. Especially your secret passion - baking.

A lot of your classes happened to be with the Hufflepuff house, who were a bit wary of you at first, but then became genuinely friendly, and much more welcoming than your own house. Despite the differences, you started to hang out with them more than the Slytherins, which didn’t make dorm life particularly comfortable at times. You still found it hard to sleep in there, and had taken to some night time wandering.

It might be the deviousness of the Slytherin house in you, but you figured out some ways to work around the patrols. If you didn’t leave the castle, you didn’t run the risk of running into Dementors. If you stayed in one place, such as a classroom or the kitchens, you were less likely to get caught by the prefects wandering the halls. You were also able to overhear Cedric Diggory, a handsome boy in your year, tell some fifth year prefects the better ways to go, so you now knew how to avoid them as well.

The kitchens were where you usually ended up going. In Muggle Studies at your old school, you learned a lot about how they baked and they cooked without magic. It wasn’t instant, the way that magic was. You buy a roast, you do a cooking spell, and boom - perfectly cooked beef every time. There were spells to whip the potatoes into the perfect peaks, spells to make icing the perfect consistency for cupcakes, even spells for chopping vegetables if you were feeling lazy. The House Elves in these kitchens didn’t use these spells, they did things more by hand, and it was fascinating to watch. You started coming in on these restless nights as they were making bread for the morning’s toast, and one elf in particular was eager to show you how she did it.

“Then you kneed it like this!” She said in a high-pitched voice, showing you with her bony hands. She moved over so that you could give it a try. The dough was surprisingly warm, and pliable beneath your own fingers. You couldn’t help but smile as the feeling of it filled you with warmth. You could see why muggle bakers woke up as early as four in the morning to do all of this. The smells of the baking loaves wafted over to you and you took a deep breath in, and then a deep breath out. You could spend all day in here, you decided. The only thing that was keeping you from doing so were your classes.

-

‘Why were you sneaking around last night?’

The note landed on your textbook as you were reading quietly in Transfiguration class. You hid it quickly beneath the book, looking around to try to see who sent it. Your eyes landed on Cedric, who was looking at you equally as closely. You turned away quickly, flushing. You didn’t think that anyone had seen you sneaking away from the kitchens this morning, going back to the dormitory before anyone else woke up. You had been certain that you were careful.

When McGonagall was seated at her desk, you took the note out and wrote back.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

As you signed the period, the note slipped away from under your quill, fell to the floor, whooshed it’s way to Cedric, seemed to climb up his desk and land on his own textbook. Seemed a little silly, you thought. You could have just handed it to him when the Professor was turned around instead of wasting a spell on it. You thought that the conversation was over and dealt with, when the note came right back to you again.

‘I saw you this morning, near my common room. What have you been up to?’

You scrunched your eyebrows and pursed your lips. There was a murderer on the loose, you knew that, hence the extra security measures but - did anyone really suspect you of having something to do with that? You hadn’t even heard of Sirius Black until you went to Diagon Alley for school supplies!

Rather than write anything back, you underlined the sentence that you had written before. The note didn’t seem happy with that, since it didn’t immediately rush back to Cedric. So you folded up the parchment, waited until an opportune moment, then tossed it over at Cedric. He was apparently not expecting that, because it bounced off his head and onto the floor. There were a few sniggers from other students, which caught McGonagall’s attention. Before she could see the note, Cedric had pressed his shoe over the top of it. She sniffled, then went back to reading, expecting the rest of the class to do the same.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he slid the note towards himself. When he finally read it, he glared at you, which made you feel uncomfortable. You weren’t ready to give up your baking secret, or even to admit you were breaking the rules for it was forbidden for a student to be out of bed after hours. But still - he couldn’t really suspect you of harboring a killer - could he?

-

You had taken a break from going to the kitchens at night, as much as it hurt you to do so. Now that you knew that the Hufflepuff Common Room was close to the kitchens, it felt too dangerous to do it. Especially with Cedric Diggory on the watch for you. You’d noticed him looking at you from time to time, during meals or class times. It felt less suspicious than your note passing in class, and more like - studying.

After a week had passed though, you couldn’t wait any longer. The house elf that you had befriended had told you that you could help her make cakes for dessert! Now that was something that you were interested in, since you thought maybe you’ve mastered bread. Waiting until the others in your dorm were sleeping, you slipped on your darkest robe and left the common room, making for some of the lesser-used stairs to get up to the kitchens. You would still have to pass the Hufflepuff portrait, though, there was no avoiding that. You stuck to the shadows as much as you could, and stopped often, looking behind you for a sign of prefects. The coast seemed clear.

You tickled the pear in the portrait, which giggled at being touched, then opened up to reveal the busy kitchens, getting ready for the morning ahead. Your friend, a house elf that barely reached your waist and was named Daisy, waved at you from by the massive fireplace which heated soups and stews for the whole castle. You started heading towards her when a hand wrapped gently around your wrist, keeping you in place. You figured out who it was before you even turned around.

“Cedric Diggory,” You groaned, turning around. His amber colored eyes took in the sight of you, dressed in your pajamas with a dark robe covering your body. You were planning to take it off and put on one of the aprons, but he hadn’t given you the time to do that yet. “Are you stalking me?”

“You don’t get to ask the questions. What are you doing in here?” He asked, looking around the kitchens now as if he had just realized what he had walked into. A house elf whistled happily as it walked by with a big baking pan, three loaves on it nearly tottering off. But he never lost his balance. “Why are we in the kitchens?”

“I know why I’m in the kitchens,” You said, pushing his hand off of your arm. You turned around to head over to Daisy. “As for you, I don’t know. I still think you’re stalking me.”

“A Slytherin who sneaks out after hours isn’t up to any good,” He said. You rolled your eyes at the stereotype - it was getting old already.

“Technically, I’m a Thunderbird, that will be always be my home house,” You explained, still feeling much more American than you were European. “So none of that evil snake business, thank you, badger.”

You walked towards your friend, smiling so as not to show that anything was wrong. House-elves could sometimes worry too much for their own good, and it could affect their work. You did not want Cedric’s following of you to cause an innocent student some food poisoning. You took her offered apron, and switched out your robes for it, folding down the front nicely. The Hufflepuff boy had hesitantly followed. He might not have trusted you, but he had faith in the house-elves that they wouldn’t do anything bad.

“So what are we doing today, Daisy?” You asked happily, approaching her counter. She was a cute little thing, dressed in a bright yellow smock with an apron over top.

“We are making cakes!” She said, clapping with excitement. It had taken you a little while to get used to her high-pitched voice, especially when she sang, which she often did while working. “Vanilla and strawberry because it’s almost Spring!”

She set you to work mixing ingredients while she measured them. You could see Cedric hovering out of the corner of your eye, unsure of what to make of all this. “Oh come on,” You said finally, not being able to take it any longer. The batter that you were working on was enough to make perhaps three cakes, but there would have to be much more than that before the day is through. “You can help with this, you know. Or are you scared of getting a little dirty?”

You put your fingers in flour and flicked some at him. It landed on his pajama shirt. He tried to wipe it off but it just made a white smear, which made you giggle. “I guess I might as well,” He said, finally letting his guard down. Daisy found him another apron, and set him about working on his own bowl of cake mix.

“No, no,” You said, seeing how fast he was mixing. It had even alarmed Daisy, who wouldn’t dare say anything bad about it. You could just gauge by how big her eyes got. “Slowly - you fold in the eggs, you don’t just ... make it go wild like that. We want a fluffier texture. There’s such a thing as over mixing, isn’t there Daisy?”

“That’s right!” She squeaked.

Cedric conceded. He went a little slower this time, taking your direction rather well. You added in the last bits of vanilla to the mix, then helped to measure them into the pans that Daisy had taken away to put into the oven. “What now?” He asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

“We do it again - unless you’re wanting to go and get a bit more sleep,” You shrugged. “Though that means you’re going to miss the best part.”

“And what’s that?” He asked, raising one of his bushy eyebrows. He didn’t have suspicion in his eyes anymore. In fact, you might almost say it looked like he was having fun.

“The decorating! Fresh strawberries, whipped cream, enough icing to send me into a sugar coma. Oh, it’s Heaven. I’ve been waiting for this day for weeks now.” You said, your mouth nearly watering as you thought about all of the treats that you were going to make. “And then, after dinner tonight, we’ll be at our tables and voila! Cakes! And nobody knows we helped to make them which makes it feel sneaky.”

“Knew there would be a catch,” Cedric said, picking up another mixing bowl since the other one had been taken away for cleaning. “I knew you were heading out at night for some reason. I just didn’t expect it to be this.”

“Oh, so just because I’m Slytherin, you think that I was up to no good?” You asked, feeling offended by his assumptions. You picked up a new mixing bowl as well, and a clean spoon.

“Well...” Cedric said, rubbing the back of his neck. You were both in an awkward waiting position until Daisy came back to measure ingredients once more. “How was I to know it would be this?”

“You could have asked rather than accusing me by note,” You shrugged, spinning the spoon around in your hands. You could smell some of the other bakers beginning to prepare the whipped icing that would be going on the cake. It was beginning to make your mouth water. They might as well be working with ambrosia, the food of the gods.

The little house elf did come running with her measuring cups to weight out ingredients and you were finally able to get back to work. Surprisingly, Cedric stayed. He stayed as the cakes were brought out of the oven and put to freeze to make them easier to ice. He stayed as you struggled with a piping bag, and ended up with frosting all over your apron.

“Stop laughing,” You said, as you saw that he was chuckling. He turned away but you could still feel his shoulders move. You glared at him, wiped a glob off your apron and onto your finger, then flicked it right at the back of his neck. That made him stop real quick. He turned back to look at you and you gave him your widest grin. “Oops.”

“No food fights, please!” Daisy wheezed, which put an end to whatever Cedric was thinking about. He wiped it off, onto his apron, then chuckled again.

“Yeah, no food fights,” He repeated to you, as if you were the one getting the scolding. You rolled your eyes, then went back to trying to get the piping bag right. You managed, without exploding it this time, and wasting the precious icing. Still though, you took little dallops of it off your apron and stuck it into your mouth, savoring the flavor.

“Has there ever been a food fight at Hogwarts?” You wondered allowed, stepping back to admire your handiwork. You could imagine one happening in the Great Hall, given how much food was in there on a constant basis. Cedric looked a little surprise that you were asking him in such a pleasant tone rather than the snippiness that you had been passing back and forth.

“A couple of years ago,” Cedric said, smiling as he thought about it. “You know the Weasley twins, from the Gryffindor Quidditch team? They started one in their first year. Now there’s a spell on the tables where it can’t happen anymore.”

“I hope Dumbledore forgets one year. Because now, I gotta start one.” You said, thinking that you had to talk to these twins about how they did it. And maybe a Ravenclaw for counter-spells.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Cedric said, winking at you over his own creation. His was a lot messier than yours, but it would hopefully taste good, that’s what was important. “Strawberries?”

“Strawberries,”  You affirmed. A house elf came over with a basket of the fresh fruit, just washed and shiny. You go to work with a knife now, which seemed a little dangerous. As you took it up to cut the leaves off, you looked over at Cedric. He already had the knife in hand and was chopping surprisingly well. He seemed to have some talent other than Quidditch and a winning smile. And - best of all, he seemed to trust that you weren’t going to attack with him the knife. Pretty big deal for a Slytherin.

When the cakes that you were making were finished, you took off the apron and stiffled a yawn. In the time that it had taken you and Cedric to make three a piece, house elves had finished a couple dozen. Yours and his weren’t as picture perfect as the others, but you were happy with your work nonetheless. “Alright, well, g’night...” You said, stretching as you went into the hallway. You could faintly see the sun beginning to rise through the window, the sky no longer black but a lighter shade of navy.

“This was fun,” Cedric admitted, turning to look at you, flour staining the front of his once-perfect robes where the apron didn’t cover. “You do this every night?”

“It’s usually just bread that I make,” You admitted. “The cake was much more fun than that. But bread is really cool, the way that it’s made with just the simplest things. I think I want to become a baker after graduating, but who knows...” You shrugged. The world was still a dark place. But surely that meant that there was going to be more of a need for baked goods to lighten the load and make people feel a little better.

“You’re great at it,” Cedric complimented. Well, that was a nice touch. The Golden boy of Hufflepuff was giving you a compliment, and making you feel a bit of the honeyglow.

“Thanks.” You said. You took a couple of steps down the hallway which would lead you to the stairs down towards the dungeons, but you stopped, turning around. “Are you going to tell on me?”

“No,” Cedric said, after taking a couple of seconds to think. “I might join you again sometime, though.”

“Well that’s fine then,” You said with a smile. “Goodnight, Cedric.”

“Good morning, y/n,” Cedric said, running his fingers through his hair once more, before turning himself to go to his own dormitory. You laughed as you watched him go, then hurried yourself along to get ready for the day.

-

At dessert the next night, you were surprised to see not one of the picture perfect cakes that the elves had made, but rather one of the haphazard ones that was definitely Cedric’s. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you saw the uneven strawberries and the frosting dripping over the sides. The Slytherin girl next to you commented on how it looked ‘like a child had made it’ and got up to go down the table to one of the nicer looking cakes.

You eagerly took a piece. The cake itself was perfection, it was just the uneven frosting that made it look a little wonky. As you cut into it, you looked over to the Hufflepuff table to catch eyes with the baker himself. He had one of your cakes in front of him, and had loaded two pieces onto his plate. He gave you his heart-melting smile and you returned the sentiment. You stabbed a piece of the cake onto your fork and held it up as if in cheers. He did the same.

It wasn’t the same as eating with him exactly, but it was nice nonetheless. You had become restless during the nights because of how homesick you were, and you found something which could become a life-long love. And, well, you really didn’t mind that Cedric was along for the ride.

[ladyeliot]

Fragile [2/3]

Part One

Based on The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Who would have thought that fate would bring you face to face with your father's killer? 13 years old, an orphan girl who was taken under the protection of the United States, who was educated to serve the nation and who was now assigned by the CIA to guard what was once one of the most dangerous men in the world.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, psychological problems, violence.

Word count: 3981

A/N: Post Endgame. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

The city of sin is empty, and so are you. There is no one around you to judge you. The rhythm of their heartbeat seems to take over your body, it seems to lure you into the darkness, into which you have already entered. You have been alone for so long that you can barely remember when you felt a caress. The lights seem to blind you as they fall on your skin through the window panes, you can't see clearly where you're going, or what your next move is going to be, but there's something that grabs you, that compels you to kiss his skin. You look into his eyes, offering yourself, inviting him to love you. You look around you, drowning in the night, but there he is, the only person who can ignite you with a caress.

The Japanese restaurant across the street from your building was the place selected for the date that Bucky had worked so hard to set you up with, but after you saw him show up on your doorstep with the most charming bouquet of orange tulips you'd ever seen in your life you didn't care where he planned to take you. The place was quite popular in the neighbourhood, so that night most of the tables were packed with diners, a fact that seemed to make your companion uncomfortable as you walked into the establishment.

"Would you rather we went somewhere else?" you asked when you saw his gaze sweep over the place.

"No, it's fine," he stepped forward, heading to a free table that was quite far away from the others.

"You know, I don't remember ever having tasted Japanese food," you said, sitting down across from him. "I guess you'll have to walk me through this."

A complicity intensified as Bucky flashed a smile, lowering his gaze in response to the comment you had just made. Your eyes lit up, creating a visual conformity as he raised his countenance again and focused his eyes on you. It was at that precise moment that you discovered that beneath the blue mantle of his iris were small greyish flecks. You had arrived in this place almost three months ago, in this Brooklyn neighbourhood full of charming Asian culture, and you had never felt more at home than you did at that moment. You knew every detail of the life of the boy sitting in front of you, every detail that the government had wanted to give you, but you realised that you didn't really know anything about him at all.

It was a long two minutes in which you spent inspecting the person in front of you. He was wearing a black denim-style jacket, a black T-shirt that seemed to match the jeans you remembered he was wearing, and of course his black leather gloves, the ones you assumed he wouldn't take off all night. You rested your elbow on the table and dropped your chin into the palm of your hand without taking your eyes off his for a second. Bucky's jaw was slightly stiff, his lips were pursed waiting for you to say something and his expression was highlighted by a frown. You held it in for a few seconds until again your mouth curved up in a smile causing laughter to erupt from within you, causing a blush to rise up Bucky's cheeks.

"What's wrong?" he asked doubtful of the cause of your smirking laughter.

"Nothing," you said sincerely, shaking your face as your laughter died down and you took the menu of dishes in your hands. "What do you recommend?"

"I don't know," he said repeating your same gesture and hiding his face behind the paper.

"I thought you were a regular," you commented ignoring the variety of dishes and put the menu down so you could look at him again. "What about the nigiris?"

"The truth is that whenever I come here it's always Yori who decides what to eat," he commented pulling the paper away from his face leaving you to stare at his uneasy countenance again.

"Wow... do you think we should call him for dinner recommendations?" you whispered making Bucky blush again as he chuckled.

"I think we can manage," he commented looking back at the list of dishes.

But really your attempt to make a varied selection of Japanese cuisine was in vain when the young waitress approached you both and you decided on a random selection based on the most curious names you had found, so that after she left you were once again alone in front of each other. You noticed that in those long weeks that you had unexpectedly coincided Bucky had never made a comment about his past, it was obvious that he took it for granted that you knew who he was, everyone seemed to know who he was.

"Can I be frank with you?" you asked, playing with the small vase in the middle of the table.

"Please," he replied, giving way to your question.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem nervous enough to have dated girls before, you know," you commented in a delicate tone avoiding scaring him away. "Is this your first date in... this long?"

Bucky's nostrils flared as he averted his gaze to the side and took a breath.

"Well... yeah, you could say that," he replied turning his focus back to you as his fingers played. "I've been trying... God, what's the name of the app?"

"Tinder?" you suggested arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, that," he nodded as his eyes widened in surprise. "It's crazy, that's not meant for me, it's like how am I going to find someone there? I don't know."

"I know," you laughed at his facial expression. "I tried it once, but I had a bad experience."

"What happened?" you inquired curiously as the waitress brought the first dishes to share along with the two beers you had ordered.

"I was supposed to meet a blond guy, curly hair, strong build, light eyes, about thirty or thirty-five, supposed to be British," you began as you took a sip of your beer. "All right, I was in the bar waiting for him to arrive, obviously we were meeting in a public place, we said to wear specific clothes so we could easily recognise each other, although I thought it was a bit absurd as I had seen pictures of him. By the time a completely different guy from the description I just gave you stood next to me, wearing a red tie and introducing himself as Matthew, I picked up and left."

"Are you sure that app is legal?" he asked when you finished telling the story.

"Sometimes I ask myself the same question too."

The atmosphere seemed to envelop you over the course of the dinner, Bucky tilting his face whenever you recounted any of your experiences, which were yours, not the character you had created to conduct your research. The comfort was so pleasant inside you that you even felt guilty on several occasions that he didn't know who you really were, a CIA agent sent to keep him under control. Even though it would have the worst consequences for you, for your career and you could never be willing to throw it all away, at least you had never been willing or thought about it until now. Although it had also been a long time since you'd felt like this.

"So...?" you arched your eyebrows with a lopsided smile, waiting for his honest answer.

"A hundred and six," he replied finishing his second beer.

"And I was complaining about the guy who showed me up on that Tinder date, because he was fifty-three," Bucky ducked his gaze somewhat nervously, as you shrugged. "You really are a fascinating guy, Bucky Barnes."

Those words were the most sincere thing you'd said since the night began, plus they brought with them a fresh batch of knowing glances between the two of you, where seconds ticked by, no one said anything and the din of laughter and surrounding conversations seemed to subside above you. You discovered that you weren't curious to find out if everything in those documents was true or not, if he really was the monster they were trying to make you believe. What really mattered to you and why you were curious about him, you wanted to find out for yourself who he really was, his experiences, his future plans, if he was lost, if he was afraid, you didn't want answers to the morbid questions they used to ask him, you wanted to know Bucky Barnes, not the Winter Soldier.

That was the first time you had ever been on a date, with all its letters, rarely had you reached dessert before you had slept with the guy in front of you, rarely had you felt so comfortable chatting with someone, rarely had you laughed so much and stayed until the place closed.

"You're in the 21st century, do you know that women can pay for dinner and we can buy if we want to?" you said approaching the bar and taking your wallet out of your purse.

"Please," he determined almost in a plea as he pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his trousers.

"All right," you raised your arms, heading for the exit door. "I'll pay for the drinks.

As you stepped outside you could feel Bucky's eyes on you through the glass of the restaurant as he was waiting for the extra money/change. It was a pretty cold night in March, but no one really seemed to care because it seemed like everyone had gone outside to enjoy the Saturday night. You heard behind you the tinkling of a little bell and Bucky was perched next to you, putting his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Well, where..." you started to say before a voice cut you off.

A whistling sound coming from somewhere near you tried to get your attention, but it wasn't until you looked up that you saw a tiny face peering through a window on the first floor of your building.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, tapping Bucky's chest and pointing at Yori who was waving at you.

"Oh gosh..." commented Bucky raising his hand in greeting.

"How was the date?" your neighbour asked raising his tone so he could reach you.

"Great Yori!" you exclaimed trying to let him hear you from the first floor of your building. "Bucky is such a gentleman! They don't have men like that these days!"

You didn't see it, but your companion had no idea where to put himself at that moment, his hand on the back of his neck and his uncomfortable glances around as he blushed gave him away. You raised your arm to wave goodbye to Yori who was saying goodbye as he said something, but it barely reached your ears. Bucky simply nodded showing an awkward smile on his face.

"Come on," you laughed tugging on the lapel of Bucky's jacket causing him to start walking aimlessly.

"Where are we going?" he asked walking beside you.

"I don't know," you shrugged without stopping walking. "I'll remind you that I'm just a tourist, I've been in New York for three months and I've barely left the neighbourhood. But I think you know it a lot better than I do," you bumped his body with yours in a friendly way.

"I don't agree. You may be a tourist in New York, but I'm a tourist in the 21st century world," he commented, hitting you back with his elbow.

"In that case... let's discover New York together," you smiled, and he smiled back, letting you know that he was enjoying the evening as much as you were.

"There," your companion raised his chin, gesturing slightly towards the narrow building looming above you.

"There?" you asked, arching your eyebrows in surprise at what he was telling you.

"Fourth floor," he continued speaking without looking at you, resting his eyes on the place he was describing. "It was a tiny flat, I could get from the kitchen to the bedroom by just jumping up and down. If I opened the window at night, the smell of mozzarella from Nicollini's came in. It was an Italian restaurant," he paused thoughtfully, perhaps wistfully. "Wow... I didn't come here until now."

You stood parallel to Bucky, his eyes seemed to appear brighter than usual, the light from the streetlight allowing you to take in every feature of his face. You were silent for a couple of minutes while he seemed to be distant from the place, obscured in his thoughts, in his past. The time you had spent with him had not allowed you to see him like this at any time, he used to keep his emotions very much in check, not allowing anyone to glimpse them, only letting you see the shame or confusion when he spoke to you.

"So... when was the last time you were here?" your volume was soft, trying not to interrupt him too much, but upon hearing your voice, he fell into your presence and began to pace.

"Maybe... in 1943, just before I left for Europe," he cleared his throat, undoing the knot that had formed in his throat.

It was in that precious moment that you realised how hard and complex his situation must really be. Bucky Barnes was all alone in the world, all his knowledge of his old present was of little use to him now, it might be the city where he grew up but nothing was the same anymore. He also had to live with his legacy, the legacy HYDRA left him. Silence flooded around you, however, it was not a complicit silence, it was an uncomfortable silence, caused by the situation you had just lived.

"My father died when I was thirteen," you didn't know why, but that confession came from inside you, Bucky turned his face and focused his attention on you. "My mother had abandoned us when I was five, so when my father died I was all alone."

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispered making you realise he was really sorry when you looked at his face.

"It happens," you shrugged. "I guess that makes us feel luckier when we find someone we connect with."

That was the first time you looked away blushing as you met Bucky's smile, but he kept his eyes fixed on you. The two of you had made your way to an aimless spot, letting the night fall on you by the riverbank.

"Answer me something, when was the last time you enjoyed the New York night?" you said looking at him, as behind him you could see a wonderful view of the island of Manhattan.

"New York night..." he said looking down thoughtfully. "Well, I remember the last night I spent in New York, my best friend Steve and I went to see The Stark exhibit along with two girls," he turned his gaze to the horizon, "Connie and Bonnie, I think their names were."

"Your girlfriends?" you asked curiously delving into the story.

"Not exactly," he laughed looking at you, "it was like a double date, but they weren't our partners. Those times were more complicated, you know," you nodded and waited silently for him to continue the story. "I had planned for the four of us to go dancing, but Steve was not very receptive, he had other things on his mind, so I ended up going dancing with the two of them by myself.

"Wow, what do you know..." you arched an eyebrow causing Bucky to blush with laughter, gazing at the lights coming from Manhattan. "That means you're quite the expert dancer."

"Not exactly, I mean, maybe in... in the past, it's possible, but..." he didn't know how to express himself, his words were hindering him.

"Show me," you interrupted taking him by surprise.

"Uh?" he asked stopping his steps and frowning.

"Come on, it's time for me to be the one to get out of your time. I have no idea how to dance..." you pointed out, making him understand that you didn't know how to dance in a couple. "Please."

Your companion took a breath as you presented him with the palm of your hand inviting him to take it right in the middle of a small riverside park. Bucky was hesitant but your lower lip bitten by your teeth and your pleading eyes made him definitely decide to hold your hand and accept the challenge. The triumph was depicted on your face, which made it easy for Bucky to oblige by flashing you a smile.

"You're really testing me tonight," he murmured, slowly approaching you.

You first felt the roughness of his leather gloves as his left hand took yours to mark a closer position. Your bodies were close, too close, you could hear his raised breathing and see the mist of your breath connecting. Bucky gently placed his hand on your waist, but nothing else happened, you looked at each other, with a very uncomfortable smile.

"This is weird," he muttered, wrinkling the expression on his face.

"Why?" you looked around you, it was lonely. "There's no one."

"I know," he looked up. "There's no one, there's no music."

"Sing," you said quickly with a laugh, making Bucky laugh too as he shook his head. "I would, but I don't know any songs of the time."

"I don't plan to sing," he decreed without barely moving an inch away from you.

"Then use your imagination," you whispered lowering your gaze for a second, meeting his neck at eye level.

As if time had rushed backwards you were caught in a completely different place, the yellowish light of the street lamps above you and behind you a Manhattan skyline set the perfect mood for the moment. The hand that was perched on your waist began to subtly exert pressure, guiding you to imitate the movement of his feet that he had begun. Embarrassed by your clumsiness you quickly lowered your gaze to his feet to try to imitate what he was doing more accurately.

"Look at me, don't look at my feet," he sentenced with a small laugh. "Look at my eyes."

And you did, so much so that you did, letting yourself be enveloped by their blue, making you blush because of the proximity to them. It was strange, perhaps it was much stranger to you than it was to him, as you bit your lower lip hard trying to escape the awkwardness and embarrassment. How could a moment that could look completely ridiculous from the outside feel so intimate on the inside?

"When was the last time you danced with a girl?" you whispered, trying to keep the situation not too intimate.

"I think it was in London," he replied without stopping his movements. "When I was on leave."

But as he finished his answer you again found yourself under those piercing blue eyes trying to maintain eye contact with you. Again you caught your lower lip between your teeth, thinking of a new question to ask him. Bucky had taken control of the situation, something you weren't used to, and that made you feel alert, he knew it, for the first time he seemed to be in control of the situation, and that was your fault, you had given it to him when you said to teach you to dance.

"Are you alright?" he whispered in front of you with a half smile to which you nodded forcing a smile.

Just as you finished your nod you felt Bucky press harder against your waist and pressed his body against yours leaving your forehead pressed against his cheek. His scent wafted into your nostrils, drifting into your brain, projecting a pleasure that made you close your eyes and let yourself be completely carried away. You accepted that you wouldn't last an hour in the 40s in a dance hall, the second you'd fall at the feet of any young man like Bucky. You didn't know if it was your imagination, because right now you had entered an alternate universe, or if Bucky was humming some tune, but you heard it, you heard how your subtle movements had music.

"And..." you parted your lips, pulling your forehead away from his cheek, trying to formulate a question that didn't come because you felt the melody stop, realising that it was Bucky who was asking it.

His face with a sweet smile on it paralysed you, making you come out of the bubble that had been created around you, feeling guilty for the situation that you yourself had provoked. What the hell were you doing? He was your mission, everything was getting out of context, it had gotten completely out of hand and you needed to stop it as soon as possible. You shook your face, trying not to be too rude to him, and you broke the proximity between the two of you. Bucky didn't understand what had happened, because within a second the happiness was wiped from his face, showing some concern for your actions.

"I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands subtly by way of caution. "If I've done anything inappropriate..."

"No!" you exclaimed shaking your head smiling at his apology. "It's just... I think we should get back, we still have a long way to go and I wanted to get up early tomorrow."

"Of course," the disappointment you saw on Bucky's face almost broke your soul.

The walk home was too stealthy, and that made you uneasy. You couldn't stop replaying over and over the moment in your mind, the feel of his hand on your waist, the proximity to his body, your scent, and the warmth of your forehead against his cheek. It was torture, because on the other hand you felt extremely guilty for violating all the clauses of your job by entering into this kind of relationship with Bucky. It was suffocating, you felt almost breathless inside. Firstly, you should have started by refusing the proposal to go out for dinner, and secondly, if you did go out for dinner, you should have gone straight home, no dancing and no further conversation. In the midst of all these thoughts, you arrived home.

"Please," he said, offering you first the way into the building.

"Thank you," you mumbled without looking at him.

The walk to the third floor began, you had never realised that there were so many steps and so steep until you reached the door of your house, it seemed like a climb up Mount Everest and the worst thing was that Bucky lived right in front of you, on the same landing. You amused yourself rummaging through your purse for your house keys, avoiding having a conversation until you arrived right in front of the door.

"Well..." you started to say by way of an awkward goodbye.

"Again, if I've done anything to upset you..." Bucky repeated again with a gesture of concern.

"Really, Bucky, it's been... great," you concluded, smiling kindly at him. "I promise."

"All right," he ducked his face, not entirely convinced by your answer. "So, good night Susan."

"G-good night Bucky."

Susan? Of course, that was you to him, all a lie.

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[starlessea]

Ultimate Guide to Writing Accents and Dialogue

I recently saw an amazing post on how to keep your characters ‘in character,’  and I wanted to make my own about writing accents, dialects, and overall just creating dialogue that suits the people you are trying to portray.

I’m a language/linguistic student, so here are a few tips I think you should consider!

1) Standard Pronunciation: 

First you need to think about where your story is set, and what is the standard dialect of the majority of your characters compared to your main character. What I mean by this is, if your story is set in the South, and all of your characters therefore have that Southern drawl, then it becomes the STANDARD, and has nothing to contrast it unless you introduce something.

If your main character (your POV) has a different accent, then make it NOTICABLY different from the standard of your story. It’s good to have accent variety, otherwise all of your characters start to sound the same.

2) Constructing your Vocabulary: 

Next, you’ll want to consider the vocabulary of your character. Ask yourself questions about them: are they educated, what was their upbringing like, do they work in a field with specific vocabulary? You can strip it back even further than that - when you think of your character how would you describe them? Could you see a badass biker using long, sophisticated diction on a regular basis? Or an old woman swearing like a sailor?

Don’t get me wrong, these are very much stereotypes, and often the most interesting characters are created by subverting your expectations. But use these questions as a springboard for your characters. If you’re writing fanfiction, and know the characters well already from a movie / tv-show, then try to IMAGINE them saying your lines to see if they are something they would actually say. 

However, also note that the register of your characters is bound to change given the situation. Obviously, someone is more likely to use heightened vocabulary in a certain setting - e.g. within a classroom - and more casual language elsewhere - e.g. in a bar. See below for such a distinction:

Formal: Yes/No

Informal: Yeah/Nah

3) Orthography, Syntax and Morphology: 

Okay, so those words might look a little scary, but don’t worry. Orthography is just a fancy way of saying spelling (specifically, the standard spelling system of a time/place and how we might see a character deviate from it), syntax is word order, and morphology is how words are formed (such as grammar, inflections etc.). I’ll give some examples of what I mean.

Orthography: I’m going to use Daryl Dixon from TWD for reference (keywords: Southern drawl, redneck, country). For Daryl, some words he says I write phonetically (according to how he says them), so that the spelling matches the phonology. E.g.:

Standard: “Take care of yourself.”

Daryl: “Take care of yerself.” 

I tend to do this alot with pronouns, such as ‘you/ya,’ ‘your/yer.’ But I also use the long, standard forms for variety and emphasis - e.g. ‘you’re right.’

Syntax and Morphology:

Often, a character will use different syntax or morphological patterns that we aren’t used to. Often, non-native speakers are portrayed using types of English we often categorise as ‘incorrect’ - but are just non-standard. You can find good examples of this within Creole literature.

For example, past-tense verbs are usually conjugated in the present-tense form:

‘we was / if I was you’ instead of ‘we were / if I were you’ 

“I go now.” 

“She gives it to me yesterday.” 

Unfortunately, a lot of these conventions are also stereotypically used to portray characters who are uneducated - think of Joe or young Pip from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations, for example.

But, you also want to avoid STEREOTYPING your character too much, as that can come across as amateur or cliche. What I mean by this is don’t over-rely on certain patterns - don’t overuse them. It’s okay to have variety, even if its with the SAME character. Just do it in a way that fits your overall construction. You can even change these speech patterns DURING your story to represent the development of your character, or them picking up an accent, or being around different people.

4) Apostrophe and Negatives:

Apostrophe: These can be used to mark a number of things - such as abbreviations, contractions, possession etc. If your character has a certain accent, they might roll certain words into one another - not stressing specific consonants, for example. We can see this in ‘C’mon.’

Alot of abbreviations are now recognised slang words, too. For instance:

C’mon = Come on 

‘Cos = Because

Lil’ = Little

‘Ma = Mama / mother

Ol’ = Old

Think about whether certain abbreviations and slang matches the register of your character, as well as their location. For example, slang words like ‘cuppa’ (cup of tea) are usually expected in a British setting.

Also, remember that the apostrophe goes in the position of the letter/letters you are getting RID OF, which is not always necessarily in the place of the contraction. E.g:

‘Do not’ contracts to ‘donot’ which abbreviates to the standard ‘don’t.’

Going back to my Daryl Dixon example, other common abbreviations I use for him include the following:

‘Ing’ contraction - walking becomes walkin’.

 Anyone, anything - becomes ‘nyone, ‘nything

Pronoun contractions - her becomes ‘er.

Connective contractions - and becomes an’ or n’.

Other contractions don’t even need apostrophes - such as ‘gonna,’ ‘gotta,’ ‘sorta,’ ‘wanna.’

Negatives: 

Even though Standard English doesn’t use double negatives anymore, we can use them in our writing of characters as an indicator of their background or dialect. They can also be used for emphasis.

Coming back to Daryl, he tends to use a lot of double negative constructions:

“I ain’t nobody’s bitch.”

“Don’t want nothin’.”

“Ain’t go no reason to.”

If you want to get even more complex, you can have a proclitic negative (where the negative attaches itself to the verb - e.g. don’t), and contract it further so you get a multiple contraction. For example:

You (pronoun), Are (verb, form of ‘be’), Not (negative) = you ain’t = y’aint.

“Y’aint never done shit for me!”

Because this is a three way contraction, it becomes a bit confusing where to put the apostrophe - is it y’aint or y’ain’t? To be honest, it becomes mostly your choice after that (stylistic). 

5) Loanwords and Imposition:

Loanword: This is a word borrowed INTO the native language FROM another one. For example, think of an American speaker using a French word or phrase in a sentence.

“Thought we were all takin’ a laissez faire approach now?”

Think of how this changes the sentence, and the impact it is going for. French is still seen as a prestigious language, so it can be used to heighten register, or can be used to mock/patronise/be sarcastic in a certain context (as in this example).

Imposition: This is when a speaker uses a word FROM their native language in the context of a non-native language they are speaking. It has connotations of power and agency. 

For example, a French speaker might use a French term in a conversation, despite it having a perfectly good English counterpart. This might be in order to demonstrate that a character is trying to show off, or is reminding their peers of their background or status.

6) Non-verbal Indicators:

This is more on the border of style, but I thought it was worth mentioning. Sometimes, the descriptive words you use can reflect a character's dialect. An obvious example can be how ‘drawled’ is associated with a Southern accent.

Although it might sound cliche, you should think about the vocabulary you want to use in order to describe a certain accent. If we were to compare perhaps Scottish or Welsh with French, for instance, you would be able to hear the distinct sound differences. The former are more harsh, guttural, have a lot of sounds that come from the back of the throat, whilst the latter is nasal and flows more.

Use your descriptions to emphasise this. Look up synonyms that describe the WAY in which your characters are pronouncing the words. Are they guttural, harsh, gravelly, thick? Or are they soft, fluid, smooth?

Anyway, I’ve rambled enough. Good luck writing, everyone!

Disclaimer: Even though this post is long, it’s actually really basic on a linguistic level - so I hope no true linguists read this haha. These are just some personal observations, but I hope they help!

[zeldas-cigarrette]

Now, I’ll drive alone past your street. (Ⅱ)

A/n: This is the sequel to my last post, I couldn’t write any smut, I wasn’t in the mood for it. Just wait for another story in which I’ll definitely include it !!! If you have any requests, feel free to leave them somewhere ^^ And thank you so much for the interaction on my last post:))

Part 1

Word count: 1,635

Warnings: none

Zelda Spellman x female witch reader

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It pained you when sudden thoughts about Zelda flickered in your head. Although you decided on leaving for a while, you missed her, Hilda, Ambrose, and Sabrina. The wittiness of Hilda when you came down for breakfast, looking like a complete mess. Sabrina when she was onto something, including you in every step of the way. And Ambrose, when he was fuzzing about the mess his younger cousin had caused again.

The sudden ring of your cell phone tore you out of thoughts. Hilda’s caller ID showed up just as it did the past week. You’ve always been too afraid to pick up, scared of listening to her ranting about you letting her sister marry this man. But unlike the other times, the Brit has called, now you were brave enough to answer the call. Maybe Zelda fulfilled her task and became High Priestess?

„Y/n, I tried to reach you all week” Hilda hastily explained. „I know, I know but-“

„There is no time for explanations, you need to come back. Something’s wrong with Zelda” she cut you off while unsteadily breathing into the speaker.

You hesitated to speak, not being sure what you shall say. You loved the red-headed witch too much to let her suffer. „I’ll be there Hilda,” you said and quickly ended the conversation.

You knew it was about time to go back and fight for your love and show Father Blackwood who’s in charge.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

It didn’t take long for you to teleport you back to the mortuary, you left a few of your belongings where you’d stayed. You took a deep breath before knocking on the red front door. The familiar scent of your friends home crept up your nose and you started to loosen your tension. „Praise Satan you’re here, come in quick” the British woman rambled and pulled you inside.

„What’s going on?” You asked curiously. „My sister has changed during her honeymoon, it’s just as if she’s under some kind of spell.”

You nodded and hung your coat onto one of the hooks. „She does everything Blackwood asks her, Zelda would do anything to protect our family and now that bloke tries harms us and she just agrees with everything” Hilda explained and you knew immediately what she was trying to say. „And, Ambrose is said to have killed the Anti Pop. Nicholas Scratch helped him get away before Blackwood could lay his hands on him” she added pulling a grimacing face.

„I will go to the academy and inspect the situation myself, we will fix this mess” you tried to reassure her. The witch nodded and led you into the kitchen where the two cousins sat, pondering over how to help her aunt. „You’re back Y/n!” Sabrina exclaimed and hugged you tightly. A smile formed on your lips. Deep down you were happy to be back even though it took you some time to realise.

The darkness slowly came over Greendale and millions of stars peppered the night sky. „I will head to the academy and see what happened to your aunt and in which condition she is” you informed them and drummed your fingers on the tabletop. „Be careful, Blackwood is crazy at the moment. His misogyny went up to a new level” the young witch rambled worriedly. „I’ll take care.”

You grabbed your coat before leaving the house, inhaling the sweet scent that lingered in the house once more.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Arriving at the academy, a weird feeling spread in your gut. You entered the school for witches and warlocks, having an exact destination to where you wanted to go. You walked through the halls of the academy searching for either Zelda or Blackwood. A sharp pain shot through your arm when a hand grabbed you and pulled you into a room.

The facet of the person immediately let you know who it was. „Blackwood” you explained and freed yourself from his tight grip. „You ought not to be here” the sharp tone in his voice sent shivers down your spine. „I came to speak to Zelda.”

He eyed me. „Wife!” The High priest yelled and waited impatiently for Zelda to come. Seconds passed before a woman in a flower dress entered the room. „Would you give us a few minutes?” your voice thickly filled with annoyance. The warlock just nodded and left the room.

„Zelds, what happened?”

„I don’t know what you mean?” her voice almost pitching. „Honey, you can tell me” your hand reached for hers. „But there is nothing to tell. If you excuse me now, I ought to make tea for my beloved husband.”

Her words sounded surreal, fake just simply not like Zelda. A hopeless sigh escaped your lips, you should’ve told her how wrong it was to marry that bloke. The only thing to hear was the sound of her music box.

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

„It’s like she’s a doll” you took a sip of water before continuing, „no free will, and devoted to someone she said she’d overthrow.”

Hilda’s gaze wandered through the room. Footsteps echoed through the Spellman house, both of you looked at each other before stepping in the hallway.

You two saw her walking in the kitchen having her hand draped over something. Hilda followed her sister closely. The next thing you heard was high pitched screams from Sabrina who must’ve been in the kitchen. Your legs moved as fast as they could to see what was happening. Zelda stood there, wounding a mouse through the meat grinder. „Aunt Zel, why did you do that? That was our only chance to save Ambrose?” Sabrinas said stunned while her mouth fell agape.

I didn’t know what she was talking about, but surely Leviathan, who now was just a mashed version of itself, played its role in it. „I think I know what’s going on!“ Hilda exclaimed and it looked just as if a light bulb appeared over her head. „Sabrina, you have to get that music box from Zelda’s room in the Academy“ her aunt explained. The teenage witch nodded. Her aunt expected her to leave but that wasn’t the case, she somewhat teleported the box.

Zelda just stood there, staring at the mashed familiar. You couldn’t deny the fact that you were curious about how she teleported a box to her, but you suppressed the thought until you knew what was going on with your toner girlfriend. „Open it up darling” Hilda demanded her niece, „this has to be some kind of Caligari spell.” „What spell?” You asked genuinely interested. „A spell, typically used by old warlocks, to turn their wives into conscious witches aware of every action, yet, unable to make their own choices” the Brit explained and pulled out a photo of the music box.

„Just smash it and our Zelda should be freed from the spell,” Hilda told Sabrina who now held the picture in her hands. With a loud thud, the glass of the frame was broken, leaving a confused Zelda. You saw her facial expression change when she laid eyes on you. „Zelda is it you?” you asked nearly on the verge of tears.

You knew how stupid it was, leaving her alone with the whole situation, telling her she was better off without you. „Y/n...” the woman stuttered not daring to look away from you. You couldn’t contain your happiness and relive of having her back, you stepped closer and hugged her in a hurry. Her hands instantly sneaking around your waist, pressing you close to her body.

„I was an idiot, Zelda Spellman and I am sorry for how I behaved” you whispered in her ear. Her red locks were spreading on your face, you inhaled her scent. „Don’t worry, I must admit it was my fault too. How could I ask my girlfriend if I could marry another guy?" she mumbled in your shoulder and pressed yourself just a little closer to her body. „Alright, lovebirds” Sabrina sighed and let herself fall back on one of the kitchen chairs.

You loosened your hug and drew back to look at her. „Why don’t we get you something proper to wear?” You suggested and eyed her flower dress. „Satan, wearing this dress the whole time, internally drove me mad” Zelda admitted and tugged on the hem of her dress.

You took her hand in yours and softly moved your thumb over her skin. The fiery woman was broken, you saw it in her green eyes. Gently, you pulled her after you, scared she might break if you’d do it more hastily. Arriving in front of her bedroom door, you were hesitant if she’d even want you to come in put she slightly pushed you towards the door. „Don’t blame yourself, you had every right to leave. I wouldn’t want to see how you marry someone else” the witch remarked after a long silence. „I just feel like I could’ve prevented you from the pain,” you told her.

Zelda just shook her head and patted next to her on the bed. You followed her plea and sat next to the witch, staring down at your hands. „I haven’t told you this for weeks now, but I love you,” the older woman said and took your hand into hers. You slowly placed your head on her shoulder. „I love you too, but never ever marry anyone again as long as we are together” you had to add that. „Never” she mouthed before planting soft kisses along your jawline. „As dominant as ever” you giggled before the woman pressed you down on the bed beneath.

The room was filled with ecstasy and lust after Zelda was finished pleasuring you. You snuggled closer to her chest, not daring to leave her side again. Zelda’s red locks covering your face once more, made you feel comfortable with falling asleep. ‘You’ll be there for her on every step of the way, no matter how much strength it may take’ you thought to yourself before sleep hit you.

—————————————————————