Attempt the 2nd: IF IT DOESN'T WORK, I AM BURNING DOWN THE INTERNET.

[novembersmith]

I have been powering through Yuletide bit by bit, and have compiled another collection of things that made me glee all about the town. My glee was just slightly harshed by having the first draft of this post CALLOUSLY DEVOURED by LJ, but let's let bygones be bygones, shall we? I wanna ring out the old year with a fuckton of recs, and hopefully you guys are on board with me. So prepare for awesomeness, and remember to feed the authors


***NORSE MYTHOLOGY***
just a trick of the light -- Okay, I concede that I have an extreme fondness for Norse myth that may render me more susceptible to making high pitched noises and pawing at the computer screen than most, but seriously, guys, the writing here is absolutely brilliant. If you have any familiarity AT ALL with the myths, read this. If you don't like it, come back and tell me so I can shake some sense into you.

You haven't caught it yet, have you? Even though I told you it was coming. The best stories are the ones where you already know the ending, where you can feel the inevitability of it in your bones, know with every syllable spoken or read, with every word and letter, that it's coming for you. Closer and closer still.

Like someone walking behind you, just a bit faster than you are. Like a wolf.

You see, I know something of wolves.

***CHARLIE AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY***
Ordinary Chocolate -- Did you even know you wanted this fic? Because I didn't, but oh man, reading it filled me with such glee and happiness. Also, I'll go ahead and warn you now: like the movie, this fic will give you an insatiable craving for chocolate. It may be best to have some at hand as you read. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU. Anyway, it's about Charlie adjusting to his new role as Wonka's heir, trying to juggle his newfound fame with normal life, and Wonka, mad darling slightly eerie Wonka, who doesn't understand why Charlie would want a normal life, tries to help the only way he knows how. It's got that same magic that the book does. And Wonka is perfect.

"Are you mad at me? About going to school?"

Several Oompa-Loompas moved in to stir the something and roll it away.

"Am I mad at you about going to school..." Wonka paused to consider this, frowning to himself and tilting his head first one way, then the other. "Hmm... Am I? Am I not? No, I'm not!" His whole face lit up with a grin of delighted discovery. "I'm really not! Cool. - Now, how about we go see the Jelly Snakes?"

***THE BODY WORLDS EXHIBITION***
One of the joys of Yuletide is finding fic in fandoms you never even conceived of as fandoms. This year there were not one, but TWO brilliant stories for the Body Exhibit, which you guys may have heard of -- human cadavers displayed as both an art and an anatomy lesson, and it's such a cool, moving, amazing thing to see, and both authors have captured that in different ways. Warnings for these fics may be obvious: both are dark, both involve -- well, corpses. But THE COOLEST MOST AWESOME CORPSES EVER, OKAY. I dunno if that helps. BUT IT SHOULD.

Hanged Man -- This is just a fun fic that appeals to my rather macabre and morbid sense of humor. If you've ever studied the human body or taken a Gross Anatomy course, or visited the Exhibit, or wanted to, or are in any way interested in looking at different ideas about death, READ THIS. It is clever and dry and deliciously bizarre. Genius. Mad, mad genius. Man, I love Yuletide.

I do sometimes feel like moving. Swing a little bit and wonder how many people will blame it on the wind. A little wink the next time a fine-looking girl tries to glance at my groin without looking as if she were. All that strange head ducking and blushing. No doubt wondering if the rest of the audience should think her a pervert. I don't judge, of course. Why would I?

In the bleak midwinter -- This is a completely different kind of story, and it is, in my opinion, exquisite. It has the best use of a Christmas deus ex machina that I've ever read, and the descriptions are potentially disturbing, but in the best sort of way. I love love loved the ending. The whole fic made me shiver. Definitely a new Christmas favorite, and one that I'll be reading again next year, without a doubt.

Javelin man opened the door, and it led into a long corridor. The source of the light seemed to be the next room along, so we carried on, my bones tap-tapping on the floor tiles.

I opened the next door. It was fiddly and difficult without my usual skin and muscles, but possible. That made me wonder if I could talk, if only I tried hard enough.

***MO WILLEMS - THE PIGEON SERIES***
Pigeon Wants A Story -- Okay, this is Yuletide genius in an entire different, more innocent and cheerful direction. I would never in a million years have thought the Pigeon books (which are FANTASTIC children's books, by the way, geared at toddlers and with a super fun kind of interactive thing going) could ever be part of fandom. O, HOW WRONG I WAS. This fic is a genius bit of meta directed at Yuletide, but really, anyone that's ever done a fandom exchange should appreciate this. The people on my flist who I cunningly coerced to sign-up with me for Yuletide this year should especially appreciate this one. *g*    (PS: the pigeon's sign-up requests/offers made me giggle for ages. I AM GIGGLING NOW JUST THINKING ABOUT IT.)

Finally it was the day Yuletide stories were due, and the pigeon suddenly realized that he hadn't written hardly anything at all. "Oh, no!" he said. "I really must write my story now!" The pigeon sat down at his computer and opened the file for his story, very determined. First he read over what he had written, and he liked it. Then he wrote a sentence, decided he didn't like it, and erased it. Then he did it again. Then he did it again.

***THE LORAX***
The Thneedlery -- This fic is absolutely brilliant in every way. It should be published and illustrated, it is that excellent. I grew up in on the Lorax, in a house of environmentalists, and it's one of those books that never fails to make my heart clench funny in my chest. I made my mom read this one, and she teared up halfway through and still can't stop talking about it. It gets the message of the original book and updates it, and the rhythm and imagery and characters are just spot-on. It breaks my heart and is perfect perfect perfect.  Oh, ONCE-LER. Excuse me, I am tearing up again. But yes, in conclusion: READ THIS.

Way out in the sea, among the splish and the splash,
The Lorax drifted amid a vast swath of trash.
East, west, north, south, to the horizon,
stretched a continent of junk, with plenty of flies on.
Amongst all the morass of tin cans and boots,
you'd of course never see the brown bar-ba-loots.

***NEAR-EASTERN MYTHOLOGY***
In the Dark House -- OH MAN. *____* Okay, so, Near-Eastern mythology, I sorta have a thing for it, guys! IT IS AWESOME, OKAY! And this is a retelling of the myth where Ishtar, the goddess of fertility and life, descends into the Underworld, which is the realm of her sister, Ereshkigal. This is such a creative and brilliant expansion of the original texts. Just -- NNNRGH, I CAN'T EVEN. Anyway, um, warnings for goddess-on-goddess love. And also for the fact you may potentially expire at the sheer awesomeness of the words. The author captures the rhythm of these myths, the sing-song cadence, and it makes me swoon so hard. You don't even need to know anything about the history and myths to love this. The story stands on its own. Hotly.

Upon the one-way road she set her foot. The world above trembled and the trees shook. The world below said to her, Go back, go back, but Ishtar would not heed the whispers. Step by step she approached, her bangles ringing.

The gate was barred before her and covered with dust. Ishtar raised her hand and said to the gatekeeper, "Open the gate or I will shatter it. All the doors of this house I will break down so that the dead come forth and devour the living. They will outnumber the living, and your queen need no longer weep."

***SEN TO CHIHIRO NO KAMIKAKUSHI (SPIRITED AWAY)***
Becoming  -- *dances* Okay, so, the way to my heart is clearly through collecting bits and pieces of myth and science and shaping them together in as gorgeous whole. Because oh man, this is the story of Haku as a river and a dragon and a boy, and it is FANTASTIC

He could not say which day it was, which story prompted the initial dissatisfaction, but it remained with him like a grain of sand pressed under a scale, irritating and impossible to ignore. And he hungered for more stories, for tales of the four great dragon kings; of Amaterasu with her mirror, sword, and jewel; of red phoenix, blue dragon, white tiger, and black tortoise. His own small world proved small indeed. He had known, of course, of the sea, communed with her in the lazy delta where freshwater met salt, but he had not known that she too was dragon. It had not been necessary before; he had been content with the tanuki occasionally gathering on his banks to drum through the night, with the sly harmless jokes the kitsune would play, with the small shrines and offerings of the humans.

And then one day, heart filled with discontent, he left his river, his form a small white curl in the dark night sky, to find someone who would teach him to be great.

The River to the Sea -- Oh oh oh, this is just. You may have gathered by now, flist, that I love a good ghost story, and this is one of the best. It captures the eerie, joyful, quiet feel of the movie perfectly, and is just so plausible. The whole thing is quietly lovely, with a fantastic and unique imagining of how Chihiro might grow up. And oh, Haku is so perfect, and the last lines kill me. If you loved the movie, I highly recommend you give this fic a try. 

When asked about local spirits, the tour guides speak quietly of a ghost.

"Sometimes she is only a voice. A bit of laughter cutting through the roar of the waves. A gentle murmur answering the rushing voice of the river. Sometimes, when the mist rises off the ocean to cover the land, people lost on the shore have followed the sound of her voice back to safety."

Good Children -- the previous two fics recced are gorgeous and lyrical, but this, this one is just pitch-perfect fun, a slice of Chihiro's time in as a servant in Yubaba's bathhouse. We get more of Sen fumbling about and being frustrated and wonderful and clever and curious, and there's more of the Radish Spirit, whom I adore, and I wish this could just get animated and slotted into the canon, it is that perfect. 

"Um, sir -- have you ever had tea here before?" she asked, thinking of what the supervisor had said. The radish spirit shook his head from side to side, then drew a deep breath and tossed the steaming tea toward his face. Chihiro cried out, but while the tea dripped forlornly down the tusklike protrusions, the spirit didn't seem bothered by the temperature.

Actually, there seemed to be a lot less tea dripping into his lap than had been in the cup.

She came closer and peered up at him. He looked down at her gravely. Each facial protrusion looked very much like the end of a large daikon, tiny rootlike tendrils and all. "Do you, maybe... drink through those things?"

***FAIRY TALES***
Fiddler in the Mountain -- This is everything I love about fairy-tales, eerie and familiar and unfamiliar all at once, and its especially well-done, since its one of those stories where all the characters are aware of the sort of tale they're in, and that awareness affects their actions. It's clever and lyrical and reminds me of winter, and oh oh oh, you guys, I am totally and utterly in love with the Mountain King, dry and inhuman and monstrous and gentle and lonely, he's SO GREAT. And Linn is brilliant, practical and determined and so very herself. It's just a fantastically written story. (PS: THE MOUNTAIN KING. I LOVE HIM. GIANT MEN MADE OF ROCK WITH MOSS FOR HAIR, WHY AREN'T YOU IN MY LIFE. Although I am also in love with the Fiddler, it must be said. FIDDLER, CALL ME.)

"Welcome," said a voice as hard as stone, as ancient as the stone itself. "I have been waiting for you, Linn of the Stone Village."

"I've heard," Linn said, not sure where she found the voice -- or the courage. "I did expect a slightly warmer welcome."

The voice laughed, the sound like boulders rolling down a cliff. "Oh, your welcome will be warm," it promised. "This is merely the entrance, made to catch the unwanted." It hesitated. "Not that it stopped your father. Did you like the kitten?"

"It was a lovely kitten," Linn replied. "Lived to the ripe age of eighteen, spoiled rotten."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Beleza and the B.E.A.S.T. -- This felt like pieces of a much larger story, but the glimpses we get are so incredibly compelling. I love the repetition throughout, like a record skipping, like the B.E.A.S.T. is clinging to this one thing that is definitely important, circling around it awkwardly and lost, but determined. It's got a wonderful twist, and I loved the ending. I just wish there was more -- it's definitely a story to make you think and dream about what happened in-between the scenes. Also, not to be shallow, but BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. IN SPACE. HOW CAN YOU RESIST THAT PREMISE? HOW?

The stories about the B.E.A.S.T.--or, more precisely, the Biomechanical Electronic Ahuman Sentience Transfer--were confused and conflicting, but they all agreed the B.E.A.S.T. itself was a monstrous personality to be feared. Most stories had it being the mind of some psycopathic convict that had been sentenced to run the old space station as punishment. In any case, it was certain the at the B.E.A.S.T. was old, at least several generations old, very possibly many centuries.

"Hello, Beleza," a voice announced, causing Beleza to jump in surprise. "I can see that your father was not lying when he promised me you would be very beautiful."

Queer as the Fork when the Knife ran away with the Spoon -- Oh my god, this is brilliant, and I'm just going to quote from the story and let it speak for itself. But yes, this is basically what I love about fairy tales, that you can take a trope as old as time and wrangle it into something brilliant and new and brash and modern, colorful and slick. Go, go read and tell the author how fantastic this story is. (PS: THE CHARACTERS ARE AMAZING.)

But this is all beside the point. Really the point was that one day, Mom sat him and Idi down and told them that her company had been vaporized in a battle between a giant Moth and the great Bull of Heaven, and the Spoon and the Knife had run away with all their money. They were going to have to move out of their expensive apartment box and go somewhere cheaper. Then she put her face in her hands and she cried. Not a single emo tear. Not a trickle that made her look tragically beautiful. Although, she was always pretty to Beauty. Great big racking sobs that shook her shoulders and left her gulping for breath.

That was the day that Beauty realized that his Mom was a person. Okay, yeah, he'd known it. But it had been an abstract concept. Like central air or electricity. That was when he knew it.

AND, HERE IS THE CINCHER (at least for me):

 

He stood up. "I've got to go back."

Mom stood up. She had her purple traveling purse in her hand. She gave him a Mom look. "Beauty, I didn't follow you once. If you think I'm letting you go back without me, you are mistaken. Now jump in the shower so you'll look nice when when we get there. And put on some clean underwear."

Rose Without Thorn -- OH MAN, MYSTERY AUTHOR, THANK YOU SO MUCH. This story has been recced to hell and back, and for good reason, because it finally fixes that lingering feeling of dismay you have when you finish watching the Disney version of Beauty and the Beast and are like, "WHO THE HELL IS THE BLONDE PRAT AND WHERE IS THE BEAST D:< D:< D:<" But now there is this fic! It made me so happy. BELLEXHERBEAST4EVA, YOU GUYS.

He didn't even act like her Beast anymore. He stood straighter, and he spoke politely and formally, and – sometimes, it felt like she didn't even know who he was, this stranger who'd gone back to being a prince as though he hadn't spent ten years as a beast, tearing the castle apart.

The eyes were the still same, though, and when she looked at those the rest of him didn't matter – that was when she knew it was him, and he could've been a pig with wings for all she cared. But when had she last had a chance to do that? Everything had been so busy – he'd been making decisions and visiting diplomats and readjusting the kingdom to having a prince again, and she'd been just adjusting, period, and with all the wedding craziness she hadn't had a chance to see even her father in weeks. The only time the two of them seemed to have together was at dinner, and then she had Cogsworth breathing down her neck because of the way she was holding her spoon.

***RPF - CLASSICAL COMPOSERS***
Totentanz -- I don't even have words for how much I love this story, you guys. It is brilliant and painful and heartbreaking and beautiful, and the characters, oh my god, you don't have to know anything about them, because the fic tells you everything you need to know. I AM BEGGING YOU: Read this one story, if you're going to read anything. It is absolutely exquisite Liszt/Chopin, tangled and jealous and insecure and oh, you wind up falling in love with both of the composers because they're so human and falliable and in love with each other. The last scene, my god, if it doesn't kill you then you are clearly a zombie and I am going to have to hunt you down and shoot you in the head. NOT THAT I AM THREATENING YOU OR ANYTHING. Seriously, though. READ THIS. GUYS. IT'S SO HOT AND PAINFUL AND WONDERFUL. PLEASE BEND TO MY WILL, HERE. IT IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.

He smiles at that, and plays a trill that could be the beginning of a mazurka, or the end of a waltz, or sheer whimsy. He follows it by an inspired flight up and down the keyboard, and there's the pang you feel whenever he plays; the pang of something desperately sought after and just as desperately unrealized beneath his fingers. You have thoughts about him in such moments, about the way he would move his fingers over a woman's body—or, come to that, over your body. You wonder if he has ever given himself up in bed the way he does over a piano.

"You're one to talk," he says, "about ladies swooning." He does not look up when you join him at the piano.

"I would never be so bold as to presume I know how my playing affects others," you say. His hair curls around the edge of his starched collar. He still doesn't look up when you tangle your fingers in it.

"Simply unmitigated," he murmurs. You place your lips against his neck because you hate Frederic Chopin. 

***OLIVER***
It's A Fine Life -- Mmmm, thieves. I have such a soft spot for them, and especially for Jack Dawkins, all grown up and slightly more subtle, just as charming, and Oliver eyeing him warily. But who can resist the Artful Dodger? NO ONE, THAT'S WHO. I'm so glad I found this, because now I know that I absolutely must request more of it next year. MORE. I NEED MORE. Oliver and Jack are just love. LOVE LOVE LOVE.

When Jack passes by the steps of Oliver's offices one cold December morning, Oliver thinks the meeting is chance; after all, they've passed on the street before, tipped their hats at one another and gone on their respective ways. Oliver has never turned Jack in, and Jack has never tried to pick Oliver's pocket. It's a mutually respectful arrangement. But Jack doesn't nod and go on his way this time. As Oliver searches his pocket for the key, Jack hops up the steps two at a time, and suddenly they're face to face for the first time since they were children.

OH MY GOD, UGH, I HAVE SO MANY MORE RECS I WANT TO SHARE. It will have to wait, though, because I am exhausted. Seriously, though, guys. GO READ THESE STORIES. I will view it as a personal holiday present if you do. *smiles winsomely*