Dear French-speaking people: Bite. Me.

[bubosquared]

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix Countdown: 133 days

I'm in a terribly snippy mood today, and I'm so very much not looking forward to French class this afternoon, but I'm on a fic binge and I have stuff to make cupcakes and cake and cookies tonight, and my nails are black-with-blue-glitter, so it's all good.

Except, of course, that I don't seem to be receiving any new e-mail, and I couldn't get my Netscape at home to actually connect to the femgeeks server, and even though I can login to the webmail, there's nothing actually there, nothing new anyway, and I know I should've had new mail, if only comment notifications. (So if I've not replied to your comment yet, that's why. Sorry. Argh. Must bother André tonight.

Oh, because elfiepike asked for it, I'm reposting the Gallagher Snogging Picture behind the cutaway. Note: This picture has not, as far as I'm aware, been edited in any way. I love these boys.

And, on a random note, some HP recs:

Zahra - vigil

Harry/Draco. How things end.
One of the primary reasons why the Harry Potter fandom sucked me in so fast so hard was that I love angst, and this fandom lends itself to good angst so nicely. It's a pity, then, that so very few writers know how to (or even bother to try to) write good angst in this fandom. Zahra is one of the few, the brave, the cherished, and this story in particular just scrunched me up inside.

The end will have come at last, and it won’t be about pride and falls.

It will be about a simple desire.

Zahra - april showers

Harry/Draco. Harry used to live alone.
I have no idea why I like this as much as I do, but there's Harry and Draco and sarcasm and domesticity, and I love them so.

It couldn’t possibly be his own fault for forgetting the keys, not when a quick ‘I’ll run to the newsagent for your lazy arse if it will stop the whinging’ turned into a twenty-minute goodbye shag; which then forced him to spend an additional five minutes looking for an errant trainer. No, none of it was Harry’s fault. It never really was, but when he caught cold and passed it on to Draco he’d surely lay the blame on Harry.

Sometimes it was like living with Snape, only with better hair.

"You look like a drowned rat."

Because you always look so appealing yourself." It was a remark that reeked of irony of the highest quality, if only because Harry knew how Draco liked his sarcasm - with the Sunday Prophet and a side order of beans on toast.

Jeanne - untitled one and two

Marcus/Lee. War!story plus sequel/em>
The story that started it all, and its sequel

"Shut the fuck up. If it'd been anyone else at this outfit, you'd be fucking flat on your face dead. You're just goddamn motherfucking lucky you're Lee Jordan. I wouldn't have given anyone else a chance, and the others wouldn't have if I hadn't stopped, all right?" Flint pulled the hood back up, snarling. "I won't say it again, Jordan."

"It's my job, Flint." He leaned heavily on the table with his one hand, not daring to look up. "It's what I do. I call it like it is."

The laugh was hard and bitter. "Always knew it'd get you in trouble some day.."

And:

Somewhere in the dark woods, Marcus Flint was pinning the articles to the walls of his tent, whispering Lee's words to himself over and over again, imagining that it was Jordan's voice speaking those words.

And if the random drabble that just wheedled its way into my head would get some sort of solid shape, I'd much appreciate it. Gnar.

Edit: Note: It's very difficult to concentrate on French homsework when one's head is filled with English litgeekness. Just sayin'.