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talesofadragon · 5 months

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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

#harry potter fanfiction #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott imagine #theo nott angst #theodore nott imagine #overprotective theodore nott #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #hp fandom #theodorenott

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the-greatest-magic-of-all · 1 month

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With such a God-focused season, one day, once Junior Year is finished and I have both the time and energy to do it, I want to make a Fantasy High God AU zine. It'd be from the pov of a mythologist/theologian in Spyre who's found strange links between minor deities throughout different regions' pantheons.

Half-Elves have a God of Dance and Flames who has been said to have defeated a Tiefling vagabond (and tamed his Hellhound mount) and charmed Fire itself with only a dance and his silk battle sheet. And if you look deep enough into his history there are rare depictions of him wearing an oddly shaped pendant and riding into battle with a sling-wielding Goblin peeking out of his rucksack. Interestingly enough, there's a minor Goblin God of Justice and Mysteries, the son of a Goblin Folk Hero and the Goblin Goddess of Knowledge, Laws, and Justice, who famously wields his father's enchanted sling. Though he and his father are often shown with angelic wings. So, why would he dally with a God so closely associated with Fiends?

Tieflings have a trickster Goddess of Music, Rebellion, and Devotion. The daughter of an Archdevil and a Wood Elven Goddess of Archery & the Wilderness. She's said to be a paramour of a Half-Phoenix Pirate Goddess of Wizardry and Knowledge and once toured the lands, performing with a Half-Orc companion. A lot of artistic recreations of that tour depict the Half-Orc companion with flower motifs that correspond with a Gnomish/Half-Orcish God of Tinkering and Rage. One that once outwitted a Sphynx and regained his spurned Saytr paramour's love by speaking to/reaching the stars with the help of a band of Tinkerer Gnomes.

There are tales of a Twice Risen Goddess who was once the chosen one of the Demigod Helio, but took one look at him and thought she could do better. With the wisdom to raise Gods from the dead and remove unholy rites without any divine power other than her own, this God-Saint of Doubt travels across Spyre not to spread her own religion but to inquire about others. This deep curiosity is probably how she ended up in some Fallinel depictions of the First Elven Oracle, who upon death ascended to becoming the Goddess of Sight, Intelligence and Righteous Fury. There are even short hymns written about the Oracle foreseeing the God-Saint's rise (against the Elven Moon Goddess' wishes) and of the God-Saint banishing some dark entity from possessing the Oracle with only a profane curse of its name.

And even more stuff connecting them all. Like the fact that all of them have tales of them defeating an Ancient Red Dragon. Or the tales of The Festival of the Crab King: a strange, delirious story of mortals witnessing a euphoric revelry of the deific kind that involved all these Gods from different pantheons.

#idk i think it'd be a fun time #fantasy high #dimension 20 #fabian seacaster #riz gukgak #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #fig faeth #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high junior year spoilers

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potions-of-dark-devotion · 4 months

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Everyone Dreams of Going to Hogwarts

Every fan of Harry Potter has indulged in the fantasy of waiting for an Owl to deliver the fateful letter that will declare your future as a witch or wizard at Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry. Every one of us old or young had dreamed of riding the train at Kings Cross Station, taking the boats across the black lake and seeing the castle for the first time, of having dinner in the great hall, of finally figuring out where you belong in the world and it just feeling right. They fantasize about seeing their common room for the first time finally feeling that warm sense of belonging and meeting the friends that you will keep for the rest of your life. Every single one of us had fantasized about meeting our professors, exploring the grounds and discovering our latent potential. It’s a comfort for many of us and happy place to go in our minds to escape reality.

For the witches and wizards of the Wizarding World that childhood fantasy is their reality. They too wait with bated breath for their letters. They too fantasize about finally feeling that “at home” feeling, the feeling that you finally belong to something bigger and more wonderful than their wildest dreams. The chance to prove themselves. The chance to start over for many, the chance to leave their sometimes abusive homes for a place that finally actually feels like home to them. Harry was one of those people. Dumbledore was one of those people. Hermione, Ron and even Neville all find this sense of belonging sooner or later. They all find their forever home at Hogwarts the way we all dream.

Now imagine being Seveurs Snape.

You live in a house with a father that doesn’t understand you and screams and yells at you and your mother on a daily basis and you feel so alone in the world. You have one peer who appreciates in you the magic that allows you to rise above the squaller and cruelty in which you live. You have one friend who sees you for who you are and appreciates that about you truly, while being forced to inhabit a world that not only doesn’t understand you but is actually often openly hostile to you. Hogwarts, you beleive, will be your escape from this hell, and best of all you get to take this wonderful friend with you. You are being whisked away to a fairy tale castle where dreams come true and you will finally feel safe and finally feel a real sense of home. You stay up all night all week waiting by the door in the early morning for the letter that is finally going to change your life. You pour over it with your best friend, going over every aspect of this incredible opportunity in your mind over and over. You’re planning how you’ll make the most of it. You finally let yourself look forward to something, to open your heart to something, to dream of something. Your greatest hearts desire to this moment is finally coming true.

Then you get on the train.

And the hell begins before the first day has ever even started. Your friend is angry at you for something entirely out of your control, and even though you make up destiny has deigned that on this day you will meet the person that will destroy any hope you ever entertained of Hogwarts being a home at all. His name is James Potter. His partners in the crimes which will forever change your life are Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black. From the moment you meet you are ridiculed by them, physically abused by them, and the worst part is from this day forward it is never going to end.

Your best friend is put not just in a different house but in the house that hates your house the most, and from this day forward you will forever have a strain on the only true friendship you’ve ever had. From this day forward you will have to meet them either in secret or at least in private to avoid angering both your houses at best and facing ridicule at worst. The moments you stole with this friend in the muggle hell will ironically be the only moments of peace you’ll truly have with them. Not only that, but they are sorted into the same house that 4 of your worst tormentors reside in.

But it’s even worse. Because although at home you can escape form your father and potential school bullies by hiding yourself away in some nook or cranny, making yourself scarce, staying out late at night in the woods or just being as quiet as possible; you will never be able to escape the torment that now awaits every day. You have classes with them, you run into them, you see them trying to take away the only friend you have every day. And it doesn’t even end there, now they have a tracking device that you don’t know about, but somehow they manage to find you no matter where you hide. No matter where you go they are somehow always there. No matter who you talk to, they all act like you’re crazy. Because none of the other professors or students know about the marauders map they find you strange for jumping at every blow of the wind. Because they don’t know about the map they don’t believe you at all when you try to explain that somehow James Potter and his gang seem to pop up conveniently every single place you go to hide and they even blame you for trying to figure out how to protect yourself. They tell you you’re bringing it on yourself for being too weird or too jumpy or too nosy. Even your best friend in the world is starting to doubt you. You feel like you’re going insane.

So you try to have your tormentors expelled. You try so hard to figure out something, anything that will end the days on end of suffering and abuse. But you’re the weird kid. You’re the ugly kid. You’re the emo goth kid. Nobody gives a shit about you and you know it. You know you’re on your own. You’re a half blood, so the the people in your house who were supposed to have your back ignore you at best and tease you about it at worst for letting Gryffindor students get the best of you. Any hope you had of Hogwarts being your home has been destroyed.

So you try to follow James and The Gang around. Yes everyone sees you as creepy for this, becusse you don’t have a map that magically tells you where they will be at all times. You have to go about it the old fashioned way. You hide behind bushes, you peak around corners. Yes everyone finds you creepy now on top of everything else, but it’ll be worth it if you can finally enjoy what was promised to you at age 11, a home. You’ll finally be able to breathe.

But no. Instead what happens is your tormentors figure out that you know that they are putting the lives of students in danger by wandering the grounds with a werewolf against the wishes of the headmaster. You know that if you can just prove it that the torment will be over, but what you don’t know is that they are one step ahead of you, and for the unimaginable crime of trying to thwart them; they are going to plan to inflict a dangerous illness of lycanthropy on you at best, maul you to death at worst. You are close to both your proof and your death when one of them gets cold feet at the last minute and decides he doesn’t in fact want to go to prison.

You think “maybe it’s finally over now”, “maybe everyone will see now that they are cruel, that this is what they’re really like”, “maybe I’ll finally get a moment of peace, maybe Dumbledore and Lily will finally beleive me”. But no. Of course not. Because remember, you’re the weird emo Slytherin kid and your life is secondary. It always has been. Dumbledore swears you to secrecy to protect one of your tormentors, so you get no justice for the attempt on your life. Because Dumbledore had forbidden you to speak about your traumatic experience of almost being murdered, your best friend doesn’t beleive you at all and instead blames you for sneaking around. They don’t even give you the chance to defend or explain yourself. Instead you’re made out to be the creepy bad guy who wants to destroy the Potter Gang out of jealously.

Worst of all you secretly suspect that your best friend has a thing for the person who makes your life a living hell every single day. You see the stolen glances and the way they look at each other, the way she is never totally on your side. You tell yourself that this is all in your head, that Lily would never betray you that way. That all the hours you spent dreaming of Hogwarts together will mean more than a crush. But oh, sadly you are very wrong there too.

Not even a few months after attempting to take your life your abusers are back at again. Remorseless as ever they hunt you down like dogs and follow your every footstep. You haven’t a moment of peace even to do your normal school work. The only place you are safe is your common room, and even then you can’t let your guard down.

Then one day it happens.

The little pieces of happiness that you’ve managed to tuck away from yourself are cruelly ripped away. They manage to find you again. The torment us as usual. They all gang up on you, each taking a go for their own amusement. They fling you on your back, force you to vomit, force you to listen to their emotional abuse while they make a go at hitting on your best friend, and the torment does not end there. Now they are picking you up off the ground and taking off your clothes. Now on top of every other humiliation they have amused themselves by sexually humiliating you in front of everyone in your class including your closest ally. Every part of you is on fire inside and out and the depth of horror and hurt inside you is so big you don’t know what to do with the feeling. Then your friend finally steps in. But now you’re so hurt and angry that it’s bursting out of you in the worst possible ways.

Now the worst thing finally happens.

You call your best friend a slur; something you know will hurt them more than any other thing, because you’re destroyed, because you’re angry at them for letting it get this far, because you’re humiliated and because you’re tired of not being held in a higher regard than the person who has ruined your life; because you’re sick of their moralizing and their pitty.

Now you’ve lost the only person you’ve ever really felt close to. Now you’ve lost any human sympathy forever.

And it’s not over yet. Now you’re upside down again. And this time they aren’t content with exposing the rest of your body for the world to see. Now they are out for blood, and the revenge they have settled on is Sexual Assault. They remove your underwear to expose your most private parts to the world and there is nothing you can do about it. Nowhere you can go. No one who cares. No one who will come to your rescue.

Snape must have felt so hopeless it’s a wonder he didn’t try to end his life. People have done so over much less.

Hogwarts was never truly a home for Severus Snape. Even in adulthood he works in the place that was the site of innumerable traumas and heartaches. Everyday he faces trigger after trigger of the worst day of his life, while protecting the progeny of the only person he ever felt close to and the person who cruelly ripped away any chance he had at normal life. This is why I feel for Severus Snape so much in every scene. He is confronted every day with the worst memories a person can endure yet he chooses to be brave anyway. He chooses to do the right thing anyway. He puts other people’s well-being first anyway. He chooses the side of the light beyond all that had conspired to make a sociopath out of him. He holds a place in his heart for love and he protects that love with his entire being. Platonic love is just as powerful as romantic love and Severus Snape is the perfect example of this. A person even in the worst circumstances can still make the most difference in the world, can still choose to be their own person and make their own choices. Even when the world is wholly against him, Severus Snape is the pinnacle of integrity.

This is why he’s my favorite character. He’s the bravest character in the narrative, but he’s also the character with the most integrity.

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dduane · 1 month

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I love your young wizards books! There’s an article in the NYTs about “plumes of steam” floating up from the belly of Manhattan and thanks to YW, I know it’s just dragons. ❤️

Thank you!

...And yeah, dragons, absolutely. :) (...Well, these guys, anyway.)

Via the Errantry Concordance: the Fireworm (Lanthanodrax speleotraxis)1

(Also the occasionally occuring “sport” or hypotrophic subspecies, L. speleotraxis ignigastris.) The colloquial name is identical with that used for the marine bristleworm Hermodice carunculata, but the two species otherwise have nothing to do with one another.

The wizardly fireworm is a serious competitor for the title of “North American fauna species that has had its evolution most seriously interfered with by wizardry.”

The original species — just another small reptile, to start with, a member of the suborder Lacertilla and a distant relative of the geckos — was repeatedly mutated by the wizards caught up in the events surrounding the final fate of Afallonë. The most comprehensive change to their structure happened as a side effect of the great aphthonic intervention, the wizardry intended to save as much as possible of the unique Atlantean flora and fauna from the impending destruction of the First Continent. The rafting wizardry which was meant to simply transport a number of species to the newer continents went wrong during the final crisis in many important ways, and rampant wizardry leakage contaminated and disrupted the genetic structures of many of the creatures involved. The fireworm, already susceptible to such disruption because of previous genetic manipulation, suffered far more of it during the transport to the early versions of North America and Europe than any other creature involved in the ancient rafting project.

In Europe and Asia, the fireworm had fewer natural enemies, and grew and changed in ways which would otherwise have been impossible. Further mutations due to the accumulation of wizardly overlays in the more populated parts of Europe led to the rise of the offshoot species Draco, the “true dragons” which became famous in Europe’s medieval period for being killed by knights. (It should be made clear that most of these casualties were members of the species Draco ectenis, the lindworm or wingless dragon, an omnivore by habit and cave-dweller by preference. Even the most heavily armored knights had a terrible batting average against Draco draco europaeis, the cliff-dwelling, strictly carnivorous winged dragon, which regarded knights merely as a somewhat-seasonal comestible delicacy with a crunchy outside and a yummy inside.)

But in North America, where many “rafted” species with wizardly components survived for the next few millennia after the fall of Atlantis, the fireworm kept for some time its original Atlantean form — that of a small carnivorous reptile with a tendency to burp flammable gas as a defense mechanism when frightened or upset. (No carbon-based dragon, true or false, breathes fire: but even the smallest ones can ignite it on exhalation in one of a number of ways, usually involving chemical or enzymatic reactions.)

However, unfortunately for the fireworm, its main Atlantean natural enemy the “king-weasel” (Macrogulo gulo, long extinct and survived only by its far less assertive “family” relative Gulo gulo, the wolverine) succeeded in establishing itself in North America as it had not been able to do in Europe because of the presence of the great crested cockatrice (Cerastus baseliensis) or northern cockatrice (Cerastus scotodasos). The king-weasel nearly succeeded in exterminating the fireworm. Only the smallest members of the family survived by changing their normal above-ground habitats for an underground lifestyle into which the king-weasels would not follow them.

After some millennia spent living and rebuilding their gene pools in the natural caves of the East, the fireworms moved into the manufactured caves and underground spaces of the great East Coast and Midwest cities. (No fireworm species live west of the Rockies. Possibly due to uncomfortable genetic memories secondary to the fall of Afallonë, they will not stay in earthquake-active zones.) Regardless of what ConEd tells you, fireworms are the proximate cause of the steam New Yorkers see coming up from under the streets in all weathers — the more steam, the larger the fireworm.

They are some of the most exothermic of all Earth-based life forms, when well-fed, and the very biggest ones can prosper down in the tunnels in even the coldest weather. When exposed to further wizardry leakage, as sometimes happens in the neighborhood of worldgate complexes, the oldest and most experienced fireworms can over time acquire some telepathic and empathic abilities.2 This enables them to force the smaller fireworms, and even members of some other species, to do their will — shepherding food into their ambit, or otherwise serving their needs. For this reason, smart wizards stay out of places where the older and larger fireworms can be found, unless the needs of errantry drive them there.

Fireworms are also the ultimate source of all the stories about “alligators in the sewers.” There is a certain ironic humor to this, as wizards know there wouldn’t be nearly so many stories if the things in the sewers were only alligators.

(See also: Eldest, the: Twelve, Song of the.) (SYWTBAW)

1The taxonomy of the western European fireworm is somewhat confused. The Bestiarium Ignotum classified the fireworm as Lanthanotrops micrognotus, but this did not take into account the internal differences between the Lanthanotrops and Lanthanodrax families — possibly understandable, since Linnaeus was unable to find a dead specimen to dissect, and trapping a live one was at that point out of the question. The Acta Parabiologica‘s revised classification group places the fireworm among the various members of family Hemerothalcus, with the “true dragons” of the Draco species.

2 Because of the already-fragile state of their DNA, such exposure over prolonged periods can also result in memory loss and other neurological problems, as seems to have been the case with the Eldest in SYWTBAW.

#Young Wizards meta #fireworms #Lanthanodrax speleotraxis #Young Wizards #So You Want To be A Wizard #unnatural history

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fiction-quotes · 10 months

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Even before she'd been a wizard, waiting had been tough for her. Nothing happens fast enough – that had been the most basic motto of her short life. When she'd become a wizard, at first Dairine had thought that that would be the end of waiting, at last – that everything would begin happening at a speed that would suit her, and that the world would finally start working. Now, looking back at that early time, she had to laugh at herself. Dairine had discovered the hard way that even becoming a practitioner of the Art that sourced its power from the magic at the heart of the universe was not guarantee of protection against bureaucracy, accident, or failed expectations. Entropy was running, and in an environment conditioned by the never-ending battle against that ancient enemy and its inventor, not even wizardry could necessarily make your wishes come true.

There were other compensations, of course. On her Ordeal and after it, she had seen things that few other human beings have been privileged to see. She had watched the Sun rise through Saturn's rings, heard spring thunder in Jupiter's atmosphere, watched distant galaxies rise over alien landscapes; she had even officiated at the birth of a species. But none of these experiences had gone very far to make her any more patient. Maybe when I'm older, she thought. By the time I'm twenty I'll probably have it licked.

— Wizard’s Holiday (Diane Duane)

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delicrieux · 2 months

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𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑷𝑹𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑫, 6. year one note: september 2nd, the summons

pairing for this chapter—f!lestrange!reader x regulus black warnings for this chapter—none word count—2.1k

whatever did happen at slughorn’s honorary tea party? well…

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | ttp masterlist | < back | next >

you would have preferred to change into something a bit more fitting for a tea party, but the invitation came too sudden. it was just you and regulus, wrung out from the day’s activities – the new classes and itineraries and so many faces to remember and attach names to – en route to the library (by regulus’ request, he had been quite adamant at starting charms homework early) when you were collected and brought the same winding steps down to the dungeons.

you’d think the air be warm and smelling of mould and torch-light smoke, but no. it’s surprisingly dry, if not a bit heavy, bending under the weight of the castle and the black lake. you follow. the professor says his hellos to passing slytherin students. regulus, a step behind you, remains equally as silent.

the office you are cordially ushered in is small for a professor of such distinguished rank. there’s a low ceiling and a homey atmosphere, a plush couch in deep, smoky velvet with gilded edges, a mahogany table, an impressive amount of trinkets and pictures in the cabinet, a few portraits and landscapes and old tomes with latin titles: the elixir compendium: ancient brews and potent potions, alchemy through the ages: secrets of the master potioneers, witchcraft and wizardry: a guide to mystical mixtures.

tea’s already steaming and waiting. beside the cups, a delicious display of biscuits and caramels in flowery china.

“there we are,” professor slughorn says, closing the door. regulus and you take a seat, backs straight and hands folded neatly on your laps. one, however, seems much less at ease, “there we are. what a joy, i must say, to have so many bright students this year.”

the professor takes a seat on an armchair to face you both. his eyes jump between you and regulus. when he takes his tea, you do, too.

“i know it must be too soon to tell, but how are you finding hogwarts?” he settles on regulus first.

there’s a slight pause and an answer given to the tea, “very big, sir.”

“ah,” slughorn intones, “indeed, a marvel of creation. can be quite difficult to navigate. sometimes i stumble the wrong way and discover a room unseen, even after all these years. always up to something, this castle. as if alive itself,” his gaze drifts to you, “and you, miss lestrange? what are the impressions?”

medieval. the truth has a bitter tinge.

what comes out is more polite, “sheer wonder, sir. a bit of homesickness as well, but surely passes away the first few months, does it not?"

“of course, of course! as is to be expected anywhere, but i'm absolutely certain you’ll grow to love it very much over your stay,” there is a gleam of pride, a private whisper of, "very bright, indeed, you two. you'll both excel in all your studies." before he is reaching for a biscuit with the poise of a natural socialite.

regulus frowns but accepts the complement and bites into the sugar glaze of his own treat.

"i recall, you know, your father, mister black. orion was quite a rising name in the duelling club back in the day," a wave of the biscuit, and the memories, "no one, till this day, i bet, could beat him. not without paying a visit to the hospital wing."

regulus looks slightly up from under his lashes. professor slughorn perseveres with an affable smile.

a raised finger, "excelled in defence against the dark arts. wonderful wandwork, though i was quite, if you pardon my candour, miffed that he didn't take to potions as much. top of his class, but his passions laid elsewhere. your mother, though, walburga, oh, a delight to the heart," slughorn, overcome with remembrance, rubs a thumb over the stitching on his robe, "simply splendid. always a joy to have in class – a talented witch and diligent student. well-versed in potion making and never shied away from a difficult task."

"thank you, sir," is offered stiffly and sincerely, if somewhat unwillingly.

"the only one ever to come close to beat her title as top of class was your own mother, miss lestrange," he doesn't notice the glance that passes between you and your cousin, "you are very much like her. laurelle. a spitting image, in fact," there's a strange wistfulness in his eye as he regards you, a tone just a tad softer, "an exceptional young woman."

it could have been anyone – the sentiment could apply to a countless number of things, but...

no one speaks much of your mother, and she doesn't speak at all. hearing anything on a figure whom had faded into an invisible character is strangely foreign. like a freshly cut bruise.

"thank you, sir," you say, not sure how to respond to such a tender sentiment, "everyone says we're much alike."

"then no doubt you possess her talent for runes and arithmacy. her and walburga, always a competition between them, i recall. a bit of friendly rivalry in class. but walburga, i fear, didn't possess laurelle's talent for astronomy or the gift for divination."

there's a slight pause at the mention of the last word, where everything seems to halt. the world itself, under your feet, eases motion. the sugar cube held between your tweezers plops into your cup with a splash a bit too loud.

"and your father," slughron glosses over it quickly but gracefully, "a natural at transfiguration. one of the toughest subjects at hogwarts, if i do say so myself, besides potions, that is," you feel regulus' gaze burn the side of your face, "rodolphus, too, enjoyed transfiguration very much. yes, a very gifted boy."

rabastan mustn’t be talented at much since he isn't mentioned. you expected it, though it feels like a slight injustice.

"here," slughorn stands and retrieves a picture in a pretty gold frame before presenting it to you and regulus, "our winter social of 1946."

in the picture is slughorn himself and his illustrious slug club. there's a 17 year old orion black, handsome, carefree, a slight mischievous twinkle in his eye, not a line of stress etched in his features. you and regulus spot your mothers instantly. walburga softer in the face, the harsh lines not yet present. a modest smile, one regulus mimics unconsciously faced with her likeness. and there's laurelle, your mother, in the front beside slughorn, gazing past the camera to the great beyond.

a beauty. startling in sight, like a painting slightly crooked.

there's father, too, seeming very jovial beside his prewett cousins.

"timon and orion," slughorn continues, pilfering another picture from the cabinet. he gives it to regulus, as you hold the other, "were on the slytherin quidditch team. very good ones, too. orion was seeker and timon beater, a fine fit for their temperaments. are you interested in quidditch, dear boy?"

regulus, finally, comes alive. there's a fervour now, the topic far more exciting than that of house points and exams.

"yes, sir. my brother didn’t allow me to go out and train with him, though. said i'm too young," he doesn't complain, simply recounts with disappointment.

slughorn laughs, "yes, well, sirius cannot stop you now, can he? if you're interested, do talk to young aster fauns. he's the captain of our team. i'm certain he'll be delighted to let you practice before trying out for the team next year. hogwarts is, after all, a great place for adventures, and nothing is more thrilling than an afternoon out in the skies," slughorn's finger wiggle, "best believe it was me, and dear orestes carrow, who first hang-glided off the west tower."

regulus grins then. really grins, a lovely sight. a shadow of orion's, in the picture held before.

slughorn tacks on, "with some friends, naturally. of course, now, of course. safe to say that no one is attempting hang-gliding these days. and you shan't either," he wags a finger, though good-naturedly, "both of you, know i have eyes and ears everywhere. i shall be the first to hear of it."

you return to inspecting the treasure in your hands. the eight members of the slug club stand in formalwear, perfectly fitted. the air is lighter, smiles a little more wide. even for an animated picture, they stay respectably still besides the odd laugh and wandering, playful eyes.

laurelle, particularly, doesn't move, or blink, or breathe. there's a half smile painted on her lips, an almost faint sadness around the edges of her eyes.

she must've been ill by then. so young, a seventh year. a brilliant, albeit tragic star, the scintillating crown of the lestranges. a jewel so precious father chose a foreign last name.

"any classes you are excited for in particular?" slughorn inquires.

regulus starts but keeps a sensible eye, "all of them, sir."

a chortle. he sounds amused, not doubtful, at the wide-eyed, unhesitating declaration.

"and you, miss lestrange?"

you lift your head from the picture. you wonder if you shall grow into her features like rabastan grew into father's, "runes, sir."

"a marvellous subject. tremendously difficult, but i do not doubt your potency for it, dear girl. you'll excel. are you familiar at all?"

regulus turns at attention. the portraits, too, seem intrigued and tilt an ear. you tell the truth, "i know the alphabet. the runic charts in the library at home, though, are very complicated."

"your mother's handiwork, most probably," his lips crinkle upward, eyes scrunched kindly, "many would disagree, but a runic chart is often very subjective. like any other language, the flow and transition depends greatly on the speaker. laurelle was, is still, no doubt, an exceptional translator. have you attempted to read them?"

you glance at regulus, as if unsure. his expression is inscrutable.

"a little, sir," you hesitate again before continuing, "but i can't translate everything. i'd be much more comfortable using a rune dictionary."

"like the best of them, you've inherited your mother's talent."

something remains unsaid, but you feel it in the air around you. bending under the weight.

"well, i shan't keep you longer," slughorn says, setting down his tea, "the hour grows late and you have classes in the morning."

you all stand. regulus collects the photos and returns them to their owner. the others remain in the picture frames on the cabinets. there are too many to take in and you're curious, perhaps a touch greedy, to drink the sight of laurelle lestrange while offered the leisure.

"but, before you go," slughorn calls when you're at the door, "may i have a word, dear girl? only a moment."

you look to regulus, who does, too, and raises a brow. slughorn nods reassuringly, his hand reaching forward, ready to push the knob and send him off.

"i'll wait in the corridor," regulus tells you before the closing door obscures him.

the room is silent. slughorn's small eyes dart to the ground before back to you. there's a tentative smile, "a good friend, isn't he? regulus."

"yes, sir," you reply dutifully.

"no doubt, you shall grow to learn what a gift that is in hogwarts. very true friends, those loyal in their heart, are scarce. it's good to have such a person by your side."

"of course, sir."

the atmosphere feels thick again.

"someone you can trust," he emphasizes, but it feels as though what he's saying is going over your head, "that can be dependable," a gentle, careful tone is in his voice, like a question or a plea, "to confide in."

there's a prolonged silence. a shifting in your boots, the pull of the robe over your knees, "i'm sorry, sir. what do you mean?"

his expression falls, like he doesn't wish to elaborate, to explain the unspoken, but, no doubt, you don't fully understand, "not so important, really. a silly worry. an old man's fretting. this is a very difficult thing, being away from home. could result in a deal of… unexpected ways. i recall i could barely sleep the first week. terribly cold up here in winter, and all the unfamiliar voices."

he sounds apologetic. you say politely, "that will certainly ease itself soon, i'm certain. home is not so far, after all, sir."

he smiles, a comforting thing, "indeed. quite true. a splendid perspective, as i expect of you. only, if there was something to ever come up, know that you can confide in me, as you can in young regulus. my ears and heart are always open," it's offered in earnest. you nod, if not a touch stiff, before bowing your head.

when you enter the corridor, you meet regulus with an unchanged face. he's studying the decorations and trinkets lined the walls. portraits, old medals, and ribbons hung.

"what'd he want?" he inquires once you're on your way back to the common room. a glance over the shoulder, though professor slughorn's office is closed and far off already, "nothing, really."

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bigsnaff · 17 days

Text

MIST MERCH. TRADING - THE BLACK LION'S NEW CONTENDER?

"FOR brilliant-minded individuals, BY brilliant-minded individuals."

Within the last recent months you may or may not have noticed the debut of a new, up-and-coming, self-proclaimed "rival" enterprise to the Black Lion Trading Company. But who is heading this new, mysterious mercantile? To the surprise of many, it's the renowned Ex-Councillor Phlunk of Divinity's Reach, former member of Rata Sum's own Arcane Council, and twin brother to the Councillor Phlunt, (still in office).

"No more blitzing your raptor to the nearest trading agent to receive your parcels -- now your items arrive directly on your doorstep for no extra charge!"

Following the Ex-Councillor's own success with his small wizardry services in Divinity's Reach, he believed it was high time to ascend to even greater heights.

"With the dragon crisis finally dealt with, the economy on the rise, and new trade deals arriving from Cantha, what better time for some new, improved organizations to dig their heels in against the longstanding oppression? It's time to break the monopoly. The Black Lion Trading Company is old news. Our trading company is a vision of a bright and golden tomorrow," Ex-Councillor Phlunk said confidently during an interview.

"What exactly will become of your 'wizardry' business now that you've started this new venture?" Asked Reporter Trekt.

"My business will remain active, although through select appointments by way of my apprentice, who will be handling the simpler affairs."

"Some have made claims that this new enterprise of yours is all just a far-reaching attempt to fund your own independent research in Divinity's Reach," said Reporter Trekt. "What's your response to these rumors?"

"All conjecture formed from envy," replied the Ex-Councillor, shaking his head. "My question is this: is it wrong to succeed? Is it wrong to rise beyond conceivable thought? Did our own Commander not vanquish the dragons by being better at it than everyone else? My enterprise was made by and for such brilliantly-minded individuals."

Further attempts at receiving a response to the aforementioned claims went unanswered.

(interview continued & concluded on pg. 8)

The newly established mercantile's routes and sources are currently unknown, but their lightning-fast deliveries and the unique quality of their goods speak for themselves. However, considering the Ex-Councillor's own proficiency with magic, could this indicate some form of sorcery being used?

Attempts at reaching Evon Gnashblade, head of the Black Lion Trading Company, to hear his opinion regarding the emergence of this new enterprise have had no luck.

Will this new Mist Merch. Trading stand the test of time in such a competitive arena? Or will the proud, black lion stamp yet another opponent under its heel?

It seems we'll all have to wait and see.

- excerpt by Journalist Rittz, writer for the Arch's Accounts.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #my characters #ex councillor phlunk #my writing #my edits #I've tried to post this so many times lmao it wouldn't show up #30th times the charm though

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joka13 · 1 year

Text

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 1

WARNINGS: none

It's the start of your fifth year attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You enter through the magnificent doors to the Great Hall and are greeted by a rush of nostalgia: the smell of the floating candles' melting wax, the beautiful image of the clear night sky instead of a ceiling, and the sound of the other students chatting in excitement. You go to join your fellow Slytherins at their assigned table on the far left side of the room.

You are met with the traditional hugs and "how was your summer's." Just as you find a seat next to your friend, Maddy Dewmond, the crowd of fresh first years enter the room following nervously behind Profesor McGonagall. You chuckle to yourself, remembering how anxious you had been as a first year. The room grows quiet as the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, comes to the stand and begins his annual welcoming speech.

You listen halfheartedly to the headmaster. You've heard this speech four times already, so you busy yourself by fidgetting with the utensils on the table in front of you. Your gaze wanders gradually, and you find yourself meeting the eyes of a Gryffindor at the other side of the room.

Even while he is sitting, you can tell that he is tall, and his hair is a lovely rusty-orange color that reminds you of leaves during the fall. You recognize him as one of the Weasley twins... George maybe? The distance makes it hard to tell exactly.

He flashes a handsome smile and you can't help but return the gesture, though you're also suddenly flustered. You force yourself to go back to playing with the fork, but you discreetly watch through your bangs as he leans to the left to gently nudge his twin's shoulder. Soon, after Fred follows his brother's gaze, both twins are staring at you from across the room.

Now you are twice as much flustered. You can't ignore the pair, so you wave awkwardly in their direction. The twins waggle their fingers goofily in unison back at you in response, causing a grin to spread uncontrollably across your face. Excited butterflies come alive inside your stomach as you fight the urge to giggle outloud.

Your attention is caught by the sudden absence of Dumbledore's voice. Was the speech over already? By the way the students around you are whispering anxiously to each other, you think not. You must have missed something.

A woman with a toad-like face dressed entirely in pink, who you assume is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, gets up from the professors' table to join the headmaster at the stand. She introduces herself as Profesor Umbridge. Not far down the table from you, Draco Malfoy talks in a hushed voice to his cronies.

"...father told me about her," you hear him say. "Do this school lots of good, she will. I'd bet the last of my galleons that she'll be able to have Dumbledore fired by the end of the year. Y'know, with all of his bustle about You-Know-Who." Malfoy spots you watching him. You quickly turn away, but it's too late.

"Good to see you, y/n. How was your summer?" Malfoy asks. You can hear the mockery in his voice, but you refuse to let him get a rise out of you. Everyone between you and him is watching you, waiting for your reply.

"Fine, thanks," you say reluctantly. You, once again, return to the fork.

"Aw, come on," Malfoy pouts. "Won't you ask me how my summer was?"

You set the fork down, straighten your posture, and smile while trying to ignore the many eyes on you. "I won't."

Malfoy and his buddies respond with quieted, but obnoxious "ooooooo's" and vicious snickers.

"I think she likes me," Malfoy chortles as you turn away and let your hair curtain your face to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

Maddy rolls her eyes. "Don't pay any attention to them, y/n," she whispers. "They tease you only because they can't have you." You nod, though you find her statement hard to believe.

You glance up for a brief moment and notice Fred and George are huddled close. George whispers, pointing directly at you. Then Fred speaks and nods towards Malfoy. The frustration Malfoy had caused you changes to curiosity as Fred pulls out his wand. Underneath the table, he points it at Malfoy and a mutters something.

"Ah!" Malfoy hisses as he jerks forward, tipping over a glass of pumpkin juice. It is as if something had smacked him in the back of the head. He turns around, furiously searching for his offender.

You look back to the twins who, at first glance, appear to be innocent. Fred's wand is no where to be seen and both him and George are looking at Dumbledore (Professor Umbridge has since returned to her seat). George even fakes a yawn. You struggle to hold in a laugh, and it almost breaks free when Malfoy ends up blaming Crab and cuffs him on the back of the head, gesturing angrily to the pumpkin juice spill in his lap.

"What's so funny?" Maddy asks.

"I'll tell you later," you chuckle. You make eye contact with Fred, who winks at you. You grin and mouth, "Thanks."

"Anytime," he mouths back.

#pov #fred and george weasley #weasley family #weasley twins #harry potter #wizarding world #george weasley #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #george weasley x reader #weasley twins x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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thydungeongal · 9 months

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Okay, so. What is up with people's obsession with medieval fantasy types of games? Or even just the genre as a whole? Like, D&D is a big one, but a lot of early TTRPGs I've noticed still like to rely on Tolkien-esque fantasy. This also bleeds into video games like JRPGs. Heck, it even goes deep with most popular isekai Anime also take place on such a place.

I figured you might have some insight on this. I mainly ask because, after a while, these settings really don't interests me as much (Hence my obsession with Shadowrun. It's not medieval fantasy. It's cyberpunk fantasy!) My only guess in my disdain would be the fact that I'm not really represented in it as it were, but trying to shoehorn Mexican culture in a sword and sorcery game makes it more ingenious? What do you think? (Sorry if I sound all over the place.)

I think it might be as simple as D&D having been the first in its medium and it quickly rising to the absolute top and gaining a lot of brand recognition. A lot of what we see in other TTRPGs, video games, and JRPGs is people basically regurgitating the same set of tropes that ultimately descend from D&D.

Because a lot of the tropes we treat as just "fantasy" are very clearly from D&D. The influence D&D has had on perceptions of the fantasy genre in general can't be overstated. Back when D&D first came out video games were kind of bad, so for many kids in the eighties D&D was video games. And as D&D started picking up steam and brand recognition actual video games also started getting kinda okay and one of the first places they mined for inspiration was D&D. Wizardry is basically D&D but on the computer, Dragon Quest is basically Wizardry but on the NES, Final Fantasy was basically Dragon Quest but more D&D (it even had spell slots!).

And the funny thing is that even though D&D has sort of waxed and waned in popularity since it has never reached that initial high, but it still continues to have an effect on fantasy gaming because most fantasy games borrow ideas from each other. While the broader fantasy genre still obviously has lots of elements in common with fantasy as it's portrayed in gaming, the broader fantasy genre isn't quite as obsessed with dungeons and elves and orcs as gaming fantasy is. Fantasy gaming is pretty much using the same pool of tropes, a lot of which come from D&D originally.

I think it's as simple as that. D&D was the first and when it first came out it was a huge deal. Even though D&D under WotC is currently experiencing something of a renaissance it's still overshadowed by the games that are descended from D&D through another lineage (for an example: Skyrim keeps selling like hotcakes whenever Todd chooses to rerelease it. D&D wishes it had Skyrim numbers.).

And yeah, you're right, fantasy as it's presented in gaming is still awfully eurocentric and white. I'm pretty sure fantasy grounded in Mexican culture and written by Mexican authors does exist, but as I said, because fantasy gaming exists almost as a genre of its own that just uses the same set of conventions again and again, you don't see a lot of that in fantasy gaming.

(although I just googled the topic and found a game called Nahual, a Powered by the Apocalypse urban fantasy RPG written by a Mexican author and grounded in Mexican culture, which seems cool as hell)

#thydungeongal answers #long post

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virgoilluminati · 8 months

Text

World Class

next chapter

Chapter 4.

Previous chapter

A/N: hey guys! It's been a while, I'm so sorry that I haven't posted in AGES but I started Uni! And its honestly just one of the weirdest experiences of my life. This is the next chapter of this world class series, honestly dk when this will be finished or when the next chapter will be but enjoy :)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: y/n being main character lmao (the angst is so extra and unnecessary but i wanted to make this story so extra). Jude Bellingham being a cutie pa tootie and swearing lol. 💕

leahwilliamson

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leahwilliamson we won the fifa match

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keirawalsh you may have won the battle but i will win the war 💥💥

leahwilliamson Leah 1, Keira 0. Easy peasy!

y/nmorrison @leahwilliamson I have now officially had a coffee overdose thanks to you two.

The soft morning light struggled to pierce through the curtains, and there you were, dragged into an unexpected adventure. Leah, the early morning dynamo and the team's captain, had leaped onto your bed with the grace of a ninja sloth.

"Rise and shine, superstar!" Leah declared, bouncing on your bed like it was a trampoline.

You, still half-asleep, attempted to process the bizarre situation. "Leah, what on earth are you doing?"

But Leah was on a mission, grabbing your wrist and dragging you downstairs like a determined detective chasing a criminal. Downstairs, in the living room, she pointed to the TV with the seriousness of an FBI agent about to crack a case.

"The TV."

You blinked, slowly realizing the gravity of the situation. "Leah, it's just a TV."

"No! It's FIFA!" Leah protested with the conviction of a conspiracy theorist. "I've been trying to beat Keira since the dawn of time, but she always wins. The only way I can beat her is by practicing."

You, still in your pajamas and jet-lagged from a recent trip to Spain, sighed. "When's your next game?"

"Today at 8 AM," Leah replied, her eyes gleaming with determination.

"So, let me get this straight," you said, trying to wrap your head around it all. "You woke me up at the crack of dawn to help you practice FIFA so you can defeat Keira at 8 AM?"

Leah nodded vigorously. "Exactly!"

You rubbed your eyes and reached for the coffee maker. "Alright, alright. But first, coffee. Lots and lots of coffee."

As you all gathered around the TV, your FIFA boot camp began. Mary joined in at 6 AM, bewildered by the early morning antics. "Leah, Y/N, what are you—"

But one glance at the TV, and she got it. "You've been sucked into the Keira vs. Leah saga, haven't you?" she asked, shaking her head.

You, already on your second cup of coffee, groaned and begged Mary to show you how to take a penalty kick, realizing that this absurd adventure had no end in sight.

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing the towering figure of Bronze, the star defender. She surveyed the scene with an arched eyebrow and a bemused smile.

"What on earth is happening here?" Bronze asked, her voice a blend of curiosity and amusement.

Leah, still fervently determined to achieve FIFA greatness, answered before you could. "We're gearing up for the ultimate showdown with Keira. It's a matter of life and death, you know!"

Bronze chuckled, crossing her arms. "Alright, let me show you kids some of my international soccer wizardry." With that, she grabbed the controller from your hand and began demonstrating advanced maneuvers, earning impressed nods from the rest of you.

The living room had transformed into a battleground of FIFA enthusiasts, with tips and tricks flying faster than a Messi free-kick. The clock ticked on, the sun climbed higher, and the smell of coffee became a permanent fixture in the room.

Just when you thought your day couldn't get any stranger, the door creaked open again, and in strolled Daly. She eyed the chaos with a raised eyebrow, her imposing presence making the room feel smaller.

"What's all this commotion?" Daly asked, her deep voice cutting through the virtual crowd.

Leah, still on her mission to recruit everyone for the Keira vs. Leah face-off, eagerly explained. "It's Keira vs. Leah, Daly. I need to outmatch her at FIFA, and we're in intense training mode."

Daly considered this for a moment, then grinned. "Count me in. Let's give Keira a run for her virtual money."

With Daly on your side, your team was complete. The living room had evolved into a makeshift soccer arena, where tactics and skills were honed with determination. As the sun reached its zenith, you were more resolved than ever to dethrone Keira from her FIFA throne.

Keira, little did she know, was about to face a united front. A team of fierce competitors, armed with newfound FIFA skills, and fueled by caffeine and sheer determination, was poised to take her on in the virtual soccer showdown of the century. The saga had become a sideshow in itself, and it was only a matter of time before the epic showdown unfolded on the pixelated pitch.

The living room had been transformed into a battlefield of pixelated glory as Leah and Keira prepared to face off in the ultimate FIFA showdown. Each was seated on one end of the sofa, clutching their controllers like they were the keys to victory. On either side of the room, their respective teams had gathered, divided into passionate discussions of strategy.

Keira's dream team consisted of Millie, Chloe, Alessia, and Ella, all known for their formidable FIFA skills. The tension in the room was palpable as the match commenced.

Leah, her eyes fixed on the screen, whispered to herself with determination, "I've trained for this moment. It's time to show Keira what I'm made of."

Keira, on the other hand, couldn't resist a sly grin. "Ready to be humbled, Leah?"

The virtual soccer field came to life, but it wasn't just about the game; it was about the comical chaos that unfolded around it.

Millie cheered enthusiastically for Keira. "Go, Keira! Score that goal!"

Georgia, on Leah's side, leaned in and whispered, "I heard Keira practices her penalty kicks in her sleep. No pressure, though."

Alessia, trying to distract Leah, chimed in, "Hey, Leah, did you hear there's a new cafe in town? Great place to celebrate your impending defeat."

Ella, sipping on a smoothie, added casually, "Oh, sorry, Leah. Were you trying to concentrate?"

Leah's team wasn't about to be outdone in the banter department.

Daly couldn't resist mocking Keira. "Keira, did you confuse the FIFA controls with your phone again?"

Bronze joined in, feigning shock. "Oh no, Keira scored? Must be a solar eclipse or something."

Mary, pretending to be a commentator, announced, "And Keira makes a pass... to the wrong player. Classic Keira move."

The living room was a cacophony of shouts, laughter, and exaggerated victory dances. Even the cat decided to join the spectacle, chasing an imaginary ball across the floor.

Leah, nudging you for help, said urgently, "Y/N, give me some tips!"

You, struggling to concentrate amid the chaos, replied, "I can't, Leah! I'm still recovering from the espresso overdose this morning!"

As the match intensified, the score remained neck-and-neck, and the room's atmosphere became increasingly charged with suspense. It all came down to the final minutes of the game.

Keira, her nerves showing, urged her team, "Come on, team, we can't let Leah win!"

Leah, filled with unwavering determination, rallied her team, "This is it, folks! Let's show Keira what we're made of!"

Then, in a moment of sheer absurdity, Leah's team executed an unexpected maneuver, resulting in a goal that left Keira's team in stunned disbelief.

Leah's Team erupted into cheers, shouting, "We did it! We did it!"

Daly laughed heartily, "Looks like Keira's reign of terror is over."

In the final seconds of the match, Leah's team secured their victory, much to Keira's chagrin.

Leah, grinning triumphantly, declared, "I did it! I actually did it!"

Keira, grumbling and refusing to accept defeat, growled, "Rematch. We need a rematch!"

As celebrations erupted and laughter filled the room, the living room had borne witness to a chaotic, comical, and utterly unforgettable FIFA battle. The rivalry between Leah and Keira had reached a new level of absurdity, and it was certain that this saga would be recounted with laughter for years to come.

y/nmorrison

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y/nmorrison football ilysm

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realmadridofficial thank you for coming to see us perform

y/nmorrison @realmadridofficial you guys never disappoint

y/nmorrisonno.1fan. Wait- she came all the way from australia? For a match?

user234 @y/nmorrisonno.1fan and it was jude's debut?

user345 are they making it official?

judebellingham

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judebellingham Thank you to everyone that came out. Tonight was extra special. 3 points up, we go on...

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user190 extra special for what reason jude? 😏

y/nmorrison no.1 fan <3

user2457 not y/n using the same comment as jude earlier this week!

user567 guys! they are soft launching so hard right now.

You sat in your hotel room in Australia and a phone call come through. You answered, and fran's voice came through the line, tinged with concern. "Hey, Y/N, it's Fran. We wanted to talk to you about Jude. He's been a bit down lately. Missing you, I think."

Your heart sank at the thought of Jude feeling lonely and stressed. "Oh, Fran, I miss him too. I want to do something special for him. Can you help?"

Fran grinned, even though you couldn't see it. "That's exactly what we were hoping you'd say. We've got a plan to surprise him before the match. Wear his favorite color and bring his favorite flowers. We'll make sure he is ready."

The Santiago Bernabéu stadium buzzed with electric anticipation as you prepared for your most anticipated match of the season. Jude, your beloved boyfriend and the newly signed star player, was about to make his debut in the iconic white jersey. The air was thick with not just anticipation but also an underlying sense of suspense in the locker room.

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, you found yourself in Australia for the Women's World Cup, where you were a talented soccer player yourself. Your team had a few days off, and while you were enjoying the thrill of the tournament, you couldn't shake the longing to see Jude before his momentous match.

You had planned meticulously, coordinating with Jude's teammates for your surprise visit. You knew that blue had always been his favorite color, and you had chosen a stunning blue silk dress to wear for this special occasion. In your hands, you held a bouquet of fresh white lilies, knowing they were Jude's preferred flowers.

As you entered the stadium, your heart raced with excitement, but there was an undeniable sense of suspense in the air. The journey from Australia had been long, but you were determined to be there for Jude on this significant day. Your presence would serve as a symbol of your unwavering support for each other's soccer careers.

The match began, and the stadium roared to life. You sensed that something extraordinary was about to happen, and the suspense was almost unbearable.

As the final whistle blew, signaling Real Madrid's victory, the crowd erupted in jubilation. Jude had played brilliantly, scoring a crucial goal. The suspense that had been building throughout the match reached its peak, and the stadium lights shone brightly, casting long shadows across the field. The cameras and microphones surrounded Jude as the interviewer started asking questions about the game and how he felt scoring the goal.

skynews

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skynews: Shortly after his much discussed transfer to Real Madrid, Jude Bellingham scores on his debut! Full interview in our bio.

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user120 his eyes are somewhere else...

user618 @user120 i think you mean on someone else 😏

user120 that boy is absolutely smitten 🥰

judebellinghamsswife this man is so fine, y/n is a lucky girl🔥

Jude began to speak, trying to keep his focus on the interview. But then, amid the chaos, his eyes searched the stands. And there, like a beacon in the night, he spotted you. Your blue silk dress seemed to glow, and the bouquet of white lilies in your hands was a vision of beauty.

The suspense that had been lingering suddenly exploded into a moment of pure astonishment. The crowd held its breath as Jude's face lit up with surprise and joy. His voice wavered as he answered the interviewer's questions, clearly distracted by your presence.

"You're stunning," Jude whispered, his voice filled with admiration as he gazed at you in your beautiful blue silk dress.

You blushed, a warm smile gracing your lips. "Thank you," you replied softly.

His eyes were locked onto you like a magnet, tracing every curve of your form. Unable to contain his affection, Jude leaned in and showered your face with a cascade of sweet, tender kisses, each one filled with his overwhelming love and joy at your surprise visit.

"Ew, Jude, you're sweaty," you teased, crinkling your nose as you embraced him.

"Just how you like," he replied with a playful smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at his charm. You leaned in to hug him tightly, reveling in the familiar scent of his sweat and the warmth of his embrace.

As you shared this intimate moment, Jude's keen eyes caught sight of a nearby camera. Concern flickered in his eyes, knowing that your surprise visit might not sit well with some fans, and your typically discreet nature when it came to public displays of affection.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and cautious, "there's a camera over there."

You, ever fearless and passionate, followed his gaze and spotted the camera as well. Instead of pulling away, you pulled Jude closer, capturing his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss. The audience erupted into a loud cheer, their love and support for the couple evident in the thunderous applause.

Your relationship with Jude had always been a beautiful blend of openness and privacy. While you never officially announced your romance to the public, it was an open secret among your closest friends, family, and avid fans. You chose to softly reveal your relationship to the world, letting moments of your love story unfold naturally, leaving fans to connect the dots.

Your relationship became a game of reading between the lines for your followers, who delighted in the subtle signs of affection you occasionally shared. There were stolen glances and knowing smiles, but never a direct confirmation of your romance. Well, until now.

Jude, momentarily surprised, couldn't help but smile into the kiss. He realized that sometimes, the world just had to know about your love. As you finally parted, he whispered, "Well, I guess everyone knows now."

You grinned mischievously, "Let them cheer, Jude. We've got nothing to hide."

In the post-match interviews, reporters couldn’t resist asking Jude about that iconic moment. “Jude,” one interviewer grinned, “that kiss with Y/N at the end there was quite a spectacle. Can you tell us more about your relationship?”

Jude, initially taken aback by the attention but never one to shy away from his feelings, chuckled and replied, “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. Y/N and I have been together for a while now, and she’s an amazing person. We met through our love for soccer, and it’s been a fantastic journey together.”

Another reporter, eager to keep the conversation going, chimed in, “Jude, your girlfriend is a phenomenal player on the Women’s England team. Can you share your predictions for her upcoming match?”

Jude’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Absolutely! Y/N is incredibly dedicated and skilled on the field. I have all the confidence in the world in her and her team. I predict they’ll give it their all and come out with a resounding victory. I’ll be there cheering them on, just like they were there for me today.”

Just as the interview was hitting a high note of positivity, a third interviewer, with a stern expression, jumped into the conversation. “Jude,” they began in a somewhat accusatory tone, “some people argue that women’s football is not the same as men’s football and that your girlfriend, Y/N, might have gotten away with some questionable plays. What’s your response to these critics?”

Jude’s smile faded, replaced by a determined look. He leaned forward and replied firmly, “I have to disagree with that sentiment entirely. Women’s football is just as competitive, skilled, and exciting as men’s football. Y/N and her teammates train just as hard, and they play with the same passion and integrity that I do. Accusations of cheating or undermining their abilities are completely unfounded.”

Jude’s words resonated with a sense of conviction, and it was clear that he was ready to defend not only his girlfriend but also the entire Women’s England team. The interviewer, taken aback by Jude’s strong response, quickly changed the subject, realizing that they had struck a sensitive chord.

hellomagazine

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hellomagazine Real Madrid and English football player Jude Bellingham spotted kissing and holding hands with fellow english footballer Y/N Morrison after she came to a real madrid match during her camp at the womens world cup in Australia.

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user156 leave them alone, poor guy looks so bothered

user350 poor guy is just trying to get to his car and protect his girlfriend

user103 i heard one of the paparazzi started harassing y/n, and he had to step in. Why can't people just leave them alone man. They are humans too!

But as Jude and you tried to leave the stadium, you find yourself surrounded by a persistent crowd of fans and reporters. Despite Jude’s best efforts to steer the conversation towards your respective careers and love for the sport, the questions about your relationship grew increasingly personal and intrusive.

“Jude, can you tell us more about your romantic getaways with Y/N?” one reporter pressed.

You, visibly uncomfortable, interjected, “We’d appreciate it if you could focus on our soccer careers and the game we love.”

But the questions kept coming, probing into their private moments, and both Jude and you began to regret ever announcing your relationship in such a public manner. You exchanged frustrated glances, realizing that your intention to celebrate your love had unintentionally invited a wave of invasive curiosity.

Before you could reach the safety of the car, the relentless paparazzi continued to hound you, snapping photos and shouting questions.

Paparazzo 1: (shouting) “Jude, over here! Tell us about your relationship with Y/N!”

Paparazzo 2: (shouting) “Y/N, how does it feel to be with Jude? Any wedding plans?”

Jude, his patience exhausted, turned towards the paparazzi, his voice filled with frustration.

Jude: (shouting) “That’s enough! Show some respect! Give us some space!”

His voice rang out, commanding attention, and for a moment, the paparazzi fell silent, taken aback by Jude’s sudden outburst. In that brief respite, he continued to guide you to the car, determined to protect you from the invasive questions and cameras.

Furious at the paparazzi who had continued to hound you with intrusive questions and cameras despite your distress, Jude couldn't hold back any longer.

Jude: (shouting) "Can you all just fuck off."

His voice carried a powerful anger, and for a moment, the paparazzi fell silent, taken aback by Jude's fierce outburst. In that brief respite, he continued to guide you to the car, determined to protect you from the invasive questions and cameras.

But before you could reach the safety of the car, the situation took a horrifying turn. An angry fan, infuriated by his team's loss, shoved you away from Jude with a forceful motion. You stumbled backward, your shocked expression giving way to one of disbelief and fear.

Jude's reaction was immediate and protective. His face contorted with anger as he stepped between you and the fan, his voice laced with a threatening edge. "Touch my girlfriend again and I'll fucking kill you. I don't know who you think you are, but you're a fucking idiot. It's a football match get over yourself.

The fan recoiled, shocked by Jude's intense response. The surrounding crowd, already outraged by the fan's behavior, now watched in stunned silence as security personnel rushed in to apprehend the individual responsible for the attack. They ensured that you and Jude were safe from further harm.

Once inside the car, the overwhelming emotions finally overcame you, and you collapsed into Jude's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Jude held you tightly, his protective instincts firmly in place, as you both sought refuge from the relentless scrutiny.

Inside the taxi, after the harrowing encounter with the fan, you and Jude found a moment of respite. Emotions still ran high, but the leather seats and the warm glow of the city lights outside offered a semblance of security.

Jude held you close, his protective instincts still coursing through him. The trauma of the fan's aggression weighed on both of you, but the taxi ride allowed a brief pause in the turmoil.

Y/N apologized softly, "I'm so sorry, Jude. I just wanted to surprise you."

Jude, gazing into your eyes, furrowed his brow in confusion.

"What?" he asked, curious.

You continued, "I'm sorry-"

Before you could finish, Jude cut in, a mixture of concern and frustration in his voice, "No. Why are you apologizing? You did nothing wrong. If anyone is in the wrong, it was that fucking fan. If I see him again, I'll-"

At that very moment, the taxi's engine roared to life, propelling you away from the chaos. The vehicle became your sanctuary as it glided through the city streets, the comforting embrace of the backseat cocooning you both.

A faint smile crossed your lips, appreciating Jude's protectiveness.

"You'll what?" you teased, looking at him.

Through the taxi's windows, the city lights passed by like a shifting dreamscape.

"I'll kill him.," Jude declared,before cringing. "He touched my girl. He atleast deserves a good punch."

As the taxi journeyed further from the ordeal, you and Jude found solace in each other's presence. Gratitude welled up between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of the support you had offered each other during a trying moment.

Amidst the hum of the engine and the soft glow of the taxi's interior, you shared affectionate glances. The city's rhythm became the backdrop to your unspoken connection.

Jude winced slightly as you two shared another embrace, the ordeal now safely behind you.

"What?" you asked playfully.

"Nothing, it's nothing-" Jude replied.

You pressed further, "No, what is it?"

Jude couldn't suppress a mischievous grin.

"It's just... you smell like booze," he teased.

Smiling, you responded, "You like it."

With those words, you nestled your head on his chest, finding solace in the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. The taxi carried you both through the city, offering a sanctuary where you could cherish these moments of connection and affection amidst the chaos.

y/ns story

After the chaotic surprise at Santiago Bernabéu, Jude and you decided to make the most of your precious time together in Madrid and not let the match get to you. You strolled hand in hand through the enchanting streets of the Spanish capital, admiring the architecture, savoring delicious tapas, and enjoying each other’s company.

As you walked along the picturesque cobblestone streets, you couldn’t help but express your awe at the beauty of the city. “Jude, Madrid is incredible. I can see why you love playing here.”

Jude nodded, his eyes never leaving you. “It’s even more incredible with you here, Y/N.”

You found yourselves at a charming outdoor café, where you settled into a cozy corner table with a view of the bustling plaza. The warm evening breeze carried the scent of flowers and laughter from nearby tables.

Over glasses of rich Spanish wine, your conversation deepened. You talked passionately about your journey in the Women’s World Cup, describing the dedication and hard work that fueled your ambition.

“Imagine if you did win the World Cup,” Jude mused, a glint of excitement in his eyes.

“Jude,” you started, a hint of modesty in your voice.

“What?” He leaned closer, his gaze locked onto yours. “You must have pictured it! Imagine scoring the winning goal! It would be life-changing.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t help but smile at Jude’s enthusiasm. “Hmm, I guess.”

Jude chuckled, his hand reaching across the table to gently squeeze yours. “You guess! Y/N! You’d be everywhere, I’d be chasing you around. Billboard after billboard. It would be inspiring—”

You interrupted, your voice filled with humility, “It would be pretty amazing, wouldn’t it?”

Under the Madrid moonlight, Jude and you felt closer than ever. Your love was as boundless as the cityscape before you, and you knew that no matter where life's journey took you, you would face it together, hand in hand, just as you did on that unforgettable night in Spain.

Your conversation about the future and the Women's World Cup continued to flow, weaving seamlessly into your dreams of a family.

"Imagine the things you could do with that kind of influence," Jude continued, his voice filled with wonder. "The futures you could inspire."

Your eyes sparkled with the possibilities. "And imagine our future. Imagine our kids running around and being able to play wherever we are in the world."

Jude's heart swelled with warmth at the thought. "Now that's something I would love to imagine..."

As you gazed into each other's eyes, your thoughts turned to the family you both longed to create together. Jude's expression softened with a dreamy smile. "I've imagined it, you know. Two boys who look exactly like me, brown scruffy hair, brown eyes, and that mischievous grin of mine."

You laughed, picturing the future he described. "Two little Judes running around, huh? They'd be a handful."

Jude nodded, his gaze filled with affection. "A handful, but they'd have your spirit and determination. And then," he continued, his voice gentle and dreamy, "our little girl, a perfect mix between you and me. With your beautiful eyes and my stubbornness."

Your heart melted at the image he painted. "Our family sounds incredible, Jude. I can't wait for that day."

You held onto that vision of your future, where love, dreams, and the joys of parenthood awaited you. In that moment, as you shared your hopes and dreams under the Madrid moonlight, you knew that your love was strong enough to overcome any obstacle life might throw your way.

The Madrid morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the hotel room where Jude and you lay tangled in each other's arms. The night had been filled with laughter and whispered promises, but the dawn brought the inevitable parting.

You sighed softly as you gazed at Jude's peaceful sleeping face. You knew you had to leave for your training camp in Australia, but the thought of saying goodbye tugged at your heart.

Jude stirred, his brown eyes fluttering open as he felt your gaze on him. "Morning," he mumbled, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "I have to go soon."

Jude's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

You smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. "You know I can't, love. Duty calls."

Jude sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "I'll miss you so much."

You returned the kiss, savoring the taste of him. "I'll miss you too, Jude. But we'll be together again soon."

You both reluctantly untangled yourselves from each other's embrace and got out of bed. Jude, determined to make your last morning memorable, surprised you with breakfast in bed. He had ordered a delicious spread of pastries, fruits, and coffee, arranging it all on a tray with a single red rose.

Your eyes sparkled with delight as you took in the sight. "You really know how to make a girl's morning special, don't you?"

Jude grinned, handing you a pastry. "Only for you."

You spent your morning indulging in breakfast, sharing stories and laughter as if time were standing still. But the clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, reminding you of the minutes slipping away.

As the moment of departure drew nearer, Jude showered you with kisses and cuddles, trying to make every second count. His lips found yours repeatedly, and his arms refused to let you go.

"I wish you didn't have to leave," Jude whispered against your lips.

You held him close, tears brimming in your eyes. "I wish that too, Jude. I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, leaning in for a tender goodbye kiss.

Then, with a heavy heart, you stepped out the door, leaving behind a piece of yourself in Madrid as you embarked on the journey back to Australia, where training camp awaited. Your love would endure the distance, and you both held onto the hope of being reunited soon.

judebellingham

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judebellingham <3

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user1890 they finally announced it!

user3567 you guys!!! I am so happy for you

user2019 they are so cute!

y/nmorrison my no.1

judebellingham @y/nmorrison mine

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