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sebastianswallows · 9 hours

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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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sebastianswallows · 15 hours

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i rest my case

#KITTEN #also #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 16 hours

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gave him a little dandy ponytail and i might be lowkey obsessed

#ponytail!#Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 20 hours

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Tom, who is cranky and annoyed, because it's too hot and sweaty outside; Tom, who is anxious and nervous, because he drank one cup too many and now is over caffeinated; Tom, who is neurotic and antsy, because he wants to be left alone; Tom, who hates being touched; Tom, who is an insufferable cunt at his worst; Tom, who..

#fuck #no wonder I relate to him so much #Tom Riddle #HP

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sebastianswallows · 24 hours

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astarion: dont u want me to ascend so i can be in the sun without the tadpole?

ascended astarion: first of all this world? gonna cover it in a shadow of fog. second of all? fuck you and fuck the sun

#honestly #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 1 day

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me at the beginning of this week: ok so I'll set up a schedule and I'll write between this hour and this hour

me today:

#bed rotting doesn't begin to describe it

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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#what a sad pretty boy #Astarion #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 2 days

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The English Client — Eight

— 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: 2.8k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

It had been several days since she’d introduced Tom to the Baron. Perhaps a full week already passed. In truth, she stopped keeping count.

She had waited outside the Baron’s office for him, and pretended it was just to make sure he didn’t lose his way on his way back to the hotel, but selfishly she was curious to know how their meeting had gone. Did the Baron like the books? Did he like Tom? Did Tom like him? The latter was unlikely. Only special personalities ever did, and her new friend was neither bootlicker nor snob.

But Tom was frustratingly silent on their way back to the station, and no gentle prodding from her would nudge a hint of what had happened. His body was stiff and straight as if in a march, and his gaze was focused on the road ahead. He spared her only a few, rather shy glances now and then, as if he had just taken something from her. There would be no further trade, she understood that much…

She hadn’t seen him since.

The old routine of life that she fell back into suddenly no longer satisfied. She frustrated herself by thinking of him now and then, his face appearing to her for an instant, and then she would start wondering where he was, what he was doing, was he thinking of her, would he ever come back… For all she knew, he had left for England already, and then she would become spontaneously angry and afraid, and her handling of the books would roughen, and her steps would sound quite loud, and nothing would taste good to her anymore.

But all it would take to lift her spirits was the chiming of the bell — was that Tom? — before she saw it was just Sister Silvia or another flock of tourists. Oh. Buongiorno.

She was stocking the shelves at the far end of the shop one morning when the bell ran once again, and through the silence, she heard steady footsteps, firm and prim and strong. She descended and went to them, and when she saw a dark head of hair and a tight lean torso in a plain white shirt, her heart trilled. She smiled as she approached him, faster, faster, and called out a bright ‘hello’. But then the young man turned and broke the spell.

“B-buongiorno,” she mumbled, stopping to a halt. “Posso aiutarla?”

“Oui, er… Si. Cercando un libro di… Torchia?” he said in lightly accented Italian. Was he French? “Quello nella vetrina.”

“Certamente. E come si chiama, signore?”

“Clement Merle,” he said with a smooth rolling of the tongue. “Piacere, signorina.”

Whatever faint smile she had faded. She realised with horror that she would have to tell the Baron about this, and suddenly everything felt quite cold. She forced a grin and nodded, and invited Clement further inside.

Tom did not particularly enjoy the taste of coffee, even after having to inflict it on himself these past few weeks for the sake of fitting in. It was a muggle drink and made him somewhat restless when he drank too much of it.

But now that he had started partaking of it on an almost daily basis, he recognised in it a certain quality. It, unlike tea, did not remind him of Mrs. Cole, nor any of the other ladies at the orphanage. Combined, they must’ve drank the Empire’s supply of the stuff while he was there, and to this day he couldn’t bring himself to touch certain varieties, like the Ceylon they favoured.

But he was here now, just another dark-haired man sipping from a little cup throughout the hour while he sat outside and pretended to read a newspaper…

The whole day, he hadn’t ventured anywhere outside of the hotel. He ordered breakfast in his room and spent most of the morning reading. Later, he had lunch at the restaurant downstairs and let the hours drain away at the bar. He hadn’t brought any books with him, they were too important — especially the ones that screamed when opened.

People came and went, and between lunch and dinnertime, he was propositioned on at least four occasions. It was hard to tell with foreign women… They were either too overt, too subtle, or both. But it reminded him, in a manner that made a chill slink down his spine and rise up in his stomach, of the Baron: that same narcissism and pride. As for the attention of the women, that reminded him of England, and his extra-contractual work for Burke. Depravity, fel need, and the loneliness of witches.

Perhaps it was their wealth that he resented, or their looks that he despised, women married for their money with the grit to bear a loveless match… Tom humiliated himself for them, swallowed his own pride, and touched, when it came down to it, their most guarded parts. But no matter what deluded charms they exercised, they never entered through his blood, his eyes, his mouth, to reach him, and Tom could not imagine any of the women he had met so far as able to, through their lips or tender touch, incite his soul to plummet to the level of the body, nor bring his body to the dark heights of his soul.

And of course, how could they? Women who had never worked a day in their lives, women who slept on treasures they neither valued nor truly recognised. Selfish creatures suffering vainly in their little cages, whose ignorance and cowardice enticed him to the brink of murder. No, now that he was away from England and free from Burke and Borgin’s demands, he would not subject himself to any more of that.

“Signor Riddle?”

He nearly jumped from his seat as he heard the clerk call for him from the entrance.

“Si?” he asked, turning around. This was the same prick who recommended that horrible restaurant to him. His eyes narrowed.

“Ah, telephone for you. Cabine two.”

“Grazie,” he muttered.

Tom left the newspaper and his cold coffee behind and walked out to the little chamber on the other side of the hotel where the phone booths were.

“Ahem, yes? Tom Riddle speaking.”

“Tom? Oh, hello! I was afraid you wouldn’t be in…”

It was her.

“Yes, took a break from sight-seeing,” he answered, casually leaning against the booth. “It’s good to hear from you again. Everything alright?”

“Of course, of course it is.”

“Really? You sound a little… nervous.” It was hard to keep the smile from his voice.

“No, everything’s fine,” she said quietly. “I just called because… because…”

Tom held the phone to his ear tightly. She sounded like she was going to cry any minute.

“Because I was wondering whether you’d be able to stop by the shop anytime soon.”

“I’d be glad to,” said Tom, summoning a tone of innocent confusion. “But what’s this about?”

“The… the Baron has reconsidered your offer.”

“He’ll trade the books?”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, the connection wavering. “I just know he wants to talk to you. He’d like to make an offer.”

“Very well. When?”

“When can you come?”

“Today.”

“Oh, that’s… That would be perfect,” she said excitedly.

“Good,” Tom smiled. “You close at half past five, yes? I can come then.”

“Thank you so much, Tom. I’ll be waiting for you inside. Bring the books with you, just in case.”

“I will,” he said. “Goodbye for now.”

“Bye…”

III

He arrived there a little early and waited for a while. He hadn’t expected to see a dark little car parked beside the shop, but at least it confirmed what he already suspected. The Baron was inside.

From the outside, the place seemed closed for the day save for a faint little light coming from a corner of the room. He knocked on the door and, as he waited for somebody to answer, he looked in through the window. There was no sign of Clement anywhere, but that volume of Torchia — the bait they set for him — was gone.

It didn’t matter what happened to Clement, of course, because Tom had been at the hotel all day which all the staff there could attest to. It might have been a little callous, sacrificing him like that, but at least it took suspicion away from him. That, and the monogrammed Swiss knife he’d left under the table. Oh well. Clement had been annoying anyway.

Like a light in the darkness, she came into view.

“Tom!” he heard her say from the other side. She rushed to open the door, her smile shaky and wide. “You came…”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” he grinned cockily as he took his coat off. “So, how have you been?”

Silent as he stepped through, she locked up again behind him, then took his coat and hung it up on the rack behind the door. There was a haunted look in her eyes that wished to say so much.

“Fine, just fine. And how are you?”

“Good,” Tom nodded. He looked down at her figure — fetching as always but closed off, tight, her legs stiff and her hands ruddy as if she’d rubbed them raw in icy water.

“Enough with the pleasantries, I haven’t got all night!” came a familiar voice from the next room.

“Si, signore.”

“Venite qui!”

With an apologetic sigh, she showed him through.

“I’ve been well, by the way,” Tom said to her. “I did so much sightseeing this past week that it was nice to rest for a few days.”

“I honestly thought you’d returned to England by now.”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry to do that.”

“And your employer?”

“Is far away. Just the way I like it,” he winked. He knew she felt the same.

She gave him a knowing smile, then stood aside as she invited him into the last room.

The Baron was there, seated in his bulky wheelchair by the table. He was smoking his pipe, or rather chewing on it, as he levelled a thick scowl at Tom. The dark surrounded them. The only point of light was a faint lamp glowing before the Baron.

“Mr. Riddle,” he said. His expression was unchanged as Tom stepped through as if he were talking to a projection in his mind and not a person right before him. “It seems we were destined to meet again.”

“And I thought you willingly invited me,” he smiled.

“I asked you to come here. I haven’t invited you to anything yet.”

Tom shrugged and looked around, pretending to be less familiar with this room than he really was.

“I must say, Baron, being called on such short notice, so suddenly and rushed… It seems, if I can afford to say so, quite unlike you.”

The old man took another puff and clenched his jaw in thought, the loose teeth creaking in his mouth.

“This place will be of interest to you, I can assure you,” he said.

“So, should I give you the books now, or…?”

The Baron and the girl behind him exchanged a look. She closed the door behind them, then moved to the left. Tom turned his head and followed her shadowed silhouette.

She bent and pulled the carpet neatly by the edge, skirt tightening enticingly around her thighs, then knelt. He couldn’t see just what she was doing, but he could hear the click of a metallic lock, and when she stepped over to the side he could see an entrance where that trapdoor was, a gaping doorway in the floor. The jaundiced light fell over a few wooden steps that descended into darkness.

Tom looked at her. She seemed quite… apprehensive, as if afraid, but proud as well to share a secret part of her with him. Tom considered using Legilimency on her to see if he was in any danger — they had probably killed Clement, after all — but he did not yet know what magical defences this place had, and now that he was so close to penetrating their little group it would have been foolish to gamble.

“Join me downstairs,” the Baron said, and as if summoned she hurried to his side to help roll him forward. “I have something to show you.”

She avoided Tom’s gaze as she walked past, and stopped at the trapdoor. The railings on its side hooked neatly underneath the wheelchair and, carefully held by his clerk, he descended. Tom followed close behind.

The steps went on for quite a while, and soon the light from upstairs vanished. He held on to the same railings as he went down step by step, further into darkness and unknown alike. He smelled wood and dirt, and the dry chill that came with old stonework.

After a while, he heard a shuffling and squeaking of wheels, which meant they’d reached the floor. Someone flipped a switch, and light pooled underneath. Tom squinted for a moment, then continued his descent. He could estimate they were some two stories deep.

A shadow began climbing toward him. He slowed his steps and, once she reached him, touched her arm. She stopped and only then looked into his eyes, their bodies were closer now than ever.

“Where does this lead?” he whispered.

“Just follow the Baron,” she said with a weak smile in an air of surrender. “I’ll be with you shortly. I just need to close the door behind us.”

“Nobody else is coming, the shop is locked up,” he scoffed.

“It’s the rule,” she said, shrugging her arm out of his grasp and climbing onward.

The Baron was waiting at the bottom and began rolling away when Tom arrived. He took a moment to look around him, but there was nothing remarkable to see. Merely an empty corridor of smooth cement, and a few electric fixtures on the walls, small lightbulbs the size of candle flames. There wasn’t even anything on the ground, although judging by the fading on the edges Tom could guess a carpet had been there not long ago.

After a few moments of walking in silence, the Baron spoke again.

“I have something for you to evaluate tonight.”

“Something?”

“A few books,” he said. “What exactly is your profession in England?”

“I serve my employer as both sales clerk and purchasing agent.”

“For how long?”

“Seven years, sir.”

“That’s not a lot,” said the old man, “for them to trust you with an international assignment like this.”

“It seems they are satisfied with my work so far.”

The Baron hummed, and Tom could tell he was trying to seem less impressed than he was. Typical of men like that, to downplay the achievements of others. A bully’s attitude. Tom could not — and indeed refused to — say that he knew muggles well, but he knew arrogance, and pride, and stuck up aristocracy.

With a prim clipping of the heels, they were joined again by his assistant. Her hands went immediately to the handles of the wheelchair and she began to help the Baron forward.

“Where’s halfway there,” she said, a little out of breath.

“Hurry up, then, before he leaves.”

Tom cocked a brow, wondering who they were referring to.

“So, how do you feel?” she asked him in a quieter voice.

“I should be asking you that,” said Tom.

“Oh, I’m fine…”

It sounded like the sort of ‘fine’ that women often gave when they had something else to say. Her large eyes, her tight closed lips, the whole nervous energy of her that night disturbed him. He liked her better up a ladder, picking dusty volumes off high shelves, her body held up in the air just by one little foot and a few fingers. Or poured over a hot desk, her breath suspended as she wrote, ink pen poised between her fingers much like a witch’s wand. Not… this. This servitude. It made bile rise up in Tom’s throat. For a moment, he imagined their places switched, then realised it would have made no difference — he was the same with Burke as she was with the Baron. He put aside this notion before it made him angry too.

They were finally approaching something different than grey walls and naked lightbulbs. Tom could see thick red drapery and lamps, and the hint of doorways further on. A single blade of light cut across the floor, shivering with hints of a figure moving on the inside.

“Now, Mr. Riddle,” said the Baron, “we’ll see if you’re worthy of carrying those books with you, and of carrying yet more.”

Tom’s left hand secured the strap of the messenger bag around his shoulder, and his left hovered at his pocket, near his wand. That had sounded an awful lot like a threat.

#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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My favorite hc about Sebastian Sallow is that he's a rebel but in the dorkiest way possible. Like, boy is literally out here getting detentions because he was at THE LIBRARY PAST CURFEW.

he was in the forbidden section studying dark magic but, pish posh, he tryin' to learn.

#so true #it's not even a HC it's actually canon #Sebastian Sallow #Hogwarts Legacy

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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Rhapsody

#so beautiful #Astarion #Cazador #Vellioth #BG3

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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Happy Harkonnens 🖤

#LOOK AT THEM BEING HAPPY #these silly little goofballs #on brand though cause the Harkonnens were the only fun part of the books too #Feyd #Dune

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sebastianswallows · 3 days

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😭 Thank you, my dear @witchyafterdark! Timeliness is definitely not one of my qualities. Mad respect for you again for evading the jaws of death so consistently, wow 😳 You must be meant for great things, and have strong feline energy.

I'm bad at talking about my qualities, but I guess that's the point of the exercise lol

I read a lot, or used to read a lot, of everything. From Marcus Aurelius to the Marquis de Sade, medieval texts on demonology, postmodernist literature, some of the classics and some of the most obscure stuff ever, I used to dip my fingers into EVERY kind of book. I'm trying to get back into that, now that I'm in a place where I can collect books again. I hate some of the stuff I've read, but in retrospect, it gives me a fair perspective of all that's out there. Comes in handy when researching for fics.

I never got any tattoos, and I'm so grateful, because I get OBSESSIVE over stuff and then I just move on to the next thing that grabs my attention. So whatever I would've gotten scribbled on me would've been cringe eventually 😂

I'm not dependent on pretty much anything. I set out a goal pretty early on in life that I don't want my mood to rely on anything, so I avoid coffee, never smoked, etc. If I'm addicted to anything, it's cat videos.

Because I'm chronically online, I'm familiar with a lot of media, so I can have conversations with anyone about anything even if the thing they like isn't exactly my style.

I have a mostly functional relationship with food, so I can eat and drink stuff I don't really like just because it's healthier. Other people can't get themselves to do it and it sort of baffles me, cause while I enjoy tasty things too, I can put my personal tastes aside pretty easily.

Tagging: @esolean @cosmicswan @ars-slytherin @ominisss @metal-mouse @cyan1decandy @slytherins-heir

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool) 💜💜

😭😭😭😭 the fact that I’m anyone’s favorite follower is insane to me but thank you dear! ❤️

Okay five things that I like about myself!

1. I’m a supportive friend. I always go to bat for my friends and I’m always willing to lend an ear whenever they need support.

2. I’m a strong person. I’ve been through a lot in my life and I’ve done a great job at pulling myself out of some dark places and remaining resilient.

3. I’m a friendly person who loves talking to and getting to know people, even though I can be a little awkward about it at first.

4. I’m cute as heck! I have a cute face and I love my hair lmao 😂

5. I’m versatile and adapt to new things quickly and eagerly

Gonna tag my favorite followers instead of sending cause I’m pretty sure a bunch of my followers have already gotten one of these so I don’t want to make them do it again (plus tagging is easier anyway!)

@ellivenollivander @damn-it-a-hogwarts-legacy-blog @margottheviking @little-emerald-snake @skittish1807 @applinsandoranges @rgbbutnoy @eternalremorse @cuffmeinblack @slytherin-paramour 💚

#tag game #this literally took me weeks to do #number five was a stretch lol I don't particularly like that about myself it's just a thing

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