# Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[nocturnal-birb]

Work sucks ass and I'm prevented from spending my time here with my lil gays in my lil screen in tumblr >:((

[hellsbelle999]

hello :D do you have any headcanons about the gang (if u need a specific character, then ponyboy) that you would like to share with the class >:)?

ty for being my first ask 🫶 !!

these aren't the best but hope yall enjoy nonetheless :-)

WC: 778 // not proofread

Pony:

I feel like he and Johnny are really into photography. They mostly show their pictures to each other rather than the rest of the gang, but will occasionally share what they're currently working on. when out and taking photos, they try to follow a specific theme - windows, people, trees - stuff like that.

Sometimes Ponyboy will ask Soda to take his film to be processed. If Sodapop sees a picture he really likes (usually of one of the gang since they hardly sit for photos purposely lol), he'll order an extra copy and will hang it up around the house.

Soda just thinks it's cute that pone takes pictures of everybody like that (so does Darry but he doesn't act like it, just silently thankful that someone's getting pictures of all of em)

Bro's gotta be bisexual fr

He's aware that he likes both guys and girls but doesn't question it much. Kinda nonchalant about it and wouldn't think it weird unless someone else said something.

Two-Bit:

Def steals little things for his mom and kid sister (and we love him for that)

Probably just stuff like makeup or a new doll - if he sees it and thinks they'll like it then he snags it right up, employees none the wiser

Partially motivated by him thinking he doesn't do enough for them and wants to make up for it

Since he doesn't have a job they're like hrmmm… ok.. But won't question it/confront him about it directly, just in passing sarcasm or jokes (but they know he stole it ofc)

His mom would come home from work, seeing Two's sister with a new toy or maybe a fresh loaf of bread and some jam on the counter, maybe a new lipstick on her nightstand

While she appreciates the trinkets, she wishes that he would contribute to the family a little more honestly...

Soda:

I imagine that he's really clean and cares for his personal hygiene a lot. Out of all of them, he smells the best lmao. Soda feels like his appearance is all he has going for him, and tries his best to keep up that reputation.

The week pony was missing he started slacking - missing showers, stopped combing his hair, and wore the same unkempt clothing as a result of the depression. All he wanted to do was lie in bed all day, but he had to keep carrying on, just barely.

Clearly this was way beyond his normal behavior and Darry and Steve tried getting him back on his normal routine (and failed).

He didn't freshen himself up until he read about pony in the newspaper, not wanting his kid brother to see him in that sorry state when he went to the hospital.

Darry:

Actually loves cats, but won’t admit it straight up lol.

He “finds” one on the street and decides to keep her. When asked about it, he just says they're easy to take care of so why not.

He loves how quiet and warm cats are, especially when he's reading the paper at the table before work, the house chilled by the morning's air.

Sometimes he'll fall asleep petting the kitty on his chest, leaned back in the recliner after a long day of work (lol such dad energy)

He accidentally teaches her to sit on his shoulders. Darry'd be making dinner or something and this scratchy old street cat would be sat atop his shoulder like a parrot, keeping a sure eye on whatever he's cooking.

Dal:

Slightly afraid of dogs.

He's fine with ones he's familiar with, like a friend's, but if he sees a stray on the street he's likely to hightail it outta there or walk as far away from it as possible

Random:

Before the wreck, I feel like the gang would go grocery shopping with Mrs Curtis 😭😭

Just imagine these scruffy lookin greasers trailing behind this completely unassuming lady. They definitely turn some heads, but the boys help her carry bags and such so she’s not complaining.

She knows they'll all be over for dinner at least one point in the week, so she asks them for suggestions and will send em off with leftovers if there's extras.

The gang being themselves would be goofing around obviously, until either a store employee has to step in and ask them to calm down or Mrs Curtis shoots the boys a glare that immediately sets them in line. … for the most part at least.

I imagine they’d (mostly two bit or dal) would pick up the most random, vile jar off the shelf and be like “hey can we get some uhhhhh … fermented pig’s foot?” which everyone responds with varying Hell No's and ewws

I've honestly got a ton more ideas but I'll cool it and stop here 😭 plz forgive any grammatical errors etc

[alex-journal]

Drunken Sketches

Summary: The Straw Hat Crew reacts to a creative outburst y/n had as they were drunk. (Jinbe is part of the Straw Hat Crew) y/n Pronouns: they/them

cw: mentioning of alcohol, hungover, hungover reader -------------

It was a peaceful morning on the Thousand Sunny. Sanji was in the kitchen preparing a hungover breakfast for the Crew, while Jinbe relaxed on the deck, watching the sky and calm sea navigating the ship to the next island. Some of the Straw Hat Crew looked more tired or hungover than other, after their big party last night. Zoro seemed like nothing happened and as he didn’t drink two barrels of sake alone. Nami and Ussop on the other hand looked like they were the ones drinking too much, even tho they had two beer top last night. “Breakfast!” Luffy was the ray of sunshine as usual and was about to reach for the breakfast as Sanji stopped him.” “Hey! You know, not to eat until everyone is there, Luffy.” Only now, Luffy noticed that y/n was missing at the table. He asked Robin if she had seen them, but as she looked up from the newspaper, Robin shook her head, “No, the last time I saw them was before I went to bed. They were looking for paper.” “For paper? I saw them in front of sick bay..” Nami said, massaging her temple, looking up tired and worried.

With that as a clue, Luffy jumped up and went to sick bay looking for y/n. The Captain was hungry, and he didn’t want to wait any longer. “y/n!! Food!” As Luffy approached the door, he could hear y/n snoring loudly inside. When he opened the door, Luffy was surprised to find his friend lying on the floor surrounded by sheets of paper and colored pencils. Luffys laugh brought everyone up and rushed to investigate why their Captain was laughing so loud. When they joint Luffy, they saw a snoring y/n curled up, eyes closed, and hand over their eyes and ears to shut out the laugh and the sun. "What the hell happened here?" Zoro muttered. Nami and Chopper picked up some of the sheets of paper from the floor that surrounded y/n, hoping not one of their important Maps or documents were scattered there. As they looked through the pages, they saw that everything was ok, and realized that the drawings on them were actually quite good.

"These are amazing!" Chopper exclaimed, holding up a drawing of himself that y/n had done, complete with little antlers and a red nose.

"Yeah, look at this one of me!" Robin said, holding up a sketch of herself sitting in her chair, surrounded by books, she had picked up.

Usopp and Franky were particularly impressed by their portraits, which showed them posing dramatically with their respective weapons. "I always knew I looked cool, but I never thought someone could capture my essence like this," Franky said with a grin.

As they admired the drawings, Jinbe noticed something funny about the way they were arranged. "They're in alphabetical order," he pointed out. "Look, there's Brook, then Chopper, then Franky..." “yohohoho, how fantastic!” 

Everyone laughed at the realization that even in their drunken state, y/n had taken the time to arrange their drawings with care. They felt a warm sense of affection for their friend, even though they were too hungover to hear it.

"Let's not wake them up," Nami said, picking up one of the drawings and cradling it carefully. "We can put these in the gallery and surprise them, when they wake up."

The rest of the crew agreed, and they carefully gathered the pages of the gallery-worthy artwork. As they left the room, Chopper took one last look at y/n, who was still snoring contentedly on the floor.

"I'm glad they are part of our crew," the little reindeer said, before putting a glass of water and some medicine against the hungover near them.

As they settled back to the breakfast table, admiring each other's portraits, the Straw Hat Crew knew that they had another memorable moment to add to their collection of adventures. And even though y/n couldn't remember anything about their artistic endeavors the night before, they knew that their talent and creativity would be remembered forever.

[inchidentally]

ok so I need to vent and you'll be my victim… I read your every reply about landoscar like it's the morning newspaper, you have such a healthy and cute view of their dynamic, it always makes me all warm (or giggly, when something slighty unhinged comes up)

recently I discovered Arlo Parks (amazing artist, definitely recommend) and there's this song called Pegasus that reminds me so much of them and also how you talk about their friendship, how they're so tentative, figuring each other out at their own pace without feeling the need to play it up for the cameras, how oscar orbits lando (shy but attentive, never blinking) and how lando is a little shit, poking at oscar's poorly built walls until he finds a soft spot only to get flustered or awed afterwards (like he didn't expect oscar to like him this much) but never invading oscar's personal space

this song sets an atmosphere so tender and hesitant to me, kinda like when you're going through your first crush or starting to fall for someone (and we have enough evidence lando was oscar's first "driver crush", so to speak)

the chorus instantly took me back to the famous silverstone side hug (huge landoscar milestone, can't believe it actually happened) and I just needed to scream about it cause it's so unbearably sweet:

"Loose cherries, hard breath I'm overwhelmed

I spun 'round and screamed, "I feel elated when you hold me" And you got shy and beamed, "I think it's special that you told me" I think you're special 'cause you told me"

oscar making the first move, holding lando by the waist? lando with the biggest smile after realising that, bringing him closer, inclining his head and then stubbornely putting his arm around oscar's shoulder even though he is taller? I love that moment an insane amount

to me, silverstone was a defining point in their relationship, it seems like they became much more comfortable and happy after that, maybe helped by the fact the team was actually doing well, so a burden was lifted from their shoulders, but not only that, they also managed to do well together, lando really really wanted oscar on the podium with him and there's a bunch of cute moments from that weekend

people on twitter are negative all the time, but personally, I'm excited to watch how their friendship will evolve next season, oscar talked so many times about feeling welcome and wanted at mclaren, thanking the whole team (and lando!) for creating a great space for him in his rookie year and I can't wait to see more of them (and of you), and hopefully we'll get a proper hug from them this time around

anon ;_______: this is such a beautiful ask I don't even know what to do??? I barely want to add to it bc it's so perfect <3

I had to make you a video bc I love that song and I love this moment so much and goddd you're right - this was the moment they and we knew Oscar was something special for Lando and Lando realized oh wow maybe his quiet shy new teammate might be something special that he's never had before

[melishade]

Attack on Prime: Incorrect Quotes Part 10? I think

Main Story

Previous incorrect quotes with spoilers

Regarding Eren's Powerup in Last Ditch Effort

Megatron to Eren: I know this is filthy rich coming from me, BUT YOUR POWERS ARE BULLSHIT!

===

Levi: Buckethead-!

Hanji: Megatron.

Levi takes a deep breath: Megatron was...a friend.

Mikasa: See, it's not that hard to say something nice and-! oh you're vomiting.

Levi retching in a bucket

======

If someone tries to flirt with Optimus and make him uncomfortable:

Megatron being dense when it comes to humans:…okay…I don’t know what that was….but I think the human dies for it.

Hanji: Agreed. Cocks an energon rifle they made

Megatron: Is that a new energon weapon?!

Hanji: What Optimus doesn’t know won’t incriminate us later. Let’s move.

===

Optimus: Good morning...

Sasha: Good morning!

Eren: Good morning

Hanji: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit!

Wheeljack: *busts into the room* MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!

Hanji: THATS MORE LIKE IT!

====

Calvi: Anyway, there's nothing we can do about it now. They're gone. Megatron off screen: He has risen, babygirl!

Calvi: FUCK!

Megatron walking in so dramatically to "Iris", Optimus walking behind, annoyed at his 50th million near death experience. Meanwhile Hanji is the one playing the song in the background.

====

Hanji hitting on Megatron in Chapter 12

Hanji sees Megatron tear out Reiner’s Titan heart: You. Me. Beautiful egg. Now.

Megatron: You? Me? crushes the heart Fat chance.

Hanji: I have a chance! And it’s fat!

====

Hanji: Ok everyone, if Optimus is somehow crying what do we do?

Connie: Cry with him?

Armin: Bring him books.

Eren: The person who did it would fall from several miles in the air.

Hanji: Yeah, Eren's one

====

Megatron: Punch me in the face.

Levi: Punch you in the face?

Megatron: Yes, punch me in the face. Didn’t you hear me?

Levi cracking his knuckles: I always hear “punch me in the face” when you’re speaking, but it’s usually in subtext.

====

Spoilers for chapter 93:

Rafael: Look, Jesus, I know I took your dad's name in vain, but ya should've seen it! Shit was fucked! Points to Eren's titan form

====

Random civilian: What’s it like working with the Flying Titan?

Levi: Imagine working with completely civilized, responsible, and mature people.

Random civilian: Okay.

Levi: Now throw that idea out of the window.

===

Wheeljack: "There was a complication with the plan."

Arcee: "By "complication" he means "explosion.""

==

Megatron: I’m going to hell.

Hanji: Is that even a question?

Megatron: I'll pick you up?

Hanji: *nodding* Carpool.

===

Wheeljack: "Have any of you guys ever studied quantum physics?"

Hanji: "...Only to make conversation?"

====

Optimus: What have I told you about making bad decisions?

Eren: Don’t?

Optimus: Okay, and what did you just do?

Eren: My best!

=====

Regarding the ending of AOP

Megatron: *Hugging Optimus*

Megatron: It’s not your fault.

Optimus: Let go of me, Megatron.

Megatron: It’s not your fault

Optimus: ...some of it is.

Megatron: It’s not your fault

====

Optimus: How was your day?

Levi: Good.

Optimus: Really?

Levi: Don't make me lie twice.

===

Armin: You can’t set all of your problems on fire!

Megatron: You’d be surprised about how many things are flammable.

=====

Optimus to the Survey Corps: This weekend's safety briefing: Don't add to the population, don't subtract from the population. Don't end up in the hospital, newspapers, or jail.

Megatron: If you end up in jail establish dominance quickly.

(That's all I got for today.)

[mariana-oconnor]

The Six Napoleons pt 1

What's better than five Napoleons?

It was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome to Sherlock Holmes...

Confirmation of what I was talking about last week. Watson's being nicer about Lestrade in these stories because they're friends now. Love this for them.

On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weather and the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffing thoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him. “Anything remarkable on hand?” he asked. “Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular.”

Lestrade doing the tried and true 'be pensive and silent, then claim nothing's wrong in order to indicate something is terribly wrong' method of talking to friends here. Very British. A+

“Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commits burglary in order to break images which are not his own, that brings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman.”

OK, everybody please lay your bets on whether the word 'monomaniac' is going to be used in this story.

"The assistant had left the front shop for an instant when he heard a crash, and hurrying in he found a plaster bust of Napoleon, which stood with several other works of art upon the counter, lying shivered into fragments."

Alright, so far so vandalism, I guess. But I do wonder who in early 1900s London was buying and displaying a plaster bust of Napoleon I in their home. Clearly enough people that there are many of them around. But why? Was there some sort of weird Napoleon fashion at the time? I can't imagine him being particularly popular in England even 80 years after his death.

Why are there so many busts of Napoleon around? Who is buying them? Are they some sort of comedy novelty item?

Ho ho ho, here's the guy we fought against, let's stick a silly moustache on him and draw a pair of glasses around his eyes?

"This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, and his house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the French Emperor."

No, apparently there are just... Napoleon groupies... hanging around.

"One of these he placed in his hall in the house at Kennington Road, and the other on the mantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr. Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find that his house had been burgled during the night, but that nothing had been taken save the plaster head from the hall."

I fear the other is not long for this world, either. My dude. RIP Napoleon bust.

"...the broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood."

"Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperor must exist in London, it is too much to suppose such a coincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chance to begin upon three specimens of the same bust.”

No, seriously tho... why are there so many statues of Napoleon I in London? So weird.

"On the other hand, this Morse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part of London, and these three were the only ones which had been in his shop for years."

That does make me feel better about this whole thing.

“There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania,” I answered.

Ooooh... ooh oooh ooh. So close. Does 'monomania' count? I did say 'monomaniac'.

“That won't do, my dear Watson,” said Holmes, shaking his head; “for no amount of idée fixe would enable your interesting monomaniac to find out where these busts were situated.”

Drink!

"You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of the Abernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depth which the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day."

How heavy was that parsley? Surely it would float as the butter melted below it?

Or did they stab the stalk right in there like they were planting a tiny green flag on the newly discovered Butterland?

The development for which my friend had asked came in a quicker and an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. [...] “Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street, Kensington. — “Lestrade.”

I know that he means that the think Lestrade is summoning them to is going to be tragic, but this reads as though the very concept of getting a telegram from Lestrade is the true tragedy.

No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable, and most unromantic dwellings.

Watson, I get that being horny on main is one of your Things™️but why are you talking about the houses' boobs? I don't think houses have mammary glands, my man, and as a medical doctor, even if you're not practising anymore, you really should be aware of that.

I guess this just means that they don't have any bay windows or protrusions on their fronts, and they're just boxy, flat frontages, but what a word to choose.

I guess Baker Street must have big naturals or something.

I can't believe I just typed that with my own two hands. But I'm leaving it there. if I have to think it, you will read it.

“It's the Napoleon bust business again,” said Lestrade. “You seemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thought perhaps you would be glad to be present now that the affair has taken a very much graver turn.”

I see what you did there, Lestrade.

"Why any burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding, for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever."

So why do you have it? WHY DO ALL THESE PEOPLE HAVE PLASTER BUSTS OF NAPOLEON?

Wasn't he, like, an enemy of the empire? Wasn't it England that imprisoned him on St Helena? What is up with all of this?

"Stepping out into the dark I nearly fell over a dead man who was lying there. I ran back for a light, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his throat and the whole place swimming in blood."

Well, that's a situation right out of a horror film.

I like this guy. I hope he doesn't turn out to be the murderer.

It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a small camera. It represented an alert, sharp-featured simian man with thick eyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part of the face like the muzzle of a baboon.

Oh no, are we now doing degeneration, Watson? Must we always play around the fringes of eugenics? Watson, please. Must we make the ape comparisons? Must we?

We were doing so well at being nice to Lestrade as well.

"Well, I was the only journalist in the stand, and my journal the only one that had no account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. And now I'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep.”

My dude, I love you.

[baahsu]

🦋 hi hi baahsu!! back it again with my vinsmokecest brainrot hahaha

I keep wondering what 124ji would do if sanji decides to continue adventuring with the strawhats despite starting a relationship with them. On one hand, they'd be pissy because they only just got sanji back, but here he is leaving them again. On the other hand, Sanji values his freedom a lot, and they know they'll just upset him if they make him stay.

It kind of feels like a long-distance relationship in a way. 124ji continues to travel since Germa is always moving, and Sanji continues his adventures on the 4 seas to chase his dream. Their only contact is through den den mushis, letters, and any news coverage on the Strawhats (124ji start to collect Sanji's bounty posters and newspaper clippings :))

Sanji looks forward to the day he finds the All Blue and invites his brothers over to finally be with him. ;)

Helloooooooooo ✨✨

Ok like, imagine them putting the pictures and articles up their walls, like some kind of infatuated teenagers 😭😭 it's just so cute I can't 😭 judge would be reading the newspaper in the morning and they'd practically leap over the table as soon as he puts it down, it's just embarrassing from everyone involved

They get their hands on a video denden mushi of sorts, sanji too, and they video call each other. Sanji's eyes immediately land on his face plastered all over the wall and he's both terrified and flattered. Is is becoming an obsession? Should he be concerned? He likes the attention tho, it should be fine right? He should tease them about it even, maybe ask if they want him to send them a signed poster, it's not like 124ji can do anything to him in return as they're too far away (little does sanji know they don't forget this little stunt and eventually take their revenge when they finally move in with him 👀)

[onsunnyside]

hey its the "always reading your posts in class" anon, the "watching snowpiercer and cellular bc of your posts" anon, and i just remembered also the lloyd's fucktoy anon 👋

anyway yeah my friend just listened to me blabber about jake j for a min and then groaned "another chris evans character?? you have a problem". and shes right, i DO have a problem. it's your fics, they're the problem. they're so addictive bshdvddh gotta read at least one every morning like a newspaper

oke enough of my blabbering, bye babes im halfway through the sweet daddy!mace drabble (i am LOVING it so far, he's so fucked up anger issues babygirl) and I gotta get my sonson fix for the day finish reading it. have a great day ahead !! <33

my blog would be the sluttiest of newspapers !! AND ALSO I LOVE YOU 😭😭 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY FICS !!

[stwbrypie]

My two dads (pilot)

a breaking bad au where Mike and Walter adopts Jesse as their little son; my English is kinda wonky idk I tried my best. I'm posting this on my lunch break lol, prolly just gonna delete it afterwards

The house was completely silent. Birds chirping could be heard from outside where the sun was shining bright up high. Sun rays were making it very way through the big curtains to Walter's room, who was sleeping comfortably in his cozy bed.

The alarm was still quiet, so it was likely very early in the morning. The man opened his eyes slowly, to check the time: 7:42; A few minutes before he'd be officially shaken awake by the ringing. Walter couldn't recall exactly how he'd make his way to bed, last night was a little blurry in his head, but he was able to distinctly remember something about having a mental breakdown一which happened a lot... an excessively amount of times. But, fortunately, it was getting a tad bit better everyday.一The man then sighed and adjusted himself back to sleep.

"Walter, wake up." A low husky voice called him. "C'mon, your alarm went off years ago." Mike said standing up beside the bed, stretching.

"It wasn't that long ago." Walter said back, realizing only ten minutes passed since the time he's set up before. "Were you observing me?" He asked, chest puffed and a raised eyebrow.

"Get lost." He waved his hands desmisvely. "Oh, don't let me forget to never get lured by your tricks ever again... 'I deserve everything that happens to me', 'I've never felt so miserable' and so on." He scoffed mimicking a high-pitched voice; Walter's voice.

"That is not how I talk." The man rose from the bed making his way to the bathroom followed by Mike. "And that was a completely reasonable reaction, matter of fact." He punctuated.

The older man shrugged. "Anyways. You just lost a cereal sale, it's not the end of the world."

"They're Jesse's favorite!" Walter retorts, almost in disbelief. Mike was sneering at his suffering, like it was nothing at all. "You know what? Just forget about it, I'll make us a pot of coffee." He gestured copiously with both hands, leaving the other man behind, brushing his teeth.

Heavens! No one understands how good that sale was. He whispered to himself on the way to the kitchen. Opening every curtain on sight, allowing the sunlight bursts its way in. Another beautiful sunny day in the good old Albuquerque. Walter loved how the natural light bathed everything around him.

Stopping by the granite counter, the man wore his blue 'let's cook' printed apron (that he got as a gift on his last birthday) over his pajamas. It was rather cute and comfortable.

He started brewing the coffee. They did have a really good and functional coffee maker, but Mike simply liked his coffee handmade, and Walter was more than willing to do so as long as it would earn him a shy smile and a muttered compliment as a 'thank you'一It was good for his ego. After ready, he poured it into a mug and positioned it on the table, next to where Mike always sits; "Papa's place" Jesse named it.

Walter decided on making a delicious light and balanced breakfast. So he peeled various fruits, scrambled some eggs with bacon and also made a few PB&J sandwiches just in case一Ok... Maybe not light nor balanced but undoubtedly delicious!��While setting everything up, he saw Mike passing through him on a bee line to the front door.

He returned not so long after, with the day's newspaper and a few letters, which he tossed aside on the tea table. "Do you really think the Vargas will adopt a ostrich? 'Cause their cat is already making a mess out of my garden." Mike asked, looking a bit worried, even though that was nothing but rumors he heard from the others neighbors. Walter hummed. "...We're gonna have a problem." He finishes, sitting on his place, sipping the hot liquid. "This is great." He compliments Walter's barista skills, who only smiles lightly in recognition.

"About the ostrich thing. I think it's very unlikely that the law agrees to someone having such an animal in a residential area." Walt elaborated his point, chewing the fruits of his bowl.

"I hope you're right." Mike flipped the pages until he got to the best part: crosswords. He fixed his reading glasses before pulling a pen out of his pocket.

"If anything, we can always call Saul and see what he thinks." He said, looking down the corridor where the bedrooms were located. "Jesse's still asleep?"

"Like a baby."

"But it's almost 9! He's gonna be late for soccer!"

"Yeah..." Mike said unbothered, it wasn't the first time Jesse would overslept and it always ended up with Walter waking him up anyway. "He needs to learn how to meet his schedules and-" Walter stood up and left the kitchen, ignoring Mike's speech completely.

Once he got to the boy's bedroom, he slowly and carefully opened the door, entering the so long dark room. He spread the curtains open wide, regretting when he felt like someone just threw a flash bang right on his face. But it did work to make Jesse stir a bit in discomfort.

"Hey Jesse, wake up. It's past time." He said, pulling the blankets off of him, earning nothing but a whimper from the boy, who frowned, his eyes still closed shut.

"Uh, just ten more minutes... I still have time." Jesse mumbled his words, looking as tired as he went to bed last night. But Walter wouldn't budge, not this time, no. "Please..." That soft voice, partially muffled by the pillows.

Walter relaxed. His shoulders slumping slightly. He looked around the room, inspecting. It was surprisingly tidy... Perhaps not as clean as it should be, but clean enough, nonetheless. Excluding a bunch of misplaced laundry and posters from bands that Walter would never even dare listening to, the man felt proud of the boy. Of course Mike was a big part of this, too. Talking Jesse into responsibilities.

The man soon realized he was being lured to a trap and resumed his duty: make the boy punctual at least once this month. His team captain would punish anyone who's late to the training, more specifically, the parents of those who were late. Walter lost the track of how many weekends he and Mike would spent cleaning the benches or cutting the grass, thanks to Jesse and his 'five more minutes'.

"Okay, enough." He clapped his hands together. "You wake up and get dressed now and I won't make you walk two miles to the gym." Walt threatened the boy, shaking his shoulder slightly. "And I ain't joking!"

"Okay, I'm going..." The shaking continues. "Hey, fine! I got it, I'm up! See? Jeez." Jesse stood up, against his own will, his hair was messy and he tripped over himself a little.

"Great! Breakfast is ready." Walter said then, leaving the room after petting the boy's hair, in a caring way, in fact making it messier.

"That was smooth." Mike said ironically, not really taking his eyes off of the news.

Jesse finally showed up a good minutes later. He looked considerably less tired and was already in his uniform, including those knee high socks that made him look so excruciatingly cute一or at least that's what Walter thinks.

"Good morning, Mike." The boy greeted, receiving a side hug and a kiss on top of his head. "Any difficult word today?" He asked about the crosswords, taking a sit and wasting no time eating his sandwiches.

Walter observed astonished at that, glancing between Jesse and Mike, that caught the eyes on him and knew exactly why the man looked so bamboozled, his mouth hanging open.

"You're not forgetting anything, Jesse?" He asked, stroking his mustache and resting his elbows on the table, annoyed.

"Uh... no...?" Jesse pondered for a second and then snapped his fingers. "Right! Where's my cereal?" He asked in a low tone, almost disappointed.

"Unbelievable." Walter gasped, shaking his head and sipping on his coffee, that tasted bitter. He continued after realizing Jesse was nothing but confused. "Not even a 'good morning' to me? That's what I deserve after everything I've done for you?" He sounded hurted.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Good morning, Walt. I just forgot..." The boy tried, using his hands to emphasize his words.

"No, it's fine! Totally understandable, you miss one good sale and now you are the worst parent of all the time." He kept the sad persona going on.

"Dang it, Walt! You just showed up on my room and I thought that was good morning enough, I got it mixed up, sorry!" Jesse exclaimed, a bit pissed. He started bitting his sandwich a lot more aggressively. It's not like he was actually mad, but sometimes, he just wasn't interested in having meaningless discussions that could've been easily avoided.

"Hm, there's one: Twelve letters word for dramatic." Mike said after a pregnant pause.

The other two paused for a moment, distracting themselves completely. Jesse grinned mischievously and rose a hand up "I know this one," He said "it's Walt White!" Mike laughed seeing that it actually fitted the space.

"True enough but that'd be two words." He explained.

"Bodacious." Walter answered proudly.

"What? You clearly just made that up." He accused, not truly believing that 'bodacious' was a real word outside Walter's nonsensical mind.

"Yeah, that's right. Thanks, Walt." Mike thanked the man, who was unarguably enjoying himself at that point.

"Yo, really? I'm starting to question if I'm really fluent." Jesse shrugged, finishing his meal.

After cleaning up the table, Jesse was about to be indisputably late, so he packed up everything he would need in his backpack and as quickly as possible he got in the car with Mike, or at least that's what he wanted to do, but Walter was faster, and grabbed him into a bear hug.

"Take care."

"I know! You're crushing me!" Jesse cried, shifting away until he was finally released. "We gotta go."

"I know." Walter sighed. "Hey, I was thinking about ordering fried chicken for dinner, how about it?" He offered when they reached the porch.

"Sounds good to me, very bodacious indeed." He used the day's word ironically, and the elders couldn't help but laugh hard at it.

[rillette]

1, 11, & 19 for artist asks pretty pls!!!!

1. Show your most recent wip

ok well i cant show my most RECENT wip bc its an art trade for a mutual so heres a page from sleepers that i forgot about! i dont tend to have many wips bc i either finish it or i dont lol

11. Favorite comment you’ve ever recieved on your work?

GOOD QUESTION IDK. all of the comments i receive are near and dear to me, i love reading tags like they're the morning newspaper but Funny Answer probably the guy that asked if the Acme ™️ acid was a carmen sandiego reference (it was a loony tunes reference), bc it made me giggle.

19. Favourite character(s) to draw?

u guys will never believe this but robin jason and hal are my favorite characters to draw

[frommybookbook]

OK, @emi--rose and @epersonae, this has been bouncing around in my brain for nearly a month now and I spent the morning at the art museum with my partner today and accidentally rambled at him while standing in a tiny little corridor of mid-19th century French prints and drawings and then realized that I should have been recording it so I could finally write this post.

That said, here we go.

First off, I am an art lover and consider myself an artist. I have always loved art and art history but am largely self-taught. I don't have a degree in any of this and have taken very few formal classes. I just love the subject and read a lot.

OP of this post and the second reply make some really good points. Art museums originated from a fundamentally different mindset to the science/history museum. Those institutions, for the most part, were always meant to be places of educating and informing, where art museums grew out of the private salons and showcases of Owning Stuff. They were never meant to educate and while they have improved in the last century or so, they're still Not Great.

The biggest deficiency, imo, of most major art galleries today isn't that they're primarily focused on displaying The Collection or their Centerpiece Works, but that they lack context. Every single piece of work in an art museum, even the famous ones, takes on more meaning and more relevance when it's placed in context to not only the other works around it but the time in which it was created. Art has always been a part of the historical record and social commentary—always. What humans create and how they create it and why they create and who likes or dislikes it says as much about a society in a given moment as a daily newspaper from the time. (Sidenote: this is why I hate the term "modern art", all art is modern/contemporary to the time in which it was made, Rembrandt was modern in his day.)

Most museums do make some effort to provide this context and from what I've seen in the last decade or so, are improving. But these improvements take time and money.

Often times, special exhibits will be the best at doing this because of their transient nature. These exhibits bring many disparate pieces together from many different sources—The Collection, storage, private ownership, other institutions—to tell a cohesive story. The curators have the time and resources available to highlight that connective tissue, to provide the relevant historical and societal and technical context to really make the pieces sing. And they have the freedom to change the text on the walls and order new placards and have brochures printed. It's hard to go through the permanent collection and do these things. Think of your own home and think of the things you have on display. Are all of your photographs and houseplants and records organized perfectly? Do they all have the best frame or cutest pot or ideal placement? Or are they good enough, the best that you could do at the time, and as you have the time and resources when you bring in new things, you make those look nicer and more put together? In other words, the picture you've had of you and your college roommates for a decade is in a kinda cheap frame and a little crooked on the wall because it's been there for ages but now that you have a little more money because you have an adult job, you put new art behind properly sized mats with real glass and actually use a level to hang it.

For example, this morning I saw the new Mary Cassatt exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was an incredible experience and very well researched and displayed. The works were laid out in a logical, chronological order and surrounded with contextual information about Cassatt's upbringing and family life and financial background. Her subjects were placed in the historical context of life for women in the early 20th century and within the greater context of the Impressionist movement. There were placards on her methods and techniques and explanations of how modern advances in print making and pastel composition impacted her work and the work of her contemporaries. I saw artworks that I'd seen dozens of times, at this museum and others, in a whole new light because I saw them in a new context.

Going into the exhibit, I was already very familiar with Cassatt's work and her background as she's always been a favorite of mine (there are so few women represented in major museums, I've always been a fan of those that are but that's a different ramble for a different post). But even still I learned a lot of new things and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. And more importantly, my partner, who didn't have nearly the familiarity I did going into it, also enjoyed the exhibit and infinitely more so than he would have without the context he learned along the way. Anecdotally, I would say the same seemed to be true for other patrons, based on snippets of conversations I overheard along the way.

And yet as great and informative as the context around the Cassatt exhibit was, the rest of the museum is still severely lacking. As I've said before, this is largely due to the entropy of leaving well enough alone when it comes to long-term/permanent Collection displays, but even smaller, non-Special Exhibit, new displays suffer from a lack of context, presumably due to a lack of funds.

For example, just across the lobby from the Cassatt exhibit, in a small section of corridor between galleries—not even a proper gallery itself—I noticed a new display of prints and drawings (we're museum members so we're there pretty regularly and I notice most changes like this). There was a placard describing the works, and it did a decent job. It explained that they were all created in France in the late 1800s/early 1900s and largely born from the class dissent and social uprisings common of that time. It even pointed out that these works and their subject matter might be at odds with what people imagine when they think of the Impressionist art "synonymous" with that time and location—presuming the average museum-goer has enough context to know that the Impressionist movement originated in France at the turn of the 20th century. But what it didn't say is that the reason this small handful of prints were pulled out of storage and put on display was because they were created using the same techniques in print making that Mary Cassatt had been experimenting with at the same time in the same place and could be seen also on display just a few hundred feet away. The curators didn't have the time or the space or the money or the whatever to provide this additional bit of context that would have made this little passthrough bit of hallway more relevant to 90% of visitors who just came to the museum this day to see the Mary Cassatt exhibit.

This is the point of our visit where I got frustrated by the lack of context and essentially word vomited this post all over my partner. He enjoys art and had enjoyed the Cassatt exhibit but he hadn't paid much attention to the additional prints; they were just something different filling a couple walls on the way to the much larger room of the more famous van Goghs and Cezannes and Monets. After I told him of the connection, he went back and studied them more closely and appreciated them more. He commented unprompted on the differences between the subject matter and presentation of those pieces and the Cassatt works from the same time and place. By giving him the context, he was able to engage in his own critical thinking about the art and make connections that will make those pieces remain in his memories and thoughts.

tl;dr: context is key, especially when it comes to art. If we want people to be able to truly appreciate and engage with art, regardless of its time period or style, we need to give them the context to do so.

I would be very interested in hearing the museum design rant

by popular demand: Guy That Took One (1) Museum Studies Class Focused On Science Museums Rants About Art Museums. thank u for coming please have a seat

so. background. the concept of the "science museum" grew out of 1) the wunderkammer (cabinet of curiosities), also known as "hey check out all this weird cool shit i have", and 2) academic collections of natural history specimens (usually taxidermied) -- pre-photography these were super important for biological research (see also). early science museums usually grew out of university collections or bequests of some guy's Weird Shit Collection or both, and were focused on utility to researchers rather than educational value to the layperson (picture a room just, full of taxidermy birds with little labels on them and not a lot of curation outside that). eventually i guess they figured they could make more on admission by aiming for a mass audience? or maybe it was the cultural influence of all the world's fairs and shit (many of which also caused science museums to exist), which were aimed at a mass audience. or maybe it was because the research function became much more divorced from the museum function over time. i dunno. ANYWAY, science and technology museums nowadays have basically zero research function; the exhibits are designed more or less solely for educating the layperson (and very frequently the layperson is assumed to be a child, which does honestly irritate me, as an adult who likes to go to science museums). the collections are still there in case someone does need some DNA from one of the preserved bird skins, but items from the collections that are exhibited typically exist in service of the exhibit's conceptual message, rather than the other way around.

meanwhile at art museums they kind of haven't moved on from the "here is my pile of weird shit" paradigm, except it's "here is my pile of Fine Art". as far as i can tell, the thing that curators (and donors!) care about above all is The Collection. what artists are represented in The Collection? rich fucks derive personal prestige from donating their shit to The Collection. in big art museums usually something like 3-5% of the collection is ever on exhibit -- and sometimes they rotate stuff from the vault in and out, but let's be real, only a fraction of an art museum's square footage is temporary exhibits. they're not going to take the scream off display when it's like the only reason anyone who's not a giant nerd ever visits the norwegian national museum of art. most of the stuff in the vault just sits in the vault forever. like -- art museum curators, my dudes, do you think the general public gives a SINGLE FUCK what's in The Collection that isn't on display? no!! but i guarantee you it will never occur, ever, to an art museum curator that they could print-to-scale high-res images of artworks that are NOT in The Collection in order to contextualize the art in an exhibit, because items that are not in The Collection functionally do not exist to them. (and of course there's the deaccessioning discourse -- tumblr collectively has some level of awareness that repatriation is A Whole Kettle of Worms but even just garden-variety selling off parts of The Collection is a huge hairy fucking deal. check out deaccessioning and its discontents; it's a banger read if you're into This Kind Of Thing.)

with the contents of The Collection foregrounded like this, what you wind up with is art museum exhibits where the exhibit's message is kind of downstream of what shit you've got in the collection. often the message is just "here is some art from [century] [location]", or, if someone felt like doing a little exhibit design one fine morning, "here is some art from [century] [location] which is interesting for [reason]". the displays are SOOOOO bad by science museum standards -- if you're lucky you get a little explanatory placard in tiny font relating the art to an art movement or to its historical context or to the artist's career. if you're unlucky you get artist name, date, and medium. fucker most of the people who visit your museum know Jack Shit about art history why are you doing them dirty like this

(if you don't get it you're just not Cultured enough. fuck you, we're the art museum!)

i think i've talked about this before on this blog but the best-exhibited art exhibit i've ever been to was actually at the boston museum of science, in this traveling leonardo da vinci exhibit where they'd done a bunch of historical reconstructions of inventions out of his notebooks, and that was the main Thing, but also they had a whole little exhibit devoted to the mona lisa. obviously they didn't even have the real fucking mona lisa, but they went into a lot of detail on like -- here's some X-ray and UV photos of it, and here's how art experts interpret them. here's a (photo of a) contemporary study of the finished painting, which we've cleaned the yellowed varnish off of, so you can see what the colors looked like before the varnish yellowed. here's why we can't clean the varnish off the actual painting (da vinci used multiple varnish layers and thinned paints to translucency with varnish to create the illusion of depth, which means we now can't remove the yellowed varnish without stripping paint).

even if you don't go into that level of depth about every painting (and how could you? there absolutely wouldn't be space), you could at least talk a little about, like, pigment availability -- pigment availability is an INCREDIBLY useful lens for looking at historical paintings and, unbelievably, never once have i seen an art museum exhibit discuss it (and i've been to a lot of art museums). you know how medieval european religious paintings often have funky skin tones? THEY HADN'T INVENTED CADMIUM PIGMENTS YET. for red pigments you had like... red ochre (a muted earth-based pigment, like all ochres and umbers), vermilion (ESPENSIVE), alizarin crimson (aka madder -- this is one of my favorite reds, but it's cool-toned and NOT good for mixing most skintones), carmine/cochineal (ALSO ESPENSIVE, and purple-ish so you wouldn't want to use it for skintones anyway), red lead/minium (cheaper than vermilion), indian red/various other iron oxide reds, and apparently fucking realgar? sure. whatever. what the hell was i talking about.

oh yeah -- anyway, i'd kill for an art exhibit that's just, like, one or two oil paintings from each century for six centuries, with sample palettes of the pigments they used. but no! if an art museum curator has to put in any level of effort beyond writing up a little placard and maybe a room-level text block, they'll literally keel over and die. dude, every piece of art was made in a material context for a social purpose! it's completely deranged to divorce it from its material context and only mention the social purpose insofar as it matters to art history the field. for god's sake half the time the placard doesn't even tell you if the thing was a commission or not. there's a lot to be said about edo period woodblock prints and mass culture driven by the growing merchant class! the met has a fuckton of edo period prints; they could get a hell of an exhibit out of that!

or, tying back to an earlier thread -- the detroit institute of arts has got a solid like eight picasso paintings. when i went, they were kind of just... hanging out in a room. fuck it, let's make this an exhibit! picasso's an artist who pretty famously had Periods, right? why don't you group the paintings by period, and if you've only got one or two (or even zero!) from a particular period, pad it out with some decent life-size prints so i can compare them and get a better sense for the overarching similarities? and then arrange them all in a timeline, with little summaries of what each Period was ~about~? that'd teach me a hell of a lot more about picasso -- but you'd have to admit you don't have Every Cool Painting Ever in The Collection, which is illegalé.

also thinking about the mit museum temporary exhibit i saw briefly (sorry, i was only there for like 10 minutes because i arrived early for a meeting and didn't get a chance to go through it super thoroughly) of a bunch of ship technical drawings from the Hart nautical collection. if you handed this shit to an art museum curator they'd just stick it on the wall and tell you to stand around and look at it until you Understood. so anyway the mit museum had this enormous room-sized diorama of various hull shapes and how they sat in the water and their benefits and drawbacks, placed below the relevant technical drawings.

tbh i think the main problem is that art museum people and science museum people are completely different sets of people, trained in completely different curatorial traditions. it would not occur to an art museum curator to do anything like this because they're probably from the ~art world~ -- maybe they have experience working at an art gallery, or working as an art buyer for a rich collector, neither of which is in any way pedagogical. nobody thinks an exhibit of historical clothing should work like a clothing store but it's fine when it's art, i guess?

also the experience of going to an art museum is pretty user-hostile, i have to say. there's never enough benches, and if you want a backrest, fuck you. fuck you if going up stairs is painful; use our shitty elevator in the corner that we begrudgingly have for wheelchair accessibility, if you can find it. fuck you if you can't see very well, and need to be closer to the art. fuck you if you need to hydrate or eat food regularly; go to our stupid little overpriced cafeteria, and fuck you if we don't actually sell any food you can eat. (obviously you don't want someone accidentally spilling a smoothie on the art, but there's no reason you couldn't provide little Safe For Eating Rooms where people could just duck in and monch a protein bar, except that then you couldn't sell them a $30 salad at the cafe.) fuck you if you're overwhelmed by noise in echoing rooms with hard surfaces and a lot of people in them. fuck you if you are TOO SHORT and so our overhead illumination generates BRIGHT REFLECTIONS ON THE SHINY VARNISH. we're the art museum! we don't give a shit!!!

[otunnicliffe]

Chloe + Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone

Chapter Five: Diagon Alley

'Thank you, Mr Black,' McGonagall says, taking the book of him. 

'Who would like to read next?' Dumbledore asks. 

'I will,' Arabella answered.

'Thank you, miss Nott,' McGonagall says, as she hands the girl the book. 

'This chapter is called 'Diagon Alley' everyone,' Arabella tells them. 

'This will be their first time in Diagon Alley!' Gwendolyn tells James, excitement written all over her face. 

Chloe and Harry woke early the next morning. Chloe opened her eyes and was rubbing her pupils, when she looked down at Harry, slightly concerned. Although she knew he could tell it was daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.

'H, what are you doing?' She asked him quietly. 

"It was a dream, he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard." Chloe just chuckled at him, still not believing what had happened last night either. 

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise. 'And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door', Harry added, his heart sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.

'Bless him,' Alice says. 

Chloe laughed a little louder this time. 'H, come on get up!'

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up." He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Chloe watched as Harry scrambled to his feet, his face gleeful as he finally realized he wasn't dreaming. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that." Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.

"Hagrid!" said Chloe loudly. "There's an owl!'

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?" The twins asked in unison.

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets." So Chloe did just that. Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets -- bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Chloe pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

"Knuts?" Chloe asked.

"The little bronze ones."

'I do forget sometimes that wizards and muggles have different money,' Remus remarks.

Chloe counted out five little bronze coins, before passing them to her brother and the owl held out his leg so Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then he flew off through the open window. After this, the twins looked at each other gleefully. 

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. "Best be Off, Chloe, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school."

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um -- Hagrid?" he asked.

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots. "I haven't got any money -- and you heard Uncle Vernon last night ... he won't pay for us to go and learn magic."

'Oh yeah,' Chloe remarked, the smile quickly falling from her face. 

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

'Knowing your family James, I'll think they will ok on the money side,' Gwendolyn remarks.

"But if their house was destroyed --" Harry started.

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold -- an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" Harry asked, as Chloe tucked into a cold sausage.

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."

Chloe choked slightly and Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.

"Goblins?" they said in unison.

'I had the exact same reaction,' Gwendolyn remembered. 

"Yeah -- so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Chloe, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe -- 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business." Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts -- knows he can trust me, see.

'I wouldn't,' Lucius scorned. 

Got everythin'? Come on, then."

The twins followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," said Hagrid.

"Flew?" Chloe marvelled. 

"Yeah -- but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh."

They settled down in the boat, Chloe and Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to imagine him flying.

'To be fair, it would be a sight,' Barty remarked. 

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving the twins another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter -- er -- speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"

"Of course not," said the twins, both eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they sped off toward land.

'Just more illegal magic from him, then,' Lucius snivelled. 

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Chloe asked.

"Spells -- enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way -- Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.''

The twins sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Both Chloe and Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, they'd never had so many questions in his life.

'I'll bet, bless them,' Molly affirmed. 

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered, turning the page.

'No difference in the future then,' Barty scorns. 'I'll bet my father is one of the reasons why as well.'

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, 0'course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice."

'Fudge, the guy who left last year?' Arabella stopped reading to ask, a scorn upon her features. Everyone else in the room recognised the name, and were equally as appalled at the idea as Arabella.

Dumbledore nodded. 

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?' Chloe asked, now she knew there wouldn't be a punishment for asking questions. 

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."

"Why?" Harry blurted. 

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone." At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Chloe and Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Chloe, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?" 

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he and Chloe ran to keep up, "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."

"You'd like one?" Harry asked incredulously, looking at Chloe like Hagrid was mental.

'I can agree with the Potter boy on that,' Narcissa admits.

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid -- here we go."

They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called it, gave the bills to the twins so they could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

Alice giggled once again. 

"Still got yer letter, Chloe, Harry?" he asked as he counted stitches. The twins took the parchment envelope out of their pockets. 

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."

Chloe unfolded a second piece of paper she hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

wand

cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set

glass or crystal phials

telescope set

brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

'That literally hasn't changed then,' Remus remarks.

"Can we buy all this in London?" Chloe wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harry had never been to London before, and Chloe had only been once, and with Aunt Petunia's presence, failed to really see it.

'I'll bet, your sister was never one for dilly-dallying,' Kimberly tells Gwendolyn, who nodded.

Although Hagrid seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

Gwendolyn giggled at this.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Chloe and Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores, hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Chloe and Harry hadn't both known that the Dursleys had no sense of humour,

'My sister certainly doesn't,' Gwendolyn jeered.

he might have thought so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told him so far was unbelievable, Chloe and Harry couldn't help trusting him.

"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, both Chloe and Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, the twins both had the most peculiar feeling that only they and Hagrid could see it. Before either of them could mention this, Hagrid had steered them inside.

'I felt like that too,' Gwendolyn told James. 

'For a famous place, this is very dark and shabby,' Chloe whispered to Harry and he had to agree. 

A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry's shoulder and making Harry's knees buckle, Chloe right next to them.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Chloe and Harry, "is this -- can this be --?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. Chloe and Harry looked at each other, confused.

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Chloe and Harry Potter... what an honour."

'Jeez, they are quite famous Prongs, they got noticed without the name!' Peter remarked. 

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Chloe and Harry and seized one hand of each, tears in his eyes. "Welcome back, Miss. and Mr. Potter, welcome back."

'I'm quite glad everyone puts Chloe first,' Gwendolyn remarks. 'I know she's the older one, but still...'

Both Chloe and Harry didn't know what to say.

'To be fair what would you say?' Kimberly asks. 'Your welcome, for something I literally only found out about yesterday?'

Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. "Doris Crockford, Miss. and Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Potters, I'm just so proud."

'I bet James is loving all the attention his son is getting,' Severus scorned to Regulus, whom nodded his head. 

"Always wanted to shake your hands -- I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Chloe, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to us once in a shop."

'Bless her, its cute that she remembers that,' Pandora mused. 

"She remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? She remembers me!" Chloe and Harry shook hands again and again -- Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

'I bet they're still so confused right now,' Remus remarks. 

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

Quirrell was in Hogwarts like this group, one year older in Ravenclaw so everyone recognised the name.

"P-P-Potters," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you both."

'Why is he stammering?' Xenophilious asks, 'He doesn't speak like that now.'

'An explanation of that will come later in the book,' Dumbledore tells him. 'But for this book, he speaks like that.'

'He's so hard to read aloud, best of luck to you all,' Arabella jokes, before continuing. 

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Chloe asks, already very excited to start learning about magic.

'Literally her mothers daughter,' Kimberly remarks, turning around and looking at Gwendolyn happily. 

"D-Defence Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potters?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Chloe and Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble. "Must get on -- lots ter buy. Come on, Chloe, Harry."

'Bless them I bet that was a lot for them,' Molly remarks. 

Doris Crockford shook both Chloe and Harry's hand one last time, and Hagrid led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Hagrid grinned at Chloe and Harry."Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh -- mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

"Is he always that nervous?" Harry asks. 

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience.... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag -- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject now, where's me umbrella?"

'You said we wouldn't find out the real reason why until later in the book, correct?' asked Xenophilious. 'So I'm presuming its deeper than that?'

Dumbledore didn't respond, but there was a certain twinkle in his eyes that gave him away anyway. 

Vampires? Hags? Both Chloe and Harry's head was swimming. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.

"Three up... two across he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry."

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- in the middle, a small hole appeared -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."

He grinned at the twins' amazement.

'I was amazed too,' Gwendolyn recounts.

They stepped through the archway. Chloe and Harry looked quickly over their shoulders and saw the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall. The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons -- All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver -- Self-Stirring -- Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."

Both Chloe and Harry wished they had about eight more eyes. They turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...."

'Not a bad price,' Pandora recounts randomly.

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys of about the twins age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Harry heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever --"

James's eyes lit up at the mention of broomsticks.

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Chloe and Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon....

"Gringotts," said Hagrid.

They had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was -

"Yeah, that's a goblin," said Hagrid quietly as they walked up the white stone steps toward him. The goblin was about a head shorter than Harry, slightly less than Chloe. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, the twins noticed, very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Chloe thanked him, unsure of what to do.

'Bless her,' Molly mused yet again. 

Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them. Chloe read them aloud:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid, as the twins stared at each other nervously. 

'To be fair, Gringotts is a bit much when you're freshly 11,' Arthur says. 

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Hagrid and the twins made for the counter.

"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Miss. Chloe Potter and Mr. Harry Potter's safe, they have a shared one.''

"You have his key, Sir?"

"Got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose.

'I agree with the goblin on that,' Bellatrix scorned, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 

Chloe and Harry watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals.

"Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

The goblin looked at it closely.

"That seems to be in order." 

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the YouKnow-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

Everyone looked confused at that. 

'You'll find out later,' Dumbledore addresses them.

The goblin read the letter carefully. "Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have Someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, he and the twins followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.

"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

'If its that important, why did he take it out with the twins present?' Regulus asked. 

'Good question,' Dumbledore asked, but giving no answer. 

Griphook held the door open for them. The twins, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward them. They climbed in -- Hagrid with some difficulty -- and were off.

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Harry tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. 

Harry's eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Chloe didn't seem to care; on the contrary, she looked like she was rather enjoying the cart ride.

'It is fun,' James agrees. 

Once, Harry thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late - - they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

''I never know," Chloe called to Hagrid over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"

"Stalagmite's got an 'm' in it," said Hagrid. "An' don' ask me questions just now, I think I'm gonna be sick."

'Gross,' Lucius huffs. 

He did look very green, and when the cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, Hagrid got out and had to lean against the wall to stop his knees from trembling.

'The ride is not for everyone to be fair,' Amos says. 

Griphook unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Chloe and Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts.

'Mostly yours I'm presuming,' Gwendolyn stated, turning to James. 

"All yours," smiled Hagrid.

All theirs -- it was incredible. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Chloe and Harry cost them to keep? And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to them, buried deep under London.

'In your face, Petunia,' Gwendolyn mutters. 

Hagrid helped Chloe and Harry pile some of it into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons," he explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh."

He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

"One speed only," said Griphook.

They were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as they hurtled round tight corners. They went rattling over an underground ravine, and Harry leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Chloe groaned and pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. 'Don't be silly, H!' She scolded. 

Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Chloe asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin.

A few people shuddered. 

Chloe shuddered at that. Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault, they were sure, and they leaned forward eagerly, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least -- but at first they thought it was empty. Then he noticed a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. They both longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask.

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Both of them didn't know where to run first now that they both had a bag full of money. He didn't have to know how many Galleons there were to a pound to know that he was holding more money than he'd had in his whole life -- more money than even Dudley had ever had.

'Suck on that Dudley!' Sirius whoops. 

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Chloe, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so Chloe and Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, holding hand with each other and feeling nervous.

'That's sweet though,' Alice mused. 

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak for the pair. "Got the lot here -- another two young men being fitted up just now, in fact. "

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face and platinum blonde hair was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. The other was more tanned, but had less of a pointed face, and had dark, curly hair. Madam Malkin stood Chloe on a stool next to the second boy, Harry on a stool next to her slipped a long robe over Chloe's head, and began to pin it to the right length, an assistant doing the same to Harry. 

"Hello," said the first boy, "Hogwarts, too?" The other boy didn't say anything, just seemed to stare at them, looking slightly intrigued. 

"Yes," said the twins.

"My father's next door buying our books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." The other boy smirked at this, still not lifting his eyes away from the pair. 

'Odd behaviour, who is it?' Remus asked. 

'You will find out later, Mr Lupin,' McGonagall tells him. 

'He reminds me of Dudley,' Chloe whispered, just loud enough for Harry to hear. Harry nodded at her. 

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," said Harry. Chloe stared back at boy, and he smirked at her, not breaking the eye contact. 

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No," Harry said again, wondering what on earth Quidditch could be.

"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry, feeling more stupid by the minute.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin as will he, all my family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" The other boy chuckled at this, still gazing at Chloe and Chloe back at him.

'I really want to know who that boy is,' Arabella wonders. 

'What's wrong with Hufflepuff!' Amos shouts, looking annoyed. 

"Mmm," said Harry, wishing he could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at the twins and pointing at three large ice creams to show he couldn't come in. Chloe broke away from the eye contact and smiled warmly at Hagrid.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn't.

"He works at Hogwarts." Chloe added.

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," said Harry. He was liking the boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

'I bet you money that's Lucius's son,' Kimberly says to Sirius. 

'You're on, Fox,' He states. '10 Galleons.' 

"I think he's brilliant," said Harry coldly. Chloe nods in agreement.

"Do you?" said the dark haired boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," said Harry shortly. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy.

"Oh, sorry," said the blonde boy again, not sounding sorry at all.

"But they were our kind, weren't they?" The second boy says, speaking for the first time. He voice was a lot cooler, more refined than the other boys, and had a more menacing tone to it. 

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." Chloe says.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine.

'He is speaking to the wrong people about that,' Amos says. 

I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.' The blonde then stares at Chloe. 'Say, you're quite pretty, you know that? What's your surnames, anyway?" At this, the other boy glares at the first boy. 

But before either Chloe or Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you both done, my dears," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hopped down from the footstool. Chloe followed behind him, not before slipping another look at the second boy. 

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy. The second boy just stared at Chloe again. 

'See you then,' She says softly. 

'I have a bad feeling about that second boy,' James says to Gwendolyn. 

Both Chloe and Harry were rather quiet as they ate the ice creams Hagrid had bought them (chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts).  

"What's up?" said Hagrid.

"Nothing," Harry lied. Chloe just kept eating her ice cream.

They stopped to buy parchment and quills. They both cheered up a bit when they found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote. When they had left the shop, Harry said, "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?

'It's a sport that you will love,' James says.

"Blimey, Chloe, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin' about Quidditch!"

"Don't make me feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the boys in Madam Malkin's. "--and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in."

"Yer not from a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh both were -- he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh. Anyway, what does he know about it, some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles -- look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!''

'He's a sweetie,' Gwendolyn beamed. 

"So what is Quidditch?" Chloe asked, speaking up for the first time since getting her ice cream.

"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like football in the Muggle world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules."

"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but --"

"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff" said Harry gloomily.

'There is nothing wrong with Hufflepuff!' Amos complained. 

'Harry, I'm sure Hufflepuff is alright,' Chloe tells him. 

"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin,"

'Ahh the Slytherin hatred,' Regulus scorns. 'I knew it was only a matter of time.'

said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."

"Vol-, sorry - You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?" Harry asked as Chloe looked shocked. 

"Years an' years ago," said Hagrid.

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue- Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

'Good boy,' James chortled. 

"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."

Hagrid wouldn't let the twins buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer lists"), but they both got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then they visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages.

Everyone wrinkled their nose in remembrance. 

Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for the twins, Chloe and Harry examined silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again. "Just yer wand left - A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Chloe and Harry felt themselves go red. "You don't have to --"

'Aww bless him, he made them a cake and is now buying them something!' Gwendolyn cooed. 

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal each.'

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium and Cat Company Co, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Chloe now carried a small Grey British Shorthaired cat in a cage, fast asleep curled up in the blanket she was given upon transaction. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. They both couldn't stop stammering his thanks, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. You can both use the owl, they're very handy. Just Ollivander's left now - only place fer wands, Ollivander's, and yeh gotta have the best wand."

'They're getting their wands!' Gwendolyn exclaimed, excited. 

A magic wand... this was what Chloe and Harry had been really looking forward to.

The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivander's: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. 

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. Chloe and Harry both felt strangely as though they had entered a very strict library; they both swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to them and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of both of their necks prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Chloe and Harry both jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.

'He is a creepy man to be fair,' Sirius remarked. 

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Chloe and Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Chloe and Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You both have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

'It's mental that he can remember that,' Gwendolyn remarks. 

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and the twins were almost nose to nose. They could both see themselves reflected in those misty eyes.

'I forgot how odd that man was,' Alice mumbles to Molly.

"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scars on Chloe's and Harry's forehead with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do...."

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid. "Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again.... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

'His memory is mental!' Amos remarks. 

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply. "Oh, no, sit," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

Lucius raised his eyebrow at this. 

"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. "Well, now -- Miss. and Mr. Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"Er -- well, we're both right-handed," said Harry

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Chloe from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." He then did the same to Harry, without talking.   It took until it was Harry's go for them to suddenly realize that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. And you, Mr Potter, try this one. Oak and unicorn hair, ten inches. Nice and flexible also. Just take it and give it a wave.'

Chloe and Harry took the wands and (both feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched them both out of their hands almost at once.

'He was always a snatcher,' Remus remarked.

"Miss. Potter: Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Mr. Potter: Beechwood and phoenix feather. Nine inches. Nice and sturdy. Try --"

They both tried -- but they had hardly raised the wands when they, too, were snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no -here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. And you, Oak and dragon heartstring, seven inches, flexible. Go on, go on, try them out.'

Chloe and Harry tried. And tried. They had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

'It took me over 100 wands,' Kimberly informed Remus, who looked at her shocked. 

'It took me three,' He said. 

"Tricky customersHe put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious.. "Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare., eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -- I wonder, now - - yes, why not -- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple. Twin wands for the twins, and from the same phoenix... why not?''

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..''

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?" Chloe nodded, as if she also wanted to know.

'I would also like to know,' James says to Gwendolyn.

Mr. Ollivander fixed Chloe and Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Potters. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in both of your wands, gave another feather -- just one other. It is very curious indeed that you both should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar."

'WHAT!' James and Gwendolyn shouted. 

'Our children have matching wands with You-Know-Who?' Gwendolyn asked, her face full of fear. 

'Yes, Miss Evans,' Dumbledore informed them.

'Bloody hell!' Arthur remarked. 

Chloe and Harry both swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember.... I think we must expect great things from you, Miss. and Mr. Potter.... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great."

'Odd take,' Sirius says to James, who nodded in agreement. 

Chloe and Harry shivered. They weren't sure they liked Mr. Ollivander too much. They paid seven gold Galleons each for their wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Chloe, Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Both twins didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; they didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap, and the cat on Chloe's. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; they only realized where they were when Hagrid tapped them both on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said. He bought Chloe and Harry a hamburger each and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow. Chloe just looked down, eating her burger with a melancholy expression on her face. "You all right, Potters? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

'I mean they did just find out that they share wands with the guy who killed their parents and tried to kill them, I think it's expected that they aren't in the best of moods,' Andromeda pipes up. 

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of his life -- and yet -- he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks we're special," Chloe said, speaking for the pair of them. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander... but we don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? We're both famous and we can't even remember what we're famous for. We don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry -- I mean, the night my parents died."

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile. "Don' you worry, Potters. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact."

'He does always look happy,' Kimberly agrees. 

Hagrid helped Chloe and Harry on to the train that would take them back to the Dursleys, then handed them both an envelope. "Yer tickets fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross -- it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me.... See yeh soon, Chloe, Harry."

The train pulled out of the station. Both Chloe and Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; they rose in their seat and pressed their noses against the window, but they blinked and Hagrid had gone.

'That's the end of the chapter,' Arabella announced, giving the book back to McGonagall. 

'Thank you, Miss Nott,' Dumbledore said, as Arabella went to sit back down. 

'I can't wait for them to go to Hogwarts,' James mused, Gwendolyn nodding alongside him. 

'Well there is no need to wait,' Dumbledore said, 'Let's continue on.

[thelittlesunlena]

Ok time for 'every day life' headcanons for the twins:

- Ingo is the cook out of the two but doesn't enjoy cooking anything too complicated

- Emmet can cook but only if he follows the recipe to the dot

- Emmet likes baking brownies and suprises Ingo with them sometimes

- Emmet's the type to prefer take-out food, like pizza

- Emmet goes to the bakery every saturday morning and gets Ingo either pastries or croissants

- I put honey and butter on the inside of my croissants and I think they'd both adore to eat that

- Ingo enjoys all of his food to be cut into bite size pieces so it doesn't get messy

- Ingo dresses more classy, academia style with more muted tones like black, beige and brown

- Emmet dresses casual and more colorful, he enjoys sweaters a lot. He has a few pastel sweaters.

- Emmet's a bit more lean while Ingo is on the thinner side

- Ingo's taller by a little bit but it's barely noticeable

- Emmet fills in the crossword puzzle every morning and Ingo helps if asked

- Ingo reads the newspaper in the morning

- They're both on the quieter side when they've just woken up

- Emmet enjoys gaming in the evening while Ingo prefers to watch him play

- Ingo's the type to read before bed and then talk about the plot instead of sleeping

- Emmet listens to him ramble about the book until he falls asleep

- Ingo is the forgetful type, he'll forget his keys but Emmet will remember (and expect it) and will take them along

- If they go on a trip, Ingo will take pictures of the scenery while Emmet takes pictures of the two of them

- Emmet's the selfie type

- They own a photo album that nobody's allowed to look into because it has baby pictures

- Elesa stole it once and laughed at their haircuts as toddlers

- Emmet's the type to give Elesa a piggyback ride if she complains about her feet hurting

- Ingo would sit down with her instead until her feet feel better

- Both would comment on her shoes not being comfortable enough

- Ingo is a good singer while Emmet's good at dancing

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - Because of you, I lived on

OK, so, like I mentioned in a previous post, this week has been an absolute nightmare. I can tolerate a lot of bullshit but when work made me cry in my car? Yeah, that takes the cake.

So I wanted to write something angsty because hey, might as well use those negative emotions to good use, eh? And then I saw an interesting headcanon that I wanna explore.

So this is for you @undeniablyemily @angel-bubbles and @redactedverse-thoughts for bringing the idea to life!

Summary: For as long as he could remember, Geordi has always been alone… right?

TW: Post-Inversion. Death. Grief. Non-consensual memory wiping.

-

'A POWER OUTTAGE AT THE CENTRE OF DAHLIA! THE CAUSE? STILL UNKNOWN AFTER SIX MONTHS!' is written on the front page of today's newspaper.

In fact, it’s the first thing that greets Geordi at the counter while the cashier is busy at the back.

Geordi somewhat recognises the picture below the obnoxiously large headline and knows that his favourite bookstore is nestled between the local grocer and a pharmacy.

The picture does nothing to actually show which building had the blackout, but something on the tip of his tongue stirs. Nagging in the back of his mind.

"Sorry for the wait!" The cashier reappears. Looking a bit haggard which Geordi can't fault. It's lunchtime anyway. "That'll be $15, please."

Geordi pays for his food and thinks nothing more of the newspaper when he returns to the office.

"Finally! I thought the week would never end!" A coworker cheers beside him. Just as Geordi was about to clock out for the day, a few of his colleagues invited him out to dinner. The offer was too good to pass up, and besides, the alternative would be him binge-watching the latest series on Netflix and eating dinner alone.

And so here they are now.

"My eyes were seriously about to roll out of their socket if I have to see another slide." Another coworker murmurs. Everyone had ordered their food, so now conversations flow pleasantly around the table. Geordi soaks up on the atmosphere, occasionally nodding when addressed.

When cutleries scrap on plates and wine glasses clink, Geordi suddenly finds himself at the centre of attention.

"We would've had overtime today if it weren't for Geordi's quick thinking during the presentation," His Art Director brags, face flushed red after his third refill. Geordi ducks shyly when others chime in agreement. "I was going to punch the clients if they didn't stop discussing how many assets we had to do for the campaign. Deadass."

"Geordi has been a lifesaver lately! And hey, don't think we didn't notice how you always clocked out on time on Friday nowadays," Another colleague interjects. He then raises an eyebrow. "Got someone waiting at home, eh?"

Geordi rolls his eyes, so used to his colleagues' shenanigans by now. After all, they were there for him after his last breakup. "I'm still single, guys. You knew how bad my last relationship went down, so I wanted to enjoy the single life for a while."

This time, someone from the client managing team pipes up. They're relatively new, so Geordi fails to remember his name. "See, here's the thing - I've heard about you from Mark. About how you were before, and let me say that even I can see the difference! Like, c'mon, dude; you live like any other man who has a partner!"

But Geordi just shakes his head, a wry smile on his face.

There hasn't been anyone special in his life ever since he moved to Dahlia. Ever since he left his abusive partner. Aside from his parents, no one had looked at Geordi and seen him as someone needed to keep safe, to love dearly.

"I love you, Geordi... always..."

Right?

-

Lately, the nagging in the recess of his mind and the tingle on his tongue are becoming difficult to ignore.

And Geordi would catch himself behaving out of sorts. He'd absentmindedly prepare two mugs of coffee every morning ("Brown sugar instead of regular white? How did you know that's the way I like it?"), vacuumed the house once a week ("Sorry, baby, I didn't mean to wake you up. I just need to deal with these dust bunnies before they take over our home.") and during a grocery run, cups of chocolate puddings somehow ends up in his cart ("I can't help it, Geordi! Chocolate puddings are my ultimate weakness! Don't laugh at me!")

When did these new habits come from?

Life continues regardless of how out of sorts Geordi has been lately. There are always some bills to be paid, relatives coming over for a surprise visit and never-ending projects in the agency.

Geordi has no time to spare in musing over odd habits or how cold the bed is on some nights.

"You always worked so hard, baby. I know you're not made of glass, but you don't throw a diamond against the wall either. So how about a break, yeah? I hereby declare Netflix and cuddle time is in session!"

Geordi blinks and registers the tablet on his lap. Season two of Demon Slayer is paused on the screen. Unconsciously, Geordi turns to the left as if expecting someone to sit beside him on the couch.

Wait - wasn't he checking some work e-mails just now?

Physical exhaustion begins to made way for emotional ones. Anxiety, sorrow, yearning and helplessness begin to bubble in his heart. Begin to drive him slowly insane.

It's like there's something in the corner of his eyes; there but just out of sight. On the tip of his tongue. An echo at the back of his mind. Something that he's missing - someone -

An unknown sound - liken to a flame bursting into life or shattering wind chimes - has Geordi jerk violently. The tablet clatter on the floor when he abruptly stands. His eyes widen at the sight of the intruder that appears in his living room from thin air.

The first thing that Geordi notices about the intruder is the pair of horns on his head, large and intimidating in a way that something in him whispers that they're as genuine as they look. Next is the painfully solemn expression on his handsome face that's familiar to a mortician.

"I'm sorry... I'm so very sorry, Geordi." The inhuman intruder murmurs, heavy with regret, sorrow and yet, he has the gentlest voice that Geordi has ever heard. At that moment, a sense of calm washes over him.

It reminds him of mothers cooing their babies to sleep — the long, drawn-out sigh after filling your lungs with your favourite scents.

"Who... who are you?" Geordi begins cautiously, a little apprehensively.

The intruder gives him a heartbreaking smile which didn't make sense at all. "A friend, Geordi. One that promised to look after you to my best ability."

"Oh, hey, Cam! Didn't think, uh, anime conventions are your thing too. We should compare nendoroids in the office next time! Hmm? Oh right! Geordi, this is my work buddy - Camelopardalis. Cam. He's a pretty chill guy."

"You're... Cam... Camelopardalis," Geordi blurts out. It startles him. Why does he know this stranger - notstranger.afriend.cameoverfordinnersometime.aserenitydaemon - and why is his head begin to throb painfully!? It's as if his mind is trying to make sense of the gap between the barrages of torn pictures and Camelopardalis' alarmed expression. "I know you. You're their -"

Like a bursting dam, everything came flooding back. Memories resurface, and with them, a heartache, unlike anything that Geordi has ever experienced before:

"Geordi? Like that guy from Star Trek? No, no! I think that's a great name! He's a great character! I mean, I never really watched Star Trek -"

"Move in with you? Are you sure? I don't mind waiting until we hit the two-year mark. I'm comfortable with following your pace, baby."

"Hahaha... yeah... like a mind reader. Hey... Geordi? Are you busy? I-I think it's time you know what I exactly do for a living..."

A picture pushes towards the front of Geordi's mind. A face begins to clear up. Absentmindedly, he feels strong hands on his shoulders; grounding him. Gentle voice trying its best to soothe his pounding head.

"I wish I could bring you to the Games, Geordi. It's like the tournament arcs in animes; you'd love it!"

...

"Hmm? Nah, the event is only for students. God, it's been four years since I last graduated from D.A.M.N. That's the magical school hosting the E&E Games this year. I'm just attending as a representative of the Department."

...

"Yeah, they already cleared my leaves. So I'm down with whatever you want to do after the event's over! Actually... how do you feel about a short vacation trip?"

...

"Alright, I'll see you tonight. I love you, Geordi. Always."

Geordi's heart stutters to a stop in his chest. As though he’s submerged under a rushing fiver, he finds himself staring at the sorrowful Serenity Daemon with one burning question:

"Cam? Cam, where are they?" Geordi desperately asks, hot tears dripping down. "Where's Cutie?"

It didn't take long for him to put together the passing time when his memories return. To understand where his new habits came from.

Six months have passed since Geordi saw his better half off to work.

The Serenity Daemon's own heart broke. The man's despair, grief and confusion blanket him like hot, black tar, but he soldier on. "A tragedy happened during the E&E Games and... and they were one of the many casualties," Camelopardalis did his best to explain under Geordi's crushing emotions. Both of them deserve this; truth and self-punishment. This poor human deserves to know the fate of his lover. As for Camelopardalis, it's self-punishment for what he has to do soon. "They were very brave, Geordi. They saved so many lives that day, but a Shade - dead, hungry things - got to them before reinforcement could arrive. I'm so sorry, Geordi."

The heartbreaking wail that escape the human would've destroyed a young Serenity or Empathy Daemon. But Camelopardalis is old, jaded. And yet he hurts all the same for his friend and the one they both lost.

"They were supposed to come home," Geordi sobs. He falls to his knees, suddenly no longer having the strength to stand up. "We were supposed to go to San Diego b-because they've been working non-stop... why... why is this happening?"

Camelopardalis is oddly silent. And then, a horrible memory dawns on him.

This is their second confrontation.

"I waited. And waited for them to come home," Geordi's voice wavers. His head is spinning, heart as tight as a noose. "I called so many times, but it went to voicemails. But then you came at midnight. A-And you apologised."

Geordi remembers being worried sick when Cutie failed to pick up his fifth call. On his twelfth, Camelopardalis appeared - "Daemons can teleport, baby. They called it Rift" - looking half-dead, wouldn't stop apologising despite him begging for an explanation and then... nothing.

No memories of Cutie and all of the Telepath's belonging - nothing.

"What did you do to me?" Geordi asks, feeling sick with stomach lurching. His cheeks are so wet, but grief and betrayal are powerful emotions. Grief at the loss of his love and betrayal from someone supposed to be a friend.

Camelopardalis closes his eyes. His purpose is to bring peace, serenity... but right now? He has no choice but to play as a necessary evil.

All in the name of the Department.

"To maintain the secrecy of the Empowered world," The Serenity Daemon carefully explains, donning on his Department officer's mask. "Those who have a human lover must have their memories modified should the Empowered individual passed away. I belong to a branch of the Department that specialises in it."

It’s a horrible thing to take in. Geordi struggles to comprehend that his entire world has been yank underneath his feet in a single night, and now, he realises the horror behind Camelopardalis's implication.

"They don't have anyone, Cam!" Geordi scream. "T-They said they were an orphan. They could count all the friends they have - had, oh God, Cutie! - on one hand. So please, Cam," It hurts. His heart hurts so much, but Geordi needs to exert some control over the ride that drained him of his composure and sanity. Need to move the Daemon's heart even if he has to beg. "Please don't take them away from me anymore. They don't have anyone else! Please, Cam. Please. I love them. L-Let me keep their memories."

Camelopardalis fails to hold his own tears back. Not knowing what else to do, he could only repeat the words he murmured to Geordi on the night that claimed Cutie's life.

"I'm so sorry, Geordi... I'm so so sorry for this..."

Human reflexes are nothing compared to Daemon’s. Before Geordi could do something, anything, Camelopardalis quickly put him to sleep. The Serenity Daemon smoothly catches him before Geordi fell on the floor like a doll.

"I love you, Geordi... always..."

Hearing the echo of his dear friend's voice in the recess of Geordi's mind made Camelopardalis weeps harder.

"I'll do my best to keep my promise to you, my friend," Camelopardalis murmurs, his magic gently weaving around the human's subconscious. He hums a sweet lullaby when Geordi whimpers. "I'll keep him safe for you. Know that you will forever be dearly missed by us."

Camelopardalis is not a young Daemon. He has seen his share of grief as well as serenity born from happy couples. But he has never seen a powerful bond between Geordi and his partner that not even his magic could subdue.

Perhaps this is because Geordi himself is a remarkable Unempowered human. That his love for them compensate for the loss of his memories with Cutie's habits and manners.

It awed and humbled Camelopardalis that because of Geordi, Cutie lives on.

[trexy225]

TPYH-Chapter 31: I'm Really Bad at Coming Up With Titles and Headlines

Summary: The ship dynamic between Peter and Y/N is basically Reagan and Brett from Inside Job I dunno I want a second season and they're just wholesome.

“Can you believe this?” You asked Peter, you were holding up the Daily Bugle as you both walked to work, Peter took a sip of hot chocolate and nodded.

“I was the one who took the pictures y/n.” He pointed out.

“Yes, yes it’s just… The Osborn’s, Who Would’ve Guessed? And She May Be Insane, But She’s Changing the World? And this one is the worst, Madwoman Powerhouse Dr. Osborne Won Nobel Peace Prize, Caught Talking to Herself. Who the hell is creating these titles? They suck!” You muttered angrily, you weren’t talking to yourself, you were talking to Venom, who wanted to eat the Queen of England, who they claimed aged like fine wine… 

“Yeah… They do, but I think it's better than Possessed Madwoman Infiltrates Oscorp or his entire Green Goblin conspiracy that he ran on us two years ago. And besides, you don’t need their approval, you’re amazing!” Peter reminded you.

We should eat him… Venom added.

“How can you always look on the bright side of things?” You asked, you were about to throw the newspaper in the recycling until Peter snatched it out of your hands. 

“Wait, I want to read the comics!” Peter opened the paper to the comics.

You laughed “You’re such a dork.”

“Guess what Garfield’s doing in this strip?” Peter asked.

“What?”

“Eating lasagna! I should make lasagna tonight, you know Alfred has been obsessed with it, and he’s not even orange.”

“Peter you can’t just feed him lasagna…” You started.

“No, I know, I know. He’s on your meal plan, he’s doing better… He still misses Otto.” Peter muttered.

“I do too…” You both walked in silence and entered the elevator. 

“Do you think he’ll ever come back?” You asked, you knew the answer was no, it’s been two years already, and he built that stupid portal in two weeks… He wasn’t coming back, but you never stopped thinking about him. Honestly, you didn’t even know what you would do if he did come back… Your relationship with him was gone, destroyed with the machine, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t love him, you couldn’t miss him…

“Y/n? Y/N?” Peter asked you, you blinked your eyes, and you were back in the elevator.

“Huh?” you asked.

“I was asking you if you had breakfast this morning.”

“Oh, no I didn’t have time, I was busy working on that ethics amendment and of course, I needed to take care of my animals,” you said.

“You know, I have another banana muffin? I always bring two for breakfast, do you want one?” Peter offered you a banana muffin, you took it gratefully, just like you’ve been doing for the past 2 years,

“Thanks, Peter.” you smiled.

“I always have one.” he winked.

You felt your ears turn red and you took a bite of the muffin, the elevator dinged, it was Peter's floor.

“I forgot to tell you… but Dr Connors has been acting… differently. I’ve been keeping an eye on him… But I wanted you to know… Could you also get me some security footage? Just last weeks?” he asked.

“Yes, of course… I really hope this isn’t another big bad, nobody can handle that…” you shuddered. 

“Yeah, ok I’ll see you at lunch?” Peter asked.

“Of course!” The elevator closed and you sighed, it seemed like your life had been getting back to some sense of normalcy. When you opened the door you found Gwen waiting for you.

“Oh, hey Gwen!” Your smile faltered after you saw the grim look on her face.

“I’m sorry that this might ruin your day… But Harry wanted me to tell you before The Daily Planet did…” 

“Tell me what?” You asked.

“A jogger found Doctor Otto Octavius’s body in a river… He’s dead.” Gwen told you.

“...No, that can’t be right, he went through that portal, he can’t be dead.” you fought back tears. 

“I’m afraid so… Harry was the one who confirmed the body, although his body was so damaged it-” 

“Ok, ok! T-thank you Gwen, I just, I need a minute to process this.” You ran into your office and went to your crying corner, Venom had finally figured out how to at least mimic crying… You cried a lot. 

“How did he get back?” You sobbed.

I don’t know… Do you think we can see him? Venom asked.

“Do I even want to see him? If his body is so damaged-” 

I can eat him, so he can be a part of us forever? Venom suggested.

“Stars Venom! NO! Why do you always suggest that?” You wailed.

IT’S FEEDING DAY! Venom wailed back. You both cried together for at least an hour. You knew deep, deep down that Otto was probably dead… But you never thought that he would ever come back, how did he come back? You needed to ask Harry about this, he was the one who saw Otto.

You knocked on the door to Harry's office.

“Yes?” you heard him.

“It’s me…” You sniffed.

Harry immediately opened the door and pulled you into a hug.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he muttered, you hugged him back.

“Thank you for going to see him… I couldn’t have done it.” 

“Of course, do you need the day off?” Harry asked.

You gave a sad nod and cried in his jacket. Harry stared forward in the mirror. His reflection was grinning back at him. 

This is good… She won’t need to worry about him, she can go on with her life now. It told him, Harry didn’t say anything, he just glared at him. 

“O-Ok, thank you, Harry.”

“Gwen is organizing the funeral… She’s good at those things.” Harry told you.

“I’m giving her another raise.” you sniffed.

Harry smiled and handed you a tissue, you blew your nose and tried to recompose yourself. You heard the rumors, the whispers, everyone knew about what happened between you and Otto at this point. And as far as you could tell from social cues nobody approved of it. It was doomed to fail one way or another, the only thing to do now was curl up in a ball and die.

Olivia nudged you, she was hungry. But you couldn’t move, what was the point? Another person would die, another person would beat you down to the ground again, Otto wouldn’t be next to you… And who knew how long Peter had? He was risking his life every day, he often ended up in your apartment, bruised and battered, but he always had a smile on his face… The world couldn’t take him away from you, they couldn’t if you stayed right here and you didn’t move. 

Venom was taking care of the animals for you, they were making a mess, but they were trying at least. 

“I don’t want to talk about it Peter.” You called out.

“I just brought you lunch! You need to eat!” Peter yelled through the window, he held up a bag from your favorite deli, you couldn’t help but smile. 

“He can come in.” You told Venom.

Ok, but you’re feeding me tonight. Venom grumbled as they opened the door. Peter sat next to you on the couch, he gave you your sandwich and you took a big bite out of it, he knew your sandwich order right down to the dried mango he teased you about. 

“I heard what happened…” he said sadly.

You opened your mouth to say something, but you just ended up breaking down in tears again. 

Peter stayed with you the whole day, he didn’t ask anything from you, he was just there. And that was the best thing he could have done. As it was getting dark he started to head out, you didn’t want him to go, not yet. 

“Peter?” You called out.

“Yeah?” He turned around.

You wanted to ask him to stay with you… But he’s done so much already, you were being selfish.

“Nothing, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” you backed out and sighed.

“Oh… Ok, I’ll tell Alfred you said hi, ok?” Peter smiled as he left. 

Finally… Venom grumbled. 

“Just get it over with… only eat bad guys!” you warned.

Of course, they taste the best anyway. Venom took over and you fell asleep, you didn’t want to know who they ate… You just wanted sleep.

The 911 call was a false alarm, some homeless man was ranting about some big black monster, taking him to the clinic.

Is it some kind of drug? We’ve been starting a case file against whatever this big black monster is… 

I don’t know, I’ll look into it. 

Peter turned off the police radio and furrowed his eyebrows, he’s been trying to catch whoever this monster is, but he always arrived too late… Who were they? And how could he stop something if he had no idea who he needed to stop?

[monstersqueen]

Wooden overcoats !!! S01E02 - Flowers for Chapman

2 things to say :

one, chapman started it;

two, ah, piffling vale. the bloodthirsty mob.

We’re working ourselves ragged trying to scrape together enough to pay those instalments on the new kettle

... i don't know if it's a commentary on the price of kettle or indication that even this early on the funns were already broke.

anyway i understand why customer would rather go to the one who doesn't scream bloody murder when you ask for a buffet.

ANTIGONE: We can’t go on like this, Rudyard! RUDYARD: We’re not going to. ANTIGONE: Cyanide pills? RUDYARD: Not yet.

ok im going to assume antigone is jumping to suicide and rudyard is jumping to murder, because if i assume they're both thinking about suicide i'm. not going to like it very much.

of course maybe they're BOTH jumping to murder. and rudyard is the one not yet there.

GEORGIE: I was talking to Agatha at the sweet shop and she said that Eric’s been going to the market every day and buying out the entire supply of flowers.

no seriously chapman started it.

RUDYARD: Twenty-one. Seek, seeks, wreck, wreckage, disturb, disrupt, destroy, sabotage, funeral, next, revenge, kill, beat, rival, must, go, room, only, for, one, indigo. GEORGIE: Any inspiration? RUDYARD: (BEAT) No. No, nothing at all. Perhaps another round – wait a minute. Wait... Yes. Yes! Of course! Words! GEORGIE: Wreck, wreckage, disrupt, destroy – yeah! RUDYARD: No, not these words, words! We write an advert and put it in the local paper!

and, seriously, putting an ad in the newspaper - after trying to get flowers - is still. really not over the top. it's even normal i'd say. especially contrasted with the inspiration in the words isn't it?

unlike the guy buying ALL the flowers for a publicity stunt (...*thinks about chapman's immediate past* - yeah ok i can see why he would want to honor every grave)

GEORGIE: I’m busy in the morning. If we’ve got a funeral tomorrow, I need to repair the transport. RUDYARD: I mean, we could walk? Like we used to? Strapping a coffin to the back of a moped does lack a certain finesse. GEORGIE: Speed and efficiency, sir.

question : are the funns trying not to spend money because they don't have any or because they're just mean petty little people ?

signs point to : they're broke.

RUDYARD: (BEAT) You? ANTIGONE: Yes. RUDYARD: Go outside? ANTIGONE: Yes!

episode 2 and chapman is already provoking positive change.

Antigone is going outside !

Antigone slipped into the all-over outdoor suit that she’d received as an eighteenth birthday present from her long deceased mother

dont mind me just keeping track of the funns parents.

ANTIGONE: Here we are then. Daytime. (BEAT) It’s not a bit like I remembered it. Still, this is what normal people experience. (BEAT) Antigone, you are a normal person. You are a perfectly ordinary, everyday person. (BEAT) Better put the helmet on.

antigone. antigone, darling. i've listened to all four seasons of wooden overcoats, and let me tell you : you're underselling yourself if you think you're a normal person. you are extraordinary and you have every right to take pride in it.

ANTIGONE: (D) Has Chapman bought them all? PETUNIA: Now I can’t disclose the confidential identity of my newest and most attractive client, can I?

chapman started it.

PETUNIA: I often forget myself. How ‘bout we discuss it over a glass of something tonight? Say eight o’clock? ERIC: Afraid I’ve already got something laid on for this evening. PETUNIA: What’s her name? (CACKLES) ERIC: (POLITE CHUCKLE) Very good. Right, what have we got here...

love how uncomfortable - and used to it - he obviously is.

ANTIGONE: (DEEP SMELL) Oh! They smell just like the old lady we’ve got lying in our mortuary! ERIC: Sure. ANTIGONE: That’s a good thing. ERIC: Is it? Right.

he's so confused by her. love it. she's a mortician dude. of course most of her references includes corpses !

ANTIGONE: “As Soon as Possible”. (BEAT) I mean, no, I shouldn’t be talking. Company secrets. I’ve said too much. ERIC: I won’t steal them. ANTIGONE: Why not, you’re the competition! Goodbye. ERIC: Antigone, wait – do you want to grab a coffee sometime? ANTIGONE: Caffeine makes my hair turn green. ERIC: You’ve got some great ideas; I’d just love to discuss the business with you. Friendly competition! How about it?

...kinda want to slap him for that.

ERIC: I look forward to it! I mean- MOPED SPEEDS AWAY. ... That was a silly thing to say.

no but the way you can see he DOES truly fancy georgie at the beginning by the way he's. clumsy about it.

(he'll be even worse with antigone it's wonderful)

(it's not that i ship it it's that. i like seeing erci embarrass himself.)

(yes i want you to imagine chapman beign THAT awkward over rudyard and rudyard not noticing and being STILL is unbearable self at chapman. it's even better)

RUDYARD: I just thought it was embalming, how difficult could it be? ANTIGONE: Very difficult indeed!!!

rudyard. rudyard why.

RUDYARD: Oh for – Antigone, these are gardenias, I expressly asked for lilies- ANTIGONE: GET OUT!!

yeah he deserves that.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) Rudyard left the office with a deserved sense of elation and confidence. He’d grabbed a bull by the horns, turned it round, and placed an advertisement into a local newspaper. Today nothing could stop him.

rudyard is so very relatable sometimes.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) The funeral of Mrs Coddrington was a thoroughly miserable affair and thus, Rudyard felt, an overwhelming success.

well yes. it's a funeral.

GEORGIE: Bloody ‘ell, Eric’s on every page. “Putting the fun in funerals.” Two, three, four, six-

EXCUSE ME CHAPMAN STARTED IT.

anyway now they've run out of rational options, time for the dark comedy of rudyard putting in places doomed schemes that always turned against him.

ANTIGONE: You can’t sabotage a funeral! RUDYARD: I’m not sabotaging a funeral, I’m sabotaging a cheap, tawdry promotion that tarnishes the very name of the funerary practice – it’d be a crime not to do it!

well i mean. he's not really wrong.

MADELEINE: (V.O.) I wasn’t eager to engage in sabotage but – after all – Rudyard did allow me to live in the skirting board rent free, so I owed him something. I sat in his top pocket as he hurried over to the funeral of old Colonel Kevin Hubbard, who had mistaken a grenade for a can of diet cola and had accidentally detonated himself.

indeed. also : what even is that cause of death.

RUDYARD: No, Madeleine, you can’t plug your new book! (BEAT) Wait, what new book-

*side eyes rudyard* wow, you really do forget things about other people as soon as you notice them, don't you.

this said he DOES understand madeleine, so.

JERRY: What an appalling man! TANYA: And not even wearing any trousers! RUDYARD: They’re just very short! I need to buy another pair!

oh eh the funns are broke by the way.

(ruining a funeral IS really awful, though, so i understand the outrage. on the otehr hand, here goes piffling, already kicking rudyard. it's sure going to be fun...)