#what is candlestick patterns

[quanttrix1]

How Many Candlestick Patterns Are There

How Many Candlestick Patterns Are There? A Friendly Guide to Understanding the Basics

Understanding the world of trading can feel like learning a new language. And if you’ve ever seen a candlestick chart, you might’ve wondered, “What am I even looking at?” Don’t worry—you're not alone! Whether you're someone just getting into trading or simply curious about how it all works, this article will walk you through the mysterious world of candlestick patterns. We’ll break it down in a way that makes sense, no financial dictionary required.

Imagine candlestick patterns like traffic signals on the road of trading—they give hints about what might happen next. Some say, “Hey, the market might go up!” Others hint, “Watch out, things could go south.” So, how many candlestick patterns are there? Great question—let’s find out.

Learn how many candlestick patterns are there, different types of candlestick patterns, and what is candlestick patterns in simple language for beginners.

Introduction to Candlestick Patterns

Let’s start at the beginning. If you’ve ever seen a stock or cryptocurrency chart, you’ve probably noticed those little red and green rectangles—they're called candlesticks. They're not just colorful bars; they tell a story about price movement.

What is Candlestick Patterns?

Candlestick patterns are specific formations of these candles on a chart. Think of them as facial expressions of the market. Just like a smile can tell you someone’s happy, a certain pattern in candles can suggest whether the market is feeling bullish (going up) or bearish (going down).

Each candlestick gives four main pieces of information:

Open Price

Close Price

High Price

Low Price

Why Are Candlestick Patterns Important?

Imagine driving with your eyes closed. Sounds scary, right? That’s what trading without understanding patterns is like. Candlestick patterns act like headlights—they help traders see where the road might lead. While they don't guarantee success, they give valuable clues that many traders use to make decisions.

How Many Candlestick Patterns Are There?

Here’s the big question: how many candlestick patterns are there? Well, in total, there are more than 50 recognized patterns, but most traders focus on about 30 key ones. These patterns are grouped into:

Single Candlestick Patterns

Double Candlestick Patterns

Triple Candlestick Patterns

Each category offers insight into different possible future movements of the market.

Types of Candlestick Patterns

To make things easier, let’s break them down:

Single Candlestick Patterns

These involve just one candlestick. They're quick and simple.

Double Candlestick Patterns

These involve two candles and often signal a trend reversal.

Triple Candlestick Patterns

These use three candles to tell a more complete story about what the market might do next.

Let’s dig deeper into each one.

Single Candlestick Patterns

These are the building blocks of chart reading. They’re easy to spot and understand.

Doji

A Doji looks like a cross. It happens when the open and close prices are almost the same. It shows market indecision—like the market saying, “I’m not sure which way to go.”

Hammer

A Hammer looks like—you guessed it—a hammer! It has a small body with a long lower wick. It usually shows up at the bottom of a downtrend, signaling a potential reversal upward.

Inverted Hammer

Similar to the Hammer, but flipped upside down. It also signals a possible trend reversal, but needs confirmation from the next candles.

Double Candlestick Patterns

These patterns give a stronger message since they involve two candles working together.

Bullish Engulfing

This happens when a small red candle is followed by a big green candle that completely “engulfs” it. It signals a potential move upward.

Bearish Engulfing

The opposite of bullish. A small green candle is followed by a larger red one. This can signal a downward move ahead.

Tweezer Tops and Bottoms

These are two candles with matching highs (tops) or lows (bottoms). They can suggest that a trend is losing strength.

Triple Candlestick Patterns

When three candles join forces, the pattern becomes even stronger and more reliable.

Morning Star

This is a bullish reversal pattern made of three candles: a bearish candle, a small-bodied candle (which can be a Doji), and a bullish candle. It's like a sunrise—things are looking up!

Evening Star

The opposite of Morning Star. It begins with a bullish candle, followed by a small one, and ends with a bearish candle. It's a sign the sun is setting on an uptrend.

Three White Soldiers

This pattern consists of three strong green candles in a row. It’s a very bullish sign, showing continued buying pressure.

Three Black Crows

You guessed it—this one's bearish. It’s made of three long red candles in a row, suggesting strong selling pressure.

Common Mistakes When Reading Patterns

Let’s face it, we all mess up sometimes. Here are some pitfalls to avoid:

Relying on patterns alone: Always use other tools too.

Ignoring the bigger trend: A bullish pattern in a strong downtrend may not hold up.

Overtrading: Just because you see a pattern doesn’t mean you must act on it.

Tips for Learning Candlestick Patterns

Learning candlestick patterns is like learning to read emotions. Start small:

Practice with paper trading.

Use flashcards to memorize patterns.

Review historical charts to see how patterns played out.

Keep a trading journal to track your learning.

Conclusion

So, how many candlestick patterns are there? There are over 50—but don’t panic! You really only need to master about 30 core patterns to start making smarter decisions. Whether you’re an aspiring trader or just a curious learner, understanding these patterns is like having a window into the market’s soul.

Remember, candlestick patterns are tools—not magic tricks. Use them wisely, and always double-check with other indicators and research.

FAQs

How many candlestick patterns are there?

There are over 50 recognized candlestick patterns, but traders mostly use 30 key ones regularly.

What is candlestick patterns in simple terms?

They are visual representations of price movements in a chart. Each pattern gives clues about where the market might go next.

Are candlestick patterns accurate?

They can be helpful, but no pattern is 100% accurate. They're best used with other tools and indicators.

Can beginners learn candlestick patterns easily?

Absolutely! With practice, even beginners can understand and use them to make better trading choices.

What's the difference between bullish and bearish patterns?

Bullish patterns suggest prices may rise, while bearish patterns indicate a possible decline in prices.

[signode-blog]

Hammer Pattern

The “Hammer” pattern is a significant candlestick pattern in technical analysis that traders use to identify potential reversals in price trends. It is a bullish reversal pattern that forms after a downtrend and signals a potential trend reversal to the upside. The Hammer pattern is characterized by a single candle with a small body and a long lower shadow. Here are the key components of the…

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Let me know if you want more. Didn't get too much on Part 1 but I have ideas so...

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your third week begins in the same place. Before the iron gate, the code unlocking the green maze within. You’re still just as impressed as your first day there. To you, it’s like a fantasy. Entirely unattainable but it’s right there. You can look, but you can’t touch… not beyond cleaning.

You linger outside, not thinking. You admire the tall tulips and the hedge trimmed to resemble some landmark you can’t quite place. You could see a place like this in an Austenian film or perhaps something Victorian. You don’t have an eye for the difference.

You key in the code for the backdoor and continue on. You put covers on your shoes and grab a fresh set of gloves. You’re getting into a pattern, though each client differs slightly. You put your things away and bring your water bottle with you. You bought a cool strap that keeps it against your hip, a small splurge with your first paycheck. The rest went to bills.

As you start on your usual journey through the many rooms of the airy house, you wonder how its sole resident isn’t lonely. Or perhaps he is. He doesn’t seem the type to admit to it. You turn your thoughts back to your work. You try not to think of him, truly, you don’t know much of him.

You take a candlestick and polish it. You move on the small globe; an ivory orb on a silver axes, the outlines of the continent carved into the surface. As you put it back, you notice something. An item you can’t recall being there before. You reach for it but stop as you realise it’s a camera.

You retract your hand and move on to dust the shelf itself. Does he not trust you or was it there before? Of course, somewhere like this would need security. There was a story just the other day about a break-in, but that was closer to your father’s where those culprits dwell.

The second floor is always easier. It seems even less lived-in than below. All but the study and the main bedroom. You flit in and out, checking points off the list until you’re content. You can only hope he will be too.

As you descend, the epiphany tickles your brain. It’s the first shift he hasn’t appeared. It’s easy to assume he’s busy. You don’t expect him to hang around. As if he would supervise you. Besides, that’s probably what the cameras are for.

You pack up and get your single refill of water. You leave the way you came, as you have twice before. The keypad flashes red to signal the lock is in place. You haul your kit higher on your shoulder and tread slowly along the little path along the side of the house.

You look at the gazebo trimmed in hanging ivy. It’s beautiful. You’d like to venture up and sit on that bench. Just sit and watch and smell and feel. You force the thought away and turn back along the stonework.

You’re going home. Not to pollen but tobacco smoke. Not to lush gardens but wilting strands in soggy mud. Not to immaculate floors and pristine decor but to stained walls and broken springs in your mattress. 

Home, to another man that makes you nervous.

🧹

Your father is as he always is, smoking on the couch. You say hi as you come in with a bag of groceries, the prize for what was left of your check. He grumbles and flicks through the channels. You go to the kitchen to put away the food.

You’re almost at the end of your first month, a third of the way through your probationary period. Hopefully after that, you can pick up more clients. You shut the cupboard and go back to the living room. Your father coughs into a crumpled tissue. He sounds horrible. You can’t say so, he doesn’t seem to care.

“I got some fresh produce,” you announce proudly, “I’ll steam some veggies with the chops.”

“You get fries?” He growls.

“Uh, no,” you admit, “I thought we could eat something healthier–”

“I don’t like steamed veggies,” he drops the remote and grabs his pack of smokes.

“Oh, sorry, I was only thinking–”

“Don’t lie and say you were,” he snorts as he pulls out a cigarette and taps the end of the pack. “Go on, I’m tryna watch this.”

He nods at the television and you follow his gaze to the rerun of All in the Family. He’s seen them all before. You take the dismissal and retreat up to your room. Like you always do.

It’s always been like this. You don’t hate your father but sometimes it feels like he hates you. You put your kit and your water bottle on your dress and change into clean clothes. You lay in bed and close your eyes, trying to let go of the tension in your muscles.

You don’t remember your mom but he does. You assume that’s why he’s like this. It’s not you, it’s what happened. Tragic. A loss he won’t talk about.

You rub your forehead and let your arms fall to bend on either side of your head. You only ever saw one picture of your mother. You don’t think you look like her. She was pretty. And young. You were always too afraid to ask about her but you could tell she was younger than him. No one could’ve expected her to go so soon.

You close your eyes. It’s a strange sort of grief to miss someone who is only a shadow in your mind. Not even a voice, just this ghost you know by name. Mommy…

You blow out a deep breath in an effort to bid away the sadness. That was so long ago. This is now and you have a lot to worry about.

🧹

The Laufeyson house greets you once more with its elaborate brickwork. It’s starting to feel familiar, like a habit to put in the new code and walk along the winding path around to the back door. Six more numbers and you’re inside; shoe covers, gloves, bottle, and the list.

You always check the new email sent by the agency. There’s always something small and new squeezed into the bullet points. This week, you notice the first task is laundry. 

‘Retrieve hamper from hallway. When hamper is left outside door, it means clothes must be washed.’

Easy enough. You go upstairs first and take the tall hamper from beside the door frame. It’s heavy and there’s no wheels to aid in your struggle. The laundry room is downstairs. Your descent is treacherous, one step at a time as you haul the basket down step by step. If Mr. Laufeyson is there, he can’t happy with the noise.

You finally get to the machine and follow the instructions about cycle type and separating colours from whites. However, there is only the bedding to be cleaned. You load the linens in and take a moment to figure out the touchscreen. Your father’s machine has a dial that only works on one setting and gives off a dingy stench.

You leave the basket in front of the washer and retreat to start your usual progression through the urban manse. Mop, sweep, dust, vacuum, polish; hallway, kitchen, dining room, sitting room… Nothing unusual or unexpected.

As you cross the narrow foyer to the den, the sunshine glows a warm orange through the slender windows on either side of the front door. The patterning of the glass reflects prettily on the floor. Despite your best efforts, you can’t help but imagine residing somewhere so brilliant.

You sigh and carry on. You’re sure to open the long drapes to let in the late spring sunshine. It’s not so bad working in the light and you can see where the rare spec of dust is hiding. You go to the tall shelf beside the record player and pull out the albums to wipe beneath them. Music would be jarring in a place always so silent.

You slip the albums back into place, pulling out one to admire the cover; Ane Brun. You’ve never heard of them. You read the track list curiously. You know you shouldn’t be wasting time.

“I don’t believe I’d have anything to your taste on my shelf,” the mocking slither has you pushing the album in line with the rest.

You almost apologise but you remember. You don’t speak. You just clean. So clean.

You glance over at Mr. Laufeyson as he struts in, a book held in one hand as his other is tucked in his pocket. He wears his usual pressed attire; a dark button-up and even darker slacks. You note that he has no tie that day. A single curl dangles by his temple as the rest of his black hair is precisely combed back.

You return to your tasks, gently wiping the cover of the record player and along the stand. You  hear the book drop onto the low table before the sofa before his footsteps continue on; closer. He approaches as you get to the next shelf, a collection of EPs in unmarked sleeves.

You wince as he stops near you, flipping up the cover of the sleek record player before stepping back to peruse his selection. You do your best to keep on as he looms. The air is thick and suffocating. Should you go to the next room and come back?

He slips a record free of its sleeve and places it carefully on the players. He moves the needle over and flips the switch, a crackle before the sound drones from the tall standing speakers. Acoustic guitar with a gritty feel to it. The sudden addition of a woman’s voice jolts you; her tone is peculiar but not unpleasant.

When I woke I took the backdoor to my mind And then I spoke I counted all of the good things you are

He backs away without a word. Not an explanation. You finish cleaning the second shelf and dare to glance over. He reads his book on the couch, unbothered by your existence. That isn’t too unfamiliar.

You finish the space but leave the vacuuming for later. You wouldn’t want to ruin the music. You go into what you can only call a sunroom. The french doors peek out onto the garden and a patio set with a large dining set in white iron and glass.

The music drifts in and keeps you company. It almost makes the work easier. You make quick work and go to check the washer to switch over the load. Once you have the dryer figured out, you begin on the second floor.

It’s only as you come out of one of the guestrooms that you notice the silence is returned. You turn down the hallway and near the next door. You enter the study with your usual reverence. Something about the space is intimidating. 

The large leather chair with its dimpled back and the even bigger desk; slabs of marble set into polished ebony. Shelves of a similar material, decked out with numerous volumes and the occasional ornament. Some appear even to be genuine artifacts. The rug at the centre is patterned in Persian style.

Behind the desk are a set of doors that open onto a balcony. The drapes are drawn shut. You find that is often the case. It’s a sombre and dark space hidden from the bright gardens without. Your tasks here are minimal. You use the hand vacuum and dust the shelves. You aren’t to touch the desk at all.

A shadow startles you as you drag the cloth along the edge of the bookshelf. Your eyes round and you look over as Mr. Laufeyson enters. You blanch but he doesn’t acknowledge you. He sighs and goes to the desk, sitting in the chair and wheeling it closer. You narrow your sights on the shelves; focus.

You feel a tremble but quickly shake it away. This is his home, he must be able to exist within it, but this feels strange, almost deliberate. Is he trying to make some point? To scare you? You remember the mention of those who came before you. Did they quit or did he dismiss them? Regardless, you can’t afford either.

It isn’t that difficult to follow the rules. Don’t speak? You haven’t much to say. You get closer as you advance along the shelves to the back of the office. He lets out another long exhale. His chair creaks, once, twice, and again.

“Hm,” he rolls back and swivels, an action you observe from the corner of your eye. He tuts and wheels back to the desk, resuming tapping on the keys of his slender laptop. The glow limns his silhouette sinisterly.

You rustle the drapes as you pass them and cross to the opposite shelves. As you brush over the spines of the books, you nearly drop the cloth. His low hum frightens you as he mimics the same melody that played from the speakers below. His tone is deep and sonorous, even delightful.

You squeeze the cloth and pause before regaining your composure. This cannot be a coincidence. The camera and now he’s following you. Or so it seems. Does he distrust you? What reason have you given him?

You are mindful to wipe down the bronze statue of what you assume is a viking warrior. You place it back staunchly, making sure your work is entirely visible to him. You are honest and you like to think you do your work well. Or at least, you try to. Perhaps if he sees that effort, he won’t be so suspicious.

As you head for the door, he quits his humming. His chair squeaks again.

“You are rather more thorough than the last,” he muses.

You stop and turn your head. You nod. He’s baiting you to break his number one rule.

“And you take orders well,” he adds blithely, “that is rare these days.” He taps a key again, “as you were.”

You take the dismissal in stride and flit off to your next task. It isn’t much, maybe only a statement of fact, but it’s something. He isn’t unhappy with your work. So far, neither are you.

[airplanned]

If there was a Me for You extra bonus scene!

Does it fit into any of the one-shots? No! Did I write it even though I'd said I wasn't writing fic this week? Yes!

Someone commented that they were bummed they didn't get to see the crew's reaction to finding out the big secret. So here you go! Post-Whole Cake.

--

No one is giving Sanji much space, and he is entirely okay with that.  Luffy has snuggled up next to him on the bench, close enough that he would probably be in Sanji's lap had Chopper not gotten there first, and Luffy looks like he's seriously considering slowly shoving the reindeer out of the way, despite how Chopper is currently rubbing antiseptic on a cut on Sanji's forehead.  Brook sits next to him at the table, yet still manages to hover, and Nami is pacing, but never gets more than five feet away.  She's bristling, and it makes him feel both chastised and loved. 

"Take this off.  I need to see your wrist," Chopper says, and somehow it takes four of them to pull Sanji's ridiculous white jacket off his shoulders.  In just his shirt, he feels like he's better able to breathe, and he rolls up his right sleeve to the elbow to show Chopper, who hisses a the bruising and the skin rubbed raw around his soulmark. 

That cuff sucked.

"This ointment needs to be spread on it.  Can I do it, or would you like to do it yourself?"

"I'll do it!" Luffy announces, and grabs the tube from the table.  He grins up at Sanji and says, "I've never seen yours before."

And who can argue with that?  There's something deeply intimate letting Luffy touch his wrist.  Hell, even letting Luffy see his wrist is a big deal for him.  It's embarrassing and wonderful, and his crew loves him so much.  With a red face, he clears his throat and looks away.

The ointment is cold and goopy, and Luffy's treatment isn't what you would call gentle.  Is stings as it goes on and then numbs, his entire arm relaxing for the first time in weeks.

"Where's your watch?" Nami asks.

Sanji cringes.  "They broke it.  When they put on the--"  He gestures meaninglessly with his finger, but can't say the words.  It doesn't matter.  They all seem to understand. 

Her face crumples before she pulls herself back together.  "I'm sorry.  Do you...will you want something else to cover it?  I know they're not your style, but I'm not really using my old bracelets."  She waves her bare wrist, where the black swirls stand out against her pale skin.  "If you want them."

It's one of the kindest things anyone has ever offered him.  He has to blink a few times and swallow hard before offering up a crooked smile that's not supposed to be crooked.  "I think I'd like to let it breathe a bit."

Her eyebrows lift.  His smile evens out a bit, even as heat rises in his face.

"You do need to let it breathe," Chopper admonishes.

"Why are there diamonds?" Luffy asks.  His face is way too close to Sanji's wrist.  Close enough that he's probably breathing in the fumes from the ointment.

"Oh, uh.  It's--"

"It's none of your business, Luffy," Nami says.

"No, it's alright.  It's, um, negative space."  He traces the pattern with a finger, hovering just over his skin so as not to disturb the goop and not call Zoro.  "It's not black diamonds.  It's white Xs."

"Oh!  Like those pictures. Where sometimes its a candlestick and sometimes it's two faces."

"Optical illusions," Brook supplies.

"I suppose," Sanji says.

"Cool," Luffy says.  Then, "Oh I get it!  It's Wado."

"Luffy!" Nami shouts.

"What?"  The captain looks up at Sanji, who's holding very still, then back to Nami.  "What?"

"You're--How did you know that?"

Luffy looks genuinely confused, then lifts Sanji's arm to show her.  "You know the criss-cross-y part on the hilt of Zoro's sword?  It looks like that.  I mean...his is white, and Sanji's kinda pink, but--"

"Zoro's sword?" Chopper asks, suddenly sitting up straight and leaning forward to get a better look too.

Nami gives Luffy a sharp, tight-lipped look.  "That's a secret, Luffy."

"No, it's not.  They had first sight on Alabasta.  We all saw it."

Sanji points at him.  "See!  We told you all.  It's not a secret."

Luffy nods guilelessly.

Chopper's little mouth falls open as he gapes up at Sanji.  (And, yeah, those big eyes make him feel a touch guilty.)

"You did not tell everyone!" Nami argues.  "We all knew that first sight was Vivi."

"Yeah!" Chopper squeaks.

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Luffy says, squinting up at the ceiling deep in thought.  For a moment, Sanji wonders if Luffy is dumb enough that he somehow thought Sanji and Zoro had held off on first sight for a whole month of being crewmates.  But then he shrugs.  "Well, it makes sense they would want to have Vivi let them try again.  Their real one must not have been very good.  With Zoro dying and everything."

Sanji clears his throat.

"They didn't have first sight when Zoro was dying!  They had first sight at the table at the restaurant!"

Luffy frowns and blinks at her.

Sanji bites his lips and winces when her sharp look tuns on him.  "That's...when Zoro had first sight.  Yes."

She stares at him for a long moment.  Then her face falls in aggrieved disgust when it clicks together.  "You two are so stupid!  Honestly, you deserve each other."

It's insane that that makes him kinda happy.

"Wait!  Sanji and Zoro are soulmates?!  Like really?" Chopper shrieks.

He looks so upset that Sanji's knee-jerk response is, "Maybe?"

"You kept it from me!"  The little reindeer is now standing in his lap, shoving his chest with his front hoves, and he should probably be grateful he hasn't switched to heavy point and thrown him in the water.

"I thought you knew!  You're the only one who's seen my soulmark!"

"Your soulmark is a row of diamonds!"  Then Chopper gasps, and claps his hooves over his mouth.  "Zoro's soulmark is fish."  His butt starts to wiggle in excitement, tears building in his eyes.  Sanji hugs him closer.

And if there's a hug involved, Luffy needs to get in on it.  Next thing Sanji knows, his captain's head is on his shoulder and one of his legs is slung over Sanji's lap.

"What about you," Nami demands, jerking her chin at Brook.

"Oh, I assumed they were soulmates before I joined the crew.  But then everyone told me they weren't, and I didn't know what to think.  It was all very confusing.  It still is."  He takes a sip of tea.

Chopper is crying.  Sanji moves to pet him, but remembers at the last second that he has to do it with his left hand rather than his right.  He doesn't want the goop to get on his fur.

[nincompoopydoo]

CAUGHT IN A CROSSFIRE

BETRAYAL — ; PART 8 / 9

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.7k SUMMARY: Awakening in an unfamiliar setting with restored memories, you encounter someone familiar. However, a lingering sense of betrayal clouds the reunion. Meanwhile, Theseus uncovers a concealed message in your letters, hinting at the potential discovery of your location. A/N: Hi everyone! I know I said I was going to put this on permanent hiatus until I was ready to pick it up again, but your girl finished her degree (kinda did badly, but glad it's over!), and now I have ample time to put all my energy of my one brain cell into finishing this series before I fall into depression again lol. Anyways, I really hope you enjoy this and thank you for all the love for this series and my baby, Theseus <3 I'm also sorry for ending it with another cliffhanger haha WARNINGS: Angst. Kinda scary shit (I literally scared myself while writing this lol) no beta we die like men. MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Your environment is an enigma through the lenses of tunnel vision—hues of darkness circle in textures, contrasts of colour that dance along with your darting eyes. Your slow mind tries to keep up with your sight, unravelling the mysteries of your surroundings.

You first notice wood. Brown, battered, dim–a wooden beam trailing along the expanse of plastered white walls, grimed with dirt and age. Through blinkered sight, you catch a glimpse of light, dim orange hues casting fluttering shadows on the wall. You see it now, a flame dancing upon melting wax perched on a rustic candlestick. 

Flame. Fire. Heat.

You remember it all now.

Inferno swept through the foundations of your tiny household, leaving you and the fragility of your lungs gasping for air as you stumbled around for an exit. Yet, things were dense, billowing colours of deep grey and red, blinding your vision. You still feel the parchedness scratching down your throat. 

You remember how your hands clambered to grasp something before falling to your knees. You remember how your environment began to twist and spurn before your very eyes, vivid colours of the blaze swirling.

Then, everything went black.

…

…You…

You remember emerald cobblestones—a mesmerising golden statue.

You remember the warmth of the colour red – the trees in fall, the crackling of a fireplace, a desk with scattered papers across its surface. 

You remember.

Theseus.

Dim blue eyes. Sad. Freckled cheeks. Flushed. Brown hair curled and tumbled in autumnal hues. Trees. Barcham trees that line the sidewalk are carpeted in autumn gold. The tenement. His home. Warm, petite, charming. Gardenias. Tea. Your suitcase. Magic.

Little glimpses of returning memories flood your whirling mind like gushing water. It’s overwhelming. For weeks, you sat with a sense of longing, a missing piece, settled within the depths of your mind. And now, it all traces back to the odd familiarity of the man you met on the bus. Perhaps you recognised the glint in his eye when his eyes met yours or the patterned freckles along his cheeks, tinted in blotches of red from embarrassment.

You remember.

Your elbows immediately shift under you, perched as you rose midway, wondering yet blurry eyes moving along your surroundings. You’re in a room, and it’s not your own. Small, humble, solid walls encircle your surroundings. You have seen places like these during the war. You push yourself up, weight now on your splayed-out palms on what you realise to be a settee. It creaks at your very touch, and every little shift echoes throughout the room.

Its walls are far from pristine, with petite flowers scattered across the yellowed wallpaper with tears at its curling edges, perfectly still yet timeworn.

Your eyes trace the trails of sunlight that glow through the room, diluted by a translucent curtain that hangs before a window, shadows of a tree swaying in the gentle wind.

There’s a bed on the far left of the room, narrow and meticulously made with a quilt reminiscent of autumn hues. You can barely distinguish its patchwork from where you are, and it itches a part of your brain – a sense of familiarity.

Before you can make sense of that feeling, you are overcome with searing pain. Tearing through your head and coursing through the very confinements of your skull as if something was begging to break free from the back of your mind.

Eyes squeezed shut, you cannot help but bring your palms to the sides of your head, the heels of your hands harshly pinned to your temples, yet all you see are flashing lights dancing around in the darkness. 

Then, a flash. White. Blinding.

At that moment, you found yourself transported to an apartment. Yellow-bricked, warm honey-coloured hues of Autumn. Golden, falling leaves. Bright eyes, cheeks tinged with a touch of red. Theseus looks at you like you’re the sun. Like you hold a weight of significance, a tapestry to his existence.

“I know I’ve said this a thousand time before, but I’m sorry. Truly. You don’t deserve to be involved in this.”

You feel yourself smile; tears threaten to slip from your saddened eyes. 

“I would usually say it’s alright, but I don’t think I can say it for everything that has happened. But, thank you.” 

A hand reaches for his, gentle and soft to the touch. You feel his fingers twitch under your hold.

“Truly.”

Theseus looks at you like you’re the sun.

Theseus looks at you…

Theseus…

Suddenly, you find yourself in a narrow bus. You see him blinking wide-eyed at you, his expression paled. You had said – no, asked something. 

“No. I don’t think we do.”

You see it, the pain in his eyes, the sadness in his tone. It clenches your heart, but you don’t know why.

That was the first time he had lied to you.

…

You hear your name.

Distant but frantic. It repeats again and again and again.

A grip on the curve of your shoulders, and you find yourself back in the narrow, unknown room you awoke in moments ago.

But then you see his eyes, his tousled hair. It’s him who calls you.

“Theseus?” you breathed, disbelief flickering in your wide eyes. Without a second thought, your hands reach out to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his dress shirt as if to ground yourself in the reality of his presence. A counterpoint to the disarray within your mind.  

But as Theseus meets your gaze, a furrow forms on his brow, and a shadow eclipses the warmth in his eyes. The frown, subtle yet profound, settles an uneasiness in you. Your grip weakens.

“We need to go. Now.” His tone is cut-throat, laden with urgency, and you cannot help but jolt at his words. You find your fingers slowly releasing their hold as the weight of his statement settles in the room.

He pulls away and reaches for your elbow, swift and deliberately, that reflects the gravity of the situation. His touch is so firm that it prompts you to stand. Questions hang heavy in the air, but you know you’re in some kind of trouble. Yet, you catch your eyes lingering on the dark look in his own, and you can't help but think he's changed since you last saw him. Since you last remembered him.

Something feels…wrong, but you don’t give yourself a chance to even think about it before you’re being led out the door. 

The narrow corridor stretches ahead, dimly lit, bricked walls with a single lamp casting a glow across the space, revealing its worn walls and your flickering shadows. The air is cool, carrying a faint scent of dampness that permeates the space. All you hear is footsteps reverberating along the narrow passage, echoing against the walls. You realise you are underground and feel your stomach lurch at that thought, making your skin crawl.

“Come on.” Theseus pulls you along, the grip on your elbow never weakening. You can feel the tension emanating from him, the stiffness in his movements, the rigidity of his jaw.

You find yourself staring at the back of Theseus' head, studying how the dim light catches on his hair. He seems so different.

“Where are we going?” You finally ask.

He doesn’t respond.

Theseus continues to pull you down the corridor, and you take the time to scan your surroundings despite the quickened pace. You see the occasional rusty pipes that snake along the ceiling, contributing to a low mechanical hum and the flickering of overhead lights that seem to swing periodically at a light rumble that makes the ground shake for a second or two.

Then, he eventually comes to an abrupt halt, revealing a dead end. Your feet stagger back, trying to stop yourself from bumping into him. You see Theseus' brows furrowed in thought, eyes darting between the walls, searching. His fingers trace the rugged surface and abruptly pause as you catch sight of a carving on a specific brick, nearly invisible.

Theseus taps it, and a warm glow emanates from the wall. The carving becomes illuminated, and the wall seems to dissolve into seemingly ethereal dust. It shines golden under the dim buzzing lights. What once was a wall reveals an entrance to an alleyway; it greets you with a rush of cool air and the sounds of the city.

You step through the entrance after Theseus as he beckons for you to follow hurriedly. Yet, your focus is elsewhere as you close in on the intricate symbol carved into the brick. As you inch nearer, the features sharpen, and a sudden recognition sparks within you.

It's a Gardenia, delicately depicted.

Gardenias always had a particular significance in your life, and it’s all because of your mother. That same Gardenia on your mother’s necklace is an heirloom that spanned many generations. It was important and personal to her, and you don’t know how or why it is doing here.

Flowers for your mother – a bouquet of Gardenias.

The bigger picture materialises as if the puzzle pieces are beginning to click.

Your place in the unfolding mess remains unclear, but it hints that you've anticipated the arrival of this revelation for a long time.

Theseus is calling for you, a slight note of panic in his voice, but you ignore his calls, remaining rooted in place. As you watch the glow that details the symbol disappear, you wonder if Theseus knows everything, even though you swore you never told a soul.

Unless…

You still don’t know how you got your memories back.

As you finally turn to Theseus, there’s a gripping sense of uncertainty. His approach, marked by a frustrated expression, erodes the strong familiarity you once held for this man, a trust built in such a short time. With each step towards you, that trust begins to dissipate.

That vulnerability quickly turns to anger – betrayal.

“What the hell is happening, Theseus?” you question fiercely, pressing him for an explanation. 

Again, Theseus dismisses your insistence and attempts to reach for your arm, but you instinctively step back, maintaining a wary distance. 

“Answer me.” you insist, voice growing louder, eyes boring into his.

His gaze lingers on your face, and you watch his expression harden, jaw tense.

“Look, you’re in deep trouble right now and it’s best we leave right now he’ll come looking for you.”

He.

Not they. Not she.

Not The Restoration Movement. Not Morrigan.

Something is very wrong.

And his eyes. You can’t quite place it, but something about the look in his eyes has shifted. They look so different.

In moments like these, you aren’t sure what to do, but you know to trust your gut. Your mind races at the possibilities of how this could all end, and the only thing you can think is to run.

And so, you run.

—

Theseus believes he has only survived through self-deceit – the deception of his ability to stay grounded and keep his emotions at bay. His heart was never to be trusted, never to give in or give up. Yet, how does one cope when a situation relies on promised perseverance but is tangled amid his emotions he suddenly lacks control of in your presence?

Theseus knows there was something between the two of you, but he will never admit it despite his now aching heart caused by your sudden disappearance, even though you might as well be considered dead to the muggle world. The thought of your death pulls his thoughts to the night he first met you, how an unforgivable curse nearly struck you, how you looked at him, knowing you couldn’t have survived if he hadn’t been there in time. 

Merlin, he hopes you aren’t dead.

No, you’re not. He knows it. You’re relentless. So relentless that death would never want to claim you without a fight. So relentless that you manage to squeeze yourself into his thoughts at every waking hour. Every fibre in him wishes he hadn’t let you slip away that day, wishing he hadn’t abandoned you, betrayed your trust.

He wishes you hadn’t agreed to leave.

To leave him.

Now all alone.

Alone.

Theseus was never certain of his feelings for you when you were ambling within the expanse of the four walls he calls home. Whether affections were simply out of pity or was it his admiration for your entire being, your perfections, blemishes, and everything in between. Yet, at this very moment, he couldn’t be more unequivocally sure that his affections are true because presently, you have consumed all his waking days and nights, leaving a hollowed space perhaps once filled by your presence. The constant worry in his brow made his eyes tired but sleepless due to his fear of the worst for you.

Dread fills his senses, and tears threaten to seep through the cracks of a carefully sculpted, hard-headed man he had spent years practising, performing as a so-called war hero. Theseus never let himself cry, especially over you, not even when you parted with a touch to his cheek. Not even when he set his eyes on you again and you were completely unaware of him. 

Yet, it’s the possibility he has lost you forever that he’ll never see you again. Never.

Theseus breathes a shaky breath, fingers clamped in his trembling hand as he tries to remember what he’s been told to do. To find you. To stop Morrigan. To stop whatever mess he has landed you in.

No, you’re not. You’re not dead. He reminds himself again.

The sun had set moments ago, darkness creeping between the cracks of light, shimmering from the candle alight by his tableside and the flames of the fireplace. Its crackling grounds his very notion of stirring into panic. Theseus finds himself tucked in the same corner of his living room, and his couch now houses a collection of books and particular pieces of evidence of your whereabouts.

He merely fears this has everything to do with Morrigan, the Restoration Movement, your supposed living brother and perhaps your mother – also dead. Theseus gains a strong premonition, a gut feeling that your disappearance is all a part of a larger plan than he had initially expected. Your disappearance may have caused a flurry of commotion amongst the Aurors. Still, the ministry has its sights on the movement rather than your supposed connection as more than just your brother, which Theseus feels strongly about. Yet, with Travers breathing down his neck to arrest Morrigan and her acolytes, Theseus needs solid evidence rather than vague instances and misdirected clues that all seem to lead to spiralling trails.

Frankly, his career is at stake, but he couldn’t care less.

He just wants to see you again.

Theseus heaves, fingers carding through his deep brown locks when his eye catches sight of the only two letters that he found to be related to you in one way or another. He finds himself drawn to it, finding the letter from your brother within his grasp for what seems like the millionth time this month. The same words, again and again, were already engraved in his mind.

When he shifts his elbow, the letter catches the candlelight from behind, and something immediately seizes his attention. Something he hadn’t recognised before now.

Inscribed in the very material of the parchment – the symbol of a Gardenia, its intricate lines glowing against the candlelight, seemingly burning. Theseus props up in his seat, back straightened, shoulders tensed, and eyes wide.

Bloody hell…

He scrambles for the other letter, holding it up against the light, eyes settling on the darkened edges of the page only to discover the very same symbol.

A Gardenia.

How could he have been so blind?

It must have been instinct when he decided that the two letters were puzzle pieces meant to be joined. Theseus would try anything at this point.

Seemingly, luck was finally on his side when he pressed the letters together, above one another – new words formed before his eyes, written with burning lines, every curve of each letter appeared between the gaps of the original text to only form a new paragraph.

Sister,

If you're reading this, I'm likely gone, and you're in trouble. Morrigan and The Restoration Movement hide a darker truth. Their agenda involves our mother and a woman named Miriam Monet. I'm unsure of the details, but Miriam plays a crucial role. Stay safe.

As his eyes shift down the page, his heart nearly stops when his name comes into view.

To Theseus,

If you see this, my sister is in danger. You know more than you think.

TAGLIST (tagging everyone who commented in my last post just because it's been awhile <3):

@crumpets-are-better-with-jam

@inlovewithfictionalcharacters27

@aterriblelangblr

@yournewmommy

@mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@never-let-them-change-your-self

[amorgansgal]

Practice Makes Perfect

So here we go! At long last, I've finished my fic and I loved writing this one so much! Just to ensure absolute clarity I'm kind of seeing the academy as a university, so everyone here is over the age of 20 and somehow I've pegged Gale as a complete slut evidently!

Gale x Fat Female Reader

CW: Sexual content, Oral sex

‘I really don’t think this is a good idea,’ you desperately whisper to your friend, Nira, who is dragging you through the mahogany panelled library where absurdly high bookshelves tower above you both.

The library is quieter in the late afternoons and evenings, there are only a few students either absorbed in the small mountains of books that surround them or are busily writing out long essays, the familiar, comforting sound of turning pages and the scratch of pen against paper fills the large room. As you pass the candlesticks the wicks catch alight, now that the room is getting gloomier and the sky is darkening. The sun is sinking low in the sky, casting the last rays of golden light to be dispersed through the diamond patterned windows. The dark wooden floorboard underneath your feet glitters with the thrumming magic that spills from the books in the room and the stunning reds, golds and oranges of the last light of the day.

‘Don’t be such a wet blanket,’ Nira hisses in response. ‘Besides, I thought you were interested.’

‘I am,’ you insist, though a hot blush still creeps up your cheeks. ‘But I don’t want to be mocked or for him to judge me.’

‘He’s not going to judge you. From what I heard he quite likes…’ she hesitates, pursing her lips as though wanting to find the right way of putting it.

‘Fat women?’ you prompt.

She sighs. ‘I was going to say ladies with larger thighs, but sure, fat women.’

‘You promise me, he won’t laugh or-’

‘He’s not going to laugh and if he does I’ll fireball him right in his face.’

You bite back a laugh at the thought and Nira grins at you, then continues, ‘Besides, I’ve had the joy of experiencing Gale’s tongue and it’s well worth it. Honestly, I wish he was interested in properly dating someone, because I’d throw my hat in the ring, so many men act like the whole thing is disgusting. Oh but we’re expected to suck them off whenever, even if their dicks stink like piss!’

You smile, it’s been a complaint of Nira ever since she got to experience Gale’s tongue and you’ve heard all about his ability non-stop since. Most of the girls in your class have talked about it. You’re surprised they’re not jealous of one another or are trying to win him over, but he apparently doesn’t seem to care about entering a serious relationship and is just happy to oblige his classmates’ desires. You had your concerns though that he would not be interested in you. You’d always been on the larger size, your mother certainly didn’t help matters by pointedly making remarks about how most people associated female magic users with beautiful, ethereal waif like creatures. No one thought of dumpy little witches unless they were old and ugly. You did your best to shrug off comments like that but it still stung and you felt like you had to work twice as hard as your classmates just to be given any forethought or attention from either your peers or your teachers.

Gale, when you had occasion to work with him, was refreshingly respectful, kind and seemed to actually see you. You’d grown almost accustomed to any man’s gaze immediately drifting past you and onto your thinner friends. If it didn’t happen so often you might have even been angry about it, but you didn’t really see the point. So consequently your experience with men was rather limited. You’d been kissed, sure, but it was such a fumbling, innocent mess of a kiss you weren’t quite sure whether to count it. You’d touch yourself but you always felt a bit embarrassed about it and sometimes your own self-doubts would turn you off. So it was usually a rushed affair and didn’t quite leave you fully satisfied.

‘Ah, there you are,’ Nira says as you reach the end of the library where instead of desks and rigid back chairs there are soft, plush sofas nestled in alcoves and you see Gale look up at your approach. He gives you both a warm smile and you immediately feel that this whole thing is a horrible, terrible idea. Your feet slow and Nira is practically dragging you over. Your heart is thudding in your chest, the blood rushing in your ears, and it feels like your throat is about to close up. Gale is handsome. He has foppish brown hair that tickles the back of his neck. His eyes are a warm, deep brown. His easy going smile is inviting. And you feel all your weight, the soft plumpness of your belly, your thighs catching slightly on chairs and tables as you walk over. He is going to say no, he is going to look at you like you are disgusting and repulsive and how could you even think he would want to give you pleasure?

‘Good afternoon, Nira,’ he says and inclines his head in greeting. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Well, it’s not so much pleasure you owe me!’ Nira says with a grin and tosses her head at you. ‘You remember Y/N, right?’

‘Of course, I still am very resentful you soundly beat me in my alchemy test!’’ he says, though there’s no malice in the tone as his smile widens and his eyes glimmer with mischief. 

‘Well, she’s heard what you like to do.’

Gale laughs, and for a moment your heart seizes in terror. ‘Really? Am I getting that kind of reputation?’ he asks, though you can see he’s quite proud of such a reputation.

Nira rolls her eyes. ‘Oh come off it Gale, you’ve practically had every girl in the classroom that way and we all talk about it!’

His eyes flick back to you and a shiver runs down your spine. The pupils in his eyes have widened and you’re quite certain it has nothing to do with the gloom of the library. He wets his lips and you’re almost scared of the way he’s looking at you… he’s looking at you with desire and your silly heart doesn’t quite know what to make of it. But then he clears his throat and gives you another sweet, winning smile.

‘And I take it you’re interested in allowing me to practise? Because if you’re not and Nira has just dragged you here when you don’t like the idea, then please don’t be bullied into it. I’m very happy to have a chance to work on my technique, but I don’t like the idea of someone being less than enthusiastic,’ he says and his gaze is entirely focused on you, and you almost don’t want to look at him because it’s so startling being treated like an object of desire. But you manage to keep your head raised and your eyes fixed on him.

‘Yes, I do… I am interested,’ you say. ‘If you’re… um… interested in me, you don’t have to if it would prove distasteful.’

That same wicked, mischievous gleam is back and he draws closer to you. ‘I am interested and I assure you, it never proves distasteful, quite the contrary in fact.’

‘Gods, should I just turn my back or are you going to wait until you’ve gone somewhere more private?’ Nira asks and you flush at her words, though Gale lets out another burst of laughter.

‘I would assume my room would be preferable,’ he says to you. ‘Though Lucia and I did make use of that corner over there,’ he gestures to a table tucked into a corner by a bookshelf and you inhale quickly, imagining your hands holding tightly onto the shelves, your butt on the table and Gale’s head between your thighs. You bite you lip and press your legs together, there is no denying the desire that courses through you at the thought of the risk that would be, the possibility of being caught, though you would find it mortifying. It’s better to not get ahead of yourself and you nod.

‘I would prefer the privacy of your room,’ you say, and Gale offers his hand to you. It takes you a moment for you to take it, but he gives your fingers a gentle squeeze and then puts the book he was holding back on the shelf. 

‘I assume we should go there now, unless you have prior plans,’ he says to you. Were it any other man you would have assumed he might be trying to put you off, but it sounds like he genuinely cares about whether or not you’re busy.

‘No, no, we can go there now,’ you say, then glance away because of how embarrassingly eager you sound.

‘Good,’ Gale says and takes hold of your hand more firmly. Nira catches your eye and smiles as he begins to walk by her.

‘Have fun!’ she says.

‘See you later, Nira,’ Gale says to her, you only manage a nod as you feel rather tongue tied.

***

Gale’s room is definitely cleaner than some of the guys’ rooms you had seen within the dormitory rooms of Blackstaff Academy. Oh, there’s robes tossed over chairs, the desk is littered with books, papers, quills, an open box of herbs and crystals and sublimates. But there’s no forgotten plates or dirty cups. Gale’s room actually smells quite good too, a faint hint of bergamot and cedar. He pulls out the chair in front of the desk and turns it around to face the bed, then gestures for you to sit in the chair. You sit down, nervously placing your hands in front of your belly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Gale closes the bedroom door, then sits down on the bed opposite you.

‘So, now that Nira isn’t around, you definitely want to do this? He asks.

You nod, your throat feels very dry and tight. Gale smiles at you softly. ‘Just want to check, as I say, don’t want to do this with anyone who has doubts. I’d like to ask you a few things first.’

You nod again and curse yourself for losing all sense of any wit or wisdom you once had in your brain! But Gale is relaxed and begins work on removing his boots. ‘First, easy one, do you want me to lock the door or just have it closed. I’m sure you know I have a tressym and she comes and goes as she pleases, and while she’s respectful and polite, I don’t put it past some of our classmates not to barge in!’

You think about it carefully, then say, ‘Lock the door please.’

He casts arcane lock on the door and then grins at you, you can’t help smiling back. ‘And you know knock, so you want to get out you’re free to go whenever you want,’ he says, the implication runs underneath, you’re in control, what you say goes, if you don’t like it you can go and there won’t be any hurt feelings. You feel rather touched he’s going to all this effort.

‘Next question, would you prefer to be partially clothed or entirely naked? When I do this I do quite enjoy touching my partner everywhere, but your comfort is more important than what I find enjoyable,’ Gale says.

You look away, you still feel self-conscious about your belly and you can’t imagine Gale would want to touch the soft, fleshy weight of it, let alone even see it! ‘I’ll keep my blouse on, if that’s alright,’ you mutter.

His two fingers catch under your chin and he lifts your head. ‘It’s fine by me, but it’s more important that it’s what you find alright, your comfort comes first. Now, biggest and hardest question,’ he says, smiling. ‘Can I kiss you or would you rather I didn’t and just work my magic between your legs?’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, your eyes are captured entirely by his and your voice sounds faint. ‘You can kiss me.’

His hand slips down your cheek, lightly resting against your neck, his fingers curve round your head and he pulls you forward. His mouth finds yours and he kisses you sweetly at first, tentative, gentle, as though he is worried you might flinch away, but nothing could be further from the truth. Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel like you might forget to breathe. Your hand hesitantly goes to his chest, you don’t want to push your luck, but he instead presses his free hand over yours and you can feel the warmth of him bleeding through his shirt. He lets out a groan and then pulls away from you, breathing hard and certainly wearing an expression of wanting to eat you up. 

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘If I’m not careful I’ll get carried away!’

You wonder what ‘carried away’ might entail, given what you’re about to do. But you don’t have much time to think about it, he helps you up from the chair and unties the laces of your skirt. He tugs it down over your hips and you watch him bite his lip when your thighs come into view, he’s utterly focused on your legs and his hand reaches out eagerly, but he seems to collect himself to not just grab a meaty handful. Gale gently strokes down your thigh and guides you to the bed, grabbing the pillows and putting them behind your back. He removes the slippers that had been on your feet, tossing them off into a corner of the room and seems to admire the stockings you wear, though they aren’t particularly sexy you think, just the fairly standard academy uniform ones. Once you’re comfortable, he returns to looking at your legs, he traces his fingers up from your ankles to just behind your knees, making you shiver. You still feel a bit embarrassed about Gale seeing you like this, of opening your legs so he can see all of you.

Gale catches your eye and smiles. He leans down and kisses you, that same sweet, soft kiss. ‘You alright?’ he whispers.

‘Mmhm,’ you manage, well at least you made a sound this time. Gale chuckles quietly.

‘You look so beautiful,’ he says, then trails kisses down your mouth, your jaw and neck, nipping at your ear and making you gasp as the hot little jolt of pleasure soars through you. You decide to ignore that him saying you’re beautiful is probably both something he says to all the girls who come to him for this and also definitely a lie in your case.

He scoots down the bed and slowly pulls apart your legs, his stare is so intense you have to close your eyes. His fingers skim up your legs, his nails stroke down your thighs, until they reach the crease between them and your mound. 

‘Hmm pretty,’ he says, and he pulls his right hand away for a moment. You open your eyes to see him with his thumb in his mouth that he pulls out with a pop and then he places it against your clit and circles it. The sensation makes you gasp and arch up, though you still cover your belly with your arm. Gale lets out another tight groan and suddenly lies down between your legs, his fingers still play with your clit, feather-light touches sliding down to your entrance and teasing it, then going back up making you bite your lip hard to not let out a sound.

‘You can make as much noise as you like, in fact I’d rather you do,’ he says, then brings one of your thighs over his shoulder. Your eyes flicker open as he presses kisses against it. He nips at the sensitive skin, a playful, teasing bite. ‘It tells me if I’m doing a good job.’

He keeps kissing down your thigh and suddenly he’s at the apex, his hungry dark eyes watching you intently, you can feel his breath on your nether regions, your belly feels tight and it’s all you can do to both stay on the bed exactly where you are or beg him to relieve you of the growing ache and need for something. He gives you one quick, delicious smile and then buries himself between your thighs. You don’t know what to expect, but his warm tongue darting out, circling your clit and then more firmly suckling it makes you feel like a hot jolt of electricity zapped through your body. The pleasure is mind melting and Gale is all to happy to apparently drown in you, his mouth and lips and tongue… You forget yourself, forget all your shame, the hatred of your body, the disgust you feel with yourself, and surrender yourself utterly to pleasure. 

He’s good, too good. He seems to cotton on quickly to what you like, how best to draw out every bit of pleasure, everything that makes your toes curl, that tighten the muscles in your thighs, that makes you instinctively grasp a handful of his brown hair between your hands and he keeps bringing you to the peak of pleasure over and over, until you see stars in your eyes and feel so lost to it all, so desperate you wind up babbling and pleading for him to let you cum.

‘Please Gale, please, please, don’t stop, please don’t stop. I need it, I need it so badly!’

You feel his laughter vibrate through his body, but finally, mercifully, he acquiesces and you are undone by pleasure, it roars through your body like a furnace, his tongue still maddeningly teasing your clit and you are left almost sobbing on the bed, uncaring of the warm gush between your legs, the air not filling your lungs enough, the world feels dizzy and spectacular and glorious. His head pops up and you can’t help the laugh you let slip at his slightly dazed, but altogether thoroughly pleased expression. 

‘You need to taste yourself,’ he insists, and he kisses you again fiercely, his tongue sliding into your mouth and you do. It’s not a bad taste to your surprise, musky and a little tart, but intoxicating and sweet. Once he’s satisfied he raises his head, though he’s still lying on top of you, he rests his forehead against yours and sighs contentedly. His chin and small beard is soaked through. ‘How was that?’ he asks.

It takes you a moment to clear your throat and find your voice, but more because you’ve been done in, not because you are flustered. ‘Good, very, very good. Thank you.’

‘No, thank you,’ he says, and you let out a breath of laughter that he’s still ever the gentleman. He gets to his feet, grabs an empty basin and a cloth, and comes back to your side. He fills the bowl with warm water using a prestidigitation spell and starts work cleaning you up, tenderly washing you down, though you almost feel a little disappointed you couldn’t keep the slick between your thighs. There’s already a delightful prickling sensation from where his beard rubbed against your legs.

He helps you to your feet, then picks up your skirt, giving it a little shake to remove any dust and holding it open for you to step in. ‘I can manage to dress myself,’ you say.

‘I know, didn’t doubt that, Miss beats-me-soundly-at-alchemy,’ he teases. ‘But I like doing this.’

He brings over your shoes and insists on helping you with those too, having you sit back down on the bed as he puts them on your feet. You have a feeling it might just be because he gets to touch your legs once more.

‘You have the best legs,’ he murmurs. 

You let out a snort of laughter. ‘Given how many you’ve apparently seen, I doubt that!’

But he vehemently shakes his head. ‘I mean it, the best legs in the whole school. If you ever wish for another time I’d be happy to oblige, but I’d quite like it if you sat on my face.’

‘Gale, I’d squish you or break your nose!’ you say.

His eyes gleam at the thought. ‘Well worth the risk!’ He gets to his feet, then offers you a hand and after helping you up, he turns your hand over and presses a kiss to the knuckles. ‘Please come back any time.’

You shiver with delight at the thought, but simply nod and leave the room.

***

Of course Nira wants all the juicy, sordid details and you spend the better part of the evening quietly whispering and giggling in your dormitory room as you recount it. She does seem surprised though when you mention that Gale had asked if he could kiss you.

‘Really? He didn’t ask to kiss me,’ she muses, then gives a shrug. ‘Maybe that’s just something new he does, though I swear Jacanthe was just before you and she didn’t talk about him kissing her. I’ll have to ask her at breakfast.’

It’s an odd, trivial notion you’re sure, but you can’t help the pleased little smile at the thought that maybe, just maybe he had solely wanted to kiss you. But you dismiss it, Gale could have any women at the academy and you know better than to get swept away with the idea that maybe his feelings ran deeper for you than anyone else!

[lucien0501]

JEALOUS (Drarry fic)

Description: Draco and Harry live together in Grimauld place to look after Teddy Lupin (Draco's cousin and Harry's godson). Draco comes home after a casual hookup covered in evidence, which reveals to them both exactly how intense their feelings have become. And it's dual pov! This fic is pretty angsty, but in a fun oh-my-gosh-they're-so-damn-oblivious-and-in-love way:)

Warnings: NSFW themes, extreme innuendo (no smut tho sorry), harry is jealous, ANGST swearing, I think that's it? Let me know if I missed any, and sorry in advance if I did!!

Note: I do not support the views of the author (I am a trans person so....no🤬) but I love these very gay characters very much!

1k words!

Harry Potter was definitely not waiting for Draco to come home. He was simply sitting on the couch with a good view of the door, doing paperwork he didn't need to start until Wednesday. It wasn't like him and Malfoy were close anyway. They only lived together to make it easier to share custody of Teddy (Harry's godson and Draco's cousin). He yawned, glancing over at the clock on the mantel. It was half past midnight and he had to get up early tomorrow--- it was pancake morning and his turn to cook. Harry knew Draco could take care of himself, so he gathered his papers, readying to stand up. Then the door creaked open softly, and there was his house mate, standing in the doorway. "Oh." He said quietly. "You're still awake." "Yeah." Harry felt a soft surge of relief at the sight of him. He knew that there wasn't really any danger now, but he couldn't completely shake off the old patterns from the war. Draco removed his coat, shaking the snow off the shoulders before hanging it up. Harry had only seen a glimpse of him when he'd stuck his head in Harry's room to tell him he'd been heading out. Now, though, as he kicked off his shoes, Harry could see everything from the unfairly tight grey jeans, to the green lace long sleaved shirt. Both left very little to the imagination and he swallowed. Then, he noticed the hickies. They were everywhere, dotting his neck and chest, there was even one half hidden by the waistband of his trousers. Harry clenched his fists, unsure why exactly this tinged his vision with red. "Who." Malfoy looked confused for a second, then smirked. "Why do you care, Potter?" I don't bloody know! "Who." He growled. Draco leaned back against the door, crossing one ankle over the other. "An incredibly alluring man named Jacques, at the pub in town." Harry clenched his jaw and gritted out, "so you fancy them French, then?" His smirk widened. "Well I do find it rather attractive to have someone speak French around my cock." Harry was hit with two desires, twins in their intensity. The first; to learn to speak French as quickly as possible, the second; to find this Jacques bloke and hex him with the worst spells he knew. Or at least hit him over the head a few times with the candlestick on the sideboard. He did neither, instead standing up and leaving his papers scattered across the coffee table. As he made his way up the stairs, he called over his shoulder, "I'm glad you found someone suitable, then." He thought he heard Malfoy mutter something, but he was hardly going to stop and ask him to repeat himself. Only when he closed his door and slumped against it, did he finally let himself admit what he had been fighting all evening. All year, really. He was head over heels for Draco Malfoy.

Draco Malfoy shut the door quietly behind him, surprised to find a light on in the living room and Harry on the couch. "Oh. You're still awake." Harry set down his stack of papers. "Yeah." There was a soft emotion behind those words that felt almost intimate and Draco smiled to himself as he began to unbutton his coat. Logically, he knew Harry hadn't been waiting up for him. But then again, maybe he had been. Draco shook the snow off of his coat, and hung it up on one of the hooks by the door. He had to admit, once him and Harry had finished the cleaning, Grimauld Place was cozy. It was starting to feel a bit like home. He felt Harry's eyes on him and looked up, only to find the other man's gaze sweeping over him slowly, from head to toe. He blushed, watching with no small amount of satisfaction has a faint scarlet flush rose on Harry's cheeks as well. Then something changed in his expression and mouth tightened. "Who." What? Then he remembered the multitude of hickies scattered across his body, curtesy of Jacques' careful attentions. He'd been handsome, ridiculously good in bed and not quite enough to make Draco forget about the magnificent man standing in front of him. Close, but not quite. "Why do you care, Potter?" He asked, trying to keep from smirking too much. He had a theory of why exactly it mattered to Harry so much. He could practically hear the other man's teeth grinding as he demanded again, "who." Draco crossed his arms and informed Harry, "an incredibly alluring man named Jacques, at the pub in town." "So you fancy them French, then?" Harry asked, envy evident in his tone. I fancy you, Potter. I fancy your kindness, your tempter, the way you always swing Teddy around when he gets home from Andromeda's on the weekends. I fancy the way you look with a bedhead; making pancakes in your pajamas, and the way we hold each other up after bad nights. I fancy your smile and your laugh. He didn't say a word of that, though. "Well I do find it rather attractive to have someone speak French around my cock." Even though they always had a silencing charm on the main floor so they wouldn't wake Teddy, he still found himself speaking quietly. Harry's hand twitched towards his wand, and Draco wondered if he'd finally gone too far in pushing Harry's buttons, but then he stood and strode towards the stairs. "Well I'm glad you found someone suitable then." He called over his shoulder. "Hardly." Draco murmured, though Harry was already out of hearing distance. It was only once he heard a door close upstairs that he let a grin spread across his face. Harry James Potter was jealous.

[faeskiss]

In Another Lifetime

hi!! I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a a while I have been very busy with college admissions and stuff, but I got the idea for this fic out of the blue and just HAD to write it, this might be confusing at first but please keep reading it will make sense in the end I PROMISE!

The noble trials AU fic!!

zaros x reader !!

“The dessert is absolutely incredible, the royal kitchen of Serulla is blessed with gifted chefs, we are very lucky” says the woman sitting at the head of the dining table, the rest of the guests agree in unison

Her voice is as smooth as honey and as light as a daffodil, it feels comforting, quite soothing even, it tugs at your heart, almost as if it’s trying to tell you something, but your mind fails to pinpoint what or why

You have been losing your sanity trying to figure where you are, who these people are, why it all feels strangely recognisable, why everything has a tinge of haziness to it, but one thing you are certain of is that your patience is growing thin

The dining room is so huge you feel as if though it stretches on forever, the glass table is decorated with gold candlesticks, polished cutlery that gleams and dinnerware you feel anxious to eat from, mostly because you’re scared you might break a plate or two

The crystal goblets have an intricate gold pattern on them that messes with your mind, you’ve seen this design before, you have, you are certain that you have, but your brain fails to remember where, that’s when you start to feel your heart filling up with an uncomfortable anxiety, your breath quickens a bit, an ominous inkling weighs you down

“Are you alright my Earis?” asks the blonde man sitting next to you, worry laced in his voice, his voice, it’s painfully familiar, just like everything around you, your inability to understand why you feel this way is getting gravely aggravating by the minute

“Earis” the word echoes in your mind, how can a word you’ve never heard before feel like it belongs to you? like it’s yours

That’s when your entire demeanour shifts, you feel terrified and you don’t even know why, your heart hammers against your chest, panic gushing swiftly through your veins, you are certain you might faint on the spot

You clutch the lavish goblet in your hand and gulp down heaps of water, almost as if you expect it to fix your utterly disheveled state and bring you back to your senses, but it doesn’t do anything other than soothe your thirst, and you suddenly realise how dry your throat was, it must’ve been forever since you drank any water

You suddenly feel a warm hand on your shoulder and your attention is quickly directed elsewhere

“You’re really starting to concern me now, you’ve been acting so strange the entire night” says the blonde man next to you, worry still evident in his voice

His yellow locks look luminous in the warm light of the chandelier, bright like the sun, his piercing green eyes ablaze with confusion as they peer into yours

For a few moments you just stare at him, soaking him in, there is something about his disposition that makes you feel so very safe, his mere presence is comforting, almost as if you’ve known him for multiple lifetimes

He is saying something but you are too lost to even focus on his voice

That’s when you realise, his name, you know his name, the sudden rush of adrenaline fills you up with a bolt of energy

You know his name

Your heart races at the possibility of being able to remember something about this place, the possibility that you aren’t crazy to think everything around you feels-hauntingly familiar

He looks at you with perplexity painted all over his face and a faint horror in his eyes, but you brush him off and divert your attention away

You focus with every ounce of energy in your body, you know his name, it’s there, hidden deep in you, all you have to do is focus

You hear the ghost of a word swim in your mind, trying to pry it’s way out, almost on the very tip of your tongue, but as soon as you as you think you’ve finally got it, a sharp stab of pain pierces your temples, making it’s way to the back of your head, engulfing you in agony

“Why can’t I remember?” you whisper to yourself in despair

This is the breaking point, your mind is crumbling this very instant and there is nothing you can do about it, no one you know is here, no one to turn to, a helpless fear surges through you, making you nauseous

Someone gives your shoulder a slight shake, but this headache makes it impossible to think about anything else

Your patience has run out, you feel as if though you’re going crazy, a million questions flood your weary mind, overwhelming you, trying to drown you

Warm hands reach to cup your face, it’s him, the beautiful man with the sun-kissed hair, who’s name you almost died trying to recall, but now the look on his face has gone from worried to downright terrified

“What is going on? Please talk to me!” you can feel the anguish in his voice touch your heart

Tears start to bubble in your eyes, making their way down your cheeks, your headache growing stronger by the second

“I don’t know what’s going on” fear is evident in your voice as you sob in your chair, looking at him with pleading eyes, begging for help

You wonder why no one else in the room has noticed you two or noticed your crying

He looks at you with misery in his eyes, almost as if it kills him to see you in this state

His hand travels up towards your forehead, then to your neck, as if he’s checking you for a fever

“Gods you are burning up” he says in a panic

“I’m really scared” you cry out

“Nothing will happen to you, I promise” his voice is warm and reassuring, it’s the only thing keeping you from having a panic attack

“I am taking you to your room” he asserts

He offers you his hand and you take it, you get up in an instant, trying your best to not stumble to the ground, his hand encircles your waist as you hang onto him for support, every touch feels like home

“Is everything ok?”

You notice the woman get up from her chair in a hurried manner, the same woman who was sitting at the head of the table, the worry in her voice surprises you

“Why does she care?” You think to yourself

“I fear the Earis has a fever” he says

“Gods!” she cries out

Concerned voices fill up the room

“There’s no need to worry, I am taking them to their room in an instant” he says

“I’ll send the chief curer right away” she adds

You don’t know who any of these people are, or why they care, but it seems that you are someone of importance to them

He takes your hand and guides you through the hallway, you can barely walk, the dull, crushing pain in your head still throbs with intensity

He opens the doors to your room, the plush bed calling your name as he helps you to it. You feel your legs go numb as you lay on the soft covers, the pain slowly ebbing out of your body

“I think I know you, I know your name, I really do” your voice is faint, almost a whisper

“You have to believe me-“

“Just go to sleep” his hand reaches to caress your hair

“Everything will be okay when you wake up, I promise” he says softly

You feel a gentle kiss on your forehead as your vision fades to black

You are woken up by the obnoxious ringing of your alarm, you check your phone and notice that it’s already 7:00 am, you snap back to reality when you realise you have an important paper due today

The dream, you aren’t surprised, because you’ve had similar ones countless times before, the same blonde man, the same woman with the sickly sweet voice, the familiarity of your surroundings, you try to figure out who they are but you always fail, and every time, you wake up with the same goddamn headache, only this time you have a fever to go along with it

You drag yourself out of your bed, despite being sick, you cannot miss college today or you’ll simply fail the semester, you hurriedly get dressed and rush your way to your class

After having finally submitted your paper, you feel relieved, you notice your headache has gone away and your fever has gone down, you walk through the busy hallway trying to make your way out to meet your friends, but you suddenly bump into someone

“I’m so sorry-“ you stop your sentence midway because your heart simply ceases, your body grows cold, you stare at the face of the person you bumped into, it’s like you can’t breathe, no words come out of your mouth, you’re frozen from shock

It’s him, the beautiful blonde, the person who plagues your dreams, who’s name you’ve tried to remember a trillion something times, how is this even possible? You have never seen him around, never heard of him, there is no logical explanation for any of this, and what is even more shocking is that his expression mirrors yours, almost as if he is just as surprised as you

“I am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention” he says with a sense of disbelief in voice, those green eyes, his sharp green eyes are now ladened with shock

He hesitates at first, but slowly turns around and walks away

You feel a familiar shooting pain in your temples, it clouds your mind, painful and torturous, but it goes away as quickly as it came

Your mind reverberates with a faint name, growing louder and louder, till it echoes in your very soul, it’s on the tip of your tongue once again, only this time, you whisper to yourself, in the busy hallway, watching him walk away

“Zaros”

[whisperingmidnights]

Lovely Things

Pairing: Court of Nightmares AU dark!Feysand x f!reader

Summary: Touch as a form of possession.

Prompt: lingerie

Word count: 2,191

Warnings: D/s dynamics, biting, blood drinking, venom as a sort of aphrodisiac

     The lace resting against my skin was a shade deeper than the blood that had glistened on the ballroom floor. I trailed the tip of my nail along the curves of the dark, thorned vines embroidered across the sheer, delicate fabric covering my torso and tried to forget the burgundy wine splattered across the front of my champagne gown, and the way that male’s head rolled across the marble. I’d always known there was an innate violence to being desired like this, to be so thoroughly consumed, but I had surrendered to it anyway.

     And tonight it cost someone their life, but I can’t dwell on that now. Not when I have my own role to play. Rapturous desire will always have a steep price, and I will always pay it like the desperate, hungry creature I am.

     I turn before the large, ornate mirror affixed to the wall, admiring the way the blood rubies at the neckline glitter in the glow from the candlesticks anchored in the tall iron candelabras. Would she want me stretched across their bed? My eyes flick to the gauzy, black curtains drawn around the bed, aimlessly fluttering in the breeze that persistently winds through the halls of this cavernous city, even this deep within the heart of the mountain. No, if she wanted me there, the curtains would be tied back. Kneeling near the door, perhaps? No, there’s normally a cushion there to protect my knees from the unforgiving stone floor, at least at first.

     “You’re thinking entirely too hard.” I swallow hard at the melodic voice floating to me on that breeze. It’s like a knife wrapped in velvet, the cruelty of it barely suppressed, and I fight to keep my eyes open as my Lady materializes from one of the pockets of darkness that cloak the room like cobwebs. Before she became High Lady, she was known as the Huntress, and I never can tell which of them is going to step into the room with me. Her hand slides around my neck as she steps up behind me, and I note the white tips of extended fangs in her smile before those sharp, black-tipped nails dig into the soft skin of my throat. “You’re already exactly where I want you, pet.”

     Her quicksilver eyes dilate as she watches the droplets of blood trail my skin. I don’t flinch when the tip of her tongue darts out to catch them before they tarnish the jewels. The quick lick devolves to hungry lapping at the wounds she inflicted while those deft, knowing hands trace the curves of my body. I tilt my head a little more, granting her further access to my throat, and her palms skate against the underside of my breasts.

     “Delicious,” the High Lady murmurs against my skin. Her lips trace a pattern of her own design up to the tender flesh beneath my ear, where she suckles eagerly until I whimper, unable to take my eyes from her reflection in the mirror. Her dress is made of little more than spiraling, black spidersilk cobwebs, they do nothing to hide the generous line of her body, half hidden behind mine as it is. She is resplendent, this Lady of the Night, and she looks at me as though she might devour me whole.

     Mother above, do I want her to. More than anything, more than air, more than life-

     “Be careful what you wish for, my darling,” she croons, gently plucking at my nipples through the fabric of my bodysuit. She pinches and rolls the delicate buds until they’re unbearably stiff between her fingertips, and I can do little more than will my legs to hold me upright and try to hide the hitch in my breathing. “I can take the breath from your lungs in more ways than one, and make you thank me for it when I do. In fact, I do believe I’m stealing it now, aren’t I?”

     “Y-yes, Lady,” I whisper, running my tongue along my lower lip to wet it. Her foot knocks against my ankle, spreading my legs wider as she continues her assault on my breasts, kneading and pinching until I whine, unable to squeeze my thighs together to grant myself some relief.

     “Are you alright, my darling?” she whispers, lightly nuzzling the space behind my ear before her teeth nick the skin, drawing a line of blood for her to lick at. “You had a bit of a fright tonight.”

     “I’m fine,” I whisper, shivering at the way my nipples tighten further beneath her ministrations. The stimulation is almost painful, the arousal beginning to soak into the fabric of my lingerie a testament to how much I love it. “He didn’t touch me, Lady, the spymaster saw to that.”

     I’m convinced he sees everything that happens beneath this mountain.

     “Don’t think of it now,” she murmurs, squeezing my breast until I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. “Don’t think of anyone else now, not when I’m doing this to you.”

     Her fangs flash again before she sinks them into my flesh and I feel the slow, steady burn of her venom spreading through my veins. I had worried, at first, what nightwraith venom might do to me long-term, if I would develop a dangerous craving for it the way those who haunted the alleys beneath my window often had, eager to sell whatever bits of themselves they could bargain away for just a taste of it. But that was the venom of ordinary wraiths.

     My lady is no ordinary wraith.

     She is the High Lady, she’s so much worse.

     She has never allowed me to go hungry, though.

     Heat rushes through my body and with it comes a desperate pang I’m too familiar with, a consuming need I’ll never recover from. My stomach flutters as she trails one hand down my abdomen, stopping just above where the vines meet over my empty, aching cunt. I need her to touch me, to stroke and tease me until I fall apart, to fuck me until all I know is the slide of her body against my own. I want her to fill me however she sees fit: those wicked hands, that creeping darkness holding my ankles apart like ice-cold manacles, or perhaps, if I’m very lucky, she’ll take a male form again…well, at least part of her. She’d been so deliciously thick, I could have come from the stretch of her alone.

     “Did you like the way I took you, pet?” she whispers, following at the line of my desperate thoughts with a smirk as the tip of her middle finger just barely grazes my hard, pulsing clit. “Bent over the back of the sofa like a common whore? You begged me so prettily to fill you, do you remember? I do, I think of it often when we’re away from you.”

     “I loved it,” I whine, daring to rest my head against her thin, delicate shoulder. It’s an illusion, of course, like she was built for deceit. Her cruel smile turns smug as she rewards me with one firm stroke, rolling my nipple with her free hand until my hips roll in a silent plea for friction. “You felt incredible, Lady, you always do. Please, please-”

     “And you always want more, correct?”

     “Yes, my lady, if it pleases you.”

     “Oh,” she chuckles, rewarding me with a delighted, open-mouthed kiss that tastes like blood and sweet, dark berry wine. “You’re such a well-trained pet when you want to be, my little mouse.”

     She swallows the moan passing between my lips and rewards me with a slightly firmer touch.

     “This is very pretty,” the High Lady continues as she traces the delicate lacework covering my skin. High on her venom, I want to kiss and lick at the column of her throat. I know without her permission I can do neither of those things. I meet her gaze in the mirror instead and watch her languorously stroke and pet my body everywhere but where I want her most. “You weren’t wearing it tonight, we would have noticed it beneath your gown.”

     “No,” I mumble as the hand on my breast trails along the rubies around my neck to graze the ribbon of crimson silk tied at the back of my neck. “It was for you, only for you.”

     “Only for me?” she croons, nipping at the shell of my ear as her finger slides along the gusset of the bodysuit to draw a whimper from my throat. “And not for your High Lord?”

     “H-he can watch.” The laugh that rumbles from the shadows would have made my knees buckle if some strange, invisible force hadn’t wrapped around my limbs to support my weight. I might occasionally beg him for pleasure and he may grant it, but I cannot pretend the High lord does not terrify me to my core.

     “He can scent your fear, you know,” the High Lady whispers. “It twines so deliciously with your desire, my sweet. An irresistible lure. I don’t know how he stays away. I certainly couldn’t, not after I’d had a taste of you.”

     “O-oh,” I gasp, a shiver rolling down my spine as clever, invisible fingers trail along my slit over and over in a firm line, eliciting little whimpers and moans that make my High Lady’s eyes dance with delight. I lose myself in those eyes as she palms my breasts and a gush of slick seeps into the delicate fabric, drawn by the phantom touch of the monstrous High Lord still hidden in the shadows. I dare a glance in the mirror to see a set of glowing, violet eyes watching hungrily from the shadows. “P-please.”

     “Please?” the High Lady purrs, grazing the tender skin of my neck with her fangs once more. I only need her to bite me again or slide her hand beneath the fabric and touch me where I need her most to slide headfirst into ecstasy. “Please what, pet?”

     “Let- oh,” I shudder as those invisible fingers grow more insistent, beckoning me towards the orgasm I’m trying to beg my lady for. “Please let me come, please.”

     “I don’t believe it’s up to me,” she says nonchalantly, her mouth twisting into a wicked grin as she watches my reflection. “Your High Lord seems to be insistent upon it. What do you think, darling? Should she be allowed to come?”

     “She has been good, hasn’t she?” Even spoken gently, the words sound like a threat when falling from his lips. I moan at the promise in it, drawing cruel laughter from the both of them. “Listen to her lovely little noises, darling. See how wet she is?”

     “Soaked. The lace is ruined.”

     “A pity. It was so lovely,” he muses, like my orgasm is something inconsequential in the face of a bit of ruined lace. “Look in the mirror, little fawn. Watch.”

     The pressure between my legs builds until I’m a trembling mess, those phantom fingers growing more and more insistent until I’m a whimpering, trembling mess sagging against the High Lady. Her lips press against my heated skin in wet, open-mouthed kisses until she reaches the juncture of my neck and shoulder. I feel the sharp slide of her fangs into the muscle and the bite of pain is quickly followed by a flood of hot venom.

     Pleasure breaks over me the way the rushing river overtakes its banks, pulling me along in its current until I’m dragged beneath the waves. My eyes fall shut, but even then I can still see the High Lord’s violet stare burning from the darkest corner of the room, his own desire no more than a whisper on the air. I feel a pull at the ribbon at my neck, then the fabric peels away from my overheated skin and slides down my thighs to pool at my feet.

     “We’ll have another made,” the High Lady purrs, gathering me into her slender arms like I weigh no more than a weak, trembling fawn. “Perhaps two. I would like to ruin you in it myself at least once.”

     “Oh,” I mumble as she lays me on their bed, tucking the blankets around me with a sort of care she only demonstrates here, when the doors are locked against the rest of the world. I feel her nestle in behind me and I manage a bleary, slow blink as her arm snakes around my waist, tugging my body flush against her own before a sudden gust extinguishes the candlelight, plunging the room into darkness.

     Then, and only then, I hear the soft whisper of footsteps on the floor and the creak of the mattress as the High Lord settles at her back. The weight of his arm draping over us is impossibly heavy, anchoring me to the bed as the venom takes hold of my mind. Without another thought, I slip into the brightest, most vivid dreams of a palace of moonstone stretching beneath the open expanse of the night sky and a cool breeze fluttering over my skin like a light, sweet kiss.

[fruitcoops]

Bedsheets and Broomsticks

Day 7: the journey continues! Characters inspired by @lumosinlove's Sweater Weather, header by @noots-fic-fests.

Halloween movie #6: Jennifer's Body (2009), because who wouldn't want to hear Finn drop the "I go both ways" line next?

“It makes no sense.” Lily knelt and laid the map out, smoothing the creases with a few careful passes of her hands. The new angle did nothing. Patterns, clues…mystery, inked in dark lines.

The floor creaked beside her. “I dunno,” Remus said nervously. “Maybe that’s the point.”

The middling green of his shirt made him look sickly in the dank, low light of the house. James was still traipsing about the attic above them, no doubt. She had outright refused to even look at the ramshackle stairs leading up. The living room would be just fine, even if wool and tiny hardwood splinters threatened her knees through her thick stockings. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since this carpet was cleaned.

The map was some sort of parchment, thin and brittle. Remus crouched beside her; Lily drew the candlestick closer, though she was hesitant to bring it near enough to risk any damage.

“I’m just not seeing it,” she murmured. Defeat was bitter and dry in her mouth. “There has to be something I’m missing.”

“The front door is here.” Remus tapped his index finger on the line-break closest to them. “And we’re here.”

“There’s no basement, just the second floor and the attic.”

“And the attic’s marked on the back,” he confirmed, finally sitting with a huff of breath. His knees and elbows cast spider-shadows on the far wall. The cuffs of his khakis were ragged and stained from trudging through the overgrown yard, where tall grass snuck in through the empty first-floor windows.

Lily chewed the inside of her cheek and pushed her headband back to clear her periphery. “Right. Okay. We’re missing the second floor, then.”

“Mhm.”

“So it’s lost.”

Something shifted. A faint mist of plaster puffed down from the ceiling, too close to be movement from the attic. Remus swallowed thickly. “Or it got taken.”

A shout split the gentle groaning of the house.

Lily flinched herself to standing, already reaching for Remus with both hands by the time the first drop of beeswax hit the map’s east corner and bled over the ink. “James!” Remus called as he backpedaled toward the front door. Footsteps pounded overhead—Lily dove for the map, abandoning the candle to its dead wick and wax oozing into the carpet’s tassels.

“Holy shit!” James’ voice echoed down the stairs. He was coming closer, closer, and Sirius was right behind him paws pattering bodies hitting the old walls they were running, coming full tilt at Lily and Remus.

“What is it?” Lily couldn’t breathe, could hardly speak. They tore through the house in a tumbling pile, through the dining room and kitchen and a parlor that stank of water damage.

“I don’t know!” James answered, equally frantic. “Something—it was white, it was near the stairs!”

“I told you not to go up there!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

His eyes were massive and blown dark behind his glasses. His hair was a mess. Lily let him grip her elbow and pull her down the hall after the others, past closets and the pitch-black sunroom.

The front door was still open. They just had to make it there.

In and around and out and down—she hopped over miniature staircases that she hadn’t even known were there, over thresholds to rooms that blurred into one another until it felt as if they were running in circles. Secret passages that would have fascinated her an hour ago only sent plaguing terror into her belly. She kept ahold of Remus’ knobbly wrist and tore after them, cursing the light heel of her shoes.

“The yard!” Remus hollered over his shoulder. The dark shadow of Sirius bounded ahead in two long strides, shoving a fallen chair out of their path with a scrabble of paws and a push from one massive shoulder.

The dog vanished out the door, cutting a path through the overgrowth with his body. Lily’s pulse muted any other sound but the one-two-one-two-one-two of her feet searching for purchase on the slanting floor of this endless hall.

One-two-one-two-one-two—

One. Two. Onetwoonetwoonetwoonetwo.

Sirius barked. Her heart tripped over itself. Footsteps, growing loud and close.

Lily planted her heel and wheeled around, already reaching out. For what, she didn’t know.

James was right—the thing was white.

And cottony, when she grabbed it by the face and yanked with every ounce of her strength.

The sheet billowed outward with a startled yelp and a burst of dust. Lily wanted to choke on it, but her lungs refused to do anything but suck in desperate gulps of air.

Severus’ grab for the sheet was futile. He froze. Lily stared.

“Lily!” he wheezed. “It was a joke, I’m sorry, I—”

She dropped the fabric and swung.

Severus hit the ground harder and faster than his stupid fucking bedsheet.

Sirius was sitting in the doorway when she turned again, his head cocked to the side and ears pricked up. He was the perfect height for Remus to bury both hands deep in the dark fur around his neck and hang on against his shock-wobbled legs. Lily narrowed her eyes at him. He blinked big silver eyes at her and whined softly. “Aren’t you supposed to be able to smell the difference between a ghost and a human?”

“You’re amazing,” James breathed.

Lily gave him a quick up-and-down look. “Nice costume, Potter. What are you going as? A dusty corner?”

James’ lopsided smile made her chest tight all over again. “Maybe.”

“You have cobwebs in your hair.”

“Sure.”

“And dust on your nose.”

“Whatever you say, Evans.”

He was ridiculous. And warm, when she threw her arms around his neck and let him dip her back for a kiss that stole her breath away more than any false ghost or skipped step. She twisted one hand in the front of his thick white sweater and the other in the orange cloth tied around his neck. He tilted his chin; the kiss deepened. Lily sighed and let herself melt.

--

Far away, curled up in her bed, Lily rolled onto her other side and buried her nose in the soft place of her husband’s jaw. No dreams could hurt her here.

[marcojames87]

Forex Volatility Secrets: What the Top 1% of Traders Use to Dominate the Market

Forex volatility is often viewed as both a challenge and an opportunity in the fast-paced world of trading. For the majority of traders, volatility represents a threat—an unpredictable force that can quickly wipe out profits. However, for the top 1% of traders, volatility is an ally, an essential element they’ve learned to harness to their advantage. In this article, we’ll delve into the secrets behind how these elite traders master Forex volatility, with expert insights from Sangram Mohanta, a Forex trader with 15 years of experience. We’ll also share a real-life success story and discuss the importance of website security in Forex trading.

Understanding Forex Volatility

Forex volatility refers to the rapid price fluctuations that occur within the foreign exchange market. Volatile markets experience sharp, often unpredictable price movements, making them exciting for traders who know how to profit from these swings. However, volatility can also lead to substantial losses for those who aren’t prepared.

For top traders, volatility is not something to fear. Instead, it’s an opportunity to make substantial profits. By understanding the causes of volatility—such as economic data releases, political events, and central bank decisions—they can predict market movements and make informed trading decisions. Mastering this volatility is key to dominating the market.

Expert Insights: How Sangram Mohanta Dominates Forex Volatility

Sangram Mohanta, a Forex trading expert with over 15 years of experience, has been trading through various market conditions, including high-volatility periods. According to Mohanta, “The key to success in volatile markets isn’t to avoid the fluctuations but to embrace them and learn to read the signals the market is sending.”

He believes that the top 1% of traders use a combination of technical analysis, a deep understanding of economic fundamentals, and precise risk management strategies to profit from Forex volatility. Mohanta recommends staying informed about global economic events that can trigger volatility, such as GDP reports, central bank decisions, and geopolitical developments.

“Volatility is predictable if you understand the forces driving it, says Mohanta. By closely monitoring the economic calendar and using the right tools, traders can prepare for and capitalize on these movements rather than being caught off guard.

Insider Secrets to Mastering Forex Volatility

So, what are the specific secrets that top traders use to dominate the Forex market during volatile conditions? Here are a few key strategies that the elite traders rely on:

Leverage Advanced Technical Analysis: The top 1% of traders are masters of technical analysis. They use sophisticated chart patterns, candlestick formations, and indicators like the Average True Range (ATR) and Bollinger Bands to assess market volatility. By identifying patterns such as breakout or reversal signals, traders can time their entries and exits with high precision, capitalizing on price swings.

Use Fundamental Analysis to Anticipate Volatility: While technical analysis is vital, top traders also use fundamental analysis to anticipate volatility. For example, when a central bank is about to announce interest rate decisions, there is often heightened volatility. Traders who track economic data and geopolitical events can predict potential market reactions and position themselves accordingly.

Implement Smart Risk Management: The difference between a successful trader and an unsuccessful one is often the ability to manage risk. Top traders know that Forex volatility amplifies the potential for loss, so they never risk more than they can afford to lose. This is why they use techniques like setting tight stop-loss orders, scaling into positions, and employing position sizing strategies to protect their capital.

Trade with Smaller Time Frames: In volatile markets, large price movements can happen within short time frames. Many successful traders take advantage of this by trading on smaller time frames (such as 5-minute or 15-minute charts) to catch intraday price swings. This allows them to stay nimble and capitalize on short-term volatility.

Stay Disciplined and Patient: While volatility creates opportunities, it also leads to impulsive trading decisions for many. Top traders remain disciplined and patient, sticking to their strategies even when the market is chaotic. They understand that not every price movement needs to be acted upon, and waiting for high-probability setups is often more profitable than chasing every fluctuation.

Real-Life Trading Success Story: How John Turned Volatility into Profit

John, a novice trader, once struggled with the volatility of the Forex market. In the beginning, he was overwhelmed by rapid price changes and found himself losing money more often than winning. However, after following the strategies taught by Sangram Mohanta, John’s approach to trading transformed.

John began to pay close attention to economic calendars and the events that created market volatility, such as U.S. Federal Reserve announcements and European Central Bank policy meetings. Using technical tools like Bollinger Bands, John started to identify price breaks and volatility expansion, allowing him to catch high-reward trades during these periods of market movement.

One of John’s most successful trades came during a highly volatile week when the U.S. Dollar experienced significant fluctuations due to a surprise rate cut by the Federal Reserve. John positioned himself ahead of the news, using his technical analysis to predict the likely direction of the market after the announcement. As a result, he was able to capitalize on the initial price surge, closing out with a substantial profit. John’s success story exemplifies how understanding Forex volatility and applying strategic methods can lead to substantial gains.

Website Security Features: Trading Safely in a Volatile Market

In addition to mastering volatility, it’s crucial to prioritize the security of your funds and personal information when trading Forex. As volatility can attract cybercriminals, ensuring your trading platform is secure is paramount.

Top Forex brokers, recommended by Top Forex Brokers Review, implement advanced security measures to protect traders. Here are some key security features to look for:

SSL Encryption: A secure trading environment starts with SSL encryption, which ensures that any data exchanged between you and your broker is encrypted and cannot be intercepted by third parties. This protects your personal information and funds.

Two-Factor Authentication (2FA): Many trusted Forex brokers offer 2FA as an added layer of protection. This requires you to enter a unique code sent to your phone or email in addition to your password, making it harder for unauthorized users to access your account.

Regulation and Licensing: Reputable brokers are regulated by top-tier financial authorities such as the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) or the Australian Securities and Investments Commission (ASIC). These regulatory bodies ensure brokers meet strict security standards and safeguard client funds.

Secure Trading Platforms: The best Forex brokers provide trading platforms with built-in security features, such as real-time monitoring of transactions, secure login systems, and encryption to prevent unauthorized access.

By choosing a broker with a strong security infrastructure, you can focus on your trading strategies without worrying about cyber threats or financial risks.

Why Choosing the Right Broker Matters

When navigating the volatile Forex market, your broker plays a pivotal role in your success. A trusted broker ensures that you have access to the right tools, market analysis, and a secure trading platform. Top Forex Brokers Review evaluates brokers based on key factors such as regulatory compliance, customer service, and platform reliability. Choosing the right broker is essential for capitalizing on market volatility and achieving long-term trading success.

Conclusion

Forex volatility doesn’t have to be a source of stress. By adopting the strategies used by the top 1% of traders, such as leveraging technical and fundamental analysis, implementing smart risk management, and staying disciplined, you can turn volatility into an opportunity for profit. Expert traders like Sangram Mohanta have built successful careers by mastering the art of trading during volatile periods—and you can too.

Additionally, don’t overlook the importance of website security. By choosing a trusted and regulated broker with robust security features, you can trade with peace of mind.

With the right knowledge, tools, and security measures, you can dominate the Forex market and join the ranks of successful traders in 2025. For expert broker recommendations and more insights into trading strategies, visit Top Forex Brokers Review—your go-to resource for Forex trading success.

[blaiddfailcam]

On "Messmer's flame"

People have been debating for a bit now how "Messmer's flame" fits into the existing story, as it resembles either the Taker's Flame, Bloodflame, or even Destined Death—but what if the point is that it combines all of these aspects?

Initially, Messmer's flame appears as a black mass which quickly tendrils into a mass of serpentine shapes. A blood-red hue forms, erupting into a roaring, orange fire, the black "serpents" tracing the air in all directions.

The black portion recalls the "Formless Serpents," a group of assassins wielding serpentine bows and arrows of a lost pagan cult, and who specialized in poisons. The use of the word "formless" would seem to tie in with the Formless Mother of Bloodflame, and the bloody hue of the initial sparks would further support this connection. Of course, it could just be a coincidence.

Messmer himself is festooned with a two-headed serpent sprouting draconic wings, naturally eliciting the image of Rykard and the Eternal Serpent. This could indicate some relation between Messmer's flame and the Taker's Flames. After all, Messmer appears to be a ruthless inquisitor, much like our familiar Praetor Rykard.

Of course, the combination of black and red could also suggest Destined Death, despite the rune was sealed long ago. Even so, if Ranni was able to procure a fragment for herself, who is to say another might not have made its way into Messmer's possession?

If Messmer's flame truly is a fusion of these various concepts, it may not be the only example of such in the trailer...

The dark side of the Erdtree

Take a closer look at the Shadow of the Erdtree itself in the final shot of the trailer:

While some have noted what appears to be Deathroot winding about the tree, as well as a yellow, molten effusion resembling Frenzied Flame spilling from its split trunk (but which is suspiciously absent here...), something else becomes visible in this brief glimpse. At the crown of the Shadow of the Erdtree, silver branches twist and curl through the sky, recalling the silver Erdtree in the Age of the Fell Curse ending.

Throughout the trailer, we see a few hints of something resembling the Fell Curse among numerous creatures. Omen are plagued with cutaneous horns, vestiges of the primordial Crucible, and we see a similar display of gnarled horns on the puppeteered lion-like enemy, the new Runebear spell, and a few gold-shrouded enemies wielding candlesticks.

Deathblight, Frenzied Flame, and the Fell Curse... All things anathema sealed beneath the Erdtree itself in the Lands Between. And yet, each is symbolized by varying shades of gold flames.

Separation and regression

A recurring concept in Elden Ring is the forceful schism between red and gold, stemming from the Crucible itself. The primordial form of the Erdtree was the Crucible, which contained aspects of all forms of life, and that was symbolized by a red-gold tree. When a golden star struck the Lands Between, it drew from the Crucible the gold matter that would eventually become the Erdtree; the golden star itself would in time become the Elden Beast, a living embodiment of the concept of Order.

Marika and Radagon, the two who are one, repeat this pattern of the conflict of red and gold, eventually fracturing into one, as well as their children, Miquella and Malenia. Marika's golden seal, symbolizing Eternity, is contrasted by the red Rune of Death, "plucked from the Golden Order upon its very creation."

Even among the red and gold flames, we can draw some unusual comparisons. Morgott's Fell Curse erupts from his body and coats his sword in gold flames, yet by cutting his hand, he can channel the red Bloodflame of the Formless Mother; Mohg, his twin brother and esteemed channeler of Bloodflame, appears in the Leyndell Sewers in an attempt to prevent your access to the Flame of Frenzy.

Despite the Rune of Death being symbolized by red flames, Deathblight is transmitted via the golden flame of "sullied amber." The headless ghosts who serve the soulless demigods carry weapons imbued with this flame, yet mark their shields with the Eclipse Crest to ward Destined Death itself.

Whatever it takes...

Marika once ventured to this Land of Shadow, and Messmer seems to know of her, even referring to her as "mother," yet he appears to detest her faith in the Tarnished. Could it be that Messmer sought to amass the strength of all things traitorous in order to claim his throne, combining them into this "Messmer's Flame?"

Looking closer at the seal depicted on Messmer's cape, and again on the CE's box set, it appears to be comprised of a few different, smaller symbols. The general shape of a ring bisected by a vertical line evokes Morgott and Mohg's Great Runes. Within this ring, a flame motif fills the left half, somewhat reminiscent of Rykard's sigil, and a wreath of braided, serpentine forms takes the right. At bottom, a horizontal array of flames spans the ring. Could these individual parts represent the individual concepts that Messmer channels into his flame...?

Taking a step back, this concept of uniting disparate concepts in a quest for power is a common trend among FromSoft's stories, from the Soul of Cinder in Dark Souls III, to Allmind in Armored Core 6. Even the Golden Order itself is predicated upon the principle of adaptability, binding the outer influences of the world beneath the great boughs of the Erdtree. Perhaps it's to be expected that Shadow of the Erdtree should throw everything at us at once in some climactic encounter?

...Come to think, I can't help but notice the similarity of these two shots—Messmer wielding his flame in his right hand, and (presumably) Miquella's right hand before the Shadow of the Erdtree itself...

[loveloki555]

Frigga's chambers

The Queen of Asgard's chambers are the most depicted chambers in the MCU, so this post will be bigger than the previous one about Thor's chambers.

First the entrance.

The door is gold and heavy with decorations.

Malekith enters Frigga's chambers through it, you can see small steps from the door to the main chamber.

Here comes Odin through the door. You can see that there are candlesticks on both sides of the door.

Here's a shot from above of the entire room. You can see the figures of dead guards in the doorway. Malekith killed them before entering the queen's chamber.

To the right of the entrance to the chamber there are stairs to the terrace, and in the corner you can see a jug.

There is a swimming pool in the middle of the room - I will analyze this in more detail later.

The terrace has several steps and columns.

There is a space here between the door and the terrace, in the corner there is a jug with decorations. Also there is a window behind the door to Frigga's chambers.

Here you can see in detail the stairs to the terrace and the vegetation on it.

You can see patterns on the railing and some of the vegetation here.

Here you can see in detail the decorations on the terrace and on one of the columns.

Here you can see a terrace with columns and plants in a golden pot.

One last look at the terrace where you can see the plants in golden pots on the other side.

The next important location in Frigga's chamber is the pool in the center of the room. The pool is located between the opening door and the next door, with a chaise lounge next to it. The chaise longue is located elsewhere in the room, next to another door. During the fight, they open - here we see red streaks in the distance that resemble couch or soft furniture. Later I will show more of this room, because it showed in deleted scene of Dark World.

As a reminder, I show again what the front door looks like to show that the door in the previous picture is different.

This is this door.

The pool is right in front of the second door. These doors have a similar style to the front door and also have candles between them.

Here you can see the chaise lounge from the previous photo.

Back to the pool.

You can see that the pool has a stone base, on it you can see pillows, a golden bowl, and a jug of water. It's a place of relaxation and peace.

I also wanted to draw your attention to the place near the terrace, it's another room, not room between opening door and pool next to chaise lounge. This is more visible in the deleted scene, but this is the second space in the middle of the room with a door - you can see a sofa and a table in the distance. Probably a place for gossip and meals

Flower petals float in the pool, and in the space between the first door in the chambers and the second there are windows and jugs.

You can see better here that in the second room in the chamber there is a beautiful green sofa with brown pillows, a table and a window with delicate curtains.

Here you can see Thor and Frigga coming out of the first room, the one between the front door and the pool. Then they pass by the other room and go to the terrace. I recommend watching the deleted scene to see it better.

The room between the pool and the entrance door to the chamber. Here you can clearly see that Thor and Frigga are leaving this room, you can see both part of the pool and the terrace in the distance.

You can clearly see here that the room they came out of is the room next to the green chaise longue. Now a little about this room.

As I said earlier, you can see some red stripes in the distance that resemble some soft furniture. In the deleted scene, we briefly see a fragment of this room.

There is a window, a candlestick, a fireplace and another chaise longue.

There is also a mirror, a table and a cup.

And here we have Endgame shots from chamber of Queen.

Some unknown parts of Frigga's chambers also appear in Endgame, but unlike Dark World, I don't know where they are - perhaps in the room next to the terrace. But the style is clearly different here… than in Dark World.

Or we will concluded that the Avengers did not travel to the past so much, but to the dimensions where those particular years were… so in this dimension the queen's chamber looked different… and Thor was probably traumatized and probably forgot many things and all he cared about was that again he saw his mother… if the Dimensions thing is right… maybe Frigga was right not to tell her about her future. Because it didn't have to happen to her, since this dimension was different. It was enough that she went to her chambers much earlier because of Thor 2023… it could already make a big difference for her future fate. 2013 Frigga was not in her chambers at this time, but in the city, where she met Jane and Thor while exploring Asgard and then returned with Jane to the palace…where attack started. We know that Thor and Rocket arrived in Asgard in the morning. Jane lay sleeping. Then in the Dark World there was some exploring of Asgard and then the Elf attack began.

But these are loose thoughts, just why Endgame's architecture doesn't match Dark World's architecture.

I'm posting a deleted scene from Dark World here.

[ems-sharemarketclasses]

Best Share Market Courses in Pune to Kickstart Your Trading Journey

If you're looking to build a solid foundation in stock trading and investments, enrolling in Share Market Courses in Pune can be a game-changer. Pune has emerged as a hub for financial education with an increasing number of professionals, students, and homemakers taking interest in the stock market. Whether you are a complete beginner or someone with basic knowledge looking to sharpen your skills, Pune offers a wide range of share market training programs to meet your needs.

Why Take Share Market Courses in Pune?

The share market may appear overwhelming to many, with its fluctuating trends and complex charts. However, the right guidance and structured learning can help anyone become a confident trader or investor. Share Market Courses in Pune are designed to offer practical knowledge and real-world exposure. From learning how to read candlestick charts to understanding market psychology, these courses simplify technical and fundamental analysis in an easy-to-understand manner.

These programs often include:

Basics of stock market & trading terminology

Introduction to NSE, BSE, Sensex, and Nifty

Technical analysis using indicators and chart patterns

Fundamental analysis for long-term investment

Live trading sessions and mock practices

Risk management and portfolio building strategies

The city is home to several reputed institutes and trainers who bring years of industry experience, which is crucial when learning something as dynamic as trading.

Who Should Consider These Courses?

Share Market Courses in Pune are suitable for a wide audience, including:

College students aiming to build an early financial understanding

Working professionals looking for alternative income sources

Entrepreneurs and business owners seeking investment knowledge

Retired individuals planning for wealth preservation

Homemakers interested in passive income opportunities

These courses usually don’t require any prior experience in finance, making them accessible to everyone with the willingness to learn.

What Makes Pune a Great Place for Learning?

Pune, being an educational and IT hub, has a vibrant ecosystem of learners and professionals. The city offers a mix of online and offline courses, weekend batches for working individuals, and short-term certifications. Many institutes also offer internships or mentorship support to help students transition from learning to actual trading.

Moreover, the affordability and quality of education make Share Market Courses in Pune an attractive option compared to other metro cities. Learners also benefit from regular seminars, webinars, and stock market meetups conducted locally.

Key Benefits of Enrolling in Share Market Courses

While YouTube videos and blogs offer fragmented learning, structured courses provide:

Systematic and step-by-step training

One-on-one mentorship and doubt-clearing sessions

Real-time market case studies and simulations

Certifications that can enhance your professional profile

Community access for ongoing support and networking

These benefits ensure you're not just gaining theoretical knowledge but also learning how to apply it in real market conditions.

Conclusion

When it comes to top-rated institutions offering Share Market Courses in Pune, eMS Stock Market Institute stands out as a go-to choice for aspiring traders and investors. With experienced mentors, hands-on training, and a strong focus on practical learning, eMS has helped hundreds of individuals confidently step into the world of stock markets.

Whether you want to become a full-time trader or simply wish to manage your own investments better, enrolling in one of the trusted Share Market Courses in Pune is a smart first step. Start your journey today and take control of your financial future.

[rgr-pop]

detail of the glaze on the yellow one

these were made in the (czech) interwar period (i asked megan and she said i can call this period first republic), the pottery is from a mould and they were hand painted by workers. the ones that i like have very simple two color patterns and my favorite ones are in very high deco forms or shapes that were popular in czech art glass (like a fan vase). they’re also quite small. black and yellow is one of my favorite color combinations which is what drew me to this at first, but what i really love is that the black is a flat finish on the lustre glaze. i didn’t like lustreware before because i had never seen it applied like that. i still have apprehensions about having more than one or two lustre pieces so we’ll see but they catch light amazingly on shelves and in low light, better than glass.

i can’t remember if i bought the orange one before or after i saw the yellow one. i don’t like the form as much but i love orange in my living room.

detail to show how the hand painting looks. it’s amazing—like a drawing.

well if you can believe it, i was christmas thrifting yesterday and i found these

three is such an odd number of candlesticks! the form is so odd and larval. but together you can see the variation in the painting—incredible!

great area of collecting for a postmodernist girlie