#fortune favours the bold

[saintsenara]

Hi! I just wanted to ask: what advice would you give someone who wants to start writing fanfiction for the 1st time, without any real writing experience? Have a nice day!

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

i'm always honoured to be identified as someone who might have something meaningful to say about writing - and so i always worry about doing justice to questions like this without coming across as being flippant.

because i don't think its ever worth giving advice on writing style or techniques, because these are so inherently subjective. i am an unabashed plantser - i have a vague idea of how i expect a story to go [and i always skip to the ending first, harry burns style], but i let the muses take me where they will otherwise - and this obviously affects everything else about my writing process: whether i like to stick to a specific posting schedule [no]; where i begin in a scene [dialogue]; whether i prefer short or long pieces [yes]; what sort of themes i want to look at; my attitude towards the source material [i believe in the value of canon coherence, but i'm not drawn towards trying to make my work unclockably canon-compliant]; what i find useful to receive from others during the writing process; and the fact that i like to play with genres, themes, and pairings.

if these things don't apply to you - and there's no reason why they should, even after you've been writing fic for a century - then i don't think i'm qualified to give you any advice on how you should go about putting words on a page.

but i do think i can give you something.

because if you want to start writing fanfiction - as is the case for everything else you will want to start doing in your life - there is only one key principle to bear in mind:

fortune favours the bold

by which i mean, at the most basic level, that the only way to start writing fanfiction is to... start writing fanfiction. the only way that you'll ever know if it's something you enjoy doing - and what it is about it that you like, what you find instinctive, what you don't, what your "voice" is, which characters you find harder than others to bring to life, what techniques you'll use to plan, how your work will be received, how that will make you feel, how your style will change the longer you write, and so on - is to grit your teeth and just take the leap.

but i also think that remembering that fortune favours the bold is a fandom principle which serves us all very well in a context broader than just tapping out fics while hunched over our keyboards.

because boldness is synonymous with courage - and writing something and putting it out into the world does take courage! - but it's a courage which has quite a distinctive style.

boldness is not solemn, quietly-enduring, captain-going-down-with-his-ship bravery. to be bold is to be audacious, daring, cheeky, innovative, and a little bit irreverent. it's not someone saying mournfully over your coffin "she fought bravely to the bitter end" - it's someone looking at you in awe and saying "how the fuck did you pull that off?"

and this matters in fandom. because participating in fandom - whether you end up writing fic or not - takes a hell of a lot of brass neck.

after all, each of us has ended up here because we looked at canon and said "sorry - did you think you were done?"

and then - when canon got flustered and started stammering - each of us has rolled our eyes, rolled up our sleeves, and said "don't worry, hen. you can leave it to me."

to be in fandom is to have the audacity to treat the text as a springboard - rather than something which remains behind glass in a museum. it's deciding to fling the characters we love into genres they don't originally come from and revelling in the chaos which ensues. it's finding missing moments and daring them to be just as important as a canon scene. it's the fun of wildly improbable alternate universes - from dystopian horror to coffee shops. it's cheerfully ignoring that there's a point canon thinks its story ends - whether that's finishing narratives which end unsatisfactorily or just playing with happy-ever-after. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them kiss. it's taking two characters who never interact in canon, winking at the camera, and making them fuck. it's having the time of your life becoming a malevolent deity and making a character suffer.

while it might not always feel this way, at its core fandom is fun. and it's fun in a way which is quite unusual in this day-and-age - in that it's something we get to shape for ourselves, rather than having to engage with a product according to the whims of the corporation marketing it. it lets us be indulgent without calling us greedy. it lets us chatter away at each other without calling us unproductive. it lets us be sincere without requiring performative earnestness from us. it lets us engage with the uncomfortable and the lurid without the bland sanitisation of respectability.

and it allows us to be hopeful.

and i have always been struck by just how much about fandom rests on hope.

to believe that the dead can live happily in another universe, to believe that time-travel can fix things, to believe that bad people can get their comeuppance, to believe that good people can be imperfect and it doesn't matter one bit, to believe that those who are hurt can be comforted, to believe that justice can be done, to believe that villains can be redeemed, to believe that an insignificant background character matters just as much as the hero, to believe that things can be better - whether your story is overthrowing a corrupt government or letting two people enjoy themselves uncovering a kink, to believe that the most improbable people can love each other - romantically or not... all of this takes hope.

and hope takes boldness.

so be bold and start writing.

be cheeky. take risks. be your own biggest fan. be irreverent. be cunning. recognise that not taking fandom too seriously is self-protective. be self-indulgent. have some self-awareness. be collegiate. gas up your friends whenever you can. be nice to your commenters and try and give them the benefit of the doubt if they express themselves poorly. be curious. regard disagreement as interesting. be compassionate. be tenacious. be prepared to write stuff that flops. be prepared to write stuff that gets left on the drawing-board. be prepared to write stuff people hate. be prepared to write stuff you hate. be audacious. believe you can do it. be hopeful. be daring. be brave. and be bold.

because i promise you that, even if you've never written a word of fic before, you can write your way into and out of anything - any fic, any trope, any pairing, any characterisation choice, any plot hole, any setting, any premise - and have fun and look good doing it.

if you simply have enough nerve.

[take-a-dip-in-the-deadpool]

Im gonna try and make it to the store for diet coke and snacks before the edible kicks in fortune favours the bold

[namastefamily]

Mercredi

Music to upgrade your DNA to? Music in the streets of Barcelona or over there Music to move you Frequency, energy and vibration Nothing is still, time isn’t real, the moon and sun are much closer than we are programmed ( see also conditioned/indoctrinated/ brain washed ; ))to think and much more more ; ) All is atom Over to you, boys!

[athenasparrow]

Do you like risks?

Yes

[dynmghts]

hello !! daylight savings ended which means i got an extra hour of blissful sleep and more free time for the day. on top of me realising katsuki's bday is in <2 wks then mine in a month, i got a game plan:

do asks for the "plots please" meme (priority)

edit pinned post to make it flow better

work on literally every other ask ever <3

drafts! (with time + inspo)

and if you haven't seen any of the prompts i've reblogged, check them out here! if something stands out (even if the meme is older), send it in!

[hajdara]

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor��s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[ourpretender]

it is both unfair and wonderful that felix sucks cock like a professional. oliver wants to believe, with shaky hands, that the spit and the slobber and the immediate enthusiasm is born out of their unconventional friendship. that perhaps, while he writhes and gasps, pupils blown into an impossible high -- felix had been dreaming of this too, curious enough to be lost in reverie. he speaks brazenly, drawls out each filthy compliment and pairs them with eager mouthfuls. and oliver nods, jerky quick shakes of his head that only skim the surface of his own eagerness. "yes -- yes i can," he complies, obedient and easy. and again, he's gasping, arching into each wet glide -- resisting the compulsive urge to follow felix's lips whenever he pulls away. "oh fuck -- oh -- gods, felix -- your mouth," oliver babbles. the hum, and pressure, and suckling, is already impossibly hot, but it's in the vision, in the image that falls before him, that delivers most exquisitely. the subject of all of his wanting, hardly human in his beauty, lies between his thighs -- messy curls and an eyebrow piercing and dreamy brown eyes and lips, red and used around the root of oliver's prick. saliva and pre-come collect like rivulets, cascading and disappearing behind dark coarse hair. fortune must think him impossibly bold. he's so caught up in the sight of it (downright bypassing the fact that neither of them kissed for very long) that oliver nearly misses the warning, too awestruck and lustful to catch the buzz until it surges, embarrassingly quick. "felix -- i'm! -- wait i'm -- close," he blurts out, clawing hands tugging then at his nearly belated alarm.

felix seems to have broken him with that wide-ended option, limitless in what it could entail. oliver is spoiled for choice, and felix finds that he quite likes oliver spoiled. his breath hitches and his eyes flutter shut when oliver pushes the sweaty curls adorning his head back, thirst and hunger already beginning to sit at the back of his throat. oliver is so needy and demanding like this, small hands pushing down on his head to maneuver felix's head where he wants it, huffing an endeared little laugh against the tip of his cock. god, he was fucking beautiful like this and he didn't have it in himself to deny oliver anything. so he hikes up oliver's knees over his shoulders and pops the tip of oliver's dick into the tight heated circle of felix's mouth, bobbing his head leisurely. large fingers wrap around the base of oliver's length, stimulating what he can't yet reach with his mouth but makes a valiant effort to, sinking down even further until tears prick at the corners of his eyes. felix was as hard as rock in the confines of his own jeans, half-heartedly rutting his hips against the mattress as he works harder, gagging a bit around the sheer size of him on the downstroke before he pulls off. "so good, ollie. taste fucking incredible," felix praises, spit and precome shining his lips, the friction making them puffier than usual. he reattaches his mouth to oliver's cock, dragging the flat of his tongue over the frenulum and over the tip to collect the pooling arousal as he sinks back down, all wet and clumsy suction in between teasing kitten-licks. he wants to hear oliver unravel, hear him beg and make all kinds of noises of desperation. the hand around the base of oliver's cock squeezes, his ministrations faltering. "tell me when you're about to come. can you do that for me, ollie?"a tongue sweeps over already slick, puffy licks as a dark gaze flits up to check the expression on oliver's face, hoping to see unsatiated hunger and slack-jawed ectasy.

[fishnapple]

Message from the Universe to you

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

LAPIS LAZULI

Fortune comes and goes, fickle like the wind. But it sure favours the bold. Whatever predicament you're in right now, it will come to pass. But also take notes, whatever blessing or good luck you think you're having, there will come a day it will also pass. It's the art of going with the flow of life, never expecting anything to bend to your will or to last forever. Such is life's ephemeral beauty. You lose some and then you win some.

There's a knot inside your mind, tying everything closely together. In fact, too close, to the point of rigidity and confinement. The fear of not living up to some lofty standards you have heaped upon yourself is excruciating, it cripples your ability to look forward and to step out of the shadow. You feel like you have to perform, to meet a certain criteria, to please, who do you seek to please? Is it yourself, is it a distant ghost of the past, or is it the nagging of the future? What will happen when there is displeasure? Will you be punished, or will you be free? You see yourself through the eyes of other people, yet forget the very eyes that are yours. You wear the clothes that people compliment on but forget the naked body inside feeling those clothes. If you untie the knot inside, take off the clothes (armour) and look at the mirror, see if there are tears reflecting back at you, or are they smiles? Whatever they are, they are real, they are you.

When you're free, you will realise how much you can do yet how little you have to do anything. The unexpected might happen, but you are not afraid of it, you let it wash over you, or maybe push you a little. Then you will find yourself stronger, brighter. And along the way, you will find companions, whose perception of you won't be the target of your worries, you just feel confident in knowing that you view the world with similar eyes.

JADE

So many things to do, so little time, so little energy. Your energy is so straightforward and blazing that sometimes it can be cutting or becomes a burden for you. Like carrying a lightning rod. But this energy is being stored in such a small room, it's frustrated and wants to break out. Do you find yourself lying awake, sleepless, mind buzzing with constant noise? Or do you find your stomach and your chest heating up, like a fire burning inside? A simple word or a simple shake of the head is enough to push this fire back inside, under lock and key. You could feel like bursting out at the smallest remark, taking everyone aback , yet you would show the most placid expression when someone is being emotionally open to you. This energy bursts out when you don't want it to, it stays silent when you struggle to call for it. Your energy, your enthusiasm needs grounding, it needs to be directed with a clear purpose. Only so can it become productive.

Remove superfluous things, thoughts, and objects. Don't burden yourself anymore than you already are doing. Don't take on so many projects, interests, and even people. Your inner load is already heavy as it is, don't pile more on it. Sometimes, things needn't be heavy and serious, they can be fun and lighthearted. Some connections shouldn't be labelled with heavy implications or expectations, yet. Some worth pursuing, but with a gentle reach. Keep the jest of life, you're not meant to keep yourself in the dark, you're meant to shine brightly and radiate warmth like the Sun.

MOONSTONE

I think you need a vacation, take time to pamper yourself, take time to unwind, and release all the negativity bottling up inside you. Take your life to the centre stage, don't be distracted by the so-called responsibilities and work. How can you work if you're in shambles. The body temple of yours needs lots of care and maintenance. It won't stay the same years in and out, time will chip away its vigor, a heart in pain will lose its lustre. This group is all about taking care of your physical body and the reality around you.

Take time to be alone with yourself, maybe this is a foreign feeling, you're so used to the presence of others, their noise, their energy, that you find it hollow when you're alone. It's like you're the last one to leave the room, and suddenly you find yourself in such a huge space, all alone. What will you do in that situation? Hurriedly get out of the room to catch up with people, fearing an invisible shadow will materialise itself if you stay in the room long enough? Or do you stay, take a look around the room, notice the small details that you've never noticed, play some music, and sway back and forth to the melody of it? What action is more sensible, what is more fun, you decide.

I see a waterfall, a downpour, I see you just sit there, inside the house, looking out, or holding an umbrella, being still at try to catch a look at each rain drop, let time slow down for you, work diligently at staying still and relaxing, you will find how hard they are. Make them your habits. In the stillness of the body, you find movements in your mind, amidst the rain, you hear the thunder in your heart, ideas strike like lightning and you would be wise to catch them.

MORGANITE

You have been working so hard, putting all in to get the work done, please be proud of yourself, pat yourself on the back, no one deserves it better than you do. Now it's time to reap the reward, things will fall into places, more opportunities will come. But to save your energy for those opportunities, you should take a rest first. Don't fret, don't worry, you won't miss a thing if you stop and rest a little, in fact, you will even go further into your path than you realise. Isn't it amazing how you can stay still and yet are advancing at the same time?

It's time to learn more about yourself, get to know yourself, your most earnest wishes, your brightest light, your biggest gifts, but of course, your biggest fears also. There are so many things to learn, you will never get enough of yourself. The image you hold of yourself is fuzzy and ever changing, ever elusive, always out of reach. You might feel lost when you're alone, but you also feel lonely when you're with other people. But that's just the effect of a fog draping over your eyes.

By seeing yourself better, you will also get better at seeing people. Exchanges with others will have deeper meaning for you. The words you say, the words you hear, they can contain love and affection, use them wisely, listen to them closely. From others do we find our love echoes back at us. You will see love in the most mundane thing, find it in the most unexpected manner. Then let it fuel your wishes.

AGATE

You feel like you can do it all, at the same time, you don't feel like you're doing enough. Ideas and plans swirling in your head, burning to be put into reality. One could say you're a manifestor, or more correctly, a manufacturer, in the purest sense, of ideas, inspirations, and projects. Though some of them could be better if finished before a new one starts. Be selective in what you're investing in, your energy, your time, your effort, your attention. Don't mass produce things, make bespoke things, things tailored only to a selected few. Or else you will find yourself overburdened by the stress of unproductivity and the guilt of not finishing or not starting enough projects.

The reason behind such an intense drive for productivity, besides your inherent creative power, is an emotional baggage lies deep inside you, you think it's sleeping, but it's not. It will wait and find the most opportune moment to spring out or seep out, into every social interaction of yours. Encouragement from the crowd fuels your confidence, but it also has the potential to wreck havoc on your psyche, if absent. Why do you feel you need to do so much? For whom? For what cause?

When your affection is turned inward, it has an effect of shooting and cracking the dome of the cell holding your emotional baggage. Whether it will fly out to be free or stay inside, is dependent upon how brave you think you can be. This will literally give you a makeover, a change of identity. Remember your manufacturing power. Don't wait for the orders to come in to start the lines, prepare them beforehand, and your biggest customer, you, will be satisfied.

OBSIDIAN

A short and sweet message: leave your fears at home and going enjoy life. There is something you're fighting, with or for, it seems to be both. A hollow feeling, a sense of nostalgia for bygone good things, a deep seated fear of past wounds resurfacing, making you relive the memories all over again. But with practice, you can leave those behind.

I see an arrow. There are two choices for you. One is aiming forward and let go, another is fighting back everything you encounter.

Relationships in general might be a source of headache/heartache for you. You feel everything so deeply, every interaction feels like a part of you is at stake. Your conviction can be so unmoving that every interaction feels like a battle. That you need to prove something, to protect something, to challenge something. It also makes you suspicious of people's intentions, what do their words mean? Is there a hidden meaning behind them? Are they sneering at me? You past colours your future, connections are felt through the lens of past experiences, you've become a veteran, in the war against the invasion of your inner world.

What propels you to take a step away from this habit is probably the realisation that you don't have to define yourself by your past nor your future. Let bygones be bygones, let the hereafter be uncertain. Pour yourself into the sea of shared hearts. Let yourself feel suffocated by the dense air of a crowd, your heart beating loudly while standing in front of a crowd, the agonising fear of judgement. All of these, while you feel like running away, are also those times when you're actually connected the most with life.

[verinarin]

How Ratio handles his reckless partner during a mission

I wrote this as a character study to better understand and illustrate how he treats people he respects and trusts (*´꒳`*)

So fluffiest fluff ever; in Ratio’s standards ofc

Please tell me if you guys want a part 2 of this ٩( ᐛ )و

Part Two ψ(｀∇´)ψ - Part Three (о´∀`о)

Support me on Ko-fi ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

“I often wonder how does the IPC’s HR department handles the recruitment process,” he sighs as he walks towards your body slumped to the floor as a result of your trademarked clumsiness

He stood there beside you waiting for you to sprung back to life like you usually do “How rude, for your information I aced my test,” you huff as you dust off your hands

“Is that so ?,” he replies candidly, he continues to leave you behind without much thought, he knows you possess some qualities that’s befitting for a investor but still you’re too clumsy and reckless at times

Hence why the higher ups assign him as your supervisor or so to speak, he acknowledges your lack of experience as well as your potential that’s why he agreed to be your supervisor

But he didn’t sign up to be your babysitter….

“Wait up would ya?,” you whine as you quickly jog to be by his side

He tilted his head to the side, studying you from afar to assess any damages on your body from the fall earlier “Time awaits for no one,”

“Please do think before anything else, stop making a fool out yourself while representing the IPC,” he continues his statement as he paced himself to be slightly slower for you to catch up

You huff feeling a little bit dejected by his statement but it’s the truth and from this past year of working beside him, you knew he always have your best interest at heart, well even though most of the times he verbally bullies you

“Yes yes of course Mr. Ratio,” you smile as you walk beside him, you notice that he slowed down his pace earlier, it made you smile to know that behind that rude demeanour he does care a lot

He steal a glance at your expression before resuming to look at the road ahead, he can’t help but to feel comfort in knowing that you didn’t seem to take his words to heart

He always finds it hard to express his truth towards others because to be frank the truth hurts, yet the pain itself is a important element to achieve improvement, pain used as a motivation of sorts

Most people deemed his truthful nature to be harmful yet you’re astoundingly adept in his true nature, you easily read between the lines and see his objective clearly

“Can I ask you something ?,” his sudden inquiry surprises you, it is usually you who do the asking, you deem this as a pleasant surprise

“Sure go ahead,” you reply casually while masking your excitement, he rarely does this so you’re ecstatic

“I know you’re both emotionally and intellectually intelligent, but I can’t seem to grasp why you’re so reckless at times,” he smiles as he ask this question, he’s mostly likely to remember a gamble you took a few weeks ago

Well granted you almost lose your life by gambling your life away in a literal sense to gain a dictator’s trust towards the IPC, but at least you won

Ever since that stunt, Ratio seems to respect you more although afterwards he berated your gamble for two hours straight

“Audaces fortuna iuvat,” you reply as you stare at his face, his merely scoffs as he took notice of the philosophy behind your statement

In a sudden trance he leans down towards your face, ardently reading through your flustered expression caused by the sudden close proximity “Fortune favours the bold, that’s very true to yourself,” his voice deepens as it is drenched in sultriness

Well this is an uncharted territory between you both-

He then leans back towards his previous position, smirking as he relish in your dumbstruck expression, he gently strokes your hair as a sign of acknowledgement something you didn’t knew you enjoyed before

“Now then we should get going, our next meeting is due in approximately 13 minutes,” he stated as he retracts his hand away and leaves you behind yet again but this time speechless and flustered

“H-hey !, what was that about ?,” you huff as you try to catch up with him, not knowing that he’s currently blushing himself underneath that cold exterior of his

“What have I done..” he mutters as he covers his face with his alabaster head

[poppy-metal]

arrange marriage with patrick where you know he doesn’t love you. this entire thing was cooked up by your parents, and you feel guilty for being the one that destroyed his freedom. so when he slips away for unexplainable periods of time, you keep quiet. you know who he’s seeing, what he’s doing, as he returns with a slack jawed smile and missed hair. it stings slightly, knowing you’re in a loveless marriage and that all chances of martial, conventional bliss were down the shitter, but what can you do? he doesn’t want to be with you. he owes you nothing, he’s just as trapped as you are. you’re polite and warm, you ask about his day, you want to be friends if nothing else. patrick gets frustrated, mostly because of the guilt. he is objectively awful to you, and you’re still so sweet. so sweet. you look at the hickeys on his neck and you don’t scream, don’t yell. all you do is cover it for him before you have to go to gala. you cover it! how can you be so forgiving? how can you not care? he fucks tashi 3 times a week. he’s being awful. and you still smile when he comes home. take his coat, kiss his cheek. any time he’s tried to have sex, tried to do the proper thing and produced another heir to the family fortune, you graciously turn him down, like you’re doing him some kind of grand favour. when sometimes, he just actually does want to fuck you. it’s hard. it’s weird. he kind of wants you?? but you’re so distant. he strangely feels a longing for you, missing something he never had. what did you look like, sound like when you laughed uncontrollably? what did you want to be when you were a little girl? who are you?

patrick knew hating you wasn't fair. it didn't stop him from treating you likes shit, though. didn't stop him from barely putting in effort during your wedding, from looking bored during the vows, from planting a stiff kiss on your lips, and then proceeding to treat you like you didn't exist.

it wasn't your fault, and yet it was. he couldn't exactly up and tell his parents to fuck off - though god knows he desired nothing else than to do just that. in the end, he was a conduit. a vessel to carry on a legacy he didn't give two shits about.

he knew it was coming.

he just wish he had more time.

more time to be reckless. more time to get drunk at parties. more time to be a general stain on society. more time with tashi duncan.

but destiny waited for no one or whatever the fuck, and now here he was, shackled to you and resenting every fucking thing about you.

at least you knew how to keep your mouth shut.

it would have been a bitch to deal with you running and tattling to his mother about how he hadn't fucked you yet - how he was still seeing tashi. as much as he appreciated your discretion, he also hated you for it.

you had no fucking backbone. you were nothing like tashi. she was bold and rash and clawed her way from nothing and took none of patricks shit. you took it all. mouth properly suctioned to his asshole just like every other spineless dipshit in his family.

he knew you saw the hickeys she left on his neck. knew you smelled the sex on his skin when he stumbled home at 4am and slid into bed, finally. he saw you register these things, the scratch marks down his back - saw your dainty little chin wobble and then still. saw your eyes dart away. and he felt something nasty claw at his chest - at your lack of self respect.

your husband was sticking his dick in a pussy that wasn't yours and you didn't have anything to fucking say about it? he saw the hurt in your eyes in the mirror. grinned at it. hoped today would be the day you'd snap and fight back, but you never did.

he found himself leaving tashis arms angry - angry about coming home to a brick wall and a wife who didn't seem to care what he did.

one night - he found himself drunk after a night out with tashi. sprawled out on his chair as he lazily watched you get dressed for bed.

he found himself hardening in his slacks. dick twitching with interest.

you weren't ugly, was the thing.

you were actually fucking hot. you had a plump sweet little body. you hid it under atrocious modest wear, but he could see it now in the outline of your fat tits outlining your nightgown. the curve of your waist. child bearing hips. he could laugh, if any of this was funny.

he tongued the inside of his cheek as he straightened, watching you.

“you dress like a 1950s housewife.” cutting. meant to embarass you, which he can see it does. he feels a thrill in his chest to get a reaction out of you at all. “it's fucking weird.”

your lips press together - you don't look at him as you uncap your lotion and spread it onto your fingers. “I am a wife.” you tell him softly.

“what was that?” he heard you. he's just annoyed by your mously little voice.

you flick a glance at him, and he sees a flash of irritation on your doll like features. it makes you look pretty, he resents to realize.

“I said I am a wife.” you say, more firmly this time. “just because you don't want to act like a husband doesn't negate what we are - what I am.”

you say it with a sense of pride. a lifting of your chin. and patrick - he has to fucking laugh then. licks his lips and downright giggles with it. his cheeks are flushed with alcohol and he drags himself to his feet, shaking his head.

“you're fucking unreal.” he approaches you, you've turned your back to him - slathering lotion onto your legs, the sweet vanilla scent hits his nostrils as he gets close, and he sways a little. “I mean. are you even real? or are you made out of plastic? did mommy and daddy make you at a factory? the perfect wife factory.” he stops behind you, touches the end strands of your hair, rubs them between his fingers. your hair is fine and soft like silk. it runs like water through his fingers when you tug your head forward.

“of course I'm real.” your voice trembles a little. he's gotten to you, he thinks. and he likes that he has. feels his cock twitch again. “why would you even say that?”

you're finished putting on the lotion but you stay with your back turned to him. he wonders if this is a small act of defiance on your part. he wonders if you were raised to be this fucking submissive and subservient and if any part of you resents it. wishes you could turn around and claw at his face and call him a bastard. but no. that'd actually make the evening interesting. and you were set on being as dull as fucking drywall.

“she's nothing like you, you know.”

he sees your spine stiffens. feels a cruel twist in his stomach that hearing about his mistress upset you.

you don't answer him so he continues, leaning in closer so his breath blows the wisps of your fine hair across your shoulders - “she's firey and confident. she lights up a room when she walks in it, grabs everyone's attention by their throat because she demands it. it's fucking sexy as hell.” he inhales your scent, warm vanilla, sweet and soft. he wants to crush that softness under his foot. crush it to dust. “and god -” he lets his voice get low and seductive, that scratchy quality “- her fucking pussy. it's the best thing I've ever felt. like sliding right into nirvana. I could fuck her for hours -”

your spin around - your eyes are burning. not with tears, though. with fury. they blaze with more life in them than he's ever seen before and it cuts his sentence right off - sucks any further words out of his chest -

“go to her then.” you hiss, venom from your lips. he thinks if it were possible, steam would be seeping from your pores. your cheeks are flushed and your lips are bee stung plump, the indents of your teeth marking the soft flesh. he realizes you'd been literally nawing on your bottom lip to stay quiet. “you think I want to deal with you like this? that I want to deal with a husband like you at all? go to your mistress and bury all your problems in here and leave me alone to run the house and do your job for you. like I've been doing. I don't need you here.”

you turn back around, your hair swishing and smacking him in the face.

he glares at your back. his fingers twitch as an anger worse than he's ever felt boils his blood.

“you can't talk to me like that.” he says, cold and deadly despite the liquid fire running through his veins. “im your fucking husband.”

you laugh - and despite everything - it sounds like bells tinkling. pretty and lyrical. he inhales again. steadies himself with a hand on your vanity.

“you haven't earned that title.” you shake your head as you walk to your side of the bed. you're dismissing him. ending the conversation. “I doubt you even know what the word means - if asked to define it.”

something about the condescending tone - one he'd grown up hearing from his parents lips, from everyone around him who told him he'd fail before he even began. how tashi talked to him sometimes, dismissing him as a privileged kid instead of a person with feelings whenever they disagreed - something about it - he finds himself suddenly in your space - gripping your arm and yanking you back against him -

“you want me to define it?” he asks, sounded half crazed. he rucks your nightgown up, and despite himself, he groans at the feeling of your soft and supple skin - never touched before and new and so fucking good under his hand - “you want me to act like a husband to you?”

he presses himself against your ass, hard and throbbing. he's been hard since he first stood behind you and inhaled your scent. his cock has a goddamn pulse - he can feel the head beating like a drum - fluid bubbling at his slit -

your breath rattles in your chest in a wheeze as you freeze under his touch, you're stiff under his palm and he feels a spark of anger at that - he fucking knows his way around a woman's body - knows how to make someone melt and cry and beg for it -

he shoves you face down on the bed with a hand at your back, comes down over you to straddle your ass on his knees, hands coming down to his belt.

“you want me to be a husband -” he yanks his belt through the loops I'm his jeans harshly, rips his zipper down and reaches in to grip himself where he's hard and hot and thick. “- want me to do my due dillengence and fuck you with my hard cock? fill you with the cum that'll give us an heir and make your life worth living? I can do that for you - pussy's pussy.”

he yanks your nightgown over your ass - grips your bare cheeks and spreads the flesh - bites his tongue till it bleeds at the sight of your small twitching asshole - and under it the wet lips of your cunt.

to combat the way the sight makes him feel, the sudden breathlessness in his chest - he tells you, “my dicks still lubed from fucking her earlier - should slide right in -” and he slots the fat leaking tip of himself at your folds, is just beginning to part that heavenly slick flesh when you curl your hands into the sheets and whisper -

“stop.”

and patrick is alot of things. alot of bad things, he can admit.

but he's not a rapist.

he pauses - hand wrapped around his hard dick - “what -” but you're shoving up suddenly, bucking under him, scrambling and wiggling until you're out from under him and yanking your gown back down over your ass, covering yourself.

he blinks at you, suprised. dick still in his hand.

“I thought you wanted -”

you squeeze your eyes shut and shuffle off the bed, wrap your arms around your body like you want to curl in on yourself.

“not like that.” you tell him. voice a fragile thing. you won't look at him. he softens in his hand, desire sapped from his body at the sight of your distress. “not - not when.” you shake your head. “things are fine how they are. I'm sorry for snapping at you, it was unbecoming. I'll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

and you're gone before he can even tuck himself back into his jeans and think of something to say.

he falls back against the bed and stares at the canopy above him. his throat feels dry. he thinks he should feel victorious. he'd intimidated you. humiliated you. made you feel as small as he feels all the fucking time.

but he doesn't feel satisfied.

he just feels like a dick and a shit husband. he scrubs a hand down his face.

fuck.

[beenbaanbuun]

hangover w/ jung wooyoung

i am being destroyed by a hangover currently so have this tiny little thing i wrote to make me feel better 🙂‍↕️

——————————————————————————-

“oh,” wooyoung just stands there in the doorway, one hand holding your door open and the other resting gently on his hip. whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t this. “my, my! you really are rotting away today, aren’t you?”

you grumble something incoherent from inside your cocoon of quilts, tugging it tighter around your face until your your nose and eyes are on show. it’s warm in there, and that warmth is your only protection from the cold, sad, terrible world outside. the one that wooyoung is so graciously letting in though your bedroom door. if you had the effort to stand, you’d pull him inside, but at this moment in time, you barely have the effort to swipe aside the hair that hangs over your eyes.

“shut up and get in here,” he rolls his eyes at your demand, but complies nonetheless. the door slams, locking the real world outside of your bedroom once more. it’s better that way, you tell yourself, the real world is too cruel and bitter for you to handle right now.

wooyoung takes a few cautious steps across the room, careful to avoid the neat piles of rejected outfits from the night prior. he spots a few familiar items, humming as he sees his favourite top that you wear screwed up and in a limp pile by the foot of the bed. he would’ve liked to have seen you in it last night, finding the way it hugs your chest absolutely mesmerising. the top you wore instead was pretty, sure, but that one? it’s a wet dream come true.

“scooch,” he insists as he parks himself on edge the mattress. you shuffle over a few inches to give him just enough space to lie down. he’ll of course, have to be presses up against you to even begin to feel like he isn’t about to fall off, but maybe that’s all part of your plan. “and give me some quilt! we can’t cuddle properly unless we’re both snug!” as he wraps his arms around your form, forcing a thigh between your own to tangle your legs together, you open your cocoon just wide enough for him to slip inside. he hums gratefully as he enters the warm chamber you’ve created.

“you have far too many clothes on,” you whisper as you slip a hand beneath his hoodie. there’s zero ulterior motives other than the need to be close to him; a motive that is severely hindered when wooyoung seems to have dressed himself for winter. you don’t press the issue, though, simply resting your hand flat against his spine and waiting for him to decide whether to be evil and deprive you of his flesh against yours or not.

“and you have nothing on,” he states the obvious, “i’m sure i dressed your drunk little ass in a hoodie before i left last night,” a finger trails it’s way up the naked curve of your back and you can’t help but shiver. “i told you to take your makeup off too but i guess you were staging a rebellion against me or something?”

you squeeze him tighter, hoping it’ll distract him from teasing you about your drunken stubbornness. knowing wooyoung, nothing will stop him from running his mouth, but you can try! fortune favours the bold, and there’s nothing more bold than trying to stun your boyfriend into silence with a bone-crushingly tight hug and a dream.

he chuckles softly at your behaviour and for a moment, you think it might have worked. as he takes a finger and pushes that one piece of hair away from your face, you’re sure that nothing but fluff and softness will fall from his lips. it’s worked—

“you’re cute when you’re all hungover and messy,” nevermind, “we should drink together more often just so i can see you all grumpy and irritable the next morning,” he presses a wet kiss against your forehead, but you’re far too lazy to wipe it away, “the smeared makeup really adds to how adorable you are, by the way.”

“wooyoung!”

[moonpascaltoo]

SIRIUS BLACK / JAMES POTTER / REMUS LUPIN

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all poly!marauders stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) <3

MASTERLIST • THE MARAUDERS • 09/01/24

@sunnami ✰ we can’t be friends (wait for your love) fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning. ✰ you’d be the love of my life when i was young gryffindors wear their heart on their sleeve when they fall in love. slytherins keep their heart locked far away to keep it from breaking. ✰ like grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other. ✰ time traveler harry part 2 how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel. ✰ watch me, don't touch me, love me, don't hurt me you are the fop of the wizarding society, known for your shallowness and careless display of wealth, but as hogwarts faces another threat, the marauders and lily, find themselves drawn to you and the secrets hidden under your facade. (harry just wants to know what is going on.)

@ellecdc ✰ slytherin!reader ✰ slytherin!reader ✰ reader secret animagus ✰ slytherin!reader ✰ seer!reader ✰ the case of the missing pickles seer!reader who can't stop Seeing them ✰ sad drunk reader ✰ hates seeing her boys hurt ✰ things you can say in a swim lesson and also in bed part 2 ✰ poly! + lily ✰ whimsical!reader ✰ seer!reader ✰ battered by baggage ✰ transfer student!reader

@moonstruckme ✰ pre-relationship ✰ emt!marauders part 2 ✰ emt!marauders ✰ first night ✰ moving into shared flat ✰ emt!marauders ✰ pet names ✰ emt!marauders ✰ emt!marauders ✰ emt!marauders ✰ emt!marauders

@kquil ✰ slytherin!reader

@oxyvouge ✰ never have i ever kissed you

@cosmal ✰ emergency contact james gets called when you faint at work. and then sirius. then remus. you feel awful

@writtenbymoonflower ✰ secret admirer ✰ quidditch!reader

@ynscrazylife ✰ seekers get stitches

@strawb3rrystar ✰ snogging on the couch

@brokenmenswhore ✰ first

@luveline ✰ drunk!marauders

@mischievousmoony ✰ good morning your boys all have their own way of kissing you goodbye in the morning ✰ james has a crush...or four james is the sun, the center of the universe, of course when you realize how brightly he shines you can't help but fight over him. it comes unexpectedly, the way it brings you all together

@calliopesdiary ✰ mini me your little sister captures the hearts of your boyfriends, you may even say she has a little crush on james.

@soapyblubbles ✰ runaway pets

@marauroon ✰ self-sabotage the marauders had thrown their hearts at you like it was effortless. and you just couldn’t return the gesture

[eth3real-ess3nce]

My Astro Observations (Part 8)

🚫If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are water or earth influenced, you probably prefer that your phone is on silent or DND 🗣️If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are air or fire influenced, you probably don't mind your phone being loud af 😂

⚖️Natives with their Mars in Libra grew up taking the role of the "mediator" in their family or other environments. It is observed that when people around them seem to disagree or experience conflict, they ask this native to pick a side rather forcibly at times. This might lead them to develop people-pleasing tendencies. It's also the "lawyer at heart" placement.

😏Aquarius men usually look awkward in photos so they just decide to throw their signature smirk in there from time to time (ex. Ashton Kutcher, Joseph Gordon-Levitt)

🥵Mars in Aries natives' physical bodies react so dramatically to stimuli it's hilarious! I know someone with that placement that, whenever he eats food that is just SLIGHTLY spicy, his head starts sweating like he jogged for 2 hours! Another friend of mine, has this thing where every time she laughs for a bit longer than needed her eyes will fill with tears. But I'm talking BUCKETS of tears😂

💪Your 9th house sign represents your philosophy in life. But your 10th house sign represents your life motto.

For example: My 9th house is in Pisces, I do have a humanitarian outlook at the end of the day and I'm deeply spiritual My 10th house is in Aries, my life motto is "Fortune Favours The Bold". Self-explanatory. My philosophy: ✨🔮 My motto: 👹⚔️

👨‍🍳I've noticed that men with Virgo placements, one way or another, like to practice their culinary skills. They won't let you lift a finger in the kitchen and this is a way for them to show their love for you. Also, they're usually specialists when it comes to food or wines/alcohol in general

🏎️I have never met a Leo sun, moon, rising that owns a vehicle and has NOT received a speeding ticket before! Also why do you have 0 patience? And you end up driving clumsily! Leave that one to Aries please 😂

👹If one of your dominant planets is Mars or Pluto, you probably literally get high off horror content. Either films , books...horror subreddits👀. You just love being thrilled, especially Mars, you like to chase the andrenaline. And you don't even care if you won't be able to sleep at night. It was worth it😂 Honourable mentions: Mercury-Pluto , 8H Mercury , Scorpio Mercury

🖤If your natal Black Moon Lilith makes hard aspects (conjunction, square, opposite) to your personal planets (especially luminaries, sun and moon) you were born to be the Black Sheep. It's easy for you to stand out in the crowd, usually because you are not afraid to embody your "dark" wisdom. You might be minding your business yet your authenticity can deeply trigger people. This placement attracts envy and obsession, be it acquaintances or lovers. Beware of stalkers. One pro though, is that, you can be immaculate when it comes to manifesting.

The rest of my observations appear on my profile x

[starryknight-tarot]

𝓨𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓸

pile 1 -- > pile 2 -- > pile 3 pile 4 -- > pile 5 -- > pile 6

my masterlist<3 . paid readings Hello my beautiful souls ✨ I am here with part two of my yes or no pacs! Remember to meditate, take a deep breath, and pick whatever pile calls to you the most. My readings are meant for everyone, no matter what sexuality or identity you are. Since this is a general reading, make sure to take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Pile 1 Card: Two of Wands

Yes, although I would as that the Two of Wands is closer to a maybe. I would say that the result really depends on your actions right now and how you go about this situation. Stay strong and courageous.

Advice Cards:

Put your tasks and goals in order

Deep, deep down, something needs attention

It's time to try something new!

Channeled Song:

Pile 2 Card: The Chariot

Yes, you need to stay consistent and keep your head high in this situation. Be brave and bold!

Advice Cards:

Love is the answer to your current situation

Release unhelpful influences and fears

Keep the faith. Stay intentioned. Your perseverance will pay off

Channeled Song:

Pile 3 Card: King of Swords

Yes, but in this situation, you need to more logic and use problem solving skills to get what you want. Following your heart may not get you the results you want.

Advice Cards:

You are much stronger than you think

Use your creativity to accomplish

Your body needs your attention

Remove all resistances and move into a state of flow

Channeled Song:

Pile 4 Card: Three of Pentacles

Yes, you will achieve what you want when you are willing to work with others and trust the people around you.

Advice Card:

It's time to realize the blueprint of your soul

Yes, you can . . . Set it into motion!

Weigh your situation carefully

Channeled Song:

Pile 5 Card: The Wheel of Fortune

Yes, but remember just as the wheels can turn on your favour, they can move away from you just as quickly. Luck is on your side.

Advice Cards:

Awareness opens a field of possibility in your life

Release all attachments that do not serve you

Release what you do not need. Let go of some extraneous aspects of your life

Channeled Song:

Pile 6 Card: The Devil

No, your obsessions and addictions may get the better of you in this situation. Don't give in to simple temptations. Advice Cards:

In harmony with your inner self, you are free to do be whatever you choose

Spend some time in stillness to reflect

It's is time to unclutter your body, mind, and spirit

Channeled Song:

Thanks for tuning in₊‧.°.⋆🫧•˚₊‧⋆.

[ivesambrose]

𝑱𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝑻𝒂𝒖𝒓𝒖𝒔 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔 💛

(May 1, 2024 - May 13, 2025)

Based on sidereal transits

To book a personal reading with me DM or email me at Ivesambrose@gmail.com

𝒜𝓁𝓁 ℒ𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓈

PICTURE 1

"I know that if 1 believe in it even in the slightest, I can even make dust turn to gold." There's confidence in your words and even in your skills. You're done being a prisoner to your own limitations, it hasn't really been your ally eitherway. There will be considerable focus in starting or expanding a business or doing well academically for your future. Your focus and persistence will not go to waste either this time You might feel rather competitive though. Like you want to prove yourself no matter what. Be mindful of not falling into another cycle of self imposed limitations, this one being 'taking on too much all at once in order to be taken seriously. There's a strong message of not giving up or losing sight of your wants and goals when you're almost there. Perhaps this confidence feels too new to you and you're trying to find the sweet spot between being conceited and genuinely self assure. Additionally, some of you might be getting pregnant or planning on the same. Rest of you will be choosing a specific venture, whatever you choose will be the right option. Go for whatever inspires you the most. Your heart vigoursly feels called towards something. Don't make further excuses for it.

PICTURE 2

Fortune indeed favours the bold, fortune also favours the determined. You've been anticipating the tables to turn for you. The anticipation soon turned to a vision that you haven't wavered from. You may have at least one person who has been cheering you on from the get go, their presence and words have constantly pushed you to believe in what feels like the impossible. If there's something you have really wanted to excel at or get into, expect to see progress in that. Financially things will be gradually be getting better. You'll be focused on researching on making the right investments or where to invest money. You're advised to keep matters regarding property, work, ambitions, inheritance etc a secret. You may also be leaving behind something that's served it's purpose for something else, At some point after your dedicated efforts and hard work you'd want to move towards a softer life. Additionally, you might get into petty arguments with people who have their noses in your business. You might feel the need to stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Know your power but don't waste time in verbally proving your worth to people who don't really care deep down and want to see you fall, they are not worth the stress. I really do feel you might want to invest in magnesium sprays or melatonin gummies or lavender oils too since there might be sleep issues you might be facing or just a restless mind. Go easy on yourself.

PICTURE 3

You found joy in watching your life unfold, somewhere you, realised that regardless of what you see the result will remain what you want. Like knowing the ending of the movie SO the plot is simply there to take you to the journey. You might also be aggresively pursuing something by that mean this is something you're really fixated on and see unfolding. So what others might call 'obsesseive' doesn't really phase you. It is what it is Likely it's after significant trial and error you have decided to be deliberate in regards to what you want and it's a good thing. Likely you have decided to free yourself from the narrative that you have got to do everything alone abd by yourself and found a friend or people who are willing to encourage and collaborate with you. There will also be a focus on your nervous system/regulating your nervous system and health. You may also try holstic medicine or healing your system through food or lifestyle changes. There is new offer in love or for some an offer that emotionally fulfills you but you might have to self reflect a bit on the way you tend to self sabotage given your past experiences. Addressing this will actually help you look past your fears and illusions and see things from a different perspective. A perspective that serves you better and doesn't make you feel like you're losing grip. There is an emphasis on higher education/studies and travel as well that will further strengthen your faith in yourself. Some of you might just find better job opportunities or expansion out of your current city or hometown or in a foreign land.

PICTURE 4

Often what you so deeply want and what is supposed to happen ends up happening and coming through overnight and when they do, you're no longer counting the days or keeping track of them it simply becomes a part of your reality. Things have been gaining momentum behind simply because despite the circumstances you have still persevered and they will start coming through just as quick.

Be prepared, you're going to be travelling long distances and quiet often, you'll have a lot of connections coming through, new friends, new partnerships, existing ones solidifying and choices to make as well. Step into your new found confidence. You might as well find yourself commanding rooms you walk into with your presence alone. You'll also be finding yourself pursuing your joys and passions and romanticising your life more.

What you love to do might just become your daily routine and work. You'll have to learn to balance there too so you don't continue to associate what brings you joy only to 'work', you'll find other things to engage in too. Take extra care of your health given the travel and opportunities presented. You'll find yourself taking risks you have previously felt unprepared for and you'll be glad that you did. There's a a form of karmic justice that will be served too, The biggest thing you'l achieve is overcoming the worst of your hurdles with ease and being unapologetic about getting what you want. Just stay true to yourself above all.