split flat

Kravitz takes damage from holy energy, at least in his crystal form, and seems pretty edgy around Merle. Barry was solidly repelled by a holy symbol and even in human form it put him in a bad state. In short, they’re all useless and undead, even if they do work for a goddess. She’s a goddess of dead things, okay? Her realm is a bit iffy and her reapers are breaking the rules by anyone’s standards. 

Merle brings out Angelic Della Reese at a BoB barbeque one time without out thinking about it, just to entertain the kids, and Kravitz, Lup, and Barry disappear. They’re gone, across the quad and barricading themselves in Lucretia’s office in a split second flat. Kravitz actually leaves his body behind, Barry and Lup can’t because they’re a little more alive then he is but they do make a solid effort at escaping through the air vents. Merle wises up after that, and stops using big holy shows of force when his undead friends are around. He will break up fights with the XTreme Teen Bible sometimes though. A bop on the head usually has any one of them reeling back. 

He finally stops after Lup snaps and pulls a scythe on him, and after that there’s a strict “no weaponized religion at family events” rule. The three of them have to sit a few rows back at Carey and Killian’s wedding, just in case their non-denominational vows get too intense, and Kravitz politely turns down invitations to go to a few potlucks at the Temple of Istus in Refuge, but it’s good, it’s fine. At least it would be if Taako didn’t find their “allergy” absolutely hilarious. He keeps threatening to get a spray bottle of holy water to use on them. Lup keeps threatening to murder him so he’ll know how the whole undead thing feels.  

anonymous asked:

LAMP, au where everyone is born with wings distinctive to their personality but can only fly after meeting their soulmate (can be platonic if you want), fluff please!!!

**This got so ridiculously long, and I am so, so ridiculously pleased. This is 2,760 words. How did this happen? 

Warnings: Small amount of swearing, some angst but I couldn’t resist a fluffy ending, lots of tears shed

This is poly sanders, Romantically involved because I’m a sucker for romance**

It happened when Virgil was born. There was a problem with the birth and he had to have surgery done, resulting in the loss of his wings.

“What did they look like?” He used to ask his mother. She’d tell him how soft they were, how dark they were, the color of the night sky dipped in the ocean. How beautiful they could have become. After awhile, he asked less and less sad to hear about what could have been and what would never be, and by the time he was ten he had come to hate the mere mention of his non-existent wings.

All of the adults pitied him, all of the children teased him.

Virgil was teased for it, of course he was, all throughout school. All the other children had wings, all the other children would find their Soulmates.


It was bitter on his tongue.

Another tragedy all the winged beings encompassed themselves with.

Everyone had a Soulmate.

‘You probably don’t even have a Soulmate. That’s why they took your wings away.’

At first, he denied it. He wanted so desperately to fit in. He told them, he did have a Soulmate, and his Soulmate would be the most beautiful person ever. They’d tease him. They’d laugh at him. They’d tell him he was wrong.

He’d never have a Soulmate.

And he grew to hate them, too.

He grew to hate his non-existent Soulmate. The reason he was teased. The reason he was mocked. The reason he was alone.

Virgil would never have a Soulmate.


It was years after he had graduated high school that he met another with very similar thinking to his own.

They had run into each other on the street. An accident, really. Virgil hadn’t been looking where he was walking, hood pulled up and eyes cast down, and had collided with a man as he turned the corner.

Logan, he’d soon learn, hadn’t been watching his steps either; nose buried in some book more important than his steps.

Virgil was sarcastic and bitter, Logan was frozen, frowning at his wings.

“Do I know you?” He asked finally, as Virgil stepped past.


“You sure?”


“It’s just….” He shivered.

“I don’t care.”

Two years later, and they were happily living together as a couple.

Logan had similar thoughts to Virgil when it came to Soulmates.

“I don’t want my love to be determined by “pre-existing forces”. I should be allowed to decide for myself who I live the rest of my life with.”

Semi-similar to Virgil at least- Logan’s view point wasn’t stemmed from years of self-loathing and teasing.

“Good thing you got me then,” Virgil would say, smirking. After all, they loved each other, but Logan couldn’t fly.

He once said that his wings felt odd whenever Anxiety was around. Lighter almost, but said his heart felt that way too and then the conversation would usually lead into the “emotions” territory, which both men were terrible with.

But, they knew they loved each other, and that’s all they needed.


“I…. I met my Soulmate today.”

Virgil immediately dropped his phone to the couch, eyes wide for a split second before falling flat and empty.


“Yeah…. It was… odd. My wings,” He glanced behind him, flexing out the gray feathered appendages so they brushed the ceiling and then folded them back and frowned, “I felt…. they fluttered. All on their own. It was like air was-”

“Yeah, I get it,” Virgil cut him off. Logan snapped his mouth shut.

Virgil didn’t like talking about his own wings, yes, but he seemed to live through Logan. Always asking to feel the otherswings, to groom them. He’d ask for Logan to tell him how they felt in the wind, how it felt to sleep, how it felt to have them pet…. He may not remember having his own wings, but he did seem to miss them.

“I’ll take you flying one day,” Logan told him one night as they curled together in a hammock, his left wing draped over them. “I’ll carry you in the sky with me in the night. Just you and me.”

“If you’re flying you’ll have your Soulmate,” Virgil had pointed out bitterly, a word very accurate to anytime he discussed Soulmates.

“Sure. I’ll find them, but I don’t need a Soulmate. I have you, and you’re all I want.”

“Look, just get on with it already.” Virgil’s words snapped Logan from his thoughts.

“Get on with what?” He asked in confusion, not an emotion he particularly liked, but one he found himself dealing with often when it came to his boyfriend. For someone who didn’t like feelings, Virgil had quite a few of them.

“You’re leaving, right? You’ve discovered your real Soulmate, you’ve realized being with me is foolish and you’re going to go be with them, right?” He wasn’t looking at Logan now, simply staring at his lap. His tone was emotionless.

“Hey,” Logan’s tone was sharp. He immediately walked over and sat beside the other. “Virgil,” He picked up the others hand and got no resistance. “Yes, I’ve found a Soulmate, but that means nothing. I’m interested, I suppose that’s the pull of the soulbond, but I would never, ever leave you. It’s you’ve I’ve fallen in love with Virgil, and it’s you who I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with, soulbond be damned.”

Virgil couldn’t stop himself, “Don’t say that.” He sniffled, “I know the power of a soulbond.” He didn’t, obviously, but he had been told, “I know it’s nearly impossible to resist. I don’t…. I don’t want you to hurt, because you’ve ignored them, I-….”

Logan reached out and lifted the others head, his own eyes meeting Virgil’s watery own.

“I just don’t want you to leave me-” His voice cracked at the end, and Logan was holding him then. Whispering soft sweet nothings and promises he would never break.

He would never leave Virgil. He could never leave Virgil.

If he could, he would give his own soul to him.


Through lots of talking, and after many months, Logan began happily dating his Soulmate, Patton. Whom, he’d come to find, was not his only Soulmate.

“Who knew you were so high-maintenance,” Virgil joked when he found out.

“It’s very upsetting,” Logan had frowned.

“How so? We not enough for you now?” It was a joke, but Logan always took Virgil’s self-depreciating humor seriously. Some small part of Virgil was thankful for that.

“You shouldn’t measure yourself out like that. Virgil, you’re greater than you know.” He kissed the others head, “And, I was referring to the fact that I still am unable to carry you through the skies.”

“Hm, well I’m still holding you to that, so get on that “finding your other Soulmate and/or Soulmates” thing.”

Logan smiled.

“Yes dear.”

After about three months of Patton and Logan being together, Virgil finally met the famed “Heart”.

Virgil never understood why Logan referred to him like that. Yes, Logan gushed (though, he wouldn’t admit to it) about the other and his emotional state of every second of every day, and how open he was about his feelings, but the nickname was still out of place.

Then, Virgil saw him.

His wings, large, red, and shimmering, were the shape of a heart when extended to full length. A large extension of the man himself.

It took merely three weeks for Virgil to fall head-over-heels for the other man, but he never said a word. This was Logan’s Soulmate- Virgil didn’t belong anywhere in that mix.

So, he kept his distance. He stayed out of the confusion that was Soulmates. Especially, Soulmates that weren’t his.

Puppy love, he called it. He was sure it’d pass.

It didn’t.

Everyday, it seemed his affections grew, until one day he confessed his feelings to Logan, apologizing over and over about butting in where he doesn’t belong, about getting in the way of his and Patton’s soulbond.

“Virgil,” Logan had said, “Virgil it’s okay. You can’t help who you love, anymore than I can. Love is okay, Virgil. You’re the one who taught me that. It’s okay.”

And a day later, Virgil had more than he could have hoped as he sat inbetween his partner of so many years, and his partner of seven minutes.

Patton had, or so he said, loved Virgil since the day they met.

Virgil said Patton was just being dramatic.

Patton only ruffled his wings in reply.


“Why don’t you understand, I have no control over this?” Logan ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“You said you did! You said you’d never leave me! That you chose me!” Virgil yelled back, tears streaming down his face.

“I can’t choose who my Soulmates are, it’s not my fault!” Logan shot back, raising his voice in frustration more than anger.

He had met his Soulmate. Apparently, he had only two. He had all but flown (literally, he had to restrain himself) when he had run into a young man hurrying out of the local town hall, the two running hard into each other, but Logan having leaped back (okay, maybe he had kinda flown) so he didn’t fall.

Logan could finally fly.

He had flown home immediately to tell Virgil, who had been ecstatic to learn Logan had found his other Soulmate. Getting to know Patton and understand Soulbond’s better had really opened his mind and allowed him to see past what years of pain had done to him.

A week later, Logan was already dating Roman, and that’s when things got rocky.

Roman was all Logan talked about. Roman was all Logan thought about. Roman was all Logan cared about.

Then Pat.

Patton met Roman.

Lo and behold, Roman was his final Soulmate as well, and he had soared with love, high into the sky.

Roman had a third Soulmate, though, as Virgil had been told he still couldn’t fly.

And now, two months later, Virgil was done. He had been hoping, he had been hoping so hard things could work.

But his love wasn’t even close to enough when it came to soulbonds. They would always be more. They would always be better. And they would always be…. not him.

He knew he loved Logan and Patton. He knew they loved him, too. Though his mind liked to say it was lies, he had put all his faith and hope into their love and he would trust them with it.

It was hard though.

He wanted to believe the others loved him. He wanted to be enough for them. But, it was obvious now that he wasn’t. He’d never compare to their souls. He’d never compare to what they had.

Not him.

Not the wingless, soulless nobody.

Not Virgil.

Which lead to now. When Virgil had declared their relationship over. When he said he was leaving.

“You said you understood that I was with them! If you didn’t like that I was with them, why didn’t you say something?!” Logan fumed.


Virgil screamed, and the tears fell.

Everything was silent.

“Because, I could never, ever make you choose. Because, I know that you could never choose me over your soulbond.”

“What do you know about Soulmates?” The words left his mouth in rage, and died immediately in the battle.

It didn’t matter.

Their damage was done.

Virgil sobbed and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Virgil, I didn’t mean it-”

He was gone. Out the door like lightning, and tears falling like rain.

He wouldn’t know, but Logan immediately called Patton, and both took to the skies to look for him.

Hard to find one man in a city though, however hard they looked.

He managed to make his way towards the center of the city, twisting through streets until he was sure he had to be in another Country, walking for long, long hours he never wanted to end. He didn’t want to go back and face what had happened He didn’t want to face the reality he had been thrust into.

Why couldn’t he just have a soulbond like everyone else? Why couldn’t he have been normal?


He fell backwards as another person collided with him.

He kept his gaze on the ground as the other lept backwards into the air.

Another person to rub it in his face how alone he was.


Suddenly, hands were holding his face, and making him look upwards into the face of one of the handsomest men he knew. Though, to be fair he was, had been, dating the other two.

“You’re- why are you crying? Are you hurt?! Is my first act upon finding my true love only to hurt them?! Oh, how tragic! How dismal! How utterly horrific of me! I must-”

“Let go of me,” He pushed the other off and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands, “you didn’t do nothin’. I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s one relief,” The other sighed, but then he knelt down and was brushing the hair from Virgil’s face, “But, when I find out whoever it was that hurt my Soulmate, they won’t be so happy.”

Virgil chuckled bitterly, the salty tears finding the corners of his lips as if to remind him he needed to be sad.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed buddy,” He motioned to his back, “But, I’m afraid you have the wrong guy.”

“Nonsense!” He jumped at how loud the other became, “It was your touch that brought me flight, thus it is your final soul that is bound to mine!”

Virgil scowled at the ground, “Look. I don’t have a soul, so it can’t be me. Just leave me alone!”

His pursuer stayed silent. He crouched down in front of Virgil and brushed the hair, once more, from his eyes.

“I don’t know what’s befallen you in life to make the sun so dark in your eyes, and I can’t take those filters away, but allow me to help, and I can brighten the sun tenfold until all you can see is its beauty.”

And it was all Virgil needed.

He had lived, all his life, every waking moment, believing he was soulless. That he couldn’t be anybodies. He couldn’t, wasn’t, like others. And suddenly, this man swoops in and tells him he has a soul. Further yet, that it has a mate.

And he’s sobbing again, and he’s being held and whispered, too. Told that everything would be okay.

He hears, vaguely, the other mention carrying him in flight to Virgil’s home, but he turns him down.

Logan, his first love, currently one of his only, had promised him his first flight. And now, he may never ever get it, but he wouldn’t destroy that promise. He held it dear, closer to his heart than his soul, and he couldn’t give it away.

“Okay, let me call for my others, and they can come help, okay?”

Virgil didn’t understand, but he nodded anyways.

A few short minutes later, he heard it.

A loud clap as shoes met pavement, and then he was being barreled into and pulled from his supposed Soulmate into new arms.

“Virgil, Virge, thank God, thank God,” Someone wept, “I was so worried, so scared, I didn’t- I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

It was Logan.

It was Logan that was holding him.

He clutched tightly to his shirt.

It was Logan who came for him.

Soulbond be damned.

It was Logan he loved.

It was Patton he loved.

His heart wrenched.

….This was it. What he didn’t understand before.

A solebond hurt.

A solebond hurt so much.

He may not love him now, but he knew. He knew he’d love him later.

He knew he’d love his soulmate- this man he had met only an hour earlier.

Had he known, he would have recognized this feeling many years ago, when he first met Logan.


“Thank you.”

He’d say, as he leaned into Logan’s chest, wind ruffling his hair as they flew across the stars.

Roman was twirling through clouds, attempting to be Peter Pan and discovering that clouds are, infact, made of water.

Patton was connecting stars with his flight pattern, creating large dogs, and fluffy cats in the sky.

“I always keep my promises.”

alright, iv'e seen all these posts about southern gothic (sexy, sweaty, voodoo and devils at crossroads) and new england gothic (deep dark forests and lake monsters and colonial ghosts) and southwest gothic (basically night vale)

but guys

what about long island gothic

your velour tracksuit glows like a velvet void in the watery sunlight.

your flat iron not only fries your hair, it fries the air around you, everything it touches it. leaves hot and flat and split and feathered. your hairspray leaves a trail of tangible dark that invades the nostrils of all who pass

there’s a diner at the edge of the void-marina called the east bay or the apollo or something, where the burgers are mediocre but the moussaka is delicious. dont try the coffee. your waitress has served lou reed, the jersey devil that one time he was on vacation, at least two middle eastern dictators, and probably poseidon. she was equally rude to all of them.

billy joel wants you to put actual bread in his jar for some reason. man, what are you doing here?

your aunts asks you endless streams of questions about what your major is, what you’re going to do after college, who you should be sacrificing raccoons to in the light of the half moon for good luck, who your grandfather thinks it should be and why he’s wrong, then return to gossiping about who your middle school english teacher touched inappropriately last summer.

everything smells a little like the sea, even when youre miles from the shore, even when you sleep.

i can’t tell if i’m joking or not.



In this video, I share some of the most effective flexibility training tips to help you get your middle splits flat to the floor and be able to “roll” into them. For the advanced flexibility practitioner ;)

(JaredLeto)Joker X Reader Deadly Voice Part 4

Sorry everyone - another long one and I’m afraid barely a mention of the Joker (I’m starting to feel like I shouldn’t call this this Joker x Reader at the moment - I promise there will eventually be some! :S

Thank you again to everyone that reads - I might would love to try something new like a One shot or something (where there would definitely be a lot more Joker - if that was the wanted theme!) so if anyone has any requests I am happy to give them ago!

Thanks guys!


From my street I followed a route I had only been along once. I was shivering in the cold air and limping badly – the fear that had driven me to run previously long since gone.

The sun was just rising as I pushed the buzzer on a large town house that had been split into flats. There was no response. I pushed it again and held it a bit longer before releasing.

“-ght, alright - Yes?” came a sleepy male voice over the speaker

“Hey Jake – its [Y/N], mind if I come up?” I questioned nervously – after all it had been a long time.

“[Y/N]? [Y/N] [L/N]?! Uh yeah sure I guess…” he mumbled and I heard the buzz of the door to the entrance. I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t seen Jake in nearly 2 months. I only knew him because he was Jack’s twin brother; he had sometimes come round to visit the club before he had taken over. We had gotten talking once and it ended up as a date - but then all had hell broken loose with the club changing hands and I hadn’t seen him since.

I didn’t know what I would have done if he had told me to leave – now I just had to convince him to let me stay for the night, or at least the rest of it.

I took the steps to his door and knocked. He opened it quite quickly and he seemed to wake up when he saw me and his eyes widen as he took in my attire. I looked down at myself then, only just acknowledging the state my dress was in. I placed my hands over a few parts of my dress that were ripped in a few revealing places. “I’m really sorry Jake, could I come in?” I asked shyly

“[Y/N]?! What are you doing here at,” He glanced behind him at his clock, “5:30 in the morning?!” he groaned turning back to me. “And what happened?!” I looked at him clearly now – he was in light blue pyjamas with a dressing gown hastily thrown around his thin frame and brown hair ruffled from bed.

“Ok I know this is sudden and I’m really sorry but I didn’t have anywhere else to go!” I explained quickly.

He looked me over again “Sure com-“ - this time noticing my leg – “Oh shit – you’re covered in blood! Come in - sit down!” He ushered me into the room and closed the door quickly before leading me to his sofa.

I looked around the place – it was similar to the last time I had been here – I sat in the lounge to the right side of the flat. The other side was a small kitchen with a table and chairs and I knew a hallway ran along the back of the flat to a bedroom and bathroom.

Jake walked to the kitchen to get a damp cloth and handed it to me – “Here – use that on your leg.”

“Thank you Jake, I appreciate it.” I took it from him and tenderly cleaned the dried blood off my leg, wincing with stinging tap.

We sat in silence a bit whilst I tended my leg and he brought me a bandage, some pain killers and a cup of tea. “Thanks Jake, I owe you.”

“Well you can start paying me back by telling me what the hell happened to you.” He joked weakly. So I did – I told him everything - though I left out the fact that I had caused the explosion.

He stayed silent throughout the story either watching me or glancing away around the room.

“Oh my god.” Was all he could said when I finished recounting my night.

“I know, it has been a long evening.” I stated with a sigh looking down at my lap. Now that I thought about it all it seemed ridiculous.

“Yeah I’d say… God… But… Why..Why did the Joker attempt to take you?” He questioned. I shook my head – I didn’t have an answer – I didn’t know why. Did he know that I have caused the explosion? How could he? But there was no other reason why he might take me otherwise and be so angry when he found I was gone.

“I guess no one understands that man…” he trialled off in thought. I nodded. I could finally feel my weariness catching up on me and I didn’t feel like talking anymore.

Jake must have noticed this because he abruptly stood up. “Of course you need rest – I mean look at you!” he gestured at me with a slight smirk on his face trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit.

“Look Jake, I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was anywhere else I could go but…”

“No worries [Y/N] – don’t even start. Just get some sleep.” He pulled a throw off one of his armchairs and placed it on the sofa next to me. I’m sorry I only have the sofa for you, but your welcome to as many pillows or blankets as you want and-“

“Thanks Jake. That’s sounds like the most perfect thing at the moment.” I smiled tiredly at him. He smiled back and nodded. He headed off to his room and I thought he had gone back to bed before he returned with a some jogging bottoms and a long shirt.

“Best I can do sorry.” He mumbled handing them to me. I thanked him yet again

“Good night [Y/N] – or should I say good morning” he chuckled before turning off the light and heading to his room.

I got changed – feeling so much better to be out of my dress and into warm clean clothes. I lay down on the sofa, positioning a cushion under my head before wrapping myself up in the throw. Over my feet I could see the dim light of the morning beginning to come through the curtained window, so I turned over with my back to it and closed my eyes.

I awoke to the sound of dishes clinking together and I peered over the top of the sofa into the kitchen. “Sorry – did I wake you?” asked Jake as he pulled a bowl down from a cupboard. He was dressed in a causal shirt and smart jeans. His hair was still messy, but in a slightly more styled way to last night.

“Yeah, but I ought to be up really.” I laughed at his guilty face.

“No you shouldn’t,” he retorted defiantly, “you ought to be resting you’ve been up all night and you have a bum leg!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” I laughed as I sat myself up right. It was strange - I noted - that I still had a surprising good sense of humour, given everything.

I checked myself over - my head didn’t feel too bad now and my hands were less tender. My leg however still throbbed and I gasped quietly at the pain that shot through it as I moved to stand up – the running on it yesterday hadn’t done it any good.

“Hey, hey – sit back down!” commanded Jake rushing over to me with concern on his face.

“Nah I’m fine,” I brushed him off “Just – do you have any more pain killers?” I asked wincing in pain as I tried to put more weight on it.

“Of course – hang on.” He moved back into the kitchen and dug around a draw before filling a glass of water and bringing it back to me, forcing me to sit back down before he gave it to me.

“Thanks.” I muttered at him.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked sitting down next to me as I took the pills.

“I guess I don’t really know….” I murmured. It was true. I didn’t.

“What are you supposed to do when you have no job, no safe place and a crazy psychopath supposedly trying to find you?” I laughed weakly, trying to find the humour in my situation. And I must admit I was failing.

We sat in silence again for a few moments. I didn’t mind though – it felt comfortable.

Jake finally broke the peace, smiling down at me “Well I think I can fix two of those things.”

“What do you mean?” I questioned curiously.

“Well as of where to stay – viola,” he said motioning around his flat with his arms.

“No Jake I coul-“

“No, not hearing another word.” He said simply putting his hand up at me. I let out a sigh – I could feel my weariness coming back to me and I didn’t have the energy to fight him on this.

He took my silence as acceptance and nodded at me. “As for the job – I might be able to fix that too!  A previous boss of mine is holding auditions on Thursday night for a new singer at his club – you’d be perfect!” he explained beaming at me.

I smiled at him weakly not even really registering what he was saying. “As for the whole being-chased-by-a-psychopath thing – that might be the only thing I might not be able to fix…” He trailed off in thought staring into space in the direction of his coffee table in front of us. I made the most fo his silence to lie curled up against the arm of the sofa – my feet tucked up under me as he was sat on the other side.

“But maybe – Yes! [Y/N] I –“ He burst out but then stopped when he saw me curled back up on the chair. “Oh, sorry, oh course – don’t worry you’ll be able to get all the rest you need here.” He said trying to comfort me I presumed. He stood up and turned away to leave me in peace. “Oh – I’ll try and be quieter.” He muttered and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I then stretched my legs back out to make use of his vacated space. The last thing I heard was a door closing.

Crusty, rusty mounting hardware rejuvenation. “Pink Snot” to the rescue!

I’ve been spending some time tearing down several pieces of the 75 Imperialstars in the previous post to nest and ship to a buyer in California. As is normal for 40 plus year old drums, I found the lug mounting screws, muffler hardware, t rods and washers to be in pretty rough shape. So in this post, I decided to document the journey and do a bit of a pictorial, how-to guide on how I usually go about rejuvenating damn near barnacle encrusted hardware back to usable condition.

Here’s how the lug screws, tone control mounting hardware and washers started out. They looked to have been “rid hard and put away wet”…no seriously, like literally put away wet. Most people would just say “fuck that noise” and find some original screws. Me…I have way too much free time on my hands and ALWAYS try to salvage the original screws because it’s not like any vintage Tama screws are all that readily available. 

Be warned, this process WILL remove any of the original yellow zinc plating that is on the screws. In this case…there wasn’t much left to worry about so they are the perfect candidate for restoration.

First the lug screws…I know WTF…Life After People style…but alas, there is hope.

Tone control screws, washers and nuts…whee dawgies…totally jacked.

Washers…not too bad, but could use a good kick in the face…

First step: Slather them in “pink snot”…also known by the brand name “Loctite Naval Jelly Rust Dissolver” available in the glue and paint remover section at your local Home Depot. It gets its name because they use it to get rust off of battle ships…so this is the real deal and will gladly and chemically burn your face off if given the chance. It is also great on lug casings, chrome hoops, Titan stand hardware and steel snare shells. Surprisingly, Tama chrome doesn’t seem to mind it (nor does vintage Camco) as far as marring the finish. I love this stuff and like the Red Hot sauce ad…”I put that shit on everything!” This product is a little harsh on the sinuses so you are best off using it outside with good ventilation and blue nitrile gloves to protect your manicure. Shmear it on and let it sit for twenty minutes or so. Vigorously work the product around the hardware several times every few minutes with an old paint brush you have lost all respect for.

This is how the parts will look after they are rinsed thoroughly with hot soapy water. Any rust that remains has been turned to black carbon deposits that will need further attention. In the case of these lug screws, they were so corroded that the washers seemed almost fused together. This is a result of a build up rust between the flat washer and the threads below as the screw is pressed against the shell. This is where you grab a decent flat blade screw driver and give the lock washer and flat washer a twist to break them free from their bondage.

The tone control hardware pretty much needs just a little face time with a Dremel tool and a wire wheel attachment. If you don’t have a Dremel tool…get one! Best damn Christmas present ever. Each piece as well as the t rod washers will need to be burnished to remove any remaining deposits prior to getting a good soak in WD40. Don’t forget your safety goggles kids…a wire wheel shard in the eye sucks.

In mid process below. I also gave the fully separated lug screws and washers a once over with the Dremel wire wheel as there will be rust and corrosion in that area where the washers were stuck together. The lug screws will get yet another ride on the “Pink Snot Express” to ensure they are rust free.

I also used the pink snot on tension rods…makes them all pretty again.

The old “shake, shake, shake” in the pickle jar filled with acetone for a final rinse.

This is how the lug screws should look after the second pink snot bath, rinsing, drying and another shot with the Dremel wire wheel. Both the flat and split washers are now free floating on the screw shaft. Oh so sparkly.

Now the next part, I’ve never actually tried before. Normally I jut soak these in WD40 for future rust abatement and call it a day. However, my friend Kevin Cundy up in the Great White North mentioned in a Facebook post that he likes to shoot them with some gold metallic spray paint. I figured what the hell, I’ll try it on a few of the screws and see how it looked. The two spray cans pictured below both look like gold, but the “Bright Coat” one on the right is a bright Silver Metallic finish. I shot these test screws first with a light coat of the silver from all angles, then hit it with a light coat of the gold when the first silver coat was wet. I thought maybe the two sheens (silver and gold…not Charlie and Martin) would play well off of each other. The idea is to kind of mist it on. You can go back and hit it with a mist of of the silver again to get an even lighter mixed metallic sheen if you wish. 

Test screws close up…pretty shwanky.

I thought “Hey these look pretty fucking awesome…I’ll just do the rest of them!”

Below are the finished product on the right, with some original yellow zinc plated, super clean screws on the left. The spray coat will keep the rust at bay for the foreseeable future and make them as close to factory fresh as possible. This is by no means a perfect match and they are lacking that blue/green yellow zinc cast, but I don’t see anyone coming out with a snazzy “Popeil’s Pocket Yellow Zinc Electroplate DIY Kit” any time soon…and don’t think me and some other guys with fist fulls of fucked up looking screws haven’t researched that possibility as well.

Booosh…in just a few hours…this happened.

So the moral of the story is…yes, I do have too much free time on my hands (that’s not actually true, I have two kids which means zero free time) and even though your screws may look like total ass…they can in fact be revitalized with some due diligence, elbow grease…and of course “Pink Snot”.

Cheers and thanks for taking a look!

- jt

How many students were at Hogwarts?

There were definitely more dorm rooms for each year and each house. Like, in Order of the Phoenix when Harry is raging against Umbridge at their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, there is a line that says “’It was murder’ said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly talked to anyone about this, let alone thirty eagerly listening classmates.”

We know for a fact that that class was only full of 5th year students, and only the Gryffindors were in that class with Umbridge. And we know only 8 Gryffindor 5th year students by name, Hermione and her dorm-mates, and Harry and his dorm-mates. This means that for some reason, 22 other students were in other dorms. Now, in the UK, student halls aren’t always equally split up. We have flats with anywhere from 3-11 people in them in the same building, so I’m assuming that the kids were just allocated randomly into dorms after Sorting.

It also makes sense because in one of the Quidditch matches in Prisoner of Azkaban, Harry notices that “Three quarters of the crowd were wearing scarlet rosettes, waving scarlet flags with the Gyffindor lion upon them… Behind the Slytherin goal posts, however, two hundred people were wearing green; the silver serpent of Slytherin glittered on their flags…” And if each year has roughly about 30 students in each house, that makes each house 30 x 7 = 210 students, making the estimate of students at Hogwarts to be around 850 students. 

This also is in line with a quote in Goblet of Fire during the Yule ball, Harry notices that “The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern lit ones, each seating a dozen people.” This includes all the staff, guests, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, and 100 x 12 = 1200. And so that students have some privacy, each dorm must only have a capacity of 3-5 students. Not to mention that Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers are huge and so must be the underground chambers for Slytherin and Hufflepuff. 

So that must mean that the attendance of Hogwarts must be somewhere around 1000 students at any given time, which makes sense considering wizards from all over the entire freaking United Kingdom probably study at Hogwarts. And please, for a wizarding school that must be pretty big! There aren’t many wizards, what with only ONE hospital in the entire country and ONE Ministry office and ONE matt shopping street and ONE branch of Gringotts. About 150 new wizard children per year is a lot if you think about it, the U.K. is already a pretty small country, and there wouldn’t be so many wizards to have so many kids to rival ordinary Muggle schools. 


Day 15 of #novembercombochallenge is #flatlinescorpio to #dragonstail. I’m always fighting with dragons tail for that flat split. Damn shoulders not letting me use my flexibility ☹️. Hosts @dredee1983 @kristen.bethanie @tara.renelle.roxy Sponsors @galepolewear @darkside.fitness . Wearing @twistedpolerina #keepcalmandinvert tank and @cleosrocknpole_online #cleotropical #hotpants
#polefitness #poledance #fitness #dance #pddragontail #pdflatlinescorpio #pdshouldermountbutterfly #pdspinpole #shouldermountbutterfly #spinpole #polefitnessvideos #thepoleking_international #cleosrocknpole #cleothehurricane #twistedpolerina #twistedpolerinabrag #poledancersofig #poledancersofinstagram #twirlygirlspolefitness #twirlygirl #pleasantonca #eastbay #norcalpoleposse #norcalpole (at Twirly Girls Pole Fitness)

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This ring is a wug.

This is a wug.

Now there are two of them.

There are two ____.

The answer, of course, is friends.


  • 18 gauge copper wire, textured with a rawhide mallet
  • 20 gauge copper sheet, cut with jeweler’s saw
  • Solder for base metals
  • Sealed with Protecta-Clear

Lessons learned:

  • Annealed copper is surprisingly soft. Remember to work harden before finishing.
  • Protect fingers while sawing.
  • Move pieces out of puddles of sealant before it can dry.
  • Nail polish remover makes removing sealant easy.
  • Silicone polishing wheels take off hard edges. Try bristle brushes or felt in the future.
  • Silicone polishing wheels do not take off excess solder. Try needle files or sandpaper on a split mandrel.
  • Prepolish flat surfaces.
  • Simple projects are good! This didn’t take long and linguists approve.
After My Heart - Calum Chambers

My house was a mess. Boxes were everywhere, although they didn’t belong to just me. (Actually only a few belonged to me, I was renowned for being a complete neat freak amongst my friends). They also belonged to my 3 room mates: Naomi, Jordan and Tom. We all went to the same university and after our first year had chosen to get a flat and split the rent.

So far it was so good but Jordan had mentioned that he had a friend staying over for the night and we were all rushing around attempting to make the flat look half decent. Jordan had given us no clue over who was visiting but it was clearly obvious that it wasn’t someone from Uni.


A few hours later a knock at the door was heard and typically Jordan was in the shower. I was sitting on the sofa doing Uni coursework and all I heard was:

“Y/N get the fucking door!”

I rolled my eyes and only planned to exchange polite words with the guest, whoever it was, and continue with my coursework. I paced slowly to the door and opened it. I was shocked to see who was standing there.

I recognised him immediately. It was Calum Chambers. I had followed football for a long time and it happened to be that Arsenal was the team I had chosen to support. I kept my cool and smiled at him.

“Urm hi, is Jordan in?” He asked politely.

“Hi, yeah he’s just having a shower but please come on in.” I said, standing aside so he could walk in. I closed the door after him and he brushed the non-existent mud off his shoes. He was incredibly polite.

I walked through to the living room and sat back down on the sofa, pulling my laptop back onto my lap. Calum had followed me through to the living room and sat on the sofa opposite me. I was immersed in coursework instantly, forgetting that Calum was even in the room.

“Sorry to disturb you, but who’s scarf is that?” Calum asked, making me raise my head and follow his gaze to the many boxes that were lying around the house. The scarf was a Gunners one, this seasons one.

“Oh that’s mine.” I said, slightly embarrassed.

“You’re an Arsenal fan?” He questioned. I nodded back at him and he smiled.

“Who’s your favourite player?” He asked.

“Giroud, if I had to choose.”

“What about me?” I smiled at his mock hurt. I decided to continue the banter.

“Meh, you’re alright.” I joked. Calum placed his hands up in surrender.

“Well that’s rude. Well you obviously know my name, so what’s yours?”


“Suits you, it’s cute.” 

“Is that your way of calling me cute?” I smirked, expecting him to falter and maybe get embarrassed. But he didn’t, he simply just smirked back at me.

“It is. Pretty, smart and you like football? You must be a girl after my own heart.” He chuckled. This time I was the one who faltered and got embarrassed. I began to blush a little but before I got the opportunity to make a witty comeback Jordan walked down from his shower, his hair still wet.

“Hey man.” Jordan spoke, making Calum look up and remember the reason he was here.

“Hey J.” Calum replied, standing up and exchanging a bro hug with my room mate.

“Sorry for taking so long.” Jordan apologised.

“Nah, it’s alright. Y/N was keeping me entertained.” Calum smirked. Jordan glanced down at me, sending me a knowing grin.

“Sure she was. Now come on, we’ve got FIFA to play.” Jordan said, clapping Calum on the back and pushing him in the direction of the stairs.

“See you Y/N.” Calum called over his shoulder, causing Jordan to roll his eyes and push him upstairs. I laughed at their antics, continuing with my coursework until my other room mate Naomi came downstairs.

“Flirting with a footballer now eh Y/N?” She teased. I groaned, knowing I wasn’t going to hear the end of this for a long time.

“Don’t you start….” I grumbled. Naomi flopped down on the sofa beside me, removing my laptop from my lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table, knowing I would snap if she handled my laptop thoughtlessly. 

“Forget coursework, tell me everything!” 



I loved the prompt for this imagine so thank you to whoever sent it in! 

Request if you want :)



For painfullymediocre - a little BikeMessenger!Harry and Architect!Draco for you - because apparently, there is nothing my brain won’t turn into Drarry if given half a chance.  I hope you have a wonderful day darling, big hugs xxx

Pic set by me, I don’t own the images.  Featuring Marlon Teixeira as Harry and Clark Bockelman as Draco.  

Some bad language.  No smut.  2.8K words. 


  Harry was having one of those days.  One of those days where he couldn’t seem to stop griping about the fact he had a university degree, that he was very talented in numerous fields, but owing to an infuriating need to pay his bills on time, had agreed to a job as a bloody bike messenger.  

  Not there was anything wrong with being a bike messenger.  There were days when he loved whizzing around London, priding himself of delivering packages on time or even early.  He liked the ones marked ‘Fragile!’ the best, he saw it as a challenge and had never once been responsible for any breakages.  

  But the downside to a job like this was it also gave you a lot of time to think, and Harry was thinking too much today.  About how his friends all had proper careers, were getting married, hell, Ron and Hermione were even expecting their first baby.  And here Harry was, in a menial job, single, living in an attic flat so small he could barely stand up straight in the middle of it.  

  He sighed and swung his bike around in the busy street, hoping off to manoeuvre it between parked cars and trot up to the few steps to the four story town house listed on his delivery form, hoisting his backpack around to fish the jiffy envelope out before ringing the doorbell.  This was a whole house.  Even if it was split into flats per floor – per room – Harry could never afford a place like this.  He told himself he wouldn’t even want to live in Chelsea anyway, it was full of people with more money than sense, but he still struggled to put on a smile as the door finally opened.

  “Jam Pony Messenger!” he said cheerfully as a wizened old codger in his eighties scowled down at him.  He had a maroon, velvet dressing gown on that Harry thought belonged in a Dickensian novel and a genuine pipe clamped between his teeth.  

  “You’re late,” he grumbled, snatching up the parcel from Harry’s hand.  Harry gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep smiling.

  “I’m sorry about that sir,” he said, despite the fact he was well within the allocated delivery slot.  Some people just made themselves feel better by acting like douche-bags to the help, and those people would probably die alone Harry assured himself.  Alone in their grandiose mansions, but alone none the less.  

  He held out his tablet for the man with a stylo.  “If I could just get your signature…”

  “New-fangled codswallop,” the man muttered, pulling his glasses out of his top pocket and inspecting the tablet dubiously, like it might explode.  As Harry held it out for him, he caught a handsome man leaving the building next door out of the corner of his eye.  He was tall and so blond his hair was almost white, and he wore a harangued look on his face as he stopped at the bottom of the short flight of stone steps, buttoned his suit jacket and rested his briefcase by his feet. He was talking very fast to someone on the other end of the mobile phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder, obviously late for a meeting or something.  Harry didn’t want to eavesdrop too obviously, so returned his full attention back to his customer who was finally scribbling on the screen with a trembling hand.

  “Great,” said Harry brightly as he handed the stylo back.  “Have a nice-” The door slammed in his face.  “Day.  Wanker,” he hissed under his breath and shook his head.  This day really sucked.  At least, he soothed himself as he turned back around to fetch his bike, he’d been able to spy a bit of man-candy.

   The blond was still talking on the phone.  “What do you mean they’ve cancelled!” he bemoaned, taking the phone back in his left hand and looking at his flashy watch on the other. “I was up all night working on those plans!”  He listened for a bit to the other end of the phone as Harry threw his leg over the bike frame and readjusted his helmet, hoping he didn’t look too dorky.  Not that the guy was paying him much attention, but Harry liked to think he maybe thought he was okay looking too.  If he was gay.  There was always a chance he wasn’t, but Harry was normally pretty spot-on guessing who was eligible for a good flirt, and this guy definitely checked all the boxes.  

  Harry brought up his schedule on his tablet as the guy huffed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.  “I guess,” he sighed, and Harry thought maybe he was on hold while someone rescheduled his meeting.  

  Harry also found himself sighing.  He had no jobs cued up, so he would just have to hang around until someone in West London decided they needed something moving urgently.  He could go back to the hub, he reasoned, but he always found once he did that he’d need to ride back out right where he just was, and that was tedious.  

  He only half noticed the teenager skulking by; the street was heavy with pedestrians and noisy from the traffic rumbling by, so it wasn’t that surprising.  But there was something about the way his shoulders were hunched under his t-shirt that caught Harry’s eye at the last second, just in time to look up and see the boy dart down, hand flashing out for the handle of the blond guy’s briefcase before he broke into a sprint.

  “NO!” the guy yelled, jerking forward, but the boy was already ten feet away.

  Harry didn’t even think.  He slammed his bike into gear and jumped on the pedals, shooting past the stunned guy still gripping his phone in his hand.  He wasn’t really sure what he wasn’t doing; all he knew was his day may have been crappy so far, but the look on that guy’s face was like the boy had just kidnapped his child, and Harry would be damned if he was going to let that slide by without a fight.  

  He rocketed between people already scattered by the fleeing thief.  Harry had to give him credit, he was lightning fast, but he wasn’t a match for Harry and his bike.  Which is probably why, after glancing over his shoulder to see he was being pursued, he darted right into the traffic.  

  “Shit!” cursed Harry, slowing and weaving between two parked cars, thankful to the one in motion that slammed on its breaks to let Harry into the flow of the road. The boy was already over the other side, running as hard as ever, but Harry decided to gain to ground before trying to cross the opposite lane.  Instead, he flew down the centre, between the vehicles going both ways, snapping his head back and forth to make sure he hadn’t lost the teenager.

  Soon enough, a side street loomed, and predictably that’s where the boy darted.  But Harry was already judging the cars next to him, and managed to swerve his bike between them and then in front of the van at a standstill by the bakery on the corner.  

  This street was much quieter, and Harry leaned into his handlebars, feeling the blood burning through his thigh muscles as he closed the gap between them…closer…until…

  He came up beside the boy and did the only thing he could think of, which was to yank the wheel and slam into him, sending him sprawling on the tarmac and the briefcase scattering from his hand.  Unfortunately, Harry also took a dive, crashing into the hard ground, scraping his skin and bashing his shoulder, his legs tangled painfully in his own bike frame.

  The boy was quicker back up to his feet, but he was panting and scowling incredulously at Harry, already limping away at a surprisingly fast rate.  Harry didn’t care though as he groaned and eased himself onto his arse, pushing his bike off and rubbing his bleeding elbow.  The briefcase was just a few feet away, half under a parked red hatchback, still locked and barely scratched from its fall.

  Harry had drawn a small crowd from his minor heroics, and a couple of people were drawing near, asking if he was okay.  But through them pushed a frantic figure, his blond hair visible before anything else, who drew up at the sight of Harry sat on the ground, his stolen property lying a couple of feet away.

  “Oh thank fuck,” he cried, sinking in front of Harry and grabbing his shoulders.  “Oh Christ alive, oh thank you thank you thank you.”  He dropped to sit beside Harry, one hand covering his face, the other resting on the leather of the case.  “You are my hero.”

  Harry gave a shaky laugh as a couple of people inspected his wounds and asked if he wanted them to call an ambulance.  “No, no,” he said, waving them off with a grateful smile.  “I’m fine, it’s worse than it looks.”  After a lifetime of scraped appendages he knew that although his grazes stung, they just needed a wash and they’d heal in a week or so.  

  The blond guy was taking slow, deep breaths, and appeared to be recovering somewhat.  “Thank you,” he said again, lowering his hand and looking Harry at sincerely.  He had beautiful silvery eyes, and Harry had to take a second to recover himself.  

  “Oh, hey, no problem,” he told him, easing himself to his feet.  The man hopped up too, offering a helping hand which Harry took even though he didn’t really need it.  “You seemed like you wanted your case back pretty badly.”

  The small crowd were dispersing with smiles and nods that Harry reciprocated to assure them he was really okay, and convey thanks for their concern.  The guy shook his head ruefully and picked up the case, hugging it to his chest.  His jacket had come undone to reveal more of his white shirt, still crisp despite his sprint, and a teal-green tie that complimented his eyes and hair very nicely. “I’m such an idiot,” he said as Harry pulled his bike back up and kicked the stand.  It didn’t look like it had incurred any damage, which Harry was extremely thankful for; he couldn’t afford any repairs right now.  

  “You’re not an idiot,” Harry said, fetching a bottle of water from his satchel and taking a swig.  “This area’s not exactly common for muggings.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said the guy, taking the bottle as Harry offered it and draining a good mouthful.  He tapped the briefcase.  “The plans in here are hard copies, and there aren’t any back-ups.  I was rushing too much and I thought I’d be okay, normally I have triple copies, quadruple.”  He shook his head again and raised his eyebrows at Harry.  “I would have been monumentally screwed if you hadn’t chased that guy down.”

  Harry shrugged.  “He got away,” he said, stating the obvious, but the blond shook his head even harder.

  “Couldn’t give a shag,” he said firmly.  “These drawings are for a deal that could be worth millions, they’re all I care about.” He inhaled deeply, his eyes still trained on Harry, and stuck out his hand.  “Thank you,” he said once again, but Harry didn’t mind.  He was happy he’d been able to save his handsome stranger a world of grief, he could deal with a bit of awkward grovelling.  

  “No problem at all,” he insisted, shaking his hand which was warm and pleasant in Harry’s grip.  He tried to suppress the fleeting image of having those hands elsewhere on his body, but without much luck.  

  “Let me repay you,” said the guy, dropping his hand and gesticulating uncertainly.  “I mean, I’m not sure I can, but you could come back to my apartment and clean up, I could make you tea or something?”

  Harry couldn’t actually believe his luck.  “Yeah, sure,” he stammered.  “That would be great.”

  The guy gave him a beaming smile, and they began walking back the way they had chased the thief, Harry’s bike trundling along between them.  “I’m Draco by the way, Draco Malfoy.”  He drummed his fingers on the leather, the case hugged to his torso again.

  Harry would normally make a quip about the stupid names rich people gave their kids, but he found he couldn’t even muster one mentally.  It was such an unusual name, beautiful but strong.

  “Nice to meet you Draco, I’m Harry,” he told him, watching amused as Draco ran his hand fretfully through his fine blond hair.  

  “And do you often come to the rescue of hopeless architects Harry?” he asked, managing a shaky smile that Harry mirrored back.  

  “Oh yes,” he laughed.  “A fellow has to make a living, the courier business isn’t what it used to be you know.”

  That got a laugh out of Draco too, and Harry could see him start to relax.  As they walked, Harry tapped out a text with his thumb, one hand still on the handlebars, telling his boss he’d been knocked off his bike and asking for a longer lunch break.  He got a reply almost immediately telling him to take the rest of his shift off, and suddenly this day didn’t seem so rubbish after all.

   “I’m so sorry you got hurt,” said Draco as they crossed back over the main road and headed up towards his building.  “I should have said that first, I was worrying about the stupid drawings, are you okay, do you need to go to hospital?”

  Harry chuckled; he obviously hadn’t been listening to him talking to the people who had come over to help.  “Honestly I’m fine,” he said.  “Once I wash the blood off there’ll only be a few grazes.”

  “Well,” said Draco, fishing his keys out and unlocking the front door.  “I’d like to help in any way I can.  You can have a shower if you want, and I could lend you some clothes?”

  Harry looked down as they stepped into the cool entrance hall, out of the heat of the midday sun.  He hadn’t realised he’d ripped his trousers, and his t-shirt had blood on it.  “Oh, thanks,” he said.  “That would be great.”  They deposited Harry’s bike under the stairwell and headed upwards.  

  Draco’s flat was on the second floor, and was three times the size of Harry’s. Again, he tried to muster up enough energy to be jealous, but instead he just found himself appreciating Draco’s style and décor.  Being an architect, it wasn’t surprising to find lots of arty prints on the walls and modern looking sculptures dotted about the bookshelves and on coffee tables. It was a good deal more sophisticated than Harry’s horror movie posters and sci-fi memorabilia.  He pondered maybe there was a reason his flat was a fraction of the size of Draco’s.  

  “So,” said Draco, flying about the place.  Harry spotted there was a spare room filled with a couple of large easels, white-boards and a computer with two monitors, but it was to his bedroom that Draco darted.  “I’ll grab you some things, the bathroom’s through there, and I can make you some tea – or coffee?”

  “Tea,” said Harry, inspecting the bookcase.  “Two sugars, thanks.”

  Draco ushered him into the white-tiled bathroom with a pile of jeans, polo-shirt and a fresh towel.  “Use whatever you like, take your time, I’ve not got any more meetings now so I’ll be, you know, here,” he said, waving his hands about scattily.  “I’ll just…”  He stopped and took a deep breath.  “Sorry. I’m not used to being mugged.”  He gave a curt nod.  “I shall be in the kitchen, making whatever tea has the least caffeine in it.”

  Harry reached out and took his shoulder.  “Freak out all you like,” he said with a grin.  “My boss gave me the day off.  What say we have some tea and you can tell me all about that project I saved for you.”  He winked, for good measure.

  “I’d like that,” said Draco, sagging a little in relief.  The moment hung, and Harry suddenly felt bold.  

  “Then,” he said slowly.  “How about you take me to dinner?  I think that would make us even, wouldn’t it?”

  Draco’s eyebrows rose into his pale hair, and for a second Harry feared he’d misread the situation.  “You mean…like a date?”

  Harry smiled tightly.  “Nah, I mean, not if that’s not…if you’re not…”

  “I’d love to,” Draco interrupted.  It was Harry’s turn to be surprised, but Draco broke into a gorgeous grin that wiped away all doubt.  “I’d really love to.”

  Harry smiled.  It was worth the grumpy customers and the sore elbows and the general lack of direction in his life.  He’d found his inner hero, and now he’d found himself a scrumptious date.  “I’d really love to too,” he said.  

  Yep.  Today had turned out pretty okay he decided.  


(PS - If anyone recognised ‘Jam Pony Messenger’ you are a cool human being)

.Space is not empty — nor is it an ‘ether’. The space which surrounds every particle of matter in every wave field is the negative half of the wave field. The solid nucleus is the positive half. Both halves are equal in potential but vastly unequal in volume. Science thinks of space either as a void or as an ether through which solids of matter travel. The fact is that space travels with its solids, for each solid is surrounded by a minus zero equal-and-opposite vacuity of the plus zero which we call matter. Matter floats in these insulating spatial counterparts. Positive electricity is accountable for the solids and negative electricity is accountable for the space. All matter comes out of space by the action of positive electricity and is returned to space by the action of negative electricity. White-hot suns come from the blackness of cold space and cold space radiates from hot suns. The matter of space consists of holes surrounded by corpuscular solids, while the matter of solids consists of small dense cores surrounded by vast tenuous holes of space. All unfolding and refolding patterns are gyroscopically manipulated, electrically motivated and magnetically measured and controlled. In the chemical elements, the sharps and flats are isotopes. These can be produced by man in greater numbers than Nature has produced them, for Nature does not begin to split her tones until she has passed two octaves beyond carbon,  malleability and conductivity await division in vast quantities from carbon and silicon. These will be found when science discards its concept of matter as being substance, and becomes aware of the gyroscopic control of motion which will split the carbon tone into isotopes as a musical tone is split into sharps and flats. The elements of matter are not different substances, or different things. They are pressure conditions of light waves. The light units of the elements are all alike but are differently conditioned by the electric pressures exerted upon them during the inward or outward spiral journey from zero to zero. The unanswered mystery of how the elements become mathematically precise octave tones, just as musical tones or color tones of the spectrum are mathematically precise in vibration orderliness, lies in the wave field gyroscopic principle.
—  Walter Russell