#jd johndeacon or jackdaniels

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

Rabbits

Rabbits Rabbits

I hope you all have a very Happy Holiday season!

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Every girl deserves to be a swan; Fred Weasley x reader

*Author's note*

Man I am such on a Weasley twins ROLL AREN'T I?! Why I had never written for the twins before once I got into the HP fandom is BEYOND me because they really are my comfort characters, every time they're on screen I can't help but get the fuzzy feels (esp. once I got to meet the Phelps twins back in Feb for Megacon, really lovely gentlemen they were *swoons*). Anyways this takes place during the GOF Yule Ball so enjoy yourselves my darlings :) Heads up gifs and pic down below do NOT belong to me, just using them as playful and helpful visuals thank you.

Taglist:

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@waddles03

@plethora-of-things

@queen-paladin

@psychosupernatural

@remussl0vers

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I entered the Great Hall and saw the Golden trio sitting at the Gryffindor table.  But from the look on Hermione’s face as she read a copy of the Daily Prophet I knew she was fuming about something that nosey bitch Rita Skitter had now written.

“What’s happened now?” I asked as I came up beside Hermione.

“She’s done it again. Making me look like some sort of—wizard chaser. Jumping from one champion to another.” I took the daily prophet out of her hands, rolled it up before hitting her in the head with it. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For believing in the rubbish that she writes. C’mon Hermione you know who you are, everyone in the school knows you’re not some trouser chaser so don’t get your knickers in a twist about it. Besides my aunt has better dirt on Skitter than anyone else.”

“Like what?” I turned to the boys and whispered.

“I’ll tell you when we get to our dorms. Too sensitive for boys to hear.” Hermione gawked as she covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oi what are you two giggling on about? Sensitive about what?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Oh nothing ikkle-Ronniekins.” I teased.

“Ugh I can’t believe Fred and George told you about that nickname.” Groaned Ron.

“I think it’s adorable.” I couldn’t help but coo.  “Oh almost forgot here you are Harry.” I reached into my bag and pulled out some medical lotion made from Murtlap venom and Mandrake sap.  “Just put this on your cuts, no more than a finger-tip size twice a day and those cuts should heal up in no time.”

“Thanks (Y/n).” he took the bag from me as a young second year named Nigel came up with a parcel for Ron.  Ron thanked him and as Nigel kept standing there staring at Harry, Ron whispered something to him before the kid left the Great Hall.  Mione and I looked at Ron skeptically and Ron told us.

“I told him I’d get him Harry’s autograph.”

“Wow Ronald, cashing in on your best friend’s near-death experience to sell autographs. What a true friend you are.” I said sarcastically.

“Shut it (y/n).” I smirked at him as he then looked at his parcel and said happily, “Oh look mum sent me something.” He opened the box up and his excitement turned to shock as he pulled out the most flashy-outdated set of dress-robes I had ever seen.  “Mum sent me a dress.”

“Well it does match your eyes, is there a bonnet? Ah-ha!” Harry teased as he dug through the box and pulled out a ruffled collar that matched with the ruffles on the dress robes.

“Nose down Harry. Ginny, these must be for you.” Ron walked over to his sister with the dress robes.

“I’m not wearing that, it’s ghastly.” Ginny firmly said.  Hermione and I laughed again as Ron turned back towards us and he asked.

“What’s so funny now?”

“They’re not for Ginny, they’re for you.” Hermione said to which the other Gryffindor students began laughing, including Ron’s twin brothers Fred and George.

“They’re dress robes Ronald.” I told him.

“Dress robes, for what?”

After lunch, Professor McGonagall had called all of Gryffindor students to gather in one of the classrooms.  Girls sat on one side of the room while the boys gathered on the other side, a large gramophone stood at the center between us as Filch was trying to get it up and running while Professor McGonagall explained to us the Yule Ball.

“The Yule Ball, has been a tradition of the….TriWizard tournament…since it’s inception.” Once Filch was done messing with the gramophone, Professor McGonagall slowly walked between the space between us as she continued, “On Christmas Eve night, we and our guests gather in the Great Hall for a night of well-mannered frivolity. As representatives of the host school I expect each and every one of you to put your best foot forward. And I mean this literally because the Yule Ball is first and foremost….a dance.”

My heart sunk.  As idle chatter happened between the girls and loud groans came from the boys, all I did was look down at my wheelchair in shame.

It’s true, I’m probably the first wheel-chair bound witch that Hogwarts has ever seen.  When I was about 8, maybe 9 years old when my powers were starting to develop.  My parents were the religious radical lot.  When my aunt found out she was a witch, her entire family casted her out and damned her for all eternity.  My mum had feared that I too was starting to possess the ‘curse of the witches’ so she and my dad tried to get me help.

As we drove to a ‘specialist’, in my fear I had caused the car to crash which killed my parents immediately and I was left paralyzed.  Since everyone in my family besides my aunt blamed me for the death of my parents, I was soon taken into my aunt’s custody and I’ve lived a better life ever since.

Well I use ‘better’ in the fact that I don’t have to live in constant fear of showing off my powers or knowing that I wasn’t the only one out there who was like me.  But it’s hard when the Wizarding world hadn’t really caught up and tried to help witches and wizards like me who were either born paralyzed or became paralyzed in time.

So to say that my first year at Hogwarts was tough would be an understatement.  At least that was until I met the Weasley twins, who were in their second year at the time.  They became my constant light during school, always there to crack a joke to cheer me up or help me up the staircases until I had the levitation spell to help me navigate the stairs.

And when they discovered the Marauder’s Map and discovered all the secret passages and hallways without the need of stairs, they showed me the ways to navigate so that I wouldn’t get caught in the crowd of students and risk running anyone over.

“Silence!” Professor McGonagall’s voice broke me out of my trance and silenced everyone.  “The house of Godric Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the Wizard world for nearly 10 centuries. I will not have you in the course of a single evening besmirching that name by behaving like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons.”

My eyes turned immediately to the twins and I saw as George whispered something to Fred and soon the two of them began saying the Professor’s tongue twister.  I shook my head while failing the smile that came across my face.

“Now to dance is to let the body breathe. Inside every girl, a secret swan slumbers longing to burst forth and take flight.” Not my swan unfortunately.  While the other swans get to fly away, mine is stuck in the lake, her wings forever clipped.

“Something’s about to burst out of Eloise Midgen but I don’t think it’s a swan.” I heard Ron’s voice try to whisper to Seamus but the walls made it echo for all to hear.  I narrowed my eyes and made a mental note to myself to hex that boy into a pig later.  Just because a girl’s got a bit more weight to her, doesn’t make her any less beautiful than any other girl.

“Inside every boy, a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall hearing his comment from earlier decided to call Ron up front.

“Yes?” Ron said shamefully.

“Will you join me please?” Professor McGonagall held out her hand and pulled Ron up before the entire Gryffindor house as some of the boys laughed at him lowly.  “Now, place your right hand on my waist.”

“Where?” Ron gawked.

“My waist.” While Professor McGonagall tried to get Ron into a proper dancing position, a wolf whistle from Fred sounded off as Ron glared at his brothers who were enjoying this as much as I was.  “Mr. Filch if you please.” Filch then placed the needle down on the record and a simple waltz music soon played out of the gramophone.  Next thing we knew, we were watching as Professor McGonagall was leading Ron into a waltz.

I snickered behind my hand at Ron’s embarrassment as well as seeing the twins hum and sway along to the music before Harry got their attention.

“Oi.” The twins bent toward Harry as he asked them, “You’re never gonna let him forget this, are you?”

“Never.” Fred and George chorused with mischievous grins.

“Everybody come together. Boys on your feet.” Professor McGonagall soon said to everyone after the demonstration of the waltz.  Immediately every girl stood up while the boys seemed to sink lower in their chairs or avoid eye contact with any girl.  That was until Neville was the first one to stand up.

One by one students of Gryffindor were paired up but I kept to the back and decided to sneak out of the room and avoid the dance lesson all together.  Cause literally what’s the point of a dance lesson if I can’t even stand on my own two feet?  Suddenly I felt my wheelchair get pulled back with a slight yank.  I let out a slight yelp as a voice said.

“And where do you think you are going?” I leaned back against my chair and turned my head upward to see the familiar ginger haired, brown-eyed eldest Weasley twin looking down at me with that puppy dog head-tilt of his and smile that could outshine the very sun itself.

“I don’t know. Maybe the courtyard, it is a lovely day after all.”

“As brilliant as it was to see Ronald get fully embarrassed by our entire house, I believe there is one swan missing from the flock that needs her dance lesson.”

“Fred,” I sighed deeply before looking down insecurely.  “I’m afraid this swan can never ‘burst forth and take flight’ like our Head of House had stated. I’m just the swan stuck in the lake who sadly got her wings clipped. Never knowing what it would feel like to fly.” Fred knelt down beside me, his hand gently encompassing mine as I felt his fingers slowly intertwine with mine.

“Babbling, bumbling band of baboons five times faster.” Fred said after a brief moment of silence.  I turned to look at him and asked.

“What?”

“Funny little…..what did you once call it a uhh—tongue turner?”

“Tongue twister.”

“That’s it. Can you say it? George couldn’t get it after the third go.”

“And what about you?” I challenged.

“Didn’t slip once.”

“I doubt that.”

“Well go on then, ladies first.” He then challenged me, the hint of mischief and competition burning in his eyes as he adjusted his position.  I went first saying McGonagall’s tongue twister before Fred went next.  Back and forth the two of us went until I fumbled right at the last time saying.  I groaned in defeat while Fred exclaimed in victory.  “Ha see!”

“You were squishing my cheeks by the fourth time.”

“You just can’t accept your defeat like a good sport.” Fred playfully mocked as he patted my head.

“Sod off.” I grumbled as I slapped his hand away while he chuckled playfully.  “But seriously Fred, thanks for cheering me up.”

“Anytime (Y/n). Now you said we’re going for the courtyard?”

“Hold on ‘we?’ Just because I left the dance lesson, doesn’t mean you have an excuse.”

“Sure I do. If anyone asks why we left early, I’ll just say I kidnapped you because the dance lesson was boring and just plain rubbish.” Fred said as he stood up and went back behind me taking hold of the bars of my wheelchair and began wheeling me towards the courtyard.

“What would I do without you Fred Weasley?”

“Probably lose your mind out of pure boredom.” He shrugged nonchalantly as he continued to wheel me towards the courtyard where the two of us sat by the fountain and just chatted away.

The days went on and all anyone could talk about was the Yule Ball.  Everywhere I would go, I’d see boys trying to work up the courage to ask a girl out, or girls traveling together as they’d gush about who they longed to go to the ball with.

But hearing all this talk about the ball continued to weigh heavily on me and my insecurities started flaring at an all time high.  Especially with the ladies of Beauxbatons would see me and look at me with nothing but pity.  Even the Durmstrang boys, who I’d see go up to girls with confident bows and gentleman like manner ask a girl to the ball, gave me pity.  Once a group of them had seen me in the Great Hall and they all began whispering about which one of them should even attempt to ask me to the ball.

It was one thing when I got ogled at my first year by the students of Hogwarts, but now adding two more schools for being wheelchair bound and showing me nothing but pity began to really frustrate me.

Currently it was study period in the Great Hall and unfortunately for us, Professor Snape was in charge and he made it perfectly clear that we weren’t to make a sound.  Anyone who did, got a whack to the head, especially Harry and Ron.  I was doing my Care for Magical creatures homework that Hagrid had assigned for us on Bowtruckles when I felt a balled up piece of parchment hit my head.

“Oi (Y/n).” I heard Fred’s voice whisper.  I looked at him and mouthed out as I shrugged a ‘what?’ at him.  He then mouthed out to me, “Do you,” he pointed at me before mouthing out again, “Wanna go to the ball,” he began mimicking the waltz the others were forced to learn before pointing to himself finishing his question, “with me?”

I felt myself froze.  This wasn’t happening was it? He couldn’t be serious, someone tell me he wasn’t serious.

“The ball?” I mouthed out.  He nodded.  My heart raced as I rubbed my hand to my thigh insecurely.  Without even thinking I found myself nodding to his invitation.  Bloody hell why did I say yes? Why did you say yes to him? The boy you’ve had a crush on since your second year, why? Why? Why? Why?

When classes were over for the day, my brain was in a whirlwind of anxiety as I lay on my bed thinking back to Fred’s proposal to the Ball.  It was a pity date, it had to be. No other explanation.  He didn’t want me to feel left out so he thought we’d go as friends.  Yeah, yeah that was it.

But what if and this is a big what if—what if he does somewhere deep down feel the same way that I do? Oh come off it (Y/n) now you’re talking crazy! Who in their right mind could love someone like you?

I sighed and tossed the covers off my body and dragged myself over to the chair and wheeled myself toward the Common room.  Thank Godric no one was there so I could have some privacy for a while.  I sat by the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames when I heard a meow break me from my trance.

“Hey Sassy.” Sassy was my long haired black ragdoll cat.  Her piercing green eyes stared up at me as she lifted herself up on her hind legs.  I patted my lap and she leapt onto my lap with a merp and she immediately settled down into my lap purring.  “Can I be honest with you girl?” she turned and looked up at me.  “Should I have accepted Fred’s invitation to go to the ball? I mean, did he ask me out of pity or….does he really care for me?”

Sassy let out another merp before meowing softly as she raised her paw at me.

“I know that we’ve been friends ever since my first year but ever since my third year I just…..” she let out another meow as she raised herself up and nipped at my nose.  I giggled and gave her scritches as I pressed my forehead against her head.  “Yeah, I’ve fallen for him. I fancy him, I love him whatever term you wish to use. The way the sun reflects off that red hair of his, the hidden freckles dotted across his face like stars in the night sky, his beaming bright eyes, and his smile…..Godric his smile.” I sighed lovingly.

That was the first thing I noticed about both twins was their smile.  While most would say ‘it’s the same smile’, you’re actually wrong.  George’s smile while dazzling as well has a more softer edge to it, it’s not as blazing as Fred’s is.  When Fred smiles, it’s like staring up at the sun itself.  He physically shows all of the emotions behind his smile whether it’s playful, cheeky, admiration or fondness.

“I really do love him. And he’s my best friend but—how can I be the perfect girlfriend when I can’t even take a step?” I continued to stroke Sassy’s fur when a voice spoke up.

“If you want my perspective on things, he’d be a right up tosser to reject someone like you for that reason.” Oh no…. Sassy hopped off my lap and went over to the big arm chair that sat right in front of the grand fireplace and I saw a familiar hand reach down toward her and Sassy reached up and rubbed herself against the hand that was now petting her.

After a few pets, he leaned over the arm of the chair and there sat Fred Weasley himself.  The light from the fireplace reflecting his brown eyes as they held a firm and determined look to them.  I covered my mouth as I looked away but I heard him walk towards me before he knelt down in front of me.

“Can’t you just pretend not to have heard any of that?”

“Fraid not love.” I buried my face into my hands.  I felt Fred’s hands gently take my wrists and pull them down as they rested on my lap, our hands intertwined together as I felt his thumb gently stroke the back of my knuckles sending tingles throughout my body.  “Do you remember when we first met at King’s Cross station?”

“How could I forget?”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Why?”

“Humor me, what happened that day?” the look in his eyes was soft and comforting as he tilted his head down at me, encouraging me to speak about the day that changed my life.

“My aunt was pulling my cart while I was wheeling beside her. Sassy was in my lap when she suddenly decided to run off on me. I chased after her but being at a train station in a wheel chair is hard enough as it is without the large crowd of muggles shoving their way across. When we came to platform 9 and ¾ I was afraid that my wheelchair wouldn’t make it through the platform, that’s when I felt someone grab my wheelchair from behind and say, ‘Looks like you’ve got your own 24/7 cart. At least you won’t be late to classes, won’t you wheels?’ Molly was livid with you.”

“Even called me George at the time. Still to this day she can’t tell us apart.”

“That’s because more than half the time you boys trick her into thinking that you’re the other one like you did your third year.” Fred gave a small smirk before it softened.

“Do you know why I asked you to remember that day?”

“Why?”

“Because that day I saw a very unique witch. A witch who I believed wasn’t gonna let anyone tell her otherwise what she could or couldn’t do because of her circumstance. You were interesting, and as both George and I got to dig deeper into that brilliant, delicious brain of yours,” he emphasized his point by poking the center of my forehead which got me to smile a real smile for the first time since the announcement of the Yule Ball. “You became someone I had to have in my life. And I’m never letting you go.”

“But doesn’t my—you know, change things between us?”

“Who says the feelings not mutual?” my heart raced as my breath softly hitched.

“You mean……”

“Like I said, I’d have to be a bloody tosser to reject you for a reason like that.” He reached up and tucked a few strands of my hair behind my ear.  Sparks seemed to zap the moment I felt his fingers graze the tip of my ear.  “And for being your friend because of sympathy is complete rubbish. You’re clever, you’re funny, you’re the only witch I’ve known you can put Pucey in his place with the fasted wand draw I’ve ever seen.” We both softly laughed remembering when I had hexed Adrian Pucey my second year at Hogwarts when he had challenged me to a wizard’s duel during our DADA class.

He had underestimated me thinking that I wouldn’t be able to dodge any attacks because of my wheelchair.  But having no function of my legs made me learn to be quick with my arms, that includes drawing out my wand and performing a spell in a time of need.  I took him down easily with a Petrificus Totalus hex.

“And you’re the only witch in this whole school, nay in the world that I would want at my side at the Yule Ball this Christmas eve.” Slowly and cautiously he leaned in closer so that our foreheads were touching, his nose softly grazing against mine. “And I’ll gladly ask you a million times to confirm this, do you, (Y/n) (l/n) want to go to the ball with me?”

“Yes Freddie, yes a million times yes.” I wept happily before leaning in to kiss him.  My hands cupped his jawline while his arms wrapped around my waist pulling me closer to him.  Our kiss deepening before we separated and embraced each other.  As I rested my chin on his shoulder, he whispered to me.

“And don’t worry about the actual dancing part of the ball, just leave that to me.” I let out a watery laugh.

“How do you always seem to know my hidden anxieties?”

“It’s a gift.” He separated from our embrace but he returned to our first position with our foreheads touching, “All you need to worry about love is what dress you’ll need to find. And maybe also go with Ginny to make sure she doesn’t buy anything too—revealing.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s going with Neville as friends.”

“Still she’s going to the ball with a boy. She shouldn’t even be dancing with boys yet.” I scoffed as I playfully smacked his arm.

“You’re cute when you get all protective.”

“Oh yeah?” his cocky, mischievous expression shined across his face.

“Don’t make me take it back now.”

“Too late love.” He chuckled before capturing my lips in another soft, loving kiss.

Soon the big night arrived, I was with Hermione, Angelina, Ginny and Katie getting ready.  With Hermione and Angelina holding me up from my chair, I was able to get my dress on me with magic.  It was a fairly long (but not too long) V-neck champagne colored dress with spaghetti straps.  It had some ruffles at the bottom but not enough to block the wheels on my chair.

Katie had styled my hair into a waterfall braid before adding a charm to it so that my hair would stay that way and not allow a single hair to go out of place.  And while she was doing my hair, I had Ginny kneeling in front of me as I brushed her hair and styled it with a few braids.

“You guys think this isn’t enough?” asked Hermione doubtfully as she studied herself in the mirror.

“You look beautiful Hermione. My idiot brother screwed up big time.” Ginny said as I continued to braid the hair on the other side of her head.

“I agree with Gin, once he sees you with his crush, he’ll be crawling to you for forgiveness.” I told her.

“Praise Godric on that sister.” Agreed Angelina as Katie hummed in agreement.

“Thanks girls, really. Being a muggle-born witch is stressful enough but now to try and hold a tradition of a wizard’s ball it’s been….”

“Listen to me Hermione Granger, you have more class and beauty thank most witches will tonight.” Angelina told her as she grasped her biceps. 

“Yeah, Ron was being a total git trying to be all cool about this whole Yule Ball. Don’t let him nor anyone else dictate how you should feel tonight.” I told her.

“Is that what Fred said to you?” Hermione couldn’t help but tease.

“That’s between us.” I replied cheekily as I finished Ginny’s hair and she thanked me while I helped her put on her necklace.

“Okay are we ready ladies?” Katie asked.  We all turned to each other and nodded and we proceeded toward the Great Hall.  At first any staircases I came up against, I had to quickly learn the Levitation spell in order to get up the stairs but soon enough the school seemed to understand my situation and would change part of the stairs into a ramp and would either lower or rise up kinda like an escalator.

Hermione was pushing my wheelchair across the corridors until we came near the Great Hall entrance.  I turned to her and said.

“Thanks Hermione, but you go on ahead.”

“You sure?”

“She’s sure.” Fred’s voice spoke up.  He came toward us and I couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked.  My dress matching the waistcoat he wore underneath his dress robes.  “I’ll take it from here Granger.” Fred said as I held out my hand and he took it as he bowed to kiss the back of it.

Hermione soon left us and I said to him.

“Who would’ve thought Fred Weasley could pull off the fancy dress robes?”

“I’m full of surprises love, shall we?” I nodded and he came behind me and pushed my chair towards the last staircase I needed to face before getting to the Great Hall.  Fred knelt down and extended his arms out as he said, “If I may,” I giggled and nodded as he picked me up from my chair bridal style and carried me down the staircase.

I then used the levitation spell to bring my wheelchair down the last few stairs and set it down before Fred gently set me back down in my chair.

“Before long, you won’t have to worry about this thing for the rest of the night.” He whispered to me.

“What does that mean?” Fred only grinned cheekily at me as he winked at me before pushing me into the Great Hall.  I knew Hogwarts always outdid itself during the holiday season, especially around Christmas time but this—this was truly wonderous and magical.

The Great Hall just gleamed a pure white as snow fell from the ceiling.  The dance ring ahead almost looked like an ice-rink, three grand Christmas trees stood at the end of the Great Hall where the Professors would usually sit, the band could be heard warming up their instruments and Professor Flitwick readied himself as the conductor and had one final word with the band.  Multiple tables stood on either side and held a beautiful ice sculptures displayed along with some food and drinks.

“Wow.” I couldn’t help but exhale.

“Wow indeed, but that’s not the beautiful sight I’m referring to.” Fred said.  I rolled my eyes playfully as he wheeled me over to George and Katie and we just chatted away until the arrival of the Triwizard champions was announced through the band.  The four of them and their dates leas the first waltz before the Professors and then some of the students began to join in.

I looked at my wheelchair then back up to Fred as he continued to watch as more students filled the dance floor.  I then watched as he reached into his robes and pulled what appeared to be some sort of sweet before holding out to me.

“What’s this?”

“Eat it.”

“This isn’t one of your pranks is it? Cause this is incredible insensitive and very poor timing for a test run Weasley.”

“Ye have little faith my dear. I solemnly swear, just eat it love.” He continued to hold out the circular white sweet.  I took it and popped it into my mouth.  Almost instantly as it hit my tongue, it began to dissolve and there was a sugar rush that popped in my mouth as I chewed it up before swallowing the pieces.

Nothing seemed to happen for a few seconds, that was until I felt myself rising up out of my chair.  Fred took hold of my hands as I was almost eye level with him now and he said.

“Shall we dance, my secret swan?” I looked down and saw that I was levitating just a few feet above the ground.  I looked up at Fred and he said, “It’s a minor levitation spell candy, I’ve been dabbling in it to sell at the shop, haven’t worked out the name yet unfortunately. One taste of this and you’ll levitate just a few feet off the ground for a few hours but you feel like you’re defying gravity.”

“Fred you—I can’t believe you did this.” I could feel tears forming in my eyes.

“Don’t cry, I didn’t know what to expect from you but I didn’t want tears.” He dabbed my eyes with his dress robe sleeves, being very mindful of my makeup.

“They’re not sad tears. These are happy tears, no one has ever done anything like this for me. Thank you so much.” I embraced him and he embraced me back while kissing my temple.

“So what do you say, ready to dance with this Lordly lion?” I giggled as I nodded and he guided me over to the dance floor and I followed his lead, gliding through the air as we danced together.  As all of us girls would be lifted up by our dates, I had seen that I was the one being lifted higher than the rest.

The once crippled swan was now soaring higher than all the other swans.  Even as the night went on and the spell sadly wore off, it didn’t stop Fred from dancing with me.  He’d hold me up against him and just gently sway side to side.

This would forever be the happiest moment of my life and it was all thanks to a boy who believed that every girl deserves to be a swan once in their life.

[m0llygunn]

Apologies and Promises (eddie munson x fem!reader)

Part 3 to Same Old Song and Dance 01 / 02 Summary: Hurt feelings hidden under the shallow guise of anger and indifference, in an inebriated state there’s no choice but to face the layers of truth.

Tropes: enemies to lovers (kind of), mean stubborn idiots in love, honestly idk at this point. Warnings: 18+! mature language, ‘bullying’, forcible wrist holding, pet names (princess, sweetheart, angel, baby), mentions of oral (m receiving), angst, alcohol consumption, vomit mention. Author’s note: I am resisting the urge to over explain why theres no smut and this chapter was needed to progress feelings (i know smut is a selling point IM SORRY... but soon i swear it'll be back). wc: 7.2k+

tags: @needylilgal022 @tlclick73 @ropickle @suethh @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @emma77645 @yujyujj

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You didn’t wait around for him to show but you also didn’t expect to have to wait around for him to show.

You’re not disappointed. Why should you be? You didn’t want him to pick you up anyways. 

If anything, you’re pissed. 

He relentlessly badgered you last night about it. Wouldn’t leave until you agreed to let him drive you to school. He was so insistent, that he nearly slept on your floor using that stupid notebook as a pillow.

You’re not disappointed. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Want me to knock him out?” Steve offers and you can’t help but laugh. 

Steve was dropping off his coworker-turned-best friend, Robin, when you were walking into school. He’s a close family friend— and Nancy’s on-again-off-again boyfriend, so you happily stopped for a chat. 

“Steve. I hate to break it to you but Munson’s a veteran school fighter. He might not win every fight but he’s definitely been in more fights than you.” You say, patting Steve on the cheek as he comically deflates before you.

“Hey! I won the last fight I was in and I’ve been working on my biceps, can’t you tell?” He says, flexing his arms. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You smile, watching Steve flex his unnoticeably larger arms until he rounds up his antics and leans back against his car. “Your dad at that work conference thing too?” You ask, curiously wondering if it really is a work trip your dad’s on right now. 

“Absolutely. Any chance to get away, right?” Steve says with a somber laugh. 

“I know the feeling...any chance.” You reply, nodding your head in agreement.

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “Might throw a party, might not.” He says indifferently. You perk up at the idea of a party. It’s always the same crowds that show, you know the list of attendees like the back of your hand.

“You should, I can get Nance to come along, maybe you can rekindle.” You say, hitting Steve’s arm. This could be to his benefit too, Nancy has been bringing him up again recently and that’s always the catalyst to the ‘on again’ portion of their relationship.

“You got some kind of insight?” Steve replies, eyes studying you.

You purse your lips, choosing your words wisely. “Can't say. Bad enough I already told you my business, can’t tell you her business too, Stevie.” 

Steve smiles, shaking his head, accepting your answer because he knows that’s as close as he’ll get to you spilling Nancy's secrets. 

He knows all about your rivalry with Munson, and as much as he doesn’t like the guy, he was actually the first one who suggested sleeping with him quite some time ago. It was a joke of course… yet here you are. You figured he deserved to know that he was some sort of prophet, so you filled him in. Not in as much detail as you did with Nancy, but you told him the gist of it. 

Your conversation with Steve simmers to a lull, both of you watching over the crowd of students funnelling from the parking lot into the school. You’re not explicitly looking for it, but you can’t help but notice the lack of a certain obnoxiously loud van. 

“You’re good, right?” Steve asks, shoulder bumping your own.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“You sure?” He asks again, turning towards you enough to gauge your reaction. You shrug your shoulders.

“Maybe a little embarrassed.” You say, shifting back and forth on your feet, eyes still flickering over the bustling parking lot. 

“Don’t be. Fuck him.” He says making you snort a laugh.

“Fuck him?” You question, smirk playing on your lips.

“No! I mean, unless you want to. But he did stand you up so…” Steve says trailing off. You try to laugh it off but it sounds more like a scoff. 

“Yup. Eddie Munson stood me up.” You say, words rolling off your tongue in a confusing cross between regret and hurt even when you meant for it to be a joke. A laughable comment between two friends who know how you and Eddie interact, who know he’s nothing more than a nuisance to you, nothing more than an incessant house fly that just won’t quit circling you. 

You never thought you’d be saying that in this lifetime. You never thought he’d have the opportunity to stand you up. 

You tell yourself you’re not disappointed, but the words sure do taste like it. 

You shrug your shoulders, shaking off your thoughts. “I should go, bell’s about to ring.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was during your second period math quiz. A timid, curly headed freshman knocked on the door interrupting the silence of the room. 

Mrs. Rotman stood from her desk, crossing the room, engaging in a whispered conversation with the boy. She turned to look around the room, eyes flitting over the students before landing on you. She turned back to the boy, whispered something to him and sent him on his way. 

You tried to pretend you were busy doing your quiz but it was hard with her eyes focused on you as she walked in your direction.

“Honey, your fathers in the office for you. Something about a family emergency. Don’t worry about the quiz, sweetie.” She whispered, leaning down to your level with sullen eyes that made your heart rate pick up.

“Family emergency?” You questioned anxiously. 

“Yes dear, go on and head down to the office.” She said, patting your back. 

Leaving behind your quiz that you barely had a chance to start on, you quietly let yourself out of the class. 

Speed walking down the hall, opening the door to the stairwell with enough force for the sound to echo against the cement walls and linoleum floors, you hurry to descend the stairs. With your mind busy, rifling through what potential family emergency would bring your father back to town, you didn’t even notice him standing by the stairwell exit until you stepped down onto the landing. 

There’s a moment before he looks at you. A moment where your heart beats faster. A moment where you’re flooded with scary feelings. A moment were you remember last night. And a moment were you remember this morning.

“Oh for god's sake.” You groan, leaving that moment behind, churning everything into a genuine annoyance because you fell for such a stupid trick. 

“Princess, funny seeing you here. Daddy’s been waiting.” Eddie says, smirk plastered on his face, waiting with his back against the wall, trying to exude some sort of coolness that he doesn’t possess. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spit, burning hot from the inside out. Eddie deflates in front of you, smirk dropping as he steps away from the wall towards you.

“No?” He says, almost like he’s asking you. 

“Why the fuck would you think this was okay?” You sneer, voice raising in volume. He shrinks further.

“Just wanted to see you.” He shrugs, eyes falling to the ground.

If he 'wanted to see you', he wouldn’t have stood you up. 

“You wanted to see me?” You scoff bewilderedly.

“Yeah, and apologize for this morning.” He says, eyes flickering up to you.

You spin on your heels, ready to explain the situation to Mrs. Rotman and go back to finishing your quiz. You don't want to hear an apology for that.

“Shit— Princess, come back!” He calls after you. You hear feet clambering, catching up to you just as you clear the first set of stairs. His grasp captures your wrist and you get the eeriest sense of deja vu.

“Princess, c’mon, let me apologize.” He says, voice pleading as you try to tug yourself free.

“No. You can apologize to Mrs. Rotman’s math class for interrupting everyone during the quiz.” You huff, using all your weight to try and free yourself. 

“No, let me apologize to you.” He insists. You feel your heart rate pick up and in an instant you spin, startling Eddie with your fast movement. 

“Do you think this is funny, Eddie?” You spit, brows furrowed, face flushing hot in anger.

With his mouth pulled in a flat line, he shrugs. 

You know he's hardly phased by your spitfire and you step closer to up the ante. 

“No, seriously? Are you having fun, Eddie? Answer the question.” You say, burning your gaze into his. 

He doesn't indulge you in an answer, he just looks at you with round eyes. He doesn't cower, he doesn’t spit heated words back, he just remains looking at you with his stupidly big eyes. You're not even sure if his disposition is meant to soothe you, but it does and you hate it. It irons out nearly every wrinkle of anger and you hate it. 

“I know none of this matters to you, Eddie, but it matters to me.” You say, mustering up every blazing emotion you have left in you but it comes out too gentle to be anger.

“What matters to you?” He asks quietly, his face softening, eyes getting impossibly rounder. His grip on your wrist loosens as he steps closer to you. 

You press your lips closed, breathing deeply to compose yourself. Your sentiment is ambiguous, you recognize that. Whether is was purposeful or not is a mystery to even you. You wouldn't admit this matters, whatever this is between you and Eddie, never. You couldn't.

Even if you didn't leave space for ambiguity, you know what he's asking right now. Does he matter to you, does this matter to you?

“School, idiot.” You say quietly. You cover ambiguity by shutting him down and embellishing it with an insult. It's a lie, you both know it. It’s an orchestrated move at this point; he steps right, you step left.

He moves in closer to you, toe to toe, his chest less than arm's length away. His grip on your wrist slides down, stopping just before your palm, inches away from being a hand hold.

“You're only upset because I took you away from your quiz?” He asks quietly, amusement hinting in his tone. His eyes flicker to your lips.

“Yes.” You reply flatly. You lick your lips instinctively and you mentally scold yourself.

“No, you're not.” He laughs softly, eyes only watching your lips now. “You're really that desperate to finish a math quiz?” He asks, amusement becoming forthright.

He does think this is funny and it makes your blood boil. 

“Stop doing that.” You sneer but it comes out weak.

“Stop doing what?” He asks, eyes still unmeeting of yours.

His overconfidence and arrogance buzzes around in your head, spurring on your anger. You feel cornered by him calling your bluff and nothing good has ever come from that, especially when your heart is beating so fast you can't hear your own thoughts.

“Assuming you know me, Eddie. You don’t.” You snap, hammering your words into him like nails in a coffin, punctuating your words with a tug of your wrist but his grasp hardens, not letting you go.

He finally looks up at you, eyes meeting your gaze and you can tell your words stung by the mirrored reflection of hurt. He looks taken aback. Whatever he thought was about to happen, you pulled it out from under him like a mean trick and hurt switches to anger.

“So you’re really only upset because you’re here?” He scoffs, brows pinching.

“I just fucking said that.” You spit back.

“And you’re not at all upset because I didn’t pick you up this morning?” And that's all he has to say to send you into a flighty panic. You won't look truth in the eye, you can't.

“Eddie. Let go.” You seethe, tugging your wrist harshly. You bring your other hand to his in an attempt to pry his fingers off. His grip isn’t enough to hurt you, it’s simply unrelenting, a desperate attempt to finish this conversation.

"Princess—" He starts but you interrupt him, not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting to give him another opportunity to throw your own feelings in your face.

"Let go." You say, your volume raising out of desperation.

“Fine. Just fucking relax for a minute, Jesus Christ.” He groans, when you start swatting at his forearm. His own annoyance rises and it pisses you off because what does he have to be annoyed about? He’s not the one that got stood up. 

“I am relaxed!” You shriek, squeezing your eyes shut and stamping your foot. 

Eyes still closed, you listen to your own voice echoing off the walls, forcing you to hear yourself. It sounds like a reverb of hurt between the two of you. Despite the meaningless message your words attempt to convey, it sounds like a slip of honesty, a slip of your true feelings and how he’s affected them. It sounds tears short of being an angered cry.

A beat passes before the echoes subside, leaving the two of you in silence.

“Princess.” Eddie whispers softly. His voice isn’t loud like yours, it doesn’t vibrate off the walls but it still echoes in your consciousness, occupying a space hugged tightly next to your heartbeat. 

You feel fingertips ghost over your cheeks, delicate in nature despite residing in the antagonistic warland that you and Eddie have fostered together. Your heart catches in your throat and you hate it. 

Your face pinches in its default anger. You ready yourself to scold him, but when you open your eyes and all you see is soft, warm brown staring back at you, it doesn’t come. You hate it. 

He closes his grasps on your face, both hands holding you gently by the jaw. Both hands.

Your wrist set free, you pull away, storming back down the stairs. He steps forward, you run away— another orchestrated move.

Hearing yourself is too much, you need air. You need somewhere where your own thoughts can't reverb like your words against cement and linoleum. You need something to get you thinking straight.

Scuffing sneakers echo behind you as you clear the staircase, cross the foyer, and push open the door to the parking lot. You expect a hand around your wrist again but it doesn’t come. 

You slow to a walk and so does he, his steps crunching on the pebble covered pavement as he trails behind you quietly.

You round the corner of the building before leaning against the wall, expectant hand held out towards Eddie.

He tentatively raises his arm, fingers grazing yours, palm just barely ghosting your own, before you smack him away.

“No you idiot, cigarette.” You say, exhaling deeply. 

He mumbles an embarrassed apology before digging through his pocket.

“Here.” He says quietly, passing over his carton of camels.

You pull one out, placing it between your lips, Eddie’s eyes watching your every move. Flickering the lighter that was tucked into the empty space of the box, you light it up, smoke pluming from the corners of your lips as you take your first drag. Eddie swallows harshly, lost in thought.

“Well?” You snap, his eyes fleeting back to yours. 

“R-right. I’m sorry I didn’t pick you up this morning, princess. I’m really really sorry.” He says softly, strumming the chords of your heart with his words. You hate it.

“Why should you be sorry about that, I didn’t want you to anyways.” You say, trying to sound indifferent. You don’t though. You hear your own voice just like you did in the stairwell and you sound like a little kid who hasn’t quite mastered the art of fibbing. It’s a jejune lie, not even a good one.

“I said I would though, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.” He says, round eyes set on you.

The sun glimmers against his hair making the wavy brown strands look golden, a perfect match to the gold in the eyes staring at you right now.

He’s genuinely sorry, you believe him, and you hate it.

Continuing on your juvenile streak, you pocket his lighter before handing back his carton. You know he sees you do it but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Whatever, Eddie.” You mumble, taking a drag from your cigarette. 

You let your head fall against the brick behind you, eyes scanning thoughtlessly over the surrounding thick tree line. Eddie takes a step, his shoulder hitting the wall as he leans against it, still facing you. 

“Don't you wanna know where I was?” He asks carefully, a testing tease lingering around his words.

“Not really, but I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.” You retort, folding your arms over your chest, your burning cigarette skillfully held out to not get ash on yourself. Eddie exhales a light laugh before leaning into you. 

“Well, princess.” He starts, leaning in even closer. “I accidentally slept in because I was too busy staying up all night thinking about this girl who gave me the best head of my life.”

“Gross.” You scoff, hiding your smile by taking another drag.

“Fuck yeah. It was certified sloppy toppy. I think I was reborn yesterday, died and got as close to heaven as I ever will.” He says, body twisting so his head knocks against the brick wall dramatically. 

“Now you're just sucking up.” You grimace, taking another drag.

He laughs softly before the both of you fall into a quiet lull. You partially expected him to make some kind of joke out of ‘sucking up’ but he doesn’t. Only the sound of trees blowing in the wind can be heard, along with scattered chirps of birds in the distance.

“Are you still mad at me?” He asks, breaking the silence. You let your eyes flicker to him before focusing back on your barely burnt cigarette. You drop it, stomping it out under your shoe. It was a waste of a cigarette, but Eddie doesn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t mad at you.” You reply, facing towards the tree line again. 

“Okay, princess.” He sings, clearly not believing you. “But everything aside… we’re good?” He asks, watching you carefully.

“Eddie.” You exhale. That’s a big thing for him to ask of you and he doesn’t even realize it. How can you say that everything between the two of you is good when… What even is there between the two of you? Are you even friends? It's another truth you're not willing to face.

“Princess, tell me we’re okay or else you’ll keep me up another night.” He says, slouching his shoulders. 

“You’re being dramatic.” You laugh. He steps closer to you, hand raising and grasping a piece of your hair. You watch in your periphery as he swirls it between his fingers.

“I’ll never get another wink of sleep, I’m begging you. Tell me we’re okay or tell me how to fix it.” He says, tiptoeing even closer to you.

“Eddie.” You laugh again, shaking your head. The hair between his fingers falls but he’s quick to reach for the strands that fell into your face, skillfully tucking it behind your ear.

“All I’m asking for is your forgiveness. What d’you say, angel?” He whispers. You turn your head, looking at him skeptically with raised brows. 

“Angel? I think that’s hardly a fitting name.” You scoff.

“Trust me, it’s fitting. After last night.” He says, hand retreating from you to grab his heart dramatically, throwing his body back against the brick wall in a swoon. 

“Suck up.” You say trying to hide your amusement. You watch him as he continues his antics, biting your lip to hide your smile. 

He turns to you, looking up through his lashes, feigning a faux innocence.

“So what d’ya say, princess?" He questions, quirking a brow at you. "Want me to kiss it better?” He asks with a deep grin, eyes amusedly awaiting your response. 

You pause, not necessarily thinking about his offer but more so distracted by the way the sun reflects off of his eyes making them glow golden again.

He takes your pause as a yes, stepping into you, hands grabbing behind your ears, cradling your neck. He presses sloppy kisses all over your cheeks and up to your forehead, all while you protest through giggles. It’s sickeningly sweet. Truly sickening. You hate it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Why’d you ask my friends where I was yesterday, princess? Are you, like, obsessed with me?” Eddie mocks into your ear startling you.

“Oh no.” You groan to yourself, flashing Nancy a preemptive apologetic look. 

“Princess, d’ya happen to have a lighter? Mine seems to have gone missing.” He says, moving on from his original remark, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. 

“No, sorry. I don’t smoke, it’s a dirty habit.” You say flatly, keeping your focus on your lunch and Nancy sitting across from you.

“Oh, that’s crazy I could have sworn I saw you hanging out in the back of the school with some guy smoking earlier? I must have been mistaken.” He says, arm wrapping around your shoulder as he throws one leg over the cafeteria bench, straddling it. 

“We weren’t ‘hanging out’.” You scoff.

“Right, right. I was groveling, my bad, princess.” He laughs. 

You look up at Nancy and she’s shaking her head, lips pursed tightly, holding back her ‘I-told-you-so’ smile. Eddie doesn't typically bother you at lunch, so to Nancy, this very much looks like him 'getting worse'.

“Eddie, don't you have somewhere else to sit?” You say, shrugging his arm off your shoulder. 

“What? Can’t come have lunch with my girl?” He teases, scooting closer to you, his knee pushing against your thigh, your shoulder practically resting against his chest. 

“I just barely forgot about the stunt you pulled earlier, you’re pushing your luck, Munson.” You warn.

“Don’t call me that.” He says flatly.

“Munson? That’s your name, isn’t it?” You laugh.

“Nope, not to you it isn’t.” He replies flatly, grabbing a grape off your lunch tray before you can stop him. 

“Is there a reason you’re here?” You say, his arrogance pinching at your agitation.

“Lighter.” He sings, eyes sparkling with amusement meeting yours, stealing another grape in the process. Turning his head, he focuses on Nancy. “Wheeler, how’s it going?”

“Good.” She laughs, still shaking her head. 

“Heard you tattled on me to Princess.” He says, eyebrows raised, a smile playing on his face.

“Eddie, leave her alone.” You huff. You feel his hand raise up your back, settling slowly, before rubbing back and forth. He leans in closer to you, face brushing against your hair.

“Gotta share the attention sometimes, princess.” He whispers just loud enough for you to hear. His breath tickles the shell of your ear and you feel your heart rate pick up.

You sit up straighter, Eddie’s chin knocking into your shoulder as you reach into your front pants pocket.

“Lighter. There. Leave.” You say, finding his free hand to push it into his hold. 

“Good girl.” He teases, quickly pulling you closer to him with a hand on your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You feel yourself burning hot and it takes everything in you not to hit him back with some sort of insult but you know if you do he’ll just stick around for longer. 

He gets up from the bench with a coy wave of his fingers and a polite nod to Nancy, disappearing into the crowd of the lunch room.

“Nancy, if you say ‘I told you so’, I swear to god.” You say, holding back your smile as you watch your friend’s eyes burst with amusement. 

“I wasn’t going to say I told you so!” She laughs. 

“I can see it in your eyes Nancy, I know you’re dying to say it.” You reply.

“I won’t say it… but I will say that you’re blushing pretty hard right now.”

“Out of embarrassment! That was embarrassing, Nancy.”

“People aren’t usually that smiley after being embarrassed.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Eddie kept his eyes on the prize all night. Not in a creepy way, just to make sure you were okay… and because he just liked looking at you. You were making it awfully hard though, the way you kept disappearing between the groups of people occupying Harrington’s infamous Saturday night party. 

His goal was to sell what he needed to sell, then he could have his fun. So when he sold his last eighth, his heart rate picked up as he bounded through the waves of people to find you. 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t get a pang of nerves when he finally found you, all alone in the kitchen, getting yourself a drink. 

Steve decided late Friday night that the party was on. He called you up and from there you called Nancy. It’s a practiced drill at this point, Steve calls a few people, who call a few more people, and the word gets around pretty quickly. Eddie got news that night, and it was a given he would sell. He always sells at Harrington parties, similar to how you’re always drinking at them. 

“All your friends scurry off on you, Princess?” An all too familiar voice says right into your ear.

“No.” You say flatly, turning to see Eddie at your side. 

“That’s funny, I only see you.” He says, eyes teasingly looking around you before settling back to meet your gaze.

“You should get your eyes checked, there’s like 20 other people in here.” You say, motioning to all the other bodies occupying the room. 

“You know what I mean.” Eddie says, hip bumping yours gently as you pour from a bottle of something highly alcoholic into your cup. 

“Do I?” You laugh before quickly shooting back your drink. 

“Look at her, she’s a professional.” Eddie teases as you scrunch your face through the burning sensation in your throat, some of the liquid spilling down the corners of your lips from your overzealous tilt of the cup. Without as much as a second though, Eddie’s hand raises to you, wiping your chin dry. 

“Why are you so nice now?” You ask, leaning closer to him so he can hear you over the music. 

“I’m not.” He smiles, eyes leaving yours to watch as you set the empty cup down on the counter. He knows he’s lying, you both do. 

“Is it because I sucked your dick?” You giggle.

You take another step closer to him where he leans against the counter. His eyes meet yours again with a mixture of amusement and shock looming on the surface of his gaze.

“You’re more drunk than you look, princess” He holds your gaze, amusement taking the reigns until his eyes lower to the short distance you’ve created between the two of you. 

“I’m not drunk.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. Eddie watches you, you can tell he’s smiling and you’re not even looking at him. 

“Where’s Wheeler gone? You were with her all night.” He asks, changing the subject. You turn your head, meeting his gaze, lifting your eyebrows as you decipher his question. 

“You were watching me all night?” You ask teasingly, a smile playing on your lips. 

“Princess.” He exhales, rolling his own eyes jokingly. The way his little nickname for you rolls off his tongue makes your already dizzy head spin. 

“She went upstairs with Steve.” You answer, letting your hand rest on the counter, pinky brushing the material of his jeans where he leans against the marble countertop. 

“I hope she’s not as drunk as you are.” He replies, eyes on your fingers as you continue to brush them against him. You shake your head. You could tell him that their rendezvous was premeditated, and a recurring pattern between the two, but you don’t want to talk about them. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest? First you took care of me when I was sick, now you’re looking out for my friends. Such a sweet boy.” You coo, leaning into Eddie, removing your hand from the countertop and placing it flat on his chest to stabilize yourself. 

“Baby, I think you're too drunk, look at you being sweet.” He laughs and you dip your head, hiding the way his words affect you. You’re always ‘princess’, never ‘baby’. It makes your heart beat faster and your skin prickle.

You can’t help but notice how he doesn’t touch you though. He’s always poking and prodding at you in one way or another. Last time you saw him, he was all hands and kisses to your cheeks, but now, nothing.

“Did you make a lot of money tonight?” You ask, stepping in closer to him, your thigh pressing into his as you stand beside him.

“I did good enough.” He shrugs, arms staying closely to his sides and it almost makes you want to pout. He should be grabbing your hand or twirling your hair, doing what he always does. 

“You were busy all night.” You mumble, your head down, watching as you kick at his shoe before stepping over it with one foot. Still leaning against the counter, he shifts, arms moving at his side and you almost get excited before you realize he's just crossing them over his chest. You lower your hand, sitting it closer to his hip as you move to stand directly in front of him. 

“You were watching me all night?” He mocks, copying your same lilt.

“I set myself up for that one didn’t I?” You whisper, head down. He’s still not touching you.

“You did.” He replies, exhaling a laugh. You rest your other hand on his crossed arms, hoping he’ll get the hint but he doesn’t and you sigh, slouching into yourself. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” He asks, quietly.

“You.” You reply flatly. 

“Yeah, but you’re all pouty. You don’t pout. You scowl. Yell. Threaten violence.” He teases gently, dipping his face enough to meet your gaze. 

“You’re not touching me.” You mumble, words so quiet you can barely hear them yourself over the blaring music.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, leaning his ear closer to you. You step in closer to him, pushing your way between his legs.

“I said, you’re not touching me.” You grumble, annoyed that you have to repeat yourself. Even more annoyed when he hears you and still doesn’t touch you. You huff, pushing your body flat against his, but he stops you, hands on your shoulders holding you away from him.

“Princess, I can’t. You’re drunk.” He says firmly, serious eyes meeting yours. Your knee shakes as you try to stop yourself from stomping your foot. 

“You can. You just want to piss me off.” You say, funnelling all of your emotions and forcing them into a short lived anger. 

“Trust me, that’s not why.” He says softly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your shoulders. You happily focus on his simple caresses on your bare skin, but the feeling it gives you just leaves you wanting more.

“You're touching me right now, Eddie. Just keep doing that.” You whine, giving him your best pout paired with doe-eyes. His gaze soften, eyes fluttering over your features.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says, flashing you a small smile.

“You like it though, that’s why you keep coming back.” You whisper. Eddie’s mouth pulls in a flat line and you think you might have said something wrong. His grip on your shoulders falls and you’re sure you did.

You’re sure you did until you feel his hands meet your waist, pulling you towards him. Your hands slip up his chest and around his neck and you hug yourself to him tightly. You absorb every ounce of him you can, every inebriated sense of yours captivated and buzzing with feelings and flutters. Even through the thump of the bass vibrating throughout the kitchen, you swear you hear his heart, or maybe it’s yours, either way it doesn’t matter because Eddie Munson is holding you just like you wanted him to. 

“I was waiting for you to come find me.” You whisper into the skin peeking out of the collar of his shirt as you press your head to his shoulder.  

In the bustling of the party, you stand chest to chest, arms wrapped around each other like this was the only way things were meant to be. He responds to you through the movement of his hands, rubbing up and down your back, touching you, just like you asked. Soothing you like you didn’t know he could. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Eddie, you’re not doing it right, you’re supposed to just come in. I’m not supposed to have to ask you.” You whine. 

“Princess, I can’t.” He says, smiling as you try to tug him through the front door of your house. 

“You can, you did it before, remember?” You say, giving him your best pout.

“You were sick.” He says, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he stands firmly outside, your tugs not making him budge in the slightest. 

“I'm going to be sick right now, if you don’t come inside.” You whine, punctuating your words with little stomps of your feet.

You may have taken a few more shots after Eddie broke up your hug earlier. You knew you had him at that point so maybe you took them just to spite him. It made sense at the time and as the night progressed, you were right. He was by your side the whole time, never more than an arm's length away. And when it was time to go home, you didn’t even have to ask, he was already offering you a ride and guiding you to his van.

“Princess, you’re killing me.” He says exasperatedly through a smile before stepping into the doorway. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Jesus, just drink the water, princess.” Eddie laughs. 

“I’ll do it if you lay down with me.” You say stubbornly. He shakes his head and you drop yourself down onto your pillow. “Please, Eddie. Please.” You plead, your eyes catching the dizzy image of him in the lowlight of your room.

“Drink the water and I’ll think about it.” He says sternly.

“Lay down and I’ll think about it.” You mock, copying his tone.

“You are so…” He laughs, trailing off.

“Good at giving blowjobs?” You giggle, filling in his sentiment. His gaze drops to the floor as he sits on the edge of your bed, shaking his head in disbelief of the moment. 

“I was gonna say ‘impossible’.” He corrects with a laugh. 

You furrow your brows. In attempts to prove him wrong you sit up, taking the water from him and silently finish it small swallow by small swallow until your belly feels impossibly full of water. 

“Done.” You huff, falling back to your pillow dramatically. 

“Good.” He says, hand patting your calf that’s sprawled against the comforter next to him. 

“No. Good girl.” You say, correcting him through giggles. He squeezes your calf, before sitting up enough to put the glass down on your bedside table. 

“Good girl.” He says to appease you, smirk heavy in his features. 

“Was I good enough for you to lay down?” You ask, flashing him innocent eyes. He exhales deeply and even in your spinning state, you know he’s weighing his options. His eyes track the span of the bed before looking back at you, seriousness written across his features.

“No funny business.” He says firmly, making sure to make eye contact so you know he’s serious.

“No funny business.” You agree, nodding your head waiting for him to give in. 

“Only for a few minutes. Sober you wouldn’t want me here.” He says, removing his jacket and tossing it to the floor.

“Yes she would.” You mumble with a pout but quickly get excited when Eddie starts shuffling to lay down. You prop yourself up ready to cozy into him but he stops you.

“Nuh-uh. On your side of the bed, princess.” He says, motioning for you to lay back down. You throw yourself to the mattress with a whined cry. 

“You’re no fun.” You huff, whine building in your chest.

“I’m not here to have fun, princess. This is serious business.” He laughs. 

You continue pouting on your side of the bed, turning enough to watch as Eddie settles into your mattress. His hair sprawls over your pillow, just like before, his throat bobbing as he swallows before turning his head to you.

“Go to sleep.” He says and your jaw drops. His lips curl into a smile, eyes dancing in amusement. 

“You’re mean, you couldn’t even say goodnight? Just go to sleep?” You shrill, trying to focus your gaze on Eddie to get your glare across. 

“Go to sleep.” He repeats, smirking as he reaches his arm to your bedside table, switching the light off, leaving you both in the low glow of the moonlight that sweeps in through your half open curtains. 

“Eddie, I can’t unless you say it nicely.” You argue.

“Princess. Please go to sleep.” He says with teasing lilt.

“No.” You giggle.

“I said it nicely, c’mon princess.” He groans.

“Eddie.” You whine, hearing the annoyance in his voice.

“Princess.” He mocks.

You scan your eyes over him, the low light helping you find where his hand lays at his side. Quietly, you tiptoe your fingers across the mattress until you brush against his hand. Before you can close your grasp, he rips it away with a tut. 

“Eddie, I held your hand when you wanted me to.” You whine.

“That was different.” He replies.

“No it wasn’t! Just hold my hand.” You say, pushing yourself up to try and grab his hand where it lies on his stomach now.

“Lay back down.” He laughs pulling himself further away from you. You drop yourself to the bed, your bottom lip quivering. It’s not for dramatics though, you know Eddie wouldn’t be able to see it.

“No. I’m tired of doing this, I just want you to hold my hand.” You whisper back. Eddie says some kind of teasing response but you ignore it, feeling too lost in the spinning of your head. 

In your current state, you feel a lot of things. Most importantly, you’re confused. These nights usually end with Nancy and Steve. Eddie's existence would have never even crossed your mind, but now, all you want is to be close to him. It doesn’t help that he’s been making you practically beg for his attention all night. It might seem sudden, but it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when you feel your eyes grow wet. Your breathing starts to come out in harsh whines from your stomach that get caught in your throat.

When the first tear falls it feels catastrophic. It feels destructive, disastrous even. It feels like a break in your guard and you aren’t quick enough to catch it. There’s no snark left in the world that could patch this up right now. So you hide.

Pushing your face into your pillow, your tears free fall.

You feel shifting on the bed and you push your face further into the pillow.

“Are you crying?” Eddie asks softly, sounding closer to you now.

You don’t offer a response, your throat feels too tight to speak. You feel like you’re drowning in more than just tears.

“Princess, don’t cry.” He replies gently, all teasing gone from his voice. “I’ll hold your hand, here.” He finds your hand, taking it in his but it’s too late. The floodgates are open, set on their path of destruction, open to exposing damage.

His hand wraps around yours and you feel small. Not because of the size difference but because there’s a reason you don’t show these feelings. There’s a reason it’s easier for you to scowl and yell. This side feels too bare, too soft, too uncomfortable. It’s unfamiliar and scary. It feels like offering yourself up to impending disappointment. It feels like waiting for someone to pick you up and they don’t. 

He pulls your hair, you pull his back. He stands you up, what can you do besides pretend it didn’t hurt?

You should yell, you should scold, you should threaten violence. You should tear your hand away, kick him out.

But you don’t. You couldn’t, not anymore. Not right now.

You just want Eddie, all games aside. You want him in the silence of the night, not through the bass of the music where one of you has to move left while the other moves right. You don’t want to dance the line of whatever this is anymore. 

You pull his hand, willing him to come closer, a silent plea through your tears, and he does. He shifts closer until you're pressed to him, your intertwined hands hugged between your chests as his other hand wraps around you, resting against your back. He soothes you with quiet promises of everything being okay intermixed with his own apologies that only make you cry harder. 

Maybe you’re not the whole reason that you two have ended up here, but you’re half of it, and it takes two to play this game. If you tap out, you’re half of the way to it being over.

If you walk away and he follows, isn’t that just the game changing again? A game of cat and mouse?

Maybe all these metaphors are stupid. Maybe they’re all a figment of your imagination that blossomed as a child from the first time he pulled your hair. Maybe you’re too old for these playground antics. Maybe you’re too old to not say how you feel. 

“I was sad when you didn’t come to pick me up.” You whisper, your sob-filled secret sailing into the darkness of the room as if his chest wasn’t there to catch your secret. 

Your words are as much for you as they are for him, you couldn’t admit your hurt before, but now you do. 

Truth tastes soft in your mouth, not at all like the burn of alcohol you’ve drowned yourself in. It’s not sweet, it doesn’t fix everything, it just creates a storm in your belly. A fight between everything you know, everything you’ve done, and something new. It’s unnatural, it makes you feel sick. 

“I know, princess. I’m sorry.” He whispers in return, his hand rubbing against your back. You imagine with every pass of his hand on your back he’s helping you fight the furries of the storm rising inside of you, but with the storm rising, there is nowhere else for these feelings to go but up. 

“I don’t want you to say sorry, I just don’t want you to do it again.” You cry.

Your throat constricts as you feel bile rising. 

“I won’t. I promise, okay?” He says softly. His words would have eased every metaphorical storm inside you, but this storm has turned literal, you’re about to vomit.

“Eddie, I'm gonna be sick.”

It’s a rush of limbs and a dash down the hall. Everything pours from you, every uncried tear, every burn, every furry, every roar of the storm. Everything you know, everything you’ve done, it all leaves you. And in its wake all you have left is Eddie’s hand rubbing your back, telling you it’s okay. It’s soft and unnatural but you let it absorb you entirely. It burrows into you, finding a place you never knew existed, a place where softness thrives and doesn’t need to be hidden by the guise of anger and indifference.

Eddie brings you back to your bed and in the silence of the night, apologies and promises lay side by side, holding hands. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[asumofwords]

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Watercress - Chapter Four

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Smallfolk OC, mentions of death and war, descriptions of injury and blood, injury of a child, attempt at murder, choking, arguing. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Word Count: 7.2k oops....I'm so sorry....

Notes: Hello my angels, apologies for such a slow release on this one, I was so incredibly sick that I was bedridden for a week! I wrote this in my delirium and also on my journeys to work, so I hope you enjoy!! <3

“What have you done?” 

She startled, it had been so peaceful in the cottage that she had forgotten about the silver haired man’s existence in her bed.

The needle and thread she worked with this time was different to the one she used on injuries. Instead of pulling together a wound, she pulled together the seams of white linen and leather. 

It had occurred to her earlier on that she should probably get him clothed, but he had been so acidic, so scathing in her attempts to help him that she thought that keeping him vulnerable in her bed would humble him. 

It hadn’t. 

From the seat by the fire she glanced her eyes over to Aemond, who sat rod straight in her bed, long fingers grasping at his silver locks.

Ah.

“What. Have. You. Done.” He spat louder this time, the silk tresses falling between his fingers as his eye locked onto hers. His pale cheeks flushed in anger, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Saved your life.” Came her deadpan response, looking back down to his leather riding jacket. She was suddenly thankful for the way in which she had cut it off of him; it made it easier for her to go through the original holes of the leather with her needle rather than having to pierce new ones.

“You were fevered,” The healer said simply, without remorse, “Your hair was tangled, matted with blood. I had to—”

Aemond moved. Staggered from the bed, a wash of grey taking over his skin where there had just been colour. It had surprised her so thoroughly that she stared at him before jumping into action, body in autopilot. She stood to come to him, to get him to sit back down.

But then he surprised her again.

This was a man she had watched lay in her bed for weeks, too weak to stand, too weak to hold himself, but here he was, standing from the bed, furs tangled beneath his feet. He swayed, yes, and she could tell that his adrenaline was taking over, but underneath all of that, it was sheer will. 

Sheer spite. 

She worried that he would fall as she went to his side, that he would burst more stitches, un-align his leg, puncture his lungs. She was so preoccupied with worrying over his condition and potential to worsen it that she hadn’t thought for one second the sudden danger he imposed over her. She was by his side in a second.

And then he moved again. 

Too fast, too hard, ignoring the pull of his wounds, ignoring the agony screaming through his body.

His fingers found her throat and she froze.

She blinked as he gripped her, forcing her gaze to his. His hand trembled—not with weakness, but with the sheer force of his rage, and she felt the weight of him against her neck, as if he was using her to keep himself standing. 

All with the grip he had on her neck.

Her eyes looked onto his lone one, not daring to flick over to the empty socket on the other side. The violet eye she had grew accustomed to narrowing at her, flashing with anger, was now almost entirely black, his pupil having swallowed up all remaining evidence of humanity, leaving only the barest hint of a ring. 

“You had to?” He hissed, his voice low, deadly, “You had to strip me like a common dog?”

Her chin lifted, and though her pulse thudded beneath his fingers, her voice was even, “You would rather have rotted in your own filth?”

His grip tightened.

“Yes,” He snarled, the word cutting like a blade, “Better that than,” His voice dipped lower, the shadow of the firelight darkening his sharpened features further, “this.”

He was ruined.

Defiled.

Like a man shorn for punishment, like some domesticated drunk.

Like Aegon.

The realisation struck him like a blow, like a fresh wound split open, deep and raw. His lips curled, sickened.

“You’ve made me look like him,” He spat, his voice dripping with venom, “Like that wretched, slovenly oaf.”

A humourless laugh, sharp and bitter, scraped from his throat.

“Tell me,” He sneered, eye flashing with cruel mirth, “Shall I take to drinking next? Stumbling through brothels, pissing myself in the streets?” His lips twisted cruelly and she felt a pang of pity for him in that moment, “Is that what you’ve made of me? Turned me into a common, useless drunkard?”

“Only you have the power to do that. Though from what I’ve heard, your blood runs thick with it.”

Aemond’s grip flexed, his fingers twitching with the urge to hurt, to punish. She tried to inhale deeply, but he only allowed her the barest slither of air. And that was when she realised he would not kill her in that moment, not that she wouldn’t have fought him. He merely wanted an audience.

She liked her odds regardless; another hit to his ribs, a kick to his leg and she knew that she would be freed. But there was something new about this rage, something different. 

It was shame. 

“You’ve taken my hair,” He said, his voice like steel drawn slow from a sheath, “Defiled my birthright.” His breathing came heavy, ragged with fury, “And you expect me to thank you?”

You have no birthright, she thought, not anymore.

His fingers flexed against her throat, his other hand fisted at his side. She saw this as a good sign; if he truly wished to kill her, surely he would have had two hands at her throat. She tried to swallow, feeling her throat bob beneath his hand, to which he only tightened it further. Her head spun.

Opening her mouth she breathed raggedly, “I expect you to live.”

The words were plain. Cool.

Always so cold.

So detached.

And he hated it.

Where was her anger? Where was her fear? 

Where was his respect?

He had seen the fear briefly, flickering through her eyes as she had watched him stand. But it wasn’t fear of him, not at that moment it hadn’t been, it was fear of what he would do to himself. Fear that he would injure himself further. 

He hated it.

Hated that she cared.

But there was fear, the moment his hand had wrapped around her throat and squeezed her, he had seen her eyes flash with surprise, and then fear, but now, now she seemed so sure that he would not harm her. So sure that he would not lift his other hand and squeeze the life from her in the cottage where she gave so much life. 

She gave.

And he would take away.

Aemond exhaled sharply, a dangerous sound.

“It will grow back.” She said, unshaken, her eyes looking over his head, looking to the shoulder length hair he now had, small waves dancing behind his ears. 

It was pretty, his hair, especially now with the way the light caught it. It was so pale, so unlike anything she had ever seen before that it seemed to absorb light itself. 

“No,” He whispered, voice laced with something dark and bitter, “It won’t.”

Not in the way that mattered.

Not in the way that it mattered to him.

She didn't understand. How could she?

Aemond Targaryen was reduced.

“I had no choice.” She spoke again, and he felt her throat bob beneath his palm, and for a second he had to fight the excitement that coursed through him. 

She was under his control now.

He could control her. 

But there was something more. He looked down his long nose at her, and watched how she continued to look at his hair. How she continued to look at what she had done to him.

She was watching him with something more than cool observance.

“You are still a Targaryen.” She said with confidence, and his fingers twitched against the soft expanse of her neck, “There is no denying that.”

Aemond was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged motions. The pain clawed at his ribs, at his leg, at the raw stitches she had only just put back together. His fury had made him reckless. And now his strength waned.

She watched as his grip flexed, as though torn between crushing her throat and throwing her away from him entirely. His fingers twitched, then fell away, his strength faltering. And she watched as his eye darted down to her lips momentarily, the angry look on his face faltering as the pink of his tongue wet his lips.

It was fleeting.

He swayed.

The healer remained still, waiting. She knew better than to reach for him now. Knew that his pride would not suffer her hands upon him, not after she had already stripped him of so much.

Aemond let out a sharp breath, stumbling back a half step, the pain flashing across his face even as he tried to smother it. His fingers curled into fists, trembling with the effort to hold himself upright.

She cast her gaze downwards, ignoring the way that his member had seemed to swell slightly, and kept her eyes evenly on the wound that had healed somewhat on his chest and hip. Blood had welled to the surface and had begun to slowly leak from the wound staining the dressings.

“You’re bleeding again.”

She wished he would just lay down and stay quiet. Perhaps she could dose his food with milk of the poppy to keep him lucid.

His eye flicked to his side, where the fresh stitches had already begun to seep red into the bandages.

He swayed again.

Her voice was soft, placating, “Get back in bed.”

Aemond let out a breath, half a scoff, half a curse, “I’ll stand.”

“You’ll fall.”

His eye snapped back to her, gleaming with ire. But the truth of it was undeniable.

And then—his body betrayed him.

His balance tipped, his muscles clenched, and in the next moment, his knees buckled beneath him. She moved faster than he could stop her, stepping forward as he collapsed into her grasp, hands beneath his arms. 

Agony shot through his ribs. 

He let out a snarl, the sound vibrating in his chest as her hands pressed against him, steadying his weight.

“Don’t.” The Prince hissed, but his voice wavered, his body too weak to make good on the threat.

She ignored him, adjusting her hold with practiced ease, bracing her shoulder beneath his, “This is your own doing.” She muttered, bearing his weight as she guided him back toward the bed.

His muscles stiffened against her, “I won’t—”

“You will.” He tensed harder, and so she corrected herself “Or you will fall.” 

Her voice was soft this time. Softer than he had ever heard her. And it almost startled him. Since when did she have the capacity for meekness? To be quiet and polite? When had she ever shown that she could be more than cold or biting to him?

It was worse he realised, hearing her. This new her he had never seen before.

It was warmth. 

He seethed. 

She could feel his anger rolling off of him, sharp and smouldering, could hear the grinding of his teeth as she manoeuvred him step by step.

But he had no choice.

The healer felt the moment his body truly gave up—when his rage could no longer hold him upright, when his limbs sagged, when his grip on his own pride slipped and his own hands moved to her upper arms, clutching her tighter than he had ever clutched her throat.

She knew then that he would likely never actually harm her.

His breathing turned shallow, his weight heavier, and by the time she lowered him onto the furs, he had no more fight left to give.

She stepped back.

Aemond was still, his eye burning into the ceiling, jaw clenched so tightly she thought he might shatter his teeth.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—his fingers lifted to the uneven edges of his hair, his nails scraping against the jagged strands.

The healer sighed, she was tired of his moods, “It will grow back.”

His eye snapped to her, cold and cutting, “You ruined me.”

She huffed out a humourless laugh, crossing her arms, “You men and your vanity. You’re worse than a young maiden.”

Aemond’s lips curled, “You do not understand.”

“No,” She agreed easily, moving to the table where her supplies were laid out, “I don’t.” She turned, looking at him over her shoulder, “But if I had left you to rot with the filthy state your hair was in you would have gotten an infection, and you wouldn't be here to worry about your appearance.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into the furs.

She knew he was seething, drowning in his own shame, his own fury. But she had no patience for it.

Not now.

She dipped a cloth into warm water, wrung it out, and turned back toward him. “You can either sulk like a child,” She said, her tone firm, “Or you can rest, recover, and learn to walk again without having to lean on me.” She wiped gently at his stomach, throwing a fur over his length so it wasn’t in eye shot, “You will either learn to live with your leg as you did your eye, or you will learn to live as a cripple. It’s your choice.”

Aemond’s eye burned into her, sharp as a blade’s edge. He was still seething, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths, as if he were keeping his fury caged only by force of will.

"Always so bold," His voice low and venomous, "You’ve defiled me.”

She scoffed, pressing the damp cloth against the sweat-slick skin of his brow. He flinched but lacked the strength to swat her away before she moved to the dressings.

“I saved your life.” She hummed amused.

“You humiliated me.” His lip curled, disgust and something deeper—something darker—twisting his features, "I should have woken with a blade to my throat, not a butcher’s hands in my hair."

She hummed, unimpressed, "You shouldn’t have woken at all. I should have let the fever take you. Or left you for the wolves and snow. The Gods have given you another chance, and yet, here you lay," She wrung the cloth out again, her expression unshaken, "Sulking."

Aemond’s jaw ticked, his fingers curling into the sheets, "You think I will forgive this?" His voice was silk-thin, fraying at the edges, "That I will forget what you say to me just because you tend to me?"

"No," She said simply, meeting his eye without flinching, "I think you will heal. And if I have to chain you to that bed to make sure of it, I will."

His breath hitched, his nostrils flaring, but his body betrayed him—always betrayed him-- exhaustion dragging at his limbs, pain licking up his spine. He could do nothing but glare, his pride bleeding out between them like an open wound.

"You made me look like him," He spat suddenly, the words ragged, raw, "Like a common drunk. Like my pathetic, soft-bellied brother."

She tilted her head, gaze flicking over him, unbothered, "It becomes you."

Aemond snarled, but the sound was weaker now. His body was failing him, the anger taking too much from him when he had so little left to give.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head. "Rest, my Prince. If you ever hope to kill me as you promise you must rest."

Aemond turned his face away from her, but not before she caught the flicker of something in his eye—not just fury, not just loathing.

Something like defeat.

-

The usual silence of her cottage had been shattered often and violently since the man’s arrival. The air was thick with animosity, each interaction a silent war waged in glances, in barbed words, in the heavy quiet that stretched between them. She wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to having her patience tested so often, or being pushed so completely to the edge.

She could feel it now—the irritation, raw and insistent, scraping at her nerves, burrowing deep, wearing her thin. It was beginning to crack her resolve, piece by piece.

Her sleep had suffered. The floor had become a constant ache in her bones, no matter how much straw or fur she gathered to soften it. She had tried, at first, to offer some measure of comfort. But comfort was a foreign word now, an elusive thing she would have gladly traded for a moment’s peace.

What she would’ve given for her own bed. What she would’ve given for a guest who did not make her wish for solitude.

Whenever she moved about the cottage, she felt his eye follow her—heavy, burning, unrelenting. She had tried to ignore it, tried to lose herself in her work, but he was a shadow, always there, lurking. Watching. The only reprieve was when others came seeking her healing hands, or when she ventured out for supplies, just to breathe something other than him.

But even then, he was waiting.

For her.

At first, she had tried to answer his sharp-edged questions, had tried to dull their bite with reason. But it became clear; he wasn’t asking for answers. He was asking to provoke. To fill the silence that stretched between them like a battlefield left abandoned.

And in a way it was. To him anyway.

Every day, she tended to him—bandaging wounds, feeding him, bathing him when he could not manage. Though he would never admit it, she saw how his pride rebelled against even the smallest mercy. His body may have been broken, but his stubbornness was unyielding. He refused kindness, even when he was burning with pain. 

There was something more fragile about that than any wound.

And because of this, her patience had worn thin. She no longer bothered to hide her irritation, no longer masked her words in civility. But beneath the frustration, there was something else—something she could not quite name.

Curiosity, perhaps.

What lay beneath all that anger? The sharp words, the bitter arrogance—what was he running from? What had broken him before she ever laid a hand on him? Before he had ever fell from his dragon?

She could not afford to wonder for too long. Because they both knew neither could hold out much longer. The pressure was suffocating, thick as smoke and filled her small cottage, throats clogged with it.

But where she found quiet in the silence, Aemond found madness.

The stillness there was unbearable. It pressed in on him, vice-like, suffocating.

Aemond had known noise. The thunder of battle, the screams of men, the roar of his dragon’s wings. He had known chaos all his life training with the blade, flying, escaping his brother. But here, in this gods-forsaken place, there was nothing. No war to fight. No enemy to strike down.

The world had moved on without him, and the quiet of it stung worse than any blade.

And she—she was a constant reminder of everything he had lost.

Her voice, blunt and emotionless, cut deeper than steel. She spoke of his failures with no pity, told him of his cause’s collapse, of his brother’s death, of the loss of his dragon. But it wasn’t the words that hurt most. It was the silence in between. The absence of anything else. No loyalty, no affection, not even hatred.

She did not see him as a Prince. She did not even see him as a threat.

She made him feel like nothing.

And for that, he hated her.

The firelight flickered against her face as she worked, grinding herbs with steady, practiced ease. The sound of mortar scraping stone gnawed at his nerves, over and over and over again. Always the same.

Never ending.

His body ached—not just from his injuries, but from the weight of it all. The stillness. The powerlessness. The sitting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

She was small. Insignificant.

And yet she carried herself like one who had never known fear. Or perhaps, she had known too much of it.

He hated it. 

The silence. 

He couldn’t bear it. 

His fingers curled into the furs beneath him, his voice low, dangerous.

“You are enjoying this.”

She didn’t look up, “Enjoying what?”

“Watching me rot in this hovel while you play at being a saviour.” His words dripped with venom, “Don’t pretend it doesn’t please you.”

She sighed, an exhale of quiet boredom, “Ah, this again. You give yourself too much importance.”

Her calm made his blood boil.

“You should pray I never leave this bed, healer.” He warned, voice thick with fury.

She did not so much as flinch. She only ground the pestle harder into the bowl, that same grating sound, “I find our silence preferable,” not dignifying his threat with a response, “You’re far less irritating when you’re not speaking.”

His jaw tightened.

“You forget yourself.” 

She let out a slow breath, as if barely restraining a yawn, “Do I?”

His breath came sharper, his rage coiling tight in his chest. Heat flooded him.

“You are nothing,” He spat, “A peasant. A nameless healer with no purpose beyond mixing herbs in this shack. Likely born of a whore and a drunk. And yet, you dare speak to me this way?”

She did not look at him. She kept grinding the pestle. The same grounding grating noise over and over.

She was grinding his resolve.

Crushing it into dust beneath her practised hands.

“Mmm,” She hummed, inspecting the herbs with feigned interest, “That may be true. But there are other truths.” She paused, then added, voice mild, “You are crippled. Like your brother before you. And your father.”

Aemond’s vision darkened with rage.

“I should kill you.”

At that, she finally looked at him. And then—she smiled.

It was not mockery. It was not fear. It was small, knowing—almost as if she had already decided something.

“Then so be it.”

Before he could speak, she moved. Across the room, to where his belongings lay abandoned. His tunic, still bloodied but sewn together. His boots, streaked with dried mud. And his sword—untouched since she had dragged him here half-dead.

She picked it up without hesitation. It was too large for her frame, but she carried it with ease. Almost too easily. 

What Aemond did not know, was that it took great effort for her to hold herself steady, but she did it out of spite.

They were both full of so much spite that she felt it almost suffocating her. This anger. This hatred. The rage. All of it. She felt it from him. She felt it within. It was drowning her.

She was drowning. 

She turned back and held the hilt out toward him.

“Take it, Prince. Since the first attempt did not go as you planned.”

Aemond inhaled sharply, eye longingly looking at a blade he had spent so much time with. So many hours in the training yard holding it. Always attached to his side.

He longed to touch it again.

“You mock me.”

The healer shook her head softly, “I only give you what you ask for.”

His fury burned hot and bright. He wanted to stand, wanted to wrap his hands around her throat, wanted to demand her respect.

She stepped back. Not offering it—challenging him.

“If you can stand without my help,” She said, smile still on her lips, “Then you may have your sword.”

Incensed, Aemond shifted, furs sliding from his shoulders. He forced himself up, every muscle screaming in protest. His skin paled, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp pants. But still, he stood.

He stood, Gods be damned.

Her eyes swept over him, not with the detached calculation of a healer—but something else. If he were not so insufferable, she might have blushed.

But he swayed. His leg trembled. His ribs protested, agony slicing through him like a hot blade. But he persisted.

Aemond reached for the sword.

The moment his fingers curled around the hilt, she let it go. In that moment, that moment that was so brief, he felt the first wave of calm wash over him in weeks. He felt the first piece of strength, of pride, slide back into place.

This was what he was made for. This was what he was capable of. But that moment was all too fleeting as her hand dropped away.

The weight of the unsupported blade yanked his arm down—too heavy, too much too soon, the pain in his ribs exploding through his chest, but his stubbornness won out. He did not let go of the blade to save himself the pain, instead his hand tightened to it, and with that came the fall. His body twisted with it, his wounded leg giving way beneath the weight of him.

She watched as he fell, didn’t move to stop him. Didn’t move to catch him as she had the last time. Just watched as he toppled, blade still clutched so tightly in his hand she thought it might break.

She had warned him he would.

Had told him he would.

Aemond Targaryen crashed to the floor.

The pain was indescribable. Black spots bloomed before his vision, his face scrunched tightly in agony as he wheezed an agonised breath. He couldn’t breathe. It felt as though his lungs seized within his ribs. As though if he even tried to suck in a breath, it would be useless.

What had the healer said about punctured lungs? Was this what it felt like?

The moment stretched unbearably, silence thick with his humiliation.

And yet she did not move to help him. She only stood over him, watching. Watching as his face grew more and more paled and ashen. Watched as he struggled to suck in pained breaths, his hand still clutched to the sword as the other clutched his middle. 

A shadow passed over him, the firelight momentarily being blocked.

And then—soft, calm, almost amused,

“Tell me, kinslayer,” She murmured, his eye blinking rapidly open to see her. There was a soft halo of light around her head, warming her features. She was pretty. So very pretty and yet she did nothing to show it. She did not dress pretty, only comfortably and smartly, nor she did not make effort to style her hair or wear jewels. She was plain. Unassuming. But in that moment, all he could focus on was how pretty she looked, just as pretty as a blade, and just as sharp as one too, “What use is a dragon without its fire?”

There came the final blow. And the warm light around her head suddenly looked like the seven hells. 

Like damnation.

Like-

A knock sounded at the door.

The moment was over.

And Aemond watched as her face moved away from his. He felt the absence of her then. The absence of her warmth. Of her fire. She rose without hesitation, stepping over his fallen form as if he were nothing more than a piece of furniture in her way.

From the floor, Aemond saw her open the door, revealing a thin man wrapped in a heavy cloak, his face lined with age and worry. A child clung to his side, perhaps six, perhaps younger, he cannot remember what Jaehaerys or Jaehaera had looked like when young. How old had they been? Lucerys had been five or six when he had taken his eye, so small yet so deadly. Tiny really. He blinked, the girls arm was cradled against her chest, her face pale and tear-streaked.

He could not hear their hushed words, but he saw the way the healer’s expression softened just slightly, how she nodded once before stepping outside.

“Not in here” She told the father,  “A man has the Shivers.”

That was all she offered, and the eagerness to enter her home vanished from the fathers face. He stepped back, his retreat swift, his gaze never even flickering toward Aemond’s crumpled form on the floor, as if viewing him would be contagious. 

Aemond had caught a glimpse of the child’s arm—swollen, bruised, likely broken. The healer moved quickly, guiding them further from the cottage. Her steps were careful, practiced. 

Gentle.

She was a paradox.

How could she be so gentle yet so unyielding? So sharp yet so tender?

If it weren’t for the pain making his head already spin, it would be now. Just one moment ago she was crouched in front of him, mocking his ability to stand, to hold a blade, and now she was as soft as the silks his sister used to wear. As soft as how Helaena had been with her own children. As soft as his mothers hair. Yet these people weren’t anyone that the healer knew. They were strangers. And yet she was so soft to them.

Aemond yearned in that moment to know her kindness for once. Not her ire.

He wanted her softness.

Outside, her voice was a soft hum, soothing, steady. The father’s murmured reassurances wove through it, the girl’s sniffles growing less panicked, less frequent. And then, to Aemond’s surprise, a small laugh. 

Even in her pain, she had managed to make the girl laugh. How she had done this, Aemond did not know.

He felt she really might be a witch.

Was she bewitching him?

No.

He hated her.

His fingers curled into fists, his body still half-curled on the floor. He tried to push himself up, but the pain in his ribs was sharp, so sharp it darkened the edges of his vision again and he slumped back to the cold and hard ground. His limbs felt foreign, his breath ragged, the wood of his splint dragging painfully against the floor as he tried and failed to get his leg beneath him and comfortable. But he couldn’t.

He was stuck.

He was pathetic.

Useless.

He had watched her work for the gods only knew how long. Watched the way she moved, how the father and young girl looked at her. As if she were something holy.

She was not.

She was nothing.

Nothing.

Rage twisted in his gut like a coiled viper.

Through the gap in the door, he watched—spiteful, seething—as flickers of movement passed through the firelight, watching as she tended to the child, as the father hovered behind them watching with nervous eyes. 

Always watching.

When at last she returned fully into view, the child’s arm was bound, and the father’s relief was evident as he lifted his daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead, hand holding the injured arm inspecting it. 

Aemond wished he could see the healers face. See how she looked at the two people at her door. Would she be smiling softly at them both? At the girl? Or staring indifferently the way she looked at him. 

Gods the way she looked at him.

Indifferently.

And then sometimes not.

Like he disappointed her.

As if she knew he could be better.

His mother didn’t look at him like that anymore. 

Wouldn’t ever look at him again.

He could be better.

He could-

The father spoke to her, and Aemond strained to hear it, trying to shift on the floor to angle himself better to hear what is being said, but he couldn’t move. Every time he tried to shift himself he felt ill. He hadn’t felt so helpless since he lost his eye, and that made his heart race in his chest all the more.

Small. Innocent. And yet half blinded. 

His half sister, estranged yes, but calling for his punishment after her bastard had attacked him. Blinded him.

Her face, his own blood, calling for his punishment.

His punishment was coming.

It was always coming.

Always coming for him.

He groaned softly as he tried to move, panic winding up his throat, and was surprised to see the healers face turn to him. To check on him. To see if he was okay. And that small piece of care, small piece of worry made his heart slow, and the panic he felt lessen. 

She wouldn’t punish him.

She couldn’t.

She-

At the movement, the father reached into his cloak, the sound of coin in palm loud amongst the quiet. He placed the coins into the healer’s hand but to Aemond’s surprise she tried to take her hand back. She shook her head. Refused. Refused payment for her skill, for her time, for her help. It made Aemond furious. But the man insisted, and to Aemond’s disgust, she accepted only half of what was offered.

Half.

The father nodded his thanks before ushering his daughter back into the cold. And Aemond watched as the healer came back inside, dropping the coin carelessly into the front pocket of her gown.

The door shut. 

Silence fell.

She was back.

She came back for him.

She-

-turned back to the table, washing her hands with methodical ease in a wooden bucket. As if nothing had happened. As if Aemond were not still sprawled on the floor, humiliated. In pain.

Waiting.

She did not look at him.

She did not even glance at him.

It struck something inside of him.

How she would see him.

How she would not look at him.

He already knew what he would see.

Her voice, when it came, was soft, “Let me know when you wish to try again.”

All indignation on her behalf died.

All curiosity was burnt to ash.

Aemond wanted to kill her.

But it was more than that, Gods help him. He had never wanted to survive more.

—

After that night, Aemond had expected fear. Deference. Even hatred.

Instead, she simply… existed. Moving through the cottage as if he were nothing more than another broken thing to mend.

She never bowed. Never used his title. Never even flinched when he threatened her life. She had walked over to him, snatched the sword from his hand and leant it against the fire where it had been prior before helping him back onto the bed and tucking him in the furs. 

Each morning, she left without a word, disappearing into the woods for what felt like hours. And when she returned, her basket would be filled to the brim with herbs and roots—sometimes even rabbits or birds caught in her traps, and fish. 

Always fish.

He hated fish now.

Aemond watched her, seething at his own uselessness as she skinned the catches with quiet precision, prepared broth with effortless ease. And on occasion forgot herself as she moved to feed him. 

He resented her for it. For the way she cared for him despite everything he had said, everything he had done. He had tried to kill her. She had brought his sword to him as what he could only assume was a test, and he had grabbed it and tried anyway. 

And yet still, she tended to him.

She did not punish him.

Her willingness to forget the sword unnerved him. Set him on edge. It made him feel as though something was coming. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

That perhaps she was waiting for something. Waiting for him to grow complacent, to let his guard down, and then she would strike. Then she would attack him the way he had tried to do to her.

Four days had passed since the sword incident when she ventured into the woods again. She had set traps earlier in the week—though it was not out of necessity for food that she went. She simply could not bear the thought of an animal left suffering for days.

The healer was no stranger to pain. She had seen it, felt it. But she had always sought to prevent it where she could. Especially for those smaller and more helpless than herself.

The rabbit had struggled when she found it, panic in its small, shuddering frame. A swift cut of her knife ended its suffering.

The second trap was empty. The third, too. She reset them, then turned back toward the cottage.

The moment she stepped inside, she felt it.

His gaze.

He was sitting up, leaning against the wall, watching her.

She hated when he watched her.

It unnerved her.

He unnerved her.

She felt like prey in her own home. A creature being stalked, studied. Her every movement, her every reaction watched. Observed. She knew that as he healed, his threats would become more than words. He would regain his strength. And then, one day, she would no longer be safe.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he would kill her.

A smarter woman would have turned him over to a nearby Lord. Let them deal with him. But the thought of sending a man wounded and half-broken to certain death made her stomach turn. It was not who she was.

She was a healer. And what kind of healer would she be if she knowingly condemned a man to die? 

Even him.

Even after his cruelty.

When she told him that evening as the sun had set low in the sky that he needed to stand, he had thought she was mocking him. Thought that she wished to see him flail, humiliated. Stand above him as he no doubt fell once again to the floor.

He had refused, spat his usual vitriol at her, cheeks reddened. Life flowing through him.

But then she had ripped the furs away and his eye had widened. Was this it? The moment he had been waiting for? Perhaps she would cast him into the cold outside instead. But she hadn’t, and only moved to to hold his arms as she softly pulled him to the edge of the bed. 

It wasn’t without pain, despite her gentle hands.

Nothing was ever without pain.

His lashing out was never without pain.

Pain to his pride.

Pain to his solitude.

Pain to her.

It was over quickly.

He had stood, and she had helped him, telling him to not put weight on his broken leg, had pulled an arm over her shoulders despite her being shorter than him, and held the brunt of his weight. He had barely lasted before pain overwhelmed him, the edges of his vision fraying. But she had not laughed at him. She had held him aloft until he could stand no longer.

She had murmured quiet words of encouragement as she helped him to sit back down to lay. Had told him that the more he stands the easier it would get. That the more he did it, the sooner he would heal.

She had been as patient as the day he met her.

And Aemond had sneered. Because her care for him made his head spin.

It made him feel out of control.

And yet, the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know. She seemed to know much about him. Yet he knew nothing of her.

Even now, as she sat at the table, preparing another stew, frustration burned through him like an open wound. The cottage was too small. The silence too thick. He was caged, restless, filled with something dangerously close to loathing.

He felt like a caged animal, cornered and alone. Nowhere to go. He bared his teeth. Snapped his jaw. Bit. Clawed. Tore. And yet still, she persisted.

The hand that cornered him persisted. And he bit the hand that fed him viciously and repeatedly without repent.

The words left him, sharp as a blade.

“Is this all your life is?” Aemond sneered, and for once he immediately regretted it. The peaceful look on her face was gone, and the cold wall he had grown accustomed to slid into place, “Tending to the weak, the sick, and the worthless?”

His words stung himself.

She did not look up. 

Her voice was flat, unimpressed as she cut through vegetables at the table, “I prefer it to pretending I’m something I’m not.”

Aemond’s teeth clenched. The insult was clear.

"You think you’re better than me?" He spat, he couldn't stop himself, it was like watching himself from the ceiling, "A peasant who hides behind a façade of kindness?"

She exhaled softly—whether in amusement or exasperation, he could not tell.

"Better than a Prince who has nothing left but his pride."

The words struck deeper than they should have.

His fists curled. 

He was still Aemond Targaryen. Still the blood of House Targaryen.

But the worst part?

She wasn’t entirely wrong.

His voice dropped, low and edged with warning, "You think your kindness will change anything? It’s weak. It’s meaningless. You have nothing."

Finally, she met his gaze. Her eyes were cool, unwavering. The wall of ice thick between the both of them.

"It’s more than you’ll ever have."

Aemond inhaled sharply. He wanted to wound her. To find the crack in her armour and cut just as deep. But he knew nothing of her.

Not her age, though he could guess they were roughly the same. 

Not her life. 

Nothing. 

She turned from him, already moving to add the vegetables she had cooked to the pot. Food she would feed to him later.

And Aemond, for the first time, had no choice but to sit in the silence she left behind.

Aemond hated her.

He hated the way she moved through the cottage, unbothered by his presence, as if he were nothing more than another broken thing to mend. Hated the way she never flinched at his words, never cowered when he spat threats like venom. Hated that she did not treat him as a Prince, did not bow her head, did not offer the reverence he was owed by birthright.

She was insufferable. A ghost drifting through the dim light of the fire, tending to her work with quiet hands and steady patience. Always watching him—not with fear, not with admiration, but with that infuriating, unreadable gaze. As if she were waiting. Waiting for him to prove her wrong. As if she knew something he did not. 

It made his skin crawl.

And yet—

His jaw clenched as his eye tracked the subtle grace in her movements, the surety of her fingers as they sliced carrots into chunks, the way the dim candlelight flickered against the smooth curve of her cheek. She never hurried. Never faltered. There was something assured about her, something unshaken. He had seen knights on the battlefield waver more than she did in the face of his anger.

He despised that about her.

But he couldn’t deny there was something compelling about her certainty. The way she met his gaze, unwavering, unafraid. The way she never raised her voice, never allowed his rage to provoke her, as if she had already decided he was not worth the effort. It burned him from the inside out, that quiet dismissal.

And her hands—gods, her hands. He had felt them, too many times now. Pressing against his ribs, cool against his fevered skin, smearing salve over the bruises that littered his body. They were careful, practiced, but firm. They did not hesitate. Even when he had sneered at her, insulted her, she had continued without pause.

The scent of her still clung to him, faint but unmistakable—herbs and something softer beneath, something warm, something that made his pulse press against his throat too tightly.

Aemond’s fingers curled into fists.

He was being ridiculous.

She was nothing. 

She was nothing.

She was a wretched peasant, a woman who knew nothing of war, of power, of the weight of a name like his. She was insignificant, a speck of dust in the grander scheme of things. And yet, here he was, watching her as if she held the answers to questions he refused to ask.

His stomach twisted, a sharp coil of frustration.

He hated her. He loathed her.

And what was worse—what was far worse—was that even now, beneath all that hate, there was something else.

Something he did not have a name for.

Something he would rather burn than acknowledge.

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his gaze away.

Yes. He hated her.

And that was all there was to it.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist: Please ask if you would like to be added to the taglist

@thewriterthatghostedyou @sepherinaspoppies @insufferablelust @osferthswifey @persephonerinyes @ihadlife @aemondsfavouritebastard @misspinkonmars @aelora-mills-targaryens @nina2697 @dahlias-and-marigolds @callsigncrushx @fivefeetsnark @sarcasticwitch11 @aemondtargaryenwifey @lynnbell @adurnat01-blog @livmondcole @sillylittlepenguin181818 @misfitbimbosblog @blackswxnn @idontwanttoloveanymore @missmischief11 @m-riaa @shygardengalaxy-blog @sxlsvv @vanityvixen @toodlesxcuddles @eponaartemisa lunablade

[jamesbuckybarns]

Pass the happy! 🌻🌈 When you receive this, list 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in the notifications.

oh thank you 🥺❤️

My niece

Singing in the shower

My friends

Shopping

My mutuals, of course 😌

[joemazzhello]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! Learn to know your mutual and followers!

the fact that i’ve just submitted an essay!!

a good book

joe and the borhap cast

going to the cinema

my cozy room with all my fairy-lights, posters, and books

thank you darling! sorry this took me so long, i’ve been working on an essay for two days 

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

Storytime?

Two of my ancestors were accused of witchcraft. The story that has been passed down in my family is, 3 brothers were set to inherit a mill and inn, but one brother (John) wasn’t happy with that. So what did he do? He accused his sisters in law of witchcraft. Both women were put on trial, by dunking. They of course drowned and the crown paid £2 each for their Christian burials. Because apparently they were witches, who knew? But it was the 1600s, the witch hysteria was ever present.

My many times great grandfather (Richard) and his brother (Thomas) feared for the lives of their young sons, so they fled to America, leaving everything behind, and becoming indentured servants. My many times great grandfather didn’t live long after his arrival, and when he passed his son became a ward of the family they were to serve. Luckily they were good to him. And eventually, his Uncle John, sent him some money as “his portion” of what he’d inherited. Maybe it was his guilt that made him send enough money to set the young man up?

Thomas and his son lived their lives, and generations later, a great grandsons would become a Vice President.

The Inn still stands to this day. I do not believe it belongs to my lineage anymore.

Magical Golden Hour, Shropshire, England [OC] [5196 x 3907] - Author: -camtheron- on reddit

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

Rabbits Rabbits Rabbits

Happy September!

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Girl's Night Out; Weasley twins x reader

*Author's note*

Okay so another sweet little fanfic I decided to write up this weekend. Now the bond between the twins is more platonic than anything else so no romantic pairings here I'm afraid sorry not sorry. But anyways no warnings in here whatsoever just full on fluff all around and for any anime fans out there, look VERY carefully there's a hint to one of my fav. animes in this fic :) Enjoy my lovelies :)

Taglist:

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@waddles03

@queen-paladin

@plethora-of-things

@psychosupernatural

@remussl0vers

___________________________________________________

5th Year at Hogwarts is probably the most stressful time for any student.  You think they’d at least give you warning of what is to be expected of you but nope.  Every 5th year had to start prepping for the upcoming OWL’s come the Spring term and that would forever decide where we score into our upcoming careers in the Wizarding world.

And yes while I had been cramming and sending our approvals for my specific OWL’s exams, I also tried to make sure that I wasn’t going stir crazy over it.  Me and my friends.  At least once a month we’d all agree to take a ‘girl’s night’ to shut out the world and rant out our troubles.  However this month everyone seemed to be busy with something.

It was Divinations class when I jogged up to meet Angelina and said to her.

“Oi Ang, I had managed to sneak in that muggle game I had told you about, you wanna play it tonight?”

“Sorry (Y/n), Woods asked me to come meet him down by the Quidditch field after classes today. I might be in lines for becoming the next team Captain after he graduates.”

“Oh that’s great congrats!”

“Well don’t congratulate me yet. You know how he is, Quidditch is his whole life. Plus I’m not the only one he asked for.”

“Well I’m sending you my best regards, next to Woods, you’re the best player on the team.”

“Even more than the twins.”

“Especially better than the twins. Just don’t tell them I said that.”

“My lips are sealed. Well I better get a move onto Ancient runes next, maybe we can play the game next month?”

“Sure yeah absolutely. Mrs. Norris hasn’t found the game yet and I shall continue to keep it that way.” She gave me a brief nod before she went down the stairs faster just so that she could get to her next class before she’d be late.

Again I understand if one person can’t make it, we all have lives outside of hanging out with each other.  Plus Angie’s been eyeing the Team Captain position since the start of the year.  She’s been monitoring Wood’s tactics and has been listening a lot more on his calls if there’s ever a player down.  No matter I wish her all the luck (even though she doesn’t really need it).

I was now in the Great Hall when I saw Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet eating their lunch while also doing some homework.  I sat in front of them and greeted them.

“Hey Katie, Spinnet.”

“Hey (Y/n).” they both chorused.

“So over the summer I had discovered a fascinating new muggle product while I was staying with my aunt. Apparently there are these masks of thin sheets that go over your face and it says it helps exfoliate and rejuvenate the skin. And that’s not the best part, they’re also supposed to be scented too. I’ve got pomegranate, tea tree, honey and pumpkin. Which ones shall I put you ladies down for?” but they too looked at me solemnly.

“About that (Y/n) I unfortunately have to cancel staying in tonight. I got caught by Professor Snape passing letter between two Slytherin lovers. Them bastards wanted me to get caught so I’m stuck in detention.” Katie said while grumbling at some parts.

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m sorry that happened to you Katie.”

“It is what it is. That greasy git always seems to favor Slytherin students over anyone else. But if those can be saved for next time, I’d really like to try the pomegranate one.”

“Sure, yeah I can save them. What about you Alicia? Can you make it to the girls’ night?”

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to skip this month’s get together too. I’m up for the Captain’s position on the Quidditch team.”

“So is Angie. Best watch yourself Spinnet, she’s been eyeing the Captain’s position for a while.”

“We may be teammates but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna go easy on her.”

“I doubt she’d want you to.” Replied Katie.

“Sorry (Y/n), maybe next month?” Alicia assured me unsurely.

“Yeah sure no worries.” I stood up and walked out of the Great Hall, my stomach starting to twist and churn a bit.  Okay so all my roommates can’t make it perhaps some of the other girls from the other houses can still make it.  After all I’m not just close friends with just the girls in my house.

But I was met with the same responses.  They were either too busy with school work, or had to serve detention or were too busy focusing on their OWL’s.  By the end of the day I was exhausted and feeling rather anxious.

The past few months I’ve been stressing about the OWL’s that I’ve actually bitten off more than I can chew so when it comes time to actually take the exams, I’ll probably be the only Gryffindor still working on the exam by nightfall.  Why did I apply and get accepted to so many of them?  Spending time with the girls of my year and having our GNO allowed me to just shut my brain off of worrying about the OWL’s for one night but now no one is able to come.

I sat alone in one of the many hallways on a bench feeling the weight of the OWL’s starting to really overcome me.  Tears of anxiety were burning in my eyes as I tried to keep them in while I tried to control my breathing as well as I could feel my chest starting to constrict.

“Well, well, well look at who we have here?” I softly gasped and wiped my tears away and plasted on my best fake smile.

“Weasleys.” I greeted.

“And what do you think you’re doing up here all by yourself?” asked Fred.

“Oh you know, just sitting here in an empty hallway just pondering the day away and longing for the weekend to start after a long weeks’ worth of school.” From the look on the twin’s faces I knew they weren’t buying my excuse.  They turned to look at each other with a knowing look before coming over and sat on either side of me.

“You wanna run that by us again?” asked George.

“It’s true, really I just….needed to get away from it all.” I don’t know why I’m even trying to continue to lie to them.

“That’s rubbish.” They chorused together.  Normally the twins never got serious but when they did, you just felt it in their tones.  They weren’t angry at my lie but I could tell they were concerned about me.  I mean after all we’ve been friends since the very first train ride to Hogwarts back in our first year.

“Come on out with it (L/n),” Fred said gently shoving my shoulder with his.

“What’s going on?” George finished as he leaned a bit closer to me.  I let out a deep sigh as I allowed my head to drop.

“It seems I’ll be spending another sleepless night in the library studying for the upcoming OWL’s.”

“Again? (Y/n) you still have plenty of time to study. Besides like you said, you’ve already been caught in the library by Filch twice this month. Luckily Professor McGonagall has been there to bail you out but I doubt she’ll allow it a third time.” Said Fred.

“Besides, ain’t tonight supposed to be your Girl’s night with Angelina and the others? You girls never skipped out on your time together since the start of the year.” George asked.

“Yeah that’s what I thought too.” I grumbled.  “I get that sometimes things have to be moved around or people cancel plans, but when its every single one of them……”

“So you’re the only one of our year whose going to be there?” George asked sympathetically.

“Might as well be a party of zero.” I let out another sigh and said solemnly, “Sorry guys but I just want to be alone right now.” I stood up and walked away from them.

Later that night I was the only girl in my dorm and I had books and papers scattered everywhere.  The silence was deafening and I was going stir-crazy, if I had to memorize another timeline or how long it takes to brew Polyjuice potion I might just explode.  I fell backwards on my bed, the sound of books slamming to the ground and parchments falling everywhere.

“Why couldn’t I have made a strict decision? Why do they expect me to know what I want to do with my life at the tender age of 15?” a knock was heard at the door.  I lifted my head, who could that be? Surely it wasn’t the girls they would’ve just walked in? The knocking came again and I stood up and walked towards the door.

I opened it up and saw no one.  I looked left then right but no one was there but then my ears perked at the sound of what sounded like crackling.  Soon enough flying right in front of my face was a small sparkler briefly whizzing much like the Golden snitch before it flew right past me with a whirl before exploding into a tiny but bright pink and orange firework.

Soon the sound of more sparklers came from behind me as they whizzed by me, while most started going off in the room lighting up the entire dorm in various colors and shapes, others danced around me while one in particular seemed to dance around my hands.  When I pulled my hands closer, it followed my hand and when I lifted my hand up, it flew upward before coming back down towards my other hand.

I giggled as I tossed the firework up into the air and then performed a bit of a dance with it before tossing it up again.  After a few times of playing with it, when I tossed it into the air it soon exploded and a message soon appeared in fireworks.

COMMON ROOM. NOW.

The fireworks soon faded and all was normal again except for the smell of gunpowder that now stunk up the room.  Oh Angie and Katie aren’t going to like that but I best not keep whoever sent those fireworks waiting.  I left my dorms and headed up to the Common room.

When I got there, there wasn’t anyone there.  Only the sound of the fireplace going and the occasional school ghost appearing before fading away.

“Hello?” I softly called out.  Suddenly I felt arms take hold of mine as I was lifted up off my feet.

“Target,”

“Acquired.”

“Hey wait what?!” I was then carried away up towards the boys dormitory.  “Fred, George what are you both doing?”

“You know how these stairs work,” Fred answered.

“Can’t risk us sliding all the way back down can we?” George finished.

“You guys seriously can’t carry me like this all the way up to your dorm room.” I said bluntly.

“You doubt our strength?” they both chorused offendedly.

“Besides it’s either this way or over the shoulder and I doubt you’d want that.” George said.

“Unless you really want to.” Teased Fred flirtatiously.

“Oh sod off Freddie.” I grumbled.  Finally we arrived at their dormitory level and yet I was continued to be dragged by my arms towards their room.  “You guys can let go now, I’m not going to run.”

“We know.” They both said together.

“It’s just fun carrying you this way.” Said George.

“If you pipe down.” Fred finished.

“Well it’s not very comfortable for me. My arms are starting to fall asleep.”

“Aww bless her.” Cooed George.

“Guys seriously put me down!” I couldn’t help but laugh as I squirmed but they kept a firm hold on me.  Finally we arrived at their dorm room.

“Now then (Y/n),” Fred started as they finally allowed my feet to touch the ground.

“Come and join us.” They both said together before opening up their dorm room and pushed me in first before entering right behind me shutting the door.  I turned towards them massaging my biceps trying to get the feeling back into them as I snapped at them.

“Okay what the bloody hell was all that about?” they shushed me before Fred spun me around and I took a good look at their dorm room.  I was in awe, fairy lights strung above each of their beds and all around the room, a nice pillow fort was built at the center of their room filled with blankets and pillows, the perfect spot for nesting.  Snacks, drinks and food from the Great Hall was even spread out on one of the tables, and the smell of sandalwood incense encompassed the room.  “Wha…..what’s this?”

“What’s this she says. This here is a girl’s night out.” Fred replied.

“We done our best from how Angie, Katie and Alicia described it.” Said George.

“So what do you think?” asked Fred.

“Guys…..this is……” I covered my mouth with my hands as I was just overwhelmed with emotions.  “This is better than how we get the room set up. But why?”

“Why what?” George asked.

“Why did you guys do all of this? I mean not that I don’t appreciate it but it’s too much for just me.”

“Who says you’re staying here alone?” together the twins took out their wands and their normal pajamas turned into silk ones, with matching silk robes that I had made for all the girls in the group.  Every nightgown was black and had our initials on them in beautiful cursive penmanship on the breast pocket that was on the left side of the robes, and on the right was a stitched animal representing each of the wearer’s houses.  So Fred and George both sported lions representing our Gryffindor house.

“Well are you going to join us or not? I don’t know about you but this week has been brutal.” Fred said as he dramatically fell onto his bed, his hand resting over his forehead.  I shook my head at him and took out my wands and transformed my lounge clothes into the same matching silk pajamas and robe.

“And of course no Girl’s night would be complete without this.” George then pulled out my GNO bag.

“How did you….”

“Ah-bah-bah-bah.” George came up and pressed a finger to my lips. “A truly clever wizard never reveals their secrets.” He winked at me before wrapping his arm around me and lead me over to his bed and our official ‘Girl’s’ night began.

I’ve got to give credit to these guys.  They were willing to have the face masks on (George especially seemed to love the end result. Couldn’t stop touching his face every two minutes to feel how soft it was), we drank the pumpkin juice and fire whisky as we gossiped about anything and everything.  They especially really loved doing the Mad-libs that I had smuggled in.

Most of the food had been eaten pardon the sweets that still laid scattered about.  Fred then pulled out a box and he said.

“You ever tried some of these (Y/n)?”

“If those are Bertie bott’s every flavor bean I already tried it. Swore off of them and you know it after you had given me vomit flavored.” I shuddered remembering that day.

“No, not this time. No these are Elephant on a bicycle. You eat one and it makes you sound like the animal that’s on the candy. Here for example, Georgie try this one.” Fred tossed him a green colored candy and George caught it in his hand before putting it in his mouth.  After a couple of chews he swallowed it before he started chattering like a monkey.

Fred and I both laughed as George jumped from bed to bed like a monkey before coming over to us and pressed himself against my back and began going through my hair.

“Oi I ain’t got no bugs in there you rotter!” I laughed as I playfully shoved him down.  George’s monkey chattering soon ceased as his laughter came back.

“Now you try one (Y/n), I recommend the blue one.”

“It won’t be anything too weird will it?” I asked suspiciously.

“Would I lie to you?” I raised my brow at him.  “Okay better yet don’t answer that but seriously just try it.” I shrugged and reached for the blue one and ate it.  After a few chews before swallowing it I soon felt a tickle in my throat and I began laughing, but it wasn’t my own laughter.  No the laughter that was coming out of my mouth was the sound of a hyena’s laughter.

“What’s so funny (N/n)?” Fred teased as I kept laughing.  Even when I tried to answer, all that kept coming out of me were hyena laughs.  The twins laughed alongside me until the taste was gone and I could finally speak normally again.

“Alright Freddie, your turn.” He went immediately for a white one and after he swallowed his treat his face morphed into a serious manner as he slowly turned toward me.  His eyes staring me down like a predator to its prey.  He then pounced and let out a lion’s roar as he pinned me down to his bed playfully roaring down at me.

Since lions and hyenas were natural enemies, Fred really played the role out well as he pretended to get the upper hand over me.  Growling down at me before i praised him.

“Well done King of the jungle. You bested me.” After letting out a few more low lion growls, he finally spoke up.

“And don’t you forget it, laughing queen.”

“Laughing queen?” I exclaimed.

“That’s right. Hyenas laugh a lot, you laugh a lot so you’re the laughing queen.” He got off of me and I sat up.  I then reached for his pillow before waking him with it right in his face.

“Oh hohoho good one (Y/n)!” laughed Georgie.

“Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish (L/n).” threatened Fred as he grabbed his other pillow but as he aimed for me, I pushed George in front of me as a human shield and George got smacked in the face with a pillow.

“Oi I was willing to be on your side!” George then grabbed a pillow from his bed and soon a pillow fight broke out between the three of us.  We ran across the entire dorm room careful to avoid destroying the pillow fort, or knocking the incense into the ground.

As I came over to Lee’s bed I was suddenly hit from the back then tackled from the front.  Next thing I knew I was being tickled at my sides.

“NOOO NOT TICKLING!!” I exclaimed as I writhed trying to get away but Fred ensured that I couldn’t.  And to make matters worse, George soon joined in as he had his legs wrap around my ankles so that he could get to my feet.  My laughter increased nearly ten times now that I was being tickled on two of my worst spots.  “NOHOHOH! MERCY!!!”

“Do you surrender?” they both asked.

“YEHEHEHS! I GIVE! I GIHIHIHVE!” thankfully they ceased their tickle attack and I was left a panting mess.  “We…..do not…..do tickle fights….on Girl’s night.”

“You might not but we do.” George said.

“Cause we’re the only ones who know your dark little secret. Unless you’d like Angelina and the rest of the girls to know.”

“NO! No, no, no, no don’t you both dare!”

“Alright, alright don’t get your knickers in a twist.” George said raising his hands in mock surrender.  I straightened myself out and grabbed a few more sweets before heading over to the pillow fort and soon the twins joined me.

After eating our weight in candy, the twins and I just lay there in silence staring up at the fairy lights scattered throughout the dorm.

“Really guys, I can’t thank you enough for doing all of this for me.” I said to them gratefully.

“You’re our best friend (Y/n). It was nothing.” Fred shrugged.

“But it was something,” I said turning toward him.  “Lately this week, the pressure of the OWL’s has really been affecting me mentally.” I felt George take hold of my hand and he gave it a gentle squeeze.  “Everyone expects us to have a career choice already made out to determine what OWL’s we’ll need to take. I mean, you guys already know what you want. Your own joke shop but me…..I don’t know what I want. So I just said anything and everything. And they all accepted me so I’ve got like a dozen of OWL’s to do in such short time.”

“We may act like we’ve got everything in order but we actually don’t. in fact mum isn’t at all too happy that we’re limiting ourselves on our OWL’s.” Fred said to me.

“But it’s nice to know that you think we’ve got our future settled.” I shook my head softly scoffing.

“I’m serious guys, even if you don’t know what’ll happen at least you got a goal set in stone. I literally have no bloody clue what I want. That’s why I’ve been so stressed about the upcoming OWL’s. Because no matter what I may end up passing, I might not want to do that for the rest of my life, or feel like I’m stuck in a rut.” I felt the twins scoot closer to me, George resting his chin on my shoulder while Fred pressed his nose against my temple.

“No matter what your OWL’s determine, you’re still the smartest, brightest witch we know.” Said George.

“Even more than Hermione?”

“Especially more than Granger.” Said Fred.

“And if you ever need a break from the rut you’re in, there’s always room for a potions expert and product sketch designer at our future joke shop.” George suggested.

“You guys would really give me a job in your future shop?”

“We’ll have to speak to the owners.” Fred and George nodded at each other before saying together,

“Owners said yes.” I smiled at them and kissed both of them on the cheek.

“Thank you guys, for everything.” They embraced me between the two of them and for the rest of the night we lay there in comforting silence.

[drowsyrrog]

3, 5 and 46

3. In your opinion what is the worst outfit any of them ever wore?

Err... this is a hard question, because all of the outfits are so stunning!! But if I had to choose it would be the outfits they wore for the Its A Hard Life music video and shoot.

5. Have you ever seen Highlander or Flash Gordon?

Not yet I haven't!

46. If you could go back in time to any concert they ever performed, which would it be?

I've always wanted to go see Live at the Rainbow. Idk why, but it just seems like it would be the coolest concert to go to! Either that or Live at the Wembley, where Freddie wore that iconic outfit.

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

And I adore them all!

Same energy

[xxisxxisxxis]

Preview: GD Vol. II | Part Five

Tag list: @squiddtheekidd @unknownoblivion @cierrasixx19 @oskea93 @mgkobsessed @sharon6713 @itsametaphorbriansblog @miriampraez @allie-mcginn @rebeccaphillips14 @nicholeh7 @lilmou5ie @emariehorror @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @liith-ium @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @ytwahsog @scarecrowmax @random-internet-user-4471 @solohqrry @sparxx27 @kaitieskidmore1 @cruecifymesixx @gingerspicetalks @fancywasmyname1 @ggorehorror @xrosegoldwolfx @mylifeisjustafeverdream @str4nge-haze @m-1234 @leatherandheels @viinceneil  @heavymetalgirl420   @chevygirl1969 @bunnyyydoodlez @midsummereve1993

I see the look on his face as soon as the door opens, Eddie’s hair wild from what I’m assuming was a nap before I interrupted it, until he opens the door a little wider to reveal his guitar. 

He looked at me as if he was witnessing a car accident and couldn’t look away. My hair was completely unkept, I had dried baby vomit on my already stained t-shirt, I was still in pajama shorts and my bedroom slippers and my eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying.

Crying over a screaming baby, crying over feeling alone, and crying because my husband had apparently contacted his mistress and didn’t tell me about it.

I probably looked like a Martian compared to how he’d been used to seeing me before going out with Valerie, or at events.

I could see the temptation to shut the door in my face, but he wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Viv?” He asks me, glancing around outside before adding, “Umm, Val’s not home. Were you supposed to hangout or…?”

“No, no – I just…I wanted to talk to you, actually…um…” It’s awkward as I wait for him to invite me inside, but then remember maybe it’s best that we talk out here to avoid anybody getting the wrong idea. 

“Oh, okay.” He closes the door a second to go put his instrument down before he’s back out in his t-shirt and jeans, sitting down on one of the little cream-colored wicker chairs on the porch.

I opt to stay standing to keep some distance between us – again, voiding any prying eyes of making it into something it’s not – and cross my arms nervously while he obviously waits for me to tell him what it is I wanted to talk about. 

“Valerie told me what happened with you two, you know.” I confess it, and he looks as if he knows this, raising his brows slightly as I continue, “And she told me she cheated first.” 

“Yeah.” It looks uncomfortable coming from him, perhaps a blatant indication that I’m crossing a line, but knowing him, if I were crossing a line, he’d let me know rather quickly. 

“Do you think she loved him more than she loved you?” It’s the only thing that can come to my mind, only because that’s the question that torments me more and more despite Nikki’s affair being further and further into the past. 

Immediately, he shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t. I think…” He takes a moment to really gather his words, chewing at the inside of his lips before explaining, “...I think I was getting more and more busy, and kinda got absent…and she felt alone. He was there, and she liked that.” 

He was there, and she liked that, I repeat it in my head, secretly understanding that notion completely being I myself have felt that same feeling.

“What if you found out she recently contacted him to have some closure for the relationship? What would you do?”

“Has she?” His face twists.

“No, no, she hasn’t. But, just theoretically, what if she did?” 

“I wouldn’t like it but…closure exists as a way of indefinitely closing a chapter, right?” He asks softly, scratching at the back of his elbow.

“Yeah.”

He gives a shrug and a breath out and says, “Then why get angry or hurt she’s officially being rid of it?” 

It’s clear now that he knows a little bit of what’s going on, or why I’m here asking him very personal questions, because he then asks, “If he loved her, he would’ve left you for her.” 

“If he loved me he wouldn’t have gone to her in the first place.” It slips from me.

“I thought that, too, at first. Then, I fucked up, too.” He mumbles. “And I know I damn sure love her, but I still did it. Some things just aren’t black and white. You gotta know that by now.” He points out with a small smirk, his signature grin that pulls a smile of my own. “Did you love him?”

It’s asked as I’m about to thank him for his time and bid him “goodbye,” and I’m taken back by it.

It’s not prying or nosy — he legitimately looks curious. He let me overstep, so I suppose I can let him, now, too.

“I still do.” I admit it to him out loud, the only one I’ve really admitted it to. “But I love Nikki more.” 

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

I didn’t need another bassist to hyper fixate on, but here we are!

Sav talking about Animal>>

that fuckin accent omfg¡!

[reefer-keifer]

❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤ you've been tagged to send love to 10 or more of your mutuals ❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤🌸❤

(instead of sending asks i’ll just tag y’all)

@thedeviousdevilxx @80srocknroller @lord-of-the-weird @greeneyezblackheart @kaylasixxrose @oh-hi-bucky @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @rocknrollsoul76 @junkyardromeo @crying-wannabegroupie i know i don’t talk to all of you but i’m still happy to see you on my dash!!

[thosequeenboys]

As this challenging year draws to a close, I want to thank my Tumblr besties, followers and all good and creative souls for their friendship, warmth, laughs, and content that keeps my fan girl ♥️ happy. Wishing you all a joyous year-end and an easier and fulfilling 2022! Special shout out to:

@warriorteam1924 @hellysthings @johndeaconshands @amethyst-serenade @brinteylovesaliens @jgroffdaily @benhardypout-archive @deakysgurl @jessahmewren @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @mirkwoodshewolf @melisa-may-taylor72 @teamchasez @puffitale @freebooter4ever @pastelhybristophiliac @benhardypout @his-majesty-king-mercury @lapofthemusicgods @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @captaincoffeegirl515

[jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels]

Happy Birthday,

Bob Seger!

Happy Birthday! Here’s to many more trips around the sun!!