#rereading things is fun anyways

[fruixtii]

I DIDNT EXPECT IT TO COME SO SOON???? MY HANDS ARE LITERALLY SHAKING BDJSHHSFJSKD37)&::?:)&:@/$/BSJAHSJSOSU&)@(&;@;

YUUKENNNNNNNNNNNN

[skyward-floored]

I still hold that this part from this fic is one of the funniest things I’ve ever written

[myokk]

before it felt like a sin, ch. 1

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 3000

summary: Eloise never wanted to be different.

And yet, her differences are what have defined her life up until this point: growing up as a squib in one of the most prominent wizarding families, being exiled to muggle society, and then attending Hogwarts at the age of sixteen.

She finds herself thrust into the life she should have been prepared for from birth but was denied. As she navigates this new life and her new precarious position in her family, she must come to terms with the fact that maybe what she dreamed of her whole life isn't turning out how she ever expected it would.

a/n: Hi everyone!! I decided to post this here too...I'm slowly going through everything I've written so far, and I want to post each chapter here as I edit them. I'm hoping that this can be a way to a) get back in to writing more, and b) get better at my art as I make full illustrations for each chapter. Let me know what you think!! :)

There is nothing quite as horrible as being a muggle, Eloise thought savagely as she ripped out yet another stitch in the landscape she was embroidering. At least, it was supposed to be a landscape. Maybe with her head tilted to the left and with her eyes almost closed so everything blurred together, it might resemble one. She did just that, trying her hardest to make out some recognizable shape and blast the stupid practice of manually pushing colored thread through a fabric in some sort of -

“And what is this, Miss Babbit?”

Eloise jumped at the sound and looked up at the scowling face of her teacher, and then quickly back down at the tangled thread in her lap. Behind her, she could hear the hushed giggles of the other girls in her class.

“Oh! Er…it’s -”

“How long have you been here?” the woman interrupted.

“One hour…I just -”

“Don’t be smart with me. I mean, at this institute.”

“Five years.” Eloise glared down at her embroidery as if it had personally offended her. It wasn’t like she was actively trying to be bad at everything, but she had the distinct disadvantage - how had it ever come to be that she would be at a disadvantage to muggles? - of not having spent a lifetime being prepared for muggle society and all that it entailed. The last five years had been a monotonous, endless cycle of lessons designed to turn her into the perfect lady: French (a waste of time as Eloise was already fluent), embroidery (a waste of time as the things she embroidered weren’t actually useful), dancing (a waste of time as she was already engaged to be married - why would she bother trying to woo another silly man?), and her most dreaded class of all: etiquette. No matter how many years had been spent trying to assimilate into muggle culture, her thoughts still got muddled when she tried to remember the steps to a dance, or how to properly address the son of a duke.

Did it really matter, anyways, what the other girls thought? She had pretended her whole life to be the daughter she thought her parents had wanted - now she was simply pretending that she hadn’t been thrown into the muggle world without a second thought. What was a bit more pretending - that she didn’t care? That she hadn’t been tossed aside without a second thought?

“Exactly. Five years. And yet, you have shown no progress whatsoever. This -” a finger jabbed accusingly at the embroidery - “is absolutely horrendous. If your parents hadn’t continued to make such a sizeable donation every year, I would have deemed you a lost cause and sent you packing when you first arrived. How your family ever managed your betrothal to the son of an earl is beyond me.”

Eloise grimaced at the mention of her fiance as her teacher clapped her hands together to get the attention of the class - a wholly unnecessary action due to the fact that it was already being given. “Class is dismissed. Please collect your belongings and put them in the correct place. Remember, as future wives and mothers, you must be organized in all aspects of your life. Many of you will be managing important households and the slightest misstep -“ a slight glance to Eloise out of the corner of her eye - “can cause the biggest of scandals.”

Eloise raced to gather her things and leave the classroom before everyone else. No matter how many years had been spent at the school, she couldn’t help but hate sitting through the classes amongst the judgmental stares and snide remarks. Although things had started out shaky at the finishing school - to be expected, really, when you’ve grown up in wizarding society and then are then forced to live as a muggle - it still stung that after all these years, she still hadn’t found a friendly face. She was treated as if she were a pariah: it was as if the other girls just knew that something was different about her. But…wasn’t that the great irony of it all? She wasn’t different than them. She was a filthy squib.

When she first arrived at the school, she was an anomaly. A twelve-year-old girl who didn’t know how to play the piano or who the queen was. It was clear to everyone that Eloise wasn’t the charity case of the school - her parents were obviously quite wealthy - and yet they seemingly wanted nothing to do with her. Whereas the others got regular letters and visits from their family, it was as if Eloise were an orphan. Nothing new to her of course, but to her peers this otherness aided them in her ostracization.

Upon entering her room, she was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts. Something wasn’t right. Everything seemed the same: a twin bed perfectly made opposite a small wardrobe, a plain wooden desk placed between them. The weak afternoon sunlight shone through the window, illuminating her desk. But…there.

That…

Placed on her bed, resting on the pillow, was a letter.

She never received letters.

Eloise shoved her embroidery under her bed and hungrily grabbed at it, pausing when she saw the address. Miss E. Babbit. The Third Bedroom on the Left… It seemed vaguely familiar to her in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

As she read the letter, though, it became apparent to her exactly why this was. Although not exactly the same as the one her brother had received six years earlier, it quickly became apparent that this was a Hogwarts letter. For her. For Miss E. Babbit.

Hands shaking, she set the letter down on her desk and sat on the edge of her bed. She smoothed her hands over her skirt over and over, taking comfort in the familiar softness as she tried to even her breathing.

How was this possible? She had all but accepted the fact that she was a squib. The shame of her family, a dirty secret to be hidden away and never talked about or mentioned again. Her parents had suspected as much by the time she had turned seven without any signs of magic whatsoever manifesting around her - not even a basic transformation of brussel sprouts to sweets during dinner. It was ultimately confirmed, however, when her own Hogwarts acceptance letter never arrived. She had spent the whole year before her banishment daydreaming about her life at Hogwarts, still optimistic that there could be something magical inside of her. Her brother, Leo, came home every holiday with wonderful stories of his new friends and teachers, and the subjects he was learning at school. Even back then, at twelve years old, Eloise hadn’t been sure if he was actually hopeful she wasn’t a squib, or if he had been trying to prolong the fantasy for her before it all came crashing down.

Although she had had five years to come to terms with her new life, there was still a small part of her that hoped. A small “what if…”. She had tried time and time again to squash that tiny ray of optimism that would escape every so often, tried so very hard to cultivate a hard exterior that wouldn’t let any sort of vulnerability shine through. And that optimism was a vulnerability, after all. It was that vulnerability that had made it absolutely impossible for her to fit in the muggle world, and made it so that she didn’t really want to try.

Five years to come to terms with the fact that she needed a new purpose for her life and…

…not anymore?

Eloise grabbed the letter and greedily read through it again, drinking in all of the words. She paused at the end, thinking. Was this a forgery? Some sort of awful joke orchestrated by her brother? Leo had never been cruel to her in the past; in fact, he was the one who always encouraged her and was the most probable source of the small optimism that remained within her. However, she had no way of knowing how he had changed since she had last seen him. It had been, after all, five very long years. And not once had she heard from him, even though he had promised her through huge sobbing gulps that he would never abandon her. Maybe their parents had slowly poisoned him against her. It would be right on the nose for them, after all.

Looking at the envelope again, however…Third Bedroom on the Left…no. It was too specific. Nobody in her previous life had any reason to even want to contact her again, and nobody in her current life even knew what Hogwarts was, let alone have the ability to convincingly forge a letter just to have some fun at her expense.

A light, bubbly feeling began to spread throughout her body as it sunk in that this was real. She was going to Hogwarts. Soon, a - squinting at the letter again - a Professor Fig would be contacting her and giving her things to study. A huge grin slowly spread across her face and she hugged the letter to her chest as she fell back on her bed. She read through it again. Was it the fifth time already? It felt as though no amount of times rereading the letter would ever be enough.

Eloise got up and walked over to look at the calendar on her desk. She was surprised to see that September 1st was in only two days. The days at the finishing school moved in such a strange, sluggish way. They all felt the same. Monotonous. French and Latin and embroidery and household management and Merlin even knows what else all blending into each other in an endless parade of dusty classrooms and gossip and boredom.

The light feeling left her in an instant as, after years of practice, the optimism was squashed back down. But how will you even get to London? And, her brain added sneakily, you haven’t even shown any signs of magic. Maybe you’ll just be returned back here after they realize their mistake.

No, she thought fiercely, gripping the letter. Until -

A tapping came from the window. A tentative smile returned at the sight of a tawny brown owl with another envelope in its beak. She ripped it open as soon as it was in her hands (again addressed to Miss E. Babbit) and along with the letter a small, purple pouch fell out of the envelope and onto her bed.

Miss Eloise Babbit,

I am pleased to be the wizard charged with such an important task as escorting you to Hogwarts in two days’ time. It is something extraordinary to be accepted in your fifth-year, and as such, I expect extraordinary things from you. I have enclosed a small pouch along with this envelope, and in it are some items that will be vital to you in the upcoming days. I have included books for you to study at your leisure, and a small gobstone that will bring you to our rendezvous point in London. All you have to do is touch it at noon on the 1st and you will be transported instantly.

Your family has not been informed of your acceptance. I am sure you understand why - at this, Eloise scoffed quietly to herself - which is why I will personally be your escort.

I am looking forward to meeting you and bringing you to the sorting ceremony in two days’ time.

Yours,

Eleazar Fig

The handwriting was tiny and spidery and cramped, but it didn’t stop Eloise from reading it with the same vigor as the previous letter and as many times. Finally, she turned to the small pouch that had fallen onto her bed when she opened the second envelope. It must have had an invisible extension charm, because it was filled to the brim with books on basic spellwork and general wizarding history. Professor Fig had no way of knowing, but Eloise had already read many of these books and many more during the year her brother had started Hogwarts, as she had needed to know absolutely everything about what would be awaiting her. A few years may have passed since she had stepped foot in her family’s library, but she couldn’t get the books or their contents out of her brain even if she had wanted to. She had really wanted to forget everything she knew about the magical world when it was confirmed she was a squib but it was a futile effort. As she zoned out during her piano lessons, she would find herself mentally going through the movements to cast different charms.

It was painful to be thinking about things from the life that had been ripped away from her, to know that what she was thinking about would never come to pass, that she would never be able to wield magic - and yet she couldn’t find herself able to stop.

As Eloise picked out one of the books and settled into her armchair, a steely resolve overcame her.

She would prove that she deserved to be there, and was just as capable as any of they were. She would make her parents regret ever discarding her like she was nothing.

She was worthy. She was capable. And she would prove it.

The morning of September 1st dawned cold and rainy. Absolutely perfect.

Eloise had pretended to be sick the night before, and no one had suspected a thing when she stayed in bed long after all of the other girls had gotten ready and headed to breakfast. As the last of the chattering faded away down the hallway, Eloise finally got out of bed and prepared herself for the day. It was difficult to sit still long enough to braid her hair. Her fingers wouldn’t stop trembling and she had to restart countless times. Finally, she tied the black ribbon at the end into a neat bow and turned to the drawer of her desk to retrieve the small purple pouch she had hidden away.

Everything she deemed important enough to come along with her had already been placed inside: the books from Professor Fig, the hair ribbons gifted to her by her brother many years ago, and some clothing. Nothing else was coming with. She needed the fresh start. Besides, anything else she might need would be supplied, as her acceptance letter had specifically stated that any school supplies would be provided to her.

Waiting the hours before noon came along proved to be more difficult than Eloise had imagined. Time seemed to be moving slower than the molasses that had come with the breakfast sent up to her, the steady patter of the rain becoming a sort of metronome keeping time as she paced back and forth. Wasn’t there anything that could distract her, even for a bit? She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes had passed since the last time. 10.35.

The second hand ticking away in tandem with the sound of rain splashing against her window.

What if this was all a trick? What if she arrived at Hogwarts, and they turned her away because they realized they had made a mistake? After all, why would they admit a sixteen-year-old? Surely she was too old; every other student had started Hogwarts at the age of twelve and had shown signs of magic much earlier than that. She still hadn’t shown any signs of magical capability whatsoever, and didn’t feel any different than she had before receiving the letter. It had to be a fluke.

As her thoughts started veering into the melancholy she was prone to, she shook her head. No. Today was a happy, exciting day. She wasn’t going to squash the optimism down today, not when she needed it most. All of these thoughts she was having were simply that: thoughts. Not reality. Hogwarts never made a mistake, and in all of the history books she had read, she couldn’t recall an instance of someone being turned away at the door. Granted, she had also never heard of someone being admitted so late. But, better to focus on what she did know, which was that she had gotten the letter. It must be right in its assumption that she had magic.

Trying to pass the time was easier said than done. She ended up quizzing herself on all of the charms she had memorized in the books sent by Professor Fig, moving an imaginary wand in the precise movements needed to successfully cast and focusing on her pronunciation. She had studied all of these forms late into both nights she had had the books, and when she would eventually close her eyes to sleep, the wand movements were all she saw.

Eloise was determined that she would receive pity from nobody. Nobody was going to look at her like she was lacking. She had gotten enough of that to last a lifetime, and now that she was given this opportunity she wasn’t about to waste it.

When noon finally struck, Eloise was ready and waiting. She eagerly grabbed the gobstone that was sitting on her desk and felt the familiar tugging sensation in her navel as she was whisked away to London and the beginning of her new life.

next chapter

[kitthew]

i think the reason that kaos is such a successful adaptation, despite being so inaccurate to the myths, it’s that it’s so new, fresh, and entertaining

like, there isn’t one canonical Greek Myth. there are, of course, surviving texts from the era—homer, euripides, aeschlyus, etc. — but those are only what have *survived,* there are countless other myths and ancient retellings that have been lost to time. besides, even between the original myths, there are discrepancies and different interpretations. the myths originated in an oral storytelling tradition, and with each teller, the stories were different. sure, there were some things that stayed consistent throughout the retellings, but almost every myth has elements that varied across sources.

you could always argue that even though that might be true, they could have based the show more on less common myth alternatives that still have sources from the time period, but i personally think the fact that they’re kind of doing their own thing is literally just what the ancient greeks were doing with their myths as well lol

plus, the reason successful greek plays *were* successful was that they told existing stories in a new and interesting light. sure, it was more of a “no one goes to the theatre to find out what happens next, they go to hear how the writer is telling the myth in a new and interesting way” sort of vibe, and kaos *does* have an element of watching bc you don’t know what happens next bc so much has been changed from the original myths, but again, i think this is basically just what the greeks were doing. when something originated in an oral storytelling tradition, there isn’t One Definitive Way to retell it. kaos takes a lot of creative liberties with the source material, but there’s always room for new interpretations and ways of telling these stories

BUT the show is imo so engaging and successful despite all that bc it really gets at the heart of the myths, even though, again, it isn’t at all accurate. zeus is cruel, power-crazed, and incestuous. dionysus is literally just a boy. hera is trying so so hard to be a GirlBoss. hades and persephone are the only ones who seem to have their shit together. poseidon is a douche on a yacht. there’s some incredibly interesting and compelling world building. and at its core, the show is about two things: 1) the gods are human and fallible and 2) you cannot outrun your fate, no matter how hard you try.

and what’s more greek than that?

[bookwyrminspiration]

hey. if you haven't read the A Chorus of Dragons series by Jenn Lyons (highly recommended for high/hard fantasy lovers)

Some of the wording is intentionally a tad misrepresentative simply because its funnier that way, but it's still accurate.

please read a chorus of dragons by jenn lyons. please. i promise I've spoiled like nothing, there's so much context and other happenings missing. i am begging

[ruvviks]

Vitali kept cutting and cutting and cutting, tears dripping down onto his tank top and into the sink. He accidentally scraped one of the scissor blades past his finger- and his tears rapidly mixed with a few drops of deep red blood. He loved his hair. He had always done so- but his mother too. She had been obsessed with it, and when he had decided to bleach it she had been livid. But for some reason she had still allowed him to do it as many times as he wanted, as if she believed it would at least stop him from cutting it short, even after he had come out as transgender. And it had worked, somehow. He had never even dared to think about picking up a pair of scissors. Vitali let a single scream leave his lips as he threw the scissors down into the sink, gripping the edge tightly again as he nearly lost his balance. He was out of breath; shaky, shallow inhales providing him with just enough oxygen to not pass out, and he slowly looked back up at his reflection. And in that split second of realization, he regretted it. All of it. A sudden clarity washed over him and his sobs faltered, deafening silence washing over the bathroom as he carefully brushed his now neck-length hair out of his face. It was uneven; some strands barely even reached his chin. He looked different, now. Could barely recognize himself. — From Chapter 12: The Mother; read the full fic here

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed

[emily-mooon]

Noticed there wasn’t a ton of photocheer fanart and I wanted to change that (which why isn’t there more these two dorks are so cute together!!!!)

[scionshtola]

FFXIVWrite2024 Prompt 4 - Reticent

characters: Hien Rijin, Y'shtola Rhul rating: G | word count: 1216 words notes: Hien clears up some misconceptions about his relationship with Corisande. Slight spoilers for the Stormblood patches.

When Y’shtola arrived in Doma, Hien greeted her personally. On the advice of Corisande—a small aside in a letter sent ahead of Y’shtola’s arrival—he kept the meeting short and to the point, inquiring about her work and offering his assistance, as needed. He’d provided her with an apartment, if she chose to accept it, and access to his limited staff as she desired.

She’d accepted his hospitality with appreciation, and Hien had left the encounter with a slight swell of pride at having done well by the Scion so highly spoken of by the Warrior of Light. Over the course of her stay in Doma, while their relationship did not grow so warm as the one she seemed to share with Yugiri, he was happy to say they were rather amicable.

Or so he thought. But now, walking beside her on the Azim Steppe, he could feel a chill wafting in his direction. 

Corisande had run slightly ahead to speak with Cirina, leaving Hien and Y’shtola alone together as they followed. Unsure of how long the moment of privacy would last, he cast about for some way of broaching the topic—and confirming his suspicions—and settled on, “Corisande has been a great help to the people of Doma. Our restoration efforts would not be half so far along without them.”

“I am sure they would be happy to know their efforts are making a difference,” Y’shtola said evenly, without looking in his direction. 

“They spoke very highly of you, on our journey together,” Hien continued, trying his best to be nonchalant. “Quite effusively, if I might add.”

“So you have said.” The response was just short of terse, and he was certain she had started walking faster, though her lack of height gave him the advantage. 

“You spoke as effusively of them when first we met.” Hien paused, and glanced at her before he spoke again. “I admit I didn’t quite grasp the depth of your friendship until the three of us began to work together.”

Her expression remained as smooth as a river-worn stone. It hardly surprised him. In the short time of their acquaintance, she had shown herself as a self-possessed woman, difficult to ruffle.

Y’shtola’s reply was short, in length and tone. “We are close.”

Her reticence amused him. Had he not spent the last few days with the both of them—had she not grown cool toward him with Corisande’s presence—he might have left her to her secrets. Instead, he said, “I didn’t think you were one for obscuring the truth. We both know that is quite an understatement.”

Even that was putting it lightly. He had borne witness for days now to the ways Corisande and Y’shtola gravitated toward each other. Always half-turned toward the other, as if a private world existed between the two of them. They seemed able to communicate full thoughts with only a look, despite the limits of Y’shtola’s vision, and they worked in perfect tandem together, often anticipating what the other would ask or say before they even spoke.

Perhaps that could be explained with a deep friendship, were it not for how often they seemed to forget he was there, providing him with an unobstructed view of the warmth in their gazes when they looked at each other—when they lingered long after the other had turned away. 

Ahead of them, Corisande was deep in conversation with Cirina, oblivious to the exchange happening behind her. Hien leaned slightly into Y’shtola’s space, whispering conspiratorially, “Though I am not sure Corisande quite realizes it yet.”

“I am not obscuring anything,” Y’shtola stopped just short of snapping at him. “There is nothing to hide. Though you may be unable to engage in a conversation with Corisande without flirtation, she and I have no need to partake in such behavior.”

Hien fought a smile at having his suspicions proven correct—the occasional flirtation peppered in the easy back and forth of his conversations with Corisande was the cause of her distance. He did not think she would take kindly to even minimal gloating, so he kept the victory to himself, and said, “No need, perhaps, but the desire is there. You need not deny it—neither of you are as subtle as you believe.”

“Your conclusions are ill-informed,” Y’shtola said, a sharp edge in her voice. He was not quite sure, between the two of them, who it was meant to cut. She turned to him with narrow eyes. “If our familiarity has been as overt as you suggest, it is simply a result of the gratification of our reunion.”

“Besides,” she added as she turned away, seemingly as an afterthought, though Hien guessed it was more of a calculated risk than any carelessness on her part. “Corisande’s attention is held elsewhere.”

It did not take an academic of any caliber to puzzle that one out. He laughed, and she shot an irritated look in his direction. “If their attention is elsewhere, it is certainly not on me.” 

Hien only flirted with Corisande because it made her laugh—she never responded in kind, and he never wished for her to do so. Any hope of romance between them had long diminished, almost before it had even begun. “Did she tell you of the kiss we shared on a hill not far from here?”

Y’shtola looked away again, her jaw set. “I know of it.”

An interestingly vague answer. She’d learned of it, but perhaps not from Corisande. “Then you should also know that it ended in disaster. And enough tears to drown any budding romance.” 

“If their grief was enough to deter you,” Y’shtola said, and this time there was no mistaking the recipient of her ire, “perhaps the romance should not have been pursued so casually.” 

“I will not argue that,” Hien said, with a twinge of shame in his chest. It had not been his proudest moment, though he was sure that the conversation that followed the short-lived attempt at romance had made way for the friendship they had now. “I knew very little of their past at the time. The feelings were new and not so deep rooted as—” yours “--those of others.”

Y’shtola studied him, her eyes narrowed. “You are becoming quite the diplomat.” 

“I’m certainly learning,” Hien said, with a smile. “You should tell them, and spare the rest of us all the longing looks at each others’ backs.”

Y’shtola laughed quietly, and he was grateful that the conversation was ending on a pleasant note. The chill he had felt from her had evaporated. 

He stepped forward, walking backwards so he could look at her as he spoke. “Or perhaps you need a challenge to motivate you? I can resume my efforts, if it will inspire you to speak up.”

Hien had barely enough time to dodge the stream of air she aimed at his head. She wore an impish smirk when he looked at her, and pushed her way past him with a bump of her shoulder. He watched her catch up with Cirina and Corisande, the latter of whom immediately looped her arm through Y’shtola’s as they walked. 

Corisande looked over her shoulder at him, smiling brightly and gesturing for him to catch up. He jogged after them, falling into step next to Cirina with a smile.

[sysig]

Do you remember? Nope! (Patreon)

[arolesbianism]

I am once again being haunted by "a paradox" holy fuck Olivia what the fuck is going on here what did you get yourself involved with and what did you do after it speak to me Olivia I can't keep living like this

[thecryptidzenith]

11 for the fic game ask!

11. Bonus: recommend your favorite fic

Okay, you're getting two answers for this one because my real answer isn't a D20 fic, and seeing as that's my fandom at the moment, I'd be remiss to not rec something from it.

For the past... Jesus, four years, my favorite fic has been The Prestige by black_feather_fiction (also @black-feather-fiction) No contest. I don't do MCU fic or fandom anymore, but this is the one exception. It's just. It's so good. It's demonstrates the best use of the medium of fanfiction I've ever seen (yes, I'm of the opinion that fanfiction is its own distinct medium, but I'm not going to get into it now.)

Now the conceit of The Prestige is similar to a lot of MCU long fics: what if the plot was... good? Between the California-in-the-1840's/50's amount of untapped gold in the movies and whatever any given writer wanted to pull from the comics, there are so many elements to play with when rewriting a truly epic version of the story presented in the Infinity Saga, or even just a small segment of it. There are a lot of these, and I've read a lot of these. It's exactly my kind of thing, I love a good Plot.

The thing that's special about The Prestige is the way it incorporates the conventions of storytelling in its worldbuilding. To put it simply, an all-powerful God does exist in this universe, and he's three old women who terrorize innkeepers. The Norns/the Fates/other Mother-Maiden-Crone mythological archetypes, are real, and they control the threads of fate, so to speak. The entire universe exists as their plaything, and given the chaos and entropy of the universe, they pull stories from it. The laws of storytelling are just as influential, immutable, and important as the laws of physics in this universe. And just like the laws of physics, they can be manipulated towards a particular use.

This is how the fic opens: with Loki attempting to tell the universe a story so perfect and beautiful that the Norns cannot help but let the tale play out in real life. He doesn't quite succeed. However, the rules of storytelling are never forgotten, by the characters and by the author. Having the conventions of storytelling being a part of story's universe is a brilliant move that I have not gotten over after three years. Obviously, real life doesn't play out like a story, so when telling a story there's always some suspension of disbelief involved, because real life isn't that neat. Having an in-world explanation for the existence of story structure is something I'd never seen before and it's brilliant. And it's perfect for a story about two liars, image-crafters, storytellers, whatever you want to call them.

The story structure being built into the world is incredible, but so is the way the characters attempt to manipulate it in their favor. Even beyond the opening tableau, characters work to push the narrative in directions that will serve them. And the narrative pushes back. Every time I think about how the Fall of the Giant plot beat plays out, I fall more and more in love with it. It's the perfect blend of expectation subversion, expectation fulfillment, and effective character beats. It's fucking incredible.

Besides the rules of storytelling, The Prestige also makes reference to a lot of stories in the cultural zeitgeist in a way that's as delightful as it is earnest. The primary benefit of fic as a storytelling medium is that the audience already has a shared set of knowledge. We know who the characters are. We know how canon goes, and authors already have prepackaged tools to tell their stories with. Less needs to be established in fanfic compared to other kinds of fiction because the audience has a shared knowledge base. The Prestige takes this intertextuality further by pulling from more than just the MCU canon, but from works as varied as Mystery Science Theater 3000, Gremlins, and Alice in Wonderland. These cultural touchstones are in meaningful conversation with the contents of The Prestige and efficiently add depth in a really interesting and engaging way. Hel, even the title is taken from a Nolan movie. This fic is so deeply tied to the culture it's a part of, and I adore it.

Beyond the elements of the story that are inseparably tied to its in-universe use of narrative, the plot is very well put together. I find the bit with Ozymandias (yes, like the Percy Shelly poem) particularly clever, but it's all very good. Despite it's length, I find The Prestige compulsively readable, its writing is excellent. The characterization is excellent, the worldbuilding is engaging, the character dynamics are delightful to read about and devastating for the characters involved. I think this fic may genuinely have everything: Plot, romance, action, adventure, whump, angst, parent/child relationships, (explored from both sides) familial trauma, sexual trauma, self-destruction, sibling relationships, eating disorders--I'm really just listing tags here, but there's So Much, and I love every bit of it. I have loved every bit of it for years, and I don't care how long updates take, I Will Read It. It's the only MCU fic I've been able to read in years, and honestly? I'm not that mad about it, it's fucking incredible.

Now with all that being said, my favorite D20 fic is a lot harder to pick. I've not been in the fandom that long, I haven't read a ton of fic, and my tastes skew towards the Epic, Plot-focused, and Looooooong. Which is a bit difficult to come by (as is time to read.) There are, however, a lot of excellent fics, out there, though I think I have the most to say about The Properties of Adaine by Tangerine_Blast (also @20dimensionsoftangerine) (and by extension its predecessor, but we don't need to get into it.)

The conceit is that because of Oracle reasons, Adaine gets kidnapped by Kalvaxus as a kid and grows older thinking of him as a great paternal figure even though he sucks because her only points of comparison are Arianwen & Angywn. The interesting part is only really discussed and addressed in The Properties of Adaine, which is that she's technically an object! Legally, magically, an object--a dragon's thrall to be more specific. It's a fascinating exploration of the ramifications of DnD worldbuilding, as well as an exploration of identity, security, trauma, etc. It's a bit of a thorny subject to tackle, but so far as I can tell, it's handled with grace and sensitivity. It's doing a lot of very interesting things with the Themes, plus Aelwyn is absolutely insane (she's adopted/kidnapped by Aguefort.) which I get a kick out of. Overall, a striking story (and also one that's still being updated, which is probably why it sticks with me.)

[deus-ex-mona]

Heyooo so like do you think you could explain the Someya brothers relationship? It’s peaked my interest since the new songs with these two revolve around each other…

Yujiro and Koichirou aren’t related by blood, right? 🤔

Also, what do you think about the new songs that just came out?

Thank you so much for your time 💛💛 Happy New Years 💕

hi! happy new year~~!

this got kinda long so there’s a cut here for length sorry~~~

ngl i’m kindaaaaa fuzzy on the details about the someya bros’ relationship, but long story short, they’re stepbrothers (with koichiro spawning from the resident longleg tamagoro and yujiro being tae’s son, of course) who were kinda pitted against each other when it came to learning how to perform (kabuki) from tamagoro, because longleg’s gotta longleg ig.

then yujiro gets disinherited because the longleg’s still longlegging and koichiro takes to the kabuki stage by himself as the local “national treasure’s” sole heir. so, like, i’m guessing that the events surrounding yujiro’s disinherition may have led to their (frankly terrible) brotherly relationship of “an inferior older brother” and “a superior younger brother”?

though this dynamic carried on pretty much for as long as yujiro longed to perform on a kabuki stage, just like koichiro does (if we were to take the lxl movie’s word for it). then yujiro became an idol and started to work towards a different dream, breaking off from the path (kabuki) that he used to follow koichiro down, which i guess made koichiro start to see yujiro in a different light?

like, imagine you have a lifelong rival who strives for the same goals that you do. however, this rival of yours is less skilled than you, so you naturally grow to have a sense of superiority over your rival, taking satisfaction in crushing them while having full knowledge that they will never be able to beat you when it comes to your shared goals.

however, one day, your rival decides to aim for a different goal, completely ditching your shared goal and stuff, and they actually seem to be doing pretty well in their path to achieve their new goal. how would you feel?

because i get the feeling that koichiro’s initial response to that was to feel betrayed, in a “why are you running away (from kabuki)?” sense.

though, over time, koichiro seems to have gradually come to terms with yujiro’s idol activities, and their relationship naturally (albeit slowly) improved as the days passed, with them going on walks together and bickering with each other like brothers would. which, y’know, is cool of him in a way. he’s learning. he’s still kind of a brat, but he’s growing despite his past mistakes.

as for yujiro, well, he seems to have been looking out for koichiro in his own way from the very beginning? like, man chose not to go against koichiro’s mistreatment, opting to just lower his head and accept it instead.

was it an act of self-sacrifice to protect koichiro’s ego or something? heck, even in the lxl movie, he just took everything koichiro dished at him, and only fought back when koichiro dared to mock his bf aizo. which is. pretty unhealthy, yujiro bro. just tell him you have a proper brotherly love for him for goodness sake. your communication skills s u c k.

um. anyway.

tl;dr: stepbros made to learn kabuki because of their father. older bro gets disinherited, younger bro gets an attitude and mistreats older bro. this continues until older bro becomes an idol and begins to walk his own path. younger bro feels betrayed/annoyed at his older bro for “giving up” on kabuki. younger bro does eventually accept the fact that they have different dreams and supports older bro. seems like older bro has always been looking out for younger bro though, even though he doesn’t say it.

thoughhhhhh seriously, i’m not a someya expert or anything, i just like making fun of the longleg, so… if someone with a degree in someyaology could chime in, it’d be greatly appreciated~~~

as for the new songs, nagisa’s new song is the best of them all, no question. thanks for coming to my ted talk—

[everythingsinred]

ill just never get over this panel or how its the first time we see natsume visibly upset and sad from his own perspective (something we dont really see much of because of the way his character works), especially because the plant disintegrating in front of him is representing much more than a plant and he can never ever have anything good in his life without fearing it would be harmed in some way to discipline him.

[starlooove]

No bc fuck tim but it really really bothers me how people ignore his growth like he used to be an asshole and I’ll give tim Stans one thing: now he’s so so so stale but what I disagree with is that this staleness is bc nobody likes him like it’s in fact the exact opposite where everyone likes him so much they dont want to do anything. Even when it’s him surface level challenging Bruce it’s when everyone else is doing it too; but he’s still the backbone of the fam! Etc. and it’s so irritating bc him gaining more compassion and empathy even for people he doesn’t fw is so fun to watch and that’s why the captain boomerang thing was so out of character! (Not in a from the author way but in a tim wouldn’t do that and he and Bruce both knew it which is why it went down like it did. Same way dick killing joker was ooc; not in fanon sense but in a he would hate himself forever for this sense) and speaking of that it’s such an interesting mirror to Bruce who genuinely believes that everyone can grow vs Tim’s it doesn’t matter if they grow it’s not my decision to make like it’s the same but it’s not AND WITH CASS’ IT DOESNT MATTER IF THEY CHOOSE NOT TO GROW I WONT DO IT! like ugh. And anyways even when people acknowledge it they boil it down to “Janet and Jack taught him that the capitalist pigs that they are” like no. This is who tim was. Tim was the kind of guy who’d blame a dead kid for dying. That’s ok. Also Janet and Jack? Please reread anything involving them that’s not a fic like Jack had anger issues and they were both aloof at worst like relax.

[spider-man-2o99]

miguel voice Well. guess im an enemy of the state now. shocksake .

[wayward-wren]

Reading Wit's conversation with 'Nomad' in Sunlit man and I'm sitting here like what did you do Hoid. What happened on Roshar. What are the 'events in Alethkar.'

Hoid I love you but if you are the cause of any hurt for my Bridge Four and adjacent guys I will be MAD