Hogwarts Houses as Good Feeling Things


the crunch of a footstep in freshly fallen snow, putting together the prefect outfit and knowing you look your best, rooms with tall ceilings, perfect eyebrows, standing on balconies, pressed suits, zipping up tall boots


running out into a rainstorm just to get soaked, dancing to loud music with your best friend, running to clear your mind after a bad day, getting a haircut and feeling light and free, taking a breath of fresh air in the summer, skipping stones


setting up your bed as the perfect Netflix fort, the he loves me he loves me not game, perfect long nails with dark polish, crisp powdery pages, crackling fireplaces, writing until your hand cramps up, old castles 


getting a hug from that one person, p.j days at school, taking off make up at the end of the day, hiding in a hoodie, stacking up five blankets in the wintertime, telling someone you love them over and over, movies with friends

I want to see Greek gods in the modern era.

I want to see Zeus in a tailored suit and shaggy beard, a walking disparity of the loud, brash, post-graduate frat boy variety who can’t pass a woman on the street without catcalls, who has more one-night stands than he could possibly keep in his head, for whom adultery comes as naturally as the weather he predicts on the Channel 4 News—with startlingly accuracy, and an endless wealth of charisma.

I want to see Hera walking tall, six-inch heels and not a wrinkle in her skirt, knowing her boyfriend is cheating, and knowing with equal certainty that she is better, stronger, fiercer than he will ever be, a wedding planner with an eye of steel, spotting vulnerability, slicing it open, teaching every woman who crosses her path to value themselves over any mistake made in the name of men and love.

I want to see Poseidon in Olympic prime, a gym rat who skives off class to shatter backstroke records, who spends his summers lifeguarding at the city pool, who keeps an ever-expanding aquarium in his bedroom and coaxes all the pretty girls up to visit his fish, his charm as impressive as the earth-rending temper he generally uses to fuel his competitive nature.

I want to see Hades, big, hulking, quieter than his brothers would ever think to be, who dresses in neat dark clothes, and polishes his boots, and spends more time reading than fighting, who debates eventuality and ethics, who stoically reminds everyone how enormous, how terrifying, how inescapable a thing like silent inevitability can be.

I want to see Hermes in a beanie, with watercolor splashes of tattoo crawling up his arms and holes in his Chucks, a bike messenger with no helmet, no regard for the rules of the road, all cataclysmic laughter, lock-pick tricks passed along to every kid who thinks to ask, thumbing through his iPhone without a care in the world.

I want to see Athena with reading glasses pushed high on her head, six books in her bag and a switchblade in her back pocket, her clothing as neatly ordered as her mind is feverish, brilliance and temper clashing and blending, doing her best to look dignified—even when her brain chemistry rockets ahead of her well-intentioned plans.

I want to see Apollo splattered with acrylics, board shorts and Monster headphones and a beautiful classic car, busking on street corners, not because he has no choice, but because the sunlight catching on a sticker-patterned acoustic is summer incarnate, because music is blood, because the act of creation is the ultimate in sublime.

I want to see Artemis in ripped jeans and haphazard topknot, star of the soccer team, the track team, the archery team, who rides a motorcycle, and keeps a tribe of girls around her at all times, and does not care for men, for expectation, for anything but volunteer hours down at the local animal shelter and falling asleep under the stars.

I want to see Aphrodite in sundress and scarf, homemade jewelry and lavish amounts of bright red lipstick, who is excellent at public speaking, at theater auditions, at soothing bruised egos and sparking epic fights, who kisses as easily as she breathes and scrawls poetry onto bathroom stalls.

I want to see Ares all but living in the boxing ring, cutoff shirts and sweats, red-faced under a crew cut as he punches, punches, punches until the noise in his head dims, a warrior with no war, all crude jokes and blind fury, totally incapable of understanding what it is to sit, think, plan before running screaming into the fray.

I want to see Demeter with the best garden you’ve seen in your life, with a lawn care business she runs out of her garage, a teenage prodigy grown into a joint-custody single mother, who teaches her carefree daughter all she knows while scaring off the hopeful neighborhood boys with the pet python draped across her shoulders.

I want to see Dionysus with a joint in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, baggy hoodies and three-week-old jeans, who brews his own beer in his basement and greets all visitors with a fresh pack of Oreos and half-stoned theories of the universe, of birth and death and partying mid-week, because why not, man?

I want to see Hephaestus with a workshop taking up the majority of his house, whose kitchen is overrun with blowtorches, whose bathrooms are home to all manner of hodge-podge invention, who walks with a cane and forgets his laundry for weeks at a time, and strings together the most beautiful steampunk costumes at any convention at the drop of a hat.

I want to see wood nymphs fighting against climate change, waving their signs and pushing for scientific progress. I want to see epic heroes sitting down to Magic: The Gathering tournaments, poker brawls, Call of Duty all-nighters with beer and snapbacks. I want to see Medusa working a women’s shelter, want to see Achilles training for deployment, want to see Prometheus serving endless community service stints for what he calls providing necessary welfare with stolen goods.

Give me modern mythology. I could play for hours in that sandbox.


Originally posted by boredoutofmymindwriting

2,500 Followers Oneshot

Summary: Jensen tries to convince the reader to be his pretend girlfriend.

Prompt: "You’ve given up being sexy a long time ago haven’t you?“

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,266

Requested by: @starswirlblitz

Work today was fucking torture. It was too long, too boring and filled with too many morons. You can only fake being nice for so long, it’s exhausting.

Trying to get into a more relaxed head space, you decide to pamper yourself a bit. You down a much needed glass of wine then take a soothing bubble bath. Soon after you throw on a black mud mask that clarifies, it’s weird looking but it works awesome.

Deciding to give yourself a pedicure, you pick out a dark red nail polish and get yourself settled on the couch. Finally feeling a little more relaxed, you breathe a happy sigh for the peace and quiet.


Son of a bitch.

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Someone asked me how I would describe love…
Simply put I believe when you know you just know.
When you wake up and that person is your first thought before “holy shit I have to pee.”
Or you remember to actually text them when you’re drunk and on your way home.
Or it’s when you struggle with one eye closed just to send them coherent drunk texts cause they’re all that’s on your mind.
It’s when you want to defend them in every fight
Even if it’s a fight against a 200 pound bouncer who will probably throw you down the stairs if you try.
It’s 4 am mornings spent talking about her grandparents and what she did on New Years last year.
And you never remind her that you’re an hour ahead of her and the sun is already up and you have work in 2 hours.
It’s bowling a 30 with her and not even being embarrassed and laughing and kissing the whole while.
Love is wanting to see her In your clothes.
And letting her steal your clothes,
Even though clothes are your favorite thing.
Love is letting yourself cry in front of her
Even if it’s just while watching the fault in our stars.
Or every episode of Greys Anatomy.
Love is the way your stomach flipped the first time you laid in bed with her.
and the way you laid on her lap trying not to touch her too much.
while also wanting to touch her all over because she was so beautiful even in baggy sweatpants and a tshirt.
Love is the way that first night is engrained in your mind so vividly.
From how cold her apartment was and the way you sat exactly three feet from her in the living room so that her roommate would think your intentions were pure.
To the way your heart hammered so loudly each time she touched your face that you swear your insides were black and blue.
It’s her catching you staring at her every time you’re out together because God damn it if you aren’t the luckiest motherfucker alive to have that girl on your arm.
Love is something as small as a two hour subway ride to pick her up from the airport.
So she doesn’t have to navigate alone.
And seeing her around the corner and knowing it’s her just by the perpetually chipped dark nail polish on her fingernails.
It’s the way she clings to you in her sleep.
as if you’re filled with helium and could float away at any moment.
Love is “please don’t pee with me on the phone.”
“Oh my god you’re peeing with me on the phone.”
Now we pee together on the phone.
It’s knowing she likes her coffee black
But her knowing you like yours to be half milk.
Love is like that build up in a song that brings chills you can’t explain,
And it’s that smell that only she has on her breath.
Nothing can quite describe it but it cuts through alcohol and food and smoke and it just… Is.
It’s letting the pups sleep between the two of you
Even though You want her pressed firmly against you all night.
It’s knowing she hates Mexican food but she took you to get enchiladas on your first date anyway.
Love is a series of small things and it comes with knowing that not every love story starts out beautifully.
No sometimes it starts with a drunken kiss or asking her out on a napkin at a bar
(It seemed romantic at the time).
But you know fields of flowers can bloom from the ashes of forest fires.
And the world started with a bang
At least that’s what some people say.
She’s my world, so why shouldn’t we have begun with a crash?
Like the ones that halt traffic for miles,
The ones you can’t tear your eyes away from.
I’ve always been a disaster anyway but she never shielded her eyes from me.
It was seeing her look at me without flinching that made me certain.
Love is saying you’ll never ever do long distance again.
and finding yourself on flights home to see her face because miles can’t measure up to how much you miss her.
Home is where the heart is after all
And love is knowing there’s an inevitability when you fall.
Love is knowing that you’ll probably end up broken into a trillion pieces when it’s all said and done,
But as long as her fingertips craft each and every shard then it’ll still be a masterpiece.
—  The Big Bang by c.r.

This place sickened him. Anywhere else, you simply killed your enemy with a sword. Or poisoned him, if you had the honourless instincts of an assassin. Here, it was layer upon layer of constructed double-dealing, dark, polished and unpleasant.

“I can’t believe all this lying and cheating! Whatever happened to good old-fashioned murder?”


Inspired by the mood board created by the fabulous @anieekkjeeex

It was your anniversary. It was the middle of the week. And you two were on different sides of the planet. You weren’t complaining, he loved what he did and you knew that his career has to take priority some of the time, but come on Marvel, it was anniversary! You needed your boyfriend with you on this day of all days. Didn’t they know how to share?

With a heavy sigh, you got out of bed and padded over to the window, blanket pulled tightly around your shoulders. You didn’t mean to be sad about this, it was just that he had promised you that he’d be with you today. As you looked at London’s skyline, a single rain drop made it’s way down the window, twisting and turning down its lonely path. Lifting a single finger, you trailed after it, sad and heavy eyes watching as it became too heavy and let go from the window, tumbling down to the streets below. It was 5 am in Britain, you had just gotten out of bed to start your day, yet here you were, feeling sorry for a stupid raindrop.

Behind you, your phone excitedly cheered, buzzing across your bedside cabinet before tumbling off of the side. You leapt, landing a top of your bed as you bounced across. Diving for your phone, you quickly silenced the notification. A video from Tom. You smiled as you opened it up: “Happy Anniversary darlin’” he waved, blowing kisses into the camera. His hair flopped forwards over his forehead as he happily babbled on about what scenes he just shot and how the weather was, “look babe,” he suddenly became serious, fixing you with a glare through the phone, “don’t be too disappointed that I’m not with you today,” he looked downcast at that, chewing on his bottom lip, “I wanted to be with you, but we ran over time, and I’m so sorry about that. But we’re gonna be together a lot sooner than you think!” With that, he smirked, before a voice cut across saying that he needed to get back on set. He looked back at the phone, blowing you one more kiss before ending the video. You watched it a few more times before hauling yourself off of the bed.

You were out getting some shopping when a notification sang from your phone. Pulling it out of your pocket, you read the notification: “tomholland2013 tagged you in a post”. Rolling your eyes, you opened your phone. You grinned, seeing a photo of you and him cuddled close, facing away from the camera. It was one of the first photo’s you two had as a couple, taken by Harry without the two of you knowing. You read the caption underneath: “My love, my life, my everything. Happy anniversary, and here’s to much more!”. You couldn’t help yourself but smile as a blush crept it’s way up your neck and onto your cheeks. You liked the photo and commented a simple heart emoji back. Instantly, he liked your comment.

With a heavy heart, you whistled Tessa back to you. She trotted back over, head hung low as you clipped back on her leash. It was getting dark, and you couldn’t stay out much longer. She barked over to the other dogs, which were still running around and enjoying themselves. “Sorry girl, we got to get back though,” you whispered, rubbing her head before turning and walking away from the dog park. The two of you wandered back to your flat with heavy hearts. It was nearing the end of one of the most lonely anniversaries you’ve ever had. As you shrugged off your coat, you phone beeped, signalling a text. Groaning you pulled it out of your coat with more force than necessary. Another message from Tom: “I made your dinner reservations tonight at the place we first met. Go there and celebrate for the two of us, will you darling? (P.s- look under the bed!) xxxxxxxxxxxx”. Tears welled your eyes as you read. So he was being romantic. But it wouldn’t be the same without him. You debated going or not. It wouldn’t be the same without him, but you knew how special this place was to the two of you, and he’d be annoyed if you didn’t go. So you made your way to the bedroom and looking underneath the bed, you grabbed a red box. Pulling it out from underneath, you saw it covered in a thin layer of dust. He must’ve put it there before he had left. A sad smile graced your lips as you opened the box, revealing an outfit you had been eyeing up for awhile. “You little bugger,” you whispered to Tom, knowing he’d never hear it, but still.

You made your way down the cobbled street, the stones wet with rain. The moon hung up above you in the clearing sky highlighted your path, your shoes echoing down the quaint alley. Pushing open the door to the familiar building, your breath was taken away. For a small venue, this place was very expensive yet unique. A chandelier hung in the entranceway, walls covered with different mirrors. The floor was a dark wood, polished and waxed to perfection. Walls were a dark crimson, making the place warm and friendly. A waiter, the same one from when you and Tom met, you noted, made his way over.

“Right this way,” the short man grinned, “Mr Holland is already seated and waiting?”

“Waiting?” You quizzed as the two of you made your way down familiar halls before walking into the main room. Standing beside the table, your table, was Tom. He looked amazing, a sharp and fresh suit specially tailored, his hair styled back in a careful swoop. His grin grew when he saw you, stepping forward to take you in his arms. Still speechless, you said nothing, instead, pulling him closer.

“You look amazing love,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck before pulling back and kissing you gently on the lips. “Shall we eat?” He teased.

And that is how the worst anniversary quickly turned into the best one yet, simply by one little text.

anonymous asked:

48% (I'm on mobile so it doesn't show the decimal) Magnus taking Alec clothes shopping for a formal event?

between the warm wood, the soft glow of spotlights, the bustle and murmur of the store outside these walls dampened by a heavy curtain across the doorway, alec couldn’t put a finger on how he felt. all he knew was that as he stood there slowly buttoning one of the shirts magnus picked out for him, he couldn’t stop staring at him in the mirror.

magnus was leaning up against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his pants and he had a pensive look on his face. his lips were pursed, his dark brown eyes catching some of the light, lit up at the sides showing just how rich that brown was. he was so stately always, he fit right into a place like this, with his fitted waistcoats and his beautiful button up shirts. he looked like a gentleman, like a tailors dream and he knew so much about all of this.

alec could remember the last time he had gotten fitted for a suit and the memory turned his stomach. the dread that had twisted his insides as he stood like this, but instead was staring at the impassive calm of his mother in the mirror, knowing that when this suit was done he was going to wear it to an event that might as well have been his funeral.

which was why when magnus brought it up, he hadn’t been too keen. 

but this day had been nothing like that. this day had been warm and full of laughter. this day had been magnus pulling him in to show him fabric and pressing cufflinks into his palm. this day had been magnus circling him as they took his measurements and winking, laughing so big and bright every time alec beat him to an innuendo. this day had been nothing like any of the other suit fittings he had ever been through in his life.

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[ here, have some post-war eighth year hansy for the @slytherdornet ship spotlight challenge ]

  • they call it an eighth year.
  • it’s ridiculous, and it’s stupid, and its entirely unnecessary. pansy had gotten through most of her own seventh year unscathed; she knew how to transfigure furniture, and she knew how to brew a batch of polyjuice, and she knew how to hide. she knew how to hide well. she didn’t need to return to hogwarts and watch the war heroes feign modesty and be confronted by a splintered house table and a decaying dungeon and an ashy scorch mark where vincent crabbe had burned to death. she didn’t have anything else to learn. she didn’t.
  • but. she didn’t have anywhere else to go, either.
  • that was the thing.
  • her childhood home had been ransacked, turned over to the ministry as evidence for her father’s crimes. goyle was under house arrest and blaise was in france and draco had all but disappeared after the final battle and daphne–daphne was going back to school, of course she was, because astoria was barely fourteen and family was important.
  • pansy isn’t astoria’s sister.
  • but she’s always kind of felt a little like daphne’s.
  • so pansy zips herself into a knee length black shift dress with a lace collar and long lines of seed pearl buttons running from her wrists to her elbows, and she steps onto the hogwarts express like it’s any other september, like she belongs there, and she inspects the dark purple polish on her nails and she tucks errant strands of blunt cut hair behind her ears and she doesn’t look at anyone as she saunters down the corridor because she isn’t quite sure that she wouldn’t scream if she did.
  • which is, obviously, how she runs directly into harry potter.
  • he’s–bigger than she remembers. taller. broader. less pale and less shaky and less tired. he stumbles backwards, instinctively reaching out to steady her, and she thinks, somewhat hysterically, somewhat inanely, that she can feel the heat of his hands right through the fabric of her dress.
  • “parkinson,” he says, sounding…surprised. “er. hello.”
  • pansy swallows. “hello.”
  • potter stares down at her, a slight furrow in his brow. his grip tightens around her arms. “right. uh.”
  • “right, uh,” she mimics, meanly, before glaring at the spot where he’s still touching her. he lets go so fast that she’s amazed he doesn’t injure himself.
  • and then he’s stepping away altogether, casting an irritatingly thoughtful glance at her over his shoulder, and she’s left standing there, confused and annoyed and breathless, maybe, because that hadn’t been nearly as awful as it could have been, as it arguably should have been, and–
  • she pretends that she isnt just the tiniest bit cold as she watches potter disappear into the next train car.
  • from then on, though, it only gets weirder.
  • the castle is a mess, crumbling and curse torn and ragged around the edges, and the hufflepuffs temporarily move in with the scant remaining slytherins. pansy is sharing a room with hannah abbott. hannah abbott braids wildflowers into her hair every morning. hannah abbott’s shampoo smells like vanilla cupcakes. hannah abbott compliments pansy’s extensive collection of muggle lipsticks, and hannah abbott is conscientious about picking up after herself before the elves come around, and hannah abbott is apparently dating neville bloody longbottom.
  • “what,” pansy bleats when she gets back from a late dinner to find longbottom and finnigan and potter sitting in the slytherin common room. a half empty bottle of firewhiskey is lying on a priceless sixteenth century rug. pansy drops her bag. “what is going on?”
  • hannah abbott waves cheerfully from where she’s perched on longbottom’s lap. “pansy! you’re home!”
  • pansy is not home. home is daphne and astoria and a world that doesn’t manage to find a new way to spin backwards every time she fucking blinks. pansy is in hell.
  • three hours later, hannah has dragged longbottom off to bed, finnigan has passed out in a nearby armchair, and potter has inexplicably moved much, much closer to pansy. he’s also poured her a drink, and chuckled at one of her more acerbic jokes, and flashed her a decidedly wicked grin.
  • pansy is still in hell, probably.
  • “why are you being so nice to me?” she finally blurts out.
  • potter squints at the fireplace, glasses reflecting bloody red and fading orange and hot, bright, bitter yellow. “hannah says you read muggle magazines,” he replies, like that makes any sense at all. “the, er, fashion ones. from france.”
  • “are you very interested in women’s fashion, then, potter?” pansy coos.
  • he smirks, looking summarily unbothered, and then shrugs. “it’s exhausting hating so many people. just. takes a lot of effort, doesn’t it? holding on to all that.”
  • pansy cocks her head to the side. “so, what, you had to–to reprioritize your shit list, and i didn’t make the cut?”
  • he laughs. “i died,” he says, kind of simply. “i don’t…want to have to do that again.”
  • pansy studies the chipped rim of her mug. firewhiskey is exactly as disgusting as it had been two summers ago. she sighs. “i suppose you have a point. i–i just wanted it to be over, when i–you know. and. well. now it is.” she hesitates. it’s warm in the common room, warmer than it usually is, and she suddenly feels hopeful. reckless. the difference between bravery and fear must be in the motivation, she decides, because she’s spoken up before. this isn’t that. “maybe that’s what matters, though,” she continues. “maybe we…maybe we get to start over.”
  • potter smiles faintly, like he can’t help himself, and then squeezes her knee.
  • the fire crackles.
Thicker than Water - Part 1


(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Bucky x Reader series

Summary: Inspired by this post (x)
Being born and raised in a HYDRA family means you must be a devoted member to the organisation, carrying out orders with blind obedience. But after being assigned the suicide mission of being the Winter Soldier’s handler, you slowly start to question where your loyalties truly lie.

Warnings: Physical abuse, violence

Word Count: 1057

A.N: I know, I know… I still have two unfinished series which I haven’t updated in FOREVER and yet here I am posting another one. Truth is, I haven’t been feeling as good lately, both physically and emotionally but I’d been working on this story for a while and just wanted to share it with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Dedicated to the beautiful Ella @buckysinthesinbin for putting up with my crazy self at ungodly hours <3 Thank you, love!

Originally posted by ofallingstar

Authentic obedience is never blind.

December, 1993
2047 hours

“Thirteen, twelve, eleven…”

The house was uncharacteristically loud for a Thursday night, with its rooms full of elegantly dressed people and the delicate clinking of champagne glasses mixing with bubbling laughter and the soft sound of a piano playing somewhere in the living room.

Only the sound of the children’s voices stood out, along with the thud of their steps as they ran through the house in order to find a hiding spot, little feet running over the hardwood floor.

“Ten, nine, eight…”

You were running out of time.

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“Ready Chuuya and… action!”

“This is a view rivaling even the most priceless painting.” Chuuya smirked as he stood on the stairs. “Eh, Dazai?” Chuuya shifted his foot, causing him to slip and fall down the fake stairs. “Oh shit.” He said before face planting.

“Pfffftttt.” Dazai began to laugh, before bursting into loud laughter. “There are tears coming out of my eyes ahaha!”

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Signs Aesthetics: Part One
  • Check your sun and venus
  • <p> <b>Aries:</b> combat boots, guitars, neon signs, sunglasses, video games<p/><b>Taurus:</b> barefoot, dewy grass, hot chocolate, oversized sweaters, raindrops on windows<p/><b>Gemini:</b> existential quotes, joker card, motorcycles, ripped jeans, sports cars<p/><b>Cancer:</b> bubbles, fluffy socks, ice cream, ocean, puppies<p/><b>Leo:</b> crop tops, gold, long hair, peace signs, smartphones<p/><b>Virgo:</b> autumn leaves, chapstick, knitted sweaters, old books, white fences<p/><b>Libra:</b> eyebrows, gardens, lace, pastel colors, seashells<p/><b>Scorpio:</b> black eyeshadow, full moon, jungles, playlists, tattoos<p/><b>Sagittarius:</b> bouncy balls, denim jackets, high heels, railroad tracks, vintage maps<p/><b>Capricorn:</b> apples, dark nail polish, greenhouses, nude lipstick, polo shirts<p/><b>Aquarius:</b> colored hair, dreamcatchers, lava lamps, pixel art, trains<p/><b>Pisces:</b> bubble baths, lips, marshmallows, pearls, wind chimes<p/><b>If used, please give credit :</b> )<p/><b></b> So guys, what was your favorite aesthetic out of these?<p/><b></b> OR<p/><b></b> Did you like your aesthetic?<p/></p>

anonymous asked:

Do you have any ways that we can see into our past lives? I supposedly didn't come from "here" (my soul didnt) and I want to know more

Akashic record meditation (should be done within your astral temple so if you do not have one, create one):

*Note: this method is quite advanced as it involves projecting your spirit and interacting with guides.

1. Relax your body and count backwards from six to one. Which each descending number feel yourself going into a deeper state of meditation and floating away towards your astral temple. With each number feel your muscles completely relax and let go of controlling your body. You should feel a warm wave of peaceful energy pass through you and your heart centre.

2. Once you feel and see yourself within your astral temple, you see a beautiful light emanating from another room. You go inside and see a welcoming spirit, either an angel, guide, or an Akashic guard. They will be a guide to your records.

3. Feel yourself make a friendly connection to this spirit so that you feel safe. They are here to help you see your past life and rid yourself of any toxic patterns. After this, sit yourself down in a chair - this chair is so soft and comfortable, it almost feels like a cloud.

4. Your guide directs your attention to a viewing screen on the opposite wall, and this is a screen to view your Akashic Records. Open yourself to all the helpful information that will about to appear regarding your intentions. The screen starts to come to life and you begin being able to see your past memories (and sometimes you can see yourself in third person - this is how the Universe saw you).

5. Let yourself get a sense of the environment and era of what you are viewing. Take a moment to get a sense of who you were at this time and what your purpose was.

6. Allow the screen to continue to show you what happened to you in this life, as well as your experience interacting with other people or spirits. See how this life may be affecting your current one. Get a sense of your past experience and how it made you feel.

7. Let all the information rise up to your consciousness and feel yourself begin to get empowered and more comfortable.

8. Ask the guide if there is any other information that they need you to know (they may either say it, make you feel the emotion, project the image, or other intuitive means). After you receive this information, thank your guide, and know that you will be able to meet with them any time you wish to use the Akashic Records again.

9. You are now counting upwards from one to three, and with each number and breath feel yourself shifting back into your body, into present time and space.

10. Take a deep breath, slowly open your eyes and slowly begin to move your body and stretch. Place your feet flat on the ground and allow yourself to be grounded.

You can also try viewing your life through scrying - black mirrors and crystal balls are commonly used but you can also use a polished dark bowl filled with water, allowing for clear reflections:

1. Sit yourself in a room with a dim light source (such as a candle, moonlight, or a lamp draped with cloth). Sit upright with the mirror or object propped up at an angle and held between your hands. Clear your mind and set the intention of scrying your past life.

2. Take deep breaths and feel yourself get into a meditative state, allowing your intuition and third eye to take its course. Gaze at the mirror, and at first you will see your face.

3. At some point, your face will begin to change, fade, or disappear. Is the face you are seeing familiar? What gender and race is it? Is it distorted? The face you see is most likely the person who you were in your past life. Do not be started by it, and maintain your focus. This may not happen right away, it can take a long period of meditative time before you start to see anything, depending on your experience as a scryer.

4. You may even start to see different faces appear. Some will invoke no emotion, while others will create a spark within you - perhaps they were important to you within that past life. Take note of what they looked like and what feelings they invoke in you.

5. If you are advanced enough, you can try “inhabiting” the face’s body, and see how it feels to do so (is it empowering or weak? Frightening or peaceful?). Are there any surroundings around you and can you interact with them?

6. Once you have seen enough, step back from the vision return to your own face. Move your face and see if your reflection dutifully responds. Take a few cleansing breaths and put away your mirror or scrying object. Write down what you just experienced, and if you can, try to draw the faces you saw.

If you do not like doing meditation or scrying, or are new to spirituality/have not practiced these methods, you can simply ask to have a past life dream. Before bed, set the intention (out loud if possible) that you wish to see who you were in your past life and any messages that you need to see. Once you sleep, you may have a past life dream (they are vivid, you often see circles, things in group of three, etc…). Although you may also not. So if you do not get one, simply repeat again every night until you see it.