#birds writing snippets

[oh-no-its-bird]

8k words on uchiha houhua au ch 1,,, so fucking close,,,

[theanonymousninja247]

Birds

A small project dedicated to @sophiacloud28 and her story “A Shot in The Dark.” And inspired by this comment I was able to snag from her

I had so many thoughts and feelings working on this project, but the symbolism behind just birds and freedom in particular wouldn’t leave me alone. And you know what they say about a picture is worth a thousand words? Well here’s my attempt of a thousand words. So I present Miss Estrella as the Twite Bird

Flower meanings in Floriography

Iris: Valor, Wisdom, Faith

Ivy: Fidelity and Attachment

Picture progress because without fail, I always like the “before’” the actual final 😆

[aalinaaaaaa]

Proud of Tag

Thank you @karkkidoeswriting for the tag!

Premise: Post a snippet you've written that you're proud of/pleased by and tag some people!

This snippet derives from a certain angsty pining scene that exists in my files and in splinters on my blog 😅

—

He took another step backwards, his resolve ebbing. “I assure you that’s not the case, at all.” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Then why wish for things to be switched? You should be fortunate to have emerged unscathed.” “Unscathed?” He scoffed. “Do you know how it felt like being forced to watch you have that wretched poison shoved down your throat? Watching as you shivered, screamed and convulsed on the ground, eventually knocked cold to the point you went still? I thought I lost you. Of all the ways, it had to go like this.” “Don’t remind me.” “Eshani Faison,” His voice took a harsher tone, yet wavered. “You have easily got to be the most impulsive, reckless, self-sacrificial person that I have ever met. You are stubborn beyond words, your interference infuriates me, I-“

—

Sending tags to @jev-urisk @space-writes @winterandwords @frostedlemonwriter @bardic-tales @inkednotebook @illarian-rambling @tryingtimi @thecomfywriter plus an open tag to share your favourite lines!

Obsidian Sapphires plus General taglist (ask, comment, message me if you'd like to be added or removed): @mr-orion @the-ellia-west @guessillcallitart @thereadingfoz @glassstardust22124 @honeybewrites @ashirisu @drowsy-quill @oliolioxenfreewrites @theglitchywriterboi @did-i-do-this-write @threeking @seastarblue @gioiaalbanoart @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @outpost51

[prince-liest]

I needed a break from radiostatic, so instead I bring you: a different flavor of trainwreck waiting to happen!

[tracle0]

Snippet Sunday X

babes we reached 10 of them!!!! Here is a snippet to celebrate wahoo!

Wow,” he said. “That’s incredible. Why didn’t we notice anything was weird?”

“We did. We found the gods. But statistic wise… well, when did people realise you were a prophet?”

His steadily growing grin faltered. It was a hard question to answer - there was no one moment when anyone had known, least of all him. When he had been very young, both him and Cain had boldly assumed that some dreams would simply come true, which had resulted in a joint terror of coming home to find their parents replaced by overly zealous frilled lizards after Cain had had a nightmare about it. Perhaps his parents had begun to suspect when he had asked them about grand historical events or for clarity on complex, upcoming social issues he had no right to know about as a six year old. Or perhaps it had been when he had been seven, and had been able to repeat, word for word, the story his grandmother would tell at her upcoming birthday. It had been finally, quietly accepted when he was eight, after he pinpointed the exact grief his father had experienced when his uncle had died, and discussed obscure details of the time his mother had been bed-bound for two months with an aggressive strand of the flu with her, and when the cancer he had predicted three years prior had finally struck their cousin. 

“After every option has been exhausted,” he said instead. He was acutely aware of his hands. Why did they feel so present, so awkward? What did he usually do with them? Try the pockets. Hide them away. 

[crab-crab]

Scoop

I wrote sad now I present Happy. This is 100% based off the cutscene from Star Wars where Han just picks up Leia and sets her down while walking

The argument brewing between Time and Twilight had been days in the making. 

They had stopped in a town in Legend’s Hyrule, everyone happy to finally be off their feet when everything went downhill. There was shouting from down the hall and Warriors had left to go make sure everything was alright. 

Everything was evidently not alright Sky thought as he heard a door slam open and then closed, heavy steps pounding down the hallway followed by the door opening again with a strained Twilight!

Ever the peacekeeper, Sky stood and hurried away from the rest of the chain. He had just rounded the corner and caught sight of the Rancher storming towards him when he was scooped up under the arms.

Sky barely got out a muffed squeak before he was set back down to the side, out of Twilight’s way, and was greeted by the sight of the Rancher’s retreating figure.

“He moved you like a sack of feed” Wild hummed as he reached Sky’s side and watched along with the Chosen as Twilight finally disappeared outside of the inn. Legend appeared on the other side of Sky with a slow whistle and a glance back at where the Rancher had come from

“Best not get in his way anymore, he’ll just move you.”

—---------

Sky was getting very tired of being moved.

The argument between Twilight and Time had been one thing, Twilight was one of -if not- the strongest among them so it made sense that he could easily lift the smaller members.

Warriors, however, looked like a stiff breeze on Skyloft could blow him over some days.

Sky had tried to stop the Captain from storming out of the academy, saying that he could instead go to one of the other areas where it was safer but no!

Just as Sky had stepped forward to try to placate the Captain he had been scooped up under the arms again and set aside while the older man had disappeared around the corner. 

It was suspiciously quiet behind him

“Oh Golden Goddesses even the Captain can move you”

Sky turned to see Legend looking as if he’d seen the Master sword suddenly talk. Eyebrows hidden in his hair, eyes wide, and mouth dropped open. The other Links were in similar states of surprise.

“Sky come here I wanna see if I can lift you too!” Wild shot up and started heading for the Chosen.

“No!” Sky screeched when Wild dove for him and he jumped back, keeping away from the Champion’s hands.

Legend was wheezing, head planted on the table, and fist banging on the wood as he cackled. Wind had joined in on chasing Sky around and Four seemed to be looking between Sky and Legend with an intense expression, eyes flashing violet.

Another screech made Sky stop long enough to see Legend held up by Four, the Smithy grinning.

“Looks like your lightness runs in the family” He hummed as Legend thrashed about and spit curses.

Sky had enough time to laugh before being scooped up again and glaring down at a smiling Champion.

“You’re so scoopable!” He cackled and Sky heaved a sigh as the realisation settled on his shoulders.

This would not be the last time that he would be bodily moved out of the way.

[corviiids]

For the director's cut fanfic thing: ⭐⭐⭐ (these are THREE stars valid for whatever. I'm giving you blank checks)

thank you again <3

blank check 2/3 goes back to as you like it again! but this time i want to talk about my shadow designs for the akechi bossfights we've encountered in the preceding chapters >:3 there are five - the Puppet, the Singer, the Bard, the Dancer, and the Magician.

but this got really ABSURDLY long this time so ill stick to mostly the Puppet, and just do a brief ("brief") overview of the others for now.......

(for context: this is my palace au and akechi's keywords are akechi goro, the world, theatre.)

the Puppet (photos of giant puppets below if that freaks you out!)

the first Wing the thieves encounter is the puppet show, and the boss shadow is a giant marionette:

For one thing, it’s huge—maybe three or four times the size of a human being. It’s also gleaming, carefully polished and buffed, reflecting light more viciously in the areas where it seems the wood might be chipped or worn. The polish throws the lines of joints and pieces into sharp relief, giving the puppet the general impression of something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails. Behind it, mostly concealed by its limp bulk, is a door. As they might have gleaned from the chatter of the audience, the show does not yet seem to have begun. As such, the puppet on stage is limp on its strings. Most disturbingly, it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks. They can just make out the side of the thing’s eyes from where they’re standing. Gravity has not been kind to them: the puppet’s eyelids are dropped open, bulging eyes left wide and staring up as far back as the build will let them. They haven’t rolled all the way into the wooden skull, presumably because they can’t. Instead, the unseeing yellow eyes remain fixed on the back corner of the stage. The puppet is entirely still. “I think I’m going to be sick,” Makoto says faintly.

i think the Puppet is my favourite of the five because he's so disturbing. i imagine he looks a bit like the giant marionettes by the french street theatre show royal de luxe:

but i really love these guys, so i think it's uncharitable to say akechi's shadow looks exactly like them. i know giant puppets are always a little freaky but i genuinely love the royal de luxe puppets and i think the workmanship on these does genuinely do a ton of work to dispel that uncanny vibe.

puppet akechi on the other hand is absolutely drenched in uncanny valley, so i guess imagine these puppets but much scarier. the main thing is those places where different pieces of wood are joined, in the joints / on the limbs / etc, because that's very key to puppet akechi's look in my mind, hence "something whole that had been cut up and pieced slowly together with hinges and nails". the Puppet is a marionette, but the way he's been constructed and set up on stage almost calls to mind the imagery of a corpse that's been reconstructed to perform. the way he moves is really unnatural:

Ren is beginning to think they might be able to get past and slip through that door without a fight when the whole creature rears up, back strings going taut, and lashes wildly out at him with a horrible clack of its arms—he leaps back and crashes directly into Haru, who catches and dips him like a princess before twirling him frantically into Ryuji and the puppet gouges a deep gash in the stage floor.    As they watch it screeches, howls an unnatural shriek, eyes suddenly wide and bulging larger. They ‘blink’ a few times, eyelids flipping, then the puppet Akechi goes limp on its strings again, though decidedly more upright than before, like whoever’s pulling the strings is now on guard. Its eyes stay open this time, bright gold and piercing.

very much not like something exercising its own agency, but like a body on strings being operated by someone who did not care to practice in the artistry of operating a puppet to make it look like a live thing - the puppet is literally just a tool to be flailed about.

this also shows in the way the puppet sits when it's at rest. guys do you know how god damn hard it is to find normal pictures of puppets? when you google marionette it just comes up with a bunch of fnaf shit. anyway check this guy out

at rest, they usually just kind of dangle innocently, or might slouch forward if given too much slack, right? it was important to me that puppet akechi look very wrong at rest, as if he's not "at rest" so much as he's just been left to hang. hence: "it’s draped backward, not forward, snapped unnaturally at the spine and giving it the extremely uncanny look of a corpse on uneven ceiling hooks." i'm basically imagining meat hooks, like, in a slaughterhouse or something you know? like he's just dangling from those.

that imagery was inspired by persona 5 dancing, actually - akechi's finishing pose in his dance is this:

this is just such an unnatural pose. when i saw it for the first time, i just couldn't get the image out of my head of a string puppet who'd been hung up and left to dangle without any regard for how it might look or feel (lol). not to mention that blank look in his eyes. i think a lot of the Puppet was born from this dance because the dance itself is so dynamic and silly but then the lead-up to the end suddenly gets very jerky and puppet-like. i really like his dance!

the Puppet's battle mechanic is that the applause will continue as long as the Puppet is either acting or getting hurt (kind of like the mettaton fight in undertale actually?). if the applause stops, then the Puppet will be inflicted with Despair - in p5 the Despair effect means you lose SP for each turn and then instantly die on the third turn. makoto ends up healing the Puppet and yusuke mercy-kills it before it can commit suicide:

Fox silently raises his gun. The Thieves collectively flinch as the Puppet dissipates. The applause starts back up. “If we’d left things silent,” Yusuke says, “it would have only happened again.”

because this is the first shadow bossfight the thieves encounter in the Theatre, i needed it to have some broader implications (vs some of the later shadows who have more specific interactions). so obviously the analogue for akechi is that the performance needs to continue and he needs to continue receiving acknowledgement from the public / from shido / etc because if he's not useful and entertaining and noticeable and such, then he's nothing - his life doesn't mean anything. obviously, if he doesnt perform for shido (perform in the sense of working, but also in the sense of showmanship) he'll probably be killed. but also, akechi really externalises his sense of self to an insane degree. the conceit of the palace is essentially that his entire internal world is the show, it's just this shallow performance, the backstage is empty. if he stops existing in the cognition of the masses, he essentially "stops existing".

i think a lot about third semester akechi in royal and how completely he's faded from public awareness. he doesn't care because he's a dead man walking and has locked into nihilism at that point. but if you look at what akechi says in the engine room:

his voice when he says this says a lot to me. akechi's envisioning the world as it will look when he has to return and face the consequences of the world discovering what's behind the curtain and realising his credibility was all a show. to be honest, i think this also plays a role in his decision to sacrifice himself in this scene. i don't think he wanted to die, but i think he did realise that the post-thieves, post-truth world wasn't a place that held anything for him anymore, and his desire to return to that reality was dramatically weakened, so it was an easier decision for him to choose to make that sacrifice than it otherwise might have been.

um, i had a point. okay, so, i was saying that once the applause stops, the Puppet begins to despair. the Puppet also is the most direct representation of akechi as someone who is being used. all the shadow bosses correlate to some aspect of akechi's need to perform and to the varying reasons why they all have that sense of desperation:

“Kinda feels like they’re just defendin’ themselves, you know,” [Ryuji] says. “Or somethin’. Look too much like him. It’s weird they can’t talk, cos it’s like fighting a dumb animal. Don’t they all seem real scared to you?” None of Akechi’s Shadows have delivered grand speeches about conquering the world. Even Futaba’s Shadow had given them a fairly strong indication of what was going on with her, that overwhelming guilt which had given birth to a resolve to lock herself up in her mind and die. Akechi’s Shadows have lashed out, tried to destroy them, sure. But it feels different in a way that’s growing more and more impossible to ignore. Desperate to fend them off, more than anything, like each one is the final bastion standing for a world that could crumble at any moment.

that's why once you figure out how to stop each shadow's "show" from going on, they instantly die:

ripping the Singer's mask off causes him to cease to exist (see below)

silencing the Bard, who relies on the power of his words to manipulate others, removes his power and reveals that he's pretty easy to take down

the Dancer's feet are always bleeding because he can't stop moving. he's hard to catch, but the moment he stops dancing, he's revealed to have extremely low defence and can be taken out very easily

but the Puppet is literally being manipulated by a puppetmaster. because he no longer has any use when the applause stops, he no longer has a reason to exist. i also just thought this would be a fun effect to start on because it's so drastic as an introduction to akc's psyche and really gives the thieves a sense of what they're working with by throwing them directly into the deep end.

ok let's leave the puppet behind for now. im gonna be more brief with the others i promise (maybe)

the Singer

LET'S TALK about. beneath the mask. a song about ren. but it's also a song about goro.

I'm a shape-shifter at Poe's masquerade Hiding both face and mind All free for you to draw

the fic goes over some of my meta about this:

[Yusuke] I have done some research. [Makoto] Oh? [Yusuke] I believe when the Opera Shadow sang of “Poe’s Masquerade”, he was referring to a short story by Edgar Allan Poe, entitled “The Masque of the Red Death”.

eternally grateful for the scene during the pyramid arc where yusuke loredumps about egyptian mythology so i have precedent to do this

yusuke summarises the story in this chapter (chapter 4), but basically: the story is about rich people abandoning the common folk to a plague, until a personification of the plague wearing a red mask enters the castle. when his mask is removed, it's revealed there is nothing underneath. everyone in the castle then succumbs to the plague.

the superficial connections to akechi are pretty obvious - red mask, plague doctor. etc. but this song is really, really telling for both ren and goro. i briefly went over this in my last dvd commentary post about the palace fic, but this relates to my meta around both of them as mask wearers. the line "all free for you to draw" is a big one - ren is "all free for you," the player, "to draw" - he becomes who you need him to be, and because you need to max out your confidants, he becomes (via you) who his friends need him to be.

goro is similar on a different scale because he moulds his personality to what the public expects him to be. he takes it one step further, because it's less utility for him and more foundational - as i said, to an extent the performance is the substance of his personality, which is the core of the distortion. so both ren and goro are wearing the mask, malleable in character, their actual personality being somewhat questionable, but that emptiness is only true for goro. ren's definitely got something underneath it, but goro feels like he doesn't.

brief cw for suicidal ideation, but i also generally take it as a given that goro doesn't really expect to live past 18 after defeating shido. not that he's actively suicidal, but i think literally or figuratively he knows after shido's downfall, his own life will pretty much be over, and that's part of what drives the emptiness. the show really only needs to go on until that point, and after that there's no need to build a real thing underneath to return to. he's very much living for that goal.

anyway: so the Singer starts out singing the Phantom of the Opera - the Shadow is very much modelled after the phantom - but swaps to beneath the mask and begins to connect with ren. the Singer wears a red mask. i really like this mask! i envision it as looking like someone pouring blood over his face and then the blood freezing in place, so it just looks very molten and liquid but fixed over half his face.

ren defeats the Singer by ripping his mask off:

[Ren] Please don’t take off my mask, revealing dark [Ann] OMG!! [Ann] THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED WHEN WE TOOK OFF HIS MASK!! [Ann] HE REVEALED DARK!!!! [Ann] HE DISAPPEARED!!!!!!!!!!

(i love the thieves because i dont have to be subtle about my symbolism i can just make them say it)

anyway, just like the figure in the Masque of the Red Death, ripping off the Singer's mask reveals "dark" underneath - he ceases to exist.

Just a cage of bones There's nothing inside

the Bard and the Dancer

when i was first plotting this fic, i was actually designing the palace not as a written environment but as though it would be a playable place. so a lot of it is informed by me picturing what this palace would be like to play through and explore, building it out as a video game environment in my mind's eye and then trying to describe it from that point. i took the same approach to the bossfights, so they're all designed around central gameplay mechanics which are largely based on status effects and how the player would strategise around them. (to that end, a lot of the design stuff in my doc never made it into the fic...)

the conceit of the bard was a shadow who can manifest abstract concepts into being by manipulating reality with his words. so the status effects he uses are brainwash and sleep, mostly. his monologues are modified versions of shakespeare's works.

part of the reason why i started writing this fic was specifically to challenge myself in aras of writing im not very confident in: so longform planning, progression of plot, environment description, and action scenes being major ones. writing all the boss fights was and continues to be a real challenge. the chapter that the bard shows up in (chapter 5) ended up taking ages and ages in part because i kept putting off writing this fight. now that it's done, though, the bard fight is actually maybe my favourite fight scene i've written lol. it always turns out that way!!! the reason i like it is because i realised the physical action wasn't the fun part of writing a fight like this. since it was focused on status effects, it meant i got to crawl into ren's headspace when he got brainwashed, which i really really enjoyed doing because i got to drag out some trauma that joker has lovingly repressed.

   to set my fellows, phantoms in the wings    in deadly hate the one against the other…    This isn’t the Casino. This is somewhere else entirely. The Casino, and everything that came with it, that was months ago. How did he forget? The cottonwool that had crept so slowly into his blood dissipates in a mad rush that leaves him dizzy with disbelief. His hands, now that he can feel them again, are trembling. The knife between his fingers, trembling. The cool floor beneath him, the air in his lungs. How close had he come to never feeling that again?    Had he really just been feeling safe about that plan? Had he really felt everything was going to be okay? If anything had gone wrong—anything at all—he’d have been gone. He’d have been dead. How had they made it so he felt okay with that?    A trick? A ruse?    How blasé they’d all been, when it was his life they were gambling with like a worthless set of poker chips! And they’re here—all around him. Safe? He’s never been in more danger.    “Joker!”    Surrounded. He’s surrounded by the ones who left him for dead.

the Dancer doesn't get as much attention in text because i didn't want to slow down the pacing of the story every few minutes to do another huge scene tgat doesn't really serve a purpose, just like the exploration of the Globe Wing didn't. all that mattered was that he was shown to be adaptable, agile, and resilient - the Dancer needs to be in top condition at all times and ready to dodge any threat. the imagery that came through to me the strongest was the idea that his feet are always bleeding, so he leaves bloodstains all over the floor.

the Magician

this was another scene i adored writing. i think environment-wise, the House of Cards is my favourite Wing in the palace because it's the most unique structure. it's not a styled theatre like the others, it's more on-theme to the Magician, like he's set up his own performance environment. so it's just a huge house of cards made of crumbling playing cards which is really difficult to navigate and which joker kind of blends into.

the premise for the Magician was someone who needs to perform miracles and present impossible illusions as reality with a flair for drama. the Magician fools the Thieves over and over and over again, because they are good-hearted people who want to save him.

did you ever see that unused mementos request in royal where akechi tells the thieves about a target to save someone, and doesn't tell them that the someone in question is dodgy themself, and watches to see how quickly the Thieves immediately trust them?

i don't think i based this fight off this request because im pretty sure i had it planned out before i ever saw this, but i was really pleased to see it because it's very much the same idea. even in the engine room, akechi calls the thieves idiots for inviting him back into the team. of course, this isn't a good or healthy worldview lol and it's something he has to unlearn because he literally trusts no one and that's not an extreme anyone should be endorsing, but he also has a point in that the thieves are willing to throw their faith into things way too easily and don't look critically at people or situations. so the magician fools them, victimises them, tricks them into considering him a victim, fools them again, traumatises them, but they all continue to feel empathy for him and try to save him when he's in trouble. akc's cynicism vs the thieves' faith is a big theme of this one i think and the question is like, when to doubt vs when to trust even when you have evidence to the opposition. i think the right position is somewhere between thesis and antithesis (which iirc is not actually the wording hegel used when describing dialectics? lol... i might be wrong. i never studied hegel so my knowledge is pretty superficial. but i think this was a translation thing anyway because allegedly goro doesnt refer directly to hegel in jp? someone can confirm or deny idk)

anyway those are the bossfights we've had so far!!! just the VIP Box to go now......................... :3

[embers-writes]

Trick or treat!

You get a snip of the sore must be the storm sequel that I will one day make enough progress on to start posting. The WIP title in my docs is, in keeping with the theme, that could abash the little bird Trick or Treat Fic Game

“Dick,” Bruce breathes. “I thought – but how is this possible?”

The chance that Dick can keep this secret for any serious length of time is near zero. But Bruce’s face is alight with a wonder, a naked happiness for Dick that has been absent since – he doesn’t know. Since before Jason died, at least. Maybe since Dick was Robin.

He can’t spoil that with the truth. Not now.

“Well, it wasn’t any medication or treatment I tried, that much I can tell you,” Dick says, letting a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. “I gave up on those years ago.”

“But then when... who?”

The art of lying to Bruce isn’t carefully crafted statements. Most of the time, it’s not saying anything at all.

Dick lets his body do what it wants. His expression shutters, his shoulders hunch, everything becoming closed off. Letting it be made plain how much he doesn’t want to answer that question.

He can smell in the worry and care that enters Bruce’s scent that Bruce is filling in the blanks on his own.

[glupblorbo]

AU Masterlist

masterlist of my AUs because one (1) homie told me to do so when I asked and that’s the extent of my impulse control

updated 10-15-24

The Owl House

the lightless places inside - Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Series (Longfic), Hunter-centric, Raine-centric, Nonlinear Narrative, Canon Divergence, Cult Recovery, Ace Hunter This one is my babygirl <3 Basically, Belos’s whole “worship the Titan and follow me xoxo” thing never got a whole lot of traction across the Isles, and so at the time this starts, the Emperor’s Coven is just a small cult based on the Tail. Hunter has been raised as the Golden Guard and the Titan’s Hand, and is well aware that he’s a grimwalker. This AU starts a month or two after the coven was captured, with Belos imprisoned and Hunter being sent to Eda’s house to help adapt to normal life after his first placement doesn’t work out. Very heavy focus on religious trauma and guilt, lot of survivor’s guilt stuff too; this fic is very much about healing and how that’s not a linear process and how it can often suck. Plenty of Steve in this one too because his and Hunter’s friendship is everything to me <3 Oh also Hunter’s missing an eye in this.

don’t give my god rubies - Mature, Creator Chose Not to Use Warnings, Modern AU, Hunter-centric, Pittwins, Road Trip, Ace Hunter, Religious trauma out the wazoo My very self-indulgent Mormon!Hunter-raised-in-the-Deep-South AU. Very much a nod to queer youth who grew up in the Southeast US, particularly those who grew up in very conservative and very religious environments—very much the story I would’ve wanted to read as a kid. Pretty much all of my works hc Hunter as trans, but it’s very much a core theme of this one as Hunter is coming to terms with his identity outside of Philip’s scheme of influence. Also Philip is running for Sheriff (again), which...yeah. Hunter has A Time in this one !

take the dreams down and stick them in storage - Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, Multi-chapter, Hunter-centric, Luz-centric, Pittwins, Canon Divergence AKA the one where Belos doesn’t possess Hunter and the Hexsquad doesn’t find the rebus, so everyone ends up stuck in the Human Realm. Hunter is...surprisingly okay with this. Everyone else is...less okay. It’s not a fun time.

and all turns to silver glass - Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Longfic, Hunter-centric, Alternating POVs, Medieval Fantasy, Hunter & Amity Besties Agenda, Aroace Hunter, Lumity, On Hold This one’s going to be LONG, just warning y’all in advance. The gist of the plot is that Hunter, as Belos’s best knight, is well-aware there’s a fair chance he’ll never be more than the emperor’s hound, and he’s more than okay with that, even if his best friend, a necromancer prodigy by the name of Amity Blight, and the renegade seer he was sent to bring in for questioning recently try to convince him otherwise. But something is brewing beneath the city as his uncle’s heralded Day of Unity draws nearer, and Hunter will have to figure out where his priorities really lie before it’s too late.

the sound of the demon calling you home - Teen, Creator Chose Not to Use Warnings, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Longfic, Hunter-centric, Hunter has Religious OCD, On Hold In essence, this fic is basically Caleb stuck in Hunter’s mind and offering his commentary on various shit our bad but sad boy finds himself going through—except this commentary definitely impacts his actions and thus canon. Feat.: Hunter’s abject terror of Hooty, Belos being a bitch, Hunter having panic attacks, Caleb being a little bit of a dick before character growth, and more!

the devil’s after both of us - Teen, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Series, Hunter-centric, Raine-centric, Star Wars Universe, Droid!Flapjack In this one, Hunter’s served as the Grand Inquisitor over his emperor’s Inquisitorius for a while now, and he’s currently trying to track down a Jedi by the name of Eda Clawthorne. Meanwhile, Raine Whispers is trying to keep hold of what little remains of their identity after being forced into a new role as the Third Sister’s apprentice—a task that becomes increasingly more difficult as the Empire’s hold on the galaxy tightens to a chokehold.

slip away to stardust - WIP, Unpublished, Roleswap AU, Hunter goes to the Human Realm, Belos Finds Luz First, Hunter Gets a Hug for once Hunter succeeds in securing the Owl Lady’s portal—at least, he does until it opens and he ends up in the woods of a place called Connecticut and entrenched in the terrifying ordeal of being known via therapy. Luz, meanwhile, hopes her teacher will accept “getting stuck in a portal fantasy world and trying to help the human emperor also get home” as an excuse to turn her essay in late.

someone has to be the tomb-keeper - Teen, Series, Hunter-centric, Belos-centric, Sigilless!Hunter, Fuck ton of religious imagery Here, Belos didn’t brand Hunter with the coven sigil, as he believed Hunter would be of better use as an unwitting spy once his inevitable betrayal took place—and, of course, this saves the grimwalker most like Caleb from the fate of the other witches. This changes both everything, and nothing.

Star Wars

small birds where their hearts should be - Teen, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Longfic, Sabine Wren-centric, Leia Organa-centric, Ezra Bridger-centric, Dark, Emperor Vader, Sith Leia Organa, Sith Luke Skywalker Ezra is the last of the Jedi. Because of a series of mistakes on a recent extraction, he attracts the attention of the emperor’s daughter, who’s been told to find the last of the Jedi and bring them home if she wishes to regain her honor and standing in the imperial court. Sabine, meanwhile, is tired of the constant fleeing from the Empire and is ready to make a final stand—except she wasn’t expecting to find herself feeling anything but hatred for the Sith hunting her, Tristan, and Ezra down, much less pity.

the inversion of selves, the different skin - Teen, Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, Series, Werewolf AU, Star Wars Universe, Tristan Wren-centric, Sabine Wren-centric, Ghost Crew Sabine and Tristan Wren are me’gaan’ade, moonchosen, and can shift into the form of wolves. After escaping his capture by Gar Saxon, Tristan reunites with his sister and has to not only contend with his complex emotions regarding her and his trauma from time with Saxon, but also decide how much trust he’s willing to instill in Sabine’s new companions.

death, twice: first the body and then the heart - WIP, Unpublished, Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, Trizra, Faerie AU, Ghost Crew, Dark, Ezra Stays Alive Wrong Ezra left for Faerie six years ago in order to find his mentor, Kanan. He’s returned now—though he’s done so empty-handed. He’s left contending with not only his own guilt over the failure and the disappointed expectations from Hera and Jacen, but also trying to mend his relationship with Tristan who, like everyone else, did his best to move on once it seemed certain Ezra wouldn’t be coming home. And even if he’s back physically, the Ezra who left isn’t the same who returned, not in the slightest.

a person-shaped emptiness - Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Trizra, Imperial AU, Inquisitor!Ezra, Dark, Slow Burn but not really Tristan and Ezra grew up attending the imperial academy together, bonding quickly—and maybe more than the average cadet—despite the Empire’s best wishes. One morning, Tristan wakes to find Ezra gone without a trace, and no one will even acknowledge his existence. Years later, Ezra slips back into Tristan’s quiet life as an ensign—and he refuses to acknowledge what happened, too.

No Need for Open Roads - Mature, Series, Western AU, Werewolf AU, Historical AU, Ghost Crew, Kanera, Co-written with @lessattitudemorealtitude Ezra Bridger and Sabine Wren find a home in grizzled Pony Express stationmaster Kanan Jarrus, and all is well—until a war brings a halt to the mail and danger to their doorstep. Now, Kanan has to dredge up old memories and make unexpected allies if he wants to bring Ezra home alive.

The Sheridan Tapes

post tenebrus lux - Teen, No Archive Warnings Apply, TOH Universe, Sam Bailey-centric, Bill Tyler-centric, Ned Leroux-centric, Grimwalker!Sam Bailey, Basilisk!Ned Leroux, Human!Anna Sheridan Sam Bailey, fresh out of a job now that the emperor has decided he’s better off dead than serving as the Golden Guard, finds himself turning to the very witches he previously condemned in order to stay alive. Meanwhile, Bill Tyler, Captain of the God-king’s Coven, finds himself digging into secrets better left alone as someone who is very much Not Sam Bailey appears in the palace a week later claiming to be the Golden Guard.

you can think about forgiveness later - Teen, Major Character Death, Series, Star Wars Universe, Sam Bailey-centric, Bill Tyler-centric, Mandalorian!Maria Sol, Mercenary!Sam Bailey, Annamaria Sam Bailey is hired, along with partner Bill Tyler, to tie up loose ends on a disappearance of one Anna Sheridan. The only issue is that the group hiring them apparently pose a significant conflict of interest to Sam.

[nostomannia]

"You're leaving?"

There wasn't a reply. 

"You… You're not, right?"

Silence. 

Solita’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton. She couldn't swallow. She couldn't breathe. Her body shook uncontrollably. Deity wouldn't look at her. 

"But-"

"It's not over, is it?" 

"I thought that was the fate you wanted?" The question they gave her made her feel ill. "It means you're free now." 

"Can- can you stay a little longer..?"

"The other night. When you completed that job, that was the final push I needed. I waited already. I waited until you recovered some, and that you were out of any consequences. I cannot linger any longer. I stayed because our… partnership deserves a proper departure." 

She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. "Not like this. Please." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I thought you'd never let me be alone."

They were silent for a moment. It was a moment that felt like an eternity. They then reached out, brushing a hand over her hair. Solita felt a sob growing in her chest.

"All promises come to an end, Solita." Her chest hurt. She couldn't stop the shaking. Wordless babble came from her mouth as she reached up and grabbed Deity's hand with both of her own. Tears finally coming as she lost the words to be able to beg for them to stay.

She could have sworn she saw the grimace, then their face soften. They reached with their other hand to wipe tears off her face. "However, I'll leave you with a gift. As a final piece of gratitude, and a farewell. It will help you find peace. Possibly more, eventually."

"What-?" She squeaked out, barely able to finish her sentence before their hand moved from her cheek downwards, meeting her collarbone before it sank into her body.

She froze. They've done this before. When her body was slowly dying, they did this to deal with the problem within her souls. But somehow this felt different.  Then, came the deep agonizing pain. It felt beyond her own body. She wanted to scream. But it wouldn't leave her throat. What left instead was a torrent of blood. 

"Oh dear." Was all Deity said at first, using the hand that Solita was holding to keep her in place as she attempted to struggle away. "Apologies. I'm not used to my full power. I'll be gentler." 

She could only respond by sputtering and choking on blood. 

"This should do. I do not believe I can do more. It will eventually blossom on its own." As they let go of her, she collapsed, gasping and coughing out blood. They sighed with some disappointment. "Perhaps I should have practiced some before attempting this. I must get used to working with minute details again." 

They crouched down to touch her face, brushing stray hairs away. "One day you may come to appreciate this present. However, I cannot stay by your side to personally witness the day when you do." Her eyes were drooping, an exhaustion from whatever Deity had done taking over her senses. But she made one final attempt to beg for them to stay, grabbing the hand that touched her face. 

"Do not fret, child." Their voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I will still be keeping an eye on you. I may not be with you, but I will not forget." Their hand slipped from her grip, and she faded into unconsciousness before she could see them disappear.

[oh-no-its-bird]

Beautiful things happening in my corner of the world (aka my wip pile)

No one ask me how my other wips are going. Or ask if slash when I'll finish this one.

[triscribe]

Birds of Legend Intro ficlets 👀?

(Got the first two posted over here, working on a third installment now)

Goshawk and Kestrel found Tyra far faster than the time she’d put in trying to locate them. Granted, she wasn’t making any particular effort to hide, which certainly made a difference.

Two sets of boots thumped down onto the rooftop behind her. Tyra idly flipped her cards from one hand to the other, checking the last as it went. Two of Wands, contemplation, assessing the direction of one’s life. “::Say we might be interested in your offer::” Goshawk’s electronic voice rolled across the roof. “::What more can you tell us about being part of the Coalition?::”

“Plenty,” Tyra said, turning to lean back against the railing and look over the Birds. In daylight, no less. Their armored suits appeared no less intimidating when brought out of the shadows. “Musketeer could tell you our organization started out as an agreement between superpowered entities to put their commitment to saving lives higher than any national loyalty - mitigation of harm remains our number one priority, wherever in the world that takes us. Some members remain almost entirely based in their home territories; others travel extensively, going where emergencies require their help with no true homebase other than our Titans.”

Kestrel’s head tipped a little to one side. “::Titans?::”

“That’s what we call our submersed deployment centers. Two occupy the northern and southern halves of the Atlantic Ocean, four circle the Pacific, and six others occupy various other bodies of water. They’re all linked up in one teletransport loop, making it easier to instantaneously get around the planet and respond to threats as they happen.” And for the kicker- “I’m authorized to offer you both a tour of one, if you’d like to see.”

[dragoninabottle]

     When the Prince was a child, he took a part of his heart from out of his chest and buried it somewhere in the earth, never to see it again. 

     Or, at least, that’s what the stories say. The truth is much the same, and yet nothing at all alike. It goes like this: 

     The Prince was a child. And he felt too much, his father said. Too soft-spoken with the servants, too restrained in his strikes in training, too transfixed on watching blue skies and dancing stars, too many melodies spilling from his songbird lips, too much willingness to laugh, too much grief to hold in when his mother left died. 

     It’ll be better this way, his father had said. It will be easier. 

     It goes like this: 

     The Prince is a child. His father hands him the knife- His father holds the knife- His father holds him down- The Prince makes the cut- His father takes- 

     No one knows. No one speaks. Not where ears can hear. There are only whispered promises into children’s hair when they fall asleep and parents hold them close. There are only shared looks of muted horror between spouses while they sing their dear ones to sleep. 

     The Prince is not sung to sleep. He is not a child. (He does not sing anymore either, a black bird without a song.) 

     It goes like this: 

     The Prince is gentle–as gentle as one can be in a den of snakes–and then he isn’t. He isn’t cruel, exactly. But one day the Prince is heavy with grief yet soft, and the next he is heavy like stone and just as cold and hard. (No one speaks of the haunted cry that echoed in the night in between. No one speaks at all; they only clutch their children closer and beg for forgiveness like it’s a prayer.) 

     He grows the way only someone missing a part of their heart can. He grows cold and detached, feral in the wild untamed anger and pride and shame, but chained in plain disinterest and self-imposed isolation. No one can touch something that isn’t there, but nor can loneliness be felt when there’s nothing to feel it. There is only emptiness. 

     (But here is a truth the story leaves out: the Prince only lost part of his heart, and the half that remains screams in agony calls out in silence.) 

     It goes like this: 

     The Prince grows up and he is cold and dark. This is what some pain will do–turn you loud and quiet, turn you raging and still. But he grows all the same. He isn’t cruel, exactly. But he doesn’t sing, doesn’t watch the sky, doesn’t soften his words. The servants see his father in his eyes and he doesn’t change that. 

     Time moves on. 

---

     When Éabha was a child, she kept her heart in her chest time after time, cut after cut, and stitched it up by herself. 

     This isn’t a story that anyone tells. And so, there’s no saying whether it’s true or not.

[area51-escapee]

Brainrot so severe I gave a pair of my oc’s one of those cutesy shipping names that would trip up someone not familiar with them just because it fit them so well I start giggling and kicking my feet when I think about it

[aj-the-satyr]

The Bird and The Bull

Galvir froze and reached for the knife in his belt at the rustle of clothing in the dark. No one was supposed to know this place existed, but something stayed his hand and instead he gestured towards where he knew a lantern was hanging. There was a gasp as the room filled with a soft blue glow and Galvir beheld who had discovered his hidden room

“Y-your majesty.”

She smiled awkwardly. “My apologies for waiting here in the dark but I couldn’t figure out how to light that thing.”

“Only I can, your majesty. You are lucky I chose light over my blade.” He tapped the hilt of the knife.

“At least then I would be with Evangeline.” She sighed.

Galvir frowned. “That explains your visit. You are not convinced by the findings of the watch.”

“No.” She shook her head. “The watch couldn’t find its arse with both hands.”

Galvir smiled at the ease the Queen spoke with in his presence. “We should stop meeting like this, people will talk.”

“Really? I paid a scullery maid to follow you for two weeks until I discovered this place. I want our talk to be as private as possible.” “You suspect the King?”

A short, harsh laugh. “No. He is content with his hunts and his feasts. It is the court I do not trust.”

“And our meeting would be noted.” Galvir rubbed his chin. “So tell me, your majesty, what can this humble poet do for thee?”

“Humble poet is it now? I thought I had successfully tracked the spymaster to the crown.”

“Poetry is an art that requires much information.” He smiled.

“Is that so? Then, poet, tell me what do you think of what the Watch concluded?”

“That they were led around like a dog searching for scraps. They are content to deal with drunks, thieves and hooligans than the machinations of those in power.”

She sighed. “I want those responsible held accountable. Does your…. Poetic expertise potentially hold answers?”

Gallvir hung his head for a moment. “It might. There are…. There is a…. A pair of adventurers that have made their name on solving the impossible and untangling the stickiest of webs.”

There was a rustle of clothing as the Queen shifted position. “Really?” She leaned closer.

“Yes, but…. I am remiss to attempt to contact them.”

“Why? They sound perfect? Are they too well known? Would their renown make their helping impossible?”

It was his turn to laugh. “Nothing so simple your majesty.”

“Then what?” “The things they get involved with…. They tend to get messy.”

……………………

“Left or right?” rumbled the black furred minotaur.

“What?” Dak looked around nervously. The minotaur held him down in the chair easily.

“It’s a simple question, really.” chimed in the bird man without looking up from the book they were engrossed in.

“Left or right?” rumbled the Minotaur again.

“I…. what? Why?” Dak sputtered and squirmed against the iron grip to no avail.

“Left is then.” The minotaur reached over with his free hand and grabbed hold of Dak’s left wrist.

“What?! What?!” Dak struggled “What are you doing?”

“Breaking fingers until you tell us who paid you. Since you didn’t choose a hand to start with, I picked for you.”

Dak tried to move violently, shake himself free, but there was no use, the grip was solid, unyielding.

Slowly the minotaur engulfed Dak’s left hand in his own larger one.

“Please!” Dak sobbed. “They’ll kill me if I tell you.”

“They’re not here though are they? And Borvath here has…” The birdman paused and looked away from their book for a moment “About 102 bones to go through. You’ll talk, sooner or later.”

“Please! They threatened my daughter!” Dak slumped as much as the minotaur’s grip would allow him. “Please.”

The book closed with a SNAP. Dak jumped at the sound.

“Hmm….. I suppose that changes things. Borvath, let him go.”

There was a low rumbling but the minotaur did as asked. Dak spared no time in putting distance between them.

“I am sorry that you got involved in this mess, Dak. I wish you well.” He stood and stretched. “Oh well, time to follow other leads.”

“What other leads?” said Borvath glancing towards Dak, who recoiled as if struck. “He was it.”

“There are always other leads. Just like there are always other books.”

“Those things will be the death of you.” rumbled Borvath.

“So you say.” said the birdman as they left.

…

A short distance away Borvath rubbed his hands together before cracking his knuckles. “Well?”

Kokora tilted his head. “Far too easy, as usual. People always think of the thing they try to hide.”

Borvath chuckled. “And I’m the one they're always scared of.”

Before Kokora could answer a cloaked figure quite literally swept in front of the pair of them. Borvath slipped his hands to his sides, sliding on the reinforced half gloves he had for fighting. Kokora merely prepared his magicks.

“Hold” The cloaked figure held up his hands. “I am not here for a fight?”

“But clearly you're here for something.” said Kokora

“Do I have the pleasure of speaking to The Bird and the Bull?”

Borvath made a disgusted sound. “I hate that name.”

Kokora grinned. “But it is working.” He bowed briefly “Indeed you do, mysterious cloaked figure.”

“Good,” came the reply “The Queen of Fralldia requests you solve the murder of her favorite handmaiden.”

[kyber-crystal]

the albatross || f.w.

summary: the albatross is the largest bird that can go years without landing; they spend their first 6 years of life flying over the ocean before coming to the land to mate. It is capable of traveling more than 10,000 miles in a single journey and circumnavigating the globe in 46 days. (he's been up in the air his whole life, but is finally able to land when he falls in love with you: alt, 4 times everyone noticed he loved you, 1 time you noticed he loved you too)

words: ~4.1k

warnings: TOOTH-ROOTTING FLUFF, CLICHE, your usual stuff yk 

a/n: i’ve had that snippet above stuck in my notes for a year now and never made anything of it and thought hey i should do something about it. so here were are. also i can’t resist doing the 3x1/4x1/5x1 trope. its so superior. ngl tho writers block hit me kinda hard with this one so i struggled to finish…sorry in advance for my writing, idk how i feel ab the way this turned out 

add yourself to my hp taglist here!

one 

You were looking forward to today’s Transfiguration lesson. 

Up until this point, McGonagall had you continue practicing nonverbal spells; having them carry over from sixth year because she wanted to emphasize their importance. In addition to that, you were set to start learning how to transfigure tortoises into trumpets. It was bound to be a loud but entertaining affair.

“I need you all to remember to focus,” she reminded at the start of class, “and please, refrain from playing your trumpets should you manage to successfully transform your tortoise—I’m looking at you, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.”

“Aw, darn it,” you heard the twins chorus in defeat. 

“Now, you will first review what you have in your notes, then practice individually. You may begin.”

A small, dusty green tortoise appeared on your desk, causing you to crack a tiny smile. You heard students muttering the incantation from all around you as they attempted the spell, one of them yelping in pain when their tortoise bit their finger. 

“Careful, Longbottom,” the Professor warned. 

You shook your head and smiled to yourself, patting your tortoise on the head. It seemed to just sigh in response.

Several minutes went by before someone broke your focus, poking your shoulder. 

“Psst! Y/N!” 

“What?” you hissed under your breath, looking over your left shoulder at Lee. “What do you want?”

He shrugged and passed you a slip of parchment. “For you.”

“Okay…”

You unfolded the paper and peered closer, examining the signature scrawl of none other than Fred. 

You look gorgeous today, darling. And it’s quite distracting, if I’m being honest.

Scowling, you glanced over to see that Fred was shamelessly staring at you and shot him a pointed glare. He simply gave you a cheeky grin then looked back down. Scribbling out a snarky reply—I look gorgeous every day, you daft dimbo—you crumpled up the parchment and decided to chuck itat his head. Without sparing another glance, he reached up and smoothly caught it with one hand. 

You muttered to yourself under your breath and refocused your gaze on your work. 

Not even a few moments later, Lee was poking your shoulder again to signal that Fred had tossed the note back.

Your name is pretty, but it’d look prettier next to my last. 

You know what else would look pretty? My fist in your face. -your reply

The exchange continued on, with him sending flirty notes, and you replying with half-flirty, half sarcastic remarks. But just as you were about to aim at Fred’s head for the nth time—

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Weasley, what in Godric’s name are you two doing?” 

You froze in your spot. Professor McGonagall was standing right by your desk, note in hand with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed over her chest. “Er, I—”

“Is there anything you two would like to share with the class?”

“No, it’s—”

“Actually, Professor, there is,” Fred declared, standing up and marching over to where you were, taking the paper out of McGonagall’s hands and opening it. “Since she hasn’t gotten to read it yet, I shall.”

He cleared his throat and began to read. 

“I’d face the storm, the darkest night,

With reckless heart and blazing light.

No cursed spell, no shadowed door,

Could shake the love I hold in store.

For you, I’d charge, both fierce and true—

My greatest courage lives in you.”

The classroom erupted into giggles as he finished with a bow, grinning proudly. It felt like your face was up in flames, if it wasn’t already burnt to a crisp. If Fred looked equally flustered you couldn’t tell at all, and he was masking it with that stupid cheeky look of his. 

You were too mortified and focused on the possibility of receiving detention to notice that McGonagall was trying to hide her smile; taking away House points now in the very back of her mind. 

Flitwick owed her 10 sickles. 

two

“Oi! Y/N, wake up!”

Something fluffy smacked you straight across the face and you hissed in annoyance, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to identify your attacker.

“Okay, I’m—what the hell are you three doing in here? It’s 3 in the morning,” you grumbled. “If you get caught—”

“T’was Fred’s idea,” Lee said innocently and dropped the pillow, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! Why are you pinning all this on me? That’s not fair,” the older twin demanded. 

“Anyways, Y/N, the kitchens are empty.”

“No shit Sherlock, it’s the middle of the night. What do you all want?” you kept your voice down.

“We’re cooking up a storm tonight.”

“I hope you’re not referring to more Canary Creams?”

“No, we mean actual sweets,” Fred explained, taking your hand and pulling you out of bed. “Come on.”

The four of you crept down the staircase and through the halls as quietly as possible; George and Lee quietly talking to each other behind you while Fred remained by your side, hand still in yours. You were too tired and delirious to notice or care that he could’ve let go ages ago, but didn’t.

“Okay, we’re here,” George announced quietly and pushed open a grandiose, wooden door. 

The usually bustling kitchen was dead silent so that all you could hear were each other’s slow breaths. 

“Accio recipe,” Lee muttered quietly, and an old, worn maroon book came zooming towards him. He set it down onto the counter and propped it open, flipping through the pages and stopping on one particular recipe. “I hope you lot are up for some treacle tart.”

“I wish I could stay mad at you for smacking me in the face with that pillow, Lee,” you tried your hardest to suppress a laugh. “But you read my mind.”

��Okay then!” He clasped his hands, “let’s get to work.”

You picked one of the long wooden tables in the center of the room then got to work, quickly but efficiently rushing around the kitchen to collect what you needed. Fred rolled his sleeves up and leaned against the counter to watch you, in awe as you began measuring and pouring the ingredients with near-perfect accuracy.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help?” you finally looked up and noticed that he hadn’t been doing anything. 

“Sorry, you’re just distracting,” Fred sent you a wink, and you scoffed. “Okay, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I’ll help you.” 

You fell into a silent but comfortable routine afterwards, evenly splitting up the work to finish preparing the tarts in less time. Neither of you noticed how you gradually inched closer to one another as you did so, shoulders brushing together every time you reached over to grab something or continue mixing the batter. 

“Hold on a minute, there’s some flour right—” Fred paused, thumb grazing your cheekbone. You felt a jolt of electricity where his skin brushed over yours. “—there.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, face suddenly feeling too hot even though the kitchens were far from it. 

“Always my pleasure,” he smiled, oblivious to your flustered state. 

Lee was standing with George a few rows away, focus switching between you two and the first batches of treacle tart that were now in the ovens, slowly beginning to bake. The distinct scent of sweet syrup and berries soon began wafting through the air, filling the room with a sweet and tantalizing aroma. 

“They can’t keep their hands off each other,” he grinned knowingly. “They’re standing just inches apart…they have the entire table to themselves and yet they stand like that.”

“And they say they’re just friends. I call bullshit,” said George, watching as Fred said something to you and you rolled your eyes, whacking him with your wooden spoon. Fred tugged you forward in response, trapping you in his strong arms as you let out a faint giggle, protesting for him to let you go. It wasn’t until he tilted his head down and you begrudgingly pressed a kiss to his cheek that he finally released you from his hold, looking as smug as ever. 

“10 galleons says they’re getting married in the next two years.”

“15 galleons.”

“You’re on, mate.”

three

DA practices were now everyone’s sole source of motivation. They had finally started work on Patronuses, which they had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding you all that producing one in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they weren’t under threat was quite different from producing one when under threat, like by a Dementor. 

You exchanged a soft smile with Cho, admiring her silvery swan-shaped Patronus before attempting to refocus on your own work; on the last several tries you hardly managed more than a cloudy, wispy form. 

Closing your eyes, you recalled the time you had Quidditch practice on a snow day. Oliver ended practice a bit early (Angelina did have to convince him a bit though) and you spent the rest of that time pelting one another with snowballs and zipping around in the air, laughter echoing across the space. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that carefree.

“Expecto Patronum!” Excitement began to build up in you but your shoulders slumped in defeat when again, just a thin wisp of silver smoke came out of your wand tip. “Damn it.”

“Y/N, you’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded you.

“But I did,” you exhaled, voice strained. “I don’t get it. I thought…”

“Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Try a new memory,” he suggested, “do you have anything else that might work?”

“Well, there is one…I don’t know if it’s my happiest, but it is one of them, and it is strong…”

“Then try that,” he said kindly. “You can do this.” You nodded and he walked away to help Neville, who was also struggling to cast his Patronus.

Readjusting your wand in your hand,  you closed your eyes once again and allowed the new memory to fill your mind. 

The first few weeks after the end of term and the start of the summer holidays were always the hardest. As badly as you missed home and your parents, you also missed constantly being around your friends and the Weasley family. At this point it had been three weeks since you’d seen Fred; you never went longer than that without seeing him. 

You and your parents had spent three blissful weeks traveling around France. From exploring the lavender fields in Provence, smelling the fresh sea air and seeing the breathtaking Mont-Saint-Michel castle in Normandy, to biting into pillowy soft pastries in Paris, you did it all. But you still felt that distinct ache to be back at Hogwarts with your close friends. 

“The Burrow!” you exclaimed, Floo powder in hand. Glowing green flames engulfed your body and then you were standing outside your third home in mere seconds, giddy with excitement. 

“THERE SHE IS!” you heard several voices shout with delight. Your best friends immediately came bursting through the door and stampeding towards you. Fred was the first to reach you, positively glowing with happiness as he swept you into a tight bear hug, spinning you around. He attacked you with repeated kisses to your temple then cheeks as he said how glad he was to finally see you. He was clutching you so tight that you almost lost your breath, but you were so happy to see him as well that you couldn’t care less. 

“Oi, we’re here too, lovebirds!” you heard Ron shout. You laughed and pulled away from Fred’s embrace to go greet everyone else. As you were hugging Ginny you made eye contact with Fred, that gleaming look still in his eyes. Your heart felt so full at that moment, you thought it would burst. 

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” you shouted. A flash of silvery-blue light emitted from your wand and a dainty squirrel burst forward. You smiled to yourself as Harry complimented your work. 

But what surprised you more was the small bird swooping in from above—it caught sight of your squirrel Patronus and started chasing it around the Room of Requirement, their forms glowing brightly. Several others stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle, confused but amazed. 

“Pretty cool, innit,” you heard a voice say from besides you. You turned to make eye contact with Fred, who was looking at you with amusement. 

“Yeah…is that a sparrow?” you pointed up at his Patronus, which was still chasing yours around the room and leaving a trail of glitter behind itself as it did so. 

“It’s a magpie,” said Fred. “Although I also thought it was a sparrow at first.”

“Well, it looks like they like each other…” 

“Art imitates life, right? Is that what they say?”

“Something like that, I guess,” you laughed softly, leaning into him. “It’s beautiful.”

“What did you think of?” he asked. “Beating Umbridge’s arse to a pulp? Just say the words and I’ll gladly help with that.”

You snorted. “No, I tried that last time but I guess it wasn’t strong enough. I don’t know how this one could’ve been happier than that.”

“Then whatever it was, it must’ve been pretty strong.”

“Definitely…” The scene flashed across your mind again, and you felt heat crawling up your cheeks. “it was.”

“His Patronus can’t seem to let go of hers,” Hermione whispered from the other side of the room; hers and Ginny’s otter and horse Patronuses were gracefully gliding around them. “You know what that means…”

“I haven’t a clue,” Ginny responded as she glanced over Fred, who now had an arm around you. “Why’s that so important?”

“Because, Gin!” she whisper-shouted. “Magpies hunt squirrels!”

“Okay…what’s the correlation there?” Ginny was now confused. 

“He’s in love with her, of course! I was reading up on Patronuses last week; when someone has feelings of deep affection for someone else, either their Patronuses change to match or they produce what’s like an opposite to the person they love. Hence the hunter and prey pairing.”

“You just figured out they love each other?”

“No, but this just confirms it,” the bushy-haired girl’s mouth stretched into a wide grin.

four

It felt like hours since you had last seen the light of day. Right now you were waist-deep in assignments, preparing for your mind-numbing History of Magic project that was due the next morning. Sleep was threatening to pull you under and it took everything you had not to slump over and doze off on the spot. 

“Ange,” you yawned and cupped a hand over your mouth, “did you finish the revisions yet?” 

“Almost,” she returned your tired yawn and slid the parchment she was working on over to you. “Do you mind checking this over for me?” 

“Mhm,” you mumbled, peering down at her tidy handwriting and picking up your quill. You rubbed your eyes and drew out a long breath. “Godric’s sake, what time is it?”

“Quarter to midnight,” Katie responded, jotting something down in her notepad, “I think we’re almost done…”

“...these damn revisions are taking bloody forever,” you groaned, placing your chin in your hand, “almost more than the time we took researching.”

“I despise history,” said Alicia.

“Hear, hear,” you and Angelina said tiredly.

All of a sudden you heard a rustle and the screech of someone pulling a chair out next to you. The comforting smell of broomsticks and cinnamon instantly hit your nose, which didn’t help with you already wanting to doze off. 

“There’s my Y/N,” Fred greeted warmly. His hand-knitted maroon Weasley jumper hung loosely off his toned frame, bringing out the color in his eyes and cheeks. He looked painfully attractive in everything, you realized.  

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Not when I know you aren’t,” he said plainly. “It’s late, but you’re here, right? So that’s why I’m here as well.”

You seemed to be completely oblivious to the way he kept staring at you as you continued to work. He couldn't help but stare; he found it rather endearing, the way you'd sigh every so often when stuck on a difficult problem and how you'd get this crease between your brows because you were deep in concentration. 

After several minutes you finally glanced up, a quizzical look on your face as you realized he was still watching you so intently. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he smiled softly, reaching over to briefly cup your cheek. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie exchanged knowing looks at this. “Just looking out for you, of course.”

The flickering lanterns overhead cast a warm golden light over the room, illuminating his features in a dim and hazy glow. There was an unmistakably soft and wistful sort of look in his eyes and you felt your heart race the longer his eyes stayed on you. Did he always look at you that way? You couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at you with anything other than admiration and delight but then again, Fred was known to be very open with those he cared for. 

Another hour went by and by this point you were fast asleep, head leaning against your arms on the table and parts of your hair spilling across your forehead. If he didn’t know any better, Fred would’ve thought you were an angel, part Veela, or something along those lines. Was there anything better? he thought to himself. If there was, that’s exactly what she is.

Fred slid his jumper off and as carefully as possible, slid it under your head so that you had something soft to rest on and wouldn’t wake up complaining that there were ink stains on your skin. He took the quill from your outstretched fist and set it by your side, and wordlessly began putting your things into your bag for you.

It was another two hours until you eventually stirred awake but he stayed, quietly waiting and watching; relishing in the peace and comfort that he knew only your company could bring. 

plus one

It probably would’ve been a wise idea to heed Katie’s advice and not overwork yourself; even Hermione had said you clearly looked exhausted and needed a break from studying. But being as stubborn as you were, you didn’t listen, and now you were starting to feel the consequences of your actions. 

So here you were now alone in the girls’ dormitory, curled up in bed with a stuffy nose, sore throat, pounding headache that felt like it would split your brain in two, along with crippling nausea. Despite your stomach grumbling after having skipped out on breakfast and lunch, the mere thought of eating made you feel even more sick. 

All you wanted to do in that moment was crawl into a hole and fall asleep for several centuries. 

Realizing that sitting there doing nothing wouldn’t help, you decided to at the very least, open your Charms textbook and get caught up on the past few reading assignments. You mentally reminded yourself to thank Angelina for standing in today and taking notes for you; the girl was saving you hours’ worth of work that likely would’ve had you collapsing all over again.

A loud CRASH from somewhere nearby caused you to jump slightly and almost slam the book closed on your fingers. Glancing around at the sudden noise, you were about to assume it was Peeves being chased by Filch after causing trouble (you definitely didn’t experience this from having helped him and the twins out with a prank in which you chucked a Dungbomb into his office). But then you remembered they never directly entered the girls’ dormitories and laughed to yourself.  

The door creaked open and Fred’s all-too-familiar figure stumbled through, breathing hard with his hands behind his back. He was shifting from foot to foot and he looked kind of…nervous?

“Fred?”

“Y/N, I haven’t seen you all day,” his face broke into a bashful grin, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…alright…”

“Well, I got you something,” said Fred, and quickly handed you a sweet-smelling bouquet of flowers. “I hope you like these, it took a while to grow them. Longbottom helped me out a bit.” 

“T-these are…” you stammered, pulse racing. The flowers shone brightly under the afternoon light; they were probably the prettiest things you’d seen in, well, forever. 

“—your favorite, I know,” he finished your sentence.

“But how did y—”

“It’s the same kind of flower as the dried ones that are in the bookmark you use for all your classes,” he explained, still slightly out of breath. “It’s the color of your favorite wool hat. It’s the color of the jumper I bought, I told you it’s because I liked how my eyes went with it but really, it’s because it reminded me of you. It’s what I smelled in George and I’s Amortentia in Potions. It’s you, Y/N, it’s all you and it has always brought me back to you. It always will, every single time.”

Suddenly, the realization slammed into you with a force of a Bludger traveling a hundred miles an hour. 

Fred Weasley loved you. You loved Fred Weasley.

And it had taken you forever to notice. 

He sat by your side and reached for your hand, taking it in his and interlocking your fingers together like it was normal; like he had done so dozens of times before. Because he had, but something about this one made your heart skip an extra beat and all the words you wanted to say leave your brain instantly. 

“I look terrible,” you turned your face into his chest so that your cheek was now resting against the fabric of his jumper, “and you might get sick too. You should go…”

“I don’t care,” he mumbled, sliding his arms around you, “I’ve got all day. Snape can take my delightfully dimwitted Potions essay and shove it up his a—”

You chuckled a bit at this and took that moment to glance up at him—he was still gazing at you longingly. You’d never seen him look at anyone or anything that way; unless you counted the excited look he got when Hogwarts had its annual holiday feast and piles of food appeared on the tables. Or that look he got after winning a Quidditch match. 

“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” you asked, shaking your head. “For taking as long as I did to realize that I’m in love with you. Everyone was practically screaming at me about it and yet I still couldn’t put the pieces together and see.”

That signature grin was back on his face. “You’re in love with me?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, Weasley—”

He grinned, stopping what you were going to say next by closing the gap and sealing his lips over yours. Now it wasn’t the nausea that had your head whirling around; it was the feeling of him kissing you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, and it was intoxicating. He was right there all along—your best friend for as long as you could remember—and suddenly you couldn’t seem to register anything else other than the fact that you wanted to stay in the moment until you completely lost your breath. 

“Fred, I told you, you’re going to get sick,” you exhaled as you pulled apart, “I know you don’t want that.”

“And I told you I don’t care.” He brought you back in and kissed you a second, then third time, “all the more excuse to spend time with you.”

(He did get sick the following day, leaving a disgruntled Hermione to take care of not just you, but him as well.) 

a/n pt 2: yes the poem was done by chatgpt. i’m horrible at writing normally, and even worse at writing poetry. sorry yall LOL. also can you tell i love writing cheesy monologues. yeah. and also i’m sorry for the cringe ending

tags: @miissasa @bittermileymilez @daisydark @brinachiii @foreverthemaraudersera @viharbinger @ladyclay @apileofschist @arkofblake @lizzyrose200 @4ngeltrumpettt