I think one of the funniest abortion stances I've heard was from my parents neighbor. He's a like, hard-core libertarian viking larper guy who is very tall and very fat and very bald.
He believes a fetus is human with a soul, but also its "basically attacking the woman's body" so if she wants to get rid of it, that's "basically self-defense". He compared it to shooting a home invader. So he supports abortion not as healthcare, but as killing a baby in self-defense
Y'know I'm so glad someone reminded me of this. Because this was also discussed.
My stepmother did NOT like the way her Libertarian Viking Neighbor framed pregnancy as the fetus "attacking the woman". She incredulously told him this was extremely disrespectful to expectant mothers to portray pregnancy as so violent and negative.
Libertarian Viking Neighbor's response was that people consensually hurt each other all the time, and "there's like a whole community about that, with the acronym the one that starts with a B" And his reasoning was that if the mother was consenting to bring attacked by the baby, it in fact wasn't violent and negative because there was consent.
He brought up people consensually hurting each other, didn't go for one of the obvious answers like boxing or body mods or something, no he went STRAIGHT TO BDSM and he DIDN'T EVEN REMEMBER THE ACRONYM
(Credit for the lovely graphic goes to the wonderful @chaos-bear~)
This year's holiday fest for the soon-to-be-defunct @exquisitetomarrymortcorpse server had a hammy Christmas twist! Check out the whole AO3 collection at A Corpse Hallmark Holiday, or find the individual fics linked below. Thank you so much to everyone who participated, you're awesome! ( ˘ ³˘)♥( ˘ ³˘)♥( ˘ ³˘)♥
home renovation by @aitafrog
written for the prompt: a home renovation unearths secrets
Taboo by @truestgold
Prompt: "Voldemort hates christmas, a powerful wizard like him can erase the whole day from existance. Easy peasy."
HIS MAJESTY MARRIES MAFIOSO by @curioushabitforarivergod
Daily Prophet's own Rita Skeeter has the exclusive report on King Harry's marriage to Tom Riddle. How did they meet? Is Tom Riddle a secret gang leader? Find out on page two and three!
Christmas at the Ivory Flour by @valkyrie-chemist
“City-slicker.”
“Country-bumpkin.”
“God, we’re a fucking Hallmark movie waiting to happen,” Harry snorted.
“Don’t even joke,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Have you seen what happens to the poor finance fiancés in these things?” Harry burst out laughing. “You’ll be fine,” Tom continued, “You’re the irresistible, messy baker who—”
“Irresistible?” Harry interrupted with a smirk.
“I said what I said,” Tom replied smoothly.
~OR~
Trust-shy Harry runs the local bakery and has a spare room; city slicker Tom gets snowed in and there's nowhere else to stay
Truth, Lies, and Snowstorms by @chaos-bear
A winter storm, a mountain road, and one unexpected detour can change everything. Sometimes love arrives quietly, and sometimes it crashes off the highway and right into your life.
I found an injured mob boss in a Harrods changing room and now he wants to date me?! by @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts
Harry doesn't want to be at Harrods in the first place, but Hermione is extremely pregnant and asked him to pick up a gift for her, and he's a good friend (and also a little terrified of her). Then he gets locked in.
And then he finds a man bleeding in the changing rooms.
blood coffee (just how you like it) by @blackseatwenty
Detective Harry Potter is exhausted and fed up. His department doubts him, his superiors look for excuses to remove him, and the serial killer- Lord Voldemort- remains uncaught.
The only comfort he has is his favourite coffee shop, Dark Arts Brew and it's owner, Tom Riddle.
careful what you wish for by @known-concepts
Harry's twenty-first year approaches, and with it, the expectation for him to preside over the annual winter festival for the first time. As a royal, he has certain duties he must undertake for the sake of his people, he knows this, but he can't help but feel as if they're going about it all wrong.
After an argument with his parents, a wish upon the stars, and a failed assassination attempt, Harry finds that no one remembers him, that there is no record of a crown prince at all.
Until he meets Tom.
Gingerbread Love by @ellias-elliott
Tom Riddle decides to go back to his birthtown at his best friend, Abraxas' ask. He ends up participating in a gingerbread tournment, one of his strongest competitors being Potter's Perfect Pastries. When one of the biggest gingerbread factories joins in to take away Tom's win, he decides to disqualify them from the event using totally moral and legal methods.
or
Tom really wants to win so he kills someone and blames it on someone else. Harry finds out.
a tomarry gift for the wonderful @valkyrie-chemist for @exquisitetomarrymortcorpse's hallmark holiday fest🎅🎄🎁
written for the prompt: a home renovation unearths secrets
“Ew,” said Harry, nose crinkled in disgust, fingers tightening on the straps of his backpack. “Is that a dead snake pinned to the door?”
Tom sighed, looking over his ancestral home with matching disdain. “Morfin was unhinged, darling. There’s a reason I never introduced the two of you.”
When Morfin had finally kicked the bucket, Tom hadn’t expected to inherit much. He was a disgusting man, living a disgusting life; as far as Tom was aware, he spent his days shitting himself and screaming at the walls of the Gaunt Shack, alone in his madness and barely functional. But nonetheless, as his only blood relative, Tom was lucky enough to be bequeathed Morfin’s sad, squalid property, and while he didn’t imagine there was anything of value to be found there, he’d at least check the place over first.
“So this is where your mother lived,” said Harry quietly, making his way carefully towards the hovel. “Poor Merope.”
Tom hissed a quick instruction to the snake on the door, disarming the wards on the lock and giving him an excuse to ignore Harry’s words entirely. Family was a sore subject for Tom, and always had been; only Harry knew just how twisted the Gaunt family could be, and though Tom trusted Harry with his life, speaking of the details felt wrong, as if by verbalizing the truth of his origins, Tom would curse himself to be more and more like his predecessors.
To be more like his uncle, cruel and wild, poisonous with his every word and every action. To be more like his mother, naive and foolish, driven insane by Morfin’s many lies.
Merope had been normal, long ago, before Tom had ever been born. She’d attended Hogwarts with the other children. She’d made friends and enemies, just as Tom had.
But when she’d finally returned home to be with family, Morfin had twisted her mind entirely, driving her insane with absurd tales. He’d told Merope they were royalty, that they were the true heirs to the Slytherin throne, that if she ever gave birth to a son, the little boy would become king of the entire wizarding world. And while his stories were unbelievable and strange, Merope was weak, weaker than Tom would ever be. Only after hearing Morfin’s ranting and raving day in and day out did Merope begin to fixate on the idea of raising a king.
In her mission to birth an heir, she’d fixated on the poor Muggle boy who lived up the hill, and landed herself in Azkaban for her crimes. Using Amortentia on a Muggle was worse than a breach of the Statue of Secrecy—it was a mind-warping violation of the highest order, one that would leave the helpless Muggle ruined for the rest of his lifetime.
And thus, Tom was born.
With a sigh, Tom stepped through the front door, ushering Harry in to join him. The Gaunt Shack was mostly as Tom remembered it, though Morfin certainly hadn’t been kind to it in the years since he’d last visited. The wooden floors were rotting away, the carcasses of roaches and beetles littering the corners of the room, patchy spiderwebs blanketing the ceiling. Stains littered the wall, of a dubious origin Tom felt no need to examine any further, and Morfin had clearly developed one hell of a drinking problem before his death, with empty glass bottles filling every flat surface.
“Anything you want to keep?” asked Harry, his eyes fixed on Tom’s face. His expression was far too close to pity, and Tom couldn’t stop his lips from twisting into a resentful scowl, even knowing it would give away just how much the sight of the shack had gotten to him.
“Nothing,” said Tom, already ready to leave. “So what did you want to do here, Harry? What was the ‘surprise’ you had planned?”
Harry’s face split into a grin, unexpectedly cheery as he swung his backpack off his shoulders. “I know you’ve been pretty pissed off recently with the Malfoy heir about to be crowned next heir to the Slytherin throne, yeah? Lucius’ coronation is in a month, right?”
Tom scowled, nodding sullenly. Everything about the wizarding world’s archaic system of royalty left a sour taste in his mouth, especially knowing how thoroughly delusions of royal blood had twisted his mother’s mind. Tom would be a better ruler of the wizarding kingdom than any Malfoy could ever dream of, would reshape all of its broken systems and stupid redundancies, but dim, foppish Lucius would take the Slytherin throne instead? He’d once seen Lucius run into a wall because he was too distracted by his own reflection in the glass of a window; the man wasn’t qualified to lead a book club, let alone all of England’s magical population.
“Well, I thought you could get a little anger out here,” continued Harry, pulling out a sledgehammer from his backpack. Tom’s eyes popped open at the sight, completely caught off guard — he’d thought Harry had packed lunch, probably, or maybe a bit of Firewhiskey. “If you don’t want anything from this house, smash it all to bits! Channel all your rage into this ugly shack!”
For a moment, Tom could do nothing but stare at Harry, speechless. Only he would suggest something so Muggle, so animalistically base, but Tom couldn’t deny the satisfying mental image of breaking apart the building with his own hands, destroying beyond repair the ancestral home he’d far surpassed.
Harry really knew him so well; even through his distress, Tom couldn’t stop a smile from softening his face, unwillingly fond.
“That sounds lovely, darling,” said Tom, reaching out for the sledgehammer with no small amount of enthusiasm. “Shall we?”
Harry beamed at him, grabbing his own weapon of choice in hand — a baseball bat, it seemed. “Let’s do it!”
And, overcome with a strange, rabid sort of enthusiasm, Tom began to swing at the ugliest lamp he’d ever seen, relishing in shattering every trace of his ancestry into shards.
~~~
After all of Morfin’s worldly possessions were shattered, crushed, or otherwise mutilated, Tom had made the executive decision that not even the walls of his hovel could be left standing, and though it pushed his rarely used, aching muscles to the brink, he’d begun swinging at the walls with reckless abandon. The shack was far from structurally sound, likely even before Morfin had allowed vermin to nibble at the home’s foundations and walls; with a few good, solid hits, the plaster of the wall had easily crumbled away.
But after a particularly vicious hit to the wall right behind what had once been Morfin’s old bedframe, Tom could swear he saw something glittering behind the crumpled plaster.
“Harry?” he called out, squatting towards the hole he’d left in the wall. “Do you see this?”
Behind him, Harry dropped his baseball bat, turning to Tom with a pleased smile. Harry, of course, had never ceased playing Quidditch even after graduation, joining a local league and playing casually throughout the week. Where Tom was sweaty and his arms leadened, Harry seemed perfectly relaxed, still swinging away with abandon, not even breathing hard.
“You alright?” asked Harry, jogging over. He peered into the hole himself, his eyes widening behind his dusty glasses. “Oh, shit! That looks expensive!”
Harry reached a hand in, grabbing the strange, glimmering object that Morfin must have hidden in the walls.
It seemed to be a necklace — a locket, certainly old, beautifully engraved. Its chain was a thick, heavy gold, and the pendant seemed to be inlaid with glistening emeralds, curving into the shape of a stylized ‘S.’
Tom recognized it instantly. He’d searched for it for years, had read every book about it, scoured every painting
“That’s Slytherin’s locket,” he breathed, entranced. He took it carefully from Harry’s hands, holding it up to the light — every gemstone was perfectly placed, every link of the chain just as the stories had been told. “How? How could it have possibly gotten here?”
Harry placed a warm, grounding hand on Tom’s shoulder, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Maybe Morfin was telling the truth. Maybe you are descended from the Slytherin line.”
He’d lived his whole life resenting Merope, his mother, a woman who’d ruined his life before he’d even been able to walk, who’d forced him to grow up without either parent due to her own delusions. If she’d been right all along, then had he been wrong all along? Should he have responded to her letters from Azkaban, so frequent in his childhood, so rare in his adulthood without any sort of reciprocation to encourage her? Should he have visited, at least once, to hear her out firsthand?
It was nearly too much to bear — Tom couldn’t dwell on regrets any longer, wasn’t cut out for reminiscing about the past. He was ambition, a Slytherin to his core.
Perhaps the locket represented something deeper, something darker, a part of his childhood he’d feared confronting for far too long.
But in the meantime, he could use this for his benefit. What could be a more convincing proof of his lineage than Slytherin’s long-lost family heirloom, passed down only to blood relatives?
“Harry, my darling,” said Tom out loud, a cruel, cutting smile spreading across his face. “How do you feel about ruining Lucius Malfoy’s year?”
by - Chaos_Bear, curioushabitforarivergod, eleven_eaves, frogsaswell, Lytri, TheOnceandFutureQueenofTarts, tommarvoloriddlesdiary, valkyrie_chemist
Chapters: 13/13
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Musician Harry Potter, Actor Tom Riddle, Social Media, POV Outsider, Multimedia, Fanart, Podcast, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, a love letter to lettie
Summary:
Social media goes wild when a break-up between musician Harry Potter and actor Tom Riddle is revealed.
But were they actually ever together, or is it just the latest fixation of a delusional internet?
a/n: this was so much fun to make - happy birthday to our most darling and lovely and wonderful @known-concepts! lettie 😭 i hope you have the bestest fandom birthday ever 😭
written by the talented: @chaos-bear, @curioushabitforarivergod, @cindle-writes, @aitafrog, @floatingdandelionseeds, @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts, @valkyrie-chemist, and somehow little ol’ me 🥹
None of that "Oh no they bomb-dropped all the episodes in a week 1 month ago, I'm late!" "The tag hasn't been active all week is the fandom dead?" "I only got a hundred shares the first hour no one cares about my art"
Slow down
Take a deep breath and slow down
Fandom is YOU. And me and everyone. If we doodle stick figures for a show that ended 30 years ago we aren't "late" or "doing too little", we're playing dolls in our own time and having fun with works of art that mean a lot to us
You can literally watch and engage with something that aired in 2004 as if it aired yesterday
If the tag hasn't been active for 14 months guess what? If YOU post there, it isn't dead. Literally you can talk about anything you want whenever you want there is no weird law against watching things that people aren't actively talk about
A character study ficlet for @valkyrie-chemist in honour of their first Purge ˖⁺‧₊˚✦
Prompt: alligator (or crocodile, in this case) tears
-----
Tom learns early that tears achieve nothing. While the other children at Wool’s might be able to garner useless sympathy with their weeping and whining, the matron and the other caretakers have no patience for anything of the like from Tom. That is proven conclusively the one time he tries it.
“You never cried as a babe, but you’ll cry over a serpent?” one of them scoffs when they realise what has brought him to tears. “What else could we expect from the Devil’s child?”
It’s true. Not that he’s a child of the Devil, though he’s heard that superstition often enough. Tom has never cried before. His watchful silence has always unsettled those around him. It’s difficult to summon the tears even for the snake, killed with sticks and malice by some of the older orphans, and the snake had provided him with the closest approximation of worthwhile conversation. Crying feels unnatural, like a joint bending in a manner it’s not meant to.
He doesn’t bother to repeat the experiment.
At Hogwarts, Tom cannot show an ounce of weakness lest he be swallowed up by the snake’s nest he now lives in. He supposes in this regard it’s beneficial that he has never relied on tears as a method of manipulation. Tears are weakness, shameful and jeered, or an overt display of emotions that is distasteful and uncouth for a Slytherin, and more specifically a Pureblood.
No matter the slurs or spells thrown at him, no matter how many of his belongings are destroyed or times he’s excluded from his house’s hierarchy or petty ways they try to hurt him, Tom does not cry. He does not complain to anyone in a position of authority. His stoicism unnerves those who are intelligent enough to recognise it as a predator biding its time, waiting for the moment to strike. As well it should.
For all their delusions of blood purity and nobility, they snivel like the lowest orphan when he’s through with them.
—
Tears are no help to Harry. Dudley could cry over anything and it would instantly have Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon racing to his side to mollify him.
(And, more often than not, blame Harry as the cause of Dudley’s tantrum.)
When Harry cries, he is either ignored, shouted at for his crocodile tears and manipulative nature, or locked in the cupboard with no supper. He saves his tears for when he’s alone, and eventually they dry up.
He feels a hollowness, a hard pit beneath his ribs, where he imagines the tears are calcifying inside him. But as long as they don’t escape from his eyes, as long as he can avoid drawing the ire of his relatives in this way, he can deal with it.
Hogwarts brings friends – Ron and Hermione, first and foremost. And Harry feels reasonably safe in thinking that, if he cried, they wouldn’t think (much) less of him. During the years they spend together at the school, both have cried in front of him.
(It makes him a little uncomfortable, possibly because it isn’t an emotional display he is allowed and he doesn’t know what to do. But it’s fine. It’s a good thing, he imagines.)
Harry doesn’t think he can cry now, though. Instead, the hollowness builds and builds, taking over his chest and stomach, until the pressure cracks him with the return of Voldemort. Then it all begins to escape in red hot rage, venting out through the fractures in his composure rather than his tear ducts. Everything feels so big, so out of control. But he doesn’t cry. Even when Sirius–
Even after the Ministry, Harry can’t cry.
It wouldn’t help, anyway.
—
When Harry collapses to the ground in the forest clearing, Voldemort wonders whether he would have cried in this moment, if he’d ever been given to it. He doubts anyone would believe the sincerity of his tears anymore than the caretakers at Wool’s had.
—
Hours later, watching the killing curse rebound towards Voldemort, whose eyes widen with fear and resignation, Harry feels a brief burning pressure behind his eyes. He doesn’t cry – what a silly time to, if ever there was one. But he thinks of the horcrux under the bench at the ghostly King’s Cross and wishes things could have been different. For both of them.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle
Additional Tags: Teacher-Student Relationship, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Tom Riddle, Manipulation, Oral Sex, i get to harass my friends and also write filthy smut, what more could i ask for, Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, Masturbation
Summary:
Harry decides to fake cry to get out of detention and Tom likes it too much or something
dededos
annaxmalina
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
izzy806
2087
