ext_1058 ([identity profile] shutyourface.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] crack_van2004-08-13 04:17 pm
Entry tags:

Rake at the Gates of Hell by Synecdochic - PG

Fandom:: POPSLASH - *NSLASH
Pairing:: Lance/Chris
Author on LJ: [livejournal.com profile] synecdochic
Author Website: Venus in Furs

Why this must be read:

For off, I can't believe no one has recced this yet. This story is beautiful, so wonderfully researched, so seemingly valid, that you don't doubt a bit of it for a moment. There's never the thought of 'What?! That could/would never happen.' From the very first word, you're entirely in this world that Syn has created and you believe in it 100%.

The way the story is written is brilliant. It gives you back story to the main plot without being obvious. It's so subtle that you aren't even aware that you're reading back story. The characterization is brilliant and--man, I'm just babbling now. Go forth and read.


It works like this:

Sometimes you take a look around yourself and think that you want to give up on what you're doing and go back home, back where the sun is warm and your momma knows exactly what you're going through, because she went through it too. Sometimes you wake up in the morning and want to cry, because you wake up with the sense that you're needed, somewhere, across town, and you're going to have to come up with yet another excuse to get over there and take care of the things you need to take care of. Sometimes you think that it would be easier if you just slashed your wrists and let it all bleed out on the floor of whatever hotel in whatever city you're in, let all the demands on your time and your heart and your talents go washing away in rivulets of sticky red. You wonder if you could give it all up if you let yourself bleed dry and then filled your veins with someone else's blood, someone who couldn't do the shit that you can do.

It's in your blood. It always has been. You can't give it up and you can't ignore it; the one time you tried, people got hurt, people you cared about. Your momma knows how much you want to get rid of it, because she went through some of the same thing, but it's tame and settled in her. It hasn't settled in you, even though she thinks it has. You can feel it running just underneath your skin, like some uncaged animal twisting and shifting. Sometimes you think that if you looked down at your stomach, it would be visible beneath your lines, hissing and spitting and waiting to claw its way loose.

You can't ever let it loose, not the way it wants to be. You keep it pent up, wrapped up in chains of your own devising, and you only open those doors when there's no other choice. There's never any other choice. It's just who you are.

The inside curves of your elbow are marked with hundreds of tiny thin lines, the oldest ones long-since faded to nothingness; they never last for long. Your hair always smells of copal and frankincense. There are ink-stains on your hands and wrists and the soles of your feet are brown with henna. You carry a leather-bound journal with you, tucking in the one bag that everyone konws not to open, and sometimes you feel as though the long-dead person on those pages is the only one who can ever understand who and what you are.

It works like this: You hate it more than anything you could imagine, more than anything you
could imagine, and if someone showed up on your doorstep tomorrow and told you that he could take it all away from you, you think that you would shut the door in his face and never once look back.


Rake at the Gates of Hell.
ext_76: Picture of Britney Spears in leather pants, on top of a large ball (Solo Career)

[identity profile] norabombay.livejournal.com 2004-08-14 08:57 pm (UTC)(link)
This is one of my all time favorites. I was just re-reading it the other day. Magical Sync at it's finest.

[livejournal.com profile] synedochic just finished the sequel. I'm eagerly awaiting it's posting.