mjj (flemmings) wrote,

I would prefer not.

It's a dismal season to read other people's FLs. Everyone is posting recs for yuletide that I have no desire to read. I read a recc'd fic once; no truly, I read the whole thing. It was one of those reccing communities incandescens friended, which should be a recommendation in itself, and the reccer said she reread this story at least once a month because it'd just worked its way under her skin and stabbed her periodically with its quiet loveliness.

Before McGonagall can stop her Hermione looks in a mirror that shows what might have been but won't. She sees herself with small children and a loving older dark-haired man. She's pierced to the soul. McGonigall looks at her with immense pity. In years after, Hermione sneaks away from Ron and the kids on the day it happened and she and Minerva sit crying in each other's arms because Hermione will never be married to Snape.

Hermione. Weeping. Because she can't marry Snape.

This is why print yaoi never works as well as visual. And this is why I always think Yuletide is such a dangerous activity, fraught with the potential for monumentally cringe-worthy moments.

(Anyway, if you're going to do that theme, this is how you do it:

He liked to use the mirror- to brush his teeth, to comb his beard, to straighten the folds of his robe. To reassure himself that all he saw was his reflection- and to prove that he was still human, a pair of woolen socks.

But the socks were never his- always too big or too small. There would be dainty pink wand-patterned stockings, or boatlike men’s winter woolens: the socks of lovers uncourted, the socks of friends never made. Or dozens of baby booties to mock his empty mantelpiece, which overflowed with the photos of children and grandchildren never born.
ETA: Somehow I thought most people knew this justly famous drabble. So much for assumptions about huge fandoms. Authored by deepfryerfire.)
Tags: fandom, fic
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