why i need to sleep

libra post

My Not-BF is so cute, wow… i hope he likes me i hope im not too annoying 😭 he hasnt texted me all day it feels like but also he has valid reasons and i have no actual reason to be upset bc i know why hes busy and why he isnt answering but Still. ndjfkdkdmdkd anyways i need to sleep

This sounds dumb but I’ve decided I’m allowed to like languages without learning them. I’m allowed to learn languages just for the sake of it. I don’t need to reach C2 and have the linguistic prowess of Shakespeare in everything I do.

I mean sure there are some languages I want to reach ‘fluency’ in, and it’s something I’m working toward. But this is a hobby. This is fun. I don’t even take myself seriously in my native language, so why am I so uptight about perfection in my target languages?

Time to take a chill pill and just enjoy the journey.

I’ll go to bed early.
—  A Ravenclaw who will most certainly not go to bed early 

I asked @thatsthat24 who would most likely wear Heelys, and he says it would be Patton. I drew the aftermath of him trying on Heelys and falling a numerous amount. I started drawing at 1:35 am or something and know it’s 2:57 in the morning. I am tired and I’m going to maybe sleep an question why I was drawing at almost three in the morning.

We all have that one person we’d stay up late for. Only them. Why? Because they’re the only person who can make you smile through a text. The only person who gives you genuine butterflies. The only person you’d lose sleep for.
—  And now you’re gone

Brain: We should sleep

Me: Oka-

Brain: WAIT! I-is that an old ship that we used to be our otp?!

Me: Y-yeah…why?

Brain: We are going to watch all the videos, read all the fanfic, and see all the fanart!

Me: ….but-

Brain: Did I stutter?

six hours later~

Me: I hate you.

Brain: I hate me too….but that animation though

2

Quick interjection: When you keep saying ‘on the line,’ you do mean online?

The boy, he dies at the end.

He’s written the spoiler right on the first page, like a shit, and he’s ghastly. He really is. Only- of course he isn’t. Quite the opposite. She uses the book to hit him in the chest. He laughs.

You’re the worst gift giver in the world, she informs him. He waggles his eyebrows, and she’d kiss him if Sirius wasn’t here. You two should kiss, Sirius says through a mouthful of crisps, looking on with mild interest. James shoves him sideways and then does, in fact, kiss her. He tastes like tea and mint.

The boys wear party hats all round London. Remus has five coffees, Peter loses his scarf to the wind and Sirius throws away a twenty pound note because he thought it was a very poorly made napkin. It might just be the best birthday she’s ever had.

Naturally she can never tell James this because he’ll just be unbearably smug, as opposed to the bearable level of smug he is normally. He buys her an ice block and then precedes to rip into her for picking lemonade flavor, which he has been told by Remus is the ‘most basic’.

Pathetic Lily, truly embarrassing, he says, and she reaches up and snaps the string of his party hat. Being eighteen feels no different to being seventeen, still being told by a choking James that she’d just ‘broken his throat’, still laughing when Remus says that it’s probably a blessing, still liking them all an inordinate amount.

Afterwards they go home, the two of them, back to the tiny apartment where they eat and sleep and make breakfast. When they’d moved in she’d used James’ wand to flick all the dead moths off the windowsill and to get her back he froze hers in ice. Sometimes when she can’t sleep and her brain is a blank wall she’ll get up, walk around, breathe. She can look at any surface of their place and think here. I kissed you here. I loved you here.

She goes through the door and there is a cake on their bench. The top slants to the left, lopsided, and the icing has melted all down the sides. She freezes, staring. James bounds past her and tries to prop up a drooping candle. I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to ice it while it was still hot, he confesses, guiltily.

She keeps staring. You made me a cake. She says, fumbling around the words. I don’t know if you can still call it that, he says, distracted, trying to even out the slanting top by shifting the icing. She cannot believe him- waking up early just to make her a cake. Her heart is swollen. She could break a rib.

Happy birthday Li- he starts, but she has surged forward and is kissing him instead. His hands are sticky from icing, on her face and jaw and neck and he made her a cake. In this kitchen, in this apartment, in her space, he was here. There has never been a better boy than hers, and here. She loves him here.