Saturday, October 16th, 2004

Time	Event
9:09a	. Midnight conversation Original poster: snapesdarkling More in the 'Barracks' series of fics that I write from time to time. I like the idea of everyone dossing down in the great hall during the war... Rating: R Beta: None. ( Midnight Conversation ) Current Mood: amused (Comment on this)
11:26a	A list of resources for HP Slash Writers Original poster: chrysos I have published a list of resources I have collected since I started writing HP-slash. I find them very useful. Maybe others might want to profit from this list. There are five categories: HP Fandom, Slash, Writing Skills, Non-British Writers (the last two categories are not always clearly discernable), and Miscellaneous (for everything else). Resources If any of you have further suggestions, please let me know, so I can add them to the list. This messages is cross-posted to erised_diaries, harry_draco, pornicators, snape_potter and snapish_smut. Sorry to spam your flists! (Comment on this)
6:32p	Welcome Original poster: snapesdarkling Hi to magdelena1969 and cluegirl. May you always be plagued by hot Snarry bunnies. Current Mood: happy (Comment on this)
9:37p	Repost: Proof of Life Original poster: snapesdarkling In answer to stellahobbit's request for more barracks style fics.  This is a short one I wrote a while back. Snape and Potter belong to JKRowling. ( Proof of Life ) Current Mood: fluffy (Comment on this)
10:39p	Falling: Repost of old ficlet. Original poster: snapesdarkling The boy saw him fall, robes a flurry of black, fluttering and swirling, dropping like a stone to lie in a crumpled heap. Now, so very still, so absolutely quiet. Wand raised and aimed, reality closing in to focus the boy on one object. Rage surging, forcing the killing curse from his lips, and powering his voice. Two words and the Lord of Death is claimed by it. Then, silence but for the hollow sound of wind through trees. Time slowing, distorting, vision blurring. The sound of keening in the air as he stumbles his way to the dark, still form. The eyes open and searching, find his. Warm relief floods through the boy, allowing him to breathe, making him glad to be a survivor. The thin mouth draws up into a soft smile and suddenly the harsh face is beautiful. The boy kneels and gently cradles the broken body in his arms. It is such a small distance to lean, to touch his soft lips, to whisper his name and the promise of love. To hear his low voice return the words "thank you" and feel him slip so gently into eternal sleep. Current Mood: wistful (Comment on this)

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