seen from T1
seen from Türkiye
seen from Thailand
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Lithuania
seen from Thailand
seen from Russia
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Brazil
seen from Türkiye
seen from Vietnam
seen from Türkiye
seen from Maldives
Just finished Reading the First book of “The House in the Cerulean Sea“ and got invested!!!!!! Time to give my Asahi Obsession on this account some Company Obsessions of mine starting now.
Look at These sweethearts. Still figuring out how I See them and the Kids.
هناك ارواح اتت الأرض..
لتحارب .. تكسر ..وتحرر
تحارب العادات العقيمة..
وتكسر كارمات الاهل..
لتحررهم من لعنات امتدت لعقود
قد تنكسر ..تُحرق..
لكنها تنهض كل مرة من جديد
لا تعيش في نطاق المكان ..
لايحكمها زمان..
لا تُكرر ولا تستبدل..
ليست نسخا بل ارواح اصيله.
♡لمياء
⚡️
Gummy Bears And Reunions - Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem! Reader
Pairing: Natasha (Phoenix) Trace X Fem!Reader
Category: Fluff
Summary: After a long deployment, you get the chance to tap Natasha out. But despite being so excited to see her, you can't help but want to mess with her just a tiny bit.
Based on this ask here!
Masterlist
Warnings: Inaccurate military knowledge and depictions. Natasha does pick reader up. Natasha calls reader petnames like baby and peach. No use of Y/N, no physical description of reader.
Edited ❤️
Notes: I know most tap outs are apart of air force graduations, however for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that you can tap loved ones out after certain long deployments. Also thank you so much for requesting this! This was so much fun to write, and I hope this justice to your ask!❤️❤️
Natasha was finally coming home after two long months. It had been a longer deployment than expected.
The squadron had decided to have a tap out ceremony after such a long deployment with family and friends and you were excited. Natasha was finally coming home after a long deployment and you were about to make it a moment. You had missed her dearly, but part of you knew that you might not have another chance to get to mess with her like this.
You spotted her immediately as you walked to the section where they were all standing. She was standing tall, her bun having a few stray hairs out lining her face. Her face was unreadable except for the subtle shift in her eyes the second they landed on you.
She saw the bag of gummy bears in your hand and the very familiar smirk that curled onto your lips that told her you were about to cause trouble.
Her jaw tensed as she fought a smile. You knew she was already plotting revenge for what you were going to do and she wasn’t even out of formation yet, but you couldn’t pass up this opportunity.
You walked over and stood right in front of her and holding the gummy bears up in a slow, exaggerated motion and popped one in your mouth, never breaking eye contact.
She blinked, and you tilted your head and chewed, humming at the flavor. "These are really good! You should have one." you said softly, a smirk resting heavy on your lips.
She subtly raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching at the corners as she tried to stay focused on not breaking.
Then you ate another one, and then another. “Oh no. I might run out before I remember to tap you out. That’d be tragic.” you said dramatically hand coming to rest on your forehead for dramatic effect, just loud enough for her to hear.
From the side, Hangman let out a stifled snort. Natasha’s eyes narrowed just slightly, and you could see how badly she wanted to break the rules and snatch the bag right out of your hand.
But rules were rules and until you tapped her out, she had to wait. So you made a show of pulling out a red gummy bear and holding it between two fingers because you knew it was her favorite.
You watched her face twist a bit more, and you finally decided to walk up close to her, figuring your little bit has gone on long enough.
Because you really just wanted to hug your girlfriend now.
As you finally walked up to her you noticed her helmet was still under one arm, but her eyes had already melted into something so tender it made your throat tighten, as she looked over you.
You finally tapped her shoulder, and the second your fingers touched her shoulder, she dropped her helmet and wrapped her arms around you instantly. You squeaked a bit as your feet lifted off the ground, and you buried your face in her neck, practically trembling in her arms from how much you'd missed her.
“God I missed you, Tasha.” you said, your voice muffled slightly by her shoulder.
She held you even closer to her. Her hand rubbing slow motions against your spine.“Not as much as I missed you. You brat.”
You giggled loudly as she put you back on the ground. “It was a really good bit, you know it too.” you said as you looked at her with a big smile on your face.
“I swear, if you hadn’t tapped me out when you did, I was going to risk it all. I’ve been waiting to see my girl for months and she made me wait even longer just to eat four gummy bears in front of me.” She muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you
“It was actually five” you corrected. “And I saved you a red one.” You said before slipping it into her hand with a quick wink.
She just stared at you with a raised eyerbrow before smiling and shaking her head as she kissed your cheek, slow and warm, whispering, “God I love you, Baby.”
After she collected her gear the two of you made your way through the crowd, hands tangled as you walked back to the parking lot. You reached the edge of the parking lot where your car was parked under a tree, and you were still smiling when you unlocked the car with a beep.
But before you could even open the door, sudden arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you clean off the ground.
“Oh my god! ‘Tasha!” you shrieked, laughing wildly as your feet left the pavement and you were spun in a full circle. She only stopped when your forehead dropped to her shoulder and you were laughing so hard you had to catch your breath.
She nuzzled her nose into your neck, holding you close like she never planned to let go again. “That was for making me wait while you taunted me with gummy bears.”
You scrunched your nose up as you laughed in her arms. “You’re very dramatic for someone who flies jets for a living, 'Tasha.”
“And you’re very cute for someone who eats my favorite candy in front of me and the reunion i've been waiting months for.” she countered, finally setting you down, rubbing her hands down your arms before her hands settled on your low back.
You leaned in, bumping your forehead against hers. “I’ll buy you a ten pack if it makes you happy.” you say with a giggle.
Natasha laughs back, pulling away slightly to look at your face. “A ten pack? Wow, peach. Might just have to marry you at this rate.”
You smiled so wide your cheeks ached as you responded “Good. Was kinda hoping you’d be stuck with me forever.”
Natasha looked at you then, her expression soft as she opens the car door for you. “Peach, I want nothing more than that."
WITCH FROM OTHER TIME
Tom Riddle (pre-Voldemort) x Original Female Character (Alhena)
Genre: Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Dark Magic, Drama, Slow Burn, Smut
Timeline: Canon Divergence - Year 5 (Harry Potter) / Tom Riddle adult era (1950s)
Tags: time Travel, enemies to Lovers, Obsessive Tom Riddle, latin Witch OC, ancient Magic, mind Magic, Forbidden Love, Mental Bond, Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Angst, Dream Manipulation, Magical Rituals, Found Family, Voldemort Redemption Arc.
CAP. 12
Darkness still covered the room when Tom opened his eyes. For a long moment, he did not move. The curtains remained drawn, thick enough to block the morning entirely, yet he already knew several hours had passed. The silence of the manor had changed. The distant pipes behind the walls had warmed. Somewhere below, the house-elves had already begun moving through the kitchens. It was already morning and still, the remnants of the dream clung to him with unusual clarity.
Was that really a dream? - He thought, whatever it was, it was a problem, Tom remained lying against the dark sheets, gaze fixed on nothing as fragments continued surfacing uninvited behind his eyes.
He concentrated on himself, there was rain, but it didn't feel like English rain. He remembered it felt warmer… somehow, even heavy against green leaves instead of stone streets. He also remembered the scent of wet earth so vividly it almost felt real even now.
Then that laughter, the boy’s voice. Messy dark hair. Sharp eyes. Reckless energy. Must be that Sirius friend that she talks a lot.
The memory — if that was what it had been — had carried no fear. No caution. Only familiarity so natural it almost felt careless. And that feeling, that unknown feeling. Tom’s brow faintly tightened.
Like something in his chest, it wasn't desire nor obsession, something quieter, safe and new. The sensation disturbed him more than the nightmares he used to have as a kid.
Because he understood fear, he understood the sharp pulse of humiliation, the cold instinct of survival, the anger buried beneath tears. Those emotions had appeared in the dream too — vivid and familiar enough that he recognized them immediately.
When he saw the child version of Althea alone in the woods. The fear when voices shouted at her. The humiliation, the fury. Those emotions fit neatly into things he already understood. But the others… The softness around that boy’s presence. The strange ache of belonging. The simple comfort of being wanted without condition. Tom stared upward into the darkness. Foreign. Entirely foreign.
And yet when he recalled those moments now, he could still feel traces of them lingering faintly beneath his ribs like residual magic. His jaw tightened. He had entered minds before. Bent them. Broken them. He had done it just like opening locked doors. But this had not felt like Legilimency. There had been no force, there was no force, no resistance. The dream had reacted to both of them at once, it was mutual.
That alone unsettled him. Slowly, Tom sat up against the headboard, one hand resting against his mouth as his thoughts sharpened.
It had been her mind. He was almost certain of it now. Not only because of the emotions, but because of the details. The world inside the dream had been wrong. Subtly at first. Then impossibly so, the clothing, the architecture. The faint glow of unfamiliar lights beyond windows. Objects he could not identify. He remembered catching glimpses of towering structures unlike anything in London. Strange metallic shapes moving through crowded streets without magic. Glass brighter and smoother than anything common in Britain now.
At first he had assumed cultural differences. But culture alone did not explain it. Nor did it explain the feeling that everything he had seen belonged to another time entirely. His expression darkened slightly. Interesting. He felt excited, he smiled for himself. Because Althea herself never spoke like someone from his world either. Even when she tried. There were moments her phrasing shifted oddly. References she stopped midway through. Behaviors that did not entirely fit this decade no matter how carefully she adjusted herself.
And now this.
Tom leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against his knees. Time. The possibility settled into place slowly, dangerously.
Absurd, but not impossible. Magic had bent far stranger laws before, but it is a powerful kind of magic, hard to do by yourself alone, he knows there are some instruments that can help you travelling, but he hadn't seen one in her, nothing suspicions on her possessions
A faint sound pulled him from his thoughts — movement somewhere deeper in the manor. He ignored it. Instead his mind drifted unwillingly back toward the final moment of the dream.
The clearing.
How she turned toward him.
That look on her face when she saw him there.
Not fear, just surprised.
“…Tom?” The memory replayed with unsettling precision.
She had been conscious. He was certain of it. Which meant she remembered too. A slow exhale left him.
For the first time in years, Tom found himself facing something he could neither fully predict nor entirely control, maybe he could, but it would take time to really know her
And instead of disliking it—
His mouth curved faintly.
He found himself wanting to see how far it went.
Tom stood at last.
The room had grown quieter somehow. Or perhaps his thoughts had simply become louder.
With a lazy movement, he pushed the covers aside and crossed toward the window. Heavy curtains shifted open at the flick of his fingers, allowing pale morning light to spill into the room. Cold, grey, predictable London. For a moment he simply stared outside, one hand slipping into his pocket while his gaze wandered across the grounds below.
Everything remained where it should be, orderly and understandable. His eyes drifted toward the gardens, and there, moving along one of the stone paths, he spotted Althea. She was alone, just there with a book tucked beneath one arm and looked entirely unaware she was being watched. There was nothing unusual at first. She walked slowly through the gardens, occasionally glancing around as if simply passing time. Then her pace slowed near one of the flowerbeds. She stopped. Bent slightly. Tom narrowed his eyes. She looked at the flowers but went directly through the weeds.
Tiny wild plants growing between the stones and around the edges of the garden beds, things most people would ignore entirely. For a moment she simply crouched there, brushing loose strands of hair away from her face as she examined them. Then she reached forward. With her hand, she merely touched one of the leaves.
Tom felt it immediately. She was doing magic. He is sensitive to magic, yes. But why does this feel so easy?
It wasn't a spell, nor magic being cast, it was as simply as magic reacting, like if by touching it the weeds would know what they need to do.
The sensation that Tom was feeling was subtle but unmistakable, brushing through the air so naturally that for a second he almost doubted himself. The plants beneath her fingertips shifted ever so slightly, not unnaturally, not violently. Slowly. Softly. As though they had leaned toward her. A dead stem curled upward again. Leaves that had yellowed around the edges regained traces of green. Tiny roots beneath the soil seemed to stir.
Tom's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened, interesting, very.
There had been no command in it. No force or domination, not even taking. Nothing had been bent to her will.
His fingers stilled slightly against the windowsill. Because for one impossible moment, that strange sensation from the dream returned. That warmth feeling, nothing like desire or obsession, he does know both, but he couldn't name what he was feeling, it was softer, quiet. Immediately he realised that that feeling was not his, it was hers. His jaw shifted faintly, naturally. He remembered fragments again without wanting to, the rain its smell, the laughter, that reckless dark-haired boy. That family time… is that a feeling of belonging?, that warmth sensation… he thought.
He was genuinely curious or interested in finding out—something he’d never admit out loud. But
Is that really how he feels? Why does he feel it through her memories or her mind? What is connecting them?
There are a lot of questions coming, a lot of possibilities to feel the unknown…
This was apparently a dream. But if he enters her mind, will he be able to feel those emotions more vividly, he thought
Tom stared at her a while longer. Slowly... very slowly, the corner of his mouth lifted. "...What exactly are you and why are you here?" he murmured to himself.
Almost as if she had heard him, Althea suddenly stilled below. Tom's expression remained unchanged, but he noticed that, of course.
She looked down first, toward her hand still resting among the leaves. Then slowly her head turned up directly toward his window.
She looked at him, like when someone calls you and you wait for them to tell you why they’re calling or what they need. For a brief second neither moved, even from this distance he could see it — that tiny narrowing of her eyes.
Had she felt me, did she hear me? - he thought, Tom did not step away.
Did not pretend otherwise. Instead he simply held her gaze, deliberately, he tilted his head once.
Down below, he watched confusion briefly cross her face before she straightened, brushing dirt from her hands. She stared another second longer before crossing her arms suspiciously. Tom made a wry smile.
By afternoon, they would be leaving for Ollivanders. And for the first time in years, he found himself genuinely but strangely interested in the afternoon ahead.
Tom held her gaze for another moment through the glass before finally stepping away from the window. He had no intention of standing there like some schoolboy caught staring. Still, the corner of his mouth remained faintly curved as he crossed back toward the room. Curious. That alone should have irritated him. Instead, his thoughts followed her downstairs while he dressed. Dark robes today. Not formal enough for ceremony, not casual enough for comfort. He adjusted the cuffs slowly, gaze drifting briefly toward his reflection.
Tom had always understood appearances. Power announced itself before words ever could. People trusted elegance. Respected confidence. Fearing certainty. And fear, he had learned young, arrived far easier when wrapped in something beautiful.
By the time he descended the staircase, the manor had fully awakened. He found her near the kitchen entrance.
Althea stood near one of the windows, sleeves rolled slightly past her elbows, trying to make portals with her hands – small, circular ones, in blue and pink.
She managed to make a circle, reached her hand through It and grab a biscuit from the other end of the kitchen. When she hears him come in, she startles and everything fades away.
“Oh Hey” she looked the way he was dressed “ are you going Somewhere?”
He stared at her for a moment, she look so relaxed in his space… she hides things, it's obvious, but she doesn't pretend to like him. His gaze lingered a second too long. She looked up.
"Ok, you're staring a lot, is everything ok?
Tom blinked once. Then continued walking as though he had not been caught.
"I'll be returning later."
She watched him suspiciously.
"...Okay?"
"Evening." He adjusted one sleeve. "We'll go to Ollivanders."
Her brows lifted.
"You need a wand."
"Oh yeah sure, as you wish, I still think people here are strangely dependent on pieces of wood."
Tom looked at her. "...And I still think walking around Britain performing wandless magic is a quick way to create problems."
“Well I haven't perfom—” she defended herself when he interrupted her.
"I'll return before sunset.".
“Okays, I'll wait”
Something strange settled briefly in the silence, and it felt domestic. Only thinking in that word irritated him, so naturally he left.
◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉‿◉◉
Outside, the streets from London were louder than usual. Tom barely paid attention. People greeted him occasionally. Some recognized him. Others simply moved aside. Not because of fear, not yet. By this moment Tom Riddle possessed that particular sort of presence that made people unconsciously make room.
He arrived near a quieter district of magical London. Abraxas Malfoy was already waiting. Perfect posture. Perfect clothes and Perfect bloodline.
Tom liked him, just to a degree. Abraxas was useful. Which was often more valuable than likable.
"Riddle."
"Abraxas."
They walked side by side.
"I heard Leach's support continues weakening."
A faint smile touched Abraxas' face.
"People become... concerned when proper influence disappears."
Tom almost smiled. Concerned. Such a civilized word..
The Ministry always dressed uglier things in cleaner language: Fear, suspicion, pressure, manipulation.
Very convenient for people like Abraxas, because crowds rarely followed the truth. They followed narratives. And pure-blood families—
Tom's gaze shifted briefly toward the passing streets. Idiots. Most of them inherited names and mistook inheritance for greatness.
The Gaunts had done exactly that, obsessed with blood, obsessed with ancestry but weak, and pathetic. A decayed family worshipping old names while rotting from within.
But No—power mattered, talent mattered. Power justified itself. Blood merely attracted followers. And followers… followers were useful.
Suddenly the rain came. He started remember the warm rain, laughter. The family… Tom's steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
Abraxas glanced sideways. "...Something wrong?"
Tom blink once.Nothing showed on his face. "No." his expression sharpened slightly. Because for the second time today—he had been thinking about Althea, again.
The thought irritated him enough that he said nothing for several streets.
Rain tapped softly against the stone as they continued toward the Ministry district. Around them, witches and wizards crossed the streets beneath enchanted umbrellas and shifting charms overhead, conversations dissolving into the city noise.
Abraxas eventually broke the silence. “You've been difficult to find recently.”
Tom glanced at him briefly. “have I?...I've been occupied.”, he said with a fake smile.
Abraxas had learned long ago that Tom rarely offered direct answers. Not because he distrusted people entirely — though he did — but because he seemed to instinctively understand the value of withholding pieces of himself. Information was currency, and Tom disliked spending unnecessarily.
“You'll be leaving soon then?” Abraxas asked.
Tom's eyes shifted toward him “Word travels quickly.”
“It does around you.” Though Abraxas still carried that same subtle admiration many eventually developed around Tom, Respect, the dangerous kind. Tom noticed it, he always noticed.
They passed through the Ministry entrance together. Polished floors. Golden statues. Endless movement. Clerks moving with papers pressed against their chests. Officials pretending urgency.
Tom disliked the Ministry. Too many mediocre men convincing themselves they mattered. Still… power gathered in places like this. And power deserved observation.
Abraxas led him toward a quieter corridor. “My father wanted me to ask something.”
Tom remained expressionless.
“There's concern regarding certain acquisitions.” Abraxas said.
That interested him slightly. “Oh?”
Abraxas lowered his voice. “A collector from the continent recently acquired several artifacts connected to old Balkan magic.”
Tom looked at him. Now that was interesting.
“Artifacts, Rare ones.” Abraxas paused. “Ancient rituals. Blood work. Pre-wand traditions.”
Tom's attention sharpened instantly.
Because despite appearances, Abraxas knew very well what interested him.
Power, forgotten magic, things buried, things people feared.
He knew because Tom had allowed him to know, carefully and measured. Never entirely.
“I've arranged names,” Abraxas continued. “Contacts. Routes.” He reached into his coat and handed Tom a folded parchment.
Tom opened it, there were names and two locations. He read silently. He needs to travel, he is leaving Britain soon anyway, not permanent, Just to keep studying, learning, and becoming more.
The world still held too many things hidden from him. Too much magic left untouched. Too much power left in older places.
And perhaps—his fingers paused almost imperceptibly— perhaps Althea knew things he hadn't even begun understanding yet. Wandless magic. Ritual work. Portals. That strange relationship with magic itself, her perspective, borrow not take, Work with it.
Tom folded the parchment once. Then twice.
"I appreciate, Abraxas," he said simply.
Abraxas smiled faintly. Coming from Tom, that was practically praise.
Then Tom reached inside his own coat and handed him a small black box.
Abraxas looked genuinely surprised. Slowly he opened it. Inside rested a silver serpent ring with dark emerald eyes. Old and expensive. Rare. Acquired months ago through Borgin & Burkes.
Abraxas looked up. "...Riddle."
Tom adjusted one sleeve. “A gift.”
Not really. Because Tom Riddle never gives anything without purpose, and both of them knew it.
Abraxas took it happily, and asked “When is your next gathering?”
Tom looked toward the Ministry windows, the same memory of Althea came to his mind "...Soon."
And for reasons he wasn't entirely willing to examine— another thought surfaced immediately afterward. He wondered what expression Althea would make when Ollivander handed her a wand.
—-------
By the time Tom returned, evening had already settled over the city. The manor stood quiet as always, controlled and predictable but the moment he stepped inside, he saw Althea, just there. Her presence gives the mansion a completely different atmosphere; it makes it feel... warm.
Tom removed his gloves slowly as he crossed the entrance hall, gaze drifting toward the sitting room, Althea was standing near one of the mirrors. Ready or at least attempting to be. Tom stopped.
She looked up almost immediately. “Oh.” Her face brightened slightly. “You’re back.”
His eyes moved over her once. Then twice, not staring… assessing… absolutely not. He thought
Althea noticed the look instantly. "...What."
Tom removed his coat with complete calm. “How are you planning on going dressed like that?”
Silence, She blinked. "...Like what?”
His expression remained perfectly neutral. “That.”
She looked down at herself. Then back at him. Then down again. “What’s wrong with it?”
Nothing was wrong.Technically. But that was not the point.
Tom crossed the room slowly. “It tells people nothing.”
Althea frowned. "...Excuse me?”
He looked at her as though the answer should be obvious. “Appearance matters.”
“People decide things before you speak.”
He adjusted one cuff.
“But I don't look bad or ugl—’
“No, you don't, but with me, people look… they focus on status, presence, influence.”
Then his eyes lifted toward her again… Ah. There it was. Not embarrassment. Not vanity… Althea stared at him for a few seconds.
Then crossed her arms. "...You know, there are less terrifying ways to give fashion advice.”
Tom ignored that entirely. “How many outfits did you bring?”
A pause. "... I bought this one here.”
Long silence. Tom looked at her, Althea looked at Tom.
"...What.”
"...This is all you have?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I didn't exactly plan this…travel.”
Fair, technically. Tom said nothing. Simply reached into his coat. Pulled out his wand.
Althea narrowed her eyes immediately. "...Tom”
A flick of his wrist, magic moved. Dark fabric unfolded around her like smoke, not violent nor flashy. The magic felt soft, elegant and measured, just as the clothes.
The sensation lasted only seconds. When it settled—
Althea stared downward. Dark fitted trousers. Tailored.
A charcoal shirt beneath a long coat that carried deep green and black through the stitching, silver details catching faint light. It looked structured, sharp, powerful and very expensive. She looked stunning, and the most important thing was that she fits him, so intentional.
She slowly looked up and down to herself. Then back at him.
"...Oh."
Tom observed quietly. Satisfied. “Much better,” he said.
“Well—” she was about to say
“With me,” he said calmly, “you won't dress like a lost traveler.”
Althea looked at him, then looked at herself again.
"... that's”
Tom waited
"...That’s slightly rude.”
“Accurate.”
“Tom…”
“Althea.” he interrupted her
She stared, He stared back.
And then—unexpectedly—
she sighed dramatically, not offended, just like accepting it.
"...Okay, well, I gracefully accept your criticism.” She lifted both hands slightly.
“I won't argue with you; I’ll let you teach me….”
Because something in Tom's expression shifted almost imperceptibly, His eyes darkened; he stared and lingered, just a second too long. Submission bored him, blind agreement irritated him. But that, that openness, her honestly. That quiet willingness to let him guide something— he felt something that he couldn't name, but it did like it.
Althea tilted her head. "...Why are you looking at me like that?”
Tom blinked once, then turned away. “Come.” he said in a cold tone, perfectly controlled, as if absolutely nothing had happened.
He started to take his things “We're leaving.”
"... You have good taste, I look good”
"...Mhm." Tom reached for the door without another word.
The moment it opened, cold air spilled violently into the entrance hall, sharp and grey and entirely London. The wind moved through the manor like it had been waiting outside all day, slipping beneath sleeves and across skin.
Althea immediately recoiled. “Oh my God—” she pulled the coat tighter around herself. “How do you people live like this?”
Tom barely glanced at her while fastening one glove. “Your country apparently stole all the sun.”
Silence. Althea blinked slowly, her head turned. “…Was that a joke?”
For the smallest fraction of a second, the corner of Tom’s mouth shifted not fully but enough for her to notice it.
Her eyes widened. “That was a joke. I did like it, you're right, we stole it, just look at my skin and look yours”
Tom looked forward, expression perfectly composed. He said nothing. Which meant yes.
Althea opened her mouth again, ready to continue but stopped as soon as she felt his hand had settled around her waist, firm and sure, like it belonged there, without hesitation. Her entire body stiffened.
He looked down at her once. “Stay still.”
And then the world folded. Darkness twisted around them. The familiar violent pressure of apparition pulled reality sideways, cold wind becoming something heavier, stranger. For one brief second the sensation felt like falling and being dragged upward simultaneously.
Then stone beneath their feet, the noise and voices came along. The warm light spilled from shop windows into crowded streets. It was Diagon Alley. Althea blinked immediately. People moved around them beneath floating lanterns and enchanted signs, cloaks brushing past in every direction. Laughter somewhere farther down the street. Owls overhead. Everything looks actually nice and pretty for her.
Tom started walking, and of course she did too, not because she was following impatiently or something, Tom’s hand remained at her waist. Not because he had forgotten, simply had not moved it. Althea tried not to pay attention to that and looked around slowly.
“That was amazing, I’d never teleported like that before”
Tom finally released her. Her attention moved immediately from one shop to another, eyes following enchanted displays and floating objects through windows. Tom watched quietly.
“Riddle.” A passing wizard nodded respectfully.
Tom gave a slight inclination of his head.
Two old witches farther ahead slowed.
One glanced toward Althea, then toward Tom, then toward Althea again, expressions shifted instantly. Recognition and interest, maybe assumptions… one of them smiled.
“What a lovely couple.”
Althea nearly tripped, Tom continued walking. Completely unaffected, as though nothing had happened as though correcting them had never even crossed his mind. Althea looked at him trying to see how he would react. But nothing,
They kept walking and crossed paths with a man dressed in rich plum-colored robes, carrying several paper bags floating lazily beside him.
“Well, Merlin preserve me…”
Tom slowed.
Horace Slughorn looked between them and immediately smiled.
“Tom Riddle.” His face lit with unmistakable pleasure. “My dear boy, look at you.”
Tom inclined his head politely.
“Professor Slughorn.”
Althea looked between them quietly, Slughorn?, the same Slughorn Dumbledore talked about once?
Because Tom’s entire posture had changed almost imperceptibly. Not softer exactly, but smoother. More polished. Like watching someone place a mask over something sharper underneath. Slughorn beamed.
“I haven't seen you in ages. Borgin keeping you imprisoned, is he?”
“Not successfully.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Slughorn waved one hand dismissively before his attention drifted toward Althea, then back toward Tom, then toward their matching dark coats. Then back toward Althea. A pause, a very suspicious pause.
“Well now...” his smile widened. “And who is this?”
Tom's gaze shifted toward her. “This is Althea.”
“Althea"
They speak at the same time, they looked at each other for both interruption
Slughorn's eyes sparkled immediately. “Ohh, I see.”... "Charming,” Slughorn said warmly. “Very charming. I must say, Tom always had exceptional taste.”
Althea frowned slightly, absolute silence, Althea blinked, once, twice trying to believe what she just heard…
Tom remained perfectly composed. Perfectly “I do my best.”
Althea turned so fast she nearly stared holes through the side of his face. Tom did not look at her, not even slightly.
Slughorn chuckled.
“Well, well, I won't keep young couples from their evening.”
Tom simply inclined his head. “Professor.”
And then they continued walking in silence, until Althea broke it, turning slowly toward him.
“…You do realize you could have corrected him.”
Tom looked ahead “about?”
She stared. Then narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Tom looked ahead again. A very small smile threatening briefly at the corner of his mouth.bHe said absolutely nothing.
Several streets later they stopped before a narrow old storefront. Dusty windows. Faded gold letters.
Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.bTom looked toward the shop.
Then toward her. “Try not to break anything.”
Althea looked offended … okay, someone is happy apparently, she thought
Tom opened the door. “Please” Inviting her in first
The shop looked exactly as it always had: impossibly narrow, endless shelves climbing toward darkness, thousands of wand boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. Dust floated through thin golden light and somewhere deeper inside, something wooden shifted softly.
Inside, a familiar voice rose from somewhere among endless shelves
“Tom Riddle…and company.”
Tom's eyes shifted.
Then came the sound of careful footsteps. Mr. Ollivander emerged from between the shelves, pale eyes immediately finding Tom.
“Mr. Riddle.” His expression remained unreadable, though his gaze lingered briefly. “It has been some time.”
Tom inclined his head politely. “Mr. Ollivander.”
The old wandmaker stopped before them. Slowly, very slowly, his eyes narrowed.
Althea looked around the shop once before glancing back.
Tom remained perfectly still. Ollivander tilted his head.
“You feel... different. Mr. Riddle”
Tom's eyes shifted slightly. For a moment Ollivander studied him with unsettling focus.
“More powerful.” His gaze sharpened. “Stronger than the last time.”
“But you did not come Here for yourself.”
His eyes moved. Toward Althea. And stayed there, Tom smiled politely.
“This is Althea.” Then with perfect ease, “Tell me what you can find for her.”
Althea smiled faintly somewhere between polite and uncertain. Ollivander did not answer immediately. His head turned toward Tom slowly, as if preparing to respond— yet his eyes never left Althea, not once, not even briefly. Silence stretched. Althea shifted slightly.
"...Hi.. I.. I need a wand" Nothing.
“Curious.” said Ollivander
Tom's expression did not change. But internally he was so interested in the situation, because Ollivander rarely looked surprised.
The wandmaker stepped closer. Not invading, just bserving. There was something strange in the air now, just subtle but impossible to notice.
Except Tom did, of course he did The air around Althea felt... different, like standing near quiet water and realizing only afterward there had been movement beneath it.
Ollivander's eyes lowered briefly toward her hands, then lifted again. Long enough that even Althea smiled awkwardly.
"...Is this normal?" She asked
"Hm." He circled her once, very slowly. “Fascinating.”
Tom's eyes followed him. Ollivander stopped. His pale gaze sharpened slightly.
“This will be difficult.” Ollivander finally said
Althea blinked. “...pardon?”
Ollivander tilted his head “Most witches and wizards arrive here with magic seeking direction.” His eyes moved toward her hands. “Structure. Containment.”
“But yours does not.”
Tom looked at him, very carefully now.
Ollivander continued quietly:n“Your magic isn't reaching outward.”, another pause “It already knows where it belongs.”
Althea frowned faintly trying to follow. Tom said nothing. Not because he wasn't interested, but he was paying attention to every word. Ollivander stepped closer. Not to her. To the space around her, like listening.
“The first wandmakers wrote of magic like this.” he murmured. “Before wands became... necessary.” His pale eyes moved slowly toward Tom, then back to Althea. “There is no instability, no struggle.”
His brow faintly furrowed. “Curious...”
Tom's attention sharpened, because curiosity from Ollivander meant rarity. The old wandmaker looked directly at Althea now. And for the first time there was the smallest trace of wonder beneath his restraint.
“Your magic responds to your body as if it were already home.”
“Mr. Riddle...” his eyes shifted toward him briefly. “I don't believe she needs a wand.”
Althea blinked. Tom stared.
Ollivander tilted his head. “I believe,” he corrected calmly, “the wand will need to adapt to her.”
And for the first time since entering, Tom smiled, it wasn't politely, socially smile, it was a Genuinely one, because he was intrigued now.
They look like they’ve just been told off for fighting over who gets to use the Xbox first
just created a a tumbler acc ^_^
Anyways here are some drawings i made :DD!!
Embarrassing, i bet she was bussing it down with dave portnoy last night too.. It’s the irony for me, people wanna call angel a s!ut, and every derogatory term but the fever has players on the team who wear see through clothes to work, and who sleep with their bosses…
