First of all, It is not bad. You are very silly, and deserve to be lightsabered for thinking so. *brandishes lightsaber* I very much like the atmosphere of the first paragraph, the bits about "glittering, waning sunlight", the Ravenclaws "brooding intellectually over their cigarettes. I like the fact that Ron's coat is "never quite warm enough". And then this: only as almost-Bill and not-quite-Charlie. That's perfect. And there's so much I love about the third; I can see the scene in my mind, and it's so quiet, and soft, and romantic in a way that isn't sugary or forced. It's evocative, and when I read it I thought, "I've been there", and in so few words it expresses exactly that fleeting, hopeful contentment. There is something so beautifully wondrous about walking through melting snow with Harry running up behind him, smiling and chattering like they're eleven years old again, just coming back from Harry's first Quidditch match. It glows warmly in Ron's chest, and he thinks, this is what I'm missing. And then there's sweet drunken snogging by the fire (Somewhere, a clock chimes the melodies of midnight. Oooh. Shivers down my spine.), and drunken other naughty things, and, well, it's everything I like in a Harry/Ron fic, with that little, uncertain bit of hope at the end that makes it all better and at the same time hurts, perfectly. If this is the worst thing you've ever written, then I can only say that everyone should be so lucky! :)
I very much like the atmosphere of the first paragraph, the bits about "glittering, waning sunlight", the Ravenclaws "brooding intellectually over their cigarettes. I like the fact that Ron's coat is "never quite warm enough".
And then this: only as almost-Bill and not-quite-Charlie. That's perfect.
And there's so much I love about the third; I can see the scene in my mind, and it's so quiet, and soft, and romantic in a way that isn't sugary or forced. It's evocative, and when I read it I thought, "I've been there", and in so few words it expresses exactly that fleeting, hopeful contentment. There is something so beautifully wondrous about walking through melting snow with Harry running up behind him, smiling and chattering like they're eleven years old again, just coming back from Harry's first Quidditch match. It glows warmly in Ron's chest, and he thinks, this is what I'm missing.
And then there's sweet drunken snogging by the fire (Somewhere, a clock chimes the melodies of midnight. Oooh. Shivers down my spine.), and drunken other naughty things, and, well, it's everything I like in a Harry/Ron fic, with that little, uncertain bit of hope at the end that makes it all better and at the same time hurts, perfectly.
If this is the worst thing you've ever written, then I can only say that everyone should be so lucky!
:)
Better now?
Reply
er. I can't think of proper responses because I am all worried about things! *scrambles*
Reply
Leave a comment