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crack_van2009-06-11 10:45 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-11 10:45 pm
Entry tags:
Mustard Seed by rinsbane (NC-17)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Harry Potter/Percy Weasley, Percy/Severus Snape, Harry/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Length: ~30,000
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rinsbane
Author Website: None
Why this must be read:
First, be aware thatrinsbane flocks her fics, so if you're not on her friends list, you'll need to ask her for access.
I'm completely in awe of this fic. I adore it. I could make a fool of myself babbling about it. I beta'd forrinsbane during most of her years in the HP fandom, and to this day her gifts as a writer make me swoon. When I read her best work, a painful delight wells up in me. *shakes head* There is no one like her. "Mustard Seed" was her farewell to the HP verse, and it's gorgeous. Technically, it's a tour de force; chronologically speaking, it's written in the shape of a horseshoe, starting in Harry's POV and going backwards in time before curving forward again, refracting the world through Percy's eyes. The fic returns to, and slightly surpasses, its starting point.
Poetic sharpness and an ability to distill beauty from just about anything is one ofrinsbane's trademarks, and this fic shimmers and burns with perfect, fleeting truths and turns of phrase. But it's also raw, even harsh, poignant, and breathtakingly erotic. Or perhaps I should say "carnal." The sex scenes are so fiercely in character, cathartic, they mean so much more than just sex, but take it from me, they're scorching.
This fic is partly about loss and second choices. Not chances, choices. By which I mean, if you can't have the person you love most, what does that do to you and what can you do about it? It's also about being known, and sharing a private language, honoring the person you lost by entrusting that secret part of you to someone else. It's a fic about words and memory and the color yellow. It has deserts and heat, synesthesia and fabulous characterization, love and longing and a searing, heartbroken emotional landscape. As a bonus, Snape pops in to shake things up with a cameo that's a testament to his undying arseholery (this was written pre-DH). This is a fic that's left a permanent mark on me, and I invite you to give it a try.
Harry means for it to happen the first time. He’s not sure why. It isn’t that he wants for bed partners. Someone’s always willing. Nor is it that he particularly likes Percy: they manage to get along, Harry sometimes pricking Percy just to add little drops of blood to his skin so that he’ll have more freckles, Percy having a discomfiting way of twisting the knife under Harry’s ribs with just a glance, a shying away from his touch. It’s not even that Percy reminds Harry of Ron because, really, no one could less, even if he’s still tempted to make a substitute of him. Despite himself, he likes that Percy won’t let him.
Percy tries to control his temper with ice, which seems to be a futile effort to Harry in this hot land. Everything is more here, closer to the surface. In town, the call to prayer sounds from half a dozen different minarets, each just a second off from the next. It’s discordant and jarring, and Harry barely notices it anymore. The men walk to the mosques or pull out a prayer rug in their shops, wizard and Muggle alike. Sometimes if Harry stops to listen, he too wants to fall to his knees before a deity he’s never known and doesn’t believe in, because the sun is so intense and his blood so hot that he yearns to worship something.
In lieu of that, he pins Percy to the back of the door in his makeshift office. Percy is too startled to fight at first, and when he does begin to push Harry away, his hands fist in Harry’s white desert robes and the thin cloth splits and Harry doesn’t give Percy time to be aghast at his own intemperance, but bites the joint of his neck and sets Percy in motion. They come away black and blue and red and yellow, bruised from ramming into walls and floors and chairs and desk legs, red from the windowed sun scalding their legs and blood rushing to the surface and welling out where teeth broke the fragile skin, yellow from their violence. The next day Harry bears marks around his neck, and he is cooler all day long until he goes back to be made exponentially more sore by Percy’s fucking.
“Next time,” he grunts between each quick jolt of Percy’s cock slamming into his body, the smack of his balls, “I’m fucking you,” and Percy gasps, or maybe groans, “Fuck,” which isn’t very profound but is exactly what Harry’s thinking, too, and his lips twist in a pained, breathless kind of smile.
That night, his skin carries with it something bright and tangy, stolen from Percy. He wishes he knew what it was.
Reminder: askrinsbane to friend you before clicking the link!
Mustard Seed
Pairing: Harry Potter/Percy Weasley, Percy/Severus Snape, Harry/Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Length: ~30,000
Author on LJ:
rinsbaneAuthor Website: None
Why this must be read:
First, be aware that
rinsbane flocks her fics, so if you're not on her friends list, you'll need to ask her for access.I'm completely in awe of this fic. I adore it. I could make a fool of myself babbling about it. I beta'd for
rinsbane during most of her years in the HP fandom, and to this day her gifts as a writer make me swoon. When I read her best work, a painful delight wells up in me. *shakes head* There is no one like her. "Mustard Seed" was her farewell to the HP verse, and it's gorgeous. Technically, it's a tour de force; chronologically speaking, it's written in the shape of a horseshoe, starting in Harry's POV and going backwards in time before curving forward again, refracting the world through Percy's eyes. The fic returns to, and slightly surpasses, its starting point.Poetic sharpness and an ability to distill beauty from just about anything is one of
rinsbane's trademarks, and this fic shimmers and burns with perfect, fleeting truths and turns of phrase. But it's also raw, even harsh, poignant, and breathtakingly erotic. Or perhaps I should say "carnal." The sex scenes are so fiercely in character, cathartic, they mean so much more than just sex, but take it from me, they're scorching.This fic is partly about loss and second choices. Not chances, choices. By which I mean, if you can't have the person you love most, what does that do to you and what can you do about it? It's also about being known, and sharing a private language, honoring the person you lost by entrusting that secret part of you to someone else. It's a fic about words and memory and the color yellow. It has deserts and heat, synesthesia and fabulous characterization, love and longing and a searing, heartbroken emotional landscape. As a bonus, Snape pops in to shake things up with a cameo that's a testament to his undying arseholery (this was written pre-DH). This is a fic that's left a permanent mark on me, and I invite you to give it a try.
Harry means for it to happen the first time. He’s not sure why. It isn’t that he wants for bed partners. Someone’s always willing. Nor is it that he particularly likes Percy: they manage to get along, Harry sometimes pricking Percy just to add little drops of blood to his skin so that he’ll have more freckles, Percy having a discomfiting way of twisting the knife under Harry’s ribs with just a glance, a shying away from his touch. It’s not even that Percy reminds Harry of Ron because, really, no one could less, even if he’s still tempted to make a substitute of him. Despite himself, he likes that Percy won’t let him.
Percy tries to control his temper with ice, which seems to be a futile effort to Harry in this hot land. Everything is more here, closer to the surface. In town, the call to prayer sounds from half a dozen different minarets, each just a second off from the next. It’s discordant and jarring, and Harry barely notices it anymore. The men walk to the mosques or pull out a prayer rug in their shops, wizard and Muggle alike. Sometimes if Harry stops to listen, he too wants to fall to his knees before a deity he’s never known and doesn’t believe in, because the sun is so intense and his blood so hot that he yearns to worship something.
In lieu of that, he pins Percy to the back of the door in his makeshift office. Percy is too startled to fight at first, and when he does begin to push Harry away, his hands fist in Harry’s white desert robes and the thin cloth splits and Harry doesn’t give Percy time to be aghast at his own intemperance, but bites the joint of his neck and sets Percy in motion. They come away black and blue and red and yellow, bruised from ramming into walls and floors and chairs and desk legs, red from the windowed sun scalding their legs and blood rushing to the surface and welling out where teeth broke the fragile skin, yellow from their violence. The next day Harry bears marks around his neck, and he is cooler all day long until he goes back to be made exponentially more sore by Percy’s fucking.
“Next time,” he grunts between each quick jolt of Percy’s cock slamming into his body, the smack of his balls, “I’m fucking you,” and Percy gasps, or maybe groans, “Fuck,” which isn’t very profound but is exactly what Harry’s thinking, too, and his lips twist in a pained, breathless kind of smile.
That night, his skin carries with it something bright and tangy, stolen from Percy. He wishes he knew what it was.
Reminder: ask
rinsbane to friend you before clicking the link!Mustard Seed