Is It Socially Acceptable To Write Gay Smut Stories On English Class?

Awwwwww

I know nothing about tumblr communities. Can you join them with a side blog without everyone seeing your main or is that not possible?

Hiiii! Yes, you totally can. You can see the community’s members and then click on an account, but your main one is separate, so there shouldn’t be a problem.

Who, she wanted to ask. Who, she wanted to cry. Whose ghost is haunting you right now? As if his parents’ death wasn’t enough tragedy, as if the nineteen year old boy trembling in her arms hadn’t experienced enough pain to last a lifetime.

Tell me who you’re crying for and I’ll cry with you.

***

It’s 1999 and Hermione is having a hard time adapting to all the new changes the war brought with her—trying to create some positive change in the Wizarding World while figuring out where she stands with Harry.

Harry, who gets increasingly worse as the days pass, slipping away into a dark corner of his mind she can’t reach anymore.

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After a month and a half of struggling with this chapter of my ttpd fic, I finally finished it. Yay to me!

It’s a Post War story, mainly Harmione but with a bit Romionarry ✨sprinkled✨ all over it. Hope you like it! Inspired in So Long, London.

auror partner drarry sketches from a while back

ig | shop | patreon | our rescue

I’m actually obsessed with this ship

Thinking about Sirius being a big spoon cuddling James, and James completely melting in his arms, sharing a moment so vulnerable it's like they're the only ones in the universe, like they're the only two that matter. Sirius is able to give James everything he needs - comfort, safety and endless unconditional love, because James isn't just his love, James is his salvation. He will move mountains, hold the sky and rewrite the stars if it means getting to hold James like this, in his arms, right where he belongs.

Wanted to share this Golden trio fluff:

Who was Harry Potter anyways? The Chosen One? The Boy-who-lived? The Saviour and Golden Boy of the Wizarding World?

Did the press actually got it right when they wrote pieces about him? Could they know what kind of person he was by amounting together the major events on his life?

Could he?

Did Hermione and Ron knew who his best friend was? During those nights filled with dread when the dead became living and the living bled to death, did they know?

When they took his hand and slept right there besides him, whispering sweet nothings until he fell asleep again—could they describe who he was with the same certainty one would talk about the lush and green hills in Scotland?

Mione watched him with that look of hers; one of unwavering faith. Her eyes softening as she lulled him to sleep.

The moonlight filtered through the tiny gap between the curtains back in his room in Grimmauld Place, illuminating the seven freckles scattered in her nose and cheeks. A hundred years could pass and he’d still be able to trace those freckles to memory, like one traces the starts and constellations in the nightsky. She’d stay there for hours, stroking his hair and drawing silly patterns in his skin. Like a mother would. Soft fingertips and soothing lullabies.

With the tenderness of a mother, the devotion of a lover and the undying loyalty of a friend.

In those moments he could be sure of one thing: Hermione Granger knew exactly who Harry Potter was: His best friend, the person looking back at her with grief and open adoration.

And Ron. Ron held him while Mione grounded him and brought him back to Earth. Soft breath tickling his neck. He was too tall for the bed, so most times his feet stayed dangling from the edge.

Ron was home, Ron was family.

Ron was the first person to ever say I love you, chubby cheeks bouncing as he smiled. Honest in his love like only kids are.

There wasn’t much of that Ron in the 6’2 ft tall man that layed besides him. Except maybe his eyes. They were blue, blueblueblue, round and big and completely sincere. Every emotion Ron felt reflecting back on them.

Violent but oh so soft. Harry had never seen the ocean, but he reckoned that’s how it looked like.

His presence was enough to make the world stop spinning, so he stayed with them: A hand in his arm or a leg tangled between Mione’s.

Always touching.

His silence saying more than a million words could.

I’m not going anywhere Harry. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever again.

But so they knew? Did they even care?

You’re every Harry love, the ones you like and the ones you don’t

Harry Potter was the guy that passed the Auror official test in record time. The one that spent a year hiding the clues of his slow descent into insanity under red leather robes and tightly wrapped bandages.

Harry Potter was the man who stayed alone in New Year’s Eve changing napies and falling asleep besides his godson as he burnt in fever.

It was the five year old boy that one day came home from school with a carefully written card he’d dedicated to his aunt on Mother’s Day.

It was the boy who loved to fly. That felt more free in the air than any place on Earth. The one that enjoyed the breeze against his hair and the feeling of wood under his fingers.

It was the man that spent half a year in muggle parties with his best friend’s sister fucking his way through London. High with the thrill of anonymity and pissed out of his mind.

The man more scared of his own shadows than he was of any threat out there.

The one that stood in front of Voldemort when he was 17 and killed him like he was born to do so.

Harry Potter was the man scared of dark and cramped spaces. The man that fell apart in his best friends’ arms and sobbed for hours like he couldn’t do with anyone else.

It was the little boy who looked just like his father, that had his mother’s eyes.

It was the man who loved with every fiber of his being, that loved and loved like it was a race. That burned and consumed and desperately wanted to be loved back. It was the man that remembered Molly’s favorite way of taking her tea, that visited Goerge on the weekends at the shop—the one that discussed muggle phones with Arthur. It was the man Andy could always remember his daughter with.

Harry Potter was the boy that walked to his death on a cool May evening because he loved. Because he pictured a future where his friends could laugh and breath freely again, even if he wasn’t a part of it.

And so Hermione stroked his hair, and Ron hid his face in the crook of his neck, and so they’d remind him.

I love all of them Harry, each and one of them

You’ve carried enough burdens mate, leave some of them to us alright? We’ll carry them too

Harry Potter was Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley’s best friend. And sometimes, that was enough.

My submission for the @tomarrybigbang of 2024. Thank you to all the mods that helped organize this fest 💕

Explicit, 4.4k, Chapter 1

Summary:

Harry Potter is done.

He's been in the past for months now, working undercover as a poorly paid waiter in The Lounge: Britain's magical elite's favorite restaurant. He's more than ready to wrap things up, get the fuck out of 1953 and hug his godson again.

Enter, Tom Riddle: Dark Lord in The Making and Arsehole Extraordinaire. (And owner of The Most Fuckable Mouth Harry's seen since his days of shameless debauchery he was young.)

Impulse control has never been a strong suit of his, and this mission is proving to be the most difficult one yet.

My parter for this fest was the talented @00queasy00, who did this beautiful art!

Harry James Potter, Ronald Billius Weasly, and Hermione Jean Granger.

I’ve fallen so stupidly in love with these characters over the past year, it’s crazy. No matter how many new characters appear, how many ships become fan’s favorites, how many times writers decide that Ron was a horrible friend, that Hermione was better off without her boys, that neither of them deserved Harry. Now matter how many years pass, I’ll continue loving these three with the same intensity.

They are human and so impossibly imperfect, but they try their best. They try to be there for each other even when their personalities clash, when they don’t understand the other’s motives. To forgive each other when they fuck up, to console and provide comfort when times are dire. To protect, and defend at any cost. I adore every fic that explores their dynamics and the complex interactions between them.

I adore them. Just them.

And I adore @blvnk-art

Golden Trio

James definitely was Sirius's gay awakening and you can pry this headcanon from my cold, dead hands

12 year old Tom (he's a December baby): *gets hurt*

11 year old harry *wraps bandage around his knuckles* : don't worry this'll make the hurt go away *kisses the bandage*

Later,

Tom : punch me in the face abraxas