Tides Of Change

Hello 👋,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Aziz, and I’m reaching out with a heartfelt plea to help my family find safety and reunite with our mother. 😞

The ongoing war in Gaza has torn my family apart. My mother and newborn sister are stranded in Egypt, while I, along with the rest of my sex family members, am trapped in the midst of the genocide in Gaza. We have not only been separated but have also lost our home and are enduring unimaginable hardships. 💔

Your support can make a difference. Whether by reading our story, donating, or sharing our campaign with others, you can help us reunite, find safety, and start anew. 🙏🕊

Thank you, from the depths of my heart, for your kindness, compassion, and solidarity during this difficult time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/58268669 🔗

Yall know the drill— anyone on this app can share and spread awareness. If you can, donate and spread hope. Anyone can be a bystander and relax in their own homes, but if this happened to any of us, we’d depend on upstanders. Be an upstander. Time waits for no one, so neither should you.

And frankly, to hell with who supports who. People are dying. People are getting relocated— losing their loved ones. It’s not about who you support, its about the fact that lives are being lost. If you can do something about it, do it.

-TisAyeMate

Stormbound

Thalia Grace x Percy Jackson

fluffy

Summary: Thalia and Percy navigate the unspoken tension between them, where a single confession could change everything.

Request by @Blake7255 on Wattpad:

I have a request for Perlia from Percy Jackson where Thalia has a big crush on Percy when she first sees him when she gets out of her tree without realizing that he has a even bigger one on her 1 year later she decides to give herself a makeover to try to get his attention dyeing her hair blonde and giving herself big curly hair and wearing a purple dress after she gets done she decides to tell Percy how she feels and asks him out they go on their first date and kiss at the end and on Percy 21 birthday he asks her to marry him and the end can be the wedding thank you for your time

story under the cut

The First Glance

Thalia Grace wasn’t the type to swoon, okay? She didn’t do hearts-and-flowers crap. But the moment she stepped out of that stupid tree, she locked eyes with Percy Jackson, and the world stilled.

He was sweaty, shirt clinging to him as he fought some monster she couldn’t care less about because—damn it—why did he have to look like that? Her pulse quickened, and her lip curled to hide it. Great, my first day back, and I’m already losing my edge.

Meanwhile, Percy froze mid-swing, staring at her like she’d walked out of a dream. He shook it off and grinned, that lazy, lopsided grin that made her stomach flip. “Thalia, huh? You’re taller than I imagined.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re dumber than I thought.”

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he murmured, but his heart was pounding because—yeah, Zeus’s kid was terrifyingly gorgeous.

The Year That Followed

Their banter became routine. A jab, a smirk, a laugh that lingered just a second too long. Everyone saw it—the way Percy’s eyes lit up when Thalia entered a room, the way she softened (just barely) when he was near. But they ignored it, both too stubborn to admit what was blindingly obvious.

It came to a head one night during a campfire. Percy, oblivious as ever, was joking with Annabeth, and Thalia’s stomach twisted. She hated how her chest tightened whenever he laughed with someone else, how her eyes darted to him even when she didn’t mean to. Get it together, Grace.

Later, when she caught him by the lake, she couldn’t help herself. “You and Annabeth sure are cozy.”

Percy turned, confused. “Annabeth? She’s like my sister.”

“Sure she is,” Thalia snapped, hating the heat in her voice.

He stepped closer, brows furrowed. “What’s your deal, Thalia? You’ve been acting weird.”

“My deal?” she shot back, stepping closer too, electricity crackling in the air between them. “You’re the one who—” She cut herself off, clenching her fists. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Percy stared at her, his voice softer now. “Thalia…”

She shook her head and walked away before he could see the storm in her eyes.

The Makeover

Thalia hated feeling vulnerable. That’s why she decided to take control. If Percy couldn’t see her as more than his sparring buddy, then she’d make him.

The golden curls were Aphrodite’s idea. “Blonde will make his heart stop,” the love goddess had said with a wink. Thalia hated that she was probably right.

When she finished, she barely recognized herself. The purple dress felt strange, too soft against her skin. But her reflection smirked back at her. Let’s see you ignore me now, Jackson.

The Confession

When Percy saw her, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked, twice, as if trying to process what he was seeing. “Thalia… you… wow.”

Her heart raced, but she played it cool. “You like it?”

“Uh… yeah, you could say that,” he stammered, cheeks flushing. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.” She shrugged, stepping closer, her confidence wavering only slightly. “I just… wanted to try something new.”

He was staring at her like she’d hung the stars herself, and it made her stomach flip.

“Look, Percy,” she started, her voice quieter now, “I need to say something, and I need you to not laugh.”

“I’d never laugh at you,” he said, his voice steady now, serious in a way that made her chest ache.

“I like you,” she blurted. “And not in the let’s-train-until-we-drop way. I mean, I really like you. I think I have since the day we met.”

Silence. The kind that stretched too long and made her want to bolt.

Then Percy took a step forward, his voice low. “Thalia, do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that?”

Her breath hitched. “What?”

“I’ve liked you since… forever,” he admitted, his hand brushing hers. “I just thought you’d deck me if I told you.”

“Not deck you,” she said, her lips twitching into a smirk. “Maybe zap you, though.”

He grinned. “I’d take it.”

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t soft or tentative—it was a storm, wild and consuming, leaving them both breathless.

The Proposal

On Percy’s 21st birthday, he knelt on the same beach where they’d shared their first kiss. Thalia stood before him, arms crossed but eyes shimmering.

“What are you doing, Jackson?” she asked, though her voice was lighter than usual.

“Something I should’ve done ages ago,” he said, pulling out a ring shaped like a thunderbolt. “Thalia Grace, will you marry me?”

For once, she was speechless. She stared at him, her mind racing, her heart pounding. Then, with a shaky laugh, she muttered, “Took you long enough, Seaweed Brain.”

The Wedding

The wedding was chaos, of course. Leo set something on fire, Apollo flirted with the entire bridal party, and Zeus glared at Percy the whole time.

But when Thalia walked down the aisle, curls bouncing, blue eyes locked on Percy’s, none of it mattered.

“You ready for forever, Jackson?” she whispered when they met at the altar.

“With you? Always,” he said, grinning.

And when they kissed, the sky erupted in lightning and waves, a perfect storm for a perfect pair.

Lucky

Peter Hayes x small!Reader

Idk what to call it at this point. Not fluffy enough to be a fluff or angsty enough to be angst. Just for your amusement ig.

Summary: Peter Hayes has always thrived on cruelty, sneering at others’ weaknesses to make himself look stronger. But when you—a quiet, seemingly small Dauntless initiate—beat him in a trial, he’s forced to see you in a different light. 

AN: in this one, I imagined it to be that reader is small in size and often undermined but you could imagine it and tailor it to your preference. (Maybe that she just SEEMS weak or smth)

The lights of the Dauntless training room cast long shadows across the stone floor, the sound of fists hitting punching bags and the grunts of effort filling the air. You stood off to the side, small and unassuming compared to the towering forms of the other initiates. But looks, as you’d proven time and time again, were deceiving.

You cracked your knuckles absentmindedly, watching as Peter Hayes towered over some poor recruit, a smirk curling his lips. Peter thrived on being intimidating. He fed off the fear that shimmered in the eyes of those around him, always sneering, always two steps ahead of his peers—if not in skill, then in sheer malice. He was, in many ways, the embodiment of Dauntless’ harshest traits.

But today, things were about to change.

"Alright, fight time," Eric barked, pacing along the sidelines like a predator circling its prey. His cold gaze swept over the group before landing on you. His lip curled in an almost-smile. "You."

Everyone’s eyes snapped to you, and you didn’t flinch under their scrutiny. If anything, you felt a rush of adrenaline course through you. The room grew quieter, expectant, as Eric nodded toward Peter. "You’re up against him."

Peter's smirk widened. He didn’t even try to hide his amusement. "Really? This ought to be good."

You rolled your shoulders back, stepping into the circle without a word, feeling the weight of all the eyes on you. But you were used to being underestimated. It was your advantage, your weapon.

Peter sauntered forward, cracking his neck as if the fight was already won. His confidence radiated like a toxic cloud, infecting the room with tension. His smirk deepened as he came to a stop a few feet from you, towering over your smaller frame.

"You sure you’re up for this, sweetheart?" he drawled, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

You ignored the taunt. There was no need to respond. The game had already begun, and Peter just didn’t know it yet.

"Fight!" Eric’s voice echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Peter moved fast, closing the distance between you in a single step, his fist swinging toward your face with brutal force. But you were faster. You ducked, sidestepping at the last second, causing him to stumble forward.

His eyes narrowed as he straightened, his smirk faltering for just a second. "Lucky."

But luck had nothing to do with it.

The next few seconds were a blur of motion. Peter lunged again, his movements aggressive, fueled by arrogance. Each time, you dodged or blocked with fluid precision, making him look clumsy. The others watched in stunned silence, whispering among themselves as you began to gain the upper hand.

Peter’s frustration grew, evident in the tightening of his jaw, the wild swing of his fists. He wasn’t used to losing—especially not to someone who looked like you.

Finally, you saw your opening. Peter’s guard dropped for just a moment, and that was all you needed. You spun on your heel, sweeping his legs out from under him with a swift kick. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, the air knocked out of him as you stood over him, victorious.

For a moment, the room was still. Peter lay on the ground, eyes wide with shock, while you stood above him, not a single drop of sweat on your brow.

Then, slowly, Eric’s voice cut through the silence. "Impressive."

It was one word, barely a compliment, but from Eric, it might as well have been a standing ovation. His expression remained unreadable, but the flicker of approval in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Eric wasn’t one to show emotion, especially when it came to initiates, but even he had to respect what you’d just pulled off.

Peter groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his cocky façade crumbling as he wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. He glared at you, anger boiling beneath the surface, but there was something else there too—something he would never admit. Respect.

"You got lucky," Peter growled, brushing himself off.

You met his glare head-on, unflinching. "No, I’m just better."

There it was—plain, simple truth. And Peter, for once, had no snarky reply. He clenched his jaw, still trying to nurse his bruised ego, but the look in his eyes told you that he knew. He knew you weren’t someone to mess with.

Later, after everyone had left the training room, you sat alone, wrapping a bandage around a scrape on your hand. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving you with a dull ache in your muscles and the satisfying knowledge that you’d bested Peter Hayes.

But you didn’t have long to savor the victory.

"You really think you’re something, don’t you?" A voice sneered from behind.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Peter’s smug tone was unmistakable. You rolled your eyes, continuing to bandage your hand.

"I mean, you got lucky once, but let’s not pretend like you’ll always come out on top," Peter continued, stepping into your line of sight. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face again. "You’re just a little fighter who had a lucky day. Don’t let it get to your head."

You glanced up at him, unfazed. "Sure, Peter. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Peter’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t act like you’re better than everyone. We both know you don’t belong here. Just a little girl playing soldier."

The words were meant to sting, but they rolled off you like water. You had heard worse, from worse people. Peter’s insults weren’t anything new, and they certainly didn’t get under your skin the way he hoped they would.

You stood up, facing him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "It’s cute how you think you can still intimidate me after I wiped the floor with you today."

Peter’s face darkened. "Watch your mouth."

You shrugged, turning to leave. "I don’t need to watch anything. I’ve already seen enough."

Peter opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out. For the first time, it seemed like he had no comeback, no witty insult to throw at you. You walked away, leaving him standing there, simmering in his bruised ego and thinly veiled frustration.

As you left the room, you couldn’t help but smirk. Peter might never stop trying to tear you down, but you weren’t going to let him win. Not today, not ever.

Hello, could I make a oneshot request?

of course! My inbox is open, so please do give me your suggestions and requests 🥰

Crossfire

Tangerine (Bullet train) x Assassin!Reader

Fluff, tension, quite a bit of violence and gore

Summary: Tangerine and Reader fight over the case

AN: lil’ late night b’day surprise. I haven’t written for bullet train before but seeing as I can’t stop thinking about it… here you go.

Story under the cut

The bullet train cut through the night like a sleek predator, its hum vibrating beneath your boots as you adjusted your grip on the briefcase. Codename: The Bolt. You were known for precision and speed, and tonight had been no exception. Snatching the case from under everyone’s nose? Easy. Escaping unnoticed? Nearly perfect.

Nearly.

"You’re taking the piss, right?" a sharp British voice rang out behind you.

You froze, shoulders tensing. Turning slowly, you weren’t surprised to find Tangerine leaning casually against the doorway, a silenced pistol in one hand and his ever-present scowl in place. His crisp suit was speckled with blood—someone else’s, judging by how unbothered he looked.

"I don’t have time for this, Tangerine," you said flatly, edging the briefcase behind you.

He smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Don’t flatter yourself, Bolt. It’s not you I’m here for." His blue eyes flicked to the case you clutched like a lifeline. "Hand it over, and I might let you walk off this train in one piece."

"Still running errands for White Death, I see," you quipped, ignoring his demand. "What’s the matter? Can’t hack it on your own?"

The sharp click of him cocking his gun was the only answer you needed.

"You think I won’t shoot you?" he said, voice low and deadly.

"You won’t," you replied, matching his tone.

His eyes narrowed. "Try me."

For a moment, the train was filled with nothing but the metallic rattle of tracks and the hum of electricity. You didn’t blink. Neither did he.

Then, in a flash, you hurled the briefcase at him, sending him stumbling back just enough for you to draw your knife.

He recovered quickly, dodging your first swipe and lunging forward, his gun narrowly grazing your arm before you twisted it out of his grip. The weapon clattered to the floor, but he didn’t pause, slamming you back against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

"Is this really worth dying for, love?" he growled, pressing his forearm against your collarbone.

"Funny," you gasped, shoving him back with a knee to his stomach. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

He staggered but recovered, grabbing your wrist before you could strike again. The two of you struggled, bodies locked in a brutal dance as the train swayed beneath you. The tension in the air was palpable, crackling with the kind of energy that blurred the line between hatred and something far more dangerous.

"You always this scrappy, or is it just me?" he taunted, wrenching your knife from your grasp and tossing it aside.

"Don’t flatter yourself," you spat, shoving him into the nearest seat.

But before you could grab the briefcase, he was on you again, pinning your arms to the wall. His face was inches from yours now, his breath hot against your cheek.

"Always knew you were trouble," he said, voice a low murmur.

"Then you should’ve stayed out of my way," you hissed, twisting free and grabbing the briefcase just as—

"Oi, Tangerine!" Lemon’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. He stood at the opposite end of the car, looking exasperated. "You handling this, or do I need to step in?"

Tangerine shot him a murderous look. "I’ve got it."

"Doesn’t look like it," Lemon replied. "She’s still got the bloody case, doesn’t she?"

"You’ve got bigger problems," you interjected, your voice sharp. Both men turned to see you standing by the door, holding up a detonator you’d lifted from Tangerine’s pocket during the scuffle.

His eyes widened. "You cheeky—"

The rest of his insult was cut off as you triggered the smoke canister, filling the train car with a thick, choking cloud.

"You absolute cow!" Tangerine bellowed, coughing as he and Lemon stumbled through the haze.

You used the chaos to slip into the next car, sprinting down the aisle. Freedom was so close you could taste it.

Then, just as you reached the connecting door, a familiar face appeared in your path.

"Whoa, hey!" Ladybug said, holding up his hands. "Let’s all just take a breather, yeah? No need to escalate this—"

Before he could finish, the briefcase was ripped from your grasp.

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped as Ladybug tucked it under his arm.

"Hey, don’t blame me," he said defensively. "I just got roped into this mess, okay? I’m just trying to—"

Tangerine and Lemon burst through the smoke, both looking thoroughly pissed.

"Well, well," Tangerine said, his gaze locking onto you with a mix of irritation and admiration. "Looks like the Bolt’s still got some tricks up her sleeve."

"Focus," Lemon hissed, pointing at Ladybug. "He’s got the case!"

The four of you froze, staring at each other like a dysfunctional tableau.

"Right," Ladybug muttered, taking a slow step back. "I’m just gonna…go now."

And with that, he bolted, leaving the three of you to glare after him.

Tangerine sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Bloody Americans."

You smirked, leaning against the wall. "Looks like you’re not as good as you think you are."

He turned to you, jaw tight. "Don’t push your luck, Bolt."

"Or what?" you shot back, taking a step closer. "You’ll try to stop me again?"

The tension between you was electric, the air thick with unspoken challenges. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something biting, something that would cut as sharply as your words.

Instead, he leaned in, his voice low and dangerous. "Next time, I won’t go easy on you."

"Good," you replied, your smirk widening. "I’d hate for this to get boring."

Hi Lauren, happy new year!! 🥳 I hope you had a great start to the year and that it’ll bring you all good and joyful things!!

Would it be okay to make a request with Newt Scamander and reader? You see I’ve watched the 2nd movie again, and I was so sad that Teddy got hurt while helping Newt retrieving the blood pact pendant, I know he healed well, but I felt like ripping Newt a new one, although know he must feel bad for it too. She’s very kind, quiet, intelligent, and usually very calm, but when she finds about this, she really rips a new one and everyone is shocked of her outburst and Newt is all on his own in this. She tends to Teddy and spoils him rotten while he heals and Newt is in the dog house (no kisses, no hugs, no nothing for a while).

Frost

Newt Scamander x reader

Angsty but cute

Summary: When Teddy gets hurt, she turns cold, leaving Newt to earn back her trust while she spoils their injured Niffler rotten.

AN: Thank you lovely anon! Happy New Year to you too! I’d hope that you have the best, most fulfilling year you can get. I thought this was a pretty cute idea (it too broke me to see Teddy injured.) So I hope I got this plot right, this is the first ask that I’ve ever received so I’m really stoked for this. (You have no idea how excited I got when I saw this) Once again, thank you for asking. If I haven’t gotten it right, don’t be afraid to pop into my inbox/messages to drop down some constructive criticism/ amendments to make. Without further ado, let’s get to it!

Story under the cut

Newt Scamander sat at the wooden table in the small kitchen of your shared home, his hands wringing together anxiously. The usual warmth in the room seemed to have vanished, replaced by an icy tension that clung to every surface. Across from him, you paced back and forth, your quiet demeanor utterly shattered.

"You—you let him get hurt!" you snapped, your voice cracking with the sheer force of your emotions. Teddy, the mischievous Niffler who usually brought joy and chaos in equal measure, lay tucked in a makeshift bed by the fireplace, his tiny paw wrapped in bandages.

Newt flinched at your tone. "I didn’t mean for—"

"Didn’t mean to?!" you cut him off, your usual calm and gentle nature nowhere to be found. "You knew he’d follow you into danger! He always does because he adores you, Newt! And look at him now!"

Your voice, usually so soothing, now carried a sharp edge that startled even you. But the sight of Teddy injured, his usual cheeky energy dulled by pain, had unleashed a storm within you that couldn’t be contained. You glared at Newt, your chest heaving as you struggled to keep your composure.

"He was trying to help," Newt said softly, his voice thick with guilt. "I never wanted him to get hurt, love. I… I thought I could keep him safe."

"Well, you didn’t!" you snapped, and Newt’s head hung lower. "He’s just a baby, Newt! A baby! And you dragged him into some reckless mission that could have… that could have…" Your voice broke, and you turned away, blinking back tears.

Newt stood slowly, his hands reaching out to you, but you stepped away, your arms crossing protectively over your chest. "Don’t," you warned. "Not until I… not until I can trust you again."

He froze, his outstretched hand dropping to his side. The weight of your words settled heavily on his shoulders, and he looked over at Teddy, who stirred slightly in his bed. Newt’s heart ached with guilt and sorrow.

Turning your back on Newt, you knelt by Teddy, stroking his fur gently. "Oh, my sweet boy," you murmured, your voice trembling with affection. "You’re so brave, aren’t you? But no more heroics, you hear me? You’re going to rest and recover, and I’ll take care of you."

Teddy let out a small, contented chirp, his little paw curling around your finger. You smiled softly, tears threatening to spill over again as you whispered promises of treats and snuggles to the injured creature.

Behind you, Newt watched helplessly, his heart breaking at the sight of you turning all your love and attention toward Teddy while he was left out in the cold. For days, the frostiness between you lingered. You tended to Teddy with tender care, showering him with affection and little treats, while Newt remained in the doghouse. No hugs, no kisses, no soft smiles meant for him—only the occasional glance, and even those were weighted with disappointment.

One evening, desperate to make things right, Newt crept into the kitchen while you were preparing Teddy’s dinner. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors dulled slightly by his nervous grip.

"I picked these for you," he said tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know they can’t make up for what happened, but I wanted to… to show you how sorry I am."

You paused, glancing at the flowers before returning your focus to the task at hand. "It’s not flowers I need, Newt," you said quietly. "I need to know you’ll think before putting him in harm’s way again."

Newt’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded earnestly. "I promise. I’ll do better. I… I’ll earn back your trust."

Your hands stilled, and you turned to face him fully. The sincerity in his eyes melted a bit of the ice around your heart, but you weren’t ready to forgive completely. Not yet. "It’s going to take time, Newt."

"I’ll wait," he said without hesitation. "As long as it takes."

For the first time in days, a faint smile tugged at your lips. "Alright," you said softly. "Now go sit with Teddy. He’s missed you."

Newt’s face brightened, and he hurried to Teddy’s side, his fingers brushing gently over the Niffler’s fur. As you watched them, the warmth began to seep back into the room, a small step toward mending what had been broken.

Writing Tips Master Post

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Suicidal Urges/Martyr Complex

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative:

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

1000 Follower Post

2000 Follower Poll

Writing Fantasy

Christmas at The Burrow

Harry, Hermione, the Weasleys, Sirius, Remus (and all the other good characters) X Reader

Fluff

Summary: A bad day melts into laughter, love, and chaos at the Weasley’s on Christmas.

AN: Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!

story under the cut

The Burrow, as usual, was glowing with warm light and the sound of clattering dishes, laughter, and chatter spilling out even before you reached the door. You hesitated, your earlier frustrations from the day clinging to you like a stubborn shadow. But before you could even raise a hand to knock, the door burst open, and Fred’s grinning face appeared.

“There she is!” he crowed, pulling you inside as George popped up behind him.

“Late as always,” George said, shaking his head dramatically. “It’s a wonder you ever make it anywhere at all.”

“Oh, leave her alone,” Ginny said, sidling up to you and taking your coat. “Come on, sit down, get comfy. Mum’s been waiting to stuff you full of food all day.”

“I have not! I’ve just made a bit of stew and treacle tart, that’s all,” Molly called from the kitchen, where she was stirring something that smelled divine.

“Stew? Treacle tart?!” Ron perked up from the table, where he was already halfway through a biscuit.

“Save some for the rest of us, Ron,” Hermione scolded, though her soft smile was already directed at you. “Come on, sit with us. You look like you need a good laugh.”

Harry leaned forward from his seat, glasses slightly askew. “We’ve been plotting how to cheer you up all day,” he said, grinning. “And we’re excellent at it, if I do say so myself.”

“We are excellent,” Fred corrected. “Harry’s role in the operation is just sitting there looking tragic.”

“Oi!” Harry protested, though he was laughing too.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Sirius’s deep voice boomed from the armchair near the fire. He stood, a cheeky grin plastered across his face, and made his way to you. “Come here, kid.”

Before you could say anything, Sirius pulled you into a firm, fatherly hug, holding you close like he’d known you needed it. “You’re with us now,” he murmured into your hair. “No bad moods allowed. Got it?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“That’s better.” He pulled back but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “Now, sit. Eat. We’ve got plans, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

The plans turned out to be a mix of dinner, chaos, and ultimately, a movie night. After Molly served up her famous stew (with Neville nervously asking for seconds, clearly trying not to look greedy) and Fred managed to accidentally charm a bread roll to scream when bitten into, Ginny declared, “Alright, enough. It’s movie time.”

“Movie?” Luna’s dreamy voice piped up. “Oh, I do love Muggle contraptions.”

“Tonight’s feature: Home Alone 2: Lost in New York,” Hermione announced, holding up the DVD case like it was a sacred text.

“What’s it about?” Fleur asked, her lilting accent drawing curious looks from Cedric and Neville, who were already settling on the couch.

“Traps, chaos, and Christmas,” Harry explained simply, grabbing a bowl of popcorn and flopping onto the sofa next to Ron.

Soon, everyone was crammed into the Weasleys’ cozy living room. Sirius, with his arm draped around your shoulders like a comforting anchor, pulled you close.

The movie started, and it didn’t take long for the chaos to spread.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Fred said, pointing as Kevin tricked the hotel staff with his recorded messages.

“Can you imagine using that on Filch?” George added, cackling.

“Forget Filch,” Ron said, mouth full of popcorn. “I’d use it on Snape.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione scolded, though she was laughing along with everyone else.

“Well I know I’d pay to see it,” Remus mused, chuckling at the thought.

When Kevin’s elaborate traps started, Ginny groaned. “Imagine the cleanup after that. No thanks.”

“Cleanup?!” Sirius roared with laughter. “Ginny, it’s art! Pure, chaotic genius!”

“Poor burglars,” Luna mused, tilting her head thoughtfully. “They really should’ve worn helmets.”

As the Wet Bandits stumbled through the traps, Cedric winced every time something crashed or cracked. “That’s gotta hurt,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You’d think they’d give up after the first house,” Neville added.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Harry said, grinning.

By the time the credits rolled, the room was filled with laughter and leftover popcorn scattered across every available surface. Sirius ruffled your hair affectionately. “Feeling better, kid?”

You nodded, smiling for what felt like the first time all day. “Yeah, I am.”

“Good,” Remus said from his spot by the fire, where he’d been quietly sipping tea and chuckling at the madness. “Because around here, happiness is non-negotiable.”

As you were pulled into a group hug orchestrated by Fred and George (complete with Ginny trying to shove Ron’s popcorn bowl out of the way), you realized that no matter how tough the day had been, you had a family here—a wonderfully loud, chaotic, loving family who could make you laugh until your sides hurt.

“Merry Christmas and a happy new year ya filthy animals!”

And as Fred squeezed your shoulder one last time before heading to the kitchen for a second helping of treacle tart, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was going to be alright.

Always

Newt (Maze Runner) x Reader

Fluff

Summary: Newt and reader having a moment to themselves where they feel safe together

The sun had started to sink beyond the maze walls, casting the Glade in a warm, golden glow. Shadows stretched long across the ground, softening the harsh edges of their surroundings and bathing everything in a warm light. You and Newt had found a quiet moment, away from the chaos and the routine of the Glade, to just be.

He had his arm around you as you both sat in the soft grass, leaning against the sturdy trunk of a tree near the edge of the forest. A gentle breeze tugged at the wild curls of his hair, and he absentmindedly ran a hand through it, his eyes drifting dreamily along the distant horizon.

“Feels like we’re on top of the world, doesn’t it?” you murmured, breaking the silence with a soft, contented sigh. You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Newt looked down at you, his eyes alight with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “With you here, love,” he said, voice tender, “we might as well be.”

You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “That’s corny, even for you.”

But he just grinned, unbothered, letting his hand fall to trace gentle patterns along your arm. His touch was light, calming, grounding you in a way only Newt could. It was as if the whole world faded away, leaving only this small, perfect moment with him.

As you both watched the sky darken and the first stars appear, he shifted to look at you more closely. “I know this place isn’t much,” he started, a bit hesitant. “But… I want you to know that with you, even the Glade feels like somewhere special.”

You felt your cheeks flush, warmth blossoming in your chest. He was like that—always making you feel like you were someone irreplaceable, like you were everything to him. You lifted a hand, brushing a lock of hair from his face, letting your fingers linger along his jaw. “It’s you that makes it special for me, too,” you said softly. “No place could ever be too dark, not with you in it.”

For a moment, he looked at you in that way he sometimes did, the way that made you feel like there was nothing else he saw. His fingers intertwined with yours, holding your hand firmly as if he’d never let go.

“Promise me,” he whispered, voice carrying an unspoken worry, as if something beyond your view haunted him. “No matter what happens… you’ll be here, with me.”

You gave him a smile, squeezing his hand. “Newt... we can't guarantee—"

He lifted your chin ever so gently, cutting you off. "Promise me."

"Always."

He took your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his eyes lingering on yours with something deeper—a quiet understanding. A silent promise.

And for that moment, everything felt whole. You knew there would be dark days and shadows still to come, but as long as you had this, as long as you could hold onto each other, it was enough.

Yet, somewhere in his gaze, you thought you caught a fleeting hint of something—fear, perhaps, or the kind of acceptance only seen in someone who understood that some things, no matter how much love could try to hold them, couldn’t last forever.

𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

started: 18/10/24

Marvel

Maze Runner

Hunger Games

Harry Potter

Note: I write for PostAzkaban!Sirius Black and Professor!Remus Lupin (not in the marauders era, because there just aren’t enough people who write about the older men)

Fantastic Beasts

Star Wars

Top Gun

Divergent

Disney/Pixar (animations)

Other movies

(will be consistently monitored and updated, hang tight)