#Python Potions

[soundcreature929]

Live rig 2022… how things change. Haven’t used this app in forever, last rig pic was much different… 📸: Alexas Monroe at Rubber Gloves 11.13.22

[knightofleo]

Nick León | Love Potion

[themotleymenagerie]

A mystic potion ball python. An old wip that I finished recently. Might revisit the idea and polish it up a bit more.

[drawlfoy]

the benefits of journaling p.1

pairing: diary!tom riddle x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you pick up an unassuming journal in diagon alley during an antiques sale without knowing that it's actually a part of a late dark lord's soul. sort of no voldy AU, set in the golden trio era where voldemort was defeated in the first war and thus harry has parents still.

warnings: she/her pronouns/reader that stays in the girl's dorms, language, eventual discussion of murder and whatnot but not yet!, you being a little femcel-aligned/obsessed, tom being awkward because he's been stuck in a diary without talking to anyone for 50 years, i fumble around trying to explain how to brew potions after taking only one semester of high school biology

please note that this tom riddle is definitely not the same tom riddle that dumbledore describes in canon. i read a few meta posts that rewired my brain and now my tom riddle is ~complicated~ and not just evil and murdery for the plot. so just keep that in mind lol

a/n: whoa is this....something other than draco on this blog? yes. im suffering right now and needed to get this out. hopefully i can get this longfic completed within 2-3 parts! i'm not using my usual taglist because i don't know how many of my draco readers want this

wc: 10k

The day you unknowingly bought a part of the late Lord Voldemort’s soul was like any other. It was overcast, the thick clouds a somber, humid ceiling hanging above you and Lucy as you made your way through the annual antiques sale in a dusty corner of Diagon Alley.

“Y/N,” said your companion for the day—a slight, freckled witch with mushroom brown waves and a perpetual smile etched into her mouth. “Look. This is so you.”

You looked up from the bookshelves of one of the stands. It took you a moment to see what she was holding, but once it came into focus, you rolled your eyes. “Oh, sod off. Not funny.” 

Lucy just cackled, tossing the crudely carved wooden snake back onto the pile wearing a wicked grin. 

The world is cruel in that you can scream once when you see Draco Malfoy’s pet ball python in third year and no one ever lets you forget it. 

You turned away from Lucy, looking back to the old bookshelf that had been moved onto the cobbled street. The rich mahogany wood was close to buckling under the weight of all the tomes stacked haphazardly atop each other—far more than would be advisable. 

But it wasn’t just the furniture that caught your eye. No, it was the glimpse of a black spine on the bottom, partially hidden away by an ancient encyclopedia on arithmancy. 

You knelt, carefully arranging your robes so that they wouldn’t pick up dust from the street. You narrowly managed to avoid sending all the books on top tumbling into the street by slowly sliding it out from under the stack.

An unimpressively sized black journal laid in your hand, looking entirely unassuming and incredibly boring. 

You frowned. A quick flip-through confirmed that it was in fact a journal—and that there was nothing written in it. 

Why would someone try to sell an unused journal at an antiques market? You wondered, turning it over in your hand. Though its pages appeared entirely pristine, you could see some wear on the cover. There were no markings detailing when it had been manufactured.

It could very well have been an antique journal, you conceded. But why anyone would want an empty journal made years ago was beyond you.

You went to set the journal back onto the stack, getting so far as to nearly loosen your grip and let it drop from your fingers, when—

You had to buy this journal. 

You weren’t sure why, or how. You just knew that this journal was coming home with you today, even if it was the least interesting thing you could’ve come across in your shopping trip.

“What’s that?” asked Lucy, appearing at your side and gently taking the journal from you. 

“Just an empty journal, I think,” you answered, staring blankly at it in her hands. 

“You know we can just get a normal new one at the bookstore, right?” 

“Well, I like this one,” you heard yourself say. “It has…character.”

“Character.” She snorted, holding it up next to her face. “This is the most bland looking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Consider yourself blind, then. Surely they’ll charge you twice the cost for this since it’s allegedly ‘vintage’.” Lucy made liberal use of air quotes. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the bookstore before we go? It’ll be on our way.”

“No, it’s really fine,” you said, taking it back into your hands, “I really like this one for some reason. I don’t know. There’s just something about it.”

Lucy tilted her head, giving it one last odd look. “Whatever you say. You go check out, then. Mum’s going to expect me back soon and the queue looks a bit long.” 

The journal sat in your bag for the remainder of the summer, nearly forgotten as you went about your day. You opened it for the first time to examine it on August 31st, just a day before you were off to begin your 6th year.

There was writing that you hadn’t noticed before—thin, elegant script on the inside of the cover in black lettering. A simple “Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

You stared, letting your finger trace gently across the parchment. There was a slight indentation at the lower swoop of the last letter “L”, like whoever had written it had pressed a little too hard with his quill. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” you whispered, trying the syllables out on your tongue. You’d never heard of any wizard named that before. You wondered how long it had been since those words had been written. You wondered if Tom Marvolo Riddle was still alive, and if he was, why he saw it fit to mark his property and then swiftly lose its custody to an antiques dealer. 

Oh well. Sucks to suck, you thought dryly as you took the quill that you’d been using to finish updating your calendar and lifted it over the parchment. Whatever happened to the crusty old dinosaur that hadn’t even been able to make one full entry into his own journal before croaking or whatever was none of your business.

You’d barely started out how you imagined a normal person would begin a diary—a date, August 31st—when it suddenly became clear why this Tom fellow had been unable to leave a lasting mark. 

The ink hadn’t even begun to dry before it sank into the pages, disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, dumbstruck. You dipped your quill in ink once again and drew a series of short slashes across the first page, using more ink than was strictly necessary.

In a moment it was as if they had never been there.

WHAT??? You wrote mindlessly in the freshly blank page as your mind spun. What kind of magic was this? And what was the point? 

No wonder you’d been drawn to it. It was probably dripping in all sorts of charms. Maybe the combination had been unintentionally alluring to particular passerbys. 

Before you could think any further, the clean page transformed again, but not at your hand.

Hello.

The word assembled letter by letter, as if a ghost was writing it over your shoulder. 

It seems you've found my journal.

You stared. A journal that could write back to you. Huh. A smile caught on your lips as you became glad after all that you’d chosen this one over a plain bookstore version. 

How old are you? You wrote, resting your chin in your palm as you waited for a response as to whether or not your new acquisition actually belonged at the antiques market. 

Sixteen.

You frowned. That was hardly vintage.

This was made sixteen years ago?

The response appeared quickly..

No. I'm sixteen.

Yeah. You were made sixteen years ago.

This time, the journal seemed to hem and haw at the response.

What year is it? Was the final answer that appeared.

What year do you think?

1943. 

A little off. you wrote impishly.

Oh really?

Just a smidge.

Define a smidge, please. 

What does it matter to you?

This seemed to stump the journal. 

May I ask who I have the pleasure of speaking with?

You may not. Then, because you had nothing better to do, you dipped your quill and drew out a Tic-Tac-Toe board, placing an X in the middle.

The board disappeared into the page, and for a moment you wondered if you’d annoyed your magical journal too much. But then it reappeared, this time with an O in the middle.

You huffed. When you took too long to respond, another line appeared below. 

I'm Tom. Tom Riddle.

You stared at the letters, the implications sinking in. If the journal had belonged to Tom—who was presumably a real person at some point in his life—then that would mean…which meant…

In seconds you’d slammed the journal shut and had your wand out, poking at the binding and being careful to avoid touching it again with your bare hands. Stupid, stupid you, buying something that had so clearly been engineered to lure you in, just like it probably had done to Tom back in the 40s. 

The antique market rarely had issues with unknowingly cursed objects. They were allegedly thoroughly vetted by the stand officials to ensure that something like this didn’t happen. But perhaps this one had fallen through the cracks.

There was nothing you could do for now except to wrap the journal in a blanket and throw it into your suitcase. As a muggleborn, there was going to be no real magic for you until tomorrow on the train. 

Better to investigate then, you decided firmly. With access to spellwork, you could at least cast protective wards around yourself and try to detect what exactly was wrong with it the next time you touched it. 

Yes, you thought. That cannot possibly go wrong.

~

“Y/N!” 

“Sorry, what was that?” You blearily blinked in the direction of Lucy and Ishan, both sitting there with an expectant look on their faces. 

“I was saying that I’m pretty sure that Parkinson and Malfoy are actually together this time,” said Lucy, frowning. “I just came from the loo and his head was in her lap. Revolting, to be entirely honest. I can’t believe I had to see that with my own eyes. But whatever. Are you feeling alright? You keep spacing out.”

“I’m fine.” You pulled the fabric of your robe over your wrist so you could gently scrub at your eyes. “Just—tough night last night. I barely slept.”

“I totally get that,” mused Lucy, nodding as her gaze fixed itself on the window. “I can normally never get to sleep the night before we leave. I just get so excited for the new year.”

You smiled. “Yeah.” 

But that hadn’t been your problem. Despite the creepy journal encounter that had left you with your mind spinning, you’d fallen asleep deeply the moment you’d gotten into bed. The issue had been staying asleep after all the dreams you’d had. 

You rarely dreamt. When you did and remembered it the next day, it was normally nonsensical and had to do with forgotten final exams or missing a lecture. But last night…last night had been different.

There was a boy. His hair was dark and his face cast mostly in shadow, his voice a tenor that seemed typical to boys in your year. He hadn’t been speaking anything you’d understood, though. The most peculiar, bone-chilling hissing noises came from his mouth as he bowed his head leaned over a vaguely familiar sink. 

Even though he wouldn’t acknowledge you, it was as if a channel had been opened between you two, like you could feel his emotions as phantoms within you. 

Franticness. Vindictiveness. A thirst for vengeance beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

You sat watching this mysterious dark haired boy from the cobbled floor, feeling the wetness on the stones seep into your robes, climbing up and up until it soaked your skin. 

At precisely 4 in the morning, you’d shot awake so distressed that you hadn’t slept a wink after. Needless to say, you were hardly what you’d consider to be well-rested.

The remainder of the train ride and the welcoming feast went on without a hitch. You managed to keep yourself from falling asleep at dinner and even joined in on the cheering for new Ravenclaws. The first years seemed to look younger and younger every year, you noted dully as you cut into the roast on your plate. It was making you feel awfully old.

Sixth year was supposed to be exciting—the year of N.E.W.T.S and figuring out what you’d concentrate in during your final year and getting to go to Hogsmeade without permission. But you hadn’t quite figured out what it was that you wanted to study. Being a muggleborn from a modest upbringing meant that you couldn’t be too frivolous. There was no amateur art or sports or celebrity career in your future. You couldn’t even count on marrying well—or marrying at all, in fact. None of your halfblood or pureblood friends seemed to understand that your family hadn’t already had an engagement arranged for you from the moment you were born. It was hard to look forward to a life that was so cloaked in uncertainty. 

That being said, you had more immediate concerns to attend to. Though the journal was tucked safely away in one of your suitcases far away in the Ravenclaw Tower, you couldn’t help but feel its presence. You were itching to get back to your dorm so you could steal away into a corner and begin to inspect it. 

Dumbledore finally dismissed the students after a rather uninspiring speech about the importance of dreaming big and staying true to yourself. You all but ran up the stairs, rushing to unpack all of your things.

“Merlin,” noted Padma from her desk. “That excited to move in?”

“I just want to go to bed,” you said, relishing the feeling of casting a spell to quickly stow away your skirts and button ups into your dresser. “Long day.”

“And even longer tomorrow.” Lucy was sitting at her desk, her feet crossed at the ankles. She’d somehow unpacked even quicker than you. “Does everyone have their finalized timetable for the term?”

“I’ve got Potions with Slughorn and Transfiguration with McGonagall on Mondays and Thursdays,” you began, unzipping your last bag and flicking your wand to send your school supplies to your desk. “Divination with Trelawney, Arithmancy with Vector, and Runes with Babbling on Tuesdays and Fridays. And of course the extended lab section on Wednesday for Potions.”

“Which lab section?”

“Morning,” you said. The diary was levitating from your wand now, looking unassuming and very innocent under the golden light of your dorm room. “You?”

“Same,” said Lucy, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re taking N.E.W.T level Divination. Do you hate yourself?”

“It was that or History of Magic.”

She nodded emphatically, turning back to make a marking in her planner.

With the dorm settled into a comfortable silence, you brandished your wand again, peering at the diary in front of you. 

There was nothing outwardly sinister about it. When you’d gone over to Ishan’s manor over Easter break last year, he’d shown you some of the (potentially unlawful) darker artifacts that his old pureblood family had in possession. They’d felt dark. This journal didn’t have that syrupy thick feel around it. Its aura felt sparkly, magnetic. Surely it couldn’t have been dark magic. Because all dark magic felt dark, right?

You gulped. You wouldn’t touch it with your bare hands anymore, you reasoned. Just spellwork and using the tip of your wand to maneuver it. Just in case.

Your 5 years of Hogwarts education had left you sorely deficient in useful diagnostic spells, so you dug around in one of your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks from previous years and found a section on spells to examine magical objects. 

Revelo you whispered, feeling the slight jolt of magic as the charm left your wand. 

Nothing, It didn’t even glow blue, a sign of magically active objects. 

Huh. 

You frowned. The slightly more obscure spell you’d heard Snape use once on a student’s suspiciously well-written essay didn’t yield anything either. 

“Whatcha doing?’

You nearly screamed, clutching your wand to your chest. 

Lucy grinned wickedly as she leaned over your shoulder and reached for your journal. “Ooh, is this that thing you bought at—”

“Don’t touch!” You quickly batted her hand away. 

“Sheesh,” said Lucy. “Chill. I wasn’t going to read it or anything. I was just wondering why you were waving your wand at your journal. Secrecy spells?”

“No,” you said. Your heart was racing, “Er—not quite. I actually haven’t written in it, you see,”

“Oh?” Lucy’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Explain the theatrics then?”

A half-baked lie formed at your lips that was about to spill when you stopped yourself. Lucy was your friend. She’d been your best friend since the moment you’d met on the Hogwarts Express during first year. There was no reason to lie.

“It’s so weird!” You motioned towards the diary with your wand. “I buy this, right, because I feel this weird draw to it. And I take it home and try to write in it, and suddenly the book starts writing back.”

“A self-writing journal?” 

“Not quite. Maybe. Maybe not, I’m not sure. It’s just—something’s not totally right about it, but I can’t tell if it’s dangerous or not.”

Lucy gave a good natured snort. “A journal? Dangerous? And from old Linda’s stand? Please. I see her going through everything in her inventory. The poor shopboy in charge of vetting items has to answer to her if he slips up. There’s no way anything actually powerful slipped onto the stacks.” 

You stuck the tip of your wand under the cover and carefully pried it open, pointing at the lettering on the inside. 

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” She frowned. “Am I supposed to know that name?”

“I don’t know,” you responded at the swooping lettering. “But the journal talked back like it was Tom. Like, it introduced itself as Tom and said that it was 1943. And it acted like an….I don’t know. It was like it was a real person talking to me.”

“Huh.” You could see the gears slowly turning in Lucy’s head,

“Do you know any detection or diagnostic spells?” you asked. “I tried all the ones that we’ve learned so far and it doesn’t even detect magic. But it has to be cursed, right? If the last owner of this diary got sucked into it?”

Lucy was just beginning to open her mouth when ink began to appear.

It is rather rude to be casting all sorts of spells in my direction without warning.

You jumped. “Jesus Christ. Do you see that?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Lucy, but her eyes were crinkled. “Girl. Don’t worry. If it was dangerous, you’d probably know by now. You’ve had it around you for, what, two months? And you’ve already touched it. It doesn’t feel dark. I don’t think there are any slow burning curses that gradually trap you inside an object. If you’re still alright, you’ll probably stay that way. Maybe you should just ask Tom how he got there?”

“If I start disappearing, do try to keep me in this plane.”

“Noted.”

Nervously, you dipped a quill on your desk into an inkwell, waiting for a moment before thinking up how to word your request. In the meantime, a drop of ink fell to the page. It was quickly swallowed up by the parchment.

Sorry you began. Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to trap me in there with you or something

An understandable concern

“Just ask him the bloody question,” said Lucy, hitting your shoulder. “I want to go to bed.” 

“Right, right.” 

If you'd like me to stop with the spells, maybe you could tell me how you ended up in here in the first place

“Nice,” said Lucy. She was nodding thoughtfully. “Very smooth.” 

It took a long time for Tom’s answer to appear despite the fact that your writing had almost instantly disappeared. Finally, black ink began to rise. 

It was an accident. Nothing that can be replicated by you, however. There's no need to worry. I fooled around with the wrong book in the school library.

“School library?” Lucy leaned closer so that the locks of her hair dangled over your shoulder. “Ask him if he went to Hogwarts.”

Hogwarts? You wrote quickly. 

Yes.

In your sixth year?

Yes.

“Ooh.” Lucy hit your shoulder. “Maybe you can use this to get comfortable talking to boys, Y/N.”

You scoffed, blushing a hot red. “Excuse me! I’ve told you. I’m too busy for that.”

“Uh huh.” She twirled a piece of her hair around her finger. “Well, I think you should just keep it. It’s harmless. Like I said, it’s from one of the tamest parts of Diagon Alley. And you wouldn’t be able to get anything genuinely dark into Hogwarts. The wards would’ve detected it. Have fun with it.”

“Have fun with it?”

Lucy shrugged, bouncing once as she settled down on her bed. “I dunno. Think about it. I think a responding diary could be fun. Let’s say I’m not around to gossip one day. You have another outlet. Or maybe you could use him to help you study or something. Really, the possibilities are endless.” 

“True.” You mulled over the thought as you let your wand sit on its stand on your desk. Tentatively you grasped the soft leather of the journal and pulled it nearer to you. Tom was waiting for your response, after all. 

Me too you wrote.

And you still won't tell me your name?

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him my name?” you asked Lucy, whipping around.

She set down her book and shook her head. “What’s he gonna do with it? He’s stuck in there.” 

Y/N. 

A splotch of black appeared on the other end, but it was quickly crossed out. 

How did you find me?

Antiques sale in Diagon Alley

I'm an antique?

Given that 1943 was over 50 years ago, yes

Nothing from Tom.

Is that not what you expected? You added. 

I'm not sure

Just as you were about to close the journal and head to bed, Tom wrote again.

And how are you liking your time at Hogwarts?

It's nice. Fall term starts tomorrow. 

You thought about leaving it there, but for some reason the words began to spill out of you. 

It does feel weird being so close to graduating, though. I don’t know quite what it is that I want to do yet.

Oh? But surely you must have some idea.

You pressed the end of your quill to your lips, debating whether or not to share it with this mysterious Tom. In the end, Lucy’s previous comment was what made the scales tip. What did it matter? Tom wasn’t going to tell anyone.

I would really like to go for a cursebreaking mastery abroad, but that hinges on what happens in my N.E.W.Ts this year. I need an O in Potions. 

I was taking N.E.W.T Potions at the time that I was trapped, Tom wrote. Perhaps I can be of assistance.

I can’t ask that of you.

Please do. It’s terribly boring being all alone in here.

You swallowed, watching the ink slowly sink back into nothing. 

What do you mean? What’s it like being trapped?

It took a while for a response to form.

Quiet. You’re the first visitor I’ve ever had. I’m still in Hogwarts, technically, but there’s no one else here. 

I’m sorry you found yourself writing before you could stop yourself. That sounds very lonely.

I don’t mind being lonely. It does get a bit dull, though. 

“Luce,” you said, leaning over the back of your desk chair. “He just offered to help me with Potions.” 

“See? Useful.” 

I've got to go to bed now. First day of classes and whatnot. 

Best of luck

Can you sleep where you are?

I don’t need to but I can

The words chilled you somewhat, but you pushed the feeling away. 

Well, goodnight you wrote. 

Goodnight

~

How were classes?

The ink appeared the moment you flipped open the journal. It was already two weeks into term, and you’d written to Tom nearly every night. You were curled up in bed, your blankets pulled heavy around your lap and your pajamas clean and smelling of lavender. A mug of tea lay steaming on your bedside table, its tendrils barely visible in the dim golden light of the candle you’d lit. 

As expected you wrote, yawning. How was your day?

Oh, you know. Thrilling.

You snorted.

“What are you giggling about?” Lucy’s voice snapped you back into reality. You looked up to see her peeking over the textbook in her lap, a smirk etched deeply into her lips. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly, but the way you slammed the journal shut gave it away.

“Talking to your fake boyfriend, huh?” teased Lucy. 

“I’m not even going to answer that.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s a fucking journal. It’s not like he’s real.”

“Didn’t he say he was trapped in there?”

You huffed. “I guess. He seems to have accepted his position in life, though. It’s not like he’s begging for help.” 

“No,” agreed Lucy. “But just think about it. What if you did manage to get him out? How romantic would that be?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” 

Lucy ducked away from the pillow you lobbed in her direction, cackling maniacally all the way. 

There you are. I thought I’d bored you. 

The words reappeared within seconds of you reopening the journal. You tried to smother the way your lips turned upwards at the sight. 

Sorry you wrote back, hoping that Lucy was sufficiently distracted with her textbook and would give you a rest for the night. A friend wanted to talk.

Does this friend know about me?

You held your quill to your lips for a moment before you wrote back.

Yes. She loves to tease over how much time I spend writing to you 

I take it she doesn’t understand

Quite the contrary. She’s the one who encouraged me to write to you in the first place, in fact.

How so?

Something about how it would be nice to be able to tell my secrets to someone who could never tell anyone else

Tom’s response took a bit longer to appear this time around. 

Oh? Any you’d like to share now?

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at the drying ink. 

You first.

For a minute, you thought that maybe Tom had disappeared. The parchment remained blank and clean. Maybe he’d gotten bored with you and had gone off to…whatever he did in his empty version of Hogwarts. 

Then the lettering appeared again. 

I used to have a pet snake when I was a child. I was an orphan, you see, and the other children thought that I was too strange to play with. I was terribly lonely. The matron took us to the beach once, and I found this little grass snake in the weeds. I stuck it in my pocket and took it back to the orphanage with me. 

You lived in a muggle orphanage? 

Yes. Obviously. Once I was amongst magicfolk, people did find me quite charming. 

Why’d you pick a snake?

I liked having someone—or something, I suppose—to talk to. 

You stared as the ink sunk back into nothing. Talk. Snakes. Talking?

Are you a Parselmouth? 

I’ve already given a secret Tom wrote. Your turn. 

Will you answer if I give you one?

That’s only fair. 

Secrets—you barely had those. You’d grown up sharing nearly everything with Lucy since you’d been paired up in first year Charms class. 

Not losing your nerve, are you?

I’m just thinking you quickly wrote back. I don’t have many secrets. 

Surely you do. 

This isn’t a very exciting secret. Heat rose to your cheeks as your quill scratched against the paper. But I haven’t told anyone this. 

Go on.

I can’t tell anyone this because they’ll think I’m annoying. I do really well in classes. But I feel like I’m never going to be smart enough. It seems like nothing that I ever do will be enough to stand out 

I understand more than you know

What do you mean?

I was sorted into Slytherin. Coming from such a modest background meant that I had to prove that I was worth the space I was taking up 

A swell of…something rose in you as you stared down at the paper. You tried to imagine this mysterious Tom in the familiar green robes that you saw every day in Potions, scrunching his nose up over a book and studying hard. All alone—motivated by the knowledge that no one was rooting for his success—knowing that there was no name he could depend on to cover even one misstep—

You blinked. Whoa. That was some serious projection. 

I can’t really tell this to anyone else. All of my friends come from influential pureblood families, so they just don’t get why I don’t get to make mistakes or slip up. They think I’m so uptight

Exactly. They all have safety nets. The grades, the house points, the prefect badges—those are all just surface level. It’s your name that gets you anywhere important 

“You’re looking mighty serious over there,” said Lucy from over her textbook. “Trouble in paradise?”

You laughed tightly. “Er, no. Just talking.” 

“Uh huh.”

I always feel like it’s evidence that I don’t belong when I don’t immediately understand something in class you add into the journal. To your horror, tears started pricking at your eyes. None of your friends were muggleborns. You’d never been able to voice these things out loud—or on paper, in this case. Writing it all out seemed so sad now. Like today in Runes. It took me longer than usual to understand a translation technique for this ridiculous slate from the Middle Ages. I had to talk myself down from believing that I’m faking it and that everyone else doesn’t even need to try

Is Babbling still there?

Yes. She’s still teaching 

She was already too old to be coherent when she was teaching me wrote Tom. Tell me, do you have to rennervate her throughout the lesson to keep her present?

She was old back then??? 

Ancient. 

I can’t believe she’s still alive. You chewed on your lip as you thought. She’s practically a fossil.

Do you think of me like that? Old?

Would it make you feel better if I said I considered you vintage? 

I’m wounded

“Fucking get to the library and start researching ways to pull that poor boy out of there,” said Lucy from her bed, “Or stop giggling like that. Merlin. You’re killing me. You’re practically twirling your hair.”

“Shut up!” Slowly, you opened the journal back up after slamming it closed.

Your friend again?

Yes you scribbled back. She’s teasing me again about how I should try to get you out of here. Which I’m assuming is impossible, since I’m doubtful you’re even a real person

I’m very real

Your blood cooled. 

Then why haven’t you asked me to get you out? 

A pause—just long enough for you to feel suspicious. 

I’ve gotten quite used to my little home in here wrote Tom finally. And forgive me if I believe it a bit forward to immediately demand the first person to which I speak to orchestrate my extraction. 

Extraction. Interesting word choice, you thought. 

How polite. Part of you was beginning to feel the slightest bit uneasy. And what would this so-called extraction entail? 

That I haven’t quite figured out yet. The response was instantaneous. Ever since we’ve met I’ve been returning to the library in hopes of finding an answer.

Which book trapped you in here?

Another pause. 

I sincerely doubt it’s still in print wrote Tom. It was a very dangerous book with dark, terrible magic. I had no business digging around in it. I paid the price dearly. 

He refused to elaborate.

You spent the entire weekend digging through the Restricted Section, paging through every book you could imagine that had anything to do with Tom’s situation.

Nothing. Nada. Zero. You tried every querying spell you could think of. You were desperate enough to recruit Madam Pince by telling her that you were writing a paper for a class and needed to find anything there was on getting yourself trapped in magical objects. What she did dig up was at best irrelevant—tales of ill-executed Animagi rituals that resulted in the wizard getting stuck in their animal form and reports of interactions with cursed objects sending the users into a different dimension, never to be heard from again. 

But as you were leaving the library on Sunday night, feeling downtrodden and profoundly disappointed, you saw something that caught your eye: the Alumni section. 

It was one of those things that you always passed by without another thought. No classwork required students to reference previous Hogwarts attendees. It existed largely to appease the old families by nodding to their longstanding presence in Hogwarts, and the only friends who you had ever seen in this part of the library were purebloods curious about their ancestry. As a muggleborn, this was predictably unrelatable. There’d been no person of interest waiting for you in the old, dusty books that were shoved neatly into chronological order, no long-lost ancestor or namesake. 

Not until now. 

The click of your oxfords against the dark hardwood echoed as you came to a stop in front of the stacks. Every yearbook was the color of that school year’s House Cup winner, and the one with 1943-1944 on the thin spine was a rich, loud red. It slid easily from the shelf—which was a relief, because occasionally older books required permission to handle and were thus unremovable—and settled gently in your hands. 

For a second you pondered leaving the aisle and finding a table to crack it open and savor the moment, but the thought of having to explain why you were looking at the 1943 class yearbook would be embarrassing. Doubly so if Lucy found you—she’d never let you hear the end of it. So, case closed. You’d open it here. 

Oh god. You swallowed and used the cuff of your free sleeve to wipe the bead of sweat that had formed on your forehead. This was a terrible idea—or was it? Maybe he wouldn’t be your type. Yes, maybe he’d look just like someone who annoyed you in class or he’d have poorly kept hair or he’d have a creepy smile. Then you could stop thinking about—that.

And that shouldn’t even matter! You squeezed your eyes shut to dispel the thought. It was all Lucy’s fault for teasing you so much about him being your sort-of-weird-ghost boyfriend—part of you was starting to pretend like that was real. And it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that no boy before had managed to make you this excited to talk to them. It didn’t matter that he got you like no one else in this castle seemed to. It didn’t, because as of present he was actually a journal and not a corporeal being.

In short, you reminded yourself harshly, you were checking this yearbook to verify that a Tom Marvolo Riddle did in fact exist and attended Hogwarts during the time period he claimed. That was it—nothing more. 

Nervously, you let the cover flip open and began to card through the thick pages. Moving pictures of entirely unfamiliar students greeted you, flashing past your eyes. First years, second years, third years, fourth years…

You paused before turning from the fifth year page to the sixth, overwhelmed with the thought that whatever you saw was going to change the way you saw your interactions with the diary. If he wasn’t there, you’d need to re-evaluate how safe this whole diary scenario was. You’d need to go back and reconsider if anything you’d heard from him was ever the actual truth. And if he was…

You swallowed. You couldn’t pretend like you hadn’t been imagining what he’d look like on nights that you struggled to fall asleep. There was never a face you could settle on. Whenever you’d spin up something in your mind’s eye, the features would shift and morph into something entirely different before you could enjoy it. 

But it didn’t matter—it couldn’t matter, because it was crazy that you’d even been fantasizing about a potentially make-believe boy who only existed in a worn diary. 

You turned the page, and Tom Marvolo Riddle stared right back at you.

Tom looked every bit of what you’d expect a Slytherin prefect to be like. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and intentional, from the tidy robes to the obediently shaped dark waves atop his head that looked tragically soft. The only thing out of place was a single piece of black hair, dangling temptingly in the middle of his forehead. 

His lips were drawn into a polite almost smile, his image almost entirely still save for the slight bob of his throat that repeated as the image replayed, over and over again. 

Tom was pretty—much prettier than you ever could’ve thought up on your own. He looked unreal, like he’d been sculpted by some higher being’s hand with the express purpose of being devastatingly ethereal. 

And he’d been talking to you. Connecting with you. And he was real. The weight of your satchel over your shoulder reminded you that he was right there. All it’d take was a quill and some ink to speak to him again. 

The picture had repeated its loop one final time before you closed the book shut and pushed it back onto the shelf, hearing the pounding of your heart the whole way.

When you wrote to him that night, you tried your best to keep yourself imagining how he’d look writing back. Would he smile when he saw that you’d opened the journal? Would he laugh at your (admittedly stupid) jokes? 

September turned into October which tilted into November with such speed that you could barely breathe. Time barreled ahead as classes sped up, assignments piled on, and each day became just another challenge to survive. 

Tom remained one of the few constants in your life, alongside Lucy and Ishan. It was concerning how much you’d come to confide in him, telling him things that you’d never dare to share with anyone else. You told him about the little accomplishments that you could never bring up to your friends, like Professor Snape insulting everyone’s potion except yours and what McGonagall wrote on your most recent paper, calling it one of the most well-researched essays she’d gotten from a N.E.W.T level student. You even told him how Lucy occasionally got on your nerves and how it made you feel like a bad friend. 

He was a good listener and an even better conversationalist. When he wasn’t being your confidant, he was more than happy to indulge any academic topics of interest. You spent hours going back and forth, debating the content of the news headlines that you’d tell him about each day. 

With time, the memory of Tom’s face and intimidatingly good looks faded to the back of your mind. You’d barred yourself from going back into the Alumni section in the library lest you felt inspired to crack open his yearbook again and remind yourself just how attractive your imaginary friend had been when he’d been alive. If you did that, then you’d start fantasizing about a future where you invented some sort of way to pull him out, and that was just silly. You had exams, and Tom didn’t seem particularly rushed in leaving his journal—or he’d at least come to accept that he’d never leave.

Despite this new normality you’d built around the strangeness of the journal, some things still felt tense. You’d grown comfortable with Tom—arguably more comfortable with him than nearly anyone else, save for maybe Lucy, since you couldn’t ever imagine opening up the journal and telling him all about the fact that it was your time of the month and detailing exactly how your cramps were making you feel—but there was this underlying sense of anticipation. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. You just knew that things couldn’t be like this forever. Something had to give. 

In the end, it was Professor Snape who started it. He’d looked down at your cauldron and said something about how your Draught of Living Death base was the most elementary thing he’d ever had the misfortune of laying his eyes upon and that you were lucky to even be allowed into the class, and something inside you broke. 

You’d tried so hard on that potion. You’d followed the instructions to a T. You’d diced everything evenly and stirred it with the precision of a muggle performing brain surgery. Potions had never been your best subject, and you tried to make up for it by trying harder than everyone else. Normally it worked, but N.E.W.T potions was something else.

Tom was taking longer than usual to respond to this particular soliloquy that night, a few letters surfacing before he scribbled them out.

I know this might seem scary he finally wrote. I’ll understand if this frightens you too much. But I think that I may be able to help. 

What do you mean, scary? Are you a mean tutor or something?

I mean that I can show you how to brew that Draught Tom replied. 

Show me?

If my research is correct, it’s possible that I can temporarily cross you over into my world. 

Your heart thudded, your hands suddenly clammy. 

“Lucy?” 

“Yeah, what’s up?” Lucy tossed her book onto her desk and turned to face you. “Oh no. Did something happen? You look awful.”

“Gee. Thanks.” You swallowed. “Er—sort of? I was writing to Tom about how crazy Potions class was today and he told me that he could help me. Like actually tutor me.”

“Is that not a good thing?” 

Your mouth was dry. “No. That’s not it. He means like, tutor me tutor me. In person. He says he can cross me over into his world temporarily.”

Lucy froze. 

“I have to say no, right?” It was so, so stupid that you were asking that. Of course you had to say no. There was no telling what he could do to you if you said yes. Maybe he was actually a demon that was attempting to possess you. Maybe he was going to eat your soul and use your body as a husk to feed on the other students and—

“I mean, probably not.” She thoughtfully pressed the top of her quill to her mouth. “Think about it. You guys have been in contact for months and nothing supernatural has happened. We already came to the conclusion that the journal isn’t dark magic because the wards would’ve kept it out.”

“But what if I get stuck with him? I haven’t been able to find anything about this type of magic before. I don’t know how it works.”

Lucy hummed. Then realization flickered across her features. “Hang on. I think I have something that might help.” 

She dug around in one of her desk drawers until she produced a small spool of half-used thread. It was golden in color but so thin it was nearly iridescent. 

“What’s that?” you asked, squinting at it. 

“It’s Invisible String,” said Lucy, already rolling it out and pulling it around your wrist. It was pleasantly warm against your skin, like it’d just been sitting out in the sun. As soon as it made contact with your body, it disappeared. “It used to be used for Ministry Employees who used Time Turners. Whoever is on the other end of the thread is able to pull the wearer back to this reality and this timeline. It’s very useful in avoiding nasty time related incidents. My dad took home a bunch of spools when Time Turners were officially outlawed. He taught me how to apparate with them since it can also work over long distances in the same reality—just in case I did something stupid.” 

“Wow,” you breathed, staring down at your wrist. There was nothing to stare at, of course. It was already gone. But it was an ingenious little contraption, probably charmed so many times with such obscure and rare spells that it would go for thousands of galleons if you tried to buy it yourself.

The perks of having a rich pureblood best friend, you supposed.

“As long as I’m holding the other end, I’ll be able to bring you back,” explained Lucy, holding the spool up demonstratively. “So, go for it. If that’s your only hold-up, I think you should go meet him. If anything, at least it’ll help your Potions grade.” 

You turned your attention back to the journal, worrying your lip for a second before you dipped your quill in the inkwell and wrote out Ok. 

“This is so exciting,” said Lucy from over your shoulder. “You have to tell me everything when you get back.”

“If I can come back.”

She dangled the spool in front of you. “I’ll make sure of that. If you’re not back by curfew, I’ll yank you back to this reality by myself.”

“Right.” Anxiety began to build in your middle, bubbling up until you were sure you were trembling. 

This might feel a bit uncomfortable was all Tom wrote before you were suddenly falling into a void.

When the inertia faded and light slowly bled back into your vision, you were sprawled on the floor of a Potions classroom that you’d been in when you were a second year. Tom Riddle stood tidily a few feet away from you, wearing the same formal school robes you’d seen on him in the yearbook. 

“Hello.” His voice was proper and measured. It fit him perfectly, but the fact that you were finally hearing him speak for the first time made you feel something that was highly inadvisable. 

“Hi.” 

For a moment, you just stared right back into his eyes as the silence closed in around you and the gravity of your situation sunk in. You’d really done it now, hadn’t you? As if to comfort you, the thread around your wrist warmed against your skin. 

“Don’t worry,” said Tom, like he could already tell what you were thinking.“You won’t be trapped. It’s me who’s bound to this world.” 

“And how are you so sure of that?” 

“This is a prison for my soul,” he said casually. “Not yours. You have nothing keeping you here.” 

“Right.” You slowly made your way from the ground to your feet, brushing off your robes and casting a few cleansing charms to dispel the dust clinging to you. At least your magic seemed to work fine here, you noted. It was a small comfort to know that you’d be able to defend yourself if shit went left. 

“I didn’t think you’d say yes.” Now that he was speaking more, you couldn’t help but admire the way he sounded—silken and smooth and entirely unbothered, like he did this every day. “I was sure that I’d scared you off.”

“You underestimate how much I want that Potions O,” you offered. 

“Never,” he said dryly. “Now that I see that you’re a Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t endeavor to make such ill-informed assumptions.”

You blanched, your head whipping down to take in what you were wearing. You weren’t sure why you were so shocked to see that you were wearing exactly what you’d had on moments ago at your desk—a midnight blue jumper with the Ravenclaw emblem stitched into the left breast, pulled on top of the white button up with the bronze and blue tie tucked underneath. That, and the standard-issue Hogwarts skirt and tights. Hardly dungeon attire—if you didn’t start brewing something soon, you’d be shivering. 

It all looked very silly compared to how many layers Tom was wearing. His prefect pin glinted under the dim lighting of the Potions classroom, and you tried your best to keep your heart from swooning. 

“Did I not tell you that I was a Ravenclaw?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up. “I don’t believe so. I would’ve remembered.” 

“Are you surprised?”

He cast his dark eyes up to the ceiling and scrunched his nose in a way that you thought was meant to convey a serious bout of thinking. “Not quite. I was stuck between that and Slytherin.”

“Slytherin?” You couldn’t stop the way you grimaced at this.

“I thought we had enough in common for it to be plausible.” 

A thrill shot through you. “I’m sorry to disappoint.” 

“I suppose I can't be too taken aback,” he said mildly, stepping neatly back and conjuring a cauldron to appear on the tabletop to his right. “You are a muggleborn. I don’t know of any who have been sorted into Slytherin.” 

This wasn’t news to you, but Tom’s delivery stung more than usual. The implication hung heavy in the air that you were somehow in the inferior house, only placed in Ravenclaw because of your blood. As an afterthought—as a convenient place for you to be put away. 

“That’s true,” you said, stepping closer until only the brewing table was in between you two. “But I doubt that I’d have been sorted there, even if I had been born a pureblood. The whole glutton-for-knowledge thing about Ravenclaw has always been me.”

“I disagree.” Tom summoned over a few jars of ingredients with a nonverbal wave of his wand. “If you’d been born with purer blood, you wouldn’t be so desperate to find a way to compensate.”

You flinched. Ouch. 

“I’m very aware of why I feel the need to work so hard,” you snipped. “But I really don’t think that has anything to do with my genuine academic curiosity. If I was so single-minded in using knowledge for compensation then perhaps I would have been a Slytherin.”

For a moment, his dark eyes flashed with something that you couldn’t quite catch before his face ironed itself into something impassive once more. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend.”

You frowned, watching as he placed familiar ingredients on the table and began lining them up. “It’s fine. Just a bit of a sore spot, that’s all.” 

He gave you a look that made you feel like you’d just pointed out the obvious. Which you had, clearly. But it was offensive regardless. 

“I’ve assembled all the ingredients for a Draught of Living Death,” he announced, stepping back from the table and waving one pale hand at the spread in front of you. “You said you had trouble with brewing the base. This makes sense, since more complicated potions require more stable bases. I’m not wrong in assuming that you’ve always been adept at following instructions and brewing perfect potions before this year?”

He waited for your nod to continue.

“N.E.W.T Potions is different in that it challenges your intuition. Before this, you’ve been able to coast by relying on the guidance of others. But with potions like the Living Death, you need to be able to think on your feet. Even the slightest variation in your ingredients—the age, the quality, the place of origin—can be what ruins an otherwise perfectly good brew. Every potions recipe you see in school textbooks makes implicit assumptions about the quality and age of your ingredients. If, say, it’s an unusually hot day when a supply shipment arrives and the gillyweed oxidizes, the instructions for a more difficult potion won’t anticipate that you need to temper it with volcanic salt.

“That’s where you come in. When you’re preparing your base, you need to have an intimate understanding of the properties of each ingredient and how they interact with each other. This way, when you notice something isn’t quite average with your supplies—as is common in a school where ingredients are shipped in bulk—you can adjust.” 

Tom paused, his eyes meeting yours. You blinked once, then broke the contact to look at the cauldron.

No one had ever explained that to you before. No one had ever taken the time. Snape certainly hadn’t been interested in lecturing about why so many students were incapable of  producing viable potions—he was far more content with insulting his pupils for being inadequate. 

“I never knew that,” you admitted, finally looking back at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. “That makes so much sense.” 

Though your words were far from creative, honesty dripped from your voice.

“Right then,” said Tom, nodding tightly and stepping back to gesture to the ingredients. “Try to prepare the base again. This time pay attention to the state of the ingredients.”

You got the work, thinly dicing the beetroot while you set the moon water to simmer in the cauldron. 

“This was bruised,” you noted, motioning to the cubes you’d just cut. 

Tom nodded, looking at you rather expectantly. 

“...which means that part of it has already oxidized,” you continued cautiously. In truth, you hadn’t spent much time learning about the different chemical properties of the ingredients. That felt too concretely muggle, too blatantly biological. “Which means that the enzymes have, uh, had their bonds ruptured?”

“And…?” 

“And that means I need to…” You squinted down at the vegetable, trying to conjure up any knowledge you had about enzymes and potion making. It probably wouldn’t be volcanic salt. Would it? “I don’t think that I can use volcanic salt as a binding agent this time. If my memory serves correctly, moon water becomes unstable in the presence of pure minerals. So that means…acid? Lemon?”

Tom slid a vial over to you, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Mix a little into the beetroot before adding it.”

You uncorked it and let the citrus juice sink into the purple cubes, running slightly down the cutting board and pooling in the wooden crevices. 

The rest of your base preparation went just as smoothly, with Tom offering up the odd helpful comment while you nodded and committed it to memory. 

You finished with a base that looked nothing like the disaster you’d created just hours ago. You were just barely able to keep yourself from grinning and throwing your arms around Tom’s neck as you both began to clean up and vanish the contents of the cauldron.

“Well done,” said Tom, spelling the cutting board clean. The vibrant pink marks from the beetroot vanished. “Consider me impressed.”

You nearly exploded with giddiness. 

“Thank you,” you said very normally. He was standing so close to you now that if you reached out, your fingers would skim his robe-clad arm. But you wouldn’t do that, because that was weird. Because he was living in a journal and he was somehow bound to this strange alternative reality. Because you weren’t even sure if it was possible to touch him. Because even if it was, Tom Riddle did not seem like the type of person who would be partial to physical affection—especially not from someone like you. “Do you—have you found anything out about how you can escape?” 

Tom’s fluid motions as he tidied the table only stuttered for a moment. “Some. Nothing concrete, though.”

“If you told me exactly what it was you did to get stuck in here, I’d probably be able to offer a lot more help,” you pointed out in a way that you hoped didn’t sound too cajoling. 

He didn’t say anything. 

“Come on,” you pressed, putting your hands on your hips. “I’ve aired out all my dirty laundry to you. You can tell me. I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I haven’t already guessed.”

“Really?” drawled Tom, his eyes locking on yours. “Nothing at all?”

“Nothing,” you affirmed. 

“So why don’t you tell me what happened?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Men could be so frightfully dull sometimes. 

“There’s a book,” said Tom with a deceptive casualness, “That should be in the Restricted section. It’s called ‘Secrets of the Darkest Arts.’ Read that. If you’d still like to know afterwards, I’ll oblige.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” 

The work table was all cleaned up, no trace of your previous potion brewing except for the lingering scent in the air. 

“Well,” said Tom. His hands were folded neatly behind his back as he remained a respectable distance away from you. “I suppose I should be sending you back.”

“I suppose,” you echoed. “Will I—do you think I’ll get to see you again?”

You regretted it the moment the words left your mouth. Hopefully the blush on your face could be written off by the excuse that you were just brewing. 

This time when he looked at you, it felt like he was re-evaluating something. “Whenever you’d like. I’m not especially occupied.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face was splitting into a bright smile. “Of course. I was definitely asking because of your busy schedule.” 

He blinked twice. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and fidgeted with his tie. It was the most obvious sign of discomfort you’d seen from him the entire evening. 

“Right,” he said stiffly. “Ehm—yes. It was pleasant to have you here.”

“Pleasant?” you echoed, your eyebrows raised. 

“I mean that I’ve enjoyed the time that we’ve spent in correspondence,” he said, waving a hand like that made what he said any less awkward.

“Tom, I was teasing you,” you said. “I don’t need some sort of confession about how you can actually stand being around me. I can tell.”

“Right,” he said again. “I’ll send you back now.”

Before you could add another remark about how weird he was being, you were catapulted out of the dungeons and back into your desk chair.

“Merlin’s Beard!” gasped Lucy from behind you. 

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the bright lighting of your dorm. 

“You literally came out of nowhere!” said Lucy, coming around to put her hands on your desk and stare at you. “I was getting worried, too. Padma is coming back soon. I thought that I’d have to devise some sort of plan to keep her out of the room so she wouldn’t ask why you materialized out of thin air.”

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes unfocused.

“So what happened?” 

“I—” You exhaled. “Lucy, I’m so fucked. He’s actually really cute.” 

“I knew it,” said Lucy, shaking your shoulders. 

“He helped me brew the base for the Draught of Living Death,” you elaborated. “He’s a really good tutor. He spoke for like 5 minutes about the properties of different ingredients, and I swear I’ve learned more from him than from 6 years of Snape’s lectures.”

“And did you guys talk?”

“A little.” You frowned, thinking back on the interactions you’d had. “He was really odd when I asked him about what I needed to do to get him out. Even weirder when I asked if I was going to see him again. He made some comment about how he wasn’t exactly busy and I said something that implied that I knew that but wanted to know if he liked seeing me, and he was super awkward.”

Lucy cringed. “Well, I mean, if I’d been stuck in a diary for 50 years without talking to someone, I’d probably be a little strange too. Tell me how he is when he talks—or writes, I guess—to you next.”

The next time Tom responded to a diary entry, you had news.

Tom you wrote. Are you there?

Yes.

Can you bring me back to you?

Why? Do you need another Potions lesson?

You rolled your eyes. Not quite.

Well, no. I won’t let you back until you’ve read the book I told you about.

That’s why I’m asking! I’ve tried looking for it everywhere. When none of the querying spells worked, I went through the entire Restricted Section by hand. Nothing! I asked Madam Pince and she told me that that book had been banned since before she’d gotten the position as librarian. I’m probably on some watch list now

That is troubling. 

So if you’ll be so kind, please let me back in so I can use your library. Thank you in advance

There was a long pause that you imagined Tom took to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Then:

Very well. 

You were falling through space once again.

final a/n: thank you for reading! let me know how you feel about it! this is my first time writing for tom so im kind of nervous or whatever

[luveline]

jaaaade!!! I wish we could see more of eddie and reader alone!!! Would you be open to writing about another date without roan or maybe roan at a sleepover??? xoxoxoxoxoxo

hey!!! eddie and roan without the roan!!! cw suggestive (they are deprived of one another its not my fault (it is technically my fault))

It's disconcerting to come home from work when Roan isn't there. There are no cartoons playing on TV, no shiny black Mary Jane's at the bottom of the stairs, no red vinyl raincoat on the bannister. Eddie's instantly visible across the hall in the kitchen, though his back is turned to you, arms buried in the sink. He's wearing your Walkman, head bobbing to music.

You nip into the living room even though Roan isn't home to feed Lucky the fish. 

"Baby?" Eddie shouts, loud, like he's mad. 

You quickly close the fish tank and present yourself for scolding. "What?" 

He's set the Walkman aside. 

His shirt is one of those shirts that he uses for both everyday life and bed. There's a hole at the neckline, and a wet patch near his stomach from the dishes, and the whole thing comes off in about ten seconds. 

You gawp at him. Eddie can be forward, but this forward?

He bursts into boyish giggles. "Your face! What are you thinking?" 

"What am I thinking?" you ask, on the defensive instantly, because not being so gives him room to dig his claws in. "I'm thinking me and my boyfriend are home alone for the first time in at least a month, and he's just called me like a dog and stripped in front of me, and- Eddie! Get away from me, don't you dare!" 

He snaps out like a snake and his arms are around you python tight, pulling you against his bare chest unabashedly. 

"I'm not your boyfriend. We're to be wed, if you forgot. And… You are such a nympho." 

"I am not," you say, grinning with laughter even as you struggle in his arms to get away. 

"You are. I took my shirt off because it's wet, not to come onto you."

"Do you remember when you used to be nice to me?" you ask mildly. 

"No." 

"No, me neither. Be nice to me, Munson, or you can make your own dinner." 

"You're making dinner?" he asks, eyes widened in surprise. 

"Don't act like I never make dinner." 

"Sorry," he says, "it's not that-"

You pat his cheek. "You do always make dinner, though. 'Cause you're a sweetheart, through and through." 

"Well you clean the bathroom, and we know how gross it is. Roan's a little freak." 

"She's a witch. Her latest potion included at least a quarter of your hair mousse, by the way." 

He leans in close to your face. "I'll make you dinner for the rest of our lives, if you want me to." His romantic side quickly fades back into the shadows. "But if you're offering, it's definitely your turn." 

"Nice," you say wryly. 

He hums his agreement, gives you two quick but well-meaning kisses, and let's you go where he'd herded you to the front door. "I'm gonna put on a dry shirt. Bring your pyjamas down?" 

"Please, handsome, if you will." 

"Duh." 

You spirit into the kitchen and turn the oven on. Then you wash your hands, pull a sack of potatoes from the cupboard, and get to chopping. 

"We're having homemade french fries and burgers. Unless you don't want burgers?" you ask, not looking as Eddie returns to the kitchen. 

"That's not funny. You know I always want burgers." 

You shove all your skin-on fries into the colander and you and Eddie swap. "Wash them for me, please?" 

"I'm already feeling like you cooking tonight is a lie." 

"I'm not lying!" you say, pushing your pants down to your thighs. 

You step out of them one leg at a time and shake out your pyjama pants. Eddie looks at you for a second, turns back to the faucet, and then double takes hard enough to make his neck click. You boo at his theatrics and pull on your new pants before he can waylay you with his nice hands. You're excited for some 'private time' with him, more excited to fill the aching pit of hunger in your stomach, and he could likely seduce you with one well aimed touch, so best to get dressed. 

"You have the fucking hottest thighs-" 

"Don't, Eddie," you plead, already laughing. 

"I'm being so serious right now. Fuck, can I just squeeze one?" 

"That's not even romantic." 

"I'm not trying to be…" He sets the washed potatoes aside on the draining board and quickly scrubs his hands dry. "I'm being honest with you, if I don't get my hands on your legs tonight I'm gonna pass out." 

His methods are questionable, but it's nice to be hyped up like that, especially when he usually keeps it PG. "You look so pretty today," doesn't ever lose its potency even when he says it every day, but the rarity of his more salacious comments means that each one makes you wanna jump him. 

"I think…" you say softly, tipping the fries on to a sheet pan and drizzling them with olive oil. He waits for you to finish. "We can make a deal." 

"What kind?" 

"Kind where you take it easy tonight and let me spoil you, and I'll make it worth your while." 

He takes it easy. He sits at the dinner table and you get to talk about things you haven't been able to for a while, properly, like bills and work and worries you don't say in front of Roan. Then you move on, talking about movies and music and heading into Indianapolis soon like you always say you will for an author event Eddie wants to go to. By the time the burgers are done, you're elated, head swimming with Eddie. You love Roan and love your life with her in it, but, separately, you adore Eddie. Everything about him. Even the way he talks is important to you: bravado and genuineness interlinked, making for an animated recount of his thoughts and feelings. 

You place a plate down in front of him with a great burger and a heaping pile of fries, and then you grab a coke from the fridge and pour it into a glass for him carefully. 

"You want ketchup?" 

He squints at you. "I can get my own ketchup." 

You take that for yes and retrieve the ketchup from the fridge, putting it with his plate and glass. 

"Where's yours?" he asks, covering his mouth as he chews a fry. 

You slowly, carefully, ease your way into his lap, giving him time to refuse you. 

He doesn't. 

You sit with your side to his chest and feel perfectly content as his arm wraps around you to hold you in place. "The deal is I get to spoil you," you remind him, stroking a curl out of his face. 

"I thought you meant, like, dinner," he says. 

"I do mean dinner. Dinner and everything else. You know you- you work so hard, 'n' you think I don't notice, I bet, but I do. You're the best dad, the best to-be-wed," you drawl. "You're my fucking guy, so you'll have to excuse me if I wanna get you the ketchup out of the fridge, loser." 

"You're a fucking loser." He's beaming. 

You stare at him, smile bright no matter how hard you try to tamp it down. "I love you. Let me hand feed you French fries like a serf holding grapes over an ancient courtesan, okay?" 

He tilts his head back in wait. 

Eddie lets you feed him fries, and somewhere between them his hand ends up exactly where he'd wanted it, between your legs and squeezing at the doughy flesh of your thigh. He couldn't look any happier. 

"You know what else would spoil me?" he asks, nosing at the skin under your ear. 

Your breath catches, sure he's going to say something awful. "What, baby?" 

"If you ate your food." 

You snort, spell broken, and go to stand, but Eddie's hand slides high up your thigh and lingers. "You'll need your strength," he adds. 

You push at his chest with your hand, tempted to roll your eyes at his smirking and nerdy delivery. "Whatever, baby." 

It's safe to say you aren't so dismissive of his bold claims later that night. 

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

top 5 most underrated morphs? you can pick the species :)

I'll do ball pythons since they have so many! All my favorites are pretty simple morphs you can eaisly get for under $300, and these are all ethical morphs with no known issues.

Clown is probably my absolute favorite bp morph. It's so pretty!

Mystic potions. I mean, c'mon! They're purple!

Enchi. It's good if you want a cool pattern disruption but without the harmful effects of the spider morph.

GHI. This morph stands for "gotta have it" - it does look super cool!

Good ol' banana. Lots of people overlook banana nowadays, especially since a lot of people don't like how bananas tend to fade out as they mature. But I love the freckles on mature banana bps!

[wtfforged]

<-(type of guy who makes a new dnd-character-sona-guy based off picrews) hes an artificer-fighter who fucked up a polymorph potion and now hes stuck with dragon features. not that hes mad about it. his steel defender is a golem of a python covered in moss named marimo(yeah. yyeah. tell me about it)

[rainesol]

TWST OC :3

Canon Disney character oc! He's based on Kaa from The Jungle Book.

Name: Kshoshurankha Kaasura

Nicknames: Ksho, Whale Shark-Chan, Monsieur Serpent, Maneater

Age/Year/Birthday: 17, Second year (Class 2-D), April 12

Pronouns: He/Him

Club: Board Games Club

House: Savanaclaw

Homeland: Providence Thicket (Rainforest region)

Description-

Kshoshurankha is an immensely large young man, at around 30+ feet long. As a Naga, he adjusts his 'standing height' based on who he's talking to, typically placing him at around 6-7 feet tall. He is the TWST equivalent of Indian. His upper body appears slender, and he has dark skin and long black hair. His eyes are a bright yellow, with vertically slit pupils. His scales are a light brown, with dark green-brown patches, similar to an Indian rock python. (He also has a permanent :3 face due to being a python (and dimples where his mouth stretches back to))

Kshoshurankha wears the school button-down, with a Savanaclaw sweater (Imagined to be from a 'winter uniform') rather than the school blazer. He leaves the top button of his shirt undone, and does not wear a tie. His hair is naturally a little wavy, much more visibly so when in the humidity of the rainforest.

His teeth are sharp and pointed, but lacks real fangs due to being a constrictor. His main body is quite thick and muscular due to this, however he's considered to be an average size for his species. He is often seen looking tired. I imagine he cannot take similar potions to the merfolk students, as the sudden reduction in organ size, and rise in body temperature is too much strain on him. He can move just fine as long as he takes breaks and keeps out of the way.

Personality/Character traits-

Kshoshurankha is very soft spoken, his voice quite quiet in contrast with his intimidating size. He finds it very funny to frighten the other students, which regularly works due to his inhuman strength and the fact that most of his threats aren't too far-fetched. He is a surprisingly good babysitter, though. He often watches over his RSA friends younger brother, and takes a mentor role in the same way the original Kaa does.

Kshoshurankha is a fierce environmentalist, and cares deeply for the natural world and the rainforest where his village is located, going as far as to threaten loggers and poachers who endanger it.

Kshoshurankha is relatively skilled with a longbow, and knows many wild herbs due to his mother being a doctor. He is also trilingual, speaking the main language ingame (English/Japanese) Hindi, and 'Serpentine' (A fictional language spoken by Nagas in his lore)

Kshoshurankha is sometimes quite clumsy, misjudging his size and weight, often getting stuck in gaps, and breaking things such as tree branches. This is because he is used to much bigger and stronger trees. He is significantly less active than most Savanaclaw students.

His unique magic 'Trusted Friend' allows him to put people in a very docile, sleepy and agreeable state

As per use, feel free so send any questions :3 (Please I have snake brainrot) I also plan on making a lore file for nagas in my universe, so feel free to borrow info if you also have a Kaa-based oc!

[sea-owl]

Ah Gothic Featheringtons, how I have missed you! Now all I can imagine is poor Colin not only having to be wary of Felicity and her shotgun but also Prudence challenging him to a duel.

You know, the funny thing is that I hc that Colin is the best fencer among his family. It mainly comes from that one line in season 2 when Anthony tells Colin that Benedict honors him by not holding back. That leads me to believe Colin does hold back mainly because Anthony is a sore loser and is better at fencing than he shows.

So I like to imagine the first time Prudence does this to him he doesn't hold back mainly because she got him by surprise, and he doesn't think too. Prudence also doesn't care for the padding like these English men do. She'll full out duel in a full ballgown if they let her.

Prudence cheers at the revelation that Colin is good at fencing because, finally! A worthy challenger!

The other Featherington ladies just watch on as Colin and Prudence duel throughout the house.

Colin will lay against his wife later, trying to figure out Philippa is gonna pull out next. He knows about his wife's pension for writing and knives. He knows Portia gravitated towards poison and potions. Felicity prefers her shotgun and duel pistols. Prudence has her swordplay. But what about Philippa?

Penelope giggles, but let's her husband think, knowing full well Philippa gravitates towards creatures like insects and animals. He has yet to meet Kitty, their pet Jaguar, or Sir Snakespeare, their per python.

[the-smut-analyst]

Fantasy Rom-Coms

The genre I never knew I needed. Until I found it.

Short 'n' sweet book rec post today (because I know I've been doing a lot of deep-dive analyses of late). I deserve a break. You deserve a break. So let's do it.

Here's my top three fantasy rom-com series at the moment!

Pick them up if you enjoy a bit of smutty fantasy and are in the mood to laugh.

1. Anything by Kimberly Lemming

I do not know if my tits were built for murder. I don't even think they were built with my back in mind.

Lemming is an auto-buy author for me. This woman is bloody hilarious. The humour is farcical and somewhat absurdist, which is my absolute favourite style. I grew up with the likes of Monty Python, The Mighty Boosh, and The Confessions of Georgia Nicholson - so Lemming's work is right up my alley.

Her character Alexis, the dirty-talking sword (yes, you read that correctly) is, in my mind, nothing short of comedic genius.

"Oh my god, chip my steal, you're so annoying," Alexis snapped. "Maybe if you fixed your attitude and took a bath once in a while, women would talk to you. You smell like old cheese and a mother's regret."

I know some reviewers have been thrown off my the modern vernacular in Lemming's work, due to its medieval-like fantasy setting. However, I think that is exactly what makes these books so good (and refreshing).

The love interests speak a bit more "ye oldy", while the female protagonists speak like we do. The result is something akin to what might happen if a modern romance reader were dropped into a smutty fantasy world. It's brilliant. For example:

"Every scratch," he whispered, his tone gentle and comforting. "Every bruise, I will pay back in fire and blood." I blinked. "Um... that is so sweet but so unnecessary."

I'd recommend reading Lemming's work in publication order, which is as follows (links included):

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Demon

Mistlefoe (novella - available with KU)

That Time I Got Drunk and Yeeted a Love Potion at a Werewolf

Two Scoops of Hellfire (novella - standalone - available with KU)

A Bump in Boohail (novella - available with KU)

That Time I Got Drunk and Saved a Human

2. Alphas of Nasila series by V.K. Ludwig

“If you ever see me running in heels, then you better run, too,” she says with a scoff. “What am I supposed to run away from, anyway?” “Me!” “Why? You got a chase kink or something?”

The best way I can think to describe this series is that it is Omegaverse satire. The pairings are alien males and human females, and the smut / romance includes all your fairly standard A/B/O tropes - with the exception of non-con. The consent is refreshingly solid here.

Book one of this series, Heat for Hire, was actually my entry into the Omegaverse. If you're unfamiliar with the genre, then this is a good place to start because the protagonist, Elli, is unfamiliar with how alpha/omega pairings work. So all the... ahem... knotting, heat cycles, etc. are explained via her first experience of them.

My skin prickles at the memory of Rhen’s growl. But only until I remember that I rubbed myself to orgasm on a civil servant.

However, book two, Knot for Nest is by far the best of the series, in my opinion. The chemistry between the two protagonists, Lucy and Tjor, is brilliant - and it's just a genuinely hilarious read. Lucy is a snarky, independent omega who absolutely knows how to play the big, bad alphas to her advantage.

Book three, Purr for Purchase, is a lot higher angst (and less comedic) than its predecessors. It wasn't really my cup of tea, but that's just because I'm not a huge fan of pregnancy in romance.

If you've tried the Omegaverse before but not enjoyed it because of the power imbalances or dub/non-con, then I'd still recommend this series. The Omega / Alpha dynamic is very much reserved for the bedroom and does not reflect how the couple interacts outside of it. This is particularly true of Lucy and Tjor. She might enjoy being "dominated" during sex, but she genuinely holds all the power in the relationship.

“Big, bad alpha, all calm and well-behaved between my thighs.”

The characters in each Alphas of Nasila book are interconnected and the events chronological. However, you do not necessarily have to read these books in order. If you're sceptical of the Omegaverse in general, start with book two. All these novels are available with KU.

3. Claws & Cubicles Series by Kate Prior

Some people really haven’t adjusted to life under the Dark Reign of Terror yet. Some things are different, but honestly it’s all cosmetic. Things aren’t that different from when we had a normal, living CEO.

This series is like The Office, but with monsters (and smut). The dry, relatable humour of a boring corporate job - but with non-human co-workers like orcs, the undead, etc - is genius.

The comedy definitely leans into that classic British deadpan / understatement style. Think IT Crowd, Faulty Towers, and After Life. I think anyone who's ever worked in an office will definitely be smirking and chuckling their way through this series.

“You could have just called me in. I’ve got skin.” I wonder if that last remark is rude or something. After all, he doesn’t really have skin, to my knowledge. I hope I don’t have to take an undead sensitivity training class now.

Book one, Live Laugh Lich, gets pretty kinky (the MMC has three... er... yes). The smut here isn't going to be for everyone. But I liked the humour so much that I didn't really mind if the intimate scenes weren't my cup of tea.

However book two, The Orc From the Office, holds a much broader appeal, I think. I adored this installment. I'd recommend pushing through and reading this, even if you had mixed feelings on book one. The orc MMC is a socially awkward cinnamon roll and I love him.

I wonder distantly if my health insurance covers being eviscerated by Orc cock.

Book three, The Gargoyle from General Management, left me a bit wanting in terms of the character development. However, the setting of everyone being away together on a company retreat was comedy gold.

All of the Claws & Cubicles books are available on KU.

That's all! I hope you enjoy the smutty rom-com fantasy recs!

This post includes affiliate links to help me create content. No pressure to use them! But if you do, I'll be very grateful :)

[foxes-that-run]

Willow

Willow is about an affair with someone she desires like a prize, she cheats to win him. The Willow Song is in Shakespeare's Othello. Harry Styles Sweet Creature also references Othello about Taylor. To People on 5 December 2023 Aaron said Taylor wrote

Due to their huge spread willows are susceptible to wind and flexible, so they have deep and strong roots. It's symbolism for a strong bond that's tenacious and grows in poor conditions. A Willow appears in Begin Again, where it was also shot a similar way.

The film clip picks up straight from Cardigan which is also about Harry. The children in the tent is a reference to Everything has Changed and Seven. In a Livestream Taylor said the film clip referenced Exile, which I think is "I've seen this film before and didn't like the ending." In Cardigan she was 'changed' but she stayed where she started, in Willow she leaves with her muse.

There are green curtains when Taylor is behind the glass, Taylor said this references Mirrorball. Harry is also behind glass in the As it was and referred to 'being behind the glass' as something others couldn't understand, separating them from other people. This is similar to the gilded cage theme. She also uses similar imagery to refer to her stolen masters for her Eras being behind glass in the Eras tour and I Can See You music video.

The dancer is from Red tour (IKYWT). The posters behind him say The Python and The Man of Fire (a Sweet Nothing and William Bowery reference, in Rolling Stone Paul McCartney told Taylor his pseudonym was Fireman). The Man of Fire is is doing the Whale. (!!)

The cloak is like the one in Ready for it and Green. They step into the Daylight at the end. The Invisible string ends in the cabin.

To Zane Lowe Taylor said:

'It felt like somebody's standing over a potion making a love potion dreaming up the person that they want and the person they desire and trying to figure out how to get that person in their life and all the kind of misdirection and bait and switch.' The complexity of seeing someone, feeling a connection wanting them and trying to make them a part of your life. It's tactical at times, it's confusing at times. I wanted to set the vibe of magical and mysterious." and "One of the main themes [of Folklore] was conflict resolution, get through something with someone, making confessions or communicating. Evermore deals a lot in endings of all sorts shapes and sizes all the kinds of ways"

To people magazine 5 December 2023 Aaron Dessner said it was the first song after folklore:

“There are so many stories I could share. When I sent Taylor the music for our song "Willow" — I think she wrote the entire song from start to finish in less than 10 minutes and sent it back to me. It was like an earthquake. Then Taylor said, "I guess we are making another album."

Othello and Sweet Creature

The Willow Song is a real folk song referred to in Shakespeare's Othello. Othello is married to Desdemona. Lago seeds doubt in Othello's mind that Desdemona has been unfaithful with Cassio. Desdemona sings part of 'The Willow Song' in which a lady mourns her true love lost, the singer dies from their false love's cruelty. As the folk song foreshadowed, Othello loses his mind and kills Desdemona in a jealous rage.

Considering Taylors comments above that Folklore is about communication (with songs like Cardigan, The 1 and Exile where she cleared some air with Harry). And her comment that Evermore is about endings, and Willow figuring out who one wants and Masterminding them into one's life. Like it's namesake, Taylor's Willow is expressing a wistful desire for a lost true love. The context implies neglect and distrusted by her partner at that time.

The Othello reference implies the object of her desire, the title of Harry Styles Sweet Creature is an Othello quote. Sweet Creature mocked CH's unwarranted belief that he had had an affair with Taylor, it also expresses Harry's love for Taylor.

I have seen analysis suggesting that Willow is retelling of Othello from Desdemona POV, but it isn't. Desdemona is an innocent victim, She's faithful and says she would not cheat for anything short of the whole world then is murdered. Taylor's character in Willow has more agency and would 'cheat to win' a trophy of man that she describes in Gold Rush. Unlike Desdemona, she has desire, which Taylor described to Zane Lowe. She is the character in the Willow Song - stuck in a false love, longing for her lost true love. It is a metaphor for Taylors own life, Sweet Creature parallel intended. Which explains the video with links to Taylor's past since Red.

Lyrics

I'm like the water when your ship rolled in that night Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine

To WFPK Taylor described the couple in Coney Island and Exile as 'Ships in the Night' in having trouble communicating. A similar water theme is here. Although she is not open to a relationship, she is rough on the surface, he gets through and she wants him.

She is defenceless and lost wanting to be with him. (Wonderland: "We found wonderland, you and I got lost in it").

Wine is a theme, (spilt on many dresses (Clean), shirts (Maroon), bathtubs (Dress) and a sea here).

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (oh) Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in As if you were a mythical thing Like you were a trophy or a champion ring And there was one prize I'd cheat to win

Life is a willow that bent to your wind is brings the symbolism of a strong, deep force that grows around and with life's interferance. She has grown around this love, bending with it over time.

She feels her muse sneaking in to her pillow, sneaking implies an affair, this is not her boyfriend but someone she desires more that has had a deep impact on her life. This is confirmed with being willing to cheat to be with this muse.

She desires him like a prize, she describes Harry with similar desirability in Gold Rush, where she is intimidated by how desired he is, here she is proud he is her man. Similar to Gold Rush which starts with 'I almost jump in' Willow started with her having a rough surface he cuts through, both body of water metaphors.

The more that you say The less I know Wherever you stray I follow

'The more you say, the less I know' refers to her confusion over being in a committed relationship. In Folklore she and Harry communicated about their past in The 1, Cardigan and Exile. She's now confused about the path she is on and questioning if she should leave her partner. In The 1 she sang "And if you wanted me, you really should've showed", he now has and she is confused.

Wherever you stray a follow is similar to Lover "can I go where you go?" Also in Treacherous "And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands". Also Harry's Medicine. "If you go out tonight, I'm going out 'cause I know you're persuasive"

I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow

"Begging for you take my hand" refers to:

Blank Space: "Grab your passport and my hand"

I Know Places: "Just grab my hand and don’t ever drop it"

New Romantics: "Please take my hand and please take me dancing", and

As it Was "I want you to hold out the palm of your hand / Why don't we leave it at that?"

"You know that my train could take you home" Home is an important concept between Harry and Taylor who sing about each other as home. Trains are also mentioned in Cardigan and Sad Beautiful Tragic, which Cardigan's BTS links to Cardigan.

'Anywhere else is hollow' is similar to Ready for it? "Every lover known in comparison is a failure" and Question...? "Does it feel like everything's just like second-best after that Meteor strike?" and Harry's MMIH "Once you go without it nothing else will do"

I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans That's my man

"Wreck my plans", Taylors plans were to stay with the partner that, in Willow Song, is jealous and neglectful. This muse has shown up and that's out the window.

"That's my man" refers to the cyclical nature of their relationship:

Style: And when we go crashing down we come back every time

Blank Space: "But you’ll come back each time you leave"

Out Of The Woods: "We were built to fall apart, then fall back together"

How You Get The Girl: "Broke your heart, I’ll put it back together"

This Love: "When you’re young you just run, but you come back to what you need"

Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (oh) They count me out time and time again Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind (oh) But I come back stronger than a 90's trend

I love this, to me the 90's trend/come back (to me) is a reference to 1989 and Style/the cycle nature of their relationship. In this part of the film clip she also references Reputation and where she was counted out and came back stronger.

Wait for the signal and I'll meet you after dark Show me the places where the others gave you scars Now this is an open-shut case Guess I should've known from the look on your face Every bait and switch was a work of art

Taylor further discusses how she meets her lover after dark, this is describing an affair as in Illicit Affairs.

He shares his vulnerability, where the scars are. Harry has sung of showing Taylor scars in If I could fly "I've got scars, even though they can't always be seen. And pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing. Pay attention, I hope that you listen cause I let my guard down. Right now I'm completely defenseless" I think she is also referring to Seven.

Taylor used 'Bait and switch in promotion for "Look at what you made me do" the bait and switch was that Reputation seemed like one thing but was about finding love through the noise. While Taylor dated Joe for the last 4 months before it's release, the album was primarily written by September 2016 before they started dating.

Taylor also referred to Zane Lowe about "The complexity of seeing someone, feeling a connection wanting them and trying to make them a part of your life. It's tactical at times, it's confusing at times." in the music video and Era's tour she has a witches gathering to use all her power and bring this muse into her life.

[tiny-chiro]

Information

Name: Elizabeth Crowen

Nicknames: Eliza, Liz, Lizzie, Eri

Birthday: 20th December, 1874

Nationality: British

Blood Status: Pure-blood

House: Ravenclaw

Wand: Beech, 10¼ inch ,Phoenix's feather core.

Animagus: Crow

Patronus: Python

Boggart: Becoming voiceless

Sexuality: Demisexual

Mbti type: ESTJ-A

Zodiac sign: Sagittarius

OTHER INFORMATION

Likes, Dislikes, Good at, Bad at, Fun facts, Backstory

Likes

Ominis

Her Friends

Sing/ Music

Astronomy

Books

People with potential and ambition

Those who raised her

Almost everything that her friends likes

Dislikes

Her mother

Izumi´s girlfriend (she literally wants to kill her)

Pretentious people

Lies

Empty words

Good at

Potions

Charms

Astronomy

History of magic

Music

Bad at

Flying (she dosen't undestand why she has to fly on a broom when she is a bird)

Fun Facts

Her favourite colours are purple and black (yes, she is basically a goth).

Polyglot (she was forced from an early age to learn as many languages as possible).

Seems quite annoying but is actually kind.

Loves sweets (although she's ashamed to admit it).

Bookworm (she has probably already read all the books in the library including the forbidden section).

Loves to sing and wants to become a professional singer (without giving up her family's business).

Possesses ancestral magic, but unlike the protagonist, no one knew about it apart from her and her father at one point, she "uses" it to try to read such old and rare scriptures that are in a language so ancient that possibly even God forgot.

When she starts to lose patience with someone she calls them by their full name.

He tries to help Ada study astronomy… but fails in the process.

BackStory

During this time the Crowen family's business is that of information, although they are spread across basically the entire globe, the main and most powerful family is in the UK.

Elizabeth's parents have a contract marriage, one of the conditions of this contract is to have an heir, no matter what sex.

The relationship with her parents is quite bad, her mother since she was born didn't even want to take care of her, she generally ignores her as if she didn't exist and when she doesn't ignore her she insults her for no reason.

Her father at least knows of her existence, but his response to anything that concerns Elizabeth is "Do what you want, just don't take the family business to the rubbish".

Basically the workers in the main house took care of her.

By the age of 5 she was fully capable of handling her mother's responsibilities as hostess of the house.

The titles "father" and "mother" are of no value to her and she only uses them as a formality.

She joined Hogwarts in first year, and has been friends with Aderyn ever since.

When Sebastian's sister happened, she tried to help her with the information she had, but it wasn't enough.

She is currently trying to find a way to help him.

For now, that's all there is about her

I share canon with these wonderful people:

@yoselin-uyu || @jasminediaz || @khamoise || @aleapple1216 || @maleliddell

See you next time for more)?

[the-trinket-witch]

Yandere!OC Headcanons (TWST Edition)

So I may be not finding it in my orbit, but for a thought exercise I wanted to explore the toxic sides of my OCs. Thought it would be an interesting character exploration. So I figured I’d try to write headcanons for if any of my OCs went off the Yandere Deep End. (NOTE: I shouldn’t have to but apparently need to preface that writing this is not me condoning said behavior or idealizing it. If you recognize patterns like this in people in your real life, I cannot advise one way or another what you do with that information.) (divider by @/saradika)

Eugenio Hernandez (Yuu):

To preface, Yuu is Ace, but not Aro. Most likely they would be the Toxic bud ya keep around cause their life sounds awful. Nobody wants to be somebody’s 13th reason; you don't wanna add to the pile of 'shit going wrong in their life'/'be another one of those people that leaves'. But when they blow their top, it’s explosive. But even then, they’d still have a ways to go before ever attempting to lay a hand on you. No, they’d rather rant and rave and exhaust themselves with how shit of a hand the world has dealt them. Once they’ve let off steam, they’re all mumbled apologies and cooking dinner to make up for it.

Tidus Rhin:

His yandere extreme would turn him into The Love-B52. His size would be enough to intimidate any into not leaving his smothering, even if he never gives any indication he'd act with it. He'd prefer acting like a kicked puppy at the prospect of you needing space. Don’t you see, though? He’s utterly fascinated with you, adores you, it’s almost fetishistic. The more you pull away, the more he’s going to try lavishing you in any ways he can think of. If that doesn’t dissuade you, maybe if you just take this potion to come under the sea with him and meet his family…Just check first if the potion is permanent or temporary.

Lázaro Muertinez:

This man loves to talk. He loves to serenade you and talk you up just as you do for his music career. But you’d need to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice-fame is something to chase and it doesn’t wait. What are your reservations against coming with him? It doesn’t matter, he’ll find a way around it, for you of course. If you stick to your guns, though, Laz is the yandere that knows how to orchestrate an oh so convenient health scare. If that doesn't dissuade from leaving his side, then comes the silent treatment. He'll completely drop off the planet. No posts on social media, not returning calls, nothing. For a second the idea he might have done something drastic is exactly what he'd be counting on.

Aadesh Sona: 

This snake’s AroAce, but he isn’t above doing most anything to advance his goals. Gaslight, gatekeep, ghost-mode. He’s a psych major, so he knows how to twist his words and drop tidbits of info to confuse and trap you. He’s not being manipulative, you are for daring to get away. But he’ll be able to see the writing on the wall. He’ll back off. Prey is more difficult to catch when it struggles, anyway. And like an actual python, he will have everything poised for when you are in the prime position to strike. What will he do when he gets you back? Well, you and he will just have to sleep on it.

Rajesh Khan: 

As far as yanderes go, He’s the only TWST OC of mine who isn’t above using physical means of keeping a potential partner in line. It’s only reserved, though, for when money can’t buy your happiness and obedience. It’s with that same money that makes him nigh untouchable in court, should you try bringing his aggression to light. It’s both money, and the friends in equally high places that make escape from the tiger’s jaws almost impossible.

Albert Eastwind:

Can one blame him for being the controlling type? Similar to how people headcanon Yan!Jade and Azul, He'll provide everything you need or want. Why would you want to leave? Oh don't say he's smothering, he'll pick up more work to 'offer space' but also stifle the idea of you needing or wanting your own financial independence. But while he may work himself tirelessly to keep your cage gilded and shining, he will have your schedule down to the minute. Any deviation will be met with smiles and polite inquiries, but don’t lie to him. And don’t promise you won’t try escaping again if you’re planning on it; he hates pie crust promises.

[gummybugg]

Get To Know My OC

I am so excited to do this one! Thank you, @writernopal, for the tag! Go read her Super cool post Here.

Jemmah, I choose you!

Jemmah rolls her eyes and reluctantly follows my voice down a hallway lined with white concrete walls covered in timeless murals. His clunky platforms tack against the cracked, yellowed tiles. The witch makes her way into the room at the end of the hall labeled “Interviewing Room” in black Lobster font. There, she seats herself, cross-legged, in a folding metal chair in front of a thick, wooden table across from me, who stands behind a one-way mirror. He is alone, except for a friendly spotlight that shines in his face. The faint sound of the Family Feud theme song plays in the speakers above.

“I know you’re there. I’m not stupid.” Jemmah squints her eyes from the harsh light. I tell him why he’s here and that he’s the perfect candidate to answer these questions. She obliges, saying under her breath that once this is over, for me to never contact her again, or else I’ll regret it.

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not to my knowledge, no.

2. When was the last time you cried?

What kind of question is that?

3. Do you have kids?

Of course, not! Jemmah looks offended, as if this question were indicative of his age.

4. Do you use sarcasm?

To some it’s sarcasm, but to Silas, it’s a form of endearment. I have to watch what I say around them so that they don’t misconstrue.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Usually what clothes they have on. Big talk coming from someone who wears a lot of holographic clothing, I know. But if I see one clashing pattern or color, your first impression is as good as ruined.

6. What's your eye color?

Turquoise, Jemmah says as she squints in the mirror, over five feet away. They look black when my pupils are completely dilated. (note: Jemmah has pupils like a cat’s)

Scary movies or happy endings?

Don’t tell Binaca this, but I actually don’t mind the gushy movies she puts on during movie night. He looks off to the side for a moment, realizing that Bianca is probably tuning in.

8. Any special talents?

Well, I can pour a perfect shot, I can craft pretty potent healing elixirs, and I can dance in ten-inch heels. So I’d say I have a few talents up my sleeve. Jemmah crosses her arms, looking rather proud of herself.

9. Where were you born?

Not exactly in this city, more on the outskirts. She nods, as if any of that made a lick of sense. Jemmah isn’t too fond of sharing private information.

10. What are your hobbies?

Well, I work at a bar called Indie’s Bar and Thrills, but you’re asking what I do outside of work. I like to paint landscapes, go to wine and painting events, cook, and read.

11. Have you any pets?

Yes, I have a white ball python named Leone! Jemmah flashes a smile, but is quick to hide it with the paper held in front of her. But if you were referring to the demon in my house, then yes, I suppose I have two pets to look after… Jemmah grimaces to himself.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

I’m not really a sports person, but I do occasionally dance at Indie’s.

13. How tall are you?

Five feet and eleven inches, the last I checked.

14. Favorite subject in school?

Currently, I am pursuing the art of potion-making. It’s a craft I have been studying for my entire life. Everyone tells me I’d be the youngest person to ever have received such a license, but they don’t know the half of it.

15. Dream job?

I like my bartending job at Indie’s and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But if I had to choose another job, it would probably be something in the medical field. Healing is what I am good at, no matter how you slice it. Jemmah doesn’t seem to notice her pun, but luckily I do, and call her out on it. She fights really hard not to smirk and says how stupid a pun it was.

Just as promised, I release Jemmah from the room, and cut all forms of contact with him. Everyone give it up for our favorite witch! The Family Feud theme starts back up again as the witch hastily makes her way out of the room, cursing under her breath.

Tagging (as soft as a feather): @hihopelessromantics, @another-white-hole, @yedithwrites, @imaginarie-fun, @new-royston-cursebreakers, @charlesjosephwrites, @rickie-the-storyteller, @sabels-small-sphere, @doublegoblin, @hydrangea-gas, @digitalsatyr23, @withlovelunette, @akindofmagictoo, and really Anyone because I couldn’t tag Everyone, and plus I love learning about everyone's ocs! This is a very Open tag!

[is-the-snake-video-cute]

What is a banana mystic potion? I heard someone mention it when I was at a reptile show convention

That's a ball python that's visual for both the banana and mystic potion morphs.

Mystic potion is a combo of the mojave morph and the mystic morph, it looks like this (and is one of my personal favorites):

And banana is a very common ball python morph, it looks like this:

When a ball python is visual for both the banana and mystic potion morphs, you get a snake that looks a lot like mystic potions with a definite yellow tinge.

Banana mystic potions are all the rage right now because it's a tough combo to get visual for (especially since mystic potion by itself already takes some planning).

[sunnyie-eve]

9 | Heir of Slytherin

Series: Little Things

Paring: Mattheo Riddle x OFC Potter!

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Might be a few mistakes

| MASTERLIST |

"Potter!" I turn around raising an eyebrow at Draco. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Have you seen Theo? I can't find him anywhere." He groans. 

"Last I saw him, he was with Mattheo." We start to walk together. 

"Why Mattheo out of everyone?" He groans. 

"Because they are best guy friends." I laugh.

"Aren't you closer to him through?" Draco raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, but I said best guy friends. Not best friends. That's us two not them two. Don't get it confused." I point my finger at him actually making him chuckle. "Did I just make Draco Malfoy chuckle?" I grab his arm making us stop walking. 

"Keep it to yourself, Potter." He rolls his eyes as we walk again. 

"I'm surprised we are having a conversation without fighting." I say and I see him smile a little. 

"We have to fight at times because it would just make sense. But we don't have to all the time. You're a cool person when we leave out certain topics." He shoves me playfully.

"Gather round! Gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent. In light of the dark events of recent weeks, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little Dueling Club, to train you all up in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions -- for full details, see my published works." Lockhart starts off. 

"He's something isn't he." Mattheo whisper to me. 

"Totally agree." I whisper back. 

"Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape. He has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration. Now I don't want any of you youngsters to worry. You'll still have your Potions Master when I'm through with him, never fear!" Lockhart laughs.

Lockhart and Snape face each other and bow. They turn, walk ten paces, then spin pointing their wands like swords. 

"Expelliarmus!" A dazzling flash of scarlet light bursts forth and blasts Lockhart off his feet. 

"Excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy..." Lockhart walks back to Snape. 

"Perhaps it would be prudent to first teach the students to block unfriendly spells, Professor."

Lockhart picks Ron and Harry but Snape points out Ron's wand is not safe and picks Draco. "This isn't going to be pretty." I say as the two walk towards each other. 

They turn, walk ten paces, then whirl, wands poised. Draco fires early, knocking Harry off his feet with a blast of white light. Harry jumps up, points his wand and a jet of silver light hits Draco dead in the stomach. Snape picks him up tossing him back towards Harry. 

"Serpensortia!" The tip of Draco's wand explodes and a black snake slithers forth. 

Snape says he'll get it but Lockhart makes it worse trying and Harry ends up talking in Parseltongue. Snape waves his wand and the snake puffs into black smoke, then regards Harry with a look that is both shrewd and calculating.

"Your brother can speak to snakes?" The group follows me as we head to the common room. 

"Yeah. Last year he set a python on our cousin at the zoo. Before you ask, no, I can't speak to snakes." I tell them. 

"Hazel, are you worried that you two could be related to Salazar Slytherin. He was a Parelmouth." Enzo says as we get in the room. 

"If we were why would only Harry be able to speak it?" I ask them. 

"I don't know but you ended up in Slytherin." Theo speaks up. 

"No, isn't not Harry. We are related to him." I go to my room to be alone.

-

In no time again it was the holidays and students were leaving to go home. "A lot more students stayed this time than last year." Mattheo says as we sit at the table away from everyone.

"Yeah, we don't have the common room to ourselves this time." I laugh as we eat. 

"Hazel, are you going to eat that? Crabbe wants to know." Draco looks down at us. 

"Umm." Crabbe was already up taking my desert off my plate. "Sure, take it." I shake my head. 

"Here, have mine." Mattheo puts his out to mine. 

"No, you have it." I tell him making him groan. 

"Goyle, here have mine." Mattheo gets up giving it to him. 

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at him. 

"You didn't want it and I don't wanna eat it in front of you." He smiles at me. 

"You're such a pain." I kick him under the table.

"You and Malfoy haven't been fighting for some weeks." He starts a new topic. 

"We haven't since the dueling club. It's weird at times when we laugh about something." I nod my head looking over at Draco. 

"Do you like him Hazel Potter?" Mattheo says in a playful tone. 

"Oh, yeah. Totally. Really, Matty?" I laugh. 

"I know. Ready to leave?" I nod my head and we get up leaving. 

As we sit in the common room Draco comes in joining our conversation for sometime. "Where are they? They said they would be right here. Potter, Riddle come with me to find them." Draco gets up. 

"I'm bored sitting here so why not." I jump up. "Matty?" I put my hand out to him and he gets up too.

As we turn the corner we see Crabbe, Goyle, and Percy. "Crabbe. Goyle. Where have you been? Pigging out in the Great Hall all this time?" Draco says walking towards them with us following behind. 

"Why you wearing glasses?" Draco asks Goyle and it takes me a second that it's Harry and Ron. 

"Uh reading." Harry takes off his glasses and I mentally slap him for saying such a thing. 

"Reading. I didn't know you could read." He says before turning to Percy. 

 "And what are you doing down here, Weasley?" As he asks I hit Harry slightly. 

"Mind your attitude, Malfoy." Percy says before we leave him I apologize to him as I pass him.

As we enter the Common Room Harry and Ron glance around warily. "You're being suspicious." I whisper to the both of them before walking over to the table to sit with Mattheo. 

"Listen to this." Draco grabs The Daily Prophet, reads the front page. "Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was today fined fifty Galleons for bewitching a Muggle car. Weasley has brought the Ministry into disrepute, said Lucius Malfoy, a governor of Hogwarts. He is clearly unfit to draw up our laws and his ridiculous Muggle Protection Act should be scrapped immediately." 

Mattheo moves closer to me, "That's Harry and Ron isn't it." He whispers and I nod my head.

"Arthur Weasley loves Muggle so much he should snap his wand in half and go join them. You'd never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave. Embarrassment to the wizarding world. All of them." Ron growls making Harry elbows him and Draco looks surprised. "What's up with you, Crabbe?" He asks him. 

"Stomachache." Ron says in a low voice. 

"Well, go to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick in the arse for me! You know, I'm surprised The Daily Prophet hasn't reported all these attacks yet. I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if it doesn't stop soon. Father always said Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place." Draco says making Harry say he's wrong. "What? Did you say that I was wrong? You think there's someone here who's worse than Dumbledore?" Draco asks him and I point my finger at him to say himself. 

"Harry Potter." Draco grins.

"Good one, Goyle. You're absolutely right. Saint Potter. He's another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that Mudblood Granger. And people actually think he's the Heir of Slytherin." I roll my eyes at that word again as Harry and Ron exchange a glance. 

"Malfoy, his sister is right here. Who is just like him." I make him turn around rolling his eyes. 

"Then you must have some idea who's behind it all?" Harry asks him. 

"You know I haven't, Goyle. How many times do I have to tell you? But my father did say this much: It's been fifty years since the Chamber was opened. He wouldn't tell me who opened it -- only that they were expelled -- but I know this: the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So it's only a matter of time before one of them is killed this time. As for me... I hope it's Granger." As Draco grins, Ron's fist rises when Harry stops him and Mattheo has to do the same to me too.

"What's the matter with you two You're acting very... odd." He looks at them funny. 

"They probably ate something bad. And I mean really bad." Mattheo talks about the two. 

"Hey, Malfoy!" I shout throwing something at him. 

"You little." He glares at me. 

"Hey, stop it both of you. Let's go, Hazel." Mattheo drags me to the dorms. "There went the no fighting." He laughs as we go into his room. 

"He talked bad about my brother and friends so." I fall back on his bed. 

"Being completely honest, I like when you two fight." He sits next to me. 

"Why do you say that?" I raise an eyebrow sitting up. 

"Because I can protect you from him when he's an ass to you, I can't do that when you both laugh together." I can't help but laugh at him. 

"You can't protect me 24/7. I should go to bed. Night Matty." I go to the door. 

"Night Hazie."

-

"Hazel! Does Mattheo know anyone named Tom Riddle? Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Harry comes running up to me. 

"I would have to ask him. Why?" I ask. 

"I found a diary in the girls bathroom when Moaning Myrtle overflowed the bathroom. It had his name on the back and listen to this. When I wrote in the diary it wrote back. It took me back to see something fifty years ago. Apparently Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets." Harry tells me. 

"Hagrid? No." I say since I actually know who did. I guess Tom Riddle was Mattheo's father. "I'll go find Mattheo and ask him."  I say but he then shows up. 

"Hey Harry." He smiles. 

"Do you know who Tom Riddle is?" Harry asks him and he looks at me. 

"Umm...Never heard of him." Mattheo lies to him. 

"I found his diary. He knew about the Chamber of Secrets." Harry says and this makes Mattheo act up.

"I'm sorry but I can't help you. I know nothing about my family." He takes off from us. 

"Is he okay?" Harry asks me. 

"He doesn't know a lot about us family. Just that they were death eaters later in life. Excuse me, I'm gonna go make sure he's okay." I leave Harry jogging after Mattheo. "Calm down." I grab his arm. 

"Calm down! How am I supposed to calm down when any second you and your brother can find out who my father is!" He rips his arm away from me. 

"He's really that bad?" My voice gets small. 

"Yes! I don't want you both to know who he is! Mostly you, you dumbass." 

I step back from him, "I'll give you some space you asshole.

I stayed in my room with the girls saying Mattheo was just having a mood swing and we will be fine later. "Professor Snape wants all of us in the common room." Pansy pops her head in so we go join everyone. 

"Because of recent events, these new rules will be put into effect immediately: All students will return to their house common rooms by 6:00 every evening. All students will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No exceptions." Snape reads to us then leaves. 

When it was night out I sneak out to go see Harry and Ron after being the last to find out about Hermione. As I was walking I bump into something but nothing was there. 

"We were coming to get you." Ron leaks his head out before pulling me under the cloak.