#my first riddle fic

[twstbookclub]

Slowly, Surely, Sadly

Summary: Who would've thought one smile could make you like someone? Of all people, you never expected to fall for Riddle—not after his overblot. POV: 2nd Person Pronouns: Gender-neutral Admin/Writer: Cressa🦋 Tags: Fluff, Romance, Angst, No happy ending, sorry folks, Slow Burn, Minor ADeuce Shenanigans again, Unrequited (maybe not, who knows?) Feelings, Spoilers for Book 1 if yall haven't finished it Word Count: 3, 304 This is my first time writing full-on angst. I already had this plot in mind last April, but this was my only chance to finally write it all down. I hope I did my job, and I'm sorry also not sorry for the feels. I was running on 5 hours of sleep and a hopeless romantic playlist when I wrote this. I hope yall enjoy, though 💕

Whenever you looked at Riddle, the memory of his swollen cheek and tear-brimmed eyes overlapped with his stern expression. Even with the constant lectures and helicopter parenting becoming less frequent, you could never forget his ruthless reign over Heartslabyul. His first impression was that of a tyrannical and merciless ruler, and you’d never forget that.

Yet, you could never forget how he looked like a lost child in a garden of roses when Ace punched him that day.

“Would you like to sample one of our teatime treats, Prefect?”

Riddle’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts. Your eyes darted from your teacup to the housewarden. An expectant yet patient smile curled his lips, which was a stark contrast to his natural frown. Your eyes lingered on the smile on his cherubic face.

“Sure,” you answered, somewhat in a daze. You took a sip of your tea, before your nose scrunched a little. Before Riddle noticed your grimace, you put the teacup down and dropped three sugar cubes in your drink.

You didn’t miss the amused twitch of Riddle’s lips from the corner of your eyes. This action would have earned you a reprimand and a lecture on one of hundreds of Heartslabyul’s rules. After his overblot and the incident in the rose garden, Riddle was becoming more lenient.

“You should mind your sugar intake—” Well, he’s still working on the leniency, but he’s trying— “Do you prefer a tart, a cupcake, or a cookie? Maybe you’d like to try a slice of today’s cake?”

You gave Riddle your preferred dessert, then you watched him reach over the table. Dainty, gloved fingers curled around the dish, before he brought it to you. You gave a brief nod and a mumble of thanks, before you took a bite of the treat.

“...!” You quietly moaned from the sweet taste that melted on your tongue. With a hand on your cheek, you slowly chewed to savor the sugar that graced your tastebuds. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you dug into more of the dessert.

“It’s so good!”

You didn’t miss the satisfied smile on Riddle’s face, still cherubic and radiant. Amidst the chatter and raucous noise in this week’s Unbirthday party, you somehow heard the hint of pride in the red-haired sophomore’s words.

“Of course, that’s to be expected. Trey’s baking skills are the best in Heartslabyul—possibly in the entirety of Night Raven College.” Riddle paused, before softly adding, “I prefer his strawberry tarts, though. It’s a shame he couldn’t make any for today.”

The wistfulness in that tone of his made you pause. As Riddle took his own sip of tea, you couldn’t look away from him.

One afternoon, you marched through the silent corridors of the arcane academy. Heavy footfalls echoed in your ears, as if to mock you. The reminder of why you were wandering the halls alone made you frown.

“Where the hell are you, Grim?” You mumbled, head turning left and right, as you stomped. All the doors were closed shut, and voices could be heard through them. You doubt this area had an empty classroom at the moment.

Professor Crewel’s scowl and his whip flashed in your mind. As much as you loved Grim and his snark, you’d rather not face the wrath of the dog-loving professor. Brows furrowing, you grumbled again, “If he skips alchemy lessons again, I’m going to wring his neck and—”

“Prefect?” The gentle voice forced you to a halt, and you blinked at Heartslabyul’s warden in front of you. Riddle looked at you with a raised brow, before he crossed his arms and tapped his heel on the floor.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you, but…” He paused, eyes roaming your face. “You don’t seem to be in a good mood, and your class is about to start. I passed by Ace and Deuce heading towards Professor Crewel’s classroom earlier.”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath and sighed. You were already on good terms with the housewarden, and you’d rather not get collared for misdirecting your annoyance.

“Hi Riddle,” you greeted with a small, strained smile to be polite. “I’m actually looking for Grim. I lost him in the crowd during the lunch rush, and well…”

You tried so hard not to curse the lovable, annoying puffball. Another heavy sigh left your lips with a shake of your head. The strained smile became an apologetic one. Riddle stared at you, most likely scrutinizing something about you. Maybe he was judging you for letting Grim get away.

“I shouldn’t be keeping you here. It’s nice to see you, though—”

“Hold on,” Riddle stepped closer and reached for your tie, “your tie is crooked. Let me fix it for you.”

You held your breath, biting your tongue to stifle any surprised noises. The red-haired sophomore was too focused on fixing your tie to notice your reaction. His knuckles brushed your chest as he tightened the knot, and you tensed. He didn’t even ask for permission. He just took initiative, and it reminded you of a doting yet strict mother for some reason.

“You should be more conscious of your appearance,” Riddle reminded kindly while smoothing the creases of your uniform coat. He stepped back and seemed satisfied with his intervention. His lips stretched into a satisfied smile again, and you couldn’t look away.

“Now, off you go. Professor Crewel isn’t forgiving when it comes to tardiness.”

“R-right,” you stuttered with a faint warmth on your cheeks. You were tempted to slap yourself for losing composure like this, but you wanted to keep your dignity. Riddle would think you lost your mind if you did.

“Thanks, Riddle.”

His smile softened, yet it grew wider. The sharp and scrutinizing gaze melted into one of appreciation. Your heart skipped a beat. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Something fuzzy and warm filled your chest as you stared at Riddle. Your fingers twitched, as if longing to touch Riddle in some way.

It was ridiculous, but you didn’t dislike the feeling either.

“You’re welcome. If you’ll excuse me, I should be heading to my own class. I wish you luck, Prefect.”

He skirted around you in one, fluid motion. The click of his heels echoed in the empty corridor as you watched him go. His short figure carried a sense of dignity and pride, something that used to terrify and annoy his wards in Heartslabyul.

It used to intimidate you, but you couldn’t look away from him now. Even when Riddle turned a corner and disappeared, you couldn’t stop staring.

Ever since that day, you couldn’t stop noticing these things about Riddle. His entire face brightened, eyes glittering and cheeks flushing pink, when presented with a strawberry tart. Whenever he smiled, his gray irises seemed to hide behind the chub of his cheeks. He always looked red in the face whenever he was embarrassed, but the addition of a scowl and wide eyes showed his anger instead. His voice always raised in pitch, becoming less gentle and more crazed, whenever he became agitated and enraged. He even lost his formality and courteousness at that point: language becoming more crude yet still refined.

One day, while preparing for a game of croquet, you pointed out how happy Riddle seemed when he took care of the hedgehogs. Ace shot you a weird look. Deuce looked perplexed, lost even, when his eyes darted to you.

“Really?” He asked, looking between Riddle crouched on the ground and you who looked surprised. “He doesn’t look any different. How could you tell?”

Brows furrowed in confusion, you told them, “It’s not obvious, but he’s smiling. See? His eyes look brighter when he looked at the hedgehogs, too. Oh, and there’s the fact that he gently pets their heads with a finger. He’s avoiding touching their quills, and he’s trying not to agitate the tiny things.”

There was a long, uneasy stretch of silence that followed your answer. After a moment, Ace’s stunned look shifted into a mischievous grin. Deuce mirrored his expression, and it reminded you of that one time he lost his composure and beat up a pair of upperclassmen.

“Huh, really?” There was an intrigued and knowing tone in the redhead’s voice. Meanwhile, Deuce turned to look at Riddle as if to verify your observation. Although, the ravenette was still grinning, as if he knew something you didn’t.

In that moment, you realized you were screwed—so, so screwed.

Upon seeing your confusion warp into a crestfallen and horrified realization, Deuce clapped a hand on your shoulder with a snicker.

“Looks like the Prefect has a crush,” he teased, but you wanted none of it. Ace followed with an incredulous yet amused, “Really? Housewarden Riddle? Strict and overbearing Housewarden Riddle? Oh, your standards are buried six feet under, Prefect.”

A hand smacked Deuce’s own off your person, and you began to stumble over your words. Both lovable yet annoying idiots laughed it off, while you half-heartedly threatened them with a raised fist.

“Shut up, or I swear to the Seven—!”

Ace and Deuce laughed louder, nearly howling and sniggering in delight. As they clutched their stomachs and you grabbed the collars of their uniforms, Riddle’s confused and curious stare was left unnoticed.

Riddle continued to invite you to their weekly Unbirthday parties as an honorary guest. He still offered you desserts with little to no comment on your sweet tooth. He still fussed over your appearance whenever you two passed each other in the halls. He always gave you a subtle smile, despite his stern demeanor. The more you spent time around the housewarden, the more dread weighed in your stomach.

You couldn’t ignore the flutters of your heart, how it flipped and did cartwheels whenever Riddle treated you kindly. No matter what he did, you always felt like you were floating and walking on clouds.

You still longed to touch him—maybe brush back a stray strand that fell over his forehead. You wanted to know how it felt to hold his hand. Maybe even take a stroll in Heartslabyul’s rose maze with him, hand-in-hand and talking about anything. You wanted to spend teatime alone with him. You wanted to see him smile after taking a bite of a strawberry tart you made for him. You wanted to gaze at the moon and the stars with him in the comfort of Riddle’s dorm room, just sitting together in that window alcove with pillows and blankets.

You wanted to do so much more with Riddle, but the large mirror before you spelled the end of your hopes and dreams.

“Well, Prefect,” Crowley began with a jovial tone, which was a stark contrast to the despair that gripped your heart, “I found a way for you to return to your world. After long, grueling hours of searching for the solution, I fulfilled my promise to you, and I even gathered your friends here for a heartfelt farewell.”

You called bullshit on that, but you still appreciated Crowley’s effort. True to his word, all of the people you befriended surrounded you in the Mirror Chamber. The occasion was treated as a formal one, if their dorm uniforms didn’t make a statement already. Everyone had varying degrees of restrained emotion, as you stood before the mirror that led to your home dimension.

Grim stood behind you with clenched paws and glassy eyes. You spotted Ace and Deuce grinning, but there was a hint of a strain in their smiles. Kalim was close to bursting into tears. Leona stared at you with a neutral look and a hand on his hip, but the harsh dig of his fingers told you otherwise. Azul wore his usual smile, one reserved for business, and Jade had a polite smile as well. Floyd didn’t share the same sentiment. The more capricious Leech brother scowled as if he ate Lilia’s cooking after being promised a tasty meal.

You didn’t dare look at Riddle. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

Crowley spread his arms with a self-satisfied smile that both irked and endeared you to him. “Aren’t I a magnanimous and gracious headmaster to do something like this for you?”

He made a show of spinning on his heel and walking towards the doors to the Mirror Chamber. With a flamboyant wave of his hand, he exclaimed, “I’ll leave you to say your goodbyes and well-wishes. However…”

Crowley looked at you from over his shoulder, and your throat tightened at the soft smile that curled his lips.

“It was a pleasure to have you here, Prefect. I would’ve loved for you to stay until graduation, but alas. I wish you all the best once you return home.”

The last thing you saw was a swish of his cape, before a heavy weight nearly toppled you to the ground. Tan, bejeweled arms hugged your waist as a loud bawl harshly rang in the room. You didn’t even need to look to see that it was Kalim blubbering through his tears. Jamil’s alarmed voice echoed in your ears, and that seemed to be everyone’s cue to surround you.

Tearful farewells, wistful wishes, and unfulfilled promises filled the enclosed space. Grim clung to you all this time, all the while mewling and whining about how he’d lose his henchman.  Still, he was crying his eyes out. The large mirror was obscured from your sight, as if the unusual group of friends you made during your time here intended this. You couldn’t help but laugh—a bittersweet sound—as everyone tried to get a word in with you. Even Malleus came to say his goodbyes, though he seemed more reserved than usual.

Then the dreaded moment came: Riddle approached you with that same smile, the gentle and subtle one he always graced you with. Everyone who noticed the shift in mood somehow left space for you and the Heartslabyul housewarden to talk. You almost giggled when you overheard Jade scold Floyd for whining about this.

You forced your smile to widen, even if your eyes stung and your throat tightened again. Your voice cracked at the end, but that could be mistaken for holding back tears.

“Hi, Riddle,” you whispered as you felt your throat tighten more, “I guess I’m leaving before I could have another Unbirthday party with all of you. I was so excited to try the macarons, too.”

The gentle smile became forlorn, and it reminded you of that time he lamented over not having strawberry tarts in that one Unbirthday party. A twinge in your heart made your breath hitch, but you hoped Riddle wouldn’t notice.

“It’s a shame, really,” he told you with a falter in his smile. The corners of his lips hitched up, as if that never happened in the first place. “I wanted you to try some tea from the Queendom of Roses as well, but… that may never happen now.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, finding it hard to breathe. The sting in your eyes worsened. Some invisible hand squeezed your heart, as if threatening to puncture the fragile thing with its talons. You maintained your composure as much as you can.

You couldn’t help but admit, “I wish I could have more time with all of you.”

I wish I had more time with you.

“I wish I could watch the third-years graduate. I wish I could see all of us graduate here, even if I don’t have magic.” You chuckled, and you found yourself with loose lips around Riddle.

“I want to have more Unbirthday parties with everyone in Heartslabyul. I want to have lunch with everyone in Mostro Lounge. I want to watch the next interdorm Spelldrive tournament and cheer for your guys. I want to spend Christmas and welcome the New Year with everyone. I want a lot of things, but… Well, I’m going home.”

Riddle’s smile slipped, and you watched him visibly swallow with a subtle frown. Even when he wasn’t smiling, he still had a gentle look on him.

“Who knows, Prefect? Maybe there will come a time when we find a way for you to visit and vice versa.” Riddle sounded so unsure, so hesitant, in his reassurance. Still, you appreciated it.

You ignored how much your heart hurt and your jaw clenched when he said that.

“I hope so.” Chuckling, you kept your arms to yourself as you smiled at Riddle. He was becoming a blur of red, white, and gold. Warm tears already spilled down your cheeks, before you even realized what was happening.

You couldn’t see his reaction, but you raised a hand to wipe away your tears. While the heel of your palm rubbed your cheek, you mumbled, “Sorry. I just…”

A white handkerchief was offered to you, and you took it with murmured gratitude. Your eyes were drawn to the embroidered initials of Riddle’s name on the corner. The cloth felt soft on your skin, and you found some comfort in that.

“Keep it,” Riddle told you with that smile again, “so that you would remember me every time you see it.”

Your mind blanked at his words. Riddle referred to himself rather than everyone in Heartslabyul, even everyone in NRC. Heart fluttering and throat tightening, you resisted the urge to sob. Hope came as a surge of warmth and the weight of dread in your chest.

Not now. Not when I’m leaving.

With a smile, melancholic yet bright, you dabbed away the last of your tears and tucked the handkerchief into your uniform pocket. A burst of courage let you wrap your arms around Riddle in a hug with a whispered, “Thank you. I’m going to miss you—all of you.”

I’m going to miss you more.

Normally, Riddle would be flustered at the sudden gesture of affection. You expected a loud stutter and an indignant scolding, but he simply returned the hug. His face was buried in your shoulder, and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“You’re welcome.” You heard him whisper, followed by a faint sniff. Something warm and wet soaked through the coat and into your shoulder. You hugged Riddle tighter, as if to hide him from the rest of the world at that moment.

Too brief for your liking, Riddle pulled away with that same smile. His eyes appeared to be glassy, reflecting your tearful expression and wobbly grin. Your heart twinged again, and your jaw clenched.

It was that smile that damned you the moment Riddle fixed your tie for the first time.

“I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?” You asked, laughing off your dread and despair. Riddle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something. Your heart stuttered as you watched him open his mouth with reluctance.

Something held him back. He shook his head and merely smiled at you again.

“Of course,” he murmured, eyes hiding behind his cheeks again. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Prefect.”

In that moment, you’d have stolen the stars from the sky if Riddle wanted to make a wish. You’d bake tarts and cakes in the Heartslabyul kitchen, even if it ended in a mess of flour, if he wanted sweets. You’d stay past curfew in his dorm room to stargaze, if he was willing to break the rules just this once. You’d shower him in kisses, hugs, and cuddles if he hesitated to spell out his desire for affection.

You’d stay in Twisted Wonderland if he asked you to.

Swallowing your heartache, you forced a smile—bright and brilliant, putting the sun to shame. Your gaze never left Riddle, while unspoken feelings laid heavy on the tip of your tongue. Reality crushed your daydreams and wishes, reduced to rubble and dust. The next words felt final and absolute.

“Goodbye, Riddle.”

What remained was the handkerchief with his stitched initials in your pocket.

[oririexcinere]

Haunted and Hunted - @obsidianpen [an analysis]

Disclaimer: I make no assumptions of knowing this work as if it were mine or understanding truly the ideas and thoughts behind the writing and plots; this little project is just a personal niche I wanted to indulge into, and a way for me to convey gratitude for the inspiration this series and the author's writing has brought me.

let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any question! you can find me on tiktok, too <3

Special thanks to @xodahafez for putting up with me during the writing process, encouraging and introducing me to this amazing series! *mwah*

[revasserium]

midnight cravings

riddle rosehearts; 1,603 words; nsfw, pls dni if ur a minor; all characters depicted as 18+; fem!reader, tipsy!riddle, oral, fingerfucking, senpai!kink???... welp.

you find him with flushed cheeks and sticky fingers, his eyes honey-glazed as he looks up at you over the tray of liqueur-filled chocolates, his lips stained pink with laughter. he hiccups, tongue darting out to lick at his fingertips, his whole body swaying when you raise an eyebrow and blink.

“riddle?”

“o-oh — oops…”

“what on earth…”

he hiccups again, giggling as he stumbles his way towards you, nearly tripping over his very well-polished boots, leaning down towards you with a shy, sly kind of smile that makes your stomach twist like taffy inside you.

“hm… guess trey made them a little strong this year…” he muses, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again.

“riddle… were those the whiskey chocolates that trey-senpai made for tomorrow’s holiday party?”

“mm… well, he did say i could try one… or two…”

you can’t help the smile stretching across your lips.

“or… seven?”

riddle purses his lips, his lashes fluttering as he lets out a soft sigh. you can smell the sweetness on his breath, the golden sting of whiskey, feel the closeness of his body to yours. you forget that he’s taller than you, but like this, he could cage you in easily, his eyes half-lidded, his smile knowing and lazy and distinctly cat-like.

“don’t make fun of me…” he says, his voice soft as he cocks his head.

“i — i’m not… i just…”

your breath catches as your eyes snag on the teasing edge of his smile, the way it lilts lopsided, the way he still tries to play at innocence even when the tension is palpable between you, thick as warmed butter.

“just… what? hm?”

you know you’re finished before your lips even meet, but when they do, you find yourself whimpering, the force of him startling. and sure, it’s different from how he usually is — sweet, attentive, perhaps a bit on the rigid side, but it isn’t like you haven’t seen him like this before, haven’t felt him like this before — on the occasions when he’s irked or tired or perhaps just a bite too excited. when he’s too happy or dizzy or drunk on life or laughter or you —

like this, he leaves you gasping.

“hm… i was just thinking…” he pulls back, casually swiping a thumb across your bottom lip, his eyes dark and hungry, tracking the wet trail his finger makes as it presses along the length of your mouth, dragging down your cheek till he can tilt your chin up towards him again.

“you never call me ‘senpai’… but you do with trey and cater… why’s that?” he asks, his voice just on the other side of nonchalance, his expression one of sharp, targeted curiosity, like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it instead.

“i — i’m sorry, i’ll —”

“say it.”

you swallow, catch your lower lip in your teeth, eyes locking with his as his grin spreads cheshire-wide.

“s-senpai…”

his next breath is light, is one of laughter as he leans back down, “mm… good girl.”

you shiver as tingles rake up the length of your spine.

and then your thoughts skid through to pure incoherence as he melds his mouth to yours once more, pulling you to him, kissing you hard, kissing you hungry, kissing you like there’s an entire world somewhere beneath your tongue that he’d love nothing more than to be the cartographer for — you squeak as he hoists you up, always so much stronger than even you give him credit for, plopping you down on the biting cold of the metal kitchen table.

“y’know… i’d come down for a midnight snack originally…” he says, taking half a step back to look you over, taking in the muss of your hair, the ruffle of your clothes, your uniform collar loose and askew, your skin a tantalizing glimmer in the soft, dappled moonlight. and then, he drops to his knees and you nearly hiss in anticipation.

he trails his fingers along the bare skin of your thighs, pillowing his cheek on one of them.

“but i think i might just want to eat you instead.”

“r-riddle — !”

your eyes squeeze shut as he presses open your legs, your toes curling at the openness of it all, at the shock of embarrassment at being spread out like this, on the school’s kitchen table, no less — but riddle hums as he lets his hot breath wash over you, a thick groan rolling out of him as he tugs aside your panties and slicks a thumb through the wetness already collected along your folds.

“fuck,” he murmurs, and it punches through you, the way he says it, usually never one for such obscenities, the word slipping from him, more a prayer than a curse.

fuck, you agree, letting your head tip back as he leans in to lick a slow strip along your cunt, your fingers fisting in his hair, and on any other day, he might’ve balked at the sting, but now, tonight, he only revels in the way you pull him closer, your thighs shaking on either side of his head, the taste of you exquisite on his tongue.

“ri-riddle… please…” your voice trails off into a high-pitched whine as he wraps his mouth around your clit and sucks, leaving you a shaking pile atop the glistening metal table, still loaded to the one side with trey’s chocolate liqueurs. riddle grins, lifting his eyes to watch as you peer down at him, your cheeks dark with color, truly the sweetest, most intoxicating sight. the soft, warm, buzz of alcohol had loosened his limbs and inhibitions enough and he thinks that he likes you like this — pleading for him, shaking apart for him.

“ah… so pretty…” he muses, even as he leans up to press two fingers into you, fucking you slow, savoring the way you gasp and clench down around him, tight, and then tighter, your knees pressing together as if you could somehow keep him there. he grins.

“m-more… ah — ngh —”

your fingers scrabble for purchase you reach blindly down towards him, trying to do something, anything to get him to go faster, harder, perhaps to curl his fingers the way he knows you like. but he only catches your hands, holding your wrists still as he leans over you, his torso keeping your knees spread just so, his other hand still sunk knuckle-deep inside you.

“hehh… i don’t think you’re really in the position to make demands right now…” he runs a tight circle of your clit with his thumb and watches as your entire body arches off the table in pleasure.

“rid-dle — riddle — s-senpai — !”

his body shudders as he lets out a breathy laugh, his head dropping as he finally picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you hard enough for you to keen before dropping back down to press his tongue back to your folds, sucking hard just to hear you scream.

“mm… look so good like this… so desperate for me, hm? what a pretty… little… pastry…” he punctuates his words with harsh thrusts of his fingers, curling them inside you till he finds the place he’s looking for, the soft, tender spot inside you that has you twitching around him, begging and nearly incoherent with pleasure.

“’m s-so c-close — close —”

he moans loud and lewd against you as he pulls his fingers from inside your cunt, replacing it with his tongue, gripping your thighs as he eats you out hard enough for you to come undone right over his mouth, your body writhing over the metal table, nearly knocking the trays of sweets from their place beside you.

“aah-ahh… we’ve made… a mess…” he says, sounding rather pleased with himself as he pulls back, licking his lips, dragging a thumb across his chin before popping into his mouth, his eyes still locked with yours. you shudder as the aftershocks of your orgasm rake through you, not entirely able to shake the way he’s still watching you, as if this has done nothing to sate his particular brand of hunger.

he gives your thigh a small pat as you take a breath and force your body to sit up, cheeks flushing as you tug your panties back up your legs, smoothing your palms over the material of your skirt as you hop off the table.

“did… did you sober up a bit?” you ask, your voice uncharacteristically quiet as riddle leads you from the school kitchens, hand in hand, his gait still much more relaxed than it would’ve been in the daytime.

he peers at you from over his shoulder.

“hm… not in the slightest,” he says, and you stare up at him as he smirks.

the hallways are quiet as the pair of you make your way towards the hallway of mirrors, your footsteps echoing against the vast, stone walls.

“so… what are you going to tell trey-senpai tomorrow? when he asks you about the chocolates?”

riddle pauses for a second before shrugging.

“the truth, i suppose.”

“huh?”

he turns to you with that tell-tale grin as the pair of you reach the heartslabyul mirror, and he tugs you behind him towards his room.

“that i had a midnight craving, and… that it just had to be sated, now didn’t it?”

[gracekiins]

When you decide to spend the Christmas holidays with your uhh enemy by travelling to her time. Cometh the hour, cometh the man 🤠

Short comic inspired by a segment of Chapter 42 of Somewhere in Time by Serpent in Red (@serpentinred) (PLEASE mind the preliminary notes regarding the fic (which is in Chapter 1), AND the author’s notes which top and tail this specific chapter cuz it is NOT a continuation of the main plot). There’s just something wholesome and grin-inducing about Chapter 42 that makes my heart grow two sizes, and the enemies-to-lovers tone remains an exquisite constant throughout the fic, so if that’s your thing, you know what to do!

I also owe a massive thanks to Nerys Dax (@nerysdax) for kindly looking over the panels and providing helpful comments and feedback. I really appreciated this since it was important to me from the outset that whatever is sketched out here remains as close to the author's story as possible, and I couldn't have confidently put this forward without Nerys's input.

Lastly, if it wasn't already obvious - please go read the fic lol

[lyceana]

Bebe Tom! Bebe Tom (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻

[noodlebearsstuff]

first chapter is out!!! please go check it out, it's my first fic. i'm super excited about this and will be sharing info about the oc's if you're interested

[harryissuchalittleshit]

You know the worst part about the diary?

Tom Riddle was grooming Ginny. He was telling her everything he could to make her feel good and then slowly taking more and more from her. He was giving her a friendship that he slowly would take back, I’m sure the first time that Ginny blackout, he told her that it was just her imagination and it was okay. He reassured her that she was safe with him and no one else.

He made it so Ginny would willing go into the chamber and give her life to him. And this Tom was only 16/17, I can only imagine what Voldemort was like during the first war. If he was able to charm his professors and younger students at a young age, I’m sure it was even easier as he got older (it was, H. Smith loved him and his visits). Voldemort in his prime during the first war must’ve been so charismatic, to the point that it let people turn a blind eye to the horrors he was creating.

He proved that he could get away with murder at 16, that he had all the charm and charisma to make people love him. His Death Eaters probably came willing just to be around him.

It’s why his return was so brutal for them. He decided the second time around that he would rule with fear and anger, not his warmth and well timed charm. But diary!Tom didn’t know that this was eventually the plan.

So instead he groomed little Ginny Weasley to willingly give up her life to him. And the worst part about it all, it almost worked. Ginny honestly would’ve died if Harry hadn’t of saved her.

It’s amazing how well adjusted she grew to be during the later books, because that is some seriously horrible trauma. I can only hope that she eventually got some therapy.

[lilyrizzy]

cw: max/omc (offscreen) but not cheating and like... sloppy seconds but only kinda?? i’m sorry:/ 

Max barely makes a noise letting himself into their apartment. He's a good boy, even if Daniel knows he'll be drunk at least a little, on alcohol and something else. There are no slammed doors or heavy footsteps, so really he can only blame the anticipation that was thrumming under his skin right before he fell asleep for why he wakes so easily.

Daniel stays still as he listens to Max strip out from his clothes, the white shirt and tight fucking jeans he was wearing the last time Daniel saw him, hours ago. When he's naked, Max crawls under the covers, arms out and reaching for Daniel like always.

Daniel rolls over and takes him into his arms. He pulls him close. He smells like sweat and spilt drinks on a sticky dancefloor.

"How many this time?" He asks, to feel the shudder that runs through Max and just to know. To let jealousy twist hot in his stomach.

"Three," Max whimpers, Daniel threading a hand into his hair and tugging, so he's looking up at Daniel from where his face was tucked into his neck.

"Slut," Daniel says, then because he's genuinely surprised, "three? What did you do, have them line up outside the bathroom and wait their turn?"

Max whines again, hips jerking towards him so Daniel can feel where he's still hard, despite having apparently been fucked three times already. Four if you count Daniel's go this morning, rough and quick over the kitchen sink. "No," he says, shaking his head frantically, "I did it one at a time. I danced with each of them, also, in between."

He thinks it matters. He thinks that makes it better.

Daniel has no idea what the other two looked like, but he knows the first. He’d leant against the bar, holding out the sweating bottle of beer in his hand towards him, to point him out to Max.

“What about him?”

He had a beard and dark hair. It wasn’t curly, but he was lean and only an inch taller than Max, if that, so the resemblance was there. Daniel likes to think it’s always there, but he only sticks around to help pick the first one. It’s enough to build the anticipation for later when they’re alone, enough for Daniel to know Max is safe, without Daniel doing something stupid like ending up punching the guy.

That only happened once, when Daniel used to be there for the whole thing. But the last time they did it that way, the guy whose dick Max was on his knees for called Max ‘beautiful,’ and- 

Well it had been too much, and Daniel had found himself pushing away from the bathroom’s filthy sink to punch the guy square on the jaw, dick pulled from Max’s fucking gorgeous, plush mouth as he stumbled backwards.

Max hadn’t been able to wait until they were home after that time. Had made Daniel fuck him, irresponsible and stupid in the car Daniel drove them here in, only after licking the blood off his knuckles. Had been desperate and shivery in a way Daniel hadn’t seen since the first time he agreed to this, so he can’t have minded that much, not getting to finish his blowjob.

He had minded when Daniel had told him he didn’t want to watch anymore though.

But they’ve come to this agreement, this compromise. Max goes out and gets fucked and Daniel lets him, as long as he comes home and lets Daniel be the last of the night.

“Did all of them come, hmm?” He asks, rolling his body and Max’s so he’s straddling Max’s thighs, Max face down on the bed. He spreads him with one hand, just to look at first, to see how Max looks after three. To see if it’ll be different after four.

Max is grinding himself down into the mattress below him. “Daniel,” he groans, desperate but he knows what he has to do if he wants to get some again. “No,” he says eventually, breathless, “not- not the last one.”

“Too loose?” Daniel says meanly, just to watch Max’s rabbiting hips lose their rhythm for a moment.

“I do not know,” Max admits, “I just left. I was done, I wanted you.”

And that makes Daniel’s own cock throb where it’s hard and leaking between his legs, and he takes it in his hand to rub over Max’s crack for just a second. Max leaving some stranger without their orgasm to come home and give Daniel his.  

His fingers slide over Max’s hole, a little tacky still from the lube and still not completely shut from where he’s been used so much. It’ll be easy for Daniel to push inside and take what he wants. He forces himself to ignore Max’s admission, to keep his voice riding that mean edge that Max needs to make him whimper and cry and come hard. Harder than any stranger could make him, Daniel is sure.

“How come you’re not wet here?” He asks, slipping two fingers in dry, no warning, “if you took so many today?”

“Daniel,” Max warns, head lifting from the pillow so Daniel can see his spit-soaked bottom lip, plush but not plush enough to let Daniel think anyone fucked him there tonight, “I cannot, I will come.” Then when it’s clear Daniel won’t go any further without it, “that is only for you. Only you are allowed to make me wet.”

“That’s right baby,” Daniel agrees, finding Max’s prostate, “my good boy.”

And then Max makes himself wet, coming hard into the sheets with a whine.

“I still gotta’ have my turn,” Daniel reminds him when he’s finished, and he pushes inside then to take what is his.

[des8pudels8kern]

Me, checking AO3 at five-something in the morning to see if people have liked my fic:

If you've missed it, here it is! 14k of gen Cody POV Obi-Wan whump, with a side of exploring themes of duty and moral conflict. It's got BAMF OBi-Wan, tired of all this Jedi nonsense but doing this best Cody, and a Waxer cameo. It's gen, but I do intend to have it be the pre-slash prequel to a Codywan sequel.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

I was tagged by @bookwhimses to post a snippet of my WIP! I have just OH so many to choose from, none of 'em progressing particularly fast atm, but freshest on my mind seems to be the Sandman so we'll go with that ^^

I'm tagging @kieren-fucking-walker @firstaudrina @girl-bateman @evilphrog @kelpiemomma @excellentcollectionofwords @victorluvsalice and anyone else who has a WIP they're just dying to share with the class ^^

Anyway, this is from the Sandman fic that keeps kinda bubbling away in my mind, which is sort of a semi-AU based on the Fanily of Blood/Human Nature Doctor Who episodes. The 'Daniel' in this snippet is a Dream without his memories, living a constructed human life. I know his human name being Daniel has potential to be confusing, what with Daniel Hall also being a thing, but none of the other names I've played with have really felt right!

Food prepared and a modest glass of wine on the side, Daniel sinks happily into his sofa and once more loses himself in the story, one earbud removed so that the sound of his own chewing doesn't echo thunderously in his skull. The TV sits unused, as it often does. Later on, when he has to drag his attention from stories into grading, he'll replace the audiobook with music. Something else to fill the silence; it always gets so heavy around this time in the evening. He plants his feet on the cushions, tucking his knees up—and lifts his plate to his chin when the cat pounces for her spot in his lap. Silent, assured, her chattering done now that food has been acquired, segueing with ease into the quiet, comfortable routine of the night.

Daniel doesn’t give that silence opportunity to take hold, notching up the volume and listening well as talented young author Miss Walker guides him through her bittersweet debut tale.

Silence has never sat well with Daniel. Unfortunate, since he seems often to be surrounded by it. It’s not that he’s a shut-in, or a hermit; he has friends, thank you very much. He goes out, he has visitors. He dances in clubs where the music is so loud it reverborates in his ribs, he laughs over cups of coffee when the sun rises and pints of beer when it sets. He has in depth conversations with his friends, his colleagues, his students. He listens to the hum of conversation as he prepares a meal for his guests he promises will knock their socks off. He even, on occasion, shares clandestine whispers with semi-strangers, charms them, beckons them into his home and fills his quiet little flat with sounds of pleasure until all involved can only fall into satiated sleep. He lives a life in the sounds of others, and relishes it.

But eventually, everyone must go to their own home. Eventually people go to work, to their families, to wherever they were before they picked each other up for a night of fun. And Daniel, for all that his alone time is important to him and his work, has never quite got to grips with the silence. He fills it in any way he can. With stories, with podcasts, with music, with ambient noise. Sometimes just with his own voice, and conversations with his cat. Why, he can’t possibly say. Something to do with his youth, perhaps. The days of childhood feel far away much of the time, memories tinted sepia. He was a happy child, so far as he can tell. From a happy home.

But somewhere in that past, in a place he can never quite reach; there was silence.

No, he doesn’t like silence. Not one bit.

As the story winds to a close and the plate lies picked clean, he makes an indulgent decision. He sets his paperwork aside for a few minutes—he’s not tired, so there’ll be plenty of time for it later—and reaches for his notebook instead. On his phone he clicks past his usual selection of narrative folk to his other vice, the rambling trip-hop mix that makes his brain jump in interesting ways without filling it with any words that aren’t his own. As dreamy synths and erratic beats fill his ears in chorus to the soft snores of his feline companion, he takes up his pen, and opens his notebook.

A trickle of sand bleeds from the crease of the pages.

Daniel rolls his eyes, shaking the irritating grains out onto the empty plate on the side table. How one little trip to Brighton six months ago could leave it’s impression so thoroughly, he would never know.

Sand decanted, he turns to the next page with blank space, mind already turning over what he wants to spill onto the page. It was nice, actually, talking out loud about his dreams earlier, however brief and impersonal his chats with Robert tend to be. The image feels sharper in his mind, the impressions of his characters tripping off the pen nib as he sketches them into being, as he takes what little snippets of story he can remember and scribbles them into rudimentary shapes. The impressions of his Dream Lord, that strange and lonely creature in his palace of glass and stone.

[racfoam]

Continuation of Harry and Delphi travelling to alternate universe where Voldy won AU, a gift for @inkwardspots and for their "all she knows is how to survive (but tell me, how do you die" fic, go check it out if you haven’t, I am obsessed with it!

Ink, you wil know which scene this wil be after I say this.

It’s the bridge scene! It’s set the same day they arrived at Slytherin’s Mansion and Harry is just taking a walk around the garden. Again, Voldy's thoughts are in ( ) mostly.

I decided to name the AU killed you first

P.S. I added the paragraphs you wrote, I marked them with this symbol *, I hope that's okay, I just love those paragraphs. ❤️

———————————————————

Voldemort finds Harry on the stone bridge overlooking a pond.

Water can reflect the most diverse moods from architectural severity to natural tranquility. All the pools throughout this section have been created artificially but all, like the best gardens, reflect the personality of their owners.

Who knew what was happening in the Dark Lord’s head? Harry had only gotten a taste of it in her fifth year, and it was more than enough for her to conclude diving into his mind was a trip she would not be doing, least of all would it be a pleasing experience.

She didn’t acknowledge him vocally, didn’t offer a greeting. Voldemort deserved nothing, and he would receive nothing.

“Do you like the grounds?” he asked in that high, reverberating voice of silken tones concealing the destructive tendencies. It was as cold as she remembered. 

Harry looked down upon the small pond beneath the stone bridge. It was about a five meter drop from here to the flowing water. There were no fish there as far as she could see.

To pass the time, Harry has been swirling shapes on the water with her fingers and the thread of her magic, using the little wind-like energy as a pencil to draw upon the surface of the water before nature ran its course and deleted the indent. 

Harry had a passing idea to grab Lord Voldemort, yank him to the stone banister, haul him over the bridge and into the water. The mere image of his tall body splashing into the pond was a source of amusement for the young woman.

“You need to hire someone to clear the pond.”

She doesn’t look at Voldemort, not really. She looks at the reflection of him upon the still surface of the unmoving water. The crimson eyeballs are no pleasant addition to the blue canvas of the river. They are too intense, too boiling, to fit the serene water. They taint it instead, claim it for their own. Two emblems of scorching hellfire.

“I understand now,” she said. “Why you were so desperate to kill me. Why I was never meant to grow up. Why you wanted to kill me before I reached the age of magical maturity. Why you never wanted me to live past seventeen.”

“Because the more life I have, the more time I get, the higher the possibility I would become more powerful than you.”

Magic is as easy as breathing now. It flows through her like the blood in her veins. The focus is a mere blink away, as fast as a strike of lightning. 

“Are you scared now, Tom? Are you scared of what you helped create? Are you scared of what I grew to be?”

After all the lights go down, she was the words and he was the sound. A strange type of chemistry.

“No, Harriet.” Voldemort laughed, humane and normal, lacking any cruelty — a simple, charming sound. A smile pressed against the back of Harry’s head, broad and wide. “I’m delighted.”

It was as though he never left. Even after all these years, Voldemort’s voice is as familiar as the welcoming walls of Hogwarts, as the golden fluttering wings of the golden snitch, as  the waving crimson turrets of Gryffindor supporters, as the steaming hoot of the Hogwarts Express, as the song of Fawkes the phoenix.

It leaves Harry paralyzed like the frozen waves of basilisk venom, drowning and touching the places of her burning heart she buried right along with him. 

Harry turns away from their reflections in the water where Voldemort’s is towering over her shoulder in the water, turning to face him.

“You can laugh,” whispers Harry, gawking at him shamelessly. A beaming grin rises on her face, and she chuckles in disbelief because it’s crazy. “You can laugh! Like a normal person! You just laughed!”

“Who else has heard you laugh?” asked Harry. “Let me guess? Your Inner Circle?”

“No,” responded Voldemort softly, staring down at Harry. “You are the first.”

Voldemort stepped closer, until he was two inches away.

Harry inhaled sharply. There were many things Harry had forgotten, or had never truly realized until now. One, Harry forgot how unfairly tall wizard Voldemort was. Two, Harry never saw Voldemort this close before except in the graveyard, and found herself staring at his face, tracing every angle of it with her eyes, studying it as one studies the cover of a book they read ten years ago. 

*"You are the first." He says, watching as her face turns slack and a delicate dust of pink rises to her cheeks.

*“And," He almost hisses, leaning closer to her small form, breathing delicate breath against her ear. "You will be the last." 

*It is soft, this declaration - not a threat or a promise, but a wish. 

*A hope and a dream, Harry thinks disbelievingly as he draws away, a book she knew so long ago warped and changed, so familiar and yet knew things have revealed between the lines, the interpretation so different from when she was a child to now, when is a woman.

The bone structure, formed of melting wax rather than sculpted of marble, reshaped by age. No wrinkles to be seen, strangely smooth as wax. Whiter than snow, with completely red eyes, scleras included. Somehow, now that Harry got a good look at Voldemort’s serpentine features and face, they were strangely enthralling. The out-of-nature of Voldemort’s face made Harry stare longer. 

Up close, Voldemort’s face was unlike anything or any face of a man she saw. Not even the man he was, Tom Riddle, gathered Harry's attention. There was so far pleasant faces could hold her attention. 

Harry felt like an astronaut finding a new planet. Harry was strangely reminded of that white albino snake with red eyes she saw in the London zoo… Who knew boogeymen could look alright? 

Horror caught up to her, gripping her guts in its clutches. Repulsed by the fact she found herself lured to his serpentine face, Harry stepped back, breaking the gaze away from where her eyes had been staring, enchanted — the burning eyes. Yeah, ten years of not seeing the man whose sole goal was to murder her does include a refreshing stare down (or in Harry’s case, stare up) where Harry actually gets to realize Lord Voldemort's face structure isn’t that bad…

It isn’t Harry's fault his face is unnatural, aberrant, atypical… It deviated from normalcy. Anyone would stare at something unusual like Voldemort’s serpentine face. Plus, she hasn’t seen it in a while. She had to get her guts back in, get back into the habit of looking at him.

Her heart was beating, shitscared still. It was hard to erase the fear connected with Voldemort. A victim never forgets their executioner.

Was he always so frustratingly tall? Or has Harry never stood this close to him to notice his prominent height?

(Harriet Potter bloomed into a beautiful flower. An orange carnation, blooming and eye-catching with its orange petals arranged in multiple layers, outdoing any rose, daisy, lily or violet.)

“I was concerned you fled.”

“You wish. I wouldn’t leave Delphi with you.”

“Who would think you became an attentive mother... To a child of mine, of all things.”

Harry wanted to snap back with a sarcastic quip. The words Not you, certainly. I couldn’t learn from the example of my mother because you killed her. And certainly not the me you killed, who died at seventeen. edged on her tongue, teased at her vocal chords.

The loss of her parents... It was a wound Harry was familiar with all too well. An old wound. A wound never quite stitched properly, not even by the threads of time. It was a phantom ache. It didn’t hurt anymore, not constantly, but the memory of how she got it was there. Like the scar on her forehead. Unresponsive, but there. Sleeping, but alive.

“I was never a child. You made sure I never had a normal life. Any objections you have to my behaviour you can directly blame yourself for, really.”

“You think yourself so clever.” Voldemort said softly, but it was as sharp as a basilisk fang burying into skin and breaking bones. “You think yourself very bright indeed.”

“Of course I do. I outsmarted you, I defeated you.” declared Harry. It wasn’t posed as a question; she wouldn’t give Voldemort a single loophole to use to slither himself to satisfaction. “Tell me, your Lordship. Who was it but me that conquered you?”

(Harriet has conquered much more of him than Voldemort would prefer to confess. Something past battle. Something past magical abilities. Something past power. Something past cleverness. However, he is unwilling to yield to it. To admit it. Refusing to give her that advantage. Refusing to confess it, even though he knows it’s true, deep in his bones.)

“You didn’t conquer me," he hisses softly, lying with his adder's tongue. “You didn’t outsmart me. You merely gambled the loyalty of the Elder Wand. A gamble which paid off, I agree. Naturally, had its allegiance been to someone else, even Draco, you would have died.” 

A slow, delighted smile rises on his face, broad and wide; it is worse than any expression of fierce anger he carried. It gutted Harry’s stomach. His red eyes gleamed like a predator’s. “I would have struck you dead a second time, Harriet.”

“Why don’t you now?”

“Because I find your company pleasant and stirring.” Voldemort said softly. “Also, it’s no good practice to separate a daughter from her mother. Knowing how I reacted finding out my father abandoned me, I think she wouldn’t take keenly to her mother being murdered. It’s a rather strange thing, mothers protecting their daughters…”

“How merciful you are, your Lordship. Sparing me out of consideration for your daughter’s feelings. And because I somehow stir that sick mind of yours and make a pleasant company. If you spared a breath between trying to murder me, perhaps you would have realized that sooner.”

“Perhaps.”

The quiet murmur of that word is somehow the singular thing Harry can hear, paired with the water.

Voldemort was close now, close enough for her to touch his face, witness the shade of crimson that are his eyes. Voldemort breathed a wintery breath, an exhale which tickled across the skin of her lips. Harry realized his arms had moved to encage her without truly touching, that his hands were resting on the stone fence of the bridge, that she herself stood very much pinned. Either Voldemort or haul herself over the bridge into the water. He stared down at her with an expression Harry had never seen on him before, his eyes half-lidded.

“There you are!” came Delphi’s voice.

Voldemort swept away from Harry with unnerving speed. In front of her and crowding her in with his presence one moment, six feet away from her the next. It reminded Harry of a snake recoiling from a fire.

Harry wondered whether she imagined a flicker of disappointment within Voldemort’s eyes. He looked strange, standing in the summer sunshine. Like a pearl from a seashell. Or the moon, appearing in the clear blue sky.

Harry realized she had only now started breathing again. Harry turned her attention toward the path she had come from, and found Delphi running to them. What stopped Harry’s heart and almost put it into cardiac arrest was the giant twelve-foot snake hung around her daughter’s small shoulders.

“I’ve been looking for you for ages,” Delphi dramatized, much like someone Harry knew, who, if he had eyebrows, would definitely be raising them to his hairline, which he also didn’t have.

“I wanted to pick flowers, but the garden leaves much to be desired. Nevermind, we’ll plant a plethora of flowers.” decided Delphini, rather bossily, as though she owned the entire grounds.

(Voldemort didn’t know how to react to the child thinking she had any jurisdiction to renovate the garden.)

“Nagini was out hunting, she ate a rat!” Delphi continued talking, oblivious to the awkward silence, choosing to ignore it. “It was cool. I never saw snakes eat up close before. Anyway, I bumped into her and asked her if she could find you.”

Delphi raised her hand as Nagini bumped her snout into her left cheek (let Harry tell you, it took every single shred of willpower not to grab the snake and toss it over the bridge into the water) and caressed down Nagini’s head similarly as Voldemort did so many times. “She’s really cuddly. She isn’t dangerous at all, mum. And she didn’t try to ‘squeeze the life’ out of me.”

Harry would firmly disagree. She heard something that sounded like a stifled sound of amusement where Voldemort was, and told herself not to fling him over the bridge.

The red eyes were full of amusement.

“If my memory serves me properly... I did not command Nagini to ‘squeeze the life’ out of you, Miss Potter —”

“It sure felt like that to me...” grumbled Harry.

“I explicitly remember saying...” Here, Voldemort looked at Harry again, his red eyes glowing, before he hissed softly, tasting the words fondly. “Hold her.”

“And this, Delphi, is what a boy should not do. A boy should not —” Here, Harry gave a pointed look to Voldemort, who grinned thst broad, manic, satisfied smile,“— send his snake after you and whisper things like ‘hold her’ as though you are a bloody trophy.”

“But you are a trophy, Harry." Voldemort purred. Harry refrained from pouting. He turned to Delphi. “You can set Nagini on any boy who you don't like or who is making you uncomfortable, little one.”

“Yes!” squealed Delphi.

“No!” shrieked Harry, but was ignored.

“My name isn’t ‘little one’, you know. It's Delphi. Speaking of names and titles, how do I call you?”

“You can call me father.”

“What are you, a youth pastor?” asked Harry and Delphi at the same exact time, voices intermingling.

Voldemort fought back a grin. The woman and the girl were both amusing.

“I’ll call you dad,” decided Delphi, nodding to herself, as though she has solved a crossword Hermione gave her. “It’s the simplest solution.”

No respect toward authority whatsoever…

“Mum? Does he always seethe like that?”

“Don’t worry, Delphi. Your father is a marshmallow.”

Delphi tilted her head, staring at Voldemort, surveying his face.

“He does look like a marshmallow...” Delphi whispered back to Harry, grinning innocently and child-like.

(Calling  Lord Voldemort a marshmallow. Dear Merlin, Potter had truly gone far and beyond after being allowed to live.

Why is he allowing this disrespect? Well, he has to admit, he has never been compared to a marshmallow. He appreciated good humor. And courage, foolish as it was. It was a rather flattering comparison.)

“Shall we head for dinner?”

“Er... Yeah, let's...”

“Nagini, come.”

Nagini hissed something into Delphi’s ear, and Delphi nodded, crouching down and extending her right hand lower to the floor. Nagini slid off the girl’s shoulders and back at Voldemort's feet.

“Some things haven’t changed.” Harry said, smirking.

Harry grinned at Voldemort teasingly, courageous as always. “You still don’t wear shoes.”

Instead of seething as she expected him to, Voldemort smiled. His eyes glew with a strange sort of look. It almost looked warm.

“It's a part of my charm," he added with a crooked grin.

And then, something wondrous happened. Harriet Potter laughed, flashing her teeth. The smile completely lit her face up. It was a soft, gentle sound.

It was the first time he heard her laugh.

(To Lord Voldemort, it was the most pleasant, melodious sound he had ever heard.)

[tomriddlesmustydiary]

Just so everyone is aware of my thought of the day; Doesn't Master of Death Harry give off the same vibes as Morpheus from Sandman? Like idk, haven't finish the show yet, but my feed is bombarded with its content to the point that it somehow makes sense to me.

Now, I pray, that there will be a sandman au with Harry as Morpheus and being the poor entity that he is, watches whatever is inside mortal, shady businessman Tom Riddle's dream

[walkawaytall]

Me: it is utterly absurd that the necklace Leia wears during the Yavin medal ceremony has lore behind it when we all know the only reason Leia has a necklace in that scene is because Carrie Fisher looked pretty in the necklace. We don’t have to have lore for everything!

Also me: *writes a 1000-plus-word flashback scene giving the dress worn in the same ceremony sentimental value and purpose*

[lieutenant-amuel]

The funny thing is that I remember how much I struggled with the title for the fourth chapter of "Was Born To Lead" (A New Beginning) and was never quite satisfied with it, but now, I realize it does make sense, considering I actually began to write a completely new story with this chapter.

[fabulous-fic-quotes]

“And just where are you taking me Riddle?”

Tom let out a dramatic gasp, pretending he was fatally wounded “Here I am, trying to surprise you and I get the last name treatment? Oh cruel fate-

“How have you become even more dramatic?” Eliza despaired, smiling at his antics despite herself.

Ink and parchment | Blood and bone - @rxse-by-another-name

[cerealmonster15]

🧹🧹🧹jamiazu fic idea begone I am TRYING to finish OTHER IDEAS FIRST 🧹🧹🧹