No Parody Title Needed

Hello again, everyone! This time I bring you How to Seduce Your Godfather, , a Harry Potter fanfiction written by “The Potters of the Future”

This is a Sirius/Harry slash fic, which means they’re gay lovers. The themes are pretty rough. There’s a better chance you’ll be offended by the story itself than by anything I might have to say about it.

You have been warned.

A thirteen year old Harry James Potter the most famous wizard of their generation for being the Boy Who Lived had refused to return the Dursleys home when he had finished Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the year.

I love my introductions the way I like my women: bloated and full of inefficient exposition.

He was sick and fed up of what went on behind closed doors in Number Four Privet Drive as was inflicted on him by Vernon Dursleys while his wife and Harry’s last remaining blood relative, Petunia Dursley nee Evans, turned a blind eye.

*cocks head* Is this implying what I think it’s implying? If so, why tell this through even more exposition spewed out like White Castle burgers after a night of heavy drinking, or as I like to call them, Wednesdays?

So this year he had not returned and thus had spent most of the summer on the streets of London close to Kings Cross Station which would take him back to Hogwarts in the coming September.

A thirteen year old boy living on the streets for about four months? I’m really not sure if I should make the joke I want to make. Honestly, given the name of the story and what’s been said so far, the author already has and will continue to make the jokes for me.

That was easier in the daytime where the sunny whether of the summer kept Harry warm and dry but it was much harder in the evenings and into the nights where the temperatures dropped drastically.

Warm weather in the summer? How deliciously absurd! Also, things may be different since I was last across the pond, but where I live, nights are hot as a fresh turd pinched on your neighbor’s lawn. It’s called “humidity” and “public defecation,” and they’re both bound to make you miserable.

So the young wizard would usually going to the nicer of the London bars that were situated around the streets and then he would chat and flirt with half drunk men and end up going back to wherever these men happened to live.

Told ya she’d do my job. Damn, I’m good.

Harry was well aware of the dangers associated with doing this. But Harry had never really learnt self respect with the Dursleys so didn’t care enough for his well being to much care about what he was doing.

I think I can get it if I break it down. Harry didn’t learn self-respect with the Dursleys, so he didn’t care about his well-being enough to mind what he was doing, which has already been established that he knows is dangerous. I think… I don’t even have a joke for this. That sentence was just a mess.

And he had found he rather enjoyed sex.

What are the odds?!

 That was a part of it he was rebelling from what his uncle had forced him to do. But he pushed that thought away.

More pedophilia? I’m not one to shy away from any subject matter, unless the shying away is, in fact, a joke, but even I know when a theme is being pushed too hard. I’m sure this isn’t the last we’ll see of it.

It may not be the best plan of action but remembering what had happened because of Dobby “saving him”; if the Weasleys hadn’t rescued him anyway Harry would have ran away as soon as he woke up from the unconscious state Vernon had left him in.

So Vernon raped and beat Harry unconscious after the floating pudding incident? … Hey, Floating Pudding Incident. That’s a great name for a band!

That was why he was so groggy when the Weasley boys had come to pick him up.

Not because he had woken from a deep sleep. Oh no, it was because he had been violently ass raped by a middle aged fat guy with a mustache and a sweater vest… All right, it all makes sense now.

Thank Merlin it had been dark or questions would be asked about why there was blood and other bodily excretions all over the room. Even so they did ask about the smell that the room was full of.

Astroglide and shame smell exactly like forced butt sex. You’re welcome for that uncannily poignant observation. By the way, excretions? Did Vernon take a dump on the carpet and give Harry a golden shower? Because even if Vernon spurted spunk like a racehorse, I don’t think it’d have been enough to redecorate the walls and stank up the room.

Harry had made up his mind early on in his second year that he was not going to have a repeat of last year! So this was the only option left to him after everything. Harry had even told Dumbledore the truth about everything that had been going on since he was a small child! But the bloody headmaster had done nothing about his home situation.

Would that be his job? Isn’t that more the jurisdiction of the police, or in this case, the Ministry of Magic? Besides, the way this has been written so far, I’m sure that most of the kids in this world are violently raped by close family members, so maybe Harry just got buried in Dumbledore’s queue.

Weren’t teachers supposed to help people like him? Harry sometimes thought that Dumbledore thought he deserved it but in the end what had happened was Dumbledore had lost all respect for the headmaster.

So go to another teacher, you bitter little bitch. Bad things happen to everyone, and you don’t hear them complaining. Well, you do hear it, but it’s usually not such self-centered whining. Well, it is, but they tend to do more to fix their own situation. All right, they generally do less, but dammit, I still find this annoying.

Also, what? Dumbledore had lost all respect for… himself? I don’t get it. How does that make Harry getting raped not a priority and Dumbledore’s fault? It just feels like the author was really reaching for a reason to blame Dumbledore for anything they could. You should try bombast and hyperbole if you’re trying to ruffle feathers. It sure as hell works for me!

Not that Harry said that allowed. Dumbledore was too highly thought of to publicly admit to disliking.

Did he not say it aloud? Or was he not allowed to say it? Using the right word in a sentence, contrary to popular belief, matters. YOU HEAR THAT, PEOPLE WHO USE THEN INSTEAD OF THAN? THEY AREN’T THE SAME FUCKING WORD, AND THEY HAVE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT MEANINGS. YOU’RE FUCKING STUPID AND I HATE YOU!

Furthermore, to the aforementioned people, I’ll use words you can understand. Yes, I do think my proper grammar makes me better then you.

See what I did there?

 All the man had said was that was very bad but it was better being beaten than being murdered by Voldemort.

Are they mutually exclusive options? Be beaten OR be murdered by Voldemort: you gotta pick one.

So he’s not getting molested, only beaten? Have I read into that wrong? If so, why would he be covered in blood and other excretions? How would the Weasleys not have noticed his bruises? Make up your mind, author. Did he get beaten, raped, or both, and which one did he tell Dumbledore about?

The one good thing was that at the start of each year Dumbledore gave him some sort of healing draught.

To fix his anus? Face? To shrink his hemorrhoids? (If he’s getting forcibly fucked in the ass every night all summer, his asshole must resemble cauliflower by the time school starts.) Maybe to grow back his teeth after months of sucking dicks for money to buy meth? Dammit, that isn’t funny. It’s probably exactly what we’ll find out he’s been doing during the day.

That night Harry was sitting at the counter being served up his normal (thank Merlin he looked so old for his age) vodka and coke at Boyle’s Bar an Irish family owned tavern since the nineteenth century when the Boyles had come over from Ireland due to the potato famine.

I’m sure that’s going to prove to be an important fact later on. Just wait and see.

Harry was looking for a candidate suitable for what he had planned tonight; it shouldn’t be someone too shady looking in case they were the date rape kind.

Wait, what? Isn’t a date rapist’s greatest weapon the fact that they don’t look shady? And isn’t the sex supposed to be part of the deal? I thought it’s what he wanted.

And he didn’t that to happen. Not again!

What to happen again? Date rape? For fuck’s sake! He is literally looking for sex. I have no idea what the hell this author is trying to tell me. Harry is looking for someone to fuck, yet he doesn’t want it to be someone who’d want to fuck him. I’m so confused! The end goal of date rape is to fuck someone who doesn’t want to fuck you, yet Harry is ready, willing, and eager, so why would the other guy need to drug him to fuck him in the first place?! MAKE SOME GOD DAMN SENSE!

That was when Harry spotted the man he wanted more than the rest of the men he fucked with.It was a man by the door of the tavern who seemed to be trying to avoid being looked at.


 He looked like he was in his mid forties maybe a few years older than Professor Snape at Hogwarts. The man had lots of dark (maybe a shade or too lighter than Harry’s) matter hair that looked like he hadn’t seen a shower in over a decade it was so full of grub and grime.

Who the hell wants to fuck this guy? If he smells as bad as he sounds, he’s probably unbearable to be around. And what the hell is with the asides in parentheses? They’re pointless and serve to give us no useful information. Who gives a shit about how many shades lighter his hair is than Harry’s?

One thing has me puzzled: what is “dark matter hair?” Is it swallowing up the universe around it? Annihilating everything it touches?

And Petunia Dursley thought that Harry’s hair was a state compared to this man’s hair Harry’s was positively straight.

This is an unbelievably poorly worded sentence, and maybe it’s just that my patience has worn thin, but reading this is such a pain in the ass. Which state is his hair? Or would it be a province? Perhaps a territory? A region?

I need a drink.

 The man had grey eyes that looked rather similar to Draco Malfoy’s oddly enough and were sunken deep into his grubby face which had a strange waxen quality to it like the pictures of the wax models that the Dursleys had taken when for Dudley’s tenth birthday they had taken him Malcolm to see Madam Tussauds Waxwork Museum.

No, you don’t say? His face had a waxen quality like that of a wax figure? Really? I’d never have guessed those two things would be so similar. This is just such rich imagery. That convoluted mess of a simile is simply brilliant; I’d never think this one up myself. I humble myself before you, oh Hemingway of Harry Potter fanfiction.

And while I’ve still yet to understand why Harry would want this soup kitchen reject for a lover, I’m so pissed at the obnoxiously long explanation that was given for a fucking wax sculpture. Is this author getting paid for product placement somehow? If so, I’d like to find out how because I can work them in here a lot better.

The man wore a very long, very old, very dirty (you couldn’t see the originally colour beneath it), beaten trench coat that seemed to be about five sizes too big over baggy grey trousers.

What is with the asides again? And why does Harry want to fuck this guy? He sounds like he’ll give you every STD known to man and some from the animal kingdom.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that Harry knew all the homeless people around here (being one himself) he would have thought that the man was homeless!

Ignoring how dreadfully bad that sentence is on its own, why in the fuck did you use an exclamation point? It’s out of place, to say the least. The dude looks — and probably smells — homeless, but since he’s not on Harry’s homeless people roster, then he mustn’t be homeless! If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck… it’s homeless.

Harry thought that the man looked as skinny as Harry was (and Harry had been starved all his life Merlin only knew why he wasn’t shorter than he was people often said Harry looked sixteen). Harry watched the man knock back a pint in a dejected sort of manner. Harry then, picking up vodka and coke, got up from his seat and slid in beside the man who looked up at him warily from where he was sitting.

Vodka and Coke? That’s just nasty. Coke mixes better with dark liquors: rum and Coke, Jack and Coke, etc. You combine vodka with light colored mixers: orange soda, orange juice, Sprite, and the likes. The reason for that is simply that mixing one group with the other tastes like oven-roasted ass coated in some fat guy’s Dutch oven bed sheet residue. So not only is Harry a dirty vagrant cum receptacle, he also has shitty taste in drinks.

‘Hey,’ Harry greeted cheerfully.

‘Lo,’ grumbled the man.

‘Bad day?’ asked Harry.

‘More like twelve years,’ the man replied.

Ha ha, cuz Dementor prison. Inside joke!

Harry felt he had a lot in common with the man, ‘I know that feeling,’ laughed Harry darkly. ‘Would you care for a drink?’ Harry then asked the man.

We’ve both had shit lives. We’re soul mates!

Harry saw the man shoot him a suspicious look before the man then shrugged, ‘thanks,’ the man grumbled grumpily as Harry retrieved another beer careful to take his own vodka with him. He didn’t want to be drugged!

Fuck off with the date rape thing. It’s not interesting. I’m not impressed that you thought of it. And I’m sure as shit not compelled to think that there is any risk of it actually happening to him.  But the way this thing is written, I’m sure it will. Also, I’m very glad for the distinction of how “the man grumbled.” Had I not known that he “grumbled grumpily,” I might have mistaken it for a merry grumble.

Sirius looked at the young man beside him knowing perfectly well how past his own limit of alcohol he currently was.

Pussy. He had one pint of beer, and he’s already tripping over his own feet? He can’t even use “being in prison for twelve years” as an excuse. Everyone knows you can get toilet wine in there.

That day had been the roughest since he had escaped from Azkaban a week ago. Sirius had visited the Dursley household in Surrey where his teenaged godson should have been staying as it was the summer holidays. But for some reason unknown to Sirius Black the thirteen year old teenaged kid was nowhere in that all too normal house for a wizard.

His ass had been in Azkaban for twelve years. Who in the hell was irresponsible enough to give him Harry’s address, since there’s no way in the blue fuck he could have known where Harry lived in the muggle world?

 Sirius had seen Lily’s sister shooing him away as he sniffed for food around their bins. He had also seen her overweight whale of a husband drive away for work (or so Sirius presumed). And later he had seen a blob which must have been Harry’s cousin (Lily had told them that she had nephew). There was another angry little dog that was doted on by a muscular blonde woman who reminded Sirius why he preferred men.

Wait a second. If he prefers men, wouldn’t he be more likely to be attracted to women who look like men on steroids?

Sirius had then quickly left the house after sniffing around for the smell of his godson. But apparently he hadn’t been here for around a year.

First of all, how would he even know what Harry smells like?

Secondly, the lack of smell gives him the ability to pinpoint how long ago Harry had been there. I know dogs have good noses, but this is just nuts. Not even the Twilight vampires can smell shit with this much precision.

And third, I only know he’s a dog because I read the book/watched the movies. Nowhere in this colostomy grab bag does it say that Sirius is an animagus who can transform into a dog. I’m left to believe that he’s a haggard-looking man walking on his hands and knees and sniffing the ground, trying to eat out of the garbage can. Under these circumstances, Petunia was actually pretty nice in simply shooing him away instead of calling the police to have his lunatic ass removed from her property.

By the time he realised Harry was nowhere to be seen he had hitched a ride on a train and headed to a Muggle bar near to Grimmauld place where hopefully no one would recognize him but knowing he was risking himself being seen and reported to the Ministry. But Sirius just had to go somewhere he could get himself drunk off his ass and drink away all his troubles. That was when the young man who had been chatting to the Muggle barman had come up to him and attempted to make conversation that Sirius just wasn’t in the mood to respond to.

That’s usually my first order of business when I get out of jail: go to a bar and get drunk off my ass. I presume Sirius mugged someone on the way to the bar, since it’s doubtful that Azkaban gives escapees a bag full of money on their way out.

The young man beside him was once more trying to make conversation, ‘so what’s your story?’ asked the man.

Sirius couldn’t believe a stranger even an attractive stranger had asked him that, ‘long story,’ grumbled Sirius glaring at the man hoping he would get the message to leave him alone.

Yeah, because that’s such an odd question, though not as odd if the person is good-looking. I just don’t get this. It doesn’t even remotely make any sense. Good-looking people don’t ask questions? Or when they do ask them, it’s a shock, because we all know that pretty people are stupid.

But apparently the man didn’t, ‘mine too.’

This surprised Sirius and he decided to try and get some more out of the boy by giving him some information, ‘looking for my godson Harry Potter,’ Sirius said as a peace offering. Then as curious as any Gryffindor he asked, ‘what about you.’

“What a coincidence, my name is Harry Potter, and this is the scar that proves that I am your godson.”  No, of course not. We can’t make them fuck if we just come out and have the characters behave like normal humans. This is ridiculous.

But Harry had gone completely silent for several long moments trying to think about what to say in response to that pronouncement! He had a godfather! He could have a father figure! But where had this bloody man claiming to be hid godfather been for his entire life?

Obviously vacationing in the fucking Bahamas! He left you on purpose because you’re a whiny fuck.

 Where was the man when Harry had needed him so desperately? Where was he when his mother and father – who they had obviously trusted enough to name as godfather – were murdered brutally by the darkest wizard of their time? Where was the fucking man when Vernon fucking Dursley was his supposed parental guardian whilst abusing him so vilely? Where was this man when he had been forced down into the Dungeons and the Chamber of Secrets and Voldemort a.k.a. Tom Marvolo Riddle, and Quirrel had come so close to murdering him? It was only twelve fucking years in October that the man had actually given a damn to see where Harry was! The more Harry thought about it the more Harry felt that if it hadn’t been for the fact that hisgodfather, he sneered internally sounding like Snape, had been drinking a lot of alcohol tonight for unknown reasons he probably wouldn’t have mentioned Harry. But Harry who had also been drinking and was angry decided that the best way to get his own back was by seducing his godfather. If it hadn’t been for the alcohol he probably wouldn’t have acted the way he did!

The guy is bloody and looks like shit, which means he was having a jolly good time ‘til now. Let’s get revenge on him by being a power bottom!

Hey, there’s your anti-teen drinking PSA. *Deep gravelly voice* Kids who drink will fuck their godfather. This message was sponsored by Students against Drunken Pseudo-Incest and the Anti-Liberty Center for Social Engineering and Generalized Morality Implementation.

Plus, he’s already said he’s had a shit twelve years. Even a drunk fucking kid should have picked up on that.

The young man then smirked in what Sirius thought was a very Slytherin sort of way, ‘well then I think I may just have a way to make you forget all about your godson,’ growled the young man.

It didn’t process immediately what the young man was implying. In fact under the influence of several pints of beer it took Sirius several minutes to process what was said and realise what the young man was talking about in that growling statement.

Several pints? Harry asked him all of two questions, and at the beginning of this shit fest, Sirius had had only one pint and was already drunker than an eighteen year-old girl out on her first spring break in Mexico.

Has the author of this thing ever had a drink before? Most people I know are still buzzed after a second pint. Not only that, it took him minutes to figure out a proposition for sex? I don’t know about the rest of you, but one of the legendary problems of inebriation via alcohol is interpreting everything as a sexual advance and getting yourself into trouble that way. “You’re looking at me. Obviously, you want to fuck me,” said everyone after the third drink.

It wasn’t until the young man moved closer to Sirius and then felt one delicate, slender, and almost feminine feeling hand inch its way carefully up Sirius’ right thigh making Sirius blush that Sirius truly understood what the young man wanted.

“Excuse me, young sir, art thou cupping my balls?”

“Indeed I am, sir.”

“Pray tell, in what world would a virile gay man such as myself appreciate the slender feminine hands of a boy?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, I just thought I’d be your fancy.”

“Carry on, then. Cheerio!”

But he couldn’t help but wonder why? It wasn’t like Azkaban had left him with his teenaged good looks. But as the hand got higher Sirius had to swallow a groan at the feelings the other male was stirring in him. Sirius still didn’t understand why but it was becoming increasingly obvious that for whatever reason this young man desired Sirius.

Is Sirius thinking about himself in the third person? Who does he think he is? The Rock? Geraldo? Salvador Dali? Bob Dole? Bo Jackson? Elmo?

 He drained the last dregs of beer that were left in his pint glass. And the two dark haired males left together with the bar man giving his friend a hearty wink.

What friend? And what the fuck is the shutter speed on a “hearty wink?”

Sirius knew that they were both half drunk (…)

Half drunk? You just said before that Sirius was piss drunk! Now all of a sudden he’s almost sober again because some homeless kid braided his short and curlies?

(…) and they’d probably regret this in the morning.

Why? He just got out of prison. Every hole is definitely a goal!

 But honestly at the present when he was stumbling with an attractive young thing Sirius couldn’t care less. Once back out in the streets of London Sirius was left blinking in the darkness whilst his partner looked completely at home in the streets.

“Blinking in the darkness.” Yeah, I can see that. The darkness is so bright, it’s blinding me! Blimey.

Sirius didn’t know what to think about that!

Me neither.

Sirius wasn’t sure whether he should take the young man back to where he had lived before his parents had kicked him out after all he was a handsome young man probably used to classier places than what was in essence a spooky old haunted house.

I bet Harry was wearing his pimp clothes that didn’t denote his “homeless boy hooker” status.

 Just thank goodness none of his relatives had stayed behind. But it still had moving pictures which would frighten the Muggle man out of his wits. And the smell of dust and mould that would show that the house hadn’t been lived in since his mother had died in it 1985 (eight years ago). The house would probably frighten the man away and turn him off if nothing else did.

Why does this author insist on telling everything through half-baked pseudo exposition/ inner monologue? It’s boring and monotonous, and it’s causing me to repeat myself. I’m not okay with this.

I’m also glad that the author did the math for me, since I have no idea what year this is, and this particular dating doesn’t even make any sense.Prisoner of Azkaban was released in 1999, which was the “year” Sirius broke out of prison. This nonsensical bullshit is giving me a headache.

Sirius turned to the man leaning on him, ‘where do you live?’ Sirius asked.

The young man seemed to hesitate again, ‘out of town,’ the man finally murmured into his ear.

Sirius wondered what the man was doing in London but supposed that it didn’t really matter. Sirius was left with only one option about what to do now and that was to take the man to the Black Manor.

Or a sleazy motel, perhaps a layby. Thank you for that term, “My Rook Takes Your Knight” review.

Sirius was still rather reluctant to hail a cab as he was bound to be all over the Muggle news by now and he had no wish to be recognised by a sober Muggle as a supposed mass murderer.

Yes, a sober muggle. Because really, who would believe a drunk one? As if looking like a transient serial killer with a teenage boy on his arm wasn’t attracting enough attention, right?

But luckily for Sirius Black and his young friend he wasn’t that far from his childhood home – only a couple of blocks away from Grimmauld Place he thought with a shudder.

Thank you for reminding us about this, seeing as you said it about 500 words ago. We’d all forgotten by now.

Oh how he hated that house!

Is it too much to ask that, of all the inconsequential things you do tell us, that you’ll share why he feels that way? And yet, though he seems to hate it with a passion, he’s still taking some random dude there for a one night stand. He can’t hate it that much.

So Sirius and the small man staggered the two blocks and Sirius showed the Muggle the home which was invisible to all Muggles (his friend could only see it because Sirius wanted him to) and up the invisible porch.

It must have been quite a site to see two drunk men climbing an invisible staircase. Whenever I get trashed and try it, I wind up with skinned knees, nose, forehead, and on rare occasions, genitals. But, to be fair, it was legal to pee in the street back then.

The two drunken lusty men made their way up the stairs and into Sirius’ bedroom which was decorated completely differently to the rest of the house which was dedicated to pure-blood mania and dark magic whilst Sirius’ was covered with Muggle photos and pictures of the Marauders and Lily. Soon as they were in the room the younger man attacked Sirius’ lips and Sirius kissed back the young man equally as passionately as he was being kissed absorbing the taste of the man whilst they were tearing each other’s clothes off of one another. And soon they were both in nothing but boxers.

I made a jab in an earlier review about how gross ancient sex was, but this is so much worse. At least they washed once in a while. We were led to believe that Sirius went years without bathing earlier in this chapter, which also implies wearing the same pair of underwear for years, and now we’ve got him in what must be the most shit and piss covered pair of boxers the world has ever seen. I honestly can’t imagine how Harry is keeping himself from retching all over his Godfather/gay lover for the evening.

Harry broke away for a second, ‘condoms,’ Harry gasped not wanting to get anything that the other man might have.

Oh, now he’s concerned with how dangerous this all is? Make up your mind, you schizophrenic fuck.

Sirius nodded he had forgotten due to the fact that although Muggle men couldn’t get pregnant but they could catch diseases unlike wizards.

Yes, I had to read that again, too. Muggle MEN couldn’t get pregnant?! Could wizard men get pregnant?! Of course, no STD’s in the Wizard world. It’s like the books were written for young adults. And if Harry is, in fact, a wizard (which we know he is because the “author” says he attended Hogwarts) then why is he concerned about STDs? He can’t catch them anymore than he can get fucking pregnant!

So Sirius quickly broke his exploration of the younger man’s delectable nipples that Sirius had currently been suckling on. The young man certainly was tasty Sirius thought.

Like sweat, dirt, and Flintstones chewable vitamins for kids, I’ll bet.

Sirius just hoped that his horrible excuse for parents had not removed those condoms from his teenaged days after he had ran away but Sirius wasn’t holding out much hope for that.

Didn’t he say earlier that he was thrown out? I don’t care to check, but I’m pretty sure he did. Also, the author said that Sirius looked to be in his mid-40s, and later on, Sirius says that the condoms were there since he turned 15. Which makes these condoms at least 25 years old! Condoms don’t last that long. Don’t use expired condoms! Though I’m sure that Sirius would just go through the motions of wearing one simply to placate his “date.” He’s been in prison for twelve years; any STDs he might catch at this point would be welcome, if he could, in fact, catch them.

They probably got rid of everything he owned the day he had left for the Potters. But luckily no they were still there like they had been since he had turned fifteen. He carefully slid one on more than ready to complete the deed, his dick already hard. The young man was stronger than he had appeared obviously as he wrapped strong, supple legs around Sirius’ waist. Sirius understood the gesture clear as day. And without so much as a pause Sirius was into his lover’s tightness.

The tight asshole of a boy who’s spent the whole summer seducing men for a place to sleep, and every summer before that getting ploughed by his uncle. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Fuck the man was tight although not a virgin but still tight. After the two of them came screaming into the night the two of them slumped tiredly on top of each other. The man’s familiar green eyes met Sirius’ grey ones before they both slept.

This is my first Harry/Sirius slash do you think I should continue it or not?

Sure, continue all you want. It’s 4:15pm on a Sunday, and I’m already drunk as shit because your first chapter was so bad that I could hardly bear to read it, but keep writing if it makes you happy.

This writing is not “so bad it’s good.” This author has just enough ability to string a sentence together to be the ruler of a barely literate web forum, but the writing is not bad enough to keep me entertained. I’m at my wits end with this fic, and I’d normally read on for some more insight, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t find anything redeeming about it; the characters are “developed” in probably the most advanced of one dimensional terms, the theme is stupid, the writing is abysmal, and the pseudo-incest and weird PSA moments are packed in there tighter than a stranger’s dick in Harry’s ass pre-Uncle Vernon.

I don’t like this. It’s just all around bad. If I were to rate it I’d give it a 2 out of 10 because the author wasn’t entirely incoherent.

Thanks for reading and I look forward to bringing you the next entry soon.


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