#Officer Fredd

[kiwioala]

THE WORKERS MADE A LITTLE PHOTO FOR FREDD like the one for foolish in the office

#qsmp #liveblogging

[weirdjanuary]

🇮🇹 Era da un paio di giorni che avevo in mente questo post e infine mi sono decisa a scriverlo. Vorrei parlare un pò di mio nonno (il mio nonno paterno). Ero molto legata a lui. Lui non era il mio nonno biologico (è stato il secondo marito di mia nonna). Era generalmente burbero e scontroso e non amava molto la compagnia degli altri. Ma in qualche strano modo andavamo d’accordo. Anche lui da giovane aveva avuto problemi di salute. Gli asportarono un rene e i medici gli dissero che non avrebbe vissuto molto (e invece è vissuto fino a quasi 90 anni!). Gli piaceva andare in bicicletta. E, sopratutto (come me) era un “creativo”, sapeva fare tante cose. Sapeva dipingere, sapeva scolpire (sia la pietra che il legno), e si divertiva anche a “inventare” delle cose (ricordo quella volta che inventò una specie di scaldino da mettere sotto il letto nelle notti più fredde e con cui per poco non diede fuoco alla casa xD) Passava le ore nella sua cantina/laboratorio e spesso gli facevo compagnia. Dovete sapere che all’epoca io vivevo nell’appartamento sotto al suo, e la cantina si trovava al pianterreno. Quindi, quando volevo, mi bastava salire o scendere due rampe di scale per vederlo. Parlavamo molto, di tutto, a volte discutevamo anche e lui mi dava della stronza xD A volte facevamo anche i cruciverba insieme. Mi fece assaggiare per la prima volta il pane spalmato con ricotta e zucchero! Quando, in seguito, mi sono trasferita e ho cambiato casa, per un pò abbiamo continuato a sentirci per lettera. Pian piano, con la vecchiaia avanzava, non è stato più in grado di vivere da solo perciò entrò in una casa di riposo. Mi ripromisi di scrivergli anche lì ma... Sapete come succede, tra una cosa e l’altra non lo feci e poi scoppiò la pandemia da Covid e mi dissi “Appena le cose torneranno alla normalità andrò in posta”. Ma poi lui è morto quello stesso anno e io rimarrò per sempre con questo rimorso. In questi ultimi giorni ho pensato a lui a causa di alcune cose che sto attraversando, ho pensato “Lui sicuramente avrebbe fatto una delle sue battute (aveva uno strano senso dell’umorismo!) e ci avrebbe riso sopra!”. E quindi niente, avevo voglia di fare questo post. --- 🇬🇧 I’ve had this post in mind for a couple of days and I finally decided to write it. I’d like to talk a little about my grandfather (my paternal grandfather). We were very close. He was not my biological grandfather (he was my grandmother's second husband). He was generally gruff and grumpy and didn’t much like the company of others. But in some strange way we got along. He too had had health problems as a youth. They removed a kidney and the doctors told him that he would not live long (and instead he lived to be almost 90!). He liked to ride a bike. And, above all (like me) he was a “creative”, he knew how to do many things. He could paint, he could sculpt (both stone and wood), and he also enjoyed “inventing” things (I remember that time he invented a kind of warmer to put under the bed on the coldest nights and with which he almost set the house on fire xD) He spent hours in his cellar/laboratory and I often kept him company. You must know that at the time I lived in the apartment below him, and the cellar was on the ground floor. So when I wanted, I just had to go up or down two flights of stairs to see him. We talked a lot, about everything, sometimes we even argued and he called me a bitch xD Sometimes we even did crossword puzzles together. He made me taste bread spread with ricotta and sugar for the first time! When I later moved and moved house, we continued to communicate by letter for a while. Gradually, as old age progressed, he was no longer able to live alone so he entered a retirement home. I promised myself to write to him there too but... You know how it happens, between one thing and another I didn’t and then the Covid pandemic broke out and I said to myself “As soon as things get back to normal I’ll go to the post office”. But then he died that same year and I will always be left with this remorse. These past few days I’ve been thinking about him because of some things I'm going through, I thought “He sure would have made one of his jokes (he had a weird sense of humor!) and laughed about it!”. So nothing, I wanted to make this post.

#diario #nonno #diary #grandfather

[lachievart]

Yeah, @renlikesthings and I are back at it again

#Fanart #Collaboration #Harvey Beaks #Rooter #Claire #Fee #Foo #Piri Piri #Thomas the Tank Engine #Dade #Technobear #Officer Fredd #SpongeBob SquarePants

[ickle-ronniekins]

tongue tied

request from anon: Asgfaafhjlkfsdgj I loved your George x reader where they’re shy and flustered it’s so cute!!!! Could you write one with a similar shy reader but with Fred? Accept Fred’s just extra loud and funny when around her to impress her?

pairing: fred x gryffindor fem!reader

word count: 4.9k yikes

A/N: I LOVE FRED AND GEORGE WITH FLUSTERED READERS, GAAAAD, i’m sort of emotional, if you can’t already tell—also, i’m allowed to make fun of choir geeks because i, too, am a choir geek and know precisely just how dorky it is

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @bobduncanlover @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove | message me if you’d like to be added my loves

Fred Weasley normally doesn’t even try this hard to impress someone—or anyone, for that matter.

But as of late, he’s been racking his brain and planning some over-the-top prank only to catch your attention—the shy, sweet Gryffindor girl who seems to have caught his eye when he found you, late one evening, sneaking out of the portrait hole in the common room.

“Where’re you off too this late?” he asked cheekily. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

You thought about this, not sure if you should respond, but then decided it’d be best to just tell him the truth—guys like him would do their best to find out, anyway. His heart soared when he realized that you already knew a bit about him, “You’re not the only one who sneaks to the kitchens to grab a late night snack.”

He’d always found you pretty; perhaps, maybe you were the prettiest girl Gryffindor had even seen. And now, knowing that the pretty girl in Gryffindor tower also tends to break the rules from time to time, he finds himself head over heels.

Since that moment, he’s been focused on one thing and one thing only—get you to notice him. Or, at least, get you two talking.

But why is it, he asks himself, that the one time he wants to impress you with some type of outrageous ordeal, it’s the one he gets caught doing? Although, he admits to his twin later that evening, replacing some classroom entrances with biting doorknobs in the hopes that Malfoy or one of his cronies gets their fingers sliced off was probably going a little bit too far—especially when Filch is on the receiving end of it. Even George can agree on that.

McGonagall grabs a fistful of Fred’s robes and pushes him toward the stairs with George on her other side. “You’ve given me no choice, Mr. Weasley. My office, Saturday morning—detention.”

“C’mon, Professor—” Fred says, craning his neck over the crowd to try and find you, “We were just having a laugh—we would’ve stopped someone anyway before it got too far, promise!”

The Headmistress cocks her head to the side and folds her arms across her chest. “Saturday, the both of you.”

The crowd begins to roar with raucous laughter as Fred and George bask in all their glory on the staircase, fellow Gryffindors and students from other houses cheering for them despite their upcoming weekend in detention. And then he sees you—pressed against the wall near the entrance of the Great Hall, standing beside some statue, trying not to be noticed, but watching the both of them with—is it admiration, or confusion, perhaps? He just hopes it isn’t disgust. Fred can’t read your expression over the crowd, and it’s killing him. The students begin to disperse, and when he finally makes his way through the sea of people to where you’re standing, you’re already gone.

He finds himself worried now, which is, to say the least, very unlike him. Fred Weasley? Worried? The word isn’t even in his day to day vernacular. But has this very funny—albeit, sort of stupid—prank gone over the top? Was it a bit too much? Has he scared away the shy girl he was trying so desperately to pursue, and he didn’t stop to think about his actions?

He follows his twin begrudgingly back to class.

“You two really could’ve caused severe damage,” Hermione tells them later at the feast, “people have gone to St. Mungo’s for treatment after being on the receiving end of a biting doorknob! You’re lucky McGonagall only gave you—”

“Oi, give it a rest, Hermione,” Ron says and she turns a bright shade of pink, “they were only having a laugh, weren’t they?”

Fred slumps back in his seat, picking at the food on his plate. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?” Ginny pipes up.

George, Ron, and Harry all turn to look at Fred, who grins at them cheekily and says, “Yeah, yeah—not one of my brighter ideas,”

Ginny smacks Fred playfully with her book. “What on earth—”

“He’s got a crush to impress.”

Fred shoots a look at his twin, who’s cackling in between bites of a cauldron cake, when Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Hermione all peer at Fred quizzically. George nods in the direction of you, sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table with a few fellow friends, laughing slightly over something in someone’s notebook.

“No way,” Ron laughs haughtily, coughing a bit on a piece of half-chewed tart, “Y/N? She’s the exact complete opposite of you.”

Fred digests this. “Meaning?”

“Well, for starters, she’s not a complete git—”

When the boys fall into a fit, Fred flicks some food at the three of them, casually placing his hands behind his head, as if this is going to help relax him. It doesn’t. “Well opposites attract, don’t they, Ronniekins?”

Skittishly, Ron steals a glance at Hermione, who has seemingly chosen to ignore the conversation, as she is now immersed in her spellbook in front of her. Ron falls very silent and turns a bright shade of red, resembling that of a tomato, as he sinks into his seat.

“Besides,” Fred tells the group, taking a long sip of his pumpkin juice, “we’ve got more in common than you think.”

Harry laughs when George says, “Do tell us.”

“Y/N likes to cause a stir now and again. Bend the rules a bit.”

“And how,” Ginny begins inquiringly, trying her best to hide her interest, “d’you know this?”

Fred pauses and considers this for a moment. He reckons that you probably won’t be the most happy to know that there are other Gryffindors besides him that have learned of your late night sneak outs to the kitchens. He decides to keep it to himself. “I have my ways.”

“Well, good luck, mate,” Ron says, color flooding his face, “because the likeliness of you two snogging in a corner somewhere is about as likely as you and George becoming Prefects.”

The table roars with laughter, and Fred notices you turn your head, along with other students, to see, again, what all the ruckus is about. As his friends continue to cackle maniacally, Fred’s eyes meet yours, and he freezes. It’s a very fleeting moment before your eyes are darting toward the food in front of you, trying to avoid any and all eye contact. But when you look up again, Fred’s still peering at you. You furrow your brow slightly, and then send him a soft smile from across the way.

His heart is hammering in his chest, but he sends a smile back, as well.

Okay, so he hasn’t completely lost his chances—not yet, anyway. You’re not completely repulsed by the boy who lands himself in detention more often than not, even if his latest prank was one of the most reckless he’s ever pulled. Fred snaps back to reality when George is teasingly pinching his cheeks, and Harry’s shaking his shoulders. “Oh shove off, you lot,” he replies as the hysteria finally dies down. He swears he sees you glance over at him again.

The steps up to the Owlery are slippery because of the light snow dusting Hogwarts awoke too, but it doesn’t stop Fred from flying up there to send a letter to his brother in Romania.

To his surprise, though, he catches you at the top, hastily writing a name on a bit of parchment, and it’s probably the thickest letter he’s ever seen.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback by your presence, “sorry—didn’t realize anyone else was up here,”

“No worry,” you reply with a shy smile, handing the letter to your owl and patting him softly before he takes off, blending in with the snow covered grounds.

With the realization that his friends are far away in the castle and would have no chance to tease him about his flushed face when he sees you, Fred seizes this opportunity of alone time together. “Quite a long letter you’ve written.”

You turn to look at him as you swing your bag over your shoulder, kind of shocked that he’d noticed the length of a letter not meant for him. “Oh—erm—yes, I do tend to ramble on quite a bit when writing to loved ones,”

Fred feels his insides tighten, and why his mind immediately goes to boyfriend, he doesn’t know—but he hates it. You continue before he can ask anything, “I’m Muggleborn, you see.”

Fred did not know this. His eyes pop open in admiration, and he’s excited that he’s finally learning more about you.

“I’m sure your family has lots of questions.”

“My mum, yes,” you reply, nodding your head in agreement, “she just likes weekly updates, you know, to make sure classes are going well, I’m staying safe—that I haven’t been.. eaten by a dragon, or anything.”

Fred laughs at this, taking you by surprise. He runs a hand through his hair and tells you, “Something all Muggle parents should worry about, of course.”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, pausing to consider the conversation. After a moment, you continue, “However—if you’re going to go, getting eaten by a dragon is probably the most wicked, d’you reckon?”

When he wandered up to the Owlery that afternoon and spotted you, discussing being eaten alive by dragons was not exactly how he expected the conversation to go. But he took it. He was talking to you, anyway. He replies, “I mean—can’t be any less exciting than being pummeled by the Whomping Willow,”

A laugh escapes your lips, and it’s sweet as sugar, as far as Fred is concerned. He can feel his entire body go numb at the sound of it.

You nervously tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and say to him, “Hope McGonagall isn’t giving you and your brother that hard of a time in detention.”

Fred feels his face flush red, but—it’s not like the entire bloody school hadn’t seen them get scolded, right? But hearing you say it, recognize it—it makes his entire body tense up.

“Oh, you—you saw that, did you?”

“Think the entire school did, I’m afraid.” You both pause, taking this in, and Fred laughs nervously. “But, hey—it’s not like anyone got hurt, right?”

“Right,” he replies, finally remembering the letter he needs to send. He places it into the beak of a barn owl, who hoots appreciatively and flies off into the sky. “I suppose we’re used to it, and I reckon McGonagall is, too.”

You peer down at your shoes, doing your best to try and suppress quite a large grin, and Fred notices this. You both make your way down from the Owlery, not speaking, but the silence is comfortable, and Fred graciously offers you his hand when you nearly slip on the way down. Gratefully, you take it, and he’s pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment. When you both enter the castle, he has to stop himself from melting in front of you when you remove your hat and gloves, noticing the pinky-gold color of the tips of your ears and nose. He’s brought back to reality when he hears a cackle from the Great Hall.

“Well,” you tell him, removing your coat and slinging it over your shoulder, “was nice chatting with you,”

Fred is sad your time together for the day is coming to an end, but he reckons it’s enough to get him through until you undoubtedly bump into one another later in the common room, “Yeah, it was—maybe next time you can tell me some other things Muggle parents worry about when it comes to the Wizarding world.”

Without skipping a beat, you reply, “Like getting fingers bitten off by a biting doorknob,”

He furrows his brow and laughs slightly, unable to read your expression until you, too, giggle sweetly. He swallows thickly before you say, “Well—have a g’night, Fred.”

“You, too.”

He doesn’t even care if you catch him watching you—he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as you walk swiftly up the steps, until you disappear from his sight completely.

His heart is still hammering in his chest when he thinks of your hand wrapped inside of his, and he can hardly focus on all of the questions coming his way from his siblings. Physically, he’s seated in the Great Hall, his chin resting on his hand, a slight glaze over his eyes—but his heart and mind have followed you all the way back to the Gryffindor common room.

Fred is absolutely loving all of the free periods he’s getting this term as he watches all of the younger students speed off hurriedly to their next glasses. He and George stand together, nothing but free time in front of them, when Ron comes trudging down the corridor with a glazed look on his face, Harry and Hermione on either side of him. No doubt coming straight from Divination.

Hermione waves quickly before heading off in a different direction, when Ron and Harry bump into the twins and lean against the wall. “Bloody hell, that woman drains me,”

“Your choice to take Divination, mate,” George says and pats his younger brother on the shoulder, “could’ve told you you’re out of your bloody mind.”

“Where’re you two off to, then?” Harry asks.

“Free period,” the twins chorus together, and both Ron and Harry grunt miserably. Fred continues, “Have some plans up our sleeves—reckon a bit of mischief this afternoon would do us some good, eh, Georgie?”

But before George can answer, Harry elbows Fred a little bit harder than expected, and before Fred can yell out in pain, Ron nods toward the other end of the corridor. Fred turns around, and the pain in his ribcage is flooded by nerves—he’s not sure which he’d rather have, to be honest—but he spots you, chatting up a Ravenclaw, a pile of books in your hands. All pain seems to subside at the sight of your toothy smile.

“On second thought..” Fred says to nobody in particular, leaving the boys behind as he hastily makes his way through the crowd, running on not much other than coffee and adrenaline. “Hey, Y/N!”

You turn toward him, surprised to see him clambering his way through fellow students in order to get to you. “Hi, Fred,” you say brightly, reaching out to fix his askew tie, and he’s pretty sure that the entire world can hear his heart pounding. You realize what you’re doing, and quickly retreat, looking around the corridors as if the sheer fact of you brushing your hands against Fred Weasley’s clothes will kill you with embarrassment. He can’t help but grin goofily at your nervous state.

“How are you? No dragons today?”

You bite down a smile, and Fred knows he’s said the right thing. “No—not today. Though I daresay I narrowly escaped one in the girls lavatory before.”

“So that’s where they’re hidden,” he replies, elated beyond belief to hear that laugh of yours again. The unmistakable sound of mock laughter from his friends bounces off the walls as they walk past you both—albeit, rather lethargically.

Fred rolls his eyes before sticking a hand out, as if he’s displaying them, “My lovely brothers,”

George, Ron, and Harry all introduce themselves to you before George begins, much to Fred’s dismay, “Might I just say, Y/N, that the effect you have on him is wonderfully entertaining, if not comical—”

He’s cut off by a sharp blow to his shin, but he laughs through gritted teeth. You grin inquiringly, “And.. what kind of effect is this exactly?” you ask Fred, who opens his mouth to speak, but sputters.

“Oh—erm—nothing? I mean—they’re just having a bit of a.. a laugh,” he tells you, suddenly feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin, and this annoys him beyond belief. Maybe it’s because he’s worried his twin will spill his guts, or maybe it’s due to the fact that Ron and Harry are now admiring your beauty too, or maybe it’s because he’s afraid the mere expression on his face will tell you everything you need to know.

“Now you’ve got him tongue tied!” Ron calls to you from the end of the corridor, where the boys are now disappearing. “Fred Weasley.. tongue tied.. the bloke who can never shut the hell up, who’d’ve thought it?” Their voices float for a moment between you both, until the bustling sounds of other students drowns it out.

Fred kicks at the ground, nerves engulfing him, as you wait with baited breath for whatever he’s about to say. “Sorry about them,” he tells you as he slams his hands into his pockets, “they’re a bunch of gits..” Looking to change the subject as quickly as possible, he asks you, “So—you free for a stroll?”

Thankfully, it seems to Fred as though you’ve forgotten all about his brothers’ snide comments. To his dismay, however, you reply begrudgingly with a twinge of guilt to your voice, “Oh, I’m sorry, Fred, unfortunately—have got double Transfiguration—but I’m now second guessing my choices of why I signed up for this in the first place..” Your voice drifts off and Fred feels as though he’s forcing himself to hear more, he wants to hear your voice more, “See you soon? Stay out of trouble.”

You raise a hand to him and continue down the emptying corridor, and he watches you enter McGonagall’s classroom. The Deputy Head is standing on the opposite side of the hall, chatting animatedly with Professor Flitwick before heading inside to begin her lesson. Suddenly, a weird feeling floods through Fred’s body—is he actually thinking—? No, he couldn’t be, he has a free period now, and why would he give that up?

Yet, he finds his legs carrying him across the hall and his mouth is sputtering out words to McGonagall before he can barely even register what he’s doing.

“You look like death.”

Fred slumps into an armchair in the common room, barely able to keep his eyes open, and chucks a throw pillow at Ron. “Thanks, mate,”

George sits down beside his twin. “Where’ve you been? You ran off and we haven’t seen you since!”

“Double Transfiguration,” Fred says sleepily, resting his head on the side of the chair, and not opening his eyes.

“Double Transfiguration?” Harry and Ron say together. “Since when d’you take Double Transfiguration?”

When Fred opens his eyes, he can already tell they probably look incredibly bloodshot. Next to him, George is grinning at him cheekily.

“Look at you,” George begins mockingly, his eyes narrow slits due to his suppressed laughter, “taking up extra classes just to spend time with this girl.”

The unmistakable sound of Harry snorting bounces off of the walls. “Blimey, there’s not enough gold in the world—you’re off your rocker, Fred.”

“Have you two even kissed yet?”

“No, Ronald,” Fred replies a bit angrily, “we haven’t. Not that it’s any of your business, but—‘m taking my time. Don’t want to push her into anything. I’m still trying to feel it out. This isn’t something you can rush into, lads. Reckon I’ll get her in the end.”

“In your dreams,” Ron says quietly through gritted teeth, and he’s stunned when he receives a thick whack! to his head from his older brother.

But Fred doesn’t care what they think. Even in his delirious state, all he can remember is the twinkle in your eye when he slid in the seat next to yours after McGonagall gave him the go ahead to enroll in her afternoon classes. All he can think about is the confused, flustered smile you gave him when he said, ‘Hi there, darling,’ as he opened his textbook and McGonagall began her lesson. And all that’s flooding through his head, now, as you climb through the portrait hole looking incredibly elated, is the amount of times he caught you, not paying attention to the lesson in front of you, but instead peering at him with dazed eyes and a lazy grin.

It’s strange to see the Great Hall so empty, with the exception of just a few students. He’s going to be so easily caught if he’s found. Fred is already sort of regretting this plan.

Until he spots you, that is.

When you walk into the Great Hall, he’s thrown off by seeing you in jeans and a blouse instead of your school robes—something he’s never noticed before, since you normally spend your weekends in quiet sanctuaries, and he’s off creating some sort of chaotic mischief.

“Hey,” he says brightly, bumping gently into you.

You shoot glances in every direction. “Fred,” you whisper, confused, eyes shifty, “what are you doing here?”

“Just joining you for the afternoon.”

He’s feeling confident today. The norm. You fold your arms across your chest and ask him, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“And what part do you sing?”

Fred hadn’t really thought this through. When he found out you were a member of the choir, his first thought was that choir is pretty much the dorkiest thing anyone could be a part of, and then he thought—if your singing voice is as beautiful as your laugh, he was in for quite an adventure.

“Erm—you know,” he trips over his words, slamming his hands into his pockets, “the—alto.. tenor—been singing since I was little.”

You nod sarcastically and bite your lip and make your way toward the front, where the rest of the choir is now congregating. The other members eye him conspicuously.

“Um, Y/N,” a Slytherin girl calls over to you, looking rather peeved off, “what’s he doing here?”

You fidget uncomfortably in your seat. “He’s—just—joking, it’s alright, Lena, lay off,”

Fred snorts embarrassingly and peers over your shoulder at your sheet music.

When Professor Flitwick walks in, Fred scrunches next to you, trying not to let his very tall frame and bright red hair stand out. So far, so good. He bites down a grin when he notices the nervous twitch of your eyes. It’s just about the cutest thing he’s ever seen. Then you turn toward him and whisper through gritted teeth, “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Just want to spend some more time with you,”

“And Double Transfiguration isn’t enough of a fill for you?”

“Can’t help myself.”

“You’re ridiculous, you are.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love my company.”

“Well—you certainly don’t make it very bloody difficult, do you?”

You look back down at your sheet music, fighting a smile, and Fred notices your cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

Professor Flitwick taps his baton on his music stand and fixes his glasses before raising his hands to conduct. His squeaky voice echoes throughout the nearly empty Great Hall, “Let’s start with some warmups, shall we?”

And Fred’s right—your soft soprano range nearly has him melting into a puddle right next to you. He opens his mouth to belt out some obnoxious, offkey note, but is taken fully by surprise—you’ve actually left him silent. He can’t seem to find the words.

You turn toward him, furrowing your brow and stopping your vocal runs at once. Tentatively, you ask him, “What?”

Fred can feel his insides tighten at your gaze; Flitwick is saying something, but he doesn’t listen—he’s drowning in your eyes, your soft silky voice washing over him like a cool tide. He blinks. “N-nothing,” he begins sheepishly, clearing his throat, “—you’re going to leave me speechless, you are.”

“Weasley!”

Both of you jump at the sound of his name; Fred’s hand immediately grabs at your knee, and before he can even process what’s happening, he’s standing up amidst the students, still silent and sort of, well, flustered.

“What’re you doing here? You’re not in the choir.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Fred says as he removes himself from the congregated group, bouncing toward Flitwick. He places a hand on the back of his neck and says awkwardly, “Just had to come and see the most beautiful girl.”

The choir coos, and Fred is delighted to see that you’re still grinning like mad despite all of the eyes on you. You shake your head slowly, peering up at him over the top of your sheet music. Professor Flitwick squeaks, “Ah—yes, yes, we all adore a good love story, Mr. Weasley, but if you don’t mind, we’ve got a rehearsal to get to!”

“Yes, sir,” Fred replies, saluting his professor before making his way toward the exit of the Great Hall. And then, in a loud, sing-songy proclamation, a “Yes, siiir!” escapes his lips in an off key, pitchy, albeit—weirdly adorable—note.

And once more before he leaves completely, he spins around, instantly spotting you in the mess of the choir, not at all able to focus on the vocal runs Professor Flitwick has asked you to practice as a warmup. You’re still trying your best not to meet his gaze, but the tension is rising and eventually you lift your head, your eyes meeting with his, and he winks before vanishing in the corridor.

Fred is very, very nervous. Not only is the team playing Slytherin today, but you’re also in the stands. Watching. Spectating. Expecting something great, he presumes.

He knows this because of your prior conversation the two of you held in Transfiguration the day before.

“We’ve got it in the bag.”

“Slytherin’s got a good lineup this year.”

“Yeah, but Gryffindor’s better.”

That smile. Your damn smile. “Okay—impress me, then.”

He’s feeling particularly less confident than he ever has before, and he’s busy bouncing his feet up and down on the carpet as he tosses his broomstick between his hands. He didn’t eat breakfast. He’s running purely on caffeine and nerves alone.

The rest of the team meets up in the common room before heading down to the pitch. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are all there, as well.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ginny asks him.

George slings an arm around his twin and answers for him, “Nerves.”

“Nerves?” Ron and Hermione chorus together. “Can you even properly feel nervous—you? Is that even.. possible?”

Fred shrugs his brother off of him as they begin to chuckle lightly. Then Ginny prods, “Cat got your tongue, Fred?”

He shrugs and kicks at the carpet.

It’s the first time in, well, forever, that Fred Weasley cannot seem to find the words to say.

“Merlin’s beard,” Ron says suddenly, a lightbulb going off in his head, “she’s left you.. speechless.”

“Has Freddie finally found a girl that actually makes him anxious?”

Their teasing and jokes don’t do anything to help him, and he’s finding it hard to sit still. Finally, Angelina leads the way to the pitch, and the cheers erupting from the stands send chills down Fred’s spine—you’re there, you have to be, right? Angelina elbows him curiously, “Dunno what’s going on with you and this girl—” she raises her eyebrows mockingly, “—but please, for Merlin’s sake, don’t let it affect your playing today, yeah?”

Great, thanks, no pressure at all, he thinks as he runs a hand nervously through his hair. To his left, he sees George, who rolls his eyes as if to say, Ignore her, and this helps Fred regain a little bit of his confidence.

During warmups, though, as the team flies aimlessly around the pitch and tosses the quaffle back and forth, Fred looks absolutely wrecked, and cannot seem to focus on anything except you—seated in between his sister and other fellow Gryffindors, your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, your hands absentmindedly tapping against your knees, waiting for the match to begin.

All the players are hovering in the air, Fred can feel his teeth chittering, Malfoy is making some stupid joke about Harry, and Madam Hooch is walking out toward the middle of the pitch, just moments before the match is to finally begin.

But Fred, thoughts elsewhere, just needs to do it already, he reckons. He flies toward the Gryffindor section, his sister and teammates eyeing him suspiciously, and lands in the middle of the crowd—desperately searching the sea of eyes before him, but not finding the familiar pair he’s looking for.

And then he finds you.

And he’s fighting his way through spectators left and right, while the rest of his team calls to him from the pitch to hurry up, the match is about to begin, when he finally gets to you and places his hands on your shoulders.

It seems as though you’re saying this to him for the millionth time, but he doesn’t care. Your eyes flutter back and forth between him and the pitch, “Fred,” you begin softly, “what’re you doing?”

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago,” he replies breathlessly.

And he cups your chin in his hands and pulls you closer toward him, pressing his lips gently to yours. And there it is. Fireworks.

He can feel your shock against him, and he’s finding it hard to not smile completely against your lips. It’s slow and easy and warm, the way the tide feels after having swam all day—muscles de-tensing, body limp. He can feel your eyelashes brush against his cheekbones, your fingertips brush his hips. And slowly, very slowly, he pulls away, hovering for a moment before breaking completely.

This time, you’re the one who’s left speechless.

You know, the funny thing, Fred wants to tell everyone, is that when a kiss comes at the right time from the right girl, it can lighten the entire mood of the atmosphere, change your outlook on life—things of the like. It sounds dramatic in his mind, but he doesn’t care.

Interrupting the stillness between you both is a quick whack! to his head from the Quidditch referee, obviously annoyed at the delay in the beginning of the match. Fred rubs his head in the spot where it’s stinging and glances at you before erupting into laughter—there’s that nervousness again, the skittishness, your shy self shining through with rosy cheeks.

“Wait for me,” his lips brush against your ear.

You swallow thickly over a lump in your throat, listening intently. “What d’you mean?”

“Next time you sneak out,” he smiles at you, remembering that late night in the common room all those months ago, confidence now engulfing him yet again. “I reckon we’d have a bit of fun if I accompany you, yeah?”

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins fanfiction #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #ron weasley #ginny weasley #hermione granger #harry potter

[maybeweexisttobleed]

Rose

Tic. Tac. Tic. Tac.

È il suono del metronomo, scambiato per il ticchettio di un orologio. Attorno a lei c'era il buio e una coppia di giovani.

Ogni parola, ha il suo tempo. Ogni. Parola. Ha. Il. Suo. Tempo. E non importa quante volte le leggi, non importa chi sei, o cosa fai, ogni volta, ogni parola ha il suo stesso tempo.

Si ritrovarono all'Empire State Building, era come un sogno lucido, ma aveva pieno libero arbitrio e tutto sembrava sospeso tra finzione e realtà. La donna si allontanò per rispondere al telefono, l'uomo finì in un altro ufficio. Alexandra indossava la divisa e aveva con sé arco e faretra, ma non ricordava di come fosse finita sulla terrazza, in compagnia di alcune figure che si stavano avvicinando e di una voce fuori campo... era la sua coscienza? Era una sorta di narratore? Quella voce esisteva e tanto le bastava.

« Dimmi, cara. Qual è la cosa più complessa che tu, da sola, tutta da sola, senza davvero l'aiuto di nessun altro, sei riuscita a compiere? »

Venne presa in contropiede, ma rispose pensando subito all'accademia di polizia, ai sacrifici compiuti per superare quei dei mesi di studio, allenamenti e i test finali prima l'accesso effettivo alla polizia come Officer. Contro il parere della madre, contro l'opinione dell'Upper East Side e della Casata reale bavarese. "Entrare in polizia" era la riposta più ovvia che potesse dare, l'altra era un segreto che non voleva doveva rivelare.

« Mh, è una risposta un po' deludente, Rose. » era una voce distante che risuonava nell'aria. « Io, invero, conosco altre.. » fece una pausa, come se stesse controllando qualcosa «...dodicimilatrecentonovanta quattro persone, nella sola Philadelphia, che hanno raggiunto questo stesso risultato. In fondo... non volermene, mia cara, ma è sufficiente compilare un modulo. Dovresti pensare più in grande, essere più onesta: il tempo scorre. »

Più onesta. Forse quello era il peggiore di tutti i mali, l'onestà verso se stessa e quella voce che, a conti fatti, poteva anche essere la sua coscienza.

Tic. Tac. Tic. Tac. Il tempo scorreva. Le figure sul tetto si moltiplicarono: sagome nere che come fantasmi si issavano sopra la balconata dai lati e avanzavano lentamente. Nella folla, la detective ne riconobbe alcune: indossavano la divisa proprio come lei, ma il logo sul petto era quello del NYPD. Non sembravano amichevoli, ma neppure dotate di volontà propria. Facevano l'unica cosa che potessero fare: andare avanti.

Tutto, per lei, aveva un senso ben preciso e gli occhi si velarono di lacrime « Ho creduto e credo nell'onestà di mio padre.» disse all'improvviso, c'era agitazione e riluttanza nel fare quell'ammissione « E per questo ho continuato a indagare sul suo caso, tutta da sola, controcorrente » non era certa fosse quella la risposta e condivise i suoi dubbi « ma non l'ho ancora risolto. » come se ciò potesse essere considerata una discriminante, un fallimento.

« Mh. È un inizio, Rose. È pur sempre un inizio. Dunque, tu m'affermi che -- invero del tutto da sola - hai perseverato in un qualcosa all'apparenza di impossibile fattura. E l'hai fatto, dunque, per mero personale interesse, per indole e necessità. »

Le sagome invasero tutta la terrazza e continuarono a marciare come un muro, ancora distanti, ma una si separò dal resto: era il sergente Voight e incominciò a correre verso Alexandra.

« E perché credi di non averlo risolto? »

Non aveva trovato i colpevoli e nemmeno la verità sul caso di suo padre. Vedere Voight fu un colpo al cuore, ma sapeva bene che quell'uomo si era ritirato a vita privata, l'avevano costretto al prepensionamento. Alexandra credette di essere in un sogno dell'Onirica, una corporazione sulla quale stavano indagando ed istituendo un caso, lì a Philadelphia, invece non era così. In altre circostanze aveva visto il Tenente Mike Noonan vaneggiare di bombe e artificieri, con una sorta di grossa sanguisuga attaccata al collo e il Sergente Conner Hunt aveva raccontato di come il Detective Jonathan Donner avesse rischiato di buttarsi in una voragine per lo stesso principio. Qui, però, era tutto differente.

Sentiva un ticchettio, come se si trattasse di una partita a tempo, di un gioco a scacchi. Era da sola e in compagnia, circondata da burattini e persone reali. Ben presto si ritrovò a combattere contro il suo stesso sergente, come un padre per lei.

« Io ti ho insegnato cose che sapevi già, Lemansky. Sei sempre stata così. »

Così immorale, sporca.

« Devi imparare a controllarlo, però, o un giorno qualcuno che ti ama dovrà indagare su di te. »

Alexandra l'aveva ferito e lui provò ad attaccarla di nuovo, ma lei approfittò di quella ferita per schivarlo di lato e lasciarlo correre da solo verso il baratro, un paio di passi bruciati.

Nella vita di tutti i giorni, nella vita vera al NYPD, Voight l'aveva protetta da un certo tipo di polizia, quella nuda e cruda, quella che arriva alle giustizia con ogni mezzo. Lei, Alexandra, era come la gioia del papà, una sorta di piccolo fiore da proteggere e coltivare all'ombra di quella melma che avrebbe inghiottito l'unità anticrimine. Non era mai stata coinvolta nella benché minima scorrettezza e tutta al più, quando capitava di avere a che fare con una situazione compromettente, ne era stata solo testimone indiretta. Tuttavia, Alexandra, aveva sempre fatto finta di nulla ma assimilato tutto. Un imprinting vero e proprio.

Adesso, i colleghi NYPD si stavano gettando nel vuoto, mentre lei prese per la divisa Voight pur di non vederlo sparire come gli altri poliziotti. Come il proprio padre, che sulla cima dell'Empire State Building trovò la morte. In mezzo a tutte quelle persone vide la propria madre, una donna distinta, elegante ma piena di disapprovazione e vergogna.

« Guardati. Conciata come una selvaggia... a fare a botte in un luogo che dovresti rispettare »

« Non c'è mai stato rispetto per mio padre, dal sette giugno duemilaventidue » disse Alexandra « Mai! » urlò con tutto il fiato che aveva. Fu una risposta data di getto, senza nemmeno guardare in volto la propria madre. La data era legata alla condanna di Mr Lemansky alla Sand Machine. Non provava astio per sua madre, ma aveva bisogno di dire ad alta voce cosa stesse provando, erano giorni difficili. Si accorse tardi di una figura che si staccò dai suoi colleghi NYPD, si trattava di un uomo con l'accento curdo e i trattati marcati e prese a parlarle:

« Sei tu che non gli hai dato rispetto, Alex. Il rispetto del dubbio che il male esista davvero. »

« Non ti chiedi davvero se io esista, perché tu hai bisogno di me. Tu devi credere che io ci sia, ma guardati intorno.. »

Quel mondo artefatto si stava sgretolando. La donna bionda, che era andata a rispondere al telefono, era tornata ma venne gettata giù dal palazzo da un uomo con l'aria familiare, giù da un ufficio con un'aria altrettanto familiare. Familiare lo è anche l'uomo, ammantato di abiti che lei aveva visto già addosso ad un altro uomo, sempre su quello stesso tetto, ma in un altro e più doloroso giorno della sua vita. Alexandra strinse l'arco come se quell'arma potesse essere un'ancora di salvezza. Non era riuscita a salvare la donna,

« E ora... guarda te stessa. Hai salvato il passato, affrontato il presente e combattuto il futuro. Da sola. » In ordine: il sergente, sua madre e il muro di colpe e di verità. « Perché un uomo solo può compiere enormi imprese se ne ha sufficiente brama e alcuni bramano cose per cui devono schiacciare gli altri. »

Il curdo si tolse letteralmente la maschera, sfumando.

« Apprendi il dubbio, Rose. Se non ne sarai capace, se non imparerai a credere piuttosto che a sperare, allora sarai anche tu come loro.. destinata a marciare fino al baratro. »

Il muro di persone correva. Tante, troppe. Un'onda a cui Alexandra non poteva opporre e che la spinse verso il parapetto.

TicTac. TicTac. Tictac.

Alexandra si riparò il capo usando il proprio braccio sinistro, provò a rimanere ancorata a terra « non sono come loro, non sono come loro » lo ripetè a se stessa, ma poi si fece travolgere anche lei: giù, oltre il muro, nell'oblio, senza più difese e nemmeno speranze.

Aveva solo bisogno di credere di poter sopravvivere anche a questo.

***************************************************

TicTac. Tictac. TicTac.

Riaperti gli occhi, fu accolta da una stanza senza forma e logica: un intreccio onirico di forme bianche che fluttuano l'una dentro l'altra come aquiloni alti in un cielo di cui lei, la donna e l'uomo sono le stelle. Alexandra sentì il proprio nome risuonare squillante, come fosse festa. « Nome: Alexandra Lemansky. Sessione: Vertigini. Esito: completata. » era una voce metallica, come fosse un gioco in realtà aumentata. La donna che si era gettata nel vuoto era lì, accanto a lei, con in mano una corona « Abbine cura fintanto che sarà necessario, mia cara. » disse una voce fuori campo.

Comparve un uomo alle spalle di Alexandra, le sfiorò la schiena con un gesto paterno. La sua non era una presenza sgradevole, non era una presenza minacciosa, non era una presenza amichevole, non era una presenza tranquillizzante. Egli era. E nulla più. Uomo alto, distinto, immerso in un completo scarlatto d'estremo pregio ma fuori dal tempo. Una presenza al contempo disturbante e meravigliosamente ipnotica, come il riflesso d'un altro mondo. Aveva i capelli grigi e arruffati, che sbucavano da sotto una tuba nuova di zecca. Occhi come mare in tempesta, profondi come gli abissi, brillanti come il cielo nelle giornate più fredde. Guardò i tre e sorrise. Poi soffiò in una mano e l'aria che li abbracciava li cullò, facendoli sprofondare in un sonno senza sogni.

#Olivia #Oscar #Trip #feels

[girlsloading135]

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Play online recreations and unofficial fan made FNAF games based on the Five Nights At Freddy's game series. Fun scary games that have been featured in many YouTube videos. Try to survive through the nights and try not to get jump scared lol. Five Nights At Freddy's official games and characters are owned and created by Scott Cawthon. Play now Five Nights at Freddy?s 5: Sister Location online on Kiz10.com. Have fun playing Five Nights at Freddy?s 5: Sister Location One of the best Adventures Game on Kiz10.com.

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If you didn't die of a heart attack after playing the first episode, be aware that FNAF 2 is even more terrifying and that it will be more difficult to survive your 5 nights as a nightguard. This time you'll have no security doors to protect you against the animatronics but will have to put on a Freddy Fazbear mask to fool them. Constantly monitor the surveillance cameras and the 3 entrances to your office, turn on your flashlight if needed and don't forget to wind up the music box. See also: Five Nights at Freddy's 1 Five Nights at Freddy's 3

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Michael Myers vs Pinhead: The Hellraiser/Halloween Crossover That Never Was

https://www.denofgeek.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/rachel-talalay-five-scariest-scenes.png?resize=400%2C400

Up until the new millennium, cinematic crossovers were largely the preserve of Abbott and Costello or Godzilla. But that all changed in 2003 with the arrival of Freddy Vs. Jason. The Nightmare on Elm Street/Friday the 13th mashup had been 16 agonizing years in the making. New Line Cinema shelled out a reported $6 million on script development alone with as many as 16 different writers taking a stab at the concept. 

Despite such inauspicious beginnings, however, Freddy Vs. Jason ended up being a massive hit, raking in $116.6 million off the back of a modest $30m budget.  All of a sudden, crossover movies were in vogue. The kind of pop culture hybridization once reserved for the world of comic books was becoming big business in Hollywood. Freddy Vs. Jason was soon followed by Paul W.S. Anderson’s Alien vs. Predator which also cleaned up at box office making $177.4m off an initial $60m outlay. 

It was around that time that the idea for a crossover involving Halloween’s masked killer Michael Myers and Hellraiser’s iconic sadomasochistic cenobite, Pinhead, was first floated. 

Filmmaker Dave Parker, who went on to enjoy success with horror films like The Dead Hate the Living and The Hills Run Red, revealed during an interview with Creature Corner [via Paul Kane’s book The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy p.224] he pitched an idea for Michael Myers vs Pinhead to Dimension. 

“I had pitched, unsuccessfully, Freddy vs Jason to a guy named Ross Hammer at Sean Cunningham’s company around ’94 or early ’95. After that didn’t go well, I started think about what other franchises were at other studios…It was a no-brainer to see that Dimension had both the Halloween and Hellraiser franchises, so I put together a trailer using footage from the Halloween movies … and I called the idea ‘Helloween’.” 

Parker elaborated further on his idea for the plot of the movie in an interview with Fangoria Corner [see The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy p.224] published later that same year, saying that explaining why Michael Myers couldn’t die “led to opening the doors” to introduce Pinhead and the Hellraiser mythos. 

“I was just trying to come up with a plausible way to get these two guys together to fight,” he said. “So, why does he all of a sudden go out and kill his sister in Halloween? He’s trick-or-treating in a flashback and he goes up to this one house … and sees the guy with the black boots, who gives him the box. He opens it and the Lord of the Dead – Sam Hain – escapes from hell and takes over Michael’s body because he doesn’t want to be in hell. Now, Sam Hain is who the Shape is, and that’s why he can’t be killed.”

With the origin story out of the way, the modern part of the tale naturally followed. 

“So, the story takes place when people try to destroy the Myers house and they find the box hidden between the walls. Of course, they open it and Pinhead shows up, and it’s Halloween and it’s the Myers house, so Michael shows up because there are people there and Pinhead recognizes that Michael is Sam Hain because he can feel it – which begins this whole battle in the real world. And of course, the third act takes them all to hell…” 

Despite Parker’s intriguing proposal, Dimension rejected the concept – this was the mid-90s after all, a time when Kramer vs. Kramer was about as close as you got to film with a ‘vs.’ in the title. It would take another eight years and the success of Freddy vs. Jason before the studio would be turned on to the idea of a horror movie mashup. 

At one point, there were even plans afoot for Pinhead to feature in Freddy vs. Jason. One draft of the script written by Mark Swift and Damian Shannon saw Krueger and Voorhees fight their way down to Hell, only for the familiar Cenobite to appear and say: “Gentlemen…what seems to be the problem?” The cameo could have paved the way for an even more outlandish sequel featuring all three horror icons. Unfortunately, New Line Cinema balked at the idea of licensing Pinhead from Dimension Films. 

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Not that anyone was particularly disappointed at Dimension. Speaking to Your Move Magazine [via Movieweb], Pinhead actor Doug Bradley said “they didn’t think it would work…They predicted that Freddy vs. Jason would bomb, but it opened at the top of the box office and stayed there for a second weekend.” 

Of course, that success made Dimension feel more confident about a Hellraiser/Halloween crossover.

Eager to up the ante, in late 2003 the studio set a release date of Halloween 2004 for the film. They also enlisted the biggest of big guns to get the project rolling. In a surprise move, Dimension Films reached out to the original Hellraiser writer and director Clive Barker as well as Halloween’s own original co-writer and director John Carpenter. 

The plan was for Barker to write and Carpenter to direct – something Barker later confirmed during an interview for the Halloween: 25 Years of Terror documentary. Whether Barker got around to writing a script is unclear, but he definitely had ideas. Very interesting ideas, as Bradley revealed to me during an interview marking the 30th anniversary of the original Hellraiser’s release. 

“I remember getting quite excited at the prospect of it,” Bradley says. “Clive said that the versus bit, the Michael Myers vs Pinhead bit was a bit beside the point – it was a bit boring given that Michael doesn’t speak, which makes him a disappointment to Pinhead. Clive wasn’t interested in a mano-a-mano confrontation. He was interested in finding the places where the Hellraiser and Halloween landscapes might have crossed over. The first Halloween works like a classic vampire movie with Michael as Dracula and Dr. Loomis as Van Helsing.”

That relationship helped set up the conflict of the film. 

“Dr. Loomis spends a lot of the film warning people they don’t know what they are dealing with,” Bradley says. “It gave Michael this supernatural, mysterious element that made him so powerful. There was a suggestion he was something not human and Clive felt there was a way in there. Clive saw him as a sadomasochistic sexual pervert and serial killer which would be enough to pique Pinhead’s interest.” 

At the time, John Carpenter was in something of a self-imposed retirement, following the poor reviews that had greeted his most recent film at the time, Ghosts of Mars. Michael Myers vs Pinhead was not only a shot at redemption, it offered a chance to collaborate with one of the most unique voices in the world of horror. 

But just when it looked like the most unlikely of crossovers would come to fruition, everything stopped. While Dimension Films believed in the crossover’s potential, long-time Halloween producer Moustapha Akkad was vehemently opposed to the idea. 

And it was Akkad, crucially, who owned the rights to the Halloween franchise having purchased Carpenter and co-writer Debra Hill’s controlling interests during pre-production on Halloween 4. Barker would later hint at studio interference, telling a Fangoria convention that “The Shape” aka Myers was treated “like Hamlet” by certain big-wigs upstairs. 

In any case, the prospects of convincing Akkad of the project’s viability had not been helped by an online fan poll created by the official Halloween movies’ website at the time, which asked fans if they wanted to see a Halloween/Hellraiser crossover. 

According to CliveBarkerCast: “Out of 84,427 votes, 54% said NO”.  A year after pulling the plug on the project, Akkad was tragically killed, alongside his 34-year-old daughter, Rima Akkad Monla, in the 2005 Amman bombings. 

By then Hollywood had moved on from the short-lived fad for movie mash-ups – a Freddy vs Jason vs Ash of Evil Dead fame was pitched but rejected. A second Aliens vs Predator movie made a tidy profit but drew rancid reviews. 

Halloween eventually moved on too, with Blumhouse obtaining the rights to the intellectual property in 2015, after Dimension failed to move forward with a planned follow-up. No longer owned by the same studio, there remains one small glimmer of hope for anyone still clinging to hopes of seeing Michael Myers indulge in a spot of sadomasochism: David Gordon Green. 

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Green is directing the new trilogy of Halloween films and has also signed on to helm several episodes of an upcoming Hellraiser TV series for HBO. Watch this space. 

The post Michael Myers vs Pinhead: The Hellraiser/Halloween Crossover That Never Was appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/35o7W5R

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[chgreenblatt]

Will Officer Fredd appear again? It seems like he hasn't been in an rpisode since "The Blister"? I'm starting to think when Blister did the Blister Twister attack on Fredd in the episode of the same name, it must've been so that Fredd wasn't able to get out of the trash.

Sadly we didn’t get to write him into any of the later episodes (I think.) So that might be it. But I could be wrong. I liked him a lot. I wish we could have done one more story with him.

[harveybeaks]

He may not be our #MCM, but we love Officer Fredd! BA-ZAP!

#Harvey beaks #Nickelodeon #animation #cartoons #nicktoons

[lachievart]

A little something I put together to celebrate 5 years of Harvey Beaks

Yeah, I know I’m 2 months early, so what?

Thank you @chgreenblatt for making such a great cartoon!

#Art #Harvey Beaks #Fee #Foo #Fee and Foo #Miriam Beaks #Irving Beaks #Michelle Beaks #Moff #Piri Piri #Claire #Rooter #Technobear #Randl #Randl's Mom #Meryl #Princess #Doctor Roberts #Officer Fredd #Les Squirrels #Dade #Kratz #Kathy #Fan Art #C. H. Greenblatt

[ickle-ronniekins]

head in the clouds

request from @mycupoffanfictionreplies : Hi! I'm loving your writing! Please may I request something where George takes a shine to the really short in height, shy, 'weird girl' in his class (sort of like Luna but more shy) and she's far too shy to admit that she likes him until they are assigned to work in a pair on a project and she accidentally blurts out to George that she likes him and George thinks it's the cutest thing ever. Is that too lengthy and specific? I'm sorry if it is! Thank you so much, I hope you're keeping well 💖

word count: 1.6k

A/N: ugh. okay. just imagine—george weasley falling in love in the middle of care of magical creatures with some whimsy, magical, beautiful, slightly different, shy girl who fawns dramatically over every creature they have the chance to study. i’m super emotional. i just love him a lot, okay????

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added, loves!

“Don’t you just find them absolutely mesmerizing?”

Mesmerizing isn’t the exact word that comes to mind when George thinks of blast-ended skrewts. In fact, he kind of really dislikes them, but he’s so enthralled by your wide eyes and bright smile, that he doesn’t seem to care about anything else.

He glances over toward Fred, who looks rather disgruntled to be paired with some annoyed looking Slytherin girl, and rolls his eyes in the direction of Umbridge, who is standing next to Hagrid at the front of the class. In an attempt to separate the twins—purely because Umbridge is supervising the class—George had ended up with you at Hagrid’s request. And if he’s being honest, he doesn’t dislike it one bit.

You—the shy one. The strange one. The one whose interests seem to differ from everyone else’s, the one who marches to the beat of her own drum. The one who others always seem to talk about, including those strange likes of yours. The one who, George realizes now, is quickly stealing his heart.

He grins lazily, watching you as you bend down to get closer to the strange looking creatures in front of you. You stick out your hand, as if to pet them, and George nervously grabs you by your shoulders. “Careful!”

You let out a soft giggle, and George can’t help but notice the sun glistening in your eyes and across your hair. He can feel a slight pull at his heart when you peer up at him, and hold out your hand to guide him closer to the skrewts. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” His head is saying absolutely not, get the bloody hell away from those things, but his heart wants nothing more than to feel your fingers interwoven in his.

“They’re just.. different, is all,” you say quietly, looking down at the skrewt as it lets out some strange noises. George notices every other student in the class backing away from these odd looking things; but there you are, going against the norm, slowly inching closer to them. He bites down to suppress a grin. “Reckon you just have to do a bit of research, right? Just to understand them a bit better?”

He can almost hear Hagrid in the back of his mind. Misunderstood creatures, is all.

He notices Fred standing up straighter with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the sight of you two hand in hand, but George ignores this. He’s too focused on the moment. His heart sinks a bit when he hears Umbridge let out a sickeningly sweet laugh, and Hagrid clears his throat gruffly, signaling the end of class.

“What’re your thoughts on fire crabs?”

You take George by surprise; he stops in his tracks as he walks next to you, side by side, up to the castle, completely ignoring Fred calling out to him from behind. Instead he clears his throat and replies, “Erm—I dunno, really—never studied them, have we?”

“They’re quite cute, actually,” you tell him, and George laughs sweetly, “their tortoise-like appearance makes them look less threatening, you know? And that jeweled shell they have—well, it’s rather beautiful, isn’t it? The bright, shining colors..”

Your voice trails off and floats in between you both and George can’t shake the feeling like there’s something lodged in his throat. He clears it once, twice, and replies back, “Yeah.. I reckon you’re right.” He sounds as nervous as he feels, and he prays you won’t notice. You don’t. It seems that your head is high in the clouds; or, perhaps, it is still back with the skrewts. George, thinking of his own favorite magical creature, asks you, “How about Nifflers?”

“Oh, the cutest!” you tell him excitedly, your eyes sparkling in the sun. Then, you bring a hand to your chin and pause to consider things, thinking a moment. “Although—I do have quite a lot of jewelry at home, so I reckon they wouldn’t be the best creature to have around.”

George laughs again; he cannot get over how absolutely adorably soft and sweet you are. “Probably not, but—would be perfect if you’re ever in search of a treasure of sorts?”

“I couldn’t agree more! Wish we could study those, too.”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in the castle?”

“Imagine all the damage they’d cause in Umbridge’s office?”

The two of you fall into a little fit of laughter as you trudge up the hill toward the castle for the next classes; when you reach the front, you can both still hear Fred calling out to his brother rather wildly. “Well—see you next class, George. The skrewts will be nearly three feet by then! Aren’t you excited?!”

A few girls nearby snicker at this, but you don’t seem to notice; your mind is elsewhere. George’s insides tighten; he suddenly feels very defensive of you. But then, he realizes, looking at you now, that he doesn’t need to be. It’s obvious to him that you don’t care what they think of you, and neither should he.

Not thinking much on the skrewts at all, he smiles at you and tightens his grip on his bag. “I can’t wait.”

It’s a bright and sunny day; George is nearly skipping down to Care of Magical Creatures (which nobody ever seems to do—nobody, except you), while next to him, Fred is looking positively woebegone. George slings an arm around his twin’s shoulder and says, “Brighten up, Freddie! Just a few more afternoon classes separate us from the weekend; we still planning on wreaking havoc in the fifth floor corridors tomorrow night?”

“I can’t even think about that right now, Georgie,” Fred replies, taking his brother by surprise, “not when I’ve got to spend the next hour and a half fawning over these stupid skrewts.”

“They’re not stupid,” George tells his brother. “They’re actually quite interesting. Y/N says—”

“Oh, Y/N,” Fred says teasingly, almost immediately reverting back to his normal self. George spots you already down near the forest, twirling on the spot, peering up into the trees and humming slightly to yourself. “Is that why we’re so strangely chipper for this class today?”

“No,” George lies, his voice suddenly very hoarse. He can’t take his eyes off of you. “I’m just—I’m enjoying this lesson, alright? Bugger off.”

With a click of his tongue through a smirk so painfully mocking, Fred laughs, “Mhmm—sure, mate, whatever you say,” and shoves George into a nearby tree before begrudgingly trodding over to the Slytherin, who rolls her eyes rather noticeably at his arrival.

“Hi, George!” you say excitedly, tugging on his arm to bring him closer to you. You point over to the area where Hagrid has the skrewts secured; George can see creatures much larger than the ones from the last class. He swallows over a lump in his throat, and suddenly feels butterflies flood his rib cage; but is it from the massive skrewts, or the fact that you’re still holding onto his arm?

“I reckon this will probably be one of the last lessons on the skrewts,” you say, frowning slightly. “Once they’re about three feet or so, they become difficult to get close to due to their bad temper, and they probably won’t react very well to humans.” Your frown quickly turns into a cheeky grin and your eyes widen in wonder. “But this means we’ll move onto something new soon!”

George is grinning from ear to ear at your undeniable excitement for any new creatures that will make their way into the upcoming lessons. “Rumor has it,” George tells you, leaning in closer to you, “that kneazles are next.”

You gasp audibly. He peers into your bright eyes. “How d’you know?”

He smiles sweetly at you. “I have my ways.”

“How exciting!” you reply, clapping your hands together in amusement. “They’re quite intelligent creatures, aren’t they? And absolutely beautiful—I’d love to have one, you know, as a pet or something. I reckon that would be absolutely wicked.”

“You know,” George says, suddenly feeling very keen toward kneazles, “that would be! You wouldn’t have to worry about them growing ten feet in size; plus, they won’t steal all of that jewelry you have.”

A laugh escapes your lips with no effort; you grab onto George’s wrist as it happens and clap your other hand onto your knee. He’s looking at you with nothing but admiration. He swallows thickly as he listens intently to your laugh. When you catch your breath, you place a hand to your chest and say breathlessly, “I knew there was a reason I like you, George Weasley.”

George is quite sure that his heart is in his throat; he is suddenly extremely aware of the way his feet feel in the grass. He feels as though, when you look up at him with panicked eyes, that he’s being carried by large, easy waves—his stomach is fluttering and dropping every few seconds, making the nerves throughout his body accelerate, but then a calmness takes him over, if only for a moment, before the fluttery feeling comes rushing back. You begin to stammer, “I—erm—”

And before he can fully register what he’s doing, or what Hagrid is saying to the rest of the class, George grabs your hand and squeezes tightly. He notices your face flush, and says, “I like you, too.” You swallow over a lump in your throat and proceed to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from smiling too much. You tug nervously at the bottom of your sweater when George begins to pull you toward the skrewts. “Shall we go see how much our tiny creature has grown?”

You’re suddenly looking rather anxious and shy; George can sense this, but he can’t help but wonder if it’s really the three-foot long skrewts making you feel this way. Somehow, he can tell it’s probably not. He grins at you, pulls again on your hand to bring you closer to him and says, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ve got you.”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, lovelies x

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #care of magical creatures #rubeus hagrid #dolores umbridge #blast-ended skrewts #fire crabs #nifflers #kneazles #harry potter

[temponews]

Newtown Alive Celebrates Newtown History and Heroes with Legacy Reception

Newtown Alive Celebrates Newtown History and Heroes with Legacy Reception

Jessika Ward

Jetson Grimes, Manasota ASALH presidents, Johnny Hunter Sr., Shelia & Fredd Atkins, Walter Gilbert, and the City of Sarasota Economic Development Office were the 2020 Legacy Honorees.

“It was a great opportunity to thank several leaders who have offered to our team advice, time and support. We cannot do this work alone,” Vickie Oldham, the President of the Sarasota African…

View On WordPress

[the-feral-one]

31 - toy freddy’s pizza emporium - pt 6

*the door clunks behind him and his voice echoes in the corridor* I do hope he lets me into his office.. ..he never does that..

Freddy? Are you here?

Fredd- ..umm..

Where is he? 

Maybe he’s gone to check up on something. I’ll see him when he gets back.

*before he can walk away, he’s stopped by...something*

Huh? Who and what are you?

*without a word, the angry Bendy knocks out Toy Bonnie and shoves him backwards*

*..on the stage..*

Bonnie’s taking his time in there.. 

Go and see if he’s alright, Chica. 

*Toy Chica reluctantly nods and goes towards the same door that Toy Bonnie went through*

#fnaf 2 toys #gmod storytime #i like the map that i chose for this

[the-fitsquad]

FREDDE Pc Operate Station

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Filed under: Tagged: function, laptop, micke, station from KelsusIT.com – Refurbished laptops, desktop computers , servers http://bit.ly/2m3Xf1F via IFTTT

#KelsusIT.com – Refurbished laptops #desktop computers #servers

[garynsmith]

Hurricane Harvey victims granted temporary relief from foreclosure

http://ift.tt/2vC1GV1

Hurricane Harvey has caused thousands in and around the Houston area to flee from the rising waters engulfing their homes and killed at least 14 people to date.

In this time of crisis, federal mortgage agencies Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac and the Federal Housing Administration (FHA) have announced that they are suspending evictions and foreclosures on homes in eligible disaster areas impacted by Hurricane Harvey and secured by mortgages owned or guaranteed by one of the three agencies.

Together the agencies back about 400,000 mortgage loans in the 18 counties Harvey has hit, though the scope of the property damage won’t be known until the storm and its attendant flooding have subsided, Reuters reported. The counties are Aransas, Bee, Brazoria, Calhoun, Chambers, Fort Bend, Galveston, Goliad, Harris, Jackson, Kleberg, Liberty, Matagorda, Nueces, Refugio, San Patricio, Victoria and Wharton.

“We continue to monitor the situation in the affected areas. The storm, while weakened, continues in many areas, and it is simply too early to provide any data or assessment about the scale or scope of damage resulting from Hurricane Harvey,” said Carlos Perez, Fannie Mae’s senior vice president and chief credit officer, in a statement.

“Preliminary assessments of actual damage at this point may be inaccurate and potentially misleading. We will continue to work with our single-family servicers to communicate our policies and ensure borrowers have access to the information and resources they need to help manage their housing challenges.

“We also continue to work with our Multifamily DUS lenders and borrowers to determine appropriate actions to assist renters impacted by the storm.”

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Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac

Starting today, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac have put in place a 90-day foreclosure sale suspension and a 90-day eviction suspension for borrowers with properties located within a Federal Emergency Management Agency-declared disaster area that are eligible for FEMA Individual Assistance.

Homeowners with Fannie Mae loans impacted by Hurricane Harvey may also qualify for a forbearance, a temporary suspension or reduction of their mortgage payment for up to six months.

The agency encouraged homeowners with Fannie Mae loans to reach out for free information and assistance through the Fannie Mae Mortgage Help Network or by telephone at 1-800-232-6643.

Those with Fredde Mac loans may qualify for forbearance and repayment plans for up to 12 months if their homes or places of employment are located in eligible disaster areas.

Freddie Mac authorized its mortgage servicers to verbally grant 90-day forbearances to such borrowers, including borrowers with mortgages that have been previously modified or are in a modification trial period plan.

Freddie Mac will also be working with servicers to ensure that no property inspection costs resulting directly from Hurricane Harvey will be passed on to the affected borrowers, the agency said.

“We’re committed to ensuring that homeowners receive the mortgage assistance they need to overcome the devastating tragedy of Hurricane Harvey,” said Yvette Gilmore, Freddie Mac’s vice president of single-family servicer performance management, in a statement.

“Once they’re out of harm’s way, homeowners should contact their servicers — the company to which they send their monthly mortgage payments. They may be eligible for forbearance on mortgage payments for up to one year if their mortgage is owned or guaranteed by Freddie Mac.”

Freddie Mac’s disaster relief policies also authorized servicers to waive assessments of penalties or late fees against borrowers with disaster-damaged homes as well as not report forbearance or delinquencies caused by the disaster to the nation’s credit bureaus.

Don’t know if your or a client’s loan is owned by Fannie Mae? Visit http://ift.tt/1yQyaqx to find out. Think a loan might be owned by Freddie Mac? Check here.

FHA

The U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), which oversees FHA, granted a 90-day moratorium on foreclosures and forbearance on foreclosures of FHA-insured home mortgages starting Monday. About 200,000 FHA-insured homeowners live in the impacted counties, the agency said.

HUD detailed additional steps it is taking to help disaster victims, including:

Assisting the state of Texas and local governments in re-allocating existing federal resources toward disaster relief through HUD’s Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) and HOME programs to allow the state and communities to redirect millions of dollars to housing and services for disaster victims and the repair and replacement of damaged housing.

Making mortgage insurance available through HUD’s Section 203(h) program, which provides FHA insurance to disaster victims who have lost their homes and face the task of rebuilding or buying another home. Borrowers from participating FHA-approved lenders may be eligible for 100 percent financing.

Making insurance available for both mortgages and home rehabilitation through HUD’s Section 203(k) loan program, which enables those who have lost their homes to finance the purchase or refinance of a house along with its repair through a single mortgage. It also allows homeowners who have damaged houses to finance the rehabilitation of their existing single-family home.

Offering Section 108 loan guarantee assistance to state and local governments for housing rehabilitation, economic development and repair of public infrastructure.

Providing information on housing providers and HUD programs to FEMA and the state. This includes information on housing providers that may have available units in the impacted counties, such as public housing agencies and multifamily owners.

Email Andrea V. Brambila.

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