Nonsense post is nonsense
♥ accioslash made fun of me in a modly email tonight. *sulks* My reading skills need to be checked.
♥ My hair smells slightly like steamed milk. D:
♥ The Second Industrial Revolution is no more interesting than the first, and the entire time period should not need three textbook chapters to cover. Also, ALSO Immigration should be its own chapter. Thank you, textbook.
♥ Thus ends the only bits of Macroeconomics I recall from 10th grade.
♥ I know nothing about the British Judicial System, and I am too lazy to find out so I can aid my fic along. The premise is so silly it hardly matters in the first place. \o/
♥ My roommate loves me and bought me liquid fabric softener.
♥ Lists are awesome. AS IS COLIN MORGAN'S FACE.
♥ It's 4am. I have class starting at 8am and going straight through to 12:30pm. I have my alarm set for 6:50am. I've already done my macro/math homework for the night. Someone else figure this one out for me.
♥ Book One!Bebe!Harry is a fierce little tyke. I only have four more books until I want to punch in his face! :D
♥Speaking of tiny!Harry Potter's, I started a fic a while back, back before I said 'oh HP fandom, I quit of you!' based on some brouhaha over modern technology featured in fics, or the advent of IPods in the mid-90s. Because of this, I decided to rectify the historical inaccuracy and give Harry technology much better suited to the early 90s.
GUYS, I FINISHED A FIC. HOLY CRAP. :O
Title: The Walkman
Rating: G
Word Count: 938
Summary: Dudley gets a cheap version of a Walkman for his birthday and breaks it. Harry doesn't think it's all that bad.
If there was one day Harry hated more than Christmas, it was Dudley's birthday. The towering cake perched high on the center of the kitchen table seemed to melt under the ten fat candles and bright light bulb shining above it. Harry's stomach rumbled jealously. He strained for the nice plates on the topmost shelf of the cupboard, fingers grazing the edge of the porcelain. Cautiously, he climbed up onto the counter, off the chair and knelt, lifting a half-dozen plates and setting them down carefully beside him.
"I don't want it!"
Dudley's shouts rang out from the parlor where he was currently unwrapping a pile of presents that had towered above Harry's head that morning. Harry winced and ducked his head, clambering off the counter before Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could come in and check on him. Everything had to be perfect they'd told him repeatedly that morning. Everything.
He hurried to the table, hitching up his pants with one hand and deposited the plates next to the cake, wobbling a bit.
"It's horrible, Mummy! Take it back!"
"Now, Dudley."
Something crashed loudly and at first Harry thought Dudley had thrown something out the window. But that would have been silly, even for Dudley. Whatever had been thrown was broken though, Harry didn't have to be out there to know that his aunt was by Dudley's side stroking his hair and telling him they'd get him a new and better...whatever and that his uncle would be remarking on Dudley's excellent throwing arm.
Harry kept his head bowed as he finished laying out the plates and exhaled sharply in relief.
"Boy, make yourself scarce. Now." Harry jumped, heart skipping, and he almost tripped over the hem of his trousers as he ran toward the backdoor. They had a plan. There was always a plan. This one involved keeping Harry outside in the back garden where it was raining. Once cake was done, Aunt Petunia would send him off to Mrs. Figg for the afternoon while they went to the cinema.
There was always a plan.
Huddling now, beside the back step, Harry waited for the noise to subside into a sweeping round of 'Happy Birthday''s before creeping around to the front of the house and slipping in the front door. He crept through the hall, dragging his hand over the wallpaper and stopped when he reached the parlor.
There, on the floor, among the pile of shining paper and curled ribbons lay a tape player, the sort Harry caught people using on the telly with headphones and everything, a personal one, a Walkman. The cassette door was hanging on one hinge, but that didn't stop Harry from admiring it nevertheless. Harry was certain that it would only end up in the rubbish bin if left lying there, but he didn't move to take it. Dudley would notice and then everything that had been almost all right with that day would be wasted.
Harry knew patience.
He also knew that Aunt Petunia would take all of Dudley's least favored presents and shut them away in Dudley's second bedroom upstairs. With a last wistful look, Harry crawled into his cupboard and shut the door behind him.
It was everything he thought it would be. Harry twisted the tiny screw back into place and snapped the cassette door closed and hesitated. He tangled the cord for the headphones between his fingers and glanced at the partially opened door, straining to hear if anyone might have come home early when he hadn't been paying attention.
The last thing he wanted was to get caught now. Harry plucked a discarded tape off the ground and pressed in the eject button on the Walkman. The door sprung open part of the way and only needed a little help to fully open, but it had worked and that was what mattered. He slid the cassette tape in to side B, the side he'd spent all afternoon recording using the radio downstairs.
Harry marveled at his handy work, caressing the silver colored exterior of the player with his thumb. It would be the nicest thing he owned if he managed to keep it a secret. Even though it was dinged and wounded, Harry doubted he'd ever held something so wonderful that he might be able to call his own.
And he didn't even know if it worked yet.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to take the tape player to the park, but it was the first place he ran to. The Dursleys wouldn't be home for another two hours which gave Harry plenty of time to listen to the cassette at least twice before having to leave. The playground on Magnolia Road wasn't empty, a few mothers had brought their young children to play in the sand and on the swings and Harry headed straight for the see-saws and the jungle gym beyond it. He slid through the metal bars and made himself cozy in the shadowed sand.
The headphones were enormous. Harry thought they had to be about twice the size of his ears and even at their smallest, they kept sliding off his head and knocked his glasses askew. He held them on with one hand as he fumbled to push down the play button. The machine whirred and whined, but beneath all that noise, music was playing. It was scratchy and dim, but there, and it was his.
His own little music player that was as banged up and useless as everyone told Harry he was, but no one, not even the Dursleys would be able to take it away from him, and that made it amazing.
♥ My hair smells slightly like steamed milk. D:
♥ The Second Industrial Revolution is no more interesting than the first, and the entire time period should not need three textbook chapters to cover. Also, ALSO Immigration should be its own chapter. Thank you, textbook.
♥ Thus ends the only bits of Macroeconomics I recall from 10th grade.
♥ I know nothing about the British Judicial System, and I am too lazy to find out so I can aid my fic along. The premise is so silly it hardly matters in the first place. \o/
♥ My roommate loves me and bought me liquid fabric softener.
♥ Lists are awesome. AS IS COLIN MORGAN'S FACE.
♥ It's 4am. I have class starting at 8am and going straight through to 12:30pm. I have my alarm set for 6:50am. I've already done my macro/math homework for the night. Someone else figure this one out for me.
♥ Book One!Bebe!Harry is a fierce little tyke. I only have four more books until I want to punch in his face! :D
♥Speaking of tiny!Harry Potter's, I started a fic a while back, back before I said 'oh HP fandom, I quit of you!' based on some brouhaha over modern technology featured in fics, or the advent of IPods in the mid-90s. Because of this, I decided to rectify the historical inaccuracy and give Harry technology much better suited to the early 90s.
GUYS, I FINISHED A FIC. HOLY CRAP. :O
Title: The Walkman
Rating: G
Word Count: 938
Summary: Dudley gets a cheap version of a Walkman for his birthday and breaks it. Harry doesn't think it's all that bad.
If there was one day Harry hated more than Christmas, it was Dudley's birthday. The towering cake perched high on the center of the kitchen table seemed to melt under the ten fat candles and bright light bulb shining above it. Harry's stomach rumbled jealously. He strained for the nice plates on the topmost shelf of the cupboard, fingers grazing the edge of the porcelain. Cautiously, he climbed up onto the counter, off the chair and knelt, lifting a half-dozen plates and setting them down carefully beside him.
"I don't want it!"
Dudley's shouts rang out from the parlor where he was currently unwrapping a pile of presents that had towered above Harry's head that morning. Harry winced and ducked his head, clambering off the counter before Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could come in and check on him. Everything had to be perfect they'd told him repeatedly that morning. Everything.
He hurried to the table, hitching up his pants with one hand and deposited the plates next to the cake, wobbling a bit.
"It's horrible, Mummy! Take it back!"
"Now, Dudley."
Something crashed loudly and at first Harry thought Dudley had thrown something out the window. But that would have been silly, even for Dudley. Whatever had been thrown was broken though, Harry didn't have to be out there to know that his aunt was by Dudley's side stroking his hair and telling him they'd get him a new and better...whatever and that his uncle would be remarking on Dudley's excellent throwing arm.
Harry kept his head bowed as he finished laying out the plates and exhaled sharply in relief.
"Boy, make yourself scarce. Now." Harry jumped, heart skipping, and he almost tripped over the hem of his trousers as he ran toward the backdoor. They had a plan. There was always a plan. This one involved keeping Harry outside in the back garden where it was raining. Once cake was done, Aunt Petunia would send him off to Mrs. Figg for the afternoon while they went to the cinema.
There was always a plan.
Huddling now, beside the back step, Harry waited for the noise to subside into a sweeping round of 'Happy Birthday''s before creeping around to the front of the house and slipping in the front door. He crept through the hall, dragging his hand over the wallpaper and stopped when he reached the parlor.
There, on the floor, among the pile of shining paper and curled ribbons lay a tape player, the sort Harry caught people using on the telly with headphones and everything, a personal one, a Walkman. The cassette door was hanging on one hinge, but that didn't stop Harry from admiring it nevertheless. Harry was certain that it would only end up in the rubbish bin if left lying there, but he didn't move to take it. Dudley would notice and then everything that had been almost all right with that day would be wasted.
Harry knew patience.
He also knew that Aunt Petunia would take all of Dudley's least favored presents and shut them away in Dudley's second bedroom upstairs. With a last wistful look, Harry crawled into his cupboard and shut the door behind him.
It was everything he thought it would be. Harry twisted the tiny screw back into place and snapped the cassette door closed and hesitated. He tangled the cord for the headphones between his fingers and glanced at the partially opened door, straining to hear if anyone might have come home early when he hadn't been paying attention.
The last thing he wanted was to get caught now. Harry plucked a discarded tape off the ground and pressed in the eject button on the Walkman. The door sprung open part of the way and only needed a little help to fully open, but it had worked and that was what mattered. He slid the cassette tape in to side B, the side he'd spent all afternoon recording using the radio downstairs.
Harry marveled at his handy work, caressing the silver colored exterior of the player with his thumb. It would be the nicest thing he owned if he managed to keep it a secret. Even though it was dinged and wounded, Harry doubted he'd ever held something so wonderful that he might be able to call his own.
And he didn't even know if it worked yet.
He hadn't made a conscious decision to take the tape player to the park, but it was the first place he ran to. The Dursleys wouldn't be home for another two hours which gave Harry plenty of time to listen to the cassette at least twice before having to leave. The playground on Magnolia Road wasn't empty, a few mothers had brought their young children to play in the sand and on the swings and Harry headed straight for the see-saws and the jungle gym beyond it. He slid through the metal bars and made himself cozy in the shadowed sand.
The headphones were enormous. Harry thought they had to be about twice the size of his ears and even at their smallest, they kept sliding off his head and knocked his glasses askew. He held them on with one hand as he fumbled to push down the play button. The machine whirred and whined, but beneath all that noise, music was playing. It was scratchy and dim, but there, and it was his.
His own little music player that was as banged up and useless as everyone told Harry he was, but no one, not even the Dursleys would be able to take it away from him, and that made it amazing.