#Frank Vernon could never

[jimgandolfini]

there’s this scene in the savages when peter friedman is smiling and carrying his big ol labrador and this part where laura linney hits him for mentioning his wife to her (his mistress) and this part where he says let’s fuck on the floor i want you to feel how hard i am and this part where laura linney is talking about her serious health anxieties and he’s just like mmhmm sure whatever and just continues to try to initiate sex

and i think that’s so beautiful

[asilosmagdalena]

Love that Krank girlies are finally winning. This article is two years old btw. David Rasche your mind

[iloveelvisss]

Little Sister

AN: okay so this one's a little bit on the long side, sorry. I have given Y/N's sister and dad a name, so I hope you don't mind. Request things please!!

1948

You were ten years old when you got a new neighbor. A man, his wife and their son. Your momma went over to welcome them to Memphis right away. She told them how wonderful the city was and how if you listened just right, you could hear Beale Street come alive at night all the way from your run down apartment building.

The week after your momma invited them across the hallway to eat dinner at your place. Your older sister, age thirteen was beyond excited to finally meet the boy your mother had revealed was also thirteen.

"Well hi there! Aren't you both just beautiful?" The mother of the boy looked between your sister and you as she walked inside your apartment. "My name is Gladys, this here is Elvis." She pointed to the boy, Elvis, who was standing in a very awkward stance beside her. "And that guy back there is my husband Vernon." She gave you a smile that looked like the most genuine and loving smile ever, you knew you were already going to love this family.

After shaking hands with Elvis and Vernon, all three of you children were sent to play while Gladys and you mother cooked, your fathers talking about god knows what. "You got any friends yet Elvis?" Your obnoxious sister asked. "You two I guess." He grinned.

Two weeks later and your families got along like they had always known each other. Elvis had also grown a liking to calling you his 'little sister' or 'little' for short. Living in that stupid apartment building suddenly wasn't so bad.

•••

1951

When you were thirteen and Elvis and your sister were sixteen was the first time Elvis had asked your sister on a date. What they didn't know was that you had a crush on Elvis. But a crush was all it would ever be, a meaningless secret that would nag at the back of your mind forever. You made a vow that you would never tell Elvis or your sister.

You were still 'little' to Elvis, and boy did he rub it in. Every time he got the chance he got he would constantly remind you that you were his 'little' and that's how he liked it.

"Mary where are you going this time?" You asked your sister, poking your head through her door. She had on one of her best dresses, loads of makeup and the latest trending hairstyle. She was always so beautiful, getting every boy in town she ever wanted. You felt as if you were boring.. ugly.

That's why your crush on Elvis would only ever be a crush and nothing more, you were his boring 'little' while Mary was gorgeous. The only thing you were ever praised for was being the honest and nice sister.

In a tone indicating that she thought you were stupid, "Elvis is taking me out to the movies. Looks like I'm his new 'little'." She said, jutting out her bottom lip like a toddler. Your blood boiled at that.

"You shut up! All you ever do if ruin everyone's lives." And with that you slammed her door closed and made your way downstairs. Your braided pigtails and skirt bounced as you stomped down the staircase.

You grabbed your book and took your place on the corner of the sofa. The sweet sound of Frank Sinatra's voice coming from your momma's record player. *knock-knock*

Elvis.

Instead of answering the door yourself you waited for your father or mother to answer, remembering the scolding you got from her last time you answered. "Elvis, my boy! How wonderful to see you!" Your momma's voice came from the door of your little apartment. "Hi. It's great to see you too!" The voice that constantly invaded your brain rung through the house.

You quickly turned your gaze back to your book when she came leading him into the living room. "Oh Mary told me about y'all's little date. How sweet of you." She smiled while squeezing his shoulder. "I'm gonna go find Stuart, Y/N you keep Elvis good company you hear!" You didn't get a chance to answer before she disappeared.

You felt Elvis sit down on the sofa next to you. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, they were matching his small smile. "How are ya 'little'?" It rolled off his tongue so easily. You rolled your eyes, "Elvis I'm only three years younger than you. I am not little!"

"Ya didn't answer my question, 'little'." An amused smirk was smeared across his face now. "I'm fine." Was the only thing you could manage to get out, partially out of annoyance but mostly because that smirk gave you butterflies. You crossed your arms and avoided looking at him.

He pulled at the ends of your pigtails and took a breath. "You will always be my 'little' Y/N and that's-"

"How ya like it, yeah I get it E." You swat his hands away which caused his fingertips to graze the back of your neck, sending vibrations through your entire body. He pulled away in an instant.

You stood up turning towards him. "Mary's comin' down," you motioned to the stairs creaking, "it was nice to see ya. Good night Elvis." You forced a slight smile and turned for the stairs. "Good night Y/N." You barely heard it.

As you trudged up, you brushed shoulders with Mary. "Have a swell night sis, pretty soon he won't remember you're there." With a sickly sweet giggle she was gone. Oh how you wished Elvis or your parents had heard that, she'd be grounded before she could blink.

You went to sleep that night with the ghost of Elvis's fingers on your neck. You dreamed that one day he'd realize who Mary truly was.

•••

1953

It had been two years since Mary and Elvis started dating. For the first half of 52' you had to watch in misery, the other half was when you met Charles. He was in Elvis's grade.

Charles was very sweet and you fell in love with him within three months. You spent the summer of 52' loving him. A week before school started back up he and his family moved away.

"I love you Y/N, a lot. But I think it will hurt less if we break things off now." Charles held both your hands in his own.

You nodded, letting the tears stream down your face. "I understand Charlie, maybe one day we'll see each other again." You paused to wipe away the single tear that rolled down his cheek. "I love you."

That was the last time you saw Charles Johnson. You cried for a couple weeks until it turned into nothing more than a hard topic that you ignored. But with Charles gone your brain pushed back up feelings for Elvis that you avoided for the sake of Charles.

Now it was 1953, the year that changed your life. A little over a week ago Elvis took Mary to a movie, only for her to ditch him in the middle of it with another boy.

Needless to say they broke up, and not in a good way either. They pretty well hated each other it seemed like. During that week Elvis took to spending his time with you, which resulted in you two becoming more close than you had ever been. Best friends in a sense.

He had only gotten better looking. What you didn't know was that he took a notice to the way you had grown over the course of two years. Your body had matured quite a bit, and your face had only turned prettier if that was possible.

This particular day was very hot. The two of you had taken to the ice cream parlor down the street from the apartment complex. "I've been thinking a lot lately Y/N."

"Hmm. About?" You met his eyes as you licked your ice cream. He looked away quickly before continuing. "You 'member when you said I'd go far with my singin'?" He asked. You nodded with a smile.

He finally caught your gaze again, grinning from ear to ear. "Sam Phillips, well he's gonna let me record something! Down at Sun Records on Beale Street!" His grin only grew, causing you to join in.

"Well Lord have Mercy, E! You mean your gonna sign with him?!" Goodness you were so happy for him. "He's givin' me a chance to prove myself 'little'."

You had both finished your ice cream and were now standing outside. At that moment you didn't care about the heat, you got up on your tippy-toes and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His arms rested around your waist as you breathed in the scent of him. As you pulled away you saw something swirl in his eyes. When you noticed how close you were to his face, you took a step back.

"Whew, well we best be getting back. Our mommas will kill us if we're late for supper." You gave a breathy chuckle, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You walked home together and separated into your apartments. That single moment on both your minds. Though Elvis was bound and determined to make you his.

—

Two days later you were rushing down Beale Street. You desperately wanted to be there for Elvis. When you made it, you somehow convinced Sam to let you in.

You were hidden to where E couldn't see you, but you could definitely see him. Oh goodness was it a sight to see too. You were mesmerized by the way he moved, mixed with his magnificent voice, it was probably one of the most angelic things you had ever come across.

After Elvis was done and figured out you were there, you watched as he was signed to Sun Records. You just knew he was going to be big one day.

Now the two of you were stood outside. "My god, can you believe it Y/N?!" He was the definition of happy at that moment. "This is amazing E. You deserve it!" You grinned.

He took a step closer. "This is all thanks to you..."

Another step. "Jesus, you're the best Y/N."

And another. "Do you know that?"

His hands were making their way to your waist. "Elvis.." You whispered.

"Y/N." He whispered back. In one swift movement he had pulled you as close as you could get, his lips connecting with yours. Something ignited in your stomach, causing you to respond. You deepened the kiss.

He smiled against your lips then pulled away. "I've been wanting to do that, ya know?" He smirked, resting his forehead against yours.

"So have I."

Heyyy, so it seems as though my crazy little brain just wants to get all my past imagines onto Tumblr, so bear with me as I do so. (This is a 3 parter, btw). Much love😙

[moonlightdreamzz]

THIN APOLOGIES / PART 1

SUMMARY ✰ Mark is your boyfriend, and Vernon is your best friend. You're sick of Mark not treating you right, and Vernon is too. He's also sick of watching from the sidelines when he knows no one can make you happier than him.

PAIRING ✰ Idol!Mark x Idol!Reader x Idol!Vernon

GENRE ✰ ANGST & FLUFF

NOTE ✰ This is actually the first story I ever wrote in my entire life three years ago. It’s my baby. I said to myself, I should rewrite this because the original version was written like the beginner I was at the time. I hope you all enjoy. It’s so good.

© moonlightdreamzz

Blonde by Frank Ocean has been playing on loop for hours over your speakers. For what seems like days, your gaze has been fixed on the candle blazing in front of you. There are numerous reasons why you can't take your eyes off its flame—the first being that if you do, you'll be forced to see all of the decorations and food you prepared for Mark, who has decided for the third time in a row that you aren't important enough to show up for. All of his favorite things are strewn throughout your living room, unused.

The second reason you can't tear your gaze away from the flame is that you're intrigued. The lavender-scented wax is nearing the end of its life after being used for so long. What happens when there’s none left? Does the flame die peacefully? Or does the jar burn and combust, leaving you regretting not extinguishing the flame sooner?

Sick isn't the word to describe how your boyfriend has made you feel over the past few months. You’ve tried to see the positives of his absence right now, but it’s utterly impossible. What could you say to yourself? At least you got ditched in the comfort of your own home this time, Y/N? And not in a restaurant, or a random parking lot his manager drove you to?

Mark always has his excuses of course. His favorite one to use was that you don’t understand the sacrifices it takes to be an idol. When the two of you first began to have issues, you took those words to heart. You know how much he’s sacrificed to be where he is, and you never wanted him to think you were that girl—the girl who got in a relationship with an idol and acted like she didn’t know what she was signing up for. As time passed, you realized that he was just manipulating you.

He’s so good at it too. Or maybe he’s just an incredibly beautiful man, whose doe eyes could convince anybody that he indeed is a good person—he just doesn’t think sometimes. You just wish he’d understand that you indeed do understand his life, it’s simply his unfulfilled promises that are so incredibly frustrating. Summer Walker once said, “it doesn’t matter how hard I I try, I say it nice, yell it out loud, write it down, I’m tired.” She damn sure was right.

“Why plan a date you can’t come to? Just tell me it’ll be awhile before I’ll see you again.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I thought I could make it.”

Your phone begins vibrating on your coffee table infront of you, interrupting the reflecting that you’re tired of doing anyways. You know it’s Mark, back again with whatever his reason is this time for not showing up. For a second, you consider not picking it up. Maybe if he knew what it felt like to be abandoned, he’d stop doing it to you.

You inhale deeply before picking up the phone, surprised at whose name is popping up.

“Vernon?” You whisper to yourself. You feel a brief burst of happiness before immediately shifting to concern due to the time of night.

You and Vernon have been close friends since debut. Some would say it’s because you two are the English speakers of your group, but you only saw that as a plus in your friendship. In reality, Vernon was a quirky, artsy, adorably curious boy, and you always felt this weird urge to…protect him. You figure he was drawn to how you never judged him, and how open you were about what you referred to as “Vernon’s philosophies”. He got your jokes, and you pretended you understood his. The rest is history.

Laughter escapes your throat, scaring you simultaneously as you can’t remember the last time you genuinely found anything funny. In the midst of your giggles, Vernon begins to FaceTime you, and you don’t hesitate to answer the phone.

You can see through the phone how hard he’s trying to be irritated with you, but you also notice how bad he’s failing at doing so. The corner of his pink lips are twitching, and his hooded eyes are melting along with it as neither of you break virtual eye contact with each other. This only makes you laugh even harder. His flawless features don’t hold long, and he’s smirking boyishly now.

“You really think this is funny, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well you know what I think is funny right now? You’re alone right now.” He jokes.

“Ha ha,” You laugh sarcastically, “Am I really this worthless? Like be honest.” You question, a sad smile naturally creeping onto your features as reality attempts to set back in.

Vernon’s eyes roll aggressively, followed by a deep inhale. You know him. He wants to tell you about yourself, and remind you of all the times you promised him you’d have more confidence, just to end up asking him questions like this in the end. It takes him longer than you expected to find kind words to say to you, but you appreciate the fact that he cares enough to spare you, because he wouldn’t do it for anyone else.

“Don’t ever call yourself worthless. He’s the worthless one. If he can’t see how amazing you are,that’s his problem and you shouldn’t just sit here and take it, Y/N. That’s not even like you.”

“But…I love him.”

“Yeah...that always sucks doesn’t it?” He says, almost as if he’s speaking to himself and not you. “I know it’s late, but how about I come keep you company Y/N?. You deserve to be happy for at least a few hours don’t you think?” He chuckles.

He’s no longer looking directly at you. He’s looking at whatever is below him now. Vernon coming to keep you company isn’t a terrible idea. Right now, you so deeply crave to be around someone who actually cares about you, and he’s a clear candidate.

“Yeah! Let me get dressed and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Do really think I’d let you leave your house at this hour to do anything for me?”

“Well, how else are you gonna get here? You don’t have a car and I know your manager is knocked out.”

His boyish smile returns, and you already know a sarcastic comment is closer than around the corner. “You ever heard of uber?”

Now you’re the one rolling your eyes. Was this okay? I mean, the two of you are only friends, but Dispatch nor fans would care about that if they so happened to be stalking you. Him coming over late could turn into a whole situation that you aren’t in the mood to hear about.

“What if you get caught?” You question, although unconsciously do you begin to tidy up in your living room.

“I didn’t.”

He didn’t? Was he already—

Your doorbell ringing interrupts your thoughts.

“Vernon!” You scream through the phone, so many questions running through your mind.

“Are you going to let me in, or are we gonna hangout from outside the door?” He snickers slyly.

You should have known he was up to no good the moment you couldn't identify where he was from his surroundings. All you saw was darkness, but you imagined he was walking around his neighborhood or simply in the dark, because that was so Vernon.

With precision and quickness, you run to the door and open it. You’re still dolled up; face beat like it’s prom night from the date you should’ve been wrapping up by now. Vernon steps in, and for a second it seems like he’s frozen in place. It’s embarrassing, as you often got reactions like this when you dressed up because without an occasion, you were going to choose sweatpants, a graphic tee, and crocs everytime.

“Woah.” He utters.

“What? You just saw me on the phone, Vernon.” You question amusingly before walking to your kitchen to grab him a water.

“Thank you.” He whispers as he takes it out of your hand. “It’s just…you’re so…ugly.”

You know that he thinks you’re going to hit him immediately, so you wait an extra second before punching him lightly in his stomach.

“Shut up!” You laugh, loudly this time. It’s a rare occurrence these days for anything to unconsume your mind of Mark Lee, but Vernon’s doing that with ease right now. “You stay your ass right there and I’ll be back. I should probably take all this off.” You whisper while pointing to you and all your current glory.

“Take your time.” Vernon utters, no funny business in the room now. His smile is gentle as he nudges you towards your room.

You began walking in slow motion down your hallway. “Oh trust me, I will.” It doesn’t take you long to strip down to your natural state. You remove your clothes first, settling on a gray t-shirt you’ve had for years. If you didn’t have company, you’d stop it at that. You decide on some matching gray pajama shorts. The sight of Mark’s clothes in the drawer pisses you off all over again. As you remove your makeup, you can't help but squeal with delight. The wipes that you bought in replacement of the ones that took way too many to clean your face, was worth the investment.

The final touch is your bonnet, which you slip on your head with ease. Your icy feet drag over the hallway floor, a flood of fatigue washing over you.

“Awe.” Vernon coos when you reappear. In the midst of you getting ready for bed, he carefully placed all of the decorations you left out for Mark out of sight in the kitchen. He really wanted to throw it away, but that wasn’t his decision to make. Netflix is waiting for two of you.

“Don’t awe me.” You plop yourself on the couch so hard you’re pretty sure Vernon levitates for a second. You push the button to recline your seat, shutting your eyes right and leaning your head back with a sigh. “Thank you, Vernon.” You say the second you realize he cleaned up your clutter. The room feels less heavy now that you’re not forced to look at your wasted hard work. You feel his gaze on you, but energetically, you can’t interpret why he’s staring at you. You’ll settle on pity.

“Ah, I haven’t done much. Plus, you’ve always been there for me.”

Your comfort turns into guilt, recalling all the times you haven’t been there for your close friend in the midst of you and Mark’s relationship crashing. “Not like this.” You utter.

“Well, no you haven’t surprised me with a big box of donuts and a new video game,” He chuckles, “But you’ve been there for me. A lot of times unknowingly, if I’m being honest. Your presence alone…does a lot for me—I mean, for people.” He rambles. “Plus, I’m one of a kind, anyways.”

A smile creeps onto your features at him teasing you lovingly. You’re beginning to doze off, which typically makes you stare at things unintentionally. Your target tonight is Vernon, who is sitting extremely close to you right now. Your hand begins to entangle themselves in his locs, causing his eyes to flutter in relaxation.

“Enough about me.” You protest softly, “What’s going on in the life of Hansol, hm?”

“Nothing much,” He whispers, enjoying the feeling of your hands running through his scalp. His eyes are stuck on the ceiling, but you know he’s still listening to you. “I’m like a robot these days. I wake up, go to practice, go back to the dorm, sleep, repeat.”

“Why didn’t eat make the list?”

“Oh yeah, that too. But you know me. If I have to pick between sleeping and eating, I’m picking the first option.”

“Oh I know.” You can’t count on one hand the amount of times you scolded Vernon for sleeping too much, even though you do the same thing the second you get a break from schedules.

“Too much of a good thing, is a bad thing, Vernon.”

“Not everything.” He whispers, seemingly dazed out now. You’re ceiling wasn’t that interesting. He has something on his mind, but you’re not sure if you want to pick his brain. If he wanted you to know what’s on his mind, he’d say it. At the same time, you’re his right hand woman, and he’ll just have to deal with you being in his business.

Your eyebrows raise in an interrogative fashion. “Give me an example?”

“You.” He says simply. His eyes lock themselves into yours confidently, but you’re unsure how to feel. What was he trying to say? Is he flirting? Is he just being kind? It’s always been so hard for you to understand him when he gets like this.

“What about me?” Is all you can manage. You’re not sure why you’re nervous now, but you are. You hope you’re not making it obvious that his comment has made your breathing unsteady.

“I’m just saying it’s impossible to get tired of you. ‘Too much’ of you,” he air quotes, “would make the world a much better place.”

“You think so?” You question genuinely. “Mark doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Mark is a fucking idiot.” He spits out.

“I’m not gonna disagree.”

“I mean look at everything you did for him today, just for him to not show up?” Vernon begins to frantically point in all directions of your home, including at yourself as well as your kitchen. “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t come home to this?”

Silence is the only thing you can provide right now. One because he’s right, but two, because you’ve never seen Vernon so riled up on your behalf. He was the one always talking you off cliffs, not the other way around.

“Sorry,” He clears his throat. His voice is back to his regular tone now.

“Don’t be. Thank you for caring about me.”

You don’t know why, but you feel a desire to nuzzle into Vernon’s shoulder, so you do. Naturally, he wraps his arm around your shoulder to allow you more comfortability. Maybe it’s wrong, maybe it’s not, but it doesn’t feel wrong being in his arms right now. You know if you consider Mark, you should pull away, but when’s the last time Mark considered you?

“Is this okay?” He questions, his tone a mixture of hope and concern as he’s likely reading your mind right now. He had a knick for that when it came to you.

“It’s okay.” You decide. I mean, who’s going to catch you?

The two of you lay like that for the remainder of the night, watching a movie that Vernon puts on, but you can't concentrate. All you can think of is how you're lying in the arms of another man, your heart fluttering. That isn't supposed to happen. However, your thoughts are brief because you quickly find yourself dozing off in his arms that feel as if they never want to let you go.

It’s the wee hours of the morning when your phone rings, and then vibrates, indicating someone has called and texted you.

You and Vernon sleep through it.

TO BE CONTINUED

© moonlightdreamzz

[wqnwoos]

again, ot13 or unit, but songs that you think are them coded?

seungcheol — clap (svt) and the only reason because i saw a clip of him performing it live before i got into svt and !!! it lives rent free in my brain !!!!!! BUT ALSO!! no blueberries (dpr ian, dpr live and cl) i love that song i want to write a fic abt it one day

jeonghan — k. (cigarettes after sex) bc it’s so calming & soft i kind of love it okay

joshua — that’s my girl (frank sativa) but idk why it just. it’s giving joshua. i love that song sm. alternatively moonlight (dhruv) is such a cute song i think he could fit that too!!

jun — are you bored yet (wallows ft. clairo) cause it’s just such a cute gentle song i love it sm 💗

hoshi — dance, baby! (boy pablo) it’s such a cute funky song it always makes me smile!!!

wonwoo — fool for you (zayn) it’s one of his most popular songs for a REASON okay it’s so good 😭

woozi — ok i have two which are je te lasserai des mots (patrick watson) AND!! i love you so by the walters. i don’t really know why they fit but to me they make a lot of sense I DONR KNKW this is so stressful omg

dk — yellow (coldplay) bc he literally embodies the colour yellow omfg. but also i would do anything for you (foster the people)

mingyu — blind (role model) bc it’s so cute and upbeat and idk i’ve never seen anyone like mingyu <3

minghao — affection (betweenfriends) convinced this song has something laced in it i listened exclusively to this for like 3 months at one point. but anyway. v minghao coded idk also like real people do (hozier) was another option!

seungkwan — honeybee (the head and the heart) ITS SUCH A CUTE SONGGG OMFG i love it and i think it fits him idk <3 “we made a garden of the love we found / so many reasons i would fight to stay” AHHHH

vernon — stargazing (the neighbourhood) and honestly i didn’t have this in mind at first but it came up while i was writing this post and i was like hmmm… but originally i was going to put pilot jones (frank ocean) bc it’s one of my fav songs and i know vernon also likes frank ocean

dino — i wanna be yours (arctic monkeys) bc it just. suits him!! idk!!! it’s such a good song too ugh </3 alternatively parents house by kid bloom!!

[aliypop]

HEAD CANONS FOR MY EP FANFIC OC

CECELIA VALMOS

SO these headcanons are more so her earlier years, but I hope you all like her she lives in my brain rent-free!

Cecelia Valmos was born on January 7th 1935 In North Carolina

Elvis and Cecelia met, actually during the Louisiana Hayride in which her mother brought her along to a one night only concert of hers.

The Hayride performance was the reason Cecelia really took music seriously, not that she didn't before, but her mother was a famous jazz singer, and Cecelia preferred Blues and Rock n Roll

Cecelia wouldn't say while starting her career under her mothers label that she was obsessed with Elvis, but when the two started playing gigs on the same stage, she had wanted nothing more than for him to notice her.

When Cecelia and her mother decided to open a recording studio in Memphis and keep their NYC studio open, she didn't think she'd find herself running into Elvis so much especially in Beale Street

Cecelia loves Mustang cars the way Elvis loves Cadillacs

Cecelia would sneak out of her mothers tour Rehersals if she knew Elvis was in town.

Cecelia and the colonel don't exactly see eye to eye, but not as much as Her mother and the colonel don't.

When Cecelia finally got to meet Elvis, it was at Club Handy by the doing of BB King.

Cecelia, in her early career, was very well seen as risqué for her choices in dresses, the nearly skin-tight pencil skirt dresses, and her outrageous rockabilly hair, thus earning her the title of " The lady Elvis."

It was a compliment until it wasn't... although it never was a compliment in the first place.

When the two did start dating, both their managers agreed it was safer for them to hide their relationship rather than be open about it.

They were bad about hiding it.

Cecelia had a huge crush on James Dean, Frank Sinatra, and Cab Calloway growing up.

She's a Betty Boop Fanatic.

A Billy Holiday Fan

And Ella Fitzgerald

Her favorite superhero is Wonder Woman

She inspires to be a bombshell like the classic Hollywood greats.

When Elvis was drafted, she was devastated. She'd go go Graceland every day wondering if he was back yet.

Gladys found her dedication to writing him letters very sweet.

However, Cecelia would barely eat or drink anything unless she knew he was okay.

Vernon couldn't get her to even sleep.

When Gladys passed and he returned, she refused to leave him. She gave him space but equally grieved. Knowing how it is to be close to one's mother, she could only imagine the pain he felt.

Her death impacted her mother, learning that Gladys and her mother Denise were friends when she had her first tour down south and Gladys, although not having much housed her when no one else would.

Cecelia and Elvis both have nicknames for each other, Babydoll and Sugar pie.

Elvis and Cecelia have been known for having conversations via eyebrows.

Cecelia's favorite show is I love Lucy

Although in her early 20s it wasn't her favorite genre so she'd say, but if Elvis were to ask her to sing it, she'd sing dream a little dream of me as she's scratching his head.

This usually gets him to fall asleep instantly

Cecelia is a morning person .

Shes a film fanatic.

Elvis caught her a few times while on set, saying how she'd make the movie better if she had her way.

Her favorite movie of Elvis's is King Creole, it holds a soft spot in her heart.

Not only can she play guitar, but violin and it's rare if she plays it.

They once went to go see Birds, and Cecelia was terrified to leave the house for a week.

Elvis once took her to a carnival and took her on the ferris Wheel in which she had her eyes closed until they were back on solid ground.

These are just a few head canons I have, but there's a lot more coming!

Taglist

@darkmoviesquotespizza

[pynkhues]

Hello, have an excerpt from the very silly misc period arranged mrriage Kendall x Stewy fic.

-

The word of the visit comes not from their father, as they’d always anticipated it might, but Lord Vernon, who delivers the news with characteristically little fanfare.

“The Hosseini’s?” Shiv asks, eyebrow raised as she glances back between her brothers, making no secret of trying to gauge their reactions. Kendall doesn’t look back, doesn’t – can’t – give her that yet, because she’d only see he was as surprised as she was. Not a good look. He rolls his shoulders back, focusing instead on the patient set to his godfather’s face as Shiv adds: “Since when has Dad been interested in the Southern houses anyway?”

“I mean, he married Marcia,” Roman says, and Kendall sends him a sharp look. 

“Marcia is loyal to the North,” he corrects, parroting their father, and Roman rolls his eyes, mutters something that sounds a lot like loyal to dad’s wrinkled dick, which Kendall ignores in favour of turning his attention back to his godfather.

“The borders have been wobbling since the last war, you all know that, and the Hosseini’s are a powerful family,” Lord Vernon says with a shrug. “And one gaining territory. There’s been a lot of talk of their expansion into the East – they’ve got favour through the ancient spice routes and they’ve been consolidating along the seaboard for years. A union gives your father access to all of that.”

“And them access to our land, our iron stores, our - - our knowledge hubs, the - - the - - the fucking entire North and West,” Kendall interjects, and Frank makes another vague gesture like what can you do?

“The idea would be mutual benefit.”

“Uh-huh,” Shiv says, standing up from the velvet chaise, her deep emerald gown dragging across the stone floor as she moves to pour herself a drink. “And they have only one son?”

Lord Vernon hums in affirmation.

“Sadeq Hosseini. Crown prince, political and military strategist, he served from behind the line during the last war, but has been pretty focused since on his father’s bid to expand the Hosseini house through trade, tactical partnerships, occasional hostile takeovers. He’s…effective. An asset to his father and his house.”

The word lands heavy, and Kendall’s gaze drops, posture tightening before he can stop it, and it’s nothing, really, it’s not, but also - -

A memory, sharp, sudden.

His dad’s hand, grip firm, nails digging into the back of his neck.

Useless fucking boy.  

He swallows.

“So crown prince means - - me, then?” Shiv asks, tone dry, and Kendall looks back up, catches his sister’s pinched look across the cabinet – a room she’d usually be barred from – and his gut loosens. “I’m the one being put forward as match?”

The question isn’t entirely unreasonable. Same-sex marriages aren’t unheard of in any of the kingdoms, particularly in strategic unions, but they’re usually reserved for second or third born children. For the offspring where succession becomes a question merely of personal assets and feelings and doesn’t carry the weight of house, land and title.  

Where political partnership is more important than the continuation of a family line.

“While nothing is agreed to yet, we assume they’ll be after a match who can produce heirs, yes,” Lord Vernon says delicately, and Shiv strides forwards, then back, pacing, which honestly, Kendall thinks is a bit fucking dramatic. They all knew this was her path, and she’s still young, yes, but older than most of the girls of her station who’ve already been married off. Their father’s never exactly made a secret of wanting to keep Shiv in the family house for as long as he could, his favourite child, his only daughter and all that shit, but there’s few decisions he won’t make for strategic advantage.

“Shahbanu Siobhan has a certain ring to it,” Roman says, amusement thick in his voice from his position against the mantle. “We’ll visit. Maybe. If you play good wife.”

“Nothing’s agreed to yet,” Shiv bites, then she turns back to Lord Vernon, who only sighs in her general direction, leaving Shiv re-directing her ire at them. “Right? Maybe Dad means to marry one of you two assholes off. Finally get you out of his hair.”

Which - - okay.

Kendall huffs, shaking his head.  

“Come on, Shiv.”

And yeah, alright, it was the wrong thing to say probably, given any attempt at implying Shiv was being unreasonable was usually seen as enemy fire. She zeroes in on him, mouth a bow, words an arrow. She shoots from the fucking teeth.

“What’s that? Oh, you think you’re safe, huh, Ken? Why? Connor’s the true heir, it’s his job to make the next little princes, you’re a spare just like me and Rome.”

It lands is the thing, breaks skin, hits bone, and he knows she knew it would, and it takes all he can not to let her see him smart. Still, he can’t quite stop himself from shifting his weight or curling his toes, especially when Roman snorts and chimes in.

“More spare, even,” he adds. “Since Shiv’s got some other house’s prince maker between her legs and I’ve got the good looks and charm kingdoms go to war over. Best I stay unattached, for the sake of peace and shit. You though? You’re ripe to be saddled with the enemy.”

[nitrateglow]

Beyond its general weirdness, what fascinates me most about Deadhead Miles is the obscurity of its production history. I’ve done research trying to find out the general timeline of this strange odyssey’s creation, but with every new scrap of information I encounter, the questions remain. It doesn’t help that all the principal players in the film’s production remain reluctant to discuss it as anything but an unfortunate embarrassment.

Here’s what I’ve encountered:

Everyone was enthusiastic about Terrence Malick’s script. Malick was a few years away from his directorial debut, but in the late 60s and early 70s, he was an up-and-coming screenwriter. He contributed to drafts of existing scripts and penned a few of his own. Deadhead Miles was one of these and according to a production report from the time, Cooper was based on someone Malick once knew (though this could just be ballyhoo).

According to those who have read the original script for Deadhead Miles, the style was very “literary” and the material came off as something that would have been difficult to transfer to the screen under the best of circumstances. Still, it enthused the producer Tony Bill and the star Alan Arkin, so the project was greenlit.

The director was an underground filmmaker named Vernon Zimmerman. He would not go on to have a prolific film career, though he’s gained some level of cult immortality for his 1980s slasher Fade to Black, which is about a movie buff who goes on a killing spree while cosplaying as classic film characters. According to Wikipedia, he now works as a script doctor and creative writing teacher.

According to a 1971 issue of Sight and Sound magazine, Zimmerman and Arkin fought for control of the editing room. Zimmerman initially insisted on editing the film himself, but afterward, Arkin went in and made his own alterations. “There was bitterness among all these people, but Paramount will be releasing the film later this year,” S&S claimed.

Of course, the film was never theatrically released. In a 1976 issue of After Dark, Tony Bill claimed that it was all on account of Paramount executive Frank Yablans, who hated the movie (Yablans would later produce and co-write the infamous Joan Crawford biopic Mommie Dearest, a movie that’s miles less watchable than Deadhead Miles, so maybe he didn’t have much of a right to talk).

My gosh, just… I would love to know more about how the shoot went, and the differences between Zimmerman and Arkin’s edits.

Bill and Arkin have both written off the film as a mistake in later interviews, but I still say Deadhead Miles is a fascinating and enjoyable ride for those willing to go on its wavelength. I don’t expect it to ever be given the Criterion treatment, but I hope someone will unearth more of its history someday, while some of the production team is still alive.

[epochem]

Exception Part II

Pairing: Kendall Roy x Reader Warnings: None

Despite the early hours the office was already as hectic as ever.

You just entered the hallway when you saw Gerri Kellmann running into one of the conference rooms, closing the glass door like it was made out of steal. Inside you saw the familiar faces of Frank Vernon and Roman Roy standing next to the wooden conference table, looking as concerned as ever. 

“Did that mean that Kendal was not in the office? He would be in there with them otherwise, right?”

Further down the hallway you finally reached your office. You noticed that the blinds of the room next to yours were completely shut down. The door was closed. 

You entered your office. A few new documents were placed on your desk, you had a quick look through them. Just the regular paperwork, mainly invoices. You would take care of them later. First you wanted to check your inbox to see if anything important came up. You had just started typing when Kendall passed you by on his way to his office. He had two options to enter, one was through the hallway, the other way was directly through your office - for whatever reason he chose the latter. 

“Morning. Finally back, huh?” and before you could even respond he had disappeared behind his closed office door.  

“Great start” you thought to yourself. At least he didn’t seem high for once; real improvement to the last few times you had seen him.

For the next few hours you did not hear or see Kendall which gave you time to tackle  all open assignments. It was nearly lunch time when he called you into his office.  When you entered, he was sitting at his desk. He seemed relaxed. No signs of the wrack he was just a few weeks ago. Whatever the family intervention had consisted of it seems like it had worked for him at leas for the moment. “I need the driver at 6 this evening for this gala thing and I will give you some files later for the presentation on Thursday. You have to turn it into something spectacular. Make something big. It’s like really important. So no fucking boring slides. Got it?” He looked at you. Was he still relaxed, it didn’t seem like it. But you could handle that. Whenever he wanted something he just threw some information at you and you had to turn it into something, that’s just how it worked and you got used to it.  

“Got you.” You turned around, making your way back to your desk. 

“So how was the holiday huh?” he stopped you.

You turned around again. Facing him. Sitting there. Leaning back in his chair, looking at you. There it was again. This look that he sometimes gave you.  You never really could put a finger on it.  He was sometimes in the mood for it. Was it flirting? Was it for making you unsure? For making fun of you?

He was confusing to you and you never knew how to react. It made you uncomfortable. For a second you nearly forgot that he indeed had asked you a question.

“Yeah the holiday... it was nice. Just a few days off. Nothing special but good. Thanks.” You hated yourself, you were nervous when you answered and you felt it in your whole body. It was so obvious. He must also notice it. He kept looking at you. You could see him smirking just a little. 

“Well than, welcome back I guess. Glad you had a great time” he said, still keeping the eye contact. 

You somehow managed a weak smile and thanked him again before turning around again and leaving his office. This time he didn’t stop you. Back at your desk you slumped into your chair. 

“That was fucking embarrassing.”

[marley-manson]

So, Hepatitis.

Hawkeye’s scenes with Radar and Margaret were both v sweet and loveable, love Margaret confiding in Hawkeye and Hawkeye sincerely trying to make her feel better amid the come ons even before the ‘simple respect’ exchange, though ofc that was also great. Frank’s was funny. Klinger’s was also v funny but felt a little too much to me, with the violent outbursts. Hawkeye annoyed by BJ keeping him up at the start and then reversing it onto him when he’s hungover at the end was great. Loooved Hawkeye immediately deciding what to do in surgery when Potter asks him as chief surgeon and assigning BJ the job since he’s the only one who’s read about the procedure.

But my complaint about this episode is probably pretty predictable for anyone who follows me lol: I did not buy the psychosomatic back pain angle. The episode seemed to be suggesting that Hawkeye is deflecting his anger over being drafted onto Vernon Parsons, which uh... really? “I think maybe you haven’t made up your mind how you feel about being over here.” You think? You think Hawkeye isn’t quite sure whether he’s upset or not about being drafted? Really? Hawkeye? Hawkeye hasn’t figured out how he feels about it? Torn between frustration and enjoying the vacation, perhaps?

BUT to be fair I think my main issue here is framing, because I think this concept of deflected anger can work in theory, at least from a characterization angle, and the discussion about it with Potter just kinda sucked lol.

I’d frame it as: Hawkeye knows he’s angry about being there, but he can’t actually express the true depths of that anger. In part because of internal factors, ie he doesn’t want to become a bitter, fucked up shell of a person. And in part because of external factors, ie actually expressing his feelings will get him court martialed, and if not that it’ll at least alienate everyone around him. These are desertion feelings, push Frank into a helicopter blade feelings, let the next colonel on his operating table die feelings, or start screaming halfway through surgery on an 18 year old feelings.

Or, it could be just since Trapper left. I mean when’s the last time he gaslit a colonel into early retirement? BJ’s down for some schemes, but he arrived during the transition away from satire, so he’s never been Hawkeye’s partner in crime for the really satisfying ones that actively harm military officials. This would be taking the theme of Some 38th Parallels, in which rebellion fixes his dick, and running with it. Hawkeye’s getting ED and back pain because he hasn’t removed a colonel’s appendix in too long (and when he finally gets another chance, BJ ruins it anyway lol.)

I will say though, that maybe I’m still reading that scene unfairly.

“You think I’m mad and won’t admit it.” The way Hawkeye says that... like Alan Alda wrote this script but still delivered it wryly, like it’s an asinine suggestion from Potter. Potter maintains it and says he thinks Hawkeye’s been tying himself in knots the whole time he’s been here, so yk, in terms of writer intent I do think we’re probably meant to agree with him. But despite that, the way the scene plays out it’s more like what fixes Hawkeye isn’t Potter telling him to work out how he feels about being drafted, but rather Potter sympathizing with him, reassuring him that he’s better than Parsons, and telling him to take it out on him later, when he gets home lol.

And that also tracks as a contrast to BJ being unsympathetic about Parsons at the start with a “you’ll live,” and Frank taunting him about it.

Also I really love Potter telling Hawkeye to file a paternity suit to get back at Parsons lol, it’s such a good line it almost makes up for even the least charitable reading of the rest of the scene. The way it has this vibe of Potter deliberately playing into Hawkeye’s sense of humour to make him laugh... everything I went on about in that post about Mash’s organic comedy is nailed in that exchange.

[hpsaffics]

2011 ~ Longest HP Femslash Fics

F/F tagged works sorted by Word Count on AO3*

As of 2023.2 (211 works)

*Only fics with a sapphic main pairing are included (listed by WC)

��

1. The Trick Is to Keep Breathing by clio_jlh [Pansy/Parvati, other HP relationships, M, 56k]

Three years on, the second war still casts a long shadow. When facing challenges like a compulsive addiction... maybe the best strategy is to lean on your friends, put one foot in front of the other, and let the saving-the-world bit take care of itself.

2. Darker than Midnite by blackgrl71 [Fleur/Jungle Julia/Willow Rosenberg, Hermione/Faith Lehane/Buffy Summers, E, 50k]

Throw in a mix of an impressive group of powerful magical women, the Slayers, add the Wizarding War, and suddenly things become very interesting in both worlds. *Crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Death Proof, and Constantine

3. Zeroing In by @tryslora [fem!Draco/fem!Harry, Hermione/fem!Harry, E, 20k]

Harry goes out for a night on the town, determined to finally lose his virginity, and wakes up in bed with a lovely woman and breasts of his own. Shocked to discover that he has the extremely rare disease of Zerophilia, which makes him change gender when he orgasms.

4. Out with the Bathwater by Kiwi Stubbly-Punk (cranky__crocus) [Minerva/Augusta, Minerva/Augusta/Frank, E, 13k]

One history of Minerva McGonagall’s pre-Headmistress life, which she would prefer to keep out of any and all biographies (comment especially applicable to any writing of one Rita Skeeter).

5. Fostering Witch-Muggle Understanding by Slytherite (Slyboots) [Petunia/Hestia, Petunia/Vernon, T, 14k]

Hestia Jones discovers that, when one is cowering in a teeny cottage with the two people one hates most in the world, there is little or nothing to do but fall in love, wreck a marriage, and find happily-ever-after.

6. Reap What You Sew by Alisanne [Millicent/Hermione, T, 12k]

When an old school nemesis re-enters Millicent’s life it gives her the opportunity to prove herself that she never thought she’d receive.

7. Let Us Escape Our Troubles by songquake [Augusta/Minerva, E, 12k]

How terribly strange to be seventy… ("Old Friends", Simon and Garfunkel)

8. Oot on the Branch, the Fruit is Gey Ripe by songquake [Minerva/Hermione, T, 12k]

Hermione could have done anything, had anyone... So when she comes back to Hogwarts and takes over the Library from Madame Pince, Minerva is concerned. She tries to figure out the reason the girl has withdrawn into the cloisters of the Hogwarts Library, seeking to draw her out, and is drawn in herself instead.

9. Servant Girl by scarletladyy [Hermione/Narcissa, Lucius/Narcissa, E, 10k]

Lucius acquires Hermione for Narcissa, who doesn't really want the girl, or does she?

10. The Golden Rules by reenka [Pansy/Ginny, E, 10k]

Wherein deals are made, rules are broken, and revenge is served with a smile.

—

Want more HP Femslash?

Find recs in the WLW Library

Join the HP SAFFICS (18+) Discord server!

More from 2011 | Top fics in other years

[jimgandolfini]

I bet when Frank Vernon finished all the damage control he could do for the day and got home he listened to I’ll never smile again by Sinatra and drank wine like this

[mirchloe]

i haven't had access to wifi or data for most of the past week. so here's some camper headcanons i had written down in my phone.

-to be a better writer/storyteller, you do have to read. this advice is not for vernon when he's a kid. he always thinks he can do better, and he feels offended if any criticism is given, no matter how gentle. i think it is telling that no one gives a testimonial on his campster, as not even *crystal* comments, who is arguably the nicest kid in camp. vernon does hold himself in a pretty good regard, but i think his attitude toward reading as studying for better storytelling does change when he's a little older, and his craft does improve.

-i've already mentioned i believe the kids who appeared in the recap video show up for the next summer session, but they attend because the fees were waived. it's stated that the camps are a primary source of income for hq, so these parents must have been paying incredible amounts of money to ensure their child (especially if they have more difficult powers/less ability to control them) receives the best care possible. (of course, for some, this isn't the case, as while there may be mandatory classes, there is a lax environment for older/more experienced kids coming and going as they please, such as the kids who don't attend basic braining, or in general, kitty and franke, who end up skipping both classes seen during raz's tenure.)

-i imagine, for some of them, their parents raised quite a stink. i like to believe chloe's parents are a little older, had trouble conceiving, and are protective of her, their only child. so, chloe's mom, as soon as she learns what happened and had her cry about chloe's experience and hugged her tight (chloe is just 'um. thank you for caring. i'm glad my cygnan parents sent me to live with you.'), she's on the phone. she doesn't care if the second head is on her vacation. get her somebody in charge of the camps! now! no, not oleander! someone else! (chloe's mom, to me, is usually never this upset, but her daughter had brain stolen, and that's warranting her stress and frustration) she ends up talking directly to truman, still recovering from his own experiences. they do have a civil conversation, and while keeping the notion of their financial woes in mind, offers to waive the fees for the next session. chloe wants to attend again, and her parents relent, though her mother is, understandably, incredibly worried that this could happen again, no matter how many cat scans chloe shows her.

-this patterns happens with a few other parents, too. i imagine kitty's dad is casually threatening to sue and manages to get kitty free attendance for the remaining time she has left in camp. he has that extended for franke (up until kitty leaves, then the funds are back in play).

-eventually, truman ends up (along with other officials) giving waived fees for at least one summer session to any camper who wants to return in exchange for dropping any lawsuits. some parents, such as maloof's and chops', take some time to think it over. it's a small gouge to what their budget plans, but truman insists it's best to assuage the concerns of the parents and fend off further financial and mitigate possible legal problems, in addition to the well-being of the cadets, should they continue training.

-thinking about an older headcanon of mine, where mirtala does know some legal jargon. she listens to her mom navigate legal troubles that hit the circus. she might not understand it all, but she gets the basic gist of it. so, when she accidentally bumps into kitty and smears her very expensive shirt with some sloppy meal, and kitty screams that she'll sue mirtala's family in front of pretty much the entire camp, mirtala starts giggling! it's a mortifying experience for kitty as mirtala casually explains that the lawsuit has no merit. it would be thrown out as frivolous.

-this leads to a small uprising from the other campers. kitty had been using threats of lawsuits to keep many down. particularly, mikhail, bobby, and phoebe are *quite* intrigued by the knowledge that kitty can't actually do much other than flaunt her dad's wealth, so long as there isn't any actual damage done to her. kitty had never felt so humiliated. (bobby and kitty have a long-standing feud, phoebe and kitty do *not* like each other, and mikhail is very wary of kitty's tricks, as i headcanon him as being prone to confusion since his confusion voice lines make him sound really out of it.)

-phoebe is really excited to be an intern, and she adores hollis. hollis is one of her idols! she aspires to be her intern one day, but getting saddled with norma is...not fun. both of them are very analytical, and norma has already been through the hoops. she sees phoebe trying to psychoanalyze people, sometimes her pointers being unhelpful as they don't touch upon the greater scope of someone's problem. phoebe insists she's doing it to help people. norma has to counter if she's doing to help others, or if she's doing it to avoid analyzing herself. (it's both, but mostly the latter as phoebe likes the present herself as poised, professional, ready to take on the world - she doesn't need help when she's the helper.) (norma sees someone who could very well follow in her mistaken teenage footsteps, though her intentions are different.) it's tense between them during her first summer at the motherlobe, to say the least.

-bobby and chloe go to evo. they're popping off. they're commentating on the air dash cancels. bobby visibly pogs and cheers the loudest when chloe wins the finals in (insert game here) (as a side note, he still likes carrying her as they grow up. she's like a football.)

-lili and raz are in a little bit of a weird place as far as "girlfriend and boyfriend" go as kids. lili does like him, but i remember her comment she makes about him getting that fungus out of friendship (i think? been a bit), so her feelings for him are a bit settled around the end of pn2. raz's feelings are in more of a tizzy with everything that happened. lili is his girlfriend! ...right? he wants clarity in their relationship, but most importantly, he's happy she's his friend.

-they definitely have that tumultuous bump in their teen years. lili is being more social, making connections again (like with bobby! or hanging out with lizzie!) but still feels bogged down about the agency. does she want to be an agent? people still expect her to follow in truman's footsteps. raz is having this issue, too, but he's also missing his family and wondering what he really wants to do with the rest of his life. he has what he *wants.* but there's an uncertainty brewing within him. their communication problems are bad because they keep making assumptions, too. lili's mind tends to go to the worst solutions when she's really worried (i.e. they cut off his head a la pitror) while raz stews in dread. they're off-and-on again, and those off periods are steadily becoming longer. (i think they definitely stay together when they're older, though! they're just going through a lot as teens and have to discover what they really want, which is something that even extends into early adulthood.)

[otunnicliffe]

Chloe + Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone

Chapter 3: The Letters From No One

'The next chapter is entitled 'The Letters From No One, would anyone like to read?' McGonagall asks. 

'Hogwarts letters, Gwen!' James turns to the blonde excitedly. 

'I'll read it,' Remus offers. 

The teachers pull up an extra chair up front and Remus sits down it, before taking the book and starting to read.  

The escape of the Brazilian Boa Constrictor earned both Chloe and Harry their longest-ever punishment. By the time the pair were allowed out of their cupboard again, the summer holidays had started, and Dudley had already broken his new video camera, crashed his remote control airplane, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches.

'Poor Mrs Figg,' Gwendolyn said, feeling bad for the woman. 

Both Chloe and Harry were happy that school was over, but there was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon, were all big and stupid, but as Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. The rest of them were all quite happy to to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Chloe and Harry hunting. 

'That Dudley kid is an absolute knob, isn't he?' Frank asked, and everyone couldn't help but agree. 

This was why both Chloe and Harry spent as much time as possible out of the house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where they could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came, they would be going off to Secondary school, and even though they would be split up, it would be the first time in either of their lives that they wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. 

'I've heard of that school,' Gwendolyn says. 'They've got a reputation of everyone that goes there being stuck up.'

'Well I think this Vernon is helping that stereotype!' Barty chortled. 

Piers Polkiss was going there too. Chloe was going to an all-girls school, St Beatrice's and Harry was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Dudley thought this was very funny. 

'They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,' he told Harry. 

'I started to get angry again, but then I remembered they aren't actually going there are they,' James whispered to Gwendolyn. 

'Want to come upstairs and practise?'

'No thanks,' Harry said quickly.

'The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it-it might be sick,' Chloe chimed in-

A few people laughed at that. 

'They're both quite funny,' Arthur remarked. 

Then, she grabbed Harry and ran, before Dudley could work out what she'd said. 

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley and Chloe into London to buy their respective uniforms. Aunt Petunia was furious, as St Beatrice's had a very strict dress code and had a uniform that needed following, so they would have to pay for a uniform for her.

'Imagine that,' Arabella remarked, sarcastically. 'You have to pay for a uniform for the child you are supposedly looking after!'

While they were there, Harry was left at Mrs Figg's. Mrs Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over one of her cats, and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years.

That evening, Chloe rushed straight to Harry to tell him about her day (Honestly H, it was amazing, even though Aunt Petunia was sour all day!) and showed him her uniform. It was very big on her, as Aunt Petunia did not want her to grow out of her uniform any time quickly, meaning she would have to buy her a new uniform. 

'She's so petty, and for what?' Kimberly said, rolling her eyes. 

'I always knew she didn't like me, but clearly that's only grown with the years!' Gwendolyn scorns.

Later, Dudley paraded around the living room for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This was supposed to be good training for later life.

As he looked at Dudley in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins,

'Dudleykins is the worst nickname by far!' Pandora remarked, wheezing from laughter. 

he looked so handsome and grown-up. Neither Chloe or Harry didn't trusted themselves to speak, or even look at each other. Harry thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

'I don't blame him,' Sirius remarked. 'I bet he looked horrible!'

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when the twins went in for breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. They went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in gray water.

"What's this?" Harry asked Aunt Petunia. Her lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

'Oh how dare he ask a question in the house where he lives,' Andromeda scorned sarcastically. 

'Your new uniform,' she said. 'I had to pay for her uniform but yours can be done here.'

'Tight-arse,' Amos remarked. 

As she said this, she glared at Chloe.

The twins looked into the bowl again. 

'Oh,' Harry remarked. 'I didn't realise it had to be so wet.'

'Idiot,' Snape hissed. 

James heard and turned around furiously. 'He obviously wasn't being serious, Snivellous!'

Chloe chuckled at this, realizing her brother was joking. However, Aunt Petunia must have missed the joke. 'Don't be stupid,' she snapped. 'I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished.'

'Or here's another idea, buy him the correct uniform!' James suggested snarkily. 

'Doubt it,' Harry whispered to Chloe. 

'Don't argue about it,' Chloe warned him, equally as quiet. Harry agreed, and the twins both sat down at the table, and Harry tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High -- like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. 

They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.

'Make them get it,' Dudley said, pointing a fat finger at Chloe and Harry. 

'He's been influenced by his parents so much he can't even say their names either!' Pandora quipped. 

'Get the mail, you two.'

'Make Dudley get it,' The twins said in unison. Aunt Petunia shuddered at this. 

'Poke them with your Smelting stick, Dudley."

'Encouraging the abuse, no surprise there!' Alice said, looking angry. 

They both dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and -- a letter for Chloe and a letter for Harry.

'This is it James! They are getting their letters!' Gwendolyn squealed excitedly, grabbing onto James's arm.

'Don't get too excited,' Remus announces, clearly having read on. 

'They don't get them here?' James asks, confused. 

'They get them, but they don't keep them,' he says, and James and Gwendolyn huff. 

The twins picked up their respective letters and stared at each other. Chloe felt as if her heart was twanging like a giant elastic band. No one ever, in their whole lives, had written to either of them. Who would? They both had no friends, no other relatives- neither of them belonged to a library, so they'd both never even got a rude letter asking for books back. Yet here it was, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Miss. C. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Chloe quickly turned to Harry and looked at his.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard under the Stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. 

Chloe watched silently as Harry turned his envelope over, his hands trembling. They then both saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, a eagle, a badger, and a snake, surrounding a large letter H. Chloe quickly turned hers over as well, and saw that she had the same seal. 

Before either of them could say something to the other, a noise came from the kitchen. 

'Hurry you you two!' shouted Uncle Vernon, 'What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?' He chuckled at his own joke. 

'At least he laughed, because that was not funny!' Peter said.

'I agree wormy, it was rubbish,' Sirius adds. 

Before following her brother into the kitchen, Chloe hid her letter under the jumper she was currently wearing, and kept its place by her stomach and her jeans. 

'Good idea to be fair,' Molly said. 

Harry just walked into the kitchen, still staring at his letter.

'Oh dear,' Gwendolyn said. 'I have a feeling its going to cause a situation.'

Harry handed Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard, and sat down, ignoring his sister's silent stares as he started to slowly open the yellow envelope.

'That's a bit stupid,' Gwendolyn says, a hint of exasperation in her voice. 'He should have done what Chloe did and hide it!'

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. --."

"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"

'Here we go,' Kimberly says, turning to Gwendolyn. 

Chloe put her head in her hands, she knew this was going to happen.

'At least one of your children has some sense, Potter,' Severus quipped at James, a sly look upon his greasy face. 

'Shut your face!' James seethed, nearly having to be held back by Gwendolyn. 

Remus decided to continue before things escalated further. 

Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.

Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise. "Vernon! Oh my goodness -- Vernon!"

'Oh no, it's almost as if you knew this was going to happen!' Andromeda said, rolling her eyes. 

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Chloe, Harry and Dudley were in the room.

 Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick. "I want to read that letter," he said loudly.

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon turned and stared at Chloe, anger prominent in his face. 

James's fists clenched up.

'Harry, Dudley, get out, both of you,' croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

'Why not Chloe?' Peter asks. 

'He knows she's got a letter too,' Gwendolyn said, her face white from fear. 

Harry stared at Chloe, not moving. 

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

'Now you,' Uncle Vernon seethed, turning his face to Chloe, as she watched him fearfully. She saw Harry and Dudley in the door, and that only made her more scared. He started moving towards her, before she was all way against the wall with nowhere to run. 

'I really, really want to punch this guy,' James cursed, his face going slightly red. 

'Give me your letter, if you know what's good for you!'

'Vernon-' Aunt Petunia tried to chide in.

'Shush Petunia!' Vernon screeched, and Aunt Petunia fell silent, fear evident on her face. 

James's face went redder. 

When Chloe didn't give up her letter, she slammed her small body against the wall harshly. 

Everyone was shocked. 

Then, his hand went round her throat, he started choking her.

'That fucking asshole!' James yelled, anger palpable on his face. 

'James, it hasn't happened yet,' Arabella said, trying to calm him down. 

Chloe's eyes instantly filled with tears as her breathing became unusual, partly due to her Uncle's abuse, but also due to the fear that was coursing throughout her body. A shaky hand reached underneath her jumoer as she pulled out the letter. Vernon's hand left her neck as he swiped the letter harshly from his hand, and Chloe fell to the floor, a crying mess. 

'So he just abuses women, what a little bitch,' Regulus says, a look of shock on his face that was mirrored with everyone else in the room, excluding the teachers. 

'Now get out,' He mutters, not even looking down at Chloe. 

Chloe didn't need to be told twice, as she opened the door to reveal a pale-faced pair of Harry and Dudley. Even Dudley could not believe what had just happened. 

'The fact that even he thought it was to far really says something,' Narcissa remarks. 

She slid past them and went into the cupboard, shutting it behind her not even letting Harry in, as she cried and cried and cried, having a panic attack. Harry tried to open the door gently. Eventually, Chloe had calmed down, and Vernon and Petunia had stopped their conversation, Dudley was still outside of the door, confused as to what was going on.

'Are you ok?' He asks Chloe, a look of confusion on his face. 

Chloe and Harry both looked up at him in surprise. 

'Better now, thanks,' Chloe muttered, but he heard her. He then went upstairs, muttering something about 'odd' and 'dad'.

'Are you actually ok?' Harry asked his sister, as he hugged her tightly. 

Chloe nodded, then said 'That was the most scary experience of my life.'

Later on that evening, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Chloe and Harry in their cupboard.

'I think that asshat needs to fucking apologise for what he did!' James commanded, anger still present in his face. 

Chloe didn't even look in his face, the fear of him was still very much there for her. 

'Where's our letters?' said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed through the door. "Who's writing to us?

"No one. They were addressed to you both by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it.'

'He did what!' Sirius remarked. 

'Do they actually get their letters in this chapter?' Kimberly asks, a sneaky feeling in her stomach telling her that they weren't.

Everyone watched attentively as Remus skim-read the final few pages of the chapter. After a few minutes, he looked up and shook his head. 

Groans filled the room, for some due to the injustice faced for Chloe and Harry, and other (especially in Bellatrix's case) because they just wanted this story to hurry up. 

At this, Chloe raised her head, and looked at her brother, both of them shocked. 'It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it.'

'SILENCE!' yelled Uncle Vernon, and Chloe bowed her head yet again and tried to control her breathing before she had another panic attack.

'Asshole,' James said.

He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. Harry was glad that his sister wasn't seeing it, as the sight enough would probably set her off on another panic attack. 

'Er -- yes, Chloe, Harry -- about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking... you're really both getting a bit big for it... we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.' 

'I mean they should have had the bedroom before anyway,' Arabella retorts. 

Chloe raised her head once again at this, and even dared to look at Uncle Vernon. 'Why?' asked Harry.

"Don't ask questions!" snapped their uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now."

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched.

'They had TWO extra rooms and my children had to sleep in the cupboard!' Gwendolyn seethes.

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don't want him in there... I need that room... make them get out...."

'I'm sure he could live without two rooms for himself,' Molly snaps. 

Both Chloe and Harry sighed and stretched out on the two single beds that occupied the room. 

'You know, Chlo, yesterday I would have given anything to be up here,' Harry stated. 'But today I'd rather be back in our cupboard with our letters.'

'It's not our cupboard anymore, H,' Chloe told him, her voice almost void of any emotion. 

'Poor thing sounds so shook up,' Alice says sympathetically. 

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.

'Finally he's learning that he can't have everything he wants!' Pandora mentioned.

Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Chloe did everything in her power to not look at her Uncle. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to the twins, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one each! 'Mr. H. Potter and Miss. C. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive --'"

'He was stupid to think the letters would just stop to be fair,' Arthur remarked. 

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Chloe stayed in the kitchen, not daring to move, same with Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand. "Go to your cupboard -- I mean, your bedroom with your sister," he wheezed at Harry. "Dudley -- go -- just go."

Chloe laid on her bed, as Harry walked round and round their new room.

'Someone knew that we've moved,' Harry told his sister. 

'And they know we didn't receive the first letter,' Chloe adds, finally some emotion coming back into her voice. 

'Surely, this means that they will try again?' Harry said. 

Chloe sat up, watching her brother pace. 'You're planning something aren't you?'

'I have a plan,' he confirms. 'But I don't want you involved in it, he's hurt you enough.'

'He's such a good brother,' Molly coos. 

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently.

'Is this your plan?' Chloe mumbles, still half-asleep. 

'Yep,' Harry murmurs in response, as he left the room quietly and stole downstairs, but not before telling Chloe 'I'm going to wait for the postman to come.'

Chloe started falling back to sleep, when suddenly she heard Harry let out a shocked scream. She rushed out of her room and turned the light on quickly. To their horror they realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do.

'He really doesn't not want them to receive their letters does he?' Peter asks, his face full of food once again.

He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told Chloe to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably into the kitchen behind his sister, and by the time the pair of them returned, the mail had arrived, right onto Uncle Vernon's lap. 

Both of the twins could see six letters, 3 each. 'I want --' he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before their eyes. Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

'He really really does not want them to get their letters,' Pandora added.

'See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, 'if they can't deliver them they'll just give up.'

'I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon.'

'For once, my sister is correct,' Gwendolyn states.

'Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me,' said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.

On Friday, no less than twelve letters each had arrived for both Chloe and Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

'Sounds like he's starting to lose it,' Arabella recons. 

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to both Chloe and Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked the twins in amazement.

'Believe me, Dudley I wish I knew,' Chloe answered him.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy. 'No post on Sundays,' he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, 'no damn letters today --'

Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one, while Chloe reached for the ones that were on the floor. 

'Chloe does seem to have more of a brain, Harry is very much like you, James,' Gwendolyn acknowledged.

'Out! OUT!' Uncle Vernon seized Chloe and Harry around the waist and threw them into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor. 

'That does it,' said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. 'I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!'

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

'At least Dudley seems to be having some kind of reality check,' Alice said, perpetually trying to find the positive in everything. 

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake 'em off... shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer.

'I'm sure he'll be just fine,' Narcissa scorns, rolling her eyes. 

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley, Chloe and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Chloe and Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering....

They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table 'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? And Miss. C. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk.'

She held up two of the letters so that they could read the two green ink addresses. 

Miss. C. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

Mr. H. Potter

Room 17

Railview Hotel

Cokeworth

'Those letters are persistent,' Regulus remarks. 

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared. 'I'll take them,' said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

'Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?' Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

'He's deffo loosing it,' Kimberly remarks. 

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

'See! Even Dudley gets it!' Kimberly hollered. 

Chloe just gave him a sympathetic look. 

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dud ley snivelled. "It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television. "

Monday. This reminded the twins of something. They looked at each other surprised. If it was Monday -- and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television -- then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Chloe's and Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun -- last year, the Dursleys had given them both a coat hanger and Harry a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, Chloe getting an old skirt once belonging to Aunt Petunia. Still, you weren't eleven every day.

'I know I should expect it by now, but I can't believe they won't even celebrate their birthday properly!' Gwendolyn lamented. 

Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought. 'Found the perfect place!' he said. 'Come on! Everyone out!'

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

'He's bloody mental!' Sirius exclaims. 

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together.

'That's not a good thing!' Xenophilus says, seemingly talking to the book. 

"And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. Chloe and Harry huddled together to try and get some form of warmth. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house. 

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms. 

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and five bananas.

'Thar's not even proper food!' Barty grumbled. 'He just has completely lost it!'

He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up.

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.

He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Both Chloe and Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer them up at all.

'I have a feeling that will be proved false,' Gwendolyn muttered to James, who nodded in agreement. 

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and the twins were left to find the softest bit of floor they could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket together.

'That could kill them! They could get hypothermia!' Gwendolyn chastised. 

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Both Chloe and Harry couldn't sleep. they both kept shivering and turning over, trying to get comfortable, their stomachs rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. 

'How much longer until out birthday?' Harry asked his sister, desperate to take his mind off the cold. 

Chloe leaned away from him and stared at Dudley's watch. 'Ten minutes,' She then told him, her voice quivering with the cold.

'I wonder if they have remembered,' Harry remarked. 

'Doubt it,' was all that came out of his sisters mouth. 

'Five minutes now,' she told him minutes later. 

They heard something creak outside. They both hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although Harry might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that they'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

'Someone's there I'm telling you,' Gwendolyn says to no one in particular. 

And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and they'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ... ten... nine -- maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him -- three... two... one...

BOOM.

Everyone was listening intently. 

The whole shack shivered and the twins both sat bolt upright, staring at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

'But who?' Came an almost unanimous call from the students. 

Remus shrugs, 'That's the end of the chapter.'

'What!' Gwendolyn and James screamed in unison. 

'We'll continue straight on,' Dumbledore assures them, secretly happy that they are all enjoying this book now. 

[francesduncan]

Lady Susan is a nightmare, dressed like a daydream

"There is exquisite pleasure in subduing an insolent spirit, in making a person pre-determined to dislike, acknowledge one's superiority.”

- Jane Austen, Lady Susan

Lady Susan is a character we love to hate but you can't fault her logic. There is pleasure in making those who dislike us admire, respect or at least acknowledge you're better than them at something. True, not many of us do it quite so intentionally or maliciously as she does.

"I have seen this dangerous creature... She is really excessively pretty... I have seldom seen so lovely a woman as Lady Susan. She is delicately fair, with fine grey eyes and dark eyelashes; and from her appearance one would not suppose her more than five and twenty, though she must in fact be ten years older. I was certainly not disposed to admire her, though always hearing she was beautiful; but I cannot help feeling that she possesses an uncommon union of symmetry, brilliancy, and grace. Her address to me was so gentle, frank, and even affectionate, that, if I had not known how much she has always disliked me... and that we had never met before, I should have imagined her an attached friend."

- Jane Austen, Lady Susan, Letter 6

Lady Susan runs on the philosophy of keep your friends close and your enemies closer, so long as they're of use to you. The Vernon's can currently give her a home so they make that list.

Pippa pointed out that it sounds like Mrs Vernon is discovering her same sex attraction. It's surprising Amme didn't also mention it when we discussed Letter 6 especially as she pointed out Catherine's attraction to Isabella. (Extended versions of Pippa and Amme's Lady Susan episodes are available on Ko-Fi.) It's a good point, Mrs Vernon gives a lengthy and detailed description - I even cut a few bits.

Underneath her beauty and charm (daydream) is a callous, manipulative, revengeful centre (nightmare). She's probably studied her Shakespeare (actually she would make a great Lady Macbeth).

"Look Like Th’ Innocent Flower, But Be The Serpent Under ‘T”

- Shakespeare, Macbeth Act 1, Scene 5

Blank Space is a tongue in cheek response to the media's portrayal of Taylor Swift as an unstable man eater. Many of the lyrics could be about Lady Susan; she views love as a game, everyone's heard rumours about her, she's excellent at appearing to be someone's ideal and is well aware she'll leave the men behind her scarred.

If you'd like to discuss Austen with me you can book a Read With Me session

Video and audio from Love and Friendship

Music from Blank Space (TV) by Taylor Swift

[jargonautical]

A summons

THE LETTER IS waiting in the hall, crisp and clean and utterly blank. No stamp or frank in the top-right corner, so it must have been hand-delivered early this morning before he got moving. He carries it through with him to the tiny kitchen, tossing it on the table while he coaxes the stove to light and sets some coffee on to brew. Only after he’s taken his first appreciative sip does he sit down and pull the thick envelope towards him, extracting a pearl-handled penknife to slit the paper and extract the contents. 

A single sheet of heavyweight cream paper slides into his hand, crackling genteelly as he lays it flat. He frowns at the embossed heading and coat of arms, then at the two lines of elegantly handwritten script. 

Your presence is kindly requested at your earliest convenience on a matter of significant interest to both our principals. Failure to act could result in an opportunity lost. 

There’s no name, no salutation, and that along with the absence of an address on the envelope delivers a message of its own. They know who he is and where he can be found. And as for what he’s being invited to discuss - they know he knows that too. The letter ends with some unreadable scrawl of a signature, but that’s irrelevant. The embossed letter head announces in crisp square cut capitals that this comes via the private office of the Honourable Charles Ernest Warrington Vernon. 

“Well. Here we go.”, he muses out loud to the empty kitchen. Then he leans comfortably back in his chair, one hand still resting delicately on the paper, and finishes his coffee.

FASHIONABLY LATE, LINDEN lingers in the doorway for a moment of people-watching. You can always tell the ones who were born into status and wealth. Every overt signal of the power imbalance between them and the people around them, every benefit and opportunity, is accepted as just fundamentally how the universe is supposed to function. If sometimes they’re aware of their massive privilege, as the man they’re currently watching would like to think he is, it’s still mostly a performative affair; like making a point to smile and thank the server gliding past as he deftly claims a refill from her silver tray. More, that smooth charm, from overling to underling, is a fragile veneer over a deep well of entitlement. Break the compact, fail to be suitably grateful for the condescension, and the charm can vanish. They’ve seen it. Caused it too, they recall with a lopsided smile swiftly suppressed, and they push off the doorframe to go and greet their host. 

He turns as he registers their approach, arranging his features into a warm overling smile masking his mingled apprehension and relief. On paper Linden currently works for him, but he’s entirely aware where the power balance would lie if it came down to a challenge. He’s far from the only client with the correct combination of money and requirements. 

“It never gets old, you know, mission briefings in the back room of the fundraisers’ ball. Are they really so boring that you need to spice them up with covert operations?”. 

“You’ve attended enough by now, you tell me.”. He takes a sip of his own champagne to mask the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Have you reviewed the brief?”. 

“Only the outline. I thought it was very similar to the Ely project, apart from - well, you know. Is he serious?”. 

“Well, we shall see.”. He nods at the figure in sombre grey livery lurking pointedly in the entrance to a side corridor, a signal that their host is ready to see them now.

..............................................................................................................................

A very select handful of guests is enjoying a more intimate view of their benefactor’s residence, dotted about the room in twos and threes admiring the artwork and talking academic politics in hushed tones. It’s a grand setting, certainly. The room must be fifty feet long, with elegant panelling at the far end open to reveal yet more space beyond. Deep blue velvet, fringed and tasseled and draped, adorns the floor-to-ceiling windows running down the right of the room while a cheerful fire crackles in the massive marble fireplace on the left, presumably for the comfort of the frail figure huddled in one of the armchairs there. 

Time has not been kind to the honourable Charles. The receding hairline he once tried so vainly to ignore is ancient history, just a bare iron-grey fringe clinging on somewhere around the level of his ears. Dark pink lesions dot his scalp and forehead, and an unusual pallor gives him a drawn, weary look despite his many comforts. He stares into the fire, face settled into heavy jowls, with a petulant quirk to his mouth that recalls the spoilt child he used to be. 

“Finally.”, he snaps at the new arrivals. “The paperwork is on the desk.”. 

One crabbed hand swirls imperiously in the direction of the double doors and the study beyond. Linden receives the hint with unruffled good humour and retrieves the documents, offering them to the old man, but he waves again impatiently. 

“No, no - that’s your copy. I have no desire to read the blasted things ever again.”. 

Linden settles in the wing chair opposite the old man, leafing through the folder to check the contents while the Archchancellor fidgets irritably. Etiquette is a consideration here, in the private home of the Institute’s founder and most significant donor, and he hasn’t actually been offered a seat. But then neither has Linden, and Vernon didn’t comment. 

“This historian.”, Linden says thoughtfully, breaking the silence. “You expect him to be a problem?”. 

The old man wheezes, a painful parody of a laugh. “I expect him to try, certainly. He’ll hate not having the upper hand. Had it all his own way for far too long. Cooper tells me you’ll keep him under control - I should damn well hope so, considering your outrageous fee.”. 

“Forgive me, sir.”, Archchancellor Cooper interrupts. “Are you serious about bringing in this man? He may claim to be the local expert, but he’s hardly the sort of name that will enhance the project’s reputation.”. 

“He is considerably more than that - didn’t you read the briefing material my people put together?”. Charles gives him a sour look. “I’m deadly serious, believe me. Fifty years ago he stood in my study and told me I was wasting my time, damn him, and if there’s a way to cause trouble he’ll find it. Better we have him on the inside pissing out than on the outside pissing in. He’s essential.”. 

‘Essential’, in Cooper’s considered opinion, is exactly what the man is not. Vernon has some very odd ideas that he’s prepared to spend very generously to pursue, and that sort of obsession attracts exactly the type of lowlife charlatan willing to indulge - or even encourage - the old man’s delusions. 

It’s another matter entirely that that the university happily continues to cash Mr Vernon’s cheques, of course. Not the same thing at all. 

“Of course, sir. If you’re satisfied that you have the right man,”, and a significant glance at Linden clearly signals his opinion on that score, “might I recommend that you leave the negotiations to my people? I see no reason for you to be troubled with the details.”. 

“You’ll allow me the pleasure of bringing him to heel first.”, Charles shoots back, with a flash of bitter humour. “If I’m right, he’ll be appearing before you have a chance to summon him - if there’s one thing you can count on with these creatures, it’s their curiosity. Remember that!”, he adds jabbing a finger in Linden’s direction. 

Linden scans the blurred photo on top of the pile; a dark-haired man striding down a crowded street with his long coat billowing out behind him, gaze fixed straight ahead and apparently unaware of his surveillance. Their client seems utterly convinced, but it’s not possible. Fifty years ago the man in this picture probably wouldn’t even have been born.

. “Your other guest has arrived, sir.”, a deferential voice murmurs, and Charles begins the painful process of extracting himself from his chair. “As I thought. Show him up once I reach the study.”.

..............................................................................................................................

No shadows to lurk in this time; Charles can clearly see the nothing-man strolling across the room towards him. Still tall, still dark, still dressed head to toe in dusty black. Still approximately forty something years old even though more than fifty years have passed since their last meeting. It may be the nature of his kind not to age, to wear any face they take a liking to, but still it stings to see it. On the other hand his very presence here unchanged after so many years is a strange sort of comfort, a testament to the truth of his obsession and validation for the task ahead of him. In a moment of rare introspection Charles wonders what the creature sees, lightly fixed in time as he is. Does he see him as he was, or as he is now - the fractious old man his own mirror shows him, weaker and paler with every passing day? 

Those fifty years haven’t been wasted at his end, however. Clearing the debt attached to the estate swallowed up the first decade and most of the comfortable profits from his first practice, but that was only the beginning. Reviving the Vernon name and influence demanded enough expensive favours to keep him at a standstill for a decade more, but now? Now he stands as financially secure as any of his noble ancestors. 

“Well, here I am.”. Mainder smoothly claims the chair on the other side of the desk and makes himself comfortable, adding conversationally, “It’s a little strange to be meeting the same Vernon twice. You know how it is, you come and you go … anyway. What can I do for you?”. 

Bored already, his eyes flick to the private party going on through the huge double doors. A couple of young men uncomfortable in rented black-tie, one older chap in considerably better fitting and better-quality ditto, and an expensive-looking blonde in an expensive-looking dress, blood-red lips and nails echoing the wine she accepts with a dazzling smile from one of the youngsters. He winks at her just for the hell of it, and grins ruefully when she blanks him with well-bred disdain. 

“You didn’t come all this way to sit there and ignore me.”, Charles says sharply. “Does it surprise you to learn that I’m ready to make amends? As soon as they find the door I will have it repaired, no matter the cost. I’ve told my people to expect you, to save you the bother of trying to sneak in.”. 

“How very thoughtful of you.”, Mainder murmurs, eyes crinkling in amusement. 

“Kindness has nothing to do with it. I assume you intend to meddle.”. 

“I intend to observe.”, Mainder corrects him casually. “Thank you for making it easier. I don’t suppose for one second you’ve given any thought to the implications if your little project goes wrong?”. 

Charles chooses to skirt the question. “My people have everything in hand. Just show up and make yourself useful - or is that too much to ask?”. 

“Not at all.”. 

Charles almost sags with relief. Braced for a fight, expecting denial and anger and outright mischief, and yet it was so easy! He hates to think less of his grandfather, the disciplinarian terror of his childhood, but he feels just a little smug in that moment. Generations of cajoling, negotiating, even outright begging, when all that was needed was a little firmness. 

Mainder’s attention has wandered again, this time to the illustrious ancestors staring down from the walls. One in particular he keeps returning to with a lurking smile, an unattributed oil-on-board of a young woman in a dark red gown, pearls in her hair and lace at her throat, her merry dark eyes sparkling out at the viewer as if inviting them to share her triumph. ‘Margaret, Lady Vernon, c.1540’, says the nameplate set into the heavy gilt frame. The painting is beautifully done, even if the subject were less engaging; the delicate patterns and knots of the lace glow creamy-pale against the darker folds of the dress, picked out in individual strokes and dots as crisp as if the artist’s hand had only just placed them there.  He looks from the portrait to Charles, eyes suddenly tawny in the light. 

“A question in turn.”, he says curiously. “If you manage to get the door open, what will you do next?”. 

“That needn’t trouble you.”, Charles says dismissively. “Do your part and we will be even.”. 

“I suppose we will.”.