i see a lot of studyblrs stressing the idea that you are more than your grades, grades don’t define you, you shouldn’t worry over a bad grade, etc etc etc.
honestly this is very nice, it makes us feel better about ourselves and not stress as much all the time, and let our anxiety over grades lead our lives. it allows us to flourish without the confinements of grades.
however, at the same time, grades are very important, and not just for evaluating your understanding of a topic/subject.
it all depends on how you look at grades. you could see grades as something you dread, the cause of all your anxieties, insecurities, whatever. you could let your grades control you and ruin you.
but, like i do, you can also use grades to motivate yourself. fight for that a!! when you’re supposed to be studying but you feel the temptation to check social media or other distractions, remind yourself of what you’re doing this for.
this does not mean that you should work yourself to death over a single grade. yes, you should care and be concerned about your grades, but remember, your health, happiness, and sanity always come first.
*AU headcanons based on this book I saw in the children’s section of my library*
Lily and James survive. Voldemort does not.
Little Harry grows up with James, Remus, and Sirius all telling him crazy stories and playing make believe with him, and let me tell you make believe with wizards is much more entertaining than make believe as a muggle.
Harry grows up having his curiosity piqued and his imagination expanded. Uncle Remus gets him books for every holiday, even though dad and Uncle Sirius roll their eyes. Uncle Remus reads with him until he’s old enough to read by himself, and then Remus reads the same books so that he can discuss them with Harry in their “Super Secret Awesome People Book Club.”
Harry befriends Luna second year because he’s read the Quibbler his whole life and he always annoys Ron and Hermione with rants about Nargles and Wrackspurts, but Luna gets it.
Harry learns at school that there are a lot of things that he could do with his life. He could play quidditch, or be an auror, or anything else, but nothing really seems to fit when his teachers ask what he wants to do.
James and Lily are supportive of anything he wants, but they aren’t sure how to help him make the decision.
Sirius keeps telling him to just live for a while after school, and let life guide him. He doesn’t need to settle into one career just yet.
But Remus, Remus gets it. He gives Harry a typewriter for his fifteenth birthday. And Harry goes wild.
He starts writing all the time. Short stories, poetry, quidditch commentary, articles that Luna passes on to her father that sometimes even make it into the Quibbler! He writes about everything. Hagrid and his ‘pets,’ Hermione and her stacks upon stacks of books, degnoming the garden at the Weasley’s. Everything is fair game.
The imagination that has been primed for this his whole childhood finally has a real outlet, and he takes advantage of it. Now when professors ask him what subjects he wants to take and what career path he wants to follow he answers all of them because he needs as much information on every subject as he can get so that he has more source material to write.
When he leaves school, he writes his first book. It’s just for kids, and its not very long, but its sweet and personal, and has a good moral. It’s about a kid who feels lost in the world, and the only person that really understands him is his favorite uncle, Remus.
When it gets published, he asks for an early copy. He writes a two page long note in the front, and shyly, proudly hands it to Remus when he and Sirius are over for Sunday dinner.
Remus definitely doesn’t cry. Neither does James, or Sirius, or Lily. Nope their was just way too much onion in the chicken thank you very much.
On this day in 1999, the film Aimée & Jaguar was first released in its
home country of Germany. Set during World War II, the movie tells the true and
devastating love story of Lilly Wust and Felice Schragenheim, one the wife of a
respected Nazi soldier and the other a Jewish journalist hiding in plain sight at
a Nazi controlled newspaper.
The film begins in Berlin in the 1990s; two old women meet in a nursing
home, and when the narrator sweeps back in time to 1943, you know you are in
for a decades-long story that will stick with you long after the credits roll. The
foundation of Aimée & Jaguar is something we’ve all seen before:
bored housewife is swept off her feet by the charismatic and dangerous queer. However,
what makes Aimee & Jaguar stand out from the crowd of a dozen other lesbian
movies is the lingering knowledge that these were real women who actually lived
and loved in the city that was the heart of the Nazi empire; a gang of lesbian
friends all sitting around a table joking and playing cards, or a Jewish woman
in full suit and top hat waltzing around a ballroom with her lover are the type
of images that I never would have associated with 1940s Berlin before I saw
this movie. They are the type of lived experiences that have been buried under
the mythologizing of WWII-era Europe, and it is through Aimée & Jaguar that
you are able to see that, even though it was stifled under the rise of fascism,
Germany’s thriving gay culture of the 1920s and 1930s was still there, still dancing
and laughing and kissing no matter how many closed doors and curtains it was
forced to hide behind. At the beginning of the movie, I wondered why it wasn’t
titled Lily & Felice or something more obvious, but by the end I had
come to realize just how crucial Lily and Felice’s pet names were to their
relationship, and just how important sublimated identity was during this time
for lgbtq people, for Jewish people, and for any marginalized person living
under Hitler’s rule.
Felice Schragenheim and Lilly Wust as pictured in Erica Fischer’s novel. The text at the bottom reads: (Left) Felice, in a photo taken by Lilly, on the Havel River, August 21, 1944. (Right) Lilly, in a photo taken by Felice, during the summer of 1944 on the balcony of Lilly’s apartment at Friedrichshaller Strasse 23.
Before the film was released, Lilly and
Felice’s story was told in novel form by Erica Fischer in her bestselling book Aimée
& Jaguar: A
Love Story, Berlin 1943, which you can check out here! Or hear the story
told through Lily’s own words in this 2001 interview with The Guardian.
Do you know what always fucks me up? Thinking about what it would have been like if Sirius and Remus had raised Harry. Like you have these two 21 year olds who have been through so fucking much, and they probably feel much too old and much too young at the same time and they’ve just lost everything but each other and they’re barely holding it together and suddenly… there’s this tiny pink cheeked baby babbling away, completely vulnerable and oblivious, occasionally calling out for his mum and dad, and Jesus Christ they don’t know how to look after a baby. They’ve never lived as an adult in a world that isn’t consumed by war and Remus has probably forced himself to never even consider having his own kid because of his condition and Sirius was way too busy fighting and rebelling and just being Sirius Black™ to even think about settling down with a kid, but if there’s one thing they know, its that they’re not letting anyone else to raise Harry because he’s got Lily’s eyes and when he laughs they’re convinced he’s already got James’s shit-eating grin even though he’s like, one, and he’s the only good, pure thing to come out of this terrible fucking situation so they decide they’re going to raise him, to hell with everything else. And the first little while is… really fucking hard. They’re both still recovering, Remus keeps going off on these fits of self hatred and guilt and convincing himself that Harry is better off without a werewolf as a guardian and Sirius keeps locking himself in his room for hours on end staring at the ceiling and holding his fragment of two-way mirror so hard it cuts his hand, but neither of them are doing it alone. When one of them is going through a rough patch the other one is there, feeding Harry and talking to him and making him giggle and changing his nappies and rocking him to sleep at 4 in the morning, and they’re there for each other, too. Neither of them are ever fully recover, but it gets easier. They get better at it, too. At first they’re completely clueless. They’ve babysat a few times and hung out with Harry when they were visiting James and Lily, but actually raising a kid is like… a whole different ball game. The first time Harry wont stop crying for hours on end Remus just sort of stands there holding him at arms length staring at him in horror like what do I do, but eventually he learns that Harry likes it when you rock him from side to side and hum under your breath. Sirius has never changed a nappy in his life before and the first time he tries he makes a huge mess of it and cant stop gagging at the smell and has to take three showers to feel clean again, but eventually he can do a pro job in about a minute, whistling cheerfully the entire time. Eventually they find themselves laughing more often, genuinely smiling because they’re happy and not just because they need to look happy for Harry. Also, they figure out Harry is just about the most brilliant kid in the world, and not just because he’s James and Lily’s. Sirius woops and punches the air the first time Harry takes a step and Remus can’t help but be reminded of him cheering James on from the Quidditch stands. The first time Harry brings home a painting from school Remus is enthralled by it and sticks it up on the fridge and it stays there forever. When he gets older they’re worried about how to discipline him because Sirius’s first instinct on Harry getting detention would probably be a high five and Remus has never been particularly good at reprimanding people, but as it turns out, they barely even need to bc he’s just about the best person in the world (tho maybe they’re a little biased.) Most of the time when he gets in trouble its like, thoroughly understandable, and even whenever it isn’t they kinda let is slide anyway, the boy is a genetic hybrid of James and Lily raised by Sirius and Remus what can you really expect. But the point is they never planned to be parents and they had their doubts, they mess stuff up and honestly half the time they still don’t know what they’re doing, but they try so fucking hard, and they love Harry so much, and there isn’t a single day that Harry feels uncared for or unloved because if Harry couldn’t have his parents then thats the kind of upbringing he deserved.
A short, random piece in honour of the woman who tried to set me up with her son today. He was cute, though, so…
Summary: Euphemia Potter thinks her doctor needs to go on a date with her son. Muggle AU, Lily is a doctor AU, Mum sets them up AU (are these things?)
The title of this story, by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with the content – I saw this phrase somewhere, @professor-riddikulus hated it so much that I threatened to write a story and title it “Erotic Porridge.” Because I have no fucks to give, here we are.
Lily Evans loved, bloody loved, being a doctor. Sure, the hours were shit, the patients could be right fucking annoying, the NHS never had enough fucking money, but at the end of the day, she loved taking care of her patients.
That feeling, though, is sometimes (usually) steamrolled by the stress that hits her the moment she walks into the door of her surgery at 630, a hour and a half before it opens, because she still has paperwork to finish from the night before, emails and phone calls to reply to, a schedule to check, and doublecheck, and follow-up calls to make for patients that she can’t book in to see her in person.
She logged into the computer behind the desk at reception, knowing full well that Frank would kick her fucking arse if he came in and saw her at his computer again, to check who she was seeing today. Ugh fuck Mr Johnson tomorrow?! Okay, no Lily, stick to today. We’ll worry about tomorrow tomorrow…
She’s booked solid, as always, and fuck, Frank leaves early today, but she saw a name towards the bottom of her schedule that made her break into a huge, relieved smile. Euphemia Potter - 1600
I’m teaching Lily to use chopsticks; she’s 2 so I don’t expect much y'know, but she managed to poke herself in the eye and then again several times after while she was trying to rub it, because she refused to let go of them 😂😂😂😂😂
Request: Could you possibly do a fanfic in which Newt goes to see the reader’s play/musical and consequently becomes enamored with her? Thanks so much!
Sorry It’s taken a while to fill it out, and I’m sorry it’s quite short! Today’s finally my day off- why not spend it with a little bit of writing?
You wish you could say that your stomach churned because of the constant movement from behind the curtain. Soft music was playing and music notes swayed in the air as various people walked into the dimmed room, only to sit down comfortably and open the pamphlet that had been handed out in front as they walked in.
From your side you could hear hushed conversations and the quick footing of dancers that were quickly rehearsing one last time before stage time. Biting your lip, you couldn’t help but shake your foot a few times, only to do the same to the other; a nervous habit you had acquired.
Truth be told, you were never one to get nervous when it came to performances. Sure, butterflies would come and go during the buildup to opening curtain, but once those lights hit you and illuminated every single moment you did on stage; the butterflies always seemed to disappear.
“Five minutes ‘till Curtain!” you heard someone cry out followed by the panic whispers of your fellow performers; in return you took a deep breath and turned around, walking into the sea of performers in front of you.
Newt’s eyes darted back and forth within the amount of Muggles that were quickly filling up the room in front of him; he had his trusty suitcase on his lap as he fiddled with his fingers nervously.
Although Newt had come to America for really one specific purpose, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to wander around New York City for awhile, at least for one day, he was positive Frank wouldn’t mind.
Back in London he would often hear about the wonder that was America, ‘Everything’s so forward,’ he would hear people say, but now that he was here, Newt found it difficult to see the ‘wonder,’ that everyone would talk about.
Not to say that America wasn’t marvelous in it’s own way, he just thought it resembled home a bit too much.
His thoughts were broken when he felt someone slide into the seat next to him, and when he turned to face the stranger, he quickly turned back around, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly wide. “Mr. Scamander?” he heard the stranger say.
In return, Newt cracked a slight smile followed by a curt wave. “Hello Prime Minister.” he replied, “It’s so lovely to see you.”
“Likewise,” replied the Prime Minister with cautious eyes, which Newt avidly avoided. “What brings you here?”
“Oh,” replied Newt nervously, his hands on his suitcase, “just- thought I’d take a look around New York City.”
“So you came to the New York City Ballet?”
Letting out a breathless laugh, Newt bit his lip and nodded once. “That’s right.” he said, “I ah- I think Ballet’s quite beautiful, don’t you Prime Minister?”
Even from the dimmed lights, Newt could see the Prime Minister’s flushed face as he grinned slightly, “Most definitely,” he agreed, “they put on a beautiful performance in the fall- if I had known you were interested Mr. Scamander, I would’ve shared countless of tickets with you.”
Newt chuckled to himself one final time but before he could say something back, the lights fully dimmed, causing the entire audience to hush in whispers and tones.
Suddenly the large curtain that had been decorating the stage lifted, followed by soft music that set a calm, yet sad and mellow scene. Newt could feel the energy in the room heighten as everyone’s eyes focused on the dancer in front of them.
Before he knew it, however, the melody shifted into a loving tune, and just as he glanced at the stage, a ballerina pranced on stage, immediately catching Newt’s attention.
In Newt’s eyes, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The way she glided across the room was almost magical, as if she was flying across the stage, only to come back just as gracefully.
He swore that everyone else on stage looked dull compared to her, and within every passing movement she made, his heart grew and grew. In full reality, Newt wasn’t even paying attention to what was happening in the play, he just knew that she was the shining star.
Everything seemed to be over too soon because before he knew it the audience started clapping, causing Newt to slightly jolt in his seat; he cleared his throat as he too, started to clap weakly as his gaze wandered around the room.
Once the curtain came back up and Newt spotted the beautiful ballerina, he felt his mouth slightly gape open as he he continued to clap. She smiled brightly and waved out to the cheering crowd just before she took a bow. ‘The one time I don’t have flowers.’ he thought; when suddenly a bright idea came to mind.
Newt let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding in as he stood in front of the door with the name (y/n) on it.
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve thought of yet.” he said to himself as he stared at the bright yellow lilies he was holding. “It’s bad enough I snuck in magical animals into America, but now I’m about to give flowers to a girl.”
‘A beautiful girl who resembles starlight.’ he thought, which he should know, he’s seen starlight thousands of times.
Nodding once, and biting his lip, Newt placed his suitcase on the ground lightly, “Knock, Knock.” he said. Seconds passed before the door opened only to reveal the sweetest face he had ever seen. “Hello,” she said calmly. “Can I help you?”
“Um-” replied Newt, stunned, “H-hello, I just saw your performance, and I just had to give you these.” he said as he brought the yellow lilies up to her face. “You were brilliant out there.”
The girl smiled a brilliant smile, her eyes twinkled as she took the lilies in her delicate hands, “Thank you.” she replied back, taking a strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I’m (y/n).”
“The odd thing is, Harry,” he said softly, “that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll’s prophecy could have applied to two wizard boys, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom.”