I can’t remember a single human character from the Godzilla movies of my youth, but “Pacific Rim” spends a respectable amount of time establishing memorable personalities for the Jaeger pilots, scientists and supporting cast — an impressively diverse crowd who must band together to “cancel the apocalypse” (instead of relying on a lone white hero to save the day, the way American movies typically do).
Rather than focusing on the first giant monster to cross the inter-dimensional portal, the film leaps forward a decade or so into mankind’s standoff against the kaiju to depict the big-daddy battle they hope will end the war. Pause just a moment to consider the ambition here: Whereas most summer movies tentatively attempt to establish a franchise, del Toro and co-writer Travis Beacham dive into a full-blown sci-fi scenario determined to tell the best possible story the first time around.
Variety: Do Critics Have the Wrong Idea About “Pacific Rim” Director Guillermo Del Toro.
This brings up something I’ve been wanting to say about writing for awhile — something that it’s taken me nearly 20 years of reading and writing both derivative and nonderivative (though truly, nothing is nonderivative so much as it just has the serial numbers filed down and the seams cleverly hidden) fiction. And that is this — fanfic writers have a trick they can pull that is audacious and amazing, and just slings a reader into the world headlong; they treat the reader as if they already KNOW the world, and don’t need the pedestrian details explained to them.
This is generally because they and their readers already share a canon, but what other fiction writers (especially of F/SF) often miss is that ALL readers of fantasy and science fiction share a canon — they’re humans, and they’re smart enough to read, and they’re curious enough to read about things that will never be true. AND when you drop a reader into a new world headlong and just expect that they’re going to land on their feet and roll with what you give them, you are affording that reader one hell of a lot of respect for being smart and intellectually agile. And — here’s the big kicker — READERS LOVE THAT.
People don’t buy F/SF books to be spoonfed effortless amusement — there are other genres for that — they buy those kinds of books because the challenge to their imaginations and their intellects is stimulating in a world that increasingly strips real stimulation and challenge away from us. Corporate drones don’t get a lot of call to use their imaginations over their basic territorial and combat skills these days, believe me, and secretaries and baristas get even less outlet for the brains that raised their ancestors from all fours.
So the way that fan writers write — the same way that Del Toro and Travis Beacham tackled Pacific Rim — is an advantage in writing fiction intended for sale too. That ability to launch a tale not only in medias res, but with full world immersion and no translation labels on the nearby objects. And that is a very good skill for writers to have.
My first experience being respected by a writer and thrown headlong into a world the nature of which I had to deduce was with Gene Wolfe’s Book of the New Sun at age twelve or so. It made a deep, deep impression.
It’s coming up to Winter, it’s cold, and due to Government admin errors and several other hits, we’re now living below the poverty line and can’t afford to heat our home or eat.
Due to the economic crisis my family and I were forced into being below the poverty line, having to choose between food and heating during Winter, and this year thanks to admin issues at HMRC we are without a vital benefit that usually pays for our food. This year we cannot afford either heating or food.
I’ve been rejected for over 500 apprenticeships and jobs in the past year, yet I still try because we need some way to survive during this time.
The £60 a week that used to go on food has been taken away by the government because they cocked up their admin and we have to wait 3 more months for that money to come back, we’re now also losing £90 a month to the energy company through some kind of backwards ‘cost’ thing they’ve just implemented and cannot switch without incurring a costly fee.
This is all not to mention that we also have to pay a fraction of council tax now, something that never used to happen, so that’s £70 we somehow have to pay every month.
And finally our housing benefit has been cut so terribly over the past year we’re now having to pay £900 out of my mother’s life savings a month just to keep a roof over our head, even though we never used to have to before. Life savings that would go on helping her through her Cancer.
My Mother has also never been on holiday in her life, and has only just escaped an abusive household in recent years, so is in no fit state to be dealing with so much monetary stress.
Please help. There’s only so much I can do, and I’m already at the end of my tether.
I don’t know if this has been done before but I’m curious to see how many Trekkies are out there.. so reblog if you’re a fan, whether it’s tos, next generation, the reboot films or any other makings of it.. For science?
Cat recieved the prompt “You look beautiful, but you don’t look fine.” from this meme, thought of Ishev and Ellekai, and challenged me to invert the assumed speaker/addressee. So I wrote a thing. It’s challenging to get across my sense of how they communicate, but I think I’m getting better at it.
Ellekai found Ishev on a balcony with the french doors flung outward to the courtyard, braced against the balustrade, absorbing cool evening air and silence. She overwhelmed easily in social situations; this was usually her retreat. Finding him here was unusual.
The imagery in this piece is flawless. “His presence in the Force sought hers, and they folded together like hands clasping.” is outstanding. I feel like the Force, using it, communicating with it, is so impression-based that it has to be communicated in impressions and allusions, and there’s a awesome job in here of conveying that.
Auriva. Why is a little harder to choose, but I think she's the prettiest and has the most RP potential for my legacy and her personality is extremely interesting with how you've worked it to mesh (and conflict) with Sith philosophy.
Thanks! I see a lot of Jedi who have complictaed feelings about and relationships with the codes of their Order, so why not turn it around?
choosing one of your characters: first of all, how dare you. secondly, they are all impossibly beautiful. third and lastly, Ishev is radiant and the one I know the most about, so if you are forcing me to choose, I will go with pretty soldier handsomebeard.
Headcanon: Enough Imperial and mercenary personnel have attempted to assassinate Loren Fidelis, and been killed, captured, or convinced to defect that it’s sort of a faction-specific in-joke that you assign tiresome Sith apprentices or agents whose performance is slipping to that task. “Assassinating the Corellian” is the in-universe equivalent idiom to “buying the farm” or “kicking the bucket.”
"Oh, goodness. I assure you, the nature of the phrase has much more to do with the incredible dedication and competence of my companions than any of my personal qualities."
No one is hurting Mr. Fidelis while I’m around!
We can do this the easy way or the hard way. The hard way involves you dying without getting to change your pants first.
I do hope you weren’t expecting to be successful.
Ooh! I love assassinating assassins. They always look so surprised!
So I’m enjoying the company of a legendary soldier-statesman and correcting delusions that attacking an apparently-unarmed elder is either fun or profitable? I’m sorry, you thought this was going to take some convincing?
You’re not assassinating the most respectable politician around as long as I still draw breath. Even if I wasn’t sworn to protect our leaders, I’d do it because he’s my friend.
Demisexuality is an asexual-spectrum orientation that is often overlooked when people try to write asexual characters, which is a shame, because a lot of bad asexual stories could become good demisexual stories if the authors were better informed. So I’m here to inform you.
It’s rare that Tiona is asleep and Auriva is awake, so when Auriva wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to bed, she leaves the bedroom to read somewhere where she won’t disturb her lover. She takes her data pad down to the cargo hold and curls up to look through the most recent illicit Republic archaeology journal that she’s acquired.
She spends about a half-hour doing that before she hears it - a small noise that lasts for a second and then fades. At first she doesn’t think it’s anything more than one of the little noises that always happens on spaceships. But then she hears it again, and this time she knows it’s organic, not mechanical.
She hurries up the stairs and to the bedroom door, easing it open and peering into the room. She doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but she hears it - Tiona’s breathing, which had been sleep-regular when she left, is now more ragged. She slides into he room and edges closer to the bed, knowing now what’s going on.
"Tiona?" she whispers. No response. She inches closer and says the name a little louder. She doesn’t want to speak too loudly and wake Tiona too quickly in case the Chiss doesn’t know where she is and pulls a blaster. Auriva knows she could survive being shot, but she’d prefer to prevent it from happening if possible.
Neither of her gentle nudges have worked, and Tiona’s breathing is getting more and more atypical. Auriva’s skin prickles, and she’s not sure if it’s the other woman’s fear, or her own worries. So she says her lover’s name at full volume while she uses the Force to prod the Chiss.
Tiona sits straight upright, hand moving towards the dresser. Auriva steps forward and grabs the Chiss’ hands in the Force while touching her own hand to Tiona’s face. “Ti. Ti, it’s me, it’s Auriva. You’re on your ship. It’s okay. There’s nothing to fear.”
She repeats the litany until the tension flees the other woman’s body, until awareness comes to the red eyes, and Tiona says her name. Then Auriva drops the Force hold, sinks onto the bed, and pulls the Chiss against her. “No one can hurt you now,” she promises. “I have you.”
Eskath and Vakell... credits. (I dunno. go with it if you want or feel free to ignore. lol)
Eskath met the hunter at one of Lady Anira’s parties. She’d been attending alone, as was her custom when her husband was deployed. Truth be told, she didn’t really want to go, because she found Anira to be a simpering fool who didn’t understand the game of politics but tried to play it anyway. But she knew that her role was to support her husband’s aims, and making nice with influential Moff wives was how she could contribute to his campaigns.
She’d been making her way through the front gardens when a dark-skinned human she didn’t know stopped her. He was wearing a civilian style she recognized as a formal dress jacket, and spoke in a rich baritone. “Lady Mallohe?”
She inclined her head. “May I help you?”
"I was hoping you could bring me into the party."
Her eyebrows sought her hairline. “Bold words from a strange man.”
"My name is Vakell. I’m with the Bounty Broker’s Association, and I’ve been assigned to capture a target who will be attending this party," he began. "Now, I could charge in there in full armor, guns blazing - but that’s a risk for everyone in there."
"As well as for yourself, if you enter a Moff’s estate with live weapons," she pointed out.
"Risk to myself is part of the job. But wounding a bunch of women and servants isn’t my style."
Oh, she liked him. She wondered how much of that was his honest feelings about his line of work, and how much of that was a facade of honor and nobility, designed to put her at ease and make her agree to his request. She wished she had the Force-touch to investigate his sincerity - and his motivations for choosing her.
"And why did you ask me?" Her voice was lower, a threat implicit in her tone.
"Your husband is an honorable man, and I hope his wife is the same."
"And what does a bounty hunter know about my husband?" she asked skeptically.
"That a few years ago on Hutta, he forgave the pickpocketing of a youth who was hungry, and bought him dinner instead of shooting him."
That sounded like something her husband would do, and Eskath allowed a smile to cross her lips. “I have no way of knowing who you are for sure,” she pointed out.
He reached into the breast of his jacket and pulled out a small identichip, handing it to her. It had the BBA seal on it. She pulled out her data pad and scanned it. If it was a fake, it was one good enough to fool officials.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
”Say I decide to let you in. What is the nature of the target?”
"One of the ladies is having an affair with a man who’s a Republic agent. She doesn’t know it, but he’s using her home computer terminal to leak information about fleet movements to the SIS. She’s arranged to bring him here as her plus-one, and so I decided to try the same tactic."
Her lips twisted as she considered the fate she’d like to see inflicted on the Republic spy. “Will you kill him?”
"My contract wants him alive." He correctly anticipated her next question. "I’ll poison their drinks so they sleep, and offer to drive them home. As your bodyguard, or servant, or whatever other identity you choose to give me, that shouldn’t be too out of place."
It sounded like a good plan to her. He was assuming she’d agree, but she was beginning to think she would. “What do you intend to do with her after you’ve captured him?”
"My contract says nothing about dealing with her."
"She’s as much at fault as he is. She can’t go unpunished," Eskath insisted.
"Is she really?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "For wanting to dally with a man who isn’t twice her age, for sleeping in after their lovemaking and allowing him access around her quarters, you would condemn her? What punishment would you heap on her?"
"Turning her into Intelligence," she said immediately. "They’ll re-educate her on the importance of security, her husband will lose his access to classified information, and a threat will be eliminated."
"So you’ll destroy their lives because she was lonely."
"She betrayed the state!" Eskath hissed. But she could see his point - her political match actually had affection and respect. For others, it was indifferent and cold. Affairs weren’t the norm, but they weren’t entirely unheard of, and much time and money was spent concealing them from the public eye. It was quite possible the woman was just a dupe, and that Eskath turning her in would punish multiple people for wanting to be happy.
On the other hand, it revealed a weakness in Imperial society that the Republic had found and exploited. That had to be reported. She wondered if she could do it without affecting the reputation of the woman in question.
She noticed that the hunter had been quiet. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
"I presented another side. It’s your job to make up your mind."
And here he surprised her again. “You sound like you have a preference.”
"I do. But in the end, it’s up to you to do what you want. I’m not getting paid for anything to do with her, so there’s no point in spending time or effort affecting it."
"Are you in your line of work only for the credits, then?"
"What I’m getting paid for this job could have fed me for a year when I was on Hutta," he told her. "It’s a powerful motivator to follow the terms exactly and not concern myself with anything outside."
"So why worry about the collateral damage, then?"
"Maybe it’s because I’m a good man. Or maybe it’s because the terms of the contract say that being conspicuous will dock my fee."
She laughed, finding herself liking this strange man. She’d always thought of bounty hunters as ruthless killers who wanted credits and blood, not as men who followed their orders just like soldiers, but took the time to consider how to implement them and what he could do to salve his conscience while remaining within their bounds.
"Very well, then. You’re a servant who has the potential to be elevated to steward, and I want you to see how parties work from the guest’s perspective," she decided.
- - -
The operation worked perfectly. Vakell played the perfect servant and proved to be fascinating company in the brief moments when she could speak to him alone. Two hours into the party, the lady in question and her guest passed out. Eskath offered her driver’s services to ensure that they got home, and the hunter drove off with them.
The girl was conspicuously absent from the next few parties, but within a season she was back at them, this time without any paramours.
She submitted an anonymous tip to Intelligence about affairs being a potential security vulnerability, and never heard back.
A few weeks after the party, a droid showed up with a package. It contained five hundred credits and a nearly illegible hand-written note. The hunter had appreciated her invaluable help and had sent her 10% of the bounty as thanks. Included with it was a comm code and a comment that if she ever needed a situation discreetly handled, she could contact him.
Friends and followers! (All 6 of you…) I have launched a new blog, on which I will be posting some of my writing.
To celebrate (read: give myself a kick in the seat for motivation to practice), I invite you to submit small prompts via that blog’s askbox. Prompts can (should probably) include character ideas, story arc ideas or themes, and a word count (preferably somewhere between 500 and 2000 words).
I welcome both fandom-specific and original ideas, although you are hereby forewarned that fanfic isn’t my forte. Actually, I don’t have a forte yet, so knock yourselves out!
Please share this with your followers! I shall take requests from anyone.
Hadrea batted her eyes at the man across the grungy table in the dimly-lit Coruscant bar. “Even I know that’s a high price for Kaas thistle.”
"Ain’t easy to get it across the border," the Devaronian male countered. "You know what the Empire does to smugglers?"
"Of tea?” The affected high pitch was almost too high. she covered by taking a sip of her wine and brought it back down closer to her natural for the next words. “But it’s just a plaaaaaant.”
"They treat errythin like nation’l security." He pointed a finger at her. "If you want the tea, you’ll have to give me three thousand. I’d charge five, but you’re gorgeous."
Hadrea looked down at the table with a blush, then back up at him. “I suppose we can do that.” She reached into her bag for a credit chit and slid it across the table.
The man slid it through a reader to verify the amount, then leaned back in his chair, clearly satisfied by what he saw. “Fantastic. Lemme buy you a drink, sweetheart, for being a good sport about it.”
"Oh no, please," she simpered. "Let me treat you for being so kind to me. I have a lovely bottle of Alderaanian wine here…”
With the business done, and having gotten the better end of the deal, he let down his guard, drank more than he should have, and flirted with her. Hadrea even let him pull her onto the dance floor and paw at her ass and breasts for a few songs, cooing about his strong hands appropriately as needed.
Within a half-hour, the sedatives she’d laced the wine bottle with kicked in, and he slumped against the cantina table half-conscious. She leaned over and whispered in his ear “and that’s what you get for screwing House Teral,” before switching the credit chips and sauntering out the cantina. If she’d timed it right, the tea would just be being loaded onto the transport…
I’d say she’s Neutral, with slight leans toward lawful and evil. She’s first and foremost concerned with the survival and advancement of herself and her family. After that she’ll consider the state. She likes to do things within the bounds of the rules if she can, because what’s more satisfying than beating someone in a perfectly legitimate fashion they can’t protest? But if the rules are going to get in the way, she’ll subvert or ignore them if she safely can - look at her continued life! She sees nothing wrong with slavery, or torture, or the Sith and the Empire running roughshod over the galaxy, and she does find delight in her own cruelty sometimes.
Give me two of my SWTOR characters and a word, phrase, or prompt. I’ll throw them together and see what happens. an example prompt might be “Ishev & Hadrea, family time” (And feel free to steal this meme for yourselves and your chars, and I’ll send you prompts!)
so i just realized that this might not be a universal thing: is it normal to reflexively fantasize about self-insertion in every single fictional universe you encounter ever, like does everybody stop in the middle of reading or watching something specifically to construct that scenario for a while? that’s a thing i always do every time and i’m not sure that it isn’t unusually narcissistic
SASHA SHOWING MAKO HER MAKE-UP COLLECTION AND TESTING TO SEE WHICH SHADE OF FUCK-YOU IS PERF FOR MAKO’S SKIN TONE
THE WEI’S PLAYING TOUR GUIDE FOR MAKO IN HONG KONG, SHOWING HER TO THE KING OF SNAKES NOODLE JOINT AND HU COMING UP WITH THE BRIGHT FUCKING IDEA TO TAKE HER TO AN UNDERGROUND MMA MATCH AND MAKO EATING AN EGG WAFFLE IN WAX PAPER WITH ONE HAND AND CHEUNG IS JUST MUTTERING IN SHANGHAIESE THE WHOLE WAY DOWN THE TWISTY STAIRS we’re gonna die we’re gonna die marshal is going to find out and he will murder us all and since I am oldest by half an hour, he will bring me back to life just to murder me AGAIN
THE JESSOPS AND MAKO EXPLORING TOKYO TOGETHER BEYOND THE SHATTERDOME THREE AM IN THE MORNING AND KAORI AND MAKO HAVE THEIR ARMS AROUND EACH OTHER’S WAISTS IN A 7-11, STOCKING UP ON JAPANESE CANDY AND SNACKS AND PACKAGED RAMEN BECAUSE MAKO HAS BEEN TELLING KAORI, LISTEN, THERE IS NOTHING IN ANCHORAGE, SEATTLE AND LA, YOU CAN FIND STUFF, BUT ANCHORAGE? FORGET IT. NOTHING.
MAKO SITTING IN THE KWOON, KNEES UP TO HER CHEST, WATCHING PANG AND AN GO AT EACH OTHER WITH FOILS AND MAKO SMILING UP AT THE CEILING WHEN AN HELPS PANG OFF THE FLOOR, AND MASKS OFF, AN PULLS PANG TO HER FOR A GOOD LONG KISS
THE TUNARI’S WHO HAD COYOTE TANGO AFTER AND THEIR JOKES ABOUT THEIR JOB BEING KEEPING THE OLD GIRL TOGETHER LONG ENOUGH FOR MAKO TO HAVE HER AND REMEMBER THAT TIME STACKER TURNED THIRTY? MAKO WANTED STACKER TO HAVE A SPECIAL BIRTHDAY AND TO HAVE ALL THE PEOPLE HE LOVED AROUND HIM, BUT TAMSIN WAS IN A BAD SPELL IN HONOLULU, AND THEY WERE IN MANILA, AND YOU CAN’T SEND PERSONAL FREIGHT ON THE SHATTERDOME SHUTTLE JETS ANYMORE SO
TENDO GOT RANGER P. ARTY HAT BILLETED ON THE NEXT FLIGHT FROM MANILA TO HONOLULU, AND THE TUNARI’S ESCORTED RANGER P. ARTY HAT ALL THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL IN AN OFFICIAL PPDC JEEP AND THAT WAY, THAT WAY, WHEN STACKER WALKS IN THROUGH DOOR,
TAMSIN IS THERE TOO ON THE COMMLINK, WEARING RANGER P. ARTY HAT (PURPLE, BLUE AND GOLD RIBBONS UP TOP), AND MAKO HANDS THE WORKPAD TO STACKER AND SHE SAYS, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STACKS, YOU’RE OLD NOW AND WHEN HE POINTS OUT THAT SHE IS ACTUALLY OLDER THAN HIM, TAMSIN CUTS HIM OFF BY BLOWING A PARTY HORN AT HIM WHICH SETS OFF A WHOLE SERANADE OF PARTY HORN BLOWING BY THE TUNARI’S WHO ARE ALSO WEARING SILLY PARTY HATS WITH THE ELASTIC UNDER THE CHIN AND THEIR DRESS BLUES AND MAKO IS NOT TOO OLD, AT THIS POINT, TO SNUGGLE UNDER STACKER’S ARM AND LEAN UP AGAINST HIM AND SMILE AT TAMSIN THROUGH THE COMMLINK SHE IS SO PROUD AND FOR A LITTLE WHILE, STACKER IS SO FUCKING HAPPY
The slightly longer answer: That story you used to tell yourself, about the awesome girl who was totally pretty and everyone liked her and she maybe had magic powers and also like fifteen skills that you wished you did and also her hair never did that, you know, THAT THING your hair always does? And she was in your favorite fictional (or real person fictional) world, and all the characters or people that you loved the most loved her, and she married them or solved their problems or saved them or made them awesome food or held them when they cried? That story was a Mary Sue story, and that girl was a Mary Sue. Sometimes people write those stories down and post them. (AND THAT IS FINE.) Often the stories have limited appeal beyond the author and maybe her friends. (BUT THAT IS ALSO FINE.)
The “Sorry, you kind of touched a nerve” answer: While we can all identify our own Mary Sues, even if we’ve never written them down, people tend to spend a lot of time figuring out if other people have maybe written a Mary Sue, and checking every female character for potential Mary Sueism. In fandom times of old, the letters “OC” (original character) in a story header were a giant flag that meant Potential Bad Story Here, and the letters “OFC” (original female character) were translated as Guaranteed Bad Story Here. So people mostly stopped putting original female characters in their fan fiction.
But that couldn’t stop the inexorable progression of the Mary Sue Hunt. Canon female characters in fan fiction became the focus of intense scrutiny. Is this character being, perhaps, idealized? Is she better than she should be?
It was surprising how often she was better than she should be.
I mean, it’s one thing if we write John Sheppard being brilliant and solving a Millennium Problem while being extra super badass and a sharpshooter and extremely hot and having a troubled past and also he can play the piano and small children love him and he rides a horse. It’s one thing if we write Stiles as a badass motherfucker who can hack and do MMA and make small explosive devices and he saves everyone, and also it turns out he’s a surprisingly sexually skilled virgin, and also there’s this scene where he wears skintight leather and he has two boot knives. It is fine to write those things. (AND IT IS.) You could give Sheppard’s horse a telepathic soulbond with him and have Stiles elected president of universe (because he is awesome), and you’d still potentially have a significant and delighted readership. (WHICH IS ALSO FINE. Who doesn’t sometimes like a President Awesome with a Psychic Horse story? Give Sidney Crosby a psychic horse and you’ve got my click.) That’s just having fun and extrapolating from the canon. (Or, in the case of the telepathic soulbonding horse, it’s a crossover. From real actual published original fiction. And people call us strange.)
But if a female character does one of those things in fan fiction, she’s declared a potential Mary Sue. It’s out of character, it’s over the top, it’s wish fulfillment (as if there’s something wrong with wish fulfillment), it’s a self-insert. And that. That is less fine with me.
And the Mary Sue Problem is not limited to fan fiction. Turns out Mary Sues are also surprisingly prevalent in the canon itself! A tiny sample of the female characters I have heard described as Mary Sues:
Basically, think of any female character who gets more than eighteen lines, from any popular canon. Someone has called her a Mary Sue. Because she’s competent, because she’s smart, because she’s talented. Because she can do stuff, or because she tries to. Because she loves someone, or because someone loves her. Because she thinks she’s interesting. Because the author thinks we should care about her.
Mary Sue, in short, has become another way of dismissing female characters. Of telling women that we can’t be awesome. Of drawing the line between people who do (dudes) and people who are done to (ladies). Yet another entry in the long list of All the Unacceptable Female Characters. Yet another way of viciously scrutinizing every woman, real or imaginary, and either finding her excessively flawed (and therefore terrible) or excessively without flaw (and therefore terrible).
And also, of course, if the author of the Mary Sue story is a fan fiction writer, we make fun of her.
Which is why my actual definition of the term Mary Sue is: it’s a phrase that is useful for describing a certain common tendency in fan fiction that, taken to an extreme, is often pretty repetitive and uninteresting (but not, let me note, actually criminal or anything). Unfortunately, it has, over time, warped into a tool for knocking down ladies who write, and also other ladies, so I’m trying to learn not to use it any more. (But that is hard. Because see above about usefulness. Almost everyone has dreamed up at least one or two of these, and it’s so nice to have a name for them!)
“See, Rowling largely operates Harry’s generation in a clear system of parallels to the previous generation, Marauders and all. Harry is his father—Quidditch star, a little pig-headed sometimes, an excellent leader. Ron is Sirius Black—snarky and fun, loyal to a fault, mired in self-doubts. Hermione is Remus Lupin—book smart and meticulous, always level-headed, unfailingly perceptive. Ginny is Lily Evans—a firecracker, clever and kind, unwilling to take excuses. Draco Malfoy is Severus Snape—a natural foil to Harry, pretentious, possessed of the frailest ego and also deeper sense of right and wrong when it counts. And guess what? Neville Longbottom is Peter Pettigrew.
Neville is a perfect example of how one single ingredient in the recipe can either ruin your casserole (or stew, or treacle tart, whatever you like), or utterly perfect your whole dish. Neville is the tide-turner, the shiny hinge. And all because he happens to be in the same position as Wormtail… but makes all the hard choices that Pettigrew refused the first time around. Other characters are in similar positions, but none of them go so far as Neville. None of them prove that the shaping of destiny is all on the individual the way he does.”—Emily Asher-Perren (via nathanielstuart)