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@onefaceinspace
QUESTION FOR ALL MY WITCHES
What’s your weekly witchy routine?
I’m integrating myself back into witchcraft, but I’m also neurodivergent as hell, & I need to come up with a good routine for all my witchy chores that won’t become overwhelming.
the death of dvds is so fucked. what about bonus features
There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace
Another excerpt from my WIP :) Enjoy! <3
"I've come to ask if you've made a decision," Malfoy said, straightening his shoulders and folding his hands behind his back. "You do recall my offer from the other night, don't you?"
Hermione nodded, still unsure if she'd come to a decision or not.
"I would like," she paused, "some more time to think about it."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Granger, in case you hadn't noticed," he gestured to the slow dripping IV bag of blood attached to a mobile pole that was attached to Hermione's arm, "this is a much freer option, and in case you don't recall, much more...beneficial for you."
He chose his words carefully, but the meaning stirred the heat in Hermione's cheeks. Malfoy confirmed her internal dilemma was written on her face with a sly smirk.
"What's in it for you?" She asked, setting her book on the large round table in the center of the library. Although Theo had supplied her with a constant source of dripping blood via IV, Hermione still wasn't receiving enough to sustain her strength and her magic; she once tried to transfigure a brush into a comb, but it had taken nearly all of her energy, and the comb still had bristles poking out of it at odd angles.
Needless to say, the IV was nothing like a fresh blood source. Hermione suspected the lack of energy wasn't to do with the slow drip; rather, the blood was old - stale. She wasn't sure if blood had a shelf-life, but she couldn't think of any other logical explanation. Even gulping it in copious amounts as she did with the pouches every night - Theo usually allowed them to her with dinner, but she preferred to save them for when her bloodlust woke her, as she knew it always did, and she could satisfy her thirst with a bloody tasty orgasm.
Yet, it did nothing to satiate her bloodlust like the taste of fresh, magical blood from the heir of the Malfoy family, one of the most ancient and powerful of the Sacred Twenty-Eight - of all the wizarding world.
She made a mental note to write it down and tell Theo about her theories. Hermione already began keeping a journal to document her experience; Rosmerta Nott's journal had been nothing short of informative as she navigated her newfound reality.
In short, she was immensely grateful for the journal.
"Nothing," he replied coolly, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets as he usually did in his typical display of arrogant nonchalance.
"Bullshit," Hermione spat. "Everyone knows the Malfoys don't do anything without ulterior motives. There has to be something in it for you."
"Who said anything about ulterior motives?" His voice raised slightly, then he inhaled sharply. "Forgive me," he muttered. Then a bit louder, steadier, he said, "Fine, since you already find me so duplicitous, then I'll tack on something for me."
Hermione crossed her arms, a question and a statement all in one.
"A favor. To cash in at a time and place of my choosing."
She supposed that was fair. At least this way, he couldn’t say she owes him. "Fine," she agreed. "Are we done here, then?"
"Not quite." Malfoy took a step forward. "I believe I should explain to you exactly why I've chosen to grant you my very generous offer."
He knew her. So well, in fact, that he turned her natural curiosity - her desire for more knowledge, more information - into his own weapon. Was it possible to both hate and admire him for it? Hermione felt something broiling in her gut, something angsty and tense.
He won this round.
"Since you're making it a habit of offering yourself willingly, be my guest."
I present y’all with:
the quiz to finally end the discourse
Are you a Soldier, A Poet, or A King?
warning, this quiz goes unexpectedly hard
write weird shit. Write indulgent au fanfiction and self insert fics. Write creepy horror scenes and random character crossover dialogue. Write in a different genre. Write that sex scene that you know won’t make the cut. Write about sentient furniture turning into werewolves that try to date your MC. Write whump or hero/villain fic. Write your kink. Write your worst nightmare. Write your delusions of power and fantasies of control. Write whatever the fuck you feel like. Write whatever comes to mind. You don’t have to share it with anyone (but you can). Your writing impulses don’t define your morality anymore than your reading preferences, and actually going outside your comfort zone will improve your writing skills (making a horrifying villain sympathetic requires good characterization). Even if it doesn’t improve your skills, that’s still something you created out of nothing. It’s still valuable. Don’t let purity culture kill your creativity. That’s how culture stagnates. That’s how writing stops being fun.
There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace
Oh look, another rough draft slipped from my document and onto this post. Whoops! Enjoy <3
"Theo and I don't blame you, you know," he offered unexpectedly.
Hermione shook her head, meeting his cold gaze. "Don't pretend to care about me now, Malfoy." She began walking away, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the pale-haired Slytherin.
Yet he proved to be relentless. She heard the thud of his footsteps on the ground behind her as he followed.
"Who says I don't?" He shouted behind her as her steps quickened.
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "You."
His head jerked back. "Explain."
Hermione scoffed. "Explain? Do you not remember relentlessly torturing me and my friends at Hogwarts?"
"Ah yes, The Chosen Git and his Weasel."
She rolled her eyes; the inkling to suffocate him was tempting.
"That doesn't prove anything, you know," he called once more behind her as she turned to walk away again.
"All right, I'll humor you," Hermione muttered and walked back to him. "How so?"
"That was the past," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms in that smug son-of-a-bitch way he always did. "That was then, this is now. People change."
"Not everyone." There was venom in her voice.
"Well, I suppose I deserved that." Malfoy relaxed his arms and stuffed them into the pockets of his trousers, gazing upwards at the constellations. "I haven't exactly had the chance to make up for...Everything."
Hermione quirked a brow. "Make up for what?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I should've known you'd want specifics," he said, except he smirked. "Granger," he began seriously, his body straightening. "I'm sorry for relentlessly torturing you, as you so truthfully put it, during our school years. You didn't deserve that."
She shrugged one shoulder. "I accept, I guess."
"No," Malfoy shook his head, "that doesn't cut it for me. I don't want half-assed forgiveness."
"Well I don't want a half-assed apology."
"I know! That's why I'm trying to--" Malfoy huffed and closed his eyes, taking an additional steadying breath. "Granger, please believe me when I tell you I'm being sincere. And to prove it to you, I'd like to offer you a deal."
"A deal?"
"Well, it's mostly for your benefit. I get nothing, so it's not really a deal, but I wouldn't necessarily put it in the same realm as a favor."
"What is it?" Hermione waved her hand impatiently, urging Malfoy to get the hell on with it already.
"I want you to drink my blood."
Hermione shook her head. "No," she said immediately. Her salivary glands felt differently, however; she felt her mouth pooling like it did when her parents cleaned her teeth and her mouth was open for long periods of time -
"See, I thought you'd say that--"
"Absolutely not, Malfoy!" She shouted, disturbing a nearby owl in its slumber as it cooed in the nighttime and fluttered away.
Malfoy's chest heaved as he took a large breath. "Hermione," he started, his voice dangerously low.
"I'm not scared of you," she spat, still walking away from him.
Malfoy caught up within a few lengthy strides and spun her around. Using his wand, he sliced his palm, letting the blood seep through his wound before holding it out to Hermione.
Her eyes fluttered the moment they laid on his palm, and she took a step back from him.
"Malfoy," her voice a near whisper, "what are you doing?"
"You know you want it." He stepped closer to her, and her back met the trunk of the tree previously belonging to the owl. His voice dropped to that dangerous growl. “You know you want to taste me."
Hermione took a shuddering breath when his hand found her waist, holding her there. Malfoy knelt on both knees, holding up his right palm for her to -
"Drink," he commanded, and as if under the Imperius curse, Hermione jerked forward and grabbed his hand in between hers, bringing the callused skin of his palm to her lips.
There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace
Another glimpse into my work in progress! <3 Enjoy!
Hermione's torso shot up straight, jolting her from her sleeping position. Her pillows were crushed from the thrashing of her fists, and her jaw felt oddly sore, as if she had been masticating in her sleep.
She felt incurably thirsty. Her throat itched with a scratchy rawness that felt entirely foreign to her. She reached for her bedside carafe of water, pouring glass after glass until it was empty.
Hermione waved her hand wordlessly; a summoning spell so well-rehearsed it was second nature. Her wand appeared in said hand in an instant, and she refilled the carafe.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Her thirst remained, if not more intense. Subconsciously, in the back of her mind, a more coherent version of herself was scolding her for using magic at a time when she most definitely shouldn't be.
Images from her dream flashed in her mind, and Hermione's mouth began drooling with the intensity of a starved animal having its first feast.
Blood. She needed blood.
She reached for her bedside drawer, for the small pouch that Theo supplied for her with the instruction to "sip sparingly." The stores wouldn't last long, and they needed as much time as possible to find a cure; Hermione had to make the store stretch as much as she could.
Hermione scrambled out of bed at the sight of it and ripped open the packet, gulping down the entire store of blood before she could think better of it. She dropped the empty container and it hit the floor with a soft thud. She gingerly touched her lips and found them damp, her fingers covered in a dark red liquid that shimmered and sparkled in such a way that increased the flow of saliva in Hermione's mouth.
More. She needed more.
She cursed herself for not having the foresight to protect the small pouch that was supposed to last her the next seven days. A week's supply at a time, to ensure Hermione didn't blow through it all at once.
Before she could think, Hermione wrapped an oversized knit cardigan around herself and rushed to her living room. There was one image in her mind, taunting her thoughts and enticing her temptation.
She shouted the location of Nott Estate, feeling both ferally aware and out of control of her own body as it moved mechanically from the Floo parlor, past the sitting room--she failed to notice the murmurs behind the closed doors, glowing lights appearing underneath the cracks--and to the terrace.
Hermione took the marble stairs down from the balcony and down to the gardens. Her feet moved with a purpose, only one destination in mind. All she saw was red, everywhere she looked, her tongue continuously finding itself slithering across her lips with an insatiable hunger.
She followed the same path through the gardens that she did with Theo only days before, her legs on autopilot as they carried her through the expansive family cemetery.
Hermione approached the mausoleum and uttered the password Theo did during their previous trip to the tomb. She descended the staircase with urgency and managed not to trip and fall on her way down.
What happened next hadn't registered in her mind until it was too late. Her mind had been too occupied, too focused. Her tunnel vision gave her one image, one goal, and she had failed to remember the wards placed on the secondary entrance to the tomb.
All it took was one second for Hermione to reach out for the door and place her hand on it before her entire body convulsed with a sudden jolt, as if she had been electrified.
The pain was excruciating, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It felt like Bellatrix--no, worse than Bellatrix.
Her insides burned as if they were engulfed in flames, intense heat searing into her veins and her bones with every movement. There was a high-pitched nose, a piercing scream. Was that her? The noise intensified, and she felt it reverberating within her bones, aggravating the heat within her and stoking the fire.
And then she blacked out.
He’s taking a nap
How many writers does it take to change a lightbulb?
None. They all stare at their dozens of partially-changed lightbulbs and daydream about changing lightbulbs instead of actually changing the lightbulb, scroll through Tumblr and look at memes about changing lightbulbs instead of actually changing the lightbulb, and lie awake at 3 AM staring at the ceiling hoping that the lightbulb will magically change itself instead of actually changing the lightbulb.
There's Nothing Scarier Than a Hungrier Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace
Enjoy another rough draft scene from my WIP <3
In the center of the chamber sat a large chest. It was a simple stone rectangle with crack several inches beneath the top. With another muttered incantation under Theo's breath, the lid began sliding off in a slow, mechanical movement. Hermione covered her eyes as the sound of stone scraping against stone clanged against her ears and chilling her bones.
Her eyes had scrunched close, and she opened them to find Theo holding several long-necked vials between his fingers. The liquid inside was a deep maroon, teetering on the border of scarlet and burgundy. Perhaps the light had been tricking her eyes, but Hermione could have sworn she saw the liquid glitter with the rest of the jewels in the room.
With an inquisitive tilt of her head, she asked him a silent question.
"Pure blood," Theo said, emphasizing the break in between the words. He cleared his throat. "Let me clarify. Pure as in there is magic in every cell. Or, think of it as Muggle blood types."
"Except having the wrong type causes you to lose your magic, apparently," Hermione retorted, her statement dripping with sarcasm.
She changed the subject, averting her attention back to the vials that Theo was retrieving from the stone chest.
"This is the blood of your ancestor, isn't it." She didn't bother phrasing it as a question.
"Actually," Theo had the audacity to grin, "this is the blood of willing pure blood donors, so it's ethically sourced."
Hermione released a sudden bark of a laugh at his comment. "Ethically sourced?" She mimicked. "And what do you supposed I do--drink it?"
Theo's grin vanished instantly, indicating the seriousness of his implication.
"Yes, that's precisely what you need to do."
Hermione felt her face pale. Something in her screamed that this was wrong; it felt awfully similar to cannibalism.
Theo waved his wand and the vials vanished, presumably to some place safe in his estate.
"Look, Hermione," her Slytherin companion started gently, gesturing to the chest before them containing more vials of blood, "these are here because my ancestor went through the same thing. Like I said, the blood was given willingly, by people my family trusted."
"No offense Theo, but I don't exactly trust your family. Just you."
"None taken. What I mean by that is that this blood is safe for muggleborns. It's not going to harm you. If it would, it would've harmed my ancestor, who, like you, was a muggleborn."
Skepticism slowly subsiding, Hermione crossed her arms. "How is this supposed to help me, Theo?"
"It's not a cure, by any means. It'll help you keep your magic a little bit longer as what magical DNA you do have begins to eat away at itself."
"Like what, a parasite? A virus?" Hermione blinked and took a step back. "My body thinks my magic is--is--"
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
What if they'd been right all along? The purebloods. What if she was inferior to them?
"Hermione," he snapped his fingers in front her face. "Come back to me."
She shook her head and met his warm green gaze to steady herself. Theo had been a steady source of comfort as she went through this traumatic journey.
"Your magic is not a virus. It's yours. It belongs to you."
"Then how come I have to drink someone else's blood just to keep it?" Hermione hadn't realized the tears were there until the dam burst and her sobs broke free. "How come I have to prove myself, over and over again, that I belong in this world, that I deserve to have my magic, just like everyone else?"
Theo's heart nearly broke in two. "Hermione," he said gently, rubbing her back, "it's not you. It's a rare condition." What else could he say to comfort her, to quell her fears?
"I know, Theo," she wiped away the tears stinging her eyes, "but that doesn't matter. I'm living proof of their idiotic beliefs." She sniffled. "I prove them right."
"Not if we can help it. I swear on my life Hermione, I will never stop giving up until we find a cure for you."
His words were comforting, full of conviction and promise. She believed him fully; Theo was just as invested, if not more, in the results that could come from this.
"What's the purpose of drinking it then? Can't I just inject it?"
Theo shook his head. "I promise you, Hermione, there will come a time when everything you eat and drink feels so underwhelmingly insatiable. You could inject it, sure, but that won't be enough. Eventually," his green eyes darkened, "you'll want to drink it."
Hermione blinked, and the sudden realization of what she was to endure for the rest of her life dawned on her. Like a vampire, she'd have to drink blood in order to sustain her own magic--if she wanted magic. And what would happen if she ran through all of Theo's ancestor's blood storage before they found a cure? Her mind took the possibilities and ran with them. In every outcome, she finds herself either drinking the blood of innocent wizards just to keep her own magic or giving it up for good.
All of her years at Hogwarts--the studying, the dueling, all the magical knowledge she gained--wasted.
Theo noticed her expression falter. He waved his wand and the stone lid began lifting itself up off the grimy floor, returning to its rightful place.
He took Hermione's shoulders and shook her gently. "I know what you're thinking, and I have something that might be able to help you. Let's go back to the estate."
There's Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace
Enjoy a rough draft of the beginning scene of my current WIP <3
At first, she thought she was going crazy.
First, it was the coffee that was too sweet. Then, it was the dishes scrubbing themselves with grease.
It seemed like every wave of her wand produced the complete opposite results of what she wanted.
A week went by like that, with these mild inconveniences caused by her own wand. On one particular day, when she had been too stuck in her grief and missing her parents, she nearly snapped her wand in two after all of her inter-office memos at work had failed to arrive at their destination, thus resulting in her missing several important meetings.
Another time, her washer broke so she had to scourgify her clothing, which subsequently dissolved into thin air.
It only took a few weeks before she decided to go see someone about it.
Her first thought was Ollivander, the wandmaker. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he was a difficult bloke to track down, but Hermione managed to find him.
"Malfunctioning, you say?" The frail old man repeated her words with an astonished expression, his eyes wide and mouth gaped open. She visited him in Godric's Hollow, where many senior wizards moved post-war. The community was vital during that time, and it seemed to benefit many of them, Ollivander himself.
While older than she could fathom, the wizard wore a pleasant face she hadn't seen since the day she arrived on his doorstep and her wand chose her.
"Yes!" Hermione breathed. "Sir, I know my wand chose me, but what if--"
"No." Ollivander held out an assuring hand. "You said it, Miss Granger. Your wand chose you. No, I'm afraid there's something more insidious going on here."
Hermione faltered a step. "Like what?" Her hand instinctively reached for the ugly scar on her forearm. As if it had been summoned to life, it itched underneath her skin in response. "Do you think I'm--Cursed?"
"Most assuredly." His mouth turned to a thin line on his grim face, his small head nodding vigorously and then shaking side to side. "There could be no other explanation."
in search of: writer friends/beta reader friends
Hi friends!
My name is Allie. I'm a 23 (almost 24) year old full-time capitalist cock-sucker. Mother of 2 (felines) and wife of 1 (husband).
I'm a neurodivergent female part of multiple fandoms. :) My current fixation is Harry Potter, specifically Dramione fanfiction. (However, we don't stan Joanne on this blog.)
I'm in the midst of a few WIP's, my most current titled "There's Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch."
I've been on Tumblr sporadically over the years but never laid down roots. I've recently reconnected with my love of writing, and it's been the most freeing experience I've had in a long time. I'm looking to connect with more writers in addition to beta readers for my fanfic when it's time for that phase. (Who says you can't be both? ;)
Let me know if you'd be interested in either. I am also willing to exchange br for br.
Thank you for reading <3 Have a lovely day!
Writing yet another WIP to add to your unfinished AO3 pile.
I wrote this one today:
So I sit there in silence
And I ponder my thoughts
Storm clouds of violence
And a drought of what’s not
Bring me down from Heaven
Cause I’ve been led astray
The floodgates are open
My demons at bay
Whisper in my ear
Tell me what’s wrong
A judgmental silence
For lyrics too long
A galaxy of chaos
Swells up in my eyes
Rip apart the words
With a freeing demise
I’m holding on to holding on
Because what if it goes?
Lost in a void
Filled with highs and the lows
Mention it’s dimensions
As more than it is
Expansively diminished
Inside of a grid
Lo and behold
I’m thinking again
Waiting for my voice
But I speak with a pen
Where to go next
When it’s the pattern the same
Drown me in the shame game
I can take all the blame
Between what I am
And all that I’m not
The realization comes
That I’m stirring the pot
Thoughts to a boil
A brainstorm stew
Ideas I’ve had before
And ones I never knew
So where can I pour it
There’s mostly zombie ears
They taste the discomfort
They taste all the fears
But I pour them out
Because why do I care
I don’t fear being afraid
I fear being where
Where I understand the void
But they look right through
I want to show more than darkness
But they say that’s untrue
Where I whisper in my ear
About lyrics too long
Just trying to find out where
Where my words can belong
So I sit there in silence
And I ponder my thoughts
Hearing every small discretion
From storms that I’ve fought
Bring me back to Heaven
When my words are done
A state of mind so divine
If you know which way to run
Blood is to words
As life is to narrative
Finding meaning in either
Has always been imperative
patronising little fuck
If you're having a hard time right now, just remember there is a past version of you that is so fucking proud of how far you've come.
Try and remember that.
i took elvish in school and i fucking hated it. the teacher was like 700 years old and he'd like take us on field trips to sit on the banks of babbling brooks and watch the fall of sunlight through the leaves. my friends in spanish class were like conjugating verbs and shit and meanwhile i was in an old-growth forest being overcome with awe at the sight of a majestic stag. like uhh yeah mr autumnheart when are we gonna learn like any grammar "listen to the murmur of the wind in the treetops, and you shall find the grammar you seek" like fuck dude your pedagogy leaves much to be desired
wish I had this type of foreign language experience
