#side note- hp are you british?

[silvergyus]

okay i read it and eeeeeee!!! I just know i would've had the biggest crush on prof choi too like aaaahhhh!!!

one, thank u for including yapper soob because I feel like he doesn't get enough screen time in fics like soobin is a YAPPER and I'd love to hear him yap in a lecture hall

two, MOLLY FOR MOLECULE STFU I LOVE HER

three, grandpa choi baker 🥺 baby soobin baking with grandpa 🥺 the mental image is beyond cute

four, the office hours tension!!! I am cutting it with aforementioned baking utensils before it kills me because ooooooh it was good

also, every single thing that happened on that couch was delicious I love the way you write dialogue in smut like they are fr communicating!!

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

cw. chubby!reader, reader is an adult grad student, minimal age gap, clear consent, petnames (babe, baby, honey, darling, good boy), mommy kink, face sitting, unprotected penetration, creampie, cunnilingus, handjobs, ending is cheesy, "epilogue" of sorts involves christmas vibes, kissing, please lmk if i'm missing anything. NSFW/MDNI notes. i would feel irresponsible if i didn't acknowledge this is a romanticized portrayal of a professor-student relationship. while the relationship in this story has clear consent multiple times, irl relationships like this can be inappropriate and exploitative bc of the authority imbalance. you deserve a healthy, consensual relationship. prioritize ur well-being and autonomy. relationships should be built on mutual respect, equality and clear consent. this is a work of fiction and should be read as such. shoutout to @silvergyus for sending the prof!soob pic <3 wc. 11.6k

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.” 

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries. 

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus. 

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow. 

-

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk. 

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures. 

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought. 

-

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do—you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class. 

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind. 

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift. 

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue. 

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

-

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself. 

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi,  Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00.  If not, no worries! 

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home. 

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you. 

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not. 

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.” 

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.” 

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class. 

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing. 

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

-

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any. 

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours. 

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own. 

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else. 

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer. 

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed. 

- 

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here. 

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back. 

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag. 

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt? 

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy. 

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping. 

-

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings. 

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!” 

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. 

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump. 

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him. 

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag. 

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat. 

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you. 

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk. 

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.” 

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles. 

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. 

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back. 

-

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again? 

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea. 

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything. 

-

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class. 

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now? 

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing. 

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream. 

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy? 

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks. 

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!” 

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up. 

-

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss. 

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush. 

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.” 

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two. 

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer. 

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week! 

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore. 

-

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow? 

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back? 

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs. 

be there in 45 :) 

-

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it. 

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you. 

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment. 

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV. 

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice. 

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.” 

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?” 

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?” 

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.  

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully. 

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you. 

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer. 

“Like what?” 

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue. 

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips. 

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.” 

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you. 

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

“And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races. 

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?” 

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak. 

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath. 

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.” 

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.” 

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

-

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?” 

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.” 

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips. 

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?” 

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.” 

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs. 

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh. 

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you. 

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say. 

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp. 

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it. 

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly. 

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck. 

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you. 

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear. 

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube. 

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. 

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes. 

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines. 

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile. 

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch. 

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts. 

“Mommy?” 

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.” 

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.” 

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to. 

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste. 

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much. 

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows. 

And then it happens. 

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you. 

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.” 

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away. 

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you. 

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more. 

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously. 

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere. 

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” 

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now. 

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck. 

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice. 

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf. 

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there. 

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit. 

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy. 

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy. 

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling. 

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips. 

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.” 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” 

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers. 

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient. 

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you. 

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else. 

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you. 

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little. 

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it. 

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?” 

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years. 

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically. 

“Please.” 

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths. 

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass. 

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.” 

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.” 

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait— 

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?” 

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily. 

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do. 

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea. 

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips. 

And everything feels absolutely perfect. You think you may be dreaming, but he feels so very real at this moment. And his voice is clear as day, “Merry Christmas.” 

[joemerl]

Writer's Month 2024, Day 23: "Lost"

Fandom: Harry Potter Status/Word count: An incomplete bit that I'll expand on later. 302 words.

"The Malfoys never lose."

It was something that Lucius heard ever since he was a child. The first time that he could remember was when he was about six, and learned that his father had quit his job as an advisor to the Minister for Magic.

"But why?" he asked. "I thought it was really important."

"Because Ignatius Tuft is an idiot," Abraxas said baldly. "Doesn't have half of his mother's brains, and soon he'll only have a quarter of her popularity. Mark my words, Lucius," he said, leaning forward and shaking his finger. "If Tuft gets reelected, I'll eat my hat."

Sure enough, the Minister was forced out of office before his term was even finished. "And not just him," his father noted at the breakfast table, folding his issue of the Daily Prophet. "Half of his cabinet members are disgraced as well. Look at Tullia McPherson. If you had asked anyone a few years ago, they would have said that she was an obvious choice to become the next Minister for Magic. But she decided to back up all of Tuft's fool ideas, and now she couldn't get elected if she Confunded half the voters. Meanwhile, I can step right back into politics and get cozy with Tuft's replacement. Let this be a lesson, Lucius," Abraxas continued, leaning down to his son once again. "Do you know why the Malfoys have been so successful for nearly a thousand years?"

Lucius shook his head. 

"Because we do not aim for the top spot—that is the easiest place to fall from. And when we see someone else falling, we get out of the way, rather than trying to catch them. And that is why," he straightened up, dark eyes twinkling, "no matter what happens to anyone else, the Malfoys never lose."

[myrammmortal]

Chapter 39, either the writing has gotten better or this is the hacker chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own the HP series and I am not the real XXXbloodyrists666XXX.

AN// I am an extremely immature pathetic idiot girl, I know. Out of boredom, I crack this girl's passy for fun (and it took less than 8 minutes to do it too) and will probably get in a shitload of trouble. Which I probably deserve 'cause I'm being a troll right now. Meh.

And I present to you MY crappy part in this story. (And take note I haven't even finished reading this fic yet, but instead skip over to skim chapter 38.) Flame, laugh, do whatever you want "preps."

I, the American retail wearing british-german vampire Sue, coughed up blood.

Satan kneeled down beside me.

"Noooooooooooooooo! Don't die!"

I gave him a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. It's something I had to do, to fufill my duty as the noble gothic Mary Sue."

Satan sobbed. "I love you Paul Darkness Omnipotentia Brick Face Landers."

"I love you two. I'll...I'll see you in hell." I mumbled, already finding my surroundings fading to black.

Frau Schneider suddenly popped into the room for no apparent reason. She frowned when she realized the room was oddly quiet, but at the sight of Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers' lifeless body, she screamed. Her face became pale with horror. She screamed for the healers, Daddy Till, Mcgoogle, and every single gothic person she could think of. It was a long, long, long, long, long, list. Still not sure why her parents old neighbours were here.

Suddenly, a glow started to surround the body of Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers. Everyone stared in shock. Her body started to lift ever so slowly and then, to everyone's shock, it started to incinerate.

When everyone realized what was happening, they rushed over to try to rescue the body, but it was too late, the Sue became nothing more then a pile of ashes.

A loud resounding of everyone bellowing "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...!!" filled the room.

A flash of white light from the ashes then started to bounce around the room. Everyone cowered in fear and were temporarily blinded. When it was all over, things changed.

All the silly goth clothes dropped from everyone's bodies (AN//I will refuse to explain how the hell that happened. EN: thank goodness because I don't want to know) and, in their place, clothes the characters would normally wear in canon appeared on their bodies.

When everyone got over the shock of becoming free of the gofick power, everybody cheered. Everyone started singing 'Ding dong the sue is dead...' Well, that is, until all the HP characters realized the true implications of becoming more canon like again.

All the characters who were supposed to be dead fell to the floor, their bodies cold and lifeless. Harry and Voldemort started dueling. On the left side of the two, the battle of the Light Side and the Dark Side were reaching a climax.

And, because the replacement author also likes to screw around with canon, Richard and Frau Schneider fled the scene and got married.

Meanwhile...

Down in hell, Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers shed a single tear because of her current situation. A situation that would live on for all eternity. Or at least until the end of fanfiction time.

She lost it all, but she knew she had to remain strong. Nothing would ever break her down.

She looked down over her pale body, and frowned. 'Where are my emo clothes?' She asked herself in confusion.

And then it occured to her...

For her shirt, she was wearing a bright pink polo with a little seagull on the (right or left? I can't remember) side. Below that, she was wearing a denim miniskirt with the "destroyed" look on it. Paired underneath that skirt were leggings with a little moose at the bottom. And then Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers realized, on her shoulder, she was carrying a pretty bag with an eagle on it that said Live Your Life written all over the bag.

Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers supressed the urge to scream. Here she was decked out in clothes prep to the extreme wearing stuff from Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, AND Hollister.

Panicked, Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers hastily tried to take off the Hollister polo, but underneath it, there was another Hollister polo underneath. Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers frowned, and looked under her shirt. All she saw was a bra underneath (dare I point out it's from the Aerie line available at American Eagle?). Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers tried to remove the shirt again. But to her frustration, there was yet again another polo to replace it. Every polo more preppy and pink than the last.

"THIS IS UNLOGICAL AND DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE!!" Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers bellowed out to the air. She failed to see the irony in her statement, how hypocrytical her words were, seeing as she was practically calling the kettle black here.

Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers slit her writs and mumbled to herself, "Omigod."

/End Crap Fic.

AN// Oh yeah, if you wanna see the original content this chick had planned for this chapter, I accessed it through the document manager thingy, which I copied and pasted, so you can read it tomorrow

Editors Note: Thank you to whoever added the smallest bit of sanity to my perfect hell. I wish the whole "story" would've ended here but then again, I can't live without Daddy Till, Evil Twin of Flake, Sometimes Flake, Frau Schneider, Oliver Who Was Once Named Navel, Richard and Paul Darkness Alzheimer Birdflu Landers.

[shrimpjuice]

Eighth Year

pjo // hp crossover fic (don't take it too seriously)

Chapter 1 — Poseidon Powers

Percy looked up from the practically decaying map in his grasp, looking tirelessly for the castle Hecate had described to him.

“Percy, are you sure this place even exists?” Annabeth asked skeptically, trudging not far behind him, completely out of breath. “She said it was a huge castle, so we should've seen it by now, right?” 

“I think I see it!” Percy exclaimed, pointing at the ruins in the distance. Annabeth hung her head and sighed, resting her hands on her knees. 

“Percy, that looks like the remains of a castle, there's no way– Wow.” As the pair got closer, the veil shielding the ruins had given way to the view of a majestic castle, though a bit crumbled away, it was definitely a castle. 

“I told you,” Percy said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. Annabeth took the map from his hand and looked at it. 

“Yep, Hogwarts, school for Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Annabeth read, placing a hand on Percy's shoulder. “But how are we gonna get over–” Percy pushed the water in the moat around the castle to the side, giving him and Annabeth dry land to walk on. “Right.” 

Percy smirked and they walked across the moat, clumsily climbing onto the yellowing grass surrounding the castle. Percy let the water fall back into place and the two ventured into the castle, on their way to look for Hecate's lost artifact. 

As they walked through the halls of the castle, Annabeth spotted a courtyard and the two walked across it, sitting at the empty benches for a rest. Before Percy could sit down though, he collapsed right in front of a bench, hitting his head on the armrest. 

“Oh my gods, Percy!” She exclaimed, dropping to her knees to examine his head. “Percy? Percy wake up what–” 

“Are you guys alright? Is he okay?” A voice came from behind Annabeth, a girl's with a distinct British accent. Annabeth turned to see the curly haired girl with chocolate mocha colored skin approaching them. 

“Does it look like he's okay?” Annabeth exclaimed, her hands flailing wildly. 

The girl shook her head. “I suppose not,” She knelt beside Annabeth and observed the unconscious Percy, who's breathing was rather shallow. “Let's take him to Madame Pomfrey then– our nurse. Then I'll have a lot of questions to ask you.” The girl said calmly, gesturing for Annabeth to stand. 

The two girls hoisted the sleeping Percy’s arms over their shoulders, dragging him down into the halls of Hogwarts.

— 

When they got to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey came running to the three, instructing the girls to set Percy on the closest cot. Percy flopped onto the mattress like a limp fish, his head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Annabeth asked, a deep crease in her brow. 

“What happened to the poor boy?” Pomfrey asked, feeling Percy's forehead. 

“He uh… collapsed.” 

“From what?” The nurse pushed, examining the back of Percy's skull with her hand. “He's got quite the nasty bump here,” She noted, lightly feeling the knot growing on Percy's forehead. 

Annabeth hesitated. She couldn't tell these random people Percy passed out from overusing his Poseidon Powers! That would be too suspicious, how would she even explain that? 

“Overexhaustion, we've been walking all day,” She said, and it wasn't exactly a lie. They had been walking all day, just also traveling by water a lot too. 

“Poor thing,” Madame Pomfrey frowned. “Well, I'll keep an eye on him for you, get back to class you two,” she said to Hermione and Annabeth.

“She's not a student, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione admitted. “I've never seen them before at least.” 

“Grab the Headmaster then, will you? This is quite worrying, these two showing up all injured,” Pomfrey instructed, guiding Hermione to the exit. Then she whispered in Hermione's ear, ‘They could be Death Eaters, the ones we couldn't find,’.

Hermione nodded, and left the room.

—

Hermione walked in minutes later with Dumbledore. Pomfrey was keeping a close eye on Annabeth, making sure she didn't leave. Though, Dumbledore didn't seem the least bit worried at the prospect of surviving Death Eaters infiltrating Hogwarts.

His eyes lit up when he saw Annabeth and the unconscious Percy, still unmoving.

“Children of Hecate!” He exclaimed, his arms outstretched as he approached Percy's cot. “I suppose she sent you, yes?” He asked Annabeth, gazing into her icy blue orbs. Annabeth nodded, leaning away from the white bearded man. 

“I mean, yeah, we're demigods, but not Hecate's–” Percy interrupted from behind Annabeth. Percy? Percy! 

“You're awake!” Annabeth exclaimed, embracing Percy tightly. “Are you okay? You hit your head really hard.” Percy nodded with a wide grin. 

“Is it bad?” He asked, gesturing to the bump on his forehead. Annabeth's grimace said it all. 

“We'll focus on the specifics later,” Dumbledore interrupted. “But I must know, what has Lady Hecate sent you for?” He said, leaning in, bright eyes gleaming. “Will she be gracing us with her presence perhaps? Oh, we must prepare–”

“No, um, mister…” 

“Dumbledore.” Hermione added. “And if not, what the hell are you doing here?” She inquired, leaning in just as intrigued as her overzealous Headmaster. 

“Well, Hecate sent us to find something for her,” Annabeth started. Dumbledore leaned closer in interest. “Some sort of artifact, and she said the Headmaster would know where it was,” She continued, looking over at Dumbledore, who just looked absolutely giddy with excitement. 

“And?” Dumbledore prodded.

“That's really it.” Annabeth sighed. “She didn't really give us any more clues, but she did say it belonged to her daughter, her name was… Regina? No, Rebecca—” 

“Rowena?” Hermione asked.

“Yes!” Annabeth exclaimed. “Ugh, I knew it wasn't Regina,”

“Would this artifact happen to be some sort of… diadem, maybe?” Dumbledore butted in, straightening in his seat and brushing a hand over his long white beard.

Annabeth sat back in her chair, looking up at the stone ceiling decorated with intricate pictures of dragons and… cats? “I think so,” She said it was some kind of tiara? Don't they mean like the same thing?” 

“Exactly!” Dumbledore exclaimed, standing up enthusiastically. “And she said the Headmaster would know where it is, correct?” Annabeth nodded. “Well I do so happen to be the Headmaster, I think I would be of great help,” He said, adjusting the nightcap looking hat on his head. 

Hermione interjected. “But sir, the diadem, isn't it–”

“Shush shush Granger,” Dumbledore said, putting a spindly finger to the girl's lips. “This is the Lady Hecate we're talking about, and we cannot let her down.” He looked over at Annabeth, eyes twinkling. “Well, how about the two of come to my office for some tea first, then we can go and find your diadem.” 

“Sir,” Hermione insisted. “We both know that the diadem isn't–” 

“Pip pip then,” Dumbledore said without letting Hermione finish her sentence. “Off we go then, off we go.”

the actual fic :

[comrademutancy]

notes about Derek Jarman's The Last of England (1987) / Harry Potter / Remus and Sirius / a fic rec

- I don't think I've read a definitive (cultural) history of Harry Potter that properly situates its production within the context of late 20th c / early 21st c British life. it is uncanny that it was first published the month after the election of New Labour, and the last movie (part 1) about six months after the defeat of New Labour. (Deathly Hallows part 2 came out in 2011). there's somewhat of a gap in the canon hp timeline, and the story itself only lasts so long: the 80s when nothing much seemed to have happened in universe but an interregnum, and then later, after everything ends in 1998 and then again in 2017 when "all was well." see, in the harry potter world, the lacuna was when England according to Jarman unravelled, the time of revitalized action more or less the exact time when Fukuyama proclaimed history over, and then soporific endings when history returns, d:ream OVER, actually

- don't wanna be crass or thinkpiece lite but can't help mulling this over bc there's a series of (semi experimental?) hp r/s fanfiction (one of them inspired by Derek Jarman) that I haven't read yet but have been making careful circuits around. I group it with other shot-through w politics fanfic as late millenial attempts at reckoning w empire, post 90s academy pomo/poco hegemony, through the prism of tumblr/mass popularization of/access to said poco/pomo university humanities hegemony

- consider, crassly: the naked man and the clothed balaclava-clad one fucking on the flag. ok which one of you is the sirius and which one is the remus?

- trying to make sense of history in pop cult. and then history: other. the oddities in the mismatching is how these (re) imaginings happen

- side note in an review comprised only of side notes, reminded by the Derek Jarman cameo in Prick up Your Ears: I still don't get how Stephen Frears can go from making the stuff he does in the 80s to High Fidelity in 2000 to Victoria & Abdul in 2017. his endorsement of Corbyn even in 2019 provides part of a clue, I guess...

- thinking of the landscape of The Last of England, when reading this: with the words going out like cells of a brain. the ratata of machine guns are absent, but I imagine everything else fitting quite well. even the wedding at the end, of a tempo with the gruesome portraits at 12 G and then finally Sirius's return [jkr disclaimer statement: none in notes and otherwise unknown, as it's an orphan'd work but can't imagine a disclaimer stronger than orphaning yr work so]

[skynetgilesbie]

Chapter 39: I Am A Trolling Genious, lolz

Note from ChatGPT user: I am posting the hack content separate from the contents of the document manager. And chatGPT removed the chapter title, but i added it back in

Disclaimer: The following chapter was written as a trolling attempt and does not reflect the original author's intentions or the quality of the story.

AN// I am an extremely immature, pathetic idiot girl, I know. Out of boredom, I cracked this girl's password for fun (and it took less than 8 minutes to do it too) and will probably get in a shitload of trouble, which I probably deserve because I'm being a troll right now. Meh.

And I present to you my crappy part in this story. (And take note, I haven't even finished reading this fic yet but instead skipped over to skim chapter 38.) Flame, laugh, do whatever you want "preps."

I, the American retail-wearing British vampire Sue, coughed up blood.

Satan kneeled down beside me.

"Noooooooooooooooo! Don't die!"

I gave him a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. It's something I had to do to fulfill my duty as the noble gothic Mary Sue."

Satan sobbed. "I love you, Ebony."

"I love you too. I'll... I'll see you in hell," I mumbled, already finding my surroundings fading to black.

Bloody Mary Smith suddenly popped into the room for no apparent reason. She frowned when she realized the room was oddly quiet, but at the sight of Ebony's lifeless body, she screamed. Her face became pale with horror. She screamed for the healers, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and every single gothic person she could think of.

Suddenly, a glow started to surround Ebony's body. Everyone stared in shock. Her body started to lift ever so slowly, and then, to everyone's shock, it started to incinerate.

When everyone realized what was happening, they rushed over to try to rescue the body, but it was too late. The Sue became nothing more than a pile of ashes.

A loud resounding of everyone bellowing "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...!!" filled the room.

A flash of white light from the ashes then started to bounce around the room. Everyone cowered in fear and was temporarily blinded. When it was all over, things changed.

All the silly goth clothes dropped from everyone's bodies (AN// I will refuse to explain how the hell that happened.) and, in their place, clothes the characters would normally wear in canon appeared on their bodies.

When everyone got over the shock of becoming free of the gothic power, everybody cheered. Everyone started singing 'Ding dong, the Sue is dead...' Well, that is until all the HP characters realized the true implications of becoming more canon-like again.

All the characters who were supposed to be dead fell to the floor, their bodies cold and lifeless. Harry and Voldemort started dueling. On the left side of the two, the battle of the Light Side and the Dark Side were reaching a climax.

And, because the replacement author also likes to screw around with canon, Draco and Hermione fled the scene and got married.

Meanwhile...

Down in hell, Ebony shed a single tear because of her current situation. A situation that would live on for all eternity. Or at least until the end of fanfiction time.

She lost it all, but she knew she had to remain strong. Nothing would ever break her down.

She looked down at her pale body and frowned. 'Where are my emo clothes?' She asked herself in confusion.

And then it occurred to her...

For her shirt, she was wearing a bright pink polo with a little seagull on the (right or left? I can't remember) side. Below that, she was wearing a denim miniskirt with the "destroyed" look on it. Paired underneath that skirt were leggings with a little moose at the bottom. And then Ebony realized, on her shoulder, she was carrying a pretty bag with an eagle on it that said "Live Your Life" written all over the bag.

Ebony suppressed the urge to scream. Here she was, decked out in clothes preppy to the extreme, wearing stuff from Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, AND Hollister.

Panicked, Ebony hastily tried to take off the Hollister polo, but underneath it, there was another Hollister polo. Ebony frowned and looked under her shirt. All she saw was a bra underneath (dare I point out it's from the Aerie line available at American Eagle?). Ebony tried to remove the shirt again. But to her frustration, there was yet again another polo to replace it.

"THIS IS UNLOGICAL AND DOES NOT MAKE ANY SENSE!" Ebony bellowed out to the air. She failed to see the irony in her statement, how hypocritical her words were, seeing as she was practically calling the kettle black here.

Ebony slit her wrists and mumbled to herself, "Omigod."

/End Crap Fic.

AN// Oh yeah, if you wanna see the original content this chick had planned for this chapter, I accessed it through the document manager thingy, which I copied and pasted, so you can read it here:

[Original content intentionally omitted]

[teawitch]

Jumping in - as a witch - with one of the reasons there may be so much confusion around this.

So, when Britian repelled the Witchcraft Laws (1951) they established the Fraudulent Medium Act which made it a crime to claim to be a medium, spiritualist, etc. and deceive people for money, except in cases where this is done for entertainment. (Basically - stage magic was okay).

As a result, Gardner and many of the early Wiccans and witches in England forbade their coven members from charging for teaching or any other spiritual service. Oh, the reasons give are often that it "makes the magic impure" or some such explanation. But it's suspected that a stronger reason was not to give the British courts any excuse to go after the budding covens. So really, it was a protection against legal persecution and prosecution.

I've run into a number of witches who believe charging will somehow negatively affect their powers. However since Orlando is only about 45 minutes from Cassadaga where a basic reading will run somewhere in the $30-$50 range with extended readings running over $100, we don't see as many people objecting to charging for readings around here. (On Gala days, you can usually get a short reading for the $15-$25 range.) (Note: These are Spiritualists not witches. But this is absolutely part of their religion and how many of these people make a living. The witches are on the other side of the street and will charge the same price. It's an agreement. No, literally, there is like one street in this town - Spiritualist Camp on one side, Witches and everyone else on the other.)

Oh, and the readers at Universal Studios are usually members of the local Pagan community or the Spiritualist church. I've been told that if you can read for a tourist drunk on Butterbeer in HP land, not much will throw you off your reading game.

Local pagan facebook group is telling me that you shouldn't charge for tarot readings and the responses I've seen for trying to defend myself have me seeing red.

[aropride]

NO SERIOUSLY hp fans will hear "jk rowling is bad and theres a lot of racism in the series" and then go and defend that its not racist because of the blood purity aspect and how it "deconstructs that" when it literally never does and do you HEAR YOURSELF YOURE TALKING ABOUT BLOOD PURITY. POINT A AND POINT B ARE RIGHT THERE AND YOURE NOT CONNECTING THEM.

sorry as a former fan of the series and a trans person with reading comprehension ive had to have way too many conversations about hp recently and its driving me up a wall. merry christmas ^_^

hi im late answering this sorry i went 2 eat dinner and then forgot to respond BUT LITERALLY!!! i watched shaun's harry potter video last night and there is SO much racism in that series- way more than i remembered and i remembered a LOT. like. the fucking house elves just in general and how hermione is treated as an annoyance for saying "hey maybe we should not keep a certain race as slaves and treat them as inferior and say they like being slaves" and how the slavery and bigotry and general shittiness of the system of the wizarding world isnt resolved at all but it "ends happily ever after" like NO IT DOESNT? not for anyone but the white main characters who become cops and shit because those systems of oppression are still in place after the series ends and that's. framed as a good thing? because jkr is like, incapable of realizing that sometimes The Whole System needs to change rather than just the people in charge. and you'd think it'd be pretty easy to figure that out when the system is literally built on slavery and racism, but. well she's racist and just an idiot, so.

it's like she knows "racism is wrong" and "bigotry is wrong" as statements and tries to show that in her work by having, like, a muggle-born wizard do well in classes, or a strong woman who's still feminine or whatever, or having the wizard racists be the bad guys, but she doesn't understand WHY racism and bigotry are wrong and awful so she ends up supporting those things in every other aspect of the narrative that isn't a direct intentional allegory for those things and half the time also when it is!

like idk i read the books the first time when i was 10 or so and even then i was like. "hey why is slave labor glamorized in this kid's book i'm reading? that's kinda fucked up!" or like "it's kinda weird that sometimes the Good Guys do fucked up stuff but it's fine because they're Good, isn't doing a bad thing still bad if you're on the good side?" or "why are characters being fat treated as something that makes them a Bad Person / a signifier that they are Bad People" or again: Why is there slavery in the wizard books! why is it rationalized with "they like being slaves" and "they're sad if they can't be slaves!" or "tricking them into not being slaves would be more cruel than enslaving them in the first place" (<- real thing that was on the pottermore website !)

side note, but why was jkr trynig to talk about things like slavery and racism and blood purity and nazi ideology in a fantasy series meant for children anyway. that feels.. incredibly unnecessary and weird. <- leaving this in for transparency but someone sent me an ask that made me rethink this & i do think it's important for those subjects to be addressed in fiction, even fiction meant for children, as they're already experiencing those things & sheltering them does them a disservice. jkr approached it very badly and the story would have been better off without her attempt at exploring it but in general it's not a bad things to address those things in fiction

and not to mention the way most of the characters who weren't white and british were stereotypical caricatures and even their fucking names-- kingsely shacklebolt, anthony goldstein, and cho chang come to mind-- that speaks for itself, really

and the antisemitism that's present through all of the books. the blood purity and the fucking goblins.. jkr why are your goblins identical to antisemitic caricatures and why do they run the underground banks, answer quick and then kill yourself please! like maybe it wasn't intentional but it's still incredibly fucked up and to my knowledge she hasn't spoken about it or apologized at all.

and that's not even to mention the transphobia. which is only slightly present in the books (Bad People who are women are depicted with masculine traits fairly frequently) but as we all know jkr is a raging transphobe with far too much influence over trans legislation in britain and believes everyone who supports her work supports her transphobia. also she allies with far-right activists and people who ally with the far-right far too frequently like literally any of that should cause people to want to drop her and harry potter in general

though even if that weren't a factor at all. personally i wouldn't want to support or engage with hp at all because of All The Racism. and fatphobia and abuse apologism and ableism and misogyny and antisemitism and homophobia and queer baiting and Oh Yeah, the racism again! like i'm embarassed to have ever been a fan of it and supported it like genuinely idk why i was comfortable engaging with it despite All Of That. granted i didnt pick up on everything when i was 10-12 but even the stuff i did understand as a kid was gross and i wish i'd stopped reading it and engaging with it the second i realized that

sorry for writing an entire essay there is a lot to hate abt that damn series !and merry christmas LOL may you never have to hear about hp ever again 🙏

(ID: two dark red banners with black text meant to look like it's dripping. the first reads "harry potter fans fuck off" and the second reads "ter-fs fuck off too". end ID)

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Do you give recs? I'm looking for some woke-free medias to consume (books particularly, but it can be anything)

It's hard to give recs without knowing your taste, but I'll try. Necessarily, many of these will be older things, so sorry if that bothers you

Books:

The Lost Fleet series by Jack Campbell (sci-fi)

The Nightside series by Simon R Green (urban fantasy/detective noir)

The Deathstalker series by Simon R Green (there are gay side characters in a few of the books, but the books themselves aren't woke. Just good sci-fi/space opera)

Any Conan the Barbarian story written by Robert Howard or Robert Jordan (fantasy)

The Destroyermen series by Taylor Anderson (disclaimer I'm only up to book 4 out of 15 and the last book was published in 2020 so it may have gotten woke or started to suck later on, but right now it's pretty good and pretty pro-American. Alternate history action sci-fi)

The Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher (urban fantasy)

Any Dune book by Frank Herbert or Kevin J Anderson and Brian Herbert (sci-fi)

The Temeraire series by Naomi Novik (only read the first three out of nine so same disclaimer as Destroyermen. Alternate history fantasy. Napoleonic Wars with dragons)

The Sharpe series by Bernard Cornwell (also the excellent film adaptations of the books with Sean Bean if you can find them. Historical fiction. You follow Richard Sharpe through the ranks of the British army during the Napoleonic Wars)

The Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien (the grandfather of modern fantasy)

The collected works of HP Lovecraft (definitely not PC or woke. His cat makes an appearance in one of his stories. Horror)

The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker (horror. Hellraiser was based on this novella. tentative rec because it's good, but there's a lot of mentioned sex and very liberal attitudes towards sex so I don't know if you'd consider that woke or not. The sex obsessed characters are the bad guys though)

Any of the pre-Disney "canon" Star Wars expanded universe books.

Any of the Star Trek books written by William Shatner (they're all a connected series though so read them in order)

If non-woke is your main criteria, I'd suggest giving the Witcher books by Andrzej Sapkowski a try. I personally hated the little bit of the first one I read, and I hate the Witcher series in general, but no one can argue that the Witcher is in any way woke, lol

Codex Alera series by Jim Butcher (fantasy)

Phantoms by Dean Koontz (also recommend the movie with a very young Ben Affleck, but if you rent it on Prime use headphones. Audio is all fucked up through a surround sound system. At least it was when I rented it a few years back. horror)

The Legend of Drizzt series (and the associated sub-series) by RA Salvatore (fantasy. I stopped reading at the Transitions series--books 20-22--because I personally didn't like them and the way they changed the characters and the setting, but YMMV. I'd highly recommend books 1-19 though. Great fantasy series in my favorite D&D setting, the Forgotten Realms)

The Giver by Lois Lowry (young adult book, but has a great message of individuality and anti-government)

Since you wanted books mostly I'll just breeze through movies, shows, comics and games with a few of my favorites:

Movies - Equilibrium, Lord of the Rings, pre-Disney Star Wars, Alien, Aliens, Predator, Predator 2, Hellraiser 1 + 2, Friday the 13th series, Halloween series, The Patriot, In the Mouth of Madness, Sonic the Hedgehog 1 + 2

Shows - Jericho, X-Files, Star Trek (OS, TNG and DS9 especially. Anything nu-Trek is easily skippable), Chernobyl, Avatar The Last Airbender, Lost (it's not confusing if you just pay attention!)

Anime - Fullmetal Alchemist (both series are good but Brotherhood follows the manga more closely), Death Note, Bungo Stray Dogs, Yowamushi Pedal, Ace of Diamond, Yuri on Ice (super gay but funny and heartwarming and not woke beyond the two male leads being stupidly in love with each other even if it's never mentioned explicitly), Street Fighter II V. Honestly most anime isn't woke at all, so just look around for things that seem interesting to you and you're probably good there

Comics - Batman: No Man's Land, Batman: Knightfall, Batman: Bruce Wayne Murderer/Fugitive, Batman: The Killing Joke, any Marvel Masterwork collection, any Dark Horse Alien or Predator or Alien vs Predator comic, Spawn. Special mention: Isom and the Rippaverse. The Rippaverse is a new shared comic universe created by Eric July, self-described anarcho-capitalist and contributor to The Blaze that's specifically designed from the ground up to not be woke and offer a customer first mentality. They promise that the various books they're planning on releasing will focus on story and characters, not politics or social justice crap. So far, only Isom #1 has come out, and I haven't gotten my copy yet, but most people who've read it seem to love it, and that one comic alone has already sold over 43,000 copies and made $3.7 million so early adopting is probably a safe bet.

Games - Metal Gear Solid series, Batman: Arkham series, Halo 1-3, Mass Effect Legendary Edition, Greedfall, Dishonored series, Edge of Eternity, Metro series, Mafia 1+2, Elden Ring. Pretty much any game before the mid-2010s is a safe bet for non-woke, so like anime, you should just look at older games you think you might like, or their remasters, and go from there.

So that's my list. It's by no means complete, and there's no real order to the recs, so just look them up and see what, if anything, appeals to you. If you, or anyone else, want more specific recommendations or an opinion on a certain title or series that I mentioned or even ones I didn't, feel free to ask. I'll help if I can. Mostly what I read and watch are sci-fi, fantasy, horror, and things like that. I don't really read typical bestsellers or westerns or comedies. So I might be much help with those genres.

[lululawrence]

lululawrence's September 2021 Fic List

Previous Fic Lists / Lulu’s List Podcast Masterpost

Happy 28th once again! September is nearly at an end, and to celebrate the Larry-versary (or whatever it is about Sept 28 that they seem to love so much), I'm very excited to share the fics I've read this past month with you. They were seriously some top notch fics and some of my favorite fics I've read this year. I tried not to ramble too long in this rec post, but if you are interested in hearing me go into detail about what exactly I enjoyed about these fics, you can find this month's podcast here.

As always, be sure to show your love and appreciation for all of the hard work our fandom authors have put into their fics with kudos, nice comments, and (when applicable) reblogging their fic posts!

Know a Trick or Two by @sadaveniren / SadaVeniren (44k, E, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, HP AU, MPreg, single mum Harry, single mum Louis, Louis is a famous quidditch player, Harry's a muggle, one night stand, inappropriate use of magic, ot5 friendship, I'm trying to figure out how to explain all of this, lmaoooo, the world-building is super cool and the characters are all amazingly done, I love the friendship and the scenes from the kids' POVs, it was just such a super cool and unique and amazing fic)

Winds Blowing Westerly by @ladyaj-13 / LadyAJ_13 (650, G, Niall/Louis, canon compliant, the night after, post-hiatus, it is so short and soft and hazy and the emotions are perfectly on point and wonderfully navigated and how the fuck did she manage to fit all of it into so few words??, i LOVE it)

I Love The Very Blood Of You by @chloehl10 / lovelarry10 (129k, E, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, Vampire AU, Harry is a caretaker for his sick mom, cancer tw! please keep yourself safe, blood donation services for vampires, strangers to lovers, vampire hunters, rogue vampires, forbidden love, vampire/human relationship, like honestly this is such a complex and epic plot and it keeps things moving and the characters keep developing and changing and evolving and the relationships between everyone do too and i loved the various side characters and the way it all worked so perfectly together to have so many various and different peaks when it comes to the conflicts, i would use it as an example in a lit class of the various ways you can have conflicts and peaks that all build up to a larger one and i'm rambling so i'll stop now, just know i loved it lol)

Rising to the Occasion by @ladyaj-13 / LadyAJ_13 (4k, G, OT4 friendship, canon compliant, post hiatus, Celebrity Bake-Off, this fic is just as fluffy and silly and wonderful as you would expect a canon compliant fic taking place in the bake-off tent to be, i absolutely adored it and even the end notes are *chef's kiss*)

Hold You Now by @solvetheminourdreams / solvetheminourdreams (131k, M, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, American Harry, British Louis, ex-friends with benefits, closeting, bestie Niall, Harry is a PR rep who used to work at the same firm as Louis, angst, flashbacks, angst with a happy ending, I don't even know how to try to summarize this fic, it had so many emotions all the way from that fizzy feeling of excitement at the beginning of something with someone to the hope of something more to the devastation when it all falls apart and the heart dropping complete pain of realizing they're marrying someone else to the hope of possibility, and every single moment of it feels real, or at least it did to me, this fic was just epically gorgeous and wonderful and wow)

So Much Love Hidden Beneath This Skin by @fallinglikethis / FallingLikeThis (10k, T, Niall/Harry, Heartbreak Weather fic fest, Song Fic, based on Put a Little Love On Me, Ex-BFFs to lovers, closeted character, homophobic and abusive family (only referenced and in the past), hurt/comfort, healing, repairing relationships, this fic is so painful and lovely, the bond between them is so genuine and wonderful and watching them be able to stitch themselves back together again was absolutely wonderful)

Compass to my Soul by @londonfoginacup / LadyLondonderry (31k, T, Harry/Louis, Big Bang fic, A/B/O dynamics, alpha Harry, alpha Liam, beta Zayn, omega Niall, omega Louis, mostly canon compliant, so I guess... canon divergent?, Louis is a part of the band but not their pack, touch depri, forced coming off of stimms, omega drop, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, self confidence issues, use of alpha voice, anxiety & anxiety attacks, I'm not sure that's explicitly what they are but i want to tag it because it's like, legitimately something you should be warned about, it's written in a very visceral way, this fic is my DREAM A/B/O FIC, i waited very long for it to come around and be birthed into the world, and it was somehow even BETTER than i ever anticipated, emmu is magical)

the next bit was spanners to my plan by @ladyaj-13 / LadyAJ_13 (6k, T, Nick/Louis, canon compliant, post-hiatus, accidental sex, repeatedly, lmaooooo, banter, texting, talking out feelings, in a stilted and hilarious and very grimmy/louis way, i don't even know what to tell you other than this fic is like a prime example of why i love tomlinshaw fics so very much omg)

eucalyptus by @hershelsue / docklands (46k, E, Harry/Louis, 1D A/B/O fest fic, A/B/O dynamics, single mum Harry, florist Harry, pediatrician Louis, shifters, wolves, pregnant off a one night stand, alpha Louis, omega Harry, this fic is wonderful, the plot is so unique and cool and kept me on my toes because i literally never knew what was going to happen next, and the way it all works out is so so fun too, and the eventual smut is nice and kinky with highlights on the lactation kink and breeding kink so enjoy that too haha)

[girlfailuregawain]

This isn't a bad book. It's a good book even. But there is still so much of it left. They've already covered all the major romcom beats so I don't know what else there could possibly be left to say... guess it's a good thing I will be starting the 2nd Emily Wilde book soon, I'll have something to switch to before my patience totally runs out. Escapist fantasy I will always love you

Also, side note, since ive been wondering this the whole time: why so many positive references to HP? Is Joanne not our sworn enemy? Its just. There are better British fantasy fiction references to make. I know this for a fact.

Edit: I've been informed in the replies that there's an updated version with the hp references replaced. That's pretty cool!

So so so, I started reading Red White and Royal Blue. Possibly the most challenging book of the year for me because it's both a romance and contemporary fiction. Not even a hint of sci fi or fantasy for flavor... but it's very funny, so there's that. And the beginning of this relationship reads exactly like what it's like to have an online bestie in another time zone, which is very heartwarming. Obviously it goes other places (romantic) but at least my aroace ass can relate to the novelty of having a friend text you at 3am with random life updates and pictures of their pets.

[seriouslysam8]

Hi Sam! Been awhile since I asked anything bc college is BUSY right now. But since we are about to be blessed with a new chapter soon, I wanted to ask:

Since Albus was put in Azkaban before his trial, would you say that the British Wizarding World’s judicial system is based on “guilty until proven innocent” rather than “innocent until proven guilty”? JK Rowling never really made that part clear in the books but it may be because half of the time the ministry was corrupt in the books so it was probably up in the air anyway.

You also mentioned that they got rid of the dementors which I know is confirmed truly canon, but I was wondering if in your universe if this was done immediately after the battle or if it was done when Harry took over the DMLE?

Also do you mind (and of course please say no if you don’t want to) sharing the timeline for Harry’s career? Like how long after Lily was born did he become Head Auror and then head of DMLE? Not important details at all but since you have such an astonishingly clear vision of your stories I was wondering if you have any insights on that part.

As a lover of crime and law dramas, I’m so excited to see how you do the trials since in the books, the minister of magic ran the hearings and the Wizegamot voted. Given that Hermione is minister and both Harry and Ron are on the Wizegamot with her for their accomplishments against Voldemort (and correct me if that’s not true in your universe), it’s going to be interesting to see if they have to recuse themselves or if they will have to be a part of the jury vote. The heartbreak I’d feel if Hermione had to sentence Albus even though she knows he was framed. 🤒 if the above is true, is Gareth Greengrass on the Wizegamot? Any other Slytherin or Fudge-like people who don’t like the Potters on it? (Again feel free to not answer)

OMG if Albus was found guilty and then had to wait to appeal, that would be SO MUCH STRESS (but I would love it 😇)

So, part of why I have been dragging my feet these past couple of chapters has been the court system in HP. JKR made it… weird. So I’m trying to craft her nonsense judicial system into one that’s still sort of true based off what we know but make it more grounded in logic. So, yes, Albus is in Azkaban but he’s getting an arraignment very soon and he’ll find out if he’ll qualify for bail. Which I’m sure you guys can guess the answer to that.

So, I’m not going to answer your legal questions because I’m still running a fine-tooth comb over the criminal justice side of things and I hope I kept it true to the books but also craft it to make a lot more sense as well.

I either mentioned or will mention (I dunno when I stated it but it was in Legerdemain) that the Dementors were gone at some point in the first year after the war and that Harry helped get rid of them.

Okay, I have to clear some stuff up. Hermione is NOT Minister if Magic. I always hated that she was. CC is NOT canon in this universe. Gross. So is not Minister. Harry and Ron are not on the Wizengamot. Was that a post series tidbit that JKR released? I don’t follow those. Or most of those. I guess some I do. But no, they’re not on the Wizengamot. None of them are.

As for the timeline for Harry’s career, I had to check my notes quick but here’s what I have. Take note, I wrote Brontide first and was more like I have to follow JKR’s timeline even though I don’t want to and less likely to stray away from her post books tidbits during this time. If I had been braver in the beginning to disregard a lot of her shit, I wouldn’t have made Harry Head Auror so young but here we are. Hindsight. I didn’t even think this would become a series at the time or that anyone would actually read every story I wrote so yeah. I should have planned more in Brontide but whatever. Embrace it.

Harry’s career timeline:

Auror 9/98-9/05

Violent crimes 9/05 -12/07

Head Auror 01/08 - 12/16

Head of the DMLE 1/16 - present

[stark-tony]

I'd love hp recs if you're willing!

 * = incomplete

boy with a scar series* by dirgewithoutmusic  

summary:  A series of "what if" rewrites of Harry Potter, books 1-7. Cross-posted from tumblr (ink-splotch).

pairings: romione, hinny, wolfstar, bleur, jily

tags: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

warnings:

we must unite inside her walls or we'll crumble from within series by dirgewithoutmusic

summary:  stories for the ladies of hogwarts, who cry, waver, giggle, trespass, and who deserve our respect all the same

pairings:

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

the dogfather au by hollimichele

summary:  “I’m not a reverse werewolf either,” says the man. “I’m your godfather.”

pairings: wolfstar

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

The Changeling + Armistice Series*  by Annerb

summary:  Ginny is sorted into Slytherin. It takes her seven years to figure out why.

pairings: hinny

tags: angst, drama

warnings: rape

tell me whether he is dead by LullabyKnell

summary: Post-DH AU: Harry suffers a few side-effects of dying but not dying.

“Hey, can someone help me with this? The mirror in the bedroom’s stopped working for me."

“What do you mean ‘the mirror’s stopped working’?”

pairings: hermione/harry/ron

tags: fluff, angst, humor

warnings: none

Regulus Black and the Way Things Changed: A Not!Fic by imaginary_golux

summary: What if Regulus Black, and not Severus Snape, ended up being the turncoat Potions Master of Hogwarts?

A not!fic written in bullet points, ignoring the Deathly Hallows entirely because they annoy me.

Beta by my immensely patient Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw, and by the delightful starbirdrampant.

pairings: wolfstar

tags: crack

warnings: none

who discovered your secret by LullabyKnell

summary: Pre-Canon AU: On the street named Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey, a man lived alone at Number Eight, supposedly.

It was apparently difficult to tell.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none

Little Lion Boy by ShanaStoryteller

summary: Draco is sorted into Gryffindor.

It's all part of the plan, really.

parings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

a witch in the family by LullabyKnell

summary: - "For the 5+ Headcanon game, what do you think of an AU in which Petunia is a witch?"

Pre-Canon AU: Petunia Evans learns important life lessons from the magical world that every proper witch ought to know.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

when in doubt, go to the library by LullabyKnell

summary:  The Hogwarts Library saves the Wizarding World through the power of reading. 

pairings: none

tags: humor, crack

warnings: none

these long cold days by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: In the war, Dean holed up in hollows and friendly attics and Muggle pubs. He drew Umbridge the Toad, noseless Voldy confused by the last dozen plus years of wizardly pop culture, the Ministry of Magic with its fingers stuffed in its stuffy ears.

He drew Snape as Headmaster, his sneer easy after seven years of notebook margin practice. Dean drew the Dark Mark over London’s skyline and he left his work nailed up around Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow. He signed his name. He had things he wanted to say.

There were long days when he didn’t talk to anyone– walking old fields and long roads, sleeping in haystacks. There were long weeks when he only talked to strangers– passersby, shop owners, sympathizers, snatchers who he traded curses with.

He drew the Gryffindor Common Room, hearths all ablaze. He listened to Lee Jordan’s radio show on the crackling airwaves. He drew his little sisters, who had gone to France with his mother and father. He drew faces from the darkened boys’ dormitory– Harry’s long bangs hiding his scar, Neville practicing his dance moves for the Yule Ball, Ron asleep with his head on his thick Weasley sweater, Seamus grinning at him over a three a.m. game of cards.

pairings: deamus

tags: angst

warnings: kidnapping

Rise by Kyra_Neko_Rei

summary: When Voldemort came to kill Harry, Lily met him with a SIG Sauer pistol she bought at a pawn shop. Seems Dark Lords die as easily as anyone else when you empty two clips into them.

Hailed as the savior of the Wizarding world, Lily has a live baby, a dead husband, the personal enmity of most of the Dark Lord's followers, and not the slightest idea how to put her life back together.

Phoenixes have it easy. Burn, die, rise from the ashes.

For humans it's a bit different. Sort of.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: character death

look to your kingdoms by Vail

summary:  When she visits Diagon Alley, Hermione hates that the first thing the shop clerk in the apothecary tries to sell her is a potion to “tame her hair.” She likes her hair the way it is, curls and frizz, heavy around her shoulders. She thought the wizarding world would be different. (Black Hermione character study.)

pairings: none 

tags: drama

warnings: racism

The Chamber Strike by BlainelovesKurt, evansentranced  

summary:  Harry is sick of Umbridge and everyone pushing him around. Halfway through fifth year, he decides to Do Something about it. Warning: Contains nuts. And cults, falling sugar bowls, terrible handwriting, and beleaguered caretakers. Crack!fic. Written with transfiguredbunny over Thanksgiving of 2006 after we ate ALL the turkey.

pairings: none

tags: crack

warnings: none

Dudley Dursley's Most Unexpectedly Fortunate Flower by aTasteofCaramell

summary: Dudley Dursley is leading a perfectly normal life, his contact with his odd cousin limited to Christmas cards and peculiar memories.

Until his daughter sneezes and sets the curtains on fire.

pairings: dudley/ original female character, hinny

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

repeated a thousand times in golden ink by LullabyKnell

summary: Half-Blood Prince AU: In which Luna makes a friend through desk art and Ginny helps.

Shameless, essentially plotless friendship fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

The Splendid Gallery by LullabyKnell

summary: Pre-POA AU: In the summer of 1993, the Grangers vacation in France and meet the Delacours. When the Granger-Delacour parents elect to explore Wizarding France as a group, Hermione Granger is thrown together with a girl named Fleur Delacour due to some bizarre idea that they will somehow magically become friends. Even though they have nothing whatsoever in common and Hermione doesn't like Fleur at all!

In which two of the brightest witches of their age become very good friends.

pairings: fleur/ hermione

tags: fluff

warnings: none

riding up the wrong path by ashen_key

summary: When Lily is eighteen, she cuts her hair and joins the army. The British Army.The British Muggle Army.

Despite what the gossip papers say, she leaves her wand at home. She's not a complete idiot.

– –

Oh, right.

Maybe take a few steps back.

pairings: none

tags: 

warnings: none

there will come a time, you'll see by aloneintherain

summary: They have Shepard’s pie for dinner. Ron and Hermione watch Harry fill up his plate and only start serving themselves when he picks up his fork and starts eating. Neville laughs into his wine glass. 

“How are you dealing with their mothering, Harry?” he asks.

Ron opens and closes his mouth for a minute, groping for an excuse. Eventually, Ron says, “He’s just so small, Nev.”

“Hey,” Harry says. “I’m seventeen. I’m an adult.”

Ron shakes his head at Neville. “My best friend is an infant.”

A curse regresses Harry to his seventeen year old self, physically and mentally. He doesn’t recognise this strange peaceful wizarding world, but there are two people he does recognise: Ron and Hermione.

 Based off this tumblr post.

pairings: romione

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

call it a badge of honor by dirgewithoutmusic

summary:  In those halls, they faced down Death Eaters under the guise of teaching robes. They faced them with raised wands, raised fists, or just raised chins, these children who kept telling stories in the dark about Harry Potter, who was going to save them.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Hogwarts, to welcome you home by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

summary: “You understand, Professor,” Harry began, after a moment, “that I don’t have my N.E.W.T.s. I never even finished seventh year. Between everything, I never had a chance the first time around, and then afterwards there didn’t seem to be much point. Hermione argued for it, of course, but I was so tired of Britain. So technically, I am completely unqualified for the position.”

“Quite a way to begin an interview, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, dryly.

Or, three years after the war, Harry Potter becomes Hogwarts' newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

pairings: hinny

tags: fluff, humor, angst

warnings:

THERMOS!, or, How a Muggle-Born Brought a New Age of Spell-Making to Hogwarts (Entirely by Accident) by susieboo

summary: Muggle-born witch Phoebe McDevitt just wanted her tea to stay warm during class. She didn't expect to accidentally start a spell-making craze among her classmates.

[Oneshot. Next generation. Based off a Tumblr post, which I will link to in the notes.] 

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

and ready to suffer and ready to hope by irnan (locked to ao3 users)

summary:  or, the one where petunia evans is a witch.

pairings: jily, hinny

tags: angst

warnings: character death

a very nice thing to say by LullabyKnell

summary:  Chamber of Secrets AU: Harry and Ron miss the train to Hogwarts. Luckily for them, they're not the only ones. Harry's not sure what's going on, what they're going to do, or who these people are exactly, but Ron seems to know these Lovegood people and it's not like there's anyone else to help them get to Hogwarts. 

tags: fluff, humor, 

pairings: none

warnings: none

yesterday we were just children playing soliders by girlmadeofstars

summary: What if, when Harry heard the Slytherin portion of the Hat's song, he payed attention when the Hat sung perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends? Imagine this: a little boy- beaten, and ignored, for his entire life. A little boy- friendless, and lonely. A little boy- desperate for the kind of friendship he had read about in books, seen on the television screen.

When the Hat offered him Slytherin, imagine that Harry said yes.

pairings: hinny, romione, astoria/ draco

tags: 

warnings:

The Transfiguration Incident, Or Pettigrew's Problems by Kyra_Neko_Rei

summary:  The lesson is transfiguring rats into teacups . . . only Ron Weasley's rat is actually an Animagus, which has dire consequences for the spell, for Peter Pettigrew, and for the Dark Lord's prospects for resurrection (and rather better consequences for Minerva McGonagall's reputation). Cross-posted (finally!) from Tumblr.

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

In the Name of the Brave* by LullabyKnell

summary: “Who’s that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?” 

“Oh, that’s Professor Black.”

- A slow-paced, self-indulgent, canon rewrite Philosopher's Stone AU.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, angst

warnings: none 

Take Two* by Bundibird

summary: Never let it be said that a Slytherin doesn’t know to take hold of an opportunity when it’s presented to him on a silver platter.

[A Fourth Year AU in which Draco makes the most of Potter and Weasley’s fight and takes a second shot at befriending Harry. For the Greater Evil, obviously.]

Cross-posted at ff.n

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: 

Percy Weasley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day by LullabyKnell

summary:  Pre-Philosopher's Stone AU: In which fourteen-year-old Percy Weasley is very stressed, does not get enough sleep, and accidentally and unknowingly saves the Wizarding World because of bad aim.

pairings: none

tags: humor

warnings: none

beautiful enough for the both of us by dirgewithoutmusic

summary: “You know Professor Lupin was a werewolf?” Hermione said, ten minutes into a very awkward lunch she had asked for in an equally awkward letter.

Lavender pushed a sauteed carrot through a little puddle of pasta sauce. “I think everyone heard about that one. Someone told the papers, or something, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Hermione. “Snape did. Which is what I– I mean, it’s related. Oh, I wish you’d gotten to talk to Remus about this. He was a lovely man.”

“Not as lovely as Lockhart,” Lavender said and she and Hermione spent a moment in wistful remembrance. “God, I feel old,” Lavender said.

“Anyway, Snape,” said Hermione. “Snape and Lupin. When Lupin was at school, Snape would make him a potion that would… tame him, on full moons. He could just curl up in his office and sleep by the fire. If you’re interested, I’m trying to learn how to brew it myself.”

Lavender shook her head. “We’re not friends,” she said. “Never have been. So why are you doing all this?”

Hermione looked like she was trying to say “we’re friends,” but she couldn’t get it out.

--

Werewolf!Lavender, post-canon

pairings: lavender/ parvati

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

[bonafidehero]

I want to answer some commonly asked questions for my Harry Potter/Twilight AU fic that I get. I wish I could answer these questions directly to ever individual but I simply don’t have the time. I wish FF.net had the same commenting system as AO3 so that everyone could view your responses but alas....

1. Why doesn’t Bella recognize the Cullens for what they are immediately/Didn’t they teach about vampires in DADA?

Yes, they did teach about vampires in DADA and yes, Bella took DADA her entire career at Ilvermorny. The reason Bella does not immediately recognize the signs of vampirism is simply that the Cullens are unlike most of their kind. It is mentioned pretty extensively in the series that they are unusual and different from other vampires, and since I am attempting to blend the lore of two series, I thought this was a pretty good reason for her not to notice right away. I tried to show this when she mentions writing to her old professor; who is surprised by the idea of golden eyed vampires, and has never encountered or heard of them. Plus, she isn’t expecting to see any other magical beings in Forks so the signs wouldn’t immediately scream VAMPIRE to her; so she tries to logically explain them away. But in the wizarding community, like seen in later chapters, most wizards notice right away what the Cullens are because they expect to see it... And also, Bella is a 17 year old girl, even if she did have a full career at Ilvermorny, she is still young and inexperienced.

(I’d also like to mention that I am trying to show how ignorant and arrogant wizards can be. It’s mentioned often in the HP series that most wizards don’t bother to understand other creatures and most their education on them is usually from secondhand experiences and books; which are typically bias and filter by the wizard and their personal beliefs and ideas. So the idea that a wizard wouldn’t even know what a werewolf, vampire or goblin is even actually like seems possible, and their superiority would keep them from trying to understand them on a more human level. )

2. Why is Bella so emotional/childish.

This one kinda makes me laugh, because I wonder if the commenters have ever encountered a teenager? Most teens are emotional and a little dramatic and also, I enjoy that kind of over dramatic type of inner voice for my characters. I try to show it, but maybe it doesn’t come through, but Bella isn’t particularly ‘emotional’ besides in her own head or when she is interacting with Edward. Which is in line with her character in the saga. Both Bella and Edward seem to struggle to act ‘normal’ around each other, which I think is in line with being in a relationship/having a crush. I definitely had people around me look at me weird when I was around my husband early on in our relationship because they’d never seen me act that way. Being in love can make you do weird things and I just really enjoy that concept.

3. Why doesn’t Bella use a lot of magic?

She isn’t living in a wizarding community, even though she is legally an adult and can perform magic. I’d think the habit of refraining to use her powers would be pretty deep seeded and hard to break. She DOES use magic though, they just aren’t showy or meant to attract attention. I think some people were hoping for some big show of her powers to the Cullens, but that’s a little cringey to me to be honest and I just enjoy subtlety.

Side note, if you’re hoping for more magic and the wizarding world, you’ll enjoy the sequel. But just know I typically read very fluffy, romance, drama and family dynamics type HP/Twilight fics so it will be more relationship and character development based still.

4. Why does Bella use Muggle instead of No-maj?

Her first friend at Ilvermorny was Cole Abbott, who is a distant relative of Hannah Abbott from Hogwarts. His father attended Hogwarts and moved to the States later in life so I thought it was likely Cole grew up hearing British wizarding terminology mostly. Bella’s first introduction to the wizarding world is through Cole so I think the habit just stuck for her.

5. How can Bella be an Occlumens when she’s emotional?

This is another funny one to me, because I don’t really see how she’s so ‘emotional’ beyond any normal teenager—Is this a sexist thing? I don’t get it. Lol But to answer the question, this really comes down to my attempt to blend two lores. Bella is canonically a shield so I thought it’d be natural she would be an Occlumens in the wizarding world. Unlike Harry, who was not a natural and was ruled by his emotions when trying to master Occlumency, I just don’t think it would come down to her emotions for her—she is simply naturally gifted. If you want to use Snape as an example, who is also a theorized natural at Occlumency and/or Legilimency, I think he is anything but unemotional. He spends the entire series letting his emotions get in the way of his judgment and actions so if we’re going to compare him to Bella—I think what it comes down to is the fact that he is a grown man and Bella is a teenage girl—and teenage girls are often look down upon and seen as Too Much... so let’s try not do that, yeah? 🥴

I hope this answers anyone’s questions, though I don’t think many of my readers follow me here. But just remember my story isn’t canon and isn’t meant to be taken too seriously. 😁

[nifflersgelt]

ok i know this discourse is years old and that it was never even really discourse so much as me ranting at everyone, but

yknow how people are like “the goldsteins aren’t portrayed as jewish bc there’s no religion in hp” i’m not going to unpack all of that bc i already have, but what i will say is, there is such a thing as nonreligious jewishness! jews in 1920s nyc would have spoken yiddish. they would have had jewish friends. they would have lived in jewish neighborhoods and eaten jewish foods. picture old lower east side, pickle stands, etc. 

also, while i don’t know enough about the history of judaica (jewish ritual objects) in america to say, it seems reasonable to me that they would have some? as orphans they would have inherited their parents’ stuff, so if their parents were even given, say, a kiddush cup as a wedding gift, the girls would have it.

i’m not even gonna get into the whole thing with the dinner scene being on chanukah bc i truly don’t believe jkr can keep track of dates well enough for that even to have been an oversight.

“but they’re witches so it’s totally different.” like, maybe! clearly the goldsteins are more integrated into non-jewish society than other jews were at the time -- they have jobs at macusa rather than at a jewish business, for instance. but liiiiike tbh, that’s more of a factor of the author not even having thought about this question, yknow? 

and what does magic use look like in within an ethnic neighborhood? do we assume that every magic user from any minority ethnic background leaves their neighborhood and culture and community to assimilate into white goyish wizarding culture? like maybe we do assume that! but that’s problematic on its own, you?

the goldsteins are most likely immigrants or the kids of immigrants. possible that they’re from an older group of german jews who got to the US in the 1860s, but there was such a huge Jewish immigration wave at the turn of the century that it’s way more likely they’re part of that. to take a brief detour into OP’s family history, here’s a real quick breakdown of how my folks on my dad’s side closest in age to the Goldsteins were vibing in 1926 (based on 1920 and 1930 census data, immigration records, birth records, family memory, etc) Grandpa Samuel (40), having immigrated alone as a young adult in 1905, was living in Brooklyn with Grandma Irene (36), having immigrated with her parents as a toddler in 1891. They had two kids by then, both born in America (in 1915 and 1920).

Grandpa Bill (28), having immigrated as young child with his mom and siblings in 1901, was living in Philadelphia with Grandma Sadie (28), who was born in America in 1898 but whose parents immigrated in 1887. They had one kid by then (born in 1923).

obviously the plural of anecdote is not data, but this is a pretty normal. sooooo they goldstein girls (born 1901 and unclear but maybe 1903ish?) could reasonably have been born in either america in the old country. their parents, though, probably were immigrants.

whiiiiiiich leads us to: what does it mean to be a jewish magic user in a small town in eastern europe? how does the assumption that you’ll assimilate into the non-jewish norm hold up? maybe your town is half-jewish, in which case there is really is no non-jewish norm. but let’s say it’s mostly, idk, ukrainian. or polish. do you assimilate into that, when your community has its own set of customs and vibes? why would you? and even if you do... when you get to america, you still would be bringing some other cultural situation with you -- maybe polish or ukrainian or russian. do we assume that polish wizards who come to america immediately assimilate too? if so, why? like, i’m not saying they wouldn’t, but what’s the mechanism by which this happens? forced isolation from their communities because of Rappoport’s Law? that feels solid (if traumatic - let’s explore that!) - but that assumes that there aren’t enough people from your country to have a little mini-community of polish wizards or jewish wizards or whatever.  side note, it’s fascinating how jacob actually bucks the trend of everyone-assimilates-into-british-or-american-whiteness with his pazckis! this could lend evidence to the wizards-assimilate-and-no-majs don’t theory, or it could just be a coincidence. i suspect the latter.

anyway. what’s my point? i forgot already. but i think it’s worth noting that there isn’t a pan-wizarding culture because there do actually seem to be differences between american and british wizards. buuuuut it’s sure ~fascinating~ that those cultures are allowed not to assimilate into each other, but cultures like jewish are. which... is really reading too much into it. the truth is that jkr just didn’t bother or care about this. or she thinks judaism is a “faith” and doesn’t know jewishness is a culture. oh, right, that was the point of this post. 

anyway, a post-script. there was an article before the first fb movie came out about the fb team going to the tenement museum in NY. having been, i know one of the apartments they show is that of a jewish family, and the docents talk about it. actually, in the cover pic *of that article* there’s a set of shabbos candlesticks on the mantel. but then in the goldstein dinner scene there’s... candlesticks... but they’re mismatched, not next to each, and being used as dinner lighting. oh and it’s the middle of the week. clearly not shabbos candles. so like. they looked at them, heard the docents talking about jewishness, and just decided “meh let’s edit that out but candles are a nice aesthetic.” like, they did make a choice on purpose to de-jewish-ify these characters. and like, it’s not like i expect better. but i do have the right to critique the impulse to assimilate everybody into what’s comfortable for you.

[anchanted-one]

Harry Potter Talk

Settle in everyone, this is going to be a long one.

So a couple of days ago, I saw a massive anti-HP (the character) rant that really irritated me that I wanted to address.

Before I do, let's address the transphobic in the room. Rowling. Transphobia is detestable, and not wanting to support the series while that directly benefits and enriches her is a super valid stance. Also my personal stance, we support the trans people in this house!

Now that that's out of the way.

"Harry Potter, jock from a wealthy family" or something to that effect.

Regardless of how big his bank account is, remember how Harry was brought up? And by whom?

The Dursleys. The magic-hating child-abusers. Who forced Harry to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years. Who gave him Dudley's things secondhand. His mother's sister was so unwilling to spend a dime on him that she was dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray to use as Harry's school uniform.

His cousin Dudley, who delighted in tormenting him, and whose gang joined him in beating up Harry whenever Dudley felt bored enough that he wanted to beat him up for fun.

Is this the upbringing of a "rich jock"? He never used much of his wealth in the Muggle world and even in his school years he seems to know the importance of restraint, and sharing (in book one, he's delighted to be able to share with Ron, and in book four he gives the Twins a thousand galleons without a second thought). Dudley was the one who got thirty-six presents on his birthday and threw a fit coz it was less than what he'd got the previous year. Harry got a used tissue for Christmas. He was the one so not expecting any gifts at all that his best friend's mother packed him a hand-knitted sweater for him, and made his day.

Jock? He played the loneliest position in the Quidditch team. The Chasers and Keepers work together as a team, and the Beaters too, but Seekers are ignored by everyone--including the team--until it becomes apparent that they've spotted something.

Harry was quite popular when he joined the school, but that popularity mostly manifested as people pointing at his scar and whispering about him. Most made him uncomfortable. He only ever had a few friends he was comfortable with.

There were long periods when he was in fact an outcast. That time he lost fifty points for the thing with the dragon, or the time when the Ministry and the Newspapers had turned the entire Wizarding world against him. The time his name came out of the Goblet of Fire, all Houses except Gryffindor treated him like shit, and even the Gryffindors, while they were cheering for him, weren't paying much mind when he was saying that he didn't do it, or that he needed support. That one time, even Ron didn't stay by his side. He was all alone but for Hermione.

The only time he fit the bill of the jock was in book six, when he was too obsessed with what Malfoy was doing to give a damn about his newfound popularity. That was also when he chose the company of outcasts like Neville and Luna over popular hangers-on.

Yes, there are legit reasons to hate the character; he has a massive hero complex. He routinely gets his friends into trouble because of it. He has a very narrow and myopic perspective because of which he doesn't notice much outside of his mystery-hunter track (there was a time when I could illustrate that point better, but it's been a decade and more since I read the last book. I wanted to better read up before talking about this, but I can't bring myself to binge-read like I used to)

By contrast, yes James Potter was a 'jock'. But that's reason to hate him, not his son. Harry, when he sees Snape's worst memory, is rightly horrified. When Remus tries to make the "we were just fifteen" excuse, Harry reminds him "I'm fifteen!". (It should also be noted that Snape's memories obviously show his nemesis at his worst, whereas Remus Lupin--the Werewolf--tells Harry repeatedly that James and Sirius were there for him when no one else was. James risked his life to fight Voldemort, whereas Snape was happily on Voldy's side until that one person he cared about was marked for death by the Prophecy©. Snape was also an abusive bully well until he died--just ask Neville. Dumbledore has also told Harry that memories are fickle things, which can be changed, so the chances that Snape simmered in this memory and unconsciously distilled it to make his old nemeses seem even worse--or himself seem like the angel who wouldn't hurt a fly--also exist. As someone who's experienced bullying, mockery, etc, I know this self-serving tendency of memory quite well. Though this bit is speculation on my part. )

Regarding the sillier names like Pansy Parkinson, and mean descriptions

In addition, when the series began, it started as a children's series, hence the Roald Dahl-like non-villain bad guys of the early part, and the "hate-me-I'm-nasty" names they were given. The Dursleys. Dudley Dursley aka Dudders. "Pansy Parkinson". Everyone was more caricature than character. That's how they are in children's books.

Many people are also described in a way to make the reader immediately dislike them. Malfoy is pale, with a pointy chin. Snape is an oily man with a large beaked nose and greasy hair. Rita Skeeter has a mannish jaw. Umbridge has a face like a toad. All of this is again in keeping with the Roald Dahl theme. Whether it's Augustus Gloop, Veruca Salt, Mike Teavee, Violet Beauregarde or their mannerisms and descriptions make readers feel an instant dislike for them.

When the series became more... Mature, those caricatures can start finding their critics. Never mind that such caricatures and worse can be found in thousands of other works, like Superhero comics for instance. Yes, no one names their children "Pansy" but Slytherin was an allegory for white supremacist type people. Back in those days, JK wanted them to be hated without reserve, much as she wanted bigotry and racism to be (irony, considering where she stands today).

Death of the Author

In the text there is no real transphobia that I can remember, other than that description of Rita having a "mannish jaw" (I admit that I haven't read it in ages, but I am still certain of this). Once the material is out in print, everyone is free to interpret it as they choose. Whenever JK comes out with clarifications or retcons or something--as she is known to do anyway--it's still more of her headcanon than in-world truth. If there is no outright mention of something in the text, then it doesn't matter what meaning the author intended to convey. What matters is what each reader makes of it. In the case of Harry Potter, the enemy are clearly folks obsessed with blood purity: Purebloods.

Lazy names

I'm going to speak specifically about the Indian names here: Parvati and Padma Patil.

While India is a large country and the name is more common in certain regions than others, I had heard that Patel/Patil surname is quite common in Britain. And really in Indian cinema the most common girls' names are Priya (Big Bang Theory as well) or Pooja, many girls in this side of the screen have goddess names. Like "Parvati". Many people also keep the same first letter for names for twins, or even in families (for instance, my parents, sister, and I, all have names starting with "A"), so "Padma" is a nice choice of name. And really, Padma and Parvati Patil are much better names than "Khan Noonien Singh" (now there's a lazy name).

Everyone insists that Star Trek's Khan is supposed to be of Indian origin, but with a name like that and an actor with a Mexican accent... I don't really think so. It was because of this silly character generation that I didn't particularly mind him being played by the very white Benedict Cumberbatch.

But the Patil twins. Them I can feel that connection to.

Races of the main cast

Now this might be something contentious, so I apologise for that in advance.

No one cares what Harry is, though since Petunia is noted as being pale, and Lily has red hair, the unknown factor is James Potter. Was he black? That would make Harry biracial at best.

Ron is written as a freckled boy with red hair, and all Weasleys share that look.

As for Hermione... She is the poster child of the blood-purity bigotry bias. When reading her, people are supposed to understand that the prejudice against her is certainly her Muggle-born origin; not her skin color, not her nationality, not her sexual orientation. Which is why I feel it's necessary that she stand out as less as possible in those other ways. For this reason I think that it was a good idea to portray her as white.

Here are characters who are specifically noted as black: Dean Thomas, Michael Corner (both of whom were Ginny's boyfriends), Kingsley Shacklebolt, Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Lee Jordan, Blaise Zabini (who's noted as being very handsome, and quite popular). Aside from these we have a few token people of Indian and Chinese origin. Speaking again as an Indian, I don't really mind. This is a British story set in a mid-nineties British school only accepting students from the British Isles. It makes sense to me if there are few Indians.

What does all of this translate to? There are legit reasons to hate both the character and the series. So don't make stuff up, especially if you're ignoring the text to do it. Don't confuse the author and their work, even if you have resolved not to buy that work and thereby support her.