#bovncingheart

🖕 your muse giving mine the finger || (ask meme, open.)

Pansy’s eyes rolled back as a humourless laugh made its way through her lips. Truly, the Boy-Who-Lived should have been able to come up with a better comeback than a raised middle finger. Nonetheless, it was what he had done, and Pansy couldn’t believe this was the man the entire world was putting their hope into. A young man with no better comeback than a middle finger. Disappointment; that was what everyone would have been feeling if they were to witness this exchange. At least, so believed Pansy, who gracefully replied back to the Boy-Who-Lived with a raised finger of her own and a little move to go with it. After all, she wasn’t meant to save the world.

@bovncingheart

      It was not entirely uncommon for Fred Weasley to wonder how in god’s name he’d wound up in a particular situation. This was no different.

      Currently, he was on his back on a squashy old sofa, nude, his body half-covered by a thin sheet. There was no girl beside him, but that meant little. Mornings after a night of heavy drink did he seldom find himself alone; but on the rare occasion that he did, Fred knew he’d chosen a shy type, the type that’d run off before he had the chance to wake up and comment. Balled fists rubbed the tired out of his eyes and he sat up, alert. The first thing he noticed was his dry throat. The second thing he noticed was the discomfort in his belly and pounding through his skull, the awful sensation that he was going to be sick. The third thing he noticed was the Boy Who Fucking Lived sitting on a love seat across him. Fred visibly startled.

       “Dear Merlin, Potter. You been watchin’ me in all my glory for a long time, mate? If I’d known that was the kind’ve thing you fancied, you could’ve just asked and I would’ve gladly allowed you a peek a long time ago, mate,” Fred stated, voice scratchier, rougher than normal as he shifted, pivoting his body so his bare ass sat against the cushion and the sheet covered his midsection. “Where are we? This your place?” He’d not been around Harry’s in some time, so he would be unsurprised if it looked different than what he was recalling. 

Ugh, the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. Saint Fuckin’ Potter. Can do nothing wrong, blah blah blah. That guy is so full of himself. Always acting like he’s too good for shit, and ugh. Have you seen his hair? That hair it’s so… Ridiculous! And it looks so soft and like, how is that fair? I bet he spends no time on that hair, none. I spend loads of time on my hair, and it still looks flat! And there he goes, strutting around with that hair, and it’s just not fair. Who do I have to pay to get hair like that?! Fucking Potter. With that ridiculous hair he doesn’t know how to take proper care of. Fucking Gryffindors with their inability to like, do stuff correctly. So stupid. Fucking Potter. Ugh.