#ye old witches brew

[artwitherica]

The beginnings of more huntlow fan fiction fanart for @cassiepoppy45

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 11 | chapter 12

"We shouldn't be out here alone," a girl, about twelve or thirteen years old, with black hair and yellow dress insisted in an exasperated voice. "Cersei!"

A younger version Cersei with golden hair and flowing red dress, the ends splattered with mud by the way she was running across the drenched pathway leading to the woods, only giggled as she went on. The girl was Cersei's friend from a certain noble house, who was only recently assigned to be her handmaiden.

"Why not?" Cersei asked as she climbed over a massive root of a tree until she could see the tiny wooden house with a smoking chimney from a distance. The witch's house.

"If your father-"

"He'll never know we're gone," Cersei interrupted, pulling her friend up with her from the ground.

"But if he finds out-"

"You don't need to be afraid of my father," the Lannister girl said as she shook the dirt off from her dress and observed the surroundings. She then walked closer towards the house, her curiosity at its peak.

The townspeople had warned the young girl about the infamous witch living deep in the woods near Casterly Rock, but Cersei didn't seem faze about the rumors. She had to know if the witch was a fraud or not, if the effort gossiping about her was all worth it.

The famed witch's house seemed alive from the outside, with endless smokes protruding from the chimney. She carefully approached the threshold, surrounded by herbs and plants she didn't know existed. Her hand pushed the wooden door open as she let herself in with a cautious step. Thankfully, there was no sign of any witch.

"Are you sure?" Cersei's friend whispered behind her back, hesitant on following the young Lioness.

"Yes," Cersei answered, her eyes quickly darting around the room until they landed on one large cauldron at the center, with liquids brewing inside, contents unknown of.

"We shouldn't go in," her friend warned, her eyes settling on some sharp knives laying around the table and dismembered parts of animals inside jars.

"Of course we should," Cersei replied, her fingers brushing over dusty books on the shelves. And when her eyes darted towards the dark corner, squinting at the shadowy figure she could tell looked real, she stopped walking. That shadow slowly turned into a person as it approached them closer. The light from the candles illuminated over her. The witch.

Cersei took a step back, swallowing a nervous lump in her throat. She could clearly see the witch's greasy face and sunken eyes. For any girl, they would be terrified. But Cersei wasn't just like any girl.

"Get out," the witch ordered. When the girls stayed frozen, she went on, "Get out!"

"Let's go," Cersei's friend said as she ran towards the door.

"No," Cersei refused as she stood in the center of the room facing the witch. She didn't show any fear on her face.

"Listen to your friend," the witch said as she moved towards the Lannister girl.

"They said that you were terrifying with cat's teeth and three eyes," Cersei said. "You're not terrifying. You're boring."

"You don't know what I am."

Cersei smirked. "I know you're a witch and you can see the future. Tell me mine."

The witch laughed, eyeing the girls curiously. "Everyone wants to know their future until they know their future."

"This is my father's land," Cersei threatened. "My land."

"Cersei!" her friend went on, tugging her elbow. But Cersei stood her ground.

"Tell me my future," Cersei continued, "or I'll have your two boring eyes gouged out of your head."

The witch could only sneer back as she took a small dagger from a nearby table, making both the girls flinch. "Your blood. Give me a taste."

There was a moment of hesitation on Cersei's face, before she took the knife from the witch and cut her own thumb, tiny blood painting the blade. The witch immediately grabbed ahold of her hand and tasted the substance. Terrified, Cersei pulled away from her.

"Three questions you get," the witch then said. "You won't like the answers."

"I've been promised to the Prince," Cersei began, massaging her wound. "When will we marry?"

"You will never wed the Prince."

Cersei's frown grew deeper, as she felt anger rising inside her. "You will wed the King," the witch went on, making the girl calm down.

"But I will be Queen?"

"Oh, yes." The witch laughed. "You'll be Queen. For a time. Then comes another, younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear."

"W-will the King and I have children?"

"No." The girl's brow furrowed deeper.

"The King will have twenty children and you will have three."

"That doesn't make sense," Cersei spat.

"Gold will be their crowns. Gold their shrouds."

"You're only saying these awful things because I threatened you," Cersei said. "Tell me the truth."

The witch stared at her for a moment. "You will fall madly in love with someone."

The baby hair behind Cersei's neck stood as she listened.

"You'll kill for them. You'll burn bridges and castles for them." The witch then laughed as she threw dusts into the cauldron, making the contents burst into flames. "Dragons."

"Dragons?"

"You will never love anyone else," the witch went on as she began stirring the contents of the pot. "It will be the most amazing thing you'll ever feel in your lifetime. But it will also be your greatest heartbreak."

The sound of the horn from a distance brought her out of trance, the horn from the girls' guards from Casterly Rock, looking for them.

"Come on, we have to go," Cersei's friend pulled her. "We have to go! Cersei!"

~~~

"You need to sleep," Jaime said behind Cersei. "And eat."

"I've already eaten," Cersei answered, nodding towards the empty food tray on the table, before she looked back at you, laying on the bed unconscious. Your shoulders were bandaged to your chest and your face was so bruised, the skin had turned blueish green. Her hand was playing with your fingers as she waited for you to wake up.

Cersei had never felt this way towards anyone before. She had always thought her love for Jaime was what couples would define love was. But with you, it was different.

When she first met you, it had been envy. Eventually, through the days watching your cocky yet awfully kind behavior towards her and others, it then turned into infatuation. And obsession. Now, she wasn't sure what she felt towards you. It was a mixture of emotions. Fear. Wariness. Longing. Love.

She had never thought love could be like this.

Even sex before you had never been that exhilarating to Cersei. She had never reached orgasm the way she did with you, pulling multiples in one night. You had exceeded her expectations based on the rumors circulating about you, making her crave for you more.

Of course, her father would find out. There wasn't a thing her father couldn't see.

He warned Cersei, even threatened her, that involving herself with such affairs would bring downfall to their house. What would others think?

The hell what others think, Cersei thought. Out of fear, she could only nod and obey her father as she went to ignore you with difficulty. Even when all she wanted to do was be with you and in your presence. And when her son died, she thought it would be the end of the world.

Until she let herself be comforted by you. It never occurred to her how much she needed you until that day. It didn't help the fact that whatever awful thing she had said to you, her insides in turmoil watching your face accept her insults, and yet you stayed being you. You never said anything awful back to her. You never argued with her. And she wanted you even more.

When you chose yourself as Tyrion's champion, Cersei immediately went to order the Mountain to back down. However, her father Tywin had already gained Gregor's favors and Cersei couldn't do anything about it. Cersei hadn't slept well that night before the combat. And she almost went to your chambers to tell you to back out, run back to Dorne, where you would be safe.

She couldn't lose you. She couldn't bear the thought of losing you too. Aside from her children, you were the only wonderful thing that had ever happened to her.

If you were sensible enough, you would have doubts whether it was worth it, whether her brother was worth your life. Maybe she had been harsh immediately blaming Tyrion as the one who killed her son, knowing her son had made more enemies than her in his lifetime.

She thought she would lose you during the fight when Gregor had managed to pull you to the ground with him. You both knew you couldn't win The Mountain without any weapon. She regretted not kissing you before it happened. She regretted not telling you she loves you too.

She had loved you with all of her heart. And she wished it wasn't too late.

Luckily, she thanked the heavens for saving you that day, even if it would also include her own brother. You had fallen unconscious after the fight. Alive but unconscious.

She hadn't left your side since when you were being tended and healed by all the Great Maesters she could find in the Capital led by Maester Qyburn.

There was one time when she returned to your chambers and you were being tended by a handmaiden, your arm being brushed by a wet washcloth, it made Cersei's insides growl with envy.

"Leave us!" Cersei yelled.

And the handmaiden quickly left, terrified as if she did something wrong.

Cersei then grabbed the washcloth from the basin and continued wiping your body free from blood, mesmerized by how perfect your skin looked. She'd sworn not a person besides her could enter the room without her permission.

The moments she had only left you were the times she had to attend her father's council meetings. She even pretended to care Tyrion won the trial. If it would cost your life, she knew there was no way she'd ever forgive him.

She had never been kind. She had always been cruel, it was the way she was, making her think if she deserves this kindness from you. If she truly deserved you.

Jaime called, his hand on her shoulder, bringing Cersei back to the present, "Cersei. Stop this nonsense."

And when she didn't bother answering, Jaime went to touch the bruise on your face, perplexed.

Cersei immediately stood, her hand shot up to push Jaime away from you. "Don't touch her!"

She was seething. And Jaime eventually chuckled at the sight.

"Don't tell me you've fallen in love with her?" He snickered, grabbing her wrist to pull her closer to him. "Do you even know how to love someone?"

Cersei tugged away from his touch. How dare he judge her love for you?

But she couldn't help but think about how right Jaime was. She had never loved anyone before she met you. How was she sure her feelings for you were even close to love.

~~~

"The Martell house will be leaving in a fortnight once Y/n has fully recovered," Tywin said, making Cersei look at him. The lioness was in her father's small council room, discussing about recent affairs involving the new King's marriage to Margaery. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you planning to hold the marriage in Dorne? I never knew you wanted to visit such place you're being despised of."

"Oh, I completely forgot to mention it to you."

Confusion was etched on Cersei's face.

"You no longer need to marry Y/n," Tywin went on.

"What?" Cersei never knew she had ever been this devastated before.

"Or anyone at all," he said, smirking.

"Is this a trick?"

"No," Tywin said. "Y/n has offered Yronwood castle to set you free. Our Lannister soldiers can set a camp there given fresh resources. It's a perfect place to have a better view of both the Stormlands and Dorne. I think it's a wrong move on their part, giving up a part of the South just like that, no matter how small the area is."

Cersei licked her lips, trying to force a smile but she couldn't. She wasn't happy. "Why would she do that?"

"Does it matter?" Tywin asked, before looking at his daughter. "I thought you'd be happy. You won't be married to anyone against your liking anymore."

Cersei hated it. She hated how you'd decide it without her. And she'd wake you up just to scold you, she'd tell you it wasn't a wise decision, that you were always a fool and a weak person for thinking about other's wellbeing first.

But when she looked at your sleeping form still laying on your bed some time later after the meeting, she couldn't get her mouth to open. Her hand ended up caressing your cheek, as she brushed a strand of hair covering the side of your face over your ear. She understood why you had to do what you did.

She didn't deserve you. And she had been nothing but awful to you. Yet you still thought of her own happiness.

"I love you," Cersei murmured, before placing a kiss on top of your head.

Someone coughed behind her. The Queen Mother looked cautiously and realized Oberyn was standing idly, leaning against the doorway. "Your Grace."

"Prince Oberyn." Cersei's cheeks reddened as she avoided the Dornishman's eyes.

"Has she waken up?"

Cersei shook her head as she glanced back at you.

"We will be leaving for Dorne once Y/n recovers," he went on. "She is needed by her father and it has been a long time coming."

Cersei could only grit her teeth. No. Not now. Not ever, Cersei thought. Not when she almost had you.

She didn't end up saying that. Instead, she said, "Will she be safe there?"

"She is safe there in Dorne. Obviously not here in the Capital. And I believe your late son, the late King's murderer is still out there. And I'm sorry for that."

Cersei nodded as she held your hand tight, while fingers intertwined with yours. Then she looked at Oberyn. "Promise me you'll always look out for her."

Oberyn could only stare, not believing that those words came out from Cersei's mouth. The ever vicious and evil Cersei. "I will, as always."

Cersei then turned back to you as she watched you sleep, hoping you'd finally wake up.

[xreaderwrites]

Grey Areas

Summary: Cheating Death is so much harder when she claws her way out of the dirt.

Tags: scheming, complex feelings, pining, Teen is Billy Maximoff, to be continued

Words: 1k+ | AO3

A/N: a story is a-brewing but the story must marinate…gestate even

A hand bursts from the ground and you shove Billy between yourself and Agatha. He doesn’t protest, his eyes stuck  on the woman clawing her way out of the dirt as he yells about reanimation.

It’s worse. Instead of the spell going horribly wrong it’s gone horribly right, with the best Green Witch they could have possibly gotten. Death herself.

You swallow harshly and pull Teen back with you (and he is Teen now. No other name shall be uttered with Death so close). He’s in such a grey area that both sides can be made. He was never technically alive, not in the way the people Death take are, so him coming back doesn’t break any rules and yet it is his soul that is here on this plane, something she very much deals with. 

Both sides can be made but you are much weaker than she is. You won’t stand a chance.

Agatha screaming and clawing for Death sends your stomach plummeting. It’s good that they won’t be teaming up against you together, your chances of success in that situation are so infinitesimally small, but now you’re fighting on three fronts.

This isn’t the first time you’ve regretted Teen finding your work but this is the first time you’ve hated yourself for it. To have him die so young during his second chance of life…Wanda will never forgive you. In this life or the next.

Agatha storms off and it isn’t long before Rio skips after her.

Teen calling your name makes you realise how harshly you’re clinging to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.

Your gaze stays firmly locked on the two witches ahead. Rio sends you a knowing smile mid-twirl. 

It makes you sick. Instead of bringing Wanda back, you’ll be protecting the boy she lost her mind trying to save.

“I’m fine,” you give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and, ignoring the looks the other three are giving you, you follow Rio up the Witches Road.

Jen and Alice start up behind you and what would’ve been a fun conversation about liking scary women is made easy to ignore with Teen beside you.

“Do you know her?” he asks cautiously. 

He knows how touchy you can be with your past. You have to push the guilt away to concentrate on the question. You’ve to be so careful with everything you say for so long one would think it would be easier by now.

“I know of her, yes,” you allow. “She’s extremely powerful. A good catch for the Road.”

“But?” Teen pushes.

“But…” how to put it, “Her connections to others can be weak, or at least slow to build. Not a quality you want when facing the trials.” Your eyes slide to Agatha, “But that isn’t exactly a new danger. We couldn’t trust Sharon to get us out of a bind, either.”

A frown creases Teen’s face.

“But she was so nice.”

You cast him a long look. Does he really not know she wasn’t a witch? It’s so hard to tell.

“She was incredibly weak, power-wise, and her knowledge was extremely limited. We couldn’t trust her to help us because she wouldn’t have been able to. It’s nothing against her.”

This seems to ease him as his body relaxes and his usual smile begins to poke through, dampened by seeing death so closely. 

It’s your turn to frown. You wish you had known him before the sigil. Then you’d be able to know how much of his naivety is real. He’s a sixteen year old witch and he broke his mother’s curse. That isn’t a small thing. He shouldn’t be this powerful and yet have so little knowledge of what the world is capable of.

You don’t even know what he’s looking for at the end of the Road.

Your frown deepens as you watch Rio shadow Agatha.

It’s no use telling Teen to keep his distance. He’s been glued to Agatha’s side and Rio seems intent on subtly doing the same. Not to mention being on the Road means distance from one another is deadly. This whole situation is frustrating to say the least. But what were you really expecting when traversing the Witches Road?

He gives you a look and you manage to nod your head without rolling your eyes. He scampers ahead to Agatha’s side.

Rio was a few step behind her but she allows a gap to grow as Teen passes her.

You sigh to yourself and catch up to Rio. Matching her pace, you allow the distance between you and Teen to grow before speaking. 

“Interested in a trade?” you ask her. 

Her sharp grin has the hair on your arms rising.

“Do you have anything interesting?”

No, that’s why you’re on the road. It’s too late to offer a life for a life and Wanda would never forgive you if you went to the lengths needed to bring her back whole. Lengths that have only ever been rumoured.

You ask the question anyway to get to the one you want to ask most.

“My life?”

“You know the rules.”

“Yes, but if something much more…powerful than myself attempted to bring her back, would you stop it?”

Her calculating gaze is more terrifying than her crazy grin.

“The Road gives you what you’re missing,” is her only response.

It’s not the straight answer you were hoping for but it’s also not a yes. Which means your plan isn’t completely fucked. 

“While I have you here,” you say before she flutters off back into Agatha’s orbit, “I would like to make it very clear that any delusions I had of revenge or…roadblocks regarding Agatha have been thoroughly discarded with your arrival.”

Rio flashes a smile that is pure threat. 

“Smart girl.”

It’s easy to ignore the effect she has on you when are currently so aware that the threat extends to Wanda too.

You also want to tell Death about Wanda not being a threat to Agatha but you can’t. It may be true now, but who knows what will happen to Teen between now and when you see her? Your best will mean nothing to the Road. Your life probably will too.

[terapsina]

Let us begin with the moment where they made their first mistake.

[so many SPOILERS for AGATHA ALL ALONG 1.05]

"We got to get off The Road."

Remind me again... what was rule number one about straying from the path?

Was it mayhaps... not to?

Yeah, I think it's from this point on that they made themselves TRULY vulnerable to the Salem Seven. Not to say that they had much choice, they would definitely have been caught and killed otherwise, but if there are Rules that protect them on The Road itself while between the Trials then leaving that road negates that.

Second mistake. Flying through the Bee-Swarm Of Nightmares.

Also probably the moment the Salem Seven took hold of the next "Trial" (I'm not going to go into the hints about this not being a real Trial that have been noticed by lots of other people here and described better than I ever could, suffice to say that I absolutely agree).

Also of significant note is that after they "escape" the Salem Seven there's still the sound of a buzzing insect that Agatha has to shake out of her hair. So it's a safe bet that they didn't truly slam the doors in the faces of their hunters.

They have eyes on them at the very least.

And then of course they get to the point where they get told what they're supposed to do to escape this Trial is to punish Agatha.

There's two ways that can be looked at. Either this is a legit Trial and they are supposed to come together and remain a united Coven ("Burn and brew with coven true, and glory shall be thine"). Or the Salem Seven are in charge and this is the perfect way to make Agatha face the betrayal of her new Coven the way she betrayed the Coven of their mothers' (which is bullshit actually, I'd say being put to death as an eighteen year old by her own mother puts her pretty firmly in the 'betrayed' camp then too, but we're talking how the Salem Seven would see it).

And if this was a real trial... why would them turning on each other and Agatha killing Alice give them a door?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. At first the really big moment that felt really weird to me was this here.

"What do they want?" "They already told us. Punish Agatha!"

Yes, Jen has the strongest case of a survival instinct in the whole Coven (barring maybe Agatha) but the abruptness of the turn into aggressive Burn The Witch mentality was just... iffy.

It felt more like Classic Under a Spell reaction than something that feels truly in character (something along the lines of that Buffy episode where Joyce and Willow's mom almost burned Buffy and Willow at the stake because of the demonic Hansel and Gretel).

Unconvinced?

Explain then to me this face? This one right here? Right after Jen tells them what the voices screaming in their ears want and the voices... stop.

That is way too creepily pleased for it to be Jen just freaking out and deciding to do what the ghosts want.

Being conflicted and going with the highest chances to live through this would make sense. But smile?

And not even a relieved smile, because that looks way more 'possessed by an evil entity' type of smile (or at least possessed by the feelings of the evil entity smile).

And here's the deal. I do think everyone is exactly who they are, and it's not just a vision in Lilia's head, or an illusion just for Agatha, or anything of the sort.

But I also think that there are certain moments where they get... influenced by an outside party.

And then Agatha's mother possesses Agatha for a second time and Agatha kills Alice.

Basically wrapping everything up with a nice bow to show 'look, see? I was totally right to hate my daughter since birth, see how evil she is? You should hate her too. You should finish what I started'.

Now. I'm not saying this "Trial" won't have consequences. I am however saying that this might not be as bad as it looks like right now (fingers crossed we haven't seen the last of Alice).

[mommybard]

Happy Halloween~

TW: Identity Erasure a bit, gaslighting, kinda drugging adjacent, bit of breathplay mentioned at the end. As always if these are triggering for you, please avoid <3 Oh sweet dear, you can’t trick or treat in that. You’ll freeze to death with this chill in the air! Why don’t you come in and warm up? I have some treats I made you can help yourself to.

There we go. Isn’t that better? Go on, drink up. I have plenty more tea where that comes from. 

I’ll admit, I’m kind of surprised you came up this way. Most people avoid this old house, with all the rumors. About it being haunted. About it being cursed. About the ‘spooky witch’ who lives here. Don’t act so surprised, I know what they say. But really, do I seem like a witch to you? 

Of course not. Afterall, if I was a mean ol’ witch, wouldn’t you expect me to chase you off while shouting about cursing you? Give you the evil eye while pointing a finger menacingly at you. Or just start throwing potions or whatever's in my cauldron brewing in your direction. 

I would never do any of that, don’t you worry none. No, if I was a witch I’d invite you in to warm up. Get you a nice hot drink. Feed you some snacks. Let you relax and feel comfortable…not even realizing that I slipped a curse into your tea.

But of course that’s not happening right now. You’re not feeling a tingling sensation in your lips. Feeling your thoughts slipping out of your head like sand falling between your fingers. Definitely not finding it harder to think. To remember why you came here. To remember who you are. 

Go, take another sip. Doesn’t that taste good? And that feeling. Nothing really like it is there? Having something warm pressed against your lips. Feeling flavors dance on your tongue. That sensation of the hot liquid pouring down your throat and filling you with that heat.

Now, about that spell you wanted me to cast. Hmm? Poor thing, you don’t remember. See, you came up to visit me again, wanting something special. Life can be difficult. Hard. Stressful. Lots of big brain thinking out there. And you…well, sweetie, you’re a bit of an airhead. I swear half the time there’s nothing between your ears except maybe some bubbles. 

You were very specific. You wanted something to help you relax. Unwind. Not have to deal with all that nonsense out there. And, well, who am I to turn you down? Hmm? A curse? No no, I’d never do that. You can trust me. Why don’t you take another sip and I’ll help you remember. 

So I made a very special one, just for you. Something to take advantage of your oral fixation. Oh now don’t blush like that. You can be open with me. I know all about it darling. Don’t you remember? You told me all about it. All the times you accidentally caught yourself daydreaming about sucking someone off and drooled all over your top. The moments when you’d catch sight of someone’s camel toe or girl bulge and have to rush to the bathroom to touch yourself thinking about servicing them. The hours spent edging yourself stupid as you let a machine fuck your throat relentlessly as you dreamed of working up the courage to handle a gloryhole. 

There there sweetie. That warmth in your head is just the memories coming back to you, that’s all. They might have to push out some of those weird thoughts you had about me cursing you, but really that’s for the best, don’t you think? 

With your fixation…no. Not strong enough. Obsession? Yes, with your obsession in mind, I made a very special spell for you. To enhance your lips. Your tongue. Give your taste buds a boost. Although it does have some side effects. Your toys and fantasies just won’t be enough to satisfy you I’m afraid. You can certainly try, but you’ll end up playing with yourself for hours unable to cum. You’ll have to get more from another person. 

So, I suppose, if you really wanted to, you could leave. Go back out there and have to deal with all that scary big brain stuff. Have to worry about people taking advantage of your new sensitivities. Pulling you into bathrooms and making the suck slut drain their balls. Sneaking you under the desk and making you eat them out over and over again until you can’t get the taste of fresh pussy off your tongue. Humiliating you in public by letting everyone see how drooly you get just from them finger fucking your mouth. 

Or, you could stay here I suppose. I could use a good little cum hungry oral toy to help me out around the house. A good pet who’s throat I can core out and reshape to fit me. Trained to take down every last drop and beg for more. An oral addict who can only get off when they’re on the cusp of passing out because they value my cock more than their ability to breathe. Don’t you think that’s a good idea~?

[thetarotwitch111]

What do I do now?

Pick an orange (pick a card)

✨help me keep doing the free pacs: tip jar🍊

✨ personal readings - [requests open]

🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

1. cute orange

You’re about to step into a major moment of abundance. everything you’ve been working on is finally coming together. But don’t rush! Yes, the good stuff is coming, but before you dive headfirst into all this success, it’s time for a little reflection. You’ve been planting seeds for a while now, and the growth is real, but you need to make sure you’re aligned with what’s next. Take a breather, get clear on your goals, and really think about what you want to manifest from here on out. This is a moment to pause and appreciate where you’ve been, so you can step forward with clarity and purpose.

Witch's advice: To help you balance both the excitement of your harvest and the need for reflection, brew a calming, yet energizing tea blend: chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm. Chamomile will help you relax and ground yourself, lavender brings mental clarity, and lemon balm adds that touch of positivity and focus you need for contemplating the next steps. Sip this while sitting in your favorite quiet spot, maybe with a journal or just in meditation. Let your thoughts settle, and the path forward will reveal itself naturally.

2. fancy orange

Fot you is all about owning your differences. You’re not here to blend in or play it safe. It’s time to fully embrace what makes you unique and celebrate it. Think of all the quirks, traits, and talents that set you apart from others cause those are your strengths. Lean into them and don’t hold back. But you’ve also got a decision to make, and it’s likely one you’ve been avoiding. You’re probably weighing options or maybe waiting for a sign, but now is the time to act. Trust that whatever path you choose is the right one because it’s aligned with your authentic self and stop second guessing cause universe has your back.

Witch's advice: You need a tea blend that boosts your creativity, intuition, and courage to make that decision. Try jasmine, ginger, and hibiscus. Jasmine helps you connect with your inner magic and spiritual side, ginger adds that fiery, confident energy to push through hesitation, and hibiscus is perfect for self-love and celebrating your unique qualities. Drink this when you’re feeling stuck or before you make your decision—it’ll help clear the mental fog and give you that extra push to move forward with confidence.

3. orange juice

it’s time for a deep cleanse (emotionally and energetically). You’re in a phase of expansion, but in order to grow, you need to make room for the new by letting go of what no longer serves you. Whether it’s old habits, negative energy, or even certain people, this is the moment to clear out the clutter. You might have been holding onto certain things out of fear, but trust that releasing them will open up new paths for growth. It’s time to look at what’s blocking your progress and gently let it go. Once you do, you’ll feel lighter, more focused, and ready to step into the new opportunities waiting for you.

Witch's advice: For this deep cleanse and expansion, you’ll need a tea blend that purifies your energy and sharpens your intuition: peppermint, rosemary, and sage. Peppermint brings clarity and refreshes your mind, rosemary enhances your intuition and mental focus, and sage clears out any stagnant or negative energy. Brew this tea as part of a ritual—light a candle, maybe even burn some sage or incense, and as you sip, visualize yourself letting go of anything that’s holding you back. Focus on clearing out the old to welcome in new growth.

[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

[book--brackets]

Valdemar: Heralds of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey (1987-1988)

Chosen by the Companion Rolan, a mystical horse-like being with powers beyond imagining, Talia, once a runaway, has now become a trainee Herald, destined to become one of the Queen's own elite guard. For Talia has certain awakening talents of the mind that only a Companion like Rolan can truly sense.But as Talia struggles to master her unique abilities, time is running out. For conspiracy is brewing in Valdemar, a deadly treason that could destroy Queen and kingdom. Opposed by unknown enemies capable of both diabolical magic and treacherous assassination, the Queen must turn to Talia and the Heralds for aid in protecting the realm and insuring the future of the Queen's heir, a child already in danger of becoming bespelled by the Queen's own foes.

The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan (2013-2019)

You, dear reader, continue at your own risk. It is not for the faint of heart--no more so than the study of dragons itself. But such study offers rewards beyond compare: to stand in a dragon's presence, even for the briefest of moments--even at the risk of one's life--is a delight that, once experienced, can never be forgotten. . . .

All the world, from Scirland to the farthest reaches of Eriga, know Isabella, Lady Trent, to be the world's preeminent dragon naturalist. She is the remarkable woman who brought the study of dragons out of the misty shadows of myth and misunderstanding into the clear light of modern science. But before she became the illustrious figure we know today, there was a bookish young woman whose passion for learning, natural history, and, yes, dragons defied the stifling conventions of her day.

Here at last, in her own words, is the true story of a pioneering spirit who risked her reputation, her prospects, and her fragile flesh and bone to satisfy her scientific curiosity; of how she sought true love and happiness despite her lamentable eccentricities; and of her thrilling expedition to the perilous mountains of Vystrana, where she made the first of many historic discoveries that would change the world forever.

Entwined by Heather Dixon Wallwork (2011)

Just when Azalea should feel that everything is before her—beautiful gowns, dashing suitors, balls filled with dancing—it's taken away. All of it. And Azalea is trapped. The Keeper understands. He's trapped, too, held for centuries within the walls of the palace. So he extends an invitation.

Every night, Azalea and her eleven sisters may step through the enchanted passage in their room to dance in his silver forest, but there is a cost. The Keeper likes to keep things. Azalea may not realize how tangled she is in his web until it is too late.

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor (2011-2022)

Twelve-year-old Sunny lives in Nigeria, but she was born American. Her features are African, but she's albino. She's a terrific athlete, but can't go out into the sun to play soccer. There seems to be no place where she fits in. And then she discovers something amazing--she is a free agent with latent magical power. Soon she's part of a quartet of magic students, studying the visible and invisible, learning to change reality. But will it be enough to help them when they are asked to catch a career criminal who knows magic too?

Serafina by Robert Beatty (2015-2019)

Serafina has never had a reason to disobey her pa and venture beyond the grounds of the Biltmore estate. There's plenty to explore in her grand home, although she must take care to never be seen. None of the rich folk upstairs know that Serafina exists; she and her pa, the estate's maintenance man, have secretly lived in the basement for as long as Serafina can remember.

But when children at the estate start disappearing, only Serafina knows who the culprit is: a terrifying man in a black cloak who stalks Biltmore's corridors at night. Following her own harrowing escape, Serafina risks everything by joining forces with Braeden Vanderbilt, the young nephew of the Biltmore's owners. Braeden and Serafina must uncover the Man in the Black Cloak's true identity before all of the children vanish one by one.

Serafina's hunt leads her into the very forest that she has been taught to fear. There she discovers a forgotten legacy of magic, one that is bound to her own identity. In order to save the children of Biltmore, Serafina must seek the answers that will unlock the puzzle of her past.

The Children of the Red King by Jenny Nimmo (2002-2009)

The fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, after turning up quite unexpectedly, in someone who had no idea where they came from. This is what happened to Charlie Bone, and to some of the children he met behind the grim, gray walls of Bloor's Academy.

His scheming aunts decide to send him to Bloor Academy, a school for geniuses where he uses his gifts to discover the truth despite all the dangers that lie ahead.

Fairyland by Catherynne M. Valente (2011-2016)

Twelve-year-old September lives in Omaha, and used to have an ordinary life, until her father went to war and her mother went to work. One day, September is met at her kitchen window by a Green Wind (taking the form of a gentleman in a green jacket), who invites her on an adventure, implying that her help is needed in Fairyland. The new Marquess is unpredictable and fickle, and also not much older than September. Only September can retrieve a talisman the Marquess wants from the enchanted woods, and if she doesn't . . . then the Marquess will make life impossible for the inhabitants of Fairyland. September is already making new friends, including a book-loving Wyvern and a mysterious boy named Saturday.

World of the Five Gods by Lois McMaster Bujold (2001-2005)

Lord Cazaril has been in turn courier, courtier, castle-warder, and captain; now he is but a crippled ex-galley slave seeking nothing more than a menial job in the kitchens of the Dowager Provincara, the noble patroness of his youth. But Fortunes wheel continues to turn for Cazaril, and he finds himself promoted immediately to the exalted and dangerous position of secretary-tutor to the Iselle, the beautiful, fiery sister of the heir to Chalion’s throne.

Amidst the decaying splendour and poisonous intrigue of Chalion’s ancient capital, Cardegoss, Cazaril is forced to encounter both old enemies and surprising allies, as he seeks to lift the curse of misfortune that clings to the royal family of Chalion, and to all who come too close to them...

Keys to the Kingdom by Garth Nix (2003-2010)

Arthur Penhaligon's first days at his new school don't go too well, particularly when a fiendish Mister Monday appears, gives Arthur a magical clock hand, and then orders his gang of dog-faced goons to chase Arthur around and get it back. But when the confused and curious boy discovers that a mysterious virus is spreading through town, he decides to enter an otherworldly house to stop it. After meeting Suzy Blue and the first part of "the Will" (a frog-looking entity that knows everything about the House), Arthur learns that he's been selected as Rightful Heir to the House and must get the other part of the clock hand in order to defeat Monday. That means getting past Monday's henchmen and journeying to the Dayroom itself. Thankfully, Arthur is up to the challenge, but as he finds out, his fight seems to be only one-seventh over.

The Riyria Chronicles by Michael J. Sullivan (2013-present)

Hadrian Blackwater, a warrior with nothing to fight for, is paired with Royce Melborn, a thieving assassin with nothing to lose. Hired by an old wizard, they must steal a treasure that no one can reach. The Crown Tower is the impregnable remains of the grandest fortress ever built and home to the realm's most prized possessions. But it isn't gold or jewels that the wizard is after, and if he can just keep them from killing each other, they just might succeed.

[takeyourcyanide]

Halfway Apology

AO3

Fandom: soul eater

Word Count: 2 200

Characters: franken stein, spirit albarn

Tags: mild hurt/comfort, tumblr prompt, prompt fic, unethical experimentation, (a mention of it), short one shot, smoking, implied/referenced alcohol abuse/alcoholism, apologies 

Summary: Stein noticed that when wielding Spirit during the fight with Crona that his hands would begin to burn. He decided to discuss this with Spirit as to get to the root of the problem, a root he was already well aware of and prepared to settle.

-

This was born of the tumblr prompt by user prompts-in-a-barrel which reads: “Do you trust me?” “You keep asking me that.” “You keep avoiding the question.”

Notes: Truthfully, I don’t like this and find it a little boring but I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing more regularly and posting said writing the thought disorder and fibro fog combo have me in a chokehold currently as I’ve said in the past

I have some others I’m working on but I grew tired of them I will find more ideas yes yes yes

There was something in particular about the fight with the demon sword and unknown witch that Stein could not help but ruminate incessantly over (not including the two themselves), something that festered within the forefront of his mind and stuck to his brain like sap embracing the bark of a tree. It was something he’d noticed happening whilst gripping Death Scythe’s handle; an almost electric burning, tingling, pulsating sensation rushing through his hands, his palms reddening and sizzling, heaps of smoke billowing from the skin.

“It is a fairly common phenomenon,” he would note to himself. “But it’s a phenomenon that only occurs when two partners’ wavelengths are deeply off balance with one another’s, when they’re separating, severing, - often due to significant problems and a subsequent straining brewing within their relationship.”

He’d continued to fight through the seething pain anyway, as he usually would. But it left a strange pit in his stomach, one that murmured anxiously into his ears over and over again, “Find the answer… find the answer.” And the only way to quell the raging pit was to do as it ordered him, as it practically beckoned him.

Was he a fool for thinking - or, rather, hoping - that their relationship would be just as it had always been, even after years of hardly any contact? Even after Stein’s.. experimental endeavors? Perhaps. Unless there was some other reason as to why. Spirit seemed like his typical self. Was it merely an act? Did he not trust him at all anymore? Did he truly fear him?

Franken leaned back in his chair, heaving a troubled sigh, removing his glasses, and massaging away at the tension headache coming to claim him.

“Am I meant to apologize when I don’t feel guilty? When he knows that I can’t? When it’s been years? …If I tell him that I wish I could, would that make it all better? Likely not. If I tell him that I find him just as fascinating as I ever did, would it all return to that old state of normalcy? What if I tell him I’ve subdued myself? …Or that I value him as an individual? That I have some semblance of care for him? That I seem to miss working with him- being his meister?”

Foreign emotions, foreign sensations and phenomena. The more the years went on, the more he seemed to succumb or at least discover an oddly softer side of himself, even if it wasn’t exactly “orthodox.” What if he allowed Spirit access to the inner workings of that softer side- the ones that Stein had himself only recently managed to access and dissect.

“I’ll try to have a proper talk with him, though there’s no guarantee he’ll comply,” his eyes narrowed in pensivity. “I would prefer not to lose him… or at least not all over again..? Or… I would prefer to gain him back.

^( '-' )^

The bustling of the city streets calmed once Stein turned a certain corner, a multitude of odors crashing into each other like plummeting waves, swirling and mixing; from cigarette and cigar smoke to skunk weed and garbage cans teeming with used needles. It was the portion of the city no one cared to look after, the portion looked down upon - and, conveniently, the portion Spirit could almost always be found in.

The second he opened the door to the scythe’s favorite establishment, the intermingling smells of cheap perfume, leather, and liquor barreled out and into his nostrils, the latter of which Stein knew Spirit was primarily the one to blame for. Too, was he hit with both dim, warm lighting and abhorrently fluorescent lighting, so much so that he could feel as his retinas keeled over, shriveling up and quickly dying.

He grimaced to himself, groaning internally, pawing at his throbbing temples as he had to remind himself why he was even there in the first place. “This is how I get my answer. This is how I lessen the severing-“

“Welcome, sir! Why don’t you have a seat, and one of our girls will be right with you?” Some random blonde woman called out to him from behind a purple desk, fussing with the cash register, a bubbly smile tugging on the corners of her lips.

Stein gave her a small nod of acknowledgment, stepping into the building hesitantly, though dutifully, intently. He promptly scanned each violet booth for crimson locks of hair, his ears searching for either loud laughter or loud bawling, until he eventually landed on the only patron adorning a plain suit and tie, the only patron with his arms so confidently around the employees’ shoulders that it was abrasively obnoxious.

“That’s definitely him,” he knew his body language like he knew the back of his hand, even despite all the years that had passed by.

“Spirit,” Stein politely shooed the ladies, moving to sit beside him in place of the two of them. Thick layers of shock and fright paved their ways onto Spirit’s flushed face at the same time, bending the muscles and flesh to their will and forming into a pooling glaze to sheath his tired eyes within.

“What the hell are you doing here, Stein? You’re the last person I’d expect to be in a place like this.”

“We need to talk,” solemnly, he stated as he observed the near-immediate stiffening of the scythe’s body and expression at his words, his eyes batting back and forth but never once meeting the meister’s gaze. Ostensibly, he even gulped.

“Maybe his usual theatrics are surfacing due to the oncoming stress,” he pondered.

“About what?”

Stein took a slow and deep breath, shutting his eyes as he inhaled, peeling them gradually open as he exhaled. He stared down at his hands for a moment, then raking over the male’s body.

“Do you trust me?” His voice was particularly low, almost gruff. He held an uncomfortable level of eye contact with Spirit, fighting with himself to not embrace the all-consuming vignette and peer into his soul.

Albarn rolled his eyes far into the back of his head, a harsh sigh racking his frame. He sat up straight, shooting Stein an annoyed glare, one of which was difficult to perceive as being threatening when his hands were gently quivering. “You keep asking me that,” he took a swig of his whiskey.

“You keep avoiding the question.”

The bottle met the table with a strident clank, a noticeable pout on Spirit’s lips. He rubbed his fingers along the seams of his dress pants, head turning farther and farther away from Franken.

“I noticed during the fight with the demon-swordsman.. my hands would burn up whenever I wielded you. That is something that only occurs when-“

“I know,” he ran a hand through his hair, tilting his face up toward the black ceiling. “…And why do you think that is, Stein?”

“Oh.. I’m not entirely sure, there could be multiple reasons-“

“Because I don’t. I don’t trust you,” the level of resentment with which he spoke dug deeper into the growing pit, his voice breaking with tremors. “After what you did, I’m not sure I could ever fully trust you again.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you or anything but-“

“Is there nothing that I could do?“

“I don’t know-“

“Not even an apology would suffice?” He gazed at Spirit with something akin to puppy dog eyes, an unfitting cocktail of anxiety and simultaneous curiosity about him, forcing him to shovel down the looming guilt of any possible effects there may have been on Stein from his… well-warranted abandonment.

“There’s no point if you don’t mean it, Stein.”

“I can mean it without guilt or remorse or anything else. I don’t have to feel all that you do to recognize that I lost something that I cared about.”

Spirit smacked his chest repeatedly with his hand, doubling over. He gargled on his own saliva for a moment, hacking and wheezing. With bulging eyes and furrowed brows, he looked at Stein directly for the first time that evening. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m being completely serious. Are you all-“

“Who are you and what have you done with Franken?” He swallowed, taking a drink.

The meister exhaled a breathy chuckle, his lips upturned in a slight grin. “I think I’ve always cared about you- and the others, as well. I just couldn’t recognize it at the time, and even when I could, I couldn’t figure out how to express it.” He slunk back in the booth, resting his head against the seat’s top. “It’s not a feeling I’m used to by any stretch of the imagination. ……

I can recognize that saying that isn’t likely to change your mind or instill any sort of renewed trust within you… I often can’t even trust myself. I’ve been working on.. particular urges, though. For years now, actually. I’ve been improving since you’ve been gone. Weirdly enough, I think I’m finally starting to see the value in human relationships, even if only for selfish reasons.. even if it took your leaving for me to see it.”

Spirit found himself entirely unable to close his hanging jaw. “Wow,” he continued to gawk, clearly maintaining his habitual eloquence.

Stein shuffled his hand into the inner pocket of his stitched-up lab coat, revealing a somewhat worn and crushed-looking pack of cigarettes. He pulled one out for himself, slotting it in between lips coated in dried blood and painful sores, bringing a teensy flame to kiss the end of the cigarette.

“You want one?” The cigarette wiggled up and down as he spoke. “I have plenty to go around.”

He positioned his cold fingers underneath Spirit’s chin, laughing at how he flinched. He placed a cigarette into his agape mouth, proceeding to then manually shut it for him.

“There you go,” he drawled, nearly cooing. “I can light it too, since you seem to have entered some sort of catatonic stupor-like state.”

“No! No… I’m fine, I can light it,” he shook his head in a disoriented manner, taking the lighter from the other with an odd amount of suspicion and trepidation, cupping his hand around the warm fire.

“I’m really trying to be better, Spirit, I promise. Even if I don’t see it that way, I’m doing it for all of you. I’ve found solace in you guys.”

“You keep saying shit like that and I’m going to start choking again.”

With a genuine smile on his face - not one of sadism or of arrogance - an uncharacteristically fond and genuine smile, he tittered, “Apologies.”

The both of them blew clouds of smoke out synchronously, Stein observing as they twirled together, becoming one in a rather delicate dance. The clumps of grey sprawled out and dissipated around the establishment, seeping into everyone’s clothing and hair, burning their throats.

“Stein-“ “Spirit-“ Synchronous and unwavering despite the many years worth of severing.

“I’ve talked enough. You go ahead,” Stein waved his hand in Spirit’s direction, cleansing his glasses of accidental fog.

Albarn inhaled every last ounce of nicotine he was able to, his eyes briefly fluttering shut as he inched closer to Stein. “I.. I do sincerely appreciate you coming here to… sort of apologize, or whatever this was. But-“

“I know, I know,” the disappointment was just barely evident on his countenance, though evident enough for Spirit to purse his lips and chew softly on the cigarette’s filter. “I think I should probably go now.” With a slap on his thighs, body rising from the plush, and yet tacky seating, he stood and began maneuvering himself around the large table.

“No, no, I didn’t say you had to go, you didn’t let me finish!” He hooked his fingers onto his coat sleeve with a grip of steel. “Sit your ass back down and let me speak, you idiot. …And don’t you dare make me feel bad for my decision years ago, bastard,” Spirit huffed whilst shoving him back down next to him.

“I wasn’t trying t-“

“Yeah, yeah,” he flippantly scoffed. “Now, listen to me. I don’t trust you, but I want to. I’m proud of you- truly proud of you for trying to better yourself, but I still can’t trust you, at least not fully. You have to give me some time, okay? But I want to, I really do.”

Spirit had his cigarette fastened in between his index and middle fingers, Stein’s dangling from his lips as he nodded his head languidly, taking the time to process his words.

“I see. Understandable.”

They brought their cigarettes up once again, breathing in and forcing more pleasantly scorching and bitter smoke out. A comfortable silence fell upon the two, one of which they basked in, one of which was not dissimilar to the days they’d spend lounging lazily on the couch together - Stein most often quietly reading a book and Spirit most often loudly playing a game. After a while of reading, he’d always join him, or at the very least cheer his little ventures on disinterestedly. A certain pressure in their chests fanned out and dematerialized as they reminisced, completely soundless; a state of old, nostalgic normalcy being indulged in.

[ghostchems]

cemetery stroll - werewolf!secondo x reader - part 3

a/n: belated birthday gift for @tasty-ribz!! werewolf secondo is back baby and he is HUNGRY.

about 2.5k words. sexy smut. mdni. 18+! part one / part two. ao3 link.

“Jeff! Shut the fuck up!” Shauna elbows him in the ribs. He laughs and shrugs her off, placing one hand on her shoulder and giving her a strong push. She falls off the tree stump where they were sitting on onto the wet leaves. “Dickhead!”

“Can you guys relax?” Colin huffs from the other side of the fire. They do not relax, instead Shauna launches herself into Jeff’s lap and starts to tickle his sides. “I’m trying to tell a spooky story!!” Colin whines in protest then angrily throws his marshmallow on a stick into the flames. Jeff forcefully removes Shauna from his lap and sits her down beside him.

“Fine, man. Relax” He shrugs and shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. “Tell your story and quick so we can get back to having fun.” Shauna giggles behind him while Colin gives an exasperated sigh.

“There’s supposedly creatures that roam these woods. People go missing all the time. They tried to build houses just outside the woods but the structures would end up rotted out as soon as they were put up.” Colin sounds almost uninterested, his gaze drifting to look at the darkness behind them. “Legend says that witches inhabit these woods… the creatures are their pets and they abduct people and use their bones for the brews.”

“Psh. Boring.” Jeff throws a stick into the fire.

“It’s not witches, though. You know that old building right at the edge of the woods?”

“The Satanic Church?” Shauna asks.

“The… I mean yes, but it’s not… it’s not actually a satanic church is it?” Colin is thrown off.

“No, that’s true.”

“What? No way.

“Yeah. It is a Satanic Church or something but they’re nice, ya know. They, like, donate food to the homeless and stuff. They’re good people.” Shauna kicks a few leaves at her feet.

“Oh.” Colin sinks into his folding chair. “Well never mind then.” He crosses his arms and sits in silence.

This is a bummer of a camping trip for all of them it seems. They don’t last much longer, with Shauna and Jeff retiring early to the tent while Colin stays in his chair to watch the fire go out and having to listen to the two of them screw around. He’s not particularly happy with being the third wheel but this time alone makes it all the worth it. He starts to doze off as the night drags on, the fire taking its time… or is something keeping it alight? No, no… that’s Colin’s creeped out brain talking. It’s definitely because they put an ungodly amount of lighter fluid onto the firewood.

A twig snaps in the distance that makes Colin’s hair stand on end. His surroundings are pitch black except for the fire. Wide awake now but he’s sure it’s nothing. That is… until he hears more rustling that only grows closer and closer with each passing second.

“Hello?”

Dead silence.

Colin sinks further into his camping chair and returns his gaze to the fire. A few peaceful moments pass.

And then he sees it. A pair of glowing eyes from the darkness right by the tent. He blinks and they’re gone, only for his attention to be diverted to the tent rustling with the wind. Or so he thinks. Colin watches as the tent is ripped open in front of him, blood spattering onto his glasses. His chair tips over as he screams, the sounds of flesh tearing and his friends’ gurgles filling the night air around them. He scrambles to his feet and makes the mistake of looking behind him.

He’s never seen anything like this. True terror.

The creature roars, its claws and snout bloodied from eating poor Shauna and Jeff. Their bones crunch beneath the beast’s feet, fur blowing in the gentle wind of the night. Its eyes are fixated on Colin, stalking closer to him. It’s on hind legs Colin chokes on his own breath, his chest tight and he turns on heel to run. Despite having a head start, he can hear the monster’s thundering paws against the ground growing closer and closer. Tears run down his face, taking frantic breaths and babbling prayers to save him from the certain doom that is gaining on him.

This is so fucked up.

You angrily stomp onto a branch, crushing it beneath your heel. It’s been hours of you shouting and wandering throughout the woods, completely off the beat and path that you are used to. The usual comforting sounds of the forest at night send chills down your spine. He’s out there. Hunting. Stalking his unknowing prey. You think back to when you were his prey and how that night changed your life. It’s hard to think that it’s already been a month since then. The time was spent getting to know Secondo, fitting yourself into his busy life as Papa and yet — the two of you have never discussed what brought you together.

The Beast.

It had lept off the roof like it was nothing and tore off into the night with inhuman speed. Mid-transformation and all. Perhaps what struck you the most is that it did not even look back at you. Unfounded jealousy could not be contained. Shouldn’t he want to be with you? Even as a bloodthirsty beast? Worst of all, he could be eating someone right now and not in the fun way.

You’ve searched for hours but haven’t come across anything. No tracks, no fur — certainly no screams for help. Hope dwindles. Last ditch effort. You plant your feet on the ground and bring your hands up to your mouth as you howl. You feel foolish but there is nothing else to try. The woods are too large for you to search alone and you are starting to feel the chill of the night in your bones. Another howl explodes from your throat, sounding desperate and raw. You just want him back home with you so he doesn’t hurt anybody. Yes. That’s the main reason. Not that you keep getting cockblocked, this time by the MOON, and if you don’t get to fuck Secondo soon you might explode. Not that at all. You lean against a nearby tree and give it one last shot, one more yowl from deep in your chest.

The monster’s ears prick up, eyes widening and pupils dilated while still remaining fixed on his prey. Colin runs directly into a tree, smashing his nose in the process and stumbles to the ground. He gives a pathetic screech, scrambling backwards but he backs against the solid tree trunk. It snarls and gets on all fours, its cackles raising and snarling deep in its throat. This is it. This is the end. It opens its mouth, bloodstained teeth glistening in the dim light of the moon, and he can feel the foul stench of the beast’s breath in his nostrils. Colin squeezes his eyes shut and presses himself into the tree as far as he possibly can, bracing himself for his fate. There’s more howling off in the distance that makes his blood run cold. He can’t believe he’s going to die on this miserable camping trip — he didn’t even want to go, but was convinced half-heartedly by Jeff. Oh, poor Jeff and Shauna… Colin is babbling crazily to himself when his own morbid curiosity forces him to peek open one eye.

He’s alone.

The wind changes, whipping and whistling. The hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. You shudder but force yourself to walk into the nearby clearing, a full view of the moon. There’s eye on you, you can feel it. Bushes rustle, twigs snap, and something rumbles behind you. Turning around — it’s there and it looks worried. Brows are knitted, head tilted and one ear up while the other is flopped down. It’s almost cute… until you notice the blood smeared along its snout and down its chest. Guilt twists in your stomach. You are too late.

The monster… Secondo inches closer, giving a dramatic huff to pull you from your thoughts. Blinking, you reach out to him, offering your hand. Is this even a good idea? There’s always a chance he could… even after him claiming you. Always quick to assume the worst, you offer a sigh of relief as he presses the side of his face into your palm. His fur is impossibly soft, fingers combing through down his thick neck. The Beast moves in closer, affectionately pressing his head against your chest. You’re overwhelmed with a sense of love for him as your arms curl around him, buried deep in his fur.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.” The words spill out of you, a desperate plea. You’re nearly trembling now that he’s here in your arms and you won’t let go. Not now. Not ever. Secondo whines against your chest, huffs and sweeps you off of your feet. You tumble against his chest as cradles you in his arms and sinks down to the ground. He has your back pinned against his chest, fuzzy arms curled around you and your head tucked beneath his chin. “Ohhhh.” You can’t help it, an immense feeling of comfort and safety washing over you. Warmth spreads deep in your core, face flushed and you wiggle further into his grasp. His heartbeat starts to slow, breathing growing deeper until the snores start.

Sleep takes you both.

You wake up in Secondo’s strong arms wrapped tightly around you, his hips sleepily rocking into you, his half hard cock against your backside. This is new. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you stir beside him. He growls in your ear, his teeth just grazing your lobe and he grinds into you. Hands press against your chest, fingers tips just at your throat as his tongue slithers along your neck. Fuck. You huff, arousal growing deep inside you, and wriggle in his grasp, turning your head to see him. His eyes still glow a faint yellow but that’s all you’re able to see before he crashes his mouth against yours, one of his large hands cradling the side of your face. It’s frantic, messy, like he can’t get enough of you and your taste. There’s blood on his lips and you taste it on his tongue, moaning into the kiss as you continue to squirm your body in his tight grasp. He pulls away, his eyes wide once your chest to chest with him but his hands roam all over your body, grabbing and pinching as his hips continue to cant forward, cock throbbing against your stomach. Secondo’s paint is smeared with red dried blood around his lips and more trails down his thick chest hair. There’s nothing but love and lust in his eyes behind the yellow glow.

“Little bird…” Ragged breath, almost a whine. “Need you so badly.” Secondo buries his face in your neck, biting you hard enough to leave a bruise. Hurts so good. A jolt courses through your body, his bite igniting something primal within you. His hand drops from your face and grabs your hip, fingers pressing hard into where he marked you beneath the fabric of your sweatshirt. You shudder beneath him and start to feverishly tug your shirt up. An animalistic growl rips from him as he pins you to the soft, wet ground and lowers himself to mouth along the scars from his jagged teeth on your newly revealed abdomen. Arching your back, you push your sweats and under down while he trails kisses along your stomach, hungry eyes meeting yours. Secondo rides your sweatshirt up even further, nipping and licking up your stomach and moves his large hands to cup you by the ribs.

“Fuck.” You gasp as his mouth closes around your nipple, sucking the tender flesh with a groan. Pants around your ankles, you kick them off and part them so he can slot himself between you, his cock angled to slide along your slick folds. Blood and paint smears along your breasts as he buries his face between them, his groan vibrating through your chest. Secondo tips his head up to look at you and he’s completely wrecked already, eyelids heavy and eyes glazed over in pure bliss. Your one hand rests on his cheek, thumb wiping away some of his paint and he essentially purrs, shifting up your body so he can look into your eyes and settle himself between your legs. “Fill me. Fill me, please.” You pant into his ear then nibble on the shell of it with a whine.

Secondo can hardly contain himself, a husky groan pouring from his chest. He guides the tip of his cock to your entrance and moves his hand to dig into your ass as he pushes himself inside. Your walls flex around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, your eyes squeezing shut and lips parting in a silent moan as he deliciously fills you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It’s him but he’s in **some sort of in between, not quite Papa and not quite the Beast — but all passion. Even when the Beast took you, he didn’t have this look in his eye like you’re all that matters, all that ever mattered. Devotion. You’re high off of it. Every thrust is a step closer to oblivion. You bury your face against him, drinking him in as you plant wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down his neck.

This is where you’re meant to be. This is where you were always meant to end up. Your destiny.

You climax rips through you, crying out as you see stars and clench around his thick cock. A savage growl and Secondo’s right there with you, filling you up just as you asked him to. He turns to you, his forehead pressed against yours and a hand cupping your cheek as he pants. A moment passes, the both of you catches your breath before he gives you a tender kiss and climbs to his feet.

You sit up and run your fingers through your hair to brush the leaves out of it. There’s a chill in your bones but you instantly warm up as he reaches out to you to help you off the ground. A sleepy smile on his face, content in a way you’ve never seen him before. You can’t help but smile as you take his hand and he tugs you to your feet with ease, draping his arm around your waist.

“Eh… next time we will use the bed, si?”

“Yeah… yeah, next time. Like later today?”

[alltimefail-sims]

Thistle Hill offers all of the quaint, historic character of Olde Glimmerbrook at a fraction of the price! With its optimal location and rustic features, these charming homes accommodate everyone from the eager potions forager to the young, financially modest witch or wizard needing a place to hang their broom after a long day of studying.

I bulldozed the Elixirs and Brews lot (because it was hideous) and built multi-family dwellings there instead! I hope you all enjoy!

INFORMATION & DOWNLOAD BELOW ↓

Packs I used:

This lot is completely CC Free. It’s listed as a “Residential Rental” with 4 identical units for your sim to choose from. Each unit is basically a shell with the interiors sparsely decorated so you can furnish for the needs of your sims!

TOU: All I ask is that 1. you do not reupload and claim the build as your own (yes, even if you tweak it a little…) and 2. you tag me if you use it! I would love to see this in other people’s games and saves, that’s why I’m sharing it! ❤️

Additional screenshots are on my Patreon post. Let me know if there are any in-game issues!

DL: Patreon (always free)

+ @pancakesrealty, @publicvanillabuilds

[cherrygummycandy]

Family Outings (and all the victims that come with them).

A Goldilocks and the Three Bears crime family x reader

(An: First time writing in a while, feels pretty good to be writing again. Not sure what direction I'll push this is, probably some slight romance with Goldi or Baby Bear. Also, above is some cute theatre promotional material of the family movie night! Enjoy!)

🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻🌿🐻

"Eye of newt, tongue of, of... ugh!" You slam the small vial of repitilian eyeballs down on the oak table, leaning back as you place your hand on your forehead, trying to calm yourself down. hurrying over to the bookshelf, you toss hurriedly search, haphazardly tossing book after book behind you in search of the one you needed. A leather-bound journal, with gold fittings lays against a dusty candle-holder. The label reads 'Hellica Mellica; Ancestra Magica'. Grabbing it quickly, you return to your workspace, and plop down. Flipping to the chapter on transmogrification, you read quickly, attempting to remember what ingredient is missing from your brew.

"Tongue of Goldfish, of course!" You exclaim.

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"Move it, you mug!" A blonde haired girl yells, pushing a small bear forward. "I'm tryin' alright? This scents hard to track, n' you don't even know who were supposed ta' be tracking!" The small bear snaps back, the odd necklace around his neck rattling as he whips around to face his sister. Two larger bears trail behind, chuckling at the scene before them. "I know who were supposed to be tracking, Baby. Just not any specifics..." Goldie says, raising her walking stick up above her and smacking it against a tree branch, knocking down a shiny red apple. It lands in her palm, and she bites into it with a grin. "Oh, can you get me one, Goldie?" The bear with a fancy hat asks from behind. "Sure thing, mum." Thwack! A second apple falls.

"Remind me dear, what exactly is your brotha' sniffing out?" The largest of the three bears asks. "Spellbook, Papa. Centuries old one, at that. Guess it belonged to some big witch back in the day." Goldie says. "A-a witch? You mean like the one that put them' kids in that oven?" Baby bear squeaks, before getting prodded forward by Goldie's staff. "Please, Hansel and Gretel killed that witch, didn't ya read the story?" She sighs "Besides, that witch is long dead. We, dear brother, are tracking the scent of her house." Baby tilts his head in confusion. "Wait, how am I tracking a house?" He asks. Goldie shrugs. "I guess she set some sort of enchantment on it, attracts little animals, so she can put em' in her brews." She raises her hands up, hands mimicking claws, an evil grin on her face. Baby shivers, and turns back to facing the path ahead. "Goldie, luv, stop scaring ya' brotha." Papa bear scolds, ruffling her messy curls with a paw. A claw snags, pulling a lock and making her squeak. "Papa!" "Sorry!"

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Eyes narrowed in concentration, you focus on the task at hand. You attempt to steady your hands as you slowly ladle your transmogrification potion into a small vial. After a few moments of slow pouring, the vile is filled. "Yes!". Popping a cork into the top of the vial. "And not a drop spilled." You cheer, giving yourself a small little thumbs up in a nearby mirror. You set down the potion-filled glass, and move to dispose of the unusable leftovers at the bottom of your small, hand-held cauldron. You carry it outside of your cottage, sloshing the disposable material over your herb garden. The herbal paste and eyeballs should make a good fertilizer. Dunking your cauldron in the well, you scrub gently. As you remove the cauldron from the well, you look down at your reflection. You contemplate your image for a moment. You frown. It's you, but don't feel quite like yourself.

For years, you trained, studied, and dedicated your life to the teachings of your mentor, the all powerful witch who lived in the cottage before you. Admittedly, when a small orphan stumbled upon your cottage, she was tempted to eat you. However, she decided you'd be more useful alive, than in her stomach. She wasn't warm, or kind. You cringe, remembering the daily beratings shouted at you from throughout the cottage, as you scrubbed, swept, and polished every part of the estate. Once, you had even tried to copy one of her potions, and she never let you live down the disaster that followed.

"You useless little witch! Ruining my cottage, touching my cauldron!" She had screamed. "You want to explore magic so bad, fine! Be my guest!" From that point on, she not only increased your chores, but had made you help her fulfill her orders. It started small, but occasionally, when she felt cruel, she had made you attempt harder, more dangerous things. These always went horribly wrong, and you found your self-confidence diminishing, day by day. Now that she's gone, you still do the occasional spell, enough to sell and get by, alongside baked goods. Still, you haven't even attempted the hard stuff again. Looking down at your reflection in this well, you see that same child. 'Maybe I am just a useless little witch...' You chuckle sadly. You turn to head back inside, only to be met with the end of a wooden staff pointed mere centimeters from your face. You gasp, but the girl at the other end moves it closer, silently threatening you to remain quiet.

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"Ello' there." A blonde girl stands at the other end of the staff, a smirk on her face. "You live ere'?" She asks, gesturing with her free hand to the cottage behind you.. "Y-yes..." you nod. "Ya' don't look like a witch." A voice comes from behind her. You attempt to peer behind her, leaning to the side a little. You hold in a gasp when you see three large bears looming behind. "I'm not a witch, not really." Goldie looks behind you at the cottage. "Then why do ya' live in a witches cottage?" She asks. "And she's holdin' a cauldron!' The smallest bear adds. "My mentor used to live here, I just sorta... stayed here when she died." You admit. "Oh, the poor dear..." The medium sized bear coos. You're a bit taken aback at this behavior, but smile nervously at the mother bear. "Ugh, not now, Mama!" Goldie waves her free arm, as if scolding the bear. "You got any weapons on ya'?" You shake your head. "Alright then, non-witch. Why not show us into your lovely home, you don't wanna be a rude host, do you?" She roughly grabs your arm, practically dragging you into your own home. Once inside, the smallest bear begins to sniff around, as if hunting for something.

"Um, what's he doing?" You ask, watching as your home is searched by the small bear. Goldie looks over, groaning and rolling her eyes. "Baby, ya' dolt! Stop it, we'll just get em' to tell us where it is. Ya don't need to turn the place over." She turns back to you. "Are you familiar with a book, called-" She pulls a piece of paper from her pocket, glancing over it quickly, before saying "called 'Hellica Mellica: Ancestra Magica'?". You bite your lip, unsure about telling this fierce girl the location of your book. The only real success you've had with magic has come from this book's information, and frankly, you feel like your mentor would curse you from beyond the grave if you just let her beloved book go.

"Uh, sorry, no." You lie, eyes darting to the side. The girl looks unconvinced, and suddenly grabs you by the collar of your frock. "I know you've got it, now, I'm gonna ask ya' a little differently. "Where. Is. The. Book?" She mutters. "Over there, o-on the table." She drops you to the ground, and quickly moves over to the table. She grins as she grabs the spellbook, holding it up. She moves to open it, but finds the cover won't budge. "Wha- what's wrong with it?" She exclaims, beginning to shake the book. "What's wrong then?" The largest bear asks. "It won't open. It's jammed or something." She throws the book on the ground. "Give it ere' lemme take a crack at opening it." The largest bear begins to try and rip the book open. You watch, eyes wide in confusion. The book has never refused to open before, not even when you didn't know anything about magic. You slowly shuffle over, and sit nervously down on the nearby armchair. While you watch the bear and girl struggle, the medium bear approaches you. "You ave' a lovely little home, dear." the bear says. "O-oh, thank you." You respond. After a moment's silence, you turn back to look at her.

"Um, can I ask who you all are? The bear nods. "Oh, sorry for not introducin' ourselves. I'm Mama bear, that's Papa bear," She points a claw at the big bear. "That's Baby bear," She points to the little bear, who is currently raiding your kitchen cabinets, making you frown. "and that's my Goldie." Mama bear puts a paw over her chest, smiling as she stares at the blonde girl, who is now so angry she is chewing on the leather cover of the book, hands scratching and clawing at the binding. You look between her and the bears. In her fit of rage, she makes eye contact with you. "You! You've used this book before, open it up." She chucks the book at your head, before Mama grabs it just before it makes contact. You nod thankfully, and open the book. The family crowds around, peering at the first few pages of information. Just as Goldie moves to snatch it, the book snaps shut again. "What! Ugh, you've done something to it, haven't you!" She screeches. "She prolly' put some kinda spell on it! Using children's blood or something." Baby sneers. "I didn't, my mentor must have done something to it, this has never happened!" Goldie pauses. "Never?" She asks. You nod. "Well, seeing as you're the only one who can open it, I guess you'll be coming with us." She stands and motionsfor you to follow, before stopping and looking back over her shoulder.

"Then everything should be just right."

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[genmaichafan]

FREN! IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE WE’VE TALKED!

WHAT IF: Some rando has been trying to flirt with the reader. He seems to be ignoring how uncomfortable the reader is. This makes Donna incredibly jealous, as she doesn’t take kindly to creeps trying to steal away her girlfriend. As such, she TERRIFIES the creep and sweeps her gf home (lots of kisses and fluff ensue).

TY SM

Hello hello friend i have written it sorry i dont think its my best work and i kinda ignored the second half of the prompt because i uhh got lost in the sauce of an idea.

Anyways enjoy.

Donna x f!reader. modern au. sfw.

You had been at the coffee bar for a while now, Donna had just gone out to grab something quickly at the time being.

You loved this coffee shop.

the barista was friendly and always knew your favourite order. The seat you always wanted in the corner was often empty. And most of all it was quiet.

Something both Donna and you appreciated.

But today of all days there was a promotion going on for old brew that seemed to draw in people like crazy.

it was packed.

and worst of all there was this guy here. That seemed to be eying you up and down with a smirk, something in his eyes said he thought you were easy prey.

”donna please come back so we can leave” you whispered under your breath.

”talking to you self pretty lady?”

oh god he actually approached you.

”yeah i like talking to myself and the voices!” You tried to make him think you were mentally unwell so he would leave you alone.

”whoa. Spicy. I like that.”

you internally face palmed. This frat boy was not going to leave you any times soon.

“Yes I actually am waiting for my partner-“

”oh yeah? You guys open or something?”

you hadn’t noticed but donna had been back from whatever errand she had been doing and had heard the very last thing the creepy man said. She was seething beyond repair.

”no we aren’t open.”

”oh you're her partner?”

he eyed her up and down like he did you earlier.

Donna’s response to this was to start speaking tongues of obscure italian. literally cursing the man. Donna was not a witch but she was trying to cast imaginary spells.

to further sell her game she took out her large and intimidating garden pruning sheers and cut off a lock of his hair really quickly. Not before clutching and blowing the lock into his face further selling the gambit.

The gullible man's face was turning more and more pale and when the final move was cast his hands were shaking.

”w-witchcraft!!” He did not think twice about running away.

donna quickly walked up to you. Dropping the facade. Quickly taking up your hands into hers.

”are you okay mi amore?!”

”yes, thanks to you.” You smile was half amusement still remembering the display, and half adoration.

”im glad.” she brought her lips to your quickly, hoping to wipe the remainder of the man’s presence on your mind away.

”what were you going to get?”

”thats a secret. For now.”

”no fair you know i dont like secrets.”

”i know i know but im hoping youll be happy to see it.”

_____

“Are you sure we should go to our secret spot? It’s going to be super dark this time of night.”

”I promise it won't be that bad mi amore.”

Had it been anyone else you would have not believed them. You were heading to a secret alcove in the nearby park that Donna and your friends liked to hang out at but it didn't have much of a way of being illuminated in the dark, but you knew better.

”ok i trust you.”

Donna's response to this was to take your hand and begin racing towards the park pulling you along with her.

you two laughed along the whole way as if playing like children.

_____

When you arrived you didn't want to say it but youre were kinda right.

it was almost pitch black in the hide away and you couldn’t really see anything. Luckily; you could make out certain shapes enough to not fall or trip on anything. Not to mention you suddenly had no idea where Donna was.

”Donna?”

”right here mi amore” she was right behind you.

“What are we doing here today my love?”

”oh you'll see.”

Just like that the lights that had never been here before turned on. The alcove was beautifully decorated to yours and donnas personal tastes almost as if there was going to be a celebration of shorts set up with fairy lights set up with an extra table with Champaign.

before you could even ask what was going on, Donna got down on one knee.

your breath hitched.

”[y/n], will you marry me?”

Somehow you had managed to bring yourself to affirm that you would in-fact love to marry Donna through the shock.

“Yes! I would love to marry you!”

You two quickly brought each other's lips halfway to meet in the middle in union. savoring the moment between you two and the deep connection you shared. Donna smiled so widely when you finally parted that she had to cover her face a bit. A bad habit that she had not managed to nip that you found extremely cute.

”I love you donna.”

”and I love you more than you could ever know.”

[klonnieshippersclub]

Love Awaits

Happy New Year! This is my post for Day 3. Yes, I know it's a bit late and I'm very sorry for that. It's also not set in 1910 but in Marcel's youth. We have a bit of a "found family" coming together in this AU. This is a little longer than usual to make up for the delay.

Randall was her responsibility. It was only a few years ago he was kicked out of their home. Randall was a Bennett and the Bennetts valued family but Randall was a boy and he didn't quite fit. Bonnie took on the responsibility of caring for him and abandoned the only home she knew. He was only a small child, but their bastard father saw Randall as useless. It was early in the year when they had lost their mother from magical overload in defeating a pack of rogue wolves that were terrorizing a nearby town.  Grief turned their father cruel. Bonnie and Randall left their small town Louisiana for the city. She was essentially a single mother at just fifteen with a five year old to take care of. It was hard but they made it work.

Years passed and they were happy. All they had was each other but that was enough. Randall even referred to Bonnie as his mother. At the age of 10, Randall found a slightly older boy unconscious by a pond. With his magic, he was able to send a message to his older sister. Luckily, she was not too far away and could provide medical aid to the unnamed boy with the knowledge she had from working as a nurse. Upon waking, the boy introduced himself as Marcel. Despite Marcel's insistence that he could walk home on the other side of the city, Bonnie and Randall brought him to their small home.

Hours passed and the boys lost time playing games (nothing too strenuous in consideration for Marcel's condition). Bonnie was making dinner when a belligerent knocking started at their door. When seeing the vampire snarling at her, Bonnie immediately sent him an aneurysm with her powers. She only stopped at Marcel crying out that this was his father. A vampire daddy was unheard of, but Bonnie believed the boy. With Marcel explaining the situation to his father (he was jumped by a rival to his father), the tension in the room disappeared. Bonnie made the sudden decision to invite the vampire inside if he provided his name. Klaus Mikaelson. From this point on, the families were close and the boys were basically inseparable.

It was a summer morning months later when Marcel dragged his father to the Bennett home. Klaus entered ready to greet Bonnie and Randall ran by with only one shoe to play outside with Marcel. Klaus called out to him, “Randall, get back here. You can't run off without your other shoe.”

The boy ran back inside the house to retrieve the shoe with Marcel following him. “I've been looking for it everywhere,” Randall said. Thanks, Pa.”

Bonnie appeared from the kitchen hearing their exchange with her hands on her hips. She voiced her confusion towards Randall. “Pa? He's not your father.”

“But Marcel said-”

“Shhhh,” interrupted Marcel while glaring at the younger boy.

Klaus raised a brow at his son and asked, “Marcellus, what did you tell him?”

“I only said it would be nice if we were a family.”

Randall continued, “And he said that mothers and fathers belong together.”

“Quiet!”

Bonnie could sense one of their childish arguments brewing. The arguments were never over anything serious but they tended to work out their problems physically and she didn't want them wrestling in the house. The last time they did so, they broke a vase of flowers. “Boys, we aren't together,” the Bennett witch remarked.

Marcel rolled his eyes at Bonnie's denial. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Then why is Pa so nice to you when he's mean to all the other ladies in covens?” Randall wondered aloud.

“He's not your Pa, Randall,” corrected his older sister/maternal figure.

Klaus and Bonnie were close but it wasn’t a relationship. “I respect Bonnie more than the arrogant witches of the city,” the Original justified.

Marcel joined in the questioning, “if you aren't together, why do you two always spend time together?”

Bonnie was surprised by the sudden interrogation and felt a bit defensive. The boys were together like glue. It shouldn't be so shocking that their guardians knew each other well. “We don't spend that much time together alone. You both are always with us.”

Randall was tired of their ridiculous excuses when he knew the truth. “Why did I see Klaus laying in bed with you?” he accused. “You were kissing!”

“Randall, what have I told you about spying?”

Instead of listening to the lecture he knew was coming, Randall took off with both shoes on his feet at lightning speed. He did not want to deal with his sister's wrath at him for violating her privacy. It didn't seem like a big deal to him anyway. He left immediately when he saw their lips touch. Marcel laughed as he went to catch Randall.

Klaus couldn’t help but to observe Bonnie and admire her beauty, even in her anger. “They think we’re in love,” Klaus said with a laugh.

Bonnie sighed, “it sounds silly and imaginative.” As much as her body desired his touch, they couldn't ever be romantically involved.

“We couldn’t ever be in love.” Feelings would complicate things. It would be a mistake for them to create a family together. Mortality would always separate them. As witches, they could never find happiness as vampires. Marcel could choose to turn when he got older, but Klaus could not expect that of Bonnie and Randall. “That’s a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed.”

[ranfordgallus]

Made a pathologic oc 2 days ago....

Woope

Meet virshak alexandr (his last name is alexandr not alexander but i accidently wrote "alexander" instead in the first pic so forget abt it) hes 40 years old and lives away from town (im still new to pathologic lore so forgive me i just wanted to make one because i think its cool)

Heres his oc description:

So virshak is known as bauk, and the town believes about it after some encounters of him (mostly children but adults too) and he went with it since hes not very social, well in a way since he prefers to be alone, he brews herbs into medicine, hes basically a "witch" in a way (technically a male witch is called a wizard but witch is a better word than wizard imo) since he lives alone, the reason hes known as bauk is that he always seen in dark places, he only goes to the town to get scraps or steal things like herbs,spices,meat,blood, etc or even humans too (yes he...also kidnaps people for uhm...brewing stuff but rarely)

So yeah...COUGH, its not much i guess if he existed in the game you can trade him for medicine...i guess idfk LMAO, still working on his lore so thats what i could explain to yall so far

[mask131]

So you want to know about Oz! (4)

Now that we got the topic of the Oz books out of the way, let's talk about... The MGM musical! The 1939 movie "The Wizard of Oz"!

Or rather, let's NOT talk about it. Let's talk about... its alternate continuity.

"Alternate continuity" or "alternate Oz" are terms cherished by Oz fans and scholars, because they allow one to navigate through the maze of Oz adaptations.

I don't want to talk here about the MGM movie per se, because A) there's way too much to say and B) everybody knows it or saw it, so I don't need to explain what it is as thoroughly. But I want to insist on a specific and given point... The 1939 musical COMPLETELY changed the game.

It is an adaptation of "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", yes. And it is the most famous and acclaimed Oz adaptations that ever was - to the point it is a landmark of American cinema, and a key part of American popular culture. But, and here's the important part: it is also not at all a faithful adaptation of Baum's novel. It is a very loose adaptation that omitted, reinvented and added MANY, many things - and the problem is that, since the movie is much more famous and well-known than the original novel, it created its own "alternate continuity" of Oz works, completely dissociated from the original novels by Baum (and other authors). These are two different worlds, that start from the same story-point but diverge in many, many ways.

In this post, I want to look at all the works, movies and adaptations that present themselves as prequel or sequels to the MGM movie, and that build together this "alternate Oz continuity" that is the 1939 continuity.

How do you recognize these works, and separate them from the ones more aligned with the old novels? Simple! All you need is to look out for key details that were introduced by the MGM musical!

The Wicked Witch of the West is considered the supreme evil of Oz, and is depicted as having a green skin and being clad in black.

There is only one Good Witch, Glinda Good Witch of the North.

The magical slippers are Ruby Slippers, not Silver Slippers.

Insistence on Oz being a "dream lord" paralleling the real-world

The Wicked Witches are sisters, and not just unrelated allies in wickedness

And other details of the sort. Alright! Ready? Let's go!

Let me begin with something a bit obscure... The 1990 cartoon "The Wizard of Oz".

In 1990, a Wizard of Oz cartoon started airing on television. This animated series proposed itself as the direct sequel to the MGM movie. Dorothy, still with the ruby slippers, returned to the Land of Oz, called by Glinda due to new troubles brewing in Oz: the Wicked Witch of the West was resurrected. The series is mostly about the group of heroes travelling through Oz, encoutering various Oz folks (purely invented for the series) and defeating the various schemes of the Wicked Witch, while trying to catch up with the Wizard of Oz, whose hot air balloon is tormented by the West Wind...

Unfortunately, due to poor ratings, the series was never renewed beyond its first season. Even worse, it just... kind of stopped mid-season. 13 episodes were created (I am not even sure all were aired?) and... the show just stops. No conclusion, no ending, it just stops. Sometimes, the two-part opening episode "The Rescue of the Emerald City" is edited as one short animated movie.

Much more famous: the Disney movie "Return to Oz", from 1985. One of thes "obscure Disney movies", one of those "weird fantasy sequels", one of those "dark 80s children movies"... There's multiple reasons why this piece became a cult-classic today.

It is most notably one of the many instances of Disney trying to create an Oz product in line with the MGM movie, despite not having the rights to do so, and thus playing around with the public domain of the Oz novels. This movie presents itself as a sort-of-sequel to the MGM movie (sort-of because, since they couldn't make an actual sequel, they have things that do not match - like Dorothy's new appearance - and things that do match - the slippers are ruby). In terms of inspiration, it is mostly a retelling of the third Oz novel, "Ozma of Oz", but with various elements taken from the second Oz novel "The Marvelous Land of Oz". For example, one of the villains of the movie is Mombi, the witch from "The Marvelous Land of Oz", but her behavior and appearance are those of Princess Langwidere, a secondary antagonist of "Ozma of Oz".

Another famous attempt by Disney at gaining their ground on the MGM-Oz domain is this movie:

2013's "Oz: The Great and Powerful". Meant to be a prequel to the MGM Wizard of Oz (but stll placing itself in its own continuity, since it couldn't be an ACTUAL prequel), it tells the story of how Oscar (the Wizard) arrived in Oz, and how the power-struggle between the three Ozian witches put itself in place. And it was... it was not a great success. In term of Oz adaptations it is recognized today to be between "mid" and "failure". (It is still VERY pretty though)

Speaking of Oz failures...

Do you remember THIS movie? "Legends of Oz: Dorothy's Return"? Oh that's one messy story...

"Dorothy's Return" (2013) was an animated movie adapting one of the novels written by Roger S. Baum, L. Frank Baum's great-grandson, called "Dorothy of Oz" (1989). And it did... VERY poorly, despite the huge amount of money and advertisement put in it. But you know what's even funnier? Why does the movie has such a long title? Because "Legends of Oz" was actually a HUGE franchise project. There was this plan to create a big line of animated movies and derived products, of which "Dorothy's Return" would have been just the first step. The movie came out, did poorly... and the entire franchise was canceled. But not without a lawsuit being opened for the shady practices and financial ruins behind this project... Yeah it is QUITE a story!

Still within the domain of modern Oz movies people do not particularly like...

The Tom and Jerry Oz movies!

These animated pieces are part of the modern trend of putting Tom and Jerry in famous movies (there is also the very unfamous Tom and Jerry + Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory movie). The first movie, "Tom and Jerry and the Wizard of Oz" was basically just Tom and Jerry being present during the MGM movie. And... that was it. Oh yes, they did include the Jitterbug deleted scene but you know. It was just that.

Less known is this movie's direct sequel, "Tom and Jerry Back to Oz". It was less talked about than the first one, despite being at least more original! It is notably a loose adaptation of the third Oz novel, "Ozma of Oz".

More successful and beloved: 2017's "Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz".

Just like the 1990s series, it is a children cartoon presenting itself as a direct sequel to the MGM movie, but unlike the 1990s series it was HUGELY successful. It aired for three full seasons, and while it is placed within the MGM continuity, it notably modifies several details so kids could be able to get into the story more (Dorothy is a little girl, the Wicked Witch is replaced by her daughter), and sprinkles several elements from the novels (Ozma, queen of Oz, is a recurring character). It is mostly a... I'll say "slice-of-life" type of show, about Dorothy and her friends just... living in Oz, solving problems if they are, avoiding the various schemes of the Wicked Witch's daughter.

Now that we looked at all the most "recent" incarnations, let's take a look at an older classic: 1972's Journey Back to Oz.

This animated movie is a loose adaptation of the second Oz novel, "The Marvelous Land of Oz", but presented as a sequel to the MGM movie. Tip is replaced by an MGM-looking Dorothy as the protagonist, Mombi is depicted as a green-skinned witch and the cousin of the deceased Wicked Witches of The Wizard of Oz, and Dorothy's voice is provided by Liza Minnelli, the daughter of Judy Garland.

And to conclude it all a movie that... nobody seems to have noticed upon its release?

2000's Lion of Oz. An animated musical movie for children, adapted from Roger S. Baum's novel (yes, still him) "The Lion of Oz and the Badge of Courage" (1995) ; but still placing itself, by the characters' design, under the legacy of the MGM movie.

This movie presents the backstory of the Cowardly Lion, who, as it turns out, was a lion Oscar Diggs brought with him to Oz, and who, before meeting Dorothy, underwent a quest to fight the nefarious plans of the Wicked Witch of the East...