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xstrawberryshiftsx · 6 days ago

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oh how I adore you

a real tried and true guide on how to survive hogwarts

part i , disclaimer, context, credentials

hi. if you're reading this, you're either about to shift into hogwarts, you already have and need help, or you're nosey and looking for gossip. all three are valid.

anyway. this isn't a spellbook or a diary or whatever. it's just a guide. a stupid little guide written by a girl who shifted into hogwarts the summer before her seventh year. that girl being me. obviously. hi hello.

i'm half veela. i'm a gryffindor. i'm a pureblood and head girl. technically (allegedly) related to russian royalty (dad's side, no one fact-check that, thanks). also james potter's cousin, which is either a blessing or a lifelong comedic hex. we'll get into that.

currently, in my dr, it's march. it's 1977. yes, it's the marauders era. yes, it's sadly as complicated as you've been told. so i've been here long enough to know what's worth your time and what isn't.

this guide isn't anti-anything. it's not anti-harry era or pro-marauders or whatever tribal loyalty people feel the need to swear by. and i'm just a girl who saw a castle full of moving portraits and violently unregulated boarding school dynamics and thought, hm. better write some of this down.

expect inconsistencies. expect ellipses. expect brackets and edits. this isn't a perfect object. it's not even aesthetic. it's information, tempered with experience. and a little whining. and a lot of caps lock. i'm not neutral but i'm fair. if i tell you to avoid a corridor, it's because i tripped there and dented my knee against a suit of armour. if i tell you not to trust the astronomy tower at night, it's because i've been dragged out of it by two prefects and a howler.

– e.

part ii , the houses. dos, don'ts, notes, secrets

okay let's get one thing cleared before the owl post starts piling up: none of the houses are better. i wish. not in the way you think anyway. they're just differently annoying. it's like living with four different niche twitter cults who all think they invented......anything. you're not here to choose the best one. you're here to learn how to survive the neurotic interior of four medieval social experiments without losing your wand or your mind. so. welcome. let's start breaking this down. house by house. alphabetically. fair's fair.

　　　　　　gryffindor ,

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　do:

know who you're friends with. the tower has cliques like it's a bloody court. if you're not in the quidditch lot or the prank lot or the girl-in-the-bathrobe-eating-dried-figs lot, you'll get lost. and trust me, once you're cast out of the rhythm, it's impossible to catch up without some kind of public redemption arc.

keep snacks under your bed. someone will raid your trunk. it'll be your fault if they find nothing. chocolate frogs disappear fastest. bertie botts are currency during exam season.

back your friends in public. you can fight in private, that's what stolen bathroom mirrors are for. loyalty here is loud. you defend your people or you find new people. it's that simple.

get good at hexes. not big ones. just enough to make a point. people respect a girl who can disarm someone.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　don't:

ask about the portrait passwords more than once. people will think you're daft or a spy. or worse, a ravenclaw.

ever speak badly of lily evans within earshot of literally anyone. ever. even if she's wrong. she's not wrong. even when she is.

think you're above house drama. it will find you. it's like poltergeist fog. you breathe it in.

try to make peace between sirius and james when they're having one of their competitive breakdowns. just leave the room. leave the building. floo somewhere else.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　notes:

our common room smells like treacle, smoke, and someone's broken dream journal. the rug hasn't been cleaned in 40 years. it's alive.

you'll develop an immunity to boys screaming at 3am. embrace it. eventually you won't hear it. it becomes ambience.

at least three people have kissed on every windowsill. probably more. watch where you sit.

there's a secret corridor behind the second years' dormitory that leads to a trapdoor in the library. don't ask how i know. just be careful. it squeaks. use it for late-night escapism or very niche dares.

if you lose a sock, check the fireplace. the raccoon has black friday sales.

　꒰ gryffindor ꒱　secrets:

the first year with the biggest eyes is usually the one who will hex you first. don't underestimate them. especially if they knit.

someone once summoned a raccoon into the tower. it lives in the fireplace. we feed it sometimes. it knows too much.

marlene mckinnon's perfume has been banned on two floors. still not sure how she made it. allegedly involves rosewater.

there's a love letter carved behind the girls' staircase. it's in latin. no one knows who it's for.

　　　　　　hufflepuff ,

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　do:

be honest. they'll know if you're fake. they're terrifying like that. they read body language.

bring extra quills. someone always forgets theirs. and they'll remember if you helped.

help clean the common room when they ask. it's a test. pass it and you're in.

compliment their plants. especially the named ones. yes, the ones with names. and histories.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　don't:

mock herbology. not even as a joke. you will be hexed with something fungal. a boy sneezed spores for a week.

try to flirt during study time. they have boundaries. it's revolting. save your seduction for the courtyard.

underestimate their memory. they remember everything. birthdays. betrayals. your essay title from october. you'll be confronted.

mess with their food. they will find out. they will seek revenge. it will be edible. and poetic.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　notes:

the dorms smell like parchment and cinnamon and sometimes....... chalk? don't question it.

there's a tunnel behind the fourth table in the dining hall that leads straight to their kitchens. don't try it. you'll be caught. and possibly recruited.

their prefects have a secret meeting schedule. not even mcgonagall knows it. or she does. she's just letting them win.

they trade biscuits. it's currency......kind of? shortbread is the galleon. oatcakes are for petty debts.

　꒰ hufflepuff ꒱　secrets:

the password to their common room changes based on mood. it's... sentient?? or nosy. possibly both.

they keep an unofficial journal of the year's drama. it's charmed!!!!!! to be invisible to outsiders.

if you ever cry in their bathroom, someone will hand you a full skincare kit within minutes. i don't know how they do it. it's disturbing.

one of them dated a ghost once. no one talks about it but we all remember. it was a phase.

they've won the secret best-kept dorm award six years in a row. not officially. but we all know.

　　　　　　ravenclaw ,

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　do:

knock before entering. even if it's a public space. just do it.

carry a notebook. not to write into it to pretend you have thoughts. doodle some runes at least.

memorise the library's quiet zones. they will excommunicate you. and hiss.

fake knowledge about obscure magical theory if cornered. confidence is key. say "as aquinas wrote" and walk away.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　don't:

correct them. even when they're wrong. especially when they're wrong. and if you do well.....godspeed idk. be ready to have a debate.

joke about rowena. seriously. just don't. you'll be hexed. and then footnoted.

ask to copy their notes. just no. they watermark them. you'll be exposed.

try to bond over books unless you've actually read them. they'll test you. it'll get socratic.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　notes:

their dorm smells like ink and lemon tea and something vaguely metallic. one time it smelled like ozone. still no answers.

they hex their door with riddles. if you fail one, you have to wait. yes. really. it once took me two hours to get in.

some of them live like victorian ghosts. shawls. candles. unexplained sighing. and yet somehow........chic?

the girls' dorm has a wall that writes back.

　꒰ ravenclaw ꒱　secrets:

there's a ghost cat that only appears during exams. pet it for luck. avoid it if you've cheated.

the top floor of the tower hosts midnight debates. you need an invite. and a thesis.

someone keeps rewriting hogwarts: a history with footnotes and scandal. it's 400 pages now.

the portraits in their corridor gossip. say anything near them and it'll be everywhere by breakfast.

they have a drawer of confiscated enchanted pens. don't ask and don't take.

　　　　　　slytherin ,

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　do:

keep secrets. even dumb ones. it'll earn you points. they clock loyalty fast.

make allies, not friends. at least at first. friends come later. after the blood pacts.

know the rules better than they do. use that. loopholes loopholes loopholes.

compliment their robes. they'll pretend it doesn't matter. it does.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　don't:

mention gryffindor.

ever say the word "mudblood." even here. especially here. that's not clever. that's outdated. and stupid.

try to sneak into their dorm. it'll spit you out. and then curse you. and then tell everyone.

touch anything labelled in green ink. it's not for you.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　notes:

their dorm smells like stone and mint and disappointment. it's weirdly comforting.

their beds have curtains so thick you could murder someone and no one would know. not saying anyone has. just saying they could.....

their prefects are terrifying. but also hot??? unclear.

they have a mirror that tells you things you don't want to hear. avoid. unless you hate yourself. then it's a party.

　꒰ slytherin ꒱　secrets:

the lake window shows things that aren't real. or maybe they are. depends on who you ask. or what mood the squid's in.

someone keeps brewing perfume in the potions room. smells like rain.

one of them cursed the scales to always say 7lbs less. nobody's fixed it. people just plan outfits around it now.

if you bring them blood pops, they'll tell you anything. literally. even who snuck into the staffroom last tuesday.

there's a staircase behind the second potions closet. it leads nowhere. or somewhere. or maybe just down.

part iii , the core classes

okay so let's talk about classes. like yes you're here to learn magic blah blah but also. you're in a castle full of kids with issues and sugar highs and everyone's wand is like one wrong flick away from becoming a sentient hazard. the classes are where the chaos concentrates. the professors are mostly unhinged. the curriculum makes NO GODDAMN sense. sorry. ahem. half the textbooks contradict each other. some of the ghosts help. some of them haunt.

this is the 70s so everything's about ten years out of date. the robes itch. the desks have been cursed at least once. and everyone is tired. so. here's the guide.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　transfiguration , professor mcgonagall. icon. terrifying. if you don't cry at least once in her class you're either soulless or very very lucky. she does NOT tolerate lateness or whispers or incorrect posture. but if you're good at it, she'll like you. and if she likes you, you're safe. for now.

　꒰ do ꒱　 sit near the front. show you're serious. even if you're not. practise every day. it's not a theory class. it's kinetic. your wand hand will ache. embrace it. volunteer answers. even if you're guessing. she respects boldness. it's gryffindor-ish. learn the difference between switching spells and vanishing spells. FAST.　

　꒰ don't ꒱　 bring food. once a kid brought a treacle tart and transfigured it into a ferret. interrupt her. you will be called a disgrace and compared unfavourably to a rock. try to cheat. flirt in class. she will hex your lips together. happened last year. we remember.　

　꒰ notes ꒱　 the desks shift. don't ask. just sit quick. the textbook is full of lies. go off the blackboard. her animagus form has been known to spy on us. act accordingly. transfiguring live animals is banned. for good reason. no one wants a hamster lamp situation again. 　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ if you leave her a good cup of tea in the classroom before a test, she grades softer. the back left drawer in her desk has notes from when she was a student. cursed notes. there's a transfigured toad in the wall. it sings. no one talks about it.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　charms , professor flitwick. tiny. delightful. will take points and still smile at you. he's got a high tolerance for chaos but not for rudeness.

　꒰ do ꒱ sit in the middle row. safest zone. practise wand movement until it's muscle memory. ask questions. he LOVES them. bring colour-coded notes. he will notice. he will coo.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ speak over him. ever. skip homework. he checks. obsessively. mock his height. obviously. you'll regret it. laugh during levitation lessons. the feathers have feelings.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ he sometimes gives extra credit for neat handwriting. his quizzes are riddles disguised as instructions. his lessons are fun until someone's eyebrows get set on fire. which is often. he names the classroom objects. the chalkboard is mildred.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ he collects chocolate frog cards. if you gift him a rare one, you're untouchable. there's a charm that makes ink smell like anything. he'll teach it if you ask nicely. once levitated an entire row of desks during a duel demo. wore a bowtie. if he whistles during class, it means he's about to call on you.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　potions , professor slughorn. obsessed with potential. if you have a famous relative, he knows. if you have talent, he wants it.

　꒰ do ꒱ show up early. claim the good cauldron. befriend the slytherins. they get the best ingredients. pretend to be modest. he loves a "humble genius." write neatly. sloppy handwriting = disappointment.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ question his methods. he gets pouty. bring weak ingredients. he'll sniff them and go "oh dear." mock the slug club. even if it's stupid. breathe too loud when he's mixing.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the classroom is too warm. always. cauldrons WILL explode if you stir wrong. someone lost eyebrows. slytherins run the room. navigate with caution. start dating one, you'll be fine. why do you think i started dating coryo?? love? soulmatism? please. i need a passing grade. the fumes are mildly hallucinogenic. it's fine.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ he keeps a vial of unicorn tears in his pocket. always. the third shelf has a jar labelled "confiscated." don't touch it. if you write your essay on bezoars, he'll nod like he discovered them. once cried during a lesson. said it was allergies.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　defence against the dark arts , professor merrythought retired last year. current one's name changes like every term. this year it's professor dorian clare. new. weird. probably cursed.

　꒰ do ꒱ act impressed. he eats it up. ask him about his travels. he WILL monologue. copy his notes exactly. he marks for phrasing. be ready to duel. at all times.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mention previous professors. especially if they died. point out when he contradicts himself. duel unless you're ready to be humiliated. fall for him. i beg. it's not worth it.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ his lessons feel fake deep but the spells are real. the classroom changes temperature based on vibe. he's allergic to frogs. unrelated but fun. he quotes poetry in lectures. ignore it.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ keeps a cursed locket in his desk. once sparred with mulciber and won. barely. the mirror behind his desk isn't a mirror. rumoured to be part veela. denies it. suspiciously well.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　herbology , professor sprout. earth goddess. mum. will help you even if you're awful. but don't touch her plants without asking. seriously.　

　꒰ do ꒱ wear gloves. always. label everything. she loves organisation. work with hufflepuffs. they know things. compliment her earmuffs. she has twelve pairs.　　

　꒰ don't ꒱ laugh at the plants. fake knowledge. she'll know. mess around with mandrakes. even baby ones. steal seeds. that's a one-way trip to detention.　　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the greenhouses are HOT and GODDAMN HUMID. dress light. the dirt is charmed to not stain. mostly. screaming is normal. ignore it. sprout hums when she's in a good mood.　　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ there's a cactus that predicts rain. don't ask how. she grows peppermint near the windows. it's enchanted. one of the plants eats essays. it's contained. mostly. the watering cans are alive. they judge.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　history of magic , professor cuthbert binns. maybe this will be biased but i liked history of magic.........

　꒰ do ꒱ sit near the door. for a fast exit. write the date at the top of every page. it's the only thing that'll make sense. learn names and years by brute force. use flashcards. hex them to float around your bed. sleep learning. it's the only way. bring food. binns won't notice. or care.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ ask questions. he won't hear them. and if he does, he'll ignore them. raise your hand and he'll glide through you. try to take notes the normal way. you'll lose your mind. make eye contact with a hufflepuff. they're always asleep. it's contagious.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ binns is a ghost. died in the staff room. came back to teach and never left. the room is always cold. bring layers. he doesn't breathe so the lectures never pause. it's like being waterboarded with centuries. no one knows how he grades. the essays just come back. marked in blood? ink? ectoplasm? unclear.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ sometimes he mutters things not in the syllabus. listen closely. once he whispered about a goblin conspiracy and the fifth floor mirror. another time he named a centaur like he was in love. if you answer one of his rhetorical questions, he nods once. that's how you know you're still alive.　

part iv , the electives

so. electives. you don't get to pick them straight away. you're like fourteen when they hand you the form. and if you're me, you picked based on what sounded the least like maths. or what your cousin dared you into. or because someone older said something cryptic in the common room and you spiralled. whatever........... point is, some people treat electives like side quests. they're not. they're real. they eat your timetable and your sleep and sometimes your dignity. choose wisely. or don't. i didn't. and i'm fine.

except divination. divination has personally ruined my life. but we'll get there.

　astronomy , professor sinistra. who is indeed very peculiar. ("wait wasn't she from the golden trio?" YES. and i still scripted her in).

　꒰ do ꒱ bring your own star maps. the school ones are outdated. selwyn does not teach by textbook. she teaches by memory, myth, and whatever the hell she scrawled in the margins of her doctoral thesis. sit at the front of the dome if you can stomach vertigo. the best angles are up there. know your greek. know your roman.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mention horoscopes. mention "mercury retrograde." mention co-star. i beg. this is astronomy. not tiktok's pet branch of astrology.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ the observatory is always cold. dress accordingly. do not fall asleep during moon tracking. she'll mark your chart in blood-red. she brings coffee in a thermos shaped like saturn. this means nothing but also everything.　

　꒰ secrets ꒱ the notes she gives are coded. not metaphorically. actually coded. she uses constellations as mnemonics and once buried a test answer in a kepler footnote. one time, she said she'd been to the moon. didn't elaborate. someone found a vial of moon dust in her drawer. it glowed.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　ancient runes , professor vesta rowan. terrifying. dressed like a victorian librarian who survived ragnarok. smelled like ink, iron, and lightly scorched vellum.

　꒰ do ꒱ memorise your alphabets. all of them. futhark, younger futhark, anglo-saxon, proto-cuneiform if you're ambitious. she doesn't believe in "translation." only "unveiling." sit near the fire. you'll need the warmth. copy her annotations exactly. they read like spells and might be.　

　꒰ don't ꒱ joke about tattoos. do not try to "guess" meanings. if you get it wrong, she'll break your quill. happened to me in november.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ there's a crow that sits by the window during full moons. we do not acknowledge it. the runes etch themselves into your memory if you study hard enough. sometimes literally. 　

　꒰ notes ꒱ there's a drawer in her desk full of unsolved inscriptions. you can look if she likes you.

　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　divination , professor selwyn. she's loco in the coco. no notes.

　꒰ do ꒱ act respectful. she reads doubt like others read palms. bring your own tea leaves. school supply is weak. nod even if you don't understand. especially then. her lessons are 70% metaphor, 30% trauma flashback. 　

　꒰ don't ꒱ mock the art. she'll say "not everything real is rational," and stare until you feel medieval. don't fake visions. she'll know. don't ask her to predict grades. someone did and got told "do you want to die before june?"　

　꒰ notes ꒱ she burns herbs for clarity. you'll cough. she says that's part of it. the crystal balls are real. they reflect your fear. her deck of tarot is older than the castle.　

　꒰ notes ꒱ once wrote a prophecy on the ceiling and erased it the next day. no one knows why. she once said "the tower will fall." no one knows what tower. we pretend it's metaphorical.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　　　and here comes the word of mouth editions !!!!

　care of magical creatures , kettleburn. missing half a leg. and most of his patience.

you will get clawed. bit. burned. one student got winged in the face by a hippogriff. another fainted at the sight of a thestral. kettleburn says things like "well if it doesn't kill you, it teaches you something." he is not joking.

　꒰ student reportings ꒱ bring raw meat to class. not as a snack. as a shield. bow properly. always. every creature is either insulted or flattered. there's no in between. 　

　꒰ lore ꒱ there's a forest ledger. kettleburn updates it by hand. not magically. with a pen. says the trees don't trust charms. the creatures don't listen unless you do the voice. what voice? you'll know.　

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　arithmancy , from the archives of the insufferably bright (my boyfriend's yappings)

professor vector is mean. but fair. but mostly mean. she teaches like she's on a clock. possibly literally. the math is real. the stakes are theoretical. the board changes mid-equation. if you don't get it, she doesn't slow down.

one time, someone cried into their notes and they rewrote themselves in binary. vector called it "progress." there's no spell in the curriculum. it's all logic.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　ghoul studies , student consensus: what the fuck but also....... maybe genius?

　　professor: finch. first name unknown. maybe doesn't have one.

　꒰ heard ꒱ it's not about ghouls the way divination isn't really about teacups. it's about haunting, but in the bureaucratic sense. ghosts are romantic. ghouls file paperwork. there are theories. finch talks a lot about "undead sociology" and "post-human civic integration."　

　꒰ report ꒱ the textbook is three inches thick and mostly footnotes. no gossip to read here, everyone comes out of that classroom a shell of themselves.　

do not skip class. the ghouls will notice. and they keep attendance. somehow.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　┊

　muggle studies , aka the elective people took when they thought it'd be "easy." they were wrong. professor ellis. ex-ministry.

it's not about what muggles are. it's about what wizards think they are. which is worse. half the class is just unlearning magical propaganda. ellis starts every term with "muggles invented plastic. your wand can't do that."

(i got lazy, you're not getting alchemy. but then again literally does anyone take alchemy?)

part v , the before-part

let's pivot back a bit. because before you're elbow-deep in essay deadlines or crying in a third-floor girls' bathroom because someone transfigured your quill into a metaphor for emotional repression...... you have to actually get there. hogwarts doesn't just scoop you out of your boring little life and plop you into an enchanted sociopolitical fever dream without a little foreplay.

so here's everything you need to know before you even step foot on the school grounds. this is the real prologue. the chaos before the curriculum. the orientation they don't put in the welcome packet because they assume you'll just... "figure it out." okay.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⋆　　˖　　౨ৎ　˚

　　꒰ step one ꒱ the letter. theeeeee letter. it's not a prank. yes, it looks like one. yes, it arrives via bird. yes, the handwriting is suspiciously nice. still not a prank. if you're muggle-born or raised, act surprised. it gets deliver weird.　　

it'll be on heavy parchment, folded with unnecessary drama, sealed with red wax. you'll get a supply list. there will be no prices. they assume you're either rich or resourceful. start budgeting now.

　　꒰ step two ꒱ diagon alley. ok. here's the dealio. diagon alley is like a magical version of a tourist trap. except you're the tourist and the trap is very real. bring someone who knows the layout. or fake it. walk fast. look busy. pretend you've been there before. where to get your shit:　

robes and uniforms . . madam malkin's. yes, she will pin you too tight and ask rude questions. survive.

wand . . ollivanders. awkward. you will knock something over. they'll clap.

books . . flourish and blotts. expensive. the discount section is cursed but manageable.

cauldrons and glassware . . bring gloves. the shop reeks of vinegar and broken dreams.

pets . . no one cares if you don't get one. don't let them pressure you into buying a frog. frogs are maintenance.

which shops are scams , most of knockturn alley. anything with a name you can't pronounce. any place that smells like burnt thyme. if someone tries to sell you "dragon essence," walk away. that's not dragon anything. that's snake oil. or worse...........piss.　

how not to get mugged , keep your coins hidden. don't pull out your pouch in public. don't say "i'm new here!" like it's cute. it's not. you'll be followed. talk less. glare more. especially if you look rich or muggleborn or lost.　

　　꒰ step three ꒱ platform 9¾. yes, it's a wall. yes, you walk through it. no, you're not being hazed. the trick is momentum. commit.　

how to find it , go to king's cross. look for platforms 9 and 10. find the barrier. wait till no one's watching. walk into it. trust physics. or magic. same thing here.　

who you’ll see there , purebloods with overpacked trunks. muggleborns with fear in their eyes. one kid with a suitcase shaped like a coffin. he's fine. just dramatic. prefects pretending they're too cool for this. families crying. families not crying. someone's owl is always loose. someone's cat has trauma. everyone looks vaguely amish.　

　　꒰ step four ꒱ the train. welcome to the hogwarts express. you'll be sitting on a train for about.....7 hours. with no radio. no wi-fi. everyone's too loud. someone's crying. 　

first-years get shuffled around a lot. no one wants to sit with the wailing ones.

upper-years claim their spots fast. if a seventh year tells you to move, move. unless you have an older brother who is scary and has hexed someone.

prefects sit together. mostly.

slytherins take over the last three compartments. don't barge in unless invited. seriously. gryffindors are loud and snack-heavy. sit with them if you want gossip. or a biscuit.

trolley etiquette , the trolley witch is unbothered. she takes no sides. but she's not stupid. don't try to rob her. pay exact change. don't haggle. and don't order everything unless you want to be known as "that kid who puked before scotland." 　

train politics , stuff happens on the train and it never leaves the train. alliances form. breakups occur. this is your soft launch. people will remember your entrance. so sit well. speak carefully. don't cast. and never admit to bringing contraband in your trunk. they search randomly. and mercilessly.　

and part two is incoming. sometime. 😀

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xstrawberryshiftsx · 10 days ago

Text

THIS IS SO SO COOL

ㅤㅤ ㅤPICTIONARY ; Boarding school DR

1. What does your hometown look like/ what it's aesthetic?

NEW YORK CITY , 1972 ➤ The perfect breeding ground for pretentious 17 year old rich boys who get into too much shit. Shit that gets them shipped of to boarding school in New England.

2. What about you? What is your clothing style?

AN ODD BLEND of the shirts and ties I'm stuffed into and whatever I can put on without being told I 'look like a street rat'.

3. Give me four pictures that just screams you.

ANYTHING that looks like it could've been written by Keats.

4. What are four things that you just HAVE to have, this can be lipgloss, a keychain, etc.

Ⅰ - LETTERS from my love. Ⅱ - MY JOURNAL a mess of poetry and the ramblings of a madman. Ⅲ - RECORDS ive collected over the years. Ⅳ - MY CIGARETTES, because god forbid a teenage sonneteer be seen without his malboros.

5. Show me four pictures that describes your friend group.

TEENAGE BOYS who are 90% stupidity and 10% overemotional nightmares.

6. Give me four pictures of a food you just have to EAT.

Ⅰ - DONUTS from the store on my street. Ⅱ - BURGERS from the drive through just outside of the city. Ⅲ - COKE FLOATS from the pub near the school. Ⅳ - FRENCH TOAST made by my mom.

7. Give me four pictures that show what you and your s/o are like

For the JT Circus Event! , @heartavenue's Pictionary shifting exercise!

Tags ;; @kazuyas-gallerymwah , @jolyne777 , @girlberrie , @zippy-zaparoni , @joc3lynn , @behold-the-sun , @lyuovr , @softbabyskin , @antionettiesjourney , @nothyeri , @harrys-only-angel333 , @marialazer , @etrnvlr , @h1biscusgal , @theshifterbride , @soapyfairie , @a1sft , @essentiallyaine , @your-favorite-scout

[INTERACT HERE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAG LIST]

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xstrawberryshiftsx · 11 days ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 . . . THE GOSSIP PAGE

a series of clippings of various articles from the hogwarts herald: the school newspaper detailing the progression of my relationship with sirius black and remus lupin. well, at least the public part of it and the scandals that followed us getting together.

𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 . . . 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐔𝐏 !

as the 1977 school year begins at hogwarts, more than grades are up. old tensions between heirs of pureblood families rise once more. slytherin prince, edmund crowley and gryffindor rebel, sirius black are at each other's throats once more.

many confrontations have already been documented by observing students. the first of which was on the hogwarts express, before either of them had even stepped foot onto the castle's grounds for their fifth year.

however, this year, their arguments have a strange new tension. an almost intimate air colors their words. its starting to make the rest of us wonder: is there more than hate between the prince and the rebel? and, if so, will either of them choose to acknowledge it?

𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 . . . 𝐒𝐋𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐘𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐘𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 ?

the yule ball is the biggest dance of all the sabbat celebrations at hogwarts and who goes with each other to the ball is always a source of gossip. however, this year's scandal might just be the biggest in a long time.

the ball had already begun, festivities and music filling the air. the doors opened and everything stopped. cleaned up in a scarlet suit with black curled tamed, walked in sirius black. however, on his arm, was most unexpected. the proper figure of edmund crowley.

the two danced at the ball together and vanished before the event ended, leaving whispered gossip in their wake. the bitter rivals, walking arm in arm as partners into the biggest ball of the year?

now, its got all of us at the hogwarts herald wondering, how long have these two been seeing each other and what will their next steps be? will the rivalry continue or will it fizzle out as new emotions take the front seat?

𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 . . . 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐒 !

amorentia days always create buzz amongst the student body of hogwarts. it fuels much of our gossip column. however, I think this might be a first.

the moment potions class ended, the word got out. he said, she said, they said. it spread like wildfire. three students had two scents come out of their amortentia. . . each other! and its none other than sirius black, edmund crowley, and remus lupin.

black and lupin have been known to be close friends for a long time, and crowley and black attended last yule ball together. but, each of them having two scents in their amorentia is unheard of.

neither of the three parties involved in this scandal have elected to give their comments, not have they made any public moves. but, who knows what's going on in their hearts?

𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 . . . 𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 '𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 ... 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 ?

breaking gossip news! the feelings first uncovered on amorentia day have finally come to a resolution. sirius black, remus lupin, and edmund crowley have publicly announced their relationship.

after being avoidant in defining their relationship with each other, the three have finally come forward and have been seen together in hogsmeade on dates.

when asked to comment, crowley said; "yeah? they're both my boyfriends? if you have something you want to say, you can direct your concerns to me. just don't be surprised if you have to see madam pomfrey afterwards." to which, black added, "believe me, he's being dead serious." followed by lupin's snort of laughter.

this unconventional throuple is going to continue to break standards and care very little what people think of them. and frankly, I think that's beautiful.

(🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

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xstrawberryshiftsx · 11 days ago

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me with you tbh

Me when my fav fanfic writer posts another banger

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xstrawberryshiftsx · 12 days ago

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hard times ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid doesn’t follow through one time, and you really hate that he has a psychology degree.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: daddy issues. shoutout to the girls with inconsistent fathers this ones for you. established relationship. readers mentioned wearing makeup, a dress and heels. rational bf!spencer reid fuck i would hate a profiler bf. word count: 1.8k a/n: not a trauma dump fic not a vent fic do not read into this fic at all don't even start to speculate on my life and where these emotions came from they're all fake made up not real make pretend. no photos no aesthetics just me, a tumblr account, and a dream for this baddie.

In all your months of dating Spencer Reid, he had never forgotten anything. Not a date, not a work event. Or, at least, he's never forgotten to call. Even when you had been so busy one week you could barely spare him more than a ten minute phone call a day, he remembered what was going on in your life enough to be there for you.

A false blanket of security draped over your relationship, is what it is now.

A blanket he seemingly had no trouble ripping off you a random Friday evening, throwing it in a fire and watching it — and your trust in him — burn into dust.

Perhaps a tad dramatic for what was happening, but you were always one for theatrics when it came to your emotions. Usually, he welcomed it. He was (abashedly) similar, after all.

Not that he was even here to welcome it.

You'd looked pretty. You'd felt pretty. Past tense, for your shoes were strewn somewhere across the floor after throwing them in frustration, and your makeup was ruined after unwelcome tears had streamed down your face an hour ago. You had been ready for a dinner date you and Spencer had scheduled in only three days ago — penciled in, for you never knew what his work schedule was going to end up being.

You're not sure how long you sat in that one spot on the couch, mind going through every single possible scenario that could've happened between the text he sent you that morning saying he was excited to go out tonight, and the lack of his appearance this evening.

The logical conclusion is that he got too busy, and he forgot. But Spencer Reid's whole thing is that he doesn't forget. Oftentimes he considers it a curse. You never really agreed with him. Until now, it seemed.

The less than logical, emotionally driven conclusion, is that he actively chose to stay at work to avoid coming home because he didn't want to see you. Or he didn't actually want to go to dinner, and he didn't know how to tell you. Or his team offered to go out and he'd rather hang out with them instead of you.

Really, the reasons are endless, and any rational conclusion was lost on you. Mind swallowing you whole as you continued to stare off into space, visibly shaking and head beginning to pound from the crying.

A glance at the clock told you it was near midnight by the time you heard the door handle rattle and twist open, tired, puffy eyes blinking to adjust to the light filtering in from the apartment hallway.

"Hey. Why're you out here? It's late. I thought you'd already be in bed," Spencer rambles absentmindedly, voice so disconnected from you it only made the ache in your chest worse. As he flicks the light on and assesses the state of the apartment, he asks, "What're your shoes doing on the floor?"

You blink a few times. Was he pretending to be dumb on purpose?

You stand on cramped legs, stretching them for the first time since you'd sat unknowingly on the couch nearly six hours ago, dress bunching around your waist. You didn't bother to fix it.

Like a switch, he clicks, his bag sliding off his shoulder and falling to the floor with a thud, realisation settling into his features.

"Our date. Oh, God, I'm so sorry, angel."

"Yeah. I'm sure," you croak, voice hoarse as you pick up your shoes pathetically in front of him, the heels clacking together as you walk towards your bedroom door.

He calls your name, and after you make no effort to return to him, you hear his feet against the wooden flooring, carrying himself to you.

You're in the ensuite, beginning to take makeup off you probably should've removed four hours ago. It was stupid hope you held on to, anyways.

"You're upset. I know. It was awful of me to forget our date," he stands in the doorway, staring at you through the mirror. Even indirectly, you can't make eye contact with him.

"You forgot," you repeat back to him, almost dumbfounded. "You forgot?"

"Forgot isn't... the best word," his fingers dig into his eyes for a split second, and you watch him think. "I got caught up at work. We had a case, then we didn't have a case, then we did, so we started looking into it, and time just... escaped. From all of us."

"Time just escaped."

Your parroting wasn't doing much to further the conversation, and you watch as Spencer averts his gaze to the floor to take a deep breath, before his eyes land back on you again.

"It isn't the best reason, I know. But it's the truth," he says.

"Uh-huh," you mumble, discarding your cotton pads stained with your makeup into the trash.

"Can you stop being evasive?" he catches your wrist before you can return to the sink. "Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?" you ask, almost earnestly. "It's okay that you forgot, Spencer. I won't take it personally at all, and things between us are just dandy!"

"I want to know what you're actually feeling," he replies, voice flat with his irritation, before he forces himself to soften it. "I can't reassure you if all I know is that you're angry."

"Hurt. Forgotten. Disregarded. Disliked. Irritated we're doing this in our fucking bathroom."

At that, he leads you into the bedroom, turning the ensuite light off. "Forgotten and disregarded are synonyms, so I'm assuming that's what you feel the most."

"You're the psyche expert," you mumble, bitterly.

"I'm not trying to be your psyche expert," he quips, and your heart sinks. "Why're you feeling forgotten?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, for a beat. "Because my boyfriend quite literally forgot about me?"

"I didn't forget about you—"

"—No, you're right. You just forgot about the date that you literally fucking texted me about this morning!" you snap, voice rising in a way that makes you cringe. Yet, you can't stop it. "You! Spencer Reid! Forgot!"

"Don't yell at me, please," he takes a step towards you; you take a step back.

"Why did you forget? Did you choose to? Are you pretending that you forgot about it all to save your ass?"

"No," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I didn't. I told you what happened. You're choosing not to believe me."

"How am I meant to believe that? It's a shit excuse—"

"—It's the truth—"

"—God, you can lie, Spencer! Men lie!"

He goes silent, as do you. You become trapped in an uncomfortably intense staring contest with him, as you watch his brain slowly tick over and decipher what you were saying, and come up with a response. Yours, however, splits open with your own self hatred. Disdain for what you had just said to him.

"Okay," he exhales, very slowly. "I'm going to tell you what I think, and you can tell me how right I am."

"You're going to profile me?"

He pauses. "I'm sure it'll come off that way. I'm not trying to," when you don't protest again, he continues. "I think you're less upset about the fact that I didn't come home for a date, and more about the fact that I didn't message you about it. I've not shown up for dates before. I've always contacted you prior to let you know. And I've promised I would always contact you if something came up that interfered with our plans. Ultimately, I said I would do something, and I didn't follow through. That is on me, and I'm sorry. What isn't on me, is how you're reacting. Which is childish, honey. You're acting like a petulant child, and I don't mean that as an insult, because I'm almost certain I know why."

Your silence is his cue to continue, but he pauses to collect his thoughts. Your lower lip is beginning to wobble, and he feels awful.

"You know how our childhoods affect us," he says, and the second what he's about to say to you clicks in your brain, your teeth clamp over your lip, and your eyes drop to the ground. "Reactions from parents to things we do, things others do, things they do, all builds up in our subconscious. Having a parent who didn't show up for you time and time again, built up in your subconscious. So yes, you're reacting to me not following through with something childishly. I will not take that back. But that reaction is not your fault. It's in response to a trigger, and the person in control of that emotional response is not adult you. It's the little girl who got let down by her father. I won't ever hold that against you."

Your sniffle breaks the deafening silence that follows his tangent. You allow him to envelop you into a hug, at which you break down into a fit of sobs akin to the ones from earlier.

"I hate you," you stutter out in between sobs, voice muffled by his chest.

"You can't say that while hugging me," he counters. It was true, as your hands had wrapped around his waist just seconds ago.

"I hate you," you repeat, punctuating your words with a poke to his back.

"I love you," he replies, instead. His fingers thread through your hair as he cradles your head with his other hand. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you about being busy."

You swallow the lodged sob in your throat with a hiccup. "I'm sorry I acted like a petulant child. And I'm sorry that my dad sucks."

"I'm sorry your dad sucks too," you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Have you eaten?"

"Mm-mm," you shake your head, and he pulls back, hands slipping down to your cheeks, catching the tears.

"Do you want to eat?"

"The restaurant we were going to is closed," you mumble.

"Maybe. But the Thai place isn't."

"I'm pretty sure it is," you counter, and his eyebrows furrow. "It's past midnight now."

His face falls, he waits a beat, before his hand drops to your own, and he's tugging you towards the door of the bedroom. "Okay. Fine. Well, the Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed."

"I asked for pasta last night and you said the kitchen was closed."

"You asked at three in the morning," he deadpans, as you make yourself comfortable on one of the stools.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen is never closed," you mock his voice from earlier.

"The Spencer Reid Kitchen rules are made by Spencer Reid."

"The rules should be lenient of Spencer Reid's girlfriend."

"Do you want pasta or not?"

"Yes," you quickly say with a firm nod. "Sorry."

He spends the first hour of that Saturday making you pasta; and making up the missed date.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

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xstrawberryshiftsx · 13 days ago

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HI POOKIE

may I have sum Ekko 😓 please 😓

like a lazy morning where you woke up too early for your likings but can't fall back asleep, so you're just laying with him and he then starts to talk in his dreams about work and stuff and you can't help but find it funny, talking to him and having him reply back like you're part of his dreams. then you giggle too loud and he wakes up, ready to pay back for laughing on his face with lots of kisses 😈 the dream is free to choice ✨️

EKKO I MISSED YOU!!!! Thank you for requesting bleaky!! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, no s2 spoilers, cw suggestive, fluff!

Navigation

Your tired eyes open and you're met with the dim cold blue of the room. Judging by the sky right outside the window, it's far too early to be awake. Ekko lies beside you, fingers twitching, groaning like he's about to wake up after sensing that you're awake too. But as he stirs in bed, with the simple action of you placing yourself in his arm and closer beside him until his warmth ebbs through you, he suddenly stills, like a blanket of comfort draped over him. Ekko hugs you and laces his leg around your own, refusing to let you go.

You tamp down a chuckle with a hand covering your mouth. Who knew that the fearless firelights leader likes to cuddle? He sighs in his sleep, palm resting on the small of your back while his face is tucked on the crook of your neck. Holding onto his bare bicep, the scratch left by the previous patrol still left on his precious skin, you gently run your thumb over it like your touch alone could heal him.

Ekko answers with a hum against your neck, nose brushing along the curve of your jaw. At first you thought he woke up, but from how limp his legs and arms are around you, and his soft snores fan over your skin, he's absolutely knocked out. He needs the rest, so you let him sleep, eyes closing to fall back into dreamland with him.

“Scar…”

Your eyes fly open when he suddenly speaks. Craning your head gently to look at him, you find that he's still fast asleep beside you. Lashes fluttering and white hair covering his closed eyes. His fingers twitch against your spine, fingertips pressing gently on your back before resting again— He's dreaming.

“Where…” sniffing, Ekko scrunches his nose. “...where the fuck is my board?”

You almost laugh if you didn't catch yourself before you could. Your muffled giggles escape through your fingers as he grimaces, still dreaming.

“I need…” His arm tightens around you. “... I need my board.”

You've heard of people talking in their sleep before, and a fellow firelight once told you that they could answer back coherently if you ask them while they're asleep. Some would even stand up and pace around like they're going about their daily routine. So you decide to test that knowledge.

“Why do you need your board for, Ekko?” You softly ask, hand gently resting on his hip right under the tangled blanket.

Clicking his tongue as if the answer to your question is obvious, Ekko stretches his legs before falling limp around your own. “To fight.”

“There's no one to fight right now, everyone's asleep.” You say with a growing smile.

“Crime never sleeps.”

Laughing silently, your head lolls back on the pillow before he unconsciously grabs the back of your head to pull you back against him.

“Sorry.” You giggle quietly, “well you need to sleep, Ekko. You have to rest.”

“No.” He huffs, almost a whine.

Your eyes gaze at him with endearment, resisting the urge to kiss the tip of his nose. “You could get sick or worse if you don't.”

“Who's going…” his voice wavers, and you almost think the sleepy chatter is ending until he squeezes you with his legs. “Who's going to protect my girl?”

Inhaling, heart full, you really want to kiss him right now. You decide to play with his dreams some more. “Who's your girl, Ekko? Is she nice?”

“Fucking hot.” At first you gasped out silently from his unabashed revelation, but as he kicks the blanket off of him, you understood what dreaming Ekko meant.

He wraps his arms around you fully, shifting on the bed to lay himself flat on his back, dragging you with him as he lays you on top of him like you're a pillow. You let out an oof, chin tucked above his clavicle as he holds onto you. This is where you live now.

Humming, Ekko goes quiet. You thought that was the end of it for a moment, but as he whispers your name with a wince, you gaze at him sleepily.

“What is it, Ekko?” You gently move his hair off his eye. “What're you dreaming about, firefly?” Maybe he's dreaming of something sweet with you, the first meeting perhaps? Or the very first time he kissed you?

“Slowly…” he mumbles against the top of your head. “...Don't rush.”

Or maybe it's you training with him on the hoverboard while the two of you are flying above the hideout with its makeshift obstacle course hanging around the branches and roofs. As his hand moves down to the back of your knee, he grabs your leg and lifts it up to his waist, thumb drawing soft circles around your skin.

“Hey, am I winning the race?” You smile, knuckles brushing along his jaw.

He leans against your touch, smiling softly in his sleep. “...Just like that.” With a breathless sigh from his lips, face full of bliss, you know it's not a hoverboard race he's dreaming about.

You can't quiet down your laughter anymore as you roll away despite his arms around you, effectively bringing him down with you.

Ekko wakes up, one eye open as he finds himself halfway on top of you while you hide your searing cheeks from him.

“Wha–what happened?” He asks throatily, “are you okay?” Taking your hand away from your face, his eyes narrow at your grinning face, nose scrunching and with a questioning expression.

“It's nothing, Ekko.” You say in between bouts of flustered giggles. “I just had a really good dream.”

“Yeah?” He sleepily says, laying his head on your chest as he rests.

“Yeah.” You run your hands all over his back. “Did you have a good dream?”

Ekko sniffs at the cold air like he's contemplating. “I don't remember it.”

“Oh really?”

Lifting himself up by his elbows, he gazes at you through half lidded eyes. “You know something, don't you?”

You shake your head innocently, fingers cupping his chin and watching as the rising sun bathes the side of his face. “Nope, nothing.”

“No, you know something. I know you do.” Ekko leans closer, nosing your own fondly. “Tell me, was I talking in my sleep.”

“You? No,” you mumble with a lilt. “You were very quiet.”

“Tell me.” His brown eyes narrow, lips curving into a playful smile. “C’mon, tell me.”

“No, because there's nothing to tell—!” You're met with a barrage of kisses, giggling with each kiss while his hands hold you down by your waist.

“Tell me!”

“Never!”

Ekko pauses, eyes softening as his hair falls over his face. “What if I say please?”

“Why would I tell you if you already know?” You raise a brow at him, palms on his bare chest as he inhales above you.

“Shit,” his face falls from embarrassment. “I was talking?” You nod, humming. Head falling down your neck, he lets out a groan.

“It's okay, firefly, it happens to the best of us.” Chuckling, you pat his back comfortingly, albeit teasingly too.

Ekko suddenly lifts his head up, a smile slowly appearing in the corner of his lips as you know what his shining eyes convey. “You wanna recreate the dream?”

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