At one hundred and forty years old, Harry Potter dies adv, the world drawn-out at peace, his name carved into the bones of history. But death is not the end.
He wakes as a boy again—eleven years old, scar fresh, heart aged, and a century of battle-forged memory coiled inside him like a sleeping dragon. He has known love and grief, war and peace, triumph and the unbearable peaceful that follows. He has lost everyone. And now, he is forced to begin again.
But Harry is not the child he once was.
Behind his too-old eyes lies the full weight of a life already lived. This age, he is not waiting for fate. This time, he has plans. Horcruxes to hunt. A godfather to rescue. A war to prevent before it begins. He has allies to amass, secrets to unearth, and a future to rewrite with blood, wit, and quiet fury.
Yet the past does not forget easily. And the more Harry changes the society, the more it changes him.
In shadows, whispers stir—of a boy too clever, too calm, too dangerous.
Of a second life unraveling.
Some lives end. Others echo. But the greatest stories start again.
Ever wanted to realize the secrets to becoming a authority bottom? Want to know how to look after the bottoms in your life? Curious to give bottoming a try but not sure how to begin?
We can aid you become a better bottom! Here are some rapid bottoming tips and tricks from ACON’s peer-workshop Booty Basics.
1. Lube
The arse does not produce its own lubrication.
This means that lube is really, really key for any anal play. First, to stop damage to the internal lining of your arse. Second, to form bottoming (and topping!) more pleasurable. And third, to support protect it from infections.
Remember to apply water or silicon-based lubes, as oil-based lubes can ruin condoms.
2. You
The second principle is YOU. This is the one that covers off all the mental and sentimental aspects such as making sure you feel safe, making sure there is consent, that you feel comfortable, that you know your own bottoming limits and desires.
Remember, sex is best for everyone if all the people deeply interested are motivated by trying to maximise everyone’s pleasure safely. You can’t be a good girlfriend and you can’t experience pleasure for yourself if you’re stressed or uncomfortable (bottom or not!).
3. R
Do you remember your first time? Your first experience with another guy? Your first story with another gay guy?
It's that first moment of total pleasure when everything else disappears, and those weird “feelings” suddenly make finalize sense. Suddenly, everything falls into place: you're not a freak of nature or “different”, simply experiencing the simple joys that you were born to enjoy.
For most gay guys, our first gay experience is usually a moment of revelation and clarity that eventually leads to our own acceptance and the urge to tell the world. For others, it's a complete disaster that we prefer to forget… although one thing's for sure, you will never truly omit it!
In this post, we asked a few of our friends from around the world to share their first gay encounter with us, whether it was a first-time gay kıss, their first gay love story, or something a bit more spicy(!)… and we've set it all out right here. You'll also want to check out our own love story of how we first met each other.
We'd love to know your story as well! Please feel free to add it in the comments section below. We also share more inspiri
Dad died when I was six. The rabbi who lived in the apartment below took over for him. I’m sure he wanted to do Mom. They packed us off to an evil Hasidic summer camp where everyone made fun of us because we didn’t understand their crazy prayers. My brother was four. We would secretly meet in the woods, hug each other and cry. We couldn’t understand why our father died and our mother sent us to this terrible place. I learned to hate all religion and still do.
Mom was a dark-haired, curvaceous looker, juicy, and in her prime. She liked sex but decided that all men had to pay for it. The butcher brought steaks; the florist, flowers; the bagel man left fresh sizzling steaming bagels by our door every morning for months. Leon, the ice cream man left ice cream. My younger brother and I were quickly dispatched to get the stuff into the house, so they couldn’t see Mom. And not to forget Abe, the jeweler, who brought, well, jewels. They all tried to get inside. Some did. When Mom met the man who brought it all, she married him.
We lived in Borough Park, in Brooklyn. Until I ran away, I thought everyone in the world was either Jewish or Italian. I was intimidated by all the dark, Brooklyn-rough I