Just had din dins and found out my class for tomorrow is cancelled… result… a bit gutted because it was going to be on writing responding to music… but means I don’t have to go to bed at a reasonable time (and like 100% of what I write isn’t influenced by music anyhow, which you will see the detailings of soon…).
Which muse(s) do want to rp as in the future?
I only have vague ideas for OCs kicking around at the moment, I don’t really start Constructing them until I have a clear basis of traits/strong identity… and I barely contribute that headspace to new offspring because Alex and Molly so often steal my attention. The strongest contender at the moment is a character based on Recoil’s ‘A Strange Hour’ wherein a woman is sacrificed by her husband to some deity in a ~noble effort to save the world?? The OC being The Woman… seeking REVENGE.
Are there other characters you drew inspo. from for your muse?
YES… many… main being the obvious influence of Mister Gahan 93>94 self-professed Post-Punk Jesus persona. Around the same time I was setting up Alex last year I was indulging in Black Books, feat. Bernard (all in black ofc..) which established nihilism and dry humour. Also tragic male protags often seen in Baz Luhrmann films… the same kind of theatricality so easily fitting with Toreador clan! Look at the beard of the grieving, bohemian lover on Ewan!
Requested by grilledcheese-has-feelings: Can I have a REALLY long Fred Weasley about our life after the battle
Sorry this took so long! Also, I don’t know how long this is. I made this while on camp.
I hope you like it! I accept requests! ———-
Things were difficult after the war. No man went unscathed. Scars and wounds from fighting had appeared on once soft, innocent skin. Lives were lost, loved ones dead - faint screams and green lights and nightmares that won’t ever go away. People tried to rebuild themselves, some failed while others succeeded. But life went on. Structures were built and Hogwarts was remade. Children were born and couples married. And love… Love prospered. Families united, bonds mended and friendships established.
It was difficult to look at a certain area and not immediately associate it with a certain death. It was even harder to face tomorrow without someone beside you. Everyone lost someone in the war - friends, family - there was no exception. She thinks that maybe she lost herself.
“Hello,” says a voice with no longer the same tone of happiness it once held. She looked at Fred Weasley, studying his features. His eyes no longer had the mischievous glint it was known for. His smile was not as wide, not as sincere. There were bags under his eyes - probably from the nightmares. People had different ways of coping.
Arthur and Molly Weasley like to hold each other when they were having a bad night. Harry Potter liked to fly, as high as he could manage, with his broom. Hermione Granger loved to read. Ron Weasley indulged in sweets. George Weasley worked on the joke shop. Ginny Potter took hot baths in the middle of the night. Bill Weasley looked at the moon, and Fleur Weasley enjoyed playing the piano. Charlie Weasley watched the dragons.
Y/N liked stargazing, and, it so happened, so did Fred Weasley. He sits beside her, their bodies touching ever so slightly.
The outskirts of the Burrow was a beautiful place to be. Molly, bless her soul, insisted that she stay with them after the war because she was family, and Molly needed her family right now. Maybe she did, too.
“I miss him,” she tells him, as she often did whenever they were together - in this exact, same place. She thought of it as their spot - something only she and Fred shared.
Sirius Black, who was as close to a father that she had, died protecting her. Harry, brave, kind, Harry, always told her that it was not her fault - his death was not her doing. She never believed him, of course. He was a good liar, after all.
“I know,” Fred says, “I miss him.” They do not need words to know who the other is talking about. Fred misses Percy Weasley. Like Sirius Black, Percy died saving his brother - his own blood and bone.
Somehow, their hands find each other, as they usually do. They stare at the sky for a while before curiosity overtakes her with a question she’s been wanting to ask for quite some time, but never really knew how.
“Why do the stars comfort you?” She asks him quietly. She feels his thumb rub across the back of her hand.
“You always look at them with me. See that one?” She asks him, pointing to a bright star. “That’s Sirius. It helps when I look at it. Do the stars remind you of Percy?”
“No,” he tells her, kissing her hand softly.
“Why do the stars comfort you, then?” She demanded, looking at him. She’s shocked. For a moment, just a short moment, she saw his eyes - the exact, same ones that she missed so much. It bloomed, if only for a short while, with a mischievous glint that was all-too familiar. If only a moment, she felt like they were 17 again when the world was simpler and happier and she was her and Fred was Fred. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to go back.
He remains quiet, looking at her, and she begins to question herself. She might have stepped on forbidden ground. She may have hit a nerve - she didn’t know. It was difficult to walk through a field of mine bombs without one exploding. “I’m so sorr-”
“Not the stars,” Fred says, almost shyly, and it takes him a few seconds before he finds his voice, “you.”
“Oh,” she says, unable to comprehend exactly why he would say that. Her cheeks begin to redden, and she holds his hand a little bit tighter - she was afraid that he might just slip away.
A long, comforting silence overtakes them as they look at the night sky. As the sun begins to rise, he tells her, “I love you. I hope that’s okay.”
She smiles at him reassuringly, and they watch the sunrise in silence. She realizes, then, that it wasn’t the stars - maybe it never was.
The first time Fred tells her that he loves her, it’s in the beautiful, peaceful outskirts of the Burrow. ———-
They move in together after six months of being a couple. The nightmares were too hard to handle on their own. Fred’s are worse than hers, and there are nights when she has to hold him until he falls asleep again. She doesn’t mind, though, because sometimes she hugs him so tight that his bones may break, and his breathing reminds her that he’s alive, and he won’t be going anywhere. Some days are harder than others, and sometimes Fred doesn’t go to work because she’s afraid that he won’t come home.
Other nights are better than most. They get nice dreams instead of complete, solid darkness. Dreams, Fred admits, that usually involve her and small, tiny feet. Within the course of their relationship, not once did she ever tell him that she loved him back. He makes an effort to tell her as often as he can, but she only kisses him on the cheek and smiles. It was worrying sometimes.
One night, as they are lying in bed, during one of her bad days, Fred tells her about what once happened during his school days. She’s heard the story countless times before, though. She seems distracted, as she usually was on the worst days. He makes an effort to make her smile, and she makes an effort to do so for him.
“I love you,” she tells him mid-speech, “so much.”
He’s smiling now, the biggest smile he could manage, and he’s holding her a little bit tighter, and he kisses her a little bit longer. “Okay,” he replies, and she smiles back at him.
The first time she tells him that she loves him - they’re at home, in their beds, and one of her worst nights quickly becomes one of the best. ——-
Things were easier after that. Fred’s broken pieces fit perfectly into hers. She smiled again, and so did he - his old, wonderful smile. She remembers the first time she sees it again - she remembers almost crying. She remembers hugging him even tighter because he’s back, oh Merlin, he’s back, and she won’t let him slip away.
Spending every day with her has been nothing short of wonderful. Sure, they had bad days - every couple did - but they somehow got through them. Fred loved her, with all the love he could give. He loves the way she would hold him so tight that sometimes he bruises. He loves the way she smiles because she smiles so wide that her eyes disappear. He loves her laugh because it’s loud and contagious and wonderful.
They grow back together - they become happy again. She doesn’t say it very often, but he knows that she loves him back just as much. He can feel it when she holds him at night, he can feel it in her touch, he can feel it in her gaze. Home is a place in her heart. Home is cuddling up to her in bed while she’s reading a book and home is wrapping his arms around her waist. Home is eating breakfast in silence. Home is holding her hand when they walk. Home is her telling him that she loves him. Home is her.
Home is where the heart is. And every man needed a home.
Eternity didn’t seem so long if it meant being with her. He looks at her, with her hair a mess and streaks of ruined eyeliner on her face. Morning glories rested themselves on her eyes, and her teeth had some bits of broccoli. He wouldn’t mind waking up to the sight everyday.
“Marry me,” he tells her and it takes her by surprise. Her coffee mug stops midway to her mouth, and her heart is beating against her chest.
“Okay,” she tells him after a few moments of stunned silence, as if it was an everyday answer to an everyday question. “I’ll marry you,” the words rolled off her tongue.
“Okay,” he tells her and she smiles at him. There is no long declaration of unending love. It was very simple, as if he just asked her to go out for coffee with him later today. To be honest, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
This was theirs. Every item, every inch of space held a memory so beautiful it could be a painting. Every tile gave her comfort. She did not need every man and woman walking in Diagon Alley to know about their love. What she needs is him when they first moved in, and he wanted to carry the heaviest items, and it ended up falling on him. What she needs is him when they decided that they wanted to live in Muggle London because some time from the Wizarding World would do them good. What she needs is him dancing with her until 3 in the morning in the living room, him singing to her on the worst days.
What she needs is him holding her because she dreamed that Voldemort killed him and he killed her family. What she needs is the Fred looking at her right now, just woken up from a fitful sleep, as if she was the most beautiful woman to walk on this planet.
What she needs is a Fred Weasley that she wakes up to every morning and sleeps next to every night, a Fred Weasley that loves her and wants to marry her. What she needs is Fred Weasley, with all his faults and imperfections.
He asked her because he needs her.
She said yes because she needs him.
They’re going to make it because they need each other. ———-
It was odd, to know that there was a life growing inside of her. She and Fred had been married for five years now and have been trying for a baby for one. She put a hand on her abdomen, feeling fear and happiness at the same time.
She had her suspicions earlier today when she had vomited out her entire breakfast. Fred wanted to stay with her, to see if she was sick - take care of her if she was, but she knew that he and George were working on a big project, and they needed all the time they could get. She declined his offer, and ushered him out of the house, telling him that she loved him and kissing him on the cheek.
She didn’t know how to tell him. She’d figure something out, she’s sure. She is a Weasley, after all.
She wondered if it was he or a she. She wondered if it would have Fred’s eyes. She wanted it to have Fred’s smile, though, and maybe his hair. She’d be very happy if he’d get her eyes. She would be the best mother. And Fred would be the best father and they would be the best family.
“Hi, sweetheart,” called Fred from the living room, “I’m home.”
She walked to him, and gives him a peck, knowing what she wanted to do. “Hi, home,” she grinned, “I’m pregnant.”
It took him a few minutes to respond, to analyze the information. But when he did, he smiled wider than he ever did, and kissed her gently, smiling against her lips, “Hi, pregnant…. I’m Dad.”
She smiled at him and put her arms around his neck and he spun her around, laughing and singing and shouting.
Then, without the other knowing, they both promised their child a happy home, filled with love and understanding, without the horrors that they had to face in their own youth. They promised their child that it would never be as broken as they were - they promised their child a happier, safer world than the one they lived in.
And they promised themselves that they would love each other until their dying day, until their hearts stopped beating and their lungs gave out - and probably even after then. ———-