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crack_van2009-06-18 09:49 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-18 09:49 pm
Entry tags:
'All the Dreaded Cards Foretell' by lilith morgana (PG-13)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/Severus Snape
Length: 2,300
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilith_morgana
Author Website: Lilith's page of fic links on her journal
Why this must be read:
Augh, it was really hard deciding which fic to single out, because I didn't want to confine myself to just one. All of Lilith's Snapledore fics belong together, and privileging one over all others feels arbitrary. This will at least give you a taste. Most of them are fairly brief, told in fragments and glimpses full of shattered poetry. Sometimes you have to guess what the layers mean and whether they're true or false; sometime the author sums it up for you with one elegant, ironic punch line. Her Snape is bitter-flavored, with a need for redemption that's just as damning as every other hunger in his life. He's both disturbing and sympathetic, knife-sharp and broken, like a bone that will never heal. Needless to say, what he has with with Dumbledore is not a relationship of equals. The writing is unsentimental but beautifully so, darkly lyrical, with cutting edges and lots of secrets spilling through the cracks. Lilith covers so much ground and time in so few words; her fics are imbued with the speechless presence of love, the refrain of betrayal, and the knowledge that, for these two, there is no happy ending.
And yet, at least for me, her stories about them are addicting. In my quest to decide which fic to rec, I re-read them all and was sorry when I came to the end and there were no more. I know this pairing squicks a lot of readers, but the way Lilith writes them together, they make an irresistible, tragic, and heartfelt kind of sense.
Through it all, and between them, twines the shadow of Tom Riddle.
He falls to his knees, hands tugging at the Headmaster's robes, fingers cold and shivering against the unexpected motions, the boundaries he never imagined breaking, the aching lack of care. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't even know how to do it, but he's seen this before, this kind of repentance. I offer you my defeat. I give you all of my failures. He has no cure, no defences to put up, but he can smell his own skin, its membrane of sweat and terror as he kneels in the corner of the large office with all its broken book-backs and scratched wood. In this place of history, of routine degradation, Severus falls to his knees for the second time in his life.
He falls to his knees, eyes closed. The floor is cold and damp and it reeks of disgust; his throat swells, the nausea is sweet and bitter on his tongue but he can feel something finally, something vague and distant. He can feel his entire body forming some sort of absurd want, but he cannot bring himself to pronounce it. (Make it the way it was before. Make it warm. Make me care.)
"Get up from the floor, silly boy," Albus says softly.
Severus opens his eyes again and notices that he has hands on his shoulders, dragging him from his position, forcing him up, pressing him flat against the wall. There is something dark and sharp between them, between Severus's panting shame and Albus's impatient irritation, something rasping over their faces. A hungry disdain in Albus's gaze that terrifies him, something ancient that echoes.
"Don't do that," Albus says.
But instead of stepping back, Severus claws at this, the almost invisible invitations before him; he claws and clings and urges, thinking I'll kill you if you reject me, I'll take your wand and snap your neck, you old bastard. Albus's spine clicks hollowly against the stones when Severus slams into him, half-kissing him with more teeth than lips, his fists like small rocks on Albus's chest. It's the first time he has ever initiated anything with anyone, and the magnitude of it makes him gasp, a pathetic little noise of inexperience that flushes his cheeks with fury. Albus is calm. His eyes are waiting for Severus to finish, to decide, to shout one or two of the things he wants to shout: it's your fault! I blame you! You should have saved me! You did this to me! Youyouyou.
'All the Dreaded Cards Foretell'
Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/Severus Snape
Length: 2,300
Author on LJ:
lilith_morganaAuthor Website: Lilith's page of fic links on her journal
Why this must be read:
Augh, it was really hard deciding which fic to single out, because I didn't want to confine myself to just one. All of Lilith's Snapledore fics belong together, and privileging one over all others feels arbitrary. This will at least give you a taste. Most of them are fairly brief, told in fragments and glimpses full of shattered poetry. Sometimes you have to guess what the layers mean and whether they're true or false; sometime the author sums it up for you with one elegant, ironic punch line. Her Snape is bitter-flavored, with a need for redemption that's just as damning as every other hunger in his life. He's both disturbing and sympathetic, knife-sharp and broken, like a bone that will never heal. Needless to say, what he has with with Dumbledore is not a relationship of equals. The writing is unsentimental but beautifully so, darkly lyrical, with cutting edges and lots of secrets spilling through the cracks. Lilith covers so much ground and time in so few words; her fics are imbued with the speechless presence of love, the refrain of betrayal, and the knowledge that, for these two, there is no happy ending.
And yet, at least for me, her stories about them are addicting. In my quest to decide which fic to rec, I re-read them all and was sorry when I came to the end and there were no more. I know this pairing squicks a lot of readers, but the way Lilith writes them together, they make an irresistible, tragic, and heartfelt kind of sense.
Through it all, and between them, twines the shadow of Tom Riddle.
He falls to his knees, hands tugging at the Headmaster's robes, fingers cold and shivering against the unexpected motions, the boundaries he never imagined breaking, the aching lack of care. He doesn't know what to do, doesn't even know how to do it, but he's seen this before, this kind of repentance. I offer you my defeat. I give you all of my failures. He has no cure, no defences to put up, but he can smell his own skin, its membrane of sweat and terror as he kneels in the corner of the large office with all its broken book-backs and scratched wood. In this place of history, of routine degradation, Severus falls to his knees for the second time in his life.
He falls to his knees, eyes closed. The floor is cold and damp and it reeks of disgust; his throat swells, the nausea is sweet and bitter on his tongue but he can feel something finally, something vague and distant. He can feel his entire body forming some sort of absurd want, but he cannot bring himself to pronounce it. (Make it the way it was before. Make it warm. Make me care.)
"Get up from the floor, silly boy," Albus says softly.
Severus opens his eyes again and notices that he has hands on his shoulders, dragging him from his position, forcing him up, pressing him flat against the wall. There is something dark and sharp between them, between Severus's panting shame and Albus's impatient irritation, something rasping over their faces. A hungry disdain in Albus's gaze that terrifies him, something ancient that echoes.
"Don't do that," Albus says.
But instead of stepping back, Severus claws at this, the almost invisible invitations before him; he claws and clings and urges, thinking I'll kill you if you reject me, I'll take your wand and snap your neck, you old bastard. Albus's spine clicks hollowly against the stones when Severus slams into him, half-kissing him with more teeth than lips, his fists like small rocks on Albus's chest. It's the first time he has ever initiated anything with anyone, and the magnitude of it makes him gasp, a pathetic little noise of inexperience that flushes his cheeks with fury. Albus is calm. His eyes are waiting for Severus to finish, to decide, to shout one or two of the things he wants to shout: it's your fault! I blame you! You should have saved me! You did this to me! Youyouyou.
'All the Dreaded Cards Foretell'