#pages journal handwritten

[kentnaturaltribrid]

Page on snowflakes ❄️. Not much there, but figured what is there should make sense eventually.

[remnantglow]

oh octavia butler's notes on writing we're really in it now

[wereh0gz]

Hm

What if I made Rue's journal

[companionsofusall]

[id: tweet from Lydia Sigwarth, @LibraryLydia: when you were 11 did you hand-write 3 chapters lf the first book of a planned trilogy and then completely forget about it until you discovered the notebook as an adult and were horrified or were you normal. End id]

[connorsui]

If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:

“proper husband”

for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.

There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.

There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.

When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.

When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.

In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

I THINK IM GOING TO WRITE TODAY.

[themimicbird]

꒰ა˖⁺ I vow to fill my life with...⁺˖໒꒱

Satin sheets

Sunday Brunch in cute outfits

Warm cups of loose tea leaves

Passion projects

Vanilla & brown sugar scents

Gold jewelry with tiny crystals

Handwritten letters & journals

Fresh flowers displayed in vases

Classical novels

Poem filled pages I wrote but will never share

˖⁺--------⁺˖꒰ა໒꒱˖⁺--------⁺˖

Freshly brewed coffee

Songs that sound like memories I've never had

An owl singing outside my window

Nostalgia connected to what I can't remember

Cookies just out of the oven

Satin sleep masks that are always on the floor when I wake

Socks with Lace details

Writing by myself on rainy days

Decorative crystals when the sun hits them just right

Vanilla favored coke paired with ice in a clear glass

˖⁺--------⁺˖꒰ა໒꒱˖⁺--------⁺˖

Specks of sunlight dancing in-between the leaves of a tree

Bamboo brushes

Chapped lips covered by $1.00 coke scented chap stick

A yoga mat forgotten and still spread out on the floor

Vaseline on dry skin before bed

Nights with years' worth of old playlists whispering in my ears

Dresses and designer clothes flooding my search history

Humming to songs, I barely know the words of

Thrifting dates with myself

And a future lover by my side, however long that takes

[ckret2]

A leaked list of some of the exciting upcoming content from The Book of Bill:

The pyramids of Giza ranked from most to least sexy.

Winning lottery numbers. He does not say which game they're for.

Three pages of Bill practicing blackletter calligraphy so that he can write the fancy-looking "The Book of Bill" on the cover. (Meant to tear those pages out before submitting book to publisher.)

A section where he implies that all your headcanons about him are stupid. Yes, your headcanons specifically. If you compare your copy of the book to a friend's, these sections will have different text. He insults all headcanons equally, even the ones that contradict each other.

A long, rambling story about a funny thing that he saw at a party in the Nightmare Realm, but he keeps getting distracted gossiping about the embarrassing love affairs and crimes against reality the partygoers have committed. Not a single one of these characters has ever been mentioned before or ever will be again. He gets so distracted he never finishes the original funny story. He was clearly drunk when he wrote this section.

A pet care sheet on how to keep a pet axolotl. All of the information is extremely wrong.

Some of the other dimensions he's tried and failed to conquer. He keeps insisting that all the failures were somebody else's fault. It's extremely obvious that they're his fault.

A photograph of a vivisected elephant, for some reason.

A phone number written on a cocktail napkin that Bill insists would be really funny for all the readers to prank call. It leads to the desk phone of the director of the CIA. 

Bill claims he definitely totally knew that Stan was disguised as Ford the whole time, he only played along to trick the Pines back, and then he quickly changes the topic.

A page of Bill's original poetry. It's all unintelligible symbols. It will take 27 years for somebody to crack the code. They're all gory but juvenile limericks.

A cocktail recipe. It will kill you.

Bill's original version of the portal blueprints that he copied to give Ford, with Bill's handwritten annotations. One part of the blueprints is labeled "component that will accidentally destroy the universe. REMEMBER NOT TO INCLUDE THIS COMPONENT IN SIXER'S COPY!!" He underlined this twice. If this page is compared to the portal blueprints in Journal 3, it's clear that Bill included that component in Ford's copy.

A personality quiz to help you meet your ideal sleep paralysis demon.

Bill's baby pictures. He looks exactly the same, except his bow tie and top hat are too big.

Bill reveals that he thought the llama symbol on the zodiac wheel referred to that farmer guy on the edge of town, and he was super confused to see Pacifica there.

Multiple pages scattered through the book about Bill's amazing powers, his brilliant and fun plans for our dimension, and all the cool favors he's willing and able to do for his friends and followers. All these pages end with a passive-aggressive aside about how somebody would have to be REALLY stupid to turn down an invitation to join Bill's crew, Stanford Pines—

A page labeled "My loyal servants and slaves!" filled with several hideous, oozing, nightmare-inducing Lovecraftian monsters, and one Mickey Mouse.

A self-portrait depicting Bill riding a rocket ship playing an electric guitar while rainbow lightning flashes all around him and money rains down from the sky.

A cynical, sneering tirade about how love is evolution's idiotic way of tricking primitive species into reproducing and how only simple-minded mortals who can't separate their true thoughts from their hormones fall for it. In the margins he's drawn a heart around the words "Bill Cipher +" a scribbled-out blot. The blot is completely unreadable. Despite this, the fandom will spend years debating the name underneath based on the size of the blot.

Extremely stupid "explanations" about various unsolved mysteries and crimes. In six years the world will discover one of them is accidentally correct and Alex Hirsch will get investigated by the FBI.

The book will be divided into four sections. Each section will begin with a big illuminated letter. In order, the four illuminated letters spell "F" "U" "C" "K".

[wolvietxt]

𝓭ay 𝓽hirteen.

logan howlett and handwritten notes.

you'd started it as a small, quiet way to brighten his day - leaving little notes for logan around the house. it was always something simple: "thinking of you," "come home safe," or "miss you already." you'd tuck them into places you knew he’d eventually find - inside his favourite book, stuck to the fridge, or under his pillow. he never said much when he found them, just a quiet grunt or a nod in your direction, but you could tell he appreciated them in his own way.

one day, after you'd slipped a note in his coat pocket before he headed out on a mission, you found something different when you returned home later. a small piece of paper was left on your bedside table, folded in half. you picked it up, a tiny smile pulling at your lips as you opened it.

"i'll be back soon. don't worry too much."

your heart warmed as you read it, and you could picture the way he'd written it - probably grumbling under his breath, shaking his head at the idea of leaving a note like that. still, he'd done it. that alone made your chest feel light and giddy.

from there, the notes became a routine - your way of communicating when words seemed too much. you kept it up, scribbling messages in unexpected places: “you looked cute this morning,” tucked into his toolbox, or “got groceries – your favourite’s in the fridge,” left on his chair. the first time logan responded with one of his own, you nearly stumbled over yourself in surprise. the note had been left on the coffee table, wedged under your mug.

“missed you today.”

the words were scribbled in his rough handwriting, and you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh, a mixture of joy and disbelief. you kept that note tucked safely in the back of your journal, taking it out to read every now and then when he was away for longer stretches.

you never really discussed the notes. it wasn’t the kind of thing logan would be up for talking about, and that was okay - you didn’t need to hear him explain it. it was enough that he kept leaving them, finding spots to slip one when you least expected.

like the time you found one inside your book when you were curled up on the couch late at night. you were halfway through the page when something fluttered out, landing softly on your lap. you unfolded it, feeling your cheeks warm at the simple message written there:

“stay warm. sleep well.”

you hugged the note to your chest, knowing he’d left it there on purpose - knowing he’d taken the time, in his own gruff way, to make sure you knew he was thinking about you.

it wasn’t long before the notes took on a kind of quiet language between you. when he was grumpier than usual, there’d be a note left on the counter with an apology written in just a few words. when you had a rough day, you’d find one hidden in the pocket of your hoodie, reminding you to take care of yourself. it was small, silly even, but it meant everything.

you were getting ready for bed one night, your thoughts wandering, when you noticed something poking out from under your pillow. you reached for it, unfolding the paper and reading logan’s short message.

“come here. need you.”

you couldn’t help the little grin that tugged at your lips, your heart thudding in your chest as you turned to see him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“thought i’d give you a hint for once,” he muttered, his usual gruffness softened by the look in his eyes as you walked over to him.

you laughed softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning your head against his chest. “i think i got the message,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his other arm circling your shoulders as he let out a sigh. “didn’t think you’d start leavin’ those notes all over,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling through you. “but… i don’t mind it.”

“i’m glad,” you replied, your fingers curling into his shirt. “because i’m not planning on stopping.”

logan’s lips twitched, just the faintest hint of a smile as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “good,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “guess i’ll just have to keep findin’ places to leave ‘em for you, then.”

you squeezed him tighter, your heart swelling with that familiar, content warmth. “sounds like a plan.”

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[kentnaturaltribrid]

~~~Remember ‘24

We wave goodbye to the end of the beginning ~~~

[the---hermit]

how I take notes on non fiction books

I recently made a post on my study method, and decided to make a whole separate post on my note taking method. The structure of the notes I write doesn't vary too much from my lecture notes to things I might have to read. A couple of useful informations you might want to know before I start actually talking about note writing is that I am mainly focused on studying history (tho I have had other humanities exams in my degrees), and that I study for oral exams in which the material is mainly composed of non fiction books, but sometimes include articles as well as lecture notes. Somehow I have also failed to mention that I am speaking about HANDWRITTEN NOTES. I only do handwritten notes, I don't work well digitally, so keep that in mind. And with this being said brace yourselves for a very long post. The bullet points I will be making are not really in a specific order and I will be including a few pictures too.

The first step when I am working on the materials for an exam is to figure out in which order I will be reading (and writing notes) the books. This hasn't really much to do with the notes themselves, but it's important to know which of your materials is more general and what other things go more in depth, so that you don't struggle too much while studying. Another plan related thing I always do is to write down each chapter of the book I have to study on my bullet journal and how many pages it is so I can plan my studying more comfortably. If the chapters are very long, and divided in subchapters I sometimes also write those down.

The goal of the notes I write is to fully take the place of the book, so they tend to be very detailed and long. I do this because the very act of writing is part of my study method, and working on things I have written down in my own words is just much better for the type of learner I am. So basically I read the book only once, then it goes back on the shelf and I work exclusively on the notes. This means my notes need to be detailed and well organized.

My method is to read a chapter, underlining important stuff as I am reading, and then right after I am done reading I work on the notes for that chapter before moving onto the next. I do this because it makes the note writing more effortless, I am fresh with informations I just read and I basically just need to skim over what I have underlined.

On underlining, since it is so important. I underline everything I will be including in my notes, it might seem much as sometimes it consists of full paragraphs, instead of key words. But this is okay because my notes I don't just copy and paste.

To create useful notes you need to be re-elaborating the informations. You need to read, understand what you read, and be able to write it down using your own words. That way the notes will be easier to review, they will often be composed of shorter sentences, and by doing so you are also actively making writing part of your studying and not just a mindless activity.

Personally I don't work well with full pages summaries, I need the text to be visually broken into sentences/small paragraphs, and I use a lot of symbols as well as abbreviations.

Symbols and abbreviations are in a way part of your very own language when you are writing notes, you tend to develop these with time, but they are so useful. I personally use different types of arrows, all caps words, position of the text in the page, different methods of highlighting and abbreviations (usually for words that come up often like country names, for example Italy becomes ita, France becomes fr, etc.).

Your notes need to be useful for you, they don't have to necessarily be comprehensible for another person (which means you can and will fuck up sentence structure because sometimes skipping a couple of words makes the notes shorter and still understandable), and they do not have to be pretty. They should be as tidy as possible, but again that might change from person to person, I have some very messy looking notes that make total sense to me. With time you'll learn what works best for you.

I have a visual memory so as I mentioned titles, highlighters, all caps, the placement on the page and other similar things are very important in my notes. I cannot fully exapain some of these things because some definitely only make sense to me in the moment (like the words I choose to write in all caps, or the way I highlight things).

I like to have a clear chapter and subchapter break (so that in case I need to refer back to the book it's super effortless). I like to write those with a red pen, usually the chapter title is in all caps and the subchapter in coursive, but it really depends.

I use only two highlighters in each set of notes yellow for dates, and the colour I associate with the book/the subject of the book (I have synesthesia I don't make the rules when it comes to colours). This of course might change depending your preferences and on the element of your notes you want to focus on. I like to have spacific colour for dates and time periods, because of course while studying history that is a fundamental element. If you are focusing on other subjects you might want to have a specific colour for names, or other elements.

I like to leave a big side margin to add either key words (especially in lecture notes since they might be messier and jump around informations more often), or additional information in a second time (sometimes it happens, after you read another book, or attended a particular lecture you have to add a couple of sentences and I rather have a blank space that never gets used rather than no space at all for emergencies).

I honestly mentioned everything that came to mind right away, but since note writing is now basically a mindless skill I have been practicing for years I surely forgot about something. I might end up adding to this post in the future or write another one. My note-writing method has also changed a lot thought the years from high school to university, it's a skill I have been perfecting for the past decade. This to say that depending on what you are working on things might change, and by experimenting with different things you might find out things that work very well for you. If you have any questions on specific things I didn't mention or that wen't clear my inbox is always open and I am more than happy to help.

Since this post is already very very long I am adding the pictures below the cut

Example of a page of notes before and after highlighting

Example of symbols and structure of the notes and the way I highlight things (in which you'll hopefully be able to understand my handwriting, and in which there might be some spelling errors but alas that often happens in my real notes as well so if there are any it's for the sake of accuracy lmao). If I end up adding informations on the margins I always use a pen of a different color so I can tell which informations I got from what source (ex. main notes from lecture, colorful notes from additional article).

Example of messier notes in which the main text in black are the notes I took during lectures and the additional colorful text was added while writing the materials (I rarely do this, it usually happens when the lectures follow a book precisely, which happens when we have to study books or summaries written by the professor). As you can see I often use post it notes to add more writing space, and sometime I even use them to create visually separated sections. If I end up adding some drawings I also usually like to have them on post it notes so they stand out more (and if you are wondering why the hell would an history student need drawings it's usually either because I need a map or a region/state to mark things out, or when studying for archaeology exams I often needed visual references, for example to identify different types of vases or decorations).

[misspygmypie]

The Golden Box

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Warning: None; sad-ish maybe? Summary: In 2072 Y/N is reminiscing about her life with Lando. Words: 5.3k

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

September 2072, Bristol, England

Y/n's fingers traced the familiar texture of the items inside the golden box. Each piece held its own story, a fragment of her life with Lando. There was the delicate locket with a photograph of their wedding day, a memory of vows and dreams shared under the soft glow of twilight. She remembered how Lando had smiled when he first saw her in her wedding dress, how he had whispered promises of forever...

Next, she found the small, leather-bound journal that she had written throughout their early years. Flipping through its pages, she saw her neat handwriting documenting their adventures, the everyday moments that had seemed insignificant at the time but now felt like treasures. There were entries about their first home, their first dog, and the day they found out they were expecting.

Her hand brushed over a faded photograph, yellowing at the edges. It was of the entire family - y/n, Lando, and their three children - standing together in front of their house. They were all smiling, the joy and warmth of the moment captured forever. She could almost hear the laughter and the playful banter that had surrounded that day.

The chest had been filled with mementos from their travels: seashells from a holiday, tickets from a show they had attended, and a handwritten note from Lando, declaring his undying love.

Finally, her hand touched something soft; a handkerchief embroidered with their initials. It was a gift from Lando on their tenth wedding anniversary, one she had kept close through the years. As she held it to her face, the scent of his cologne, faint but still present, brought back a rush of emotion.

Tears finally spilled down her cheeks, not from sadness but from a sense of gratitude. Each item in the box was a testament to the life they had lived together; a life filled with love, joy, and the occasional heartache, but always shared with someone who made every moment worthwhile.

The sunlight bathed the room in a gentle glow as y/n sat in the rocking chair, while the past played out before her in the contents of the golden box. She closed the lid, wiped away her tears, and took a deep breath. Life had been a journey, and she was grateful for every step of it, for every memory, and for the love that had filled their years together.

July 2024, Monaco, French Riviera

Lando glanced at y/n, a slight smirk playing at his lips as he saw her nervousness. It was clear that the evening was as significant to her as it was to him. He adjusted his shirt and then looked down the street, where his sleek car was parked.

"Well," Lando began, his voice smooth and reassuring, "I thought we might start with a little surprise."

He extended his arm towards her, a gesture that seemed both casual and intimate. Y/n hesitated for a moment but then took his arm, allowing herself to be led towards the car. As they approached, Lando opened the door for her like a true gentleman.

Once inside the atmosphere changed from the bustling street outside to the quiet, comfortable interior. Soft music played in the background, and the scent of Lando's cologne filled the space. Y/n noticed the thoughtful details, like a small bouquet of her favorite flowers sitting in a vase on the seat next to her.

As the car began to move, Lando stole a glance at her, his eyes softening with a mixture of admiration and anticipation. "I hope you're ready for a bit of an adventure tonight," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Y/n's nerves calmed down as she looked at Lando, realizing that he was genuinely invested in making this evening special. "I’m ready," she replied, her voice gaining confidence. "Where are we going?"

Lando smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "You’ll see. It’s a place that’s been very special to me. I think you’ll love it."

The car drove smoothly through the city, and as they passed familiar landmarks, y/n's curiosity grew. Finally, Lando pulled aside and parked before helping her out of the vehicle.

“Can you close your eyes for me now? I want this to be a surprise.”

Y/n nodded, imitating the smile she saw on the young man’s face in front of her. She could feel the cool evening air against her skin and the gentle rustle of leaves from the nearby trees. Lando's hand, warm and reassuring, held hers firmly as they walked.

"Just a few more steps," Lando said, his tone filled with both warmth and mystery. 

Y/n's heart raced as she followed his lead. The anticipation was almost unbearable, but it was also intoxicating. She could hear the distant sounds of the city, but her focus was entirely on Lando and the thrill of the moment.

Finally Lando stopped. "Okay, we're here. You can open your eyes."

With a mix of eagerness and nervousness, y/n slowly lifted her lids. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she found herself standing in a beautifully decorated spot in the mountains atop Monaco overlooking the city.

A picnic blanket was spread out on the grass, adorned with candles and a small basket filled with an assortment of delicious treats. String lights hung from the nearby trees, casting a soft, magical glow over the area. In the center of it all was a small table with two chairs, set for a romantic dinner.

The sight took y/n’s breath away. She looked at Lando, her eyes wide with admiration and happiness. "This is... amazing," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion.

Lando smiled, his eyes reflecting the soft light. "I’m glad you like it. I wanted to do something special."

Y/n walked over to the picnic setup, her heart swelling. She sank into one of the chairs and looked up at Lando, who was now arranging the dishes and pouring them both a glass of champagne.

“This is perfect,” she said, reaching out to him with a look of gratitude. “Thank you for making this evening so memorable.”

Lando joined her, his eyes locked with hers. “You’re worth every bit of effort. I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time.”

They spent the next few hours enjoying each other's company, savoring the delicious food and sharing stories and laughter under the twinkling lights. The world outside their tiny bubble seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own little paradise.

As the stars began to appear in the night sky, Lando took y/n’s hand in his once again. 

“This night,” the Brit said softly, “is just the beginning. I want many more moments like this with you.”

Y/n’s heart swelled with emotion. “I’d love that,” she replied, her voice a whisper as she leaned in closer. “More than anything.”

As y/n sat there, overwhelmed by the beauty and thoughtfulness of the moment, Lando’s arm around her waist felt like a comforting embrace that grounded her in the present.

She turned her head slightly, feeling the warmth of his breath against her neck, and the familiar, comforting scent of his aftershave enveloped her senses. It was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

When Lando’s lips finally met hers, it was gentle and tender - a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was as if he was pouring all of his affection, his joy, and his admiration for her into that single, sweet moment. The world seemed to pause, holding its breath along with y/n, as she savored the closeness and the intensity of it all.

Lando’s touch was both passionate and respectful, reminding y/n of the depth of their bond and the shared history that had brought them to this perfect evening.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads gently touching, both of them breathed in deeply, savoring the shared intimacy. 

“I wanted tonight to be perfect,” he said softly. “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

Y/n smiled, her eyes still glistening. “It’s more than perfect. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Lando’s smile widened as he gently brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “Then let’s enjoy it together.”

September 2072, Bristol, England

The paper was worn and delicate, but the words written on it held a timeless significance. As y/n read through the letter, she could recall the emotions and the moments that had shaped their lives together.

---

August 2023

My dear y/n,

I remember the first time I saw you. It was as if the world had shifted just a little, making space for something extraordinary. Our journey together has been nothing short of magical, filled with laughter, dreams, and love that grows deeper with each passing day.

Today, I want to share something with you. These lines are not just words; they are the promises I hold in my heart. I remember the day we shared our first kiss - how your lips felt against mine, how your touch made me feel alive in a way I had never experienced before. It was the beginning of something beautiful.

And now, as I sit here with you, I am reminded of how far we’ve come. I am grateful for every moment, every memory we’ve created together. From the surprise picnic in the mountains of Monaco to the quiet evenings just like this one, each moment with you has been a gift.

I want you to know how deeply I admire you, not just for the extraordinary things you do but for who you are. You are my love and my best friend. I promise to always stand by your side, to support you in every dream, and to love you more with each passing day.

With all my heart,

Lando

---

As y/n finished reading, a tear slipped down her cheek, a bittersweet reminder of the depth of their love and the journey they had shared. She carefully folded the letter and placed it back in the box, her heart full of memories and emotions.

She looked around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings that had been a backdrop to their shared life. Each corner of the house held a story, a piece of their history together. The letter was just one of many treasures, a testament to their enduring bond.

With a sigh y/n closed the golden box and placed it gently back in its spot to keep protecting the memories of the love they shared. The love that had started with a kiss in July of 2024 had blossomed into a lifetime of shared experiences, laughter, and deep affection. And as y/n sat there, reflecting on their journey, she knew that every step they had taken together had been worth it.

Her heart swelled with gratitude for the life they had built, and she felt ready to embrace whatever the future held, knowing that they had shared something truly special.

December 24, 2024, London, England

The kitchen was filled with the delicious scents of Christmas cooking—herbs, spices, and the faint aroma of roasting meat. Despite Lando’s somewhat chaotic approach, there was something endearing about watching him tackle the task with such determination. His concentration was evident as he fumbled with various pots and utensils, the occasional splash of sauce or clattering of a pan adding to the festive atmosphere.

Y/n took a moment to admire the scene before retreating to the bathroom. The anticipation of the evening ahead had her buzzing with excitement.

After her shower, y/n emerged feeling refreshed and ready to enjoy the evening. The house was decorated festively; twinkling lights, ornaments, and the soft glow of candles added to the coziness. The aroma of Lando’s cooking grew stronger as she approached the kitchen again.

Lando was still busy at the stove, now humming along to a Christmas tune playing softly in the background. He looked up as y/n entered, a hint of flour on his cheek and a warm, satisfied smile on his face.

“Looking forward to trying my culinary masterpiece?” he teased, trying to balance a spoon in one hand while stirring a pot with the other.

“Absolutely,” y/n replied, her eyes sparkling with affection. “I’m sure it’ll be delicious and you learned quite a bit since you burnt your burger buns to literal charcoal a few years ago.”

Lando rolled his eyes playfully. “There was no need to bring that up. And just so you know, I’ve put my heart into this.”

The kitchen clock ticked on, and soon enough, Lando began plating the food. The Christmas dinner admittedly was a beautiful sight - roasted vegetables, a perfectly cooked turkey, and all the traditional sides. The table was set complete with candles and a festive centerpiece.

As they sat down to eat, y/n couldn’t help but admire Lando’s effort. The food was, indeed, surprisingly good - proof of his dedication and perhaps a sign he had practiced this with his mother. 

“This is amazing,” y/n said, genuinely impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Lando grinned, his eyes twinkling. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I wanted tonight to be special for us.”

As they ate, Lando watched y/n with a sense of contentment. Her appreciation was clear, and he was relieved and delighted to see that his hard work had paid off. The joy on her face was worth every minute he had spent preparing the meal.

The evening continued with laughter, shared stories, and the warmth of their love. As they finished their meal and moved to the living room, where a cozy fire crackled in the fireplace. Wrapped in the glow of the Christmas lights and the crackling fire, y/n and Lando enjoyed the simple pleasure of each other’s company. The night was filled with joy, love, and the magic of the holiday season.

In that perfect, quiet moment, with the world outside frosted with winter’s chill, y/n realized that this was exactly what she had always wanted: Time spent with the person she loved most, creating new memories and cherishing the old ones. 

“Thank you, Lando,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “This has been one of the most wonderful Christmas Eves I’ve ever had. Everything is perfect.”

Lando squeezed her hand gently, his eyes soft with affection. “I’m so glad you think so. You mean the world to me, and I wanted to make sure tonight was special for you.”

They shared a quiet moment, simply enjoying each other’s company. The Christmas spirit was all around them, but it was the warmth of their love that made the evening truly magical.

Lando took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he prepared for what he had planned. The small box in his pocket felt heavier than he had anticipated, but he knew he needed to push through the nervousness. He turned to y/n, his heart pounding.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice slightly wavering but filled with sincere emotion, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

Y/n looked at him with curiosity and a hint of concern. “What’s wrong, Lan? You’re making me nervous.”

Lando took out the small box from his pocket and held it in front of him, his hands trembling slightly.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of love and determination. “About our future, and how much you mean to me.”

He carefully opened the box to reveal a delicate ring nestled inside. The diamond sparkled softly in the candlelight, its brilliance a perfect reflection of his feelings for her.

Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise, and her hand flew to her mouth

“Lando, is this...?” she started, her voice trailing off as the realization sank in.

Lando nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, y/n. Will you marry me?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she reached out to touch the ring gently. “Yes, Lando. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Relief and joy flooded through Lando, and he slipped the ring onto her finger, his hands trembling with happiness. He pulled y/n into a tender embrace, their hearts beating as one.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” Lando whispered into her ear. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I can’t wait to build our future together.”

Y/n’s laughter was filled with joy as she clung to him, her own tears of happiness mixing with his. “I feel the same way, Lan. This is the best Christmas gift I could ever have imagined.”

As they held each other, the world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the soft glow of the candles. The night was filled with the promise of a beautiful future, and the joy of knowing that they would face it together, side by side.

The evening continued with a newfound sense of excitement and anticipation. The ring on y/n’s finger seemed to capture the essence of their love, a symbol of their commitment and the many adventures that lay ahead.

In that perfect moment, surrounded by the love they had built and the dreams they were about to fulfill, Lando and y/n knew that their Christmas Eve had become something truly unforgettable; a celebration of their past, their present, and their future together.

The intensity of the moment was electric, a blend of emotion and excitement that was palpable. As Lando carried y/n upstairs, their laughter and joyful whispers filled the house, echoing the elation they both felt.

The bedroom door swung open, and Lando gently set y/n down on their bed, his eyes never leaving hers. The room was softly illuminated by the warm glow of the lamps, casting a romantic light over the space. Y/n gazed up at Lando, her heart racing with a mix of anticipation and love. She reached out to touch his face, tracing his features gently.

“You’ve made this night so unforgettable,” she murmured, her voice filled with deep emotion. “I never imagined it would be like this, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lando smiled, his eyes shining with happiness. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You deserve nothing less.”

They moved closer together, the energy between them almost tangible. Lando’s hands found their way to y/n’s waist, pulling her in for another kiss. It was gentle at first, a slow melding of their lips that quickly grew more passionate. Every touch and kiss seemed to speak volumes, conveying the depth of their feelings and the excitement for their future together.

As they parted slightly, their breaths mingling, Lando’s fingers gently traced the outline of the engagement ring on y/n’s finger. “You look incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration.

“So do you,” y/n replied, her smile widening. “I’ve never been happier.”

Eventually, as the night wore on, they drifted into a peaceful embrace, the warmth of the bed and the comfort of each other’s presence creating a perfect end to their special evening. The future was bright, and they knew that whatever came next, they would face it together as partners in love and life.

September 2072, Bristol, England

The small piece of paper felt delicate and precious as y/n unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable, her own neat script from a time when every word had been carefully considered and every memory meticulously recorded. As she began to read, the words pulled her back into another cherished moment, vividly alive despite the passage of time.

---

April 03, 2025

Today was our first day living in our new home. I remember the excitement in Lando’s eyes when we drove up the driveway, and the way he held my hand as we walked through each room, imagining all the memories we would make here. It felt like we were starting a new adventure together, building our life from the ground up.

Lando had insisted on unpacking the kitchen first, determined to make it functional so that we could cook a proper meal together. I had to laugh when he nearly toppled over a stack of boxes in his enthusiasm. The kitchen became our little haven, filled with laughter and the smell of our first home-cooked meal. Although I do have to mention that I did most of the cooking.

The first night in the house was magical. We set up the bed and Lando insisted on taking a picture of us in front of the fireplace. It was a silly picture, but it perfectly captured the joy and the sense of accomplishment we felt.

---

Tears streamed down y/n’s cheeks as she read the entry, overwhelmed by the flood of memories from that early chapter in their lives. She could almost feel the warmth of the fireplace, hear Lando’s laughter, and see the joy in his eyes as they settled into their new home.

She looked out the window again, her gaze drifting over the landscape that had witnessed so many of their moments together. 

With a deep breath, y/n carefully folded the piece of paper and placed it back into the golden box, her fingers lingering on the surface as if to draw strength from the memories it held. 

She had always been a keeper of moments, capturing the essence of their love and life together. Even if Lando had teased her about it, he had always respected her desire to hold onto these memories. And now, as she looked back on the collection of papers and mementos, she was grateful for the opportunity to relive those moments and remember the journey they had traveled together.

December 25, 2025, Bristol, England

The church was filled with a soft glow as the vows were exchanged, casting a warm light over the small gathering of family and friends. Y/n's heart fluttered with each word spoken, and she could feel the significance of the moment settling deep within her.

Lando's words, though wrapped in his characteristic humor and honesty, were heartfelt and sincere. His eyes were locked on hers and his captivating laughter and smile filled the space.

When Lando spoke of his initial impressions and how that smile had changed everything, y/n couldn’t help but recall the moment he described. It was a turning point for both of them, a shift from animosity to an understanding that would blossom into love. 

The tears she had been holding back finally slipped down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy. She was overwhelmed by the enormity of what was happening. Her dreams were coming true, and the man she had loved for so long was now pledging his life to hers. The vows they had exchanged were not just words; they were a promise of a future together.

The priest’s voice brought everyone back to the present, guiding them through the final steps of the ceremony. Y/n and Lando exchanged rings, each one a symbol of their unbreakable commitment to each other.

With the final words of the ceremony, the priest pronounced them husband and wife. The moment Lando kissed y/n, sealing their vows with a kiss, was met with a wave of applause and cheers from their loved ones. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered happiness.

As they walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, y/n could hardly believe how perfect the day had been. Every detail, every moment, had come together beautifully.

They shared their first dance as a married couple, swaying together to a song that held special meaning for them. The world around them seemed to fade as they focused solely on each other, lost in the bliss of their new life as husband and wife.

As the evening drew to a close, y/n and Lando stole a quiet moment together, stepping outside to gaze at the stars. The night air was cool and crisp, a perfect end to a perfect day. They stood in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

“We did it,” Lando said softly, his arm around y/n’s waist.

“Yes, we did,” y/n replied, leaning into him.

Lando kissed the top of her head, something he would do so often. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Neither can I,” y/n whispered, her heart full of love and excitement for the future.

As they stood together, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, they knew that their journey was just beginning. The love they shared was the foundation of their new life, and they were ready to embrace whatever came next, hand in hand, forever.

September 2072, Bristol, England

Y/n's fingers trembled slightly as she reached for another piece of paper. She carefully unfolded the piece, her breath hitching as she recognized her own handwriting. The paper was slightly creased, a sign of its frequent handling. As she began to read, the room seemed to fade away, leaving her alone with the words and the emotions they stirred.

---

April 03, 2026

Today was our first anniversary in this house. We decided to celebrate it with a picnic in the garden. The sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze; perfect weather for a day outside. Lando surprised me with a homemade cake, which he had decorated all by himself. It was an absolute disaster, but he was so proud of it that I couldn’t help but fall in love with him all over again.

We spent the afternoon lounging on a blanket, reminiscing about the past year and talking about our dreams for the future. I remember the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke about the life we were building together. It was one of those moments when you realize just how lucky you are to have found someone who makes every day brighter.

Later, as the sun began to set, we danced under the stars. Lando played our song on his phone, and I remember feeling so happy, so content, that I thought my heart might burst.

---

As y/n read the entry, the tears that had been flowing now turned into a steady stream. She set the paper aside and took a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose herself. The past had a way of reaching out and touching her heart, especially on days when the pain of missing Lando felt almost unbearable. But it was in these moments of reflection that she found strength, drawing comfort from the memories that defined their life together.

With a trembling hand, she closed the box, the weight of its contents both comforting and heavy. She stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the familiar landscape. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light across the land.

As she gazed out at the horizon, she whispered softly to the wind, “Thank you, Lando, for everything.” The words were a way to honor the life they had built and the love that would forever remain in her heart.

October 29, 2028, London, England

In the quiet of the delivery room y/n’s exhaustion was palpable, her face flushed and damp with sweat, but the sight of her newborn son filled her with an indescribable joy.

Lando’s grip on y/n’s hand had loosened, but his eyes were filled with tears of relief and wonder. He could hardly believe how quickly the pain had transformed into this beautiful, tiny miracle.

“Look at him,” Lando said softly, his voice choked with emotion. He took a step closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving the baby’s face. “He’s perfect.”

Y/n nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at the baby. The exhaustion she felt was overwhelming, but the sight of him made every second of pain worth it. She gently stroked the baby’s tiny fingers, marveling at how small and delicate he was.

The midwife smiled warmly at them and began to clean and wrap the baby. “You did wonderfully, y/n. You both should be very proud.”

The moments that followed were filled with a peaceful silence, broken only by the soft coos and murmurs of the baby as he settled into his mother’s embrace. Y/n and Lando exchanged glances that spoke of their shared joy and wonder.

“I can’t believe he’s finally here,” Lando said, his voice a mere whisper.

“Me neither,” y/n agreed, her eyes locked on their son. “It feels like a dream.”

“I love you,” Lando said, leaning down to press a tender kiss to y/n’s forehead.

“I love you too,” y/n replied, her voice full of emotion. “And I love him so much.”

They looked down at their son, their hearts full. The road ahead would be filled with challenges and sleepless nights, but in this moment, everything was perfect. Their little family was complete, and their journey together was just beginning.

As the first rays of dawn began to filter into the room, y/n held her little baby close, feeling a deep sense of peace and fulfillment. Lando’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, a silent promise of support and love. Together, they began the new chapter of their lives, cherishing the miracle they had brought into the world.

September 2072, Bristol, England

The warmth of the September sun was a gentle balm against y/n's skin as she approached the figure of her husband, peacefully resting beneath the tree. The years had etched lines of wisdom and experience on his face, but he retained the same quiet strength that had first drawn her to him.

Y/n’s heart swelled with a deep sense of gratitude as she watched him. Their journey together had been nothing short of extraordinary. From the early days of their relationship to the challenges of raising three energetic sons, their bond had weathered it all. 

She tiptoed closer, not wanting to disturb him, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The sun’s rays danced across his face, highlighting the silver in his hair and the lines that spoke of years filled with laughter, love, and the occasional struggle.

Kneeling beside him, y/n allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. The path they had walked together was marked by both joyous milestones and challenging times, but through it all, they had remained each other’s anchor. The sight of Lando sleeping so peacefully was a reminder of the simple yet profound comfort of being together.

Lando stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. When he saw y/n beside him, a smile spread across his face, a smile that held years of shared happiness and unspoken understanding.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice still groggy with sleep. "What are you doing down there?"

y/n chuckled softly, her eyes misting with emotion. "Just wanted to be close to you, and thought I’d wake you."

Lando stretched, sitting up and looking at her tenderly

"After all these years, you still manage to make me fall in love with you all over again," y/n said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and savoring the warmth of her embrace. "I’ve had the best life with you," he said quietly. "Every moment has been worth it."

They sat together in comfortable silence, the warmth of the sun enveloping them in the moment. The world continued, but in that peaceful corner of their garden, time seemed to slow, allowing them to enjoy the simple joy of being together.

[m00nchildwrites]

Random headcanons I have of the LADS guys:

I hope you guys enjoy this little head cannon post that I have about the guys. I'm going to put it under a read more just because it's quite long. It is no triggering content or adult content. All fluff all feels.

Enjoy.

Sylus:

Keeps journals. He has bookcases upon bookcases, filled with journals. All of them are leatherbound, but none of them match. Varying sizes and thicknesses various dark colors from maroon to dark green to black to golden and everything in between. All handwritten, all cursive with expensive ink dipped pens.

He also writes poetry that tends to be more prosy. Each of the poems are about you in some way, whether it's a memory or something about you that he misses or fears about the memories of you fading.

When he meets you again, the poems become hopeful and longing and eventually evolve back into love poems

Kioso tens to write song lyrics and unfortunately has performed one or two for you.

Yes, it's the thought that counts, but the poor man can't carry a tune. Still, the words are so sweet that you end up tearing up anyways.

And no matter how poorly he sings, you will never turn down him reading one of his poems to you or yes, even singing one of the songs that he wrote.

Zayne:

I see Zayne also as someone who keeps journals. Although his are different than Sylas'.

All of Zane's journals are on a singular, large, wall-to-wall bookshelf in his Home Office. All are perfectly identical. Each is sleek, a leatherbound, and either black or dark gray. Think like a moleskin journal, and if you weren't him, you wouldn't know which one is which, but he knows exactly which one is which, for he keeps them in chronological order.

Each of the pages is handwritten by pen in his slightly slanted, messy but legible doctor's handwriting.

Each starting from the first one on the top shelf details, everything that he can remember about 1 of yours and his pass lives together.

And rather, morbidly an excruciating detail heed. He writes out exactly how you died in the events leading up to and afterwards.

You might wonder why in the world does he do this? It's because he is studying every instance that went wrong and trying to find a loophole in a way out of the the curse that Astra has places upon you both.

In these journals, your name is never mentioned, and they are written out like case notes from his patients. So whenever you do stumble upon them, write them off. As simply him keeping detailed case notes of patient's life and death, since all of the deaths have to do with something with the heart or heart trauma, our heart disease or our heart failure of some kind.

It is not until either you regain your memories or zayn. Finally tells you about your past lives and his that you also learn the true story about the journals. Until then, they are simply a collection of case studies in his home office.

Rafayel:

Rafael has no need for journals because his memories he brings to life through his paintings.

Let's be honest.He also doesn't have the patience to sit down and fill up a bunch of journals. Not because his hyperactive persona is true, but because if he allows himself to sit still long. Enough with his thoughts, he gets real dark, real quick. This man wears a mask for the world, but also for himself.

That said he does sing.

Shocker, right? He's a mermaid or a siren or both. However, I have the head cannon that he can switch the siren thing on and off. And so is fully capable of simply singing, however, for him, because he is Lemurian, his "simple singing" is etherealy gorgeous.

Because of this, he only does it in the privacy of his own home when no one is around, except for that short little stint, that he had as an opera singer. But of course, that was for darker purposes and not for enjoyment.

He sings songs that he has written about you. All of them are in ancient tongues, long since passed and faded away to time. And all of them from the different lifetimes that he met you in.

Some songs he sings when he's feeling especially heartbroken and caught up in memories of the past, or overwhelmed with his feelings for you, and those songs are sung in his native tongue- Lemurian.

At first, whenever he is painting or in the zone, doing something and drifting off into a daydream, he hums around you.

Eventually, however, as he allows himself to trust that you're not going anywhere this time and uh relaxes his guard. Enough to allow himself to fall for you again and let you in. Eventually, one night when it's just the 2 of you and the windows are open and the ocean breeze is billowing the sheer, white curtains of his livingroom, the tune He's humming to you, as you lean back against his chest slowly begins to have words.

You don't know the words that he sang, they feel ancient.

But you feel the emotion in the words and by the end of it, you have tears running down your face and the overwhelming urge to hold him tightly and never let him go

The second time he sings for you is less heartbreaking and more warmth and an overwhelming feeling of love.

On days when it's just the two of you, he will sing just for you.

Xavier:

Xavier does not keep journals. However, he did enjoy his captain logs on his ship. And so that is a habit that he has kept with him.

Every once in a while, he will go back to a ship and and enter a new captain's log. All of it has to do with information about you and him trying to find a way to save you from the eventual Fate that awaits in the future on planet Philos.

Periodically a poem will also make an appearance one that he read in a book that stood out to him and reminded him of you.

Sometimes, before you two get close, he'd go to the ship and listen to his pass logs. And remember the you he left behind on that dying planet.

Xavier also sings, and he actually sings quite well for a human. So well, in fact, that one time karaoke with the hunters association, an agency attempted to scout him. (I picture his voice like Keshi- soft spot. If you haven't heard it, listen to it.)

This hidden talent comes as surprise to you. The first time that you hear him, add that karaoke event.

Of course. You knew that he enjoyed music because you often caught him humming when he was doing things around the house or helping you chop vegetables whenever y'all cook together. There was also his record collection that was a dead giveaway. As well.

He doesn't write songs for you, but he will sing songs to you. That make him think of you at first, it's subtle and without him really letting you know, but that's what he's doing. Perhaps you think the 2 of you are just playing around and both of you are singing songs that come on the radio. But eventually, as you get closer, it becomes clear, but it's not by chance- the songs that he picks to sing.

Your favorite is when he sings to you softly. As you rock back-and-forth, slow dancing in your apartment or his or on the balcony, the location doesn't matter.

Somehow, some way swaying softly to the sound of his voice feels like coming home after a long, long journey.

He does also occasionally read to you a poem.

And sometimes you find out the poem, he said aloud to you was actually written by him, and eventually you learn that they were all about you.

[holyadoptionpapersbatman]

Wendolyn "Wendy" Jane

Here's a fic idea that I'll never be able to flesh out because I'm super burned out, but here's my take on a TimKon Clonebaby AU!!

***

So, when Tim was kicked out of the window, he didn't bother to call Kon because he thought the whole encounter he had with him was a hallucination. But, he's calm. And an extra thought he had as he fell was that his and Kon's clone-baby is secured with Martha Kent.

"I can't wait to meet you, Wendy," he says as he falls.

No one catches Tim.

Dick was too late.

Another family member he wasn't fast enough to catch.

***

Kon, Bart, Cassie and the rest of YJ had been devastated when they heard the news. Tim's body was going to be cremated, so chances of him being brought back to life by enemies would be nonexistent.

To comfort himself, Kon walks into the room Wendy had been lightly snoring in.

When Kon came back with Bart, he was surprised to see this baby in Ma's arms, wondering if he actually landed himself in an alternate dimension. But when Ma explained the circumstances of her birth, that Tim tried creating clones of him and Bart to bring them back into his life, Kon gently took the baby into his arms and wept. Then, he went to find Tim.

He didn't think Tim was crazy, but the whole time he was with him, Tim was definitely not in his right mind.

Now, Wendy won't know who her other dad was. Because Tim's gone.

But not completely gone.

Unlike Kon and Bart who left only memories of themselves, Tim left this child. She's not Tim, but she's made with all of his desperation and love.

Kon, after a few hours of mourning, vows to take care of her the best he could.

***

"Pa, why I haf two fiwst names?" Wendy asks one night as she's tucked into bed, after her first day of school. "An' why's my nickname Wendy?"

Kon chuckled. "Your nickname is Wendy because it's the name of my favorite character from my and your daddy's favorite show," he explained, also tucking in her favorite stuffed animal since she was a baby - a chubby, red duck called Mr. Duck. She immediately hugs it close to her and snuggles into its head. Mr. Duck gave out a hearty 'QUACK!' that sounds a lot like Tim's voice.

Kon's heart doesn't ache anymore. Just bursts with love.

Then, picking up the book, 'How to be a Pirate', Kon opens it and flips it to the bookmarked page, a new chapter of when Hiccup and the rest of the Hooligan boys discovers a coffin. This is the 19th time they're reading this book. And it will take 20 more times until they move on to the next book of the How to Train Your Dragon series.

"Your name 'Jane' is from your daddy's mom's name. Her name was 'Janet', and your dad was downright a mama's boy," he continued, causing Wendy to giggle.

"An' Daddy's name's Tim, wight?" she asked.

"Timothy, actually," said Kon. "Timothy Jackson Drake. He has a long name like you. But he likes being called Tim. Just Tim. Not Timmy. Not TJ. And definitely not Timberlina."

Wendy cackles loudly, kicking her legs up and repeating with her lisps Tim's funny 'Timberlina' nickname over and over.

Then, once she's done laughing, Kon starts reading.

The chapter isn't even over and his little girl, his and Tim's little girl, is already asleep.

***

There was a skateboard in the attic. It was right beside this box full of envelopes and journals handwritten by her late Dad, and it had some kind of engine at its base. It also had a whole bunch of scratches on its underside.

It's also one of the most beautiful things 12 years old Wendy had ever seen.

"Pa!" she shouts, running down the stairs to the kitchen, finding Aunt Pru and Aunt Cassie burning down her Pa's stove, like usual. She turns to her Pa who had his head in his hands, most likely trying to calculate how much he needs to buy himself a new stove. "Pa, can we buy me a skateboard?"

Aunt Pru smirks. "Tryin' ta' get cool with the boys, are we?"

Wendy rolls her eyes. Her? Getting cool with the boys? Not a chance. She couldn't fit in with anyone if she tried.

She's heard stories of her dad being able to become friends with anyone, from jocks to nerds. He wasn't popular, but people of all kinds just seem to be able to hang out with him with no trouble.

Not to mention, both of her dads looked unfairly handsome in their teens. It really wasn't fair when the beauty gene doesn't get passed down or genetically inputted into her. Ugh.

But, scratch that!

"Pa! Can we?? Buy a skateboard?"

Pa glanced to his stove. Then to Wendy.

It really wasn't a choice to begin with.

"Sure, I also know someone who could teach you," he said.

***

"YOU ACCIDENTALLY SENT MY DAUGHTER BACK TO THE PAST?!"

Bart rolled his eyes. "It wasn't an accident. She was meant to go for a little time-travel adventure!"

"Of course you'd know that," muttered Kon.

Away from them, Lizzie laughed. "I remember my time-travel adventure!" she said, ignoring Jon's deadpan stare towards her and Damian's completely subtle wince. "I got an A+ on my essay!!"

Kon ignored Lizzie and started pacing the floor. "Our timeline could be changing and we wouldn't even know it!"

"Thank you!" Jon said, throwing his hands up finally feeling validated.

Damian rolled his eyes. "We're fine, aren't we? The universe isn't getting destroyed or fading from existence. Additionally, Allan did mention she was meant to travel back in time."

Bart wiped a fake tear away from his eye. "Thanks, Dames."

Damian scoffed.

On Wendy's side, she was standing right in front of an abandoned warehouse in Paris. Or, to be more specific, an abandoned Lex Corp Cloning Facility.

She clutched the letter in her hand and stepped inside.

'I guess I'm illegally a Parisian,' thought Wendy as she walked through the creepy halls, further down into where the cloning tech could be.

Then, finally, she reached it, the big, green 'ATTEMPT 100 SUCCESS' glaring back at her.

Looking before the railings, she finds a familiar figure. One she's only seen in pictures. But, instead of the strong, smart and confident hero, she sees the most broken and saddest teenager in existence.

"Dad..." she calls, heartbroken.

Her dad's head snap's up, but he slowly stands protectively, clutching the bundle in his arms closer to his chest.

He takes one look at Wendy, and--

He...

He relaxes. He relaxes his hold. His stance. His everything.

He goes up to Wendy, a hand reaching out to gently caress her face.

"You have my mom's eyes," he said.

Wendy smiled back at him. "Yeah," she says, her voice almost a whisper.

"You have Kon's stupid smile, too."

Wendy rolls her eyes. "Pa keeps telling me it's your stupid smile, Dad."

Her Dad laughs. He's almost in disbelief. But.

"How are you here?" he asked.

Wendy opened her mouth, then carefully chose her words. "You left a letter for me. For my sixteenth birthday. I'm not going to get into detail what you wrote in it but, you said it was okay to tell you that you encouraged me to head to the past and--- here I am."

Her dad's brows scrunched together, the same way she saw in stolen pics how her own brows does.

"And you're okay to be in the same... vicinity as... your past self?" he asked.

Wendy nodded her head. "Uncle Damian told me so!"

Her dad laughed, bewildered. "Uncle Damian!?"

Wendy nodded. "He's an ass, but his heart is made of gold." She reached a hand out for her Dad to take. "I have so much family growing up, Dad. I... I have so much to tell you."

Nobody told Wendy how her Dad died. Or when he died. Just that he did.

So, lets her Dad take her to this apartment he rented. It was barely touched, there wasn't even the mess he was known for making. She guesses the mess was down at the clone labs.

But, once the both of them settled down, her dad changed into more comfortable clothing. And. It was almost like looking at a mirror.

Wendy's heart burst with emotion.

From there, they both exchanged stories of their lives until it turned morning.

She watched as how tenderly her Dad held her baby-self with the same love her Pa gave her. She longed for it. But. She couldn't stay any longer. She felt the timer Uncle Bart gave her vibrate in her pocket.

"I have to go back," she said.

Her dad nodded, gently laying her baby self in the middle of the bed. Then, he turned to her with his arms open wide.

Wendy took it. She hugged him back just as tightly.

Then, after a heartfelt goodbye, she left the apartment.

And then, she disappeared home.

[vixstarria]

'Erotic misadventures'

Hello, I wrote this for an April Fools challenge, and now it is your problem.

Challenge terms: The challenge is simple - write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts, and so on!

AO3 link

So I've always had this headcanon that Tav and Astarion perform readings of really bad erotica for the group at camp. This is a depiction of one such evening.

All origin characters.

18+, humor, banter. Is this actually smut? I don't know. I hope not.

Content warnings: ...Yes.

Approx. 1,800 words

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best piece of fiction they’d ever come across.

Meticulously handwritten in a tidy script, the text filled a sizeable journal. “Her Highness’s Erotic Misadventures” read the title. “Thank you for beta reading, Harpy Quinn”, it said at the bottom of the title page, whatever that meant. 

Despite both of them having a professional interest in lewd literature, neither Astarion nor Tav had ever come across this piece before - they doubted it had ever been published. They doubted it could ever be published, for that matter. However, it must have gone through many hands privately - on flipping through the journal it was discovered that the end contained a multitude of little gushing reviews in other people’s writing.

The author must have been one strange individual, with even weirder friends. How embarrassing.

The gang had called it a day and were gathered around the campfire. Astarion and Tav had been taking turns reading from the manuscript, to their companions’ amusement (and, in Gale’s case, vexation).

Despite being seasoned experts in the genre, Wyll and Shadowheart were visibly perturbed (albeit also intrigued) by the piece. Karlach hung on to every word, and even Lae’zel had stopped tending to her weapons to listen to the strange tale spun by the anonymous author. Volo, whose unwarranted presence continued to be tolerated, although no one could quite pinpoint why, was silent, furiously scribbling notes in his own journal. And as for Gale, well…

“This is deplorable,” said Gale, weary disappointment and disdain in his voice. “The only reason I am still here is because none of you can be trusted with the pot.”

 Astarion ignored him and continued to pace around the fire, reading aloud from the journal.

As the title suggested, the story depicted a series of obscene misfortunes which had befallen a hapless princess and her loyal knight. After several chapters of delving into the princess’s tragic and salacious backstory in (frankly bewildering) detail, the narrative had at last moved forward to a scene in which the princess’s knight came to her rescue after she had been kidnapped and taken away to a cave by a dragon. The knight faced the said dragon (who had then taken a dragonborn form for some reason) and its two harpy henchwomen.

“‘Its weak spot is its bussy’, the princess cried out from the cave,” read Astarion. “What in the hells is a ‘bussy’..?” he asked, lifting his head to seek counsel from his companions. 

Everyone around the fire just shook their heads, equally perplexed. 

“Hmm… Well, it seems our hero doesn’t know that word either...” Astarion continued reading.

“‘Puzzled, the paladin took a shot in the dark, cramming her manhood-’ Wait, what? I could have sworn...” Astarion shuffled through the pages. “…Oh she’s got both sets. How convenient… Anyway. …‘Cramming her manhood into the dragonborn’s meatgrinder’.” Astarion frowned again, sitting down next to Karlach.  

“Is the ‘meatgrinder’ the dragonborn’s mouth, or..?” asked Shadowheart.  

“I… think so? There’s not many contextual clues here, it just says that the ‘meatgrinder swirled around her pork sword, stunning her and nearly making her forsake her oath of propriety’.” 

“Well keep going, we’ll figure it out,” Karlach said, impatiently.

“The two harpies swarmed the stunned paladin. A hand deftly shed the paladin’s breastplate, exposing her pearls, whilst another grabbed her by the neck, clawed fingers shredding the remnants of her clothing, as two hands groped and teased her milkbags. She felt a hand creep up the back of her thigh while another hand pulled on her hair, as another crept to her moistening oyster-” Astarion stopped, with an exasperated sigh. “How many hands do these bloody things have?! I’m losing focus.” 

“And the mention of pearls…” Wyll said, thoughtfully. “It’s peculiar, you would think a pearl would be inside the… never mind”.  

 “Shadowheart, could you and Tav assist us with a visual, perchance,” asked Astarion. “I can’t be the only one who can’t keep track.”

“Perhaps I could also be of assis-” started Wyll.  

“Perhaps you could sit right back down,” Astarion warned with a glower. “I'll step in if needed. Where was I..? Ah yes, the err… the milkbags. So there’s definitely two hands there.”  

Both Tav and Shadowheart giggled as Shadowheart stood to join Tav by the fire and reached around Tav to lightly place her hands over the other woman’s breasts.

“Nice,” said Karlach. 

“The harpy pinched her pearls, and pulled her into a deep, ravishing kiss,” Astarion read, looking up expectantly at Tav and Shadowheart.

“Uh… That is not in the book, soldier,” said Karlach, reading over Astarion’s shoulder.  

“Spoilsport,” muttered Astarion. “I was just trying to set the mood before moving forward - the author’s pace is almost too relentless even for me. But fine.” 

Astarion cleared his throat and continued. 

“Then one of the harpies used her hands to pry open the paladin’s clam.” He looked up again. “Well come on, Shadowheart, pry open Tav’s clam.” 

Shadowheart simply laughed and returned to her spot across the fire. 

“If you’re not sure how - we could show you later tonight, if you like,” Astarion called out after her. 

“I’m sure I could give you some pointers on dealing with clams, Astarion,” retorted Shadowheart. 

“Is that so..?” he purred. “Interesting… What about you, Karlach, are you adept with clams?” 

“You know I haven’t had any clams in a decade, fangs!” Karlach groaned. “But before that… They used to just fling themselves at me, already opened, yeah.” 

“Fascinating. Lae’zel?” 

“There are a number of women who have survived bedding me,” the githyanki responded, deadpan. 

“I am… in equal parts concerned and aroused at the thought,” Astarion mulled over her words. 

“I wish anyone could survive bedding me,” grumbled Karlach. 

“There there, darling…” Astarion reached out to carefully pat her on a horn. “Now we all know Gale doesn’t know the first thing about clams…” 

“I’ll have you know, in my ethereal relations with my goddess, our connection was so profound that not only have I experienced her ‘clam’, I have interconnected with it on such a sublime and intimate level, been woven so deeply into it to myself have become part of the clam.” 

Gale’s outburst failed to have the effect he had desired, as the group struggled to contain themselves, wheezing and huffing for air. 

“Thank you, Gale, I don’t believe I’ll be able to get that image out of my mind anytime soon,” Astarion continued, trying to maintain his composure. “Wyll..? How fare you with prying clams open?” 

“Well…” The warlock began, with a smile. “I find, that the best way to go about it is to allow the clam to open of its own accord, from heat. From it getting sufficiently… steamy, if I may. I would never simply invade one with my blade.” 

Astarion was about to say something but just chortled instead. 

“Wyll, you rapscallion, every time I think I have you figured out-” 

“What happens next with the harpies?” Came an impatient call from Lae’zel. 

“Yes, give me that, you’re taking too long,” said Tav, snatching the journal back from Astarion. She continued to pace around the fire as she recited: 

“The dragonborn stood before the browbeaten paladin, reveling in her anguish. Even had the harpies not had a firm grasp on the paladin and her unmentionables, she would not have known how to approach the dragonborn – the loathsome creature was covered in impenetrable scales. Its mouth sported rows upon rows of sharp teeth – the only reason it allowed the paladin’s mutton machete out unscathed must have been because it had worse yet torments in mind for it.

The creature turned its back on the paladin, to roar tauntingly at the princess somewhere in the cave. 

‘Behold, as I turn your valiant saviour into naught but a pathetic cumdumpster!’

As it turned its back, the paladin glimpsed a narrow, pink orifice beneath its tail.” 

Karlach and Wyll gasped in unison.  

“The bussy!” Lae’zel hissed in a hushed whisper. 

“The paladin drew on the last of her divine power to throw the harpies off, smiting them unconscious, and plunged her hand into the dragonborn’s puckered hole.” 

“I am going to be sick,” moaned Gale. 

“The dragonborn cackled and flexed their beef ring, tightening its grasp on the paladin’s hand. The paladin reeled in horror, as the dragonborn’s poop chute seemed to suck the paladin’s hand further in, like fleshy quicksand, whilst threatening to snap her wrist.”

A tear of anguish slid down Gale’s cheek.

“It cannot be! Was the bussy a trap?!” came an outcry from Lae’zel.

“No! It could not end this way. Her entire life and all her training had been preparing her for this,” Tav read. “What in the hells, really?” she muttered, before continuing. “In that moment, she knew that the only way out - was through. The paladin took a deep breath and PLUNGED her arm deeper into the dragonborn’s vile cavity,” Tav exclaimed, throwing her own fist in the the air, to the sound of Astarion’s uncontrollable giggling and everyone else’s gasps.

“The dragonborn yelped and tried to expel the paladin’s arm from their pulsating dirtbox, to no avail. The paladin was now elbow deep in the mud dungeon. The two continued to wrestle, the paladin’s arm pumping deeper and deeper into the dragonborn’s dank portal.”

“I fear I may need to tap out soon,” warned Wyll.

“Weakling!” Lae’zel and Shadowheart said in unison, before glaring at one another.

No one, including Karlach herself, could tell whether she was laughing or crying.

“At last, the dragonborn seemed to accept its fate, quivering and taking the paladin’s arm nearly shoulder-deep. The creature grunted and groaned, before stilling, only to unleash an earth-shaking roar, finally forcefully expunging the paladin’s arm in a spray of gooey, milky spunk, as it collapsed on the ground, convulsing, clearly too incapacitated to be of any further threat.”

“Supper is ready,” wept Gale. 

“Shall I take over while you eat?” Astarion asked, to Gale’s immediate renewed protestation.

“That’s alright, I think we should take some mercy on Gale and pause here for the day,” said Tav. “Although let me peek ahead, perhaps it’s tame enough.” She took the journal and flipped forward a few pages. “Oh my…” came a surprised murmur from Tav. “You’ll never guess what happens to the princess and her knight… This may be a problem if we want to continue to visualise this masterpiece properly.” 

“Oh? Dare I ask..?” Astarion was giddy with anticipation. 

“Well… There are now… Five… Six… No, seven! Seven dwarves, who have appeared in the cave.” 

“Goodness gracious,” lamented Astarion. “We will never keep track of all the body parts… Perhaps if Withers steps in to help..? Would you prefer to be the princess or the knight, darling? You can choose, I’ll take the other role.” 

“I am going to use that journal for kindling tomorrow,” said Gale. 

“NO!” came a collective shout from the rest of the group. 

~~~~~

Sorry about the psychic damage, come check out my other work if you dare.

~~~~~

Tagging the usual plus some people who I think might also be doing / were interested in this:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @pursuitseternal @comatosebunny09 @kittenintheden @bardic-inspo @tavyliasin

[daniiiboo]

day 8 - Christmas Eve traditions - mv1

summary - You and Max have a unique tradition that only the two of you share every christmas eve.

trigger warnings - nothing unless your triggered by CUTENESS

dani's thoughts - HOLY COW AHRHRHRHRHRHRHRH I LOVE THIS

word count - 496

find the rest of my 12 days of chrismas here !

The snow fell softly outside the window, blanketing the world in a quiet stillness. The living room was warm and cozy, illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree. Strings of white lights wrapped around its branches, and ornaments collected over the years told a story of shared memories.

You were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked beneath you and a steaming mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Max sat beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch, his other hand absently twirling a candy cane between his fingers.

It was Christmas Eve, your favorite night of the year. Not because of the presents or the big family dinner waiting for tomorrow, but because of the tradition you and Max had started years ago.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. “You ready?”

You smiled, setting your mug down on the coffee table.

“I’ve been ready all day.”

Max leaned forward and grabbed the small, wrapped box sitting under the tree, handing it to you with a crooked grin.

“You first this year.”

This was the tradition. Every Christmas Eve, the two of you exchanged one special gift. It wasn’t about grand gestures or expensive surprises, it was about finding something meaningful, something that spoke to the connection you shared.

You carefully unwrapped the paper, your fingers trembling slightly from excitement. Inside was a small wooden box. You opened it to reveal a delicate charm bracelet, each charm representing a memory you and Max had made together, a tiny car for his first championship, a plane for your shared trips around the world, a snowflake for the winters you’d spent in each other’s arms.

“Max…” Your voice caught in your throat as you looked up at him. “It’s perfect.”

He smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I just wanted something that could remind you of us, of everything we’ve been through.”

You reached out and squeezed his hand, your heart full.

“Okay, your turn,” you said, grabbing the small package you’d hidden beneath a cushion earlier.

Max raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, as he tore through the wrapping paper. Inside was a leather-bound journal, its cover embossed with his initials. When he opened it, he found the first few pages already filled with handwritten notes and photographs of moments the two of you had shared—your first date, road trips, quiet mornings, and candid snapshots of him laughing when he thought you weren’t looking.

“You always say you’re too busy to remember the little things,” you explained, “so I thought I’d help you keep track of them.”

Max stared at the pages for a moment before looking back at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I don’t know how you always manage to outdo me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You laughed, leaning into him.

“It’s not a competition, Max.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“Well, if it was, you’d win.”

As the snow continued to fall outside, the two of you sat together, flipping through memories, creating new ones, and reveling in a tradition that was yours.