#and couldn't get it for Harry

[halohamilton]

.

[irenespring]

Really I think nothing shouts "my first Presidential election as a politically active person was 2016" more than the fact that when I feel hope and excitement for the future (possible President Harris) for more than five minutes I immediately get a crushing, all-consuming anxiety of "feeling this positive emotion now is going to make it so much worse when the worst thing possible happens" to the extent that I'll probably need my break-glass-in-case-of-emergency anxiety medication.

[bronzeflower]

I'm never going to emotionally recover from this

[ecstarry]

'the one were Regulus reunites with his first kiss' let it be known that this is unrealistically romantic but I love it for them. They deserve it.

The weather was perfect, he tried to remember if the last time he drove around those same streets it was this pleasant. His last visit had been over a decade ago. His parents had said the “demographic had changed,” and it was no longer an area they wanted to be around. His family simply relocated to their other properties for the summer, forgetting all about that home. Regulus, meanwhile, tried to forget all about one boy.

Regulus came back alone. Sirius was tied up with selling another property after their parents passed away. Regulus didn’t explain his particular interest in this location, and Sirius didn’t ask.

He was there to meet with a realtor and to say goodbye to one of his sweetest memories from his youth. When Regulus arrived at the café, he received a message asking to push back the meeting until tomorrow, and he quickly agreed. He knew exactly where he wanted to spend the rest of the day.

The walk from his car to the beach was long, but he was in no rush. Regulus carefully observed the sea. It was winter and nearly sunset; the water wasn’t as bright as the last time he had been there, but it was enough to bring the first rush of memories flooding back.

He was fifteen again, and his brother was introducing him to a handsome boy he had just met. It seemed like the sun had risen that day specifically to make the boy’s eyes shine. He remembered his name and the way their hands felt when they first touched. James. He always regretted not asking for a last name. Regulus closed his eyes and tried to recall the scent. He laughed at himself, knowing it was probably just a mix of sweat, hormones, and sand, but he found it endearing even to this day.

Beautiful hues of red and orange illuminated the sky. Regulus strolled to the pier and watched as the sky painted the same picture it had all those years ago. He took out his wallet and looked at the tiny picture he had kept. It was blurry, probably taken around the same time of day, and showed the silhouette of a boy smiling at him. The sun was behind him, so only the outline of James waving could be seen, but Regulus had never forgotten the exact curve of James’ lips as he took the picture. That summer had been a dream; he had met an angel and tasted heaven with his own lips.

The temperature began to drop, and Regulus took in his last moments at the very spot where he had felt love for the first time. He took out his camera, the same one he had used fifteen years ago, and snapped one last photo, thinking of James again.

He chose a hotel close to the café where he would meet the realtor the next day. It was a small, beautifully preserved place. As he entered, there was only one man ahead of him at the front desk. Tired, Regulus resumed scrolling on his phone when he heard it.

"James is fine."

Wood. The boy he had fallen in love with all those summers ago smelled like sweat, hormones, sand, and wood. Sound and smell held powerful memories, and Regulus learned that firsthand as he tilted his head in what felt like slow motion to look at the back of the boy who was now a man.

"James." The word escaped his lips before he could stop it, just as he had no control over his suddenly racing heartbeat.

The other man turned and dropped his bags. "It's you," he breathed.

"Do you—"

"Regulus," James said, almost as a prayer. "It's you."

James approached him tentatively and smiled. God, that smile—Regulus would’ve recognized it even if another decade had passed. Without a second thought, he took out the photograph he had just looked at and, without worrying about the potential embarrassment, showed it to James.

“It’s you.” James carefully took the picture in his hands, his eyes darting between it and Regulus. After a moment, he handed it back and took a step closer. His hand hovered near Regulus' face, hesitating just before making contact. “May I?”

Regulus nodded.

Just as gently as when they were fifteen, James tucked a single curl behind Regulus' ear.

“It’s been—” Regulus began.

“Fifteen years,” James finished. Their eyes tried to convey everything their lips still couldn’t: I’ve missed you. I never forgot about you. Let me get to know you again.

“Hi,” Regulus said with a quiet chuckle, and James’ eyes softened.

“Can I buy you dinner?”

“I would like nothing more.”

[bobardo]

I saw your reblog and i couldn’t help it…

I’m begging on my knees… write a breeding blurb. Doesn’t have to be long cause i can’t wait. Like 100-500 words

PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

THIS IS MY FIRST BLURBY, SO I HOPE U LIKE IT :D pls excuse any typos, most of this was written on my phone 🧍🏽‍♀

wc: 1.7k

cw: smut, minors dni, 18+. breeding kink, and more. not proofread.

It really had started out as a joke.

Thanksgiving inspires spending time with family, and family means entertaining all the new cousins and little nieces and nephews that had joined the family in the past year.

So, Y/N naturally gravitated toward the children.

They’re irresistible! With their chubby cheeks and gummy smiles, innocent stutters and big wide eyes that are subject to tears at any moment.

It’s not as if they put up much of a fight either, Cole and Oliver practically fell over each other to claim the thorn that was her lap.

She was consumed by them; if they went somewhere, she was right behind them making sure their little heads didn’t knock, stubby legs wobbly like a newborn doe. She ate on the floor with them (“The carpet’s comfy, Titi!”), played games with them—if you could even call it playing, they just oohed and ahed and slobbered over a deck of cards—laughed with them, wiped their tears for them, held them close, cradled them into a dreamy state that had her cooing in their ear.

And he saw. From his personal spot on the couch, that he’d homed since the first thanksgiving he could remember, he saw his girl becoming his family, too. He saw the hearts in the eyes of his nephews, he saw her adoration for them (not that he’s much better, they’ve got him wrapped tight around their tiny fingers), saw the bond that began to blossom between them.

He saw how calm Y/N looked as she cared for them, saw how natural she was.

And so maybe, on the car ride back he made a few teasing remarks about her motherly tendencies. And perhaps he mindlessly let it slip that he’d thought about her, pregnant, with his child.

But it was all in good fun, right? She’d scoffed in her seat—though the flush of her cheeks did not go unnoticed—slapping his shoulder to halfheartedly reprimand his crude comments. Sure, it sent a yummy tingle up her spine. And, yeah, okay, her panties got, admittedly, a little more uncomfortable after hearing his confession.

But that didn’t matter, because it was just teasing. Just words that he said to get a reaction, like always.

…Right?

———

Y/N now understands that he was not joking.

Not one fucking bit.

It’s kind of difficult to find miscommunication in any of his words now. She understands him, she gets him—Holy fuck, she gets him.

“Prancin’ around with babies on your hips, an’ you think m’not gonna wanna get you pregnant with my child?”

She gets him, with his fat cock stuffed in her snug, tiny pussy, filling her up, up to her fucking stomach. Literally. With the way he’s got her bent into herself—ankles up to her ears, thighs squishing her arms in, which in turn pushes her tits together, shiny with spit and quite bruised—his cock molds to her, pressing at her tummy, glaring at her. It scares her.

And it’s fucking everything.

She gets him, but she doesn’t fucking get how he has the ability to tease, mock, and degrade her so thoroughly, after so much time spent doing nothing but abusing her poor, helpless cunt. He stretches her out to the point of pain—unsurprisingly, there was little to no prep in the build up to their current state, though, at the time, it didn’t feel needed, she’d been dripping down her thighs as soon as the first button of his dress shirt popped. His cockhead shoves into her cervix relentlessly, viciously. He bullies his way through her, her essence soaking his prick to the base, a sticky mess between their crashing hips.

“Wan’ you stuffed full by the time m’threw with you,” he grunts against her lips, his hot breath fanning over her face, grounding her to this moment. She gasps with every plunge of his hips, the lack of activity in her brain clear as day from the cute, stupid look on her pretty face.

Eyes crossed in the middle every other second, glossy from past and reoccurring tears. Her cheeks puffy and rosy, glistening in the lamp-light from drool and salty droplets of tears. Her hands push fruitlessly against his hard, sweaty abs, chocking out spineless protests.

“S’big, too big— too deep, Daddy!” She cries sweetly, hiding in the puff of his pillows cushioning her head.

“Shhh, Baby, lemme fuck you, plug you up with my cum…” His hands move from the headboard, one pushing down on the back of her thigh, keeping her spread open for him, and the other to her ruined face, three fingers shoving between her kiss-swollen lips. She slobbers over them immediately, brows furrowed in devoted concentration, desperately aiming to please him. “Tha’s a good girl, Puppy, jus’ suck on Daddy’s fingers while he uses your cute, slutty little pussy.”

She whimpers through her gag, nodding dumbly, drooling all over again, the sparkly, moony glow in her eyes letting him know that her head is empty.

“You wan’ my babies, Pup?” His thrusts slow, working himself into her with a heightened calculation, forcing her to feel every vein and ridge of his big cock. She squeezes around him, whining. “Yeah? Tell me, were y’thinkin’ ‘bout it when you were takin’ care of the little ones?” His fingers slide farther into her mouth, his cock hitting places brutishly and delicately at the same time. “Were y’thinkin’ ‘bout bein’ my pretty baby mama?”

“D—addy,” She chokes pathetically over his fingers, tensing up in every way.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “you wan’ my babies, Puppy.” He picks up the pace again, pistoning his hips so her special spot, oversensitive from so much use, gets completely smooshed by his prick every single time he grinds back inside of her weepy pussy. His hand on the back of her thigh moves to the crease between her leg and her slippery cunt, his thumb poking her puffy clit.

“Oh, ma goo—ness!” she bleats, huffy, wiggling away from his assault.

“Cut it out, Sugar,” he tuts, the hand on her thigh coming down to smack against her cunt, strings of her silky cum stuck on his palm when his fingers move to fuss over her achy button meanly. “Fuckin’ take my cock,” he strikes her again, her hips jumping in response, tears sprouting and spilling from her bleary eyes. “Keep still before Daddy gets sick’a your squirmin’ and ties you to the fuckin’ bed.

When his palm makes rough contact with her swollen clit for the third time, Y/N comes instantly.

She squirts, everywhere, as a matter of fact.

“Oh, fuck, Puppy,” he groans, hips stuttering as his cock twitches, and before he can stop himself, he’s being flooded with an overwhelming warmth, his cum spurting in thick, white ropes that paint her insides.

There’s a lot. More than usual, probably. It fills her up to the hilt and then some, dripping from her cunt and smearing down her sloppy pussy lips, over her mound and his faintly hairy pelvis. He fucks her through their simultaneous orgasms, through the crippling, divine sensations that somehow fatten his prick even more, urging on his insatiable desire.

Y/N shakes beneath him, still crying over his finger, chomping mindlessly on them as the pleasure continues to roll over her in waves.

Eventually, his cock slips out of her, too soaked for his thrusts to remain precise. She gasps at the sudden, jarring emptiness, and he grunts, animalistically, at the loss of familiar, snug, wet heat.

He doesn’t immediately push back in, however. His eyes get distracted on the view of his milky cum gushing out of her stretched, abused hole. His hand drops from her mouth to join the other, smearing their mess into her flesh and spreading her puffy pussy apart. Inspecting.

His head tilts curiously while he collects his cum on his middle and ring finger that’d dripped down to her puckered entrance, scooping it up before tentatively pushing it back inside.

It does more bad than good, honestly; more cum spills from around his finger, leaving them right back where they’d left off. But, that doesn’t stop him from repeating the action. Once, twice, hushing her screechy crying when her massages it into her silken walls the third time, smearing it onto her special spot when he pushes it back in the fourth. He jams his fingers into her cunt until he loses count, and the sound of her messy, stuffed pussy is louder than both their moans combined. He adds a third finger and picks up speed when her hand wraps around his wrist, when her voice grows hoarse and she screams bloody murder.

“Too much, too—I can't, please!” she screams, eyes clamped shut, body trembling.

“Shut up, Puppy, ain’t shit too much,” he dismisses, standing to his knees and using his free hand to keep her pinned to the mattress. “M’gonna fuck my cum back into this slutty, precious cunt ‘til you fuckin’ squirt f’me again.”

His gruff voice, his big, veiny hands trapping her to the bed, the incessant press of his fingers into the perfect spot that makes her toes curl and her stomach coil tighter and tighter. The sweat that drips from his face—from the tip of his nose, across his forehead and temples, glazed along his cupid’s bow—his beefy biceps, straining as he fights against her involuntary shudders. His chest, massive and buff, firm and slick with sweat under her palm.

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to oblige his demand.

“Just like that, Sugar, wet the fuckin’ bed, keep fucking coming.”

She keeps fucking coming. When his fingers are gone and his pretty, fat, perfect cock is reintroduced, she comes then, too. Like, as soon as he starts to push in.

It’s embarrassing, pitiful; pathetic.

But she can’t help it. She can’t help anything that she does or says when her cunt is stuffed with cum and cock, her sore pearl rubbed and swatted cruelly, her tits fondled demeaningly. She just lies there and cries, and takes his lovely cock. She lets him dump load after load of his spunk into her, claiming her, marking her as his. Making it stick.

“You’re my little cumdump, Pup,” he grumbles harshly, squeezing her pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re fuckin’ mine to kiss, love on, take care of,” she whimpers below, crying for his mercy, “my dumb slut to use, fuck, breed,” he plunges into her as deep as he can go, leaning in close and whispering, “you’re my fucking girl; my pathetic, needy fucking puppy that’s obsessed with my cock.” Y/N nods, gargling agreement.

He smirks, “Yeah, my little breeding bitch.”

[k-kizkhalifa]

"So life is good, Harry? Things working out as you want?" Skeeter asked, glancing over her glasses at the man, her Quick-Quotes Quill working away.

Harry, smiling, watched her take a drink of her tea and then opened his arms as if to say this was it, sitting in his studio, serving tea to Rita Skeeter.

"I'm surprised you finally decided to sit down with me," she grinned, a little wicked gleam in her eyes, "but as promised, I'll keep the quips to myself."

He shrugged a shoulder, and relaxed, "do your worst, Skeeter."

The interview went smoothly, even sharing a few laughs - ones from Harry in annoyance more often than not as she tried to pry more private information from him ("we've seen you around with Malfoy? Friends now?" "Whatever happened to that Weasley girl?"), but she knew as the hours dwindled time was running out and she wanted to ask. The readers would be dying to know, when they caught sight of the front page image of Harry Potter just in an apron and jeans, sweating as he worked at the pottery wheel in the morning sun.

"Thank you for the tea, Potter. I do suppose I have one more question, for everyone." Harry gave a nod, waiting. "Why this, after all the work and the accomplishments? Why did you invest here, in this?"

Harry grinned, looking around at everything he made, all of his hard work and quick earned sales that kept him happy, busy, and afloat. Though, he wouldn't tell her that. Instead, he stood and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, "made sense I suppose. Potter a potter."

hope this is okay.... but uh.

@slyssnakes shared this with us, and then I spent all morning thinking about it and wrote this trash. so... anyway. hey go check out their artwork, too much talent not to be admired!

[duplicitywrites]

harry 'good at picking names' potter

“Woss your name?” Stan persisted. “Neville Longbottom,” said Harry, saying the first name that came into his head. “So—so this bus,” he went on quickly, hoping to distract Stan, “did you say it goes anywhere?”

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

-

“This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?” “Yes,” said Harry firmly. “Then why,” asked Snape, “does it have the name ‘Roonil Wazlib’ written inside the front cover?” Harry’s heart missed a beat. “That’s my nickname,” he said.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

-

“And your first name?” “I—Vernon. Vernon Dudley.” “Check the list, Scabior,” said Greyback, and Harry heard him move sideways to look down at Ron, instead.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

-

Harry crouched down so that Albus’s face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry’s three children, Albus had inherited Lily’s eyes. “Albus Severus,” Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, “you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.”

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

[illarian-rambling]

I can't keep picking Harry's outfits based on stats.... You might be a man with almost nothing, Detective Broke, but style is not one of those nothings!

[eminentzayn]

a hug to 12 year old me who was a fan that couldn't afford concert tickets;

a hug to 23 year old me whose worked hard to fulfill her childhood promise to herself that if they ever reunited, she'd be there, front and center, with the most expensive ticket money can buy;

now, a hug to 25 year old me, the me of today, who has to live with the fact that she'll never witness the magic of an ot5 concert in her life;

i'm truly grieving the places i've never been today.

[einaudis]

ALL OF US STRANGERS (2023) dir. ANDREW HAIGH

[seleneprince]

Mulciber: So, are you a boy or a girl?

Sevrina: I'm a fucking mess

[alwayshinny]

Harry and Lily Luna 🌸

Whenever Harry got the opportunity to pick up his kids from school, he took it, especially his little Lily Lu. There was something special about the way her face would light up as she sprinted towards him to give him a bone-crushing hug. It made his day so much brighter.

Harry always brought her a flower, and she would act surprised with her hand clasped over her mouth every single time. She always complained she was tired just so she could con Harry into giving her a piggyback ride (let's be honest, she didn't need to try very hard), as she chatted animately the whole way home. Harry listened to every single word and asked her lots of questions to keep her engaged.

They would take the long way home, stop by their favorite cafe, and grab everyone's favorite dessert. Lily's just happened to be treacle tart too, so they would get an extra slice and share it at the cafe just to make sure it still tasted the same, and like always, Lily would tell Harry it's hard to tell with one slice and she needed another one just to make sure. It worked every single time. When they got home, Ginny would cross her arms and give them a look, and within seconds, she got her to admit the truth: "We only had one slice, mommy. Okay, two, MAYBE three… Fine, we had four, but only because we had to make sure it still tasted yummy."

[muiromem]

Kathryn Janeway - "The Fates"

The Moirai of Greek myth. The youngest, Clotho - the spinner who controlled life, choosing when a person was born and weaving their thread of existence. The middle one, Lachesis - the allotter who measured out the length of this thread and decided a person's destiny. And the eldest, Atropos - she who was inevitable that ended a mortal's life, cutting the thread and choosing the manner of their death.

[goddisposez]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Terror (TV 2018) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: George Henry Hodgson/John Irving, Harry D. S. Goodsir/Lady Silence | Silna, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Harry D. S. Goodsir & George Henry Hodgson Characters: George Henry Hodgson, Harry D. S. Goodsir, Cornelius Hickey, John Irving (1815-c.1848), Edward Little (1811-c.1848) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Stream of Consciousness, idiot plot, unbetaed, inspired by the terror clubwomen AU and the hodgson playlist, dyke drama, disaster lesbian party girl gigi hodgson, mutineer era but it's just a really bad Halloweekend, Terror Yuri Week 2025

  Summary:

If getting arrested for someone else's crime wasn't bad enough, Jane Irving, who she had been dating for four months now, had dumped her just a few hours earlier. They had both gotten catastrophically drunk in order to cope, and she was still feeling the buzz of that particular poor choice, ready to vomit for her third time that night, consciously suppressing a dry heave out of embarrassment for how Harriet Goodsir -- glaring daggers in her peripheral vision -- would react. Edie and her had fought, and she now felt awfully sorry for it, nearly as sorry as she felt over Jane. She had lost that stupid miniature boat headpiece she spent hours making, her wallet, and the fig bar she kept for hunger emergencies like this one in the fire. One of the heels of her brand new, absolutely adorable satin Valentino pumps somehow snapped off. Her phone was dead, which meant she wouldn't even know if Jane was still trying to reach her.

If this wasn't rock bottom for one Georgiana Henrietta Hodgson...

Written for Terror Yuri Week 2025 Day #4, "Halloween"

---

a silly modern hodgving piece for @terroryuriweek ! 🪽🍰

[mrtequilasunset]

I'll never see that girl again He did it as a gag I'll pine away forevermore for Andrew in drag