Some mishmashed thoughts:




Wow. So much to hate. And so much to love.
First off: Almost all the shippy stuff was, IMO, teh stupid. The only "new canon" relationships I can believe in the least are Bill/Fleur and Ron/Hermione. (Remus/Tonks? Not necessarily an impossible couple, but the way they're written is moronic, I think) But of course I've never given a damn what's "canon" when it comes to fanfic shipping.


Snape's background turns out to be very much like what I thought it was (though I did think he was probably pureblood). He always came off to me as a poor boy with something to prove and a big chip on his shoulder.

Remus's backstory, and who bit him and why....YIKES. Here be monsters, folks, very psychosexual/Big Bad Wolf/pedophilic/really grim fairy tale. I better see some good stories about this. :)

Re: The Big Horrible Shocking Thing. There are still at least two camps of thought on this, folks. Yes, I do believe that Dumbledore knew that Snape was going to do this if necessary (to save Draco, to save himself, because Dumbledore was dying anyway), that they had discussed it, and that Dumbledore's "please..." meant please DO IT, not please DON'T do it. I believe that this was sealed from the moment Snape took the Unbreakable Vow. However, I am on the fence enough to not be shocked to my core if this turns out not to be the case. Maybe I am at ease with uncertainty here, or maybe I am just a bit emotionally distanced. But I think that Draco's vulnerability has been pointed out with a big honking neon sign and commentary by Moaning Myrtle, as has Snape's protectiveness of him, and we are meant to take this seriously into account.

Again, about the relationships: Ugh.

Am I the only one who got a little misty at Aragog's funeral? I really do feel for Hagrid more than is healthy sometimes.

Sheer love: U-NO-POO! Oh, my inner nine-year-old howled.

More later, I'm sure.



And because it's LJ so it's ALL ABOUT ME...



I got an email from, of all people, an old friend from college asking if I was ever going to write more of the "Ravenous" series...well, it's not that a few thousand words of the next story doesn't already exist, because it does. But I felt utterly jossed and rather not interested for so long (remember I started that series in Feb. 2002) that as much as I really would like to tell the rest of the story, the context for it doesn't even exist anymore, if that makes sense. I won't rule it out. But don't hold your breath. (Although there is something about the idea of writing pre-OotP-canon Snape/Hermione that perversely appeals to me now more than ever!)

The interesting thing, though, is that after reading OotP, my desire to write HP fic was definitely waning hard. Whether it was the hopeless fogginess of that book for me, wank in the fandom, my own fickleness naturally moving on, or some combination of all of the above, I'm not sure. I just know I liked writing other things more, whether it be my two closed-canon (ah!sweet relief!) fictional fandoms or even an RPS one that got itself jossed by an election; the HP-verse seemed obstructed for me.

Now I feel I might want to again. Something's shook loose. We'll see.



And Friday night's pointless Good Omens ficlet gets--a sequel!



Well, it was certainly the quietest night the two of them had ever spent in Crowley’s bed. The houseplants were nervous. It was too quiet. While there had indeed been smaller, milder versions of the usual gasps and groans and bursts of laughter, they were sparse and few and far between, and the only constant was the subtle dry crackle of paper: Pages turning.

And now they were done, and the dominant sound was of…

“There, there,” said Crowley, patting Aziraphale’s back awkwardly through the tartan cotton of the angel’s pyjama top. He’d never been good at this kind of thing. His function now was mainly to make soothing noises and from time to time wishing Aziraphale’s lacy handkerchiefs clean and dry again (and to get the wetness off his own bare shoulder. He’d never known angels could produce so much snot).

“It’s so sad…” the angel sobbed brokenly. “The phoenix. The portrait. Minerva…she loved him, I know she did…”

“Yes, yes,” the demon sighed, feeling a little ridiculous. “But he was an old man. He had a full life, and it was what he would have wanted…”

Crowley had already heard corresponding ripples in the human hum all around them: the soft popping sounds of a child’s heart breaking and innocence rupturing, repeated in the millions, everywhere. Soon enough the angel would pull himself together and become aware of the children all over the world who were maybe paying more attention to their elderly grandparents, listening to what they had to say more closely, giving clumsy heartfelt hugs…

All Crowley could really think about at the moment—besides hoping he’d soon get a chance to comfort Aziraphale a little more viscerally without feeling like a heel about it—was the plotting of his very NC-17 Snape/Pettigrew/Draco non-con epic involving Imperius and necrophilia that he’d started envisioning back in Chapter Two.