I chose know your story like I do (The Magicians) and got carried away rambling about it.
First, I apologize for the lateness of my response – I plead unexpected interventions by Mother Nature – and for the untrimmed, unfiltered, longwinded nature of this feedback. I sincerely hope something here will be useful to you. I'm afraid there's more wallowing in readerly pleasure than eloquent analysis in what follows, so if there's anything you'd like to have addressed that I failed to mention, please ask me.
Overall Impressions
So I'm going to lead off by saying I loved this fic, that I'm totally here for Queliot fix-its, and that it left me deeply satisfied, not just because it tackles the emotionally complex situation squandered by the show, but because it incorporates Fillory as part of their 'therapy,' a courtship via responsibility that mirrors the pocket universe life they had together. Only this life is more true to who they are and littered with the pitfalls of their personalities, which means the story has to navigate all their damage, especially Eliot's. But it also keeps magic and power – the power to mend, to make restitution, to embrace honesty, to love and ultimately to govern – central to their love story, a metaphor for growing up enough to deserve, and in Eliot's case actually believe they deserve, second chances at love and at protecting what's been given into their care.
I enjoy seeing what authors come up with to express the eccentric, treacherous magic of Fillory, so I'm glad you set it there rather than 'real' world.
betrayed expression of the violently hungover
This is a perfect snapshot of Eliot in certain moods, and a great way to introduce the fact that he's starting the story at a very low point. Plus it nails the knowing tone of sarcasm as its own language and a defense mechanism that permeates the show.
"Let's do this, team." "Um, I'm the head of this team," Quentin says. Eliot presses the open notebook to Quentin's chest, forcing him to take it back, and heads for the wardrobe. "We can work that part out later.
You do a great job of establishing Quentin's inherent doggedness, dorkiness, and sneaky emotional stratagems that leave him open to Eliot's self-assured sabotage from the get-go. These are emotionally dysfunctional, immature characters, but they express it in very distinct ways, and they both also have a solid quantity of decency, good intentions, and self-sacrifice in their makeup, often buried under flippancy and self-absorption. You translate the tone of the show wonderfully through Q's perspective, so we get that mixture of irony and earnestness that are hallmarks of his voice, and that make him both sweet and maddeningly childish. He brought heart to the show, IMO, and it's apparent here in the way he commits himself to reparation of Fillory's lost magic, his project of restoring Eliot's self-respect, and his pursuit of a dream he can't quite renounce even in the face of Eliot's reject.
I thoroughly enjoyed the squelchy struggle through the mud to the obelisk – typical of the indignities Fillory puts them through – and your portrayal of how naturally they rely on each other.
Quentin tries to walk towards the palace, ends up drifting sideways a bit. Three days trying to re-set the magical GPS on a living ship that had gotten confused and wouldn’t stop sailing around in small circles had really done a number on his balance.
I love both the effect on Quentin and the delightful whimsy of the poor confused ship.
Quentin meets Eliot's eyes, takes a deep breath, and steps backwards off the ledge (…) When he doesn't fall, he grins, and lets go of his death grip on Eliot's shirt.
We're in low-key symbolic territory right here with Quentin and his impulse to throw his heart at the problem caught in just a few words, but without it being dramatic or even self-aware. It works as a simple moment of achievement and rapport (Eliot's "Of course I came with. We're a team.") or as a summary of Quentin's irrepressible feelings. He may not trust himself, but he does trust Eliot. You also chart the awkwardness, the apparent gap between their respective desires: but there's still a split-second too much of hesitation before Eliot responds, and Quentin jumps in to fill the silence, which of course is a dead giveaway, and Eliot's not stupid.
The brief scene of them visiting the area where they lived out their mosaic lives is poignant and understated, and this memory flash, among others, emphasizes why Q is so besotted.
turning to brown-black shot through with silver, and Quentin thinks it’s gorgeous no matter how much Eliot grouses about his lack of access to modern hair dye technology
It's inevitable that Quentin would confront Eliot over the memories and that Eliot would be prepared, and your version of this is appropriately awkward, with Q ineffectually trying to make a case and Eliot deflecting like a pro. It's a good character beat for both of them and a quietly cruel moment, with Eliot playing the part of dismissive dick and Q desperately testing the waters for some flicker of reciprocal hope. It's telling that he doesn't actually deflate until reminded of the infidelity spell, but also that Eliot only brings that up as a last resort. Nicely done. Also, ouch.
And it segues nicely into their return to Brakebills (the "study abroad" coinage made me grin) and the excruciating sleeping arrangements with Fen. By the way, Dean Fogg is the most delightfully disparaging wanker, and I thoroughly enjoyed the few paragraphs in which he appears.
The conversations with Fen, who is sketched here with love and humor, and the hint of Eliot's ambivalence, are a relief. They crack open a door that's just been firmly shut and make Q's determination to keep raising the issue less of an unhealthy obsession and more of an emotional quest.
It's PB&J, which he hasn’t had in months, since the peanuts in Fillory are sentient. I enjoy every time you toss in these references to the disconcerting little collisions between the two realities.
The interns are a nice touch, as their presence is amusing and informative, and they also provide some breathing room during Quentin's sessions of self-torture over Eliot and Eliot's evasions.
He gets up carefully, not wanting to disturb their chanting, and nearly ends up face down in the dirt trying to get into the fucking hammock. Eliot laughs at him as he clutches the sides, waiting for the hammock to gradually stop its wild swinging back and forth. “You put it up for someone your height,” Quentin points out, in his own defense. “Yes, I always forget you’re fun-sized.” Eliot stretches out, hands behind his head. “Little Q. Aw, you’re the cutest when you glare.” Quentin stops glaring to the best of his ability.
This exchange could be popped right into the show without changing a word. I could see them both absolutely clearly. The teasing is cute and Q's lack of suavity is on point, but again, Eliot's tone shades toward malice in a way he can only get away with because he's Eliot. His airy remark "You really were a broken little boy, weren’t you?" adds to that impression, although Quentin takes it in stride and even pokes back a little. But the conversation that follows, which occurs at the story's midpoint, is a serious challenge, not only to Q's hopes, but to the reader. Eliot's refusal to meet Quentin halfway draws a neat line between them, and he appears both clear-eyed about his rejection of love and emotionally opaque, setting boundaries and seeming in control while still remaining inscrutable.
But Quentin is a stubborn little fucker, and even though he does seriously trample boundaries by continuing to push, I have to admire his tactics in catching Eliot off guard by approaching the subject through the allegory of Dean Fogg. And then cutting to the chase. This entire arc – Eliot's capitulation to, at the very least, sex, the maddening and alarming interruption when the landslide occurs (thanks for nothing, Fillory), and Eliot's rash act of heroism that only succeeds because Q forces his way into the spell-casting – is beautifully handled. It creates a premature sense of a breakthrough between them, then does a rug-pull typical of the show and upsets the progress they've made. It also weaves in Eliot's self-destructive impulses and Quentin's determination to save him from himself, which is very true to their dynamic.
There have been a couple of moments in the fic when I've wanted a stronger sense of Eliot's conflicted feelings, and the moment catapulting them toward sex is one of them. All the yearning is coming from Quentin's side, and even though we can glean Eliot's feelings from the show and the fact that this is a ship fic, the barely visible shudder Q glimpses wasn't enough for me to feel that Eliot is doing this for good reasons, as opposed to simply giving Q what he wants. There's occasionally a sense that Q's demand for an emotional reckoning and his refusal to stop even when he's been given a clear No actually crosses a line, and that anyone would feel the need to protect themselves from being badgered by him. It also suggests an imbalance, that we never see the desire or loss Eliot is hiding or holding back; it makes it seem he matters to Quentin far more than Quentin matters to him.
I would also like to say that Eliot swinging Q by the ass and the nape of his nape onto the bed was seriously hot.
"Just water and honey. Medieval gatorade" is a good line.
A small note on the aftermath of the landslide: I wanted to know what happened to Jeannie.
"I'm listening, I've just seen this all before," Eliot says, hurriedly. "You don't know what you're doing, what you're asking of yourself. I know me, Quentin, and I know I'm not right for you."
This felt rushed and a little bit forced into the recovery scene. I rolled with it, but it didn't have the build-up that would have made it hit home, and the flimsiness of the words took away from the impact and sense of betrayal. I realize it's meant to be flimsy, a rationalization that Eliot clings to, but it felt like we skipped a couple of steps to get there. However, Quentin's withdrawal afterward, his numb burial in repetitive work, and his collapse into depression ring absolutely true.
The spider-crow debacle is a fantastic race against disaster, and everything involving Quentin and the swarm of spider-crows bristles with the intensity, but again, Eliot feels a little – not absent, exactly, but not as vividly drawn as I needed him to be in this moment of suicidal idiocy, with the added horror I presume he feels once he spots Q. Some of this, of course, is due to the limitations of Quentin's POV, but Eliot is the motivating force here, the beloved, the martyr courting death, the character who's been driven to the brink, presumably – but I'm bringing a lot of that to the table myself rather than seeing it in Eliot. So the extremes to which Quentin goes are breathless and exciting, but Eliot's slightly sidelined even though he's right there in front of us.
The choice to have Fen be the one present when Q opens his eyes is genuinely surprising and welcome. Then the couple of paragraphs chronicling his recovery are perfectly judged, gentle, quirky, and they usher the world and other meaningful characters onstage to show Quentin matters. I was glad to see Margo and her pilates and the strength she offers Q during the upward climb to stability.
The final air-clearing, heart-unburdening conversation is cathartic in the best way, and the story earns it. I have some reservations about Eliot's lines "And I fail, every fucking time I get a chance to." He takes a shuddering breath. "This is why we can't, we-- I'm not good enough. I don't even really try to be." If there had been some way to show that's how he thinks of himself without coming out and saying it, I would have preferred that simply because it veers over the woobie line for me, and Eliot already walks that line, and mostly I don't want him losing his balance. I do like the idea of him breaking in front of Q – of admitting to the tests, but I would have been interested to hear Quentin ask in return if Eliot would still want him if he'd failed. That might have offered a way for Eliot to back into the truth obliquely rather than bursting into full self-loathing confessional mode.
I love Quentin's uncensored confession, the pure honesty and almost childish simplicity of it. It's very Quentin, and I can imagine his face while he's blurting it all out. But it's not childish, in fact it's quite perceptive, and it's one of the reasons Quentin is a favorite of mine – he loves unironically, not uncritically, but without feeling that love is something to be embarrassed about. His love is a lot, as Eliot says, and I can see why anyone would find it alarming. Which makes it in-character for Eliot to admit, "I-- I'm not there yet, I think," also a relief and a gesture toward emotional maturity that proves to me Eliot is capable of passing his own test.
From there to the end, it just flies. The banter, the summary of their days and weeks, the accommodations they learn to accept, the line Quentin remembers the mistakes he made last time, fifty years' worth of them, but that somehow doesn't stop him from making them again, the joy and ease and the fact that Q thrives as a full-blown romantic to where it even suffuses the dialogue between them: it's all exactly what the story needs. It gallops to a perfect ending, with an erotic and meaningful last line, the connection between them made flesh but more than flesh, which is the consummation Eliot needs to have proved to him.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-08-25 07:03 am (UTC)First, I apologize for the lateness of my response – I plead unexpected interventions by Mother Nature – and for the untrimmed, unfiltered, longwinded nature of this feedback. I sincerely hope something here will be useful to you. I'm afraid there's more wallowing in readerly pleasure than eloquent analysis in what follows, so if there's anything you'd like to have addressed that I failed to mention, please ask me.
Overall Impressions
So I'm going to lead off by saying I loved this fic, that I'm totally here for Queliot fix-its, and that it left me deeply satisfied, not just because it tackles the emotionally complex situation squandered by the show, but because it incorporates Fillory as part of their 'therapy,' a courtship via responsibility that mirrors the pocket universe life they had together. Only this life is more true to who they are and littered with the pitfalls of their personalities, which means the story has to navigate all their damage, especially Eliot's. But it also keeps magic and power – the power to mend, to make restitution, to embrace honesty, to love and ultimately to govern – central to their love story, a metaphor for growing up enough to deserve, and in Eliot's case actually believe they deserve, second chances at love and at protecting what's been given into their care.
I enjoy seeing what authors come up with to express the eccentric, treacherous magic of Fillory, so I'm glad you set it there rather than 'real' world.
betrayed expression of the violently hungover
This is a perfect snapshot of Eliot in certain moods, and a great way to introduce the fact that he's starting the story at a very low point. Plus it nails the knowing tone of sarcasm as its own language and a defense mechanism that permeates the show.
"Let's do this, team."
"Um, I'm the head of this team," Quentin says.
Eliot presses the open notebook to Quentin's chest, forcing him to take it back, and heads for the wardrobe. "We can work that part out later.
You do a great job of establishing Quentin's inherent doggedness, dorkiness, and sneaky emotional stratagems that leave him open to Eliot's self-assured sabotage from the get-go. These are emotionally dysfunctional, immature characters, but they express it in very distinct ways, and they both also have a solid quantity of decency, good intentions, and self-sacrifice in their makeup, often buried under flippancy and self-absorption. You translate the tone of the show wonderfully through Q's perspective, so we get that mixture of irony and earnestness that are hallmarks of his voice, and that make him both sweet and maddeningly childish. He brought heart to the show, IMO, and it's apparent here in the way he commits himself to reparation of Fillory's lost magic, his project of restoring Eliot's self-respect, and his pursuit of a dream he can't quite renounce even in the face of Eliot's reject.
I thoroughly enjoyed the squelchy struggle through the mud to the obelisk – typical of the indignities Fillory puts them through – and your portrayal of how naturally they rely on each other.
Quentin tries to walk towards the palace, ends up drifting sideways a bit. Three days trying to re-set the magical GPS on a living ship that had gotten confused and wouldn’t stop sailing around in small circles had really done a number on his balance.
I love both the effect on Quentin and the delightful whimsy of the poor confused ship.
Quentin meets Eliot's eyes, takes a deep breath, and steps backwards off the ledge (…) When he doesn't fall, he grins, and lets go of his death grip on Eliot's shirt.
We're in low-key symbolic territory right here with Quentin and his impulse to throw his heart at the problem caught in just a few words, but without it being dramatic or even self-aware. It works as a simple moment of achievement and rapport (Eliot's "Of course I came with. We're a team.") or as a summary of Quentin's irrepressible feelings. He may not trust himself, but he does trust Eliot. You also chart the awkwardness, the apparent gap between their respective desires: but there's still a split-second too much of hesitation before Eliot responds, and Quentin jumps in to fill the silence, which of course is a dead giveaway, and Eliot's not stupid.
The brief scene of them visiting the area where they lived out their mosaic lives is poignant and understated, and this memory flash, among others, emphasizes why Q is so besotted.
turning to brown-black shot through with silver, and Quentin thinks it’s gorgeous no matter how much Eliot grouses about his lack of access to modern hair dye technology
It's inevitable that Quentin would confront Eliot over the memories and that Eliot would be prepared, and your version of this is appropriately awkward, with Q ineffectually trying to make a case and Eliot deflecting like a pro. It's a good character beat for both of them and a quietly cruel moment, with Eliot playing the part of dismissive dick and Q desperately testing the waters for some flicker of reciprocal hope. It's telling that he doesn't actually deflate until reminded of the infidelity spell, but also that Eliot only brings that up as a last resort. Nicely done. Also, ouch.
And it segues nicely into their return to Brakebills (the "study abroad" coinage made me grin) and the excruciating sleeping arrangements with Fen. By the way, Dean Fogg is the most delightfully disparaging wanker, and I thoroughly enjoyed the few paragraphs in which he appears.
The conversations with Fen, who is sketched here with love and humor, and the hint of Eliot's ambivalence, are a relief. They crack open a door that's just been firmly shut and make Q's determination to keep raising the issue less of an unhealthy obsession and more of an emotional quest.
It's PB&J, which he hasn’t had in months, since the peanuts in Fillory are sentient. I enjoy every time you toss in these references to the disconcerting little collisions between the two realities.
The interns are a nice touch, as their presence is amusing and informative, and they also provide some breathing room during Quentin's sessions of self-torture over Eliot and Eliot's evasions.
He gets up carefully, not wanting to disturb their chanting, and nearly ends up face down in the dirt trying to get into the fucking hammock. Eliot laughs at him as he clutches the sides, waiting for the hammock to gradually stop its wild swinging back and forth. “You put it up for someone your height,” Quentin points out, in his own defense.
“Yes, I always forget you’re fun-sized.” Eliot stretches out, hands behind his head. “Little Q. Aw, you’re the cutest when you glare.”
Quentin stops glaring to the best of his ability.
This exchange could be popped right into the show without changing a word. I could see them both absolutely clearly. The teasing is cute and Q's lack of suavity is on point, but again, Eliot's tone shades toward malice in a way he can only get away with because he's Eliot. His airy remark "You really were a broken little boy, weren’t you?" adds to that impression, although Quentin takes it in stride and even pokes back a little. But the conversation that follows, which occurs at the story's midpoint, is a serious challenge, not only to Q's hopes, but to the reader. Eliot's refusal to meet Quentin halfway draws a neat line between them, and he appears both clear-eyed about his rejection of love and emotionally opaque, setting boundaries and seeming in control while still remaining inscrutable.
But Quentin is a stubborn little fucker, and even though he does seriously trample boundaries by continuing to push, I have to admire his tactics in catching Eliot off guard by approaching the subject through the allegory of Dean Fogg. And then cutting to the chase. This entire arc – Eliot's capitulation to, at the very least, sex, the maddening and alarming interruption when the landslide occurs (thanks for nothing, Fillory), and Eliot's rash act of heroism that only succeeds because Q forces his way into the spell-casting – is beautifully handled. It creates a premature sense of a breakthrough between them, then does a rug-pull typical of the show and upsets the progress they've made. It also weaves in Eliot's self-destructive impulses and Quentin's determination to save him from himself, which is very true to their dynamic.
There have been a couple of moments in the fic when I've wanted a stronger sense of Eliot's conflicted feelings, and the moment catapulting them toward sex is one of them. All the yearning is coming from Quentin's side, and even though we can glean Eliot's feelings from the show and the fact that this is a ship fic, the barely visible shudder Q glimpses wasn't enough for me to feel that Eliot is doing this for good reasons, as opposed to simply giving Q what he wants. There's occasionally a sense that Q's demand for an emotional reckoning and his refusal to stop even when he's been given a clear No actually crosses a line, and that anyone would feel the need to protect themselves from being badgered by him. It also suggests an imbalance, that we never see the desire or loss Eliot is hiding or holding back; it makes it seem he matters to Quentin far more than Quentin matters to him.
I would also like to say that Eliot swinging Q by the ass and the nape of his nape onto the bed was seriously hot.
"Just water and honey. Medieval gatorade" is a good line.
A small note on the aftermath of the landslide: I wanted to know what happened to Jeannie.
"I'm listening, I've just seen this all before," Eliot says, hurriedly. "You don't know what you're doing, what you're asking of yourself. I know me, Quentin, and I know I'm not right for you."
This felt rushed and a little bit forced into the recovery scene. I rolled with it, but it didn't have the build-up that would have made it hit home, and the flimsiness of the words took away from the impact and sense of betrayal. I realize it's meant to be flimsy, a rationalization that Eliot clings to, but it felt like we skipped a couple of steps to get there. However, Quentin's withdrawal afterward, his numb burial in repetitive work, and his collapse into depression ring absolutely true.
The spider-crow debacle is a fantastic race against disaster, and everything involving Quentin and the swarm of spider-crows bristles with the intensity, but again, Eliot feels a little – not absent, exactly, but not as vividly drawn as I needed him to be in this moment of suicidal idiocy, with the added horror I presume he feels once he spots Q. Some of this, of course, is due to the limitations of Quentin's POV, but Eliot is the motivating force here, the beloved, the martyr courting death, the character who's been driven to the brink, presumably – but I'm bringing a lot of that to the table myself rather than seeing it in Eliot. So the extremes to which Quentin goes are breathless and exciting, but Eliot's slightly sidelined even though he's right there in front of us.
The choice to have Fen be the one present when Q opens his eyes is genuinely surprising and welcome. Then the couple of paragraphs chronicling his recovery are perfectly judged, gentle, quirky, and they usher the world and other meaningful characters onstage to show Quentin matters. I was glad to see Margo and her pilates and the strength she offers Q during the upward climb to stability.
The final air-clearing, heart-unburdening conversation is cathartic in the best way, and the story earns it. I have some reservations about Eliot's lines "And I fail, every fucking time I get a chance to." He takes a shuddering breath. "This is why we can't, we-- I'm not good enough. I don't even really try to be." If there had been some way to show that's how he thinks of himself without coming out and saying it, I would have preferred that simply because it veers over the woobie line for me, and Eliot already walks that line, and mostly I don't want him losing his balance. I do like the idea of him breaking in front of Q – of admitting to the tests, but I would have been interested to hear Quentin ask in return if Eliot would still want him if he'd failed. That might have offered a way for Eliot to back into the truth obliquely rather than bursting into full self-loathing confessional mode.
I love Quentin's uncensored confession, the pure honesty and almost childish simplicity of it. It's very Quentin, and I can imagine his face while he's blurting it all out. But it's not childish, in fact it's quite perceptive, and it's one of the reasons Quentin is a favorite of mine – he loves unironically, not uncritically, but without feeling that love is something to be embarrassed about. His love is a lot, as Eliot says, and I can see why anyone would find it alarming. Which makes it in-character for Eliot to admit, "I-- I'm not there yet, I think," also a relief and a gesture toward emotional maturity that proves to me Eliot is capable of passing his own test.
From there to the end, it just flies. The banter, the summary of their days and weeks, the accommodations they learn to accept, the line Quentin remembers the mistakes he made last time, fifty years' worth of them, but that somehow doesn't stop him from making them again, the joy and ease and the fact that Q thrives as a full-blown romantic to where it even suffuses the dialogue between them: it's all exactly what the story needs. It gallops to a perfect ending, with an erotic and meaningful last line, the connection between them made flesh but more than flesh, which is the consummation Eliot needs to have proved to him.