perverse_idyll

Fic: Year of the Thestral, Minerva/Severus, NC-17

Thu, 18 Jan 2024 19:40:34 GMT

Hello! It's been a year and a half since I last posted, and I've mostly been watching Tumblr scroll by and lurking on LJ and DW after midnight. I'm pretty sure I made a resolution last year to participate more in fandom, and obviously I didn't live up to that pledge. But this is a new year! I'm so much happier when I have fannish friends to share with and a creative outlet to keep me sane. So here I am again, she says awkwardly.

This is also an occasion for rejoicing on my part because I finally finished a WIP! I don't care - well, I do - what other people think of it, I'm still in a state of dazed relief, but there's a power in proving to myself I can actually finish things.

This fic is over 100K words. I don't know how that happened, but there were certain themes I wanted to ponder, and I am known to ponder to excess. To be fair, all of my current WIPs threaten to be around the 100K length or more. Too much marinating over time, I fear.

Year of the Thestral is the story that grew out of a Snapecase entry I wrote back in 2020, Scenes from an Occupation, focused on Minerva's experiences during Snape's year as headmaster. From the 11K-word seed, a 127K-word strangling vine grew. (I'm not selling this very well, am I?) The fic is divided between what happened at Hogwarts and how it reverberated through Minerva's life afterward. It's partly inspired by a desire to see other characters grieve Severus. I wanted those closest to him to feel his loss, something we never get to see in canon.

But of course, it's not that simple.

Title: Year of the Thestral
Characters/Pairings: Severus/Minerva, Minerva/Rolanda, various heads of house, Hogwarts students, two OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Minerva McGonagall has outlived most of her contemporaries and resides in peaceful retirement on a Scottish hillside. Aware that her life is nearing its end, she agrees to share her memories with a sympathetic biographer. There's just one snag: this means facing a period of her life she has chosen to forget. Specifically, that terrible year under Headmaster Snape and the truth about what happened between them.

(I may eventually post all the chapters here as well; but for the time being, here's the link to the fic on AO3.)

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Snape Showcase 2023 signups are open!

Sun, 02 Oct 2022 00:17:52 GMT

Hurrah! Another one of my favorite fests is running this year. Writers and artists who love Snape, please consider signing up and adding your voices and vision to the glittering vault of Snape-ish lore!

snapecase: Celebrating Severus Snape throughout his ages!

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The beauty of fandom - and bookbinding

Wed, 17 Aug 2022 04:35:52 GMT

*sheepish wave* Hello, friends who are still around and might remember me despite my hit-and-run approach to posting. My life is mostly an endless cycle of work and sleep deprivation (same as it ever was), but every now and then there's a spark still burning at the end of the day or in the middle of the night. Like this one!

This particular spark is - aaahhh, it's special. It's amazing. It's the sort of thing that can spring up before your eyes in fandom and leave you in tears of joy.

A few weeks ago, I received a private message on Tumblr from a fellow fan named witchyficbindery who asked if it was all right that they were creating a bound copy of my fic When the Rose and the Fire Were One (my first-ever fanfic, also my first-ever Snarry and my first-ever sex scene; lots of firsts with this fic). Not only was it all right, it was magical. The preliminary photos were beautiful, and this loving tribute made my year. The part of me that once thought wistfully of mainstream publishing nearly swooned over the sight of my fannish name on a book. A real, honest-to-goodness, artistically bound book.

Witchyficbindery offered to make me a copy of my own. You don't need to guess what my answer was. A package arrived a few days ago (yes, this is the speed at which I move), and the entire presentation was a work of art.

Here's the wrapping and the beautiful black-and-gold string, with witchyficbindery's gold wax medallion at the center.

( And this is only the beginning - many more photos under the cut )

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So, I did a podcast interview!

Sun, 21 Nov 2021 23:32:19 GMT

I don't have a tag for "toot my own horn," but that's what I'm about to do. Apologies for the self-indulgence! And I urge any of you who might be intrigued by the concept, or who might be feeling the need for a little self-indulgence, to follow my example.

A fan of fanfiction, a multi-shipping, multi-fandom aficionado and celebrator of fannish creations who goes by the name ChaosBlue, started a podcast site earlier this year for the express purpose of talking to fanfic writers. The podcast is called The Fanfic Maverick, and I'm here to attest that ChaosBlue is a wonderful interviewer. She pitches thoughtful questions and creates a comfortable and welcoming ambience, and her enthusiasm about fandom is absolutely infectious (if I can use that word in a non-epidemic way).

We crossed paths when a writer from Game of Thrones fandom posted about their own interview with ChaosBlue, and I commented that it sounded like a fun thing to do. Lo and behold, ChaosBlue appeared in the comments and invited me to set up an interview with her. I'd already scouted out The Fanfic Maverick podcast episodes and noticed she'd recently talked with a wildly popular Snape/Harry author (Chickenpets, best known for the Pacify series; if you enjoy 1) epic-length, complex, intense, emotional, well-written fics with an old-school Snarry dynamic, and 2) BDSM you should definitely run, not walk). This didn't seem to faze ChaosBlue, so I said yes, I'm up for it! I needed a bit of pure fannish flailing in my life.

The podcast was posted this morning! I haven't listened to it yet, and I only vaguely remember talking a lot and laughing too much. The moment the interview ended, I blanked out on anything I might have said. I was under-prepared (life got in the way), so I wasn't as eloquent and debonair as I wanted to be (heh), but I do remember enjoying myself immensely.

Fair warning, the podcast runs for two-and-a-half hours. *nervous laughter*

I'm at work, and I've been struggling to write this post for hours now, so I'm going to ignore infelicities and possible typos and just throw it online. I'm linking to the podcast episodes in toto so you can scan all the past posts and sample other writers as well.

The Fanfic Maverick

Thank you for a surprising opportunity and lovely conversation, ChaosBlue!

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October and gifts and life in general

Wed, 13 Oct 2021 07:06:30 GMT

Hello to anyone still friended to my extremely quiet journal!

I come bearing an enormous and very late THANK YOU to mywitch, who sent me two wonderful black dresses, the kind that have open-fronted skirts and are meant to be worn over other clothes. One is velvet with a hood, and one is rayon. Both fit almost perfectly, and I've worn the rayon dress several times already because it's so comfortable and swoopy.

( Have a look at these )

There was also a bonus Potter mug, which I don't have a pic of because I've been using it at work. mywitch, you are splendid, and I'm absolutely delighted. Thank you so much for your remarkable generosity!

In further news: in August, I vastly improved my quality of life. A few subscribers to my posts may have been around for my tales of woe, when I lost everything and was plunged into an awful state of mind. For example, I started and then walked away from a business I co-owned with someone I had believed to be a friend. The betrayal shook me deeply. I spent years struggling with despair and a poisonous hatred for him and his husband. Due to having no job and no savings (it had all gone into the business), I was forced to leave the place I lived at the time. I ended up in one room in a stranger's house, which necessitated selling or giving away almost everything I owned.

( Yes, I know we've been over this before, but it has a different destination! )

For the month of October, I'm taking two days off a week. It's incredible what a difference that makes. I almost recognize myself again, or the person I used to be. In November, I go back to working nonstop, but my goal for 2022 is to reclaim my life. Right now I'm happier than I've been in forever, and I still have two more weeks to go! I've come full circle, the sort of neatly ironic narrative device that would border on being too symbolic if you stumbled across it in a novel.

( Pics of home, and a random fox that was hanging out one afternoon )

Sorry for rambling on like this - I've lost the knack of writing posts. But since I'll probably disappear again once November arrives, I figured I might as well cram a bunch of things together and let people skim or skip as they please. But I wanted to check in, because this community is part of what I associate with happiness, and I might as well get started now on that reclamation project.

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Not for the faint of heart

Sun, 04 Jul 2021 07:13:32 GMT

There is an amazing, subtly, persuasively, unnervingly pitch perfect fic posted to the Fandom 5K fest on AO3. I highly recommend it to readers who appreciate a sneaky, unflamboyant tour de force and don't mind their necks prickling with a slow-building sympathetic tension. Right off the bat, the author performs the magical feat of establishing a second-person POV without fuss, as naturally as any third-person narrative, drawing us into (and implicating us in) the moral disintegration of Argus Filch, who goes looking for relief in a Muggle public toilet and ends up paying a 16-year-old student to suck him off.

That student is Severus Snape, a Severus who has recently lost both his faith in the system and the last friendship that might have kept him from falling down a dark hole. The liaison between him and Filch, Severus's genuine sexual awakening and gradual testing of his power over others (presaging his turn toward Voldemort's sociopathic attitude), are revealed via events that are raw, hot, uncomfortable, and riveting as the reader starts to grasp what's really happening here - and why Filch doesn't.

It's not for the squeamish, but the prose is brilliant, never breaking character even though Filch is the epitome of an unreliable narrator. The still anonymous author *cough* applies each finely woven layer of wrongness with a careful scattering of background clues that make it hard to condemn Severus - but which also make his choices all the more horrifying.

I'm using a lot of words to avoid giving the plot away, but in the end I can only urge you to give it a try because it's just that good. It's not a ghost story, but if you're anything like me, it will haunt you for days after reading it.

Remember Me to Cheetham Hill

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Concrit-X: a concrit swap that's open to everyone

Sun, 04 Apr 2021 05:49:31 GMT

I don't know how writers here view concrit. My own feelings, which were once positive and practically eager, have become more mixed as fandom has changed around me. I still have a tentative sense of what ideal criticism ought to look like, but I'm more accustomed to seeing bad faith masquerading as concrit, and I've experienced some well-meaning but off-target reviews. (I'm pretty sure I've also perpetrated that last one.)

Despite that, I participated in Concrit-X last year, a new fest intended to bring together writers willing to submit to critical feedback and able to offer the same in return. It's open to all fandoms, which can make matching tricky because it's not easy to offer informed criticism if you don't know the source material. And the truth is, I fell short on the concrit side. Participants are asked to commit to two pieces of concrit and to expect two pieces in exchange. I managed one.

Even so, the swap was extremely interesting, the feedback I received was perceptive and helpful, and I got a chance to flex some critical muscles, which I haven't done in a while. (Well, all right, I haven't flexed much of anything in a while.) It was bracing and fun and rekindled my determination to keep on writing.

The swap just posted its rules for the second round, and I thought some of you might be tempted to give it a try. The fest community is on Dreamwidth, and if you're the slightest bit intrigued, just follow the link below. I haven't decided if it would be the height of stupidity to sign up, considering I'm still in the throes of trying to finish a fest fic. But even if I can't swing it this year, some of you might want to take the leap.

Here's the info post for the upcoming round: Concrit-X. I may or may not see you there!

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Celebrity crush challenge - bonus day 11!

Sun, 16 Aug 2020 04:19:57 GMT

For some reason, it bothered me to leave out this crush, possibly because I only learned about her death two years after the fact, and even though knowing at the time wouldn't have made a bit of difference to her fate, I still feel slightly shocked that she's gone. So in defiance of her absence from life, I'm adding her to the list.

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 10

Sat, 15 Aug 2020 06:56:57 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on. Last one! (Although I may cheat and add a bonus 11th.)

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 9

Fri, 14 Aug 2020 08:48:46 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on.

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 8

Thu, 13 Aug 2020 06:32:33 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on.

(Missed a day because I let myself be sucked into the black hole of politics. And then couldn't sleep. I wonder why? *eyeroll*)

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 7

Tue, 11 Aug 2020 08:17:47 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on.

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 6

Mon, 10 Aug 2020 07:37:04 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on.

(I did say I'd be stretching the definition of 'celebrity' a bit.)

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 5

Sun, 09 Aug 2020 06:47:50 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on. By the way, feel free to post your own!

(I had several beautiful color pics queued up to choose from, but I just stumbled upon one I've never seen before, and I'm smitten with it.)

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 4

Sat, 08 Aug 2020 07:42:40 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on. By the way, feel free to post your own!

(Okay, we're back to the aquiline.)

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 3

Fri, 07 Aug 2020 05:09:28 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on. By the way, feel free to post your own!

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 2

Thu, 06 Aug 2020 07:35:13 GMT

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on.

Whoops, almost forgot!

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Celebrity crush challenge - Day 1

Wed, 05 Aug 2020 03:55:46 GMT

I'm making one of my periodic attempts to poke my head back into fandom, so I'm starting easy on myself with a meme spotted on the marvelous mywitch's journal. (Thank you for helping to keep everyone's spirits up, dearwitch!) I've been absent around these parts, not for lack of love, but because real life is just that - well, I think you can guess. Especially if you also live in this baffling, self-destructive, boundlessly racist, and wealth-idolizing country.

Post a picture, one per day with no explanation, of 10 celebrities you have been in love with/ had a crush on. (I will probably take liberties with the terms "celebrity" and "crush.")

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Music to soothe the stressed-out breast

Tue, 12 May 2020 05:42:00 GMT

A couple of months ago - shortly before our current disaster - I posted this beautiful six-part performance by the German vocal ensemble Sjaella. Unfortunately, it was attached to an extended whinge about my then-current circumstances and a certain amount of railing against fate. Thankfully, I thought better of it and deleted the post.

We all have much more alarming and complex reasons to whinge now, but this time around, that's not my intention. I simply want to share this serene, gorgeous piece of music with my flist. I haven't tired of it in the slightest and still listen to it several times a week. It's as soaring and exquisite as the first time I heard it.

As an aperitif, I've also included the ensemble's charming video in reaction to the pandemic.

Northern Lights by Ola Gjeilo, performed by Sjaella:

( And their cheerful little message to us all )

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Fic: Payback, Snape/Harry

Tue, 12 May 2020 05:28:21 GMT

Title: Payback
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 252
Summary: Harry gives Snape a reason.

***
The crack startled Harry almost more than the throb of resentment in his belly. He swung again, ready for the hard smack this time, before stumbling backward, palms stinging from the impact. Now was the time to run as if his life depended on it, but he was mesmerised by what a slap actually did. How shockingly the blood rushed to the surface. How it glowed against skin gone frighteningly white.

His hands felt on fire; he'd connected with bone. The marks he'd left blossomed, spreading streaky and crimson, looking hot to the touch.

The black eyes glaring back at him blazed with violence.

Snapping out of it, Harry made a break for the door. A harsh grip nearly wrenched his arm from its socket, and he was thrown against the wall. Then Snape was on him, pinning him against the stone, stark cheekbones, wild eyes, the welts from Harry's hands like an actual burn. Hot breath hissed between his teeth like some variant of Parseltongue Harry had never heard before.

"My turn," Snape murmured, and Harry's heart ricocheted madly in his throat. This close, the slapmarks were all he could see, radiant with hatred. "Don't worry." Snape's voice was sultry and low, vibrating with barely contained rage. "I promise not to touch your famous face."

His hands slithered snake-graceful down Harry's body, fingers fitting like iron bars around his buttocks.

"Drop your trousers," he whispered in Harry's ear, "then bend over."

The or else was as unmistakable as a slap.

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Fic: Truce - Doctor Who, Twelve/Clara

Tue, 12 May 2020 05:22:22 GMT

Title: Truce
Pairing: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald (Doctor Who)
Rating: G
Word Count: 100
Summary: Her memory won't let him go.

A/N: Episode tag to "Twice Upon a Time.

***
Radiant in the wasteland of a European battlefield, the vessel of Clara's memory shrugs. "Never forgot you, in case you're wondering."

Too weak to whirl her around, he basks in the replica of her cheeky smile, her irreplaceable existence. "If Testimony has your memories, that means – "

"That everything ends. But you knew that already." Her dark gaze brims, unflinching as ever. "It was almost a fair trade. You in exchange for the universe."

His tired hearts collide. "We never cross timelines again?"

"How can we, if you die?"

The glass is empty, but he finds he can't shatter without her.

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Fic: The Sorrows of Your Changing Face - Doctor Who, Twelve/Clara

Tue, 12 May 2020 05:15:43 GMT

Nothing to see here. I'm just doing a little housekeeping, and making sure a few ficlets I tossed onto AO3 are also posted to my journal.

Title: The Sorrows of Your Changing Face
Pairing: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald (Doctor Who)
Rating: G
Word Count: ~1500
Summary: What if the Doctor took the time to seek out Clara and say goodbye?

A/N: I'm fond of this fragment, but since I don't really have time to write for this fandom, it will never become a full-blown story. I'm posting it here in tribute to my undying affection for these characters and appreciation for the way they broke my heart.

Title is from a Yeats poem and almost too on point.

***
"We've really got to stop saying goodbye like this. How many times has it been now?"

She aims for a tone of flippant affection, the nostalgic companionship of Coal Hill and three-week-old coffee runs, heartsore mornings on an alien beach watching Gallifreyan symbols being scratched in the sand, a blanket over her bare shoulders and the transcendently erotic flapper affair that glittered as she curled around his confession, being counselled to choose and so choosing to change her mind. You can't be heartless and do what he does. Did. Always that moment of weakness when she sees what she can't give up in him, always the space-twisting, time-stopping brightness of his smile when she throws scruples to the wind, the ancient being behind his eyes wholly joyous for a moment, grateful, a brief star lighting up the darkest corners of the universe, the corners she now occupies in his memory, having lied to his face one too many times.

Seeing him again is the obvious worst choice, the one even she can't excuse. Except for this. Except for saying goodbye. She never would have chosen to be here. She's so tired of doing this, of letting go of him again, of being responsible for all of time and all of space. But when he appeared outside her TARDIS – well, she's been lying to herself all along, what else is new? There was never a moment when she wasn't going to open that door. For so long, she's been running the way he did, still does – she's taken lessons from the best – because it's the only way to justify their sacrifice.

And she's seen wonders. She understands better now what it's like to be him.

But she can stop. If he has to, so can she. This Doctor with his rough syllables and unruly hair and sardonic mouth, his eyes wide with unquenchable curiosity, a piercing blue that has watched worlds form in fire and die in flame. He's the truly impossible one. She is merely an echo.

"Clara," he says, glowing, and she knows what that means, too. He's holding it at bay, and she marvels at the strength he draws from sheer stubbornness, even while she devours the sight of him like some monster with inflatable eyes. The Doctor. Her Doctor. She counts on him not knowing what she means by staring like this, and she's made frantic by something so gentle and painful in his face, whole worlds she never got to share that have worn him down and ripped his jacket and let loose his ridiculous, windblown curls, and oh his hand, his elegant fingers, Clara's seen civilisations fall to dust and yet she can't stand to see him hurt.

"Clara," he says again, with a smile so purely warm, so full of wonder, it gives her a pang to think what else he might have been hiding all these years. "I remember," the words so much softer than they ought to be. No scoffing or sarcasm, no flinging his hands around, no wild flight into the stars. This is what dying looks like when you're the Doctor, ragged and beautiful and (when did this happen?) without hope. Her silver-haired stick insect, who comes to her rather than go home to die.

She should say something to keep the moment within bounds, but she's so out of practise, centuries out of touch with her Blackpool roots, that she bursts out, without cleverness, "You should have come sooner," as if their separation was a whim, not a sacrifice.

"Oh, you know me. Can't resist a good distraction," he says, suddenly haunted, unhappy, although he doesn't stop smiling. "But it's all right now. All over, you see? The pair of us, we pose no threat to the universe."

The fire that waits to consume and renew him flickers and drifts from collar and cuffs, but he keeps it to a smoulder and seems in no hurry to move on. Deep-set with sadness, his eyes are clearer and more forthcoming than she's ever seen them – although how long has it been? Who knows how accurate her own memories are?

She steps forward and takes his hand with all the care in the world. "Daft old man."

He looks gently pleased again, although she's disappointed to find she no longer has the power to banish his shadows. "You know why I've come," he says approvingly, his voice like a kiss against her brow.

And that's when Clara realises she's been carrying around one last lie, one last impossible self-deception. Because until this moment she'd believed, deep down, that the day would come when they'd travel together again, run from and run toward, careening through time and space, ricocheting around the universe. It will never happen now, and if Time Lord technology hadn't already stopped her heart, this knowledge would ensure it ceased to beat.

"Must I go on, Clara?" says the Doctor, very low, as if ashamed to ask.

Her gaze flies up, startled. "You know the answer to that. I'm sorry, but please don't expect me to imagine the universe without you." When he looks away, she touches his cheek and guides him toward her again. "You'll be glad of it later, Doctor. Trust me."

She's shivering, even though they're standing on a sunny towpath with bright flowers bending in a summer breeze. Clara thinks of all the time she wasted, how she teased him for being old, how often she laid her palm against his cheek and left it at that, when all she can articulate now is beautiful. He's beautiful, her frayed, exhausted Doctor, but there's no point in saying it. That's not what matters now. This is the last time she'll stand in the presence of this Doctor, and it really is their last hurrah.

She goes into his arms without a second thought, the regeneration energy pulsing like heaven against her skin. He holds her close without a word, and Clara knows how cold she must feel to him. She whispers into his dusty lapel, "D'you think it would be possible to regenerate together? You know, literally be the Hybrid, the two of us in one body? After all this time, I don't think it matters. Shall we give it a go?" He remains silent, and she tastes shame in the back of her throat. Her voice sharpens. "Doctor, who would it hurt?"

He nuzzles her hair. Or perhaps he's just pressing as close as he dares to the waves of loss cresting inside her, the disintegrating nebulas of please, please. "There are rules," he reminds her, guttural but kind. "No, Clara. Don't," and for a moment the sublime, annihilating cloud embraces them both with blinding gold before he gets it back under control. "Please don't. I'm more susceptible than I should be to the ravings of lunatic pudding-brains right now."

She chokes on her refusal, and when a slight, suppressed trembling passes through him, she thinks wildly of stars falling to dust. She's holding a universe of grief in her arms. He's the only person who can help her with it and the only one who mustn't.

He lets go at last and too soon and steps back. "I can't stay."

Hurt, she searches for a way to change his mind, but then scrambles her wits together. When the only choices you have are bad ones, it still feels like having no choice at all. "Right. Forgot. I can't be the first face your face sees."

He smiles a little, his hair fluttering rakishly, his eyes so full of longing that Clara has to squeeze her hands together to stop herself from making foolish declarations.

He doesn't kiss her, or she him. They never do, save for hand or cheek. Through all of time, they never will. Instead, the Doctor turns and wanders away up the path, lingering over memories of his journey here, and Clara finally believes he's at the end of his strength when he sways, and the TARDIS keeps him from falling. He straightens up in the doorway and looks at her as he has in the past, time after time, but just as he has every one of those times, he presses his lips together in a not-quite-smile (immortality is everybody else dying) and shuts the door behind him.

The TARDIS groans, fluctuates in and out of existence, and takes him wherever he needs to be.

"My Doctor," Clara says, now that he's too far off to hear.

Absently, she touches her nonexistent pulse, draws a breath she hasn't needed for eons, and heads for her own TARDIS and the unsentimental concern of Lady Me. It's time – that word again, always that word – to pull up the coordinates to a planet she's eluded for centuries. She's curious to know how it will feel when Gallifrey finally unfreezes her heart. To go back and face the very same raven that set her on this path. To go up in smoke, just one more ancient star in the darkness falling to dust.

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Snapecase art rec: Dreamless

Fri, 24 Jan 2020 06:55:11 GMT

May I interest you in a shimmering, melancholic work of art? A triptych glowing with breathtaking color, ethereal light, and exquisite characterization? Well then, do I have a treat for you. Just follow the link below to a triple panel of young Severus Snape harvesting mushrooms in the Forbidden Forest, brewing, sleeping, and bringing consequences down upon his greasy head. The fairy tale rhymes that precede each panel weave extra layers of magic around Snape's already haunted life. This is a work of delicacy, imagination, and subdued beauty, so go take a look if you're in the mood.

Dreamless by Mystery Artist

There are many marvelous works coming out of snapecase this round, but I'd say this is my favorite of the fest so far.

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Happy End of 2019! Reccing post

Fri, 27 Dec 2019 10:09:59 GMT

I'm always a bit wild around the eyes at this time of year because the workload intensifies and the social expectations increase, and before you know it I'm behind on everything. And that's a pity because this is a fantastic season to be in fandom if you love fests and exchanges. I've already racked up a passel of things I want to rec, so I'm going to stop devouring the latest entries and give myself a minute to throw out a few heartfelt recs before I accumulate more and then forget half of them.

At the top of the list are a handful of still-anonymous Snarry fics from snape_potter's Secret Snarry Swap, which comes to a close this week. There are plenty of satisfying, appealing fics in this round, but the ones that wormed their way into my heart on the first reading are:

a certain optimism - This fic charmed my socks off. It uses the plot device of Snape and Harry communicating through the magicked pages of the Half-Blood Prince's potions textbook, but it freshens up the concept and adds the extra dimension of Severus's pragmatic, sardonic, emotionally skittish POV. The thing I love best about it is the author's curious choice of narrative summary as the predominant style. It makes time flow swiftly in a largely plotless story while nuggets of emotional interest and magical minutiae and humor bob to the surface, marked by Snape's reticence and refusal to deal with his feelings. He's volatile rather than bitter, and singleminded in his quest to establish himself. Perhaps it sounds dull, but it's absolutely not. The whole fic is wonderful, unassuming company (even though the latter half of the fic needs one last editorial pass), and the author manages to create an endearing portrait of Snape that's not dreadfully OOC.

Miles to Go Before I Sleep - This one also uses a plot device, that of Harry and Snape dancing at a Ministry ball once a year, a tradition begun by an indignant Harry to help rehabilitate Snape's reputation. The fic marks the milestones in their relationship via these annual meetings, but it's a pretext for the author's deft, witty prose. It contrasts with the previous fic in being spare, built piece by piece from a series of well-designed vignettes, each phrase neatly turned and chosen by a talented raconteur. However, like the previous fic, it sparkles with humor and heart. The author's pacing is impeccable, and they sure as hell know how to slay with a line delivery, either through laughter or the sweet capitulation to deep feeling.

If you're in the mood for bawdy humor, A Bit of Christmas Cheer might hit the spot. It's unabashed farce that aims for the funny bone, taking an octogenarian, still Slytherin (and horny) Snape and a mid-sixties erection-challenged Harry as its starting point. Snape whips up a very special potion as a Christmas present, only he's a bit forgetful these days and could use a new eyeglass prescription. Consequently, Harry gets a bit friskier than even Snape can handle. This is a fic to chuckle along to, and the author commits to the libidinal silliness 100%.

Another Snape/Harry rec from a separate fest, one that might have slid under the radar, is cerberusia's Life's Not Made of Gold, written for the Consent Issues Exchange. It's quite different in tone from the loving, amusing fics written for Snarry Swap, and it's the sort of insidious story that haunts one long after finishing. It's creepy but not ugly, seductive, gently and relentlessly disturbing, and only grows more ambiguous the longer one thinks about it. Harry is an unreliable narrator who visits Snape every month or so and drinks the tea served him, fully aware that it will make him susceptible to Snape's sexual attentions and turn him into a passive substitute for his mother. The implication is that Harry could stop this, could reject the tender advantage being taken of him - if he wanted. Apparently he doesn't, and he keeps coming back for more. Quietly and masterfully written.

Turning now to hoggywartyxmas, which is on its fifth day, I've barely begun sampling the entries, and already I feel the need to rush forward with recs. On the evidence of the first few posts, this fest will provide a sumptuous feast.

Right out of the gate, we have the most fabulous art: Dress Your Own…, a sequence of paper doll versions of Albus, Minerva, and Severus in various states of dress (and in one case, undress). The whole concept is utterly delightful, the details are a joy, and the four choices of under- and outerwear are perfectly characterized. Don't miss this.

The very first fic is also a thing of wonder: Sufficient Unto the Day is the tale of the elderly Reverend Robert McGonagall, father of the redoubtable Minerva, visiting her world for the first time in his life. We see Hogwarts and wizarding peculiarities through the old-fashioned but scrupulous eyes of a man very much like his daughter, laconic, fair-minded, a holder of strong opinions who finally sees Minerva in her element and at long last confronts what his unwillingness to embrace the magical truth has cost them. It's tight-lipped but deeply felt, beautiful in its emotional brevity, creating a candid impression of the Reverend McGonagall, frail with age but with his mental clarity intact. It's a fascinating outsider's view of Hogwarts' personalities and the otherness of magic, and it's constructed like a piece of Shaker furniture: clean lines, elegance, and balance, all adding up to beauty.

Then there's the marvelous Thursday, Lunch, featuring Aberforth, Minerva, and Severus, my favorite HP threesome. The story is an absolute treat, a privileged glimpse into an unconventional relationship, brimming with the sort of character insights that make me want to dance for joy. Aberforth invites his significant others over for Christmas goose and provides a table for marking student essays, all the while protesting too much that there's nothing festive about keeping company on Christmas Eve. I adore Aberforth's voice here, his gruff reverse psychology, his tart observations on his younger lovers, his competence at keeping the peace. It's a short fic packed with flavor and memorable lines and unmistakable warmth, and I'd happily follow these three through an entire novel of their day-to-day mating dances.

Last but not least, I'd like to point anyone who hasn't seen it yet to the gorgeous fan art mywitch created for me as part of her 25 Days of Drawing Christmas pageant - a remarkably generous and ambitious gift to her flist, in which she takes prompts and turns them into dazzling, hilarious, and sometimes hair-raising works of art. mywitch took my suggestion of Snape resting his head in Dumbledore's lap and made something magical, vulnerable, and unexpectedly beautiful out of it. Albus is surprisingly tender, and Severus is unsurprisingly knackered, and the intimacy of the moment is extremely moving. See for yourself: A rare glimpse of Snape/Dumbledore

And that ought to do for now, although these recs barely scratch the surface of everything on offer. I hope to circle back later and add to the list as hoggywartyxmas continues and snapecase looms on the horizon.

Happy holidays, my dears!

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HP-Halloween fest!

Thu, 31 Oct 2019 07:45:28 GMT

I'm very foggy-brained right now, but I'm also looking forward to reading and commenting on the hp_halloween fest currently posting on LiveJournal. I got incredibly lucky because my writer has turned out to be magnetic_pole, whose work I adore. I've read my gift once and am beside myself with the excitement that comes of having a story perfectly tailored to one's favorite themes and characters. Please go read it. It has all the hallmarks of magnetic_pole's writing: subtlety, spareness, compassion, pin-sharp characterization, clear-eyed candor. It's Severus and his mum, my catnip and my kryptonite.

In His Darkest Hour by magnetic_pole

My entry for raktajinos focuses on the usual suspects, Minerva, Albus, and Severus. Alcohol is involved, and the prompts I used were "warm spicy drinks" and "fog." I'm amazed I was able to keep it to 200 words, because there's a lot to say about these particular kindred spirits.

Spirituous

(I almost titled it "Cider for Afters," as that's what I imagined Minerva drinking to calm her nerves, but I decided it would be too obscure.)

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