valkyrielevitt - Tumblr blog

valkyrielevitt · 7 months

Text

Porphyria's Lover

Tom Riddle x Reader

Summary: The simple act of killing is no longer sufficient for Tom to form a horcrux. As he attempts to sever his soul for the sixth time, he comes across a frustrating limitation.

Inspired by Robert Browning's poem of the same name.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Tom is obsessed (and sort of in love) and bad!! He is bad in this!!! He murders the reader!!

The rain set early in tonight,

The sullen wind was soon awake,

It tore the elm-tops down for spite,

and did its worst to vex the lake:

I listened with heart fit to break.

From the armchair across the room Tom watched the glow of the fireplace with a faraway gaze. The flame had withered away to something small and pathetic, beckoning the shadows of the room to spill out from their corners.

In his hand his wand lay cool and docile, the slender point of it pressing a divot into the tip of his finger. The surface of it was speckled like bleached bone, chalky white like quicklime.

When glided in Porphyria; straight

She shut the cold out and the storm,

And kneeled and made the cheerless grate

Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;

Snapped from his reverie by the sound of the old house door swinging open and shut again, Tom waited quietly as the sound of hurried feet grew closer. They came to a stop outside the dusty parlour room, and as the door swung open, the familiar cause was revealed to him.

His favourite.

Soaked through to the skin and with cheeks whipped raw from the wind outside she looked an endearingly pitiful scene. It didn’t irritate Tom in the slightest. He had always been more lenient with her. More forgiving.

A sigh of relief left her cold lips and silently she moved towards the hearth, kneeling beside the ashy grate to stoke the flames to a more triumphant height. The room must have been so cold, he thought, though he couldn’t feel a difference when the fire blazed once more. In fairness, he never felt much of anything these days.

Standing again she began to remove her waterlogged coat, her gloves, her hat. Her white shirt was wet in places, and through a little translucent patch on her sleeve he could see the pulsing dark mark on the surface of her skin. It was practically carved into her flesh,a product of his crude administration. He had forced her to forgive him. It had been his very first attempt, he reasoned.

And, last, she sat down by my side

And called me. When no voice replied,

She put my arm about her waist,

And made her smooth white shoulder bare,

And all her yellow hair displaced,

And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,

And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,

‘Tom’ , his favourite’s voice cut through the quiet, but he acknowledged her only by meeting her gaze. It was rare for him to hear that name; he could only stand hearing it from her mouth, in her voice. It was the only way to make it sound palatable to him.

At his silence she moves towards him, settling herself on his lap as she so often does when they’re alone. Faintly he acknowledges how the dampness of her clothes transfers to his as she presses tight against him, her fingers run across the front of his robes.

His first companion. His favourite.

Her fingers come up to open the buttons of her blouse, revealing an inch of chilled flesh with each unfastening. With one last tug of fabric, she reveals to him the serpentine locket pressing cold against her sternum. It is her most precious task to keep, and she had sworn to him that she would never take it off so long as she lived. He used to find himself jealous of that severed piece of his soul, mood soured by the knowledge it would always rest against her body no matter where she went.

Murmuring how she loved me—she

Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavor,

To set its struggling passion free

From pride, and vainer ties dissever,

And give herself to me forever.

His fingers came to rest against her collar, smoothing over the chain of the locket, and hers went to brush a stray curl from his forehead.

‘You’ve gone so pale, Tom’ she says quietly, but he knows that’s not all that’s changed. Her finger moves to brush over his brow, to trace the socket of one of his eyes. It’s hard for her to say for certain in the dim firelight, but she could almost swear that the brown of his iris had bled into a deep shade of red.

But passion sometimes would prevail,

Nor could tonight’s gay feast restrain

A sudden thought of one so pale

For love of her, and all in vain:

So, she was come through wind and rain.

Be sure I looked up at her eyes

Happy and proud; at last I knew

Porphyria worshiped me: surprise

Made my heart swell, and still it grew

While I debated what to do.

He had noticed the changes himself, a product, he assumed, of his recent ventures into fracturing his soul. He knew that many thought his actions excessive, that one or two horcruxes should surely have been enough, but if she thought the same she never dared to mention it.

The physical changes had been the first indication that he was pushing the limits of magic just a little bit further than the human body could suffer. With each severance of his soul it felt as if he was pushing against some great, impenetrable barrier, and as each horcrux was made, that barrier would give, just a little.

But lately it had become harder. The push required greater effort. Sometimes the simple act of killing just wasn’t enough.

At first any murder had been sufficient to fragment his soul. The method and the victim carried very little significance in the success of the procedure, but now, as Tom prepared to sever his soul for the sixth time, he was met with resistance. He had tried three times already, killing two muggles and a half-blood but with little success. It had brought him to one conclusion: The simple act of killing just wasn’t enough, and for Tom, murder had become just that - a simple affair.

His favourite leans forward. Cold lips meet, and her body goes pliant.

That moment she was mine, mine, fair,

Perfectly pure and good:

Tom knew what needed to be done. He kissed her again one last time, before pulling back, keeping her at arm’s length to admire her. To commit her to memory.

I found

A thing to do, and all her hair

In one long yellow string I wound

Three times her little throat around,

And strangled her.

She hardly moved as he wound her wet hair around her neck, and in her eyes he detected only a momentary lapse in her loyalty.

How strange he thought, as he began to pull that devotion which had drawn him to her was the very thing that would get her killed.

As her twisted hair tightened like rope, she surged into motion. Her frostbitten fingers clawed at whatever they could reach: her neck, his hands, his face. She pushed his head weakly, as though suddenly, after all these years, she could not stand to look at him anymore. He couldn’t blame her, and as one final act of mercy he tugged her against him, slotting her face into the crook of his neck as he gave one last fierce tug of her hair.

No pain felt she;

I am quite sure she felt no pain.

Her body stills in his arms, and goes heavy. Inanimate. Soulless. Her leg slips from where it was kneeling astride him, the toe of her leather shoe hitting the floor with a dull thud. The noise is hollow, and she feels the same in his embrace. It is over.

As a shut bud that holds a bee,

I warily oped her lids: again

Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.

And I untightened next the tress

About her neck; her cheek once more

Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:

He kisses her cheek. It’s salty with the ghost of her final tears of resistance. Of heartbreak, perhaps, and he tries not to look too closely at the broken blood vessels bleeding blue across her face.

Instead he takes her hair, combs it loose with his fingers and arranges it across her cheek.

I propped her head up as before

Only, this time my shoulder bore

Her head, which droops upon it still:

The smiling rosy little head,

So glad it has its utmost will,

That all it scorned at once is fled,

And I, its love, am gained instead!

Something foreign settles in Tom’s chest. An ache that causes him to pull the lifeless body closer against his side, that makes him pet her hair with shaking fingers. Traitorous fingers.

He diagnoses the feeling as disgust. What sort of a death had he given her? For all her companionship and dedication, he had filthied her with this, a primitive muggle act of violence. He had granted his muggle victims the mercy of a more sophisticated death than this. It made his eyes burn and his throat constrict.

He had thought himself better than this. He knew her to be better than this.

Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how

Her darling one wish would be heard.

And thus we sit together now,

And all night long we have not stirred,

And yet God has not said a word!

And once again Tom felt that barrier shift.

#I'm a Tom Hughes Tom Riddle truther it must b said #sorry this is very dark #Porphyria's lover is my fav poem and it just fits so well #dead dove do not eat #Tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #not really canon compliant lol but we move #my writing

209 notes · View notes

valkyrielevitt · 8 months

Text

Several Perspectives on a Certain Dance

Sebastian Sallow x MC x Ominis Gaunt

Part 1 - Sebastian's Perspective

Summary: When the founders ball had been announced at the end of their 6th year, Sebastian Sallow hadn't even thought to consider who he would attend with. It seemed so obvious - he did everything with his two best friends, so why would this be any different? Unfortunately for him, his two best friends didn't quite get the memo. (aka Sebastian realises he doesn't know how to function when he's not the centre of attention, and all three friends verge on discovering they all harbour crushes)

Sebastian Sallow had found a place to hide. Or, if he was to be totally honest with himself, he had found a place to sulk.

Cool moonlight shone through the fragmented stained glass, casting an earthy green glow across the covered walkway he now sat in. He was focused absent-mindedly on the way the light gleamed as it reflected on the surface of his dress shoes, how it rippled as he rolled his foot.

It was Ominis who had to remind him to polish them before they left the dorm for the evening; he didn’t need sight in order to know Sebastian had forgotten. These were the sort of finer details that Ominis always thought of, and which never seemed to occur to Sebatian.

Through the door left ajar at the end of the glass walkway Sebastian could hear another bubble of students loudly making the journey from the great hall to their common rooms, all draped awkwardly in hand-me-down tail coats and floor length gowns. Sebastian had also struggled to make the lapels of his jacket sit flat against his chest, fought valiantly (and lost) against his bow-tie, and, at the insistence of his well-groomed best friend, attempted to tame his hair with pomade for the first time. He felt like a little boy playing dress up with his father’s clothes, suspended somewhere between a man and a child.

His mood had first started to sour as he and Ominis waited outside the Slytherin common room for MC. He was aware that his eyes were boring holes through his companion as he tried to identify the differences between the two of them. How did Ominis manage to look so well-adjusted in his sharp suit? It frustrated him to no end, and he could feel his cheeks reddening with agitation. Ominis had helped Sebastian to purchase his clothes for the ball, insisting that no, he couldn’t just wear his school shirt to the founders' ball. There are different types of shirt, Sebastian he had lectured him. The tailor at Gladrags had praised Ominis’ taste continuously as he listed off the types of cuffs, collars and gloves that Sebastian would need. The well-versed instructions of his pureblood family informing his every choice.

‘Ominis’ a far-away voice steals Sebastian’s focus from the sheen of his shoes and a tightening replaces the numbness he had been attempting to nurture in his chest. Somewhere outside of Sebastian’s line of sight, MC approaches their friend. She says something too quiet for him to hear, and he feels his nose scrunch with the effort of remaining indignant. Sebastian knows he’s failing miserably.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ominis replies, and he can hear the smile in his voice.

‘What a shame,’ she says.

MC steps away from Ominis, and for a moment Sebastian catches a glimpse of her skirt through the gap in the door.

‘You know you look very handsome tonight, Ominis. Very refined’

Sebastian’s chest feels like it’s going to cave in on itself.

‘I’ll have to take your word for it’

Sebastian remembers how excited they had all been when the theme for the ball had been announced. Professor Black, with as little enthusiasm as possible, had declared the theme to the students ahead of dinner one evening. A Night of a Thousand Stars was the order, sending the students into a flurry of excited whispers. Black’s spot at the dias was replaced by the choirmaster who rattled off the usual ball rules to a crowd of students wholly uninterested in anything but their own conversations: 6th and 7th year students only, don’t let down your house etc etc.

With a wave of her hand, the choirmaster brought the barren tables to life. Silver and deep blue fabric seeped across the dark wood, intricate glass plates covered in food crystalised out of thin air, and a miniature galaxy of stars, nebulas, and planets hovered low above the spread - a taste of what was to come. Sebastian remembers how MC’s hand had squeezed his arm in excitement.

‘I have to learn how to conjure things like this’ she had said to him, passing her hand through a constellation and knocking its stars out of place.

Suddenly MC moves, and Sebastian can see all of her through the gap in the door. Though she hasn’t noticed his hiding spot, he decides not to risk being caught. He knows he can be erratic when his emotions get the better of him, and he’s in no mood to be told how petulant he’s being.

He can already hear what she’d say to him.

You never asked me to the ball, Sebastian. You can’t be annoyed at me.

Instead he stands up from the stone bench he’s been sulking on, and turns to escape further into the castle. Far away from Ominis and his suit, the great hall and its silver gilded walls, and her. His hands reach the handle of the door at the far end of the walkway, but before he can push, there’s a groan of wood and metal hinges from somewhere behind him.

‘Sebastian?’

He freezes. It feels like he is being lowered slowly into the frozen black lake and suspended before his head is submerged. A fierce heat settles across his freckled face as he turns to look at his friend. MC stands at the entry to the walkway, and once more Sebastian scrunches his nose with the effort of remaining unaffected.

When MC had finally emerged from the common room, Sebastian felt his suit-related woes slip away. Following the theme to the letter she was a star personified, swathed in white satin that rippled with an opalescent sheen in the torchlight. A misty shade of tulle, speckled with shimmering applique lace formed short ballooning sleeves, and the whole ensemble was dusted with silver sequins, the beading swirling across the fabric like the milky way. Sebastian realised he had never seen so much of MC before, and tried in vain to avoid staring too intently at her bare arms and shoulders.

‘You look lovely’ Ominis said, and MC’s eyebrows twitched.

‘How would you know?’ she gave a playful tug at the blind boy’s waistcoat.

‘An educated guess based on Sebastian’s lack of snark’ his lips curved into a sly smile ‘No comment, Sallow?’

MC hasn’t let go of Ominis’ waistcoat, using her thumb and forefinger to keep him tethered near her side as she grins at his jibe. Sebastian feels his ears burn as he tries to think of something witty to say. Tries to ignore how handsome they look beside each other.

‘You clean up nicely. If you put this sort of effort in everyday, someone just might make an honest woman out of you’

A white-slippered foot shoots out from beneath MC’s skirt, swiping in Sebastian’s direction and narrowly missing his shins. He grins like a cat as he dodges her, enjoying how her face pinches with mock anger; clearly no amount of silk and corsetry can tame his rebellious friend, and the revelation soothes him.

‘I hardly saw you tonight’ MC probes gently, stepping into the walkway. Sebastian shrugs and makes an uninterested noise.

‘Hey,’ she says, coming over to him, her voice laced with quiet excitement ‘the Gryffindors are opening their common room for the evening, Leander has more firewhisky there’

The marginal amount of calm that her closeness had brought fizzled out in an instant. Those hushed tones and cautious glances were supposed to be for the two of them, for sneaking out of school after hours or traversing the forbidden forest without telling Ominis. Not for scheming with Prewitt or Weasley. The fact that she has invited him as an afterthought makes the pierce of jealousy more poignant. Puffing out his chest a little, Sebastian tries to deflect.

‘I’d rather not. I try to keep myself in dignified company’

Together they walked towards the great hall, Sebastian flanked on either side by his dearest friends and preening at their attention. He fakes annoyance when Ominis recounts Sebastian’s sartorial struggles, but his whole body hums with the satisfaction of their undivided attention. The conversation lulls, and Sebastian finds his attention captured by the crown of small, floating stars that MC has conjured across her updo. They wink at him, stoking his mischief, and he reaches out to pluck one for himself. MC wrestles it out of his grip and allows it to settle back in its proper place. Out of the corner of her eye she shoots him a look - his favourite one - a non-verbal promise that she secretly loves his meddling.

As they approach the great hall, more and more students litter their path. The doors are flung open, revealing a sumptuously decorated ballroom where the walls have been gilded in silver and draped in deep blue velvet. The sky that hovers above the great hall today displays the cosmos in its full, colourful glory, the planets mingling with the wafting trails of smoke that pour from perfumed torches across the room. The heady mix of aromatic herbs hits Sebastian’s nose before they even make it to the door.

‘Wait’ MC stops before they go any further ‘I should wait here’

‘Why?’

She suddenly goes sheepish. It doesn’t suit her, Sebastian thinks.

‘I have a date’

Beside him, Sebastian feels Ominis tense up. This is the first that either of them had heard about a date, and Sebastian almost can’t help the disapproving scoff that escapes him. Sure, they had never explicitly said they were going together, but hadn’t it been implied? They did everything together, why should the ball be any different? MC bristles at Sebastian’s response.

‘That’s what people do at balls, right? Ask someone to go with them’ her voice is unimpressed.

‘Who are you going with?’ Ominis’ tone softening MC’s defensive stance.

‘Prewitt.’

‘And you said yes?’ Sebastian snips.

MC’s gaze hardened once again, but before she could retort, her name was called. Leander, flanked by a few fellow Gryffindors had arrived. He looked sensible enough, well turned out in his suit, but the sight of his pale face made Sebastian’s throat seize up.

With a slightly softened gaze she said goodbye to Ominis, leaving Sebastian with only a flash of a warning stare. As MC and Leander disappeared into the incensed ballroom, Sebastian could only stare. It felt as though something was trying to pry its way out of his ribcage, something brutal and unreasonable, something that demanded attention.

‘That was unexpected’ Ominis hummed, his emotions unreadable.

Sebastian spent the entire ball trying to satisfy that beast within his chest. He tried to ignore it at first, grinning and smiling through conversations with friends from the crossed wands club but to no avail. He tried to placate it with a substitute, offering to take Nellie Oggspire on a few spins across the dance floor but the feeling hardly waned. He tried to pretend the whole ordeal had never happened, that Leander Prewitt of all people had never asked MC to the ball, and that she too had never said yes.

He tried to imagine that the three friends really did attend together, and that Sebastian was simply being gracious enough to let other people borrow her for a dance. When things got dire he even tried to imagine that she had gone with Ominis, which was far more preferable than anything the Gryffindor common room could spit out.

Eventually he decided that what he and the beast in his chest needed was a place to sulk, and he set off from the hall in search of solitude.

MC’s head tilted slightly, the green-tinged moonlight settling against her cheek.

‘I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, then,’ she says, electing to ignore Sebastian’s petulance. He nods in response but MC doesn’t move right away, instead she pins him to the spot with her gaze.

Sebastian watches as she lifts her finger up to the halo of stars arching across her head, knocking one free from its orbit and guiding it down to his hand. It hovers over his open palm, and Sebastian doesn’t know what to do with it.

‘Goodnight,’ she says, and disappears back towards the hall, searching for the gaggle of loud and unruly Gryffindors who had adopted her for the evening. With numb fingers Sebastian opens the door behind him and makes the journey back to the Slytherin common room, balancing the little star on his outstretched palm the whole time.

#hehe jealous seb #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #my writing #sebastian sallow x mc x Ominis gaunt

96 notes · View notes