#the selection above are just the few that I immediately remembered

[owlsie-hoot]

*The eyes are the window to the soul*

(You cannot deny it: they have the best eyesex)

[xzaddyzanakinx]

I So, So, Right I pt.4

Stepbro! Anakin × innocent reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: smut, inappropriate relationships, oral sex, public/semi-public, demeaning/condescending words toward reader, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, dd/lg dynamics (implied), daddy kink

Info: Modern AU, Anakin is whipped, Anakin literally worships the ground you walk on, reader is accidentally a brat, reader has oral fixation

NOT PROOFREAD

The next few hours of your day were agonizingly boring, you had already paced around the entire house, called your friend to confirm she was still up for your hangout tomorrow, and taken a shower just to have something to do. Your hair wrapped up in a towel and a thin robe wrapped around your frame as you wondered back into the kitchen.

Opening and closing the fridge in hopes that the next time you open it a yummy treat will have magically manifested. Unfortunately the fridge had failed to conjure something, anything appetizing so you settled for leftover lasagna.

With your belly full you retired to your room, scanning your bookshelf and selecting a classic. Tossing it on the bed before digging through your dresser for something comfortable to wear.

“Cozy.” You mumbled to yourself as you pulled out some fuzzy shorts, pushing aside everything else to find the matching shirt.

Huffing in aggravation you slipped on your underwear and the shorts while making the trip from your room to Anakin’s. It wasn’t uncommon for your clothes to get misplaced, sometimes when Anakin puts away the laundry he gets -alittle- impatient with folding. So he often ends up scooping what’s left in the basket into his arms and dropping it in the nearest dresser drawer.

Shuffling through the clothes you felt your hand touch something cool, curious to see what it was you pulled it from its hiding place. It seemed to be a trinket box, a deep blue hard plastic box with a very small latch. You popped it open and immediately recognized some of the items inside.

Movie ticket stubs, rocks you’d collected, the fancy coaster from the restaurant where you’d first met. A box of memories, a box of all things you. Your heart swelled as you picked up the items immediately remembering each moment connected to each precious keepsake.

At the bottom of the shallow box you found one thing that was unfamiliar. A tiny black velvet drawstring bag, hesitant to open it since you’d already invaded his privacy by opening the box in the first place. But what’s the harm right? You’d come this far… might as well take a look.

Carefully opening the bag, you turned it upside down above your open palm. Two metallic items clanked together as they fell into your hand. A simple but elegant ring and a tiny pendant meant for a dainty necklace. You clapped your hand over your mouth with the bag still between your fingers.

Hurriedly tucking the precious jewelry safely back into the bag and arranging the items in the box in the same places you’d found them. You tucked it back into its hiding place, shoving the drawer shut as if it burned you. Shaking out your hands you opened the next drawer and saw the shirt you were looking for laying right on top. Why couldn’t you have opened that one first?

Though the questions you really wanted to ask were ‘Why is his mother’s engagement ring in a box filled with things meant to represent you?’ ‘Where did the pendant come from? Who did it belong to?’

It had been two hours since your discovery and your nerves had finally subsided. You willed your mind to tuck those thoughts into the crevasses of your brain. It’s a trinket box, of course he’d put things like that in there! How silly of you to react in such a way!

You’d tried to read to put your focus into something else, but the words melted together on every page. You groaned in frustration, if only you’d done your own laundry last time! You wouldn’t have ever had a reason to dig through his clothes and you would’ve never seen the box.

Pressing the heel of your palms into your eyes and scrubbing until you saw colored dots. A nap. Yes, that’s what you need. A nice little nap to forget about your invasion of privacy and the troublesome things you’d discovered because of it.

You hopped up to close the curtains then got right back in bed. Pulling the blanket up to your neck and tucking your favorite stuffed animal under your arm, you tried your best to let sleep consume you.

Your blankets rustled, the mattress dipping under the weight of someone slipping into bed with you. Stirring slightly at the feeling of warm skin against your back, a hand stroking your upper arm slowly brought you back to consciousness. Your eyes adjusted to the dark room, only lit by the evening’s sun beams sneaking around your curtains and the bathroom light. Revealing the most beautiful soft smile on the lips of your love.

“Little sleepyhead.” He whispered, pressing his soft plump lips to your forehead.

You breathed in deeply, tucking yourself under his arm and pressing your nose to his neck. Drowning in the scent of his freshly washed hair and still damp body.

“Have you been home long?” You yawned.

“Nah, just about an hour. I didn’t wanna wake you up just yet so I had a bite to eat and a shower.” He nuzzled into your hair, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“You were gone soooo looong.” You groaned, “I was so bored.”

“My poor girl.” He laughed.

“Don’t make fun of me!” You pouted, pulling back to see his grinning face.

He leaned forward quickly to catch your protruding bottom lip between his teeth. Scrunching his nose and pulling gently, after releasing your lip he placed a soothing kiss over it.

“But it’s so fun.” He laughed.

“Yeah, for you.” You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, no attitude.” He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, while his gaze stayed stern.

“M’sorry.” Looking up at him with puppy eyes.

“I know you are princess.” he smoothed your hair back, twirling a lock around his finger and bringing it up to tickle your nose.

Something about his tone of voice, how he sounded so confident in that statement, made heat pool between your legs. You felt your cheeks blush, stomach swirling with nerves. Just as you were forming a sentence through the muddy waters of your mind, a noise made you both jump.

“Shit.” Anakin scrambled out of the bed, an obvious erection tenting his loose boxers.

It was Obi-Wan, treading down the hall, quickly glancing at your bedroom door you realized it was unlocked. Anakin had slipped into the bathroom, closing the door as quietly as possible. You laid there, frozen in confusion, why had he run away like that?

Though you didn’t have too much time to wonder, because Obi-Wan’s fist was knocking on your door.

“Come in.” You said, leaning over to turn on your lamp light.

“Hey,” he peeked in, “you feelin’ okay?”

“Mhm, I was just tired is all.” You answered, sitting up.

“Sorry to wake you sweets, your mom sent me up, dinner is ready. Do you know where-“ he started, interrupted by Anakin’s hand coming down on his shoulder.

“There he is!” He laughed, bringing an arm across his body to ruffled his -now fully dressed- son’s hair.

Anakin gave you a sly wink over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Reaching around to flick on your over head light, flashing it a few times for good measure and earning a light scolding from his dad.

“C’mon, leave her be.” Obi-Wan laughed, headed back down the hall.

Anakin stayed in your doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.

“You heard the man, gotta leave ya be.” He shrugged, hiding a smile.

“Don’t say things like that!” You threw the nearest weapon you could find, a stuffed animal.

He caught it effortlessly, tossing it to the floor, his playful attitude dwindling. He walked over to you, holding his hand out for you to take. You accepted and let him pull you out of the bed, enveloping you in what would’ve been a sweet and comforting embrace if not for the words he whispered in your ear.

“Are you trying to get in trouble?” His lips brushing your earlobe, “cause it seems like you are.”

“N-no! No I don’t want to!” You whisper shouted, eyebrows turned up in concern.

“My little good girl,” he tutted, gripping the back of your neck, “turned bratty the minute I showed you how I could make you feel.”

His face buried in the gentle slope of your neck, his fingers intwined in your hair tugging gently. His free hand sliding down your back to grip your ass and knead the doughy flesh. His tongue darting out to glide along the soft flesh, drawing a mewl from your eager body.

“I-I’m not a br-brat.” You protested, feeling weak in the knees already.

“Yeah you are.” He growled, pulling your head back by your hair, “but you’re my brat.”

A whimper escaped you, earning a dark chuckle from Anakin.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll help you be good again.” He released you from his strong hands.

“You will?” You asked, hopeful, disappointed with yourself for misbehaving.

“Of course babydoll.” He grinned, pointer finger hooked under your chin. “That’s what Daddy’s here for.”

Oh fuck, a gush of slick dripped from your cunt, wetting your panties. Daddy? Your eyes widened, in awe of how Anakin saying just one word could make you feel so, so many things all at once. He had a knowing look on his face, as if he expected this to be your response. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you with him down the hall.

Dinner concluded without any hiccups, that was until your mother suggested a ‘family movie night’. You couldn’t really say no, Anakin had bumped your foot and very slightly shook his head when you began to protest. Catching you at the sink where you stood scraping off the bits from your plate.

“If we both told them no they’d be suspicious.” He whispered, a hand sneaking to your plump backside, rubbing soothing circles with his knuckles.

“Why?” You asked, hearing the clink of your plate against the silverware in the sink.

“Baby,” he drew the word out, pain in his eyes, “you know we can’t let anyone find out about us.”

“But why?” You pouted, crossing your arms and stomping one foot.

His expression hardened at your defiance which you quickly recognized, fixing your posture and dropping your arms.

“Good girl.” He nodded, adding a sigh, “they won’t understand. No one would understand.”

“Is that why you ran away earlier?” You questioned, his hand coming up to rest against your cheek.

“I want to shout from the rooftops and let everyone know just how much I love you, but I can’t.” He pulled you in close for a tight embrace, cradling your head to his chest protectively.

A soft sniffle met his ears and his heart broke, shattered to a million pieces. This was so selfish of him and he knew it, he knew the consequences, he knew it was wrong. He couldn’t help it though, not when it comes to you. You with the gorgeous smile, the laugh that reminded him of fairy bells, the softness of your voice when you spoke to him in the cover of night.

That’s all you’d be able to enjoy, love under the blanket of darkness.

“Please don’t cry.” He whined and squeezed you tighter, “please, I can’t stand it.”

You simply nodded, rubbing your eyes and nose against his chest to wipe away the tears.

“I’ll find a way.” His voice strong and resolute, “I’ll make sure of it, I promise.”

You both had missed the sound of slippered feet on the kitchen tile, only being alerted to the presence of another person when they let out a sharp breath. You felt Anakin’s muscles tighten, his heart quicken under the warm fabric of his shirt.

He was wracking his brain, to find an excuse and settling on the first thing that surfaced in the waters of panic. He twisted his body and yours in the direction of the noise, you could feel his chest heave in relief. He lifted his arm and brought his finger to his lips, half mouthing and half whispering to his father.

“Boy problems.” He wasn’t lying, he was just omitting that he was the offending boy.

Obi-wan tutted, coming forward to place a loving hand between your shoulders.

“It’ll be alright. Let’s go get your mind off it huh?” He suggested, motioning to the living room.

You peeled yourself out of Anakin’s arms, allowing him to guide you to the living room, taking a seat on the plush carpet in front of the couch.

“I’ll get your mind off it.” He whispered, nipping your earlobe.

You giggled through one more sniffle, and Anakin left your side to grab two throw blankets. Throwing one over you and tucking himself under the other, with his back leaned against the front of the couch he took the remote and flipped through the streaming services.

With your parents settling in above you, you managed to enjoy your time. But of course, half way through the movie you let your head fall back against the couch cushion. Soon after your eyes fluttered closed, Anakin smiled softly at the sound of your tiny snores.

You were jostled around, feeling arms scooping you up. Anakin’s forearm hooked beneath your butt to support your weight and his other pressing your upper body to his securely. You stirred halfway through the journey up the stairs.

“Hmm?” You sleepily took in your surroundings.

“Shh baby, I’m just taking you to bed.” He whispered, pushing open the bedroom door, momentarily removing his arm to lock the door.

Gently he laid you down, rolling you to your side. Hazily opening your eyes you recognized that this was not your bed and you were not in your room. Anakin had put you in his bed, and he was now walking through the bathroom to your room, locking the door in there as well.

You sat up, yawning and wiping the sleep from your eyes, groggy but conscious enough to speak when he re-entered his room.

“M’sorry I fell asleep.” You mumbled, holding out your arms and flapping your hands to beckon him closer.

He of course happily obliged, shedding his tshirt and pants on his way. Slipping into the bed next to you with a comforting hand to your cheek which you gratefully leaned into.

“My poor baby.” He cooed, leaning in to kiss the sleep away.

His lips slotted against yours and you tentatively returned the kiss, soon allowing him to deepen it when your body begged your brain to catch up. Snaking your arms around his neck earned a groan from his lips that were wrapped around your tongue, sucking gently.

Without breaking contact with your sweet mouth he pushed you into the mattress so that he was hovering above you. He spread your legs with a bump of his knee and you eagerly obeyed, allowing him to lower himself against your heated core. A sinful moan of yours was trapped in his mouth when pressed his already throbbing length into the apex of your thighs.

“Just woke up and already begging for my touch.” He snickered, sloppy kisses along your jawline as he snuck his hands under your shirt.

He placed a firm hand on your breast, palming and massaging it while using the other to guide your shirt over your head. With both breasts exposed he descended on them, peppering them with hungry kisses, suckling and nibbling on both nipples, unable to let one go without his attention for too long.

Keening and rolling your hips against him as he attacked your chest provided not relief at all, your body screaming for his eager mouth to travel lower.

“Ani.” You whined, pushing his shoulders gently.

“Not now sweet girl.” He mumbled against your supple flesh.

He smiled as he brought his teeth back down to the gentle slope of your breast, biting and closing his lips around you, tongue flicking against the skin once he released it from his teeth. He let his hands roam, exploring every inch of you. Making sure to find your hand often and give you a reassuring squeeze. His mouth finally delved lower, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake while it traveled the expanse of your abdomen.

“Gotta taste my sweet little pussy.” He groaned, hooking his finger in the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down your legs along with your panties.

The animalistic noise he made when he spread your cunt open for him to see was nothing short of pornographic. Just the sound of him pining over your wetness was enough to make your hole flutter around nothing, making you feel hopelessly empty.

“Please Anakin, please I need it.” You begged.

“Need what princess?” He teased, his hot breath blowing against your cunt.

“Ani!” You pouted, slamming your fists down on either side of you.

“Hey.” He said in a gruff voice, warning you.

You stayed silent, gazing into his softening eyes, hoping your stare would be enough to sway him into giving you what you wanted. Slowly he did, introducing his lips first, chaste kisses from your mound down to your dripping hole. The tip of his tongue retracing those steps to elicit a soft and drawn out ‘oh’ from your kiss swollen mouth.

He gently delved deeper into your folds, humming at the taste of you. It was as if he enjoyed this more than you did if that was possible. From the way his breathing got heavier and the death grip he held on your hips you’d think he was the one writhing beneath you. Eating you wouldn’t be a good enough descriptor, he was - devouring- you, insatiable and aggressive.

His hot wet tongue breached your pussy and dove as deeply as possible, moaning in sync with you. His grip of your hips loosened, freeing up his thumbs to press into your hips, massaging them in circles, adding another layer of pleasure for you. You couldn’t help the trashing of your body, your fist abused by your own teeth and you bit down in hopes to stifle your cries.

“So good baby,” he groaned, suckling your clit, “doing so fuckin’ good f’me.”

“Mhm!” You squirmed, “I wanna be good for you Ani.”

“Shit. I’ll cum before you do if you keep talking like that.” He shivered, rutting into the bed.

He couldn’t let that happen, he needed your cum, he needed his lips coated in your juices like he needed air to breathe. He doubled down, rolling your clit between his teeth in such a way that the white heat in your lower stomach flashed with electricity, shocking your nerves with the sudden and harsh orgasm.

Your body convulsed as you buried your face into the pillow beside you. Painfully swallowing your cries, feeling your hot tears staining the softness of the pillow. Anakin lapped up everything you gave him, every drop coating his chin was licked up by his greedy tongue.

“God I could do this for hours.” He moaned, giving you no down time at all before starting again, the sensitivity made you hiss, kicking your legs involuntarily.

“M’not done.” He growled, holding your legs still.

He reached up beside you, taking the pillow from your face and folding it in half. Lifting your bottom with no effort and sliding the pillow under your lower back.

“What’re you doing?” You whined, trying to close your legs.

“Working this tight cunt open.” he moaned, his middle finger toying with your soaked core.

“Just one okay baby doll?” He asked, tearing his blown out pupils from your glistening cunt to look at you for permission.

Sighing in relief at your eager nod, he dipped the tip of his finger past your folds. Circling the hole gently, and moaning as he oh so slowly pushed into your virgin pussy.

“God.” He grunted through clenched teeth. “Look at my pretty pussy, all f’me.”

“All for you Ani.” You bucked up into his hand, begging for him to pump his thick digit into you.

“You want it? My baby girl wants me to fuck her open with my fingers?” He wasn’t asking, he was just trying to humiliate you.

“Yes!” You whimpered, clenching around him at his condescending tone.

“Squeezing me so tight darlin’.” He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Couldn’t even get another finger in.”

“Anakin, please.” You whined, “please I need more.”

At that he hooked his finger and began dragging the tip across the spongey wall of your pussy, drawing circles as he pumped in and out. Keening at the new sensation had you gripping the sheets hard enough to rip them.

“Can’t baby,” he moaned, “just gotta wait, be patient.”

“No. Anakin!” You whined, reaching down to grab his wrist.

His free hand blocking yours before you could even get halfway.

“Did you just tell me no?” He growled, you shook your head, desperate to shove those words back in your mouth and swallow them.

“You want more? Fine.” He said sternly, “I’ll give you more.”

He immediately started fucking his long digit into your soaked cunt with such fervor that you had to reach above you and grab the head board for support. Without missing a beat he came up from his resting position and towered over your small frame.

“Where did my sweet little girl go huh? It’s like you’re trying to get punished.” He sighed, as if disappointed.

Attacking your mouth with his, you could taste yourself on his tongue as it forced its way past your teeth.

And just like that, with your tongue trapped between his teeth to prevent you from screaming he wrapped his large hand around your neck, cutting off your air supply the second he felt your cunt clamp down on him. Drawing out your second orgasm with a ridiculous amount of force. Your thighs closing when he didn’t remove his hand, still pumping his finger at jackhammer pace.

“Don’t.” He broke away from your lips and wrenched your legs back apart. “You wanted more, so take it you fucking brat.”

“M’sorry Ani!” You whined, pulling him closer with your arms around his neck. “So sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Anakin dove into your neck, sucking in the gentle slope near your shoulder. He was ignoring you in hopes you’d keep apologizing, as disgusting as it was he was getting off on the sounds of your worried voice, it made him feel powerful. You were just his little puppet right now, and he was your puppeteer.

“I wanna be your good girl, please!” You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Please don’t be mad with me Daddy, please I promise to be good.”

Just as he was feeling on top of the world with his baby girl trapped under his thumb, he was shrinking, melting from the one word you’d uttered like a prayer. His eyebrows shot up along with his head, eyes wide as he looked down at you. He softened immediately, and you held back a smirk now that you’d discovered this was his weakness.

“Oh my pretty baby,” he cooed, his hand caressing your side lightly, “you are a good girl.” He leaned down catching your lips in a sweet kiss.

“Really?” You sniffled.

“Yes really,” he sighed, “my baby doesn’t need punishment does she?”

You agreed, shaking your head with a pouty lip and gripping his sandy locks between your fingers.

“Just need Daddy’s cock don’t you baby doll?”

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I have no clue who made those cute borders, so if you do pls tag them!!!❤️ they’re adorable.

[ourladyofomega]

Will a 9, 20, 32, and 35 do? 🦉

@polvo-lunar draws the winning numbers!

# 9: Do you like dancing?

I used to and didn't do much of it at all. A couple of super-rare dance club nights and salsa-dancing with my then-g.f., and that was that. I don't see the point in doing it myself nowadays because I wasn't really into it to begin with.

#20: Do you make / listen to your own playlists, or do you just shuffle all songs?

I shuffle songs when I'm on the train to the city or at the gym. I stuff a few hundred songs in my iPhone for the ride (whatever they'd be or where they're from) then randomize my plays from start to finish, and viola!...I have a playlist for the day. For the gym, it gets reversed. I grab what already works (synthwave, industrial, hardcore, etc.) and gets shuffled afterward.

I make seasonal playlists for myself every three months. Those are ones I always listen to that helps me remember people, places, and experiences. They're also the basis of some personal stories I write. I also make playlists for my radio show and they're all posted on @omegaradiowusb. I'm almost at 400. It's a perfect place for everyone to see what I find / play and how I'm on top of what's going on across multiple genres. And speaking of:

#32: Your least favorite music genre?

I'll start by saying this, but the later-Nineties was not a good era for music. Britney Spears, Limp Bizkit, and N*Sync came out. Alternative was no longer recognizable to me. Pop and club hits were at is worst and least innovative. It was all industry and sounded plastic. Another genre started to pick up steam and that was 3rd-wave ska.

I heard it being name-checked all the time but was somewhat kept in the dark about it. When that came up, it made elitist dicks out of many people who thought they were above all and everybody. Why? Because those people were into the originals (Specials, The Selecter) and felt threatened when bandwagoners got into 'industry' bands like Less Than Jake, Goldfinger, and Reel Big Fish and called it ska. I finally leaned into it to hear what all the hype was about, and I'm like "this is it? Circus music?" It was ridiculously silly and too McDonald's for me. I immediately jumped off of it and got back to my regularly-scheduled hardcore. I’ve had interactions with the keepin’-it-reals and I, too, always thought they came across as bottom-line all-important assholes in general who were extremely passionate of protecting the sanctity of their real-deal clown car anthems. These checkerboard cadets had their noses up to the sky when they weren’t looking down on me because I didn't like it. And I think to myself: "this is what you’re so up-in-the-ass about?"

But, that was the final spike in the iron maiden for Nineties tunes. I know we all have to start somewhere, but it's so bad on all counts that I couldn't take ska (save for bands like The Selecter and Specials) and those pompous high-horses seriously.

#35: Do you play music while taking a shower?

I play music while I sleep, wake up, and check my d.m.'s before getting ready for my in-home shift. I play and audition all my music finds after my shift is over. I played music during when I worked at retail. I play music while driving and taking the train to the city and back. I also play music when I'm gaming, go food shopping, at the gym, and at the radio station when I do my broadcast.

The only time I don't play music is when I'm showering. Good one. ;)

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Good evening my favorite author! I hope you enjoyed your vacation. I can't wait to request this for a long time hahahaha!! Can you make another part of lost and found love but the characters are qin shi huang and apollo. I dont know if you can right for hermes but you can please include him.

-He could still remember that terrible day as if it was only moments ago.

-The day you were taken from him, dying to protect another.

-He remembers screaming your name, watching your body crumple to the ground with a dull thud, you had died instantly.

-He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

-So much time had passed since he last saw you, held you, there was not a day that passed where he didn’t remember your smile.

-When he was selected to fight next in Ragnarok, he was informed that his opponent changed at the last moment, which confused him as he walked out first, listening to both the cheers and the jeers from either side.

-The last person he was expecting to see was you, wearing a long flowing white gown with golden armor adorning your features, holding a matching sword and shield.

-Qin Shi Huang- His eyes grew wide, he didn’t want to believe them, thinking this was a trick, yes a trick of the gods, like Loki, whom he had seen change into other people. However, he couldn’t move, seeing you smiling over at him, seeing you looked just as beautiful as the day he lost you. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t speak, watching your gown swirl around you angelically. Your sword and shield lowered as you smiled across the field, seeing his shock, “Zheng~” he immediately ran for you, as only a small handful of people knew his real name, with you being one of them and the crowds roared with cheers as his hands met your waist, spinning you around above his head before pulling you into his arms. It was really you, there was no faking your warmth, your embrace as he took in a shuddering breath, “It’s really you!” you smiled softly, your hand coming to scratch at the back of his neck, his favorite spot as he melted into your embrace. As he pulled back, his hands cupped your face, “How- how did…” he still couldn’t form words as you pulled him down into a soft kiss, making him smile and hum into the kiss as you explained that you had been reincarnated on earth, then ascended to become a goddess after you died when he lost you saving another. He swept you into his arms, telling someone else to get your weapons as he hugged you closely, not willing to let you go for anything at the moment.

-Apollo- It was a trick- it had to be, there was no way that you were really there! Your flowing dress, your bright E/C eyes, the soft, gentle smile on your lips, one that shook him to the core, seeing one of the few beings that he truly loved. His mind couldn’t comprehend how you were there now, or how you were a human of all things, but it was really you as you closed your eyes, your head tilting just slightly to the right as you beamed at him, just like always. The nymphs and other women who adored Apollo were quickly lamenting their loss, as he had turned to them all in heartbreak, trying to drown his feelings of loss and anguish. Seeing you there, they now knew that they had lost their darling Apollo as he walked towards you. Your weapons lowered before falling out of your hands as you did the same, walking until you were right before him. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as he couldn’t find his words as you smiled, reaching up to cup his cheeks, “I’m home~” he hugged you tightly as the crowds went wild, seeing the reunion, as many knew that you could keep Apollo under control. You smiled softly as he embraced you tightly, squeezing you before he pulled back and kissed you deeply, making one of your feet pop up from the passion. He was stunned, once back in his waiting room, to learn you had been reincarnated as a human and lived and died as you did in Valhalla, a hero, which is why you ascended, and you told Brunnhilde you were going to fight in Ragnarok so you could see him. He smiled warmly, hugging you close, “And you’re home in my arms- where you belong.” You smiled, cuddling up to him, the two of you basking in the happy glow.

-Hermes- He couldn’t help but immediately gawk, flinching back as he saw you there, looking as beautiful as the day he lost you. Hermes wasn’t one of the original fighters planned to fight, so when Zeus told him he was fighting next, there wasn’t much he could do. However, seeing you there, realized that he had been set up, looking up at Zeus who was with Brunnhilde, just for a moment for the reunion, the two of them smiling down at him as Hermes turned back to you. His breathing was harsher, more excited as your weapons fell and the two of you ran to each other as the crowds went wild. Many knew of your sacrifice so long ago, choosing to die to save a child, as many, humans and gods both, mourned your death, but no one more than your lover, Hermes, who locked himself away for years, refusing to interact with anyone, mourning your death. He only came out after having the realization that you would have kicked his ass for moping for so long. As Hermes hugged you close, feeling like it was really you, he sagged against you, “It’s you- it’s really you!” you smiled, cupping his cheeks as the tears welled in his eyes, easily falling and you pulled him down, kissing him softly, “I’m home Hermes!” he grinned, hugging you again before sweeping you into his arms princess style, flirting with you that he was going to make up for lost time and drown you in kisses. Between his kisses, Hermes learned that you had been reincarnated as a human warrior and fought for others, which is what brought you to Valhalla, and Brunnhilde and Zeus were both in agreement to surprise Hermes with your return, something he kissed you more for. Hermes was elated to finally have you back where you belonged, in his arms.

[cinnamonbunpuff]

how a song changed my year.

achilles, achilles, achilles come down, won't you get up off, get up off the roof?

it's officially been one year since i first heard this song. it's kinda crazy how much can happen in that time, in reality and in mentality.

i still remember stumbling upon it. i'm sure i've seen it on my recommended in the past but this was the first time i really listened to it. it was late and i was sat on my bed, recovering from a cold. stressed over my barely-started application for some of the UC schools i never saw myself going to. i paused to take a little peruse through youtube, where i saw this performance. based on the song of achilles (a familiar name), and choreographed to achilles come down (an unfamiliar title).

i was drawn immediately in. not just by the smooth flow of the dancers portraying their characters, but by the power of the lyrics and how it affected what i was seeing of achilles, patroclus, and briseis.

and so i decided to look up the actual song and its lyrics, to see what they really were. and they were beautiful.

today of all days, see, how the most dangerous thing is to love,

this song, all seven minutes and two seconds of it, has seen me through so many monumental changes in my life. from growing positively mentally, to graduating high school and starting uni, to familial tensions.

how you will heal and you'll rise above, crowned by an overture bold and beyond,

it's honestly a wonder how i haven't grown bored or tired of it yet. and i think that's because every time i sit and really listen to it, there's always something new i'm discovering or interpreting, whether that be compositionally or lyrically.

to start, it was realising that the only instruments are strings - definitely a cello, and in all most likely a string quartet. as a violinist myself, i love hearing any use of strings in modern songs. having a whole song relying on the softness and dynamics of them though? that's gonna get me every time. how almost the entirety of the song is underlaid with the eighth notes of the cello, and throughout the verses the intermittence of the higher strings.

as i grew familiar with achilles come down, i discovered the power that all the lyrics held. there were a select few that drew my attention, from either how poetic they sounded, to how they seemed to mirror an aspect of my life that i didn't know could be put into words.

loathe the way they light candles in rome, but love the sweet air of the votives,

then there were the sections of spoken french. i thought that the addition of a second language in the song really added to it as a whole, but upon looking up (and attempting to translate what i could), i found that they added another level of melancholy. because what better way is there to make the song more emotional than including snippets of french philosophy about the value of life?

qu'on appelle une raison de vivre, est un même temps une excellent raison de mourir

through this year, i've found myself coming up with scenarios in my head, with this song playing in the background. mostly it's been with characters of my current hyperfixations, but i've found myself in these situations as well. it's definitely a reflection of who i see myself to be, but i hope it's also an envisioning to who i hope to be.

thank you to achilles come down for finding its way into my life. thank you for the past year, and i hope the next is just as exciting.

throw yourself into the unknown, with a pace and fury defiant

[final-bae-stination]

Let Me Help You (Kevin Fischer) (FD3)

Prompt: Wendy having to help Kevin undress after an injury.

Scenario: After Kevin gets hurt, Wendy has to help Kevin in and out of clothes, and it's kinda funny, kinda cute.

Author's Note: In case anyone's confused, let me clear something up: In every fic/one shot/whatever, pretty much only a select few live: Wendy; Kevin; Ian; Julie; and maybe Erin, so keep that in mind!!

Third Person POV

It was a close call. Too close. Kevin remembered waking up every day back then, terrified. Was that hammer gonna go through his skull? Was the car gonna run him over, flatten his head? Or would he choke on a spoon? A Cheerio? But now, it was over. It was all over.

They'd lost people, yeah. Ashley, Ashlyn, Frankie, Lewis, Julie's Asian friend Perry...but somehow, they'd survived it: Erin, Ian, Wendy, Julie, and Kevin. And now, he'd broken his left leg in a fucking car accident. A normal one, but still pretty scary. And Wendy...was gonna have to help, he realized. "Um...hey, Wen," Kevin said slowly. Wendy peeked her head in the room. Her and Kevin were trying to date, seeing how it went, and they'd gotten a small apartment outside McKinley, two blocks down from Ian and Erin's place, with Julie somehow right in the middle, a floor down from Kevin and Wendy with Amber, her other friend. "Yeah?" Wendy asked. Her hair was longer, more reddish in the summer. Kevin huffed, "I...need help with something." She smirked. "I...kinda figured."

She tugged his shirt off, then carefully took his shoes off. "Wait, wait, not--no, leave." He said before she could touch his pants. She raised an eyebrow. "You sure?" She asked. "Am I sure that I don't want you to take my fuckin' pants off? Yes. Very much so." She snorted. "You're such a boy." She shut the door, and Kevin rolled his eyes. He quickly but carefully took his pants off, and then paused. "Uh." He frowned. How...was he going to get his sweats over his bulky cast? "I can help, you know," Wendy called through the door, as if sensing his struggle. "Kevin, you act like we're not dating or something." "It's weird, Wendy, no." "It is not! Just let me help you. I won't look." A pause. "Fine."

Wendy came in, keeping her word and her eyes above his stomach. "Okay, here." She kneeled, slipping the legs of his sweats over his cast, and then he jerked them up. "Thanks," He said, without looking at her. She kissed his forehead. "Course, Kev."

Time Skip: 3 days later

"So..." Erin drawls. Her, Ian, Wendy, and Kevin were at a small cafe. "Heard Wendy had to help remove your pants." Ian and Kevin immediately choked on their drinks, and Wendy went bright red. "Erin!" "What?! It was a fact!" Erin snapped.

"Wait..." Wendy smirked. "Don't you help Ian---" "Wendy!"

[thewholedamnboulangerie]

reverse uno? :D

hiiiiiiiii!! :D

SO. Reverse Uno is, i think, the very first KinnPorsche fic I started writing (okay nope I just checked, it was the second - til the daylight comes has it beaten by 2 whole weeks lol) - it was a vague idea that started kicking around in my head almost immediately after the show ended, and involved Tankhun finding out about The KimChay Of It All™, deciding to matchmake them back together, and Chay immediately realising what he's doing and just going "...okay well. reverse uno. i see the way you and Arm look at each other and I'm gonna matchmake you right back 😌"

BUT ALAS I got distracted by MANY other shiny ideas, and this one fell by the wayside and has not been picked up in a VERY long time. Given how long the outline for this was (there were a LOT of shenanigans, including Tay being inducted as Chay's partner in crime) and the lack of inspiration I've had for it for the past [checks notes] year, it will probably never be finished, but I still really really like the opening! so I've put it under the cut:

Throughout the three glorious decades thus far that Khun Tankhun Theerapanyakul had deigned to grace the earth with his presence, there had certainly never been a shortage of epithets employed to describe him. Once upon a time, he was loudly proclaimed to be ‘heir���; in recent years, the ever-present whispers of gossip preferred to deem him ‘lunatic’; always, for as long as he can remember, above all else, he had been ‘brother’.

Of course, none of those titles were ones that he’d had the chance to choose himself.

He’d have chosen the last one, if the choice had been his. The other two? Or practically any of the other descriptors that the constant swirl of staff and guards and hard-eyed business associates through the mansion’s doors might have thought to affix to him? Not so much.

Perhaps, he mused, it was time to select one on his own terms.

---

“Oracle?”

“Oracle,” Tankhun confirmed, with a vigorous nod of his head. “The Oracle of Bangkok, Khun Tankhun Theerapanyakul. Or - the Oracle of Thailand? Maybe I should broaden my horizons a bit more.” He paused for a moment, frowning. “Arm! Do you think my horizons are sufficiently broad?”

Arm raised an eyebrow. “I think your horizons can safely be described as the route between this mansion and Hum Bar, Khun Nu. If you wish to broaden them, I’d appreciate if you could give me a few days’ notice to work out an updated security protocol.”

Tankhun huffed out an affronted sigh. “Metaphorical horizons, Arm! In my newly-discovered capacity as a sacred vessel for esoteric knowledge and prophecy!”

“Oh!” All eyes turned to Pol. “Is that what oracle means?”

Arm hid a smile in the cuff of his sleeve. “And what wisdom would you care to enlighten us with, Khun Oracle of Bangkok or possibly Thailand?”

Tankhun narrowed his eyes, at that - any time he heard anything remotely similar to that sort of tone directed at himself, it usually had him raising his hackles, was usually too patronising and cloying to merely be considered teasing.

But this was Arm, and there was no malice to be seen in his eyes as he met Tankhun’s from across the room. Just honest playfulness, of the sort that Arm would occasionally indulge in when Tankhun and the closest of his bodyguards were alone together, with only themselves as witnesses.

(Come to think of it, that playfulness had been a fraction less rare since Porsche arrived in their lives. Tankhun made a mental note that it was one more thing he had to thank Porsche for.)

[unforth]

@ltleflrt in reply to your comment, I can only think that the people who say "this would be cool if it were real" are either very young or just extremely isolated/insulated and have never had the kinds of experiences that sound totally batshit impossible except that like. They literally happened to me.

When I was in grad school, I hit it off with a woman, like, we really got along and were well on our way to being besties within a few weeks of knowing each other. The first time I was over at her house, it came up that she went to the same undergrad as my brother, and I mentioned that he ran the radio station there. She gave me this look, went to a pile of papers on her table, flipped through it and produced a photograph of her standing with my brother. She and her friends had done a radio drama. They'd celebrated at the end by taking a pic with the station manager. This was a normal thing for her to do. Her then going to the same grad school as me was a coincidence, us both being gamers was a coincidence, us meeting was a coincidence, and the series of coincidences culminated in me holding this goddamn picture of the woman I'd just met, two strangers, and my brother.

When I was living in NYC, I gave up my seat to a stranger on the bus. She was elderly, and using a walker, and she started to talking to me cause I'd initiated by offering the seat. "Oh, see that building over there? My son used to be a teacher there," she says, using something she can see out the bus window as a conversation starter. "Oh," I reply. "That's where I went to elementary school." Because we're in the neighborhood where I grew up, and yes, I went to school there. "What are the chances...?" we both muse. "Nonexistent," she says. "He only taught for a few years. He's in Florida now. It didn't work out for him." "I mean...we could see...the odds are tremendously low but you never know and wouldn't it be cool...?" And yes this woman's son was my fourth grade teacher. The odds that I'd meet a random person on the bus, then get to talking, then find out that we had a connection, were fucking millions to one, but it actually happened to me.

Whenever I see a really unlikely story on this website, I remember that if I pulled out the most exceptional, weird, out-there stuff that's happened to me, it'd sound absolutely impossible. So, I give people the benefit of the doubt that their hand-selected-from-their-entire-lives anecdote that sounds nigh impossible could actually have happened. Why should I doubt it? If I took either of the above stories out of context the "oh I'm so clever I know this must be fake and made up for (why?????)" crowd would jump on it as Not Real! Made up! But I have no reason to make up a story like that. I get zero benefit. Tumblr clout isn't a real thing, and if it were I sure as fuck don't have it. I think I've had five posts break 1k notes in my entire decade on this website.

I'd rather just believe people. It's so much easier. If they are lying, that's on them.

So when I get a "this must be internet fake" reply on something much LESS outlandish than the above - people doubting that my mother...is a real person? who likes fan things? who might talk about sex??? - I'm really just completely baffled.

Like look, my mom will turn 79 later this year. She was 6 when Isaac Asimov (who my grandfather knew, by the way, speaking of outlandish unlikely scenarios) finished writing the Foundation series. She was 10 when the Lord of the Rings came out. She went to Cornell when she was 16 and tells me stories about the young dude nerds who loved LotR so much that they carried their copies around campus. Those guys would be 80 now. They were geeks before many of the people on this website's parents were born. Mom had just turned 22 when Star Trek: The Original Series started airing. She was hooked immediately and watched the whole series, and the movies, and took me to Star Trek 4 as my first movie theater experience (I was almost 4), and watched ToS in syndication, and loved sci-fi and Murder She Wrote. When I asked her, "do you ship Spirk?" she looked at me like I'd grown a second head, cause she had no idea what I meant, but when I asked her, "do you think that Spock and Kirk were a couple?" she also looked at me like I'd grown a second head, because fucking duh.

It's not a myth that fandom existed before us, before the internet, before our parents, our grandparents, our great-grandparents were born. Some ancestor of mine squeed over the newest Jane Austen chapter (change locality based on origin, but the idea stands). Their ancestor got weak in the knees over Tom Jones. Go back enough generations and someone was fanboying over Euripides (that's a lie, I'm not Greek). But the point stands.

Fandom isn't new.

And don't even get me started on sex. I shouldn't have to explain to literally anyone ever born that sex isn't new. Where the fuck they think babies come from?

I just. This idea that anyone comes onto Tumblr.com to lie about their real lives is fucking bizarre. Just relax and believe people. What's the damn harm???

[invinciblerodent]

In order to kind of dodge the agony of actually typing up 10-20+ pages of shit for each of these shorts, and exposing my innards (and kinks) for all to read as they wish, please let me placate the attention-hungry beast in my chest

below are a couple little tiny teaser-snippets I like, from the little fics I've written into my notebook over the past few months (excuse the dialogue not being broken up, there ARE paragraph breaks in there i swear)

Gale/Arvid body worship fic ((broken up over several paragraphs) "I love your body not for the way it looks, but because it's yours- I love your lips because they speak your beautiful mind, I love your chest because your heart beats within, I love your arms for the warmth with which they hold me, and your hands for their grace and the way my heart skips a beat as they tangle with mine...")

Astarion/Iona (Astariona! :D) fun little dryhumping fic (The best -and at the same time the worst- thing about Naaber is that he doesn't require much in the way of input to generate the passing semblance of an in-depth conversation- and at the same time, he has seldom been known to drop more than the tiniest morsel of wisdom worth hearing, so while Iona keeps making her polite noises of feigned attention, Astarion zones out almost immediately, and busies himself with surveying the crowd. Until he feels... a shift. And it is a barely perceptible, but a pointed one, that presses the plush of her ass against his pubic bone through their soft, casual clothes.")

Petyr/Shadowheart first -and theoretical second- romance scene rewrite (He pulls away after a few seconds, and the kiss ends as abruptly as it started. Shadowheart's eyes remain closed for a moment as the cool air still tickles her lips with the scent of wine and herbs. "Why did you do that?" she asks with shared breath, her voice small and tender as she slowly opens her eyes, and when he speaks, his tone matches hers. "You looked like you wanted to be kissed.")

Astarion/Iona first mindmeld, the morning after the graveyard scene (And in that moment, all falls away. The cold stone beneath and the sun above, the scent of damp earth and the sound of a city slowly awakening: none remains in his mind, but the being, and the feel of her. Not in body, but as a presence, a warm wave that seems to envelop and caress his thoughts, as they welcome hers, like old friends falling into an embrace.)

A literal pegging fic ffs ("The gentleman may of course select the implement itself!" And before anything could be said, the proprietress spread a big, leather roll out across the counter- that's just full of dicks. Gods, there are so many. Iona traces a finger over a fairly slim, glass piece, and there's laughter in her voice, and a pretty flush tinting the tips of her ears. "Well, I know I'd definitely have a beautiful cock, wouldn't you agree, my dear?")

Snips of a very unfinished post-game durgetash ("I searched far and wide for you, looked everywhere... and you're not even in there anymore." He jabbed a finger towards her head. "You went back on all we had planned, failed me... and then you killed me." "You seem very hung up on that, for someone who is currently not a corpse." A small, wry smile ghosted her lips, and her voice was calm, placating- but her eyes, they were a pair of burning coals in her dusky face. "I was always going to kill you, Enver. But things have changed. And now, I want you to have the same chance I did.")

Astarion/Iona scent kink stuff (this one is a weird one) (He can't remember the last time he's jerked off. Most of the time, he's been trying to get away from excess stimulation, tried to avoid touch, and pain, and hands on his flesh, but even on the rare occasions he would have liked to indulge in a bit of self-pleasure, he'd never had the privacy for it. But he has privacy now. He has a tent, and hours of empty downtime each night, to do whatever he may, without prying eyes, or 'siblings' in uneasy repose in the bunks around his. He could, if he pleased, sit here, and bring himself to orgasm as many times as his body may want it, and nobody would be able to say a godsdamned thing about it.)

Astarion/Iona tiefling party rewrite (He ought to have seduced another, or even just played at it, to teach her a lesson about this... this self-importance, of hers. To show her that she, she is not the one graciously bestowing her presence upon him- no-no-no, it is he whose attention is the hot commodity, seldom awarded. ...Of course, that would have also ruined the plan faster than he could say 'please, it meant nothing', he mused- she didn't strike him as the jealous type, but knowing her -and he fancied himself as someone who did, strangely- she also didn't seem like one to be entertained, or spurned on by an adversary. A pity.)

Petyr/Shadowheart whumpy hurt/comfort short In Which He Is Capable (Shadowheart would like to grit out a biting retort, but it takes all she has not to pass out from the pain throbbing everywhere now: her skull, behind her eyes, the splitting, full-body agony that radiates from an epicenter that feels red-hot, its tendrils like thick ropes forcing their way through the fine threads of her nerves, up her spine...)

Astarion/Iona first proposition rewrite (Of course he laid his cards out in this amateurish, crude way. Of course, what else had she even been expecting? Certainly nothing different. Sure, they had had a few nice conversations under the dark cover of a cloud-heavy night sky, and she had allowed herself to grow something of a soft spot for the act he had put on then- that's on her. Allowing herself to entertain the fantasy of a girlish crush on not the handsome, debonair vampire, but the man who had played at friendship with her, had been a mistake- and one she intended not to repeat.)

Petyr/Shadowheart post-game short (He perks up as she emerges wearing one of his old shirts and soft cotton trousers that hang loose from her hips. Her face is washed clean, her hair adornments removed, and with her soft white locks licking around her exposed arms, she is radiant. The moonlight lives native on her silvery hair, and while the pallor of her face is exaggerated in the greyscale of the night, her eyes gleam with the green of the grove, and the pretty smile that splits her face drags his lips into a matching grin.)

Some very casual vamp-blowing ("Well, you know you're always so good to me, my love." She nonchalantly pushed the fabric off her shoulders and arms, leaving herself bare save for the chains striping her chest, and the iridescent fabric pooling around her waist. "I was wondering if you'd let me be good to you, too.")

BG3 AU Ray/Wyll first time ("Darling, you've already got me willing and just about naked- you don't have to flatter me further," Ray joked then, and let his caressing hand slip up along the younger man's arching spine, ghosting over each vertebrae on its way, "but I won't be one to reject a compliment.")

Post-game Astarion/Iona, flavored with misunderstanding (Of course, it wasn't as if he expected her to spend each of their available moments together. He wouldn't have said no if that was what she wanted, of course, but she was nevertheless perfectly free to roam day and night alike. He wasn't one of those obsessive kinds of monsters who make their lovers little better than prey. No, he was a civilized monster, thank you very much, and he wasn't even slightly jealous, or the least bit bitter that she seemed to favor the company of an old, mildewy-smelling book tonight over that of her lover. Over him.)

Aaaaand an Alistair/Arie (Ariestair?) short about his audition for the title of Munch King ("Oh, well, excuse me for wanting the... the things, that we do, with each other, to feel nice to you too." His voice was now and interesting mid-point between a grumble and a mumble, and Alistair gathered her smaller hands between his large -very human, somewhat sweaty- palms. "I was just wondering if I could.... return, the favor. Do the same. For you.")

[robo-drake09]

Sandy Lore and HCs!

Ft. a bit of Leondy at the end 💚💜

In honour of Sandy's birthday (Sept. 18) which I had missed 😭😭. Had to cook these HCs up properly to give them all the justice he deserves 🌠

Summary: a headcanon of mine regarding Sandy's potential and possible backstory. Has mentions of the Mystic trio's connection to the stars, their beliefs, and, at the end, some thoughts on the Shaman trio's beliefs in parallel to them.

☆

To start us off: I was inspired by Halley’s Comet for these headcanons.

Halley’s Comet is an astronomical event that follows the cycle of the comet that passes by earth every 75-79 years. I may interchange with Halley’s Comet or just a general comet that is the center of this hc.

Sandy, in my eyes, is the current chosen child of the stars. Holding a unique connection to the cosmos above. His, along with the rest of the Mystic Trio’s culture and beliefs, revolve around the endless space and the stars above. The Mystic Trio’s power is related directly to these, Sandy especially. As mentioned at the start, he is the current chosen child of the stars. The starchild. That's what they usually call the chosen ones. There is no pattern, bloodline, or any exact way to determine which person is the starchild at first, but there is somewhat of a way to sense it. They are one with the stars, and therefore, their fate lies with them. These select few are those blessed with special abilities, be that visions of the future, knowledge, immense power. It changes depending on the starchild or how they utilize their abilities. These powers may manifest at ages as young as 7 or even up to their teen years.

Tara found him on her travels, and almost immediately, she could tell he was different. There is no pattern, bloodline, or any way to determine which person is the starchild, but there is somewhat of a way to sense it. While Tara is able to tell a person’s future and possible paths, this successfully being the Park’s mysterious fortune teller, she had trouble with this boy. She couldn’t see anything in his future. Almost as if it was not her place to see, shrouded in a veil of sand. From here, she made it her mission to protect this child and try to figure out what he’s capable of. If he truly was the starchild, she would discover that through training and practice. It would be considered an honour to her in that way.

So, coming back to Halley’s comet. Let’s say this concept is the idea of what happens to the starchildren, as well as any of the people aligned with their culture. Those that follow these concepts believe that in every person, there are remnants of stardust from the very creation of the world. When they pass away, they rejoin the stars, the stardust rejoining it and adding to the endless cosmos that hold the essence of life, adding their own soul to that blanket of stars.

The starchild also follows the same fate. Howeber, they're able to become a beacon of sorts for the people still here on Earth. Starchildren become shooting stars, flying off in space, unbound by earth vessels anymore. Halley’s Comet (perhaps going by a different name once I fully flesh out a story) was the first starchild, now a beautiful star in the sky that comes by every 75~ years. It serves as a symbol of pride, a sign to say, “I'm still here after all these years. You'll make it through these times and one day join up here.” Then she’ll continue adventuring.

Gene has actually seen this comet many times throughout his lifetime. He’s been able to watch it with past starchildren, teachers, and every time he’s always so excited for that time period to see it too. Especially now as his brain has been stuck in the lamp, it’s possible he remembers the comet, yet doesn’t remember it exactly cause his memories are fuzzy. He can sort of experience that first beautiful sighting again.

While on the topic, the brightest stars in the sky are usually considered the founders of the powers originating in the stars. The North star, Polaris, is a symbol of hope. Then we have the brightest star in the sky (as of now I don’t have an exact example, but it seems like Sirius is a potential one?), seen as the Mother Star for all who are a part of this culture as the Mystic trio are.

Now, for a small addition with Leon and Sandy! Plus, some thought into the Shaman trio’s view on life as well.

Side note, I headcanon Leon as 13 and Sandy as 14. I know there's much conflict regarding these ages, but I have my evidence as well if anyone has issues. 🙏 I’ve HCed them this way for years. If you’re not a fan of the ship, just don’t go past the section below. Thanks!

☆

Still here to read? Aight, LET’S GO!!!

For some context, these two haven’t quite revealed their feelings about each other just yet. They’re just slightly pining, or just good friends at this point. Silly crushes yk?

One evening, Sandy invites Leon to the palace (current home of the Mystic Trio) to watch the comet, as it’s a very special event that only happens once every 70~ years! Leon’s excited, following Sandy all the way up to the top where they sit with some blankets and snacks.

Sandy of the two is the quieter one, that’s no surprise. What is a surprise however, is when Sandy is the more talkative one this evening. He starts telling Leon about the importance of this comet, and how he’s grateful that he agreed to watch it with him. He starts talking about how significant it is to their beliefs, as well as its importance to his own power according to Tara. The light of the comet would help him really feel that connection to the cosmos, and thus help him discover his abilities lying dormant.

The talk about how they believe the comet is such an important figure, an inspiration. As well as their beliefs about how one day they'll return to the skies as well… it really resonated with Leon. It's the first he's heard of this, actually. It's almost like an honour to be able to hear this sort of stuff. It's the one of the few times, perhaps maybe the first, that Sandy actually explained these concepts to him. To be so vulnerable for a moment to explain how he views life…truly, it's an honour.

It gives a sense of relatability with Leon, as the Shaman trio have a similar, yet different take. For the Shaman Trio (perhaps their tribe? Collection of tribes?), it is believed people are born from ancient, archaic souls of nature itself. Something that has been around since the start and will continue to live on long after they're gone. Their souls are born into vessels, living life and experiencing it all for the first time, before returning home to nature and the cycle to repeat again when it's ready. While the concepts are so different (returning to the stars vs. returning to the earth), there's this cycle that occurs with life and death.

Perhaps Leon sees a side of Sandy he hasn't before. A new sense of respect for the little dude.

There's a tiny scene I'd like to add as well. Allow me a moment to write it out:

☆

Sandy stares up at the stars, the light of the comet shining upon them as it goes shooting by. The glowing tail streaks across the sky, flickering with life and colour. He feels himself smiling, leaning his head on Leon's shoulder to rest.

"You know, when I rejoin the stars…I hope I can become a shooting star too." His voice is soft, yet subtly confident with its hopes.

Leon looked down at him, blinking. He let his hood down, running a hand through his brown curls as his heterochromatic eyes gazed upon the shooting star above.

"…yeah. I'm sure you will, one day."

Sandy hums in response, feeling the subtle confidence Leon had in his voice. It felt nice to hear someone affirm it for him.

They stay in silence as they watch the night sky. At some point, Leon wrapped an arm around Sandy… just because it was a bit chilly, of course. He chose to focus on the sights above them as Sandy relaxed against his shoulder.

☆

By the end of the night, Leon comes out of it with a bit more wisdom. Not only with the new knowledge of what Sandy has shared, but a bit more understanding towards his own beliefs. Again, it's one of the first times he's heard something so different, yet the same at the heart of it. It's nice.

Also, EXTRA extra stuff but feel free to imagine any ship you love watching the comet all at the same time ♡ imagine all the brawlers in their respective areas, all united under this one astronomical event. A once in a lifetime experience for sure.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading! I made a good chunk of these headcanons with a friend, and I thought a few days after Sandy's birthday would be the perfect time to share it.

[4nt1chri5t]

Whispers of Betrayal - fem!readerxDracoFF

Originally published on Wattpad - Whispers of Betrayal by Alaskas_ice (me)

8 - 'The Essence of a Dress'

It was lunchtime in the Great Hall and the students filled the long tables, engrossed in conversation and laughter. (Y/L/N) sat with her friends, engaging in light-hearted banter and enjoying the company. The aroma of delicious food wafted through the air as she eagerly dug into her soup, hoping to satisfy her growling stomach.

Just as she was about to take another spoonful, her owl swooped down from above and landed gracefully on the table. Startled, she looked up to meet the piercing gaze of her feathered companion, its eyes gleaming with intelligence. Her owl held a letter in its beak, seemingly unfazed by the commotion it had caused.

The students around them paused their conversations, their attention now focused on the unexpected visitor. (Y/L/N) couldn't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment as she gently took the letter from the owl's beak, thanking it quietly. Unfolding the parchment, she began to read the elegant handwriting that adorned the page.

Dear (Y/N),

We hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. Your father and I have been longing to hear from you and find out how you are getting on at Hogwarts this year. Time seems to have slipped away from us, and we apologise for the delay in writing. But rest assured, our thoughts have been with you every step of the way.

As the Yule Ball approaches, we cannot help but think of you attending such a grand event. It has come to our attention that you will need a gown for the occasion. Please let us know your preferences, your preferred style and any special details you would like to see in a dress. We want to make sure you feel like the belle of the ball, dear (Y/N).

Enclosed with this letter is a catalogue from a prestigious wizarding boutique specialising in exquisite formal wear. We trust you will find inspiration within its pages. Once you have made your selection, simply owl us the details and we will make the necessary arrangements to procure the dress for you.

Remember, (Y/N), we are always here for you, no matter the distance. We eagerly await your response and hope to bring a smile to your face with our gift.

With all our love,

Your adoring parents

As she closed the letter, (Y/L/N) felt all warm inside. Although she had lost her memory of the last few years, she had not lost the memory of her loving parents. She immediately asked herself what dress she wanted to wear - somehow she had completely forgotten about that part until now. She took out the catalogue from the boutique and looked through it. There were shimmering and expensive looking dresses on the front page.

(Y/L/N) snapped out of her thoughts as Malfoy sat down next to her, a little later than everyone else as usual. He always ate rather quickly in the Great Hall, (Y/L/N) noticed, but he was always seen eating all over the school. Where did he hide all that food?

"Oh, looking for a ball gown, are you?" Malfoy asked with a smile as he saw her looking through the catalogue of a boutique he knew well. He said the next sentence rather loudly so that his group of friends would surely hear him. "My mother has already sent me my attire. I am sure we will look great together".

Attention now shifted to Malfoy. His friends looked at him incredulously. Nott in particular looked rather annoyed. Malfoy's proud expression changed to one of annoyance as he looked at his friends, who were still confused. "What are you idiots staring at?"

(Y/L/N)'s attention was still on the catalogue. She flipped through the pages, getting all the impressions of the beautiful dresses, already thinking about what she'd like to wear. She already had a rough idea of what she wanted, but she wanted to think it over for the day and send an owl later in the evening when she knew exactly what she wanted.

Nott still looked at Malfoy and (Y/L/N) in disbelief, he was sure that Malfoy wouldn't even ask her since he always thought that he was all talk and no action. Teasing was the way to go now, he thought.

"So tell me, (Y/N). What did Malfoy promise you in return for actually spending time with him at the Yule Ball?" Nott said in a playful tone, occasionally glancing at Malfoy.

(Y/L/N) continued to flip through the pages of the catalogue, her focus on the stunning gowns displayed within the glossy prints. She listened absently to Nott's playful teasing, her attention divided between the conversation and the enchanting gowns before her.

A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she finally responded to Nott's remark. "Oh, Theo, you know Draco," she said, her voice filled with amusement. "He has promised to grace me with his undeniable presence and unmatched charm. Quite a generous offer, don't you think?"

Nott chuckled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ah, yes, the privilege of being in the company of Draco Malfoy. I'm sure it's the opportunity of a lifetime," he replied sarcastically, his tone laced with humour.

Malfoy, who had been shooting annoyed glances at Nott, couldn't resist joining in the banter. He leaned back in his chair, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Well, Nott, some of us understand the value of being in the presence of greatness. It's not something everyone gets to enjoy," he quipped, his arrogance shining through.

(Y/L/N) looked up from the catalogue, her eyes meeting Malfoy's as she arched an eyebrow playfully. "Is that so, Draco? Are you suggesting that spending time with you is a privilege?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Malfoy's smug expression faltered for a moment, caught off guard by her response. He quickly regained his composure, a confident grin returning to his face. "Of course, (Y/N)," he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. "Being in my company is an experience unlike any other. You should consider yourself lucky."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/L/N) later decided to find a quiet place in the courtyard to think about the dress she wanted. She'd already brought parchment and a quill to write the letter to her parents, telling them how she was feeling and how she imagined her dress would look. There were still a few students in the courtyard. If there hadn't been anyone else, she wouldn't have been here since the incident.

She started writing the letter, greeting her parents and thanking her mother for buying her the perfect dress for the occasion. Her parents had always been quite distant when it came to letters and words, which often made other people think that they were not a real family. But they all loved each other and knew it.

The catalogue lay open on the cold stone (Y/L/N) was sitting on. She put the parchment aside and put the catalogue on her lap, opening it where she had left it. This time she turned the pages more carefully, so that she could see all the dresses the boutique had to offer. She knew that her mother wanted her to have a unique and bespoke dress, but it would come in handy to get some inspiration.

As (Y/L/N) immersed herself in the catalogue, Luna happened to stroll across the courtyard, her typical dreamy expression on her face. She spotted her friend sitting alone, engrossed in the pages before her, and couldn't resist the curiosity that sparked within her.

Luna approached (Y/L/N) with a soft smile, her silver blonde hair flowing behind her. "Hello, (Y/N). What fascinating things have you discovered today?" she asked in her whimsical tone, her eyes gleaming with interest.

Startled by Luna's presence, (Y/L/N) looked up and greeted her with a warm smile. "Oh, Luna! I didn't expect to find you here. I'm just looking through this catalogue my parents sent over. They want to get me a dress for the Yule Ball," she explained, gesturing to the pages spread out on her lap.

Luna's eyes widened with delight as she sat down next to (Y/L/N), her own fashion sense often tending towards the eclectic and unconventional. "How lovely! I'm sure you'll look absolutely adorable," Luna exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

(Y/L/N) chuckled softly, appreciating Luna's quirky perspective. "Thank you, Luna. I hope to find a dress that truly reflects who I am," she replied, leafing through the catalogue again. "I have a few ideas, but I'd love to hear your thoughts. You always have such a unique way of looking at things and I just have to keep repeating that".

Luna leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Of course, (Y/N). Fashion is an expression of our inner selves, and the Yule Ball is the perfect opportunity to showcase that. Let's explore together and see if any of these dresses resonate with you," she suggested, pointing to a page filled with flowing, ethereal gowns.

As they delved into the catalogue, Luna offered her insights into each dress, pointing out intricate details, colour combinations and unconventional designs. They laughed and exchanged ideas, each page revealing a new possibility.

In the middle of their conversation, (Y/L/N) hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether or not to share her decision to attend the ball with Malfoy. After a brief pause, she decided to confide in Luna, knowing that her friend would listen and perhaps offer some guidance.

"Luna, I have something to tell you," (Y/L/N) began, her voice filled with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. "Draco asked me to the Yule Ball, and... I said yes."

Luna's eyes widened and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Oh, how fascinating! The two of you will make a striking pair," she said, her voice filled with curiosity. "If you like - tell me, how do you feel about going to the ball with him?"

(Y/L/N) pondered Luna's question for a moment, her eyes drifting to the catalogue as she searched for the words to express her feelings. "It's... complicated, Luna," she replied, her voice soft. "There's a part of me that's fascinated by him, drawn to his confidence and charisma. But there's also a part of me that wonders if there's more to him than meets the eye."

Luna nodded, her calm demeanour comforting. "People are like puzzles, (Y/N). Sometimes it takes time and patience to unravel the various pieces. Perhaps the Yule Ball will be an opportunity for both of you to discover new facets of each other," she suggested, her eyes filled with gentle understanding.

(Y/L/N) sighed softly, appreciating Luna's perspective. "You're right, Luna. The Yule Ball could be a chance for us to see beyond the surface. And who knows, maybe it'll lead to unexpected connections," she mused, her gaze returning to the catalogue, searching for a dress that would capture her essence.

As Luna left, (Y/L/N) finished writing her letter with a precise idea of a dress in her head. Although Luna's tips hadn't helped her find the right dress in the catalogue, they had helped her find her own vision of a dress, a bespoke one, just like her mother wanted her to have. She wrote down every detail of how she wanted the dress to look, smiling as she did so.

[howdoyousleep3]

I’m trying to get better at dealing with critiques and such on my writing. (I will admit, I’m a sensitive person and it can be difficult for me, so I try not to take it personally 😅). Anyways, I was wondering how you (or if you) gradually accepted criticism on your writing? Lol, I really hope it’s not just me who has trouble with that. And with that, how do you deal with people who genuinely don’t like your writing? Is there a process you go through to calm yourself down or do you just easily accept it and move on? You’re one of my favorite writers, so I just wanted to ask you this and see how you deal with it. Much love 💞

Hiiiiiiii, such a good question! Thank you for coming to me for advice and for your sweet sweet compliments. 🥺💖

The first thing I'll ask you is if you welcomed these criticisms or critiques. I only ask a select trusted few what they think about my work. I have a small group I let into my docs to help me edit and who I trust to read my unedited work. It's scary to be that vulnerable! If you didn't ask for open critiques or criticisms, then fuck them.

You are doing this for free, you are doing this because you want to. You aren't doing this for anyone else. Yes, it's lovely to have people involved in your work, giving you love and attention, but no one should willingly and openly give you critiques without your express permission.

Fuck anything that you didn't give permission to.

It's taken me literal years to build up my own self-confidence enough to completely disassociate with any hate I get. If they don't like my writing or me, they can block me (I am hella pro-block button lol) or just choose not to read. I'm not here to impress people; I'm here because I love writing and I want to get better at writing, always.

Because it's taken me years to get used to hate, I'm at the point where I roll my eyes and delete block delete delete block. I don't have time for it. Protect your peace at all costs. You have no one to impress, no one to think of, but yourself. You are Number One, baby.

Of course it used to bother me, hell yeah. How can it not? Remembering the things I mentioned above and learning that I don't have anything to prove to anyone, (deleting asks I get that are hateful or criticize my writing when I haven't asked for it), has helped me immensely.

It helps that I have those few I trust and respect to criticize my work. I tend to not feel upset when they do because of that. If I feel myself getting upset, I quickly tell them I'm not feeling it or that my mood has shifted and that, while they are free to edit and comment, I need to wait to talk about it. And usually I just need time. Time always helps me calm down. Nothing is of an immediate concern usually, so I just step away and come back.

These people are coming from a place of love and respect and I know that and that helps.

I hope this has helped! It's a process, dealing with critiques. But I encourage you to protect your peace and put yourself first. Fuck anyone who hates on you and your writing. ❤️

[xknivesandpensx]

Like Pieces of a Puzzle

Chapter 10

Summary: What if Harry wasn't the only extra student called upon to participate in the Triwizard Tournament? Far from the most popular candidate, Draco not only has to take on the trials but also deal with his unexpected feelings for Hermione. Will he be able to face the challenges as well as follow his heart? Chapter length will vary. I'll be referencing both the books and movie versions. Some things from what I've previously written will be mentioned, all of which you can find here.  And for those who asked to be tagged: @dayane245love

Hermione’s eyes left Harry and flew towards Draco. Confusion washed over the faces of most professors while students held a mix of emotions. Many complained, others whispered about how the two managed to get selected.

She sat frozen in place, watching them disappear from view, heart hammering rapidly against her chest. The gravity of the situation rendered her silent amongst the protests ringing in her ears. Surely, the Ministry would do something.

Dumbledore, after having a few hushed words between McGonagall and Snape, turned to face the room. “It seems,” he began, voice raised high enough to bring all bouts of discussion to a close. “The Goblet has chosen two more students than anticipated. An interesting turnout no less. I’d like you all to head back to your common rooms, prefects if you will escort them. We will get things sorted immediately. Until then, might I suggest enjoying the rest of your evening.”

Despite her worries, Hermione grabbed hold of her book and kept her head down. Her thoughts began racing, trying to form a scenario of which she just witnessed. Nothing she read about the past tournaments ever faced such a strange phenomenon.

A bad feeling continued to climb up her spine. Harry and Draco. Why them? Obviously, the possibility of someone being out to get Harry existed. Every year danger attached itself to him. Yet who’d here plan for him to participate?

As for Draco, the mystery puzzled her. Sure, he made a few enemies due to his consistent bullying and presumably those who resented his family were out there, but to hold a level of animosity so high as to put him in a position where he’d probably get hurt or worse?

None of it made any sense.

The memory of talking to Draco after his detention entered her mind. Moody, no matter his evident aversion towards him, he’d doubtfully be responsible. And while Dumbledore trusted him, she felt an insistent tug, urging her to look more closely at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

“So, how do you think he did it?” George asked, breaking her train of thought. “A brilliant defeat. I’m both proud and a bit betrayed. We talked about trying to get in for ages.”

Fred shook his head disapprovingly. “Really leaves a mark. I wished he shared with us. He must have told you, Ron? Care to tell us his secret method?”

“No, not a word. I’m as surprised as you,” he mumbled in return, looking rather disgruntled.

Hermione glanced between the three. “You can’t honestly believe they put their names in. Did you not see their faces? They were caught off guard. Both of them.”

Harry barely got himself to move. And she saw, regardless of the distance, the way Draco’s expression dropped from complaint to disbelief. Besides, she knew neither thought themselves above the stipulations placed. Even Draco wouldn’t go so far for a bit of fun, knowing the results were absolute.

“I agree on one. Malfoy’s all talk. Too cowardly to enter. Maybe Harry through him in for a good laugh,” George stated, shrugging his shoulders. “Anything’s possible.”

“Remember when he came running into our compartment when the Dementors showed up on the train? Scared witless, he was.” Fred added, his steps slowing as they started to slowly file out the doors.

Ron ducked past another Gryffindor, thoughts fixated on his friend. “How else could Harry be chosen? Probably lied about wanting to be a part of it.” Hermione’s reproachful look only got him agitated. “If you’re so smart, why not tell us how it happened then.”

“Well, if you think about it,” she began, attempting a logical explanation. “For the Goblet itself, I’d guess the use of a Confundus Charm. Of course, you’d need to be greatly skilled, otherwise the spell won’t do you any good. Admittedly, neither Draco or Harry should be able to pull it off. Hence my belief of the fault falling on someone else. If done correctly, it acted as though five schools entered the competition. It makes sense to write another down, therefore you’d have to be chosen because you’re the only contestant available.”

It seemed rather apparent. Other reasons persisted, yet none added up quite as nicely. How hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Fred took on a thoughtful air, brushing his chin in a wistful manner. “Looks like you’ve got it all worked out. Maybe we misjudged you, Hermione. With thinking along those lines, he must’ve asked for your help. Clever. Here we wasted hours on an Aging Potion.”

“A shame, really.” George started heading to the left once they entered the corridor. “Come on, Fred, let’s go see what we can get from the kitchens. There’s reason to celebrate. A Gryffindor in the tournament is no small feat.”

They rushed off so quickly Hermione had no time to reproach them. Her gaze fell on Ron. He appeared rather tense and overly bothered. His jealousy regarding Harry stood as no secret. It never needed to be said. Her frustrations over the whole ordeal, however, caused her to disregard them and fall into complaint.

She let out a heavy breath. “The whole thing it completely ridiculous. Harry would never do something so reckless. A lot of people are going to think he entered on his own accord. I mean, anything can happen to them. The challenges are brutal.”

“Don’t tell me you care about what happens to Malfoy?” He furrowed his brows, not waiting for an answer. “And anyway, I’m not stupid. Of course, he entered. Harry can’t help himself.”

Skepticism colored her features. “So, I suppose he snuck off without telling either of us and tossed his name in? That’s complete rubbish and you know it.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?” Ron defensibly asked, coming to a halt in the middle of the staircase. His fingers found the railing after it shifted.

“Why does there need to be any sides?” Hermione hurried after him, stopping a step below. “You really are being stupid if you think, after everything, he’d willingly go out of his way to get attention. He doesn’t want it.” His scar caused too much already.

“It’s either him or me, Hermione.” He narrowed his gaze only to be met by a quiet regard, blind to the conflict she faced in having to choose, despite her firm belief. “Fine, figured as much anyway.”

Hermione lost Ron in the cluster of classmates due to him rushing ahead. When she made it through the portrait, she saw him head up to his room. Hermione thought about going up to the dorm, nevertheless felt too irritated to get into a heated argument and decided to situate herself elsewhere until Harry returned.

Harry would, lacking any thoughts to think otherwise, expect them to believe him. In Ron’s mind, he betrayed their friendship. She imagined their next conversation not going very well. If the strain pulled too hard, she knew he’d push away.

Draco hardly recalled walking past the crowd of whispering students, passing the professors or when he caught up to Harry on route towards the other champions. His movement was almost mechanical, his mind reeling. Both palms felt sweaty, his fingers held a minor shake to them.

He took a calming breath and found his thoughts directed at Harry. He must’ve put their names in so he got the spotlight all the while planning to humiliate him in front of the whole school.

“I don’t know how you pulled it off, Potter, but you’re finished once everyone knows the truth,” Draco seethed, finding a new emotion (albeit a common one) to latch onto.

Harry slowed his pace, confusion taking over as he turned to face the blond. “What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything.” His voice sounded raw, hollow even. His brain practically stopped working, the numbness along his limbs still present.

“Don’t play dumb, though it’s barely a stretch for you, is it? Thought you’d take a go at glory? Fine but why drag me into it?” Draco asked, a typical sneer in place.

“Brilliant plan except I didn’t put my name in, much less yours.” Harry paused in speech while opening the door, uncaring about the audience they gained. “For all I know, you’re trying to pin the blame on me while in reality you’re responsible.”

Cedric and Fleur’s conversation died down, the pair attempting to dispel nervous energy. Viktor shifted from his lax position against the wall, now focused on the newcomers, his question of what happened may as well not been spoken at all.

“Wait until my father hears about this.” Draco looked down at Harry, maintaining an even glower. “Maybe you’ll actually get expelled this time. If we could be so lucky. Only that moronic Weasley and Mudblood friend of yours would miss you. Can’t say the same for anyone else.”

A flare of anger ignited, the sensation hardly faded from the events prior when he threw insults at Molly. Without thinking, Harry thrusted his arms out, pushing Draco against his chest. “I’ve had about enough! I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m tired of you insulting my friends too just to get at me. Ron’s braver than you’ll ever be and Hermione is the smartest person I know. Muggle-born or not –– ”

Draco cut him off, hesitating to ram him back in retaliation, the motion faltering last second. “How dare you touch me. I shouldn’t be surprised, you standing up for them. You’re pathetic, always have been. Your parents must be so proud, mingling with those sort of people. Oh, wait they’re not exactly alive, are they?”

Perhaps Draco should’ve expected a physical blow after his last remark. Pain exploded on the side of his face, sending him back a step. Next thing he knew they were struggling against each other, shoving and throwing punches. It lasted seconds before he felt Viktor’s grip latch onto his arms, forcing a distance between them. He saw Cedric pulling Harry in reverse, who had red dripping from his nose. Draco felt some satisfaction in the sight, hoping it hurt worse than it looked.

Just because he realized his feelings for Hermione didn’t mean, evidently, he was beyond insulting her. His frustration launched him right back into spiteful reproaches, yet they remained ingrained so deeply each jab naturally flew past his lips.

Breathing heavily, Draco shrugged Viktor off as a group of professors and head of schools came in, witnessing no part of the confrontation. Merely Harry pressing the back of his hand under his nose to slow down the bleeding, which continued to trickle down, leaving splotches on his shirt.

Harry ducked from McGonagall’s reproachful observation. She read the hostility between them immediately, the results evident to what transpired.

“What a fine example you two are doing representing our school. Fighting one another, now of all times. Five points from each of you,” Minerva expressed. She shook her head, allowing the headmaster forward.

“I expect there’ll be no more of that.” Dumbledore stated, his strict tone soon falling into a calmer one, quick to get to the point. “I’ll only ask this once. Did either of you put your name in the Goblet of Fire or perhaps ask one of the older students to do it for you?”

“No,” Draco and Harry answered. The other contestants gathered around. Now aware of the situation in full, none of the three appearing too happy about the prospect of additional participants.

“Obviously, Potter is lying,” interrupted Snape, narrowing his gaze at him. “The boy has a flare for the dramatics, always has. And he’s certainly not new to rule breaking, especially ones of such high degree. Be that as it may, you cannot think it wise to send children into the fray.”

Madame Maxime immediately went to Fleur’s side. “Well of course they’re lying. I do not see how it is possible otherwise for them to enter.”

Draco stood there mutely as the discussion continued, side of his face throbbing. Every voice seemed to layer over one another, each attempting to make their point known. For twenty long minutes he and Harry went unnoticed during the duration, until Igor maneuvered his way over.

He roughly placed his hands on Draco’s shoulders, causing his crossed arms to drop. “You cannot expect either to fair well. Lucius would be most displeased to hear news of his son hoodwinked into competing. And if you insist on keeping them, then surely, we deserve the same number of competitors. The whole issue is utterly insulting, Dumbledore. I have half a mind to leave altogether.”

Harry gathered Igor knew the Malfoy’s rather well from the comment alone. It hardly surprised him given who the man was.

“Put a lid on it, Karkaroff,” Moody said, his magic eye rotating between the group, lingering on his father’s face for an extra few seconds. “It matters more on the fact of them having little choice but to follow through. Only an exceptionally powerful conjurer could’ve tricked the Goblet. Something beyond the talents of mere fourth years. Besides, it won’t be selecting any more candidates, so might as well forget that idea.”

“The rules are absolute,” Barty added, taking the pause in speech to interject himself. “The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract the moment a name is selected. I’m afraid both Harry and Draco must play this out until the end.”   

Draco felt his stomach drop as murmurs of agreement, mostly held in reluctance, filled the room. The prospect of facing life-threatening challenges rattled him. “I’m not risking my neck for pocket change. You all said it yourselves, there’s an age limit. It shouldn’t even be up for debate. I won’t be forced into playing stupid games just so all of you can save face. In fact, I’m refusing to participate.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the first comment, not many people considered 1000 Galleons pocket change. A part of him wanted to express the same notion, yet he found it difficult to articulate much of anything. Draco’s complaints reminded him of their detention back in their first year. He must really be scared. This time he didn’t blame him though, Harry was terrified himself.

“I’m afraid there’s no refusing, Mr. Malfoy. You’ve lost any choice in the matter,” Moody stated, hiding his satisfaction of the turnout. While he needed to make sure Harry won, he’d enjoy watching Draco struggle.  

“Settle down,” Dumbledore said, bringing his hand up. “I think, for now, the argument is drawn to an end. Barty and Alastor are correct, it cannot be changed. The rules state as much. Hogwarts will consist of three champions. It may come across as an unfair advantage, of which we can all agree on, however, they’re obligated to preform each task no matter our individual opinions. I will personally seek out who is responsible. In the meantime, it’s getting late and our five contestants need to rest up.”

Igor finally detached himself from Draco, who was rather grateful due to his tightening grasp. “Unfair isn’t quite the word I’d use.” A deep frown formed across his face as he gestured for his student to follow, rambling in hushed complaint.

Madame Maxime declined the invitation to stay for the drink Dumbledore politely offered (hoping to ease tensions), too outraged to consider the proposal. She left, adding no parting words.

Harry got out the door first, surprised Cedric struck a conversation on their way out. He noticed how Fleur came across almost insulted at the idea of competing against two students who were much younger than the rest. And Viktor, he looked rather indifferent, his emotions in check.

Draco trailed behind, unaware he displayed several attributes and opinions many considered either rude or offensive, which showed him in quite a negative light, all things considered.

He didn’t quite understand how one decision went to the next. They all expected him to simply go along because of some contract formed he had nothing to do with? Loathed as he was to admit it, there were no way of escaping the tournament. They’d probably drag him into each trial no matter what, meaning if he didn’t prepare in some way, he’d most certainly fail.

Numerous things pounded against his head, making it difficult to think straight.

His parents probably already agreed to come in response to Igor’s invitation. Now they’d get to watch him from the stands. Unless, maybe his father could get him out of the whole ordeal.

What if Lucius didn’t believe him? Draco easily imagined how livid he’d be. Hopefully, his mother, who’d likely take the truth readily from him, would soothe his temper. And he knew, given the high press nature of the event (if he cared at all for the Daily Prophet at the moment), they’d be at Hogwarts by tomorrow, requesting to speak to Dumbledore.

With all that in mind, he let his feet carry him to the Slytherin common room, ready to bury the fear thrashing against his ribcage and boast about how evidently someone thought him a worthy candidate to submit. At the very least, he’d hold the false confidence for a good duration of the night before the pressure started inwardly crushing him.

[hollowfaith]

⚔️ - to fight against enemies together .

misc action memes |

「✧」 "—the sopranos, of course," Aurelius was saying. "Perhaps next time the opera performs at the Theatre of Calliope, we can—" He stopped.

There was a crowd gathering at the end of the street, decidedly unsavory in nature. If he remembered rightly, this was around the same area he'd visited with Razlo the first time around.

"Aurelius?" Next to him, Legato only voices his name. Judging by the way he'd tensed, he'd noticed their company as well.

The angel hummed and tapped his fingers against his sleeves "I thought they learned their lesson already, but it seems I was mistaken. Though their grudges are misplaced in the first place."

"Some people are better convinced through force," Legato murmured in assent. "Shall I take care of them?"

"Shall we," Aurelius corrected him. "I would be a poor companion to remain idle under the circumstances."

Legato almost started to protest—he was an Angel, a better, there was no reason for him to dirty his hands for something so trivial—

"In any case, we are lacking for entertainment tonight."

"Why not put on an opera of our own?"

Legato arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean to make them sing, of course." Aurelius snapped his fingers. Immediately, multiple small pebbles rose from the ground to float in the air.

"As for the soloist—I will leave the selection up to you. Take care to listen carefully, and choose one with the best voice."

Then the pebbles flew through the air at frightening speeds towards their targets at the end of the alley.

Seconds later, the screaming began.

—

Of course it was a little harder than just that. Aurelius' telekinesis ability was still limited, and the rest of the men weren't content to sit and wait while their peers were pelted with rocks. They charged ahead despite the cries, and an all-out brawl began.

Legato relied on his own skills and experience. He wasn't above scheming if it gave him an edge, even kicking bits of dirt into his opponents' eyes. There were some misgivings when he started, but he soon realized that Aurelius was wonderfully apt at playing along. For example, he particularly enjoyed nailing victims in the face right after Legato blinded them.

It was...strangely harmonious.

In the end, they were down to two candidates for the honor of soloist because everyone else was already unconscious. It was easy enough for Legato to slip threads into their heads and have them take turns singing lines from a famous Spiralan opera for one minute straight.

"The attempt was good, but you see how amateurs still differ from professionals in terms of intonation and sound quality," Aurelius remarked when both were done. "Again, an incentive to go to the theater to see it performed live."

Legato nodded mutely, wondering what the words they'd sang even meant. Subconsciously or not, Aurelius was always showing him new things at every meeting. For example, that one spiral kick... Especially in his long coat. He wondered how it'd look if he tried the same move...

"—but for now, the police station."

"Huh?"

Aurelius stopped walking a few feet away, turning to give him a bemused look. "We went through all that trouble subduing a gang that it's only natural to lock them up now."

Slowly, Legato nodded. "Right..." That was the problem with leaving your victims alive. There was an aftermath to take care of, and constant loose ends to tie up.

"Are you still getting used to it?" The question is tossed out casually, without context or judgment.

Legato felt his shoulders settle in response. "I am. I mean—I will."

"You are," Aurelius said warmly. "So pick a date, and leave the ticket arrangements to me. I do believe we all deserve a treat."

[queenlucythevaliant]

Albino redwoods are the ABSOLUTE COOLEST. My family spent some time in the redwoods the summer after I took AP biology and I spent the whole trip obsessing over them. Here's some of what I remember!

Some redwoods have a combination of albino branches and wild type/chlorophyll producing branches. They're called chimeras and they're GORGEOUS (pics below). These trees express both sets of DNA along clearly delineated areas of the tree. Genetically, it's the same thing that's going on with calico cats

Most albino redwoods only grow to shrub or sapling size, but a few can grow to 30+ ft. Only the full-sized, mature trees produce cones. (Ie most albino redwoods arise due to new mutation and immediate natural selection, not heredity)

The filtration abilities are a direct size effect of the no chloroplasts thing. No chloroplasts -> weak stromata (bc it's basically just matrix) -> inefficient water transport and poor retention -> lots of uptake of environmental toxins, but poor retention. Kind of like flushing toxins out of our bodies! This kind of anatomy is really costly to the individual organism but, as discussed above, highly beneficial to the community. (Also, what even is an individual organism? Jury's still out lol)

There tend to be more viable albino redwoods near industrial/otherwise contaminated areas, as well as during periods of drought. Evolutionarily, this suggests that wild type trees might be behaving altruistically when the environment is stressful, allowing albinos to survive and thrive (the 30-footers). In contrast, during times of low stress, most albinos are ephemeral and die quickly.

Ecologically, this also means that albino redwood success might be a useful marker for localized environmental stress. They're the "white flags of the forest."

Chimera:

Large albino redwood:

More typical albino redwood, like the one I remember seeing:

Trees, like animals, can also experience albinism, though it is extremely rare.

[new-jersey-high]

The Morning After

The next morning, Niff woke up to the smell of... food. It'd been... a while since she'd smelled something - anything, really - that wasn't from the school cafeteria, much less anything that smelled that good. She got out of her bed, and made her way to the kitchen.

"Hey, there, sleepyhead; what'cha want?"

There was Chucho, making breakfast.

"I made my basic grains-" he pointed to frozen box waffles that he'd toasted to a golden brown next to some... long marshmallows. "Proteins-" he pointing to eggs, sausage, ham, and bacon. "And fruits-" he pointed to apple slices, orange slices, sliced bananas, blueberries, and grapes. "-but I can buy something if you're not hungry for any of this."

Niff shook her head. "No, I'll eat anything you've got, Chucho." she grabbed a plate and began stacking up a few waffles, eggs, and orange slices. "So, uh, where are your forks n' stuff?"

"In the first drawer, next to the sink."

She opened the drawer and took out a plastic fork. She placed it on her plate, before setting her plate down. "Got anything to drink?"

"Yep; I got beer, milk soda, coffee, water and juice."

As Niff opened up the fridge to look inside, she could tell Chucho kept everything well-stocked. He had five brands of beer, four brands of soda, three brands of juice, two opened and half-empty gallons of milk, and - on the counter next to the fridge - a pot of hot coffee.

She grabbed a box of orange juice. "Cups?"

"Above the dishwasher."

She opened the cupboard and grabbed a cup that read 'PAPI CHULO'. She poured her fill before she capped it back up and tucked the carton back into the fridge, sitting herself down and beginning to have breakfast - the first real breakfast she'd had for a while. However, as she ate and drank, she kept smelling something that she couldn't pinpoint the smell.

At that point, Niff heard a toilet flush, a sink run for about a minute, and the bathroom door open to show Carlos stepping out.

"G'morning, cuz! So; how'd you guys like the bed?"

"Uh… I kinda… slept on the floor."

"What?!" Chucho set down the pan where he was cooking more eggs. "Dude; that bed was big enough for the two of you!"

"I'm sorry-"

"No-" he sighed. "I'm just… no, don't worry about it. If you wanted another bed, you could've just asked."

"I don't remember you not getting into bed with me," Niff said, "but... I also did pass out almost immediately." She paused. "Why'd you sleep on the floor?"

"... back problems," Carlos said, as he began to plate up and sat down next to Niff. Because of her preparation, Niff was able to dress with pajamas, which - due to her large chest - seemed to create a draped effect with the shirt she chose.

CLANG!

Carlos' sights shot straight up as he saw Chucho's comically large plate of food which he placed down on the table. However, his cousin's smile fell as he saw Niff's sparce selection. "Niff, girl; you didn't want to try out the French toast?" He pulled up what she believed to be marshmallows.

Niff was able to finally pinpoint the smell. However, despite her realization, she didn't let on.

"Nah, not right now; thanks, for making it, though." She continued to eat. "I don't usually eat much, this is pretty much enough."

"Cool, cool." He paused before turning to face his cousin. "Carlos, how 'bout you; French toast?"

"Sure, I'll try some." He grabbed a stick, and a pound of powdered sugar fell off, partly revealing the darker bread underneath. He then gingerly dipped it in small bowl of maple syrup, careful not to taint it with too much of the sugar.

He took a bite and his eyes widened. "Dude; this is really good!"

Niff raised an eyebrow. "It is?"

"Yeah-" took the remaining bite and handed it to her, careful to shield the rest of the table with his plate. "Here; try some."

Niff took the stick and - after dipping it in like Carlos did - tasted Chucho's handiwork, her eyes widening as well.

"That's... surprisingly good." She grabbed another piece, quickly dipped it in, dusting the maple syrup, before shoving it in her mouth. "That's like, the best French toast I've had!"

"Thanks," Chucho said, smiling. "Yeah, I got them off this website; I think it was 'homerecipes.org' or something like that." He began to dig into his own plate. "To be honest, I only started getting into it..."

Chucho's voice trailed off as Niff began to think back on her first bite of French toast.

…

"Jenny," she heard her father - her real father - call from downstairs, "breakfast is ready!"

"Coming, Dad!" Her father had promised to make her breakfast and as the smell wafted upstairs, her mouth began to water. Jenny had been waiting for this all week. She quickly got out of bed, then her room, down the stairs, and then to the table.

"Hey, there, muffin; I got all your favorites," he said, as he wiped off his hands on an apron that read 'kiss the cook'. There were waffles, scrambled eggs, and banana slices. However, her nose picked up on a certain smell and her eyes darted to its source; a few thick browned sticks, lightly dusted with a light tan powder.

"Oooh," she said, as she sat down. "You made your special French toast, I see!"

Her father beamed. Michael Weston was a stay at home dad who loved to experiment with his baking. One of his greatest successes was his French toast, to which he added chocolate chips and extra brown sugar, leading to the resulting sticks being sweeter than normal sticks.

"Yep; since you got your B+ in history, I thought it'd be good to mark the occasion with a little something special."

"Hey, I'm also the cheer squad, too!" Jenny said, "Why aren't we also celebrating that?"

"Well, because it's one thing at a time, young miss, and I wouldn't want you to get a tummy ache!"

As he saw her pout slightly, he continued. "But if you'd like, we can go to Target to get that bike you always wanted."

"Da-ad," she said, as she put her fork down, "I'm a freshman now. We don't 'ride bikes' anymore. Can I just get an iPhone instead?"

Okay, okay; I'll get you an iPhone." he paused. "I'm still buying that bike."

While the other girls had been raving about the new iPhones, Jenny actually was hoping to still get that bike. "Thanks, Dad."

"No problem." He plated up his daughter's plate, before plating up his own. He set hers in front of her and his in front of himself. He then served her a glass of orange juice and himself a rich cup of black coffee. "To good grades." He toasted with his coffee.

"To good grades," Jenny agreed, and completed his toast of her success with her glass of OJ.

…

"Uh, Niff?" Chucho asked. "You okay, girl?"

As she heard his voice, she was brought back to the moment. She was back in Chucho's apartment that vaguely smelled of weed. She was still in her (pajama t-shirt that was too large and her shorts that were a touch too short). Her sparce selection went mostly untouched, whereas Carlos and Chucho's plates were half-done.

After Chucho's question sank in, she blinked quickly, and wiped away what she could feel was a small tear forming. "Yeah, thanks. It's just been a while since I had good French toast." She paused as she controlled her breathing, which she felt start to grow heavier. "My... my dad used to make it really good, too."

"Oh, I see." Chucho took a sip of his 'Irish' coffee though - given his choice of alcohol - it was more Mexican than Irish. He paused. "Can I ask about him?"

"I guess. Whaddya wanna know?" Niff asked, raising her emotional haunches, ready to defend herself.

"Is he dead or in jail?"

She took a sip of her juice. "He's dead. According to how they found and to what the witnesses said, he hit a tree swerving to avoid someone driving on the wrong side of the road. And just left him there" She took a breath. "I hope that when he died, that it was instant; I don't wanna think of him feeling how fucked up he got."

"Damn." He took a sip. "You have my condolences, girl." He took a pause, which became an awkward moment of silence. "Do you want a hug?"

"No; thank you though." Niff, after a moment of being in thought, then added, "I'd never thought it this way before, but I guess I'd say that my life started going downhill when he did." She took another sip of her juice. "My mom's sure did."

"What happened to her?" Chucho asked.

"She took to the bars and pubs to drown the grief of losing Dad and my sister Penny. I think she tried dating again, 'cuz she started coming home with a bunch of different guys, until she settled on Mitch. She couldn't handle paying for the house without my dad, so we moved into that shithole you pulled us out of."

"Ah, gotcha, gotcha." He pulled out a card. "Well, if your mom needs help, there's this woman in San Francisco who's got connections."

As Niff took the card, she looked it over, not getting what he meant. "Who's she? What kind of connections?"

"Her name's Catalina Aguilar, but everyone calls her Miss Lina. "Her whole schtick is helping out immigrants and down-on-their-luck women."

As he spoke her name, she was able to piece together her name at the top. "Catalina Aguilar," she read slowly, before the rest of the card started to make more sense. "Con... counselor... and... way-women's sau... services."

"Yeah." Chucho continued to finish his plate. "I think she was like, an ACTUAL mob boss, but her son took over after he got married and had a kid. He took a sip. "He's a good guy, but from what I heard, he's a bit of shit family man."

Niff focused on the first half of what he'd said. "My mom definitely needs help. Maybe this could be it." She looked up at him. "Can I keep this?"

"Yeah, I got a whole stack of them. A word of caution, though; she's like, in her eighties now."

"Why, is she old-fashioned in a bad way?"

"Well, she's old-fashioned in that she believes that a man should take charge for his actions and that women should be respected for the gifts of God that they are, but if you're asking if she's homophobic; nah. Her son's queer, I think."

"I was mostly asking for that, yeah."

"Yeah." Chucho shot back the final sip of his coffee. "Like, he got married, but the bride's face was never shown and there were rumors that they're getting divorced when their kid's eighteen."

Niff raised an eyebrow. "So, wait; she's in her eighties, but she has a kid who isn't even eighteen?"

"No, no, no; her SON has a kid; she's like seventeen, now, I think, so there's not much longer."

Niff's eyes widened with a deep confusion. "So, she's NOT in her eighties, she's seventeen?"

Chucho chuckled. "You're a funny kid, Niff. No, Miss Lina has a son named Lou. Lou got married and had a kid. There were rumors that the relationship of Lou and his wife didn't work out, and that they're set to divorce a week after the kid's 18th birthday, which will be either this year, or the next."

"Ohh."