tearingskies

[tearingskies]

Life is a F@ck But There Was a Tiny Drabble

Written actually a month ago for the lovely Harry Potter Fan Fiction Server's Drabble Challenge (topic: a character having a thoroughly Muggle experience.) Lil and angsty, cuz that's the way I roll. 100 words.

There. Just there. The white clicks into blue. Alone in Grimmauld Place, Harry felt his shoulders drop with quiet satisfaction. Warm candlelight played on the pieces he’d spread out across the handsome walnut table. He had grouped them more or less by color—land, water, sky. His finger fit within the grooves like a tongue against a missing tooth. It wasn’t a map. It wasn’t a problem. It was made to be broken and then put back again. He could solve it or bin it, and nobody would care. Every night during the trials, he spent hours on the jigsaw puzzle.

May we all find a few hobbies to distract us from the Horrors. 🧩 💕

[tearingskies]

Masterlist

List of all my fics in AO3!

glimpses of us (series) A collection of intertwined canon-compliant bits and pieces.

some things you just can't speak about oneshot, 1.3K words Ginny in the aftermath of the War.

dead and gone (life goes on) oneshot, 1.3K words George learns how to go on without Fred.

Fics are always posted both here and on AO3.

NOTE: My posting schedule is very irregular. I have numerous WIPs that take will probably take months to come to their final forms, but I'm happy to talk about them if anyone's interested :)

[tearingskies]

dead and gone (life goes on)

Read on AO3 or below the cut

George learns how to go on without Fred.

TW: spiralling and mentions of death

In the end, it’s not the body or the funeral or even the heart-wrenching, gutted cries of his mother, but rather the open-ended joke without a punchline that finally makes it sink in for George. 

He sits at the table unmoving, every muscle in his body constricting as he waits for a quip to fill the oppressive silence that has overtaken the Burrow. It extends, inflating limitlessly as a quiet ringing starts in his ears. It’s like something has burst in his chest. Something that now presses against his heart and squeezes it tightly in a cold lover’s embrace.

Seconds tick by and he faintly hears someone say something that doesn’t have an impact in this wretched alternative universe he must be living in. Because there’s always a punchline with Gred and Forge. 

The first time they truly pranked someone was Percy when they were three years old. The pompous git had been acting all high and mighty and confiscating some “unsafe” device from them, thus prompting the very levelheaded and mature response of having his fingers turn into rolls of sticky tape that unwinded and hit his face repeatedly. 

George remembers high-fiving Fred for the coordinated piece of accidental magic and running outside to pull garden gnomes’ ears as Percy went wailing to their mother. It was the beginning of their joint lives. Lives that were supposed to remain intertwined until the day their hearts stopped beating while they sat side by side in creaky rocking chairs. 

But now George is here and Fred is not and the punchline hangs in a vacuum. 

“He’s dead,” he whispers. “He’s gone.”

Locks pop open and he breaks. Swirling, tumbling, rocketing through memories, possibilities, and countless what-ifs that would never happen. He’s a comet racing towards a black hole aiming to suck his very soul dry. 

And then there are arms curling around his shoulders, and a warm hand pressing solidly against his racing heart to ground him before he floats away. 

George swallows a shaky breath and becomes aware of the salty streams on his cheeks. 

“Yes, George. He’s gone.” 

It’s Ginny, because of course it is. His bulletproof, bold sister who has flown circles around the rest of them, jinxed Fred and him countless times for their silly jokes, and faced horrors beyond imagination yet carried on living. She’s the one who has never sugarcoated things for him, the one George can always count on to tell the hard truths when it’s time for them to be said. 

He leans against her, sobs breaking free from his throat like choked hiccups. Ginny’s fingers sooth through his hair while the hand on his chest begins tapping a small, steady beat on his heart. Tu-tum, tu-tum, tu-tum. 

Minutes, or maybe hours, pass. George starts to feel the pressure on his chest loosen. He draws in rapid breaths and clutches Ginny’s arm like a lifeline. 

“He- He didn’t finish the joke,” he mumbles out, words folding together in of-kilter syllables. 

He faintly hears his mother crying, sees the grim, grieving faces of his brothers, and feels his father’s palpable sadness radiating across the table. 

“Yes, he did,” Ginny says to his ear, voice firm and sure like it’s an irrevocable fact. “He’s just keeping the good stuff to himself for now.“

George wants to believe her. That there’s a place beyond where his twin has found peace and watches over him. A place where they will meet again one day. He misses the echo of another who shares his thoughts and finishes his sentences, those looks they shared and instinctively knew what the other was thinking. How the world just worked with them in it together. Now it feels like everywhere he looks, the colours are dimmer and he doesn’t know where he fits anymore. 

Fred was the self-assured one, the life of the party, who lit up every room he walked into. George doesn’t think he’s ever found quite the same yearning to live every day like there’s no tomorrow as Fred had. It feels like a waste that he’s not the one still breathing. 

George looks down at the two mismatched watches that wrap their leather bands around his right arm. One has a russet background and warping iron tendrils curling around the clock face, while the other is a deep forest green with cracked glass courtesy of a prank gone wrong in their seventh year. They tick away in harmony, like two heartbeats pulsing against his skin. He touches the crack on the clock closer to him and smiles ruefully at the memories it holds. He hasn’t removed it since he first put it on after the funeral. 

“I miss him.” 

“I know, George,” Ginny says. “I miss him too.”

And perhaps that, the knowledge that he’s not alone in his pain, is what kickstarts his mind again. He races past lacklustre trunks filled with memories of mischief and weaves between tall, swaying shelves full of half-completed ideas and concepts. His heart aches, but it beats the same steady rhythm as its twin somewhere beyond. 

What is life without Fred? For George, it seems like a bleak, faded existence that he already despises. But it’s a dishonour, a complete betrayal of all the things his better half stood for to wilt and wallow in grief and bitterness while the world awaits in bubbling colour and tittering sound. Three months is long enough — far too long if you’d ask Fred, he thinks — to merely exist when another can’t live. It’s the burden and responsibility of the living to go on and live. George wants to live for Fred, no matter how much the thought of it may hurt his soul. Because Fred Weasley deserves to live on in humour and strength and Skiving Snackboxes. 

So, here he is: “We…I need to reopen the shop.”

“Oh, George, do you think that’s a good idea, dear?” his mother worries. “Don’t you think it might be too overwhelming? And it’s so soon, you really ought to rest…”

“No. No, I-” George falters, his voice cracking with emotion. ”He’d want me, all of us, to go on and live like he’d have lived. With laughter and stupid pranks and ear jokes.”

Ron claps him on the shoulder, firm and comforting in a way that wouldn’t have ordinarily come to mind when thinking of him. At least compared to how George remembers seeing him before the war. “And we’ll help, George. Get things up and running like he would’ve wanted.”

George smiles wetly at the nods and sounds of agreement reverberating from his family. 

“I can have a look at the books, help out in the office,” Percy volunteers. 

“And I’m sure Verity would love to help – she knows all the everyday stuff,” Ginny pipes up with an encouraging grin. George nods a little. 

Harry shifts across the table and looks at Hermione and Ron before speaking up, “We’ve um, we’ve got some gold from the Ministry that needs a solid investment. I figured since the last one turned out so well, it’s a guaranteed thing, really.” He rustles his hair awkwardly while Hermione smiles softly. 

George chuckles with a half sob, “Lifetime’s worth of complimentary dungbombs for you three.” The trio wince abashed at that, and he laughs some more. 

Ron lifts his glass in a toast, “To Fred. And all the mischief his legacy will accomplish.”

George’s family raises their glasses, fond smiles and teary laughs accompanying the echoed words. He feels the cold ache in his chest deflate a bit. The grief lingers, as it always will, but there’s a warmth cocooning it now. He might not get to create memories as a “we” anymore, but he would cherish every “I” moment over the coming decades to share and laugh over when they would finally be reunited. 

“I love you, Forge,” he whispers as he raises his glass, and the warm presence pulses in acknowledgment. 

Life goes on with a little more pranks and mischief after that. 

[tearingskies]

After a long break… I’m finally back to writing! I tried something new this time so advice/opinions would be great! It’s not the best thing I’ve written but I was really struggling to get back into writing so I’m just glad I finished it haha

It’s impolite to stare

[tearingskies]

@hinnymicrofic - July 2023

Prompt no.3: Giggles (ao3)

“Um-nom nom nom, you’re yummy!” Harry released the baby’s tiny hand, and leaned back from where he was hovering over Ginny’s lap. The baby laughed and kicked his legs upon her stomach, making her wince.

“Why are you so insistent on “eating” our son’s fingers?” Ginny asked, rolling her eyes.

“Because they are yummy!” Harry said, still looking at the baby. James babbled and extended his fist towards him. “Second helpings?!” Harry gave a dramatic gasp before nibbling at the baby’s fingers, making him shriek with laughter.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Ginny chuckled, summoning one of the many stuffed toys from the shelves and pressing it gently on James’ cheeks. “Aren’t his giggles just the cutest?”

“They are,” Harry agreed, throwing his arm around her.

[tearingskies]

some things you just can’t speak about

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ginny in the aftermath of the War.

TW: mentions of death & implied torture

Note: This is my first (finished) fic! It was written over the course of one year and sat in my drafts for ages before I finally got the sudden urge to just post it and be done with it. Hope you enjoy!

Ginny sits in the crowded Great Hall and feels utterly alone.

There’s a dull hum that hangs in the air, a combination of melancholic murmurs and quiet, tear-streaked condolences. Ginny’s numb, sitting on a bench with a half-empty tea mug going cold in her hands. Her clothes are covered in blood, ash and Merlin knows what else and she thinks her arm might be bleeding. But none of that matters, because she’s still sitting there.

Her mind is struggling to make sense of her surroundings. Of the pale hand peeping from beneath a sheet nearby, the red splashes that dot the dated stones, and the muted cries echoing in the vast empty spaces left by those who have moved beyond this world. Everything feels hollow and out of place.

There are some things in life that can’t be comprehended before they have happened. And even when they do, they are senseless and wrong.

Death is one of those things.

Someone speaks up near Ginny in a hushed tone. She grips the cold mug in her hand and keeps staring at the pale brown hand that can’t touch anything anymore. It’s stained pink by dried blood.

Ginny wonders who it is – if she’s passed them by in the hallways, what kind of a life they lived. The hand looks too delicate, too young to be so still. They were once someone’s child, someone’s everything. Now there’s just cold flesh and a still heart.

A gentle pressure on her shoulder breaks Ginny’s thoughts right as someone pulls the sheet down to cover the lifeless arm. Her eyes stray towards the grieving face of her mother, who clutches her shoulder tightly, as if to make sure she’s still there, breathing.

“Let’s go get some sleep, Ginny, dear.”

Ginny blinks up at her.

Her name sounds strange, like a foreign word spoken for the first time. She feels like an outsider in her own body.

“I’m not tired.” Even though she is. She’s so tired she doesn’t know how she managed to say those three words. But the thought of closing her eyes makes her feel sick. She doesn’t want to face the imagery her cruel mind will create from heartache and fear. Being awake in this reality is already a nightmare.

Her mother’s lips purse and tears start glistening in her red-rimmed eyes. “We’re all going to go together—“

“I’d like to stay for a bit,” Ginny says because she doesn’t know if she’d even be able to move. She doesn’t want anyone to know how broken she feels, doesn’t want them to see the constellations of scars stitched on her skin. Doesn’t have the strength for the questions and tears they’ll inflict. There's already enough pain without hers added to it.

“No, we have to—“

This time it’s not her that interrupts the sharpening tone. “I’ll stay with her.”

Ginny doesn’t have the energy to look at him, which is a small mercy since she thinks she might truly break if she did.

He sounds as exhausted as she feels. Ginny wonders when was the last time he felt safe enough to sleep through the night. It’s been ten months since she did.

Distantly she can hear her mother attending to him, hugging him tight in sobs of relief. She feels so far away.

“-and you’ll come with us, of course! Minerva has arranged a chamber for the family,” Molly goes on. Ginny can feel the emotion radiating from him at the inclusion, and she wonders if he’ll ever feel like he’s a member of the Weasley clan. He’s been her parents' seventh son since the moment he stepped foot in the Burrow that very first time. He’s been her…something for a long time now.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, really, but I’ll stay with Ginny for a while.” His voice is firmer, more insistent this time and she thinks he might fight her mother for it. But there’s no need because he’s Harry. She envies him for that sometimes.

Molly is quiet for a breath, and there’s a low murmur that might’ve been Ron. He’d understand, Ginny thinks. Out of everyone in her family, Ron might get it – her pure exhaustion and the importance of this moment between her and him.

“Alright, then,” her mother says, and that’s that. Her brothers file out, Percy walking an ash-drawn and glass-eyed George towards the doors of the Great Hall. He’s clutching a watch in his hands, knuckles white and face empty, like he’s withdrawn from this world that couldn’t possibly keep on going without his other half.

Bill’s hand squeezes Ginny’s arm as he and Fleur pass her, their hands entangled tightly together. Her father leads her mother out after them, calming down her protests with whispered words and a gentle arm around her.

Ginny watches them go, wondering if they’ll ever be the same again. She knows the answer, but it hurts to even think of it. They’re all broken, and they’ll all heal differently. But they will never be the same as before, nothing will. And that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Through her peripheral vision, she sees Ron pat Harry’s shoulder and throw a concerned look toward her as he and Hermione follow the family out, fingers interlocked in quiet comfort.

Then it’s just them in a hall full of people mourning. Ginny feels his gaze on her. It’s raw, the way he looks at her like there’s nothing he expects from her but herself. She wants to look at him more than anything in the world.

He walks forward, evading the white sheets that cover patches of the floor. She keeps looking at nothing. He sits down next to her, an arm’s width away but closer than ever.

Harry moves his hand and envelopes her free one with it, lodging their fingers together. Ginny stops breathing because his skin feels warm and real, and maybe this isn’t just a fever dream after all. Her heart cracks, the pieces correcting themselves to fit together again, like breaking a bone that’s healed incorrectly. She releases a shaky breath and clenches her hand, getting a press of his thumb against her skin in return.

They sit like that, side to side with their hands interlocked. Ginny doesn’t know if it’s minutes or hours or days that go by in the comfort of his presence, the utter lack of expectations that hangs between them. He doesn’t try to talk, neither does she, and perhaps he’s just as exhausted as she is. But they’re just there, quietly existing in each other’s space. They don’t need words in this moment. The silence is enough.

Ginny thinks of the things she wants to say, can’t say, and needs to say. I’m not okay. I’m broken and I don’t know how to stitch myself back together. I love you. She squeezes her eyes shut.

They have days, months, years to talk.

Or maybe they never will. Maybe there will never be a time for them. She doesn’t know, but she hopes they’ll get there. Someday, somehow, when everything doesn’t hurt as much as it does in this moment.

For now, Harry’s thumb smooths over the jagged scar on the back of her hand that wasn’t there all those months ago. Ginny leans against his shoulder and listens to the beat of his heart.

Harry's alive, and Tom is not.

And she’s breathing, too, even if it takes everything to do so.

There are just some things she can’t say yet, if ever. War rattles people, and even if she’ll never be fine, she will still live for the ones who can’t, no matter what it takes.

I’m glad you’re here, she thinks because his presence speaks multitudes.

[tearingskies]

i went on holiday and after coming back, instead of continuing my one of wips like a functional human being, i started a new fic. realistically i’m never gonna finish any of them anyway, so it’s okay.

[tearingskies]

i had three fic ideas.  wrote one.  i still have three fic ideas.  this is not how math is supposed to work.

[tearingskies]

i actually wrote down mediocre words today instead of just daydreaming of scenarios i’ll never be able to articulate on paper. i feel like it’s an accomplishment but now i wanna delete everything and watch the scenarios play out like a pretty movie in my head.

[tearingskies]

downloading fics from ao3

If you need to read offline, or if you want to use a different device, or heck you just want to have a copy of a fic so that you don’t have to worry about it being deleted, then downloading fics is for you!

You can find the download button at the top of the page of any fic on the Archive. When you click on that button, you’ll be given a choice of 5 file formats to download in (screenshot below). 

If you already know what file format you need for your preferred device, then happy downloading and have a great day! If you need a bit more help, then click below to keep reading and find out which format might work best for you.

Keep reading

[tearingskies]

i just saw the tag “canon complicit” instead of “canon compliant” and im laughing its like “canon is a criminal act that i unfortunately support with this fic”

[tearingskies]

I have this problem where I would much rather read the story I’m trying to write than actually write it.

[tearingskies]

Intro & links

Hello! I’m a long-time passive tumblr stalker and new to actually interacting in the community so all the features are a bit hazy to me. Please bear with me!

Little about me: you can call me Tea, I have multiple WIP fanfic projects in my drafts (mainly hinny!), and I have a habit of forming detailed concepts for stories I won’t actually write. Feel free to leave an ask or send me a message about literally anything :)

Welcome to my corner of the universe!

Some useful links:

Masterlist | AO3