Recs - Miscellaneous

Recommendations - Miscellaneous

November 30, 2001

****

BtVS, Faith pov; Buffy/Faith implied

I've been skirting Buffy fic, reading here and there, knowing that it's a dangerous bog waiting to suck me in. Not a smelly, peaty bog, but a nice, sort of homey one---which makes it all the more dangerous. I haven't consciously looked for Faith-centered fic, just because I find some of the other characters more interesting. But it was Jintian and so I read; and now I'm finding all sorts of interesting things about Faith.

This is meaty story with plot as well as a rich emotional landscape; the view from Faith's head seems to me dead on. The writing is lovely, and Faith's voice comes through with just the right mix of rage, flippancy, and longing. As in her other work, Jintian moves the story along with a very natural storytelling ability--something I've always admired about her writing.

Now I'm off to find more Faith fic.

I turned eighteen about a month after I got to prison. For my birthday the Watchers Council sent me a lawyer.

I didn't think I'd be getting any visitors for a while, maximum security and all. But I guess someone over there convinced someone over here I was a special case.

Didn't keep them from chaining me up as well as they could, though. They brought me out in a steel wheelchair, my arms and legs handcuffed and strapped to the frame like Hannibal Lecter. There were a couple of guard types with guns who walked behind the nurse pushing me. A guy in a lab coat was there, too, carrying a yellow nasty-looking syringe.

"Some party," I said. "You sure you didn't wanna just go with the lap dance?"

~ Theory of a Girl, by Jintian Li

Meetings, by Anna S.

SG1, Daniel pov

I haven't read much Stargate fic, and in truth I probably won't go looking for it; I've seen the show a few times, and while I don't think it's bad (and there are quite a few things I like about it) it hasn't grabbed me in the fic reading way. But whether or not you're a fan of the show, I highly recommend Anna's Stargate stories. I liked Meetings the best; Daniel, in Anna's hands, is one fascinating character.

This was a feeling he knew well, a low-grade fever of frustration that had become chronic during his three years with the SGC. Questions unasked, unanswered. Worlds visited and never revisited. The constraints of time, resources, military exigencies--it was the frustration of his thwarted calling, but it was also something more. He was used to handling fragments of the past, but at some point his own present life had broken down into fragments and he didn't know when or how or why. The fracture may have begun with the loss of Sha're, but sometimes he thought it traced back much earlier.

He sat on his balcony and stared out at an ordinary Earth city and felt not entirely of his world. Pieces of him remained elsewhere. Bones of his bones, flesh of his flesh; bits of his mind. He wasn't sure who he'd become during the last several years. He called himself a scientist, he acted as a soldier. He was a widower, he was...a seeker. The imperatives of each role pulled at him like the four winds and the center did not hold; there only remained a vague feeling he should have done something different at each defining moment of his life. He'd moved from obsession to obsession; and now he searched for his wife's son, but his passion was guttering and his heart was no more than lukewarm.

~ Meetings, by Anna S.

Another one by Anna is The Woods, an unfinished Sentinel story that has all sorts of characteristics about it I wouldn't normally read; but I'm very glad I read this one. The link will take you to Anna's main page; click on "Sentinel" on the left and each part will be listed at the top of the page. Your enjoyment is probably going to depend on your tolerance for unfinished stories. I was a little frustrated at the end, wanting that conclusion, but overall the richness of what's there outweighed my frustration. There's some really superb writing in The Woods, parts that made me just sit back and marvel, so give it a try.

Distal, by Debchan

L.A. Confidential, Bud pov

Here is a Bud who is immediately recognizable, and a future that seems uncannily plausible. It's a short story, like a hard fast punch to the gut. In a good way, that is.

Six months after LA and Lynn's hair was brown again. She just walked in one day and there she was. Lynn, but not Lynn.

She'd twirled in the middle of the plain living room rug. "What do you think?"

And it took him a minute to get over the shock of that face under that hair, but then he said, "Nice. It's… Nice."

Making love to her that night felt wrong, like he was cheating on her with her sister. They didn't talk about it.

Didn't talk about much at all, really. At first because he couldn't, then, when he could, there just wasn't much to say.

~ Distal, by Debchan

Triptych, by Debchan

Six Feet Under, Brenda/Billy/Nate

Another one by Deb--I'm not usually one for threesomes, and I haven't even seen Six Feet Under, but I loved this. It's fairly short, but with such emotional depth to the characters that I felt like I had been reading about them for much longer. And I need to go watch this show.

Brenda, over dinner, goes on and on about distant parents, emotionally crippling private school environments, an era when your stock portfolio was nurtured more than your child, how some siblings always remain close. What it boils down to, is this; "Billy feels left out."

And what Nate thinks is; So Billy feels left out. Well boo fucking hoo. Billy feels left out when Brenda doesn't devote every hour of every day to whatever crisis he's currently having. Billy feels left out when Brenda wants to have the house to herself so she and her boyfriend can fuck in peace. Billy feels left out when he isn't allowed to use the bathroom when Nate's in the shower. Billy feels left out when Nate doesn't offer to pick up his tab when Billy invites himself along to dinner, or worse, just turns up at the restaurant. Nate, being the good boyfriend, the *dutiful* boyfriend, don't say any of this. Just tries for a non-comittal yet sympathetic look that gets him absolutely nowhere.

~ Triptych, by Debchan

August 9, 2001

Rising, by Te

Highlander, Duncan/Methos

Two recs in one: Te's Rising is a sequel to Kat Allison's The Parting Glass, and if you haven't read that, I highly recommend it. (an understatement, because The Parting Glass is one of my top five favorite stories on the net.)

Te captures and sustains the mood of Kat's story, giving us a rather bleak vision of the future and how Duncan is living in it. Still, despite its grim scenario, I get the sense that Duncan is being tempered, drawing closer to Methos' experiences and perhaps even at some future date understanding him. In Rising we get glimpses of that progress (though Te might not agree with me that it's progress <g>), the necessary pain of accepting what is beyond his control, and the anger and resentment---and maybe at some points, serenity---of accepting his own weaknesses. Or maybe that's just me, and the vision the story inspires in me. Go read it, and let me know what you think <g>.

It started with the need to understand, and *that* started with the first brush of eye-contact. Eyes goldenly hazel meeting his own, a sardonic seduction Duncan hadn't been able to register until it was too late, and Adam was a friend.

And Duncan has had time and years to consider the nature of friendship, and what it has left him is this: A friend is someone you believe in, no matter what. Everyone else is merely clutter, soothing or not, vile or not. He had believed in Adam from the very beginning, a flirt dangerous to himself and others, a 5,000 year old scholar in a fighter's body.

A cheerful hedonist.

There were the years in which he'd blamed himself for that. Not contiguous with themselves so much as a patch of particularly specific self-loathing here, and here.

~ Rising, by Te

Winterlong, by torch

Gundam Wing

To tell you the pairing would spoil it a bit, I think. torch calls this an indulgence; I'm very happy that she indulged. Wufei chops onions, Quatre cleans house, Heero and Relena play chess, and a cat is involved. I love pretty much everything about this story-vignette, so let's just roll the clip and I'll be quiet.

Wufei came in September, looking harried. He wanted to spar, and Heero needed the exercise, so they went for best two out of three, and then best three out of four, and then best four out of five, and then it was just about time for dinner. Heero had never seen anyone chop onions with such ferocious precision before. He took out the white plates with the blue border and said, "Do you want water or tea?"

The evening sun fell in through the kitchen window. Wufei ate all the pickled cherry tomatoes and played with his chopsticks until he broke one of them, and Heero took the other one away from him. "We weren't getting anywhere with the drug cartel. I should have worked harder."

Heero got up to clear the table. "There's some fruit on the counter."

He'd painted the kitchen walls that summer, pale grey washed with a hint of blue. Picking a pear from the fruit basket, he turned to toss it to Wufei, but Wufei sat with his head in his hands and stared at the table. "Sally volunteered." His shirtsleeves were wrinkled. "She's pregnant."

Heero threw the pear anyway. "Congratulations," he said, and Wufei turned in the chair and caught it, just barely.

The pears were almost overripe, leaking thin, sweet juice down their chins. They sat outside in the back garden with the windows open, and listened to a taiko concert broadcast live from Kyoto. Wufei left at midnight with a brown paper bag full of pears in one hand.

~ Winterlong, by torch

****

June 4, 2001

Wildly Dangerous Ways, by Speranza

Due South, Fraser/Ray K.

I feel a little silly recommending this; I don't read Due South fic, I've only seen one episode of Due South (though it was the first one with Ray K., and I liked it), and from what I hear, Due South fans are going to read it in any case, because it's Speranza. And after reading this story, I know why.

So maybe this rec is for those non-Due South fans out there. Basically, I saw a link to it this morning, had a few free minutes and decided to check it out. I have no idea how much time passed--however much time it took me to read the story. I'm thinking about bugging friends for tapes. I'm thinking about reading more Due South fic (and to clarify: the reason I'm thinking about it rather than having already done it, is that I don't have time to get into another fandom! I don't!). But I am definitely glad I spent my morning reading this.

So there's fourteen of them and two of us--plus they got Uzis, plus I only got two shots left, plus Fraser's got no weapon at all except for his winning Canadian ways.

We're crouched down together in the warehouse behind an oil drum and staring at each other, eyes locked in pointless conversation: "You got an idea?" "No, do you?" "No, you?" "No, not me, no. You?" Another blast of bullets overhead and we're hunkering down, edging in, trying to get the fuck out of the line of fire. Fraser's hair's all messed up and I think he's even sweating a little, which means this is seriously bad news.

"Come on!" I yell finally, practically into his face. "You just gotta have a suggestion, here!"

Fraser licks his lips and peers around the edge of the drum--then jerks back as a bullet pings! off the metal two inches from his head. Fuck! "Well, I might have one, but--"

"One is good, one works," I say instantly. "Sold. Gimme."

"--it isn't a very good one, and--"

"Sold! Hand it over! Chop-chop!"

"--it'll probably get us both killed," Fraser finishes, and now he's glaring at me.

I glare right back at him, then wrinkle my nose and make a face. "Oh yeah--I'm shocked, I'm stunned, catch me if I faint."

~ Wildly Dangerous Ways, by Speranza

****

April 15, 2001

Gundam Wing has been making me very happy. Torch's Gundam Wing stories have me walking around in a dream state, smiling at everything and looking like a loon (a happy loon). Combined with the advent of Spring in this part of the world, I am generally in an "all's right with the world" kind of mood. My favorites are Drift, The weather outside, and What it's like, but go to her Gundam Wing page and read them all.

I don't usually read crossovers, but there are some shows that demand to be crossed. Like Fight Club and Futurama. And X-Files and One Life to Live.

The Glee Club, by Debchan

Futurama/Fight Club

This was the start of Glee Club.

Fryler gave the rules at every meeting. "The first rule about Glee Club is that you do not talk about Glee Club. The second rule about Glee Club is that you do *not* talk about Glee Club. Third rule: if someone stumbles or forgets the lyrics, you have to raise your hand before you can jump in. And the fourth rule about Glee Club is that if this is your first night, you *have* to sing."

~ The Glee Club, by Debchan

Juarez, by Gemma Files

X-Files/One Life to Live

Alex Krycek/Todd Manning (for Te's Little Black Dress challenge)

And: "How'd you get the scar?" That foxy-faced, green-eyed guy on the other side of him picks this exact time to ask. He's down the end of the bar, playing with his beer-glass like if he studies it long enough, it's gonna fill up again all by itself; Todd gives him the two-kinds-of-suspicious narrowed glare that keeps most people away--far away, like far as they can get without running. But buddy here just keeps on waiting, 'till Todd finally tells him--

"Chick hit me. With a piece of pipe."

"That happen a lot, around here?"

Todd shrugs. "Sorta..."

Adding, at the same time, inside his head:

...but mainly if you're me.

~ Juarez, by Gemma Files

I am going to steal Elizabeth's idea on her rec page and mention some non-fanfiction stuff I've been reading, though my choices tend to pale in comparative literary quality to hers. Because of a resurgence in my artistic side, I've been re-reading Ellen Raskin's The Tattooed Potato and Other Clues, which is a combination art manual/detective novel, with characters such as Dickory Dock and George Washington III. It's for kids, I suppose, though I've read it more often as an adult than when I was younger. Sadly though, I think it's out of print.

And because it's Spring and riding weather, I've also been re-reading W. Museler's Riding Logic, which was perhaps meant more as a reference guide but reads very nicely as a complete book. The author writes:

Riding is a thing of beauty and can be made into an art form. All of us would like to be considered artists, but the only ones who will achieve this are those who try sincerely to enter into a horse's mind and effect rapport with him by sympathy rather than brute strength. Sympathy or feeling is not an unnatural science: we can all develop it to a considerable degree. The aim in dressage is complete harmony between rider and horse---quite simply, beauty. Then the horse looks relaxed and at ease and there is nothing in his rider's demeanour to show the efforts he has had to make.

I think writing is very similar to this, in that writing, good writing, should look effortless and in balance with itself. The sheer work involved in writing a story completes itself in a kind of self-negation, like a brick wall in which the bricks and mortar are made invisible by the full appreciation of the thing itself (if one tends to appreciate brick walls, that is.) It's maybe a little depressing to think that all of that work goes into making a thing look easy, and maybe even more depressing to think it takes that much work for something to be at ease with itself, which is why I think we get academic books in which the author makes damn sure her work and effort is visible for the world to see, however unreadable it makes the text itself.

In checking for a link to it on Amazon, though, I see that it's out of print as well. Grrr.

Continuing the horsey theme, I just started reading Horse Heaven by Jane Smiley, who also wrote A Thousand Acres. My mother bought it for me on the recommendation of her friend the bookstore owner, even though she (my mother) didn't like A Thousand Acres. I haven't read A Thousand Acres, and I'm not far enough into Horse Heaven to know how much I like it. But I'm still reading it, which is a good sign. And the author begins with the stories of four two-year-olds, describing one as:

Well, he knows who he is! Yeah, he knows he's a son of a bitch, or, rather, the son of a son of a bitch! He's a big burly colt. The farrier doesn't like to trim him and no one else likes to do much with him, either.

So I think I will like this book.

In checking for a link to it on Amazon, I see that it is still in print, which makes sense since it was just published last year. And the editorial review contains this quote:

Horse love is one of those things either you get or you don't, and for the vast majority of the populace, horse stories tend to read like porn written for 13-year-old girls.

For those who don't like horse porn, the editorial goes on to say that

The good news, then, is that while a love of all things equine is not a prerequisite for enjoying Jane Smiley's Horse Heaven, a love of human perversity is.

Porn and perversity. I think I really will like this book.

****

March 17, 2001

Reunion, by Bone

Get Real, John Dixon/Steven Carter

I read this while stuck in a cheap hotel outside of Philadelphia; near enough to the city so that it was congested and generally a pain to drive around, but not close enough to get out and wander Center City. Thank god for Pares' Rec-O-Rama, through which I found this story. It's sweet and lovely, and made me very happy.

I still run.

I've been running all my life. My mother told me once that my first steps were actually a halting gallop across the lawn, but I've only run with purpose for the last, oh, twelve years or so. Since I had a choice between football and track and field at the start of sixth form and decided track would be less work. I didn't know, when I started, what it would come to mean to me.

I used to run to win. I loved the lunge for the tape, the thud of that first footstep across the finish line. I never felt the weight of myself until then, until it was over, and then I'd wonder how on earth I'd carried myself so far, so fast, when each step that didn't matter felt like it might shatter me -- jarring, arrhythmic, heavy as lead, as if my body only knew one speed and never wanted to slow down, never wanted to stop.

I don't run to win anymore. Haven't done since I started college and realized that what was fast in Basingstoke meant eighth place at Oxford. I never did like looking at the back of someone else's neck, feeling the sand their heels spit up stinging my legs. But winning wasn't the only reason I ran, and the great thing about running...the beauty of it...is that the only person I *really* have to beat is myself.

My best time. My smoothest stride. My fastest pace, or farthest distance. I don't really need any more competition than my own self. No, I can beat myself just fine. So I don't run on teams, or on tracks, anymore. I run in the streets, dodging puddles and passersby. I run in the park, through the woods, wearing the scratches on my legs like tattoos. I run every morning, rain or shine.

All my life, I've run.

I ran from Basingstoke to Oxford, and from Oxford to London.

I ran from the boy I was, and from the man Steven Carter wanted me to be.

~ Reunion, by Bone

Clouds and Lions, by torch

Gundam Wing, gen

Thanks to this story, I'm now hooked on Gundam Wing. It's wonderfully developed with a nice, slow pace--torch has such a natural intuition for these characters. Trowa-centered, with all of his subtleties and potential; lovely writing and a well-crafted plot arc. Superlatives pale <g>.

The boy looked up at him over the violin, not quite smiling. Trowa turned his head, and saw the flutes, and then he couldn't resist. He opened the cabinet, took hold of that cool shape that fit his hands so well, and knew even before he lifted it to his lips how rich and smooth the sound would be.

This was nothing like talking. They played together, leading and following, teaching each other new melodies and sometimes meshing perfectly into something they both knew. The sun moved through the room, and so did the music, and sometimes they'd stop, and drink a little from the fresh water set on a sideboard in a high blue carafe, and listen to a moment of silence before playing again. Sometimes it went wrong, notes colliding in mid-air, and sometimes it went perfectly right and Trowa found a counter-melody here and a free-falling descant there that made the world wider, made breathing easier.

~ Clouds and Lions, by torch

I haven't read X-Men fic in a while--my initial surge of interest seems to have worn off a bit. But these two stories have stuck with me. Lovely writing, subtle development--and slash! Well, the first one is slash. The second is Rogue-centered, with marvelous insights into her character.

Penumbra, by Elizabeth

X-Men, Scott/Logan

Sometimes he thinks Rogue might know. But only sometimes.

Sometimes he sees her sitting in a classroom as he walks down the hall. Once she was in an empty one, eating crackerjacks. He watched her fish around in the box for the prize and smiled because it was nice to see that. Happiness doesn't come easily for her, though he's never seen anyone want it more.

But then she licked her fingers and he realized--

(No lying to himself, he promised he was going to stop that--he watched her slide a finger into her mouth and then back out again; watched it emerge, glistening, and thought of desire for the impossible. And more than that he thought of what was inside her, of memories that belongs to another, and wanted.)

he realized that all the looks she and Bobby had been shooting each other might lead to something. Maybe something dangerous, maybe something not. But still, something he needed to keep an eye on. He watched her pull the prize out of the box and open it, saw her fold the paper that surrounded it into a tiny square.

(And how easy it was to watch her, pretty Rogue, all earnest face and shiny eyes. He couldn't see her, not really--whenever he looked at her he always saw someone else's face-- but he could imagine the feel of her hair and her soft skin well enough. Jean looked at him sometimes and he knew she was reassured. Knew he loved her, wanted her. Rogue was just wondering and she knew that. Maybe she welcomed it, a little.)

Rogue saw him watching her and her face pinked. He grinned in response, easily. Some people have trouble smiling but Scott is not one of them. He's familiar with joy. He likes it. Some people run from comfort but he's always run to it.

~ Penumbra, by Elizabeth

The First and Last Places, by Nexus Meng

X-Men, Rogue, gen

The moon is a curve of bone in the sky, hung up slender and white and catching wisps of cloud. Oddly, it reminds her of Logan's metal claws. She can't fathom why -- it's been months since he's crossed her mind, despite the dogtags still hanging from her neck. But then she thinks maybe it's because she's returning to a place for once, instead of leaving it. An act of homecoming. Her first.

She leans the side of her forehead against the window of Scott's car and shuts her eyes, letting the cold from the glass seep beneath her skin. She imagines her fever taking a breath of night, exhaling heat in return.

The window rumbles as Scott zips the car down the road toward the mansion, and she has to sit up straight again and lean her back against her headrest.

The world tilts gently and doesn't bother to warn her of the movement. Suddenly she is falling. She is sitting in the car with her seatbelt still fastened but she feels -- she knows -- her body surrendering to gravity and open space.

<maybe I'm falling from the moon>

For a moment all she can hear is a roaring wind and beneath that, the open-shut shudder of her heart.

~ The First and Last Places, by Nexus Meng

All Who are Hungry, by Jane St Clair

West Wing, Josh/Sam

I'm on the fence with West Wing slash (and WW fanfic in general)--I can see it, I love the canon screen time, but I'm not quite there. This story brought me one step closer to that happy fic place <g>.

They've kissed before. Sometimes seriously, sometimes not. At least once before in a whiskey-sodden crush of mouths that ended with him clinging to the back of Josh's collar, and Josh's hands both twisted into the lapels of Sam's suit jacket. Like all the fire and reason in the world pouring out onto his tongue.

~ All Who Are Hungry, by Jane St Clair

And for some LitSlash:

Handsome, by Gunbunny

The Dark Is Rising, Will/Bran

I've been meaning to rec this story for a while. It's short and sweet, but never sappy. It makes me want to purr.

He snorts, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. "And Arthur wouldn't have believed the freak was his son. I don't bloody well even look like him."

"You do. You're handsome like him. Have all the girls flocking round once they get over the initial shock."

"Oh, cheers. You know how to raise a boy's ego, so you do."

"Got to take pity on you some time." I grin.

"Pity? I'll give you pity, you English git." He says, pounces on me. We go rolling a short way down the slope, play wrestling. Bran pins me, panting slightly and grinning from ear to ear. "Now, what was that about handsome?"

~ Handsome, by Gunbunny

****

November 27, 2000

Multiple fandoms this time. I've recently been lured into Sentinel slash, just for the sheer number of stories posted and the excellence of the writers posting. This first one has been rec'ed everywhere, it seems, and for good reason. But it never hurts to mention a good story again <g>.

Nuance, by Livia and Resonant

The Sentinel, Jim/Blair

It's got plot, creative use of Jim's senses, fascinating original characters, lovely moments between Jim and Blair. And lots of other things, like good craftsmanship and interesting details. And the pacing is wonderful--usually there's at least one spot in every story's narrative that starts to bog it down (usually the point at which I stop reading for the night and go to bed). But I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning reading Nuance, my laptop disconnected from all its sundry attachments, curled up with it in bed unable to stop reading. At the same time, this is a story worth savoring.

"Sandburg..." Jim's eyebrows went up as he breathed in automatically, and then his eyes widened and he inhaled deeply. "Is that chili burgers? Is that coming from in here?"

"Just because I like you so much," Blair said, holding the door open for him as he went in.

And it was okay. Blair ordered teriyaki and a shot glass of wheatgrass juice. Jim stuck with coffee, ignoring Blair's wheatgrass proselytizing ("seventeen different amino acids, man, and the chlorophyll content's supposed to be really good for you-- they call it liquid sunshine..."). The cafe's advertising fliers did indeed call it liquid sunshine and even sported a suspiciously new-age graphic of a pyramid-shaped prism splitting a beam of light into a rainbow. Blair insisted that the graphic design was beside the point and that Jim's liver would thank him. Jim explained that any day he didn't actually have a conversation with his liver was a good one, and so it wasn't until the food arrived at their table that Blair returned to the original topic.

~ Nuance, by Livia and Resonant

Strains May Float, by Anna S.

The Sentinel, Jim/Blair

I'm fascinated by this story. It has everything that Anna is known for: gorgeous writing and thorough characterizations, fresh insights and relationships that reference deep, archetypal connections as well as being very "real." In addition, we get a surprisingly compassionate look at human failings and needs. And, my god, what a fabulous beginning:

It had been one of those days when the unseen forces which govern the universe array in perversity, when books fall, toasters fume, and even one's most comfortable pair of jeans feel as if they belong to someone else, someone ten pounds lighter or of a different gender. Every marginal, gnat-sized nuisance that life could devise had inevitably attached itself to Blair Sandburg that day. Faint odors of himself had plagued him; since noonish there had been a whiff of acrid tiredness in the seams of his clothes, and yet when he'd come across them on the floor this morning they'd seemed clean enough. Clean enough, he'd been sure, to wear in public. And somehow also today he could smell the inside of his nose, and a persistent waxy moistness from behind his ears. He felt grubby and inept, and spilling his latte on the steps of the Rainier Building had only made it worse, and then he'd navigated an awkward conference with a failing minority student who eyefucked him the entire time as if to convey to Blair Sandburg, B.A., ABD, that he was a lame and pitiful tool of the hegemony, and by the time his car huffed emphysemically at him, at precisely five ten in the afternoon when he tried to leave campus, he was riled at life.

~ Strains May Float, by Anna S.

Achilles Heel, by Elizabeth

Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy/Spike

Yes, this is the same Elizabeth who writes X-Men fic, and yes I'm rec'ing her again <g>. Write, and I will rec. This is a story that will satisfy all of your Buffy/Spike needs, and I gotta say that after the past few episodes, I've got a lot of them. I don't even usually read Buffy fic, but this story hits the tone of the show perfectly. Astoundingly perfect, it makes me green with jealousy.

There is a certain boredom factor that comes with slaying. Oh, sure you get to save the world and there's always a new monster that you've never seen before, but there's an underlying sameness. Meet Evil. Fight Evil. Evil dies. Move on to next Evil.

I have a Psychology paper due tomorrow. On psychoanalysis. I can't even spell psychoanalysis without looking it up. I have one paragraph typed. I will have to pick Will's brain apart when I get back to our room. How can I possibly write five pages about something I have no interest in, something I don't understand?

~ Achilles Heel, by Elizabeth

LitSlash! My (not-so-new-anymore) favorite thing.

Red, by Jessica Harris

Anne Carson's The Autobiography of Red

Jessica has made something very exquisite here. Her style is so effective as to be invisible; tight, neat phrasing, a masterful use of language. You don't need to have read the book for this to have impact (or at least I don't think so). Still, I need to go read that book....

Geryon's brother grew large and tall.
Geryon watched and stayed small as he could.
He liked the distance from his head to the ground,
All parts of him kept close within that brief red length.

(In the bunk below, his brother's careless sprawl.)

Each morning Geryon would stand before the mirror without his clothes.
"That is Geryon," he thought to himself,
closing fingers round his own thin wrist.
When he stretched up his arms, shadows arced beneath his ribs.

Brother-head rose and peered at him.
"Whatcha doing, shrimp? Checking out your gorgeousity?"

Geryon's wings shivered and folded in upon themselves.
Geryon was beautiful.

~ Red, by Jessica Harris

Servants With Torches, by Jane St Clair

Romeo and Juliet; Mercutio/Romeo

Shakespeare slash--what would be better? Well, this story, for one. Not only does it center on one of the most compelling characters in Shakespeare's plays (Mercutio), but it utilizes one of the most under-used appeals of the slash genre. Telling you what that is would ruin the story, however, and hey, it's just my opinion anyway <g>. This story hit a lot of buttons for me, not least of which is Jane's lovely writing.

Comes up through the garden and vaults the wall, careful of his sword. Only realizes as he's walking on the precarious edge of the balcony that he'll have to leave the blade behind and collect it later. Someone made him promise he'd go unarmed.

In Romeo's bedroom, there are cloaks and masks everywhere, and a pair of jackets crumpled on the bed. Shimmering colours. Montague loves this boy more than Mercutio's ever seen someone love their child. You could buy half a kingdom with the money they spend on his clothes. So he can lie in the rose garden in them and moon and get dirty.

There's dirt smudged on one cheek now, just level with his mouth, that can see when Romeo turns. "No one ever taught you about doors, did they?"

"I don't believe in doors. They're bad luck."

~ Servants with Torches, by Jane St Clair

****

October 6, 2000

X-Men! Lots of X-Men. More specifically, a trio of Xavier/Magneto stories of a very unusual kind:

Torque, by Gemma

There are many things I like about this vignette; chief among them are excellent writing and a slightly unbalanced development that makes me think of layers operating on levels connected by rapid brushstrokes of words/thoughts/meanings. The story makes more sense than that, trust me :).

1951. Wheeling along Avenue E with him by my side, all his usual fierce diffidence stripped away as he stares upwards, hypnotized, slant blue eyes devouring each new skyscraper from base to tip with the same hungry fascination. Hearing him hear the dull song of metal reaching out to him in every possible direction, all blind pings and clicks and hums, a different frequency for every type or combination: Steel over bronze, lead-glazed windowframes, fresh new blends and alloys. And hearing him think, reverently:

Ach, mein lieber Gott...Germany was a junkyard, Britain a bomb-site. But even there, with a crashed tank on every corner and bullet-holes in every wall, I have never seen half so many buildings made from metal, or around metal...so many different vehicles and toys and structures with a core, a frame, a skin of metal...

~ Torque, by Gemma

Clamor, by Molly

Rogue deals with the after-effects of absorbing both Logan and Magneto's life force. Good idea, good execution. Molly's got the voices down, reveals them through Rogue with skill and precision, and somehow balances the numerous character relations that are developed in the story.

Rogue blinked at her, and the miserable clattering of dates and images and memories that added up to too many lifetimes suddenly took a bow. "Jean," she breathed.

"Rogue?" and Jean looked so hopeful, her face was so lit by warm concern and pure devotion, and Rogue's fingers came up to gently touch her lips and she wondered what they would feel like against her own. "You're so beautiful," she sighed. "I'll never be as beautiful as you."

"Rogue," Jean said softly, and she settled down to sit by Rogue. "I can hear so much noise in you. It feels so unsettling."

"It's quiet now," Rogue disagreed. "But I should have known you wouldn't like it inside my head."

"I didn't say that, Rogue."

"I get the feeling there's a lot you don't say, sweetheart."

~ Clamor, by Molly

In Dreams, by Elizabeth

This is a more developed story plot-wise but still maintains a vignette-like quality. I like Elizabeth's attention to details, her narrative style, and her excellent feel for the characters; all of these are amply demonstrated in this story:

Rogue doesn't notice, but he does. Erik always notices.

She taps her index finger against her skull lightly. "Charles, don't you ever get tired of looking around where you aren't invited?"

Then she remembers who she is supposed to be, flushes, and finds her own voice. "I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean..."

"Erik -- he's still...?"

Rogue shrugs and looks at the wall. She can't look at the Professor, not now. Not with all of Erik's feelings pressing against the back of her eyes and making them burn.

Not with the memory of a much younger Charles, his jaw clenched with frustration, so fresh in her mind. How can I ever understand you if you won't let me in?

~ In Dreams, by Elizabeth

****

August 13, 2000

Safety in Numbers, by Elizabeth

X-Men, Rogue/Logan

Well, I've seen the X-Men movie and am now rapidly devouring the fanfiction <g>. This one is a definite keeper. Safety in Numbers develops with balance and ease, skillfully revealing the deeply-ingrained need for human contact and touch through Rogue's particular characteristics. And Elizabeth captures the tone of Rogue's feelings for Logan with a natural and graceful writing style that leaves me in awe:

She still didn't want to go inside. The rain picked up in intensity and she just watched it. She hadn't really watched a storm since she was a little girl. She watched the rain change from fat drops that fell with soft plops into tiny stinging barbs that splattered as they hit the ground and her. She watched as the wind picked up and the rain shifted, falling from the left side, then the right side. She watched the trees sway when the wind pushed them. She looked down at the ground and watched little rivers build around her. When she realized that the light that was shining into the puddles around was actually the reflection of lightning, landing far away but slowly moving closer, she looked down at herself and sighed. Where had all this self-pity gotten her? Nowhere. And now she would have to go inside and look like a wet untouchable mutant.

~Safety in Numbers, by Elizabeth

Animal Instincts, by The Brat Queen

Fight Club, gen

Hosted at the Fight Club Slash Archive

I love the rhythm of Animal Instincts---it fits in with the movie so well. There's a kind of bemused wackiness to this story, an acknowledgment that however fucked up the world is, you still gotta love its little peculiarities. This passage cracks me up every time I read it:

I watch Tyler as he continues to move up and down. The muscles along his sides catch the light, making shadows play along his abdomen. The frayed elastic of his shorts moves down another notch, exposing a strange lack of hair.

I look at the dog. It chews the armrest. The carpet smells of urine stink.

Tyler says "Animals are our basis for godhood. Because they do what we say we assume we have control. We seek to control everything in our lives, even the things still living. We form our idea of the world based on what these things do and never care if they do it because we ask them to or because they wanted to." Tyler's looking at me now, his blue eyes two points of light in the darkness. "It is only when an independent force steps in that we realize we have no control at all, no idea of anything but ourselves, nothing to trust but our own actions."

How long are we going to keep the dog?

"As long as we have to."

The next night we get another one. This one small and white. Tyler names it Stay.

~Animal Instincts, by The Brat Queen

Eliminate the Negative, by MonaR

L.A. Confidential, White/Exley (slash)

Hosted at the L.A. Confidential Slash and Adult Fanfic archive

This rec is thanks to Rachel, who finally got me to read it. I'll admit that while watching the movie, I didn't see much slashiness between Bud White and Edmund Exley. Now I can only conclude that I was insane at the time. So this story is part of my conversion narrative---it made me sit up, figuratively hit my head and say "of course!" And I love the understated dynamic between these two:

Exley frowned. "Nothing wrong?"

"Not physically." When Exley still looked puzzled, White added, "It's financial. Seems they're having trouble taking money from me."

"Maybe I can help - "

"No," White said, sharply. "It's just a mix-up. I got it straightened out."

Exley nodded. "You want a drink?"

White looked relieved. "Yeah."

"Have a seat." Exley went for the liquor cabinet. "Scotch okay?"

"Sure." White sat down on the couch, and put the bag beside him on the floor. "Did I get you up? I don't even know what time it is."

"Only about eleven," Exley smiled, and handed him the drink, then sat in the chair opposite the couch. "It's a school night," he said.

"You working tomorrow?"

Exley shook his head. "I'm off. It's a trade for working Friday."

White nodded his head. "Still haven't found the right woman, then?"

Exley stiffened a little, then realized that it wasn't a dig; Friday was Christmas, and it was customary for the single officers to work, and the married - or strongly attached - ones to have the day off to spend with their families. He shrugged, and took a drink. "Don't seem to have the time to look." Another swallow, and the entire thing was gone. He got up to get another.

~Eliminate the Negative, by MonaR

****

July 29, 2000

Recently I've been reading Voyager slash (who knew?), and came across !Super Cat's Lair, thanks to torch's recs. Wow. Just go to the site and read everything, which includes fanfic from Voyager (C/P), Vampire Chronicles, and Anime/Manga. Her writing is edgy, sharp, and captures a realism so real it's almost mythic. Check out this passage from Contact:

God, I hate blushing. I mean, I hate it - so I looked him up and down in that standard, brazen way (Caught you looking, pal) and then, on a whim, I blew him a little kiss. I'd had a fair bit to drink by this stage of course - not to say I wouldn't have done it anyway - but I got to see him pull away from the Bajoran and stammer something (too soft to overhear, dammit) before I had to look innocently off to avoid the poor woman's glare.

~Contact, by !Super Cat

On the anime side of things...if you haven't already, go read torch's The best policy, a Here is Greenwood story. Click here for her updates page, which lists some links with information on the fandom. I know nothing about the fandom (except what I've read through her links), but torch has that ability to make me see characters I have no previous reference for. She did this for me in China as well; I've never seen Methos on screen, but she gave me an immediate sense of who the character was and why I should care about him.

I have to recommend Sweetly and steadily by torch as well. It's an older story, but I read it only a few months ago and was completely taken by it. It's a version of Gawain and the Green Knight that is infinitely more satisfying than the original, which I love, while still firmly (in my mind) engaged with its universe. Here's a sneak peek:

One moment he was sitting peacefully next to Queen Guenevere, selecting the daintiest morsels on their plate for her, the next he was transfixed, trying to catch his breath, staring helplessly at a giant of a man who had just ridden his horse into the hall and who, although he was green and plainly enchanted, was nevertheless the most compellingly physical creature Gawain had ever beheld. The menace the man exuded was not only that of the otherworld. And as the phantom's hazel eyes stared fiercely into his own for a second, Gawain realized the true nature of his desires, and he wanted to die.

~Sweetly and steadily , by torch

For some Once a Thief slash, check out LeFey's So Inclined series. LeFey has an intuitive grasp of the transformations involved in Vic's identification from straight to gay, competitor to lover. Her dialogue is sharp and in-character, and makes me laugh. Best of all, her men are men:

"No way man!" Victor licked the salt from his fist, knocked back the shot of blue agave tequila, and bit into the nearly sweet lime wedge.

Mac slammed his empty shot glass down on the dining room table.

"My furniture," Victor warned.

"Don’t change the subject." Mac reached for the bottle that sat between them. "Put your money where your mouth is, Mansfield."

Victor took the bottle back as soon as Mac’s glass was filled.

"This is good shit. Glad you snagged that case before the police secured the scene. How long do you have to stay here?"

"The Director said till she can smooth things over with the police."

"That should take all night."

"Come on man, pony up," Mac demanded.

"Horse. There’s no pony here. Maybe there." Vic pointed at Mac’s crotch.

~So Inclined: Straight, by LeFey