#700 follower milestone

[dewitty1]

Thank you 💕

Thank you to the (just over) 700 of you who follow me! I appreciate you so much!

♡*(ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡⋆*ೃ:.✧💜💙💚💛❤️💕

[pastelninjaimagines]

700 followers!!

So, we’re officially over 700 guys! That’s so exciting and I wanted to thank you all so, so much I love each and every one of you! For all those new, welcome to the fam, and for all those who’ve stuck with me a big and heartfelt thank you! 

Since I was on quiet a long hiatus while we hit several milestones, I wanted to do a milestone special....I’d be open to suggestions if you have any! I was thinking I could reblog a prompt meme and write scenarios. Depending on the length of the works, I might put a cap on how long people can request..but it all depends on how it goes. Lemme know what you guys think..

Anyway I’m so grateful that you guys were receptive to my return, like you don’t even know. I was incredibly worried about it, but I’m so thankful that everyone’s been so kind and warm..it really butters my buns lmao..so a million thanks to you all truly. I really enjoy running this blog and I’m glad you’re all on this journey with me  

[stargazing-enby]

doodle drarry doodling drarry

"What if you had to draw yourself and your nemesis in a romantic situation?"

Harry's drawing:

Draco's drawing:

Draco: Oh, thank Merlin. For a second there I was scared you'd draw the Dark Lord instead of me.

Harry: Believe me, Malfoy, not even Voldemort is as annoying as you are.

Harry: Also... um. Wtf?

Draco: Shush, Potter.

[stargazing-enby]

doodle: gays/bi's/etc don't know how to sit in chairs

This ask reminded me of that scene in my wireless where O'Neill puts her feet on the chair while explaining her friend's sexuality to Draco, so I just downloaded a drawing app on my phone and did this:

Trans ppl don't know how to sit

Okay I'll see my way out now 😂

[stargazing-enby]

doodle draco and/or harry getting their head(s) stuck somewhere (a sweater? the stairs railing? their own ass?)

Unapologetically using paint 2k19

Bonus:

[stargazing-enby]

headcannon: 700

I wrote a drabble and not a headcanon. Fite me 😈

Drarry | 280 words | Teen and Up | Angst, Bonding fic, Battle of Hogwarts | AO3

698… 

699… 

700. 

Draco waits. He's heaving, his back against the cold wall of the castle. His skin is burned and sensitive, and he knows they could find him at any moment. Knows he needs to hide. To look for his parents.

But he waits. Waits for a step that doesn't come. For the next pull, for the next stretch of the string that ties them together. But it doesn't come. 

Harry has stopped walking. 

They're 700 steps away from each other.

He almost wants to run. He wants to run in the direction the string is pulling at, wants to turn the counter back to 0 and take Harry with him, away from where he's standing in the forest. He wants to take them somewhere safe. Somewhere he can keep Harry within reach. He wants to rake his fingers over Harry's cheekbones, to kiss his stupid, beautiful scar, to trace the shape of his back, of his chest, of his thighs, until all he can hear is Harry's breath, until all he can feel is Harry’s warmth. Until the battle is so far away it stops feeling real.

But there's nowhere left to run. 

Harry still hasn't moved. 

Draco still hasn't caught his breath. 

And then it happens. Like a whip straight to his core, pain shoots through his body, and Draco is on his knees. He's panting. He's crying. He thinks he's saying Harry's name. 

He's desperately looking for that feeling inside of him. For the string, for a direction, for a distance to run until he can have Harry in his arms.

All he finds is his own confused heartbeat and a weeping gash in his soul. 

(Thanks to @april-thelightfury115 for betaing! 💕)

[stargazing-enby]

CONGRATULATIONS!!!! Word(s) for a HC: Roast Dinner! :D

Thanks, darling! 💗 have a fluffy Drarry headcanon! It deals with PTSD and therapy, so read with caution 😊 

• Harry never, ever, ever eats roast dinner.

• Every time his friends ask him why he avoids the dish, a different memory comes to mind. Aunt Petunia yelling at him for not helping her cook after he'd been busy doing homework. Uncle Vernon flipping Harry's plate to the floor because Harry had dared ask a question. He can't remember what, though he does remember wiping the potatoes from the tiles while uncle Vernon towered over him.

• Sometimes they aren't even memories. It's just a feeling of... unease. No, not of unease. Of danger. The smell of the dish at the Burrow is enough to set him on edge, and sometimes he doesn't realise there's something wrong with him until he's snapping at something someone says and he has to retreat to his room for a few hours.

• it's not until a few years after the war that he actually brings it up with his therapist. It crosses his mind during a session purely by coincidence—he's never really paid much mind to it. He kind of expects his therapist to laugh at him.

• Instead, the therapist asks, "Do you miss it?"

• "Roast dinner? I mean... Yeah. It tasted nice."

• "We don't always have to face the things that bring us bad memories," is what she tells him then. He's heard it before. "If you had no interest in the dish, it would be pointless to try to overcome the memories you've attached it to. But if those memories are the only thing preventing you from enjoying a dish you like, it may be worth a shot, don't you think?"

• By the end of the session, they've decided Harry's going to try.

• He explains the plan to Draco that evening, the both of them curled on the sofa, Harry sipping at the hot chocolate mug Draco always prepares for him after his therapy sessions.

• "I'm supposed to eat it with you," he says, "because you make me feel safe. And I'm supposed to eat it when I'm having a nice day, not when I'm upset about work or anything, because the goal is to associate the dish to new memories, and that those memories are good."

• Draco hums. He lifts the mug from Harry's hands and takes a sip. "We can do that," he tells Harry, a line of chocolate traced out on his upper lip.

• The following Saturday, Draco and Harry organise a date.

• A date consisting of lighting a few candles through the house, of sitting by the hearth and laughing at old movies on the telly. Of randomly turning on the wireless and breaking into a silly waltz, of tickling the other after a hot bath together until they're both rolling on their towels and soaking the bed.

• That evening, Draco makes roast dinner.

• Harry is nervous. He can already feel himself shaking, his heartbeat starting to quicken. His thoughts skittering.

• Draco notices. He asks Harry if he can deal with music, and when Harry says yes, he turns on the wireless on the classical music channel. When Harry says he's okay with touch, too, Draco holds his waist and starts to rock them until they're tumbling into a silly dance and chuckling into each other's neck.

• In the kitchen, dinner is cooking itself under Draco's spells. But when the smell gets to Harry, it mixes with that of Draco's shampoo. With that of Draco's skin, with the sound of Draco's laughter.

• And when dinner's ready, the sight of the dishes on the table mixes with Draco's smile. With Draco's proud expression, the one he always sports after cooking something he knows will taste delicious.

• When they sit down beside each other, Draco drapes his leg over Harry's under the table and kindly informs him that—"You look like a hedgehog, love. I think I could hang my keys from a strand of your hair and they wouldn't fall."

• It's a light-hearted attempt to keep Harry's thoughts in the present, but it makes Harry nervous. He doesn't talk much about it, but his aunt and uncle used to mock his hair at every possible chance.

• "Sorry," Draco whispers, brushing his fingers to the back of Harry's hand. "I said the wrong thing, didn't I?"

• Harry intertwines their fingers. "It's okay," he says. "I'm okay." He takes a moment to breathe, a moment to close his eyes. Then he takes a bite of the meat.

• The flavour, the consistency, seem to bloom in his mouth, to melt over his tongue.

• And perhaps it's because he's missed it; perhaps because Draco is truly an outstanding cook. Whatever the reason, he swallows the mouthful with a hum and a tingle of warmth at the bottom of his chest.

• He almost takes another bite, but instead sets the fork on the plate and buries his face on Draco's warm neck, shamelessly sniffing his hair.

• "You smell nice," he tells Draco, as though that settles everything. And, "It tastes so good, dammit." And, "I love you."

[stargazing-enby]

Congrats on 500 followers my darling termite!! I chose to hear your Drarry headcanons surrounding Eggs for the celebration. (I have my own on this subject which is why I'm curious)

Thanks darling! I love how random this is and I would love to hear your hcs regarding Drarry and eggs. Here’s what I came up with! 🍳

• What if Draco and Harry move to the countryside? 

• They both refuse to return to Grimmauld or Malfoy Manor after 8th year, but when they decide to move in together, they soon realise that flats are Just Not For Them. There's just not enough space! Not enough space for all of Draco's things, or for Harry to feel like he lives in a place where he can finally move around. 

• And so, as soon as they can, they move to the countryside. 

• Draco is mostly inside. He loves spending his time decorating everything, loves having a room dedicated to everything he loves—music, Potions, books. But he likes going outside sometimes; flying around on his broom, reading on the front porch... and watching Harry.

• Harry, who spends most of his time out in the garden. Flying, too, often with Draco. But also decorating, in his own way. First comes the tree house, then the little bird house hanging from the porch, then a swing made up of an old tire and a rope. All things Harry wanted as a kid.

• And then, eventually, come the hens, too. 

• "I still don't see why you would want to have some idiotic birds in the garden when you could just— not!"

• "Draco, love. The gardens of the Manor were full of peacocks."

• "Those are regal birds, not— not— those brainless—"

• Draco, though, stops complaining very soon: the first time he wakes up in the morning to a dish of eggs, bacon and beans. "They're our eggs," Harry tells him proudly, and Draco can only grumble in acknowledgement. They taste delicious compared to the ones he's been eating his whole life.

• That's when Harry starts spending more time inside. In the kitchen, specifically. There's just something incredibly satisfying about cooking with the eggs from his own hens, and more so because his dishes always make Draco's scowls turn into appreciative hums.

• Oh, and when they buy a rooster and their first chicks hatch? Draco cries like he's just become a dad.

• Harry teases him, but only a little bit; he's too busy overflowing with happiness at the life he's built with Draco.