microsoft paint + mouse effort for the draw drarry badly challenge by @julcheninredâš
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Origami Around
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle

Kaledo Art

pixel skylines

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ellievsbear
art blog(derogatory)
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

izzy's playlists!

oozey mess
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â
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@emeraldgrindeldore
microsoft paint + mouse effort for the draw drarry badly challenge by @julcheninredâš
this song pretty much sums up the summer of 1899 and I thought it would match this scene perfectly! â€ïžâđ©č made by me;,)
My final Grindeldore fic finished
Somewhere In Time
https://archiveofourown.org/works/56189968/chapters/194633556#main
Summary:
Elphias helps Gellert escape from captivity and find Albus as the Time Turner prepares to return Gellert to the future. Complications arise.
A/N: I canât believe itâs over! Â The end of this fic is bittersweet for me, since this is my swan song in the Grindeldore fandom. Â I loved exploring the idea of time travel for the boys, that their love can span centuries. Â Iâve met so many amazing people in this fandom, especially my beta Litsetaure, who has stuck with me through a LOT of personal shit that went down in my life over the past two years. Â Iâm so heartbroken that weâll never get to see that 1945 duel, that we wonât get the 5 Fantastic Beasts movies we were promised. Â Perhaps Grindeldore will feature on the new HP show (if itâs even good) but it wouldnât be the same IMO. Â Iâve delayed finishing this fic because I donât want it to be over, but itâs time for me to return to my original sci-fi writing. Â Thanks to anyone who ever read, commented or left me kudos on my many Grindeldore fics. Â Iâm so honored to have touched so many lives. Â This is AGA, signing off. Â <3
Strictly Speaking - Chapter 37
As the semi-finals loom large, a fun gathering comes with poignant memories as Bathilda opens up about her experience of the AIDs crisis. The bond between Queenie and Vinda has also grown stronger, though both are worried about hurting kind-hearted Jacob. As they seek advice from Bathilda and Lucy, the others pay a visit to the Dumbledore residence, though the mood quickly sours as Aberforth's true colours are revealed, leaving anger and hurt in his wake.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: discussion of the AIDs crisis, blatant homophobia.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
So, I created a Grindeldore Gift exchange, if anyone would like to join!
Sign Ups close November 26.
One more week to sign up! <3
đăâȘâȘ
Title: Where the Air is Sweet In a magically veiled corner of Paris, Albus and Gellert reunite for a summer steeped in warmth, wonder, and old affection. But as laughter and magic flow freely, quiet questions lingerâcan something once broken ever truly be whole again?
++++++++++++ Paris, 1901
The cafe on Rue de lâAbreuvoir seemed to breathe with its own rhythmâslow and languid, like magic left to simmer. Pale sunlight streamed through windows charmed to reflect the golden hour at all times, regardless of the true hour. A violin floated lazily overhead, bowing itself in the corner near the ceiling, playing a quiet waltz no one seemed to have requested. Quills scribbled on floating napkins, taking down orders in elegant copperplate. Some of them wrote poetry when idle.
Albus was seated near the back, beneath a twisting vine of enchanted lavender that bloomed and shimmered faintly overhead. He had left Fawkes behind at Flamels townhouse, perched in the sunroom among alchemical glass and gentle, ancient wards. But one of the phoenixes tail feathersâsatin-bright and stubbornly fire-warmedâwas tucked into the band of Albusâ wide-brimmed hat, resting on the seat beside him like a quiet ember of loyalty.
He was halfway through a delicate pastryâlayers of pear compote, almond cream, and lemon glazeâwhen Gellert arrived, his robes slightly windblown, eyes sharp with heat and amusement.
He took the seat across from Albus. âParis suits you. Thereâs a touch of arrogance in the airâlike you.â
âAnd you,â Albus said coolly, though his voice softened at the end.
Gellert smiled. âYou really came here.â âTo the cafe? You invited me.â âNo, I mean here. To Paris.â
Albus raised an eyebrow. âYou sound surprised.â
âIâm not. Not really. I always said you belonged here.â He gestured to the cafe with a sweep of his hand. âBooks that whisper, tea that brews itself, desserts that defy physics. You were always a romantic beneath all that brilliance.â
âFlamel does have a talent for locating the rare and the charming,â Albus said. âAnd for assigning endlessly complex metallurgy.â
âIâm certain you complain only when heâs out of earshot.â
Albus didnât answer, but his smile was enough.
A flutter of heat at Gellerts collar drew his attention downward. From the inner pocket of his cloak, a flickering snout appeared, glowing faintly gold-red in the shadows. Apollo, Gellerts fire salamander familiar, blinked at the cafe lights with bright wide eyes.
âCurious little thing,â Albus murmured, reaching a hand forward.
Apollos shimmering scales flickered with hues of amber and copper. He gave Albusâ extended finger a familiar, dignified sniff, then nuzzled against it with the slow, deliberate fondness of something that remembered warmth.
Albus smiled and ran a gentle stroke along the salamanders narrow spine. Apollo made a pleased soundâsomething between a crackle and a purrâthen nestled further into the curve of Albusâ hand, heat radiating pleasantly through his skin.
âHeâs missed you,â Gellert said quietly, drawing a thin biscuit from his pocket. Apollo took it with a practised snap of his teeth and, treat secured, blinked up once more before disappearing with a ripple of flame into the lined warmth of Gellerts coat.
Albusâ hand lingered for a moment where Apollo had been.
âI suspect thatâs not just Apollo speaking,â he said, still not looking at him.
Gellert didnât deny it. His smile was lopsided, unreadable. âHeâs always had good taste.â
Albus shook his head, sipping his tea to hide the way his mouth wanted to curve.
âSome things never change,â he murmured.
âYou canât fault me for consistency,â Gellert replied, the glint in his eye unmistakable. âBesides, youâre one to talk. Iâd wager youâve eaten at least four of those glazed pastries this week alone. Still nursing that sweet tooth?â
âOnly three,â Albus replied.
Gellert arched a brow.
Albus relented. âFour and a half. Are you quite pleased with yourself?â
âDeeply.â
They sat in companionable quiet, the sounds of the cafe like a lullaby around them: enchanted teaspoons clinking gently in floating cups, a cat-shaped puff of smoke curling from one patronâs pipe and spelling out verses from Les Chants de Maldoror. The lavender above Albusâ head released a soft glow, triggered by proximity or fondness or both. âI thought something would feel different by now,â Albus said softly, watching the last of the tea swirl in his cup. âAfter a month.â
Gellert tilted his head. âDifferent how?â
âI donât know.â Albus smiled faintly. âWe havenât stopped talking. Writing. Seeing each other nearly every day. And yetââ
âAnd yet,â Gellert finished gently, âit still feels like another beginning.â
Albus met his eyes across the table. âYes.â
There was a stillness between them thenânot silence, but something warmer. A kind of settled understanding that didnât need filling. The type that only came when time had been well spent, and nothing had been left unsaid. It wasnât the reckless intoxication of their first summer, the kind that burned too fast. It was something quieter. A different kind of magic now.
âCome,â Gellert said, pushing to his feet. âWeâll walk the Seine. Youâll pretend you donât enjoy it, and Iâll pretend Iâm not proud and pleased that youâre here.â
âIâve never pretended not to enjoy anything,â Albus replied as he reached for his hat, his fingers brushing the phoenix feather.
Gellert leaned in, close enough to whisper, âYou pretend more than you know.â
Outside, the early evening light gilded the narrow alleys of wizarding Paris. Albus stood, tucking the feather in his hat more securely, and followed Gellert into the warmth of the street, where even the stones hummed with magic and memory.
And behind them, the cafe gently exhaled, as if it too knew this kind of peace was rareâand worth holding onto, for as long as it could last.
My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. Itâs Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, âHow tall are you?â In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish youâd said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before. Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know itâs hard to believe, but I promise itâs the truth. I promise one day you will say it tooâ I canât believe I ever thought I could lose you.
love letter from the afterlife, andrea gibson
Andrea Faye Gibson (August 13, 1975 â July 14, 2025)
the five homoerotic love languages:
- intimate stabbing
- outright obsession
- confused pining
- "no one knows me like you do"
- lifelong promises that always sound suspiciously like wedding vows
Grindeldore Playlist
Years ago, I created a Grindeldore Playlist, forgot about it, and now I'm sharing it.
Please read below if interested in the whole story behind the playlist.
Has anyone figured out whatâs so viscerally wrong with this woman yet
Sheâs so one dimensionally evil you guys đđ how is she real
read this and remember it. read this and remember that she is going to use the profits of her fucking ego-stroking reboot to decimate trans rights. read this and remember that every time you pay into her IP, you are emboldening her to hurt us more.
our lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
trans lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
And this is why I had to leave this fandom. I love the people in it, you are all amazing, but every art piece or fic I created made me too close to this horrible person.
I wish I could have the death of the author mindset, but it's really hard when the author is screaming hatred at the top of their lungs from the "grave".
Albus: This is the most complex escape room we have ever been in. Gellert: Gellert: This is Honeydukes, Albus.
Dumbo's and Grindo's first kiss? :D
Theyâre soulmates but one of them is infact trying to choke the other to death with the red string of fate tying them together
Having fun with your psycho boyfriend
Sketch trade from yesterday at #metrocon, I got a wee little Howl in exchange and my heart broke. I love Howl so much! đ She asked for wee little year 1 Harry . #harrypotter #mirroroferised #dumbledore