MorianaBeldom
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Harry just wanted a quiet moment alone, and a little bit of privacy.
He didn’t expect to get caught.
And he really didn’t expect Riddle to join in.
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“And I’m also quite sure you can’t have this information getting out, so I’ll cut you a deal.”
At that, Riddle froze, a funny expression forming on his face. With how close they stood, Harry bore witness to the exact moment that expression transformed into a small smirk, then a grin.
“You… will cut me a deal,” he spoke slowly, clearly amused more than threatened. Harry tried to ignore the way it made his hackles raise.
“How interesting. I suppose I’ll hear you out, and if your deal entertains me… I may entertain it.”
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Someone's opened the Chamber of Secrets. Harry will do anything within his power to close it.
Anything.
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He knows he’s referring to Potter before he even glances his way, and only looks out of reflex, utterly bored by the turn in conversation.
His eyes flit to the Gryffindor table, in what should be a quick, simple motion. He will look at Potter, confirm that, yes, his hair is a disaster, and go on with his breakfast.
And look at Potter, he does.
That’s when his glass coffee cup slips from his hands, shattering and spilling its dark contents across the table.
Beside him, Draco flinches, stutters, and dares to question Tom’s actions but he cannot even spare the energy to get mad because something is- something is wrong-
He’s standing from his seat and rushing out of the Great Hall before the spilled coffee can drip onto the floor.
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Tom had attempted a modified vitality ritual. It had been a failure.
Now, every time he sees Harry Potter, he gets a raging hard-on.
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Ducks Can Only Go So High by MorianaBeldom
Fandoms: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens (TV)
14 Aug 2023
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Once past the threshold, Aziraphale allowed himself to look around and try to get a feel for this… space. This space, which held all of Crowley's possessions, where he went at the ends of his days, where he slept, ate, drank, lived, and…
And he found it really didn’t have much to offer.
“My dear boy… it’s lovely, really, but… where is everything?”
He spun around, arms held out at his sides in a grand gesture at the… well, possibly 5 things in the room.
“It’s called minimalism, angel, it’s in,” (and really, he almost sounded offended) “Besides, I’m hardly here anyhow, never saw much purpose in,” he paused, “cluttering it up.”
“Cluttering-” Aziraphale cut himself off, before puffing up similarly to how an extraordinarily well-groomed white peacock might.
“Well, I do hope you don’t see my bookshop as cluttered-”
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Just a oneshot on what maybe in some distant universe out there is what happened after the (not) apocalypse.
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Harry used one hand to brush the boy's bangs away from his eyes, using the other to tilt his chin up. Slowly, his features were exposed. Smooth, pale skin, a straight, aristocratic nose, high cheekbones…
He gasped and flung himself backward, ripping his hands away as if he had been burned. An icy feeling of dread crept through him. He knew that face.
He was trapped in here with Tom Riddle.