#fred thursday imagines

[thursdaygxrls]

Seeing It Out (‘Seeing Her’ Part Two)

summary — george weasley might (maybe) have a small crush. too bad she’s totally oblivious.

paring — george weasley x fem!bookworm!reader

disclaimer — i don’t own harry potter property, i don’t own this gif, and i don’t edit because i’m lazy. also, argyle & dicken’s isn’t real, i made it up.

warnings — everyone is stupid. maybe ooc.

read part one here!

She noticed him staring at her in potions. Well, she never proved it was her he was looking at, but she had a suspicion. Every time she would look up to transcribe the notes or recipes Snape described, she could see a mass of tangerine hair fly forward just a few desks ahead of her. She didn’t think anything of it at first. Why would she? But then she noticed him staring at her out of the corner of her eye before class one day. That look alone made her realize two things:

1. The looks she thought she may have been receiving were no coincidence and

2. The one staring was George Weasley

“I’m scared. Seriously, he’s planning something,” she confided as she and her friend, Meredith, began to stroll from dinner to their dorm, “He’s been watching me for a few weeks now. Something is going on.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Meredith giggled.

“I’m serious! When the Weasley twins set their sights on you, you’re dead in the water,” she guffawed.

“Or…” Meredith trailed off with a smile.

“Or?” She turned to her with an inquisitive look.

“Perhaps you tickled his fancy.” Meredith shimmied her shoulders suggestively.

“I tickled who and what?” Her eyes widened as she felt a laugh bubble at the back of her throat.

“I’m saying that maybe he keeps staring because he fancies you,” Meredith explained.

“George Weasley?” Her eyes crinkled as her grin widened slightly, “You’re mad.”

“Not mad, intuitive,” Meredith tapped her head, “You’re cute! You’re smart! Everyone in this bloody school ought to be head over heals for you!” She shook her almost comedically.

“Alright!” She laughed, “I get it! I’m fabulous!”

“Good,” Meredith said with a large smile, “Now, think about talking to him.”

“We haven’t disposed of the ‘the twins are going to put fireworks in my pillowcase’ theory,” she shook her head.

“I’ve disposed of it. It’s gone.” Meredith pretended to throw something before wiping her hands together, “But seriously, talk to him if you’re interested, y’know? He’s not too bad on the eyes – and I doubt he’s all too evil.”

“I guess I’ll think about it,” she shrugged, “How’s Emma going?”

“It’s – shit, I left it in the Great Hall,” Meredith groaned, “Wait here for me, alright?”

“I’ll wait an eternity for you!” She called after the girl.

“Put those moves on someone else, would you?” Meredith winked before disappearing down the hall.

George Weasley. He was popular, maybe not as much as his twin brother, but he was one-half of the dynamic pranking duo. She’d seen them before; they watched people, and so did she. They always observed their prey before attacking — but their targets were never just innocent bystanders. She’d like to think she was innocent. She’d like to think a lot of things, though, and not all of them were true.

Meredith was taking a while. Was she right? Was he interested in her? The thought seemed silly, foreign. It was like a honey bee finding a hidden daisy in a room full of tulips. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It was a nice thought. A flash of orange alerted her to the balcony in front of her. Funnily enough, standing at the edge, staring out to the floor below them, were the Weasley twins – and George was staring at her.

It was curious. This was the first time they’d ever connected eyes, yet it felt entirely natural. Maybe it was because she’d stared a thousand people in the eyes, or maybe this was different. She looked at him, and he looked at her, and for a moment, time was able to exist on a different plane entirely. God, was it cheesy. She’d read about this before; the lovers’ first meeting. Wait, lovers? They aren’t lovers, they don’t even know each other, besides – oh God. In a flash, something fell from George’s hand, flying down from the balcony and directly onto poor Professor Flitwick’s head. The thing burst ceremoniously and a powder fizzled around the man. He batted at himself in confusion as she looked on at him with horror. His hair was entirely green.

What the bloody hell was that?

She clutched her copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray — the copy that had just been knocked from her hands — in her sweaty palms. Today had been going great, spectacular even. Her dreams had wiped any memory of possible crushes from her mind. She woke up early, found a matching pair of socks on her first try, and was ready to pick up a new book. Meredith had shoed her out of the dorms when she attempted to wake the girl; she preferred sleep over food. So, it was just her and Dorian who’d made it out to the stairs when she was pushed (nudged?) to the ground.

By George Weasley, of course.

She’d wondered if this was a part of his scheme for a moment. It would be the perfect time to catch her off guard — bright and early before she’d even wiped the crust from her eyes. But then she saw his face and the shock that drew over his features. He certainly didn’t mean to bump into her. At least, it didn’t seem like it.

They conversed in an awkward manner, but managed to hit one another only once more. The real issue was the end of the conversation:

“See you in potions, George!”

It was meant to be friendly, a sort of peace offering if he was still trying to pull off something dodgy. And, of course, it was friendly enough until she realized she had never talked to him before. She sounded like a stalker. A bad stalker at that. She let her mind race as she rushed off to the Great Hall, hoping to not see the boy again before she got there.

It was a dragging, near exhausting wait until potions. Her nerves were so shot that, even if she calmed down, they would still leave a searing imprint under the surface of her skin. By lunch, she’d decided to try to calm herself. Surely he’d forget before then. Surely it would all resolve itself. Surely, she thought to herself as she pushed into the potions’ lab, there was–

He was sitting in her chair.

Meredith was late, unable to save her, and George was sitting at her table.

Her first move was to take cautious steps toward her destination. She knew well enough that this confrontation was unavoidable (or maybe she’d just built it up in her mind too much). She would just grit her teeth and bear it, though, because the only other alternative was to flee Hogwarts entirely.

“Hey!” He’d seen her, and she froze. She was only a step or two away from her seat, of course he saw her.

“Hi,” she responded with less grandeur. He stood in front of her, slicking his hands against his slacks as he smiled.

“Sorry about this morning,” his grin damn near sparkled, “I only do that sort of thing on the field usually.”

“Right,” she nodded. He was standing right in front of her seat, trapping it with his lanky body.

“Yeah,” his confidence stuttered momentarily, “Uh, your book. How is it?”

“Dorian Gray?” She questioned, receiving a nod, “Oh, it’s alright. A couple blokes doing a lot of talking.”

“Any puke?” George cocked his head.

“There’s blood,” she replied.

“Fluid is fluid,” he shrugged. There was another hesitation before he spoke again:

“I noticed you read a lot – muggle books, I mean. It’s interesting,” he stuck his hands in his pockets, “I was thinking about picking up a muggle book, but I don’t know where to start.”

So this was it. Weeks of stares and stilted interactions because of her obsession. She let out an audible sigh of relief. Any ounce of fear or tension drained from her body, and in its place, a peace rooted itself. Apparently, all it took to crack her shell was the mention of books.

“Oh, sure!” She spoke, her lips curling into a smile, “If you tell me what you fancy in a story I could find something you’d enjoy.”

“That’d be great,” he grinned, “Maybe I could tell you this weekend at Hogsmeade?”

“Hogsmeade?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah,” he perked up suddenly, “There’s that muggle book shop near the outside of town — Argyle and Dicken’s? You could help me find something. Maybe we can go for butterbear after?”

There was nothing Jane Austen could have done to prepare her for an offer like this. No romance novel she’d ever read could help her. She couldn’t reply with something witty, or cute, or sultry. She couldn’t wink or do something flirtatious. All she was capable of doing was giving him a near-dumbfounded look whilst attempting to close her partially agape mouth. George Weasley wanted a little more than just a recommendation.

“She’d love to.” A feminine voice spoke from behind her. Meredith, somewhat winded and somewhat late, swooped in beside her to press a metaphorical hand to her jaw.

“Love to,” she repeated, though a little less confident. George seemed to appreciate the answer anyways, giving a quick nod of greeting to Meredith before smiling back at the other girl.

“Outside the castle at noon this Sunday work?”

“It, yeah, yes, it would work.” She nodded vigorously.

“Wicked,” he chuckled lightly, “It’s a da–“

“Get to your seats.” Professor Snape’s deep voice commanded. She, as well as Meredith, wasted no time shuffling past the boy to their chairs. George moved, though, only after he hesitated a moment. The potions lesson began unceremoniously, and she couldn’t help but look over to Meredith as Snape’s monotonous voice consumed the classroom.

“What was that?” She asked, eyes still wide.

"That was you getting yourself a date." Meredith whispered her reply happily.

A date. With George Weasley – the same George Weasley she had thought to be plotting against her, or at least hoping for her downfall. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile as the lesson went on.

A date.

With George Weasley.

hey guys, quick little note: i’m going to be starting a tag list so it’s easier to let people know when i post. if you’re interested in joining, comment a 🐝 on this post so i know who to add. alright, love u guys, toodles!

[amusingmorley]

Watching Life on Mars for the millionth time, and yet again thinking about how funny a crossover episode with Endeavour would be.

Both 1970’s set police shows. Incredibly different universes.

[meadow-lands-faerie]

Tumblr. I need your help. I read a little imaginey one shoty type thing about 6 ish (maybe more) years ago and all I can remember is:

'I can imagine Morse going to Max after thinking his knife wound reopened and Max saying "It looks like someone has been at the jam, or rather, the jam has been at you" '

And I neeeeeeeeed to find it for my sanity. I think it was on an ask blog but I can't find any now. Please Tumblr. Be my salvation.

[trashmouth-richie]

the raven told me of you

eddie x female reader

crafted from this prompt list by: @bettyfrommars @somnambulic-thing @allthingsjoeq

summary: eddie is released after six months of being behind bars with a false identity, he was never lonely because you were there with him, until you weren’t. now, coming home to a new life with his old name granted back to him. he navigates flashbacks, and trying to settle back in with wayne in private protective seclusion, alone— or is he?

8.1k

tw: 18+ angst. fluff of a new relationship, light smut— s1, s4 canon events with reader inserted into the timeline, mentions of insanity, death, witness protection, government cover-ups etc. this could be a continuation or stand alone fic of your touch but is not necessary to read.

releasing: thursday 3/7

Owens’ worked his charms. The government covered up the mass hysteria and pinned the murders of Chrissy, Patrick and Fred on an accidental chemical reaction from arsenic, radiation and terpenoids. The results left their bones liquified from the toxic lick of acid and torqued before solidifying once again. 

  The Hawkin’s Post called it ‘a combination of sickly tainted water from the school cafeteria.’ 

  Parents were urged to have their children tested at the local clinic for extra precautions, and thankfully no one else had been affected. 

  On Thursday the Eighteenth of September, at approximately 1300 hours… an hour into quiet personal time, Mr. Edward Munson, was once again, a free man. 

  At first he thought it was possibly a mistake, a horrifying joke fed by his many delusions. But when they called him into the warden’s office, he sat across an oak desk from a tall man with a skin bald head, shining like a lightbulb.  

  He used Eddie’s full name—not the persona he was given— and gave him ten minutes to collect his belongings. It was then he came to realize that maybe he wasn’t crazy after all. 

  Six long months in the clink with his brain spinning hallucinations beyond his control he wasn’t sure if he’d come out of it without a government issued lobotomy— and in the blink of an eye, it came to an abrupt end.

  Prison was cold, unwelcoming in shades of gray coating the ceilings, walls, floors, any service imaginable. As if there was one color sanctioned to the American Prison system and gray was the less costly option. 

  Concrete was probably more pliable than his bed was. The food was impeccable— if you were a raven on a mealworm diet.  It was just shy of hell, and it made the inhabitants calloused to a helping hand or squirreling away from making friends. 

  Seven months prior, Eddie was in his prime. For the first time in his life he was happy with where he was at, school was almost over and he had a true chance of walking the stage of graduation. 

  And you, he had you. 

  Beautiful, charismatic, sweet you. 

  It was almost like he conjured you up himself with a hard roll against a plyboard table of a twenty sided dice. Mesmerizing eyes that seemed to shimmer in any light, a smile that could soften Medusa’s rocky stare. You were perfect. 

  The first time his eyes laid on you was across the cafeteria. Everyone moved with the mundane routine, but you were shining like a spotlight had been placed on you overhead. 

  Your soft skin beckoned him like a moth to a flame. Smooth as silk, and he started to wonder what would your flesh feel like in his hands…would you cower away from their roughness? 

  His mind raced, and his heart pumped firmly whenever you walked past him, you smelled like ripe fruit, warming by the sun, and Eddie began to understand why Eve was tempted so easily. 

  And so began the daily task of seeking you out. He was able to spot you like Waldo amongst the boring gray faces of every other girl. 

  You shone like a gem, a sapphire filled with the darkest of depths, and like an enthusiast to your craft, he wanted to know the breadth of your soul. 

  His gem. 

  It was by total chance that he stumbled upon you after months of stray glances. He was walking backwards, yelling to Gareth about being on time for Hellfire that night, when he bumped into something that yelped in surprise. 

  It was you. 

  Sprawled and landing hard on your butt. Papers scattered from the collision of your face mashing into a denim patchwork vest. 

  He stumbled over your feet, falling beside you in a mess of curls and cigarettes, the one between his lips still intact. Your eyes met his for the first time, and that’s all it took for him to fall head over feet, in this case Reeboks, Eddie was a goner. 

  Your smile spread a warmth in his chest that he had never felt before. And your laugh? Made his knees physically weak. 

  He still didn’t know how he managed to swing it, but he charmed you into agreeing to a ride home. Conversation came easy with you. You were sweet yet comical, a bit of a smart ass. He was grinning like an idiot.

  Chatting about books, then music, he bantered back and forth, teasing on your choice of horror, astounded in your tastes— but nevermore, he was enthused, enamored. 

  Witty and shit giving, you had him wrapped around your finger before the van pulled in front of your place. A permanent dimple pecked into his cheek that wouldn’t subside no matter how hard he tried. 

  A ten digit number exchanged on lined paper was the start of the end. A corny fist pump and a pep talk on his jaunt back to the trailer park. 

  Eddie was living on cloud nine. 

  He called you that night, foregoing any dumb advice he had seen in movies or heard at school at waiting a certain amount of days or hours, he went on pure instinct alone, and almost threw up all over himself after punching the last number. 

  You answered with your name after saying a proper greeting and he stumbled over his own tongue before choking out that it was him. 

  “Sorry who?” you had teased, Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach with relief when you giggled on the other end, “are you calling to sell me some boy scout popcorn, because cheddar is my favorite… but for you I might just buy a tin of caramel.” 

  A heart laugh erupted from his trailer, loud and barking. “Boy Scouts weren’t really my thing, princess.” 

  “Ah,” you reasoned, “knots too hard?” 

  He laughed again, that damn dimple achingly prominent as he smiled through the receiver, and you swore you could hear his cheeks squeak, “something like that.” 

  An hour had passed and Eddie found himself in the snares of coiled phone cords as he wore a pattern from his bedroom to the kitchen, fiddling with things left on the counter. Even going so far as to start a load of laundry and empty the sink. 

  You too were in the trenches, living solely on the scraps of information of Eddie’s life that he tossed to you like a pigeon in a park.  

  He was smart, filled with colossal amounts of knowledge on anything from cars, to reading sheet music. He had an ear for rhythm, cocky enough to have you hum a tune so he could pick up on it, and add to it. Eddie was a closeted genius under the untamed curls. 

  “Shit— I’m talking too much, huh? " he asked after a long winded speech about a campaign he was planning for the freshman in Hellfire. “I get carried away sometimes,” he admitted with a chuckle, a ripple of embarrassment heating over his body in a wave. 

  “Not at all,” you eagerly replied, “tell me more about Kas!” 

  “Well princess, I could show you, if you wanted?” He prayed you’d say yes, to whom or what he was praying to— hewasn’t sure, just crossed fingers and pinched his eyes shut in hopes that you wouldn’t think he was some loser yanking his dick to figurines and elf lore.

  But you didn’t, you had said yes faster than he finished asking. And from there— it was history. 

  He went to bed with a spinning head and a heart wrapped in lace, sugar coated with your sweet voice in his ear, the same lopsided grin he had worn since tripping over you at school. 

  —

  Stepping out into the first breath of freedom, the sun felt heavy on his skin. It itched his arm hairs, the heat touching his neck for the first time in years since he grew out his hair. The brightness stung his eyes. 

  He had become accustomed to the hollowing sag of fluorescent lights paling his skin to almost translucency, a true dracula in the pits of a four walled hell.

  A croaked caw is loud overhead, singular— followed by a fluttering of wings, and the bend of a tree limb.

  The clothes he wore didn’t feel like him, the ripped cotton Hellfire shirt wasn’t clean coming in and wasn’t clean coming out, Shredded where the demobats feasted on him like a hotdog at a ball field. 

  His jeans stunk of decay and murky water from the gate. Caked with mud, dried several times in the days of being on the run, the jeans chafed his skin raw, gnawing on his leg hairs until they popped free, giving up the fight. 

  A manila envelope held his rings, clashing together in a melodic tone. He slotted them one by one on the correct fingers, yet they felt loose, heavy and familiar all at once. 

  He was ready to pitch the envelope into a trash bin when he felt something else in the bottom, having to rip it apart to get to whatever was inside. When the ground was littered next to his waterlogged Reeboks, and his palm held the small silver item, his eyes brimmed with tears. 

  —3

The nightly phone calls soon turned to walks around the trailer park, Eddie listening intently as you strolled around the driveway, kicking up little clouds of dirt or catching the occasional rock with the toe of your sneaker. 

  He matched your steps, learning about your passions after graduation, how you favored sweets over salty treats, and the embarrassing truth of how after your friend Barb went missing, you didn’t have any friends at school. 

  “Well, now you have me,” he chirped earnestly, dark eyes squinting in the setting sun as he knocked his elbow with yours, a smirk on his lips, “I’ll take care of ya.” 

  It was as simple as that, and the easiness of it made your nose tingle with a burn as you fought back tears at his kindness. 

  Weeks of walking with you after school round and round Forest Hills— the scenery started to change. 

  The emerald grass faded into sharp tawny weeds. Foliage turned the color of autumn and the air began to crisp and chill.

  It was then, on a windy Tuesday afternoon, that Eddie invited you into his home, he made sure to kick dirty laundry under his bed, hide the Playboys in the closet behind an old pair of shoes and empty the heaping ashtrays the night beforehand. 

  A jewel in a shit shack— you equally looked out of place and fit in with the cluttered belongings of his uncles at the same time. 

  “My castle.” he announced, bending low and holding the door open like a gentleman. 

  He showed you around the small square footage, taking less than fifteen seconds to point everything out. 

  “And that?” 

  “That’s.. my room.” 

  It was silly then, how nervous he was to let you into his space, even though during your walks you acquired everything there was to know about him. 

—

  Snow was on the ground when your after school routine of going to Eddie’s was as second nature to you as breathing. 

  You were sitting on his unmade bed atop the rumpled comforter and soft sheets, socked toes dangling from the side of the mattress. A textbook balanced in your lap, pencil between your teeth. Your eyebrows pinched in a studied strain as you tried to solve a calculus formula. 

  His voice had startled you, not sure when he had gotten up or how long he was standing at his desk, looking almost sick. 

  “Got something.. for you.. something dumb that I saw.” 

  He tried his damndest to be cavalier. But Eddie was everything but. 

  Ten dollars in quarters, more hours than he had spent in a pizza joint ever, and a hoard of tiny plastic containers from a machine holding costume jewelry, he had finally gotten what caught his eye. 

  A silver ring adorning a bat with an indigo colored stone in the center. It didn’t come close to the actual beauty you possessed but the blue stone reminded him of the way you moved through the crowd that day, like a rare gem. 

  Tired eyes focused on him, a nervous little twitch in his body didn’t go unnoticed as he fumbled with something behind his back, a wanton smile smirked on his lips. 

  You smile, adjusting the book from your lap and rubbing the pressure from your eyes, “a gift? Ed, you didn’t have to do that.” 

  “Didn’t have too,” he charmed, moving closer into your space, his jeans tickling the tips of your toes, “but… I wanted to.” 

  “Should I close my eyes?” 

  He chuckled, “sure sweetheart, hold out your hand,” 

  Your eyes shut tight, eyelashes squishing against your cheeks as you giggled, “why am I nervous?” 

  He stared at the rubber eraser shavings that clung to your bottom lip. The graphite on your fingers, a small hole in your jeans atop your knee, showing a smooth expanse of skin that he itched to touch. You had captivated him since the day you crossed his lazy stare in the lunchroom, and he thought of very little else. 

  He could still hear your squeals when you opened your eyes and saw the delicate ring in your palm. Still feel the way his heart raced when you jumped up and hugged his middle, squeezing him tight against you, the smell of your hair filling his nose with notes of strawberry, or was it peach? 

  He didn't realize he had the ring fisted in a vice grip until he felt blood in his palm, salty tears collecting in the thickness of his mustache, his lip quivering.

  They’re wiped away in haste at the sound of a police cruiser. The familiar scent of thick gasoline exhaust and a camel cigarette follow with the squeak of his driver's door and release of weight on the suspension. 

  A towering frame crowds the sun from Eddie’s brow. A thick mustache sits square on an egg shaped skull, sunken cheeks replace a once plump face. But the drawl and cigarette smoke are welcoming just the same. 

  “Hey kid.” 

  —

  Eddie was nervous. 

  The time you two had been spending together was making him feel giddy. You hadn’t kissed or so much as held hands yet but the air between you both had become filled with dense clouds of lust induced tension— it was hard for him to see straight. 

  He didn’t know if you felt the same, or if you only saw him as a friend, but tonight was the night the boundaries would cross, and he stood armed like a Paladin, ready to conquer his toughest quest yet, you.

  Ice had built up on the broken concrete steps to Eddie’s trailer and your slick bottomed converse hit the glassy surface just right for you to slip backwards, falling into strong leather coated arms. 

  “We gotta stop falling into each other princess,” he chuckled, holding you tight with hands wrapped around your waist, “gettin’ too old for this nonsense.”

  His scent invades you, encompassing you with hints of camels, a stick of big red gum, and starch powdered deodorant. 

  Your laugh bubbles out of your throat like a giggly champagne, “damn, you got me, totally do this on purpose, insurance claims. All the rage nowadays.” 

  He buffers for a bit as you tip forward on your feet and spin to face him, one step higher than he stands. “Only kidding,” you tease, grabbing his chin with icy fingers. 

  His doe eyes stare into yours, lost in the way you made his heart skip and his bones feel like jello, blood ablaze. He’s searching, searching your face for a giveaway— a sign. 

  And it happens like clockwork.

  Your hands rest on either of his cheeks, thumb sweeping softly over the creamy silk of his skin, an audible sigh slides from his throat, followed by a giggle slipping from yours before your voice narrows to a whisper, “lighten up Munson.”

  The salmon tone of his lips have gone more cherry colored in the cold, a little chapped from the frigid temps. Not the usually pinkish orangey hue they drew in warm light when he flustered over History notes and Chemistry study cards.

  The apples of his cheeks were rosy like a cherub on a Valentine’s Day card, glittered with fancy text swirling of “Be Mine?” 

  Coal eyes shone with the bright overhead light from the trailer park. A deer caught in headlights. 

  Eddie was handsome in a way nobody in Hawkins was. A mane of curled brown locks, eyes to match. He was affectionate, easygoing, and you loved him the minute he crashed into you a few months ago. 

  Hands still on your waist he pulled you towards him, “Can’t,” he breathes, almost silently, a huff of air between you now, “not when I’m around you, never around you.” 

  Your fingers tangle together around his shoulders, braided in the hair at the nape of his neck, he shudders at the temperature change on his skin. 

  A quirk in your brow you tilt your head and wet your lips, “why’s that?” 

  He joins you on the crowded step, taller than you, peering into your face, heavy hands still on the waist, “for months, haven’t been able to think straight when you’re here,” his hands rub on your lower back making lazy circles under your coat with his blunt nails. 

  “Hmm..” you tease, twirling a curled lock of of the hair framing his face between your fingers, sultry eyes looking up at him in thick eyelashed innocence, “wonder why that is?” 

  The opening he was looking for, boundary lines down in overgrown grass as if he rolled a crit hit to whatever creature stood in his path was laid out for him. 

  His forehead comes to rest on yours, surprisingly warm in the cold, his nose like frost as it slid beside your own, bumping and sharing one breath. 

  “ ‘cause I’m crazy ‘bout you,” he finally admits, heart loosening, unrestricting, “and I can’t stop thinking what your lips would feel like with mine.”  

  He feels your smile on his mouth, the bated breath you’re holding teasing his tongue, “find out,” is all you can get mutter before his lips press gently to yours. 

  —

  Hawkins was a few hours drive, longer yet after stopping at the nearest diner for a burger and fries. After staring at a menu for more than Hopper’s liking he ordered for himself and Eddie. 

  The coffee came in white ceramic mugs, the waitress setting them down in the designated spots that were already stained with rings of taupe, years of wear. 

  “Wayne’s all set up in a new trailer, living high off the hog or whatever he said during our weekly check-ins.”

  Eddie ate in silence, chewing slowly, eating but not really tasting. What was freedom if you weren’t a part of it? 

  He’d be the first to admit that he talked to you when he was stressed. When he thought he couldn’t shut his eyes without seeing the horrific beings that crawled upside down from our world, he turned to your voice, feeling you wrap around him gave him a sense of hope. 

  “It’s not in Forest Hills, somewhere a little more private, government owned land.” 

  Eddie sipped at the bitter coffee, taking the burn in a big swig, letting it hurt. Nodding along as he watched his reflection in the dark cup. 

  —

  Kissing you was like being able to breathe underwater, like the 1986 New Year’s fireworks over Lover’s Lake. 

  He kissed you at your door before school when he showed up every morning to drive you. He stole more kisses in his van, cursing the 8:15 bell, his hands on your waist pulling you further into him.

  Standing by your locker, he kissed your cheeks as you dug for textbooks. He pressed his lips to your ear in the lunch line, making you squirm. 

  He kissed your shoulder when he sat behind you teaching you to play his guitar. Pressing the delicate pads of your fingers into the strings to play each chord with ease. 

  He’d groan into your neck, while pressing you into the couch, nipping your skin until his lips were raw. 

  “Where have you been my whole life?” 

  Your fingers are entwined in his hair, pulling his weight  further into you, your legs wrap around his waist, “led astray, lost, so lost.” 

  He leans up, dark curtains of hair dangling into your face from your position on the saggy couch in the Munson living room.  

  He smiles a toothy grin, dimples breaching, “good thing I found you then, baby,” he sweeps a rogue eyelash from your cheek, “can’t escape me now.” 

  “wouldn’t want to even if I were dead.”

  —

  “Nope, hasn’t said a word, how do you know he can even talk?” 

  Owen’s sighs on the other end of the receiver, “he’s tough, but he’s been through a lot,  needs time to recover, find out who he is again.” 

  Hopper takes a long drag of a cigarette, “yeah, don’t know about that one doc, he’s mute.” 

  Short trimmed nails scratch at a tuft of curly white hair, stationed somewhere in Nevada, “Alright, just get him home, I’ll call the uncle and let him know.” 

  — 

  Hugs lingered. Kisses deepened. Bodies pressed to one another in a staticky velcro of magnets, unable to peel apart. 

  Things were hot and heavy between you and Eddie. Smoky, tingly, a fog that had your blood pulsing places you didn’t know was even possible. You didn’t want to be apart, aching to explore every inch of him. 

  And he felt the same. 

  Together you set the plans into place. 

  He purchased the condoms, made sure his favorite mix of the slowest metal music he could find was ready to go. He washed his bed sheets and lit a dust covered candle. 

  You had done your own routine, showering and thoroughly scrubbing every surface of your skin, lathering a thick lotion on your body, and planting perfume in the direct places Cosmo described as, ‘irresistible’. 

  It wasn’t his first time. But it was yours. 

  Running his fingers through his bangs once more he took a last meticulous look around his room, crossing the trailer to answer the front door, where you had knocked quietly. 

  You were gorgeous, standing in a pair of light wash jeans and a buttoned red sherpa coat. A bag over your shoulder. 

  “There’s my girl,” he cooed, holding his arms wide and embracing you in his signature bone crushing hug. His lips found yours in a fevered second and he walked you backwards inside, flipping the deadbolt as he kicked the door behind him. 

  The duffle bag travels from your shoulder to his arm and he breaks away from your tempting lips. Holding your shoulder he pulls you into him, looking at you as he leads you to his room. 

  “Got everything you need? Toothbrush?” 

  You smile a little nervously, “check.”

  “Okay, pajamas?” he inquires, “could wear mine if you wanted, you’d look pretty damn cute in my Garfield pants.” 

  “Packed and folded last night,” you say, tickling

 his sides, “you were on the phone with me when I did it.” 

  He stops before crossing the threshold to his room, hands gently pressed to your cheeks, looking into your eyes in a serious manner.

  “Are you sure? Like really sure?” his brows knit into concern, “I want you to be comfortable with this.. with me.” 

  You tug his shirt with a pinched grip, at his waist, staring back into his eyes, the truth on your tongue. 

  “I want you.” 

  —

  Gravel spits up from the rubber tires as Hopper’s cruiser pulls off onto the secluded road. Eddie’s head hits the window hard with a thud, waking him from a dream. 

  “Home sweet home, kid.” Hop grunts, cranking the vehicle to a stop after traveling down a long twisting driveway thick with bordering trees and miles of woods on either side. A safe haven for a man deemed dead. 

  He could make out the taillights of his van, nestled in the tall grass beneath a willow tree, obscured from view. Wayne’s trusty Ford under the carport. 

  The overcast sky splayed a gray color against the new Munson home, and sitting on steps that weren’t broken, was Wayne. 

  The passenger door releases with a groan, and he inhales the fresh scent of dirt and summer grass. Finally, he feels like he can breathe. 

  Wayne’s familiar thin lipped grin is spread wide on his face, smoke lingering from a cigarette in an ashtray. His wet eyes gleam at the boy he once thought was dead, as he stands to greet his nephew.

  “Hardly recognized ya with that short hair, Ed, and that beard?” he says rubbing a weathered hand through his own scruff, “givin’ me a run for my money son.” 

  He hadn’t seen his uncle since that friday morning in March. Unbeknownst to them both, in 15 short hours a cheerleader would die gruesomely in their living room, sprouting a world of chaos and demons, destruction, uncertainty and more carnage. 

  Hop had explained to Eddie that Wayne was compensated generously for his grief by the United States Government. He was told the ins and outs of what had happened and where Eddie was, and perched on land in a new house, he was told to wait. 

  —

  Spring had sprung, the hard winter that seemed like it would never end was finally seeing its demise. March brought promises of new growth in the soil, and warmer days ahead. 

  It was a typical Friday, besides a morning pep rally for the laundry basket team after winning an important game the night before. 

  A pep rally you never attended.

  Your back was pressed against the bathroom stall, skirt rucked up with the help of Eddie’s hand. 

  “We’re… gonna… get caught.” You rasped out between kisses.

  His other hand was interlaced with yours high above your head, “probably,” he teased, tongue licking into your mouth, “it’s worth it though? Yeah?” 

  His hand travels further to the cotton waist of your panties, dragging them further and further down your thigh, his lips assaulting your neck, vibrating with your delicate moans. 

  “For you?” you question, hooking an arm around his shoulder, as your panties hit the ground, “always.” 

  He smiles into your lips as he pushes into your warm center, taking the breath from your lungs as you adjust to him, ass cheeks cold on the metal siding of the stall. 

  Your legs are wrapped into the crease where his elbow meets, his cock dragging in and out languidly, mouths hung open and tasting each other's ecstasy as your eyes drink one another up. 

  “Swear I’ve never, ever had someone like you, baby,” he gasped, bangs frizzing from being wet from a morning shower then covered in sweat. 

  Hips pistoning into you, he can feel your walls clench and tighten, your breath choked before you release, saying his name as if it’s the only word you can make out. 

  He cums hard. biting his lip and burying his face into your neck, “I love you, fuck I love you.”

  It was the first time he had said it. He had known it for months, but today in the girls bathroom skipping a pep rally he could give a shit about, he figured it was the perfect place to say how he felt. 

  He’s still inside you when you say it back, spend leaking from you and onto the tiled floor. Your own eyes wet with the happiest of tears because no one has ever said that to you, not like this. 

  But this gorgeous man, in all his reputational flaws that didn’t mean shit, loved you. And you had never felt more emotion flooding through you all at once. 

  “I love you too, Eddie.” 

  —

  Hopper didn’t stay for supper, patting his barely there belly and saying the missus was expecting him home tonight. He tipped a felt hat goodbye to Wayne and to Eddie, telling them to call if they needed anything.

  He still hadn’t spoken, only nodded and waved curtly as the red tail lights danced down the tangled web of a driveway. 

  “Gonna make pork chops if you’re interested,” Wayne chirped, holding the door open for him as they climbed the same number of steps, “learned how to cook, can y’ believe that?” 

  He smiled softly, carrying his envelope of release papers and setting them on the table. 

  Everything from the old trailer was ruined. His guitar, all the band equipment he had stored in his room, the mattress that held more memories with you in them that he’d never get back— all gone, burned to a rancid fiery crisp when the fourth chime rang and Hawkins spread open like a festering wound. 

  The only thing he had of yours was the small bat ring with a sapphire stone. 

  Ten dollars in quarters at a shitty pizza place. He should have given you something real.

  —

  “.. yeah yeah and I was full of shit then,” Eddie grinned as Jeff and Gareth teased him about his graduation timeline. “This is my year, I can feel it.. ‘86 baby!”

  He was always a flare for dramatics, dungeon master or not he amped it up for the freshman, acting like DnD was life or death, as if the cult of Vecna couldn’t be missed. 

  To be fair, he spent months on this campaign, late nights plotting and scrawling into a binder as you sat behind him, playing with his hair. 

  French braids then pippy styled pigtails, a cute bun on the top of his head with little hairs sweeping against his forehead and at the nape of his neck, perfect curls. 

  “Ten bucks says Wheeler cries when Vecna makes his return.”

  “You think?” 

  “Definitely.”

  Shoving Dustin and Mike with specific instructions to find a replacement player for Lucas, he sits down to his measly little lunch, leaning over to your space and whispering so only you can hear. 

  “After Hellfire tonight you wanna come over? Wayne bought a frozen pizza and I heard that Family Video finally got some good horror flicks in.” 

  Stealing a pretzel from his fingers you nod your head yes, “ I’ll get the movie, meet you at the trailer?” 

  The rest of the day dragged on. One boring class after another, students excited for the upcoming game, teachers unable to keep the roar of amped up Jocks under control, but alas the last bell finally rang. Releasing Hawkins High for Spring Break of ‘86. 

  Some kids went on vacation, others hunkered down with their friends. And some never made it back to school when classes resumed. 

  Walking down to his designated selling spot at the forgotten picnic table in the woods, he could have never imagined the trouble he’d be in just seven hours later. 

  —

  Pork Chops seared in a pan with some butter and a chopped onion, Wayne had the news playing on the small tv in the kitchen, listening for the weather report. 

  The trailer was identical to the one lost to the rotting flesh of the Upside Down. Newer, and a damn sight cleaner, but the layout was exactly the same, except for an added bedroom with an attached bath on the opposite wall of the living room.

  The filthy hat collection was replaced by odd cowboy decor and small wolf figurines. Eddie paced around the living room, touching the knick knacks that someone else had picked out not even questioning whether or not Wayne enjoyed this kind of stuff. 

  He had shown Eddie to his room, a navy blue carpet stretched across the floor, a queen sized bed against the back wall. New new new. Everything was foreign to him. 

  He would miss the heavy creak of a dresser drawer that didn’t shut properly, his closet door that fell off its track years before. Hell, he’d even miss the itch of the green wool blanket he kept on his bed in the winter months. 

  “Got your own bathroom too,” Wayne said cheerfully hovering in the doorway, hand rubbing the knob as he stared at the floor, “figured you’d wanna shower ‘fore supper, so I laid a towel out.” 

  Eddie turned his head nodding while he poked at the too soft blanket folded on his bed.

  “It’s good to have you home, Eddie.” Wayne said, finally looking into his nephew’s eyes, “didn’t feel the same without you.” 

  Wayne wasn’t a coddler, he didn’t want Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be trusted, so he turned to leave, “shower’s got real good water pressure.” He takes  a glance back at Eddie, and looks around the room before pulling the door shut behind him.

  “Thanks,” Eddie mumbles, turning away at the last second, avoiding the piercing color of Wayne’s eyes before they could break him down. 

  —

  Ten o’ clock on the dot your car crunched onto the dusty driveway of Forest Hills. Eddie’s van wasn’t parked out front yet, but thankfully the Munson trailer was never kept locked. 

  The trailer smelled of old smoke and musk from two hard working men. Even if the laundry was never caught up, and greasy wrappers from a quick bite of a burger littered the counter— Eddie’s home was comforting to you. 

  You didn’t have to fumble around for the light switches anymore, walking in the dark you knew where the table could connect with your hip if you weren’t careful. 

  Ten steps from the kitchen, down the hall was his bedroom door, five steps back led to the bathroom. He had cleared a drawer for you to keep your clothes in, socks, extra pajamas, some of his favorite pairs of your underwear lived in the top drawer on the right. 

  The mirror on his dresser held a collection of pictures of the two of you from the photo booth at Starcourt Mall, movie ticket stubs, and the mint condition guitar he kept sacred. 

  A yawn escapes your tired mouth the warmth of a shower calls to you.  

  Grabbing a towel from the cabinet, the water sputters under the shower head as it always did, and familiar music floods your ears from the thin walls outside. 

—

  His reflection is gaunt, different than the last time he looked at himself, the night he struck the mirror in disgust. 

  He’s too happy to rid himself of the swamp smelling clothes that itched and scraped his skin. The lick of a flame would do them justice, good riddance to the worst time of his life.

  The shower is bigger, the head double the size of the one he grew used to. The spray of scalding water hits his head like magma. Burning his flesh, washing away months of isolation, stale air, and stiff clothing. 

  The water released muscles in his back that had grown crimped from the thin cot he curled himself on. His fingers ran through the shorter length of hair on his head, just above his eyebrows realizing it now was long enough to drip water into his eyes. 

  He didn’t check the labels before rubbing whatever soap or shampoo it was into his skin, but the slide of it onto his pale and gummy mauled scars felt like butter on toast. 

  Registering the faint scent of a stixky sweet fruit he couldn’t determine if it was strawberry or peach, but the concoction had him clutching his chest, unable to breathe. 

  It smelled like you.

  You. His best friend.

You. His first girlfriend.

You. The only person he has ever loved— so intensely, it killed him. 

  You you you. 

  His gem. All sapphire blues with depths beyond comparison to anyone else who simply peaked on the surface. 

  Gone.

  “Ready whenever you are!” Wayne knocked on the door, “pork chop ain’t no good cold.”

  He wipes the tears from his eyes. Regulates his breathing with labored intakes. And finally admits the thing he couldn’t for the past six months. 

  “She’s gone.” 

  —

  “Sorry for the mess, maid took the week off.” 

  “You live here alone?”

  Murmured voices are muffled under the rush of water from the shower, “Eddie?..that you?”

  Shuffled steps get closer and the bathroom door swings open, Eddie’s eyes are wide, wild with excitement as they roam over your form. 

  He licks his lips, stalking towards you in a lazy manner with dark hooded eyes, “prettiest girl in the whole world in my bathroom?” His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into him, a breathtaking move leaving you giggly as his hand caresses your cheek, “hope you’re naked under these clothes.” 

  He presses his lips to yours in a chaste kiss, dipping you low and swinging you back up, he tastes like Mountain Dew and lingering hints of nicotine, spread with a wicked grin. 

  “I missed you, handsome,” you say, pressing your lips to his again, “so how was it? Did Mike cry when Vecna came back?” 

  Eddie barks out a laugh, rubbing his hands together, “think I might’ve seen a single tear fall, but they defeated him— crit hit by Sinclair’s sister.”

  “Really? That’s.. impressive!” 

  “It was… shit, I’ve never been more proud of those little assholes.” His smile fades and you know he’ll miss being DM for them next year. 

  “Eddie?” A small voice asks from the living room.

  Your brow quirks in question and he looks at you voice whispering low, “Chrissy Cunningham wants to buy ketamine.”

  “What?!” you whisper back face struck in shock, “seriously?!” 

  Eddie nods, eyes wide in almost disbelief himself, “wanted a half ounce at first, but then said she needed something stronger.” 

  Your face pulls concern, honestly astonished that someone who seemed so prim and proper would want something like that. Eddie didn’t sell k normally you’ve been with him on multiple occasions and the only thing that was consistent with your peers of Hawkins High was weed. 

  “Do you even have it?” 

  “Dunno” he shrugs, lips in a frown, “told her I did because it’s an easy thirty bucks, but I could just crush up some tic-tacs… she wouldn’t know the difference.” 

  “Eddie? Did you find it?” Chrissy calls out in a nervous pitch. 

  “I can talk to her while you find something?” 

  “That’d be great,” he kissed you once more, lips buzzing, “two minutes!” He practically skips to his bedroom and shoots you a wink. Leaving you in a flight of butterflies lining your stomach. Helplessly in love. 

  —

  Inhaling the hot cooked meal that didn’t taste like warmed up roadkill, Eddie sat in silence in a clean pair of clothes that weren’t his, listening to Wayne talk about what he’d been up to since they had last seen each other. 

  He burned with questions, needing, wanting, aching to know but the only thing he could blurt out came choked and almost suffocating on the use of his vocal cords. 

  “I need to see her.”

  Wayne simply slurped his iced tea, setting the glass down heavy on the oak table, ice shifting. “Figured you would… want me to drive ya?” 

  Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head, “I need to go alone.” 

  With instructions from Wayne on the less traveled roads back to town, Eddie’s van sputtered to life in a cloud of backfiring smoke. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the passenger seat, he knew what would be there, and what wouldn’t. 

  Nothing was the same. Not anymore. 

  —

  The boat floor was cramped, quite literally packed like sardines in a can, you were somehow lulled to sleep by the sway of Lover’s Lake waters and the even breathing of Eddie’s chest. 

  Your head tucked beneath his chin, he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could without crushing your bones. 

  Rick’s offered little comfort for an empty stomach outside of a moldy fruit bowl, an expired beer and a singular can of spaghetti o’s. But you were both safe for now. And that’s what mattered. 

  The kids, Steve Harrington— of all people— and Robin promised food and any information they could find without seeming suspicious. He was gracious for their companionship, needing something to keep him busy while trying to hide his own slip to insanity from you. 

  Your tears were endless, soft and steady one minute and the next you were wrecked, in a choked fit clinging to him for dear life. 

  Eddie’s mind played on replay of your trembling screams when Chrissy’s bones snapped like twigs and her eyes vacuumed out of her skull. Vecna, a made up character that he had been obsessing over for the past couple months for DnD was real. 

  Killing teenagers for what? World domination? Eddie and yourself were the ones on the run, knowing all too well how a dead cheerleader in his trailer would look to any cop with half a brain. 

  He’d run forever if it meant not losing you and killing Vecna for good. Everything he had ever known, books of fantasy and creatures that he drew for campaigns, it was all real, and these kids have been fighting it for years now. 

  The sound of tires crunching on the driveway had his ears perked like a guard dog, followed by three slamming doors. Instructions were given, and he could only imagine that whoever it was was in Rick’s house and it was only a matter of time before they noticed the boat house just like Mayfield had. 

  The walkie talkie Dustin left was clutched in his hand, you were both fucked, and needed help— now.

—

  The Roane Hill Cemetery was eerily foggy, dew coated the hot blades of grass from the sweltered heat. Wayne drew a map on what section you were in. Apparently the number of people lost in the “earthquake” were in the upper digits now, and they were running out of land to bury the deceased.

  Those not recovered were given markers slotted into the ground with accompanied by silk ribbons to symbolize hope. They were nestled up under a thick tree line, complete with a wrought iron fence. 

  He bubbled out a laugh when he crossed by his own empty grave. The headstone was covered in graffiti of wishes to burn in hell. Typical. His death date marked as  ‘March 27 1986’. But that wasn’t true. 

  Lots of people passed that day when hell itself opened a crimson quaking flood. but not him. Although he wished he had. 

  Pushing forward, he knew had to be close now. The air was thick in the foggy whiteness— blinding him. A high pitched croak screeched from the sky, and he stumbled backward, landing on his ass with a wet thud, a spattering of grass grown wild in tender dirt. 

  His chest cavity sunk in, gasping for breath but coming up empty. Each threatened choke chipped away at him as his fists tore at the soft ground. 

  His girl. His gem. Laid to rest.

  —

  The Winnebago rocked on uneven suspension as Steve winded down the Indiana highway back to Hawkins. It was eerily quiet. Even Robin was silent, planning her mission in her head? You couldn’t be sure. 

  Tightening the bandana around Eddie’s curls you ask him if it feels okay. 

  “Yeah, course.” 

  Days of running. Hours of growling stomachs, unable to keep down food— you prayed this plan of Nancy’s would work, that Max would be able to lure Vecna with her vulnerable mind, that Eddie could distract the bats long enough to have the others attack his paralysis ridden body—it had to work— right? 

  Eddie sits and pulls you onto his lap, adjusting the spear made by the same eleven year old girl who defeated his campaign a few nights before. Erica, you learned, was a warrior. 

  “Nervous?” you asked throwing an arm around his neck and whispering into his ear. 

  He shrugged nonchalantly, “little worried.” 

  You believed in the plan, in the younger kids, in Steve Nancy and Robin who had been fighting stuff like this from a different dimension for years. They were trustworthy and intelligent. 

  “It’s gonna work babe,” you encouraged, stroking his cheek, “we’ll clear your name, graduate, and then leave this hell hole, together.” 

  He looks at you with strained eyes, wetter than usual, “you and me?” 

  Staring back at him you press your lips to his in a gentle kiss, “forever.” 

  —

  He laid there until the sky turned to ink. Speaking to you in his head, knowing in his deepest of hearts that you could hear him. Telling you how he had missed you, how your beautiful smile played like a film in his brain. How he loved you. and hours have told you sooner, more, every day.

  He told you how he wished he was gone too. Would you like that? It could be so easy to do.

  Tracing his fingers over the formal font of your engraved name. He smirked at the silly spelling of your middle name. 

  It was comforting. 

  Eddie hadn’t felt this sense of calm since the day you hadn’t come back to him in the mirror, and he thought whatever magic spell was broken until you reached for him one last time, promising to never leave. 

  But you did, and he was alone. 

  Standing upright, he let out a sleepy yawn, “can I come by tomorrow?” he asked, “would you be okay with that?” He smiled, and bent at the knee to press his lips into the stone above your name. 

  “Oh,” he remembered, fishing your ring from the breast pocket of his borrowed flannel shirt, “look what I found.”

  He held it to your stone, “this belongs to you, baby, I want you to have it.” 

  Placing the small ring on the smooth base of your tombstone, he gets back up, knees clicking like he’s years older than he actually was. 

  “See you tomorrow, my sweet gem.” 

  —

  The night air shifted on his drive home, blowing a chilling breeze from the north that whipped his hair around his ears. The van struggled on the drive home with each gust that blew against the metal frame. 

  “Think we’re in for a storm tonight.” Wayne said when Eddie breached the front steps, straightening his arm, “ol elbow’s actin’ up.” 

  “Kinda cold for September, right?” 

  “All of a sudden it dropped about thirty degrees, somethin’s a brewin’.” 

  Wayne had his truck keys wrapped around a finger, “I gotta go check on Miss Pam, her husband died in the uhh.. anyway, she’s not doing well and you remember how those damn lights always went out? I’ll be back after while.”

  Eddie grew a smile, “should I wait up?” 

  Wayne stopped in his tracks, talking around a smirk hiding a laugh, “don’t get smart with me.” 

  They both share a glance and laugh softly, and Eddie still has a smile even after the rumble of Wayne’s pickup gets carried away in the wind. 

  He locked up, pulling the vinyl shades and unhooking the curtains, pitching the trailer into darkness right as the rain pelted the window panes. 

  Wayne must have made his bed when he was in the cemetery. A small radio was perched on a nightstand and after slipping into starched pajama pants, from the fancy dresser, Eddie fiddled with the knob until the faint guitar sounds filled the room. 

  Thunder grumbled in the distance, but what he heard next was repetitive, growing louder. Shit, maybe Wayne didn’t have a house key. 

  “Ya know,” he says, walking to through the kitchen to the front door, “you tel me not to wait up but then you bang on the door because you don’t have keys? C’mon!” 

  The door swings open with a final gust of wind. Mud sloshed on his feet, Rain splattered his face. But that was not a concern. 

  A beautiful face, covered in Earth. Eyes he hadn’t seen outside of a mirror in months. You wore the same thing he last saw you in, same tattered wear that his Hellfire shirt had, but it somehow looked soft. 

  “I promised you forever.” 

[unofficial-writing]

She calls me Freddie (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Gryffindor!Reader

Warnings: None really, fluff and a little banter, implications that your normal hair color isn’t red (sorry to my beautiful redheads)

Summary: The Tri-wizard tournament is announced and entering doesn’t go to plan

Word count: 4.9k

(Part 2 - Find all other parts here!)

༺═────────────═༻

The next week turned out to be pretty uneventful for you. After you all recovered from what happened at the game you started to use quidditch as your pastime. You, Harry, Ron, the twins, Ginny, and even Hermione practiced behind the burrow. Ginny had begun to take an interest in being a chaser so you showed her just about everything you know, having been one for the Gryffindor team for most of your years at Hogwarts. You played most days leading up to school and on the following Thursday you all traveled to the station in London.

“Did he find a compartment?” You asked George, who you were following through the train. Your luggage was already loaded, leaving you to carry your wand and one of your smaller bags.

“Fred said he found an empty one up here,” He started, peering into each compartment as he passed, looking for his brother. The boy stopped abruptly once he spotted him, which made you trip over his feet. “Aha.” He let out casually, as if he didn’t just have to save you from face-planting.

“Finally. I didn’t know how much longer I could fight off these kids.” Fred complained as you stepped into the little room. He sat by the window with Ginny across from him, who rolled her eyes at her brother.

“It was one first year. And the kid looked terrified.” Ginny told you and George while you hoisted your bag onto the rack above the seats. You gave Fred a look.

“Fred, you did not chase away a first year!”

“Oh no, he didn’t.” Ginny defended him. “He actually offered for him to sit with us but the poor kid ran off.”

George broke into laughter and Fred sighed, crossing his arms. You sat down beside him, fitting yourself into the space between him and the window. It was small enough that he had to scoot over so you wouldn’t be in his lap, which he did so without question.

You patted his knee to comfort him. “We can’t all be good with kids, babe.” You told him casually. The other two Weasleys glanced at you when you said this, but neither you nor Fred treated it any differently so they dropped it.

“It was probably just the kid’s first day and he didn’t want to sit with a sixth year he didn’t know.” George stated, sitting down once he put his couple of bags up. Fred just shook his head and moved on.

The rest of the train ride went by quickly, spent with carefree talk and conversations about nothing important. Soon the clear skies of the morning began to turn grey and by the time you arrived at Hogwarts, the clouds were much darker and threatened to drop rain on the school.

Still dry for now, you entered the courtyard in awe of the castle as always. It was now your sixth year here and you were still taken by the school. Raindrops finally began to fall, so you stepped under the covered walkway.

Fred tugged your sleeve to get your attention and when you looked up at him, his eyes were looking out onto the lake. “What is it?” You asked him, stepping toward the stone opening to see better. Out on the water, a huge ship sprouted up from the lake, water draining from it as it lifted above the surface.

“I’ve never seen that before.” You admitted. Ginny hurried beside you to get a look as well, but gasps from the other students drew you to the opposite side of the walkway. There you caught sight of a huge carriage coming in from above, drawn by several winged horses.

“Who do you suppose they are?” Ginny asked as they landed, guided in by Hagrid. They ducked just out of view as they touched the ground.

“I imagine we won’t have to wait long find out.” You said, turning from the spot where they disappeared to see the students flowing into the castle. Everyone filed into the great hall to find a seat. You sat down beside Angelina Johnson, who gave you a huge smile upon seeing you.

“Angie!” You exclaimed, giving her a tight hug. Fred sat down beside you and George across. He gave Angelina an almost timid smile.

“Hey, Angelina.” George greeted. You’d rarely seen George look so nervous. Angelina, of course, gave her smile out to him and asked about his summer, which got them talking less awkwardly. You and Fred exchanged a look, sharing the exact same thought.

The room filled with laughing and cheering as friends were reunited for the year, Gryffindor being the loudest as usual. By the time Dumbledore stepped up to his podium, your stomach ached from laughter. It took his loud voice to silence the hall and once the noise had subsided, he started his beginning of the year speech.

“Now that we’re all settled and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement.” He addressed the students. Fred twirled a piece of your hair to distract you and earned an elbow to the arm, which didn’t stop him. “This castle will not only be your home this year but home to some very special guests as well. You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. The Tri-wizard tournament.”

You had heard of it before but you hadn’t been to Hogwarts long enough to see one take place. And certainly not to see one take place here.

“Now for those of you who do not know, The Tri-wizard tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. For each school a single student is selected to compete.” Dumbledore continued to explain. This had everyone paying attention, as most of your group especially was interested. You leaned an arm onto the table.

“But let me be clear.” The professor paused briefly to scan the room. “If chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint-hearted.” He said ominously and then suddenly flipped a switch and took on a light-hearted expression.

“But more of that later,” he continued. “For now please welcome the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons school of magic!” On cue the doors opened on the opposite side of the hall, having everyone’s head suddenly turn in that direction.

In came a group of girls mostly a little older than you, all in matching blue uniforms with their hair tied neatly behind their backs. They strode through the room elegantly catching nearly every eye, especially from the boys. “Bloody hell.” Ron said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Behind the girls came an extremely tall woman, probably even taller than Hagrid. “Blimey, that’s one big woman.” Seamus Finnigan said, a few seats down from you. Dumbledore had to reach up to take her arm, guiding her to her seat. The entire hall whistled and applauded except for Hermione, who was mad at Ron, and Ginny, who didn’t care. Dumbledore cut them off.

“Now our friends from the North.” He continued. “Please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster Igor Karkaroff.” In came a group of men also around a year older. They were all tall and handsome. Their entrance turned the table and now Ron was huffing at Hermione.

After the students, the headmaster entered with a tall boy at his side. It was Viktor Krum, the quidditch player from the World Cup.

“Blimey it’s him,” Ron said, startled. “It’s Viktor Krum.” He walked through the hall staring at the other hand, not bothering to greet anyone. You weren’t impressed by him. Dumbledore greeted their headmaster warmly, bringing him into a welcoming embrace.

Once everyone was seated and settled, the feast began. Each table was filled with every food imaginable and everyone was happy with what they ate. After the majority of the room was finished, four men entered the hall, rolling with them a large pillar decorated with gold and jewels. It was parked at the end of the room, right in front of the professor’s table.

Dumbledore stood again, making his way over to the pillar. “I’d like to say a few words.” He announced, quieting the room again. “Eternal glory. That is what awaits the student who wins the Tri-wizard tournament. But to do this, that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks.”

“Wicked.” You heard the twins say in unison. Fred nudged you with his elbow, bringing a little smirk to your face.

“For this reason, the ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule.” The professor continued. “To explain all this, we have the head of the department of international magical cooperations, Mr. Bartemius Crouch.”

The man stood, making his way over to the podium. But he and everyone else were interrupted by the sudden sound of thunder clapping in the hall, rain and lightning following swiftly. Students shrieked, ducking for cover from the sudden chaos. From one of the side doors, a tall man stepped into the room and pointed his wand toward the ceiling, fixing the mess.

After the rain had gone everyone sat up again, looking around in confusion. The man that had entered was tall and widely built. He had a limp in his stride as he walked. “Hey that’s Mad-eye Moody,” Ron announced.

“Alastor Moody? The Auror?” Hermione inquired. Ron leaned down and whispered something to Harry, which was low enough that you couldn’t hear.

“My dear old friend, thanks for coming.” Dumbledore welcomed him, shaking his hand.

“Stupid ceiling.” Moody replied gruffly. Dumbledore nodded and gestured to a seat at the professor’s table, sending him in that direction. After the room had settled again, Barty Crouch finally made it to the front, standing in front of the gold pillar.

He paused, hesitating briefly before speaking as if it was something difficult for him to say. It was definitely something difficult for you to hear. “After due consideration, the ministry has concluded that for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen should be allowed to put forth their name for the Tri-wizard tournament. This decision is final.” Your face dropped in disappointment and the students erupted into shouts of protest, the twins being the loudest.

“That’s rubbish!” They shouted. The hall fell into chaos once more until Dumbledore saved it again.

“Silence!” He yelled, immediately quieting the school. The professor stepped forward toward the pillar. His hand glided over it, causing it to melt away in front of you. The outer shell of gold gave way to a large stone goblet, a blue flame igniting in the cup.

“The goblet of fire.” He explained. “Anyone wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there’s no turning back. As of this moment, the Tri-wizard tournament has begun.”

You glanced at Fred and George, who held an excited expression as if they weren’t just told they couldn’t enter. If you knew them, which you did, they would likely come up with an absurd plan to try and enter anyway. You would just have to wait until they brought it to you.

─────────────────────────

A few days later, you were absolutely correct in your suspicions. You were in the library, picking up a few books when the twins approached you. “Y/n,” Fred said in a singsongy voice, sliding next to you. George came on your other side.

“What is it, boys?” You asked, setting your books down on the table and turning to lean back onto it. They both looked at each other as if trying to decide who should answer. “Well, spit it out.”

“We have a plan to enter the tournament.” George started, you gave a loud sigh. “And before you say anything, we’ve thought it through completely. It’s going to work.”

“You did, did you?” You responded sarcastically, glancing down at the books you were carrying.

“We did,” Fred returned, ignoring your remark. “But, it requires you.” He held up a finger and pointed to you. You chuckled, crossing your arms.

“Uh-huh. And what does this plan require me to do?” You asked with a tiny smirk.

“We need you to brew an aging potion,” Fred explained, setting a hand down on the table to lean closer to you. “You’re much better at potions than us and we have to make sure it’s going to work correctly.”

You sighed. “It’s not.”

“What, why not?” George asked. “We could probably manage it so you definitely can.”

“Oh no, not the potion. That will work exactly how I make it to. But your plan won’t work.”

“And why is that, Y/n?” Fred asked, the look on his face put a longing feeling in your body.

“You really think that the ministry— Dumbledore for that matter would be thick enough to not think of an aging potion?”

“That’s what we’re counting on.” George stated, making you sigh even louder.

“Ok, let’s say hypothetically this does work.” You said, sitting on the table. “Have you considered at all that competing in the tournament might not be the best idea?”

“Nope,” they said together.

“But we’re not worried about it.” Fred added. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Oh I don’t know, you could die?” You told them, setting a hand on the side of their heads. “And unfortunately I would miss you both dearly if you died.” You finished in an exaggerated pouty voice.

“When did you get all responsible?” George asked, “You were just as excited as we were to enter.”

“That was before I read about the tasks from the last tournaments.” You stated. “And I don’t want to risk losing my favorite twins.”

“Well. That’s very sweet and all but we still need you to make that potion.” Fred told you.

You sighed once more to get your point across. “Fine.” They immediately grinned and gave each other a high five. “But when this blows up in your face, it’s not my fault.”

“You’re the best, love.” Fred spoke, giving you a sudden kiss on the cheek before taking off with his brother through the bookshelves, leaving you sitting there frozen. You watched them round the corner, your fingertips brushing your cheek. God, Fred Weasley was going to be the death of you.

─────────────────────────

You met them with their potion outside the great hall the next day. “Here,” You handed them two little viles. “This is your last chance to stop and save yourselves the embarrassment.”

“Yeah not a chance, babe.” Fred said, taking them from you and handing one to George.

“Alright, fine.” You said, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Just remember, this is your own doing.”

“We’ll try,” George told you. The twins ran into the hall cheering, you following a little ways behind. There was a little crowd gathered around the goblet of fire and they all applauded as Fred and George made their entrance.

“Well lads, we’ve done it!” Fred announced, jumping up onto the wood bleachers and holding up his potion.

“Y/n cooked it up just this morning.” George explained further, following his brother. Hermione, who sat a few feet away, turned her head from her book and laughed.

“It’s not going to work.” She sang in a mocking voice. The twins sat down on either side of her.

“Oh yeah?” Fred started.

“And why is that, Granger?” George finished. Hermione pointed out a hazy white line around the cup.

“See this?” She told them. “This is an age line. Dumbledore drew it himself.”

“So?”

“So,” Hermione slammed her book shut as if it was outrageous that they didn’t seem concerned. “A genius like Dumbledore couldn’t possibly be fooled by something as pathetically dim-witted as an aging potion.”

“Ah but that’s why it’s so brilliant.” Fred stated.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted.” His brother finished for him. The twins stood again while Hermione rolled her eyes. You took their spot, sitting down next to her.

“Ready Fred?”

“Ready George,” They both popped their viles open.

“Bottoms up.” They said together and drank the contents. Once the potion was consumed, they jumped into the circle beyond the age line.

“Why did you make them that?” Hermione asked, awaiting being able to say she was right. You sighed.

“I tried to tell them it wouldn’t work.” You replied, chuckling. “But you know them. They have to learn the hard way.” And they did. Fred and George tossed their names into the fire, pausing to see what would happen. Nothing did at first so they cheered. Fred shot you a smug look which made you shake your head.

Their success was quickly shot down by the fire spitting their names back out, shooting little flames around the room. The crowd ducked out of the way and the twins were send backward and onto the stone floor. You stood to get a better look over the students but all you could see were grey hair and beards sprouting from their heads.

You broke into laughter as they started fighting, cursing at each other. You were absolutely going to give them an earful after they recovered.

─────────────────────────

It took them a couple of hours before they were back to normal and they still had some grey strands of hair left in amongst the red. Now they sat in the common room, grumbling as you finished combing out the hairs that didn’t belong. “Stop complaining, I’m almost done.” You scolded George, who huffed. Fred was already finished and sat beside you on, propping his feet up on the table and leaning his head back on the back of the couch.

“Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.” You suggested as you finished, tossing the comb to the side and shoving George away from you. “I could’ve given you a much better plan.”

“Oh please, yours are about as good as ours.” He responded, sinking onto the other end of the couch.

“At least my plans actually work.” You stated. “And my pranks, and that does make them more successful than yours.”

“Pranks are supposed to be funny, Y/n, not practical.” George told you. “I don’t think you’ve ever made a prank better than ours.”

“Oh really?” You said, standing and crossing your arms. “I could prank better than you two any day.” This made Fred pick his head up.

“Is that a challenge, Y/l/n?” He asked, standing up to meet you. The boy immediately towered over you. You should’ve picked your next words wisely and not ended up in a prank war with the Weasley twins, but of course you didn’t.

“Sounds like it, Weasley.” You told him confidently, stepping closer to him. He laughed.

“Ok fine, we’ll see who’s better.” He said, giving you a smirk that almost shook your composure. You tilted your head slightly.

“I guess we will.” You told him, turning and stalking toward the stairs to the dorms. “Good night, boys.” His eyes and his smirk followed you until you were out of sight. And once you were, you realized how badly you screwed up. You were definitely the smartest of the three but you couldn’t come up with something nearly as fast. And now you were on the clock. It wouldn’t surprise you if they had a plan in the next hour so thinking something up soon wasn’t optional.

You walked into the great hall for dinner that night without them, but they had beaten you there. Fred made eye contact with you, wearing a smirk. His brother sat beside him. They definitely already had a plan and you were definitely done for. Regardless, you sat down next to Fred.

“Fred, George.” You greeted coolly. Fred managed to surpress a chuckle. Instead, he copied your demeanor.

“Y/n,” he responded, returning to his meal. You ate quietly beside him, holding yourself together while listening to the twins try not to laugh the entire dinner.

“What’s up with them?” Ron asked Harry, who shrugged in response. The entire section of the table picked up on the change in interaction between you. Especially since you and Fred normally behaved like a married couple. After eating, you silently stood and left the great hall with Ginny. Fred gave you a stupid look in an attempt to break your seriousness. It only managed to bring a toothless smile to your lips, which you hid away quickly.

─────────────────────────

The next morning arrived and you still didn’t have a plan. It was likely already too late for you but you were too stubborn to just give up. You slid out of your bed yawning, but before you could stand all the way you were met with Angelina’s shocked expression.

“What?” You asked her nervously.

“I… would just go look in the mirror.” She told you. Hermione came walking out of the bathroom, dropping her things once she saw you.

“God, please tell me it’s not that bad.” You said, panicking. You stood and ran past Hermione into the bathroom, gasping as you saw your reflection. Your hair was as bright a shade of red as the twins’ were. You clasped a hand over your mouth in surprise.

“What happened?” Angelina asked, sliding into the bathroom behind you.

“The twins is what happened!” You exclaimed. The noise had finally woken Ginny.

“It’s really not that bad, Y/n. It’s just a bit of a shock at first.” Hermione assured. It wasn’t the worst thing you’d ever seen but that didn’t make you any less irritated.

“Hermione, look what they did to my hair!” You said, groaning.

“Hey,” Ginny said sleepily, rubbing her eyes. She started a yawn but it stopped dead in her throat when she saw you.

“I’m going to kill your brothers, Gin.” You said, trying your best to make your hair look decent.

“Please do, I have plenty more where they came from.” She responded, turning and leaving the bathroom. Once you looked okay to your standards you followed.

You stormed out of the dorm and down into the common room. Fred and George were at the chairs and turned their heads as they heard you enter. “You two!” You pointed at them. They stood immediately, stifling their laughter.

“You shouldn’t have challenged us.” George told you and shrugged, which made you scowl at him. You crossed your arms, absolutely fuming.

“Aww you’re so cute when you’re mad.” Fred stated, pulling your glare to him.

“You think I’m cute? We’ll get ready because I’m about to be gorgeous!” You snapped, beyond pissed off.

“Don’t worry, Y/n.” Fred spoke in an attempt to calm you. “It should wear off in the next hour.”

“It better.” You pointed a finger at him.

An hour turned into the morning and the morning turned into the whole day. By the next morning, your hair was still the same shade of red. When you found the twins in the common room again, they looked surprised and much more panicked.

“An hour, huh?” You asked them, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. Fred approached you, rubbing the back of his neck nervously with his hand.

“It really was supposed to be just an hour, love.” He told you. There was a guilt in his voice that made you soften.

“Who knows? It could take weeks to wear off at this point.” George stated, not getting up from his seat on the couch.

“Weeks?” You repeated back to him, dropping your head into your hands with a groan. “This is going to be the color of my hair for weeks?”

“Sorry Y/n, I have no idea what went wrong.” He apologized. “But I’ll figure out something to fix it.”

You sighed. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Fred never mentioned it to you, but he did do his research. He even ventured into muggle hair dye, which seemed like his best option. The hard part was matching your hair color, so he took a small picture he had of you and picked out the closest shade to yours.

That evening you had finished dinner early and beat everyone back to the common room. Now you were sitting in your dorm, having just changed out of your robes. You were just about ready to return to the common room when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in,” You said simply. Fred came in, carrying a couple of small boxes. “Oh hey,”

“I have a solution,” he announced, handing you the boxes. Inside contained y/h/c hair dye. “It’s only temporary. I figure we could use this until your hair goes back to normal.”

Your eyes softened at the gesture and you looked up at him. “Thank you, Freddie. That’s really thoughtful.”

“It’s the least I could do for turning you into a Weasley.” He said with a little chuckle, taking you into the bathroom.

Fred leaned on the small counter and read the instructions. “Ok, get your hair wet.” He said without looking up from the papers in his hand. God he looked attractive standing there, his long body supported by the counter and his brows creased just barely while he read.

You did as he said, wetting your fiery hair and returning to him, trying to keep it from dripping. He took a little towel and draped it over your shoulders, then positioned you so that you stood in front of him.

He poured the paste into your hair and you sighed as he massaged it in, making sure to get your entire head. “Enjoying this, darling?” He teased, getting an elbow to the torso from you. He laughed and continued to work the dye into your hair.

“You know, it’s only fair if I get to dye your hair too.” You informed him, causing him to pause for a moment.

“Y/n, I wouldn’t look good in any other hair color.” He replied, tying your hair up messily behind your head to let the dye soak in.

“Neither do I, but I didn’t get the choice.” You returned, turning around to face him. He looked at you for a second, considering his options.

“Fine,” He sighed. You smiled, trading spots with him and hoisting yourself onto the counter to reach his head better. “But for the record, you can pull off any color so that’s not a fair comparison.” He argued.

“Ok, Fred. I get it, you have a crush.” You teased him, working the dye into his long, soft hair. You almost detected him falter before returning to his normal composure.

“Oh, you mock me, Y/n.” He said, putting a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense. You both sat in the little bathroom with your now h/c hair tied up and soaking. Once the dye sat for long enough, you rinsed and dried both of your heads and then stood in front of the mirror to study your work. You looked completely back to normal but Fred looked entirely different.

“I actually think I make this work.” He said, turning his head to observe the new color.

“I agree.” You gave him a bright smile, relieved to have your regular hair back.

“It is going to come out though, right?”

“Yes because I, unlike you double-checked.” You stated. “It’ll come out in a couple of weeks.”

“That’s comforting.” He sighed.

“It should be. Because if I said it then it’s true.” You smirked, tilting your head up to him. “And now you have to admit that my pranks are better.”

“Y/n, you didn’t even do anything.” He laughed, looking down at you. His face looked different now that it was framed with h/c hair.

“I didn’t have to,” You explained. “Just letting you fail was proof enough.”

“Fine. Our plans work much better when you’re apart of them.” He got out slowly as if it was difficult to say.

“That’s not what I asked, Freddie.”

“Well that’s all you’re going to get, so you’re just going to have to be content with it.” Fred crossed his arms, not even phased when you gave him a smack on the arm. All jokes aside, he genuinely did prefer when you were there to participate in their schemes and keep them in check. He could admit you were really the only brain in the operation.

─────────────────────────

Click here for part 3!

[fanficrocks]

For Thursday-Thursday

An interview with Roger Allam about the time the final season of Endeavour was first released.

He kept Fred Thursday’s hat!

[fanficrocks]

🤣🤣🤣

As for Morse, I have a theory - that blanket he rolls up in is actually a secret portal to the Thursdays’ home, but he doesn’t know it (Fred called in a few magical favors to make it happen). So he thinks he is hiding under a blanket, but is actually being fed by Win and tucked up by Fred.

Just my fave Thursday Thursday fantasy ❤️

What the Endeavour Gang does when they don’t have the rent money

Asks the landlord/landlady for an extension: Trewlove, Strange.

Curls up in a blanket and does nothing: Morse

Vacates the apartment suddenly and without notice, leaving no signs whatsoever that they were ever there: Jakes.

Considers becoming a stripper as a side job: George

Somehow ends up embroiled with the local mob in the course of trying to borrow money: Also George.

Is never late on the rent money, has to bail mob-involved friend out of their situation: Ronnie Box. 

Owns a house, doesn’t have to deal with this shit: Max

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 411: Double Trouble, p1

Fred sat at the bar nursing his third - no, wait, fourth? - beer. It had been a long day, and he knew sooner or later this little respite would have to come to an end. Eventually he would have to go home on this Thursday night and face the music. Things had been bad for him lately. He couldn’t seem to do anything right anymore. His new boss at the company had just demoted him and put him back to part time. That meant no more salary and no more benefits. When he complained, earlier today, after having finally summoned the courage to step into her office? She fired him.

What was he going to tell Alicia?

He took another swig of beer and glanced around the nearly empty bar. A few regulars were still around standing by the pool table for their weekly game, but otherwise the place looked deserted.

Man, this bar used to be packed, every night. He would come here with his buddies all the time to sit and watch a game, shoot darts or just shoot the shit and have a good time. What happened? Less than a year ago some new  megacorp had  come in and bought up almost the whole city block. This place was one of the few remaining holdouts, which honestly meant trouble for their business. These days they could barely even pull in the drunkards off the street, let alone anyone with actual money.

Not that I’m doing much better than them, now, he privately scoffed, spending what little money he had left on drinks just so he could avoid going home to her.

Alicia had been particularly hard on him lately and it was really starting to gnaw at him. She seemed to be enjoying pushing all her recent successes in his face, and she loved to point out all his failures - comparing what was going on in his life to what she was doing with hers. It was like a game to her, showing him how her recent successes pulled him more and more into her ever-growing shadow. At first he was happy for her wins at work, he really was. For one thing, she owned her own business now. She was a personal trainer that spent time at Big Body Fitness and a couple other women’s gyms downtown. She was pulling in a huge amount of clients, had just hired four other trainers to help with the workload, and had plans to make her business massive. And, honestly, she was starting to get pretty massive herself. She - like so many women these days - had wanted to bulk up; Alicia had started doing that in spades. Lots of food, lots of training, lots of weight. And the bigger she got, the more successful her business became, the more she seemed to like making him feel small. And, if he was honest with himself, he did feel small. Small, weak and pathetic, but he refused to let it show, he refused to give up like that.

They’d had a massive argument last night. Alicia had said she was sick of his ‘games’, his avoiding the truth. She wanted him to admit it to her, to everyone, that he just wasn’t enough anymore. That really pissed him off. Well fuck her right? I’ll show her! he thought, taking another gulp of beer, I’ll show her by…by…

By getting fired from my fucking job. Dammit…

Fred slouched down and laid his head on the bar. He felt pathetic. She had completely ignored him at breakfast. Nothing he ever did seemed good enough for her and it was starting to get him down.

<ring-a-ling!>

The little bell at the bar's front door had tinkled, signaling a new entry.

“Whoah, this place is like a dump?”

“I know right?”

Fred lifted his gaze, turned a bit in his seat to see who it was...

Two tall, young, dark-haired beauties had just walked in. One of them was on the phone with someone. Their entry was loud, their voices ringing over the bar’s typical, wan hush, but Fred was too distracted by their looks and a bit far away to really hear what they were saying. Both girls were wearing low cut scoop neck sweaters, each showing healthy amounts of boob flesh, along with short skirts and knee high boots. Their outfits left little to the imagination; these two were built. Plus, they looked similar to one another, like they could be sisters…or maybe even twins? From his perch at the bar Fred swallowed hard, unable to avert his gaze when suddenly one of the girls looked up directly at him.

“Yeah…is that the guy? The dork at the bar?” said the one girl, into her phone.

The one not on a call took a picture of him.

“Alright…you know you like so totally owe us right?” said the phone girl.

“Yeah we need to get in shape like, yesterday?” the other said.

“We do this for you and…? Good. We’ll bring him back when we’re done with him?” The one on the phone hung up and focused on Fred.  He was, in his four-beer stupor, blankly staring back at them. “Okay, Bee, you ready to show him a good time?”

“Yeah like that guy in the club last week? Do you think he remembers his name yet?”

“I don't know Bee, but do you think he remembers us?”

“Not if we did our job right?”

“Haha right?? Ready to do it again?”

“Blehh..I mean I guess?” replied the other, “Why couldn’t it be him instead? I want to try it on, like, him?”

“We can pretend?”

The two had just gotten off work. He hadn’t been in today and they hadn’t liked that.

“Yeah I guess? But I guess I am kinda excited to do it again, even on this guy, aren’t you?”

“See what we can really do? Yeah I guess?”

Fred had finally got a hold of himself, blushing as he turned back in his seat to look away. He tried his best to play it cool, but he couldn’t help but sneak another glance over his shoulder to look at them. Jesus those tits I-

They’d both fixed him with a piercing gaze, which spooked him and caused him to immediately turn back to his beer. His face flushed. He took another drink, tried to settle himself but he could feel their eyes burning into his back. He glanced over his shoulder again and they each curled a long manicured finger in his direction beckoning him over.

What the fuck?

He couldn’t believe it. At first he turned this way and that, looking around foolishly and figuring that they were perhaps indicating someone else, someone in this otherwise empty bar. But, no. They were, in fact, looking at him, and he felt his face redden even further. They both frowned with identical expressions and repeated the gesture, calling him over to them with curled fingers. It didn’t really feel like a request.

Grabbing his bottle, he rapidly downed the last dregs of beer for a final bit of liquid courage before getting, shakily, to his feet. He could feel their eyes on him, and he became suddenly aware of how quickly his heart was beating.

This is like a dream! He couldn’t help but marvel, Two beautiful girls - twins even?- and they want to talk to me. Maybe it’s a good thing I got fired after all, found myself here on a Thursday night haha…

Before he knew what he was doing, Fred found his legs carrying him across the bar and towards the two buxom strangers. He realized he was shaking like a nervous schoolboy.

“Hello sweetie,” one of them said, boldly reaching out to cup his chin in her hand, “aren’t you just..?”

“…the cutest little guy?” finished the other.

“I’m Brittni,” spoke the first, “and this is Bobbi. What’s your name?”

“I’m .. I’m Fred,” he answered, trying his best not to glance down at the two sets of huge, firm breasts that seemed to be put on prominent display for him.

“Hiiiiii Fred ♡♡” they both sang out in perfect unison.

“H-h-hi,” he stammered.

“Why don’t you join us Fred?” began Brittni, “Aren’t you-”

“Lonely?” finished Bobbi, both of their faces pouting in mock sadness.

“Yeah c’mon, we’re, like, the prettiest girls here, right?”

“We’re, like, the only girls here?”

The two of them giggled.

Fred was a deer caught in the headlights as they led him by the chin over to a booth. Bobbi sat first, scooching all the way down along the seat and making sure there was room for both him and her friend on her right. She patted the seat as Brittni guided him down to sit, finally letting go of his chin and scooching him in too. She gave him a dimpled, heartwarming smile.

God she’s stunning, he thought, They both are.

Brittni then sat down on the same bench and he immediately found himself sandwiched, his hips between two thick pairs of thighs pressing up against him. Wow these girls are built, he thought, feeling the casual strength in their legs as they rubbed and squeezed up against him from both sides. He could already feel their warmth through his jeans. Their strong perfume filled his senses, making him feel heady, almost overwhelming him.

“There isn’t that better?” asked Brittni, smiling brightly at him on his right.

“Y-yes but-“

“But what?” Bobbi cut in from his left, “Wouldn’t you like to get to know each other?”

“Wh-what .. what do you want to know?” asked Fred, his speech patterns falling into their rhythm - they asked a lot of questions - as he turned to one girl and then the other..

“Well, for starters-” began Brittni.

“What’s a cute little guy like you doing out all alone on a Thursday night ?” finished Brittni, as they both twirled locks of  hair between long, slim fingers.

Fred looked down at the table. ‘Little guy’? He wasn’t that short, just shorter than them. They must be each - what?   - five-nine? Five-ten? So, like, an inch or two? Taller by quite a bit more, certainly, in their heels, and sitting higher than him here in the booth. So, yeah, okay, he felt smaller than them. Little.

He was unsure of what to say, how to answer. Why am I here? He’d never been good at lying and something about these girls, their confidence and stunning good looks, their physical presence, made him want to be truthful.

“I .. I had an argument ..” he began, eyes still cast downwards, “a big one .. with my girlfriend.”

“Awww you poor thing,” Brittni immediately cooed, “Girls can be so demanding nowadays can’t they?” As she’d spoke, she pushed her breasts into his right side and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yes they can, can’t they? Those nasty big, mean girls?” Bobbi continued, mirroring her friend’s movements on his left. They both now had their heads on his slumped shoulders, both with a knowing smile across their lips.

Fred found himself nodding in solemn agreement. Something about being around these girls just made him so passive…so comfortable. He continued. “Nothing I do lately seems to be good enough for her. She blows up at the slightest thing. I don’t know what to do, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells all the time.”

“Awwwww…” they both cooed.

Bobbi ran her fingernail lightly up his arm, causing him to shiver. “Are you a good listener, Fred?” she asked.

“You seem like a good listener?” Brittni added.

“I…I think so?” he replied, suddenly doubting himself. Was he really listening, when Alicia and he talked? Or was he just being stubborn like Alicia always said? Was he what girls wanted these days, or was he really behind the times? Maybe he was a loser.

“Because don’t girls really want a boy who listens to them?” Brittni said.

“Yeah I think they do, Bee?” Bobbi replied, both she and her friend’s attention laser focused on the smaller man between them, “Can you be that boy, Fred?”

Being called a ‘boy’? That made him shiver, the girls noticed. Okay this was getting fun, they both thought in unison. They felt a little tingle, almost electric, between them.

“Can you be the good, attentive boy who really listens to what a girl is saying?” said the girl on his right. Brittni, correct? “Because…when you think about it, Freddie-”

“-don’t girls know best?” the other one finished, “...Freddie?”

“I … I … guess so? I don’t know?” he said, questioning in this moment, if it was Alicia that was really the problem. Maybe it was him? He was having trouble thinking straight, probably from all the beer, but it kinda made sense? After all he was the one who was having all the problems - job, money, everything - and Alicia…she just seemed to have everything figured out. He should really be appreciative of these girls. Despite their obvious youth they really seemed remarkably perceptive.

“So - are you two…sisters?” he asked.

“Um, kinda?” said the one on his right

“No not really?” followed the one on his left.

“Yes for sure…sorta?”

Uh, okay. “Do you…have boyfriends?” he asked, which he saw made them pause.

They both blinked.

Visions of Dr J.

YES.

YES.

“No not really?” they both said, at the same time.

“But we wish we did, right Bee?” said Bobbi.

“Absolutely?” answered Britt.

“And Freddie’s cute, right?” one girl asked the other.

“Oh for sure, huh?” came the answer.

“If you were our boyfriend, we’d have to keep you on a pretty tight leash, wouldn’t we?” Bobbi said, her minty fresh breath washing over him.

“Omigod Bobbi?!” Brittni giggled, but then leaned in closer with her own waft of breath, “A leash haha?? But yeah who knows when another girl might try to snatch you away?”

Fred felt the two pairs of firm heavy breasts suddenly weighing him down, from either side. They were trapping him, pinning his arms to his sides as their strong perfume came flooding into his nostrils.

“Does your girlfriend keep you on a leash, hm Freddie?” asked one, causing the other to giggle.

“Ahh!…What?” he blurted. What did she just ask?

Now they both giggled.

This was getting heavy, quick, and he knew it was not a conversation he should be in, if he was going to stay true to Alicia…but he found himself answering them.  “She…she does like to know what I’m doing…” he stammered, feeling their breasts squashing against him. “And..so...what should I do???” Fred asked in a sudden panic, genuinely seeking answers. “Alicia will be so mad if she finds out I’m at a bar…about my job…I’ve had a few drinks too,” he said ashamedly, looking to the girls for guidance. I hope they tell me I shouldn’t worry…

The girls giggled again, squashed into him tighter.

“How about…?” Brittni began.

“You come home with us?” Bobbi finished, linking her right arm through his left one as Brittni did the same on his other side.

“We can let you relax?” Brittni offered, “At our place?”

“Yeah aren’t things always better when you sleep with them?”  Bobbi asked.

"Oh, Bobbi,” Brittini corrected, “don’t you mean sleep ‘on’ them?”

“If that’s how he likes it, yeah?”

Both girls giggled.

“What ? No…no I couldn’t .. she would know .. she always knows,” he whined. Suddenly, he was struck with the reality of this situation; it had just gone past any innocent flirting. Fueled by his drive to stay true to the woman he loved, he had a sudden burst of willpower. “I’ve…I’ve got to go”, he said, trying to stand up but the girls - with a giggle -  held him down and pressed into him more firmly, easily keeping him in place. His slight frame remained wedged snugly between their thick thighs and heavy breasts.

“Where are you trying to go?”

“Yeah shhh, Freddie, shhh…try to breathe?”

After a pathetic whine and another brief and equally futile struggle, Fred seemed to settle down. He wasn’t going anywhere unless they let him, and he did calm down as he accepted that, and the more he took nice deep breaths. The girls’ perfume, now stronger and sweeter than before, had filled the space of their booth and fully seeped into him. It began to make him feel more drunk than the beers he’d had.

Fred’s skull lolled until he found himself staring at the ceiling, his mouth agape as Brittni and Bobbi casually continued to chat among themselves. They, found, though, as they sat there with this guy between them, that their connection grew stronger and stronger by the moment, that they needed fewer and fewer words to say what they meant. Getting him excited, turning him on together, was giving them a collective focus, syncing them up, increasing their abilities. It made them both giggle, and it became a little bit of a game, as they began to push the boundaries of what they could do.

Cool, huh?

Very cool.

They continued on as if he wasn’t there, wedged tightly between their firm, strong bodies. They ordered drinks, finished them at a leisurely pace as they talked over Fred’s head. Finally, though, they were-

“Ready?” Brittni asked.

“Ready,” replied Bobbi. They both stood, arms again linked with the smaller man, pushing their seat bench backwards and lifting him effortlessly out of his seat and up, up, up into the air. With them in their high heeled boots, Fred’s feet dangled a good half-foot off the ground.

“Let’s go then?” Brittni said, as they walked arm-in-arm out of the bar with Fred held securely suspended between them.

“Where .. w-where are you taking me?” Fred asked woozily. He hadn’t had that much to drink tonight, had he?

“Back to our place?”

“Didn’t we tell you? You're ours for tonight?”

“Or for however long it takes you to sleep off all those silly little thoughts in your head?”

“Or..?”

“Or maybe we’ll have to keep you?”

==========================================

big thanks to Frag592 for this one, and allowing RiF and myself our heavy-handed edits. Part 2 still in the works, coming soon.

[too-antigonish]

This is the Fred Thursday Endeavour prequel I dream about...

Sure 1960s Oxford had a lot to work with, but it’s got nothing on post-war London.

Picture it: The whole country is in the midst of social upheaval. Men are returning home after years away. They’re dealing with massive trauma and having difficulty readjusting to civilian life. Their families have spent years learning to live without them. The reunions don’t always go well. 

Constant shortages have led to thriving black markets and a rise in organized crime. A huge influx of working-age men leaves many unemployed and vulnerable to the worst temptations.

Neighborhoods, especially in the East End, are still littered with the rubble of the Blitz. Evidence of destruction is a daily fact of life and death is still a presence. Children playing in the ruins encounter unexploded ordnance on a tragically regular basis. 

Into all of this walks a young Fred Thursday....

As a soldier he saw brutal action in North Africa and worked with the partisans in Italy.  He had a passionate affair with a woman he now believes to be dead. The rest of his wartime service remains a mystery to us.

Now he’s back near where he grew up—one of three brothers in Mile End. Billy didn’t make it back from the war. Charlie is now running the family’s warehouse business—and dating some girl named Paulette.

He’s been reunited with his wife Win (he doesn’t tell her about the affair) and is just learning what it’s like to be a father to Joan. The three of them are living with Win’s parents over the ironmongers and it’s not easy rubbing along together, not with so many people in tight quarters.

Fred is trying readjust to civilian life, making the shift from soldier to the policeman he once was. The lines blur easily in the brutal world of the East End but Sergeant Vimes, his governor at Cable Street,  does his best to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Those are just the basics of Fred's story from canon! I look at it and ideas for episodes just start spinning out in my head. It would be such an amazing series!

And then...

Eventually Fred moves up, takes young Mickey Carter under his wing—and makes the mistake of going after Vic Kasper. When Carter gets himself killed and is then falsely accused of having been on the take, Fred has to get his family out. He takes Win, Joan, and now Sam, and leaves everything and everyone they’ve ever known. 

Oxford is a whole new world. The kids have never seen so much green. The house is bigger than they ever could have imagined. His new boss, DCS Crisp, seems nice enough...

Ahh! If I weren't horrible at imagining casting I'd already have a list!

And then I think, maybe the whole thing’s got a framing device. Maybe the older Thursday from Endeavour, from wherever he sits in exile, is writing this all down. He’s recording these stories of what it was like when he was a young copper.

I’d like to think that in the end he puts it all together to send to Endeavour (not Morse, but specifically Endeavour) as a sort of memorandum of understanding. He's telling him, "I saw what made you into you. Now I'm telling you: here's what made me into me."

Happy Thursday Thursday!

[someonexsomeone]

Fragile

Title: Fragile

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 3.5k

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Summary: The Triwizard Tournament is a stupid idea...until it brings George something he didn't know he was looking for.

Authors Note: Day 6!!! Wel...okay I know this didn't go up last week. I had to take a week off because, in true fanfic author fashion, my landlord sold the house I was living in and we needed to find living asap lest we go homeless. But!! We did it!! I haven't slept and I'm so stressed I cried when we got approved for a new house, so I wrote this as a reward for myself! I hope you guys like it! I plan to get the one for this week out tomorrow so next Thursday will be back on schedule!

Dumbledore had made many confusing choices throughout the years George went to school with him as the headmaster. Allowing teachers to pick on students was the first to come to mind, followed quickly by random last-minute points to change the winners of the house cup (Fred told him several times to let it go since they won, but there was something that always nagged George about it), but this year’s TwiWizard Tournament was, he had to admit, quickly climbing the list. His brothers never mentioned anything about it, and neither had their parents, so why suddenly bring back a death tournament when everything around them was already a reminder of the death awaiting them outside the castle walls?

“A way to bond us all together!” Dumbledore happily explained, a twinkle in his eye that George knew only from the same look Fred got when he thought he was doing something brilliant, and since Fred was typically a coin toss on whether was would be true or not, George wiggled his nose in distrust. “I want everyone to remember this is a friendly competition, no matter how serious it may get, so intermingling is highly recommended. Now, how about we give a warm welcome to the two new schools joining us this year!”

It was as full of bravado as George expected, each school expecting to out-perform the other with shows of magic and flips and who knows what else, with Hogwarts left to do nothing but a jovial karaoke of their school's anthem. And, who was George to deny the crowd the twin’s spectacular singing voices? The giggles from the people around them were expected, but some coming from the other two schools was a welcome surprise. George couldn’t help giving it that much more of a performance, just to please his adoring audience, eyeing some of the lovely students in pale blue as they huddled closer to hide their laughter from a disapproving headmistress. 

Then came the announcement of how to apply to the tournament. Fred only needed to spare his twin a glance before they nodded, each imagining the large treasure at the top of the podium. After years of selling products, snatching things here and there from Snape and Sprout and pretty much salvaging anything from anyone, there was a lump sum hiding at the bottom of Fred’s trunk, hidden cleverly in a bag disguised as a dirty pair of underwear, that would help improve their operation tenfold, but this? This would do more than they would ever imagine. How many products would they be able to make? How many ingredients they could buy to refine plans they only dared to dream of? Dare say, even turn their production into something so much more than a traveling trunk of wonder? George hadn’t hoped to dream so boldly so quickly, but this would be worth so much more than they could make for the rest of their time in school! This brain was whirling with the plans they already made, and how quickly they could be made real. And then…heartbreak.

“It’s for your safety!” he heard Fudge say, though it was nearly incomprehensible over the shouting throughout the Grand Hall, the twins louder than anyone else. Outrage! They were near enough to the age restriction, and who was some new old wizard to come in and make these decisions for them? Thus, the scheming began.

Even though he believed Dumbledore to be a bigger ditz than not, he did know his magic was stronger and more refined than the average wizard. Alright, the above-average wizard. But this was worth so much more than a little scolding, and he had seen the hint of a smile on the headmaster's face whenever the twins were on the verge of getting in trouble for their pranks. He had a soft spot for troublemakers, Fred decided early on, and it allowed them to be bolder than they would have under a more watchful eye. Jokes on him, George concluded many years later, that his more lenient attitude made him and Fred nearly overly confident in their abilities, especially their abilities to get away with things that a normal person couldn’t even think of. 

A mountain of ingredients was needed for an age-altering potion, even one as temporary as they were planning on making. Illegal? Maybe. But there were no laws against age-altering potions so long as they didn’t get in trouble while under its influence or force someone against their will to drink it. A short 5 minutes, and only a few months of aging? They had made pranks much more elaborate, and they had spent more than their fair share of time over a bubbling cauldron. All they needed was to get the ingredients and everything was as good as set, right?

Wrong.

The first few ingredients were the easiest. George, ever the good student, volunteered to help Professor Sprout water the plants the first years were studying. She was so frazzled, bless her, that she didn’t notice George take clippings from a select bunch of herbs on the opposite side of the greenhouse from where he was supposed to be. Fred was able to sneak a little here and there from their shared potions classroom, and they had just enough money saved up for an innocuous visit to the potion shop down in Hogsmeade. They had more than enough flasks and bottles saved up over the years to dry the needed things appropriately, and the house elves were more than happy to allow them use of a burner to bring everything to a rolling boil. Everything was set for the brewing, needing to happen on a waxing moon to ensure they wouldn’t age too much too quickly, but there was still one, tiny, pesky problem left…

“How in the bloody hell are we going to find a Lightsparrow’s Talon!” Fred was beyond frustrated, pacing the room in front of his brother. The two had commandeered their dorm room, their roommates besides Lee Jordan knowing well enough now that being around the twins while they planned would inevitably cause them to get caught in the crossfire, with papers strewn all around the room. Theories, replacements, and possible combinations filled each page, all with nearly illegible scribbles confirming their uselessness. “I should have just snuck into Snape’s cupboard during detention when I had the chance!”

“And risk trouble not even McGonnogal could talk you out of? You know he’s only locked down even more since someone else started stealing from him.” Fred huffed, finally plopping down on his bed. “Besides, we don’t even know if he has any. None of the upper-level classes are brewing potions with them, and the Matron doesn’t have any potions that require them.”

“So, what? We just give up?” George rolled his eyes. After years of failed experiments, Fred’s grouchy attitude was more than easy to ignore.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying. I just think we need to get a little more creative.”

“But we’ve tried everything! That stupid library never has anything we actually need.” George just chuckled, walking over to his brother to give him a playful pat on the shoulder.

“Why don’t I go take another look before we give up all hope?” Fred huffed again, crossing his arms and slumping his shoulders like a child. “I haven’t reached the end of the Herbology section yet, and we have enough Swindlebrine powder for another go before the final product.” Fred looked at his twin once, before huffing again. A quick flop, and he was more or less laying across his bed.

“...fine. But, after dinner, we formulate a plan to take a look around Snape’s cupboard just in case.”

“Deal.” They shared a smile, George patting Fred’s leg this time, before ducking out the door. The easiest way to deal with Fred, before food was served, was either to distract him with a problem or let him rest. Sleeping, George found, was always the easier option.

Since the new students infiltrated the school, every time of day was absolutely bustling with activity. Between the end of classes and dinner, most students preferred to hang out with friends, meaning the hallways were empty besides the random groups that walked to and fro their destinations, and teachers were either tucked away in their offices to grade work or in their private studies doing their personal projects. It was the time of day that Fred and George found it easiest to scout out prank spots, and sometimes got as lucky as setting up the bulk of it to finish after curfew. Now though? George had to spin his body in every direction to avoid the constant stream of people. His height allowed him an advantage of seeing over most heads, but it also meant people were able to get extremely close and bump into him without any warning. After years of getting away with pranking people in plain sight with the help of a crowd, he was more alert than ever.

Just up ahead, a group of Hogwarts students were loudly arguing with a group from Durmstrang. About what, George didn’t even want to know, but it was making it incredibly difficult to get past. With a huff, one that would impress even Fred, he slipped into a nearby hallway, not nearly as bad as the main corridor, but he didn’t waste much time before making a few more turns. The good part of sneaking out past curfew was the ability to explore every part of the castle without getting distracted. He and Fred nearly had the layout memorized, but the secret passages granted them much easier access. The way he was walking would take him the long way to the Library, but it was filled with empty hallways courtesy of the tens of abandoned classrooms. The further he walked, the fewer people he could see and hear around him, until he came to a pocket with absolutely no one. On either side, the roar of students was ongoing, but the reprieve did George a moment to breathe. 

If this was your school, George thought bitterly, you wouldn’t be treating everything so disrespectfully. Honestly! Who even told them that wandering around the school was a good idea?

“I’ve already told you no, Dennel.” George stopped still. Just around the corner, he could hear the shuffle of feet, almost like they were walking in circles. Vaguely, he thought he recognized the voice, but no face came to mind immediately.

“My Darling, don’t you know that saying no now will do nothing to help you later?” That voice he did know. George groaned internally. The other bad part of all the new students was the absolute influx of activity in the classroom, namely from a group of Beauxbatons boys that thought it was so fun to flaunt their power and wealth and knowledge, even if they were wrong more often than not. It was almost like having the worst combination of Hermione and Draco, multiplied by 5. The leader of their stupid clique? Luc Dennel, a prat in every meaning of the word. “My Mother has already sent the robes. Do you want to break her heart?”

“That’s why I’m giving it back. You have no right to speak for me or dictate what I wear.”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.” George leaned around the corner, peaking out just far enough to witness the conversation. With a start, he recognized you immediately. Although you only shared a few classes, George remembered you were skilled in the subjects you did share, and even went as far as helping those around you in spite of their magical school. At one point, you had even helped with some of his wand movement. His hand tingled in reminder.

“Get your hands off of me.” Dennel had you cornered in the hallway, positioning you so your back was to the wall with little room for escape. In your white-knuckled hand was a bag, no doubt the robes his Mother supposedly sent you, but above that, Dannel had his fingers gripping your wrist so tightly there was no debate on whether it hurt or not.

“Just submit to me already.” Dennel’s words were honey, but his tone sent a shiver down George’s spine. Not from fear, no, but from disgust. “It will happen sooner than you think. Why not just do it now?”

You were shaking. George could see even from his vantage point that your legs were on the brink of giving out, the grip on the bag the only thing keeping you from collapsing. A troubling burn whirled in his chest, the unmistakable feeling of needing to help someone bubbling to the surface. He could hardly remember the last time he felt this, though vaguely the image of Ginny shivering against him when people were accusing her all throughout her First Year of being strange for being so protective of her journal. His hand gripped his wand fiercely. He could hardly watch the way Dennel’s hand raised to touch your face.

“Surely the product in your hair didn’t make you deaf, eh, Dennel?” George rounded the corner then. Both you and Dennel jumped, whipping your heads to look at the unknown spectator to your conversation. George watched your shoulders deflate, from relief or embarrassment he couldn’t tell. George didn’t even flinch at the glare Dennel sent him. “Don’t you know it’s not very polite to corner unsuspecting people in a corridor?”

“This is none of your business, Weasley.”

“Oh? Apologies, I wasn’t aware you owned the hallway.”

“No, but I do own them. So, butt out.” In a single moment, before George could even wave his wand, your fist collided with Dennel’s face, sending you both flying with the grip he still had on your arm. George rushed over, pulling you from the floor and away before Dennel could recover. Your glare was fierce, but George could feel your shaking now as your body was pressed against his.

“No one owns me,” you growled out, laughing the bag at the body on the floor. Dennel recoiled as George flinched. Sympathy pains in this case, he hated to admit, always existed man to man, no matter who they were. “Not even you.”

George hurriedly pulled you along the corridor, away from his original target of the Library, to a hidden corridor. He winced once as the magical door closed behind him, hoping that after escaping that disaster you wouldn’t mind being alone in another low-lit corridor with a man just for a few moments in order to get you to safety.

“I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to be in this enclosed space. Just through here, though, will take you to the courtyard. We’ll be out quick, promise.” He tried to gently guide you, mindful of the painful bruise he could see already forming around your wrist, but you only managed one step before your legs gave out. George joined you on the floor quickly. “Woah! Hey, are you okay?”

He hardly knew what to do when you burst into tears, your entire body quaking with your silent sobs. His arms hovered awkwardly, too afraid to touch you but too worried to give you space. All it took was a gentle pat on your back before you turned, throwing yourself into his arms, seeking any comfort you could.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” George could barely make out the whispers between your chattering teeth.

“Oh, no, you have nothing to apologize for,” he reassured quietly. He took another moment, before wrapping his arms entirely around you, squeezing as tightly as he could to his chest. His back was aching with the effort to keep you both upright, but he tried to focus instead on quietly murmuring affirming words to you, watching as the candlelight flickered across the dirt walls in order to keep his breath deep and calming. Who knew that having a little sister that was terrified of everything would make him an expert in handling people? 

The two of you sat there until your breathing slowed to a gentle rhythm, your body almost completely still, and then some. George continued his work, moving from reassurances to mindless chatter, just filling the quiet room with something other than your stuttering gasps of air, not letting you go for a moment. He worried you fell asleep for a second, before you gingerly sat up, rubbing your red eyes to get rid of any cloudy vision.

“I don’t normally do that, I promise.” George let out a startled laugh at your admittance, breaking the gentle atmosphere. You gave him a weak smile.

“I always knew Dennel was an ass.” This time you laughed, offering your hand to help George off the floor. Without needing the words, you looked each other over, whipping a smudge of dirt and a fleck of dust to ensure you both were clean. Well, clean as you could be after proactively cuddling on the floor. Your cheeks flared when you came to the realization of what you must look like to an outsider. You met George’s eyes again when he reached over and gently pat your hair down.

“Thank you.” George just gave you a smile.

“It was no problem at all.”

“Even if it means Dennel is going to be an insufferable ass to you now?”

“He already was.” That made you laugh again. George realized he really liked making you laugh. “What’s his problem, anyway?” At this, your smile fell. George felt like kicking himself. There was an awkward beat of silence. “You don’t have to-”

“He wants my hand in marriage,” you said at the same time. That made George gape. “Well, he wants my family’s business in order to save his, so marriage is what he’s set on now.”

“But…but he’s a Seventh Year! And you’re a Fifth Year! That can’t be allowed.” You rolled your eyes.

“Weasley. Surely you know of the old pureblood traditions. Fifth Year is hardly too young to arrange a marriage.” George just continued to gape at you. “Don’t worry, I don’t want to marry him.”

“Good!” Even George winced at how loud that came out. “I mean, good. He’s a prick.”

“A massive one.” Your smile was back. “So, is there anything I can offer my knight in shining armor for the rescue?”

“Rescue?” George huffed, taken aback. “You hardly needed the help with an arm like that.”

“Yes, I will admit, the punch was all my doing.” George laughed. “But most people would just drop me off somewhere near people and hope I was okay. You’re a special breed, Weasely, to sit with someone on the floor of a dirty corridor while they went through hysterics.” You cut him off before he could rebuke. “So, anything I can help the King of Pranksters with? I am in your debt.”

“That is a dangerous thing to say to me, lovey.” George’s mischievous smirk sent a chill down your spine. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to raincheck that favor. Unless, of course, you could get me a Lightsparrow’s Talon,” George laughed.

Despite the obvious sarcasm in his voice, you still responded, “Would a liquid form work?” That stopped his humor immediately.

“What?”

“Would a liquid form work? It’s the only type I have on me.” You rummaged through your pocket, producing a small bottle of…something that glimmered lightly against the candlelight. George wondered if he was going to have a jaw ache from the way it kept falling open.

“Where did you get that?!” Even as you held it out to him, he was frozen solid.

“It’s not in its purest form, but you wouldn’t need it to be anyway if you’re making a potion. If you mix in some snail secretion it should become tacky again without compromising the effects.” When he still didn’t take it from you, you waved it gently. “Well? Will it work?”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“What? Oh, I brought it from home.” George gave you a funny look. “Liquid Lightsparrow Talon? Don’t you use it here as a cure for muscle and mental fatigue?”

“Lightsparrow Talon is extremely hard to get here!” It was your turn to look confused.

“The Talon is, yes. But if you gain their trust you can start a farm where they drop nearly all the time. The liquid form is a portion of the Talon ground down and liquified to make over a hundred doses per talon.”

“Is this common knowledge? How do you even know this?”

“The method is new, yes, but it’s been published hundreds of times over the years. The research team is based in France.” George smacked his hand against his forehead. Of course you would stop at E in the Herbology section, he thought miserably. If I had just continued for another row I would have answers for Fred by name. Your laugh pulled him from his thoughts.

“You’re pretty funny, you know that.” In a quick motion, you leaned over, tucking the bottle into his front pocket. His face flared red. “Let me know if you need anything else. The exit was this way, right…” Your voice trailed off as you made your way down the dirt path. 

George felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“Thank you, Dumbledore…”

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l What is Laufeyfest? l Laufeyfest masterlist

[mywingsareonwheels]

Opinions of the Thursday family on other characters played by their actors:-

Win: she's incredibly chuffed that Caroline was in Coronation Street. The whole family sat and watched *The New Worst Witch* and Fred will never ever, ever admit to how flustered he was by the Miss Hardbroom costume.

Sam: would have much preferred Jack to have played Batman, but omfg young Alfred Pennyworth will do, that's phenomenal.

Joan: she and Sam watched s3 of Shetland and s2 of Guilt. Their parents are banned from seeing either. She is rather jealous of Sara's accent.

Fred: "Oh for goodness' sake, why couldn't Roger be playing a Labour minister instead?!" "To be fair, Dad, I can absolutely imagine you declaring that you're bored of this and are going for a Twix." "What has Morse been telling yoooou... HANG ON THAT LIBERAL MAN LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE A MAN THAT TRIED TO KILL ME!" "WHO TRIED TO KILL YOU, FRED, AND WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!??!" Anyway, they all watched that Globe *Tempest* together, and Joan refrained heroically from making pointed comments about Prospero's behaviour with Miranda re Ferdinand (at least Roger's Prospero is a lot less... weird about his daughter than some). Win absolutely doesn't have a crush on both Douglas Richardson and Antoine Verlaque, shut up. Fred's been humming "Stars" from Les Mis under his breath at work and it's driving Morse absolutely mad.

[25inthelaketonight]

Another baby Morse in a Klimt-like position (?) I imagined he's staying over at the Thursdays' and Fred insisted he sleeps on Sam's bed (because he's away in the army), but you know Morse 😞, so he fell asleep recoiled in a couch. Somebody's going to work with a sore neck the next day!

.

I think I'm gonna turn this into a little art blog, I am very much an amateur but it's a little something I always wanted to do

[sunnydaleherald]

The Sunnydale Herald Newsletter, Thursday - Friday, April 4 - 5 - PART TWO

(Buffy gives final instructions.) SPIKE: Well, not exactly the St. Crispin's Day speech, was it? GILES: We few... (Giles goes past Spike as Spike gathers up the bag of weapons.) GILES: ...we happy few. SPIKE: We band of buggered.

~~The Gift~~

[Images, Audio & Video]

Artwork: “Out. For. A. Walk….Bitch” by nerdromthenet (Spike, worksafe)

Artwork: [The World tarot card] by isevery0nehereverystoned (Buffy, worksafe)

Moodboard: moodboard: autistic agender tara maclay by purgeshubble (worksafe)

Moodboard: Kendra Young- Buffy the vampire slayer by awinterroseesstuff (Kendra, worksafe)

Gifset: tara & willow as the tarot by daisyssousa (Tara/Willow, worksafe)

Gifset: make me choose - osiriaroses asked fred/gunn or wes/lilah by sulietsexual (Gunn/Fred, worksafe)

Gifset: [Buffy Summers, Class Protector] by andremichaux (Buffy, worksafe)

Gifset: Buffy the Vampire Slayer 6.09 | 7.07 by slayerbuffy (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Valentines: Apparently ten years ago I made Buffy valentines. by aprilthebiqueen (Buffy, Angel, worksafe)

Manip: Spuffy manips I made! Please credit if you use them. by allchoseny (Buffy/Spike, worksafe)

Manip: I call this manip I did “Broken William.” by allchoseny (Spike, worksafe)

Fanvid: CALLING ALL JAMES MARSTERS FANS TO THE RING by captain-ghost (Spike, fanvid)

Artwork: Willow vs Ulquiorra Page 2 by MattanzaMFedora on DeviantArt (Willow, worksafe)

[Reviews & Recaps]

S01E08 I Robot, You Jane by she-saved-the-world-a-lot

S01E07 Angel by she-saved-the-world-a-lot

Re-watch of show. Season 3 (spoilers below) by bookishowlet

BTVS/Angel Rewatch Chronicles: Seasons 5/2, Part One [Buffy vs Dracula to Family] by QualifiedApathetic

about season 4? by ngbp

I just finished watching Season 4 and wanted to say what I thought about it by UNimAginAtiveuseRn

PODCAST: Don't Trust the Goat - Gravity Falls S01E01 - Tourist Trapped by Pop Culture Role Call

PODCAST: Episode 22 - Don't Warn the Tadpoles! (What's my Line Part 1) by The Sunnydale Diaries - A Buffy the Vampire Slayer Podcast

PODCAST: Season 1 Wrap Up! by Once More: A Rewatch Podcast

[Recs & In Search Of]

Video: Making Riley Finn Interesting (by Pensive Whiskers) recced by riley-summers

[Community Announcements]

REMINDER: It really bugs me when people post stuff about how they don't like a ship or character [but don't tag it anti] by riley-summers

Y'all, come join the Fanged Four ‘Runs In The Blood’ Discord Server. by somekindofadeviant

POLL: Preliminary [round tie] by btvsepisodetournament

[Fandom Discussions]

Why did Willow Rosenberg’s boyfriend just growl at me. by sunnydale-high-school-rumors

Look I totally thought that Scott Hope was just being a bitter ex... by sunnydale-high-school-rumors

dude I swear I keep seeing buffy summers hanging out with some guy in the graveyard by sunnydale-high-school-rumors

[Faith texts Buffy] by scooby-group-texts

Screw it, let's do this... Riley ship opinions, pt. 1, M/F edition by riley-summers

it's so crucial to take the show's tone into account... [giles x anya] by once-more-with-tabula-rasa

i love that buffy and riley's breakup feels like an argument... by joodeegemstone

Ask answered: what was your first fandom? [praise for BTVS fandom] by hils79

Me, when all you asked was what time it was, for the fifth time that day: no you don’t get it— they’re the chosen two. [Buffy x Faith] by fictiongods

As an alcoholic in recovery this scene speaks to me. [Spike] by desicat-writer

Do we see anybody that we knew as a human turned into a vampire after The Harsh Light of Day? [Harmony] by coraniaid

i think people fem spike up cuz of his body type- but based on character... [Angelus] by captain-peroxid3

Imagine, if you will, that you hate someone so much that you want to violently kill them [Spike] by breezybeej

I think Harmony knows that she is a vampire but I don't think she knows what a vampire is. by breezybeej

there are obviously a lot of intended parallels in season 2 between buffy and drusilla by bloomfish

charles gunn, my most beautiful sunshine man, described like this... by bloomfish

... the most relatable character on Buffy? updated by various

What If: Xander Went To College? updated by various

Buffy, Giles and Spike updated by various

Would Faith have threatened to kill Dawn? by Itchy_Initiative6180

Why couldn't Anya "officially, magically" hurt Xander after getting her powers back? by smileliketheradio

Spike/Buffy in season seven: a huge cop out from the writers by SafiraAshai

What to watch after Buffy & Angel? by alwaysleepingg

the Scoobs have always been against Buffy having a proper romance... by zarif_chow

What was the controversy regarding Buffy’s comments to the first slayer? by Scopeburger

Favorite villian/s on the show by kittycat6434

Cordelia the Bad Decision Slayer [and what Cordelia would do if she never left Sunnydale] by Comfortable-Sun6571

I've just started a Buffy rematch... there were signs of Evil Willow as early on as Episode 2's The Harvest by Hotch91

Who do you think should have been endgame loves? by artmalique

What are your favorite Buffyverse moments where a character got exactly what they deserved? by PristineSituation498

Why is Wesley treated so badly by Buffy and the others? by JellyfishDry9464

Amy Acker from Fred to Illyria is thee best acting ever! by symynuk

Other Buffy media to explore? [recs of comics, books, podcasts, etc] by GamallSoro

About Buffy and Anya [in S7] by Dappich

Surprise and Innocence by penny1985

Guilty pleasures? [characters, ships, episodes, or scenes that are considered bad] by Dull_Bumblebee4623

What if Tara had been a demon? by Moonycoves

Watching Angel solo or co-watching with Buffy? by kai1793

I love Harmony in all her unicorn-loving bimbo glory. by Dull_Bumblebee4623

Cordy/Jasmine by Typical-Owl9521

[Articles, Interviews, and Other News]

James Marsters Upcoming Events List by dontkillspike

James Marsters to Attend Mad Monster Expo in Concord, NC 23-25 Aug by dontkillspike

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Join the editor team :)

[sircolinmorgan]

What do you think it is about Endeavour that makes it special? It's different from other shows of that genre and there's nothing quite like it from what I've seen.

wow what a great question. i feel like i'm never gonna be able to articulate my thoughts on this properly so apologies in advance.

There's something very unique about Endeavour, it's very intelligent and never talks down to the audience, morse and his crossword puzzles and opera and the stylish way of solving crimes i think sets it apart from a generic police case-of-the-week procedural. it's very funny at times too, it doesn't take itself too seriously. also the cinematography!!! every episode is just beautifully shot.

Aside from the crime, it's the characters that are so special and the actors that completely bring their a game every single episode. having watched a bit of inspector morse it's amazing how well they cast young morse, max and jim. you can really imagine that these people grew up into who they became in IM. but Fred, Bright, Dorothea and the Thursday family are also so brilliant and over 9 series you really felt like you knew them by the end of it. character development is something that IM really lacks but Endeavour has that in spades.

The relationship with Morse and Fred is so beautiful and deep and meaningful. again i suck at articulating my thoughts..their co-dependency is mildly unhealthy i suppose but they needed each other and [continuous yelling]

so..to sum up. this show is gorgeous and it has my whole heart.

[fredfilmsblog]

Best of Original Cartoons: Castlevania: Nocturne

FredFilms Postcard Series 3.8

Kevin Kolde changed American cartoons on television and streaming forever. And Thursday, September 28, will just be more proof of it. 

You think that’s hyperbole?

When producer Kevin Kolde joined us at Frederator Studios in 2005, he brought along the animation rights to the Konami video game Castlevania, thinking it would make a great direct-to-DVD movie, and that the 30+ years of the franchise’s worldwide success would feed sequels forever. A “universe,” if you will. There certainly wasn’t any broadcast or cable channel that had shown a scintilla of interest in anything other than an animated comedy. Kevin, on the other hand was a dedicated video game player and felt that the video game-to-feature film attempts had been woeful failures. He was absolutely certain felt he could do better. 

Who was I to argue?

It took 10 years after Kevin had recruited Warren Ellis to write the script and “no” after “no” after “absolutely not!” before the good folks at Netflix stepped up and gave a Castlevania series a chance. As a global video platform, Netflix was uniquely suited to reaching across the Earth to the game’s generation of fans. And Kevin’s team building of Warren, voice director Meredith Layne and Powerhouse Animation’s Sam Deats, Adam Deats and Brad Graeber would deliver a winning mini-series (the original movie script broken into four episodes) guaranteed to capture the imagine of fans that had been pining for adult animation that examined more than just the hijinks of a wacky family.

Kevin’s showrunning skills were unparalleled, extremely unusual for a non-writing producer. But all his instincts were perfect, extending to the notion that a franchise universe could be in the cards. Enter Castlevania: Nocture, a new series that, IMHO, is just the beginning.

Back to my original “hyperbole.” Cartoons on television have changed forever. Proof? Arcane, The Guardians of Justice, Beastars, Blood of Zeus...  the list goes on. And none them possible without the success of Castlevania.

You can thank Kevin.

.....

From the postcard back:

Congratulations! You are one of 125 people to receive this limited edition FredFilms postcard!

www.fredfilms.com

Castlevania: Nocturne

Executive Producers Kevin Kolde Clive Bradley, Fred Seibert

Series 3.8 [mailed out September 18, 2023]

[dertaglichedan]

The star, who played Colonel Mustard in Clue, Roseanne’s boss Leon Carp in the sitcom Roseanne and starred with Fred Willard on Norman Lear‘s Fernwood 2 Nite, passed away at home after a battling a 'long illness', according to his daughter Maggie Mull.

'I am heartbroken to share that my father passed away at home on June 27th, after a valiant fight against a long illness,' Maggie wrote on Instagram.

'He was known for excelling at every creative discipline imaginable and also for doing Red Roof Inn commercials. He would find that joke funny. He was never not funny,' she continued alongside a black-and-white snap of her father