One Of My Favorite Tropes Tbh

What the fuck

Twitter: poosste

Sometimes I see fanfiction that is so good, I'm just like, HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU WRITE SOMETHING THAT IS LITERALLY RIPPING MY SOUL APART FROM THE SHEER BEAUTY OF WHAT YOU HAVE CREATED?

And then I proceed to weep with joy and anguish, simultaneously.

the cupboard under the stairs

What these past few days have felt like

It became an odd habit.

“Will you accompany me, Harry?”

Harry was well past the point of complaining. Whenever Riddle appeared out of nowhere and knocked on his door, there was little he could say or do to get him to leave.

“Oh, do I have a choice this time?”

He didn’t laugh, per se, but the slight tilt of Riddle’s head and the suspicious gleam in his eyes were as loud as one. He held out his hand, palm up, in answer.

Harry refused the offer with a shake of his head and sighed, “Lead the way, I guess.”

They never apparated to the same place twice. Their surroundings were always unfamiliar and remote and never inspired much confidence in the possibility of Harry returning home safely. But he always did. Riddle made sure of that.

Sometimes Harry wondered if this was his weird way of letting off steam, as though their time together somehow relaxed and revitalised him. It was an insane thought, but the fact remained that Riddle would show up tense and barely controlled and one careless word away from a fight, and he would leave loose-limbed and satisfied. Usually at the expense of Harry. 

This time was no different. Riddle’s fist was white-knuckle tight, and the location was a drab and dreary abandoned manor of some kind. Walls of crumbling stone and floorboards rotted nearly through, making each step taken a delicate dance. The dust in the air was enough to make Harry cough once or twice; the building had clearly been neglected for a long while.

“What is it today,” Harry asked. “Another potion? More rune work? If you try to teach me a dead language again, I will kick you in the shin and finally make good on my threats of moving to a different country.”

Riddle glanced back over his shoulder and raised a single brow. “Do you truly think distance will stop me?” He asked.

No. Harry didn’t even think being universes apart would stop Riddle.

Still, he scoffed and said, “Creep.”

Riddle simply smiled. “I will not subject myself to that again. You are surprisingly ungrateful for having the honour to learn from a being as powerful as I.”

Harry wanted to roll his eyes, “Yeah. So sorry for not appreciating everything you do for me. Oh, wait—I never asked.”

Riddle hummed, not agreeingly. Never agreeingly. “We will be attempting a discipline you’ve shown great promise in but one we’ve never indulged upon.” 

For the life of him, Harry couldn’t think of a single thing in which he showed great promise. He also couldn’t think of a time when Riddle didn’t indulge whenever he damn well pleased. “As vague as ever today,” Harry prodded. “Don’t hold back; share with the class.”

Riddle stopped so suddenly that Harry almost ran straight into him. With a careless wave of his hand, the double doors to their left opened.

And inside was a pristine duelling arena. 

Harry’s mouth parted, but he couldn’t find the words. This was damn impressive. 

The stone walls were just as decrepit here as they were throughout the manor, but their ruin spoke of wide-cast spellfire and magic dark enough to leave its mark. Of a frazzled mind with enough wherewithal to make it to the duelling room but not enough to cast a protective barrier. It had ample light from shattered windows, but not a single shard of glass could be found across the decorative tiled floor, its pattern still polished to a dull shine.

They walked in - or, rather, Riddle walked in, and Harry followed behind him, content in his rapture. He wouldn’t truly ever get used to wizarding homes and their larger-than-life rooms. Harry would have been none the wiser passing by those double doors; they didn’t look nearly grand enough to hide such a gorgeous arena. But that was magic, he supposed.

It was clear they’d stopped. Harry wasn’t sure how long it had been with as taken as he was by the stage next, admiring its long dark floorboards that came together in a sort of v pattern that repeated. Harry was so hung up on trying to remember the name of it (Houndstooth? Plaid? No, it was something with a C-) that he hadn’t realised just how close Riddle had gotten.

He felt a chill travel up his throat before he processed the movement. Riddle’s hand was just beneath his chin, ice-cold fingers a hair’s breadth away from Harry’s skin. With a muted gasp, he froze and locked eyes with him, which wasn’t very hard to do. Riddle’s were already fixated on him. 

Their silence was thick enough to suffocate. 

Riddle curled his fingers into his palm slowly and brought his hand to hover just before the round of Harry’s face. He could sense that creeping cold reaching out again with the phantom feeling of Riddle’s knuckles pulling a slow line down his cheek, stopping at the corner of his lips. Riddle moved back then and gestured at them, “Close your mouth, or you’ll catch flies, Harry.”

His teeth made an audible click, the sound making Harry wince when it echoed in the hollow space. To save himself from further embarrassment, he grimaced and blessed Riddle with one of his rarely used meaner smiles, “Come that close to me again, and I’ll bite that finger off.”

Riddle pulled back even slower and tilted his head to the side. He raked his gaze over Harry’s face, down his body, and on his pass back up, he shrugged and said, “Now, now. That’s no way to handle your disputes, is it?”

Like a static shock, Harry finally realised what was happening. 

All that anger brewing like a potion in his gut dissipated. His shoulders fell - he wasn’t sure when they’d hiked so far up in the first place - and he huffed out a laugh. “I know what you’re doing,” Harry said.

Riddle looked at him with all the innocence of a Nundu. “Oh? Am I doing something, Harry?” He asked.

Harry breathed through the kindling trying to catch a new spark. “You know what you’re doing,” he started backing away. Riddle’s eyes followed him keenly as his steps took him up the middle of the duelling stage and back down to the other side. He wasn’t running away, just trying to get some distance. “You always know what you’re doing. And I am not falling for it—you won’t manipulate me into this.”

“Surely I’ve no understanding of what you’re implying.” Riddle’s polished shoes tap-tap-tapped their way right after Harry, but he stopped on the stage. He looked down on him from above. “But if I did,” Riddle continued, “I’d tell you you’re only prolonging the inevitable.”

Harry shook his head, this man… “You can’t be serious?”

Riddle folded his hands behind his back. His smile was sharp. “When have I ever been anything but?” He asked, and Harry scoffed. 

He wavered for a moment, maybe two, and finally climbed back up the steps to the duelling stage. Riddle, the asshole, looked far too pleased. He turned to face Harry, and they were so close that he only had to look down ever so slightly.

They hadn’t been this close in a long, long time. It was just Harry’s luck that it was happening twice in one day. Fourth Year came to mind as the last time Harry was forced into this proximity. Forced because, unlike now, he hadn’t ever chosen to be in Riddle’s space. Or company. Or attention. 

They stood in silence. Riddle’s grin grew teeth with each passing second. Harry knew what he wanted, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to instigate it—invite it any more than he already was. 

Then, Harry heard an echo of words, a lost encounter in the back of his memories. It pulled a smile on his lips, smaller than Riddle’s but no less there. “A wizard’s duel, then?” Harry teased. “Wands only — no contact?”

At the sight of Harry’s smile and the sound of his teasing, Riddle’s face fell flat. His eyes narrowed. “Your focus should be here, Harry.” He paused and said, “We wouldn’t want you to get hurt because of some minor distraction. Would we?”

Harry smiled a little wider, “Jealous? How very like you.”

Riddle sneered, “Do not speak of me as though I am predictable.”

Now Harry gave in to the temptation to roll his eyes. They, unfortunately, knew each other very well. Riddle was the most predictable person Harry had ever met, and he knew it—if only because Harry was the most predictable person he had ever met. 

“Fine,” Harry conceded. “Ten paces, right?” He turned to begin his count, but Riddle stopped him by the scruff of his shirt. 

Non too gently, he yanked Harry back. Cold breath puffed against his ear in semblance of a laugh. “And we bow, Harry,” Riddle murmured, causing a wave of shivers down Harry’s spine. 

Harry glared over his shoulder and spat, “Make me.”

Tom & Harry 💚❤️🐍🐦‍⬛

Hiiii

I hope you are doing well :D

I read your most recent chapter on EYHO and it was *chef's kiss*

I was wondering, who is your most favorite character to write?

Also, when do you feel most motivated to write?

Love all your works ❤️

Hey~ aww thanks! I'm glad I was able to get it posted while traveling and that you enjoyed it 😊 (I never get tired of cooking/Chef jokes)

Hmm I think at the moment, Avery is my favorite character to write in EYHO. It gives me a chance to write in a way that is like poetry - saying but not, using a word that is friends with the word that is usually used. Writing him is pure honesty and creativity, in the most convoluted way.

I feel most motivated to write during my everyday chores and such. I have more time to write at night, but I'm more inspired as I drift into my little daydreams during the mundane activities.

Thank you so much for the sweet ask 🖤🌹

Kissing on a swing! Kissing on a swing!!

The afternoon sun was just starting to set.

He was the last one left at the park as usual. Every other teenager or group had left long ago for dinner and cool air conditioning.

Harry didn't want to return to the Dursleys. Even though his stomach was growling something fierce, it wouldn't have mattered. They wouldn't give him enough food to help the ache in his stomach so for now, he was happier being away from them instead of easing his ever-present hunger. 

He sat on the swing and watched the cars as they passed on the road far away on the other side of the field. There was nothing else to do other than that. Dumbledore had forbidden him from leaving the safety of the Dursleys in case Voldemort or his death eaters tried to attack.

"Yeah, right," He thought. "The only thing I am safe of is a full meal."

A few moments later, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as a presence came up from behind him. Before he could turn his head, he felt two hands grab the chains next to his head, pull back and then let go as the same hands pushed him forward.

"Hey-" was all Harry said as he started swinging. The same hands appeared on his back again as he swung backward to push him.

He started to turn his head around when a familiar voice he had not heard in several years said "Don't look. It's the only way I can speak to you."

Harry did not know what to do. It felt too surreal: Tom Riddle pushing him on a swing in the middle of the summer in a muggle neighborhood. At least he thought it was Tom Riddle. He didn’t sound as high-pitched and… horrible as Voldemort. What would he look like if he turned around? Would he see a handsome youthful face or one of a deformed snake-human hybrid that haunts his nightmares? 

“Don’t overthink it,” Tom said after a moment of silence. “You’ll just stress yourself out.”

“Okay, make it simple then. How are you here?” 

“You.” So simple an answer that explained nothing. 

“Me? I don’t want you here. Go away.” Harry dug his feet into the ground to stop the swing. 

Strong and strangely wet hands grabbed his head preventing him from turning around. “If you look I’ll leave.”

“Yeah, that is the whole point,” Harry snarled. 

“Who would talk to you then?” Tom pointed out. “Your relatives? Your neighbors? They all hate you.”

“You hate me.”

“No, I don’t. He hates you.” The hands became gentle as Harry stopped trying to turn around.

“Lord Voldemort is my past present and future,” Harry quoted.  “You two are one and the same.”

“Not today.” There was a strange tone in Tom’s voice. 

Harry thought Tom was playing some elaborate joke on him, but he was willing to play along for now. “What do you want then?”  

“To help you, for something in return.” 

Again, Harry grew irritated. “Oh no. I know how this goes. You are not doing to me what you did to Ginny.”

To Harry’s annoyance, Tom laughed. “I can’t. Not you, and maybe not anyone ever again. But I can get the next best thing.” Tom's right hand moved so out of the corner of Harry’s eye, he could see it dripping in ink before it brushed the bottom part of his lip. 

“I still have an instinct to take your soul even though I can’t. It’s beyond my reach now. I want instead … is your first kiss.” 

The words made Harry freeze with shock and embarrassment. “My what?” 

“You heard me.” Harry could just hear the grin forming on Tom’s face as he spoke. “ It means something to you, so it’s everything to me. I’ll help you get out of this horrid little town and away from your relatives. No one will be hurt. It will be totally painless, Harry. You might even look back on this moment fondly.”

“You’re joking,” Harry said uncertainly. 

“I’m completely serious, Harry. Or were you saving your lips for someone special? Had anyone in mind?”

“No, it’s just… why?”

“Because it means something to you, and you’ll always remember it was me who took it from you. That is all.” Hands moved so they covered Harry’s eyes. He could feel the ink dripping down his cheeks now. “Aren’t you hungry, Harry? Don’t you want something to eat? Or maybe you are more starved for affection. I can give that to you instead… Just say yes and I will help you.”

Harry was silent for a moment, his stomach and heart aching with hunger. “No one will get hurt?”

“No one will get hurt,” Tom promised. 

“...Okay.”

Tom smiled, “Remember. Keep your pretty eyes closed.” His hands left Harry’s face only for a moment as Tom walked around to face Harry. As promised, Harry kept his eyes closed and when he felt Tom’s hands touch his face again it was gentle as he tilted his face up towards him. 

Ink dripped onto Harry’s face, down his neck, and soaked his shirt. He could feel a cold breath on him before even colder lips pressed against his. They were surprisingly gentle and made Harry’s heart race at the feeling. The kiss was chaste at first, and Harry thought it wasn’t so bad until Tom deepened the kiss and a familiar taste of ink entered his mouth. 

Harry didn’t know what to do. Tom’s tongue was inside him and tasted stranger than what he would imagine a first kiss would be. But Harry kept his hands tight on the swing so he wouldn’t be tempted to fight. 

When it was over, Harry didn’t think he would ever look at a quill the same again without thinking of Tom. When he was brave enough to open his eyes again, he was alone, but the ink remained. 

Walking home was a challenge with how dazed he was, but his relatives did not comment on his appearance when he walked through their doors. It was like they couldn’t see the ink on him at all, and Harry knew his aunt would have something to say about his appearance. 

Before he had a chance to wash it off, Remus and the Order appeared to take him away, but they did not comment about the mess on him either. In just a few hours, he was sitting with his friends and Sirius eating a fabulous dinner made by Mrs. Weasley with Tom’s voice echoing in his head “Because it means something to you, and you’ll always remember it was me who took it from you.”