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crack_van2011-08-29 02:59 pm
perverse-idyll.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-08-29 02:59 pm
Entry tags:
Blindness and Stars by featherxquill (NC-17)
Fandom: HARRY POTTER
Pairing: Rita Skeeter/Amelia Bones
Length: 11,000
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
featherxquill
Author Website: featherxquill's master list of fics
Why this must be read:
This fic is a wonderfully unsentimental chronicle of an affair between two sharp, strong women committed to their work and more alike than you'd think at first glance. Both are shrewd, hard-headed, with a lavish sexuality that one exudes via stiletto heels and blonde curls and the other conceals under conservative tailoring. One came up through Slytherin and had a future Death Eater as a best friend; the other's House affiliation doesn't matter but her position as Deputy Head of Aurors does. That, and the heavy shadow of unsolved murders that lies across her family's past. Each is a crusader in her own way. But it's the delicate moral line concerning exactly where justice begins and ends, a line one crosses and the other can't, that eventually outweighs all desire, all possibility.
featherxquill creates two fascinating characters, one a moral relativist and the other an upholder of the law. Politics deeply informs the story and the tensions between the two women, a tension that heightens the spark. And yowza, what a spark -- this fic is scorching. I love it for its pitch-prefect prose, its complexity and nuance, the way it eroticizes intelligence and probity, the fact that it withholds authorial insistence and leaves the reader to decide whether Rita or Amelia or both or neither are right, wrong, and to what degree. It's not a heartbreaking tale, but it left me wishing they could have found a way to make it work. I also wish it could have been another 50,000 words long, because I could have continued reading featherxquill's smartly honed, sharp-eyed prose and her clear-eyed take on Rita and Amelia for the rest of the day.
~~*~~
Amelia Bones was like a gift to unwrap, when she finally allowed it.
Rita wanted to rip, to tug the clothes over her head quickly (no time for questions, or declarations, no falling in love with this woman like the last one, Rita wasn’t ready for that), but the buttons and the layers made it take time, and with each layer she stripped away Rita found a new surprise.
Beneath the minimising pinstripes of the waistcoat, Rita found breasts. Not just average breasts but glorious ones, straining the shirt buttons and beautifully outlined by white cotton, voluptuous and heavy and round.
When she tugged open fly buttons and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of Amelia’s trousers, she felt the tic of lace against her palm and smiled. Black, she knew, before the trousers even came off, because if Amelia was going to be frivolous and girly (and Rita knew all about frivolous, girly knickers), she would do it in black.
And when Rita finally had her shed of shirt and trousers, and moved behind to unclip brassiere—a sturdily constructed thing obviously worn out of necessity rather than vanity, but nonetheless embellished with embroidery and a scalloped edge—she shifted the strap down over her left shoulder and revealed a tattoo. A circle, hollow, in black ink; obviously not new, it creased where her skin did and had become as much a part of her topography as the smattering of freckles on her other shoulder. Rita pressed her lips against it and wondered if Amelia’s earlier assertiveness was what was making her so tender. Rita was usually the predator, but this time she felt thoroughly conquered.
Slow. There was something about Amelia that begged Rita to be languorous. Perhaps it was just the desire for balance (if they went quickly now, it would all be over too fast) or perhaps Rita was teasing (I’ve had my orgasm, you’ll have to sweat and shake for me before you get yours). Or perhaps it was just the sight of the plush bed coverings in Amelia’s neat, neutral toned bedroom and the feel of her full belly against Rita’s palm as she slipped an arm around from behind to cup a handful of glorious breast. She was a closet hedonist, this woman, desire all buttoned in and polished to gleaming like an Auror badge or a gold-rimmed monocle, but underneath there was someone who wore lace knickers and slept with five pillows and couldn’t resist her love of food. A woman like that wanted to be devoured.
Blindness and Stars
Pairing: Rita Skeeter/Amelia Bones
Length: 11,000
Author on LJ:
featherxquillAuthor Website: featherxquill's master list of fics
Why this must be read:
This fic is a wonderfully unsentimental chronicle of an affair between two sharp, strong women committed to their work and more alike than you'd think at first glance. Both are shrewd, hard-headed, with a lavish sexuality that one exudes via stiletto heels and blonde curls and the other conceals under conservative tailoring. One came up through Slytherin and had a future Death Eater as a best friend; the other's House affiliation doesn't matter but her position as Deputy Head of Aurors does. That, and the heavy shadow of unsolved murders that lies across her family's past. Each is a crusader in her own way. But it's the delicate moral line concerning exactly where justice begins and ends, a line one crosses and the other can't, that eventually outweighs all desire, all possibility.
featherxquill creates two fascinating characters, one a moral relativist and the other an upholder of the law. Politics deeply informs the story and the tensions between the two women, a tension that heightens the spark. And yowza, what a spark -- this fic is scorching. I love it for its pitch-prefect prose, its complexity and nuance, the way it eroticizes intelligence and probity, the fact that it withholds authorial insistence and leaves the reader to decide whether Rita or Amelia or both or neither are right, wrong, and to what degree. It's not a heartbreaking tale, but it left me wishing they could have found a way to make it work. I also wish it could have been another 50,000 words long, because I could have continued reading featherxquill's smartly honed, sharp-eyed prose and her clear-eyed take on Rita and Amelia for the rest of the day. Amelia Bones was like a gift to unwrap, when she finally allowed it.
Rita wanted to rip, to tug the clothes over her head quickly (no time for questions, or declarations, no falling in love with this woman like the last one, Rita wasn’t ready for that), but the buttons and the layers made it take time, and with each layer she stripped away Rita found a new surprise.
Beneath the minimising pinstripes of the waistcoat, Rita found breasts. Not just average breasts but glorious ones, straining the shirt buttons and beautifully outlined by white cotton, voluptuous and heavy and round.
When she tugged open fly buttons and slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of Amelia’s trousers, she felt the tic of lace against her palm and smiled. Black, she knew, before the trousers even came off, because if Amelia was going to be frivolous and girly (and Rita knew all about frivolous, girly knickers), she would do it in black.
And when Rita finally had her shed of shirt and trousers, and moved behind to unclip brassiere—a sturdily constructed thing obviously worn out of necessity rather than vanity, but nonetheless embellished with embroidery and a scalloped edge—she shifted the strap down over her left shoulder and revealed a tattoo. A circle, hollow, in black ink; obviously not new, it creased where her skin did and had become as much a part of her topography as the smattering of freckles on her other shoulder. Rita pressed her lips against it and wondered if Amelia’s earlier assertiveness was what was making her so tender. Rita was usually the predator, but this time she felt thoroughly conquered.
Slow. There was something about Amelia that begged Rita to be languorous. Perhaps it was just the desire for balance (if they went quickly now, it would all be over too fast) or perhaps Rita was teasing (I’ve had my orgasm, you’ll have to sweat and shake for me before you get yours). Or perhaps it was just the sight of the plush bed coverings in Amelia’s neat, neutral toned bedroom and the feel of her full belly against Rita’s palm as she slipped an arm around from behind to cup a handful of glorious breast. She was a closet hedonist, this woman, desire all buttoned in and polished to gleaming like an Auror badge or a gold-rimmed monocle, but underneath there was someone who wore lace knickers and slept with five pillows and couldn’t resist her love of food. A woman like that wanted to be devoured.
Blindness and Stars
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