HAPPY FIRST OF HALLOWEEN BITCHES TIME TO GET SPOOKY
Sade Olutola
AnasAbdin
Mike Driver
YOU ARE THE REASON
styofa doing anything

JVL

Janaina Medeiros
wallacepolsom
sheepfilms

tannertan36
Peter Solarz
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosmic Funnies
RMH
Today's Document
dirt enthusiast

blake kathryn
Cosimo Galluzzi
i don't do bad sauce passes
Keni

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Netherlands

seen from Russia
seen from Russia

seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Egypt
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from Malaysia
seen from Austria
seen from Austria
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@canadianidiott
HAPPY FIRST OF HALLOWEEN BITCHES TIME TO GET SPOOKY
TELL ME WHY
AIN’T NOTHIN BUT A HEARTACHE
TELL ME WHY
AIN’T NOTHIN BUT A MIIISTAKE
TELL ME WHY
I NEVER WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY
I WANT IT THAT WAY
It was number 5. Number 5 killed my brother.
Oh my god I totally forgot about that
I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?
Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.
The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–
And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.
She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.
Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”
“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”
“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”
“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”
“You promise?”
“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.
–
Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.
The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.
In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.
When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.
Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.
Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.
Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.
“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”
“And my dad?”
“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”
“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”
Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.
They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.
There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”
“Work is hard work,” said James.
“At least mum gets to curse things.”
“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”
When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”
“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.
“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.
“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.
“I’m trying,” said James.
“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.
“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.
“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.
“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”
“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.
“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.
“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.
“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.
“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”
“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.
–
Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.
Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.
–
It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.
“He’s a Muggle.”
“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”
She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.
The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.
Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.
Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.
Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!
“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.
Keep Reading (Ao3)
Keep reading
READ THIS IMMEDIATELY
explain the reason for your url
me, trying to spell something in french: uhhhhhh i think that’s enough vowels the french language: youe fooule…. youe insouelente cowèurde
its 2:31am. im thinking about the fact that ive never met a woman who hasn’t been treated like shit by a man. u ever think about that? u ever think about the fact that its a defining experience of womanhood to be subjected 2 the cruelty of men? that every woman knows that fear, that pain, that anger, that sadness? nothin breaks my heart more than that
80s music brings me back to good times like when i wasnt alive
i can’t believe cedric diggory asked voldemort ‘who are you’ lmao. like i know he got killed straight after but still. iconic
x
Bonus:
Will never not reblog this xD
first rule of disney fandom : always reblog peter and tink going to starbucks
May your next period be light and end quickly
This is literally now my favorite post ever, because its become thousands of reblogs consisting of passing on good fortune. Meanwhile many of y’all added your own comments saying your thanks, and continuing the chain by adding your own little bit of wishful thinking. You are all wonderful.
may you not leak even once
NOT EVEN when you sneeze or cough!
may you always have what you need when you need it.
May you have no cramps.
May you have no headaches
may you start in your own home/somewhere you are comfortable, in your least favourite underwear and with plenty of pads/tampons on hand
May you have enough money to buy your cravings!
on the grande concert tragedy.
my thoughts are with everyone affected by the Manchester Arena tragedy. please be safe, be respectful, and help out where you can. when reading up on this horrible incident, be sure to check your sources and to not believe unconfirmed rumors. only trust verified reports from officials and news outlets with a history of ethical reporting. be respectful of the families/victims and DO NOT attempt to politicize this until more is known. DO NOT donate to any gofundme’s or other fundraisers until an official one has been verified by authorities/the victims – unfortunately, a lot of horrible people like to scam good samaritans this way in the aftermath of these events. many people are dead and even more are hurt. show COMMON DECENCY and BE GOOD to one another. there’s going to be a lot of broken hearts and mourning parents tonight. there’s going to be a lot of people in pain. keep THAT in mind before everything else.
the explosions in manchester is not a cue to be islamophobic so yall need to shut the fuck up
i went to an ariana grande concert a few months ago. there were so many young girls (8, 9, 10 and 11 years old) there with their moms for their very first concert and you could feel the excitement in the air as they walked around the venue in their ariana shirts and accessories, dancing along to all of her songs.
the thought of someone planning a terrorist attack with the specific intention of targeting and killing not just women, but girls, absolutely shatters my heart.
Want to help the people of Quebec dealing with unprecedented, damaging, flooding?
The Canadian Red Cross has set up a donation page.
Its also worth repeating that the Canadian Red Cross is not associated with the American Red Cross (which does not have the best record for responding to disasters), and is rated very highly (its the highest rated health charity in Canada with an A- grade from MoneySense).
It’s worth noting that floods typically receive significantly less donations than more “dramatic” disasters (i.e. wildfire, hurricanes, earthquakes etc.), largely because the media images seem less devastating. However, the economic cost is often higher, and greater numbers of people are impacted in some way. Those people need financial assistance to replace furniture and household goods, clean mold and arrange for safety inspections to their property, among other costs incurred while they are displaced. Not to mention the significant costs of disinfection for areas where the flooding lead to sewer backup. So please consider donating.
Via GMB Akash
“I never told my children what was my job. I never wanted them to feel shame because of me. When my youngest daughter asked me what I did. I used to tell her hesitantly, I was a labourer. Before I went to home I used to take bathe in public toilet so they did not get any hint of the work I was doing. I wanted my daughters to send to school, to educate them. I wanted them to stand with dignity in front of people. I never wanted anyone look down at them like everyone looked down at me. People always humiliated me. I invested every penny of my earning for my daughters’ education. I never bought a new shirt, used the money instead for buying books for them. Respect, which is all I wanted them to earn for me. I was a cleaner. The day before the last date of my daughter’s college admission, I could not manage to get her admission fees. I could not work that day. I was sitting beside the rubbish, was trying hard to hide my tears. I was unable to work that day. All my coworkers were looking at me but no one came to speak. I was failed, heartbroken and I had no idea how to face my daughter who would ask me about the admission fees once I back to home. I am born poor. Nothing good can happen with a poor person that was my belief. After work all cleaners came to me, sat beside and asked if I considered them as brothers. Before I could answer they handed their one day income in my hand. When I was refusing everyone they confronted by saying, ‘We will starve today if needed but our daughter has to go to college.’ I cannot reply them. That day I did not take shower. That day I went to house like a cleaner. My daughter is going to finish her University very soon. Three of them do not let me to work anymore. She has a part time job and three of them do tuition. But often she took me to my working place. Feed all my coworkers along me. They will laugh and ask her why she feed them so often. My daughter told them, ‘All of you starve for me that day so I can become what I am today, pray for me that I can feed you all, every day.‘ Now a days I do not feel, I am a poor man. Whoever has such children, how he can be poor. ” - Idris