#the whole allure of the marauders is that they were different from one another though

[apoetsworld]

Sorry, but Sirius would not be the rebel you think he is. Like sure he doesn't feed into all that blood purity shit but that boy was spoiled rotten. He grew up eating with silver enchanted utensils, wearing the finest clothing, eating the most precious foods and learning the most pretentious habits from the most pretentious people...he was posh, and so was James and so was Peter. It takes years to unlearn all that, to recognize not everyone had it as good as him (disregarding the neglectful treatment from his parents).

However, I will agree, his character development after meeting Remus is substantially impacted. Since a boy with absolutely nothing becomes Sirius' everything.

[sainteda]

hey, i seriously love your writing. that’s why i wanted to ask you how you plan your stories (outline, plotting), and write, as well as writing characters that are not your own (for example tom riddle) to stay as close to canon as you can get. maybe you could give me some tips. thanks so much in advance <3

thank you so much!! <3

honestly i’m the worst outliner/plotter there is 😭 for the most part, i’ll have one idea that sparks from a song or a dream or another piece of media which over time splits off into new tines and a plot grows but it seriously takes me YEARS to get there. i’m working on being more efficient because it’s obviously not sustainable if i want to write professionally. i’m very very lucky that paper confines evolved in a natural way and that i think the heart of the story (the horcrux plot) was vast enough that it allowed for a lot of new ideas to crop up in the years i’ve been writing it. i guess the takeaway from that is to find the heart of your story and expand based on what enriches it? if i ever figure out how to get better at plotting while i struggle with Every other wip i have, i will let you know! i’m sorry that’s not very helpful </3

as for writing preexisting characters, tom is a bit of an anomaly as he’s my special interest and he exists like. in his own section of my brain. BUT as i was getting to know him, i do remember paying attention to what i was most critical of in the characterizations i’d seen versus the canon material presented. i enjoy fanon that’s an expansion or interrogation of traits already present in the text or aspects of the character that i wish were explored more — what i knew i disliked about tom fanon from the start was the bad boy archetype whose only flaw in relationships is sexualized abuse and generic villainy. i tend to write from a place of spite in that way LOL. those tropes frustrate me, so i liked the idea of a fic that forced proximity but not intimacy, what traits would actually draw someone as inscrutable as tom into a romance and how he might respond (what interests him, what are his limits/triggers, what does he do with reciprocation, and where does the line blur between manipulation and actual feelings [because i think it does blur], etc), and then the why. gaps in childhood. wars in both of his worlds. his ancestry. his external perception, rise to glory, and subsequent fall. the whole concept of his inability to love.

pretty much when it comes to canon, i just ask myself what my personal pull is to writing those characters at all, and write them from there. i try to be educated in the source material without letting it rule over my interpretation of the in-betweens (or criticisms i have and want to change!). on one hand, it’s an interrogation of the aspects that draw me to the character in the first place, and on the other, it’s exploring the things i don’t know and wish i did. it might not be the greatest answer, but as an example, i don’t think i could ever write the golden trio or most of the characters of that era because they already exist so distinctly in my mind and i don’t feel compelled to. tom is different. i guess that’s the allure of the marauders era for a lot of people as well.

i do think as a general rule, dialogue is one of the biggest things to look at for preexisting characters. when you’re writing your own characters from scratch, you might not notice the patterns that cross over in the way they talk and engage with the environments you crafted. when you’re working with characters who were written by someone else, i think it becomes more glaring that you actually have to change things up to keep that character… in character. otherwise, i guess the biggest piece of advice i’d give is not to rewrite canon. respecting it is great (depends on how much you respect the original or its author though, this may vary lmao) but probably the most helpful thing i’ve ever been told is that everything, in some way, has already been written, but it hasn’t been written by you. that’s your strength. write it how you would write it. no one else will.

[360iris]

Like You (Remus Lupin x Reader x Sirius Black x James Potter)

Warnings: 97% fluff, 3% light smut at the end (kissing, brief fingering and submissive!reader), Polyamorous Marauders + Reader insertion. In the final section James, Remus and the reader are 17. Sirius, being a 4/5 months older than the group, is 18. 

Word count: 2,644

Summary: The reader recounts significant memories leading up to her polyamorous relationship with the boys.

A/N: Since I’m new to the fandom, I wanna preface this by saying I’m 19; this fic is in no way mean’t to sexualize anyone under 18. I wanted to get back into fanfiction writing and was inspired by a few writers in the fandom: @pinkandblueblurbs, @babyjordy, @toripotterr, @randomoutsiders and @thotbutpurple​. Hope you guys can enjoy this, spent two whole days on this baby lol

THIRD YEAR

Remus, Age Fourteen

Being sorted into Gryffindor was a bit of a shock for you at age 11, to say the least. You’d spent the entirety of your childhood with your nose behind books.

The tales of valiant heroes offered a sense of escape from the unremarkable life of a prepubescent kid. It was safe to say that before your powers surfaced, you’d never considered yourself brave. 

And even after your enrollment, you much preferred to read about heated duels, rather than experiencing one yourself.

Which is why, outside of your normal studying, you spent your first two terms at Hogwarts curled up in the library. Being socially inept made friends an unattainable concept.

It was around then that you started noticing the same tired-looking boy, his face littered with cuts and scrapes, during your daily library visits.

Weaving through the isles, you would often see him in the same corner folded over different books.

As time passed, your glances in his direction became more interested; every trip you’d sit a tiny bit closer to sneak peeks at him.

Although once you became aware of him, you started noticing him everywhere. Curled up near the fireplace in the common room, eating in The Great Hall and being quietly attentive in your Defense Against The Dark Arts class.

Over the weeks, you slowly pieced together that his name was Remus. Remus Lupin -you found it odd, but alluring.

Having originally thought him to be a loner, like yourself, you were surprised to find him glued at the hips to the same two boys. 

The group seemed inseparable, always huddled up during breakfast or in between classes. Never failing to appear as though they were having the time of their lives when you saw them together. You envied their bond, they looked so at home with one another.

By the time you felt the first sliver of courage bubble up in your chest, Christmas break had just come to an end.

And you’d decided that you’d finally speak to him. It definitely couldn’t hurt to try, right?

Traveling through the depths of the isles, you easily found him in his usual spot. Instantly noticing new slashes adorning his cheeks, the intense red draining his complexion, resulting in him appearing more ghostly than usual.

Every month you found yourself wondering whether the cuts were a result of being deathly clumsy or encounters with wild bears.

Without his friends, he seemed to radiate melancholy, but today as you looked him over, he appeared significantly more sullen. 

You were overcome with the need to finally understand him better.

What type of person was he? When greeted, would his eyes light up like they did when he was with his friends? Or would he be indifferent and cold to the tiny girl approaching him?

Before you knew it- you were already in motion. Haphazardly stumbling up to his table, those hazel eyes immediately darted up to look at you, and suddenly your mind blanked.

What were you doing again? Were you really gonna start small talk with the boy that looked one jinx away from officially keeling over?

“Um, hello?” He greeted you, and it came out more like a question. But his voice was surprisingly warm; pillowy soft to the ears, causing your shoulders to begin to relax.

“H- Hi.” You breathed out, eyes having a hard time staying fixed on his gaze. Meanwhile shifting weight between your legs, you desperately searched for the courage that had placed you in this predicament.

“Hi.” He responded again. Slipping a bookmark into the novel he was reading and gently shutting it to give you his full attention. Your heart skipped and butterflies began fluttering around your stomach. 

Here goes nothing, you thought determinedly.

YEAR FIVE

Sirius, Age Sixteen

Over the three years you’d spent slowly becoming closer to Remus, meeting Sirius Black face-to-face was inevitable.

You’d known he was a gorgeous boy, but his beauty magnified more-so up close.

Long, jet black hair effortlessly framed his high cheekbones and permanently narrowed eyes in gentle waves. And he was always smirking about something; consistently crafting new ways to land the group, with yourself being a new- but appreciated addition, into trouble. 

At that age he was cocky, bull-headed and haughty. You often found yourself questioning why the other boys even aided him in his wild whims. Ninety percent of the time, those very same plans landed the lot of you in brain-numbing detentions.

Though- there must have been something about him, amidst his many faults, that kept you, along with the others by his side. Despite all his constant teasing and intentional annoyances, something good and undeniably worth loving was present underneath it all.

The summer before your fifth term started, Sirius’ family disowned him. Sending him seeking refuge in James’ loving home. And whether he admitted it or not, the event had altered him gravely; forcing him to shed his once childishly, mischievous nature. 

That year the group finally stopped getting into trouble, and one unexpected night would turn how you viewed Sirius on it’s head.

You were just about to retire for the evening when you noticed the book Remus gifted you for your 15th birthday, was missing from it’s cherished spot and home on your nightstand.

“Shit!” You whispered to yourself in a panic. Wildly slipping out of bed, yanking on your night-robe and heading out of your dorm. All the while, careful not to disturb your roommates as you made your departure.

Remus had done a multitude of odd jobs over the summer in order to save enough money to buy that book for you. And as you descended the stairs, you frantically prayed to Morgana that it was still in the common room -that no one had taken it.

You couldn’t imagine how you’d make it up to him if he’d found out you had just carelessly tossed it Godric knows where!

Entering the lounging area, you unexpectedly find the fireplace still lit, and a familiar blackhaired boy seated in front of it. 

Sirius? What is he doing up so late by himself? You wondered suspiciously.

As you tiptoed closer, you noticed he was reading the book you had come in search of; and you let out a sigh of relief at the knowledge that it hadn’t been thrown out or stolen.

The boy whipped around in your direction, startled by your sudden appearance.

“Y/n? What are you doing still up?” He questioned with brows furrowed so deep- they almost met in the middle; placing the book down in his lap. 

“Was lookin’ for that, actually. I was worried someone would take it. Don’t know how I would’ve broke the news to Rem.” You replied softly, plopping down next to him on the floor. Hugging your calves and resting your cheek against your knee and looking at the older boy.

You attempted gauging his mood but you couldn’t get a read on him.

“Oh. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.” He stated dismissively, handing the book over. 

“ ‘M certain you could rip out his still-beating heart, and he’d wouldn’t be able to be cross with you.” He breathes out, a rueful smile on his lips. 

And you take a moment to analyze his statement before responding. “I could say the same for you. He cuts us an awful lot of slack. I like to believe it’s because he trusts us to be worth the trouble.” 

He doesn't answer. Instead opting for considering you for an uncomfortable amount of time. And though you try not to squirm under his scrutiny, the silence amidst the crack and pop of the fire is deafening.

“ ‘S what I love about him.” He finally states, plain and simple, before turning his focus to the burning logs. 

“His and James’ unwavering faith in there being good in their friends, even when everyone else would disagree. Everyday I try not to prove them wrong about me.” He offers honestly.

It was an unusual sight to see him be so contemplative and genuine. You attributed this newfound appreciation of those left supporting him as a result of the ordeal from over the summer, and your heart went out to him. 

You found yourself slipping your fingers into his grasp, and he allows you, though his brows are raised quizzically at the unfamiliar gesture.

Giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, you look into his eyes unwaveringly. “Remus and James aren’t alone in that, y’know.” Voice edging barely above a whisper, it was a sentiment meant only for his ears.

“I wouldn’t have taken so many falls with you if I didn’t believe there was a piece of you worth taking a tumble for.” You smile and he’s taken aback, his bottom lip giving a tremble and brows furrowed.

The next thing you know, his lips are pressed up against your own.

It was a sweet kiss, overflowing with a plethora of emotions, and for the first time ever you felt like you could read him perfectly.

YEAR SIX

James, Age Seventeen

This was the year that Remus, Sirius and yourself started dating. The awkward stages of puberty had come and gone for the three of you; and you’d quickly found that you were settling into the next stages of maturity. 

James however, was struggling to find his new place in and outside of the group. His intimate bond with The Marauders became in direct conflict with his newfound romantic feelings for fellow Gryffindor, Lily Evans. 

You’d only ever known the girl in passing- so even you weren’t sure what’d she think about her new boyfriend feeling inclined to sleep with his best friends.

He was being pulled in two separate directions. 

This was around the time the boys started sneaking you into their dorm at night. Makeout sessions, amongst other activities, were becoming more frequent in the comforts of their own room.

And James found out very quickly that your boyfriends cared very little about whether or not he was present to witness the exploits.

“You won’t know if she’s okay with it unless you ask.” Remus stated.

“Exactly! Being shy with what you want won’t get you anywhere.” Sirius added.

“Siri, not there!” You cried, attempting to squirm away from the boy’s fingers which were assaulting your g spot. Remus however, was seated behind you, efficiently pinning your lower half to the mattress. Your knees pressed flush against your chest. 

In response to your outburst, Sirius delivered three precise slaps against your clit in quick succession. 

“Darling, remember what we said good little girls should do when the big boys are talking?” Remus tuts at you mockingly. 

Your eyelashes matted together as tears stain your cheeks. “Good girls are seen and not heard unless prompted to speak. ‘M sorry, I’m sorry Rem.” You sob out through hiccups, and James is trying not to look in your direction, feeling the way his pants are beginning to restrict him. 

Remus and Sirius had been purposely dangling you in from him for the past few weeks. They wanted him to let go of his inhibitions, and as much as the idea to let them win and fuck you silly with the boys he loved was appealing- he couldn’t get Lily out of his head.

He had spent the last two years trying to earn her trust, did he really want to throw that away?

Moving to the door to leave in hopes of clearing his head, he manages to catch Remus speak, “Say bye-bye to Jamsie, love. He’s heading out now.” and as James spares a glance in your direction, he can see the boy behind you, looking directly back at him. In the process of squishing your cheeks together, forcing your lips into a pout.

You’d slipped into subspace hours ago, but you still managed the sweetest, fucked out “Bye-Bye, J.” and he has to force his legs to keep moving.

Practically propelling himself out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up.

Two excruciating months pass, and he’s exhausted. He finally decides, for better or worse, to have the talk with Lily. 

While he was absolutely terrified of throwing the two years of trust-building to the wind, he wondered where the six years of intimate love he forged with the three of you stood in comparison.

So, he sits her down and explains everything. 

He tells her how he became bestfriends with his roommates during their first year so easily it was almost like breathing. How the boys progressed from awkward side hugs to holding hands, to innocent first kisses. 

He loved Remus and Sirius- they were his everything when he had no one else, and Lily nods, but he doesn’t allow himself to get hopeful because he hasn’t gotten to you yet. 

Shy, little Y/N who used to hide from the world behind Remus, her tiny hands always laced with his.

He explains how becoming friends with three rambunctious boys unexpectedly helped her come into her own. How she later bonded with Sirius, who acted out because he desperately needed someone to see the real him- to tell him that he wasn’t a lost cause. 

James then explains that those three had officially started dating this year, and how happy he was for them, but how inwardly he felt torn.

He wants a relationship with Lily.

Godric, does he not want to mess up what they have! He tried to deny his love for the three for so long, but he knows now that he’d be physically tearing a part of himself off by continuing to ignore them.

And she’s silent, not looking at him, but still holding his hand over the table.

Did I fuck it up? He wonders, seconds feeling like eternity while waiting for her response.

“I- I really like you.” She starts, and he’s waiting for the pen to drop. 

“I can see how interwoven your lives are. None of you really seem capable of being apart longer than absolutely necessary.” She chuckles. And he knows that was true. They went everywhere as a even, but odd group. 

From the instant their eyes opened at the start of the day, they brushed their teeth, got dressed, ate breakfast and walked to class together.

For fuck’s sake- when Y/N needed to run to the restroom during breaks, the boys would wait outside in the hall for her.

They were all so equally codependent on each other, that losing even one of the pack would have an unprecedented effect.

Lily draws forward and presses the softest kiss against his lips. And he closes his eyes on impact, and is slow to open them again when she pulls away.

“I might need some time to get used to the fact my boyfriend has two boyfriends and a girlfriend of his own on the side, but I love you too much to let go of you.” She says smiling, softening when tears start streaming down his cheeks. At first it was just a few drops, but quickly began flowing in a stream down his face.

“Do I really get to keep you and them?” He chokes out in disbelief. 

“Yes, dear. I’m fine with sharing.” She assures him with a laugh, and he pulls her into another tender kiss. He still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not.

Later that day, after walking Lily back to the girl’s dormitory, he heads to his own room.

He’s immediately met with the sight of the three of you sprawled out on Remus’ bed, giggling. 

You’re the first to see his splotchy, tear stained face; his eyelids beyond puffy.

You bolt upright and haphazardly stumble over both of the boys’ limbs to get to him. “Are you okay??” You question, reaching up to grab his face, eyes full of panic. 

James was never the easiest in the group to make cry, you think inwardly. What could have happened to him?

“Have you been crying?” Remus asks, already standing next to you inspecting James with more worried hands.

“Did you get dumped?” Sirius asks indelicately, sitting up and rubbing the wrist you’d managed to step on amidst your panic.

“Sirius! Zip it!” You whisper-shout at him and James just laughs, causing you to turn back to face him, your hands still holding his cheeks tenderly. 

Before you can question him, he’s already scooped you up by the waist, twirling you in a circle. 

“Not dumped, quite the opposite actually!” He laughs and Remus’ eyes bulge from the sockets, quick to catch on.

“You mean- she agreed!?” You both ask in unison. Your legs wrap around his chest and he’s propping you up slightly above him, your hands clutching his shoulders. 

“Yes! Meaning, I’m free to love you- if you’ll have me?” He adds at the end, eyes questioning and your immediate response is to squeeze him into a tight hug. 

“Careful, angel.” Remus cautions, darting a hand up to your back to better balance you.

“Be weary of that one, James. She’s been dreaming of finally getting her hands on you.” Sirius barks with laughter, laying back on the bed, nonchalantly tossing a gummy into his mouth.

 And normally you’d shoot a snide remark back at him, but currently you’re preoccupied with pressing your forehead against James’.

Peering into his eyes you whisper, “Can- Can I kiss you?” 

“I’d like nothing more, doll.” He grins, eager for the future of many more kisses to come.

[hxlyhead-harpies]

The Last Dream of My Soul part 2. (R.L.)

This part is a bit short but I hope that’s okay with you all! Any feedback is appreciated and message me or comment if you want to be tagged! My requests are also open. Enjoy!

Pairing: Young!Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: The very bookish (Y/n) has spent most of her life alone, aside from her best friend Lily and her beloved books. But when the infamous Marauders get thrust into her life, how could she resist the beautiful and unattainable Remus?

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.8k

Part one

By your second week eating breakfast with the Marauders you were starting to feel like you really belonged with them. James was extremely funny, in your opinion the funniest of the group. He never failed to make you laugh when you sat near him in the common room and once he made you laugh so hard in the Great Hall that you had almost choked on your toast. Sirius was also funny but in a different way. He playfully flirted with anything that moved, something that would normally make you scoff, but with him it just made you laugh. You weren’t as close with Peter, though you helped him with his transfiguration homework and he occasionally shared his sweets with you. And then, of course, there was Remus. Remus was by far your favorite of the group, though it was for reasons you’d never dare disclose to anyone but Lily. He was sweet, sending you reassuring smiles when you’d muster up the bravery to tell a story to the group. He’d slip you chocolates when you were studying late at night and fostered the same love for muggle literature as you. Every little thing he did only added to your attraction to him. In your eyes, he was absolutely perfect

You looked forward to the evenings in the common room, sitting next to the crackling fire with the marauders and Lily. Laughing at James and Sirius’s jokes and stealing glances at Remus’s face, seemingly glowing the light of the fire. You finally felt as if you had found your place at Hogwarts.

“Hey (Y/n),” Remus said, startling you out of your thoughts. You turned to look at him.

“Yeah?” you replied. He shifted in his spot on the floor, next to the couch where Lily sat with James.

“I just finished Crime and Punishment,” he said. You turned in the large armchair where you sat to fully face him.

“Oh really? How did you like it?” you asked.

“I liked it, though I have to digress- you were right- it is a bit dense,” he answered. You smiled at his from your seat, quickly looking down at your hands.

“Well of course. I told you so,” you responded. You heard him laugh lightly from the floor.

“I was wondering though if I could borrow your book? The one you talked about at breakfast the other week,” he inquired.

“Oh of course!” you said. “I can go fetch it for you right now.” You gestured towards the stairs that led to the girl’s dormitory.

“Oh you don’t have to get it right now,” Remus said. You smiled and shook your head.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll be right back,” you replied, pushing yourself up from the armchair. He thanked you as you made your way towards the staircase, but you just smiled and waved him off.

When you got to your room you rifled through your bag, attempting to locate the book. You searched for a moment to no avail, before realizing that you had left it on your bedside table. After you retrieved it you turned to head back downstairs, only to almost run directly into Lily.

“Oh my goodness Lils! You scared me,” you said, clutching your chest.

“Oh I’m sorry,” she replied.

“What are you doing up here?” you inquired. Mere minutes ago she was downstairs in the middle of a conversation. You wondered what had brought her upstairs so early. She usually didn’t leave the common room for at least another hour.

“It was getting late and I’m tired,” she replied, shrugging. “Plus James and everyone else decided to go up to bed,” she continued. You felt yourself deflate.

“Oh,” you said. “I was supposed to bring this down to Remus. I guess I took too long,” you said, holding up the book. You felt embarrassed that you had gone all the way upstairs to retrieve him the book when he had just decided to go to be without waiting for you.

“Don’t be silly,” Lily said with a smirk. “He’s still waiting for you downstairs.”

“Oh,” you responded.

“Yes he’s waiting for you all alone in the empty common room,” Lily said in a teasing sing-song voice. You felt yourself blush.

“Lily, I’m going down there to lend him a book. What do you think is going to happen?” you said. Lily just laughed, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You shook your head and headed down towards the common room, now feeling slightly nervous. When you got to the bottom of the stairs you saw Remus’s head pop up. He had moved from his spot on the floor to the now vacant couch. He shot you a smile as you walked over to him.

“Here it is,” you said, handing the book to him. “Sorry I kept you down here waiting for me, I didn’t know everyone was planning on turning in so early.”

“Oh it’s no problem,” he replied, taking the book from you. He quickly flipped through the pages, feeling the worn parchment against his fingers.

“Wow, Lily wasn’t kidding. You really have marked this thing up,” he said, chuckling. You ducked your head in embarrassment.

“Yeah… Sorry about that,” you responded sheepishly. Remus looked up at you, his eyes sparkling in the dim light.

“Oh don’t worry about it. I can tell that you really love the book,” he said. You nodded silently, averting your eyes to your shoes. A silence fell between you as Remus turned the book over in his hands. You were debating whether to bid him goodnight and go upstairs or attempt to start a conversation with him. Luckily, he made the decision for you.

“At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, what is this book about?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck. You giggle softly before sitting down next to him on the sofa.

“Well,” you began. “It’s the story of the muggle French revolution. It follows a man who was kept as a political prisoner, his daughter, a French aristocrat, and a drunken lawyer. It’s full of intrigue and espionage, and while not a romance, it contains what I consider to be the most romantic scene ever written,” you said, catching yourself before you continued to ramble. You look up to meet Remus’s eyes to see that he’s smiling.

“That sounds incredibly interesting,” he said after a moment. You smiled and nodded.

“What qualifies it to be the most romantic scene ever written?” he asked in an almost teasing, yet earnest tone.

“I’m not sure exactly. Something about the words is just perfect. I guess it’s just the kind of thing I wish someone would say to me,” you answered shyly. You saw him nod in your peripheral vision.

“Are you a fan of romances then?” he inquired.

“Yes, I am. They might be my favorite type of book to read,” you answered abashedly. You had always loved the allure of romance novels; Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre had been your go-to reads throughout your adolescence. You longed for a romance of your own, and since that seemed unattainable, you lived vicariously through your books.

“I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of,” Remus said, “Though I can’t say they’re my favorite types of books.” You laughed.

“That doesn’t exactly surprise me, Remus. You are a boy after all,” you said jokingly, nudging his shoulder with your own.

“Hey! That’s an unfair stereotype. I’m sure plenty of boys enjoy romance novels. I am just not one of them,” he said with a smile, nudging you back.

“Why don’t you like them?” you asked. He shrugged, his joking demeanor morphing into a more uncomfortable one.

“I don’t know exactly… I just don’t picture myself wanting a real-life romance, so why would I want to read about a fictional one?” he elaborated. You felt your stomach drop.

“Oh,” you said, attempting to keep your voice even, “so you just don’t want to fall in love?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s it. I don’t think the whole falling in love and marriage thing is for me,” he responded. You hoped that you appeared to have an unbothered demeanor because it felt as if your heart was breaking.

“That sounds a little sad, don’t you think?” you asked. Remus shook his head, still appearing a tad uncomfortable.

“Not to me. Besides, loneliness isn’t the worst type of pain that one can feel,” he replied. You frowned.

“I’m not sure about that. For me, the pain of loneliness seems unparalleled. I want nothing more than to fall in love,” You took a deep breathe, playing with the hem of your sweater. From the corner of your eye, you saw Remus shrug.

“I guess that’s where you and I differ,” he said after a beat. You nodded quietly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you stood up from your seat on the couch and dusted off your skirt.

“Well, I best be off to bed,” you said. Remus looked up at you quickly. He gave you a small smile before bidding you goodnight. You quickly turned around and rushed up the stairs.

By the time you got to your dorm, your body felt heavy with disappointment. You closed the door hurriedly behind you before flopping onto your bed. You let out a sad sigh, looking up at the ceiling, After a minute you felt the bed dip beside you and you look up to see Lily grinning down at you.

“So how’d it go?” the redhead asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Fine,” was your response. Lily groaned before laying down next to you in the bed.

“Come on (Y/n). Please just tell me what happened,” she begged.

“Nothing happened,” you said simply, “and it’s been made clear to me that nothing ever will happen.” Lily looked at you, clearly confused.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I have been informed that Remus Lupin is not one for romance. He doesn’t want it now, and he doesn’t want it ever,” you replied, wiping away the tears that were threatening to fall.

“Oh,” Lily said softly. “That was not how I expected that to go.” She turned her head to look up at the ceiling.

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’ve gone seven years without needing a boyfriend. I certainly don’t need one now,” you said defiantly, getting up to begin getting ready for bed. You saw Lily frown.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t want one. You’re allowed to be sad you know?” she says, propping herself up on her elbows.

“Lily, if I let myself be sad over every boyfriend that I never had then I would have been sad for the last seven years,” you replied. Lily began playing with the threads of the quilt that was splayed across your bed.

“I guess.” She got up quickly and went to join you by your dresser. “Well even if Remus Lupin is too daft to realize it, you’re quite a catch,” she said reassuringly. You giggled quietly.

“Thank you, Lils,” you responded.

“Don’t worry someday you will meet your Mr. Heathcliff,” she reassured you, patting you on the shoulder, before skipping off to her own bed. You run your brush through your hair, desperately hoping that she was right.

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@goosegorl​ @serenefreakgeek​

[thatonealise]

On the Wild.

In the beginning, there was nothing. Then a single creative spark made something out of nothing, borrowing the best of many worlds, and before long came the Wild. First a whole world, conventional in rules and mundane in contents, it had at some mysterious and indistinct point suffered a calamity so profound it shattered the world into teeny-tiny pieces, and tossed them left and right, up and down, across time and space. Now, it is a world divided; split into a thousand island and one, and maybe even more, where creatures of all kinds make a do, yourself among them.

Enter the Wild. Befriend it, respect its law, and it will in return be kind and favourable to all your ventures. To go against the Wild, and disrespect the law, is to play a game of chess with powers great and unpredictable. Or so say the soothsayers and prophets and far-seers, and other outspoken folk. But the problem still stands: The Wild allures adventurers and explorers from anywhere and of every disposition. They board the airships and aim to cross the gaping chasms between the isles in search for parts unknown, and in so doing challenge the Wild to a battle of luck.

Why do we hear the call of the Wild? Why it beckons us, when it is the Wild that employs mysterious ways to consume much-too-curious travellers? Perhaps you will be the first to find out. Your airship, *The Unyielding*, awaits only the order to embark. Until it does, however, I’d advise any aspiring explorer, even so eager as yourself, to educate themselves on the Wild matters.

Matter 1: The Cosmology

A world without rules is a world much too arbitrary. The Wild, thank goodness, rests on a foundation solid in structure and clear in law (though not devoid of Lovecraftian instability, something we will touch on in due time). Binding all that exists within the Wild is an omnipresent gas -- the zephyr. Scentless and weightless, zephyr is what our earthly person would call the air, save for a few un-oxygenic properties it has that the air we breathe on Earth does not.

Zephyr is safe to breathe in reasonable quantities, which themselves are relative to the species in question. Some may breathe more of it than others, but what stays true for all is that, sooner or later (most often sooner), the creature gobbling up too much zephyr will experience what is called the Wild-headedness. The foul gas will cloud their judgement, and warp their mind over the course of days so much as to drive them bonkers. Indeed, it is not uncommon to see explorers return disturbed, whispering to themselves some cryptic nonsense, and it is then said of them that they’re Wild-touched, and as one would presume, no Wild-touched traveller has to date ever recovered from the mind-twisting touch.

But, there are lands safe from the zephyr; pieces of land large enough to have developed an “atmosphere,” and ousted the lion’s share of that cosmic poison. Such lands are quick to nurture prosperous civilisations as more and more nomads are drawn to zephyrless refuge. It is as such unfortunate that few floatlands may brag about their atmosphere; in fact one is twice as likely to encounter a land engulfed in the zephyrous miasma. At times even, unbeknownst to the unsuspecting traveller, what might strike them as an airful land, is in truth a land with an atmosphere too thin to banish all of zephyr, and so there it flies unrestricted, sucking in quiet at the unaware guest’s sanity, until they too find themselves forever Wild-touched.

Zephyr also appears to attract, or even conjure, especially horrid weather. Whereas upon the floatlands it tends to be stable of mood -- one day mildly temperate and on another temperately harsh -- Mother Nature likes to throw a temper tantrum whenever her children attempt to sail the zephyrous space. Thunders strike aplenty from within the clouds, and wherever they can reach; powerful currents toss the feeble airships caught within them around like feathers, and the dreaded whirlwinds (although rare) may send even the strongest of vessels flying leagues away from where they were headed.

This area of the Wild, by far the most abundant, and sandwiched between land and other celestial bodies, came to be known as the Betwixt. One can not leave for a different isle without also crossing the Betwixt along the way. The act itself earned a colloquialism, “to fly betwixt.” Whenever one flies betwixt, they embark on a journey across this chasm to a neighbouring isle, taking on a tremendous risk to their life and sanity.

If we were to project the Wild on to a map; to look at the world from a bird’s perspective, we would see a clear pattern emerge to the way celestial bodies are situated. Between them are the poisonous clouds, always there and slow to madden (but sure to do so), that the Wild folks termed Betwixt:

Notice how zephyrous clouds have engulfed the smaller lands, whereas the bigger catch remains predominantly unscathed.

The Betwixt may be your best friend, or the worst enemy. It is never clear what your relationship is to be whenever you take off into the Wild, but the Betwixt is kind enough to make it apparent when comes the right moment, either with a smooth sail to your destination, or a spontaneous whirlwind until the last moment hidden inside a zephyrous nebula. On that note: pirates, marauders, and lawbreakers may find the thick shroud of a nebula, rich in zephyr, to be a wonderful hideout few orderlies would have the courage to investigate.

Zephyred isles often provide a secluded base of operations for many mages, mancers of various schools, and physicians dabbling in unorthodox fields of study. Remote, fraught with traitorous weather and poisonous amounts of zephyr, they are often left well alone, and probably for good reasons, too.

To call upon the Betwixt to deliver you from misfortune, or challenge it to a battle of luck whilst flying, is a decision you will have to make as a player. The Betwixt is as much a tool in your arsenal as it is space for you to traverse. Still, I’d advise all sailors to keep their wits about them, never you may know when your favour with the Betwixt will run out.

2nd Matter: The Semantics

People of the Wild have never known the fluctuous oceans and salted seas, as there no longer exists land big enough to hold them. This fact of life ensured that languages and cultures of the Wild never developed words to describe outspread bodies of water, the size of oceans and seas, and neither did they arrive at the words derived in part or in full from their relation to the high seas and azure mains, be they islands or archipelagos or other.

The vocabulary we earthlings turn to talking about islands and archipelagos makes little sense to wildlings. They would understand what the “land“ of an island means, but the rest would leave them befuddled. Islands and archipelagos, in particular, are terms one has to rule out for a floating world for etymological reasons. Both words, if you were to trace them all the way back to their forefathers in PIE, happen to be portmanteaus of Indo-European for “river” (proposedly) -- that which is swift -- and Indo-European for “land.“ Therefore "island” describes a piece of land rested on a body of water, which would in theory be a possible but unlikely semantic development in an environment washed at most by small rivers and lakes. Many (if not most) of Wild-born peoples would simply never come across an island anywhere in their homeland, and thus never coin the relevant term; land surrounded by water would stay the stuff of contemporary science fiction.

Since the concept of islands and the relevant word have never been coined, peoples transcending the boundaries of their homeland do not think of the land they discover flying betwixt as islands. Anything but! Instead, they would size up the newfound land (wink-wink Canadians) and term it according to scale:

Lands comparable to or greater than their own, vast and bountiful, would be judged as Greatlands.

Lands smaller, only a little or downright minute, would be recorded as Minorlands.

Most peoples distinguish between great- and minor-lands. While these are not the words they would speak in their native tongues, translated into English they best convey the semantic and conceptual process that went into and evolved the words they use to describe the lands encountered on travels across the Betwixt. To them, it would not make sense to classify the lands as islands, for “island“ as a word implies land upon water -- literally speaking -- something wildlings wouldn’t think possible.

This same line of thinking I try to apply to all the other terms native to our world yet unfounded in the Wild, and supplant them with terms both clear to us and grounded in the semantic development one would expect from a floating world, and “floating” cultures. The choice of words they make reflects the world around them, and the traits unique to its cosmology. I have to stress, though, that I’m by no means a wise-headed scholar of all humanitarian and applied disciplines alike; I’m just a hobbyist, and the neologisms I invent for the Wild are altogether speculative, and nothing more.

3rd Matter: The Floating Lands

Second in number to zephyrous clouds are the floatlands, stretching as far as the eye can see, maybe even till the very edge of the observable world. Strip the Wild of the lands, and you would render it somewhat of a desolace, sparsely dotted with an occasional nebula, shining star, or the dreaded whirlwind, stashed away someplace on the outskirts to catch oblivious explorers off guard. It is upon these pieces of land torn away from long lost planets (or the great supercontinent, or the Primordial Star, depending on what you take to be the authentic Creation Myth, for there are plenty), that the Wild’s vast majority of earth-like features unfold.

Greatlands, true to their name, happen to be the greatest in extent. They stand as the most diverse in nature and features, owing to their scale; it is not out of character for a greatland to offer a dozen different habitats for the inquisitive traveller to discover. They hoard flora and fauna that would be a curiosity to stumble upon travelling a minorland, and the magnificent mountain ranges are but an ordinary fact of life, originating from the time that there were not great lands, but one too many minorlands drifting too close to one another.

The clash, in time, erected mountains recognised in the modern age as the peaky landmarks of a great many greatlands. Rivers and lakes wash them, and many species one is to encounter throughout the Wild claim descent from one such land or the other, cementing the popular opinion among wildling scholars of greatlands as the undisputed cradle of civilisation.

Minorlands, by contrast, are the smallest of lands, and as such very homogeneous in nature and terrain. Many a time they host temperate uplands, whether defined by scorching dunes or grassy hills or bone-chilling piles of snow, and seldom have another biome. Guesting adventurers are forced to walk the same plain time and again, hoping for a path somewhere that is not a desert with no end or an ever-stretching meadow.

Yet, minorlands are famed as the best places of seclusion: farmsteads have since time immemorial bonded with these flattened blobs of dirt and thickets, their predictable weather and absence of unwarranted surprises be praised; shady sorts, too, find the safety of a remote minorland to their liking, and so do polities on the rise, erecting watchtowers upon them to spot unwanted intruders from afar. Rural and tame, predictably temperate and never at all hiding dangerous surprises, they for certain hold a slew of advantages over their great towering counterparts.

Chainlands are less so a shape or form of a land in the Wild, and more so a cluster of the two varieties aforementioned. Ages ago, the first peoples would without question have entitled them minor- and great-lands alike, but the passage of time led them to invent and construct bridges and passes to connect these lands together, in an effort to make travel much less of a burden.

Of stone, of wood, or spectral essence (born of powerful spells), bridges to a chainland are as veins to a human -- cut them down, and the chainland will be sure to suffer a fatal blow to the economy and infrastructure. This reliance on bridge-making, and bridge-keeping, had implored the Wild folk to derive a neologism to describe this network of land and bridge. The Chainlands, the lands chained one to another.

Greatlands among chainlands are few and far between, but when they are, they only ever bind the neighbouring minorlands to drift around them, like moons round a planet in our world. The pull at times is so strong that the bound minorlands break apart, forming together a ring of shredded land, themselves at times entitled the shredlands.

Minorlands, on the other hand, stand unbeaten as the most usual finds in any given chainland, and more often than not the only land there is to be seen. When it is so, and there is no greatland to project authority upon the minorlands, they tend to revolve around each other, their pull so weak that the revolution appears paused to all but the most perceptive and patient of eyes.

The rarest of all is a chainland wherein two greatlands do battle. Under that circumstance, the two colossi fight for dominance over the chainland, and in due time (lasting millennia, and longer still) the pull they exert upon one another will tear them to pieces that the future wildlings will take for minorlands. It is believed all chainlands had in the forgotten days been greatlands dueling to death, and the minorlands as a phenomenon had only emerged from the rubble the duel had left. This is however in the view of many a contradiction to the theory of minorlands as the forefathers of greatlands. Sweet, one more thing to argue about...

4th Matter: The Phenomena

Rarer even than two greatlands locked in an ageless stalemate are the naturally occurring phenomena a keen explorer is sure to come upon at some point in their chasm-crossing career. They range in scale, and use, and animosity to the beings caught in their vicinity, but all are united in the danger they pose to every living thing, sentient or otherwise. They toss, and poison, and twist the minds of their unlucky victims, and beware they who dare venture someplace never charted.

Luckily for the Wild folk, all but one known phenomena are stationary; it would take a great deal of law-breaking and space-bending power to set them in motion -- more still to make a weapon out of them -- and the very idea has become the subject of Deluge Myths among many Wild-born faiths and traditions.

Note that the list I offer down below is incomplete; it would take me too much time, too many letters, and even more brainpower to scribble all of the wild ideas I’ve come to cooking up a host of obstacles for the Player to overcome on their journey across the Betwixt. I will instead list the ones I’ve thought about the longest, ordered least to most interesting, and leave the rest for another time:

Nebulas

Native to the far corners of the Betwixt, miles upon miles away from the closest floatland, nebulae take shape when the zephyrous currents, flowing of their own accord through the Betwixt, or given a violent push from a whirlwind, come to a halt in one place, and condense into clouds. The clouds then clash and thicken, and before long turn so dense one would struggle to make out the loosest detail even ten metres ahead, and not one propeller in the Wild would have the horsepower to blow the clouds away.

Naturally, it is as dangerous to sentient life (thanks in no small part to copious amounts of zephyr) as it is useful the mortals seeking refuge or a place to hide. The big problem for them is therefore to puzzle out a way to breathe, but also maintain their clarity of mind. Devices and gear exist to protect the daring pilots, but even they give in under so much stress. Oversaturated air notwithstanding, nebulae have been known to act as naturally fortified hideouts for criminal elements; whole syndicates were fabled to raise floating fortresses amid the nebula, and sometimes they would discover by pure chance “castaway“ minorlands inside.

Few have come back to tell the tale, and so it is to this day a wonder to many; one that raises a plethora of questions, most notably the question of what else could possibly be hiding in the nebula’s heart?

Currents

Driven now by cosmic forces and then by a raging whirlwind, zephyrous currents serve to experienced pilots as motorways serve seasoned drivers here on Earth -- they send even the heaviest merchantmen flying like a lightweight schooner, at the expected cost of abnormal levels of the gas in the air. Currents and lanes are cognate, and the words are used interchangeably to refer to the same phenomenon.

While impossible to influence, to slant or pick up the pace, almost like the current of a river, they always run their course like they did since the beginning of all things. Only whirlwinds may redirect some portion of a current away into the Wild, and the lost current soon stops deep in the Wild and turns to a nebula.

Even then, the main current will get to keep the direction it is flowing, making them a tempting choice of many traders and colonists, who by force of circumstance have to man ships so heavy that the cost of travel is immense. The current step in to help, and take some of the financial edge off.

Currents may every now and again branch out, and the individual branches may converge into another current at the very tip, forming networks vital to the circulation of trade and commerce and people throughout the Wild; about as essential as bridges are to a chainland. Maps charting the currents and the branches are worth their weight in gold, and it is only natural that many explorers make a living mapping the currents they chance upon in their travels.

Whirlwinds

The fear; the nightmare of every sailor seasoned and amateur alike, are the dreaded whirlwinds. Itself a smidgen tear (or hole, a better word) in the fabric of reality, a whirlwind bends the space and time around it with a pull a quintillion times that of the largest greatland conceivable; so strong it stretches all matter too close around the dark epicentre into a bright spiral of heated zephyr, and the chunks of land and other fallen material.

There’s a constant rotation of matter happening within the whirlwind’s ring, as old matter eventually reaches the point of no-return -- the whirlwind’s lightless and lifeless centre -- and new matter takes its place. What happens to the old from that point onwards is a subject shrouded in mystery, with only a handful of scholarly works, all pure speculation, as not one Wild person has ever managed to fly close to the whirlwind and stay whole, let alone fly so close as to observe the matter being absorbed into the black core.

Legend has it, and so does science, that should a whirlwind draw too close to a greatland, it will eat it whole, bones and all, and leave not one trace behind. Thankfully, there have never been cases observed and recorded of such calamities taking place, and gods help us that they do not befall us tomorrow.

Testament to the whirlwinds’ power is their ability to draw from the current a new one, and in so doing lay foundations for new currents for the network, or even the new nebulae. They are not, as such, entirely destructive when examined under creationist light.

There are moony captains out in the Wild who may, equipped the right things, ride on the very edge of a whirlwind’s ring to gain speed one would never reach in the strongest current. Nevertheless, I’d advise you, young captain, never to consider a means of travel with a potential so devastating.

Stars

They go by many names; of their own making and christened so by their mortal worshippers from the floating lands. They prefer to name their kin Celestials, but the noble intention this word carries could not be further from their nature. Aye, the Stars of the Wild are in every way as sentient as the Wild peoples, and just as numerous, but rarely if ever benevolent. Quite the polar opposite.

Stars are power incarnate; their blinding light may scorch and turn the lesser life to smoke and ash, but it may also plant the seeds of life upon a lifeless greatland, should the Star be in the mood to curb the sunlight. The taste of this godlike privilege has driven many of them arrogant of character; reluctant to hear the plights of land-dwelling “insects” they warm, whether by choice or circumstance, and eager instead to bind them to their will.

Lands orbiting a Star, while far more bountiful than the lands lit only by the bleak natural light of the Wild, bask in the Star’s life-giving rays, and enjoy a life of everlasting overindulgence, with a sinister catch. Not so much a catch even, as a figurative leash that the Star has put them on, holding entire civilisations hostage forced to appease it, and many Stars are infamously whimsical.

All too often Star-lit lands resort to Star-worshipping zealotry, too small both in stature and in will to rise against their blinding overlord. Some did, though, and gallivanting bards sing of their ashes gliding through the Wild along the currents, the last traces of a civilisation wiped out in the flash of light...

To approach a Star is, too, an experience thrice as maddening and sickening as spending a minute too long in a nebula. The closer you drift towards them, the louder their diabolical whispers grow in your head, incessant and urging you to turn right around, or perish from your own madness. Spend long enough near a Star, and upon your unlikely return to the mainland, people will speak of you as as the Stargazer; the Star-touched. Needless to say it is an ailment every bit as chronic as the Wild-headedness.

Given this way of things, little is known to scholars from outside the Star-lit lands of the Stars’ origins, or the properties they possess besides the incomprehensible language they speak, and their obvious lust for power. It is only known of their kind that some of it is not as malevolent; the Stars aligned to do good have only been seen once or twice in known history, and few endured the pressure from their less-ethical peers so long as to live into our age. Regardless, maybe the fate will bring you together, young captain, and then you would be the one to teach me of the things you’d learnt from the meeting.

Finita La Commedia

That is all you need to know, for now, young captain, and I hope this minute handbook taught you a concept or two. Now-now, “The Unyielding” is ready, and so are you. Bewildering adventures await deep within the Wild; distant shores, bizarre creatures, and life-threatening phenomena itching to be discovered. Take notes of the things encountered and events witnessed, and maybe your findings will fetch a pretty penny. Don’t you dare approach the Stars, though, I wouldn’t wish upon my apprentice the Star’s pestilent touch. Come back to us safe and sound, friend, and pardon my sentimentality.

We all bid you a very fond farewell.