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The Little Death — 6. Those we oppose

— PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: A Bene Gesserit gets left behind in the Arrakeen palace. When Feyd becomes the Planetary Governor, he finds her there in hiding. The Harkonnens don't traditionally keep them as truthsayers or concubines like other Houses do, but Feyd might have a use for her. After all, he's never had a Bene Gesserit of his own before.

— WARNINGS: smut, noncon, dom/sub, dom!Feyd, bondage, spanking, the beginning of a little cockwarming

— WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

— TAGLIST: @elf-punk @lowlyloved @pomtherine @slytherins-heir @babyofneptune @localravenclaw @missbingu

We tend to become like the worst in those we oppose.

— Bene Gesserit Coda

Feyd didn’t wait for them to return to what had become their shared bedroom. With their meal half-done and cooling he got up and strode to her, his long legs reaching her in two steps and a half and grabbed her by the scruff. She yelped and reached for his wrist, but he was already pulling away at her veil. He threw it somewhere behind him.

“Not here,” she hissed.

“Why? Are you afraid?” he grinned. “Afraid of the servants hearing you?”

His white hand grabbed her by the throat and pulled her up while with the other he reached for the knife set beside her plate. He licked it clean and as he pulled her flush against his chest he set it at her throat.

“What they see doesn’t matter,” he whispered to her. “What they hear doesn’t matter… So, my dear Bene Gesserit, be as loud as you like.”

She wasn’t, of course. She was quite stoic while he pulled her to the head of the table. Her head moved back, leaning almost over his shoulder to avoid the knife. Feyd pretended to hold it quite carelessly but he knew very well where it was aimed and how close it was to her skin. He reached for his cup and drank the rest of the wine then threw it away and pushed his plates aside. Then both his hands moved just as quickly to shove forth against the table.

She cut off her own scream, exercising a control he almost could admire if his mind wasn’t on other things. He remembered in fragments his meeting with Lady Fenring. How his self-control was paused right after she spoke. How she took charge of his body with only her eyes. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he feared these witches, but —

“Measures have to be taken,” he rasped.

She clearly didn’t understand what he meant but she clenched her hands anyway, bracing for something. Feyd caressed her chest. Slowly his body came to loom above her and then she felt his knife right at her lips. He slotted it between her teeth, right on her tongue. Oddly enough, it made her calmer. At least she knew what he feared now… Losing control.

His other hand roamed across her body, pulling and tugging at the strange constraints of her clothes. The Harkonnen slaves were dressed quite plainly, he wasn’t familiar with this sort of thing at all… But he didn’t need to be.

“Let’s just see what’s inside you then,” he whispered as he started tugging up her skirts.

She stiffened, her legs tensing, shifting, breath fogging on the knife. She closed her eyes when he laid the layers of material across her waist. Feyd didn’t move at all and without being able to look at him it was impossible for her to try to read his thoughts, but she knew what he was seeing.

“Very modest,” he chuckled. “For a witch.”

He laid himself more heavily against her, pressing her into the table, making her breaths catch within her throat, and delighted in the sense of fear that grew inside her. He closed his eyes and nuzzled the back of her head, burying his nose in the rich crown of her hair, brushing his lips against it. It smelled warm from being so close to her body all day, and faintly sweet and salty, but more than anything it felt soft in a way quite different from skin. He could fall asleep with his face buried in it.

She’d relaxed beneath him, he could feel it. Even her legs were sapless and now her stomach pressed more tightly against the table as she let her feet rest upon the floor. Feyd held her waist tightly as if testing the frailty of her body, moving his hard caress from her soft stomach to the hard bone of her hip. She winced uncomfortably, but then he moved his hand away and before she could guess what he intended —

“Aaah!” she yelped through the blade, barely holding herself from moving forward and cutting herself on the edge.

He’d spanked her. Her thighs tightened protectively but she knew it wouldn’t help. Feyd chuckled as he felt her squirm beneath him and moved slightly to the side, not to get his weight off her but to make room for more.

“Sit still now,” he whispered in her ear. “I like those lips of yours.”

His hand came down on her again. She could feel her body shifting from the impact and her hips were already bruised. The sound burst like a thunderclap in the vast room followed by the whisper of her sighing. She closed her eyes and blinked the tears away. She hadn’t been punished like this since she was a little girl…

“These should get out of the way,” he muttered. “I don’t like them.”

He tugged on the undergarments that enclosed her from waist to feet and managed to do it while keeping the knife quite still between her teeth. When she started shivering he could hear the clatter of them. He chuckled.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he rasped against her ear. “What could I possibly do to you… that you haven’t done to me already?”

And as he spoke he slid his pale hand up her thigh and curled it inward. She groaned mutely, trying to hide her fears behind protestations, but Feyd merely smiled at her. She could feel the gentle swelling of his cheeks against her neck.

Then like a bolt of lightning, and just as unexpected, he struck her once again. She yelped, her body trying to curl inward, away from the blows, but the table was fixed into the floor and the blade pulled at the edges of her mouth and all she could do was breathe and try to calm herself. She thought back to her training, to the things the Sisters told themselves to drive their fears away, but Feyd’s hand was ever at her back in turn petting her skin and spanking it to blushing.

“That’s it,” he hissed between hard slaps, nuzzling the soft back of her throat. “Take it quietly… like you’re supposed to…”

He focused on one cheek and hit her again and again on the same spot until her eyes were leaking and her teeth clenched on the blade. She could no longer tell the difference between his fingers and his palm, the whole area incensed and tender, both sensitive and dull.

She nearly sobbed when he stopped and finally, with the echoes of the spanking faded, she could hear just how loudly he was breathing. There was a taste of iron in her mouth, but she knew it wasn’t blood. His chest within its leather armour moved against her back and he rested his palm on her. She winced and nearly jumped but his touch was gentle, for the moment.

“Oh…” he gasped then giggled. “You’ve made my hand all hot.”

It was, she could tell, just as warm as her skin right now. He’d hurt himself almost as much as her…

Feyd pulled the blade away from her mouth but she could hardly catch her breath before he brought the other palm to quiet her. His hand, hot from spanking her ass, was clasped tightly over her mouth and the other moved behind her. She knew what he wanted to do before he did it… He cut her clothes off from her back. However much she struggled, he pressed down against her. It was impossible to buck him off, she would only bruise herself more. He giggled when he felt her tears wet his fingers, but his hand stayed firm over her mouth.

When he tore enough of her dress away and threw its tatters to the side he finally paused and ran his free hand across her back. He caressed her in a straight straight line from the nape of her neck down her spine and to her heated buttocks.

“You’re shivering,” he rasped. “Are you cold, or is it me?”

She couldn’t speak, of course, but even if she could — what would she say to him?

“I take it you’re just cold, then. Not to worry. I’ll warm my girl up.”

His touch left her for a moment and she heard a shifting of leather behind her. Then he brought the other hand over to her mouth and with it something new. A belt.

“Hold still now,” he murmured as he gagged her, tying it behind her head. “That’s it, good witch…”

She bit at it and growled but all it got out of Feyd was giggles. With a softer belt, one of her own, he tied her wrists at her back. He enjoyed the result by caressing her body with both hands, from her fragile neck to her tense back, down toward her waist, and lower. She pressed her forehead to the table and tried to close her legs but he noticed none of it. His hands explored her like a long sought-after gift, savouring the feeling of her skin, the hint of fragile bones beneath, and the shivers he could feel that ran through her.

“You’re not enjoying it?” he asked. “Can’t have that… After all, I enjoyed you so much.”

She grumbled but he’d already distanced himself from her. Looking over her shoulder she couldn’t see him. She realised he’d kneeled behind her when she felt him bite her thigh.

“Mmmh!”

“That’s more like it,” he giggled, nuzzling her soft flesh.

He held her legs bruisingly tight as he brushed the cushion of his folds up and down, up and down, then kissed upwards until he reached her ass. She jumped when he bit into her cheek but Feyd only laughed, delighted.

“So sweet,” he muttered. “Sweeter than it has any right to be. Oh, if my darlings got their hands on you…”

She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but she knew she didn’t want to find out.

His hands scraped upwards and he hooked his thumbs into her cheeks, easing them apart. She muttered from behind the gag but her voice was already weak, unconvincing even to her ears. She blushed fiercely when he paused and did nothing because she knew he was simply looking at her. His breath fanned across her heated skin, tickling her almost, and however tightly she pressed her legs together she knew it was no use.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he cooed, which sounded frightening in his rough voice. “Two tight little holes and a little button to play with. How sweet…”

She bit at the belt between her teeth and moved her head every which way, trying to get it out of her mouth so she could use the Voice, but he’d tied it behind her head in such a way that it wouldn’t budge.

His thumb moved from her cheek to press against one plush lip and to her embarrassment she felt herself begin to drip right down her slit. He watched it, traced the sleek slow path with his gaze, and before the watery droplet could reach her clit he picked it up and took it to his mouth.

“Like honey,” he muttered with his lips around his thumb.

Holding her still harshly open with one hand, he started spanking her again with the other. This time it was on the cheek he had earlier ignored. He worked hard to get them both an equal shade. She yelped at the impact and started a breathing exercise to calm down, but she could not put out of her mind what was happening to her. With each slap of his hand, she clenched and he saw it, and when more wetness was pressed out of her with each clenching of her intimate muscles, he saw that too. He spanked her again and again and again until his arm grew tired.

“That’s it, take it like that,” he growled behind her, his voice breathless and distracted. “Yeah, you’ll be good now, won’t you? Be a good girl for me…”

Then he stopped quite suddenly and held her cheeks apart. He leaned in and, so quickly she almost didn’t feel it, dragged his tongue from her clit up to her throbbing hole. She yelped and tried to kick her feet, but he had already moved away. It wasn’t even an attempt to clean her up — if anything, she was only wetter from his mouth now. He’d just wanted a taste.

While she caught her breath, she could hear him fumbling behind her, moving quickly — he was taking off his armour. She struggled, expecting him to be atop her any moment, but the looming presence of his body moved away and, instead, he grabbed her.

Feyd sat back on the chair and pulled her into his lap. With a warm hand still stinging from the hits he’d given her, he held her jaw up, and with the other, he arranged her just the way he liked.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll cum anyway, won’t you?”

She shivered as he nuzzled the back of her head, enjoying the softness of her hair and the warmth and the human scent of her. He moved her over his lap and spread her legs with his, bringing her to a position where she could hardly stand or fight him back or try to get away, but she still tried, struggling in his grasp that was slippery with sweat.

Feyd grabbed her tightly by the waist and caught the back of the belt between his teeth, pulling her in every way down onto him. His cock was hard and pointing toward her, leaking down its length so much it pooled beneath his balls, soiling the chair. She could only bring herself a little higher before he brought her down again and nudged his tip between her lips. She yelped and nearly slid out of his grasp, but each attempt to get away only worked her lower, lower down his shaft.

Feyd groaned with pleasure when he nudged his head inside and quickly let go of her waist to grip her breasts with both hands. He squeezed them gently as he started thrusting, steadily bullying himself into her tight and throbbing hole, and in a sudden inspiration of cruelty, he pinched both of her nipples. She gasped and cried wordlessly but his teeth tightened on the belt and pulled her lower while his fingers remorselessly squeezed at her buds.

She slid down with some difficulty. Although she was leaking all over him, her hole was tense and clenching against the intrusion. Feyd didn’t stop. She fell atop him more out of exhaustion than anything else and winced in pain. The fingers around her nipples relaxed only enough for him to slap them, punishing them for every bit of pleasure that she felt. She felt tears stream down her cheeks while Feyd purred with pleasure, his teeth now nibbling at her neck.

“That’s it, good girl, stay there,” he muttered, sounding almost drunk. “I just want to stay in you a while…”

#Feyd #Feyd Rautha Harkonnen #Feyd Rautha #Dune #Dune part 2 #Dune fanfiction #Dune imagine #Feyd Rautha x reader #Feyd x reader #Feyd Rautha fanfic #Feyd Rautha imagine #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;littledeath #feyd rautha smut

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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#Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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The English Client — Nine

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.2k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

As they neared this outcropping of something in the corridors of nothing, a figure emerged before them — first as shadow, then as sound, and then a lonely silhouette. Tall, trim, standing in a practised poise before the doorway, he had ceased his work inside and came to greet them.

“Mio Barone,” said the man, bowing from the waist. “Che onore.”

“Ambrogio,” he said, greeting him in English for Tom’s sake. “Working late, I see.”

“As always. It is a pleasure,” he replied in perfect English.

He was a thin old man in a black suit buttoned tightly up and down, with wrinkled leather shoes. When he straightened from his bow, he seemed more like a floating face on a lithe shadow. What wisps of hair remained around his head sat behind his ears like bird nests, but his face was far less soft. Pale eyes, thin lips, a sunken face as cold as death.

“Tom,” said the Baron, “this is Mr. Ambrogio Oso. He helps us with many matters. An invaluable servant. Ambrogio, this is Tom Riddle.”

Tom looked him up and down and smiled thinly. Only Ambrogio’s eyebrows moved, quirking ever so slightly. He would make a remarkable corpse, thought Tom. “A pleasure,” he said, offering his hand.

The man reluctantly stepped forward and shook it — just once.

“Quite cold down here, isn’t it?” Tom noted. “Must be a nice change during the day.”

“Yes, we didn’t come down here to discuss the weather,” said the Baron. “Show us to collection B-1786.”

Ambrogio nodded and turned on his heels, leading them into the office. “This way, please.”

Tom followed, but his gaze lingered on the wall facing the door, where those tall red drapes were hanging. Slightly parted, they seemed to lead into another, shorter corridor. This place was more of a museum or a warehouse… He wondered if it had anything to do with that auction he’d heard Frederico mention to her during lunch.

The office was broad and wide, with three desks of which only one seemed busy. The walls were thick with old maps and photographs, and empty spiderwebs hung in the corners with no insects in sight. The place smelled like death and naphthalene. Crates gaped open all around, some covered discreetly with a shrowd, others not at all. There were books inside them mostly, but there were other items too. Elaborate bottles of red glass reinforced with blackened silver, candleholders, daggers, and cups.

Tom raised his head slightly, throwing a look from the corner of his eye upon that busy desk. Mr. Oso was in the middle of research involving a medieval ritual, it seemed, amid a medley of notes in both German and Arabic, fresh ink shining darkly beneath a green lamp.

Ambrogio went to one of the crates behind a corner and shuffled a few heavy things inside. He came out carrying three heavy tomes, each with a piece of paper sticking out of their pages, and set them on the nearest desk.

Tom didn’t wait for an invitation, he approached. Ambrogio stepped aside, hands tucked behind his back.

“So, I take it you want me to review these, Baron?”

“I want you to authenticate them, Tom.”

“I see…”

He threw his eyes over their covers. One was a copy of The Book of Abramelin, another was the Grimoire of Pope Leo, and last was the Grand Albert.

There was nothing untoward about the request, nor about the books themselves, although he wasn’t sure he wanted to touch them just yet. They looked old, too old. If it were up to him, he’d find it safer to look over them with magic.

“And the books I brought with me?”

“I will agree to a trade if you will serve me in this manner.”

“And then?” asked Tom, cocking a brow over his shoulder.

“Then, if you wish, you may continue to serve me.”

Tom scoffed and turned. “I already have an employer,” he said, tucking one hand in his pocket. “I’m only here for a few books, that is all.”

“Very well, then,” the old man shrugged, tapping the pipe against his coarse old palm. His assistant looked calm, but her eyes shifted nervously from the Baron back to Tom. “If, after this simple task, you will wish to end our collaboration, you may.”

Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was fairly irritated at having been dragged out at this hour only to be given orders and obfuscations. And he wasn’t any closer to getting either of the remaining two books he needed.

“How long do I have?”

“I want a report ready in three weeks.”

“And what if they will prove to be forgeries?”

“Then you may keep them for nothing.”

“I have no use for fakes,” he chuckled.

“I doubt that,” the old man said with a twinkle in his eye. “Are we agreed?”

Tom looked from the Baron up to her. Behind him, he felt the shard of Ambrogio’s attention.

“Alright,” he said. “Although I expect payment during this time. Upfront.”

“You can discuss that with my secretary,” said the Baron, waving for the girl to push his wheelchair out. “Come by my office tomorrow.”

Tom watched her lead the old man from the room and reached down for the books. A pale hand stopped him, gripping his thin wrist so fast the blood froze in his veins.

“The books stay here,” Ambrogio said. “Baron’s orders.”

Tom clenched his jaw. It would’ve been far easier for him to analyse them in the comfort of his room where he could run detection charms for traces of stray magic, but perhaps there was some merit to working here. It would give him ample opportunity to explore this hidden and rather expansive part of the shop.

“So be it,” he smiled, yanking his arm free.

“Ambrogio,” the Baron called, “I bid you good night.”

“Good night, Baron. I shall see you out.”

Tom stepped back into the corridor. The vampire — for that is what Ambrogio was — followed.

“No need, no need,” said the Baron, fat arm waving as his assistant pushed him forward. “You probably wish to go home. Rest. Tom?”

“Yes, Baron?”

“We’re leaving. Come.”

“Right away.” He turned to look once more at Oso and saved a toothy smile for him. “I look forward to our collaboration.”

“It will be my pleasure, Mr. Riddle, to manage you,” he said.

Tom chuckled, and with one last scathing look, he left.

The chauffeur was waiting for the Baron outside. He and Tom helped load the old man in, and then he was left behind with his assistant as she closed up the shop.

“You shouldn’t have promised him that,” she said once they were alone. “Three weeks isn’t enough. The research alone would take one month, let alone writing a report.”

“I know men like him,” said Tom, waiting for her to secure all the locks. “They love ambitious, overachieving youngsters. Reminds them of the children they never had. Gives them something to brag about. Besides,” he added, “I can do it.”

“He doesn’t want children,” she said with a faint smile as she turned, joining him on the cold empty street. “He wants servants.”

“Same thing, in their eyes.”

He helped her put her coat on, and then they began to walk together toward the tram station.

“I just worry that you’ve —”

“I know,” said Tom, a strange feeling gripping him. “But I have everything under control.”

She looked at him with soft and tired eyes above a fading smile. “At least that makes one of us.”

Tom frowned. “Who is this Oso, anyway? Has he always worked down there?”

“Always. He’s been there since long before I was hired.”

“And he works alone?”

“Mostly.”

“At night?”

She shrugged, her shoulders squeezed up to her ears as if she were a frightened bird. “Sometimes. Honestly, I don’t know his comings and goings. Sometimes he’s there during the day, sometimes he’s not.”

“You visit him down there?” Tom asked with a cocked brow.

“No, in fact… in fact, I’m not really supposed to go down there without a reason. There’s a telephone…”

Tom nodded, piecing it together. She seemed not to know her colleague was a vampire, and now he wondered if even the Baron knew.

“So, what sort of person is he?”

“Ambrogio? He’s… a professional,” she said, shrugging again. “He’s private, doesn’t really have a sense of humour.”

“I never would’ve guessed.”

“And he likes things to be just so. Hates it when people touch his things or…”

“Or ask him any questions?”

“Yes,” she chuckled.

“I’ll be sure to do a lot of that, then,” smiled Tom.

She looked up at him, smiling now as well, her cheeks a little fuller and her eyes alight, but sad and… worried. Tom frowned. There was that feeling again, that spasmodic odium whenever she looked at him so softly and smouldering with the unspoken. She was afraid for him — not of him, but for him — and Tom didn’t know what to do with that. He had no point of reference. Nothing to compare it to.

“Let me walk you home,” he offered, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “You can tell me all about the mess I’ve gotten myself into on the way.”

That got a chuckle out of her, at least. “You know I live quite far, and it’s already late.”

“I don’t mind.”

She smiled at him, and it caught — he smiled back.

III

She made no mention of Clement or what happened to him, but it was clear to Tom she greatly feared the Baron. From the tremble in her voice to the way she hugged herself, he could tell she had some kind of trauma. Something about how she sat when they were in the tram together, close enough she had to whisper, body curled in on itself, told him she needed to be held. Tom kept his hands firmly, very firmly, on his lap.

“So Ambrogio never goes upstairs?” he quietly asked.

“Never since I’ve worked there. I’m glad, honestly. He’s a little creepy… But the Baron greatly depends on him.”

“How is he paid?” Tom whispered.

“What do you mean? You mean how much?”

“Y-yes, that’s what I meant.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A lot, I expect.”

“Right.”

“He’s dangerous though. Don’t underestimate him, even if he’s old and frail,” she whispered back, her voice warm against his neck.

“Oh I’m sure,” Tom chuckled.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, speaking quietly but a little fearful now. She was so secretive, even if they were the only people on the midnight tram. “I think… I think he worked for the Mafia before.”

Tom laughed at that. It felt oddly refreshing… He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so sincerely.

“I’m serious!”

“Alright,” he chuckled. “Forgive me. I just… doubt it.”

“I know, I know. Their oath is supposed to be for life, right? But maybe this is why he works at night. Maybe he’s in hiding.”

“Mmm,” Tom nodded with a smile.

He could feel her at his shoulder, her body close to his and warm against the chilly night. How different it was from the day… Fragrant and alluring like a calm spring day, but dark and empty. Only the two of them existed.

The tram came to her stop at her station, far from the city centre. They got off, Tom going first to hold his hand for her.

“You’re certainly right about one thing, thought,” he said after they started walking down her street. “He is dangerous. Best keep away from him.”

“I do,” she nodded.

“Good,” said Tom. And he almost promised to take care of Oso for her but stopped himself at the last moment. How stupid that would be,he thought.

They walked in silence down the street, which looked even more squalid at night, both lost in their own thoughts.

“What is it?” Tom asked as they neared her building, unnerved by the silence.

“I just wish you hadn’t walked me back,” she chuckled, “that’s all.”

“Oh,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not judging you for where you live. I’m only quiet because I was thinking.”

“Just following me blindly then?”

“To the grave,” smiled Tom. “Sorry, that wasn’t funny.”

She laughed anyway. “You’re a little strange, Tom… But I like you anyway.”

“You mean you like me in spite of it?”

“Perhaps. But I still like you.”

She looked at him in a peculiar way, as if his eyes could keep her warm, and although her lips turned upward there was a strain to it. She was trying not to smile too brightly…

Tom swallowed the knot in his throat and shuffled his feet on the ground. They stood right in front of her building.

“Well, here I am,” she sighed. “Home again…”

“Is it really?”

She didn’t answer.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” said Tom. “And many days after that.”

“You still have time to reconsider,” she said. “You haven’t signed anything yet…”

Tom laughed, the sound playing through the empty streets. “You speak of your employer as if he were the devil.”

“What, do you think you’re the only one that gets to do that?” she chuckled.

He blushed a little. She remembered what he’d said that night when he complained. It had been stupid of him to drink all that wine, stupid of him to talk. But he was glad that she remembered… He was almost touched. At least, he wanted to be.

“Good night,” he said. “And try not to worry.”

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle x reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Tom Riddle fanfiction #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;englishclient

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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The Gaunts

#Tom :(#Ominis Gaunt #Tom Riddle

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#Astarion #BG3 #WHAT THE AAAAAAAAAAAH

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What a sneaky looking boy 🥺

@sebastianswallows come pick up your man

#Tom Riddle #HP

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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blasphemy prints | patreon (this is this month's print club postcard!)

#hottest vampire #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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Old Sebastian portrait I did a year ago🍃

#such a cute boy!#I love this art #Sebastian Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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I've seen a lot of fanart of Astarion dressed like this. This is from the BAFTA Games Awards 2024 event where Neil Newbon, his interpreter, wore this costume. 🖤

#every art of Astarion is so good #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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Tom Riddle Headcanons

— WARNINGS: none, just angst

— A/N: So, @esolean asked for some Tom headcanons. These are just very random and scattered ideas about our problematic fave.

Has exactly three emotions: anger, indifference, and obsession.

The latter is primarily exercised in the context of magical artefacts and you.

Because he grew up so unloved, he can’t really conceptualise himself as worthy of being loved, and the fact that girls fawn over him because of his looks just makes him despise them more.

Growing up under constant criticism has also made him a highly critical (and self-critical) person. He would tell you exactly what’s wrong with you, and it wouldn’t even be out of meanness, it would just be as normal as remarking about the weather.

When he actually hurts your feelings at one point, it is the first time he even notices that about himself and wonders whether he should correct it.

He decides that yes, he should, because it was the horrible muggle women at Wool’s Orphanage that made him that way and that his hyper-critical way of thinking is a parasite instilled by them rather than a natural characteristic of himself.

The more he thinks about this, the less he likes it, because what is his real self, after all? Can he even know anymore? What would’ve he been like if he had grown up like all his other peers?

But this just leads him to hate his useless Gaunt relatives and the callous muggle side of the family more.

If he’s remotely fond of anyone, it’s his Uncle Ominis.

Without getting sentimental, he finds more enjoyment in the company of animals than of people, wizards or not. Animals don’t judge, don’t complain, don’t make it painfully clear they’d rather be anywhere else but in his presence. Animals just accept him as he is.

Which means that he excels at Beasts class, being on par with Rubeus Hagrid in spite of being a skinny little city boy with delicate hands.

The girls take this as a sign that he’s such a gentle, caring person. They don’t realise he’d rather pet a Kneazle than spend time with them.

You would be an exception, of course, because his being good with animals would not surprise you at all. Of course Tom is good at everything.

Has encountered all the snakes on Hogwarts grounds by his second year and stays informed on snake society gossip.

He may or may not ask little grass snakes to follow you around and report back to him if you’re seeing any other boys.

He’s more than once fallen asleep while reading.

Keeps himself awake while studying at night by sucking on sour candies.

Doesn’t like mornings. Doesn’t like evenings. Hates every single day that he’s alive. Lives out of spite, mostly.

Likes night time though, because he can sneak into the Restricted Section.

Pretends he’s ignorant of most muggle devices, like cars and radios, in the hope that his Slytherin colleagues will be more accepting of him.

Physically, a very skinny boy. His elbows hurt after laying them on the desk for hours and hours while writing. His hip bones show. He can count his own ribs. He doesn’t feel very confident about his body, so he decides to pay no attention to it.

His hands and feet are always cold. His body can never muster up enough blood that he could blush. He gets papercuts easily and heals quite slowly.

It takes him months to realise — during a random moment while he’s pouring himself a cup of pumpkin juice — that your offering to “kiss it better” was actually flirting.

The first time he got sick was while he was at Hogwarts. While he was at the orphanage, he seemed to have subconsciously known that he couldn’t afford to get sick, so at the first opportunity, his body reacted against everything that had built up in him.

He’s good at maintaining his health once he gets it back, mainly for practical reasons: the healthier he is, the more he can spend time studying.

The first time he’s invited to a wealthy friend’s home for spring break, he realises he hates wizards almost as much as he hates muggles. The parents in turn admire him for his good grades, are envious of him for his bloodline, and talk down to him because of his mixed blood and his growing up poor.

For the first time, Tom doesn’t feel any more at home in the magical world than in the muggle world. He has a touch of an existential crisis over it for a few weeks before he just channels that into feeling more angry and determined to beat them all at their own game (magic)

He ignores your encouragement, along with everyone else’s, that he should be employed by the Ministry once he graduates because what he really wants is to teach DADA and “collect” students just like Professor Slughorn did.

And he’s kind of surprised that you stick by him anyway and move into a squalid flat on Knockturn Alley when he gets that soul-sucking job at Borgin and Burkes instead.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle headcanons #sswallow;made a thing #sswallow;headcanons #HP

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