If you haven’t already read this, you should — WIP Tomarry, "A Light That Never Goes Out" by kippies, aka the new love of my life
I’m usually not a fan of Muggle AUs (read: I avoid them like fire) which is why it took me so long to reach this one, but it’s genuinely, honestly one of the best things I’ve ever read in my entire damn life, period. It’s a 1980s Mafia AU, standing at 100K words as of right now, and everything about this fic is outstanding. The world building? The characters? The descriptions? The dialogues? The dynamics? Don’t even get me started on the humour and the romantic tension, because it’s unparalleled. Published books wish they could have what this fanfic has.
You know how often (and I’m guilty of this as well) when writing romance with a villain the author tends to soften them up as their relationship with the protagonist progresses? This is the opposite. The longer you read, the more vivid and vibrant everything becomes. Also, do you know how sometimes the characters are so oblivious it feels forced and unnatural, like the author is doing it for a laugh? Again, here it all just comes together so well. Aaand I’m trying not to go on a long rant about how amazing, show-stopping, extraordinary, wonderful and mind-blowing this fanfic is so I’ll cut myself off right here, and I’ll leave with these two things: one, do yourself a favour and go read it, and two, here are some of my favourite quotes that I jotted down while I read (I tried to pick out the ones with minimal spoilers, but read at your own risk if you’re very spoiler-sensitive and prefer to go in 100% blind)
“Oi, you there!” he called out to Voldemort. “You looked bored, so I figured I’d spice things up here.”
Silence compounded from the gaping Death Eaters. Voldemort didn’t even acknowledge him, his head still methodically scanning the room. Harry swallowed, shuffling back and forth awkwardly.
“In a sexual way,” he clarified, holding a finger up importantly.
The Death Eaters holding him nearly fell over in their shock. “You really are mad, aren’t you?” Goon One sputtered. “No one has ever…you can’t just…” He shook his head tersely. “Come on, you need to leave. Let's get you some bread, yeah?”
[...]
Out of the corner of his lowered vision, he saw Voldemort’s shoulders straighten, then lock. The man slowly leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees.
“Come closer,” Voldemort said, half cajoling, half demanding. His voice was oddly breathy, as if Harry had landed a hard punch straight between his ribs.
“Uh, I’m good where I am,” Harry stuttered, waving his arms out. “You can get a good look at me from there, right? That’s all you need.”
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me correctly over the music,” Voldemort said, crooking a finger. “I told you to come closer.”
No, no, there was definitely no way in hell he could do that.
“And I told you –”
“He said ‘get closer’, love.”
*
“Again and again, you surprise me in such a way,” Voldemort sighed, that strange laughter dying away. “How truly curious – I feel as if I cannot breathe. Tell me, Harry, what I should do with a feeling such as this.”
Voldemort snatched up Harry's outstretched hand with his free one and twisted it, so that Harry's palm lay flat on his chest, over the smooth material of his vest. Under Harry's hand, Voldemort's heartbeat thundered, so violent and erratic that Harry was shocked the man was still standing, and not convulsing in a ball on the floor.
“Err, maybe cut back on caffeine?” Harry shrugged. It wasn't as if he was a doctor.
*
“Harry,” Voldemort said, and immediately strode over.
Oops. Probably should have played dead, or something, Harry thought with a wince.
*
Voldemort half-turned back to him. “Are you doubting my devotion already? There is no need to fret; you will be in my arms again soon enough.”
Harry goggled at him, completely and utterly flabbergasted. “Does it look like that's what I’m fretting about, here?” he cried, feeling somewhat hysterical.
*
He slowly brought Harry's hand up to his lips, but severely underestimated Harry’s ability to comprehend even the most basic of social gestures. Instead, Harry gleefully misunderstood his intentions, and pumped their hands up in a facsimile of a handshake. Tom recoiled back as Harry’s knuckles collided sharply with his nose, nearly sending him reeling.
“Shite! Oh my god, sorry about that, didn’t realize what you were trying to do there,” Harry blustered, waving his arms about uselessly. “Oh, fuck, your nose is getting all red! Er, no need to panic, I can fix this.”
*
Riddle's brows pulled together. “I thought that you cared for me?”
“I do,” Harry breathed out, then went stiff. “I mean, I don't. I mean, I do , but no more than anyone else, you know. Just, uh, an all-around caring bloke, over here.”
*
“You are with me, is that not where you belong?”
Harry choked, nearly slamming his head straight into the fancy chinaware. Riddle certainly had a gift for saying things in the most easily misunderstood way possible.
*
“Riddle, this is, um, a really lovely hug, and I feel super comforted, but you don’t have to–”
“There is no need for commentary,” Riddle snapped.