#milky way legacy

[simgerale]

they returned from vacation to see the season's first snowfall ❄

[astorythatwritesitself]

No but with my setup, during the 2 year gap, how fucked up would it be for the Normandy survivors to get a message from Staff Commander Adrian Shepard asking if anyone has any kind of leads on his child- even just her dogtags. Her parents have pretty much given up on a body at this point (& console themselves with the fact she'd opted for cremation anyway), but dogtags. Armor fragments. Anything of hers, however minor.

[eternalstarlitwonderland]

Girl Among The Stars

With a silvery flicker, her effulgent glint pierced through the darkness

Vanquishing the tenebrosity within

Fluorescent butterflies scattered everywhere, and they fluttered throughout

Brightened the tenebrous emanation

Observing the once-glorious terrace becoming a shattered and fragmented shell of its former self

Wandered through the intergalactic ruins, accompanied by some of the butterflies

Being fascinated by its gradual transition from glorious to fractured in a matter of seconds

She situated herself on one of the fragmented pillars and looked up at the sparkly skies

Gazed up at the twinkling stars above

Softly illumined in its starlit glint

Pondered about her legacy and how she would be remembered by future generations

She knew that she was immortal, yet she wondered if and only if

When her time came, she slowly turned into dust

Her legacy will live on through the stars and their brilliant flicker

A fluorescent butterfly landed on her fingertips and delicately illuminated

Starlight softly whispered as the butterfly irradiates

Exquisitely illumined her delicate porcelain features

The pure white glint softened her piercing brilliant blue orbs

The opalescent glow still smoldered, softly drifting overhead the galactic sky

The effulgence heals her wounds

She succumbs to its blazing coruscate

Her eyes are slowly closing

Her body relaxes to the warmth gleam

Falling into an astral slumber, and engulfing her in its refulgence

With a silvery scintillate, she was awakened by its effulgence

She knows that she's not familiar with this cosmic atmosphere

She asked herself how she got here

By an effulgent flicker? Or By a refulgent gleam?

Who knows...

She's here in the cosmos, being caught by the lustrous light, glistering brightly

Her porcelain white skin illuminated in its cosmic luminesce

Seeing quintillion stars brightly twinkling

Nestling in the Orion's belt

She notices a bright light coming toward her

That light was very familiar

The warmth gives her a sense of comfort

Although it was faint, it remaining

A fluorescent butterfly appears once again, and its phosphorescence keeps her company

With a silvery wink, she basks in its ethereal shimmer

The Milky Way brilliantly resonates in the cosmos

Shine glary brilliant

The cosmos and its thrilling wonders

A sanctuary away from the constant battles

Allows her to decompress and unwind

At Last, she feels at home, In a macrocosm so far away

The cosmos welcomed her with open arms

Its astral gleam warmly embraced her

She was so heartened to be truly embosomed

Then she knew that she belonged among the stars

[romcomxb]

tg coffee orders ig

mav drinks instant coffee. and he can barley cope with anything else, even normal coffee. it’s something about how you can’t get the ratios right, it’s always too milky, stuff like that. he picked it up from goose, who always had instant and mav never understood it, but then he died and it was one of the ways mav wanted to carry on his legacy. but other than that his order is pretty basic, milk and one sugar.

ice says he loves a good long black but he can’t really stand the stuff. when he’s out with people with work he just has to grin and bear it because he’s stubborn like that, but when he’s at home/with mav, he makes a mean cappachino with the frothiest milk you will ever see, two sugars, and a decent covering of chocolate powder.

hangman is probably has cream in his coffee not milk. (my dad does this and it makes me wanna cry/hj) he has a flat white with one sugar, and usually a half strength shot.

mav’s habits of instant coffee rubbed off on rooster, and he hates himself for it. he has like triple the usual amount of coffee stuff, boiling water, no sugar, and the tiniest bit of milk, just enough to stop it from being a lb. when he learnt that his father did it the same way, he probably laughed it off, but it actually made him feel pretty proud of himself. if for some reason their out of instant/going to a caffe, he has a double shot latte with no sugar.

nat just chugs energy drinks left right and centre. it’s a problem but no one can stop her. if she’s having coffee she has a long black/ iced long black, and actually enjoys it. for her it’s either milk and a shit tonne of sugar, or ‘as black as hangman’s soul’ as she puts it.

bob doesn’t drink coffee, and the others respect him immensely for that. the fact that he can get up in the morning and focus WITHOUT any type of caffeine?! unheard of. he does love a good hot chocolate, or if he needs it, a mocha works just as well.

idk please dispute this if u have other ideas :]

[starryeyedstray]

just a wholesome little rk1k scene i wrote heavily inspired by this comic by @autiacorart

“Markus, are you okay?”

The deviant leader was lying across a pile of blankets unmoving. His gaze was locked on the open night sky, but he turned his head at the sound of Connor's voice. The brunette was a dark silhouette standing in the rooftop terrace's doorway. His face in shadow against he dim light coming from inside New Jericho. Wordlessly, Markus patted the space next to him.

Curiously, Connor approached and sat next to him. He tilted his head towards the other looking expectantly at him.

“Lay down,” Markus said. “I’m stargazing.”

“Stargazing?” Connor gingerly let himself fall onto his back and peered up.

Detroit was left half-abandoned in the wake of the Android Revolution. Since most of the humans had evacuated, there were virtually no city lights. With minimal light pollution, the glittering stars jumped out against the infinite abyss. The milky way stretched across the sky decorated by glittering lights. It was a medley of blues and purples punctuated by shimmering white specks.

“I’ve never looked up at the stars before," Connor said softly as if speaking too loudly may somehow interrupt the sight sprawling above him.

“It can take years for the light of a star to reach us. When a star dies, its light will still keep traveling to Earth for years after,” Markus murmured. “I’ve always found it kind of sad. That they could die and no one would ever notice.” He stared pensively at the sky feeling small and inconsequential.

Connor pondered that in silence before finally responding. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. But it's nice that we can appreciate the light of a star for many years, even after its death."

“I never thought of it that way,” Markus thought wistfully. “It’s kind of comforting.” Markus had often thought that even with the impact he had now, if he had ever died someone would take his place. He knew his role was important, but he assumed that he wasn’t important. Someone could easily take up his mantle. He had to believe that; otherwise, the revolution wouldn't survive. And it had to survive whether he was there or not. But deep down, he wanted to be remembered. And he worried he wouldn’t be in the grand scheme of things. That he would just fade away without anyone noticing. But maybe that was wrong. Maybe his legacy would live on, just like the light of a dying star.

"It's beautiful," Connor whispered scanning the sky, committing it to memory.

Markus turned his head to look at Connor. In the dark night, his blue LED was like a calm beacon. Connor's features were barely distinguishable, but Markus traced the shapes of his face with his eyes. The peak of his lips, the tip of his nose, the dip to his browbone. And his eyes. His brown iris only a thin ring around a dilated pupil. They reflected a cosmos of stars.

“It really is beautiful…” Markus whispered back.

Markus’ voice drifted directly into Connor's ear, and he turned his head to meet his gaze. Android faces didn’t show signs of tiredness or fatigue in the traditional human ways, but they were still detectable. Namely through facial tension. And for once, Markus looked relaxed. His stress levels were at the lowest Connor's ever seen them.

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked up into a gentle half smile. “You should stargaze more often. You seemed relaxed for once.”

Markus let out a huff of laughter as he resumed looking up at the sky. "I'll stargaze more if I have good company."

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” Connor answered as he too resumed looking up at the sky.

Slowly, Markus’ hand intertwined with Connor's causing the latter to tense at the contact. The former deviant hunter hadn’t interfaced with anyone since the night he woke up the AP700s at Cyberlife Tower. And he didn’t want to. He was afraid of what the other person would see in a mutual interface. He didn’t want Markus to see him.

But Markus didn’t try to interface. His synthskin remained in place, and he just held Connor's hand in a firm but comfortable hold. After a few seconds, Connor relaxed. As they continued to stargaze together, he realized how comforting holding hands was. It made him feel secure and grounded. Like he wasn’t alone. It felt nice. Androids didn’t need physical touch, but maybe deviants did.

The rooftop door swung up. “Markus—”

Markus immediately sat up pulling his hand away from Connor’s. “Y-yes North?”

North stood in the doorway. Her eyes flickering between the two deviants. Markus looked... flustered? She raised her eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe with arms crossed. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just checking to make sure Markus knew it was his bedtime,” she teased.

Connor finally sat up a bit confused why Markus had pulled away from him so suddenly. He looked at Markus. “You have a bedtime?”

Markus grimaced. “It’s a joke. She’s just making sure I go into stasis regularly. Prevents me from overworking.”

Connor studied him and his voice resumed the slightly stilted cadence and affect he tended to use as default. “I think that’s a good idea. Your stress levels spiked just now, so it would be a good time to get some rest."

Connor stood. “I also wanted to check up on Markus before I left. Is there anything you need from me before I go?”

Markus quickly stood up. “Uh, no. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

“Got it. I’ll head back to Hank’s now so you can go into stasis.” Connor turned to leave.

“Connor, wait."

He turned towards Markus again. His head tilted.

Markus tried to ignore North’s stare and focused his attention on Connor. “Do you want to stargaze again tomorrow?”

Connor’s LED spun yellow for a few seconds as he processed that. “No.”

That hurts. Markus managed to keep his face neutral despite the rejection.

“It’s going to be cloudy tomorrow night. It would not be optimal for stargazing,” Connor continued. “However, next Friday there is supposed to be a meteor shower and clear skies which would be a more appropriate time to stargaze.”

Oh, that doesn’t hurt. Markus beamed. “Yeah, that sounds like a perfect time. It’s a date.”

“A date?”

“I meant that’s the date. The date we’ll stargaze again," Markus replied hastily. North snorted holding in a laugh.

“Okay, I will ensure to keep that night free,” Connor confirmed as he set a notification on his internal calendar. He turned to each android. “Good night, Markus. Good night, North.”

“Good night, Connor,” the other two responded in unison as he headed down the stairwell. As the door closed and the sounds of his footsteps faded, North turned to Markus with a smug grin.

“You’re not gonna walk your date home?” North teased.

“Shut up," Markus retorted. He began folding up the blankets they had been lying on.

“What were you two flirts doing up here anyway?”

“Stargazing.”

“Nothing else?”

“Just stargazing,” he said more firmly.

-end scene-

hope you liked it!! this is just a little scene i was planning to incorporate into a larger fic, but i figured i'd post it somewhere since it will literally take me forever to get to this particular scene based on the plan i have for my wip

BONUS SCENE:

-the night of the meteor shower-

Connor: Markus, I'm here. ^_^

Markus: Connor, it’s good to—

Connor: I brought Hank and Sumo so we can all enjoy the meteor shower together. You should make sure North and Josh get up here before it starts.

Markus: Oh yeah, of course. :’)

North: *shows up and laughs her ass off*

Connor: Is North okay?

Markus: Everything is fine. :’)

[corruptimles]

I R EMMEBERED TO SEND YOU ANOTHER ONE. 🌠🌪️🖍️🎀✏️✂️🏊🌌 november

sicko at the window for talking about beans

🌠 SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

for if everything didn't happen (legacys deaths? the supernova? them?)

🌪️ TORNADO - what is the biggest change you've ever made to them? how have they changed from their original version?

November's characterization and appearance has actually stayed consistent since making them. At most, he doesn't talk as much anymore in his default state, and avoiding being outside of their suit more.

One thing that was retconned was a scene when November talked about missing safety railings. That was originally from Greyvember whose character was developed further later on, so the dialogue doesn't suit him anymore and Northvember said it instead.

🖍️ CRAYON - what advice would you give to them?

uhhhh that's rough buddy

🎀 RIBBON - how would they fit into other worlds / aus? what aus would you like to try out? what fictional world would they fit / not fit into?

November is really weird to fit into other worlds. He can't be in anything that doesn't include some form of a supernatural/magic system and/or creatures? Because if I were to simplify his concept down to what's recognizable: November is a collection of souls associated with a form or container where they attempt to be one guy or one thing. So any "modern au" without supernatural elements wouldn't really work. November's situation is not equivalent to irl cases of DID. Fantasy settings are probably fine. Be some weird cursed person or artifact, easy. Armoured suit November? could you imagine. There's a Pokemon AU for Modleyverse, where the only difference is that Pokemon exist. BUT. If November WAS a Pokemon, they're like a Spiritomb.

✏️ PENCIL - is there a particular quote / lyric that you associate with them?

From the playlist made for them uhhh maybe these parts

from Each Time I Die - Bones & Beeker

from November - Sparkbird

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

November so far hasn't been in a situation where it's gotten to that. It's theoretically very easy to get November to start avoiding you if they become afraid. An example is when Mars accidentally sliced the suit and November got scattered and panicked, and so started associating Mars with his tools rather than as crewmate. They got slightly better though, because they're both on a spaceship with nowhere to go, with Mars trying to coax November out of the vents, and something keeps urging November to do his tasks, so he couldn't hide forever. Other situations wouldn't resolve as easily, especially if November doesn't have any connection to the person prior.

🏊 SWIMMING - can they swim? or are they afraid of water? how well do they swim? how do they feel about swimming in the ocean?

Nope! It's really hard to swim with a suit, and otherwise would be extinguished if it's enough water. If with a proper suit, still cannot swim well at all. How they feel about swimming depends, but you're most likely to get either "no.. that's scary.." or "yes, I am an excellent swimmer :)!" and proceeds to not move because of subconscious self-preservation.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

First was their name. I just like code word stuff so I picked a couple names from the phonetic alphabet (my beloved) for an astronaut character. I think I had: bravo, kilo, november, tango, and whiskey? Friends suggested november because I was using the white suit and the month of november is cold. This influenced having a winter outfit theme later as well.

Visually, November was recycled from an old UOHRPG (different OC world) enemy + Vashta Nerada from Doctor Who

Other influences were also: The Flood (The Waters of Mars episode) which were liquid parasite colonies The Lux Foundation Library/Doctor Moon's concept of "saving" (which are also from Silence in the Library which is where the Vashta Nerada were introduced, and were the reason needing "saving") (cuz November is both the murderer and victim) That one specific burnt Elsen from OFF (which is what the UOHRPG enemy was inspired by) And the specific discomfort and fear I got from Everyman being swarmed in Undertale Obligatory The Thing mention, which may have also helped with the winter theme. And I like fur hoods, winter clothing in general -> the jacket/bag helmets and gas masks -> the fighter jet helmet uniform/military dress uniforms -> hat/neck tie/aiguilettes

[hara-matsuura]

We ignore that its been over a month now.

ANYWAYS.

sketches for projects I've been working on with Hara and some other Hogwarts legacy MCs! I'd like to say that i had more stuff in the works but i don't, just a hell lot of things I want to draw in my head, including a sleep over and a sheet of MCs so that might come along eventually! 😅

We've got just hara, who's hair really bothers me- i can not draw my girls hair consistently 😭😭😭

We've got hara with @choccy-milky 's clora + a little Easter egg of how I think they'd come off in comparison to the other...😊

Clora was literally like the first mc I learnt of, (possibly even before playing the game myself!) so I'm hoping I'll be able to do her justice in the finished product 😭, originally the rest of their bodies were going to be in it but I suck at proportions and do not know how to pose them in a non abnormal way as hara is 5'2 and clora is 5'3 - 5'4 🥲

And we've got Hara with @bassicallymaestra 's Serena!

They are not in their final positions yet and I am also planning on adding clora to this piece im just not satisfied with my references yet. This was originally brought on after seeing a post of the pair of them playing their respective instruments (cello and piano) together and it fueled this fire in me to draw hara with them at some point because she would literally melt from joy to play her violin or viola with them 😍

For clarification some of these are cleaned up sketches, Serena and hara for example are like final stage before official line art. My style tends to change slightly between drawings because I'm still trying to secure it properly and they're done literally weeks to months apart 😓

Here is what the proper first sketches looked like for them!

God I wrote a lot more than I thought-

[liyawritesss]

ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ᴜ

Characters: Hope Mikaelson x Black!Stem!Reader

From: Legacies

Type: Drabble

Synopsis: Hope’s determined on not letting anyone else into her fragmented world. Yet, when things get overwhelming, she finds that you are the only person to soothe her.

Warnings: mild cursing, spoiler warning for legacies season 3-4, mentions of character death

A/N: my friend has been slowly but surely getting me ba k knto the TVD universe, and upon doing so I've rediscovered my crush on my favorite lil redhead Hope 🥺🥺 be nice to this i havent watched legacies in a HOT minute. Song Inspiration: “WAIT FOR U” by Future, ft. Drake & Tems, “Unthinkable” by Alicia Keys, “Flaws N’ All” by Sonta

Tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @lulu-network @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @niyahwrites

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

Three fifty-seven is what reads in bold red letters on the digital clock that sits on Hope’s night stand. They burn against the back of her eyelids, yet do not promote any kind of sleep. They only prove as a reminder as to why she had not been graced with slumber.

There’s a picture that rests next to the clock. A candid photo taken by MG on one of their days into town to enjoy themselves as regular teenagers. Her eyes traced over every feature of herself in the picture; mouth wide with laughter and eyes shaped into crescents at the joke Caleb had made that she, for the life of her, could never remember. A boy sat next to her, head full of black curls and skin milky and freckled with perfectly imperfect blemishes that once made her heart swoon. 

She never gathered the courage to take the picture out of its frame. She never had the courage to let go of one of the few good memories she had of that time. When things were simpler - as simple as they could get in the life she led. When she could look at that boy and tell herself that she made the right choice in trusting him with her heart.

Imagine, having to kill the one person you wanted so desperately to love.

No, the redhead’s own voice echoed through her mind, which was both empty and becoming increasingly overwhelmed at the same time, I am not doing this tonight.

Hope slips from underneath her covers, slipping from underneath the weighted blankets that had failed to help in her mission for sleep, slipping from the warmth they provided. Her long sleeved shirt did nothing to shield her from the cool air that contrasted the warmth of her blankets, the still breeze of the room nipping at her bare legs. Only shorts adorned her bottom half, cut off mid-thigh and leaving her pale skin rippled with goosebumps in the process.

Perhaps she thought the cold would provide some sort of shock to her brain that would make her realize how tired her body was, how it begged to be allowed rest, but it proved all for naught. Now Hope was exhausted and cold, with no way of remedying the situation.

Well, there was one remedy.

Hope glanced at her phone that rested on the nightstand. Her eyes lingered on the device for a long time, her mind battling for reason. It’s four in the morning, she reasons, there’s no way she’s gonna pick up.

Yet, she remembers your bouts of insomnia and knows that you find yourself waking much earlier than you intend to for class anyway, and there’s a small part of her that reasons that it wouldn’t hurt to try.

So Hope hesitantly grabs her phone from the mahogany surface of her nightstand, unlocks the device with her fingerprint, and finds herself scrolling a bit too eagerly to find your contact information.

What would the people around her think if they saw her now, she wondered, frantically calling up the girl who she made it very clear with that there would be no possibility of a relationship in any near future? Would they think her mad? Would they call her delusional? Both were traits that certainly ran in her family, and she would not be surprised if a part of her had still remained that way after only recently returning back to her original self.

She finds your contact information, but her thumb all but hovers over the call icon that rests under your name. Perhaps she shouldn’t be a bother to you, Hope thinks. She’ll think I’m crazy, she thinks, and yet, perhaps it is that particular thought that drives her to press the icon anyway. Because if Hope was crazy for wanting to even hear your voice to calm her aching soul, then perhaps such a title that was placed upon the likes of her father wasn’t so bad.

One ring; the pit inside of her stomach grows in intensity. It seems like the wait between rings is even more agonizing than the actual wait for an answer.

Two rings; Hope is beginning to regret listening to the part of her that has a soft spot for you. Why did she have to remember your sleep schedule? Why did she have to get her hopes up?

Three rings: you won’t answer. You’re asleep, and if she hasn’t already interrupted your slumber, she would surely have to come up with some creative excuse to use tomorrow when the two of you met in class-

A monotone click sounds. Silence, for a few seconds, though to her they seem like hours.

Then, your voice sounds. 

“What the fuck, Hope,” you groan through the cellular device, and Hope’s aforementioned worry of awakening you is confirmed by the rustling of sheets and a following groan. She knows she should feel guilty, but the satisfying tingle that runs across her skin from hearing your voice takes away from any remorse she surely would have felt, “it’s…four in the fucking morning-”

“-I know,” Hope interjects, “I just…couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause; it’s intense, and Hope finds herself wondering what you’re thinking. Could you be silently cursing her out on the other end? She surely wouldn’t blame you if you were.

There’s more rustling that follows the pause, which causes worry to grow in her stomach, before she hears your voice again, “you want me to come down?”

“......could you?” She bites her lip, tugging at the skin on the pink area, and she doesn’t understand why she should be fearing rejection from you, as if you’d ever give her the pleasure of feeling such an agonizing sting to the heart.

“...yeah,” you finally answer, “yeah, just gimme a minute.”

There’s a blessing that comes with you staying a floor above Hope. It’s fairly easy to slip down the different dorm floors, she’s figured out, In the time between hanging up and waiting for you to come, Hope finds herself stuck in a state of overwhelming thoughts. They’re loud and varying in range, but all of them revolve around you.

Hope remembers when she rejected your advances a month prior. The expression on your face had been emblazoned into her mind, forever carved into memory how she had crushed your world. And yet, you’d been nothing but kind to the tribrid, still considering Hope and her feelings in every engagement the two of you had. You acted as if the rejection never took place; she wondered if this was your own coping mechanism for dealing with heartbreak. It certainly would be more healthier than any method Hope called herself using.

How could you still be so kind to her? How could you still be so willing to love her when she had expressed no possibility of reciprocation? Could you tell that Hope never meant as such? Did you still have hope in her?

How could one have hope in a desire openly denied? The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if such a question should be asked to you, or to herself.

A knock sounded on her door, bringing Hope from her state of entrancement. “Door’s open,” She mutters out loud enough to be heard, which prompts the soft click that sounds with the twist of the knob to her door. The creaking reveals you, slipping into her room, and almost immediately, your presence makes everything better.

There’s very little exchange of words from here on. It’s as if this is a practiced routine, one that had been engaged in for a while with the way you expertly slip into Hope’s bed, under Hope’s covers, and pull her into you. You place her head above your heart so that the melodic thumping of the muscle gives her mind something else to focus on. The way you operate with care in regards to her being has her heart aching, though she can’t decide if its from yearning for you or antipathy of the concept of loving someone.

She could contemplate on it another time, though, because the combination of your heartbeat and the low humming you’ve taken to doing has her body finally succumbing to her inclination of sleep. The last thing she remembers is you muttering words she’d never heard before - perhaps words to a poem or lyrics to a song you fancied.

I will wait for you, rings in her mind long after she’s succumbed to your gentle caress of her hair, and even in sleep, Hope wonders if that is a challenge you’re truly up to take.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

[apod]

2023 June 15

M15: Dense Globular Star Cluster Image Credit: NASA, ESA, Hubble Legacy Archive; Processing: Ehsan Ebrahimian

Explanation: Messier 15 is an immense swarm of over 100,000 stars. A 13 billion year old relic of the early formative years of our galaxy it's one of about 170 globular star clusters that still roam the halo of the Milky Way. Centered in this sharp reprocessed Hubble image, M15 lies some 35,000 light-years away toward the constellation Pegasus. Its diameter is about 200 light-years, but more than half its stars are packed into the central 10 light-years or so, making one of the densest concentrations of stars known. Hubble-based measurements of the increasing velocities of M15's central stars are evidence that a massive black hole resides at the center of the dense cluster. M15 is also known to harbour a planetary nebula. Called Pease 1 (aka PN Ps 1), it can be seen in this image as a small blue blob below and just right of center.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap230615.html

[sailtomarina]

A Sprig of Unluck

Hermione x Draco | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 17: “How about the floating mistletoe?” | WC 2596 | Rating: M

Hermione thoroughly questioned her sanity for once again accepting an invitation to the Weasley twins’ holiday bash.

It wasn't because she harboured some anti-Christmas agenda or that she was avoiding any particular person per se; it was a decision fueled purely by an intimate understanding of how out-of-hand their sorts of gatherings got no matter how much effort was put in on her part to counteract the inevitable.

Take, for example, her first year in attendance. This had been five years ago now, when she still looked fondly on the twins and their Hogwarts legacy. A large part of her guard was lowered in reaction to Fred’s miraculous recovery following the final battle; they’d all been convinced he was a goner, but through the valiant efforts of the St. Mungo’s Healers and the non-stop support of his many family and friends, he pulled through.

And how had they repaid her joy?

She became a victim of their experimental Potion Popper.

Just like the name entailed, the Christmas popper imposter presented the recipient with a random potion from the extensive stores of WWW. The miniscule bottles were charmed to prevent identification of the potion within. Hermione hadn’t been that concerned, because previous renditions of the constantly-updated surprise presented her with draughts that changed hair colour, or caused the imbiber to break out into one of Celestina Warbeck’s holiday hits. 

Hers, however?

It took all of one minute before she was spilling her guts to the nearest person, who just so happened to be her childhood bully. Malfoy had looked at her like she’d sprouted horns as she waxed on about the flattering way that his white blond locks fell just so across his forehead, and how much it made her want to brush it back. His grey-blue eyes widened with each word that passed her lips, looking around frantically like he was mortified to even be in her presence.

She hadn’t been able to look at him for weeks after.

She hadn’t talked to Fred and George for nearly half a year.

She’d skipped their holiday party the following year, and only returned for the next one after they’d sent her nonstop owls bearing increasingly exotic flavours of Sugar Quills.

Hermione loved eggnog with a fierce passion. She bought her own cartons in as large a size as she could get them, drinking a full glass each morning starting on the first of December and going all the way through to January. It was important to note, however, that her particular eggnog was strictly nonalcoholic. It wouldn’t do for her to be strutting into the Ministry drunk off of nog.

When she spotted the festive drink at their table of beverages on her celebratory return to the infamous party, she gave in to her impulse and promptly drank three cups in a row; they’d been tiny, after all!

There had to be some kind of law against liquor posing as harmless bearers of joy. She hadn’t detected a single thing different about the milky beverage, nor had she questioned the uncharacteristic warmth in which she struck up a conversation with Malfoy. Again.

Rather than spill her truths, she just talked and talked and talked, downing cup after cup.

She couldn’t remember much of that night after a certain point, but what she did recall included her finding whatever he’d said riotously funny and laughing so hard that she upchucked all over his dragonhide boots.

Queue another month of avoiding the poor wizard, which hadn’t been too difficult the first time around but was made exceedingly difficult this time due to the fact that they were now coworkers at the Department of International Magical Co-operation. When she finally mustered up the courage to ask him about replacing his boots, she’d nearly swooned when she looked up his particular brand of choice. He had to make due with an entirely different model she’d purchased at discount from the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary’s ethically-sourced suppliers. Malfoy had looked pleased as he inspected the leather and soles up close. She later thanked Charlie for his recommendation with an off-the-record International Portkey for himself and Lauren the next time they chose to visit.

This year, she checked herself over in the full-length mirror that barely fit in her bedroom and asked herself, yet again, why she even bothered. Perhaps if she avoided the party completely, she’d be spared another Malfoy surprise.

She was curious how the prat would react to her new outfit. She’d gone with Pansy’s recommendation and purchased the charcoal sweater dress she now wore. The soft-as-sin fabric clung to every curve and swell, accentuating the rewards from the sweat she’d put in at the gym lately in all the best ways possible. The dress was the perfect combination of modesty and sexuality, and she wanted to see his jaw drop.

“Eat your heart out, Draco Malfoy.” She smirked into the mirror and tossed her unrestrained curtain of curls over her shoulder as she checked out her arse. Perfection.

By the time she walked through the fireplace, the party was well under way.

As usual, their storefront was emptied of all shelves and merchandise, the room instead converted into an entertainment space worthy of keeping year round if they ever chose to switch focus. That would never happen, though. They were content with the once-a-year extravaganza, for which Hermione was endlessly thankful.

“Hermione!” Harry’s voice carried across the crowd and she soon found herself facing his familiar crooked smile and tousled black hair.

“Harry, Happy Christmas!” She flung her arms around and squeezed tight enough for him to grunt. 

“Steady on there, Granger. He’s more fragile than he looks.” From behind him popped a handsome young man whose lips always looked on the verge of a snarky comment.

“Theo!”

The series of exclamations repeated themselves as more and more friends came up to greet her. First was Harry and Theo, who’d begun dating earlier in the year, then of course Pansy dragging an amused-looking Neville behind her. Hannah and Susan walked by, each with a hand in the back pockets of Ernie Macmillian; they’d come out as a triad shortly after Hogwarts and now had a handful of children.

“Hermione–” Fred threw an arm around her neck.

“—love.” George swooped in to kiss her on the cheek.

“How do you do,”

“—this fine evening?”

“Fred. George.” She addressed them in turn without hesitation. “Happy Christmas. Your place looks stunning, as expected.”

They shook their heads in joint amazement.

“We can never fool you no matter how much time passes, can we?”

“The missing ear helps,” she teased, pressing a return kiss to George’s cheek.

“Oi! What about me?” Fred pulled her around to him, a look of deep indignation etched onto his face.

“Yes, yes, you, too.” This time, she tugged him down to lay her noisiest, most moist lipsmack against his forehead. “There!”

“And I shall wear it like a crown. Enjoy yourself tonight, love. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

They were off, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She checked herself over for any lingering possessions they might have left on her person, but as far as she could tell, she was safe.

The hours passed quickly in the company of her friends, and before she knew it, there were only a handful of couples left in the darkened room. Music still played, soft and slow, the multi-coloured lights casting festive patterns across the dance floor.

All in all, this might have been the most successful Weasley holiday party yet. There hadn’t been any unwelcome pranks, and she’d tamped down on the urge to over-indulge in refreshments. The only thing missing had been–

“Lingering, Granger?”

Pivoting slowly in place, she looked up and up a dark green Oxford, the buttons shaped like tiny snowflakes.

“I was just on my way out.”

No Christmas was complete without running into Draco Malfoy. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that there were few witnesses to what would no doubt end in yet another memorable event.

“I’m surprised you stayed this long, but, then again, you are always one to please, aren’t you?” 

She couldn’t quite make out the meaning behind his expression, but if she were pressed to guess, she’d say he seemed tense.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, even though she agreed with him. While she might not be the first one at a party, she did prefer to stay behind and see if the organizers needed help cleaning up. 

“I think you spent time with every single person in the room tonight except myself, of course. Were you avoiding me, Granger?”

He stepped close enough for her to reach out and touch. Or puke on.

“Don’t you think that’s wise, given our Christmas traditions? Those shoes look expensive.”

And they did. They obviously were not his former dragonhide boots, nor the replacements she’d purchased. They were a foggy shade of grey in a suede that would absolutely be ruined by any sort of bodily fluid.

“Everything I’m wearing is charmed, so go ahead and do your worst.”

Again, she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. There was a slight uptick to one corner of his lips, but that could have just as easily been a trick of the light.

With nothing else to add, she thought it best to escape while their luck still held.

“I’m going to do us both a favour and bid you farewell and Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

At least, that’s what she had intended, but her attempt to back up was halted as securely as if she’d been cast into a full-body bind.

“What the–” No amount of pressing against the invisible barriers around her worked.

She looked up.

Oh.

“Is something the matter–”

“Malfoy, don’t!”

The timing was impeccable, the setting perfectly arranged for their entrapment. Nestled above them almost invisible between the floating decorations and exposed beams was a sprig of telltale green. 

Silence reigned for a beat as they registered their predicament, then slowly looked down and at one another.

“Well, then, how about the floating mistletoe?” 

She winced at his wry tone.

“You really shouldn’t have stepped close without checking first–”

“Yes, well, it’s far too late for that. You know what needs to happen now,” he snapped, irritation now quite evident in each word.

Hermione wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. Of all pranks, it had to be mistletoe to finally strike. She’d been on edge for something less obvious, more stereotypically and creatively Weasley that she’d overlooked their highest-selling Christmas product.

“I’m really sorry, Draco.”

She couldn’t look at him as she said it, her eyes trained to a snowflake button that glistened like it was inlaid with diamonds. 

Wait, were they real?

The inane question bounced around her skull as she contemplated the one and a million ways she could kill the twins, except death would be far too kind of a punishment. They needed something suitable to the crime, after all.

“Of all fucked up scenarios, this was not the one where I planned to hear you say my name for the first time.”

He sounded…upset?

Hermione looked up to search his face. It wasn’t the sort of upset that was aimed at her; it was the sort of disappointed tone one used when an idea, or maybe a dream, they’d long held had slipped through their fingers, or turned out less wonderful than they’d expected.

“I say your name all the time,” she protested, still puzzling through his statement.

He bent his face close to hers to stare into her eyes, stormy irises wrapping around and drawing her near. 

“Not. Like that. You don’t. It’s always ‘Malfoy’ or ‘you’...or, if I’m very, very lucky, ‘sir.’”

Now that was definitely a smirk on his face. She could feel her face heat up and imagined she was as red as a certain reindeer.

“That’s only when you catch me off guard and I don’t notice I’m talking to you.”

“Whatever you say.” His lips stretched across his face and Hermione was strongly tempted to kick him in the shins. “Well, shall we?”

He flicked his eyes back up in reference, before settling back down and waiting for her reply.

“It’s Weasley mistletoe.”

“I know.”

“Which means a peck won’t cut it, even if it’s on the lips.”

“I know.”

His gaze dropped to the aforementioned body part, and, sweet Circe, she couldn’t help but part them in surprise. He looked like he wanted to kiss her.

That couldn’t be right, could it?

Then he had to go and swallow, like the sight of her mouth opening affected him. Curiosity reared its head up and demanded satisfaction.

“Kiss me, Draco.”

Grey orbs snapped back up in shock, but Hermione wasn’t about to allow him any further delay. She fisted the silken fabric of his shirt right over that damnable shiny button and tugged him down, while her other hand reached up to caress his cheek.

Soft skin, the barest hint of stubble that she couldn’t even see with her naked eye, pink lips parting in anticipation.

Just as she felt the lightest brush of his mouth against hers, Malfoy wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her into him so that they pressed up against one another and she felt every deliciously hard muscle of his body.

She melted.

Into him, into the kiss, into the tantalizing scent of dark amber and wood.

He teased her with a dip of his tongue against hers, then a languid rubbing to say, hello, hi, how are you? She greeted him back with exuberance, earning herself a chuckle in response.

She lost all awareness of her surroundings. If there was anyone left in the store to witness their stroke of unluck, she wasn’t aware of them. There was only Malfoy. Draco.

If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would’ve collapsed the moment he pulled his face back. As it was, she clung to him, her mind struggling to catch up with the last ten, twenty minutes? How long had they been snogging, anyway?

“Well, this certainly beats all our previous Christmases.”

She gaped at the unexpected joke. Still hugging her against him, he threw his head back and laughed, the lovely lines of his throat bobbing with the motion. Merriment still in the crinkle of his eyes and the smile on his lips, he tilted his head as he considered her.

“It looks like we’re free.” He held out his free arm in demonstration, easily leaving the space of their former prison.

“So we are,” she uttered softly.

She didn’t make a move to pull away, nor did he let go of her.

“Keep me company? At least for a while longer?” The hand against her hip tightened as he asked, and, for the first time that night, lines marred his forehead.

He was anxious. About her?

Hermione thought back to the past handful of years, skimming over all the disastrous Christmas parties and their nonstop dance around one another throughout the rest of the year. He could have easily turned down her gifts, or steered clear of her tonight.

But, he hadn’t.

He’d accepted whatever she offered him, pestered her every chance he could, gave as good as he got, and he had approached her tonight.

“Your place, or mine?”

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t torture the twins. If the night progressed the way Hermione hoped it would, she might actually owe them a hex and a gift basket.

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3.

Okay, well, I think this one could have gone on much longer if I’d had more than half a day to work on it. I really had fun with this premise! I love the idea of ill-fortuned Dramione and their continuing to go back for more.

[amandayetagain]

Alvar Vacker fic save me.

(Alvar was never meant to be the true heir to the Vacker legacy. He’s not sure what invisible test he failed, what disappointment was the first to prove that he’d never be the player his father was. Perhaps it was the gentler slope of his jawbone, the slight curve to his lips, the milky brown of his eyes, all traits inherited from his mother, none of which had been enough to convince her to stay for him. Or perhaps it was something less superficial, how he’d struggled at first with skating, shorter than his father’s knee and unable to keep himself upright for more than a few consecutive seconds.)

screaming crying throwing up /pos

the EX!PEC!!TATIONS!!! The ANGST

mommy and daddy issues that’s rough buddy

the kiddo!!! the way you just know he worked himself to the bone to be able to be something not someone Alden could be proud of. Imagining baby Alvar is a shot to the heart. What does Alden do when he falls down?? Or maybe what he doesn’t do hurts more

the way you just know once he had given up his father’s love he was trapped

the true heir goddddd swan it’s like you’re targeting me specifically. Ruining my life. /pos Dangling just the right bait

[etherealiss]

Midnight Whiskey Confessions.

Izogie x Black!OC

Summary: After a hard day of training, Izogie’s daily whiskey indulgence led her to a face-to-face confrontation with her destiny.

Warning: There’s romantic yearning, good old fashioned pining, some whiskey-induced fluff kisses.

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: For all of my Izogie stans, I see you. This is for you. It is a simple addition into the beautiful pond of writing I’ve seen so far in the tag alone. I hope my contribution is enough. The gif credit belongs to filmreel. Enjoy! 😊

Starry nights spent under the Dahomey skies were beautiful. As the stars danced against a dark blue backdrop, the moon cast her milky white light over the entire village. The townsfolk bathed in her wonderful glow, feeling eternally grateful to see her performance up close.

Around this time, the Agojie—Dahomey’s strongest female warrior brigade—had successfully wrapped up another long day of sword combat with its newest recruits.

Izogie, the head teacher of various combat lessons, took great pride in her reputation of sharpening the senses of each new warrior. They were malleable clay in her eyes.

She was General Nanisca’s firm right-hand. Her relentless spirit in the heat of battle would only add to her legacy. Her brute strength in the daily bouts against the male guards were the talk of the village. Many of the trainees aspired to become like her. Every eye in the village square refused any attempts to make eye contact whenever she sauntered past.

There was a rule spreading throughout the town of how commonfolk were expected to act in the presence of an Agojie warrior.

“The king doesn’t allow us to look upon the Agojie.”

Except there was one person who worked on bending that sacred rule.

Deja was part of the kitchen staff stationed inside of the palace walls. As one of the main cooks on duty, her job was albeit a simple one: feed as many Agojie soldiers and trainees until the night ends. After tedious preparation, she would serve the food alongside another member. But on some incredibly rare nights, she would assume the role alone to scoop up servings into bowls like a well-oiled machine.

Tonight was that kind of night.

The line of soldiers wrapped around the small structure stationed out in the open near the dark red clay buildings. Combat practice ended without a hitch as the women’s stomachs touched their spines from hunger. Without missing a beat, Deja scooped up the portions into the offered bowls, casting a quick upward glance in assurance of its contents making it into their hand before looking back down.

She would usually tune out their passing conversations, respecting the sanctity of the sisterhood’s gossip. Though it was the sound of three distinct voices which made her throw several glances in their general direction.

“Ey, you’ve got to admit it! Nanisca has gotten a bit softer towards Nawi since we scared the Oyo with our tribute!” Amenza laughed, pushing her elbow into Nanisca’s left arm.

The general rubbed her temples with nimble fingers, the weight of exhaustion softening her rough exterior. “She was disobeying direct orders of a plan I set forth. She could have gotten herself killed. Or worse.”

Deja’s eyes flitted towards the third individual standing behind Nanisca and awaited her response with bated breath, not realizing the distraction impacted her usual flawless performance.

“I remember when you would toss me, a little trainee, across the ground if I even parted my lips with an objection. Little Tsetse is clearly buzzing her way around into your heart, Nanisca.”

From Izogie’s lips, she emitted tiny buzzing noises and earned the boisterous laughter of the two women in front of her. It was in Deja’s line they would shed the load of their strong demeanor and embraced the softness of each other’s company.

The sharpness of their spears were replaced by the presence of Izogie’s snide jabs at their obvious character flaws. Even Deja found herself giggling quietly at their banter each time they came around.

Deja’s year-long, one-sided crush on Nanisca’s right-hand ailed her spirits. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when these feelings came to fruition. Or how astute her senses were when Izogie floated across the palace floor. All she knew was the sound of Izogie’s stern voice delivering a command rattled her entire foundation. The more she would sneak glances at Izogie, the stronger her feelings grew. Her only choice was to lock them away inside of a cold gated prison. Above all else, Deja knew the rule.

“The king doesn’t allow us to look upon the Agojie.”

It haunted her beyond reason.

Deja shook her head twice to regain her focus of the task at hand. These feelings belonged on a high shelf from her mind’s reach. It was a danger to her work. And Izogie could never see her as a romantic prospect. Their worlds were light years away from each other. That was the natural order.

As the line continued moving forward, the three women finally landed in front of Deja’s pot with audible growls singing from their stomachs in perfect harmony.

“My favorite part of the day,” General Nanisca said through an easy smile. She handed Deja her bowl, watching her scoop the rice and meat with careful intent. Deja glanced quickly at her hand and offered a silent head bow.

Amenza’s mouth watered. “It is a gift to partake in Deja’s wonderful cooking with our sisters-in-arms. Don’t you agree, Izogie?”

After serving Amenza back her bowl, Deja choked on an inhale once the next hand extended forth her dish in pure anticipation. Her acute senses as a cook failed her. She no longer smelled the many spices she used this morning to prepare for dinner.

The heavenly scent of freshly scooped shea butter mixed with palm oil permeated the air around her in silent waves. It belonged to Izogie. It was her signature scent to command.

Deja tilted her head up slightly, even if it meant bearing witness to the illusion of Izogie standing there with trained eyes focused solely on her.

“Yes. Everyone knows I will only eat on the nights Deja cooks. She knows exactly how I like my meat,” Izogie answered, looking straight ahead at the sweaty cook. Their eyes locked on each other immediately.

It didn’t dawn on Deja that Izogie knew her name. Or how the intonation of Deja’s name rolling from her lips reminded her of freshly poured honey. Knots unfurled in Deja’s stomach upon taking an eyeful of Izogie’s hunky appearance. If she was going to commit to breaking a sacred rule, she would relish the forbidden taste of the bounty before it was snatched away.

Izogie wore her warrior outfit with pride. Her biceps protruded from under the gold band adorned on either side, which was accompanied by a simple shell band. Numerous scars from battle and training alike were dusted across the canvas of her rich dark skin. Two particular scars caught Deja’s attention.

One was imbued on the right side of her neck, extending down towards her collarbone. The second scar was carved above her right shoulder blade. Seeing them up this close made Deja question their existence. If they could talk, they would whisper the many tales of Izogie the Conqueror, the undefeated champion of Dahomey.

The gods took their time with this one, Deja thought.

Izogie licked her lips, a dangerous act to initiate as a warrior. Deja was the first one to break eye contact and forced herself to gaze upon her hand instead. Long nails sharpened to a fine point piqued her interest further. Even after she knowingly broke the king’s only rule, Deja’s courage dissipated. She held the bowl out for Izogie to reach and willed herself into breathing normally again.

What the cook wasn’t expecting was for Izogie’s fingers slowly gliding over hers, delivering the final blow to Deja’s resolve. The painful pang inside of her heart resonated through her bones. These feelings only caused trouble. Deja needed their existence extracted from her body altogether.

“Thank you, Izogie,” she finally spoke, taking heed of the rule by casting her eyes downward. She hoped Izogie wouldn’t see through her facade. Their dance would soon be over after this exchange. “I’m always happy to hear any reviews of my cooking. Your kind words are not lost on me. I’ll strive to make an even better meal tomorrow.”

After tidying up the kitchen area on the training grounds, Deja hurried back to her room. The ticking time bomb of tears was uncertain. But being in Izogie’s presence earlier was the obvious catalyst for their near arrival. Once she entered in the familiarity of those four walls, Deja permitted herself to crumble completely.

Large teardrops clouded her vision, which signaled the commencement of her nightly sobbing session. No one ever told her how intense it was to shoulder unrequited feelings. She never weighed the price of losing her physical strength to be in close proximity of her crush. Her heart never carried this big of a burden before.

On beautiful starry nights like this, Deja was curled up in her bed. Her beautiful dark skin contrasted the green patterned dress she wore as she bathed under the slivers of moonlight. She wished for the gods to take away the beating of her heart.

And soon, sleep washed her tears away.

It was well past midnight as most of the king’s guard was snoring the night away. The halls should have remained quiet. But two hours into her slumber, she woke up to a pair of noisy bare feet stomping across the smooth clay floor. Then, a disembodied voice—the same voice she spent an hour crying over—spoke up in a failed whisper.

“Deja, I request your company at once! You and I must speak now.”

As she stirred from her bed, Deja thought it was still the plot to one of her many vivid dreams. Her headwrap fell off in the middle of her thrashing, revealing her messy shoulder length twists. Usually Deja hid them away, but a touch of sleep convinced her this was part of the dream.

She walked to the cloth separating her room from the hallway and pushed it open with one hand, completely unaware of her heart stuttering at the sight in front of her.

Izogie was still radiant in her warrior attire, but her two machetes weren’t attached to either side of her hips. She was never unarmed during her nighttime patrol. Her oiled black skin shimmered in the fractals of lit palace torches, the forbidden sight meant to be consumed by Deja’s eyes. Her usual hardened stare softened the moment she lay her eyes upon the sleepy cook. Something must have happened.

Deja leaned forward to make sure no one else was awakened by Izogie’s loud announcement, fixing her gaze to the ground. “Izogie? This couldn’t wait until sunrise?”

“Y-Your hair,” she coughed. “I’ve never seen it like this before.”

“Forgive me, but I heard how urgent you were calling for me. Have I done something to upset you?”

“Yes. May I come in?”

Her brisk answer silenced Deja. She held the cloth and stepped to the side to grant Izogie access across her sacred threshold. The faint smell of distilled alcohol wafted past Deja’s nose, piquing her curiosity further. She heard from another staff member, Cerys, about the cases retrieved by the soldiers. Never once did she think about how Izogie would indulge in its rancid taste.

Alcohol was known for altering realities.

Once inside, Deja released the fabric and positioned herself to stand in front of the soldier. Her eyes fell again to the red floor. There was a brief silence shared between them, neither willing to break away from it.

Soon, Izogie cleared her throat. “Do you know what you did?”

Deja shook her head slowly, refusing to look up. Izogie blew a large gust of wind from her mouth before letting out a chuckle.

“You looked at me, Deja. You broke the king’s only rule and I deserve to know why.”

She swallowed down the dry bubble in her throat. “I cannot say.”

“You will.”

“Izogie. Please, don’t make me say it.” The tears bubbled to the surface and threatened to fall again.

Her fingers gingerly cupped Deja’s chin, forcing her to meet the pool of chocolate browns she could spend hours getting lost in. The thought of being guided under her slight hand wasn’t lost on Deja now.

Izogie was Deja’s undoing.

“There it is,” Izogie whispered, allowing her shaky thumb to graze the corner of Deja’s lips. She was teetering closer to danger. “The look in your eyes tells me everything I need to know.”

“I’ll get rid of them, Izogie!” Deja blubbered out, fresh tears spilling down past her cheeks. “I’ll banish my heart far away from my reach and never look at you again. If it is my punishment, I will obey.”

Izogie blinked in astonishment and halted her thumb over Deja’s lower lip. She took in Deja’s tears, committing the scene to memory before shutting her eyes for a moment. “Punishment? You thought I came here tonight under the cover of night to punish you?”

“It’s the only reason I can dream you into being in front of me now.”

Izogie opened her eyes. “What do you mean dream?”

Deja brought her hand to Izogie’s wrist, wrapping her fingers around it. “I’ll tell you why I broke the rule. I’m sure you’re dying to know why a second-rate cook took a chance and stole a glance at the general’s best soldier.”

Izogie remained silent as Deja went on. “These feelings inside of me, I can’t quite describe it. All I know is I would like to be in your presence all of the time. I want to feel your fingers caress me and collapse into your warm embrace at the end of the day. I want to be able to make you laugh. I want to be the reason behind your smiles. I want to keep feeding you until you tire of my cooking. I wish to be important to you. I’ll wage a thousand wars and endure punishment from the gods if it means I can look at you. And I don’t want anyone else. My heart desires you. I like you. There, I’ve said it.”

Deja drew out a long breath and dropped her hand from Izogie’s wrist, thinking the dream sequence ended here. But the cloudy haze of sleep robbed her of witnessing Izogie disappear as an apparition. Instead, the real Izogie stood in place with her thick brows raised from shock.

“I am not asleep, am I?”

Izogie shook her head, the same face adorned with pure confusion only few can produce from her.

Before she could explain her way out of the wordy confession, Izogie dropped her hand and fell to her knees. Deja came down to her level and clapped her hands together to slide them in front of her mouth. Whether it was a prayer to the gods or a repentance from the woman she loved, Deja knew everything was ruined.

Her first thought was to shift blame onto the alcohol.

“You drank from the white man’s port, didn’t you?” she questioned, finally scanning Izogie’s eyes for a hint of truth.

Izogie gulped. “It is the only good thing they brought. It is called whiskey.”

“What does it taste like?”

“Bitter at first. Though, I find the taste turns sweeter as you drink more from the bottle.”

“And how much did you drink tonight?”

“Enough to get me here to you.”

General Nanisca’s right-hand was properly intoxicated. She sat in front of Deja, willing to answer any question thrown her way. For the first time ever, the odds shifted in her favor of winning the unofficial war they sparred in.

“Who did you drink with? You couldn’t have possibly had this whiskey drink alone.”

Izogie traced the remnants of the clear liquid with a swipe from her tongue and giggled. Her demeanor was unlike the brute soldier she presented herself as every day. “One of the trainees I brought in from town, Nawi, took a gulp and puckered up her face like a fish. Can you believe it? Finally, I found a way to shut that tongue up!”

“Ey, the poor girl was tricked! She didn’t stand a chance against you.”

“The first rule of training: always obey Izogie,” she patted the middle of her chest, accepting the whiskey’s effects with open arms. “I am Izogie!”

“You are a terribly loud influence,” Deja groaned.

“And you… You are incredible, Deja.”

Deja stared incredulously at Izogie as she swayed side to side, showcasing her drunken smile. She couldn’t understand the depth of Izogie’s reaction.

“The power you exude hasn’t been stolen from you. I can see it,” Izogie said as she steadied herself, eyes holding the cook’s gaze. “How is it that you can stand there and profess your love for me when I’ve come to tell you, the keeper of my heart, that I am rendered powerless against you?”

Deja’s prayer filled hands dropped into her lap, a sigh escaping her parted lips. “Keeper of your heart?”

Izogie crawled forward, resigned to surrender under Deja’s careful, tender touch. She rested her head on top of Deja’s opened hands as the weight of her body relaxed to the floor. Here it was, she experienced the most serene moment of existence. She was home.

“I came here tonight to tell you how I couldn’t hide my feelings any longer. Seeing the way you looked at me during dinner, I was weakened. I win every single challenge thrown at my feet. But for you, I am at your mercy.”

“Izogie, you can’t mean that,” Deja whispered.

“Whether you believe me or not—and I sincerely hope that you do—I have been looking your way ever since you started working at the Dahomey Palace. But you never looked at me. I assumed it’s because you heard of how the townsfolk can never look directly at us,” Izogie paused. “I broke the rules a long time ago when I found myself falling for you.”

Deja pulled her hands from under her crush’s head and fiddled away at her short nails. In the distance, thunder boomed across the sky. The downpour of rain would shower over the village grounds soon. And Izogie’s words were out in the open for Deja to see, but she wouldn’t receive it.

“What does that mean for us?”

Izogie lifted both of her hands and grabbed Deja’s arms. As she tightened her grip, the sharp tips of her nails punctured tiny holes of blood through Deja’s skin. It wouldn’t leave behind any scarred tissue.

“Deja,” Izogie baited her with the likeness of her name rolling off her whiskey coated tongue. She waited so long to hear it from her lips. “I like you. Everything you said in your confession is what my heart desires for us too. You don’t have to banish your feelings away from your heart anymore. I want to be with you. I wish to explore this love by your side.”

“But behind these walls, I am not allowed to look at you. I know the rule. I am not an exception.”

“You are mistaken,” Izogie breathed out a sigh, her hands releasing their hold and returning back to her sides. “The king’s rule only applies to the outsiders. Once you pass through those doors and live within the palace halls, your eyes are free to roam wherever.”

Deja didn’t know that part. “This whole time—”

“We could have locked eyes every waking moment over the past year. There would have been no judgment. And there is no punishment I wish to inflict on you after finally looking at me.”

The air returned to Deja’s lungs once she sucked in a quick breath. There was no special circumstance to a rule given from the inside of a palace. Its existence was nullified. She was free to look at the love of her life without living a life shrouded in shame and tearful regret.

“Then why did you come here?”

“My punishment needs to be delivered by your hand,” Izogie admitted, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I should have loved you out loud. You can blame the whiskey if you want, but I wish to make a small, selfish request for my sentence.”

Deja ushered her to continue with a stern nod. “I want to spend a lifetime with you. This time, I’ll be the one waging a war against the gods. If it is my punishment, I will obey.”

She placed both of her hands on Izogie’s face, carefully, allowing her thumbs to rub around the apples of her cheeks. Soft patters of a light rain against the roof drummed away the rest of Deja’s worries.

“Punishments can wait. Nothing in this world would make me happier than being yours.”

Izogie’s smile was a sight to behold. Her happiness was infectious to those in her vicinity. “You were always mine.”

Deja’s fingers traveled down to the side of Izogie’s neck and slid over the mark which caught her curiosity earlier. The smoothness of the scarred tissue beneath her touch was nothing close to what she imagined. Deja held Izogie’s attention, her eyes searching for the unwritten answer among the stars.

“I must be honest about my fascination with your battle scars. They are my favorite part of you. I wish to familiarize myself with the existence of every single one of them. Every story behind them will be mine to carry.”

“Ey. Don’t make such bold statements. You are not under the whiskey’s influence.”

“No. Just yours,” Deja said in the midst of a smile, gliding her fingers along Izogie’s hard collarbone. “Since we’re making our requests known, can I ask you for something before the whiskey’s magic spell wears off?”

“My love, you could ask me to burn the world in your name. I would do anything.”

“My world has already been set ablaze,” she chuckled. “Am I allowed to kiss you now?”

Izogie blinked away her surprise. “Do you really need to ask?”

“I’m giving you the chance to oppose your destiny. I was told a warrior’s consent is the bridge used to build the most sacred bond of trust.”

“Who told you that? Amenza?” Izogie arched one of her perfect thick brows. “Are you aiming to be part of the Agojie?”

“No, no, no. I want you to honor me as the keeper of your heart. Now,” Deja leaned down, maintaining a healthy gap between their lips, “do I have your permission to kiss you?”

Uncontrollable laughter bubbled from Izogie’s mouth and shook her entire body, serving as a reminder of why Deja yearned to be next to her in the first place.

“Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

Deja closed the gap between their mouths in one fell swoop, commencing the drums of their heartbeats together on one accord. Even with closed eyes, their hearts guided the movement of the kiss. There was an insatiable craving stirring inside of her. Maybe it was the softness of Izogie’s lips which coaxed it alive. Perhaps, it brought Deja’s hidden desires off of the highest shelf and delivered it straight into her tattered hands.

Their lips parted to regain the rhythm of their breathing, but the dance began again as the bitter, intoxicating taste of whiskey on Izogie’s tongue consumed Deja’s thoughts. She slid the tip along Deja’s upper lip, briefly poking it into her mouth once their lips connected.

The warrior learned how much pressure would be necessary to unravel the poor cook, easily stripping her lover of the strength she once possessed. Deja knew her opponent studied the nature of her delighted reactions, especially when she was this close to her target. She broke away from their intense kiss in a heated daze, pressing a series of pecks along Izogie’s jaw and brought them over onto her right cheek.

Izogie went and found the purest source of unrefined sugar disguised as the gorgeous black angel hovering above her. The unsuspected move to shower her face with wet kisses rendered her speechless. She broke out in fits of laughter, enveloping the two lovers in state of unbridled bliss.

The war ended on a mutual agreement to establish new terms for peace. Kissing Deja was Izogie’s new purpose. And Deja promised Izogie a lifetime of learning the stories behind each scar, old and new. The world would go on without them.

And Izogie savored her reward with great reverence.

Deja pulled herself back, finally mustering enough willpower between the two of them. Izogie’s eyes slowly batted open as her signature sheepish grin wiped away any ill thoughts of the day before. The sight of her covered in the various kiss marks earned a nod of approval from the artist herself. Deja loved her new canvas.

“You should prepare yourself for early morning training, my golden warrior. We’ll discuss the parameters of your punishment during my lunch break.”

Whiskey was a truth-telling serum delivered overseas. It was the only thing the traders deemed worthy because of its magical properties of subduing the tongues of even the strongest soldiers.

“And I will obey,” Izogie said. “All I ask is that you will remind me of this moment. When I wake in your quarters a few hours from now, I fear I won’t remember what damage has been done on this battlefield. Or which one of us emerged victorious.”

Deja dragged one finger over her brow and pressed another kiss against the bone with an air of ease. She watched as her love flipped onto her side with closed eyes, nuzzling her cheek against Deja’s thick thigh. The whiskey’s magic spell was slowly lifting. Sleep would come for her soon.

“I promise you, Izogie. I won’t let you forget to collect your spoils from war.”

[0reoblanc]

Just a fanart of Clora Clemons cuz my OC is also ravenclaw and I love @choccy-milky fanfic! Feels like Aymee wouldn’t be liked by Seb cuz she’s way too often stuck in dangerous position and “she might give idea to Clora” lmao. Her surname is Aymee Parkour or Fakeclaw cuz she’s always climbing stuff and acting impulsilvly dumb hahaha

My fanfic isn’t Hogwart Legacy tho, it’s a PercyJacksonXHarryPotter crossover. Anyway, here’s Aymee Parker!

(Second date is the edit cuz I finally decided myself to post it)

[latmwdcore]

Hesperides station whirls to life right around the eighth to tenth system hour, as is customary onboard. Astra, however, has yet to integrate herself into this routine; back in her home system, Helios, the fifth or sixth hour ante meridiem was more familiar- or perhaps, that is just how the Collins family operated.

It was one of many culture shocks she had experienced while aboard- far too accustomed to early opening hours of storefronts, it took around a week or two for Astra to realize that she got no customers before eight- save for Setteth, who was also an anomaly by station standards- so it was pointless to get up at five and prep the diner. a tough lesson learned.

Another thing she hadn't accounted for was just how differently late " Aunt Cassie " ran the diner. She left big shoes to fill, no doubt, Astra was ready to stuff tissue into the toe box in need be- but she hadn't prepared herself for the legacy Cassiopeia Collins had left on the deep space station. 

Not one meal served could end without a passing mention of her name, and every time, Astra felt an estranged feeling of longing. She and Cassie had never been close, barely met, and her family would not spare a single credit towards visits to where she had settled- she was rarely ever discussed in a setting that wasn't Astra being told to shape up, or she'd end up like Cassiopeia, the one who cracked under the pressure.

Because of that, Astra did not feel very connected to her memory of Aunt Cassie, if at all. In truth, it was hard not to see her as another expectation set by others; be like Aunt Cassie, fulfill every role she took up, honor her memory. And Astra is nothing if not the dedication she puts into her responsibilities. 

That brings us to today, Astra's first day off since she opened the Milky Way Diner back up. She and Ka'el's schedules lined up just perfectly for this moment- it was as if the black holes right outside the station had aligned just for them. Though, as Ka'el stood in front of Astra's door on the block, something felt off.

" Sugar- are you just about done getting dolled up ? As much as i- and believe me I do- love seeing you with your hair up all nice, it's been an hour since we were supposed to go out "

There's a teasing lilt to her voice- honeyed words from a practiced tongue. Ka'el leaned on the wall besides Astra's accommodations, arms crossed across her chest and broad shoulders strained against her casual attire. Despite her words, there's no real rush- besides her own, eager to spend every moment she could with her partner. 

" i'm almost ready- just. Just give me a second! " 

Before Ka'el could ( rightfully ) respond that this had been the nth time she'd asked for a second, Astra was hurrying out of the door and straightening out her apron. Ka'el's good-humored expression twisted into one of confusion as she looked Astra up and down, an eyebrow raised as she moved her hand to her hip with a flourish.

" Your diner uniform ? Didn't we agree today was your day off- not to mention, our date ? "

A second passed, before Astra fully registered the words, and awkwardly laughed off the ( mild ) glare from her girlfriend. Suddenly very aware of what she was wearing, she patted down her attire, stuffing her hands in the front pocket of her apron, before pulling out all sorts of paper receipts, sauce packets, and napkins, in a frantic search for something-

" Don't be too alarmed- I did not forget our date ! I just promised the elderly naru two blocks down i'd whip her up a quick something before I clocked out for the day- it'll be quick, promise "

Finally fishing out the diner keyset, she gives them a quick toss before catching them in the palm of her hands and jingling them in an attempt to grab the correct one. 

" You've gotta learn how to say no- folks here are so busy when they're up and about, they rarely notice they're taking advantage of you. "

Ka'el chastises lovingly, as her free hand reaches up and brushes her cheek with her knuckles tenderly, the gesture reciprocated as Astra gingerly leans into her touch. 

" I know- I know. Just this once "

With a small plea, a pout, and a gaze from under her eyelashes is all it takes for a small, playful groan to pass through Ka'el as her fanged grin makes an appearance

" You know for a fact I can never say no to you, sugar... but make it snappy, you hear ? Can't be queuing up at the diner every time I want to take my girlfriend out on a date " 

Ka'el tuts, pressing her lips to her forehead with a slight grin drawn on her lips as they both make their way to the diner, Ka'el's tail wrapped Astra's waist as she took confident, graceful strides, though shortened to match Astra's pace.

The same old song and dance of opening up the diner and starting on the pre-work ensued- with Ka'el resting her elbows on the countertop and her head in her hands, observing Astra's efficient movements. She was a wonder to witness when prepping dishes- even more when she could take her time catering the meal for the individual. 

But there was an undeniable exhaustion in her eyes, poorly concealed eye bags she assured were just the poor lighting casting shadows on her face, even if it was perfectly lit in the kitchen. her usual motions were slower, more calculated, when she usually already had it incorporated, second nature practically. What tipped Ka'el off that something really was wrong was the recipe book Aunt Cassie stored in a cabinet.

" Taking a page out of your auntie's book ? "

Ka'el calls out, tapping Astra's forearm, as she hadn't given a response straight away. Usually, she always had a witty response locked and loaded for her every teasing, playful remark- something Ka'el found endearing.

" Mmm... something like that "

She responded noncommittally, stirring the ladle with some difficulty- the strain of her muscles evident as Astra struggled. At this, Ka'el took initiative, standing behind her as she gripped the ladle and her hand with her own, while turning the heat to low with the other. 

" Sugar- you're exhausted. You haven't had a break in weeks, and I know you're just settling in but- "

Astra cuts Ka'el off, twisting her body around to face her. Ka'el's expression softens at the sight of her saddened features, placing her palms against her hips.

" I'm- I'm fine, Ka'el. It has just been- a bit tough settling into the new lifestyle, is all "

Ka'el frowns, her thumbs drawing comforting patterns on her clothed hips as she urges her to continue. If only she wasn't so easy to talk to, Astra laments internally. She sighs, resting her head on Ka'el chest, almost as if hiding her shameful expression.

" I- I cannot be what my aunt was to this place, this diner- I cannot be her to them, and I never will be. I mourn her death like a stranger- I cannot help but lament what could've been, if she had survived that stroke- perhaps the community would not have taken such a big loss, and I wouldn't have been a crude replacement so soon after her passing " 

The words from her lips fall as freely as the tears that had been bottled up, Ka'el maneuvering Astra's arms to wrap around her firm figure, as she rests a hand on her head, lightly scratching at her scalp.

" These people- this community needed someone like my aunt, not like me. I am an ill-fitting replacement- one who cannot meet their expectations "

Her sobs and hiccups are met with Ka'el's comforting hum as she allows the poor girl to vent out her feelings. Once she'd cried out all her sorrows, the ka'ettri pulled away, resting her clawed hands on her cheeks tenderly, a stern but loving look swimming in her honey eyes.

" Astra- you do not have to replace your aunt, or meet anyone's expectations- you do not have to be anyone you are not, the folks here are enamored by you, and your habits, and your way of showing care not only for the community, but for this diner- you run a tight ship at that, sugar "

The last comment is made with playful undertones, a giggle drawn out of Astra as Ka'el leans in and places a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth.

" We all mourn the loss of Aunt Cassie, but it's undeniable that you were the right person to take over- we do not expect you to continue in Cassie's footsteps- what you make of this diner is your choice and yours alone. You are not a replacement- you are your own person, free of the weight of expectations other than your own. Let yourself live a little, indulge yourself "

As she speaks, Ka'el presses her forehead to Astra's, holding her tender gaze.

" You got that, sugar ? "

A small nod comes from a flushed Astra, as Ka'el smiles triumphantly, leaning in and stealing a kiss from her cushioned lips.

" Atta girl- now, let's get this soup to that elderly woman, so I can take my sweet girl on a date, hm ? "

She teases, beginning to stir the ladle and scooping some of the delicious, if lukewarm soup into a takeout container. The smile on Astra's face is contagious, as she wipes her tears in a swift motion.

" Of course. "

+ ASTRA HEADCANONS !!

- brings her own kitchenware to cook in people's kitchenettes when they're sick ( particular about her tools )

- hosts potlucks / cookie exchanges, and just community events- speed dining, or ice cream social type stuff

- too lenient on substitutions- sometimes ends up making an entirely different dish in no time whatsoever.

- keeps the menu short with handy recipes that she's mastered but caters to different alien's dietary restrictions.

- has multiple things stored in her apron front pocket and uniform folds, including but not limited to :

* cake testers and tongs

* sauce packets, napkins, paper receipts written over with pen.

* plating spoons

* a small contraption that sort of looks like a swiss army knife, with a hand thermometer and a precision scale tied into one ( roswell's invention, made special just for astra )

[kaviary-blog]

~Tag nine people you want to get to know better~

I was tagged… like three times so I gotta 😂 by besties @pluviowriting, @writing-intheundercroft, @choccy-milky

Last Song?- Womanizer by Britney Spears is currently playing in my headphones and I type this (Kavi is listening to her Bimbo OC playlidt)

Favorite Color?- Purple or Green (specifically lilac and forest/sage green)

Currently Watching?- Depends on what you’re asking… right at this moment I’m working my way through Markiplier’s Help Wanted videos (and other fnaf shenanigans)

Last Movie?- Batman Under the Red Hood (I think, I cannae remember)

Sweet/Spicy/Savory?- It’s always a toss up between sweet and savory for me. But right now I’m eating pizza so…. Undecided

Relationship Status?- Single, I’m devoted to my delusions and brain rot

Current Obsessions?- Hogwarts Legacy (I know, shocking), FNAF, Miraculous Ladybug (all of the above since the very beginning)

Last Thing You Googled?- When the bicycle was invented

No pressure tags: @applinsandoranges, @ellivenollivander, @marketfreshfics, I don’t know nine people. Everyone else has don’t this, so if you haven’t and you read this, consider yourself tagged!!

[sliver-ofstraw]

WICKED by Avenza HOUSTON by Big Giant Circles SEVCON by Big Giant Circles VINDICATE ME by Big Giant Circles COMMANDO STEVE by Bossfight MILKY WAYS by Bossfight LYCANTHROPY by Cardi SPECTRA by Chipzel THE ART OF WAR by Chipzel TOKYO SKIES by Chipzel THE LUNAR WHALE by Danimal Cannon LONG LIVE THE NEW FRESH by Danimal Cannon CHRONOS by Danimal Cannon & Zef CORRUPTED by Danimal Cannon & Zef LEGACY by Danimal Cannon & Zef LOGIC GATEKEEPER by Danimal Cannon & Zef ANNIHILATE by Destroid DANCE OF THE INCOGNIZANT by FantomenK CRYSTAL TOKYO by FantomenK and Meganeko YOKUMAN by kevviiiinnn CASCADE by Kubbi CHEAT CODES by Nitro Fun FINAL BOSS by Nitro Fun NEW GAME by Nitro Fun BARRACUDA by Noisestorm DUBWOOFER SUBSTEP by Omnitica TRY THIS by Pegboard Nerds UNLOCKED by Plesco CLOSE TO ME by Sabrepulse FIRST CRUSH by Sabrepulse TERMINATION SHOCK by Sabrepulse PAPER DOLLS by Shawn Daley INTO THE ZONE by Shirobon FOX by Shirobon ON THE RUN by Shirobon COOL FRIENDS (REMIX) by Silva Hound HYPE by Tokyo Machine CLASH by Trip40 T'ILL IT'S OVER by Tristam CORE by Zef A ROSE IN A FIELD by Big Giant Circles CHIP ZEAL by Big Giant Circles AGROBACTER by Danimal Cannon EMBER by Kubbi FORMED BY GLACIERS by Kubbi WARM HUGS IN COURT by Kubbi, FTW, and Let's be Friends RAINBOW ROAD by nanobii I'M BEING REELISTIC by Omnitica SUGAR RUSH by PIXL ONCE AGAIN by Tristam

Pick one.

I'm not sure what fits me! What does everyone else think?