echo | adult | pro ship | here for the hp incest | the ingenious joke in my bio was made by an ao3 commentor, bless âĄď¸ weasley and blackcest enthusiast. đ đď¸ recently into tbosas and dipping my toes into x reader fics. i usually write character x character fics so lmk if there's customs im unaware of! âĄď¸ ao3: ifwerenotcareful (this is a sideblog, i canât follow, like or send asks from here.)
đ đď¸ the ballad of songbirds & snakes đď¸ đ
kindness is like snow (it beautifies everything it covers) | E | 2557 words | Coriolanus Snow x Sejanus Plinth x Original Female Characters
One night, Sejanus walks in on Snow fucking a blackout drunk girl. But instead of stopping his friend, or simply walking away, he gets closer.
just this once, E, Sejanus x Reader
Sejanus promises to pull out, then doesn't...
.ăťă.ăťăâăť.ăťâŤăťăăťă.
âĄď¸ harry potterâĄď¸
b(l)ack home, everything is a little different | E | 1205 words | Orion/Regulus/Sirius Black
At school, Regulus is distant with Sirius, resenting him for getting sorted into Gryffindor. At home, however, he regresses as soon as they step over the doorstep. There, Regulus is the sweet and affectionate little brother Sirius remembers.
So can Sirius really be blamed if he regresses back with his brother?
And can Orion really be faulted for loving his sons?
Sleep tight, baby boy | E | 3127 words | Orion/Sirius Black
After being disowned, Sirius becomes an escort to earn money, and his newest client is someone familiarâŚ
maybe itâs the way you say my name, M | 3277 words | 5/? chapters | Fred/George Weasley
Fredâs feelings for his brother are changing, and he doesnât know how much longer heâll be able to keep the secret.
Donât Make Me Say It | E | 423 words | Newt/Theseus Scamander
Newt and Theseus sneak away during the train scene for some one on one time.
i know i joke about rent-lowering gunshots but i cannot emphasize enough that incest and rape kinks are extremely common. wildly popular. this is something that a lot of people fantasize about, because itâs an easily accessible taboo, it intrigues/scares/interests people and thereâs a lot of content out there to absorb about it. itâs really not that out there or extreme to have those fetishes; we are talking top charters on pornhub of all places.
Fanfic writers, assuming you had this idea you wanted to write, but it dealt with taboo subjects, written in explicit details, and failed under "Dead Dove: Do Not Eat" category (and you were aware people might harass you for it, even if you tagged all the warnings properly), would you still write and post the fic?
Yes, I would write it and I would post it publicly where anyone could read
I'd write it and send it to close friends instead of posting it publicly
I'd write it, but would keep it to myself only
No, I wouldn't write or post it at all
I don't write fanfics that dealt with taboo subjects
Not a fanfic writer
Voting ended onSep 10, 2025
*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If youâd like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and weâll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).
There is no way to talk about incest without feeling that you are lying. This is because incest lives in the realm of unreality and everything in the realm of unreality cannot be thought or said or named. When you speak of things that happen in the realm of unreality it will always feel like a lie and be treated like a lie. You are breaking the fundamental rule. You are not allowed to talk about what goes on in the realm of unreality because it isn't real.
âBeds empty! No note! Car gone â could have crashed â out of my mind with worry â did you care? â never, as long as Iâve lived â you wait until your father gets home...â
Fifteen drabbles written for @thethreebroomsticksfic Weasley Week, Oct 16th: Arthur Weasley. Read below or on AO3.
i.
âYouâre joking.â
Molly chews back her smile, shakes her head coyly. The house isnât quiet, per say, but in a rare stroke of luck the twins and Ronnieâs naps have aligned.
And heâs wedged around the bathroom sink with his wife, giggling like children over a potion thatâs just changed color.
âA girlâŚâ
The day sheâs born, Fabian is there. Peers over the bassinet for so long, Arthur wonders if he too is counting ten perfect pink toes.
âShit,â he says to Arthur over a cigar that night, after talking war, âthis world will never be good enough for her.â
ii.
Itâs his turn tonight, when they hear little feet across the kitchen floor. Heâs not surprised itâs her, face still blotchy, hair sticking up everywhere from this afternoonâs tantrum that left her knackered.
She whips around in the pantry doorway, eyes like saucers. âIâm hungry.â
After leftover stew from her yellow paisley bowl, he lays in bed with her. Grants her request for a story on the condition she doesnât suck her thumb.
âOnce upon a time, there was a witch named Ginny who lived in a deep, dark woodâŚâ
âNo, Daddy,â she whispers, eyes nearly closed. âIâm a dragon.â
iii.
Molly tells him she cried the whole way home from Kingâs Cross. By early afternoon, he can still tellâ the aftershocks seem to surprise her, those gasping little breaths.Â
âYou know the best part of being the last one left,â he divulges over homemade strawberry ice cream that has yet to do the trick, âis that no oneâs here to fight you for your pick of broomstick.â
The rest of her bowl melts on the porch swing. Sheâs out until it gets dark in the orchard, comes in for supper with leaves in her hair and the biggest jack-o-lantern grin.Â
iv.
The day they bring her back home, he carries her trunk upstairs and sits beside her on the bed. Apologizes for ever blaming her, even for a second.Â
She counters by saying something lifeless and self-loathing and broken. Eleven-year-old fingers pick at bruised nail bedsâ tiny, perfect hands. He still canât fathom it.
That night, Molly brings her dinner and doesnât come back down. When he heads up to bed, he sees theyâve clearly emptied all her shelves, stacked every novel and journal and textbook outside her door where they canât hurt her.Â
Heâs never been angrier in his life.
v.
Since this morning, heâs meant to tell her heâs sorryâ sorry they couldnât offer her anything better on her birthday than this condemnable house-turned-war room. Sorry for the second-hand leather satchel wrapped in faded Christmas paper, even though she wanted a broom; sorry everyoneâs thoughts are on tomorrowâs hearing.
After dinner he finally says it, out of Mollyâs earshot. Sitting on the stairs leading from the kitchen, plates of fudgy cake in hand.Â
âDonât apologize.â Sheâs still smiling huge, bumps his shoulder. The Flatulence Fez the twins crowned her with slips down over one eye. âI really love the bag.â
vi.
It shouldâve been the day that made them proudest as parents, marrying off their firstborn. It wasnât.Â
This morning, they boxed up centerpieces and charger plates in the shed, repaired all the furniture, met with the Order. His ears still ring. The house is eerie without those three.Â
He finds them in her room. His wife is clutching their daughter as she sobs harder than heâs ever seen, inconsolable, wracking herself hoarse. He feels it like a sword to the chest.
In bed later, Molly shakes her head with that look he earns sometimes when heâs being thick. âSheâs heartbroken.â
vii.
Friday before Easter, he changes from work robes into something Muggle and tweed and itchy. Platform 9ž is packed with people avoiding eye contact, and the Express is late. It was late in December, tooâ arrived without Luna. He waits, terror tightening his throat.
Heâs numb with relief when he sees her, one of the only kids lugging a trunk like he advised. Sheâs swimming in a jumper heâs sure is Ronâs, and that twinges a bit. Thereâs something different, he notices, walking to the entrance. Colder. Quiet. He doesnât ask⌠canât quite bear to.
Four days later, they flee.
viii.
Sheâs fighting him. Kicking, clawing.
He holds on with everything he has, arms clasped around her chest, and itâs like he can feel her breaking inside. But if he lets go, heâll lose her, too. Like Fred.Â
Like the body theyâre all staring at, lifeless at Hagridâs feet.
Weeks later, when the Boy Who Lived finds him in the shed one night, hedging, guiltier than anyone heâs ever seen, he already knows. For a moment he considers letting the kid squirm, like the father ought to do.
But then he remembers her first year, and wordlessly hands over a screwdriver.Â
ix.
âOne more,â she tells their waitress, pointing at a coaster sheâs put in the middle. âFor my sixth brother.â
The table falls quiet. But then George chuckles and they all take his cue, except Molly.
Snow collects on the windows as the bangers and pies and chips are served. She laments early-morning practices to them all, pretends sheâs already bored of all the travel.
âKnock it off,â Charlie snickers, grinning. âRookies canât complain. We know youâre having a blast.â
At the end of the night she beats everyone to the bar, pays their tab. Arthur suspects itâs her whole paycheck.
x.
âI definitely saw you cry,â she accuses. Sheâs graceful even in smugness, grinning something wicked over her lipstick-stained champagne flute.
He pretends to grumble, but he knows she knows. âHard not to, with the bloody groom getting all choked up.â
The band calls them up soon after, and he pulls her close. âItâs okay,â she murmurs as her face starts to blur again, inches away. âJust admit youâve gone soft, Dad. I wonât tell.â He tugs on her hand to spin her, chuckling.
They cut cake, and Harry whispers something that makes her laugh, and she lights up the room.
xi.
Predictably, the stadium loses it when she flies out with a new surname on her kit. Ron rolls his eyes as she lands on the pitch with a bit of swagger.
She flies well today, but he reckons she could miss every shot and the commentators would still talk of nothing else. In the stands, Harry laughs when Arthur leans over to ask how it feels to play second fiddle.Â
âIâll never be good enough for her,â he snorts over the rim of his pint. âBut Iâm sure you knew that.â
She scores twelve goals, and the Harpies clinch playoffs.
xii.
âIâd kill for a drink about now,â she mutters, leaning against the railing. He knows better than to say she probably shouldnât be out here, eitherâ the venueâs porch, serving as refuge for men who normally never smoke.
He takes a long drag as they watch her boys toddle after their dad on the lawn. âNearly there, sweetheart.â Treading lightly with his words, lest he incur any of what Murielâs other well-intended mourners did with their attempts at small talk (âLike a fucking whale, thanks for askingâ).
âHey,â she smirks, âmaybe you and Mum can buy a beach cottage now.â
xiii.
The mug Molly poured when they arrived is tepid now, sitting on the table. Shadows lengthen like ghosts beneath his daughterâs eyes; he suspects theyâre five days old.
The kids are all asleep, Molly updates them.
Her jaw tightens. At her temple, he notices a couple of gray strands. âI canâtââ she whispers. Squeezes her eyes shut; nothing else comes out. âThey need their dad. Iâm not good enough on my own.â
âHeâll come home safe, darling. Always does.â And he makes her promise to never say that again.Â
He takes both of her hands in his, and theyâre cold.
xiv.
Theyâre celebrating Ted and Vic beneath a canopy of fairy lights. Billâs weepy toast prompts Fleur to frisk his brothers till she finds Georgeâs flask.
She never realizes Ginnyâs stowing the bottle.Â
His children outlast their kids and spouses. Itâs one of those nights he canât let himself miss, tired as he is.Â
His daughter points a wobbly finger. âLils has a boyfriend, by the way. Doesnât think we know. Harryâs going spare.â
He chuckles. âNow he gets it. Imagine trying to justify hating the Chosen One.â
She laughs, nearly tips her chair. âYou should tell him that. Might help.â
xv.
It comes in waves. Feels like a lifetime has passed since yesterday; another before that. Mollyâ bless herâ tried to prepare him for it. Tried to comfort him. Imagine.
It feels too big now, their little house on the beach. Perfect for two lives, cavernous with just one.Â
She finds him in the garden before sunset. Small, warm hands enclose his.Â
âLook, Dad.âÂ
Itâs a delicate, fluttering thing with blue wings, bobbing on the wind. Mollyâs favorite.Â
âSheâs found us again.â
He smiles and tucks a silver lock behind her ear, meeting her gazeâ precisely the same shade of brown.
She raised seven children, not to mention six of them were boys (good lord)! I have the utmost respect for this woman, keeping it together all those years. Going through two wars, trying to keep her family safe from harm.
She can be a little overbearing⌠a little overprotective⌠but sheâs still a good mum, I think. I love her. I love that she knits and I can even love her for swooning over Gilderoy Lockheart, until she found out he was a total fuckup. I mean, weâve all fawned over fictional charactersâ¨đ (and the occasional Pedro Pascal edit)
âŚ. Where was I? Oh right! Molly is lovely, I love her. I hope you do too! Arthur is up next and with him the Weasley family is complete! Woop!âď¸
hello good day today i come talking to you about molly weasley with chronic pain. molly weasley who sometimes is so fatigued she has to lay down again for hours after breakfast. molly weasley who has perfected spells that reduce sounds and light in her bedroom to make it a reprieve from the otherwise often loud and raucous house.
molly weasley who is buried under mountains of work to keep house and home school her seven children over the years. molly weasley who has always excelled at charms and makes use of this expertly so kitchen utensils will whip up meals she has prepared for low energy days. her household seems well run and she herself is mostly able to power through energy wise when guests pop in - but make no mistake, this is something she has worked hard for over the years, and is due to a delicate act of balance between rest and effort.
i dont exactly consider myself a pro-shipper but i am VERY anti-censorship. i hate all censorship. absolutely nothing in media should be censored whatsoever, the only exception being media that is marketed towards children because it should be up to parents/guardians/trusted adults to decide what media children are ready to consume.
but when it comes to adults? hell no.
âbut but but itâs a problematic ship!!! đĽşâ
there are problematic romances in real life. there are abusive relationships and sexual assaults in real life. we cope with these things by reading and writing about them and realizing that we are not alone, we are not crazy, we are going through something real. media is meant to connect people, and with the influx of social media, people donât connect with each other anymore and censoring stories about sensitive topics purely because theyâre problematic is severing that connection even more.
âbut but but itâs pedophilia! đĽşâ
i am a victim of pedophilia. i know many people who are also victims. again, if we donât tell these stories, then there will be kids who have nothing to connect to who think that what theyâre going through is normal or that itâs something only they will understand. it doesnât normalize anything. if you read about pedophilia and your first thought is âokay great, now i can be a pedo because i read about pedophilia!â then itâs not the story or the authorâs fault. itâs the pedoâs fault because theyâve always been a pedo. they were just looking for something to twist into justifying their actions.
and also the example i just described is something that absolutely NEVER happens. itâs something that antis made up so they could spread their censorship bullshit.
we should read stuff we disagree with. we should read stuff that is disgusting and messy and horrible if we want to. because those are all stories about the human experience. and if we censor one thing, whatâs to stop people from censoring everything?
do you antis know about the wales padlock act? in america in the 1920âs until i believe the 50âs or 60âs, there was a LAW that stated that people could be ARRESTED if the media they created had any form of âobscenityâ in it including nudity, pedophilia, and oh, you know what else? homosexuality. transgender characters. in fact, a play called god of vengeance by sholem asch was forcibly closed down and all actors and producers were arrested for âobscenityâ because it described a beautiful and loving homosexual relationship between two young women.
do you see now? do you get why censorship sucks? you canât just have some censorship. anybody can view anything as obscenity. bigots will turn ANYTHING into obscenity and lump it in with all the âproblematicâ stuff yâall want to censor. lgbtq+, interracial romance, etc. it could all be lumped in there and censored too.
i would rather have a few stories in the world that i disagree with or a few stories that make me uncomfortable than absolutely no stories that depict the human experience in a raw, unfiltered, uncensored way because when you censor art, it immediately severs all human connection that could have been formed from it.
so yeah. antis get the fuck off my page unless you want to change. i hate you and all the censorship bullshit you stand for.
I think James kissed Sirius first, almost as a joke, then grinned at him after, stifling a laugh, but Sirius was Looking At Him A Certain Way, and James kinda sobered up and said âYeah?â and then Sirius was kissing him, properly, and no one was laughing after that. For at least a minute. Then they cracked up again and got naked.
