ΛᄂƬΉΣΛ

HELLO MY BELOVED CHAOS GREMLINS, gather round because my lungs have delivered yet another unsolicited plot twist. My asthma took one look at my schedule, decided it was bored, and pulled a full dramatic collapse like a Victorian maiden who saw an exposed ankle. One second I’m minding my business, the next I’m wheezing like a demonically possessed accordion someone found in a cursed attic.
          
          My mother: “How are you even making that noise?”
          Me: “Talent.”
          
          Anyway, I live. I’m fine. I have bullied my lungs back into cooperating through sheer spite and modern medicine. There was a brief moment where I considered stapling my inhaler directly to my hand, but apparently that’s “not medically endorsed,” or whatever.
          
          AND for everyone clutching their pearls in the comments: no, I have NOT abandoned Totally Cursed. That unholy little project is still alive, still hissing at me from across the room, still demanding offerings of caffeine and attention. I swear it’s actually gaining sentience at this point. I walk past my drafts folder and hear faint growling.
          
          So yes, the chaos continues, the writing continues, the lungs continue (begrudgingly), and I will return to regular scheduled unhinged behaviour the moment my respiratory system stops acting like it’s on a dramatic sabbatical.
          
          Hydrate, stretch, don’t inhale dust, and send my treacherous lungs a sternly worded letter. Love u.

also it's fucking three thirty in the morning and i've been wanting to start and finish this chapter since i finished chapter two. if there are spelling mistakes, we don't mention it because my dyslexia goes fucking bonkers when i'm sleep deprived. anyway, enjoy and if i'm dead for the next couple of days, just know i'll be back with a vengeance.

HELLO, MY DELIGHTFULLY UNHINGED LEGION OF CHAOTIC LITERARY GREMLINS.
          This announcement is brought to you by: five bottles of wine and absolutely zero dignity.
          
          ✨ CHAPTER THREE IS IN THE WORKS. ✨
          Yes, it lives. Yes, it thrives. But before that—allow me to recount the absolutely feral side quest that delayed it:
          
           THE WINE INCIDENT(S)
          
          I did not drink one bottle. I drank five. Five bottles shared between me and Astrid, because moderation is for people who file taxes on time. Because it was the birthday of Astrid’s mysterious, unnamed flatmate—a cryptid who will remain anonymous and untagged.
          We said we’d “have a little drink before heading out.”
          Two hours later? We were LATE. FASHIONABLY.
          
          And then came the metro.
          
           THE METRO CHRONICLES
          
          Tipsy.
          Beautiful.
          Music in my bloodstream like I’d swallowed a nightclub.
          
          Me and Astrid boarded the metro in our matching slightly-fancy outfits and the man sitting opposite us STARED.
          
          ✨ MULTIVERSE UPDATE: DR GEORGE ✨
          
          Meanwhile, in my Golden Trio DR…
          George Weasley (my long-suffering partner there) would have: grabbed me by the waist, slung me over his shoulder, apologized to everyone in a 10-mile radius, carried me out of the party like I’m a cursed object, whispered “please put your top back on” through clenched teeth
          
          Because apparently in every universe I am:
          
          Hot. Chaotic. A public safety hazard.
          
          (Do not fear—this universe’s version of me is table-dancing-free. Mostly. Probably.)
          
           THE AFTERMATH
          
          Was I hungover the next morning?
          No.
          I simply had aggressive heartburn and God’s judgment sitting on my chest.
          
          But I looked stunning, so it balances out.
          
           NOW… CHAPTER THREE
          
          Your long-suffering author is back.
          Rehydrated.
          Slightly singed.
          Emotionally rejuvenated by fermented grapes.
          
          And Chapter Three is coming along beautifully—
          full of letters, secrets, and Avonlea Hadley being so emotionally sharp she could slice the plot in half.
          
          Prepare yourselves, my chaotic creatures.
          The storm approaches.

 HELLO, DEARLY DERANGED READERS. GUESS WHAT?
          CHAPTER TWO IS OUT.
          “How not to impress a Hadley” — A tragedy in several poorly made decisions
          
          Gather round, goblins. Chapter Two has dropped like a Flitwick-sized meteor and honestly? I’m not taking questions at this time.
          
          Here’s what you’re in for:
          
           Breakfast — George tries to eat like a normal human boy but fails so spectacularly it should count as slapstick comedy.
          
           Oat Cakes — Avonlea appears, steals a single oat cake, and the clouds part, the angels sing, and George’s last remaining brain cell flees his skull like it’s evacuating a burning building.
          
           Schedules — Hogwarts believes in child endangerment via paperwork.
          
          ‍♂️‍♂️‍♂️ Fred, George & Lee — They take twenty minutes to leave the Great Hall for absolutely no reason. They walk like side characters in a sitcom who know they can’t die yet.
          
           Their entrance to Charms — Imagine three clowns being shot out of a cannon directly into a classroom. Now remove their dignity. That’s the scene.
          
           Flitwick — Nearly vaporizes a group of girls. Tremendous form. 10/10 for accuracy, 0/10 for timing.
          
           “A pack of hyenas” — Direct quote. He is DONE with the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan. Spiritually? Emotionally? Financially? DONE.
          
           Assigned seats as punishment
          
          Fred: banished to the Shadow Realm (back corner)
          Lee: surrounded by Hufflepuff girls who would happily set him on fire
          George: placed next to Avonlea Hadley, who reacts to his arrival like someone just opened a tupperware full of old fish
          
          George is sweating.
          Avonlea is annoyed.
          Flitwick is regretting every career choice since birth.
          
          And that’s literally where the chapter ends because I’m dramatic like that.
          
          Chapter Three?
          Oh, sweetheart. Chapter Three is going to emotionally punt George straight into the sun.
          
          Stay tuned, chaos creatures.

✨ Announcement: Totally Cursed is officially underway ✨
          
          I’m thrilled to finally share that Totally Cursed, my newest dark-academic, magic-twisted character drama, is officially in the works — and Chapter One is now published.
          
          This story has been growing quietly in the back of my mind for months, shaping itself through half-legible notes, late-night writing sprints, and more character deep-dives than I’ll ever admit. Now it’s on the page at last. Avonlea Hadley walks into Hogwarts University exactly as controlled, razor-edged, and haunting as she was always meant to be.
          
          Set in 1989, this reimagined Hogwarts functions as a university — a place where brilliance is expected, pressure is constant, and ambition can become a weapon. Avonlea arrives with a legacy carved into her spine; George Weasley arrives with a curiosity he can’t seem to shake. Their collision is only just beginning, and the castle has no idea what’s coming.
          
          Chapter One sets the tone: precision, tension, and the quiet promise of chaos tightening beneath every polished surface.
          
          Thank you to everyone who’s been waiting, asking, or cheering this story on.
          This journey is going to be intense, character-heavy, and deeply fun — and I’m excited to take you along for every chapter.
          
          More soon.
          — Althea Lund (she/they)