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#my brain loves to imagine scenarios where someone writes him quirky and I feel myself die inside
no1ryomafan · 3 months
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Thought about how given I’ve written so much for getter and rotate enough in my brain I could make hypothetical “how to write this characters” post if those even exists until I remember the factors of:
<the status of the tags doesn’t warrant a lot of writers as is and the only person to ask me this was a irl <I don’t wanna be gatekeepy even if I wouldn’t put my bias into it <who the fuck would it really be about besides ryoma and maybe hayato bc honest to god just grasping the team dynamic of the getter will make you be able to understand each individual pilot <I doubt myself I even write 100% in character despite what I’m told 💀
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phonecallwithsatan · 3 years
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just look for my owl (one)
fred weasley x y/n series
a.n: Fred Weasley fic LOL. it’s been five years since i’ve made myself sit down and literally write fan fiction as a sixteen year old, but honestly i’d rather be doing this than anything else really. not painting myself as the “quirky type,” not at all, I literally just feel like writing an imaginary piece on a fictional character who will never love me. please keep in mind this is a they/them piece, and that y/n can be whoever you would like them to be:)  !!This is a series!! enjoy<3 
Our beloved Fred Weasley falls for Ilvermorny student [y/n] [l/n]. He’s determined to get to them, but the only way he can is through post sent through the two. The only thing left for the pair is to just look for an owl.
“...merlin Fred. How are we going to pry these beards off. Hermione was right-” mutters George Weasley while attempting to pick at his newly grown beard in the bathroom mirror.
“Never say that. Granted, maybe the ageing potion was not our best idea, but now you finally grew a beard Georgie!” Says Fred Weasley while laughing and leaning against the porcelain sink. 
His twin takes a palm and attempts to reach his face with it, but fails miserably as Fred ducks. 
“That’s uncalled for. Don’t you remember our brainstorming session, Georgie? You said it was brilliant!”
George scoffs, beard moving with his mouth as he does.
“I said it was dim-witted, not brilliant.” 
Fred takes a glance at his twin, furrowing brows as he does.
“What did that textbook say again?” Speaks up Fred. They had ended up brewing the potion all by themselves that morning.
Still looking at himself in the mirror, George responds tactfully, “It all depended how much you drank. Say Fred, it was about this much?” He shows his thumb and pointer finger to the size of their chosen vile.
The twins both snap their heads at each other, realizing what this means. 
“That should be fine.” Fred says while nodding his head. “Just absolutely perfect.”
Right before Fred began to open his mouth to complain some more, he got a smack to the head by his twin, which is what began their second fighting session of the day.  
☾ ues
Sixth year Advanced Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall was one of the last classes in Fred’s schedule. 
He sits down and pulls out his textbook from his bag, only to be greeted with his fingertips, cover, pages, and spine of his book covered in black ink.
“Not now… come on.” Say’s Fred somewhat loudly. He knows a few Hufflepuffs and Slytherins here and there, but he didn't really know them know them. He was one of the four Sixth Years that took Advanced Transfiguration, all the rest being Seventh Years. He made eye contact with a chaser on the Hufflepuff team whom he had knocked off their broom in a game a few weeks back. 
Looking away quickly due to prolonged staring, he analyzed his options: he could get his wand. He would get his wand. It’s the only option, he was a wizard after all. 
He attempted a smudge-removing spell on his hand and book. It worked… to an extent. His hand was all clean, but his Guide To Advanced Transfiguration textbook was all marked up with his black ink.
As he saw the classroom filling up more and more, he decided to save himself of the embarrassment of going up to his professor and explaining what had happened. He wasn't one to get flustered either, no, he was fine with it, but today was definitely not going to be that day. With remnants of his ageing potion displayed in a few streaks of his red hair, and a patchy short beard slowly falling off even during class, Fred decided he would stay put and just try and skip over the pages.
“Why don’t we turn to page thirty-four of your textbooks to start off our class, hm?” Says Professor McGonagall as she stands up.
Fred’s deskmate arrives, a Hufflepuff girl who nearly never showed up, sets her items down.
“That’s Five points from Hufflepuff.” Snaps McGonagall. “At least you made it in, Miss McReady.” She rolls her eyes to the Professors comment.
“Oi,” speaks up Fred. She turns to look at him..He’d only really ever spoken to her twice. “D’ya think you could help me out?” 
“Good one, Ginger. I’ve got nothing for you. Sorry.” She says with a heavy Irish accent Fred forgot about until now. 
“Yeah.” He says nodding his head in solidarity. 
“To be honest, I didn’t know we needed a textbook.” Says the Hufflepuff girl, now facing forward in her seat.
Fred snorts at her comment. He looks up for a shared reaction only to be greeted with something else. Fred forgot she was uncharacteristically sassy for a Hufflepuff.
“Was it that funny, Ginger?” Says the Hufflepuff. 
“No Miss. It was not. I’m heavily congested, you see.” He lifts up his head to show his nose for added effect.
The Hufflepuff blinks a few times and rolls her eyes mid-turn in her seat.
There was nothing much for Fred to do except to try and listen to her teaching at this point. Professor McGonagall was alright, truly, but one of his favorite classes was Charms, one he had a few periods ago.
He daydreamed-a lot. After listening to a few minutes of the lesson, Fred caught on to what she was explaining, and luckily, it was more of a ‘sit and listen’ type of day in the Transfiguration classroom. He’d daydream about life after Hogwarts, often he would dream about fake scenarios where he’d create a fake argument with someone and win, sometimes a certain person would pop in his head even. Not anyone in specific, but rather just a figment of his imagination, his soulmate. A twin flame. Someone to lean on.
He turned to look at the Hufflepuff next to him. She snapped her head to glare at him.
“What?!” She whisper-screams with that same accent that was distinguishable even in quiet. Fred’s thoughts about her vanished as quickly as they came.
Definitely not her, he thought. Angelina Johnson? She was… there. Not her. He wanted something- new. Someone new, rather that. Fred had more important things than his love life though, one of them being the old man's beard that was currently plastered on his once clean shaven face.
He focused back into class as he heard silence for a moment, meaning the class was wrapping up as McGonagall was waving her arms for some odd reason while simultaneously writing on her chalkboard.
Continuing his thought about the beard, he reached the ink ridden hand to his face only to be met with a beardless chin. Finally, he thought to himself. He looked down at his pants to see the fallen facial hair on them and he quickly brushed it off before the Hufflepuff next to him could make a disgusted face at it.
His confidence that left for a few moments was back now that the beard was gone, and luckily the class period was dismissed a few minutes early. 
As his classmates leave the class going one way, Fred takes the opposite route to McGonagall. 
“Professor,” he starts mid-stride only to be interrupted by an owl coming in from a window in the back of the class towards McGonagall’s desk.
“One moment Mr. Weasley, this Owl is from family.” She seems concerned as she focuses on the brown Neognathae in front of her.
Fred is exceptionally talented at many things on a giant spectrum, one of them being reading upside down.
“America?” He says quietly, not realizing he said it outloud.
“Yes, Weasley. I have extended family in Massachusetts.” Says McGonagall, with tight lips while opening up her letter, looking up to glare at him for snooping.
Fred reads the sender's name, [Y/n]. 
“Is now a bad time professor? You seem a bit- busy, with that letter from” he spins the now opened envelope on the desk around towards him to read [Y/n]’s full name, “[Y/n y/l/n]. Who is that Professor?”
McGonagall slaps Fred’s hand away from the envelope while opening up the folded up items inside. A few polaroids fall out and Fred is intrigued with the ‘extended family’ story. “None of your concerns Weasley, but you’re doing good in my course, so i’ll tell you. This is my sister’s child.”
She continues to read the letter in front of Fred and he can’t help but notice the three polaroids spread out on her desk. Immediately forgetting why he came up to McGonagall in the first place, his brain just turns to mush. He could now put a face to the name.
He was so mesmerized by their beauty, a perfect face even from afar. It was a photo of a now implanted name in his brain, [Y/n], standing in blue and cranberry colored school robes, colors that belonged to the only school overseas he knew- Ilvermorny. They had long arms and slender legs that were easily distinguishable even under the robes, and full lips that extenuated the aforementioned beautiful face Fred fell for a few meters in front of him. Bloody hell, he thought, careful not to let it slip out. 
The other photo was a photo of- merlin, [Y/n] standing in a quidditch uniform with a broom in hand. The before mentioned blue and cranberry, decorating their shoulders and chest gracefully, not too tight nor too loose. It fit perfectly on them, again, even from afar.  Or was it a ‘quadpot’ uniform over there? He didn't know, but he knew that he needed either of those photos somehow. He did not care as much for the third photo, as it was just a photo of some cat. 
“Mr. Weasley, what was it that you needed?” McGonagall asks, looking up from her received essay. 
“I, uhm, my textbook.” Says Fred with a light pause in between his words. He lifts the book up and places it on her desk, right on top of the photo of [Y/n] in their quidditch (or quadpot) uniform. 
“And how did this happen?” McGonagall questions while looking at the marked up book. She sighs and turns her back to Fred to grab a new textbook from the cupboard behind her. She begins rambling about how students get more and more disorganized every year, but Fred is busy with something else.
He needed to figure out how exactly he could snatch the photo away. He trapped the photos under it, now how would he get them over and out? He leaned forward to touch the book, but McGonagall beat him to it.
“... and that is why organization is key to doing good on your O.W.L.s, Weasley.” Scolds McGonagall, turning around to look at Fred. She lifts the textbook to see the name and thank Merlin, Fred thought, when his professor didn’t notice the photos of [Y/n] trapped under the stained book.
She turns back around, now ranting about the line of Weasley’s she has gone through over the years, the common “how many more of you are there,”  escaping her lips.
“There are four more of us, Professor. You’re almost done.” He says, his spontaneity hitting as he spoke. 
Fred uses this moment and acts fast, lifting the textbook ever so slightly to grab the polaroid under his stained book. While he was swiping it, he was able to momentarily see that the polaroid was clean and without any smudges of black ink ruining [Y/n]’s face. He snatches it flawlessly and puts it in his pants pocket instead of his bag to avoid remnants of ink.
McGonagall turns back around without a suspicion and hands Fred a new book.
“Do not repeat this, Weasley. Now shoo, my niece/nephew is explaining something about- actually, I do suppose I don't know. Say Weasley, you're up to terms with what sixteen year olds do, correct?”
McGonagall puts her parchment down and smooths it in front of Fred.
First thing he notices is the perfect script handwriting on the parchment. Smooth, light cursive loops here and there, black ink, proper punctuation and grammar, and flawless lines. He runs a finger through one of them, mostly as a way to get closer to [Y/n] somehow, but he used this camouflage as a way to show McGonagall that he is reading carefully. And that, he was. 
1994 terms for American slang was not something Fred was familiar with. He looked around for a “wicked,” in their writing, but there was nothing. 
They mentioned how their last game, instead of match he thought, was “the bomb,” and how their Charms professor needed to take a “chill pill.” Having no clue what these words meant, Fred just re-read the letter that was definitely not meant for his eyes.
“... I dunno Aunty, she’s not doing well. Mum isn't getting any better and I can’t keep up with staying at school and visiting home every weekend. I don’t know what to do at this point, but she’s all I have left.”
Fred stops for a minute and decides to give it a rest. This isn’t for him. Although he is extremely interested in them, the invasion of personal space is too much for him. Reading Aunty instead of Professor McGonagall was one of the highlights of his day, but he wanted to get to know [Y/n] in his own terms.
“I’m sorry Professor, but I don’t.” Internally cringing at his denial, Fred awaits a response.
“Alright, Weasley. Now get out, please. No more ink staining,” she says while mentioning the book in front of her, “and no more poking around in my personal life.” She takes the parchment in her hands and folds it up. 
Fred puts a hand in his pocket and reassures his Transfiguration teacher that “everything will be fine,” while also feeling the polaroid in his pocket. He smiles in the middle of his sentence which receives a strange glance from the grey-haired professor.
His professor moves around her items and picks up the polaroids that are left. “Where did the other one go…” Trailing off mid-sentence, Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses and lifted a few items on her desk looking for the third polaroid from her niece/nephew.
“I’ll just go, yeah, thanks for the book, Professor.” Rambles Fred, awkwardly lifting a hand and hitting a table behind him. He turns quickly and walks out of the classroom with his hand back in his pocket, lightly bending the polaroid with his hand. Now a few strides away from the entrance of the classroom, he checks around for people and takes the photo of [Y/n] out of his trouser pocket.  
He sighs. A blurry photograph even up close. 
Now with a better look, the photo was taken with a background of a stone castle, most likely Ilvermorny he thought, and front and center being [Y/n]. He smirked at the photo where [Y/n] smiled, revealing a light dimple on their left cheek. Their eyebrows framing their face perfectly, and those lips again, Fred thought, still full even with a smile plastered on [Y/n]’s face. They were absolutely perfect to him- incomparable to anyone else he had ever laid eyes on. The cranberry and blue colored uniform complimented their skin so well, he thought, wishing it wasn’t just a 15cm x 12cm polaroid square. 
He had wished they were in front of him, so he could trace his finger along their jawline, or their lips, the ones he wanted to look at and kiss eternally. Damn this blur, Fred thought.
He noticed their hands, how one gripped the broom next to them, and how the other was propped against their hip, pulling on the fabric of the uniform every so slightly, giving Fred an idea as to what their personality might be, and as to what their body looked like too. 
He wondered if they were funny, if they would like his red hair, if they would fall for the other brother, no thought Fred- he was definitely the better looking one. What would happen if he brought [Y/n] to the Burrow, what would make them laugh, and what their hand would feel like in his while walking the halls side by side. 
Fred realized that he must have spent at least half an hour leaning against the stone wall that held him there for as long as he needed it. He took one last look at [Y/n]’s photograph and safely put it back into his trouser pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled discreetly before lifting his head up to see that the sun had begun to set, leaving behind a lovely sunset visible through the glass pane window in front of Fred. 
Sighing contentedly, Fred continues down the hallway that was lit up with a golden shade from the sunset. The thought of his new found [Y/n] appeared in his mind as he watched his shadow move along with him, wishing their shadow appeared next to his as he walked down the long hall. But even then, it would disappear as the sun set. He was able to keep [Y/n] in his mind though, even as the sun set with that imaginary shadow. He knew this was something worth pursuing, something that would lead that shadow next to his. Something that would lead him to them. They would find their way to him, he just knew it.
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