#but i also miss having my friends beside me

[gracemisconduct]

This has been a strange Christmas. The first without my dad. I've always struggled with being explicit about emotion; this is the second major grief in my life, and the first nearly killed me. This time, I'm trying to be open, less self destructive, but man, it's hard work. My mother, still here, is...someone who loves me better from afar. She also struggles to accept that this has happened to more than her. And yet, Christmas, funerals, and the time of year forces proximity, and forces everything that comes with it.

He died in increments, then all at once. I first saw him die a little ten years ago, getting a pacemaker. Then a little more two years later, when he was so breathless he couldn't walk across the small medieval town I lived in. I saw him die a little bit when he was diagnosed with cancer, and when he broke down crying at my wedding. I saw him die most and fastest this year, when he went from visiting China to not having the strength to sit up in bed by himself. And then, all at once, he died.

I never knew there was so much admin involved in death. People would ask how I was; I had no idea. I was too busy sourcing a death certificate, arranging a funeral, writing a eulogy, telling friends and family he'd died, sorting my mum's finances. Every now and again I'd burst our crying. Then I'd stop.

Through it all, two things kept me just about sane; walking, walking everywhere, and fantasy. Good fantasy, bad fantasy. Smut and angst and fandoms and AO3 and all the wonderful ridiculousness of it that teen Grace loved and 20s Grace tried to pretend she didn't. Now I'm in my 30s, no shits are given. It was a balm, a source of humour, a relief. A place of happy endings of all kinds. A lot of BG3. It even made me think about doing a little writing of my own, though we're far from there yet. Thanks, hellsite, for the wonderful wildness of this place. Thanks, makers, for putting your work out there into the world for me to get lost in and cling to like a life raft.

____________

So, who was my dad? He was the most accomplished man I ever knew; nearly 40 years curating Japanese art and metalwork at internationally renowned museums, published books, honorary positions, a photographer, a ceramicist, a singer and more. His eulogy took days to write just to remember everything he did, and we still missed things.

His curiosity for culture, his love of learning, his collecting of obscure facts and bizarre stories, was infectious. It was the golden thread of my brother and I’s upbringing, with weekends and holidays punctuated by museums, bookshops, National Trust properties, standing stones and sci-fi movies, and everything in between. It was this same passion and curiosity that meant his list of friends and admirers was longer than your arm. He was a G.I. and so am I. Yes, I stole his badge.

When we were looking for readings for his cremation, we came across this poem. It's a later addition by Tolkien, written by Bilbo as he travels to the Grey Havens, thinking about his life and what comes next. I think that dad - LOTR narrator, deliver of funny hobbit voices, old hippy - would appreciate it. I hope you do too.

Day is ended, dim my eyes,

but journey long before me lies.

Farewell, friends! I hear the call.

The ship's beside the stony wall.

Foam is white and waves are grey;

Beyond the sunset leads my way.

Foam is salt, the wind is free;

I hear the rising of the Sea.

Farewell, friends! The sails are set,

the wind is east, the moorings fret.

Shadows long before me lie,

beneath the ever-bending sky,

but islands lie behind the Sun

that I shall raise ere all is done;

lands there are to west of West,

where night is quiet and sleep is rest.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar

I'll find the havens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-Earth at last.

I see the Star above your mast!

- J.R.R. Tolkien

notes on grief - chimamanda ngozi adichie

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | All Yours

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around continues, this is just a very soft little holiday gift from me to you, San remains the sweetest and OC remains fully whipped for him Word Count: about 900 words Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: All San wants for Christmas is Noona 🥰 I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate and if you don't then I hope you have a lovely day ❄️

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It's late on Christmas Eve when the last of your family finally leaves, and you can excuse yourself from your parents and lock yourself in your bedroom. It's late, so late that you consider for a moment not calling, but you're pretty sure San's still up. He'd made you promise him several times that you would call him today. But you've been too busy dealing with nosy aunts and loud cousins at the family party to do it any earlier.

It's late, but it doesn't matter. He's as happy to see you as you are him, his dark eyes crinkling in delight, and then his smile turns shy, like he's embarrassed at how much just the sight of you lights him up inside.

There's no reason for him to be embarrassed. Your glow mirrors his.

You don't want to hang up long enough to wash your face, so he joins you at the sink. You glance at the screen while drying your face to see him delicately scrubbing his skin with sudsy fingertips, and he sees you and pulls a face, making you giggle. It almost feels like a normal night, hanging out together. Almost. You sigh.

"I miss you."

San surprises you by looking surprised at your admission.

"What? Is that news to you?" It shouldn't be. The two of you haven't stopped texting since you'd left the apartment three days ago to head home for Christmas. San and his sister had left as well to have a quiet holiday with their parents. Since then, you've had to invent a million excuses to slip away from your family and disappear into your phone. The device has barely left your hand, every alert making your heart jump, knowing San is thinking about you as much as you're thinking about him.

"No," San scoffs, face relaxing into a pleased expression, a soft half-smile that fully melts your heart. "Of course you miss me. I'm amazing."

"Nah, I changed my mind, I don't miss you," you say, pretending to frown, and San plays along, pouting dramatically, and you can't help but sigh again. "Okay, fine, I do."

"You always give in to me so easy, Noona," he informs you, that spark back in his eye, the one that makes your stomach flip. "I think I’m your weakness."

He's joking, except maybe he's not, and you both know it. You settle in your bed, burrowing under the layers of covers, shivering because your personal heater is several hundred miles away. San does the same, lying on his side as he gazes into the phone, humming lightly. If you close your eyes, it’s like he’s lying right beside you.

The two of you chat a little about your days. His was spent watching holiday movies with Hanuel while his parents prepared a big dinner together for the four of them. You talk a little about your extended family and the chaos they brought to your house today. 

This is the happiest you’ve felt all day. Even when having fun with your family earlier, you’d felt a little off, like something was missing. Making San laugh now, watching those delicate lines around his eyes crinkle with joy, fills you with such a strong contentment that you can’t stop smiling. 

San’s laughter turns to amused hums the longer you talk, and he nestles lower and lower into his pillow until his eyes are struggling to stay open. You don’t even bother to finish your story, too busy adoring the sight of him. 

"Go to sleep, San. Or Santa won't bring you what you wanted."

“Mmm,” he yawns, pressing one hand over his mouth, “but Noona, all I want is you.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” you roll your eyes, giggling.

“It’s true,” he protests, quickly growing serious, “it’s true, though. I wish you were here right now.” 

You sigh. “Stop making me miss you so much.”

Both of you fall silent, watching each other through the phone. There’s a tension now, and it makes you nervous for some reason, and there’s only one thing you can think to say to clear the air. You’re not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but it’s the truth and you really want to share it all of a sudden.

“You already have me, you know.” 

You’ve known for weeks now. Weeks full of longing glances, lingering touches, and hurried kisses -  and sometimes more, in the rare moments the two of you had the apartment to yourselves. It’s time to admit it.

San takes your confession with a long silence of his own. Just when you think you’re about to have a cardiac event waiting for his response, he speaks. “I do?”

You nod. “If you want me. I’m all yours.” Can he hear your heart pounding through the phone?

San exhales quickly. “Mine.”

It’s an agreement. A declaration. 

He traces his finger down his screen, pretending he’s stroking your cheek, and your skin buzzes from the mere suggestion. A warmth like you've never felt before spreads over you, soft and tender, so like the man gazing at you through the phone. 

Tiredness begins to tug at you. Only one more sleep ‘til Christmas, then one more ‘til you’re back home.

And back in San’s arms. 

"Merry Christmas, San," you whisper.

"Merry Christmas," he echoes softly. "Sweet dreams, Noona."

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[koalapastries-writes]

god im thinking of arthur 🫡🫡

arthur whos always had a teensy tiny crush on charles' friend (so, partially older!reader) but as they get older and reader matures (maybe hes charles' engineer too), the feelings get worse and he confesses and reader has a whole moment of conflict bcuz like.. thats my bff's baby brother, omfg, but also when tf did he get hot

(can u tell i have thoughts about this)

-bear ❤️

'tis the season for arthur appreciation here at the koala pastries bakery ❤️

arthur totally had a childhood crush on charles' best friend. he can deny it all he likes, but his maman saw the way he looked at you. like you'd hung every star in the sky.

she'll never tell arthur why she did it, but you were definitely always the friend she asked to "just play with him for a moment" while you were waiting for charles. when you were kids, arthur was always just your best friend's admittedly cute younger brother. but that was it. you didn't really think anything more of it. then you went off to university to study engineering and arthur only saw you every now and then. it was still enough to make him fall deeper and deeper in love with you.

when charles joins ferrari, arthur is over the moon for him. a little jealous, a little bit mourning what might have been, but over the moon nonetheless. and then comes the announcement. the youngest race engineer and the youngest driver ferrari has ever had. it's you. arthur just might be happier for you than he is for his brother. charles throws an extravagant party for both of you. parties were never really your scene.

you end up sitting on the curb and looking up at the stars. arthur goes looking for you. he's sitting beside you, and he looks over and sees your handsome face under the moonlight, and he just says it.

"i've been in love with you since we were kids."

you freeze. you look over at arthur, whose cheeks are probably redder than you've ever seen them (and he's done his fair share of blushing in front of you), and it clicks. it's always been arthur, you think. but then you remember who you're talking to. it's arthur leclerc. it's your best friend's baby brother. it's your best friend's baby brother who grew up crazy hot, but your best friend's baby brother nonetheless. for a moment, you consider leaving.

you don't.

you lean over and kiss arthur the way you suddenly realise you've wanted to for a very long time. you don't doubt he's been waiting longer.

it's quiet for a moment, and then ...

"your brother's gonna kill me."

"no, i won't."

you and arthur jump apart. as if you can trick charles into thinking he never saw what he very clearly did. it may have been night, but the streets of monaco were never so dark that he'd miss his best friend kiss his brother.

"i've been waiting for this for years," charles tells you and arthur. "glad you finally confessed. just no making out in front of me and don't hurt him or i'll hit you with my car."

"noted." you nod, grinning at your best friend and playfully shooing him away.

you wasted almost twenty years, you weren't gonna waste another second on anything other than kissing your—

well, you didn't really know what he was. your arthur. he was that.

yours. and you were his.

[glamourscat]

*waves* hellooooo ❤️

Just wanted to ask if you could do an analysis for barou too?

thank you so much for requesting this, love Barou so much. Also, this is kinda long cause i yapped away too much

Barou Shoei, also knows as the “King,” is a character full of contradictions. On the surface, his egocentric view on life and arrogant attitude make him easy to label as short-tempered and a “red flag.” But Barou is much more complex than that.

First off, the king persona isn’t just a front. Barou genuinely believes he’s the king of the field. His confidence isn’t misplaced. He knows he has the skills to back it up. This confidence comes from his deep fear of mediocrity and his relentless drive to prove his worth, both to himself and to others.

During the second selection, I initially thought Barou would learn to pass the ball, become a team player, and maybe even become friends with Isagi. Wrong. Barou does the opposite of what’s expected. And that’s what i love. Instead of fitting in, he adapts in his own way, pushing himself even harder and maintaining his individual strength. That’s the beauty of Barou, he’s resilient and unbending. He doesn’t pass the ball, he pushes himself even more to advance Isagi, a threat to his progress and yet at the same time the spark that pushed him to advance.

But Barou isn’t just about ego and power. He’s also incredibly intuitive. In the light novel, we learn about his family, specifically about his absent father and the love Barou nurtures for his mother and sisters. At just seven years old Barou had to witness his father being a deadbeat. His mother, with a one-year-old on her back and a newborn in her arms, tirelessly cooked for him. This experience forged a strong bond between Barou and his mother. As the light novel states, “When his mother was having a hard time, why wasn’t his father there? While thinking vaguely, he devoted himself to keeping the house beautiful.”

It’s no wonder Barou can’t stand people like Nagi, who are too laid-back for his liking. Although his relationship with his father isn’t explicitly stated, it’s clear it’s not a positive one. Barou grew up with his mother as his role model. She worked her ass off to provide for him and his sisters, showing resilience and strength. How could Barou, the self-proclaimed king, give up on his dreams when his mother made so many sacrifices for him?

Which brings me to this. Barou’ behaviour is a byproduct of his upbringing and experiences. Barou’s intensity on the field is matched by his loyalty and protective instincts off it. He may not show affection in conventional ways, but his actions speak volumes about his commitment to those he deems worthy.

His sheer determination to succeed and independence reminds me a lot of the “eldest daughter curse.” The one who always has to put a brave face in front of everyone. The planner. The organiser. The parent. The sibling and the child they couldn’t be. It’s canon that besides for his birth, he never cried afterwards.

Maybe because he feels he does not have the right to? Maybe because he feels other people have it worse so he refuses to cry? Or maybe because after seeing and living with an absent father, picking up the role of the missing parent and emotional supporting figure for your sisters and mother, he kinda became numb. Because your feelings and worries become an afterthought.

So, no, Barou isn’t a red flag. His intensity and harshness are just part of his dedication and his refusal to settle for mediocrity. He’s deeply committed to his goals and willing to endure solitude and criticism to achieve them. Barou’s sense of honor and integrity also sets him apart. He doesn’t cheat or rely on underhanded tactics, he achieves his goals through sheer willpower and skill.

Because that’s simply who the king is. Barou is the essence of what it means to be a striker.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[lovebotmo]

like the movies

chapter nine - dusk's rendezvous

series masterlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader

wc: 2363

author’s note: thank you so so so x10389885 for all the love i've been getting as of late!!! i see all your notes, reblogs, and comments and they mean the absolute world to me. wishing you all the best for the coming new year and i hope you all have/had happy holidays!!! <3

that being said...please forgive me for this chapter LMAO

also - if i missed you on the taglist, please let me know!!!

song inspiration: "baby i'm a fool" by melody gardot

“How bad could it be, hm?”

Meeting Parvati’s eyes in your dorm mirror, you considered her seemingly innocent question.

What was the harm, truly?

“Well, he could be horribly ugly.” A puff of hot air escaped your lips at Ginny’s rebuttal. You caught the glare Parvati shot the redhead who could only sheepishly grin.

“Are you trying to suggest she shouldn’t go?”

“Not at all!” Ginny replied. Pausing, she turned to look at you. “Just trying to temper expectations. Don’t want you to be disappointed, ‘s all.” Her change in tone only worsened the sinking feeling that was quickly settling into your gut. Seeming to sense the catastrophizing her sentence had set off in your mind, she piped up. “Hey! If he’s not cute, maybe he’ll be this great guy! Godric knows the lookers can be the absolute worst.” The bitter smile on her face let you know she was thinking of her ill-fated romance with Dean Thomas.

“So, I’m either saddled with some class-act minger or an attractive asshat. Wonderful. Loving these options.”

“I have a feeling my comments have not been entirely helpful this afternoon,” Ginny mused.

“You think?” Parvati rolled her eyes. “What I’m hoping Ginny is trying to say is that you don’t know who’s going to be waiting for you at the Black Lake, so don’t go into it expecting anything, right?”

“Right-o, Patil.”

“Anyhow, it’s not like you’ve been cracking on with anyone recently, right? So, who knows what will happen.”

Your mind seemed to stall over the feelings you hadn’t voiced to anyone. Though Hermione’s eyes had hinted at your affection for a certain Slytherin that first snow of the season, you had yet to be fully candid with your friends.

You fronted a smile. “Right again, Parvati.”

“So…” she drawled, getting up from your bed and standing behind where you sat at your desk. “It’ll be grand, Y/n.” Parvati patted you on the shoulder. “Just grand.”

“Besides, if he tries anything naughty, I’ll jinx him in the—”

“Ginny!”

Having clasped your secret admirer’s latest gift around your neck, you made your descent from Gryffindor Tower. Your friends had kindly let you get ready in peace; their endless chatter had only served to put your nerves on edge. The sun had just begun to set over the surrounding mountains of Hogwarts, casting the grounds in rich blues and oranges from the dying light. Wrapping your arms around yourself in an ill-favored attempt to stay warm, you made your way to the Black Lake, hoping that whoever he was, you wouldn’t have to wait in the winter chill.

As fate would have it, you didn’t have to wait long.

“Y/n!”

Turning around to see who the voice belonged to, you were met with the sight of Zacharias Smith jogging toward you.

A seventh year like yourself, Zacharias Smith was a Hufflepuff you had shared a few classes with over the years. However, the frequency of your shared schedule had petered off as Smith decided to not pursue certain advanced coursework. You’d chat on the occasional run-in, but he was more of an acquaintance than a friend.

One of your last classes with him was History of Magic in fourth year, where you had been seat partners. Smith wasn’t a bad student per se, but he made it perfectly clear studying the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century was not at the top of his priority list. At the end of the year, Professor Binns had assigned each pair of students a section of the International Statute of Secrecy to study and present to the class. You could count on one finger the times Zacharias had helped you with the project, constantly skipping out on study sessions for time on the quidditch pitch. As a chaser for Hufflepuff, Zacharias was perfectly adequate. As a student, he was less so, and you found yourself slaving away for hours to make up for his lack of effort and frankly, blatant disregard for your time. You fourth year-self had most definitely shared an unkind word about the Hufflepuff.

“Zacharias…Hi.” In your nervousness, you rocked back and forth on your feet, still reeling from the realization that the brown-eyed blonde before you was your secret admirer. A feeling shamefully close to disappointment began to gnaw at you. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He let out a light laugh, “Yeah, sorry didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to make sure I caught you before it got too dark. Can’t be getting detention again with Filch. ‘Right bastard, that man.” That made you both chuckle. “Anyhow, L/n, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend, maybe grab a butterbeer?”

Eyes widening at his forthrightness, you let out a shocked laugh causing the blonde’s eyebrows to furrow. “Sorry! Sorry. ‘S just…I’m kind of surprised you’re into me.”

Zacharias stared at you in confusion. “Really? I mean, I’ve liked you since our fourth year—when we had History of Magic together. Don’t you remember—I asked you to the Yule Ball that year?”

In fact, you did remember Zacharias asking you to the Yule Ball after class with flowers. You also remembered politely declining—having already secured a date—only for him to turn right around and ask Romilda Vane seconds later with the same bouquet. Rather classy, that was.

“Yeah, I know I ended up going with Romilda, but you were my first choice, you know.”

Geez, way to butter up a girl.

“Still,” you let out a quick huff of air, “I didn’t think you were the ‘secret admirer’ type. I guess I figured you’d be straight-up with your intentions,” you mused, picking at a loose strand on your sweater. “You don’t seem the type to play the long game with gifts and notes, and all that.”

Zacharias paused, an unreadable expression flickering over his face. Running a hand thorough his cropped locks, he looked away at the Black Lake’s horizon before smiling back at you.

“What can I say?” replied Zacharias. “I’m a chaser. I go after what I want. And what I want, is to take you on a date to Hogsmeade this weekend. So…?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

What an absolute line.

Words on the tip of your tongue to turn him down once again, you remembered the words of your wise friends just earlier that afternoon.

What’s the harm? It’s not like there’s anyone else showing up, no matter how much I might wish for it.

Shoving down your disappointment, you made an effort to smile in return at the Hufflepuff in front of you. “I’d love to, Zacharias.”

Offering his arm, you gingerly accepted, and the two of you walked back toward the castle together, watched only by a lone keeper exiting the nearby quidditch pitch.

After your rendezvous at the Black Lake, you had agreed to meet your friends back at your dormitory to dish. Hence, you were laying on your carpet, chronicling the night’s events in scintillating detail. Like you, your friends were surprised by the identity of your admirer.

“Smith? As in Zacharias Smith?” At your nod, Hannah hemmed and hawed before letting out an expressive, “Huh.”

Sitting up from your horizontal position on the floor, you looked at your friend. “What is it?”

Hannah took her time in answering, before finally finding the words. “It’s just that…Zacharias isn’t exactly who I had been picturing.”

While you were loath to admit it, Zacharias hadn’t been who you were expecting that evening either, nor had he been who you had hoped to see. However, you couldn’t help but wonder why Hannah’s expectations weren’t met.

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Before the Hufflepuff could answer, Ginny gave her two cents, “Well, because he’s a complete wanker.”

“Ginny!”

“What, Han!” exclaimed Weasley, “It’s true! And I know you were thinking it too! He’s one of the worst losers I’ve ever seen—and that’s saying something, considering Ron’s my brother.” That sent you all into a fit of giggles, reminiscing on the times you’d had to witness the sore sport Ron could be when it came to quidditch. “Seriously, though,” the girl continued, “I saw him break a broom in a fit after losing in a scrimmage against Ravenclaw. A scrimmage, Y/n.”

“Not to rag on Zacharias, but I can’t say that I’m terribly fond of him either,” added Hannah. “In our third year, he sold out one of his roommates to Snape after they’d broken into the Potions storeroom together, just so he’d get out of detention. Made it terribly awkward between them for the rest of the term” Hannah sighed, “He’s not exactly a model Hufflepuff.”

Their stories only confirmed the sinking suspicion already settling in your mind. The time you had spent with Zacharias wasn’t the worst, but it wasn’t something you took to regularly reminiscing on. You distinctly remembered the feeling of relief when your History of Magic project together had ended. But that had been three years ago.  

Plopping down beside you, Hermione nudged your shoulder. “Maybe he’s turned a new leaf? If he did all of this for you to show how interested he was, something’s had to have changed, right? None of us really know him.”

“I’m really hoping you’re right, Hermione” you admitted. “I think the romantic in me might die if I find out he’s the tosser you lot have made him out to be. After all the thought he put into those gifts and notes…”

“It doesn’t bode well to make assumptions about people, Y/n. Just think about all the things people say about Luna,” remarked Padma to your left.

“Pads!” you gasped in shock.

“Look, I love Luna and all her oddities and idiosyncrasies,” Padma offered, “But if I had listened to all the awful things people have said about her, I’d have never become friends with her. People call her Loony Lovegood for Godric’s sake!”

Padma’s reasoning seemed to strike a chord with your group of friends. Sighing, Hannah turned to level a look at you. “Padma’s right, you know. We shouldn’t assume he sucks just from a handful of choice anecdotes.”

“We’ve forgiven all manner of sins, after all,” surmised Ginny. “Even with Ron’s grousing after losing a quidditch match, Hermione still wants to snog the living daylights out of my brother. Can’t understand it for the life of me.”

“Ginny—enough!”

“What? Am I wrong?”

The next day, Hogwarts’s rumor mill was churning out the news of your impending date with Zacharias Smith. Intending to escape the careless whispers and curious looks waiting for you at breakfast in the Great Hall, you had made your way to the Kitchens. With a quick ‘Hello’ to Dobby and Winky, you grabbed a muffin (or three) and stuffed your mouth before heading towards the library. There, the murmurs of your classmates were kept at bay by the harsh glare of Madam Pince, ever the watchful librarian. However, it seemed not everyone feared the archivist’s death glare.

“You’re going out with that prick, Smith?” The harsh accusation had your head snapping to find the person who had leveled it at you. That clipped tone belonged to none other than your coveted Potions partner currently towering above you and your corner table. To the untrained eye, Theo appeared terribly composed. Yet, you could see the tension in his neck, seemingly like a serpent ready to make a lethal strike. His eyes were glacial, boring into your own, mouth in a stern line to complete his sinister expression.

Narrowing your eyes at the venom leaking from his voice, you snappily answered. “I’ve agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him, yes.”

Theo didn’t seem to very much like your answer.

“Why?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Why’ve you agreed to go out with that gormless git?”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought it was a joke when Enzo mentioned it. I wouldn’t do you the disservice of imagining it possible. How could Y/n go out with someone so incredibly thick and inconsiderate? Imagine my surprise when I found out Berkshire was being completely serious.”

You were struck by the leveled ire of his words. The Theo in front of you was completely unrecognizable to you, no longer the sarcastic and thoughtful Slytherin you had come to know—come to care for. While it was perfectly fair for you to have your reservations about your upcoming date with the Hufflepuff, Theo had no right to poke his nose in your business. Anger began to bubble up inside of you like a heated cauldron.

“Not that it’s your concern, Theo, or Berkshire’s—or anyone’s concern for that matter, but yes, I have agreed to go out with him.”

Theo had the gall to laugh. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am completely serious!” you scoffed. “And he’s been exceedingly thoughtful and considerate, if you must know. Sweets, flowers, notes, and the like! What do you know about being considerate, Theodore? Coming in here to scold me like a child!”

The face in front of you drained of color, no longer a vexed red. Confusion replaced his choleric expression before settling into his stony façade once more.

“You really think Smith would do all of that, for you? That he would care about you that much?”

His questions sent a painful pang through your heart, never expecting such cruelty from someone you had come to consider as a friend, and possibly more.

“As a matter of fact, Nott, I do.” With each word out of your mouth, that carefully constructed mask of measured indifference solidified. Everything you said would only bounce off his exterior. The boy in front of you was beyond reach.

Kissing his teeth, Nott hummed. “And here I was, giving you more credit than you deserved. My mistake.” With that, the Slytherin spun on his feet, making his swift exit from the library.

With half a mind to go after him, you popped out of your seat, chair screeching against the ground. You called out at his retreating form.

“Nott, what—where are you going? We’ve got Potions in five!”

“You’ll manage without me, L/n.”

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[afrsconp]

A little holiday gift for the Tumblr Nisaac ghosties, with extra thanks to @yourstrulyray, whose post partly inspired the ending.

Thanks everyone for being so welcoming to a latecomer like me. <3

Written for the prompt: Your fave ship had some troubles and broke up but they're getting back together during the holidays.

(Which is obviously a Nisaac prompt if ever there was one.)

He finds Nigel on the little stone bench outside, where they’d first decided to try just being friends. And by anyone's measure, they’ve succeeded–more than a year has gone by since, and it's been one of the best of Isaac's afterlife that he can recall.

It wasn't until they started spending time together again that Isaac really understood why he'd been so out of sorts before. Not just lingering upset over the failure of their nuptials, but just the simple fact that he missed Nigel. Missed walking with him, conversing with him, even arguing with him. Isaac hadn't realised how much time they'd come to spend together once they started dating, nor how much he'd come to rely on Nigel's advice, or wit, or comfort whenever he needed it.

And Nigel never failed to provide it. Never fails, Isaac corrects himself now, as Nigel is as thoughtful and considerate a friend as he was a romantic partner. Isaac hopes he's done as much for Nigel, but in truth, he's really not so sure.

“Isaac,” Nigel says in greeting, when he sees Isaac coming towards him.

The noise of the Christmas party is muffled out here, but they can still hear the laughter and the music spilling out of the windows, still feel the warmth of the happiness and joy of their friends–living and ghost alike–inside the house proper. Isaac isn't really a sentimental man but the thought makes him smile, as does the sight of a man that's occupied a great deal of his thoughts for the better part of 300 years now.

“Nigel,” he greets in return, and sits beside him on the bench. Nigel's uniform suits the surroundings, the red of his coat a festive flash of colour amidst the grey stone of the house and the pristine white of newly fallen snow. He looks like something out of a postcard, or a picture book, or a–

A dream, Isaac thinks. A dream he's held for a very, very long time.

“I was wondering where you'd gone,” Isaac adds. His voice is soft; for some reason, it doesn't feel right to speak too loudly out here.

“I just needed a moment,” Nigel replies. His voice, too, is quieter than it usually is.

“For?”

Nigel is silent for some time, looking into the darkness beyond the yard and towards the woods in the distance. Isaac can't see his face clearly; not only is it dark but he's also in profile, keeping his eyes from Isaac's view. It makes it difficult to guess what he's thinking as his eyes have always been the most expressive thing about him. Often even more so than his words, which is saying a lot considering how eloquent the man can be.

“To get my thoughts in order,” Nigel says eventually. He turns then, and gifts Isaac with a small smile of his own. “I'm sorry,” he adds. “I don't mean to bring the mood down. This time of year just tends to draw the melancholy out of me.”

Isaac sits back a little, surprised. “It does?” he asks. “You seemed quite happy when we–”

Too late, he remembers what happened the last–and only–Christmas they spent together. The mistletoe, the liaison, the long-awaited kiss in the shed. Nigel must know what thoughts cut off Isaac's words and he smiles again, but now that Isaac can see his eyes it's obvious that the expression isn't genuine. Indeed, if anything, it just makes Nigel look even more sad.

“I'm sorry,” Nigel repeats. “It's just… old memories, that's all. I promise you, Isaac, I value your friendship a great deal, and I'm very glad to have it.”

Isaac knows him well enough now to know that he's being sincere, but he can also tell that there are things Nigel is holding back, too. Kept locked away and secret behind his sad eyes and carefully worded answers; kept silent and unspoken for as long as Isaac refuses to hear them.

And there's the catch, really; there's the rub. Isaac does hear them, and perhaps always has. It's just taken a lot longer than any man should need to endure for Isaac to really understand what they mean. And by some miracle that Isaac is sure he doesn't deserve, Nigel did–and does–endure it, and likely always will.

“As I'm glad to have yours,” Isaac tells him, and gets another, sweeter smile in response. It warms Isaac down to his bones, and gives him the courage to do what he'd come out here to do in the first place.

He doesn't really know why it feels so much harder now than it did before; surely the second time should be easier, since he's already had something of a practice run. But the weight of everything that’s happened between them hangs heavy in the air, and the full knowledge of what he's admitting to, and accepting, is almost overwhelming.

I like you, he'd said the first time. A vague and somewhat childish statement, for a vague and somewhat childish feeling, made by a version of himself who, despite an existence that spanned centuries, was likewise rather childish and vague himself. Please don't make me say it again, he’d added, when Nigel looked equal parts confused and hopeful, unsure of what Isaac really meant.

But Isaac is not that man anymore, and neither is Nigel. Childish and vague are the opposite of what he wants this second time to be. Second and last, if he does this correctly. If he's right about the nature of the secrets Nigel keeps so close to his chest.

“Nigel,” he starts. He stares at his hands, unsure if he can look Nigel in the eye for this.

“Yes, Isaac?”

Isaac opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. His jaw works but his throat does not, closing up and choking off the words he'd planned so carefully to say. Nigel just looks at him, however, and doesn't rush him; patient in a way he wasn't before, when Isaac’s denials prompted him to walk away.

You're not that man anymore, Isaac reminds himself. And neither is he.

“I love you,” Isaac says. It's a simple statement, simply said, but what it conveys for both of them is immense.

Nigel stares blankly for a moment, before the words sink in and his eyes go wide. He looks more shocked than when Isaac proposed, and his voice is faint when he stutters, “W-what?”

“I love you, Nigel,” Isaac repeats. He takes a steadying breath, then says the rest of what he prepared to say. “I think perhaps I always have; I just didn’t really know it until now. Perhaps I wasn't ready to. But… after everything I've done, and how much I hurt you, I'll understand if you no longer feel the same wa–”

He's abruptly cut off when Nigel's lips crash into his, Nigel's hands cradling his face like he's holding something precious, palms shaking against Isaac's cheeks. Isaac kisses back, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to–and he doesn't want to, not now and not ever.

And that, really is the heart of the matter. Because for them, forever is not just a trite little phrase, to be uttered in the heat of the moment or woven into vows that only last a single lifetime. For them, it's a real and true commitment, with real and true consequences that both of them understand all too well.

And now, it's a promise made and accepted. Because when Nigel pulls back and meets Isaac's gaze, every secret he'd kept hidden away is revealed in full in those wide green eyes, as arresting now as when Isaac first saw them through a spyglass more than 250 years ago. More arresting, really, because now they look at Isaac with clear joy and love spilling from them unhindered, and Isaac can only hope his own eyes mirror even a fraction of the same emotion, because he certainly feels it, in every single part of himself. In his chest, tight with happiness; in his stomach, fluttering with relief; in his heart, swelled to bursting with–

“I love you, too, Isaac,” Nigel says. He strokes Isaac’s cheek and stares at him with something like wonder on his face. “Always.”

Isaac leans in and kisses him again, soft and gentle, taking his time. He doesn't need to say anything more; the look on Nigel's face confirms that he understands what Isaac is offering him now, as well as Nigel's own answer to it. But if this really is the last time he’ll do this–with Nigel, or with anyone–Isaac wants to make it count.

"Always, Nigel,” Isaac confirms. Promises. Vows. “And forever, too.”

[birdonawiresara]

Sara dropped her gaze, silent for a long beat before admitting, “I’ve only gotten bits and pieces, but I know my family and my friends. My team. I think - I think my death brought hell down on them. And I’m not just talking about the grieving process, I’m talking about a chain reaction of events... I think, even while I was gone, I hurt a lot of people. That people are dead now because of me. I get they’re trying to give me time to recover, but the truth is going to come out. And they know me, I have no patience for games or for them trying to protect my feelings; I’d rather have to confront hard truths than to be comforted by lies. As for the rest of it, I want to be wrong. I want to believe that - besides the normal chaos that is my life - we’ll just get to have our happy times. Our peaceful times. But I also learned a long time ago to trust my gut, and it’s telling me to stay on guard.” Then she was saying how she felt like - even when she was dead - she still missed him, and she shook her head at his response, “You don’t need to thank me. It’s the truth.” A soft laugh followed, “Glad it feels real for you, because I’m still trying to get my footing. And you’re right, it’s going to take time for you, and for me, and for everyone involved. But we’ll get there - especially now that we’re all on the same page.”

“Me stealing all of your clothes?” Sara smirked, “Oh, look, we’re right back where we started. I love when things come full circle.” Then they were talking about how to move forward, especially when it came to her past which wasn’t even completely mentally accessible right now, and he reassured her that it would be okay. That she was back, and they’d find a way to work through everything else. She was silent for a beat before admitting, “I don’t know if it’s because of how drastically everything changed for me once the Gambit went down, if it’s because of everything that has happened since, but... I never trust the calm. Never. Not for a moment. Hell, my soul was separated from my body for what felt like an eternity, and my memory is a mess, and I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m still convinced this is just the beginning, and given that my resurrection was an anomaly, we won’t have a clue what it’s the beginning of until it’s too late. But given my track record, it won’t be good.” After that they were discussing the possibility of him having children - in particular, a son - and a sigh escaped her lips as he nuzzled against her cheek. “I missed you, too. I can’t - I can’t remember what it was like to be dead, but somehow I know that. I feel it in my gut. I missed you.”

[choccorin]

oh yeah my class ends at 7 pm tmrw but i might get home at like 8 ... bcus i live two miles away ... and the jeepneys for balic-balic is ALWAYS packed ....

[inkskinned]

one of the things about being an educator is that you hear what parents want their kids to be able to do a lot. they want their kid to be an astronaut or a ballerina or a politician. they want them to get off that damn phone. be better about socializing. stop spending so much time indoors. learn to control their own temper. to just "fucking listen", which means to be obedient.

one of the things i learned in my pedagogy classes is that it's almost always easier to roleplay how you want someone to act. it's almost always easier to explain why a rule exists, rather than simply setting the rule and demanding adherence.

i want my kids to be kind. i want them to ask me what book they should read next, and i want to read that book with them so we can discuss it. i want my kid to be able to tell me hey that hurt my feelings without worrying i'll punish them. i want my kid to be proud of small things and come running up to me to tell me about them. i want them to say "nah, i get why this rule exists, but i get to hate it" and know that i don't need them to be grateful-for-the-roof-overhead while washing the dishes. i want them to teach me things. i want them to say - this isn't safe. i'm calling my mom and getting out of this. i want them to hear me apologize when i do fuck up; and i want them to want to come home.

the other day a parent was telling me she didn't understand why her kid "just got so angry." this woman had flown off the handle at me.

my dad - traditional catholic that he is - resents my sentiment of "gentle parenting". he says they'll grow up spoiled, horrible, pretentious. granola, he spits.

i am going to be kind to them. i am going to set the example, i think. and whatever they choose become in the meantime - i'm going to love them for it.

[grzybjek]

A collage I made for one of the characters from my newest story. His name is Kundel by the way hes an absolute manfail and a menace

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

I didn't even look for it. 😭 It just came across my dash and made me so sad for him. But yeah I agree.

I love morally grey characters and anti heroes, so Only Friends was the perfect kind of mess for me, but I wasn't here for the release of it, so I missed all fandom discourse. How was anyone even mad at Sand and First in that show lol bro didn't even take the money.

Boston was on my shit list from episode 1 lol and I felt sorry for Ray but was upset with him for his continued reckless behavior and how he treated Sand.

But I usually do end up beefing with at least one character in the shows I watch and this time around (besides the very obvious hatred for the cop) it is kind of Kant. But it's not that I hate him or anything. I just really hated how he chose to pull his best friend into a potentially dangerous game without giving him a heads up. At the beginning he was MORE afraid of Fadel so throwing his friend to the proverbial wolves really rubbed me the wrong way. And also allowing himself to be tied up and engage in kink play with a drugged Bison was probably one of the stupidest things he could have done.

I just....hate some of his decisions because he puts people (and himself) in harms way, so he gets on my nerves. But I think from now on, I will be less annoyed because it's all out now and he isn't going to be making stupid plans and lying all the time. He's going to be real in his feelings and actions now.

But showing hate for the actor that plays a character you dislike is so beyond stupid. It literally makes me want to bang my head into walls. These actors don't deserve being talked down to because they portrayed a character WELL

Wait. Wait. Wait.

I just read with my own two eyes that people have been giving First crap over his portrayal of Kant because they don't like Kant's character.

As someone who simultaneously understands Kant's motivations and yet ALSO wants to put him in a sleeper hold because he pisses me off, that BLOWS my mind.

The fact that First makes Kant unlikable, or frustrating, or manipulative, is a testitamate to how fucking GOOD of an actor First is. Like Kant as a character is SUPPOSE to frustrate us. That is the WHOLE point of his character arc.

First is playing this role phenomenally. All Kant's facial tics, all his eye acting...this man is amazing and for fans to be hating on him and making him feel like he has to apologize for his acting as Kant is making me absolutely furious.

[bylrndgm]

JULIE AND THE PHANTOMS (2020) // JULIE E OS FANTASMAS (2011) 1.01 - Wake Up // 1.01 - Enfrentando Fantasmas -> Julie meets the Band.

[akabloom]

interrupting loquat week w shinobu 😇

[kathrynmjaneway]

.

[seagullcharmer]

the retconned timeline is so messed up. what do you mean everyone broke off into pairs and didn't talk to each other for three years

[acetheta]

it genuinely feels like every time im having a major breakdown i am fully invisible to everyone