a fool's musings

Fool, said my muse to me, look in thy heart and write...

Warning: Adult Content achromatic unfinished fic graveyard recs journal new stuff recent stuff my back pages January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003 January 2003 December 2002 November 2002 October 2002 September 2002 August 2002 July 2002 June 2002 May 2002 April 2002 March 2002 February 2002 January 2002 December 2001 November 2001 the five Ws, or, all about me profile e-mail victoria my livejournal the original P&R comments current mood: "pathological and unbalanced" Items of Interest People LiveJournal folks Baraita bishclone claritylit Jintian Kat Allison Kit Mason metablog mix-tapes Neil Gaiman Nestra Sarah T. Seema Shrift Sundry Mourning zendom Music Walk On - U2 Thunder Road - Bruce Springsteen If I Can't Change Your Mind - Sugar Sick of Myself - Matthew Sweet Town Called Malice - The Jam One - U2 The Space Between - DMB Books Lord of the Rings Catch-22 The Neely Trilogy Absalom! Absalom! Possession: A Romance Foucault's Pendulum Dreamhouse LA Confidential I Capture the Castle Sandman Waking the Moon Shows Angel Buffy the Vampire Slayer (in reruns) Alias West Wing The Simpsons webrings < ? fanfiction ! > < ? writers ! > diaryreviews.diaryland.com NYC Bloggers Comments by Haloscan.com all links, if I haven't screwed up somehow, should open in a new browser window

05.27.03 - 10:41 a.m. Faith'n'Snape, take 1 Well, LJ is down again. Imagine that. ::rolls eyes:: I'm so glad I shelled out money for a permanent account. [/sarcasm] So I'll just share this here. It's untitled, unbetaed, and unfinished, though I hope to get through the whole thing today. If only they'd just stop *talking*. Jabber jabber jabber. I never thought Faith and Snape were chatty until this story. But they won't shut up! Not even when Giles tells them to. Suggestions, titles, help welcome. *** Faith sighed. All the way to England to help Giles re-establish old contacts, and what did she end up doing? Patrolling cemeteries. Good thing most people here cremate, she thought. Should be a quiet night. She hopped up on a gravestone that gave her a good view of the cemetery and decided that the vamps would have to come to her. She was done walking tonight. She was lost in a daydream involving Vin Diesel and chocolate sauce when a harsh voice interrupted. "What are you doing here?" She opened her eyes to see a tall, pale man with greasy black hair staring down at her. "What's it to you?" He sighed, "Americans." Then, a bit louder, "This is not a tourist attraction, young lady. It's a cemetery." He sounds like Wesley, she thought. Sunnydale Wesley, prissy as a princess. "I kinda figured that out," she answered, looking him over more carefully. He wore a long black dress, like some of the priests she'd seen back in Boston, but no collar. After their adventures with Caleb, she wasn't too thrilled with meeting a preacher man. His skin was waxy and pale, his eyes narrowed and dark. He looked like he was perpetually pissed off. That she could understand. He seemed to be breathing, though. At least, his breath puffed visibly in the cold night air. "The creepy headstones and mausoleums gave it away." "It is not safe," he snapped. Oh yeah, she thought. Prissy like Wes. Or that evil Gwen Post. Who hadn't turned out to be prissy at all, actually. Just evil. She slid to her feet in one smooth motion, stake in one hand, cross in the other. "It's okay," she said, "I'm the one everyone else should be afraid of." He didn't flinch from the cross. "You're one of Giles' girls," he said, lips twisting in disgust. "Giles' girls? Look, buddy, I'm *no one's* girl. I--" His eyes widened and she heard the footsteps behind her just in time. She whirled and thrust the stake into the vampire's chest; it exploded into dust. She turned back in time to see another vamp attacking the irritating English guy. "Duck," she snapped at him. He ignored her and tossed something at the oncoming vampire. It burst against the vamp's body and sizzled. Holy water, she thought. At least this guy isn't totally useless. She knocked him out of the way and plunged the stake into the second vampire. She hadn’t even broken a sweat. *** I kinda know what's going to happen next, and the ending is written, it's just getting to that point. And, true to my word, there is no sex. I seem to be becoming a crossover queen. Who'da thunk it? Speaking of crossovers, In Shadow is up on the site. I've also got vague Dawnfic ideas swirling, but I probably ought to rewatch Chosen. Which I can't do this week because I brought the tape out to the parents' cause daddy wanted to watch it, and we didn't, so I left it there. Sigh. By the time I see the ep, I'm sure this idea will have already been done to death, but... It could be fun. I dunno. I've never written a Dawn POV before. Plus, Inheritances and Coming Clean need to be finished. I'm waiting for the last word on Crush, and I have to see if I can salvage Hope Abides, 'cause I like that title. Stupid fanon!Remus, creeping into my story like that. Hmph. ~victoria link [current mood: vague] [current music: I know it's only rock'n'roll but I like it] [random quote: Out of the blue and into the black they give you this but you pay for that and once you're gone you can never come back] ~*~ 05.26.03 - 2:42 p.m. In Shadow The Faith/Sirius is done! In Shadow Summary: "He was eager for the connection, the proof that he wasn't just a shadow, clinging hopelessly to a life that no longer existed." Woo! Go me! ::does the Dance of I Finished The Fic:: Read me. Love me. *** You know, aside from the fact that HP takes place in the '90s and is referenced as fiction on BtVS, the two worlds aren't *that* incompatible. I can easily see the Council (RIP) as some sort of arm of the Ministry of Magic, getting more and more secretive and hidebound as the years pass, and denying all knowledge of Slayers to everyone outside their little circle, even in the wizarding world. Of course, I also can see Giles as a classmate of MWPP - he's in the right age range - but I'm tempted to say he was a Slytherin. Ethan definitely was. Maybe Giles was Ravenclaw. Wesley, of course, was a squib, accepted into the council only because of his family name. And boy, has he shown them all up. Anyhow, I have to stop having these thoughts, because I'm just imagining Sirius and Remus running into the Scoobies and all sorts of stuff happening. And as I've said, I suck at those plot-driven stories, so it's best to keep mentioning it and hope it starts to impinge on some other writer's consciousness, by osmosis (or poky stick). Though I am pondering ways for Faith to meet up with Snape, for random_hundreds. There will be no sex, but there may be violence. *g* ~victoria link [current mood: productive] [current music: news in the background] [random quote: Rebecca: \"Have people ever tried to kill you?\" Dan: \"Yeah, but I defend myself with my superior wit and guile.\"] ~*~ 05.25.03 - 11:13 p.m. Sunday rambles Musings on The Matrix Reloaded and the first three eps of Homicide up in the LJ. Can I just say, I *loved* Neo's outfit. That cassock-looking thing? On him, it is The Sexy. I'm trying to catch up on email. I went to bed early last night, and didn't get online, and I had 164 emails this morning (up from 30 on Saturday morning). So I weeded through them and when I got offline, I had about 50. Get back online tonight, 165 again. What is up with that? And it's not even the 8 out of 10 spam to content ratio that I've been having lately. It's all from my gusys or list mail. Well, the list mail (except for some fic) is being deleted unread. I just can't. Especially not XMM. So I'm trying to do that, I'm still editing the Faith/Sirius (and this week's random hundreds is Snape'n'Faith. If I write one, there will be no sex. Even Faith has standards.) and I've got an essay about canon percolating, based on something I read yesterday, and the assumption that author interviews are part of canon. Considering I spent a long time in Jossverse fandom, I have issues with that. Because they lie. At least, Joss does. Did. ::remembers Angel is still on:: Does. Oh well, back to the grindstone... ~victoria link [current mood: talkative] [current music: news in the background] [random quote: \"I'm an extraordinary bitching pain in the ass.\" Beau Felton, HLotS] ~*~ 05.24.03 - 2:29 p.m. Hagrid is on my list of people whose sexual adventures I really never ever want to read about You mention Harry/Hagrid *once*, as an example of ishiness, and people are getting this diary as a result of their searches for it. Their Sick and Wrong searches for it. Yeesh. I'm live and let live when it comes to other people's pairings, and I wouldn't take nookie away from any character, but Hagrid is on my list of people whose sexual adventures I really never ever want to read about if I can help it. Of course, I also tend to have that reaction to Snapesex in fic, so... yeah. Snape ought not have sex until he washes his hair and learns to be less of a nasty bastard. And he better *not* be coming between Sirius and Remus. IN any way. And oh god, I just squicked myself with threesome thoughts. My brain. My braaaaiiinnn! Of course, we've established my brain is a scary place, and yesterday, I think I freaked my dad out when I was discussing my random destructive/violent urges. Anyhow, Alyssa's birthday party this afternoon, but the weather is crap, so we'll be inside. Which means benadryl for me. Stupid cats. Was up late last night reading fic (Sirius/Remus, of course. Seems to be all I read at the moment), and I am still not clear on why 3/4 of the authors I've come across 1. can't handle POV, 2. feel the need to have the narrator ruminate on his own damn eye color, 3. can't seem to use the word *eyes* and instead uses glowing orbs or limpid pools etc., even when not describing the object of his affections. It's horrid. It's creepy. It's OOC. Sirius would *never* describe Harry's eyes as "limpid emerald pools". Come on! Ginny might, but only until she was 14 or so. I'm just saying. I don't mind some of the other fanon as much - Slut!Sirius is kind of charming, imo, and it *was* the seventies - I can live with heavy-handed wolf metaphors (as long as the word "mate" isn't dragged into it), but the gratuitious and baroque eye-color descriptions by characters about themselves drive me batshit. I am strange. I admit it. Why do I keep reading? Because it's a sickness. You suddenly discover this pairing, this character, who *pings* and you need more of them, more more more more, because they're in your head and you need to find out what happens and are they happy and how did they get that way and what *did* Remus do for 12 years etc. etc. And most of these stories do have some small moments that press buttons. So I don't give up. But man, every description of Remus's honey-silver hair (?!) or Sirius's diamond eyes (WTF?) makes me cringe. Or laugh, depending on my mood. And my toast is ready, so I'll go now. ~victoria link [current mood: amused] [current music: Kiss Off = Violent Femmes] [random quote: You can all just kiss off into the air behind my back and I can see them stare they'll hurt me bad but I don't mind th] ~*~ 05.23.03 - 2:47 p.m. Random anxiety and violent tendencies So next Friday, the woman who used to have my job is coming back to visit and go out to lunch with everyone. This means I have three days to clean my cube up and do all the crap that I sort of piddle around with and leave for later. All the filing and cleaning up stuff. Brrr... She's a nice woman. A little wacky, but nice, and far more organized and neat than I could *ever* be (even back when I actually tried/cared), and I really really don't want to them to start thinking about how I'm not quite up to her standard. And really, I can't afford them to start thinking that. And when I say "can't afford" I mean, literally, monetarily, I cannot afford to lose this job. I don't even have enough savings to cover one month's rent now, and if things do increase as much as people are saying they will, even with rent control/rent stabilization (stupid Bloomberg supporting evil, greedy landlords and real estate mgmt companies), I'm not even going to be able to cover a month's rent with a paycheck, which is almost what it takes now. ::shudders:: I've mentioned this already to my father, and he's all, "Don't do anything rash!" As if I would. This is me, after all. ::thinks:: Okay, it's possible I'd do something rash, but only after talking about it for so long that no one would ever actually *think* I was going to do it. *snerk* But just the thought of having to leave my apartment makes me all queasy and anxious. I love my apartment and I hate feeling this way. Hates it we does, nasty, tricksy landlords and politicianses... And I *still have about $1600 worth of credit card debt hanging over me. And Tricia's b-day presents to buy. Grrr... I wonder if that's part of why I'm so grumpy today. I've been told I have great snapping potential, and today I'm reminded of it. My god, why can't people just stay the fuck out of my way? One day I will snap and say something instead of just rolling my eyes and sucking my teeth (or snapping my gum, depending), or, even worse, I will do one of the horribly violent things I sometimes think about doing to my fellow commuters when they're being asshats. Like clotheslining a random rollerblader. Mmm... that thought gives me a happy sometimes when nothing else does. It's a good thing there's no such thing as superpowers, and even if there were, that I don't have them. Because there's no way someone wouldn't be getting hurt if they pissed me off at the wrong moment. And the thing is, it's not even PMS. It's at least a week too early for that, probably two. Maybe the weather? I loathe not having sunshine. For such a night owl, I really do like my sunshine bright and sunshiny and *daily*. This gray weather makes me miserable. And now that I've scared away everyone reading this, I guess I'll get back to some semblance of work. Gotta be in tip-top shape when N. comes to visit. Sigh. ~victoria link [current mood: anxious. also, violent.] [current music: Space Cowboy - Steve Miller Band] [random quote: Some people call me the space cowboy, some call me the gangster of love...] ~*~ 05.22.03 - 2:13 p.m. Hermione has a crush... Okay, this is me, trying to conjure up old feelings of being 13 and having a crush. I'm not sure it was successful, either as fiction or as me revisiting old feelings or even as me Mary Sueing poor Hermione. First person was too difficult, too close. Third person required dialogue and actual story-telling technique, which seems to have fled my grasp today. Hence, the much-reviled second person POV. I think it fits, and I hope what I'm trying to do comes through, but I don't know. You tell me. Unbetaed, obviously. More a raw blathering stream of consciousness than any sort of actual *story*. *** Crush You stare at him in class. You can’t help it. He moves with an effortless, almost predatory grace. It would be frightening if it weren’t so attractive. Or maybe it *is* frightening, and that’s part of the attraction. You hear the whispered slurs -- weak, poor, pathetic -- but you know the truth. You figured it out months ago. You are the cleverest witch in your year, after all, and you didn’t need to do an essay on werewolves to piece it together -- the moon-shaped boggart, the monthly absences. Even his name points to his nature, and you wonder if his parents knew, or if they were just tempting fate. You are suddenly grateful for your own old-fashioned, meaningless name. Nothing about it predicts your future or your fate. You find yourself keeping his secret, wishing you could tell him you know, wishing you could share. Wishing you were older, prettier, smarter, *something*. Something other than a frizzy-haired thirteen-year-old witch with an embarrassing infatuation (you hope no one notices). Something that would make him take notice. You want to tell him it doesn’t matter, you don’t care, you’re Muggle-born and you know about the prejudice he faces; you’ve faced it yourself. Instead, you hug his secret to you and watch the way he grins when he’s teaching something interesting, the way he takes the time to help Neville, the way his eyes light up when he looks at Harry, as if Harry is the most precious thing he’s ever seen. You envy Harry for the first time ever, because Harry meets with him privately, is learning things that even you haven’t attempted yet. And you’re glad you have no need, but still, it chafes, that he knows something you don’t know. Or maybe it’s just that he becomes the focus of that intensity. You can feel it in class, tightly leashed, hidden behind the absent-minded professor persona. All the professors at Hogwarts radiate controlled power, though some wear it less blatantly than others, but it’s never been so fascinating as it is on him. When he takes you outdoors for lessons, the sun gilding his pale skin and shaggy brown hair, your mouth goes dry and your heart speeds up and you want nothing more than to please him, though you don’t know quite what that entails. So you answer questions with your usual alacrity, you study harder than ever, in order to feel the warmth of his smile, the power of his approval. You wish you were the object of that hidden intensity, though you will never tell. Not after the Lockhart fiasco. But Lockhart was stupid and weak. Lupin -- no, Remus (in the silence of your own head you call him Remus and he breathes your name and kisses you) -- is strong and bright. Lockhart was a preening poodle and Remus is a sleek, powerful wolf. If anyone else had said it, you’d have groaned at the banality of the metaphor (that isn’t even a metaphor in *his* case), but you feel the truth of it all the way down to your toes. You can’t breathe when you think about it, and at night in bed, your hands move under your nightgown, over skin that is suddenly hot and sensitive, and you should be ashamed, thinking of a teacher while you... but you picture his face, fierce and intent, imagine your small hands are his, large and strong and sure. You bury your face in your pillow so your roommates won’t hear the way you whimper and pant as those feelings explode inside you, leaving you weak and sleepy. You’ve never believed that hearts actually break -- couldn’t imagine what it must feel like -- until that night in the Shrieking Shack. He’s coming to rescue you, to help you, and then, and then -- it's Lockhart all over again, except ten thousand times worse, because you *believed*. You kept his secret because he wasn’t really a dark creature. He couldn’t be. He radiated kindness and goodness and a strange mixture of danger and safety, but now he’s *embracing* a murderer. You can’t believe you’ve been duped again. You can’t breathe and there’s a strange pain in your chest and your eyes are stinging and it’s not because you’re scared. You find yourself yelling at him, all your shame and feelings of betrayal released in a shrill voice that makes them all cringe. You can’t help it. You protected him, *loved* him, and he’s been helping Voldemort. You attack Snape. You attack a *teacher*. And you do it for *him*. Not for Harry and Ron, though you’re worried about them, but even with your heart shattered into a million pieces, you protect him. As if he needs the protection of a half-trained thirteen-year-old witch. You’re old enough to know that when you’re older you’ll laugh at yourself, but you cling to the hope that he never will. You’re stunned at what’s revealed in the minutes that follow; even you have a hard time keeping up with all the secrets revealed. You will never forget the tense white faces of your friends – Ron’s pain and disgust, Harry’s bewilderment, replaced by happiness -- and of the men who are the last remnant of Harry’s true family. Sirius is blank and skeletal, only the indescribable emotions burning in his eyes tell you he’s not a walking corpse. Remus is pale and joyful, disbelieving and relieved and the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Everything after that is a blur, except the moon. You never thought of the moon as your enemy before, but suddenly you hate the cold, silvery light that’s ruined everything, that turns this man you’ve dreamed of into a beast, and not the kind who sings Disney songs and turns into a prince with love’s first kiss. When it’s all over, you wake to the news that he’s leaving, and your heart breaks all over again. Harry goes to see him, and you wish you could, too, that you had some of that famed Gryffindor courage left after last night, but you can’t, and you don’t. You watch as he walks down the path to Hogsmeade, and you tell yourself that someday, you’ll see him again, and you won’t be a silly, thirteen-year-old witch anymore, but a woman to be reckoned with, and you shiver in delight at the thought of that reckoning. *** All the repetitions are intentional, btw. And now, I must eat, and then pay bills. Ah, such an exciting life I lead. ~victoria link [current mood: creative] [current music: Baba O'Riley - The Who] [random quote: don't cry, don't raise your eyes, it's only teenage wasteland] ~*~ previous - next DiaryLand Disclaimer: Reading this diary is not required by law. If you do not like or agree with the contents herein, or find them to be offensive on more than one occasion, please go elsewhere and don't come back. 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