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sundaycentric · 3 months ago

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sfw alphabet with sunday? :3

ᵋᵌ sfw alphabet 𓈒　　 ◟ 　sunday x reader　 ♡

content — 26 prompts for sunday ! ✦ no tws, sfw, not proofread. set pre 2.3 ~ 3k words

template from the-coldest-goodbye !

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Sunday's affection depends on the situation. Some days he won't initiate any affection (though, he will reciprocate yours), while on others, he will borderline smother you.

On the average day, Sunday tends to not show a lot of affection. This isn't because he doesn't want to, but because he can't. Due to his status as Head of the Oak Family, PDA is a no. Since he works a lot and is in public—or at least in the eyes of someone a lot, Sunday doesn't do much affection. The most he'll willingly allow in public is holding hands, or a brief kiss on the back of your hand.

However, it is a different story when the two of you finally get away from the gazes of everyone. When it is just the two of you, Sunday can be awfully affectionate. While he hesitates about initiating them sometimes, Sunday adores hugs and small kisses.

When he comes home to you on some days, he often peppers your face with small kisses before cuddling you to sleep. Sunday's hands prefer to hook around your waist while his face will either find itself in your neck or hair.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Sunday would be the type of best friend to give the perfect advice: the type of friend whom you'd trust with your life.

He'd definitely try his best to look out for you, especially if he considered you one of his best friends (one of, since robin will always be a best friend to him as well). If you have any troubles, you could come to him, and either get a flat-out solution or amazing advice.

With that being said, though, the two of you would barely ever go out together. Since you are just friends, Sunday will often prioritize getting his work done over hanging out you. It isn't that he doesn't want to see you, it's simply that he values his identity and the Family too much to risk anything. Of course, you will occasionally be able to hang out longer than 30 minutes or so.

As for how the friendship starts, it would be most likely that you are part of the Family as well. Perhaps not the Oak Family, but at least some other family which would explain why you could be around so much. Or possibly, the two of you just met at random, and Sunday enjoyed your company.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

As said in A, Sunday enjoys cuddling his partner to sleep. Although, it doesn't necessarily have to be at night. Anywhere comfy where the two of you are alone is fine with him. Though, he may not initiate it if he isn't tired.

As for how he cuddles, he doesn't care much. Sometimes he will hug you, pulling your faces next to each other. Sometimes he will spoon you. Sometimes he will be spooned. Sometimes he will just have you lie on top of him. The position does not matter to him as long as he can have you in his arms.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Sunday does not necessarily mind the idea of settling down and living a peaceful life, but he can't bring himself to actually imagine himself living a life like that. He is so used to his work and life as is, that he doesn't know what he would do without it. As stressful as it is, it brings a sense of control and routine to calm him.

And especially with his plans. Settling down with you would be practically impossible. While part of him does yearn for a domestic, calm life with you, Sunday also knows that he must do what he needs to do. He will gently (and reluctantly) lie to you, telling you that one day the two of you will settle down. What you don't know cannot hurt you, so it's for the best.

As for domestic talents, Sunday can cook and clean. However, he does not frequently, as he has people to do that for him. Sometimes, though, he may cook a meal for you or Robin.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

I'm actually unsure.

He'd do it very gently, making sure to not hurt their feelings too much. After all, even if it doesn't seem like it, Sunday is very susceptible others' pains. Especially those who were (once) close to him. Although, he would also be firm enough to get his point across and not give any hope.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sunday dates with the full intention of getting married to them one day. It's simply how he was raised: he was taught to never date for fun, but rather out of love. He looks forward to eventually marrying you, or he is very happy with your marriage if the two of you are married already.

Sunday does not want to rush things, though. He believes that time matters, and he sees no need to rush with such a sweet dream. He will propose when the time is right—whenever that may be for him. Perhaps it's only months away, perhaps a year or two. He would not go years without proposing, though.

And if you proposed, then he would accept even if it was only months after you got together. Sunday waits not because he is unsure, but to give you time. Again: Sunday dates for marriage. As soon as the two of you begin your relationship, he is ready for marriage.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Sunday tries to be as gentle as he can with you, while still being stern when needed. His touches are fleeting and soft, a light caress on your skin. His words are soothing and quiet, putting your mind and soul at ease. His gaze is intense enough to be noticed, but soft enough for you to feel adored. Sunday makes a point to always be gentle with you.

And even when Sunday gets stern and mad, he never snaps at you. In fact, he never gets truly 'mad' at you, he is that gentle. His emotions are soft and he makes sure to never overwhelm you with his own feelings.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

As mentioned before, Sunday adores hugs. He enjoys the feeling of holding you, having you right in his arms like you'd try to get away if he let go. He will hug you when the two of you are in the privacy of your home, and perhaps give little side hugs in public.

His hugs are warm but tight. He will pull you close, practically squishing the two of you together like he is trying to meld you into one. Despite the intensity, it's comfortable and secure.

I = I Love You (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Sunday says 'I love you' a lot and in many different ways.

He will try to say it slowly, to truly get the meaning and deepness of his affection across. When like this, Sunday tries to pair his words with gentle physical affection.

Sometimes, though, he will be forced to hurry up. He cannot always take his sweet time, but Sunday figures something is better than nothing. When he has to quickly depart, he will whisper a hushed 'I love you' in the few seconds he has before he'll be late.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Sunday does not get very outwardly jealous. He is secure with you, or at least tells himself that he is. However, Sunday is extremely anxious, and he cannot help but overthink sometimes. Of course, he knows you would never leave or cheat.

A lot of the time, his jealousy will silently brew. The only indication you will get of his jealousy is his slightly more possessive actions. A hand lingers on your side longer than normal. His glances become more narrowed and longer. His tone gets a bit snappy when people talk to the two of you. And his wings: his wings will puff up and raise instinctively at times.

He will never admit he is jealous without heavy prompting, though. The best thing to do is not say anything about it, but showering him in affection and attention. He will calm down as quick as it came, his mind soothed by your presence.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sunday's kisses are always gentle. Never rough or demanding: only smooth and soft. He doesn't like being mean: he wouldn't want to hurt your pretty lips, or the rest of you for that matter.

Sunday likes kissing you on the lips, all over the face, and the back of your hand. Those are usually his go-to spots, but you may notice him pressing soft kisses to your neck or shoulders occasionally. Although, Sunday would enjoy kissing you anywhere if we are being honest.

Sunday also doesn't mind where you kiss him. He likes all your kisses, regardless of where they are. But, his favorites are likely his lips, face, and weirdly with wings. Be soft and gentle with them, though. They are quite sensitive.

L = Little Ones (How are they around children?)

Sunday is very gentle with children. He rarely interacts with them due to being busy, and his job not requiring him to work with them, but he always makes sure to be extra nice when one talks to him.

However, Sunday enjoys watching you interact with children more than actually doing it himself. He adores the sight of you being kind to something so small, something that the two of you might end up having one day however that may be.

Sunday vows to himself to be the best father in the world if that ever does happen.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

It's 50/50: sometimes Sunday is gone by morning, sometimes he is still there.

When he is gone, he always makes sure to leave some sort of note or text telling you why he left so early, where he is, and apologizing. He will also leave food or instructions for chefs to make food for you to make sure you're well-fed as soon as you get up.

When he is there, the two of you wake up tangled together. He will always reach out to gently touch your face as if checking if you're really there. After all, you're too beautiful for this world. You can't stay in bed forever, though, so these moments of soft intimacy are a bit short.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

As mentioned before, Sunday enjoys cuddling you to sleep. Most days, he will not be home by night-time.

He'll gently slip into your room, and then into your shared bed. On these days, he typically ends up spooning you as he doesn't want to force his way into your arms and wake you up.

If you are awake when he gets home, or if he gets home early enough to go to bed with you, he will still cuddle you. The positions will range, though, as there is no threat of waking you up. He doesn't mind being big or little spoon, or whatever you want to do. As long as he is touching you somehow, he will fall asleep.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Sunday does not open up all at once.

It will take time, and it will be slow. He doesn't say everything in one moment, and there are likely things he will never end up telling you. It isn't you: he simply fears. After all, he is the Head of the Oak Family, and he must always be careful. It will probably take a while before Sunday even opens up about his basic childhood.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Sunday barely gets angry or upset with you.

However, he can get snappy much easier with other people. Especially when they are insulting you or his dear sister.

His anger usually comes in passive aggressiveness, so it may be hard to catch on to at first. Even if you do notice, he will usually deny being mad until much pushing.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything about you. Anything you say immediately goes to memory.

Sunday is attentive no matter the topic. Your favorite color? He knows. Your favorite animal? He knows. Your favorite song? He knows. Your favorite place? He knows. Your favorite food? He knows. Your favorite crystal? He knows. Your favorite flower? He knows. He remembers and knows them all and more by heart.

Every little thing you mention, if he deems it important (which includes almost everything about you), he will remember it or at the least write it down for future reference.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Sunday's favorite memory is the aftermath of your first dinner date. When the two of you were leaving the restaurant, there was a baby bird on the ground. No nest seemed to be in sight, and no mother as well. You were immediately concerned and checked on the baby bird. The mother bird came rushing out of seemingly nowhere and shooed your hand away.

It was funny, but also endearing to Sunday. To see you so eager to help that baby bird, he couldn't help but feel soft and remember something similar from when he was younger.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Sunday is very protective of you, but in an unnoticeable way. He'll check up on you regularly, make sure you're all okay and don't need anything, and look out for you. Due to his position in the Family, it isn't hard for him to get guards to look out for you and make sure you're alright from time to time.

As for you protecting him: he thinks it's cute, and appreciates the sentiment. While it is a bit useless of you to do, since he already has Bloodhound guards, he won't discourage your behavior. Unless it becomes disruptive, in which case he'll try to reel you in.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Maximum effort.

These things are very important to Sunday, who (as mentioned previously) was raised to date with love. That includes the devotion expected of a good husband, of course. It also comes from his OCD: he must be very meticulous to make sure everything is perfect and controlled.

Dates are at reputable, higher-end places and focus on things he knows you'll enjoy. Anniversaries are never forgotten, and he always gets beautiful gifts for you. His gifts consist of a variety of things: he could never gift you the same thing twice. And Sunday makes a great effort to care for you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He is controlling.

Not necessarily just with you, but in general. If things aren't perfect, Sunday will be on edge. If he makes a mistake, Sunday will crack slightly. If he does anything wrong, he won't forgive himself.

Even with things that seem like a small deal: if the tiniest detail is off, he will be upset.

Which can lead to lots of time wasted as he redoes his hair over and over because one strand was out of place, or when he washes his hands multiple times because he didn't wash it the right way the first time, or when he had to check in a hallway multiple times.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Very concerned. Not because he thinks he is ugly: but rather, he needs to make sure he looks perfect. Not a strand can be out of place, no wrinkles in his clothes, nothing can be wrong as soon as he steps out of the house.

However, when alone with you, he doesn't care that much for looking perfect like a doll.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He would feel incomplete without you. You do make him feel whole.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

His wings give way to his true feelings. If he's happy, his wings will spread out. If he's sad, his wings will falter. If he's mad, his wings will puff out and appear bigger. If you can't read his face, read his wings.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

The only thing I can think of is cruelty. Sunday, despite his flaws, is not a cruel person, nor does he condone cruel actions or people.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Like I've mentioned, he tends to cuddle when he sleeps.

Another thing, though: his wings will move on their own in Sunday's sleep. similarly to sleepwalking, in a way, just with his wings! Which ends up tickling you, sometimes.

#ㅤ𓈒⠀ㅤ◟ ㅤsundaycentric #sunday x reader #reader x sunday #sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #honkai star rail sunday #hsr sunday #sunday x y/n #y/n x sunday #hsr sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #fluff #sfw alphabet #oneshot

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talesofadragon · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: Theodore Nott came to learn that an inciting incident can alter the course of history. Lucius Malfoy’s fall led to Draco’s dark mark and the death of Dumbledore. The rise of the Dark Lord urged Harry Potter into hiding and Death Eaters into prominence. And then there was Amycus Carrow, with his tainted hands on Y/N, who forced Theodore Nott to do the unforgivable.

Warnings: Sexual assault, attempted rape, graphic description of violence, panic attacks

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Non-Slytherin!Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 5.8K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐬. The lines between the two flow steadily, each following its own cadence. And yet, despite their distinct course and the light years between them, they somehow find a way to draw parameters of joint space. Somehow, someway, they eventually overlap—meeting each other at the apex of catalysts and the twists between junctures to shape history and write the present.

Today starts like most stories do: quaint and subtle, setting the tone for an inciting incident that will tip this fable on its axis.

It’s a typical day, or as typical as it could get during Y/N’s last year at Hogwarts. She’s sitting at the far end of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, donning the same apprehensive expression as all her classmates. The turmoil that governs the halls is a jarring contrast to the flourishing and effervescent school of witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts once was.

In this mangled reality, there are specks of the idyllic tales she’s heard about, and witnessed, growing up. Slytherins and Gryffindors sustain their infamous rivalry while in search of their individual purpose, purebloods hold themselves on par with Merlin himself, and more often than not, students find refuge in a forgotten nuke in Hogwarts when the burden of magic becomes too heavy to bear.

In the first drafts of the story, Hogwarts held its students under one embrace. But now, as we’re nearing a hazy end, an isolating veil drapes over the school, fracturing it into fewer than four houses and dividing it more than ever before.

“Now, as Barty Crouch Junior has so tirelessly shared, you have already been acquainted with Merlin’s three most formidable spells,” Alecto Carrow, one of Voldemort’s trusted Death Eaters explains. Her heels dig into the marble floors of the classroom, their screeches ricocheting across the walls in warning.

“The Unforgivables,” her brother Amycus eagerly finishes. His yellow teeth wither under the dim light of the darkened sun as his arms open wide. It’s unsettling how he and his sister welcome such misfortune so openly.

As it happens every single time the Carrow twins revel in the darkest boulevards of magic, Y/N shifts in her seat until she’s nearly imperceptible. Each time, her eyes rove the expanse of the classroom, seeking out the comfort of peculiar hazel eyes. Within just ten seconds, her wandering gaze comes to rest on the idle brown walls, a weight of defeat settling upon her.

Upon her reluctant return to Hogwarts this year, Y/N was met with a torrent of unimaginable changes, starting with students being separated not only based on their house but also their blood status.

Purebloods became a procession of peacocks—majestic, refined, otherworldly. Only allowed to flick around with students of the same upper class.

Half-bloods, on the other hand, belong to inconsistent ideologies. They teeter on the precipice of honor, waiting for Death Eaters like Umbridge and whoever else is in the Ministry to decide their fate.

Muggleborns, it's best not to get started.

Y/N doodles a few meaningless shapes, swirling her quill around the parchment as she thinks of Theodore. Lately, it's become increasingly difficult to talk to him, let alone spot him, with all the changes in place.

Her classmates know she’s not paying attention and that she's only pretending she has her nose buried deep in her notes. Her quill, which scratches against the parchment, is nothing but a ruse to get the Carrows off her scent.

This class truly has nothing to offer except for a modicum of nostalgia and a barrage of abuse, so if the Carrows are so gullible to believe that Y/N is actively listening, then so be it.

By now, she takes it a step further, looking up to meet the eyes of the young children brought forth by the Carrows. She’s mastered the art of stoicism to a T, gazing at their expressions without showing a measly emotion. But every single time, she finds herself transported eons back to a time when things were drastically better.

Her memories vary, depending on whatever catalyst she encounters. She recalls seeing a girl with ginger waves once, and her mind acted on autopilot, bringing her back to the times she and her friends would huddle in their common room to animatedly talk about the latest Weasley prank.

At the previous hints of pink, she remembered Umbridge when she was finally escorted outside of Hogwarts grounds.

And today, her memories are not too different. Bittersweet at best and wistful at most.

She finds a boy biting down on his lower lip. He’s a Gryffindor, judging by the color of his tie, more so by his audaciousness when he decides to lift his head and contain his fear. His eyes are hazel, edging closer to honey brown underneath the dim light of the classroom. And her mind is cruel enough to conjure the image of Theodore hovering above her naked body with lustful hazel eyes and abused fiery lips.

Theodore doesn’t particularly fancy his eye color—he doesn’t quite fancy much about himself. He’s not oblivious to his popularity, but unlike Draco Malfoy, who shines like the stars, Theodore Nott glows like the moon in a dance of subtlety and intensity; a paradoxical luminosity that always leaves Y/N in awe.

He never particularly bothered her during their first couple of years at Hogwarts, which explains why they never interacted until their fifth year. Back when Umbridge was foul toward the student population, especially vile toward anyone of lesser blood.

Dennis Creevey, who had been a first-year at that time, fell victim to her malice. His penance for being born to muggle parents was bloodily etched on his hand. Y/N tried to help him, even though her own hand was hurting just as badly. The healing spells didn’t counter the dark magic infused in the quills, and while she could handle the pain, the poor eleven-year-old couldn’t.

"May I?" a voice softly breathed from behind her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned to see the unexpected sight of Theodore Nott, dressed in an emerald green tie and an aura of pristine silver. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and her hands trembled, a reaction heightened by the delicate hints of cinnamon swirling in the air.

When Theodore pulled out his wand, Dennis cowered. And to her surprise, Theodore’s face fell. Yet he quickly covered his crestfallen expression with a mask of pure stoicism.

Y/N’s gaze meandered away from the Slytherin and settled on the young Gryffindor. “It’s okay, Dennis,” she recalled herself saying at the time, even though she hadn’t mentally given her words the green light to tumble out of her mouth. Both Dennis and Theodore seemed equally surprised, turning their heads her way. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Maybe it was the softness of Theodore’s hazel eyes, or maybe it was how he abstained from touching the boy's bruised hand and elected to kneel to his level. To this day, Y/N doesn’t know what exactly made her fall for Theodore at that exact moment in time.

Yet, all she knows in certainty is that she’s in love with Theodore Aurelius Nott. Pureblood, Slytherin Elite, Son of Darkness. But what can she do if one glance at his hazel orbs leaves her drowning in the depths of his moonshine?

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N’s head jerks when a protruding voice disturbs her reverie. She chances a glance at the front of the classroom, finding Alecto Carrow’s lidded eyes on her. Bright and sage, a stark contrast to the malevolence nestled within them.

“Yes?” Y/N wonders aloud.

“Given your diligence in recording the theoretical aspect of The Unforgivables, I believe it’s time for you to engage in the practicalities of said lesson,” Alecto announces with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation or refutation.

With a sharp nod, she ushers Y/N out of her seat, beckoning her over until she's two steps away from her. Y/N stands idly, unaware of whether she's going to role-play as the tormentor or the tormented. But her internal questions are answered the moment Amycus Carrow shoves the Gryffindor boy with hazel eyes into her line of sight.

"Go on." Alecto wears a sinister expression as she levels Y/N with a taunting smile. "Demonstrate your aptitude to the class.”

Y/N doesn't step back nor does she shy away. She clings to the apathetic front she's adopted from her boyfriend, her gaze falling on the young boy, and her thoughts drowning out Alecto's sharp voice. By the time Amycus asks her to draw out her wand, she's mustered up enough confidence to answer with a terse "no."

“What do you mean no, you insolent brat!” Alecto bellows, being the first to succumb to her temper. For a snake, she is known to be as hot-headed as a lion.

“I refuse to perform any curse on anyone,” Y/N clarifies, purposefully refraining from calling her “professor.” And if she had half a brain cell, perhaps she would’ve figured it out.

“Is that so?” Alecto challenges.

“Yes.”

“Very well, despicable half-breed. You know the rules. You’re either the rodent or the snake. Guess you’ll always be the former.”

She's calm and aloof on the outside, but Y/N is dreading what’s coming next. She’s never fallen victim to the Cruciatus, though she has heard all about it from Theodore and his friends—even once from Harry.

She watches with steady eyelashes as Alecto draws her wand and points it at her. Although the curse is released, and screams reverberate across the walls, both Alecto and Y/N remain silent.

To Y/N's horror, the young Gryffindor boy thrashes on the ground with clenched fists and agonizing wails. Above him, Amycus stands like a conductor, his wand beckoning the crooked notes of the boy's voice to rise to a crescendo.

Finally, the screams die down, extinguishing and feeding the anguish of every student at once. Amycus turns to address the class, dismissing them all except for one. “You go ahead, Alecto,” he directs toward his sister. “If the little mouse wishes to squeak, then she’ll have to suffer graver consequences than what you have to offer.”

Whatever Amycus has in mind seems to appease Alecto. Her expression is mirthful as she grabs the robes of the young Gryffindor boy and sweeps him out of the class, using his body as a cleaning broom.

The students all file out, their glances lingering on Y/N. As the last of the students leaves, Amycus turns to the young girl.

“Your wand, Miss Y/L/N,” he demands. Y/N debates not giving it to him, but she knows if she doesn’t, he’ll come and collect it himself. So, she reluctantly hands it over. “Ah, pretty little thing. What’s the core?”

“Dragon heartstring.”

“Fitting for a spitfire like you.”

“I thought I was a meek little mouse,” Y/N counters, making Amycus grin.

“You are a lot of things, little girl,” he replies as he twirls her wand in his hand. “The wood?”

“Larch.”

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Amycus voices out. If Y/N’s a mouse, then he seems to enjoy being a cat. His long and calloused fingers trace her wand while he circles her, trying to break her resolve. “What does the wood say about you?”

The question strokes her ear, carried by Amycus’ ghastly voice. Y/N stills, not seeing where he’s going. She jolts as Amycus taps the wand against her thigh, particularly the exposed skin between her skirt and stockings.

“It’s best paired with wizards and witches who possess hidden talents,” she replies tersely.

The hum coming from her side indicates that Amycus is listening—paying attention, though, not so much, considering he’s rather preoccupied with poking her skin with her wand while rotating around her.

He’s playing with his food, Y/N tells herself, knowing this is just another trick of his. Somewhere in his sadist brain, his senses are sparking with delight at the prospect of Y/N’s discomfort, relishing the power he has over her.

A part of her wants to jam her wand in his eyes, pluck his eyeballs out, and proceed to stuff each in his nostrils. But another part of her stands idle, not even blinking as he keeps up his ministrations.

Amycus smiles, taking up more of her personal space. Y/N’s senses are lit on fire as he traces her wand across her body. “Is your mouth a part of those talents, filthy witch? You don’t talk much, but rotten girls like you must know how to use their mouths.”

“To scream, I presume,” Y/N breathes. Her quip hits Amycus right in the face, and the maniac grins. His face is painted with a nefarious glee, that of a predator eager to feast on its prey.

SA and Attempted Rape Content Begins Here. Skip Through This Scene by Scrolling to "Scene End."

The unsettling sensation against her ribs dissipates when Amycus pulls the wand away, but the apprehension still lingers. As she mentally prepares herself for the inevitable pain that comes along with the Cruciatus, Amycus’ hand cups her chin, and his molten lips crash against hers. The sensation is so crippling and unfavorable it sends her tumbling back into the table.

The pressure on YN’s cheeks intensifies until it becomes sharp and metallic. Fingers dig into her flesh, paving a path for Amycus’ tongue to follow. Though her hands slap against his chest, legs flailing around, he continues his exploration in the depths of her throat.

It feels like he’s finally thrown her off a cliff, yet with all the energy Y/N can muster, she pushes his body away and slaps him across the face.

He looks at her with unadulterated rage. Y/N forgoes reading his face in favor of bolting toward the door. But before she reaches the handle, she’s yanked back by her robes. The fabric tears, as does her heart. Amycus then throws her on top of the teacher’s desk and catches both her wrists in his hand.

“Pitty your blood is impure, little witch. If you had to match your filthy mouth with something, I’d rather it be your pussy than your blood.”

“Get off me,” Y/N enunciates with a quiver in her voice. It seems to feed Amycus’ wicked desires because she suddenly finds him nipping at her neck in pure delight.

“You’ve disobeyed my direct order. When witches are bad, they’re punished.”

“You’re sick!”

“And you’re delicious.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, burying his face further in the junction between her neck and shoulder. His kisses are filthy, heavy, frigid. They make her body feel like ice—they make her feel as if she's been snatched and thrown into the depths of the Dark Lake.

Amycus' hands grab her waist and flip her over until her gaze meets the darkness of the desk’s wood. If the sensation of the wand against her thigh left acid in her mouth, then Amycus’ fingers left her with bile overwhelming her senses.

“What a pretty little ass you’re hiding under here. It was made to be ruined.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to panic. In fluid movements, Amycus lifts her skirt, rips off the shorts she typically wears beneath, and spanks her ass.

She yelps, struggling against the hand against her back that’s keeping her on the desk. She’s hit one more time and then two and three. The slaps are forceful and fiery, leaving her skin scalded and singed.

A roar erupts from the depths of her soul when she feels a finger easing her thong. The force of her scream catches Amycus off guard, enough for Y/N to elbow him and dive to the ground for her wand.

“Cruc—”

“Oh, so now you want to cast it!”

With ease, Amycus manages to slap Y/N’s wand away. He ruthlessly places his palm against her stomach, pushing her back to the ground.

Her head aches from the force of the blow, a scream barrelling through the space between her lips when Amycus towers over her, digging his obsidian nails into her skin.

“It’s a shame that the most delightful toys happen to be the filthiest. Maybe this will teach you and your kind that you will forever remain beneath us.”

Y/N cries as Amycus incapacitates her lips. She squirms underneath his body, vaguely aware of the fabric he’s tearing in half, though oblivious to what clothing item it belongs to.

She tries to non-verbally cast a spell, but her mind is too distracted to focus on the incantation. All she knows is that she needs to get Amycus off her. And yet, no amount of strength in her hands or her spells manages to draw him to a stop.

His spit traces her lower lip, tantalizingly closing the distance between her mouth and collarbone. Y/N shudders, bellowing at the thought of his saliva trailing her skin.

She wails, screams, and shouts until she realizes that Amycus probably cast Silencio without her knowing. Though futile, she tries to push his body weight off her, even resorts to kicking his ribs.

It doesn’t work... until by some miracle from Merlin himself Amycus’ body flies toward the back wall, releasing her.

Scene End

Y/N gasps, pushing her palms against the tiled floor and lifting herself to a sitting position. Her chest heaves as she looks at the discarded fabric of her skirt, the scattered buttons of her shirt, and the remains of her robe that are haphazardly strewn across the room.

Faint sounds register at the back of her mind. A heavy breath, mirroring her own, emanates from behind, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat that matches hers. Amidst it all, she picks up on Amycus’s forlorn groans, muffled by the surrounding darkness. Resilient ropes now bind his hands and feet, rendering him completely motionless.

“Get Y/N out of here,” a voice orders. It’s far away—at least, Y/N thinks so. But despite the fog around its edges, she can somehow sense the enmity lacing it.

Before she can process the shadows creeping closer to her side, a robe is draped over her shoulders as arms wrap securely around her.

She thrashes against the man holding her, trying to repel his hands from her body. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says in a low octave. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise you. He can't touch you anymore.”

The voice carries a bit of an edge, yet it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. Her lips quiver as she internally fights with her thoughts, head spinning and shaking in defeat.

The halls around her move fast, time seemingly irrelevant at this point. She’s crying and mumbling incoherently, burying her face in the fabric of this stranger’s clothes, which smell like a familiar blend of mint and citrus.

The robe is wrapped tighter around her shoulders, and she receives a faint squeeze as she’s brought up a staircase. Words are whispered, a door is opened, and voices mingle with one another until a delicate tone enters her headspace.

“Draco, who’s that you’re carrying?”

“It’s Y/N,” the male voice, the one belonging to Draco, replies. Draco kicks open a door and places Y/N on the bed. She wails even more at the action, curling herself into a ball—at this point, she doesn’t know if she should be relieved or terrified.

“What the hell happened to her?”

“Lower your voice, Pansy! Can’t you see she’s scared enough?”

Pansy stutters for a few seconds before asking again, “Who did this to her?”

Draco hesitates, looking between the two young women. “Amycus,” he replies. And though it’s barely a mumble, it’s enough to send Y/N spiraling.

Pansy’s jade eyes tread carefully as they peer over Y/N’s frail body. She sees the red marks on her hands and the blood that seeps from the cuts on her face. “Cruciatus?” she asks, but something in her tone makes it obvious that it’s just wishful thinking.

“No,” Draco answers. Y/N’s sniffles and shudders fill the air as Pansy and Draco exchange silent glances. Y/N clutches her throat, rubbing it to try and get herself more oxygen.

“What do we do?”

Draco's footsteps echo as he retreats toward the door. “You're going to her clean up. If Theo hasn’t killed Amycus yet, I’m going to join him in his pursuit.”

There was something in that last line that clamped agony around Y/N’s heart, squeezing like a vice. She wept, only vaguely conscious of Pansy’s soothing touch in her hair and the remnants of Draco's anger looming around the room.

The mirror in the bathroom captures two girls in its glassy frame. One of them is put together while the other looks worse for wear. Y/N stares at her wild reflection, moroseness painting her irises. A tiny sob escapes her barely parted lips, and Pansy decides to tear Y/N’s attention away from the broken girl staring at them through the mirror.

She softly holds Y/N's hand and helps her to the shower, turning her head when Y/N undresses and then carefully cleans her blotched skin. Once they’re done, she lends Y/N some pajamas and underwear, giving her the privacy and space to change into them before helping her dry her hair.

Wordlessly, Pansy leads Y/N away from the mirror. Her grip is firm as she swings open the bathroom door. Y/N squints against the sudden invasion of light from the room beyond. Her gaze takes in the expanse of her surroundings and the rich emerald hue of the Head Dorm's walls. Then, her eyes lock on two men. One with platinum blond hair and the other with brunette locks, both embracing the shadows with deadly intent in their fiery eyes.

She bristles, caught between shying away and clutching the attention she’s receiving from them. Y/N doesn’t dwell on their appearance for too long, afraid to develop the ability to read their eyes and stumble across the shame and pity possibly nestled within them.

Pansy whispers something under her breath, which Y/N fails to hear under the barrage of despondency she finds herself in. She feels Pansy’s hesitant touch on her forearm, briefly catching her and Draco retreating away, the door to the room closing behind them in a soft thud.

Silence runs freely around the room, undeterred by the confined space. Its loudness disturbs Y/N, forcing her to wince. She wills herself to say something, but all the words are lodged in her throat, searing it from the inside out.

Theodore takes a deep breath, the sound piercing the stillness in the air. But his words don’t leave his mouth the same way his gaze never paces beyond a fixed point on the ground.

“Why are you not looking at me?” Y/N asks. She’s surprised that she’s articulated her thoughts even though she doesn’t have enough strength to speak.

Theodore shakes his head. “I can’t”. His words have finally forced his gaze away from the ground, although he’s refusing to settle it on her.

“I wouldn’t look at me either. I get it.” Y/N sniffles. Darkness clouds her sight. She’s tired and aching, barely finding her grip on reality.

She wants to scream, and she wants to cry, but it’s like she doesn’t know how. Like her mainframe has been hijacked and forced to shut down.

Something in her periphery catches her attention. Theodore is now standing before her, hands trembling by his sides. They move to embrace her waist, to hold her shoulders, to cup her face; but they never do. They only trace invisible lines that mirror her figure. It’s then that she notices the fray in his gaze. Instead of the rejection and the indifference she expected to find, there’s dejectedness, misery, and pain.

“I would look at you forever if you let me,” Theodore answers with his hands hanging in the space between them. “If you would still allow me.”

“Touch me,” Y/N retorts. Hold me, find me, fix me, love me.

And Theodore does just that with unprecedented gentleness. He traces her cheeks with his thumb and pulls her by the waist closer to his side. His nose nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent. His lips press against the shell of her ear, his warm breath penetrating her soul and sending a fond tingle down her spine.

He touches her, not like she’s a porcelain doll or a bomb about to detonate. Theodore touches her like she’s the most precious piece of art he’s ever encountered, and he’s afraid that even one stumbled breath could force her colors away.

“I love you,” he confesses. A loan tear accompanies his declaration, inscribing the words on the fabric of Y/N’s soul. “And I am so sorry. So sorry, my love, for what my absence and negligence have put you through.”

“Theo…”

“No, Y/N. Don’t. Don’t try to say anything.”

Theodore wipes her tears, gently tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Y/N nods, allowing her boyfriend to hoist her in his arms and carry her to bed. She hides her face in his neck, absorbing the lingering traces of his sandalwood perfume.

When he places her on the bed, she notices the change in his demeanor as soon as she tangles her legs with his and rushes to press his hands against his chest. Her eyes fill with tears, and she fails to prepare herself for the rejection that she’s afraid might be rushing her way.

To her astonishment, Theodore pulls her into a tighter hug, as if seeking a connection beyond the surface, binding together not only their skin but also the intricate layers below—souls, hearts, atoms.

“Did he…” Theodore pauses, choking on unspoken words. “Did he go far?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and Draco came just in time.”

“Barely,” Theodore denies. A stolen glance gives Y/N a clear view of his clenched jaw and crestfallen expression. The war may be looming, yet to find its way to the Wizarding World, but it has already made a dominion in Theodore’s features.

“Just in time.” Minutes pass while Y/N is cocooned protectively in between Theodore’s strong arms. They encase her, filling her being with the placidity and the tenderness that was robbed of her some time ago. Her eyes close, darkness not as fearful as it seemed now that Theodore’s hands are weaving through her hair, and his voice is carrying a tender lullaby. “How did you know?”

Theodore’s hands falter and the lullaby ends on an abrupt note. His arms pull Y/N closer to his chest as he ruefully explains what happened, “A Gryffindor boy found me. He was frightened and jittery. At first, I thought it was because Draco and I were standing together. Then he said something about Defense class, the Carrows, and the Cruciatus. Your name got suddenly tangled in the gruesomeness of it all, so I rushed to the class as far as I could."

“They wanted me to hurt him,” Y/N whispers in a small voice.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Theodore looks at her with glassy eyes. “I know you would never.”

His hands sooth Y/N, featherless touches easing the altercation in her soul. She meets his gaze, heart shattering at the pain he harbors. She knows it’s not easy for Theodore to be a silent witness to torture and heartache, understanding his unconscious pursuit of absorbing pain and rooting it in his very being.

“Please,” she begins, “please, Theo. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t.”

He declines vehemently, “I promised to protect you from the darkness, within me and beyond me. And I have clearly done neither.”

You had no way of knowing! Y/N argued in her head. You, alone, cannot stop this madness! So many rebuttals swarmed her head. She wanted to pelt Theodore with every single one of them until some sense got knocked into him. “Darkness,” he says so loosely as if he’s ever exposed her to any of it.

All her memories of Theodore exuded radiance, softness, and peace. He’s only ever steered her away from the darkness, whether it was from Umbridge’s rage back in their fifth year or Bellatrix’s terror at the end of their sixth.

To hear him speak of himself like this, as if he’s one of them, a shadow branded by the mark of death, hurts her more than everything Amycus did to her.

“What did you do to Amycus?”

The name causes Theodore’s heart to falter beneath the palm of Y/N’s hands. Her eyes trace the veins of his neck, astounded by the voraciousness of their color as his anger escalates. “Do not say that vermin’s name.”

Darkness, Theodore would call it if he sees himself now. And yet, all the world is witnessing according to Y/N is a darker shade of love and concern: just as sincere, a lot more warm.

“Carrow,” she concedes. “What did you do to Carrow?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Theodore answers, studying Y/N’s face for a reaction. “I almost killed him.” If he was looking for disgust or worse, fear, he couldn’t find it.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Draco called for Snape.”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly reaching for Theodore’s hand. He hesitates when he feels her fingers entwining with his, his entire body tensing up. Y/N whines, and he takes a deep breath. His fingers lace hers, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, treasure. No one but that scum is. Snape said nothing. He bound his hands and escorted him to his office.”

“Good,” Y/N replies.

“That’s not all,” Theodore intercedes, catching her attention. She shifts in his arms, waiting for his next words with a bated breath. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” came Y/N’s question, loud, sharp, and clear. It resonated across the room, its intensity surprising her.

“I didn’t kill him,” Theodore admits. He’s moved now, body peering away from Y/N’s hold to better study her features. She keeps them the way they are, with no sign of the acrimony or the resentment she suspects Theodore is looking for. “But I uttered the curse. Draco countered it somehow, and it rebounded. Hit the wall instead. It cracked it, the same way I cracked every single bone in his body and watched him bleed.”

As the words fill the space between them, Y/N rushes to grab Theodore’s hands. She inspects them, surprised to find them bruising. How did I not notice this? She whimpers at her late realization—her neglect. But now that his marred skin is beneath the scrutiny of her gaze, she notices that the blue and purple hues are rather dull in comparison to his story.

Almost as if Theodore understood her silent concerns, he says, “Cruciatus.” Y/N bristles, though her body is traitorous. It jolts, feeling the residue of the invisible needles and acid-laced knives. “Sectumsempra and a number of other curses that flew out of my mouth without thought when I saw you lying on the ground, bloody, bruised, broken. Torn apart by a mediocre middle-aged man, who deserves nothing but to be decapitated, torn limb by limb, until there’s not even a speck of his ashes left on the—”

“Theo,” Y/N calls. Her voice quivers, mirroring the tremble in her body provoked by those words. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore sniffs, head bending down.

Y/N rushes to answer, shaking her head violently. “No. I can’t… I can’t watch you tear yourself apart over something you had no control over.”

“I—”

“Listen to me! Listen to me and not the lies inside your head. Does it hurt? Yes. Does it burn? More than a Fienfyre cast by the Dark Lord himself. But you weren’t there—no, Theo, come back to me and stop traveling in time inside your head.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Theo defended. “Merlin, Y/N. I was supposed to be there! To stop all of this from happening. You’re in pain more than I am. So, stop subduing my anger!”

“I’m subduing your self-deprecation! I’m not blaming you, and I will not fan the flames of your anger. You had no way, no way, of knowing Carrow would do this.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he answers with a little less fight and a lot more shame.

“And you did, Theo,” Y/N assures, bringing herself closer to his side. “You got me out. You saved me. In time.”

“Barely!” Theodore screams, a deluge of tears running down his cheeks and burying his resolve in their undertow. “But I will save you this time. I’ll get you out. Both of us. I’ll take you away, somewhere you won’t be judged for your blood or your mistake in choosing me.”

“You’re not a mistake,” Y/N refutes, begging him to see. “Look at you. You call yourself a vision of darkness when your love and care are shining through.”

“My love is darkness, viciousness, and cruelty.” It’s almost as if he’s the one begging her to understand.

Tears cascade down Y/N’s cheeks, the saltiness and bitterness of them incomparable to Theodore’s words. “Your love is fierceness,” Y/N professes, taking Theodore’s breath away, “seamlessness, and warmth.”

“I made you live through pain,” Theodore pleads, hoping she agrees. But she doesn't.

“And I will live after it. With you.”

The confession shatters the last of Theodore’s resolve. He pulls Y/N closer, resting his chin atop her head and enveloping her in a secure embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he cries. His fingers weave through her hair, gripping the back of her head, anchoring himself in her presence—convincing himself that she’s here. “You are so strong, treasure. Stronger than life and death, brighter than light, and fiercer than shadows. I love you, my Y/N. And I swear on your head and on my mother’s last breath that I will protect you even if I have to do the unforgivable. No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

“I know,” Y/N nods as Theodore kisses the crown of her head. Each breath he takes, every word he utters, stitches through her soul, mending the threads of herself. “And I love you all the more for it.”

“You’ve endured a war. I’ll be damned if I let you face another,” Theodore promises, capturing Y/N’s lips and seamlessly merging his soul with hers.

Tomorrow remains uncertain, and control extends only so far across the horizon. Yet, with Theodore by her side, Y/N finds the darkness considerably less formidable. Even if he's willing to commit the unforgivable to shield her, forgiveness is a given. His love is the tranquility that follows the tempest, and she's ready to navigate through destruction with Theodore.

I never expected to write about a topic as painful and sensitive as SA or rape.

Hearing the multiple accounts of women around me made me see how these experiences are prevalent yet scarcely communicated. When I wrote this piece, it was with no intention to diminish the seriousness of the issue but rather use this platform as a conduit to raise the matter and bring it to light. Whether you’ve been personally impacted by this disheartening situation or witnessed someone close to you go through this, I want you to know that you are not alone. You are incredibly brave for enduring this, and there is no reason to feel ashamed. You lived through it and will live after it with even more fierceness and courage than you've ever had.

If you ever feel like talking, please know that I am here to listen, without judgment or reservation. 🤍

All-Fandom Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

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creative-frequency · 1 month ago

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DAY 3: Alhaitham (Genshin Impact) x Reader: 25. “You know I love you, right?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Alhaitham, the Scribe of the Akademiya, lifted his gaze from the book on his lap. An ankle resting over his knee, he was the picture of relaxation in the quiet of Razan Garden.

He took a glance around the perimeter and your eyes narrowed at the motion. Alhaitham was not comfortable with public displays of affection, especially so since your updated dating status was not even two days old. How the man could be so emotionally detached in public and caring in privacy, you couldn’t understand. It was bordering on split personality.

At least there was no one around the garden to cause him an aneurysm because of your unexpected, very public confession. This time.

“Is there a point to this factual assessment?” Alhaitham replied with a question, as was infuriatingly often his style.

You meandered closer and continued: “It was a pre-emptive counter-argument because I’m about to berate you for skipping the Rtawahist study material acquisition meeting.”

Alhaitham huffed, shrugged nonchalantly and closed the book. His arms raised to welcome you closer and you settled to stand between his knees, heart rate climbing irrationally high. He peered up to your face from under his bangs and placed his hands to your hips. The touch was so gentle but possessive it made your stomach jolt in excitement.

Your dedication was just about to reach the breaking point.

“A-as I was saying. You can’t just skip these meetings. Your–”

Alhaitham leaned his forehead to your chest and you completely lost the thought.

Your fingers weaved into his soft, grey hair. Why were you mad at him again?

“I needed a break,” he said quietly.

You huffed in defeat and hugged him closer.

“Come. Let’s take the afternoon off.”

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact #fanfiction #october drabbles

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7ndipity · 1 year ago

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“Like Crazy”

Jimin x Idol Reader

Summary: Jimin asks you to fill in as his dance partner for a Like Crazy performance

Warnings: not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

“Ok, let's take five and then we’ll go again!” The choreographer called.

Gratefully, you slumped down to the floor, letting your head rest against the wall as you took a few deep breaths. Comebacks were always exhausting, but this new choreo you’d been working on was really kicking your butt.

Letting your eyes fall shut, you made a mental note to try and make the next single be something slower, only to be jolted out of your train of thought by the sound of your phone.

Quickly digging it out of your bag, you couldn’t help the small grin that crept across your face as you read the caller ID. “💖Chimmy💖”

“Hey you.” You answered.

“Hey, uh, I have a huge favor to ask, and I need you to not hate me.” Jimin said quickly, sounding stressed.

“I would never hate you.” You replied.

“Would you be my dance partner?”

“What?” You blinked.

“Jinsol’s sick, and we need someone to fill in for this weekend's performance.” He explained. “I know it’s short notice, and you’re doing promotions right now too, but you’re one of the only other people who already knows the choreo.”

“Would the company be okay with us doing that?” You asked. Although it wasn’t a secret that you and Jimin were ‘close’, the exact status of your relationship was, and you knew that performing like this would inevitably stir up rumors.

“They said they could make it work, if you agreed.”

You considered it for a moment before speaking again. “Which days would you need me to cover?” You asked.

“Just Saturday.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Jimin… That’s Music Bank.” You said, stating the obvious.

“I know.”

“I’m also performing on Music Bank?”

“I know.” He repeated. “You can say no, it’s totally okay, I just had the thought-”

“No, I’ll do it.” You said quickly. The chance to actually perform with your boyfriend was not one you were keen on passing up, however sudden and hectic it might be.

“You will?!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah, sure.” You replied. “The managers will probably hate it, But what the hell?”

“Ah, Y/n, thank you!!” He cried through the phone. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for this, I promise!”

“You better,” You giggled at his enthusiasm. “I’m risking the wrath of army here.”

“They’ll behave, don’t worry.” He said. “I gotta go and update everyone, I’ll call you again later. Love you.”

“Love you too.” You replied, hanging up and taking another deep breath.

Well, this weekend just got more interesting…

The next two days were filled with ducking between rehearsals, wanting to make sure you had the choreo for ‘Like Crazy’ down perfectly. Jimin had taught you the main portion of the dance a couple months ago as he was getting ready for promotions, but you still had to get the hang of dancing with the group for the other sections.

Now, as you were weaving through the crowded backstage area to catch up with the rest of Jimin's team and quickly change outfits, you were beginning to feel the pre-show nerves settling in, despite having just finished your own performance.

As soon as Jimin caught sight of you, he tackled you in a tight hug.

“You did amazing out there!” He said excitedly, giving you a squeeze before releasing you.

“You watched?”

“Of course I did!” He said, cocking his head at you. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t support my amazingly talented partner?”

Before you could come up with a retort, you were all being called to the stage. You and the others watched from the side as Jimin went out and greeted the crowd, thanking them all for coming and expressing how he hoped they would like the performance.

As the lights went down and you and the other dancers moved to your places, you heard a couple surprised shouts of your name, making you bite back a grin as you glanced back at Jimin. He shot you a quick smile and thumbs up before turning away.

As the music started, you took a deep breath, your earlier jitters quickly dissolving as you let everything else fade away, focusing only on following the others and Jimin.

When you reached the solo part of the song that was just you and Jimin, you had to bite back another smile as the two of you made eye contact as he sang, sending him a quick wink before you spun behind him, hearing the slightest waver in his voice as he fought back a laugh.

The rest of the dance went smoothly, and almost too soon, you were back in the starting position as the final notes of the song faded out, only to be immediately replaced by the crowd’s thunderous cheers.

Everyone quickly ducked off stage and headed back to the dressing rooms in flurry, you and a couple of the other dancers talking and complementing each other on the performance. After a few minutes, Jimin managed to pull you off to the side, pressing a quick, enthusiastic kiss to your lips.

“Thank you so much.” He whispered.

“You’re welcome.” You said. “Although, you know you’re gonna get in trouble for making moves on your dancers like this.”

“I can’t help it,” He whined. “You were too cute out there.”

“Do you think the fans liked it?”

“I hope so, I know I did.” He said.

“I’ve noticed.” You giggled as he tried to kiss you again, only to be interrupted by the sound of your names being called as your teams tried to find you.

He groaned. “We’d better go. Can I come over later?” He asked.

“You better, you still owe me payment for today, remember?” You teased.

“I’ll have to come up with something really good.” He grinned before slipping out the door ahead of you.

“Can’t wait.”

#jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin drabbles #jimin x y/n #jimin x reader #jimin idol au #jimin x idol!reader #bts x idol!reader #bts idol au #jimin fluff #bts fluff #bts scenarios #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts reactions #bts requests #bts drabble #7ndipity

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psychomusic · 2 months ago

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oc time again! + her town & culture (heavily inspired by pre-roman italic populations)

she is suri sauthon. her story is linked to my swtor imperial agent, tar'x, but most of her life except for the one year away where she meets him, is spent in a town in the mountains of mirial.

despite mirial being cold and desert, and many cities developing underground, her town flourishes thanks to a force nexus, venerated in the form of an ancient, sacred, alive crystal. the ecosystem of that mountain depended on what "the horned crystal" was capable of giving them, but mirialans couldn't live off of that alone, so they developed trade and some rudimental technology, even if oftentimes it was bought thanks to the highly profitable trade of a plant used to make medicines that slowed down aging and had overall healing properties.

note: everything that's generated by this nexus has these healing properties BUT they have to be processed, except for those who bathed in the waters of the cavity under the crystal - the "real" nexus, but not the worshipped one. the waters were sacred but they were not thought to be miraculous, unlike the crystal, who instead was thought of as the keystone of the ecosystem: without it, everything would fall apart (and that is partially true: the cavity was the "real" nexus but thanks to the crystal, also strong in the force, the properties were spread all over the mountains). those who bathed in the cavity's waters - so, all of the town, who had a sort of baptism there - could eat the plant, make whatever food with it, and not only that plant, but everything generated by the nexus, that, again, had similar properties. this allowed people to live up to normal life-spans without advanced medicines or, much, really. to those who didn't live there, though, after the processing, had incredible effects, slowing down aging - for those who took it regularly - and making people able to live up to half a century more than the average]

originally, there were four tribes of nomads that lived thanks to horned farm animals that decided to settle down into one bigger town and other smaller settlements, to live off of transhumance. this division of the tribes stayed into the political and social organization: every person belonged to one tribe specifically, and had slightly different rituals and culture. for examples, each tribe had their own priests and healers, with different techniques and traditions. the town, tho, was guided by a group of people in the high priesthood, a position you could reach only by having earned the trust of all tribes. those high priests had many roles: they guided the people into sacred processions common to all the tribes, they managed the trading with outsiders, they did the maintenance of the temple of the summit (the one that functioned as casket to the crystal) and created a special liquid to offer the crystal that helps it grow.

this particular temple was important because 1. it was very visible, from every angle of the town, and it became an important identity symbol; 2. it stored the venerated horned crystal; 3. it had the altar where sacrifices were made for the crystals. that altar had a hole connected to the cavity, that allowed the liquids to reach the underground; 4. it had various symbols: statues representing each tribe + the high priesthood, and typical mirialan tattoos carved into the wood of the trees that served as columns for the temple, symbolizing 8 values that who dared to enter HAD to have; 5. it was on the way to an important lake (called "mother lake" because the lake the town was built around to depended on the waters of that other lake) where they traveled to in important processions; 6. it was said that a the wizard who unified the tribes made it with its magic, making the plant grow to hold the temple's roof. this wizard was, actually, a force user, obv.

BACK TO HER THOUGH: she's daughter of one of the high priests, who was in charge of managing the trades with outsiders, and lives in a house on the mountains with her mother and him. her parents are from different tribes (that's one of the things that earned him trust from the 4 tribes): when a child is born from two different tribes, they don't pick one to allign to, but they're usually linked automatically to the one with more relatives in it (in her case, the father's tribe: she had many uncles and aunts on his side while her mom only had one sister).

later, though, she got quite tied to her mother's tribe due to a mysterious illness that only her mother's tribe healer was able to cure. she spent 4 years (from 10 to 14 years old) living with the healer and learned her secrets. to better study, she wrote them down. when she returned home, she studied to become a priestess with her father. at 22 (the average age: you can't become priest before your 20s), she was supposed to take a test and become a priestess, but the healer of her mother's tribe died and the tribe asked her to take her place. she couldn't technically do that, but both tribes estimated both her and her parents and she was allowed to become both. she then decided to try to become a high priestess, and became one at 25 (a quite young age). being part of the council, she tried to convince the various tribe healers to unite their knowledges and write them down, and eventually made it. healers still remained tribe based but they now had an "upper, inter-tribe level" similar to high priesthood.

years later, the sacred horned crystal is stolen from the temple by some Hutt mercenaries looking for a profit. given the trust she has earned from all the tribes and the fact that her father is the high priest that deals with outsiders (and she's been hearing stories and advice about it since she was little), she is the one tasked with getting it back. without the growing crystal, the keystone to their ecosystem, the village would have lasted only a few years. in hrr quest, she meets imperial intelligence agent tar'x laran and, as they "solve the mystery" and fight to have it back, they get closer. they'll get married and have a daughter, Vegoia (who's the only one who actually will get to the plot of my story. this was all background)

#i overdeveloped this part of the background. IT'S QUITE LITERALLY USELESS. like. Vegoia will have so few memories of it (she'll become jedi)#i will make a post about her too when I'll finish designing her and outlining her story BUT that may be difficult cuz the frame for the mai #story is quite difficult to match with how developed the other stories are getting and i have to figure it Much Stuff yet #so I'm using these post to like. fix a certain part lf the lore because even my own notes are getting older and messy. better to start over #ANYWAY for those curious & who are still reading (if u exist. WTF THANK U!!); my main story is actually a research file in the jedi archive #BASICALLY i was trying to write my own story for years but then i watched a video (tcw doesn't hold up by sheev talks i think) and i finall #understood how to frame all of these stories together in a way that i feel can add to the star wars lore (because. the others were just #like. okay but who cares unless me? and i did want to have a cool frame that maybe some nerd would be interested in looking into)#so: when ahsoka anakin and obi return from mortis; they tell the council about it (yoda knows about it in s6). sheev talks complained that #it was incredibly full of stuff that was done so poorly it could ruin a big part of the original sw story itself and it was never brought u #again. and honestly i agree. SO my story is about a jedi that is tasked with research on the celestials & by having him figure out stuff i #can minimize/limit/reframe some of the controversial things in there (i love mortis arc so bad but i also agree with his critic. I'll Fix™)#so. many stories will be about people who have previously seen the celestials or have been to mortis one way or another (pre-tcw obv) & hav #had experience & knowledge that the researcher is looking for. so i get to have an anthology with many stories #and have a cool frame I'm intrested in developing + i can experiment with different storytelling styles depending on how he finds out stuff #+ there was another sw story with a similar frame i think? so if i decide to write the story as if it was the file itself and not the searc #i can have even a REFERENCE of what a file like that is supposed to be. LIKE. IT ALL FITS!!!#sw #star wars #swtor #the old republic #star wars oc #imperial agent #star wars fanart #mirialan oc #mirialan #star wars story #star wars the old republic #oc: suri sauthon

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lexlawuk · 23 days ago

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Curtailment of Pre-settled Status Under the EU Settlement Scheme: What You Need to Know

The EU Settlement Scheme (EUSS) has provided EU citizens and their family members the opportunity to secure their rights to live and work in the UK post-Brexit. However, the rules surrounding pre-settled status are more complex than they may seem. While the Home Office offers some flexibility in granting status, it also retains the discretionary power to curtail (cancel) pre-settled status if an…

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theofficialpresidentofmars · 2 months ago

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thinking about how avatar legends implies that Lu Ten was on his way to figuring out that the Fire Nation were the bad guys pre unfortunate demise, so naturally here’s an AU where Lu Ten gets it together sometime before he dies during the siege of Ba Sing Se, does something about it, consequently survives, and how it would affect the rest of the world.

Lu Ten had always been a people person, a skill which served him well as the future crown prince and made him a favourite in the court, and a skill that led to him realising that the way that the Fire Nation treated other people as a whole was not something he could stand to be a part of anymore. He’d always been sheltered from the brunt of it, he suspected in part due to his duty as a prince not being one that involves seeing the worst of what your nation has to offer, and just as equally due to his own father trying to preserve his innocence at best, and trying to deliberately avoid sparking his natural curiosity at worst. He’d worked his way up in the military by his own hand as a result, in order to get his answers on the frontlines himself- and what he’d found wasn’t pretty. The Siege of Ba Sing Se has torn families apart, seen cultural history razed to ashes, and has in no way done anything to spread the peace and prosperity of his nation with the innocent people of the Earth Kingdom. It had confirmed all his worst fears about the Fire Nation, and about his own father. Lu Ten knew there was truth to be found, and truth he did find- a truth he could not stand by and idly ignore.

And so Lu Ten challenged his father, on the five hundred and fiftieth day of the siege. It was not a rallying call for action, or a public spectacle, rather a series of raised concerns in the enclosed space of a tented war meeting. But it was a challenge in the eyes of the seated officers, it was a challenge by Fire Nation law- he had undermined his own father’s authority, challenged his honour, and there was only one way to settle these sorts of things. If Iroh wanted to keep the respect of his men, he would have to fight his own son, and win, in Agni Kai.

Neither of them wanted this. Iroh offered Lu Ten the first strike. Lu Ten refused, and when Iroh persisted, refused to fight at all. Although Lu Ten would not surrender, it would be the easiest victory in Fire Nation history.

Iroh could not bring himself to harm his son, but if he let Lu Ten go without any punishment, he would lose the respect of his men. He asked, then commanded Lu Ten to surrender, to accept that his father was right. But Lu Ten simply refused, over and over. An hour went by without a single flame. Eventually, Iroh realised that even in stalling, he was losing. He did not like what he had to do, but his son was grown. He had forced his hand, and he could not be allowed to think that he was exempt from his duty as a citizen due to his status.

Iroh sent out a burst of flame. It would have been ridiculously easy to avoid, or to block, and then Lu Ten would have fought back enough for his defeat to not ridicule Iroh.

But Lu Ten simply let it wash over him, let it touch upon and burn his skin. It hurt, but it reinforced a further truth within his mind- his father would choose his nation over his own son. That was the last thing he’d needed to know.

Iroh was able to call a defeat there and then, a punishment enacted, a warning that Lu Ten would be further reprimanded later. But when he reached his son’s tent hours after, he found it only empty- of both the firebender and his belongings. Lu Ten had disappeared, and as the next morning made evidently clear, deserted.

…

Only days later, Iroh returned to the Fire Nation in disgrace. The Siege of Ba Sing Se had been on a downwards slide, but the Agni Kai had damaged morale, and had publicly humiliated the Dragon of the West, causing the Fire Lord to order a strategic retreat. The once-great General had been made an example of by his traitorous son, and had brought shame upon their entire bloodline as a result.

When Iroh’s younger brother suggested a change in the order of succession not long after, Fire Lord Azulon was a little more open to the possibility. Ozai was made the Crown Prince, and Ursa was there to see it. Iroh did not grieve his son, nor chase him over the world in a spiritually enlightening journey of self-discovery. Instead, he closed off and hardened up after his failure, much to the dismay of Ursa and the young prince Zuko.

Lu Ten became the Fire Nation’s most wanted criminal, but seemed to disappear off the face of the planet entirely. No one could catch him, no one could ever seem to see him. Some joked he’d gone and found the Avatar. But it was made clear that he no longer had a home to return to.

…

Sozin’s Comet was close approaching, and it was time for a new era. A new Fire Lord was crowned, after the old one perished peacefully in his sleep. The Fire Lady went missing, although not many noticed, as she’d appeared in the public eye less and less.

The new crown prince of the Fire Nation found himself in a war meeting, and as some things never change, was unable to stop himself from standing up for what he believed in.

Zuko consequently found himself in an Agni Kai arena, facing his father. Under different circumstances this might have gone some other way, but Zuko had heard about his cousin. He’d heard what had happened, how even though his father had tried not to hurt him, he’d come away burned, disgraced, and had almost toppled the entire royal family as a result. He’d heard how Lu Ten had refused to fight, and how his own nation wanted him dead for it.

Zuko knew he was not as widely beloved as Lu Ten, and he knew that his father was not afraid to hurt him, not if it taught him a lesson. So even though everything inside him screamed this is wrong, this is cruel, this is unfair, don’t fight him, don’t let yourself become a part of this, Zuko did not back down. He knew that his father could not and did not expect him to win. He knew that his father wanted to publicly demonstrate that his will as the Fire Lord was correct, and as such, he would receive the least punishment if he helped to show this. Defeating a child who did not fight- that was not a display of strength. Zuko was expected to fight for his honour, and he was expected to lose, but the honour was in the act of fighting, not winning.

Zuko rose, and accepted his opponent. He swallowed his every instinct, and took the first strike, a weak and pitiful thing. Zuko fought, and some part deep within himself was irrevocably changed as a result.

He lost, but his father did not banish him, did not brand him. He was dishonoured, but he was allowed to stay, allowed to learn from his ‘mistake’ in the sanctity of the palace walls, surrounded by tutors and teachers appointed by the Fire Lord.

Zuko did in fact learn something. He learnt to sit down, and shut up.

It didn’t matter what he thought. He was too young to understand the scale that the Fire Nation operated at, too inexperienced to understand the weight of the sacrifices his people made for him. And he was clearly alone in whatever he’d thought before, as no one had stood up for him in the arena, no one had offered to take his place, or spoken up for him. That was just how things were done, and Zuko was alone.

His father had been angry with him after the battle: not that he’d fought, but that he’d fought weakly. That was going to have to be the first thing remedied. If Zuko were to be the crown prince, it would not do to have Agni’s chosen be outshined by even his own younger sister.

His mother was not there to protect him. His uncle was busy with his own things. His cousin had left him, had run away, never to return.

The new firebending teachers were ruthless, painful, and effective. If he disappointed them even slightly, the price to pay was high.

Zuko learnt how to suppress his emotions, and in turn, himself. It worked.

…

Lu Ten had learnt how to fend for himself during his time in the military, and had been able to live off the land, travelling from Earth Kingdom village to village for the better part of three years, before he heard of the Avatar’s re-emergence.

Wasn’t that something.

He’d spent much of his time helping people, both through hands on work that his youth, strength, and fitness allowed him to take on beyond most people in needs’ own capabilities, and through very small scale political and charity work where his charm managed to set things right. Nothing that could draw too much attention to himself though, as he knew the bounty on his head was high. He’d been working his way down through the continent, and had managed to avoid any dangerous confrontation with his homeland so far.

Then the Avatar arrived, and Lu Ten was no longer the Fire Nation’s most wanted. Lu Ten himself was greatly pleased at the news, and hoped that it might herald the end of the war. He also hoped to one day meet the spirit, but had no plans of his own to seek him out.

That was, until he heard the word of his capture, by none other than the newly-promoted Admiral Zhao. The Avatar had been apprehended, and was being held in Pohuai Stronghold.

Pohuai Stronghold? That’s not too far from here.

And so it happened that armed with a single sword, an Earth Kingdom theatre mask he’d spontaneously picked up from a street vendor after being reminded of a game his young cousins used to play that involved sneaking around (Zuko, although you’d probably disagree with me for doing this, this one’s for you), and a dream, the former prince of the Fire Nation met the Avatar in the highest cell of the fortress, and then again properly after a successful escape.

…

“Ha. Azula, come have a look at this.”

His sister walked up to him and snatched the letter out of his hands. “This is a correspondence from Admiral Zhao saying that the Avatar is no longer in holding at Pohuai Stronghold. What’s funny about that?”

“Read the details. He was broken out by a single man wearing a Dark Water Spirit mask. Can you imagine?”

Azula sighed. “I can, actually. That sounds like just the kind of stupid thing that you would do. In fact, if it weren’t impossible for you to have traveled that distance in the time since it happened, you would be my first suspect.”

He laughed again. “I’m flattered, although I’m not stupid enough to break into a highly armoured Fire Nation prison with only a sword.”

The eye roll of serious doubt he received in response was almost audible.

“I would have brought two swords.”

“Idiot.” Azula read the rest of the letter. “Either way, this isn’t something to laugh about. We’ve lost the Avatar, who if you’ve forgotten, could bring an end to our whole civilisation.”

That did sort of kill the mood a little bit. She was right, as always.

“… But it’s a little funny that it happened to Zhao, of all people.”

“That guy is such a kiss-ass.”

“Trying to get in the Fire Lord’s good graces when he can’t even defend a fortress from a single lowly peasant in a play-mask?”

“They’ll make anyone an admiral these days,” Zuko agreed, and they both smiled, united by their hatred of a common enemy.

There was a moment of quiet that followed, and they both took turns reading the letter again.

“I should hope our ground forces in the area are at least competent enough to find and apprehend the criminal shortly,” Azula decided.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should push for an execution. It would send a message to those would-be ‘heroes’ looking to harbour the Avatar.”

Zuko sighed. “Probably for the best.”

…

this is only just the beginning. I have more planned. Lu Ten bonding with team Avatar, Iroh having a later-in-life come around to being wrong. Azula and Zuko being sent on missions together, and Zuko WILL be forcibly kidnapped, separated, and taken under someone’s wing whether he likes it or not (he won’t). Silly things happen, but at the end of the day, it’s all towards the same goal.

And even in this different universe, some things won’t change. And some things that seem to have changed already will right themselves with time.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zuko #atla zuko #atla fanfic #atla azula #azula #lu ten #lu ten atla #uncle iroh #fire lord ozai #atla au

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possible-eldritch-catboy · 1 year ago

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fellow usamericans just a small reminder (bc I feel like I need to hear it rn) that the primary elections are still a thing and we shouldn't have to settle for less just because the pres sucks rn. I feel like the vast majority of democratic voters are less than pleased with the current genocide enabling state of affairs so really. we should pick another candidate, (someone younger and less prone to do literally nothing for 4 years of presidency ideally,) and vote them for pres candidate. we got a good chance of being heard I think. and then we should vote them into potus power with a swiftness. numbers that blow the last election out the water. check your voting status y'all they tryna silence our voices more than ever but if we can make some sort of change at the polls we should damn well try fr

(remember: presidential primaries are in march! check your voter status both now and somewhere in february jic!!)

#possibly connie #politics #us elections #free palestine #2024 elections #primary elections #it is so funny that we were worried trump would become our first historical dictator #but then we voted biden to stop that from happening #and he seems just as content to gun for first dictator spot!!!!#just as willing to infringe upon our civil liberties as we feared trump would be #fucking ridiculous

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daisies-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Hi! Can I request of TF141 x Fem! Reader who is cold hearted when going in war but she kind snd smile when helping the civilians and children. Like the tf141 never see Y/n smile after joining the military. And when they see her smile the first time, they felt heart warm and almost cry see Y/n smile as an angel.

Take all the time you want. No need to rush.

Pairing: TF141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Category: Fluff & Angst

Warnings: Suggestive Comments, Blood, Injuries, Swearing, Depictions of Child Labor

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for your request! (I love your incorrect COD quotes btw, they’re so much fun to read! ☺️).

“Bliz”

That’s what you were known as when you were in the SAS. It was short for “Blizzard”, and that you were. Your taciturn and cold demeanor made other soldiers weary of your presence.

“We call her Blizzard cause ‘Ice Queen’ was just too damn long,” you remember on of your fellow soldiers remarking when he thought you couldn’t hear him. Hopefully, you wouldn’t have to deal with such idiocy now that you’ve been recruited into Task Force 141. When you walked into Captain John Price’s office and he congratulated you on being selected, he seemed a bit put off by your stern attitude.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Captain Price,” you replied, your lips in a straight line. The Captain gave you a small smile.

“We’re on the same team now. Just call me Price,” he said. You stood in place and straighter your shoulders.

“I prefer to call my fellow soldiers and superiors by their rank,” you explained with a flat tone.

Your introduction to the rest of 141 went about the same way.

“Hey there! Name’s Soap. Nice to have a new face on the team!” Soap beamed with an outstretched hand. You eyed him up and down, mouth curved in a frown.

“Thanks,” you muttered as you shifted in place. Soap’s hand twitched slightly as he lowered it to his side. He watched you introduce yourself to Ghost and Gaz before you brushed past them.

“Come on. We have a meeting in five,” you stated. The three men watched you walk towards Price’s office for the newest mission’s pre-briefing. Soap clicked his tongue before walking in the same direction with Ghost and Gaz, your frame already out of sight.

“I thought ‘Blizzard’ was just an exaggeration,” Soap muttered.

“She’s SAS-you know the shite she’s probably seen,” Ghost said. Soap sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“Not every girl’s gonna want to get into your pants, Johnny,” Gaz retorted. Soap scoffed.

“That’s not-“ Ghost and Gaz gave him a knowing, sideways glance. Soap huffed through his nose. “Ah, what do you know? Probably haven’t even held hands with a lass,” Soap waved. Gaz’s nostrils flared but he kept walking. The men rounded the corner and stepped into the office. You were standing at the other side of the room, your arms crossed and brows slightly furrowed. Soap could’ve sworn that he saw you narrow your eyes at him.

“Right. Let’s begin,” Price said. A thick layer of unease settled over the room during the prebriefing. Soap would glance over at you every once in a while. You were like a statue, your eyes glued to the Captain as he explained the ins and outs of the mission.

“Your objective is to infiltrate a weapons manufacturing plant in the town of Nahr. It belongs to one of Al-Qatala’s allies: the Riah Sharquia,” Price explained.

“The Eastern Wind?” you asked.

“Never heard of them,” Ghost added. Price nodded.

“They’ve been operating underground for the past ten years. Just announced themselves publicly about a few weeks ago,” he stated. You nodded, gaze intensely set on the Captain.

“Anyway, back to what I was saying. You are to capture the head of the western plant, Adil Malik, and interrogate him,” he continued. “Best to keep your wits about you: These bastards have the region in an iron grip. They’ve been taking local people and forcing them to assemble their weapons…mostly children,” he continued. Your face twisted into a deep scowl, hands clenched into tight fists. It didn’t go unnoticed by Soap.

“Wheels up at seventeen-hundred tonight,” Price said with a nod. Time flew by quickly and before he knew it, Soap was sitting next to you on the flight. You were sandwiched between him and Ghost, the two imposing men towering over you even as you sat down. Gaz sat nearby along with some other soldiers crowded in the bay. Soap leaned over with a cheeky grin.

“Hey, Bliz,” he smiled. You kept your gaze forward, lips sealed tightly. “What smells like red paint but is blue?” Soap snickered. Ghost rolled his eyes, as if he were one to talk about bad jokes.

“Blue paint,” you replied shortly with a straight face. Soap twisted his lips.

“Yeah that’s…that’s right,” he muttered awkwardly. Some soldiers across from you whispered, only to cease when they realized your icy gaze was locked on them. Soap sighed and leaned back as much as he could.

It was going to be a very long flight.

+++

You pushed through the rickety door, splinters flying across the room.

“BLIZ! YOU BETTER GET YOUR ARSE BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!” Ghost barked. You gasped at the sight before you: a group of children huddled together in the corner of the filthy sweatshop. You heard the lieutenant rush up behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the group of gaunt faces.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed while clenching his fists. You stepped forward and pulled your black mask down, revealing a gentle look on your face. A small lump formed in the lieutenant’s throat as he watched you kneel down on one knee.

“It’s okay. We aren’t going to hurt you,” you cooed softly as you slowly held out your hand. A young boy shuffled forward, hesitantly slipping his hand into yours. You helped him up, causing the other children to mutter to each other.

“GHOST! BLIZ! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE!” Gaz suddenly shouted over the coms. “THEY FUCKING RIGGED THE PLACE TO BLOW!” Both of you exchanged glances before looking back at the kids.

“Aitabieni,” you said calmly. Some children anxiously huddled near your side as you rushed them forward. Ghost surveyed the area before motioning to move.

“Soap, are the exits clear?” Ghost asked.

“Aye,” the Scotsman replied.

A sense of relief washed over you as you saw sunlight pour through a crack in the exit door. A sudden shriek pierced through the hallway, causing you to stop in your tracks. The other children ran past you as you whipped your head around. A young girl was crying as she held her bleeding foot, a shard of glass with crimson on it lying nearby.

“BLIZ! DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP!” Ghost bellowed. You sprinted down the hallway, grabbing the child and scooping her into your arms as you rushed outside. Just as you reached the gate, you heard a rancorous crack behind you.

“(Y/N)!” Ghost shouted. You curled yourself over the small one, keeping your arms wrapped around their head. The shockwaves sent you tumbling forward. Rubble flew past you as you did your best to shield her from the blast. You held onto the child tightly as the ringing in your ears continued to bombard you. The smoke and embers were searing hot as they cascaded from what remained of the building. You coughed when the dust finally began to settle.

You looked down in your arms, relieved to see that the child was still breathing. The young girl had her face nuzzled into your chest, hands white-knuckling your shirt as she sobbed. You heard Ghost's muffled shouting as he ran towards you, helping you while Soap took the little girl. You tried to stand, only to fall on the ground. The world was spinning as Ghost picked you up in his arms.

“Make sure they’re safe,” you smiled weakly before your vision suddenly went black.

+++

You gasped as you shot upwards on a hard surface. You groaned as a throbbing pain shot through your skull. A dark haired man stood near you, his lips curving into a smile when he locked eyes with you.

“She’s awake!” he sang, his voice slightly muffled. You grunted as you tried to sit up, only to fall back down on the scratchy mat.

“Easy there, Bliz,” Soap said as he came to kneel by your side. You blinked a few times, your vision becoming less blurred.

“Where…what?” your voice croaked. Ghost and Gaz stood in the corner, their attention quickly shifting from their conversation over to you. All of you were in a small room, a lamp dimly lighting up the space. You trailed your fingers over your head, feeling at the blood-soaked bandages.

“You took quite the spill out there,” Soap said. He tilted his head towards the man who was preoccupied with preparing some medicine. “Doctor Kaan said he wasn’t too keen to taking in outsiders-but since you saved his wee lass, he made an exception,” the soldier beamed. A small face suddenly appeared behind the unknown man. Your eyes widened when you realized it was the young girl you had rescued from the hallway. She smiled sheepishly as the man turned and patted her head. He swiveled back to look at you, a wide smile on his face and tears in his eyes.

“Thanks to you, my little Emel has come back to me,” he choked. The girl tugged on his shirt. He chuckled as he brought her into his arms, kissing her forehead gently. The doctor stepped closer, holding your hand and shaking it. “Thank you, thank you,” he sobbed repeatedly. Your cheeks tinted with pink as the corners of your mouth finally curved into a complete smile. Soap felt his heart flutter as he stared at your soft, angelic face. Even the corners of Ghost’s eyes crinkled, and Gaz couldn’t help but crack a small grin. Your face truly shined like the sun when you smiled.

“Anything for the little ones,” you beamed.

+++

Epilogue

Soap watched you with a bright smile as you kicked the football back to a group of kids. They giggled and went on with their game. The empty streets before were starting to bustle back to life. Ghost and Gaz were…busy at the moment. Soap strode over to where you were seated. Your peaceful expression shifted into a slight frown.

“What is it, Sergeant MacTavish?” you asked bluntly. His shoulders bounced as he slid next to you.

“You know you can just call me Soap, right?” he nudged your arm. You rolled your eyes, only to flinch when the ball came flying towards you. Soap reached his hands out, catching it just inches from your face. You blinked as he chuckled and threw it back to the kids.

“How’d you do that?” you asked. He looked at you with a glint in his eye.

“I might have a tad bit of practice,” Soap hummed. You gave him an unreadable expression before turning back to the game.

“Thank you…Soap,” you murmured while looking forward. He grinned.

“Anytime, bonnie”.

————

Thank you for reading! ❤️

@silverwolf-108

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echo-bleu · 11 months ago

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Noldor Hair Headcanons (4/4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | On AO3

There isn’t anyone left who knows how to do Maglor’s Mourning Braids, but they are described in a lament for Fingon that’s still doing the rounds, so Elrond and Elros make their best try. That style is henceforth known as Elrond’s Mourning Braids (because Elros gets forgotten by the elves a lot after he dies, let’s not lie to ourselves).

A decade of nothing but Mourning Braids really hammers in that Elrond and Elros weren’t just hostages.

It doesn’t do a lot for their reputation, but they don’t particularly care.

Bit by bit, Elros adopts mannish customs after making his Choice, and even goes so far as to cut his hair above the shoulder. Elrond is pre-grieving his brother too much to be properly shocked about this.

(It’s still long enough to braid. It’s fine. It’s not like his brother is leaving him on purpose. Or rejecting him. Elrond knows that.)

Everyone thinks Elrond should wear his hair in the Sindarin custom but he refuses to give up his Noldor braids. Elros braids his brother’s hair until he leaves for Númenor.

Elrond and Gil-galad do each other’s hair through the Second Age. Because they’re the last of their family and the only ones to keep to the old traditions. Not at all because they’re close. Of course not. Wouldn’t be proper. (They spend two hours at it every morning alone in Gil-galad’s chambers.)

Elrond revives his Mourning Braids on his 500th birthday.

Celebrimbor learns about dwarven hair culture. It’s Very Different but kind of similar, in that fancy hairstyles are a status thing. (Or really, long hair/beard is a status thing and then you have to do something with it because otherwise it catches everywhere.)

Narvi isn’t in fact the first dwarf to touch elven hair, but that’s only because Finrod had a very extended concept of family.

Annatar magically braids his own hair, when he even bothers (his hair doesn’t even singe in the forge if it falls into the fire). This hurts Celebrimbor’s sensitivities, but he adapts to Annatar’s ways, and adapts again, and adapts, until he really can’t.

Sauron cuts off Celebrimbor’s beautiful dark braids full of dwarven beads and ties them to the spears of his personal guard. Elrond never quite manages to get that image out of his head.

At war again, Gil-Galad invents locs. Well, re-invents them really, because Silvan elves have worn them forever, but he’s the first Noldor to do it. (He has Fingon’s hair texture. Does that mean he’s Fingon’s son? Who knows. He’s not telling.)

It’s only after Gil-galad’s death that Elrond teaches himself how to braid his own hair.

He hates it.

But he won’t wear his hair loose.

(The first style he masters is Maglor’s Mourning Braids.) (It really shouldn’t be because it’s Intricate but Elrond is nothing if not stubborn.)

Imladris has a full salon, like the Noldor palaces of old.

It doesn’t get that much use, to be honest.

Erestor learns to braid really tiny braids into Glorfindel’s hair, so that he never wears his hair fully loose but it still looks like it’s loose. Everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. Glorfindel thinks it’s the best thing. Elrond watches them with a knowing smile.

Celebrían wears her hair half-loose in the Sindar style until she marries Elrond. It takes him several years to find the strength to ask her to do his hair, but she lets him do hers and he sneaks in more and more braids until they settle on a mixed-style. When he finally allows her to do his hair, Celebrían makes her mother grumpily teach her proper Noldor braids.

Elladan and Elrohir only wear practical Sindarin braids for the day to day, but they delight in doing each other’s hair in complicated styles for feasts and ceremonies. Elrond cries the first time they accidentally replicate Maglor’s favourite hairstyle.

Arwen is a little gremlin who squirms out of her parents’ lap when they try to braid her hair. She’s also inherited even more of Melian’s hair than Elrond, so even when they manage to do a braid, it’s gone in a few hours.

It takes years after Celebrían sails, because they’re all grieving, but eventually Elrohir offers to do his father’s hair, and Elrond lets him. They don’t do it every day, but it’s a large step in their recovery process.

By the way, Thranduil’s thing for flower/leaf crowns isn’t a Sindar or Silvan practice, it’s just that he wanted to be Fancy but Not In a Noldor Way, thank you very much. He’s also very vain. His servants do his hair.

Little Estel is very cute, has very silky hair for a man, even of his line, and makes a great doll for the twins to play with. He likes his hair touched A Lot.

Arwen learns about that early on. She’s a very good silver smith. Aragorn now owns a lot of hair jewellery. He can’t make a braid to save his life, but that’s fine, because Arwen can’t wear them anyway.

In the North, he wears his hair like Elros, cut above his shoulders. Once he becomes King, he lets it grow to his waist. He’s the first Man since Tuor to casually wear his hair in elaborate Noldor braids. He accidentally sets a fashion.

Arwen also does Éowyn’s and Faramir’s hair regularly. The first time is for their wedding. Éowyn isn’t a fan of the unpractical Fëanorian styles, but the Nolofinwëan battle braids look incredibly good on her.

Wandering on the coast for two ages, Maglor no longer does anything with his hair. It doesn’t enjoy the salt at all.

When Elrond finally finds him, he almost has to cut it all off. Instead, he spends weeks carefully untangling and moisturising Maglor’s hair until he can finally braid it in the old style for him. Maglor cries.

Elrond cries too. He cries even more when Maglor sits them down on the floor and braids his hair like he used to.

They sail together with the other Ring bearers, and there’s a lot more crying when they find Celebrían, Gil-galad and Maedhros waiting for them together.

Celebrían is wearing her hair in one of the Fëanorian styles that can be done one-handed.

Galadriel isn’t entirely happy about that, but she sees Finrod and forgets about it.

There’s some more crying.

Fingon is also there (the amount of gold in his hair is a bit blinding, not that Elrond will ever tell him) and also wearing a one-handed braided style.

There are some fights over who gets to do Elrond’s hair in the next few weeks.

Celebrían wins most of them, because she’s inherited Galadriel’s viciousness, but she lets everyone have a turn.

Elrond would like to know why he doesn’t have a say in it.

(He does. They would never touch him if he didn’t want to. They’re just very happy to see him.)

He does go to visit Elwing and Eärendil in their tower, and he goes with his hair down, because he’s a peace-maker at heart.

But in Tirion, he always sports the most complex hairstyles, just barely coming short of overshadowing the High King’s (mostly because his hair is still too silky for it to hold well), because his family all want to outdo each other.

He earns the reputation of being the most beloved of all the Noldor.

It’s not wrong.

Some visuals & more in my art tag

#noldor hair headcanons #if i am to braid my mystic crown #echo's fanfiction #silmarillion #tolkien #silm fic #tolkien fanfiction #elrond #gil-galad #lotr #the lord of the rings #aragorn #arwen #celebrimbor #maglor

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