the A.N.A. does fanfiction

Ooh...HP badficness.

2005-10-29T17:31:00.000-07:00

Ok, we decided to get our 3v1l on by grading a badfic. Prepare thyself. GIRD THY LOINS!

Life of an Assassin
by P0cketmouse
can be read in its entirety here, though not really because it's not complete. we still felt compelled to grade it.

J: Ok. It's FICBURNINGTIME.
J: ...can't touch this.
J: It's a HP fic. Life of an Assassin.

K: Ooo. Sounds dramatic.

J: BUMBUBMBUMBBMBBMBMBMBalgksd;fnksadf

K: ...

J: I'm just going to copypaste the fic now.

K: okies.

Disclaimer: All the characters and Harry Potter are J.K Rowling's and not mine

Chapter 1

There was a flash of green light. A woman screamed. Her black curls tumbled around her face, golden eyes wide as she looked down at her husband. Then another flash of light and she too, crumpled to the ground- dead. A black hooded figure came closer, closer…

Pasha Mayes woke up with a gasp. Cold sweat trickled down her back, chilling her. She shivered. She hated those dreams. They made her feel weak and vulnerable. She hated being weak. Her golden, catlike eyes surveyed her room. No better than a dungeon, she thought to herself. The cold stonewalls pressed close around her like a cell. Cobwebs and dust gathered in corners. The sunrays trickling in through the small window told her that it was morning.

K: So...it begins: Pasha is a plot-theif.
K: Thief.
K: WTF?!

J: MY PLOT. NOT YOURS.

K: Took: #1, The waking from Voldemort-killing parents thing, #2, inheriting-mother's-eyes thing, #3, living-in-crappy-room thing. Argh.

J: typical mary-sue behavior.

K: *supresses rising nausea*

J: "I want to not only rape Harry but BE him."
J: mmmm. narcissism.

K: rape...self...
K: yes.
K: um.

Pasha heaved herself out of bed, her muscles aching from yesterdays training. She slipped into some warmer robes and went on to comb her hair. Brushing her hair always relaxed her. She didn't know why but there was just something comforting about the way the comb skimmed through her hair, caressing her black locks. There was a knock on the rotting wooden door.

J: Actually, the writing itself is not bad.
J: Maybe we should PPC it instead.

K: ...Even has black hair?!....

J: Curly black hair.
J: I know.

K: (wtf?!)

J: Greed: OMFG.

K: arg arg arg

"What?" she asked rudely. She was not a morning person.

"The master wishes to see you."

Pasha set the comb down and padded over to the door. A short, balding man peered up at her with watery, blood-shot eyes. His rat-like face radiated dislike.

"Can you do me a favor Wormtail?" she asked sweetly. "Could you go tell him to hang on for a few minutes, 'cause I'm kind of in the middle of something."

J: Wormtail gets EATEN.

K: ...where did he COME from? I thought she was talking to herself for a minute there...

J: marysue is a crazy fucking bitch.

K: Apparently Wormtail Apparates into girl's rooms as a hobby.

J: (Hermione) What the fucking fuck?

K: Ginny would be used to it, though...ahh, to live with the twins...

J: (Ginny) *does bat-bogey hex*

K: lol

J: batnosed rat.

K: mmm. Rodents all the waqy, baby.

[Janners' Note: Wacky rodents!]

Wormtail whimpered. Her knew he could tell him no such thing. "He wishes to see you right away."

Pasha sighed, "well, if he must."

She followed Wormtail as he lead the way through the various corridors and hallways, finally stopping in front of a pair of ornate wooden doors. Pasha knocked.

"Enter," said a cold voice from within.

She went in. It was a large room. Much more decorative and luxurious compared to hers. There was a fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Heavy red velvet drapes hung behind the person sitting in the gilded chair.

"Pasha. You have been my student for fifteen years, ever since your parents were murdered. You were just a year old weren't you?"

Hate boiled up within her, hate for the man who had killed her parents. She gritted her teeth.

The light from the fire danced on the persons pale face, illuminating his snakelike features. He studied her with wide, red eyes and smiled, knowing he had touched a nerve.

"Crucio," said Voldemort, pointing his wand at her.

Excruciating pain shot through her body. She wanted to scream, to cry for mercy, but she knew it would be pointless. She must stay silent. She was bent over in pain, squeezing her eyes shut. She must not make a sound. The pain abruptly ended. Pasha let out a moan.

"Impressive. Now for your final test. Let us see if you have the nerve, and the will to complete your mission." Voldemort waved his wand at the door, causing it to swing open. "Bring him in."

Two Death Eaters d

J: what's the letter for today, kremit?

K: the letter d, apparently.

J: Fucking Yahell.

K: it could be a verb...they Death Eater'd the night away.

J: But OF COURSE our mary sue doesn't scream during CRUCIO. Because to scream during the pain curse would make you a pansy.
J: Poor longbottoms.

K: ...was there cursing?...I didn't see cursing...

[J/N: Not paying attention!
(Kana) *lunges*]

K: Other than YOURS, at any rate.

J: Bite me.

K: *kiss*

J: ;slds;lfs;fls
J: That was me drumming my fingers on the keyboard impatiently.

K: have a valium, luv.

ragged a struggling man into the room. His frightened eyes flicked around the room. "Master!" he begged. "Please forgive me!"

Voldemort looked down at him in disgust. "Too late for that, Renwold. You betrayed me, and you know what happens to traiters."

Renwold sobbed. He knew all too well.

J: (Renwold) WRONG ME!
J: Making a totally obscure reference to Dead and Loving It.

K: ...mmm, Renwold; you have a name that cojours images of moldy bread. You deserve whatever lame death you're about to experience.

Voldemort gave Pasha a look, nodding. She didn't know if she could do this, if she could perform an Unforgivable Curse.

"He murdered your parents. Stole your childhood. What are you going to do about it?" Voldemort hissed when she hesitated.

She knew the man trembling before her wasn't the man who had killed her parents, but hate boiled up just the same. "Crucio."

K: Who you gonna call?

J: (Voldemort) Do ya feel lucky, Punk? Do ya?

K: VLODEMORT!
K: ...er.
K: ......shut up.

J: Vlodemort the Impaler.

K: I said shut up - (Lookie, I'm Pasha: CRUCIO!)

J: (Pasha) La la la la la! *hexes everything in sight*
J: *hits dandelion*

K: Most-often-said-word: CRUCIO!

J: (Dandelion) WTF, mate?
J: I'm going to sing the Crucio song now!

K: crucio crucio crucio crucio crucio

Renwold screamed. Rage coursed through her, coursed through every nerve. Hate blazed in her golden eyes. He writhed on the ground, shrieking in pain. Pathetic, she thought. Pasha lowered her wand when Voldemort raised his hand. Renwold lay panting on the ground. He gave her a look. She knew what that meant. She felt sorry for Renwold, but she had to do it if she wanted to get her revenge. And in order to do that, she had to prove herself to the Dark Lord.

J: Of course her eyes are golden.
J: They couldn't be normal.
J: Like, you know, BROWN or something.
J: No.
J: They have to be GOLDEN.

K: ...Is it just me, or was that scene full of sexual imagery?
K: ...Not even yellow.

J: She had to do it...she had to ass-rape him.

K: How DOES one get meatllic eye colors?
K: (meat?)

J: (Renwold) What....what...what are you going to do with that wand?

K: metallic.

J: Stay away from me!

K: *dies, all thoughts of meat forgotten*

J: Meatalicious eyes.
J: They look like t-bone steaks.

K: ...

J: Pasha gets a black eye, doesn't need to put steak on it.

K: .......

J: Can we test that?

K: PLEASE?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Blinding green light shot out of her wand, heading towards the man twitching on the ground. In an instant, he lay still. He would never rise again. Tears threatened to rise up as she felt the lump in her throat. She must not cry. She must not cry. Crying was a sign of weakness.

Voldemort nodded. "You are ready."

J: Tell me Avada Kedavra was directed at Pasha.

K: I would so love to be her shrink.

J: Oops. Nope.
J: Sigh.

K: We can only pray, now...

J: (Shrink) CRY, BITCH! *slaps her*

K: mmm. The tough love approach. That costs extra down in the slums.

Pasha felt no victory, no triumph. She stood silent.

"Draco Malfoy is also at Hogwarts. You are to help him."

Pasha recalled meeting Malfoy. She did not think much of him. She hated the way his eyes roved over her, inspecting her figure.

"And I suppose I do not need to remind you who your target is?"

Pasha nodded. "Albus Dumbledore."

J: PLOT STEALING BITCH
J: !
J: Wow. We can't type tonight.
J: Worht aasdflksd;lkds km adfkjjncf;flksd.
J: oh fucki it.

K: "No, Master, it bloody slipped my mind. Who was the ONLY wizard you've ever feared?"
K: Argh.

J: (Pasha) Keep your voice down....too much vodka for me last night. *giggles*

K: butterbeer
K: it gets ya every time.

J: The real reason for everyone's 'headache' in Trelawney's class.
J: I can't divine today, Prof. I have a headache.

K: Magical hangovers are better than muggle ones - pink elephants actually DO dance around your head!

J: And on it.

K: *tromp tromp*

J: mmm. Brain omelette.

K: THAT'S what happened to Pasha...

J: She's a special dragon, she is.
J: OKAY! On to Chapater two!

K: ...oh gods.
K: *weeps*

J: Wanna guess how many chapaters there are?

K: I have not the strength; spare me, for I am weak.

J: I'll just skip to the end of chp 2.

K: Thank you.

K: THANK YOU.

They all piled into the car after saying their goodbyes to Fred, George, Bill and Fleur. The car magically expanded to fit them all and they drove off towards Kings Cross Station.

The gleaming red train stood waiting, puffing out smoke impatiently.

"Harry! Ron!" called a voice from behind. Suddenly, Harry's vision was obscured by a mass of bushy brown hair as Hermione pulled him into a tight hug, doing the same to Ron.

"How were your holidays?" asked Harry.

J: no sexual imagery there at ALL.
J: between magically expanding cars, gleaming red trains, and Hermione's bush, I'd say either my mind is in the gutter or hers is.
J: Or both.

K: Hmm? Hermione's bush? The tight embrace? The big, red, hot machine? The steam filling the air?
K: No, not at ALL.
K: Silly Babby. Sex is for Pasha.

"It was great," gushed Hermione. "We went all over Europe. France, Italy, Spain…" she trailed off as she looked at Harry's face. "Oh sorry Harry. Here I am going on about how great my holiday was when you were here worrying about… everything."

Harry shook his head, "there's nothing to apologize for. I've actually been ok, you now, considering…"

Harry had told Ron and Hermione about what the prophicy contained. The prophcy that said he either had to kill, or be killed.

J: oop. now Hermione's 'gushing'.

K: eeeew

J: *dies*

K: I hate, I HATE it when they do that...oversensitivity annoys me. "Oh, did I express happiness About something we DON'T have in common? I'm SO sorry."

Mrs. Weasley interrupted. "You better get on the train. It'll be leaving soon."

Ginny rushed back from greeting other friends and hugged Mrs. Weasley. "Bye Mum."

They all hugged her in turn and hopped on the train just as it started to roll forward. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, wandered to the back of the train looking for an empty compartment. One of the doors slid open and a round-faced boy stuck his head out.

"Harry! We saved seats for you guys."

J: Mrs. Weasley comes out of NOWHERE.
J: (Mrs. W) *LOOM*
J: HI, CRUNCHY CHILDREN.

"Oh hey Neville. Thanks."

The group trooped in and stowed their suitcases in the luggage rack. A girl with long, dirty blonde hair was already sitting in the compartment, her slightly protuberant eyes staring intently out the window.

"Hi Luna," said Ginny.

Luna shifted her gaze to them. "Hello," she said dreamily.

She went back to staring out the window.

J: mmmpizzahair.

[J/N: I know it seems like I'm commenting on the fic here, but I'm not. Kana put her pizza behind me and I leaned back in a cat stretch.]

Harry jumped when he saw someone else sitting at the corner of the compartment, already dressed in school robes. How could he have missed her? She had been sitting right there. Harry shrugged the thought off, he couldn't help noticing that she was very pretty. Her dark, glossy curls were pinned up pinned up but a few strands had managed to work their way out and tumble down. Her face had a kind of exotic, feline look to it. What stood out the most about her were her eyes. She had golden, cat-like eyes. Harry had never seen eyes like hers. He realized he was staring and forced himself to look away as he settled down into his seat. He glanced quickly at her again. He wondered if she was a first-year. She didn't look like a first year, but Harry had never seen her around the school before. He gave Neville a questioning look, as if to say Who is she? Neville shook his head. He didn't know.

"Hi, I'm Hermione," Hermione said.

"Pasha," the girl replied.

"I'm Ron," Ron hurriedly introduced.

Pasha gave him a nod of acknowledgement. Her eyes turned to Harry.

"Harry. Harry Potter," he offered.

K: Yeah, he noticed that she was JUST LLIKE HIM. :not another fangirl," hethinks...

J: (Harry) ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! *runs in fear, jumps off train into river*
J: Through the window no less.

K: A mercy killing, I feel.

J: Notice how Ron and Herm found no need to whip out their last names, yet Harry is like MINE IS BIGGER!
J: Like a wand-measuring contest in the Gryffindor boys dorm.

J: *slapped*

K: Well, you know...The bigger they are...the BIGGER they are.

Her eyes flicked to his forehead, as he knew they would. But unlike other people when meeting him for the first time, she did not seem awed by him. Or excited, or even surprised. Her face showed no emotion.

"So what year are you going in to? You don't look like a first year," Hermione asked.

K: Ah, Hermione...blissfully unaware of the angst.

J: (Harry) Am...confused...not...normal...fangirl behavior.....ABORT PROGRAM! *head explodes*

K: Harry: Ziggy bookie dook!
K: *boom*

J: Ahhh....ze bubble fish!
J: Jana the conducting foghorn.

"Seventh."

"Do you know what House you're going to be in?" questioned Ron.

"Slytherin."

Everyone in the compartment exchanged looks. To his surprise, Harry was disappointed. But why should he be? No one asked any more questions and the rest of the trip was done in silence.

J: (Group) Well, FUCK.
J: That put a damper on the mood.
J: Bloody snake.

K: Because Pasha went to the Crabbe and Goyle school of communication skills.

J: (Pasha) I'm the tasteful haircut fairy.
J: SSSS.
J: ...er, *hiss*

K: ...GREAT save, Babs.

J: Thanks.
J: ON TO CHAPAPAPAPPAPAPAPATER 3!
J: Soy Porky Pig.

[Kana's Note: We're really losing it by this point. Is it obvious?]

Pasha stood in the line of first-years, towering over them as they fidgeted nervously, waiting for their names to be called. She looked over the sea of students, her eyes falling lastly on the Slytherin table. She knew the sorting was a waste of time on her, she already knew what house it would put her in. Her thoughts drifted back to when she was on the train. She had met Harry Potter. She had almost snorted when she had seen him. He was a tall, bespectacled boy with messy black hair. He looked just like any other teenager. How could he have defeated the Dark Lord? She couldn't understand.

J: Pasha couldn't stay away from the coke....
J: She almost snorted EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY.

K: Mmmm...he stole your look, didn't he Pasha? And that make Pasha ANGRY!
K: We don't like her when she's angry.

J: She turns green, which is just CRAP with her GOLDEN eyes.
J: And when Pasha gets angry....CRUCIOCRUCIOCRUCIO!

"Liza, Richard." A stern looking witch in emerald green robes read the names off a long list of parchment.

J: LIZA!
J: Richard's mom's name is Judy.

K: .....gay awwareness break......

J: gab for short.

K: wwww

J: let's skip to Pasha's sorting. (liza goes to Ravenclaw, if you're interested)

K: nope.

"Mayes, Pasha."

Whispering broke out as she strode forward.

"She's not a first-year"

"Who is she?"

"She hot!"

Pasha gritted her teeth as her sensitive hearing heard the last comment.

J: Which was said by Crabbe.
J: Or Goyle.
J: We don't believe in apostrophes or contractions here at the Crabbe Goyle School for Speaking Good.

K: Repeat after me: "Grunt." "grunk." No! BAD idiot!

J: IT's the PEN for you!

As she sat down on the small, three legged stool, she could see the Slytherins poised to clap. Malfoy had probably told them about her. She placed the hat on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

J: but of fucking course.

K: Show of hands: who DIDN'T see it coming? *no one moves* Uh huh.

J: (Crabbe) *raises hand*
J: (Crabbe) *gets smacked*

K: No speakie for you!

Pasha started towards the Slytherin table before she realized that the noise was coming from the other end of the Great Hall. She turned, a look of confusion crossing her face before that, too, was gone, becoming blank once more. She made her way to the Gryffindor table and spied for a spare seat. She found one, and sat down.

J: (Pasha) *operating on auto-pilot*

K: *evil-pilot*

"Hi," said the boy next to her.

It was Harry Potter.

J: So who didn't see THAT one coming?

K: *not even Crabbe raises his hand*

"Hey."

"I thought you were going to be in Slytherin."

"I thought so too."

"I'm starving," exclaimed the red-headed boy named Ron.

"Ron, you're always starving," retorted Hermione.

J: (Herm) FOR MY LOVE>

K: STILL no last names for primary-supporting characters.

J: Nope. They haven't EARNED it.

K: They just...y'know...have gone through everything Potter's gone through since he met them...nothing HEROIC, of course.

J: Nope. Ron SACRIFICING himself in Book ONE wasn't enough....nor was Hermione sacrificing her GRADES in Book Two....fucking fanfic.

K: fuckin' A.
K: ...Let's get this over with...I have a headache.

J: Skip to chapapapapater 13?

K: apapapapa-do.
K: ......good dods, 13 just BECAME my unlucky number...
K: (GODS)
K: AAAAAAAARRRRGh

She didn't know why, but in her minds eye, she could see Harry's grinning face, just before she drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep.

J: Regular-dream-less. Not wet-dream-less.

K: thhbbbt.

"I am Professor Middleweek and I will be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the year."

Harry, Ron and Hermione all jumped at the sound of her voice, recognizing it immediately. Hermione turned to Harry, Tonks? She mouthed. Harry nodded. It had to be. Professor Middleweek, or rather, Tonks, eyes twinkled when she saw their reaction.

The door to the classroom suddenly burst open and Pasha strode in.

K: Mmmm...hairy tonker.
K: *snort*
J: (Pasha) Fashionably late or not at all!

K: Must..be...edgily different!
K: Burst, stride...
K: yes.

J: (pasha) *seen reading "How to be Uniquely Rebellious while not sacrificing your utter sueness"*

K: lol

J: mmm...flicking water bottles is fun.

K: I'm trying to walk with a purposeful stiiiiiii---

J: a purposeful eye infection.

K: *bites*

J: *enjoys*

K: *scours mouth with brillo*

J: Ok, so in Chapapapaater 5, Malfoy and Pasha meet in the Forbidden Forest [OF LOVE] to discuss the doing away with of Dumbledore. By the by, tis revealed herein that Pasha is, yes, an animagi. Or someone that randomly turns into a cat at will.

K: of COURSE.

J: Rather, a panthe.r
J: I'm guessing.l
J: It doenst' realy ay.
J: ;lkasld
J: 'k

K: Thus ALL THE CAT REFERENCES we've been hearing ad nauseum.

J: *chops off fingers; sells them on the black market*

K: *nobody wants them*

J: Yeah. Like the grooming obsession.
J: (Pasha's fave pick up line) Want to groom?

K: ..........

J: So....here is a quote from their discussion of doing 'way with AD: "Well, we need to get him vulnerable somehow. Without his wand."
K: *chokes*

J: Because every man is vulnerable WITHOUT HIS WAND.
J: Which has a knob on the end.

K: For...purposes.

"You want to play with…me?" she asked, confused.

J: No, I want to play with PARTS of you.
J: Silly sue.
J: Sex is for CANON CHARACTERS.

K: please just let it be OVER

J: OMFG.
J: Chapapapater 13 is NOT the end.
J: The end is not up ye.
J: t.
J: fuck.
J: need elven fingers for...places.
J: stop kicking me!
J: whore.

[K/N: Here, Janners has lost it and is talking to herself.
J/N: *kicks Kana*
K/N: OW!
J/N: Whore. ]

K: ha ha.

J: Should we just grade it now? Call it quits and set fire to it?
J: My grade: blah. Writing was passable; fic SUCKED.
J: *desperately wants Pasha to spontaneously combust*

K: I concur: blah.

J: Ok. BURNED.
J: BEETCH.

[K/N: Some people shouldn't be allowed to have computers.

J/N: Like us, n'est pas? J/k. This fic made my brain bleed just a bit. I'm glad it's over. Only read it if you're insane. Mary Sues....are evil. And on another note, it's either really good or really bad to have us reviewing fics at two in the morning. Comments?]

GO Fic #3--yes, there are a lot, and /of course/ it's C/A slash...you were expecting Newt/Anathema fics?

2005-08-29T17:29:00.000-07:00

Another Sort of Compromise

by Tabula Rasa1

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2072214/1/

This fic is very well written. It captures the authors' voices almost perfectly, with that sort of not only British but uniquely Pratchett/Gaiman humor.

Aside from the writing and the yummy!slash, I find it great that the issue of the demon/love and angel/lust issue addressed, which doesn't happen in many fics. Or if it is, it ends up with Aziraphale falling or Crowley...actually, nevermind, that doesn't happen--at least not that I've read. It does appear, though, so it wouldn't be fair to say that it didn't. However, I like the way it's dealt with here a lot more than it is dealt in some of the more angsty ones.

I'll say this for this fic: I can see it being a short film, or the ending to the Good Omens movie (which I heard is coming out, though I could be wrong)--that's how on par it is with the book.

There are/were a few typos, but the fic was SO DAMN GOOD I'm ignoring them. Completely. Which is /different/ for the Grammar-Nazi-General. (Mom's GrammarHitler.)

Favorite Quote: ""And then-- and this is the really good part-- they put another one up on the next corner! Can you believe it? Almost...miraculous...isn't it, the way they just keep going with things...." Crowley was pleased with himself; he had recently made quite a lot of money on some American firm he'd convinced to put shops up at an unreasonable rate and unreasonable distances. [...] "It's not like they need that much coffee" he said. "Who needs that much coffee?""

Grade: Wonderful. Oh, did I wander. And with a strategic notebook.

Graded by JANNERS
your "mmm....slash" kitty cat

Janners' First Fanfic Attempt

2005-08-28T17:27:00.000-07:00

And now posted at ~~The Pit of Voles~~ Fanfiction.net! GO! Review! Or review here. But I think more /others/ will read it at ff.net if it's reviewed there.

I Have Been In Earth, I Am Going To Hell

This is a fanfiction crossover, based off two short stories I read during a creative writing course. The short stories are entitled "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates, and "Girl", by Jamaica Kincaid. I liked exploring what might happen to the named characters in the former, Arnold and Connie, and the unnamed character in the latter, whom I christened Anne.

Connie looked out the window of the car. It wasn't the jalopy. It was a new one, one Arnold had bought very recently. She didn't know what kind it was. She didn't care. It had nice leather seats and that 'new-car' smell. Arnold kept it pretty clean. She continued to look out the window. She wasn't looking out the window, though. She was looking outside and into herself. Her reflection loomed up beside her, asking her questions she didn't want to answer.

She loved Arnold, she supposed. It wasn't love like you read in the romance novels, or like how you expect love would be like. She loved him through hating him. She hurt him with every word, but only hurt herself. They were so much a part of each other that there was no distinguishing between the two. She didn't know if he loved her, or even if he loved himself. She didn't know if he was capable of loving.

She took a slow drag of her cigarette. At first, Arnold hadn't allowed her to smoke--couldn't stand the smell, he said--but after she'd threatened to call her family and let them know where she was, he relented. He'd never wanted her to contact her family--and she'd had no desire herself. The very fact that the possibility scared him so gave her power over him--power she drank up and power that made her sick to her stomach. She despised it.

Arnold coughed and rolled down her window. The smoke from Connie's cigarette was sucked outside and flew along the side of the car, dissipating as it reached the end. She flung it out the window. She didn't care about the waste of a good cigarette. It was Arnold's money. She spent it liberally.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice sullen and scratchy. There were deep shadows under her eyes. She didn't sleep much. Didn't eat much, either. She was even thinner than she had been when she'd met Arnold.

Arnold glanced in her direction. "You'll see," he said in a reassuring tone, though it didn't reassure anybody about anything. Everything he said was forced. She wondered when he'd ever say anything that wasn't.

She sighed, annoyed. He didn't know any more than she did.

She reached down into her bag and grabbed her cigarette box. There was one left. Even more irritated, she flung it down into the space between her seat and Arnold's. "I need more cigarettes," she said, crossing her arms and looking out the window.

Arnold didn't reply.

***

"Your total is five dollars and eighty-five cents, ma'am. Would you like a bag?"

"No, thanks, I'll carry it out."

Anne took the woman's money and doled out the change. She'd been working in a rural gas stop off Route 86 for a few years now. She liked it. She got to see many different types of people all day long...truckers with big mustaches and heavy tattooed biceps, harried mothers shoving lollipops into their childrens' mouths to shut them up, angry teenagers with their pushy parents. It was great material for her writing. Her manuscript was finished, actually. She was going to drop it off after work. It was a story about love and intrigue set in--

"Miss? Miss?" An annoyed voice broke into her thoughts. There was tall, emaciated-looking girl with sunken eyes and stringy hair in front of her. She couldn't have been more than twenty. The hard angles of her hand were doing drumrolls on the countertop. Anne realized she'd been daydreaming again. She murmured her apologies quickly, ducking her head to hide her blush.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

The girl coughed. "A pack of Kools." Her voice was scratchy, as if she hadn't used it in a long time, or was a chain-smoker. Anne turned to get her a pack and noticed the carton was empty.

"I have to apologize again, ma'am, I seem to be out of Kools. Would you mind waiting a moment while I got some from the storeroom?"

The girl shrugged non-committally and Anne hurried off to get the cigarettes.

***

The lights had been turned out, the floors were swept, and everything was put away, clean and ready for the next day. Just one thing left to do, Anne thought happily to herself. It had been a good day, despite the daydreaming incident. She'd seen lots of human suffering...human suffering just begging to be written about. If this one gets published, I may think of doing another, she thought as she went to gather her belongings from behind the counter. I've got tons of material.... She reached to get her manuscript...and her hand found nothing but empty shelf space. She patted around for it, forcing herself to stay calm. Maybe it had just gotten shoved back further than she thought. No. Maybe it was in her bag. No. Maybe it was in the storeroom. No, no, no! Anne turned the place upside down, tearing through the cheap plastic and fluorescent looking for her life on paper. It was nowhere to be found. Looking at the destruction surrounding her, Anne sank to the ground and started sobbing. A voice tore through her despair, worsening it with its passage.

"No!" she yelled. "I told you to go away! You went away!" Her yelling was lost in her sobs as her mother's voice permeated her skull, invading her mind and chasing her thoughts away until there was nothing but the voice, the scolding voice, telling her she was nothing. She was nothing. She couldn't even hold onto her own manuscript, for godssakes.

"This is how to hem a dress when you see the hem coming down and so to prevent yourself from looking like the slut I know you are so bent on becoming; don't speak to wharf-rat boys; don't talk like a slut; don't look like a slut; don't be the slut you are; slut, slut, slut; you're a failure because you don't listen to your mama; you slut!"

Her mother's voice rose to a crescendo inside her head. Anne curled up into the fetal position, clamping her hands over her ears and writhing to and fro, trying to block out the words that didn't stop. Her head hit a nearby shelf once, twice, three times, and she hit it again and again until blackness took her.

***

Connie sat in the car, reading. She'd never read for pleasure before. She wasn't even getting much pleasure out of it, aside from the power trip of reading a stolen manuscript. She hadn't shown Arnold. She wouldn't until she was done with it, because he'd take it away or burn it when she slept. She didn't care enough about it to threaten him into letting her have it, and she couldn't carry out that threat besides. So she read it in secret.

It wasn't good writing, not that she had much basis for comparison. The plot was confusing and loosely tied together, and she couldn't see much connection between the characters. Still, she read--because she wasn't allowed to and because she'd stolen it. It wasn't pleasure from the book itself. She felt pleasure knowing that it wasn't hers, that it belonged to that stupid clerk in the stupid gas station, who didn't even have the cigarettes Connie had wanted. She deserved to have her stupid book stolen from her.

Sensing Arnold's proximity, a skill she'd cultivated in the past few years, she looked up and saw him coming back to the car. He wasn't looking at her--he'd gotten rid of the sunglasses a while ago and she could see his eyes now--so she quickly put the book back in her bag.

He'd reached the car. He got in, saying, "They have a room. We can sleep tonight."

"We never sleep," she answered, as he drove the car into a parking space. They got out in unison and headed to their room, not even bothering to lock the car.

***

Connie lay awake. It was another week, another roadside motel, another day of endless highway. She'd finished the book and dumped it in a trashcan somewhere. She wasn't thinking about the book, though. She was thinking about Ellie, the guy Arnold had traveled with when she first went with him. Ellie was dead now. She and Arnold had killed him. It had been an accident, she guessed. They'd been driving, late at night, and they'd hit something, bump in the road or something. Ellie'd gotten out to check the front wheel--it had a habit of coming off--and Arnold had been stretching. He'd stretched his arms back and his legs forward and his foot had been on the accelerator--by accident, he said, in his forced voice.

They'd thrown Ellie into the woods by the road and gone on their way. After that he'd ditched the jalopy and gotten a new car, and they'd been traveling ever since---ditching cars when they ran them into the ground and getting a new one. She didn't even know what car they were on.

Connie blinked once, twice. Why was she thinking about Ellie anyway? He was gone, he didn't matter. Because he's dead, the voice that was and wasn't hers answered in her head. He's dead. And she wanted Arnold dead.

Her thoughts swung 'round to the book. She hadn't really followed the plot or how the characters had fit together, but there had been one character who had hated her husband...so she killed him and herself together. Connie wanted that. She couldn't commit suicide. Arnold didn't let her get a hold of knives. She couldn't do it even if she had the tools. She wanted him dead. And she wanted herself dead. And for that to happen, she had to kill either one. There was a way.

Connie sighed soundlessly--Arnold was still awake--and turned over onto her side. She slept for the hour before dawn.

***

Another gas station. Connie went in to buy cigarettes. When she got back out, Arnold said, "Fill up the car. I need to piss." He stalked off to the bathroom.

She smiled strangely. A new plan was forming in her mind. She'd thought of killing him at night when he was off his guard, or sleeping. She'd even formed a plan. But she'd scratched it out. It wouldn't work--she'd still be living, and he'd be dead. And she couldn't kill herself. She just couldn't.

This...this was different, yet similar. She'd read something like it in the book, and dismissed the idea as impossible. Arnold wouldn't let her near the tank. Till now. And now...well, the plan worked. Two birds with one stone. Or drop.

She shoved the nozzle into the tank and propped up the handle. Then she stepped back and leaned against the pump, waiting.

The tank filled. Connie waited. It backed up, overflowing. Connie stood stock-still. Finally, Arnold came around the corner from the bathroom. She got out her cigarette pack and her lighter. He was a few yards from the car. She put her cigarette in her mouth and lit it, sucking in and savoring the flavor. Connie saw Arnold quicken his stride. She did nothing, taking long, lazy drags on her cigarette. It was her last.

He was only a few feet away now. She took the cigarette out of her mouth. "You're not supposed to smoke at a gas station," he said.

She smiled and laughed, pointing downwards. There was gas sloshing around their feet, staining his boots. It dripped from the gas nozzle, building the steadily growing lake on the ground. He took a horrified step back.

"Too late," she said, triumph on her face as she dropped her cigarette.

Funny... she thought as her flesh burned, my own plans fail...and yet the ones written by some bored gas station attendant in her spare time...succeed.

She thought nothing else.

Good Omens Fic #2: Short'n'Sweet C/A Slash

2005-02-02T17:23:00.000-08:00

Unique

by Shauker

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2150729/1/

My only qualm with this fic is that it's too damn short. It's very well written, and the voices/characters are down /pat/. I've read and re-read it about a hundred times because it's so sweet...and a bit sappy. But I love sappy, so that's good.

Favorite quote: You know what? Go /read/ it. Tis too short to quote from.
Grade: Good. I didn't wander down hallways, but I do thoroughly enjoy this fic.

Graded by JANNERS
your grooving-to-dance music kitty cat

Good Omens Fic #1: C/A Slashfest

2004-12-09T17:20:00.000-08:00

Let me just say, I really like this fic. First off, I love the C/A pairing. They're perfect for each other. (And it seems a lot of other people like the C/A pairing, too, because the section for Good Omens at the Pit is 95% C/A slash.) Second off, it involves video games. Which makes it cool. And third off, there is no third off, so on with the fic-rating.

Another note: I'm not going to put the whole fic in. I'm going to link to it, I'm going to rate it, and I'm going to share my favorite moment from it. [This system will follow with all fics that I rate, excepting the badfics, which I will share in all or most of their bloody glory.] To read the whole thing, click on the link.

Song to the Siren

by Keruri1

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/648411/1/

"Song to the Siren" is set after the end of Good Omens, when the world *doesn't* end, and Crowley, Aziraphale, and the rest of the crew, including the Antichrist, are left to their own devices. Most GO FFs are.

That being said, I have more to say. Siren starts out with Crowley trying to beat Xenogears, a game I have never played, but that's not necessary for enjoying the fic--the author writes in such a way so as to make all things understood to gamers and non-gamers alike. The author wrote both Crowley and Aziraphale so well as to add new dimensions to them while not making them go OOC on us. Aziraphale is in one of his more contemplative moods, which I like, and Crowley is being very sweet, which makes me go "AAAWWWWWWW!" very loudly and for all to hear/suffer intense eardrum-bleeding from. The kiss is......luscious. It made me pant inappropriately while reading it at work. The children were traumatized. This fic made me wander down several different corridors labeled Possibility, Yum, and What Happens At The Cafe? Go and read it now.

Favorite quote: "Suck my wang, Miang."
Grade: Wonderful

Graded by JANNERS
your entirely swooning kitty cat