#or have to revise part of it without reading through to revise the rest

[octosan]

sfgkfdsk I was kind of hoping that there would also be some explanation for the terrible repetition in this game but I guess I'll have to chalk that up to the last-minute dialogue rewrites (hampered by mocap) and tonal/vestigial live-service issues

Like, it makes sense in a live-service to repeat information for people who were too busy talking to their friends to pay attention to the cutscene/party banter, right?

It makes sense that you could have a situation where they wrote a character delivering the player information one time, and then a separate scene was added which delivers the information again and they don't have time to change the dialogue or. something.

Like off the top of my head, Neve explaining for the second time that Rana has a lead on Aelia's location ("Sanctum Lusacan") in the Lighthouse could have been written first, without the context that Rook actually goes with Neve to see Rana and receive this information. Then that first scene gets written and added to the game, because it is a slightly more interesting way of getting that information and they turned out to have time to add it, but now they have that extra scene with Neve and I guess they didn't have the time or awareness to replace the lines in the second dialogue with something more appropriate to the flow of information?

Edit: Also had it pointed out to me that the VA strike would have made it more difficult to acquire new lines in the first place, which means they also might have just had to make do in these cutscenes with what they already had. So.

Something like that?

[ba9go]

bakugou katsuki finds you annoying (he has a soft spot for you) pt. 2

sort-of enemies to lovers with bakugou!! bakugou being avoidant bc he’s bad at feelings. he’s a little shit in this one but he makes it up to the reader!! liiiiiight angst/comfort.

pls read part 1 before 🧡 part 3 (nsfw)

the more you interact with bakugou, the more you’re baffled by the insults he comes up with.

you bump into him in the corridor, and the two of you are completely alone so it’s impossible for you to pretend you haven’t seen him, so you wave awkwardly at him.

“hey, bakug—”

“fuck off, rabbitface.”

bakugou brushes past you as he walks by, leaving you gaping at him in complete horror. “my ears are not that long!”

“cry about it, maybe your nose will twitch too!” bakugou responds without looking back at you, and you find yourself holding your nose on the rest of your way back to your room. it does not twitch one bit.

the day of the midterm exams, you’re full of jitters, standing outside the classroom and flipping through your notes frantically for some last minute revision.

“nervous?” you look up to see bakugou standing in front of you, smirking down at you with his arms crossed.

“yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “i don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“don’t be stupid. you studied, didn’t you?” bakugou’s smirk drops and he raises an eyebrow at you. you nod, and he clicks his tongue at you. “only thing stopping you now is you, then.” bakugou pokes the side of your head twice, roughly but not hard enough to actually hurt. it catches you by surprise, and it happens so fast that by the time his hand drops back to his side, you’re not sure it even happened.

“better not fuck it up, buttercup.”

as bakugou walks away from you, you’re still feeling frazzled, just not for the test anymore.

by this point, you’ve given up on asking mina and the rest for advice. they’re all convinced of the same thing — that bakugou somehow has a soft spot for you. you don’t believe it.

some days, bakugou looks a little less murderously at you, and you think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t completely hate your guts, but other days, he completely brushes past you like you’re invisible and you feel like a fool for ever hoping that maybe the two of you could be friends.

but then bakugou starts ignoring you more and more, and you start to wonder if he actually hates you.

you run into bakugou on the way to the gym, and you grab his sleeve before you can even stop to think twice. “bakugou, you good?”

“hah?!” bakugou recoils away from you and looks at you like he’s repulsed by your touch. “fuck do you want, extra?”

extra. you’ve noticed that bakugou’s started calling you that a lot more often recently. you’ve heard him say it before, but not to you. was that all you meant to him now? when did that happen? what changed?

“what do you want? did i piss you off or something? why are you being so—”

“i’ve always been like this,” bakugou hisses at you, and you don’t think you’ve seen bakugou this angry at you before. “and you’ve always pissed me the fuck off. so just fuck off already, would ya?”

bakugou stomps away like godzilla after a rampage, and you’re the tokyo that he’s completely ravaged.

soft spot, my ass.

for the next two weeks, you listen to bakugou. you stay out of his way, you don’t even try to meet his gaze when you walk into class or when you walk past him in the hallways. ignoring him didn’t feel natural to you, but every time you saw bakugou, you reminded yourself that you were just another extra. you’d get used to not talking to bakugou eventually.

the others picked up on this change as well. kaminari casually asked if bakugou had come up with any “interesting, new” names for you, to which you had responded, “haven’t spoken to him in a while, but he did call me an “extra” the last time.”

“extra?” kaminari repeated slowly, raising his brows. “he called you an extra? that’s low. especially since it’s you.” you shrug, and kaminari frowns. “have you talked to kirishima about it? i’m stupid but i don’t speak caveman like bakugou does. kiri’s our best bet at deciphering him.”

you decline kaminari’s suggestion, insisting that it was no big deal, but it seemed kaminari went ahead and told kirishima anyway, because “bro code”.

(1) new message from red riot:

red riot: hey, sorry about bakugou, he’s been a real asshole to you lately

you: hey kiri!!! pls don’t apologise

you: how do u even know lol? kaminari?

red riot: ding ding ding

you: 👎

red riot: sorry… bro code

red riot: i beat some sense into him dw

you: poor kami

red riot: oh no i meant bakugou

you: what

red riot: (👍ᐛ )👍

turns out, your conversation with kaminari had completely set off a chain reaction that you absolutely could not stop, with kirishima (bless his heart) confronting bakugou himself.

you: what

you: u mean u just went over and kicked his ass?

red riot: yup!

red riot: well i guess we took turns

you: ????

red riot: like i got two punches in and he got two punches in and we talked and then we called it a day

you: ???????????????

red riot: (👍ᐛ )👍

you don’t dare to ask kirishima for the details of what exactly happened during their brawl, and you don’t know how you’re ever going to face bakugou ever again. the thought of running into bakugou legitimately scares you, so you decide to hole yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, just to be safe.

well, you thought you were safe, until…

(1) new message from Unknown Number:

Unknown Number: It’s Bakugou.

Unknown Number: I need to talk to you.

Unknown Number: You in your room?

you: no (👍ᐛ )👍

Unknown Number: Yeah right

Unknown Number: I’m at the door.

you’re filled with equal parts dread and fear as you shuffle over to the door reluctantly. you peek through the peephole to see bakugou standing there with a plastic bag in his hand.

you open the door hesitantly.

“you look like shit,” bakugou says, and it sounds so familiar and so right, you almost burst out laughing despite the context of the situation. despite yourself, you can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips.

“here.” before you can say anything, bakugou’s grabbing your wrist and handing you the plastic bag. it smells like food so you think its takeout, but you look inside and see that it has a little plastic bento box and metal chopsticks.

“is this your way of apologising?” you grin cheekily, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, but bakugou stares back at you unflinchingly.

“yeah,” bakugou says. “is it working?”

‘it worked,’ bakugou thinks as he lets you fling your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug.

“it’s working,” you mumbled into his shoulder, and you feel two large hands grip around your waist.

extras:

(👍ᐛ )👍 is so kiri-coded i love it

(👍ᐛ )👍

kirishima was pissed after kaminari told him what happened between you and bakugou

he walked over to bakugou’s room all prepared with ice packs and shit

knocked twice, waited for bakugou to open the door, threw two punches

bakugou was confused asf but it pissed him off so punched kiri right back out of reflex

the fight stops then and there, kirishima hands bakugou the ice pack, and they both sit on his bed to talk

both are just holding ice packs to their cheeks

kirishima tells bakugou that it was unmanly of him to be mean to you when you did nothing but try to be nice to him

bakugou just listens quietly, he doesn’t really say much, doesn’t really know what to do to fix the situation

like he already knew that he fucked up before kirishima came to rock his shit

but kirishima is a true bro and he gives bakugou advice on how to make things up to you

(👍ᐛ )👍

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob! lando norris x reader

part eighteen: the things we don’t say

word count: 1.9k

warnings: none, i don't think?

seventeen | eighteen | nineteen

It was just… small things.

A canceled coffee run here. A postponed dinner there. Nights where their conversations had to be cut short because Alex was still at the lab, because Y/N had case studies to read, because they were both tired, both distracted, both trying—but perhaps trying less than before.

alex :) : I’m so sorry. I thought I’d be done by now, but my professor just added another round of revisions. Can I make it up to you?

Y/N: yeah, don’t worry about it! i totally get it good luck, and hope your prof gets hit by a minor inconvenience :) 

alex :) : Like a paper cut from an overdue notice?

Y/N: exactly!

It was lighthearted. Easy. But she noticed that, this time, he didn’t say when they’d reschedule.

She stared at the message for a second longer than she should have before flipping her phone face-down and pushing it to the corner of her desk. It was fine. They were just busy. They were still… them.

Weren’t they?

The next time she saw him in person, it was a chance run-in between classes. She was coming out of the library; he was hurrying toward the engineering building, earbuds in, laptop tucked under his arm.

They both slowed at the same time.

“Hey,” he said, breathless. “I was just—”

“Yeah!” she said. “No, I know. It’s totally fine.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking guilty. “I still owe you dinner.”

“You do,” she said, smiling, wanting to mean it. “We could try for this weekend?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “I—can we play it by ear?”

She nodded. But she already knew.

Alex texted later that night.

alex :) : It was nice to see you today. Hope your application stuff went well. I miss you.

Y/N: i miss you too. sorry if i’ve been a little out of it lately. i think everything’s just… speeding up.

alex :) : Yeah. I get that.

alex :) : But we’re okay, right?

She stared at the message a long time before replying.

Y/N: yeah. we’re okay.

In her calendar, she used to write his name in it in tiny ink hearts—“dinner + alex, @ 7pm,” underlined twice. “

alex—art museum!! coffee w/ alex :)

But now, every time she penciled him in, it came with a question mark.

alex?—lunch?? alex (if not lab?)

And more often than not, she crossed it out.

alex :): I swear I was halfway out the door, but my code broke again. Do you hate me yet?

Y/N: i hate your code. not you lol

alex :) : Okay good. Still gonna fix it for the sake of our nonexistent children’s college fund. Then they can be rich trust-fund kids.

She smiled when she read it, before she looked up and realized she hadn’t seen him in eleven days.

On the other side of the city, Lando’s day had started with a broken jaw and ended with a wire transfer to Dubai.

There’d been shouting in the stairwell of a casino he technically didn’t own, but everyone knew who it belonged to. One of his new dealers got the unfounded idea that he was clever and shorted the house. 

Rookie mistake. 

Lando didn’t raise his voice, didn’t throw a punch. He just nodded. Someone else –tall, built, and Dutch– easily took care of the rest.

By noon, he’d signed off on a shipment of pills wrapped in vinyl and a list of clients who owed interest. Daniel was still recovering from his hand fracture from last time, which meant Lando had to deal with three different departments himself and threaten a laundering partner who got greedy and forgot who had made him rich in the first place.

Like a revolving door, it was a constant wheel of motion, always one thing after the next.

It was a lot. 

It was always a lot.

But everything stopped when his phone buzzed and her name popped up.

y/n ☕: can i call you? just for like a minute

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Hey,” she said when he answered. Her voice sounded a bit off, perhaps a little frayed around the edges. “Sorry. I know you’re probably busy.”

“Not too busy for you,” he said, without thinking. And then, quieter, “Erm, you alright?”

She paused, and he could hear it—the hesitation, the exhaustion she didn’t want to admit.

“I just…” she exhaled, her voice barely audible above the cacophony of city traffic in the background. “I haven’t talked to anyone all day. Except my professor. And, uh, he only talked to yell at me. I’m not even sure why, actually,” she laughed, but it sounded wetter than it should have been.

Lando leaned back in the leather office chair of his office, staring out over the skyline. “Did you yell back though?”

“I thought about it, just in my head,” she murmured. “But then I remembered I still need him to write me a letter of rec, so...”

He smiled. “Ah, that’s smart.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t think I’ve seen Alex in almost two whole weeks.”

That name always landed like a pebble in his chest. Small. But irritating.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, honestly.

“It’s not his fault,” she added quickly, as if she had to protect some unknown thing. “He’s got his thesis. And conferences. And I’ve got the extra course load this term and then with the readings and so it all just—” she cut herself off. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just...  really busy. People can be busy, right?”

Lando didn’t answer right away, but set the phone down on his desk to pull on his coat.

“I’m ten minutes away,” he said. “Do you want to get food?”

There was another pause.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

She didn’t know that Lando had an envelope full of classified receipts on his desk. Or that he’d just missed a call from someone whose name only ever showed up with a skull emoji in his contacts. Or that he'd been scheduled to be halfway across the city in fifteen minutes to collect on a deal that will most likely turn bloody.

None of that ever had to cross her mind. All that mattered was that she called, and he came.

Lando pulled up outside her building, headlights washing over the entrance as he leaned over to pop the passenger-side door open. She slipping inside easily, muscle memory taking her through the motions so as not too require much effort from her brain.

"Hey," she murmured, a small smile just barely tugging at her lips.

Lando looked over at her, taking her in—loose sweater, hair pulled back in a lazy attempt at a ponytail, and a puffiness around her eyes that indicated either sadness or exhaustion.

Lando’s money was on both.

"Hey yourself," he greeted back, giving her a onceover to make sure she had her seatbelt on. Then, with an easy grin, he added "I thought about being a gentleman and asking if you wanted a fancy dinner, but I figured that would be too much effort for both of us. Plus, you like sushi, and we both know that’s not happening anytime soon."

She hummed, glancing absentmindedly at the road ahead as he pulled away from the curb. "Good call."

It wasn’t long before he pulled into the parking lot of a small gelato shop, one of those spots that had been around for decades, where the sign flickered a little and the menu still had prices from three years ago. The place was mostly empty at this hour, save for an older couple sitting outside, quietly sharing a cone.

"Gelato?" she asked with a raised brow, finally breaking the silence..

"Absolutely," Lando replied, looking visibly resolute in what he clearly believed in. ‘It’s the perfect food.“

She followed him inside, the faintest hint of amusement flickering over her face. He counted that as a win.

Inside, the cold air smelled like vanilla and fresh waffle cones. Lando let her lead the way to the glass display case, where she eyed the rows of flavors like she was studying for an exam.

"You’re… taking this very seriously," he noted, sparing a glance at the menu before looking right back at her.

"This is a big decision, Liam."

His stomach flipped—just slightly, just enough to be annoying. Something about the way she looked under the faint glow of the lit signage reminded Lando of some impressionist painting he helped nick from a private gallery on one occasion. He remembered the painting being of a woman with an umbrella standing under the radiant. It was all painted in soft brushstrokes of blues and whites and yellows — the woman with her dress billowing in the warm breeze, basking in the radiant sun. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by her eager smile, finally ready to order. For a moment, he too feels the warmth of the radiant sun.

She had finally settled on hazelnut, and Lando—who hadn’t really cared what he was getting—ordered the same without thinking. He wasn’t even sure if he liked hazelnut. Didn’t matter.

They took their cups outside, sitting on the curb, close but not touching.

She took a slow bite, staring out into the quiet street.

"I don’t really feel like talking," she admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper. Soft brown eyes peer up at him, still mid-bite with her spoon in her mouth. 

Lando didn’t even hesitate. "That’s alright."

She blinked at him, like she expected something else. Expected him to fill the silence, to pry, to tell her you can talk to me. But he… didn’t.

Huh.

So they sat. Eating their gelato. The city buzzing softly in the distance.

There have been times when Lando feels the darkness of this city surround him, dark and viscous, absorbing the laughter and swallowing the beauty around it. Sometimes it feels like it’s always been that way.

But from where they’re sitting, the city looks different. In this moment, the faraway traffic is white noise, the street lights glimmering like beads on a necklace. The buildings along the harbor appeared to change colors under the dimming light of the setting sun.

This city was beautiful.

Eventually, she nudged his knee with hers.

"You don’t even like hazelnut, do you?"

Lando thought for a moment, bringing himself back into focus before he grinned. "Nope."

She huffed a small laugh. "Idiot."

He just grinned. Because somehow, she was okay with being around him—even when she didn’t feel like being around anyone at all.

Later, when he dropped her off, she lingered with her hand on the door. She wanted to say thank you, but it feels too small. She wanted to say I needed this, but that felt like too much.

So instead, she smiled and said, “Text me when you get home?”

He quirks a brow. “What, you worried about me now? That’s cute.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just shut up and text me.”

Her phone pings with a notification moments after she dozes off on her couch, warmed by the food in her stomach and comfortable under the throw blanket she’d barely managed to haphazardly drape over herself.

liam! : Made it home in one piece. Sweet dreams.

When she blindly reached for her phone the next morning, still trying to blink the sleep from her eyes, she found a text from Alex sent sometime last night.

alex :) : Can we try for dinner sometime? I miss you. For real this time.

She stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering.

She had missed him. Of course she had.

But when she thinks about how things have been lately…

She’s not sure who she’s missed more: him—or the version of them that existed when they had time.

a/n: i love them ur honor :))

also i love when you guys discuss ur thoughts in asks/comments!! like yes!! lets obsess together!!!

[ghostedgwen]

don't blame me | j.potter [part five]

note : yall I'm sorry I totally forgot to post the final part because it has been rotting in my drafts. I had so many revisions to do and my drafts piled up that I just kinda abandoned this one omg

warnings : pure fluff! bittersweet feelings might arise from this series finally ending but it's a happy conclusion, james being james and the marauders being their goofy selves

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 ��𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒.

After that confession, everything has somehow tilted in the castle. James was still James, but something had definitely shifted.

A softness had crept into the corners of the castle, like the building itself was preparing to let you go - to let it's seventh-years go soon.

You were together now.

Aside the new improvement to your relationship, graduation was near and the time to bid goodbyes while you part ways with friends was looming over everyone's heads.

Seven years spent within the castle halls, all the time with friends that have crossed the line into family. Now, it's nearing the time to drift apart and chase your own dreams.

James could feel it even if you dared not bring it up for a conversation, it hurts a little to think about the future despite its promises.

The farewells that will be exchanged and all that. He tried to combat it with the newfound development with you instead.

There had been no grand announcement. You’d just started holding hands one night after patrol, and then you never really stopped.

Everyone already assumed you'd been in love the whole time (or at least, that you liked each other enough to put a ring on it), and the truth was, you always were - you just hadn't known then if James was on the same page.

The change wasn’t loud. It was in the quiet moments.

It was James walking you to Ravenclaw Tower every night, his fingers tangled with yours, thumb tracing slow circles on your wrist. He never let go until the last possible second, always kissing your forehead, then your lips - before jogging backwards down the corridor with that crooked grin that still made your knees weak.

It was his jumpers, perpetually oversized on you, smelling like cedar and treacle tart. You wore them to the library without thinking.

He kissed your temple while you read, whispered jokes into your hair, rested his chin on your shoulder until you fell asleep with your quill still in your hand.

Some nights, he didn’t even study. Just watched you with this quiet reverence, like you were a secret he didn’t want to share - except he was always loud and boastful.

He held you proudly in his arms.

So maybe he didn’t have to. Because for the first time, it wasn’t a secret that only you kept. You were his and equally, he was yours.

Some people in the castle seemed to blink at the change.

McGonagall looked vaguely alarmed by the sudden lack of detentions, detentions would mean less time spent with you so James behaved.

Slughorn called you a “golden pairing” still, and invited you two to more Slug Club dinners. Flitwick just smiled, like he’d known all along - like he's caught you before watching James in the Great Hall.

Even Lily, who didn't have a single bone in her body that tolerated James Potter, had softened around you - comforted in knowing that James was off her ass.

If she could, she'd shower you in chocolate frogs as her grandest thanks "thanks girl, you did me a solid!"

Still, it didn’t feel real until that morning in the Great Hall.

You were halfway through a muffin, distractedly flipping through Charms notes, and James said something entirely stupid and entirely lovely. Something like, “If I fail my Transfiguration N.E.W.T., I’ll start a bakery, and you can be my muse - my blueberry dream girl.”

You’d rolled your eyes, but your heart had surged up, insistent and warm. Before you could think better of it, you leaned across the bench and kissed him.

Right there with no care for onlookers, muffin crumbs on your lips.

The Hall fell into stunned silence, at least - those who saw.

Two full seconds passed.

Then Sirius cheered. Peter choked on his toast - dramatic much. Remus didn’t look up from his book but smiled anyway, Merlin - he's more likely to marry that thing than a human person.

James blinked, dazed and delighted.

“You taste like blueberry,” he whispered, which was so like him to point it out.

You shoved him lightly and went back to your notes, cheeks on fire at your sudden public display of affection - the shame now creeping in.

But something settled after that. Something old and aching and restless - like your hearts had been waiting for your heads to catch up.

Spring turned warm. Examinations loomed. Everyone was panicking about the future with the onslaught of ministry interviews and apprenticeships and Auror tryouts - but James, miraculously, started staying focused.

You’d glance over during revision and find him actually reading. Not doodling plays in the margins. Not poking Sirius with his wand. Actually reading.

It almost made you suspicious.

“Who are you,” you whispered one night, nudging his shin under the library table, “and what have you done with James Potter?”

He looked up, all wide eyes and exaggerated innocence. “I’m trying to impress a girl. You might know her, ever so brilliant and funny. Looks ravishing in my Quidditch jumpers.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away - you scoffed to hide it but he had caught you already.

In quieter moments, when the moon was high and the castle drowsy, he’d say things like, “Do you think it’ll always be like this? Us?”

And you’d press your fingers to the curve of his jaw, feel the stubble starting to grow in, and say, “I hope so.” you truly did.

He’d kiss your wrist and whisper, “I’ll make sure of it.”

And you believed him. You believed in James Potter.

Because James Potter was nothing if not persistent. And when he loved - really loved - it was with his whole stupid, golden, Gryffindor heart.

When he went after you, he did so with everything he had and when you finally fell into each other, he let it all out for you. You can still remember how he ahd snogged all your worries away that night, funny how a simple kiss could answer all the questions you hadn't asked.

One rainy afternoon, weeks before graduation, you caught him staring at you over a stack of Transfiguration notes.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He shrugged, soft and casual. “I’m going to marry you. That’s mad, innit?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, it's been known for almost a year now but it still gets to you, in a good way now.

You couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips at the realization that the future is bright, you were going to be officially his wife and the world will fall into place.

After all the time taken to get to this point, it was all worth it. Because here he is, going over his own notes and pausing to look at you and remind you of the amazing future ahead.

Graduation arrived like a wave - sudden and unstoppable.

The last week of classes blurred into late-night cramming and tearful goodbyes and frantic photography in front of every possible landmark. The tower where you first kissed. The corridor where he asked you to Hogsmeade as an official date (badly). The halls where your laughter echoed entangled with his.

The day of the ceremony, you stood in line with the rest of your year, robes crisp, nerves jittering in your fingertips.

James was right behind you, whispering absolute nonsense to keep you from trembling.

“If I trip on stage, pretend it was a bit.”

“Why would you trip?”

“To distract from the fact that Sirius charmed my hat to shoot confetti.”

You didn’t doubt it but anticipated the sight.

Sirius, standing a few feet away, had glamoured his hair to sparkle obnoxiously in the sunlight. Remus kept checking himself, like he’d been assigned Prefect of Aesthetics. Peter nearly tripped on the stairs to the stage. Twice. Nevermind - thrice now.

The final speech was long. Dumbledore took his time, chattering away.

You barely heard it.

You were thinking about the first time you walked into Hogwarts. About the starry ceiling and the moving staircases and the library with its whispering corners. About James’s laughter. About James’s smile, crooked and boyish and bright.

When your name was called, you stepped forward.

You marched right over and was congratulated by your Professors in turn. These people raised you - and you were so grateful for every single one of them.

And when you turned back, James gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen through the crowd. Pride oozing off him as his future wife was ranked second best in all of Hogwarts.

You held his gaze the entire walk back to your seat next to him, you remind yourself this isn't the end - just turning over the page for a whole new chapter.

After the ceremony, the Marauders insisted on one last group photo.

Sirius threw bunny ears behind Remus’s head. Peter knocked his own hat off his head. James kissed your cheek just as the shutter clicked.

The photo would follow you everywhere - first in a frame on your new bookshelf, then in a drawer in your first flat (maybe), then eventually in the kitchen of the home where your children would grow up.

But not yet.

First came the wedding, hte much anticipated ceremony that had been given to you first like a cruel punishment, but now the best blessing.

It was grander than even you could’ve dreamed - white and gold and softly humming magic. The flowers were charmed to sing - much to your delight. Candles floated like stars. The music swelled and shimmered.

James had never looked more nervous - for the first time in his life, it was like trying out for Quidditch again. Only, this was better than Quidditch, you were better than Quidditch.

He paced and fidgeted. He asked Sirius to check the time no less than seventeen times.

And then you walked in, as if on cue - the flowers sang louder and the candles burned brighter.

He stopped breathing.

You didn’t hear the music. Didn’t see the crowd. Just him - James, who had kissed you with tart on your lips and whispered about forever like it was already true.

Like you were heaven right in his arms, and perhaps you were because he always held you close but never too tight, just enough that you felt like he had never wanted to let go.

Just enough that you felt like his arms are where you rightfully belong.

His eyes were wide and wet and full of wonder. Like he was seeing sunlight for the first time, he could watch this scene play out for forever.

The vows weren’t perfect, despite the many practices, there were tears and choking along the way but they were yours.

“You were my greatest accident,” you said, voice shaking with laughter and tears. “And my best decision.”

James looked at you, and it was like looking at a mosaic of the best things to ever happen to you. He was made up of everything you've ever wanted. “You were always the plan. I just didn’t know it yet.”

You kissed him to the sound of your friends cheering, of magic singing in the air, of the world holding its breath for just a second longer.

It was absolutely perfect - James Potter was absolutely perfect, and he was now your husband.

Later, you sat on the floor of Potter manor - Euphemia and Fleamont are travelling to give the new young couple their alone time - their own words.

Unpacked boxes surrounded you. Scattered photographs. A plate the house elves prepared was included in the pile, half-eaten sandwiches.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You blinked sleepily at the chaos. He smelled like broom polish and peppermint, he smelled like the manor.

On the wall above you, two photos hung side by side.

One from Hogwarts - Sirius mid-dance, Remus caught mid-eye roll, Peter fumbling with his hat, and James kissing your cheek as you laughed.

The other from the wedding - your veil floating, your arms around James’s neck, both of you smiling like the world had finally clicked into place. James was looking at you like all his dreams had come true, cheesy, but that was the only way to put it.

He looked up at them for a long time. Then he turned to you and said, very softly: “We did it, you know. Took a while, but we got here.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut as you lean into him some more to get comfortable in his warmth and his hearth.

“We’re just getting started.”

And you were, this was just the beginning. Although the story ends here, there is much more ahead of your bright future and James Potter was sure of that.

The moment he slipped that ring on your finger and promised forever, he had already engraved in his soul that you were to have the best life with him.

He will keep you happy, safe and loved for the rest of your days - it was the promise he made to himself.

"I love you, James."

"I love you most, my beautiful Wife. My ____."

Always.

end. masterlist

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 8

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

“I can’t believe you let me fall asleep!” Chrissy complains, crowding into Steve’s space to desperately try to fix her hair in the mirror.

Steve snorts, unbelievably fond at the way her bangs are going every direction but down. “What am I, your mother?” he asks, fixing his own hair by standing on his tippy toes and looking over her head.

“No, but she will be killing me for this!” Chrissy cries, finally giving up on finger-combing her bangs to dunk the strands into the sink and get them wet. “Thanks for reminding me!”

“You’re bitchy in the morning,” he mutters, grimacing when she pulls her head out of the sink abruptly enough that water droplets fling from her head and onto his shirt. “Now, hurry up, we’re already late.”

She flips him off, ignoring him entirely to continue fixing her hair.

They’re both late; Chrissy doesn’t let him forget it for the rest of the day, as if it’s his fault.

“I remember when I thought you were nice,” Steve mutters, laughing helplessly when she elbows him in the side.

“You love it,” she says, smiling as they sit across from each other in their usual spot in the library, feet settling together beneath the table.

The thing is, he does. He’s always liked Chrissy, even back when she was all sunshine and rainbows, but even more so now that there’s some grit to her.

“Shut up.”

Chrissy beams, all sunshine again as she plunks her stack of books onto the table and shuffles her letter-drafting notebook to the top. Only once she’s opened to a blank page does she bite her lip, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Are you sure you want to keep doing this?” she asks, voice hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

She breaks eye contact, fiddling with her pen anxiously. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Steve doesn’t tell her that he already is, that a part of him, the small, squirming part he keeps hidden in his heart, wishes he’d never done this. That watching Eddie kiss Chrissy’s hand and knowing without being told that she’s the kind of girl Eddie might want had broken something inside him. That Steve knows he could never be Eddie’s choice, and knowing that burns.

But, since the flirting started, Steve hasn’t written a word, and that’s worse, somehow. He only has the one tether to Eddie, and he wants to keep it, even if it’s through Chrissy’s handwriting, and Chrissy’s words, and Chrissy’s face.

He just wants.

Instead of saying all that, he reaches out, putting his hand gently on Chrissy’s hand and replies, “I’m sure,” even as the fluttering of his heart makes a liar of him.

Chrissy’s still biting her lip, not looking reassured at all. Steve’s gut churns with worry. ”Are you, though? You didn’t sign up for this, and if you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s okay.”

She smiles, her bottom lip blanched white from her teeth, as she replies, “We’re in this together, right?”

Even with the smile, she still looks worried, but Chissy puts her pen to paper and dutifully writes out the words Steve speaks, editing and revising each thought until it’s something someone might want to hear.

They keep their voices quiet because there are more people sitting in the library than usual today: a big group working on a project, a couple of freshman scowling down at what looks like a Geometry textbook, and closest of all, a girl he recognizes as a band nerd, flipping through a magazine too fast to really be reading it.

It doesn’t take them long—they’ve done this enough times that it’s become almost an art form. Chrissy pushes the completed letter across the table for his final review before it’s signed and sealed.

“It’s good,” Steve says, pushing the letter back across to her to be dropped off in Eddie’s locker.

His heart aches; Steve wants to slap himself.

Instead, he parts ways with Chrissy at their cars, Jeff already waiting beside hers to be driven home, and goes back to his house, bereft of the noise Chrissy had brought only that morning.

*** 

Eddie had worried when there wasn’t another letter after he’d started talking to Chrissy. Did she not like him anymore? Was she done writing them entirely now that she can talk to him face to face?

He worries incessantly for days about it, even as Chrissy keeps saying hi to him in the halls, keeps smiling back when they catch eyes across the cafeteria, keeps being her usual, friendly self.

It’s just, the letters are different. They’re more raw, somehow, more real. And, no matter how this thing goes with Chrissy, if they stop coming, he’ll miss them.

So, it’s a relief when he opens his locker the Monday after Chrissy’s eventful Hellfire induction to find a letter. He can’t wait to read it, the anticipation has built up over too many days of not receiving any. So, he rushes to the same, familiar bathroom and opens it in the stall he’s starting to think of as his.

       Eddie —

       How did your show go? I bet you’ve got a couple groupies already, you’ve already got the look for it. Did you figure out the riff for the song you were working on?

       I tried playing the piano again, and I’m a little rusty, but it’s like riding a bike, you know? (Do you know how to ride a bike?) It’s nice, playing music, even if it’s all songs someone else has written, and they’re still not coming out right.

       I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. I just didn’t know what to say. You’re so patient, and nice, and I got caught up in my head you know? But I missed you.

       I slept with your letter beneath my pillow last night, hoping for dreams of you.

       Yours, Always

       Your Secret Admirer

       P.S. I haven’t read it, but maybe I will. Just to keep with the theme, put this letter in The Lord of the Rings.

He devours the words, slumping onto the toilet seat the longer he reads. It’s perfect—just what he was missing. He reads it once, twice, thrice, the same way he had when he’d received the first two, disbelieving that such lovely words were meant for him.

Eddie skips his second period, first already long gone by the time he’d trundled into the school’s parking lot, and pens a response, then and there.

He goes to the library immediately, nervous that if he doesn’t drop it off right away, she’ll assume Eddie isn’t going to write back at all. 

He waffles over which book to put it in before finally tucking it into The Fellowship of the ring–it’s the first in the trilogy, and Chrissy’s probably too cool to even know it’s a trilogy. 

There’s no response in his locker before Hellfire on Thursday, but that’s okay because true to her word, Chrissy shows up again. She’s smiling as she bounces through the doorway, all springy curls and happy cheer.

“Hi!” Chrissy says, waving as she beams her blinding smile around the room,  all that cheerleader enthusiasm on display.

Doug looks struck dumb, staring at her with his mouth open. Gareth’s gaze is darting back and forth from the door to Eddie, eyes growing wider and wider with each pass. Only Jeff smiles and waves back.

“I hope we’re not intruding,” Chrissy says, elbowing Harrington in the side until he finally looks up and gives his own half-hearted wave.

Because Harrington is slumped in the doorway behind her, looking like he’s trying to hide the entire bulk of his body behind Chrissy’s petite frame.

“Uh, hey,” he says, ears strangely pink as his eyes dart around the room.

He never looks Eddie’s way at all.

“Hey, man,” Jeff replies, the only person aside from Chrissy that is currently functioning.

“Steve, can come, right?” Chrissy asks, like he’s not already in the doorway behind her.

Eddie’s gut sinks then swoops. Harrington’s a jock—what will he do locked in a room with a bunch of nerds? But, the chipped nail polish.

Eddie’s mind is full of screaming, thoughts flip flopping over each other as he tries to articulate all the things wrong with Harrington coming to Hellfire, but all that comes out of his mouth is a chipper, “sure!”

Chrissy’s smile grows teeth—is she going to bite him?

Eddie resists the urge to take a step back.

Jeff pulls out the vacant seat beside him, still looking cool as a cucumber while the rest of them scramble. “Come sit down.”

And that’s how he finds himself with a jock in Hellfire. Should they call an exterminator?

It’s Chrissy who takes the seat beside Jeff which leaves the only other empty chair next to Eddie’s throne. Eddie glares at Gareth, gesturing wildly for his friend to move up a seat, but Gareth’s too busy staring at Harrington like he’s a cobra about to strike.

Harrington is looking at the only empty seat with the exact same expression.

“Steve,” Chrissy hisses, and Harrington jumps. “Go sit down.

The pink on his ears travels down to his cheeks—it’s unfair, really, how pretty and even his blush is. When Eddie blushes, he blotches bright red from forehead to chest.

Steve’s embarrassment suits him.

Eddie waits until he’s seated before clapping loud enough that everyone startles as they turn to him. “Now!” he starts in the grand voice he uses when he’s performing his Dungeon Master duties. “Are you two playing?”

“No,” Harrington rushes out, the pink of his blush deepening to a red as he finally meets Eddie’s eyes. “I mean, Chrissy said she just watched last time?”

“We didn’t want to slow you down,” Chrissy cuts in.

Eddie nods, looking between the couple as awkwardness stews in the stilted silence.

“Alright,” he replies. “Gird your loins, lords and lady.”

Knowing a cue when they hear one, the Hellfire boys scramble to pull out character sheets and dice.

And they’re off!

It takes a minute to fall into the familiar minutiae of telling a story with not one but two interlopers, but Eddie manages it. This is where he thrives: a captive audience and all the power to fuck with them in the palm of his hand.

He only stumbles once, words jumbling together when he looks up and catches Harrington staring at him, eyes wide, cheeks still flushed from his earlier embarrassment as he bites his lip, ass literally on the edge of his seat as Eddie cobbles together the climactic finish to their latest encounter.

Harrington looks away quickly, but Eddie knows what he saw: Harrington is into this nerd shit. He’d tease him if he wasn’t worried that it would end in a swirlie.

Still, Eddie can feel his head puffing up like an overfilled balloon. He’s on the top of his game, painting grand adventures with grander words, all gestures and enthusiasm. He feels electric, the way he always does when there’s a new sheep in his flock to impress. His skin’s almost buzzing with it.

After all, even if his audience member is a jock, Eddie’s always been great at putting on a show. 

Neither of the interlopers say anything until they’re busy packing up. Eddie lounges back in his throne, watching Chrissy help Jeff with his dice. She’s smiling up at him, clearly just as interested in their nerd shit as Harrington.

Eddie turns his eyes back to Harrington to see how he’s taking his girl talking to a guy that isn’t him only to find Harrington staring at him again.  When Eddie meets his eyes, he ducks his head, cheeks tinting that familiar pink.

Is Steve Harrington fucking awkward?

“You’re good at that,” Harrington says quietly.

Eddie hums, confused. He’s shuffling his papers back together, not looking down at what he’s doing. What’s happening in front of him is far more interesting.

“At what, big boy?”

“Uh,” Harrington starts, darting his eyes back up to Eddie’s for a second before looking back down at his fiddling hands. “Telling a story.”

Eddie smiles, something warm and amorphous filling his stomach. “Thanks,” he says, lightly kicking Harrington’s ankle.

Harrington twitches, lets out a quick, “mmhmm,” and then turns away from Eddie to go find his girlfriend, dismissing Eddie without another word.

“Ready to go, babe?” Steve asks, settling his arm around her waist and damn-near frog marching her out of the room.

“Bye, Jeff! Bye, Eddie!” Chrissy calls, still cheerful even as her boyfriend controls her every move. Maybe she’s used to it—first Carver and now Harrington. “See you next week?”

Neither of them wait for a reply.

The silence is stifling in their wake. Only Jeff seems unbothered as he stuffs all of his supplies into his backpack. Doug hasn’t even touched his dice.

“What the hell was that?” Gareth asks, whipping around to Eddie.

“How the hell should I know?”

Jeff snorts. “You invited them,” he says.

“I invited Chrissy,” Eddie whines. “She invited Harrington.”

That catches Jeff’s attention. He glares at Eddie like he’s the one that had invaded their sacred space. “You’re not this stupid,” he says, swinging his backpack onto his back and striding toward the door. “I’ve got a ride home, don’t wait for me.”

“What does that mean?” Eddie demands.

The only answer is the door swinging shut.

*** 

Once he’s walked Chrissy to her car and watched her pull out of the parking lot safe from Carver’s creepy hands, Steve collapses into his own car. He presses his face into the steering wheel and groans, long and loud, assured in his safe isolation. 

When the passenger door opens, he jumps, neck cracking with the speed at which he turns his head, ready to fight off the trespasser.

“Oh, it’s you,” Steve says, dropping his head back to the steering wheel.

“He knows,” Jeff says, voice serious enough that Steve raises his head back up immediately, heartbeat ratcheting up.

It takes a second for the words to connect, and when they do, his heartbeat quickens further, sweat pooling on the back of his neck, hands clenched hard enough on the steering wheel to hurt as fight or flight hits him.

“What?” he asks, the word cracking around his suddenly parched throat.

“Shit,” Jeff mutters, reaching out to pat Steve’s shoulder. “Not about you!”

Steve’s shoulders slump, breath shuddering out of him as Jeff continues to pat his shoulder, too awkward to be all that comforting. “Then, what—”

“He knows Chrissy is putting the notes in his locker.”

Steve sighs, slumping into his seat, uncaring of the way it crushes Jeff’s hand against the backrest. “Yeah, we figured,” he says, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know how?”

Jeff’s biting his lip when Steve looks his way. “He didn’t tell me,” he mutters. “But I know my best friend.”

It’s Steve’s turn to reach across the car and clasp Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m sure he has a reason for not telling you,” Steve replies, trying to smile past all that exhaustion.

Jeff snorts. “A stupid one, maybe.”

Steve hums, squeezing once more before dropping his hold on Jeff, suddenly realizing how stupid they must look, leaning toward each other, hands on each other’s shoulders like they’re having some sort of bro moment.

Steve turns back to the front of his car, cranks the engine, and smiles across at Jeff as the other boy takes the hint and drops his own hold. “Want a ride home?”

Instead of answering, Jeff puts on his seatbelt.

Jeff’s house is surprisingly close to Steve’s own. It’s a bit smaller than his, but there’s already a car in the driveway, and the shadows of silhouettes moving behind the pulled curtains, warm yellow light filtering through the fabric and onto the street.

Steve wishes he could go in with a fierce sort of longing that surprises him.

Jeff’s already got his seatbelt off and the passenger door open when he sighs, turning back around and settling back in his seat.

“You should come next week,” he says, all earnest in that way that seems to come so naturally to him and must have gotten him eaten alive in middle school.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve replies. There’s a tension headache growing, exasperated by the incredulous scrunching of his eyebrows. “That was a disaster.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad,” Jeff says, but he’s grinning like he’s remembering something funny. Steve’s got a few guesses what.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious, man.” Jeff clasps his shoulder again—maybe that’s just something he does?

Steve scoffs, the roll of his eyes making his head pound. He opens his mouth to retort, something about Eddie’s reaction to Steve sitting beside him, but Jeff beats him to the punch.

“I know Eddie. And that in there?” He points back the way they’d come, like if Steve just strains his eyes, he’ll be able to catch sight of Eddie’s stupid fancy chair, and the stupid musty drama room, and the stupid look on Eddie’s face. “—is him interested.”

Steve closes his mouth, swallowing all the spit in his mouth, hoping it’s not audible to Jeff no matter how quiet the car is. “In me?” he asks, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Jeff doesn’t break eye contact, but his mouth twists uncomfortably. “Like you’re interested in him?” Jeff asks, continuing before Steve can reply. “I don’t know, man.”

Steve droops, the hope blooming in his chest curdling and sinking down into his stomach like old milk. He wants, desperately, to go home, turn out all the lights, and curl up alone in his bed to sleep away the rest of the day. But, Jeff’s still in his car, so he clenches the wheel between his fingers and says, “okay.”

“But, he doesn’t get you,” Jeff continues, voice gentling further. “And that intrigues him.”

Jeff’s still smiling like that should be some sort of boon to Steve’s ego, but it’s not. It lands like a brick. No one ever gets him, and whether he intrigues them or not, it always ends the same: him, alone in his big, empty house, waiting for a phone call that will never come, a doorbell that will never ring, a window that will never be snuck through.

He’d been through it before, with Donna in sixth grade, Nancy in tenth, hell, even Carol and Tommy for more years than he can count.

Intrigue has never gotten him anywhere. But, Jeff’s smiling, small and real, so Steve replies, “thanks, man,” smiling back until the other boy gets out of the car and he can safely drive away.

He’s got a dark house and a chilled bed waiting for him.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve writes the first draft of one of his secret admirer letters alone.

PART 9

[bloomzone]

my 2025 goals liiiiiiist ! + how to write your owwwwwwn (by following categories)

1. achieving my body goal (this one)

Category n¹ :Physical Health & Wellness

1. Assess Where You Are Right Now— Start by taking a look at your current habits and your overall health. What’s working for you? What areas can you improve in? Maybe you need more sleep, a better diet, or more consistent exercise. Be honest with yourself about where you’re at.

2. Set Realistic, Achievable Goals— Make sure your goals are specific and achievable. Instead of saying "get fit," try something like "exercise 3 times a week for 30 minutes" or "eat 3 balanced meals a day." Small, actionable goals are more manageable and easier to stick with.

3. Focus on What Feels Right for You— Physical health isn’t just about pushing your body to the limits. It’s about what works for you. Choose exercise routines and foods that make you feel good, not just what looks good on paper. If you don’t like running, try something else like swimming or cycling. If you don’t love vegetables, explore creative ways to make them enjoyable.

4. Track Progress & Adjust— Keep track of your progress, whether through journaling, an app, or simply by checking in with how you feel. If something isn’t working for you, adjust it. Maybe you need more rest or a different workout routine. Listen to your body.

5. Make It a Habit— Consistency is key. Set a routine that you can realistically stick to. It might take time to make these changes feel like a part of your everyday life, but consistency will make it happen. Don’t forget to celebrate small wins along the way to keep yourself motivated.

2. Start getting better grades and studying more

Category n² : Academic excellence

1. Reflect on Your Current Academic Standing— Start by evaluating where you stand academically. What subjects do you need to focus on most? What were your strengths last year? Understanding where you’re at gives you a clearer picture of what to work on in 2025.

2. Set Clear and Measurable Goals— Be specific about your goals. Instead of just saying “do better in school,” break it down into measurable goals like “improve my grade in french by 10%” or “study 1 hour every day for history.” This gives you a clear direction.

3. Create a Study Plan— Organize your time wisely by creating a weekly study plan. Map out your schedule, making sure to balance schoolwork, revision, and breaks. This will help you stay on top of deadlines, assignments, and revision periods without feeling overwhelmed.

4. Focus on Active Learning— Don’t just aim for memorization—focus on understanding the material. Engage with your studies through active learning techniques like summarizing, teaching others, and practicing problems. This helps retain information better and makes your learning more meaningful.

5. Stay Consistent and Adjust When Needed— Consistency is key. Set aside time every day to study and stay organized with your notes. If something isn’t working, like a specific study method or subject area, don’t be afraid to adjust your approach. Keep refining your study techniques as you go along.

6. Celebrate Small Wins— Celebrate every academic achievement, no matter how small. Whether it’s acing a quiz or simply staying consistent with your study routine, recognizing these wins will keep you motivated and remind you that progress is being made.

3. create habits and add them to my daily routine (learning mandarine,15k steps daily, reading more interesting books)

Category n³ : Habits

1. Evaluate Your Current Habits— Start by looking at your current habits. What do you do every day? What habits are helping you, and which ones are holding you back? Be honest with yourself about the areas you want to improve.

2. Set Simple, Achievable Habits— Don’t overwhelm yourself with too many changes. Focus on a few simple habits that will have the most impact. Maybe it’s waking up 30 minutes earlier or drinking more water. Start with one or two small changes that are easy to implement and gradually build on them.

3. Create a Daily Routine— A consistent routine is the foundation of great habits. Set a schedule that allows you to prioritize your health, work, and personal growth. Structure your day to include time for rest, study, and self-care so that you don’t burn out.

4. Track Your Progress— Keep track of how well you’re sticking to your new habits. Whether you use a journal, an app, or simply a checklist, tracking helps you stay accountable and gives you a sense of accomplishment. If you miss a day, don’t get discouraged—just pick back up the next day.

5. Make Your Habits Enjoyable— For habits to stick, they need to feel rewarding. Make them something you enjoy. If you want to read more, pick books you’re genuinely excited about. If you want to exercise, try something fun, like dancing or hiking. When you enjoy it, you’re more likely to stick with it.

6. Be Patient & Stay Consistent— Habits take time to develop. Don’t expect immediate results—give yourself the space to grow and adjust. The more consistently you practice these habits, the more natural they’ll become. Progress will come over time, and each small step adds up.

7. Reflect & Adjust— Regularly check in with yourself to see how your habits are working for you. Are they helping you feel more productive, calm, or confident? If something’s not working, tweak it. Don’t be afraid to adjust as you grow.

3.devlopping my mindset mooore (I'm sensitive and over thinker typa of person like a loooot)

Category n⁴ : mindset and self-love

idk but girlsssss we should talk more Abt this topic out loud Our mindset shapes everything—our actions, relationships, and success. So this year, we’re cutting out the things and people that no longer serve us, like toxic friendships or self-doubt. When we love ourselves, we don’t settle for less than we deserve. It’s not about being selfish; it’s about setting standards for ourselves and others. You know the type of girl I’m talking about— (to cut) the one who’s always got something to say about other people’s appearance, or how they’re living their life. “You look bad today,” “I hate your hairstyle,” or “Why are you wearing that?” It’s always some backhanded comment that makes you feel small. But let’s be real for a second—like girl WHAT THE FXK .. People who spend all their time focusing on putting others down are usually just projecting their own insecurities. They want to feel better about themselves by making others feel worse. But here’s the thing: we’re not going to entertain that energy. When someone tries to tear you down, it’s a reflection of their own lack of self-love or understanding.Instead of responding to their negativity, we need to rise above. The best revenge? Living your best life and shining even brighter when they expect you to dim. Those types of girls who always have something to say about others' looks, outfits, or choices—they’re just distracted by their own insecurities. If they spent half the energy they put into criticizing others into building themselves up, they’d be too busy focusing on their own glow-up.So when someone throws shade, just remember: it says more about them than it does about you. You don’t need to let their words define you or affect your self-worth. Keep doing you, because your energy is too valuable to waste on people who can’t even recognize their own flaws. And when it comes down to it, anyone who makes you feel like you’re not enough doesn’t deserve a place in your life. Keep your peace, stay focused on your growth, and trust that the right people will appreciate you for who you really are. U are a baddie

© bloomzone

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Revision Strategies

When the time comes for revision, it can cause stress for writers of every level.

After all, it can be hard to delete or change words you spent hours writing.

To help reduce this stress, the following lists a few revision strategies.

READ IT ALOUD

Although it can be awkward at first, reading your work aloud can be one of the best revision strategies.

1. Catching Typos

When reading silently, your brain might skip over or correct small errors because it makes educated guesses about what the words are trying to say.

However, reading aloud forces you to slow down and see what is actually written.

2. Identifying Sentences That Flow Awkwardly

If you have ever read an incredibly long sentence in someone’s work, you know that it can be hard to follow the person’s train of thought.

These sentences are hard to catch in your own writing, but reading aloud will make them almost impossible to miss.

It is natural to take a breath in between sentences, so if you find yourself out of breath while reading aloud a single sentence, or having difficulty following the main idea/s of a sentence, the sentence likely needs to be revised.

SHARE YOUR WORK

It can be unnerving to ask others to read your work, but the payoff is more than worth it.

1. Another Reader Can Offer A New Perspective

It is easy to miss small details in your own work, especially when you have been looking at the same document for a long time.

Furthermore, because you are an expert on your own topic, you may not notice whether your essay effectively lays the groundwork necessary for those unfamiliar with the topic.

Ask a friend, family member, or a writing consultant to read your draft and offer feedback.

Moreover, telling your readers what to focus on ensures they pay special attention to the elements you want to revise.

2. Edit for Grammar Last

Even a grammatically-sound paper can fall flat if the content does not meet a reader’s expectations.

Your top priority during revision should be to make sure that you have made your point/s clearly.

Save the editing of punctuation and grammar until after you finish revising a draft.

3. Manage Your Stress

If you get a lot of feedback on what to revise, make and prioritize a list of the comments.

After taking the time to digest everything, focus on each individual item on your list.

Cross off items as you complete them so that you have a physical representation of the work you have finished.

TAKE TIME AWAY

Leave yourself enough room in your schedule to take time away from your completed rough draft; time away from your writing is an important part of revision.

1. Recharging Throughout the Process

It is taxing to begin revision immediately after finishing a draft and can discourage writers.

Giving yourself a break between writing and revising allows you to rest and recharge, so when you revise, you have more energy to spend on the process.

2. Refreshing Your Perspective

Taking a break allows you to distance yourself from your work so that you can read through it more objectively.

This fresh perspective allows you to see what might need clarification, refined organization, elaboration, or other revision work.

3. Coming Back from a Break

Instead of immediately jumping into sentence-level revisions during your first read-through of a draft, focus on reading your writing from start to finish at least once without interruptions.

This enables you to see how well your writing flows, catch any repetition, and determine whether anything might be missing.

Writing Notes & References

[aplainmeresimp]

In the Blue Hours of the Morning: Chapter 1 - Compete Against the Stars

Summary: You're in your final semester at Piltover’s University, and in your endeavors to revise one of your final papers, you meet Professor Heimerdinger's assistant. He’s quick. Intelligent. And surprisingly charismatic. A last minute friendship forms as you ask for his help to have the best chance to graduate on time and become a scientist yourself. Things are looking up for your studies…Until your stress mixes with some unpredictable feelings.

Story tags/warnings: pre-season 1, no use of y/n or real world language, strangers to friends to lovers, fluffy, acts of service as viktors love language, academic weapon reader, viktor pov chapters, sky pov chapter, eventual nsfw. unrequited love towards sky :( random oc created for the sole purpose of being a side character. not a song fic, chapters names are just inspired by song lyrics. the only thing viktors insecure about is him being an assistant, he knows he’s fine.

Word Count (Chapter 1): 2.3k

Next Chapter ->

Chapter 1 of 21

Read on AO3

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Four years. Four years of university were almost over. And yet there wasn’t time or room to slack off, especially not now. You needed to turn in final projects, write essays, and take your final exam. Not take it… Ace it. Demolish it.

Every day was almost always the same. You woke up, dressed yourself, and adjusted your vest with its two pairs of diamonds, and headed to class. No matter how tired you were, you had one goal in mind: success.

And damn, you were getting there.

You were among the top three students in your class, always shifting between number one, two, and three. It hadn’t been easy, especially in science and engineering. One doesn’t make it that far without a system. You had a list of rules for yourself:

Do the homework the day it’s assigned.

Study the homework.

Read ahead.

Borrow books to read more about every subject. 

Attend every class. No absences even if you were sick.

No distractions. No parties, no leisure time if an assignment is due. Work first. Always.

Annotate everything that the professors say. Even the small comments.

Study at least three days before a test.

And the most important one:

Don’t let anyone see you fail. Not once.

Perfection was key. Inside and outside of the classroom alike. 

Except… it was draining; you couldn’t deny that. This wasn’t in your nature. Maybe it wasn’t in anyone’s nature to try so much. You cherished the moments when you rested in the middle of the gardens in spring, with the birds softly chirping and the grass rustling in the wind. Nothing was better than being right in the middle of the semester, with nothing to do and nothing to turn in. You’d go out to lunch with some friends, maybe read a book or something. Whatever it was, the choice was yours.

That bliss would come again, and soon. Just as soon as you pushed through for one final time to earn your third pair of diamonds.

You could not fail. Not when your parents worked their tails off to leave the undercity and raise you in Piltover. Even when they were still alive and well, they always told you to be the best for yourself. They screwed that into your head ever since you were little. More so when they both got sick from the fumes they had inhaled their whole life. It was the fate of a large chunk of people living in the underbelly of Piltover. Especially people like you who were born in the lower parts of the entresol level. Your parents managed to scrape together enough to rent a small shack on the outskirts of town near the cold and uninviting harbor. Having daily access to sea air over toxic fumes gave you much better odds. 

Seeing them cough up blood, lose mobility, and losing them to illness gave you the final push to be self-sufficient.  You got into Piltover’s University yourself. You filled out the dormitory paperwork so you wouldn’t sleep on the streets like they once had to. You applied for weekend jobs to feed and clothe yourself during university.

You did that. You, your perseverance, and nobody else. 

And gods be damned if anyone thought you would slack off a month before the final exam. 

The long corridors went on and on as you swept through them, trying to keep your papers in your notebook. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I hope he’s in his lab right now. You thought.

You needed Professor Heimerdinger to look over your paper for one of your classes. Normally, you wouldn’t have asked for his help, knowing he had much more important matters at hand. But he had offered help to anyone in one of his classes you took. So, you had to take his word for it. You didn’t have the time to guess if you had done the homework right. 

It was due in two days. If there was something wrong, you needed to know. Stat. These kinds of equations were so unforgiving when you put a decimal one space more than it needed to be. With sleep deprivation, any mistake was possible.

Once you made it to his lab, you straightened your vest, sleeves, and organized your pages. Then, with three swift knocks, you made your presence known. The professor's voice echoed through the lab and grew closer with little tip-taps of his feet. The door opened inward, and you looked down. 

There he was, short as always and his fur covered in dust. “My! If it isn’t one of my best pupils! Come, come. Come in!” He stepped aside to let you in with a smile. Sheepishly, you skulked in, having never entered his lab. You followed him toward the back of the room to resume what he was doing. It looked like he was organizing and cleaning up the lab. Papers lay scattered, and screws were sprinkled all over the place.

It was amazing. 

Its walls stood tall with elevated bookshelves filled to the brim with books. At the far left were three large windows that would let the incoming sunset in. So many gadgets and contraptions were everywhere, big and small. Some finished, some open and in the middle of repairs. And by Janna, the sketches. Endless notes and sketches of invention ideas pasted on walls.

“Apologies for the mess! You know how it is with the end of the semester. Cleaning out old ideas in favor of new ones!” You could have looked at it all day until the professor brought you back to the moment, “what can I help you with today?”

“Oh, well. In the last class of this semester, you said if we ever needed help with anything, we could come to you for help, right?” You pulled the papers out of your notebook. “And I need it. I really do—"

The soft hum of the lab door stopped your words and another student waltzed inside in a hurry.

“Professor Heimerdinger! I’m here about the funds for the library improvements. The student body wants to hand over the list of expenses to you and the council so we can get approval.”

“Oh yes! How exciting! Come! Come in!” Professor Heimerdinger skipped past you and took the stack of papers from the student. He skimmed through them and looked back at you. “I’ll be with you in a second.”

“It’s fine," you said, putting your hand up. "I can wait."

“Thank you, I was waiting for this visit– Actually, let me call my assistant." He looked up from the papers and called out. “Viktor! Could you assist me here for a minute?” He smiled at you from below. Professor Heimerdinger was your favorite by far; he was always so kind. His short stature likely contributed to the friendliness he gave off.

Wait. Is someone else in the lab?

Soft metal clinks came from the hidden part of the professor’s lab along with some footsteps. Your ears searched for the sound’s origin, but your eyes beat you to it. They landed on a tall, slender stranger with nicely combed brown hair along his angular face.  The stranger seemed pretentious and intimidating with his golden cane wrapped in fine maroon leather.

Until he spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a softness as he passed his cane to his other hand to greet you. Your mind looked through its catalog of faces. Had you seen him before? It wasn’t a face you could recall on the spot. Maybe you’d know if you hadn’t sequestered yourself in your studies for the past four years.

“Have you met?” The professor asked.

“I don’t think so.” You shook his hand firmly as the professor said your name to him. 

Professor Heimerdinger handed him your seven equation-filled pages. “This is Viktor, my assistant. My right hand, if you will!” Viktor seemed to count the pages as the professor continued. “I’m going to have him look through your paper, if it’s alright with him. And you!”

Another student checking your homework made you feel nervous. What if he missed a crucial error? A thousand what-ifs filled your head and you pushed them out with one logical thought.

If he’s the professor’s assistant, he must know what he’s doing, right?

Between all your mental chaos, you gave a simple answer. “That’s fine by me.”

“It’s not a problem, Professor. I remember this project.” Viktor straightened the papers out, "it'll be a refresher.” 

As soon as he said the word 'refresher', you noticed his three sets of diamonds on his vest. It meant only one thing. 

He had already graduated.

Not an upperclassman. This is going to be so embarrassing if it’s wrong. The thought ate at you. You hoped it didn't show on your face.

“Oh goody! I’ll be done in a minute.” He hurried over to the student.

Viktor’s head tilted towards the back of the lab. "We can sit if you’d like.” A small table with four chairs near the tall windows waited for you, covered in papers like the rest of the room.

“Yeah, that works.” You followed him, still gazing at the immensity of the lab. So many books for the professor to have on hand. One could only dream.

Arriving at the table, you reached for the chair in front of you, but Viktor had placed his hand on it.

I should’ve waited for him to pick a chair first.

He pulled it out and motioned for you to sit.

Oh. 

You sat and adjusted your vest. “Thank you.” 

He soon followed, placing his cane on the side of the table and clearing his throat. Without another word, he started looking through it. His gaze focused on the problem at the top. He looked intimidating again with his thick brows cinched together. 

Your eyes wandered through the silence. Well, almost silence. The shuffling of your project paired with the professor’s voice made your nerves skyrocket. Still, you had to sit still like nothing was wrong. Otherwise, you’d be pacing around the room with your arms crossed. You decided to break the quietness. 

Be polite.

“Thanks for looking through my project." You huffed, "I’m about to graduate and I don’t want to repeat the class. Ever.” 

No, seriously. That was the worst class you’d ever been through. Sleepless nights and dark eye bags were the prize every student had after taking the class. Professor Penmark was the filter for graduation. Condescending to absolutely everyone, so it wasn't personal towards you.

“It’s no problem. I graduated a year ago. I still remember this class. That teacher isn’t lenient, huh?"

“Not at all.” You chuckled, still keeping your posture rigid and proper.

His face relaxed, “I remember how the class gasped when he said that this homework–project-thing… was going to decide if you passed or not." Then his eyes widened. "Fun.” He kept flipping through the pages quite swiftly. Was he even looking through it? “Looks like he made it more complicated this year. Not impossible, but—" Viktor looked up. “How long did this take you?”

“Six hours. With breaks.”

“Hm.”

Viktor went back to the pages and looked intimidating again because your fate of passing the class was in his hands. A few short hums, or huffs, came from him. That made you worried. A hum or a huff could only mean one thing: a mistake.

Let’s say it was wrong. That meant it was back to square one. The teacher gave you three days to complete it. You were already one day down. If it took you six hours and it was wrong this first time, you had another seven tries at the most to try again. You sat there, praying to whatever would listen that your calculations had been right, with every symbol correctly switched and—

“So, what’s wrong with it?” His voice cut off your train of thought.

All you could muster up was a measly, 'what?' 

“You brought it here to fix any mistakes, no?” He looked up from your papers, looking terribly confused. More confused than you, actually.

“W-wait. Is it correct? The whole thing? Are you sure?” 

There’s no way.

“Well... Yes. What’s the issue?”

You didn’t know what to feel. Satisfaction, anxiousness, relief? You figured out the problem on the first try? Clear? No repeats, a clean sweep?

“No, that’s what I wanted to know, if it had no mistakes,” you took the paper when he handed it back to you. “Oh my—I can finally rest.”

There was a brief moment of silence before the professor’s voice became louder, “yes, very well! I’ll make sure to let them know! Check the corrections I gave you and come back!” He escorted the person out and came back to you both in little steps, "oh, I’m terribly sorry, you two. I was caught up in some council duties, but now that that’s out of the way, did Viktor look over your project?”

You sprung from your chair, “yes! It’s done. No mistakes.” 

“It’s to be expected; you have a knack for numbers!” He looked up at Viktor. "And with a talent like this boy's, it’s inconceivable that it’s wrong!”

"It never hurts to be extra sure." Your hands kept fidgeting with your papers.

“I suggest turning it in right now! You don’t want to end up forgetting!” The professor walked to the door as you followed. Thankfully, the project was over and completely correct. Now you could finally take a small break.

Wait.

How could you forget to say goodbye?

How rude of me.

You turned on your heel and waved, "it was nice to meet you!"

He was already standing up before you called to him. For a second, he was taken aback. 

Then, he replied. "Likewise."

[writingquestionsanswered]

I'm tired of my ideas always being big. It's overwhelming. I like seeing others' WIPs and ideas because they're just so simple... Like, that comic about a mermaid living in the ocean in our modern time and dealing with plastic trash. So simple and my own brain is bursting with ideas. But my own WIPs... they just start huge. I'd like something smaller... but I don't know how.

Stories Always Get Too Big

Stories can get out of hand quickly when they sprout too many independent threads. There are three primary culprits that serve as sparks that create these threads:

1 - Setting 2 - Non-Protagonist Characters/Relationships 3 - Back Story

The thing to remember, though, is that no matter how interesting your setting is, no matter how compelling your other characters are, and how fascinating the back story is, those things are not your plot.

Plot is the sequence of events through which the protagonist (and potentially other main characters) attempt to resolve the story's conflict by overcoming obstacles and setbacks in pursuit of a goal.

In other words, focus on this:

the protagonist > their normal world > the event that introduces a problem they must resolve > the goal they formulate in order to resolve that problem > the events that occur as a result of their pursuit of this goal > their attempts to overcome obstacles and setbacks encountered along the way > their attempt to solve the problem once and for all > failure or success > life in a changed situation/world

Anything else doesn't need to be there unless it is critical in order for one of the above steps to make sense.

So, let's take your mermaid example... though I haven't read that comic so I'm winging it here:

the protagonist = mermaid normal world = doing mermaid stuff inciting incident = finding plastic trash in the water goal = clean up/find the culprit and teach them to do better events = cleaning up, learning about humans, tracking down culprit climax = mermaid appeals to humans to do better finale = mermaid is living in a cleaner ocean

Now, let's say your brain starts to go off on a tangent about a deep oceanic rift and an evil merman wizard who lives there... stop right there. It's a fun idea, but what does it have to do with this story? How does it relate to the trash, clean-up, finding the culprit, or appeal to humans to do better? It doesn't. Theoretically, you could make it make sense... like, maybe the merman wizard likes the trash and wants the ocean to be dirty and gross, so maybe he is opposing the mermaid's attempts to clean up and to appeal to the humans. Okay, that works, so you can keep it. But, let's say you also have this idea about these creatures that live around the hydrothermal vents, and the mermaid meets and falls in love with a scientist who's studying them. Okay, again, interesting idea, but this one is much harder to fit in with the rest of the story. Sure, you could say the scientist is studying marine pollution instead... that brings it back around to the main conflict, but still, what does this relationship add to the story? How does it help or harm the mermaid's mission? How does it help to explore the story's themes or help deliver the message? It doesn't really sound like it does, so this would be an example of a thread you can probably snip.

And the thing is, it would be okay to follow a thread like that while you're plotting or writing your first draft, just to see where it goes and see if you can make it work. Part of why we edit and revise is to snip out the threads and elements that aren't pulling their weight. But learning how to curb them as they occur to you will help save you work later on down the line. Try writing those ideas down in an ideas document, and maybe those can be worked into different stories, a sequel, or a companion story.

One final note: I am very much aware that there are some epic writers out there who let wild tangles of threads sprout as they write, and they follow them all without abandon, relevant or not. That's okay, too. These are writers for whom that works, who don't feel overwhelmed by all of those threads, who want to write something bigger and more unwieldy. Maybe in time as you get accustomed to writing smaller, tidier stories, you embrace the bigger stories your brain wants to tell. Or maybe you don't. Whatever works best for you is all that matters. :)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[anythinggoesbutme]

Worth Defending

Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane

Warnings: verbal insult, office tension, confrontation, protectiveness, language, emotional comfort

Synopsis: When an employee at Hawthorne Industries insults Lyra behind her back, Grayson’s protective side comes out in full force—and he doesn’t hesitate to show the man the door.

Song: “Work Song” — Hozier

Word Count: 1,551

The first time Grayson hears it, it’s not even meant for his ears.

He’s in the hallway outside the sixth-floor conference room, flipping through a folder while waiting for a finance report he was promised ten minutes ago. Most of the office has cleared out for lunch. A few employees are still gathered at the break station, murmuring low over coffee and overpriced sandwiches.

Grayson wouldn’t have noticed them at all—except he hears her name.

Lyra.

He doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t even blink. Just shifts his weight slightly so he’s closer to the half-open door behind which the voices are echoing. It’s second nature, listening like this. He grew up with secrets and leverage and knowing how quickly a whisper could unravel everything.

“She’s only here because she’s sleeping with him,” someone says, the words thick with derision. “You think if she hadn’t gotten into the Game and wrapped herself around Grayson Hawthorne, she’d be in on these meetings?”

Laughter. Another voice, a little more smug. “She’s sharp, but not that sharp. And have you seen the way she talks in front of investors? All confidence, no polish.”

“Right? Pretty little street girl thinks she’s earned a seat at the table.”

That does it.

The blood rushes to Grayson’s ears so fast it drowns out the rest. Not rage. Not yet. Just a cold, surgical detachment as he tucks the folder under his arm and opens the breakroom door without a word.

The two men inside snap their heads toward him like deer in headlights.

“Mr. Hawthorne—” one of them starts, clearly a senior project manager based on the tag on his lanyard. Martin something.

Grayson doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He walks in slowly, deliberately, as silence smothers the room.

“Which one of you said it?” he asks, voice calm but glacial.

Martin blinks. “I—sir, we didn’t know—”

“Which one of you said she’s only here because she’s sleeping with me?”

There’s a pause. The younger one—a mid-level analyst, Grayson remembers vaguely—visibly pales. Martin opens his mouth, but no defense comes out.

Grayson’s lips curve upward, but there’s no humor in it. “The funny thing about rumors,” he says, “is they tend to bounce back louder when they hit the wrong ears.”

“Sir—”

“She’s earned every seat she’s taken at this company,” Grayson cuts in sharply. “And I’ll make something else very clear—Lyra Kane was solving codes and pulling strings when you were still fumbling your way through Excel macros.”

The younger man shifts uncomfortably. Martin glances toward the door.

“Don’t bother,” Grayson adds. “You’re done here. Both of you.”

“Wait—”

“No second chances,” he says, voice like steel. “Not when it comes to slandering someone who has done more for this company in six months than either of you have in six years.”

Martin tries to argue. “We were joking—just blowing off steam—”

“Then maybe next time,” Grayson says, “you should choose your target more carefully. Because I don’t take kindly to people disrespecting what I care about.”

He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t need to. The room is already chilled with the weight of his fury.

He watches them leave in silence. Watches the way they slink down the hall like shadows shrinking from light. Then he pulls out his phone.

And calls security.

Two Hours Later

Lyra is in his office, feet propped on the edge of his desk, reading through patent revisions with a pen between her teeth.

“Hey,” she says casually when he walks in. “I circled the part about the drone camera’s legal gray area. We might want to revise—”

“I fired Martin Weller and Jake Langston.”

She blinks. “Okay… why?”

“They said something about you.”

He doesn’t elaborate, not yet. Just leans against the edge of the desk and folds his arms, waiting for her to push.

She narrows her eyes. “What kind of something?”

Grayson watches her carefully. “They said you were only here because you were sleeping with me. Called you unpolished. Said you didn’t belong in investor meetings.”

He waits for the flare of anger.

But Lyra just goes still.

Silent.

Not surprised.

She sits up slowly, placing the papers down with too much care. “I’m guessing that’s not the first time someone’s thought it.”

Grayson’s brows draw. “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Her voice is even, but her knuckles are white on the edge of the desk. “I just meant… it’s not new. I’ve heard worse.”

He doesn’t move. “Lyra.”

“I’ve been underestimated before. I’ll be underestimated again. People don’t like it when a girl like me takes up space in rooms they’ve reserved for themselves.”

“You shouldn’t have to get used to it.”

“And yet.”

Her voice is flat. Tired.

Grayson steps toward her. “I didn’t want to make a scene, but I couldn’t— I wasn’t going to let them get away with it.”

Her eyes meet his then, sharp and unreadable. “You think firing them fixes it?”

“No,” he admits. “But it shows everyone else that I won’t let them disrespect you.”

“Do you really think I needed you to defend me?”

That hits harder than he expects.

Grayson straightens. “I wasn’t trying to protect you because I thought you couldn’t do it yourself. I did it because I love you.”

The air stutters between them.

He’s never said it like that before. Not in that room. Not with the world at their feet and knives at their backs.

But Lyra doesn’t flinch.

She just exhales and lowers her gaze.

“It’s not about needing,” she says softly. “It’s about letting someone step in.”

Grayson steps forward again, this time close enough to brush her shoulder. “Then let me. Even if you don’t need it. Let me show them that if they come after you, they answer to me.”

For a moment, her jaw is tight. Then she lets it relax. “I’ve spent a long time fighting for my place at the table. I don’t want anyone to think I got there on someone else’s name.”

“I know,” he says gently. “And you didn’t. You’re at that table because no one else could sit in your chair and do what you do.”

Lyra finally looks at him again. Really looks.

“You were serious? You fired them today?”

“On the spot.”

“Grayson…”

“They crossed a line,” he says simply. “And I won’t work with men who can’t respect you.”

A long silence stretches between them. Finally, she stands—coming toe to toe with him.

Her eyes are fierce. But there’s something warm underneath, something grateful and unspoken.

“Okay,” she says. “Then I guess I should say thank you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

He relaxes slightly. “There’s going to be fallout. You know that.”

“Let them talk.” Her mouth tilts. “They’ll still be on the outside. I’ll still be in the boardroom.”

His grin is soft, proud. “That’s my girl.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please don’t start quoting The Godfather at me again.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Pause. “But now that you’ve mentioned it—”

“Grayson Hawthorne.”

He catches her wrist gently and brings her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

“You’re worth defending,” he says again, quieter this time. “Not because you’re mine. But because you’re you.”

Something trembles in her expression. Then softens. “That was a good line,” she whispers. “Almost makes up for the whole dramatic-firing thing.”

He smirks. “Almost?”

“You owe me a donut.”

“Deal.”

Later That Night

They’re curled up on the couch, the news of the firings already hitting Hawthorne HQ’s internal email thread like wildfire. Lyra’s name doesn’t come up in the announcement—Grayson made sure of that—but everyone knows.

She’s quieter than usual, her legs tucked under her and a blanket pulled around her shoulders. Grayson watches her from the other end of the couch.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs.

She sighs. “I’m just… tired.”

“I know.”

He reaches over and gently tugs her toward him until she lets her head rest on his shoulder.

“Was I too much?” he asks after a while. “Was firing them the wrong call?”

Lyra thinks for a moment. “No. It was the right call. Not just for me. For any woman who ever sits in a meeting in this company again.”

Grayson nods.

“I just…” She falters. “I didn’t expect it. You, going full Hawthorne wrath.”

He smiles into her hair. “You insult me, I’ll let it go. You insult my girl? You’re done.”

“You’re dangerous when you’re protective.”

“I’m dangerous when I care.”

She pulls back slightly, enough to meet his eyes. “And you care?”

“With everything I’ve got.”

Lyra doesn’t cry. Not often.

But she blinks once, then again, and there’s a flicker of something wet at the corner of her eye.

Grayson brushes it away.

“You didn’t just defend me today,” she says. “You reminded me I deserve to be fought for.”

“You always have.”

Her lips curve. “Even when I’m stubborn?”

“Especially then.”

He leans down and kisses her—slow and steady, like he has all the time in the world to remind her just how sure he is.

And when they break apart, she whispers, “I love you too.”

For once, there’s no audience, no game, no room full of doubters.

Just Lyra. Grayson. And a quiet kind of victory.

[elliesngirl]

Assigned To You

Nerd! Loser! Ellie Williams x Fem! Popular! Reader

WC: 3.3k

Warnings: reader crying (emotional drunk), fluff

Part 3: Prev/Next

Let me know it you wanna be in the taglist!

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Every night seemed to stretch into eternity for Ellie as she counted down the days to Saturday. The anticipation gnawed at her nerves, making even the simplest tasks feel insurmountable. Thursday Night was no different. She walked through the door, dropped her bag onto the floor of her small, organized room, and tried to dive into her usual routine to keep her mind occupied.

Ellie opened her desk drawer, pulling out her stack of neatly organized notebooks. She started with her math homework, scribbling equations and solving problems with a level of precision that Joel would’ve praised if he’d been home. But even with her focus honed on numbers, her mind wandered back to the thought of you—your laugh, your confident smile, and the way your skirt swayed when you walked away from her at your locker.

Shaking her head, Ellie forced herself to move on to her history assignment. The project you two were supposed to work on together loomed in her mind. Should she prepare some of it ahead of time? Would you even care if she did? The thought made her stomach twist, and before she knew it, she was flipping through pages of her textbook, jotting down notes for the upcoming project.

By 6:30 p.m., Ellie had completed her assignments for the week. But she wasn’t done. She pulled out another notebook, this one for biology, and began revising chapters they wouldn’t even cover until the next semester. Her handwriting remained flawless, her notes color-coded as always, but the words on the page blurred together. She groaned, leaning back in her chair. The clock on her desk read 7:00 p.m.

With a sigh, Ellie pushed away from her desk and headed downstairs. The house felt empty without Joel. He was working the night shift again, and the stillness made her feel uneasy. She wandered into the kitchen and opened the cupboard, hoping for a quick snack or something she could throw together for dinner. But the shelves were nearly bare, save for a can of soup and a box of stale crackers.

Frustrated, Ellie checked the fridge, but it wasn’t much better. She closed it with a huff and trudged back upstairs to grab her phone. Scrolling through her contacts, she found Joel’s name and pressed the call button.

It rang three times before his familiar voice answered, warm and reassuring. “Hey, Ellie! What’s up, kiddo?”

“Hey, Joel,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Umm, there’s nothing I can cook for dinner...”

“Oh, right!” Joel said, his tone brightening with realization. “I forgot to tell you, I left some money on the counter. Order yourself something nice, okay?”

Ellie’s heart sank. She hated the idea of interacting with strangers, even if it was just a delivery driver. “Yeah, okay,” she muttered, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

After hanging up, Ellie reluctantly opened the UberEats app. She scrolled through the options, finally settling on a burger and fries from a local diner. At least this way, she wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. She could just grab the bag and retreat to her room.

When the food arrived, Ellie stood by the door for a full minute before mustering the courage to open it. She grabbed the bag from the delivery driver with a quiet “thanks” and quickly closed the door. Back upstairs, she set the food on her desk and turned on her laptop, deciding to distract herself with a YouTube video while she ate.

But even as she watched clips of a random gaming stream, her mind drifted back to Saturday. What would you wear? What would you talk about? Would you even like her?

Ellie pushed the thoughts aside and finished her dinner in silence. She cleaned up and spent the rest of the evening scrolling through her phone, occasionally opening your chat and rereading your short messages. By 10 p.m., she was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The house felt too quiet without Joel’s familiar hum downstairs. Ellie wrapped herself in her blanket, trying to push away the ache of loneliness. She wanted to text you, but she didn’t want to seem desperate. Instead, she let herself imagine what Saturday might be like, her nerves and excitement battling each other until sleep finally claimed.

Friday night was a welcome change for Ellie. The days leading up to Saturday had felt agonizingly slow, but now, with only one more sleep separating her from seeing you, her excitement was at an all-time high. The thought of finally being around you again filled her with a nervous energy that bubbled over into her every action.

Joel was home tonight, which only added to the excitement. With him around, the house felt warmer and more alive, and she was glad for the distraction from her nerves. She decided to give herself a break from her relentless studying and headed downstairs, following the sound of Joel humming a tune as he cooked dinner in the kitchen.

“Hey, Joelllllll,” Ellie drawled, her voice tinged with playful charm.

Joel paused, his spatula hovering over the sizzling pan, and turned to her with a knowing smile. “Yeah, kiddo? What do you want?”

Ellie grinned, rocking on her heels. “Can we have a movie night tonight?” she asked, her voice full of hope and excitement.

Joel chuckled, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Of course we can! I assume you wanna watch the Jurassic Park movies again?”

Ellie’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Yes!” she cheered, clapping her hands together before dashing into the living room to get everything set up. She fluffed the couch cushions, grabbed a cozy blanket, and sorted through the movie collection until she found the first Jurassic Park.

Meanwhile, Joel plated the dinner—spaghetti and meatballs, a favorite for both of them—and brought it into the living room. “Ready?” he asked, balancing the plates and drinks as Ellie snuggled into the couch with the remote in hand.

“Ready!” she replied enthusiastically, pressing play as Joel set the food down on the coffee table and took his spot beside her.

The familiar sounds of roaring dinosaurs and adventurous theme music filled the room, and for a while, Ellie’s excitement about Saturday took a backseat to the thrill of the movies. They laughed together at the cheesy lines, shouted warnings at the characters who were inevitably about to get eaten, and debated which dinosaur was the coolest (Ellie was firmly Team Velociraptor, while Joel argued for the T-Rex).

As they moved on to the second and then the third movie, the hours ticked by unnoticed. By the time the credits rolled on the final film, the clock on the wall read 2 a.m.

Joel yawned and stretched, his arms extending above his head as he sat back on the couch. “Whew, that’s enough dinosaurs for one night,” he said with a tired chuckle. He glanced over at Ellie, expecting her to do the same, but she didn’t move.

“Ellie?” he called softly, leaning closer.

She didn’t respond. Her head had lolled to the side, her cheek resting against the back of the couch, and her chest rose and fell in the steady rhythm of sleep.

Joel smiled fondly, shaking his head. “Out like a light,” he murmured. He stood and carefully gathered the empty plates and glasses, setting them in the sink before returning to the living room.

He crouched beside the couch, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Ellie’s face. “Come on, kiddo, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, but she didn’t stir.

Not wanting to wake her, Joel carefully scooped her up in his arms. She murmured something incoherent, her head resting against his chest as he carried her upstairs. Her room was just as tidy as always, the bed neatly made and her desk covered in perfectly organized stacks of notebooks and textbooks.

Joel pulled back the blankets and laid her down gently, tucking her in with care. He stepped back for a moment, watching her sleep peacefully. She looked so small and unguarded in that moment, a stark contrast to the driven, determined girl she was during the day.

“Big day tomorrow, huh?” Joel whispered with a smile. He reached down, brushing a hand over her hair before switching off the lamp on her nightstand.

As he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Ellie had grown into someone special, even if she didn’t always see it. He knew tomorrow meant a lot to her, and he silently hoped it would go as perfectly as she dreamed.

Back in her room, Ellie shifted slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips even in sleep. Saturday was just a few hours away, and even in her dreams, the thought of seeing you made her heart race.

Friday night for you was business as usual—the kind of night that perfectly matched your status as the popular girl. It wasn’t uncommon for weekends to blur into a whirl of parties, late-night adventures, and the kind of social life most people could only dream of. This time, it was at your best friend Olivia’s house. Her parents were conveniently away for the weekend, which meant only one thing: the unofficial party of the year.

The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the house was packed with what felt like the entire senior year. People danced in the living room, spilled onto the patio, and crowded the kitchen. Olivia was in her element, commanding the room like the queen she was, while you stayed nearby, laughing and making rounds to talk to everyone who came up to you. You wore a sleek, black mini-dress paired with heels that clicked confidently against the hardwood floor, effortlessly drawing attention wherever you went.

As the hours passed, the crowd began to thin. One by one, people filtered out, leaving just you, Olivia, Nat, Sara, and Alex sprawled across the living room couches in various states of exhaustion and tipsiness. It was well past midnight, but none of you were ready to call it a night just yet.

"Should we go get ice cream?" Olivia suggested, her voice still buzzing with energy despite the hour.

"At, like, 2 a.m.?" Alex asked, half-laughing.

"Why not?" you chimed in, already grabbing your bag. The suggestion seemed to electrify the group. Within minutes, you were all piled into Olivia's car, driving to the 24-hour ice cream shop on the other side of town.

By the time you arrived, the initial excitement had been replaced with ravenous hunger. The alcohol buzz was wearing off, and you all devoured your ice cream as if it were a five-star meal. You sat at the table, laughing about the night’s chaos, trading stories, and planning the rest of the weekend.

Eventually, you excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving the table and your half-eaten ice cream behind. But when you returned, the booth was empty. At first, you assumed they were messing with you—Olivia especially loved pulling pranks—but when you stepped outside and didn’t see the car anywhere, the truth hit you like a truck.

They had left you.

You stood in the parking lot, blinking in disbelief, your breath hitching as you tried to process what had just happened. Panic and embarrassment clawed at your chest, and the alcohol in your system didn’t help. Before you knew it, hot tears spilled down your cheeks. You tried calling Olivia, then Nat, then Sara, but no one answered. Each voicemail made your stomach sink further, the feeling of being stranded alone in the middle of the night overwhelming you.

In your haze, it didn’t even occur to you to call an Uber or a taxi. Instead, you unlocked your phone and opened Instagram, scrolling mindlessly until one profile caught your eye: Ellie’s.

She wasn’t your first thought. You barely knew her beyond the project you were working on together. But something about her—maybe the way she’d seemed so eager to help earlier that week—made you pause. You didn’t even think twice before sending a flurry of frantic messages.

notyourfriend Hi Please wake up Ellie, I need help Ellie

Ellie groggily woke to the rapid vibration of her phone. She fumbled for it on her bedside table, squinting at the screen. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw your name, and for a moment, she wondered if it was a dream.

Ellie_TheDino What’s up? Is everything okay? notyourfriend Finally Ellie_TheDino y/n, are you okay? notyourfriend Can you call?

Ellie didn’t hesitate, her thumb hovering over the green button before pressing it. The phone barely rang once before you answered, and the sound of your shaky sobs immediately put her on edge.

“Hey! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Ellie’s voice cracked slightly, her usual awkwardness amplified by her nerves.

“I-I was at an ice cream s-shop with my friends, and I went to the b-bathroom, and now they’re g-gone,” you stammered, barely able to get the words out through your crying.

“Okay, okay, just breathe,” Ellie said, trying to steady her own voice as much as yours. “I’ll come get you, alright? Just—just tell me where you are.”

You sniffled, giving her the name of the ice cream shop. Ellie repeated it back to make sure she got it right, already scrambling out of bed. She grabbed Joel’s truck keys from the kitchen counter, scribbled a quick note explaining her absence, and bolted out the door.

It should have been a 10-minute drive, but Ellie’s nerves turned it into five. As she pulled into the parking lot, her eyes immediately landed on you, huddled near the bench outside, arms wrapped around yourself to ward off the cold. She stepped out of the truck, awkwardly adjusting her oversized Spider-Man T-shirt and mismatched sweatpants.

“Y/n?” she called, hesitantly approaching you.

You looked up, your tear-streaked face softening slightly at the sight of her. Without a word, she handed you a gray hoodie she’d grabbed from the backseat. You threw it on without hesitation and pulled her into a hug, clinging to her as if she were your lifeline.

“Thank you so much, AEllie,” you whispered, your voice muffled against her neck.

Ellie’s cheeks turned scarlet, her hands hovering awkwardly before she tentatively wrapped them around you. “Uh, yeah, no problem. Are you—are you okay? Like, besides, uh, this?” she stammered, her words coming out in a rush.

You nodded, pulling back slightly. “Can you just take me home? I can’t go back to them.”

Ellie helped you into the truck, carefully typing your address into Google Maps. As the voice-guided directions filled the silence, she glanced over and saw you had already fallen asleep, your head resting against the window.

As Ellie pulled up to your address, the calm voice of her GPS announced, “You have arrived at your destination.” Her eyes widened as she came face-to-face with an imposing gate, complete with intricate designs and a keypad entry system. The size and elegance of it left her feeling slightly out of her depth.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the gate before glancing over at you. You were slumped against the window, eyes half-closed but still awake. Ellie sighed and gently nudged your shoulder.

“Hey, uh, we’re here… but there’s a gate. What should I do?” Ellie’s voice was hesitant, almost apologetic.

You stirred, groaning softly as you straightened up. “It’s fine. I can walk from here,” you mumbled, already reaching for the door handle.

Ellie’s hand shot out instinctively, her voice coming out louder than she intended. “No!”

You froze, startled, and turned to look at her. “Sorry! I just—um—look, I can’t just leave you here. What if you pass out or something? It’s… uh, it’s not safe,” Ellie stammered, her cheeks turning pink.

You sighed, the exhaustion evident in your voice. “Okay, okay. The gate code is 8018.”

Ellie nodded quickly, hopping out of the truck and making her way to the keypad. Her hands fumbled a bit as she punched in the numbers, the gate groaning to life as it slid open. She scurried back to the driver’s seat, muttering, “Fancy gate, geez…” under her breath, and drove up the long driveway.

Her jaw dropped as your house came into view. It wasn’t just big—it was a mansion, complete with towering columns, immaculate landscaping, and enough windows to light up a small town.

“Holy moly…” Ellie muttered, her nerdy tendencies slipping through. “This is, uh, really nice. Like, billionaire-nice.”

She parked the truck near the front entrance and hurried to your side, opening the door for you. You stepped out unsteadily, leaning against her for support. Ellie awkwardly wrapped an arm around your waist, helping you up the steps to the grand double doors.

Once inside, the sheer size of the entryway left her gawking. “Okay, wow. This place is like—uh—something out of Architectural Digest. Where’s your room?”

You gestured vaguely toward the stairs. “Upstairs… third floor…”

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “Third floor? Are you serious?” She eyed the grand staircase nervously, already dreading the climb.

You shook your head. “Take the lift,” you said, pointing to an elevator tucked discreetly into the wall.

“Oh. Right. Of course, there’s an elevator,” Ellie mumbled to herself, guiding you toward it.

Once inside, Ellie’s eyes darted over the panel. “This thing has more buttons than Joel’s old TV remote…” she muttered, pressing the number three.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a sprawling hallway. You led her down the corridor to your room, which was so large it could have easily been a small apartment. Ellie’s mouth fell open as she took in the plush furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a bed that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.

You collapsed onto the bed without a second thought. Ellie hesitated, then began searching through your drawers until she found a pair of pink tracksuit pants and an oversized white shirt. She handed them to you, her gaze averted.

“Uh, here. You can, uh, change into these,” she said, shuffling awkwardly toward the door. “I’ll just, um, wait out here. Take your time!”

Ellie paced nervously in the hallway, glancing at her phone every so often. She had no idea how long it would take you to change, but she didn’t want to rush you. After about 30 minutes, she heard your voice call out, “Done!”

When she re-entered the room, you were lying in bed, your makeup still smudged from the night. Ellie hesitated, then walked over to your vanity and grabbed a pack of makeup wipes.

“Uh, I think we should, like, take this off. Your makeup, I mean. It’s not good to sleep in it, right?” she said, her voice uncertain.

You gave a small nod, too tired to argue. Ellie gently wiped your face, her touch careful and deliberate. As she worked, she couldn’t help but notice how stunning you looked without the makeup—your natural beauty left her momentarily speechless.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket snapped her out of her thoughts. She pulled it out, sighing when she saw Joel’s name on the screen.

“Ellie! Are you okay?” Joel’s voice was filled with concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Ellie said quickly, glancing at you to make sure you were still resting comfortably. “I, uh, just had to help someone get home. I’m heading back now.”

Joel let out a relieved sigh. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Just don’t stay out too late.”

“Got it. Be home soon,” Ellie replied, hanging up.

She turned back to you, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders before quietly slipping out of the room. As she made her way back to the truck, she couldn’t help but smile, feeling oddly proud of herself for the night’s events.

Taglist: Hopefully I got everyone! @vahnilla @radioheadfan699 @defnoteleonor @robinphobia @liztreez @deathbydollz @hemmo01 @soodle-noup @reneesub @ellensmithxo @lamorenita @kissedberries

[curseofhecate]

MERRY CHRISTMAS, I MISS YOU | LN4

an: This is based on Merry Christmas, I miss you by Alex Crichton. It can be read as part to to merry christmas, please don't call. Again, depressing but I can't help it. This is Lando's point of view.

w.c.: 1.3k

December 25th, Christmas.

The view from the cabin was captivating. Especially now that the sun had gone down and it was snowing again. Everything outside seemed so calm and peaceful, the complete opposite of the war that was currently going on in Lando’s mind. 

His plan hadn’t been to spend Christmas in a cabin somewhere in the french alps. It had actually been Max's idea, to make their annual ski trip overlap with Christmas this year. He knew his friend very well to know that if Lando was left alone this year on Christmas day he would have ended up wallowing in his sadness. 

The whole day had passed by in a blur. Presents, skiing, food, jokes, card games, it had all been a well revised plan to keep him distracted. And it had worked. Up until now.

It was late in the evening and everyone was off doing their own thing. Lando was sitting on a couch, half watching the snow fall outside through the floor to ceiling window and half watching the movie Pietra and Max, who were cuddling on the other couch. 

Love Actually. He remembered when his girlfriend had forced him to watch it with her around this time last year and how he had complained it was a dumb movie without actually having seen it. Well, ex girlfriend, because he had ruined that.

He hadn’t really meant to. It was something he either did subconsciously or it was out of his control. Usually, he likes to blame their falling out on the distance, on his job, on his career. And while all of those things had played their role in how things progressed between them, what had really destroyed what they had was their communication. Or better said, their lack of. And it killed Lando to admit that his inability to let someone see him for what he really is, had ruined the best thing he had ever gotten hold of.

It is weird how quickly things change.

Exactly a year ago, he could have sworn they’d be infinite. It was the day he had taken her to meet his parents. She was nervous and he had spent the whole car ride down to Bristol reassuring her that his family would love her. What she didn’t know was that they already did. Lando hadn’t stopped talking about her since the day they'd met. 

He had convinced her it wasn’t that big of a thing. Which was a lie because Lando never introduced his girlfriends to his parents. Mainly because most of them couldn’t even be considered girlfriends and fit more into the ‘casual hook ups’ or ‘friends with benefits’ categories.  

He remembered how he had spent most of his time watching her interact with his family and feeling proud about how well she fit in with them. That was the moment that solidified for Lando the feelings he had for her. And as he sat there and watched her interact with his niece we thought about how Christmas would be ten years from now, when they’d be married and have a family of their own. 

It was the moment that made it clear to Lando that this was the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl he was going to marry.

If he were honest, he always knew. From the moment he first saw her, at the back of that party on Christmas day two years ago with a drink in her hand and looking awkward, he knew that something was different about her. 

When he first walked up to her, Lando was nervous. Which was the most unlike Lando thing ever. Normally he was really open and comfortable around people, the definition of an extrovert. But for some reason this was different.

The first thing he told her was some lame joke about both of them being out of place since they knew no one and their friends ditched them, He didn’t get much of a response, except for a forced smile, and for a bit lando felt as if he was having a one sided conversation. But the longer he kept talking the more at ease she started to feel around him. 

The walls didn’t really come down until Lando made another joke about something stupid, what he couldn’t remember. What he remembered though was the way she had thrown her head back laughing. And from that moment, he was a goner. 

It was crazy to think how two years ago they didn’t even know each other and last year at this time she was curled up against him, head on his chest with his arms wrapped around her and watching cheesy Christmas movies. And now she is gone. He had lost her. 

Sometimes he wondered what he could have done differently. He knew it wasn’t entirely his fault and some things were out of their control but he couldn’t help but want to go back and change everything. 

What he had felt for her, he hadn’t felt for anyone else before, and he was convinced he wouldn’t feel for anyone else in the future. 

Usually he tried not to think about that. During the season it was easy. He was preoccupied with races and the possibility of winning the drivers championship. Being a formula 1 driver didn’t allow him much time to wallow in his self pity. 

But now, it is really difficult. Especially considering how he kept thinking about the Christmas they’d spent together last year. The look on her face when he’d told her it was too early to blast Christmas songs on November 1st, the domestic feeling it brought him decorating his London apartment together, the way she’d force him to do silly childish activities, like baking cookies and decorating gingerbread houses and how he’d complain even though he always ended up loving it.

Waking up with her in his arms on Christmas morning and pretending to be asleep as soon as she started stirring, just to make the moment last longer, knowing well that she wouldn’t have the heart to wake him up. It all haunted him.

But most of all, it was the what ifs that tormented him.What if she has moved on? What if she’s with someone new? What if he’s nothing but a ghost that lingers in her life?

But then what if she was lonely? What if she missed him as much as he missed her? What if she had realised how big of a mistake this had been? What if she wants to reach out but is afraid to? What if the reason she didn’t is because she thinks he has moved on. 

Lando thought about this far more often that he would like to admit. All he could think about lately was her. And even though he appreciated how his friends tried to distract him he couldn’t help but feel suffocated. 

He missed her. He missed her a lot. How could he not? He was in love with her, he still is. And so he can’t help but wonder whether she would answer if he called. 

He hoped she would. 

Sighing, he picked up his phone and tapped on her contact. He typed out a paragraph, explaining how much he missed her and how he wished he could have her back. His finger hovered over the send button but he hesitated and erased the message, turning off his phone frustrated.

He couldn’t go on like this. 

If she didn’t want to talk then she wouldn’t reply. But if still cared then maybe she would. And for once in his life Lando Norris had nothing to lose. 

He turned on his phone again and typed out another message, hitting the text button and turning off his phone before he could overthink it.

[mydearestbeloved]

chapter 7!! another delightful one! i can feel your inner geek coming out when reading this /pos 🤭. i really really appreciate how you break down what reader can do and how she does it. me and jinwoo were def paying attention 👀. and i found it really nice how you explained things and interwoven into each paragraph the relationship process between reader and jinwoo and the end really just ties everything together that is reader shows of trust to jinwoo. without that, this chapter would just be a biology lesson. not that i complain about it 😆. authors putting efforts and thoughts in their characters' skillset and power tickle my brain sm <3 . also, I like that you make small changes like allowing jinwoo access to c-rank dungeons without jinho’s help to show that even without her direct intervention, reader’s mere presence has already changed things (bc yk he was supposed to solo leveling here hehe), just like a butterfly effect (Ik the system makes the changes happen but SYMBOLISM). SL’s storyline is very simple and straightforward so even small yet significant adjustments can potentially leave plot holes behind. glad to know that the system got that covered.

?System¿:

[ Review has been submitted . . .

We thank you for your feedback, Reader.

System will now connect you you to 《AUTHOR》 ]

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Thank you for sending your review! My apologies for the very late response (again)! 🙏🥹

Thank you for your kind words! 💕

I kept revising the explanations while writing this chapter. One second, I was like, “Oh! That’s it!” and the next, “Wait, this is too complicated…”—and repeat. I also debated whether to put the explanation in a separate section, maybe formatted like it’s part of the system’s database, but I eventually scrapped the idea because it would’ve made the chapter too long and dull. This could work if there wasn’t much information to explain, but Chapter 7 already had too much.

Plus, I quite like how this chapter turned out, so I’m glad you enjoyed the flow as well. 🥰

It’s exactly because SL’s storyline is straightforward that I was able to fit Trial Player AU in the first place. The events before the timeline reset took place over around three years, right? Trial Player AU needed much more time than that—especially for the romance development. I have trouble imagining Jinwoo trusting TP!Reader within under a month after everything he’s been through. And that’s not even mentioning the fact that he's aware she’s connected to the system and knows what he has done all this time. He would have taken even longer to trust her if TP!Reader hadn’t extended her hand first—but she also needed time to decide and adjust. After years of being a hermit, and then she had to tread the most carefully with Jinwoo out of all people.

Even Cha Hae-in implied that TP!Reader is still closed off in a way, years into their friendship, despite being the first person whose scent doesn’t bother her. So, while Hae-in still have trouble connecting to other people, she was doing much better because TP!Reader is there compared to canon. Hae-in became the more open one between the two.

That’s just one stage of the relationship development—imagine the rest, all within under three years, when most of that time is spent in battle. 🫠

I get that sometimes a deeper bond is forged through dangerous situations—TP!Reader and Jinwoo were also affected by this—but I didn’t want that to be all there was to it. So I needed to make time. And since the manhwa already cut out so many moments from the novel, I’m having an easier time making alterations.

So if readers notice that a timeline is stretched—like an event that originally happened within days in canon is one or two weeks in Trial Player AU—that’s probably because I expanded it to add more original events in between. I’ll leave the timeline a bit vague, and I apologize if it might put off some readers. 🙏

Plot holes are a given with the directions I decided to take for this story, hence I'll try to fill them as best as I can.

In the end, this is an AU, so things are bound to change even if the story still revolves around canon. I hope it can still be enjoyed regardless. 💕

[aquarius-cookie-jar]

So about that Cookie Run MLP au

(click to see the clearer pictures.)

I've basically tried to come up with lore and stuff. If you can't read what's on the images, don't worry, I'll expand more on my thoughts here:

(side-note, it's gonna be a long one)

White Lily Cookie

Before I talk about her, here's some random changeling lore I made up. Woodland changelings are the ones who feed on the love of other creatures by draining it from them. Basically the more hostile, fae-esque creatures. Prismatic changelings are those who don't drain love from others, but instead feed on love through mutual sharing with one another. My goal with them is to make them sorta like faeries. Yanno, the baby snatcher ones vs the nice disney-esque ones. They can transform into either one if say, they're able to form a strong bond with someone else or if they lack a strong connection and have no one to share love with.

Btw, this isn't related to mlp canon, it's just something I made up.

So anyway, White Lily was a young woodland changeling who, while she didn't (often) drain love from other people, she was still pretty lonely and ostrisized by her peers (probably due to her lily scent). She transforms into a prismatic changeling after making a strong bond with Pure Vanilla, who declared how he'll always care for her, changeling (either form) or not.

Ngl, I'm not that happy with her woodland form, mainly because it just feels less changeling-like. I based her off Queen Chrysalis, but still, the only reason I have for this, is that, she's like a queen bee. She's just born that way. She just never took the throne like the rest of her friends.

In her younger years, White Lily often transformed into a pony disguise (even after meeting PV and leaving the academy) because she still felt like it was necessary. Girl was bullied in her tweens, leave her be. (Also, by now, she's become a prismatic changeling.) Eventually, she did drop her disguise, and was relieved to know the other 3 didn't hate her. Dark Cacao even commented about how he prefers her true form.

Her soul-jam form is basically her just becoming more queen bee like, (similar to how Queen Chrysalis was bigger and taller compared to the rest of the hive. She's the queen!)

Pure Vanilla Cookie

Not much to say other than he was a unicorn who became an alicorn as the years passed and he gained his soul jam.

I dunno if I wanted his magic to be blue or yellow. I think I prefer yellow, but his soul jam is blue, and I wanted it to sorta match. Hmm.

He also has terrible eyesight, and relies on his staff to see. However, the drawside to this is that what the staff sees, is what he sees. And boy, his staff can be a bit sassy sometimes, rolling its eye and glancing down at him to judge him at times. It was especially so in his younger years. But he's comfortable with or without the staff's sight. I should mention, he does get to decide if he wants to see what his staff sees or not.

Btw, if this take is seen as ablelist in any shape or way, please let me know, and I will correct it if it is. The whole 'staff sees for PV' is a popular headcanon which I just roll with, but if it makes people uncomfortable, I understand and will revise it.

Hollyberry Cookie

Not much to say other than she was an earth pony who gained wings, magic, and super strength.

Compared to the others, she rarely ever uses her magic/wings unless absolutely needed to. It just feels quite off for her, yanno? Though, she does take advantage of her enhanced strength, agility, and stamina.

Out of everyone, she took the longest to figure out how to fly, not because she was scared, but because it felt very off to control these brand new appendages that just appear on your back whenever you use the souljam's magic to the fullest.

Her design is the most straight-forward out of everyone tbh.

Dark Cacao Cookie

He's a kirin, which are basically dragon-like ponies, and I headcanon him to be part dragon, so it works out.

For his Nirik form, I drew inspiration for how berserk Cacao looked, all whispy and spirit-like.

I was debating on whether or not I wanted to give him wings, but in the end, I realized that it would make his design feel too cluttered. So instead, I drew inspiration from east asian dragons, and how they don't need wings to fly. Dark Cacao can summon clouds and gallop across the winds instead, which I think looks really cool.

Kirin's are depicted with this lion's mane, but I didn't feel like it would fit Cacao, mainly because he's got a lot going on at this point (the armor, for one) and idk, I just couldn't fit it, unless I redesign his entire wardrobe, which I don't want to do.

About the White Lily thing I mentioned earlier, I said how Cacao prefers seeing Lily as a changeling, rather than in a disguise, because (at the time) he thought he was the only non-pony creature on the team, and it was reassuring to him that he wasn't the odd one out. Golden Cheese was the last one to officially join the band.

Golden Cheese Cookie

Head of a pony, body of a lion, wings like a hawk's. Yep, she's a sphinx.

I know she looks more cat-like here, but idk, I just really liked it, so I stuck with it.

Out of everyone, she was the one who had the most trouble with magic, mainly because she's kinda the most scatterbrained. But once she got the hang of it, she really liked using it.

Can I just say, she's definitely the most elegant looking one out of the bunch, and I'm glad that I was able to translate it well. (Or at least, I think I was.)

--

That took a lot longer than expected. But hey, this au is just for fun.

[disasterbuck]

FanFic Ask Game

So I saw this post (linked above) and decided to answer all the questions instead of just reblogging and waiting for asks. Enjoy getting to know a bit more about me as a writer!

💖 What do you like most about your own writing?

I love how fluffy it generally is and how my fics always have a happy ending 🥰

😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?

I don't think I'm embarrassed about my writing? Maybe sometimes I'll write a kiss that feels a bit cringe?

👻 What is one WIP you think you may never pick back up?

'the heist wip'. Inspired by the episode Ocean's 9-1-1, I wanted to explore what situation could make them ACTUALLY turn to crime. I had a vague idea of a woman's dog being kidnapped by her abusive ex, and Buck gets all obsessed over it and eventually asks the rest of the team to help him break the dog out or something. idk. I don't have a solid enough idea and I feel like it would end up being a long fic which I just can't commit to atm. (If anyone reading this is inspired by this idea, feel free to write it!! But please tag me if you do! I would love to read it!)

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

... I don't think so?

Yeah I've just had a skim through and can't find anything that I would never share if I managed to finish it.

📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?

Ooohhh, I love getting comments on ALL my fics but I guess if I had to choose I'd probably go with Friends Don't (8.5k) because it has a special place in my heart.

✏️ Do you write every day?

Not strictly, but most days yes.

🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.

"Back to my point," Chimney said once Hen's laughter died down. "You two are codependent. I bet you couldn't even go a day without having to touch each other."

Buck's face flushed a darker shade of red.

"Yes we could," Eddie argued, suddenly stubborn and confrontational. "We could go a week."

"You wanna bet, Diaz?" Chimney asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

After a quick glance to communicate with Buck, Eddie nodded and said, "You're on. What are the terms?"

don't say his name wip

🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).

I wrote 4 drabbles exactly 100 words each!! It took quite a bit of editing and revising but I'm really happy with how they turned out! You can read them here if you're interested: buddie month | four drabbles

😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?

fhdskjfhs I HOPE NOT 😅

🌙  What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?

I don't really have a preferred time of day?

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

Yes. And no. lol

📊 Current number of WIPs

............................ 104 🙈

👨‍👧‍👧 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic? 

Depends ENTIRELY on the person. But generally yes. This does not equal letting them read my fics though lol.

🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?

Hm, good question. Maybe Athena?

📝 What is one growth area you have for your writing?

Uhhh I don't know. I feel like I'm constantly learning about writing and just generally trying to improve in all areas.

📚 Do you read your own fic?

YES ALL THE TIME. I looooove reading over my fics. Makes me so happy!!

🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?

Writing kisses. Or endings. Both. Every time Buddie are about to kiss I tend to abandon the fic for a while lmaoooo and then whenever I have to wrap it up it takes me 3-5 business days.

🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?

Up for anything. All I've got for it so far is this:

Buck: No, I mean it. I'm up for anything. If you can come up with something I won't do you win. But I'm telling you right now I never back down from a dare.

💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?

fhjskfh I hate research. My deepest dive is whatever happens in the show. I'll rewatch or maybe read wikis to make sure I get show details accurate but anything else? I'm making that shit up bestie 😅

✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.

🙈 sweet, emotional, aaaaaand heartwarming? idk

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

I don't have headcanons about my own work! Everything is canon! They're my works! My reality! YOU can have headcanons about my works lol.

🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).

Of my own or someone elses?

Of my own fics, I love you (4k) is my fave.

Someone else's, the first that comes to mind is The Best Lie is a Truth (My Best Mask is My Face) (43k) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels uggghhh it is chef's kiss!! Fake dating my beloved! 💕

👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?

Lazy Mornings (1k) for being so freaking adorable 🥰

⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?

I think it's fairly equal? But maybe a bit more time writing, because a lot of the reading I do is of physical books rather than fic.

-

taglist because there's a sneaky snippet hidden above:

@dluoser @taketheplanspinitsideways @loudenthusiastic @wallywise @mxrcjqckspnchqsc

@therosesaredying @stillfuckingtired @classtrialguru @smolfunpenguin

@awesome-igi @natnuszsstuff @olliesrants @crazyfangirlallert @delirium1995

@brah3280 @meanceclosetohell @anythingeverythingallofthetime @sunflower-eddiediaz

@darkrose6578 @veronae-buddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @loveyouanyway @inell

@spicyrottingbrains @gnoeltop @idealuk @donationwayne @lemotmo

@smilingbuckley @realpersonwithrealfeelings @superlock-in-the-tardis @mjthe14thdoctor @strxwbereee

@idontknowwhatimdoing777 @ashleigh2658 @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @mineyneedsmoney

@spotsandsocks @unlifeira @pirrusstuff @buddiedaydreamer911

@littlevampireprincessuniverse @misshiss727 @i-put-the-star-in-bastard @hermioneindisguise @dangerpronebuddie

@specialbrownieeater @blue-winged-boy @bucks-daddy-issues @lightningmcqueer8

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

p.s. I'm updating my taglist, check out the info on this post

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hi! Would you be able to do a Nizea x reader. Nizea overworking himself so much that he ends up sick but is stubborn about it until it gets really bad and then reader takes care of him? Thank you!!

I'm assuming that "Nizea" is "Nozel" ^^' Apologies if it isn't ^^'

But I was in mood for some Nozel writing, so I hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing: Nozel x gn!reader Genre: Fluff (or hurt-comfort??) Fanfic type: Oneshot Contains: reader has feelings of annoyance about how much Nozel needs to work, the word "hell" is used one as an expiration, Nozel being stubborn and reader tries to get him to rest, a lot of beckoning and reasoning with Nozel, Nozel is referred in one part as "braid-face" but he's also "[my] braid-face" so affectionate, sleepy Nozel, he thanks reader at the end, a bit romantic Word count: ~1.9k

You sighed. It was a heavy, heavy sigh that made you lean back in your chair and stare at the ceiling, giving your eyes a moment of rest from staring the text right in front of you. And with the motion, your body bending backwards and your eyes lifting up, it almost felt as if tension was flowing down and gathering to your feet. Which... wasn’t still exactly comfortable or relaxing, but it was better than staying slouched over your desk.

Though you knew that you shouldn’t slouch. Or study too much continuously. Take breaks. Drink water. Stretch and move. All of this you knew. What you were supposed to do.

But somehow, you never got around to it. You kept on doing the same thing as before. Maybe because it had worked this far, so why wouldn’t it continue working from here on?

Though... as your eyes fell back down, without focus, as if staring nowhere while you became immersed into your own thoughts, you thought about how you barely had time for anything else in life than this. Working. Reading. Studying. Going through all these papers and text and notes and... everything that came with it.

Sure, it was useful. And you wanted to do this, help the squad and do your part.

Hell, you knew that Nozel worked harder. He might not have seemed like the type outwards; a hard worker. Rather someone who just had gotten the job via family connections and had it easy because of his excessive mana pool. But in reality, he worked harder than most.

Both when it came to his own magic, as well as governing the squad.

So... maybe... maybe you shouldn’t complain. About how it was hard. And tiring. Because... you did want to do this. Too. It was just that... sometimes you didn’t want to do it so much.

You wanted to live a little. More. Live a bit more.

Live with Nozel.

But he had his convictions and responsibilities, so while he was caught up with that, you might just as well make your time useful. Though... life wasn’t all about being useful. Life was meant to be lived.

Your eyes turned to the candle on your desk, ready to burn out. And somehow, as ludicrous as it might have sounded, it felt like the candle was mocking you. Or maybe telling you something. In any case, you found yourself becoming irritated by that candle. About how it was burning out.

About how a certain braid-face was burning himself out.

Because, he might have been a braid-face, but he was your braid face. As questionable as his fashion choices might have been, he had a heart of gold. Deep down, under all the layers of struggling to communicate his feelings.

He was too precious to burn himself out before he was even 30.

And so, you got up, and marched out of the library with a quest to find your beloved.

Most likely he would be in his office, so that was your first destination. And it wasn’t too far from the library, since there might have been a need to revise some books for work purposes. So, it didn’t take a long time for you to get there.

You knocked on the door haphazardly before already opening the door, squeezing the door handle while still feeling that irritation bubbling and swirling inside of you. And all because of that stupid candle and what it meant for you.

“What is the meaning of-“ he managed, but stopped, seeing that it was you.

And you... you stopped because of the sight in front of you.

Nozel was ... looking like himself. Only that the bags under his eyes were worse, and he was slightly slouched, wearing his cape, which... he rarely did while sitting in his chair, because it got too hot. But his eyes... they were so, so very tired. Tired and somehow still held that stubborn glare that he often had.

The next thing he did, was sigh, before speaking out. “I’ll come to bed when I’ve finished this,” he told you while directing his gaze back onto the paper in front of him.

“What do you mean when ‘you’ve finished this’?” You asked, having concluded to yourself that he wasn’t well.

He let out a hum, and quirked an eyebrow at you, but didn’t say anything.

“You look sick. When was the last time you ate? Are you feeling feverish? And how much sleep did you get last night?”

“More than the night before,” he answered, which wasn’t all that informative, because he got up before you did.

So, you crossed your arms, expecting him to elaborate on his answer.

Which he didn’t, perhaps because he knew that you wouldn’t like the answer. And he’d have to hear about it.

Instead, he turned his eyes back down and begun writing.

“I take it that you barely did. Any of those things,” you told him with a sigh of your own and pushed the door closed behind you.

Annoyance and contesting him would get you nowhere, you knew as much. Sure, Nozel was sensible and would talk out a lot of things, if he saw it necessary and or beneficial, but it didn’t mean that he’d respond well to being contested. Even by you. At least not directly, and as blatantly as one might imagine contesting to take place.

“Look...” you continued while circling around his table as your arms fell down to your sides, only for your right hand to lift back up so that it might land onto his forehead.

His braid brushed against your skin as your fingertips came in contact with his damp and warm forehead; a touch away from which he didn’t move. If anything, it felt almost as if he was leaning into it, sinking into the sensation of your touch. Under your hand, and what it meant for him.

“Your hand feels cold,” he told with a hushed tone, gaze barely lifting from his desk and to glance at you from the corner of his eyes.

“No,” you replied with a small shake of your head and a tender tone. “Your forehead is burning up.”

His eyelids closed, as if in a silent prayer, and he swallowed. Because, he was caught.

“I cannot be sick,” he finally said, after a pause, sounding tired, and defeated, but also adamant and stubborn.

He was strange like that. He held a lot of paradoxes within himself.

And you knew that he had gotten where he was because of that stubbornness. By refusing to give in. Which was one of the things that you loved about him.

“No one asked if you can or cannot. That’s how life works,” you told him as your left hand found its way onto his chest, and slid across the fluff of his cape lower, as if looking to engulf him into an embrace. “You’re sick no matter whether you can, or cannot. No one asks for it, but it needs to be taken care of regardless.”

And for a moment, it felt like he was taking a deep breath, and succumbing to it; the lure of a comfortable bed. Maybe some warm soup and rest; sleeping by your side. But then he tensed up under your arms again.

“I still need to finish this,” he replied, the all too familiar determination clear in his tone. “You go ahead, and I’ll-“

“We’ll go together,” you told him. “You’re not in this alone, and you need to be well, so that you can do your job properly.”

His eyes turned back to you, even if only barely, as if inspecting how much of that determination of yours was in your gaze. But he kept his silence.

“And... the way you’re headed, makes me fear that you’ll have a heart attack when you’re 30.” It was a slight exaggeration, but not much. “I was planning on spending the rest of my life with you. I’d hate to have it so short-lived.”

“The life of a knight is dangerous,” his eyes closed in a slow blink, but his tone was again hushed, speaking of his willingness to give in, little by little. Only little by little, because he was bad at simply rolling over and admitting defeat.

“So why ad to that danger? Do you not seek to minimize all hazards, hm? And what about the family we’ve talked about?” The last one was a tad bit of a cheap shot.

But if it’d get him in bed and resting, you’d take it.

He took a deep breath under your touch, which told you that he was getting there. He was giving in. All it needed was a little nudge more.

“And I miss you,” you cooed while giving his temple a small kiss.

He sighed, and relaxed, as if melting in your arms.

You had won. And the notion of victory made the corners of your lips tug up.

“Alright...” he whispered while getting up from his seat, during which you tried to swallow some of the smile you were wearing. Because you didn’t want to seem too happy about your triumph. Happy, yes, but not too happy.

And yet, as he had barely gotten up from his seat, you took his hand, gentle and secure and begun leading him to your bedroom.

“I’ll ask for some soup and something for you to drink before we go sleep, because you need to keep your strength up,” you glanced to him over your shoulder as your steps bounced off the walls. “Then you’ll sleep, as long as you need. I’ll send a word to the headquarters and ask Nils to take on your duties, as much as he can, for a while.”

A frown climbed onto his brows, because he hated feeling useless. You knew as much. But he wasn’t. He simply needed rest and time to heal. After all, he was only human.

“I’m willing to bet that he’s grateful for your return, after you’ve healed. Because you do your job the best,” you told him, soothing his feelings a little, and giving him a small smile.

And a faint smile settled onto his lips as well, which was accompanied by a nod. Without a word. Just a smile. But that smile told you just how much those words meant to him in that moment. Just how precious they were along with what they meant.

Your journey continued in silence, and you slipped out of the bedroom just long enough to ask for some soup and drink for Nozel as he took a shower and changed into his pyjamas. And as he ate, you took yours, so that once you slipped under the covers, and he buried his face to your chest, seeking your comfort and warmth, all was well.

You let your fingers glide through his hair as his chest rose and fell in a steady manner as sleep was overtaking him. But before it did, you heard a soft and silent “thank you”, which made your heart skip a beat, as a wave of the most tender of emotions washed over you.

“You’re welcome, my silver prince,” you whispered back, unsure if he had already fallen asleep or not. But, somehow, you were certain that he heard you, even if he had.