Keep Hoping Machine Running

Yesterday afternoon, I had a nurse demonstrate for me how to take something up the ass. Okay, no. What she was actually demonstrating was how to get your partner to give you a shot in the butt ("Go for the meatiest part!" she said cheerfully. I badly wanted to say, "Have you seen my ass? There's no meat shortage there!"), but she bent over in a position that is, shall we say, extremely familiar to me (and to every slash writer or reader on this earth) from other contexts, grabbed the desk firmly with both hands, and said, "Okay. So you say, 'One, two, three, BAM!' And right then he sticks it in you. On 'BAM!'"

I tried to be mature about it. I really did. But I disgraced myself badly, to the point where I had to put my head down on her desk because I was laughing so hard I was light-headed. It was whole minutes before I could breathe well enough to tell her the name of my pharmacy. And for the entire time, she stood there, smiling like someone who totally does not get the joke. It's a shot, she seemed to be thinking. Why is this woman laughing so hard? Shots aren't funny.

I don't think they like me very much at that medical office, and frankly, I really understand why. We're just not compatible. After I recovered - to the extent you can recover from something like that - she said, "You know, you're lucky. Some people, they have to do it for themselves. It's a lot harder to get the angle right if you don't have a partner." Now, I totally take her point - I am lucky that I have someone else to stick things in me and get the angle right. It's what life partners are for! But, but, okay. I can't be the only person ever to hear that and not be thinking about medicine, can I?

Except I'm afraid I actually am, at least at that office. Like I said, we're not compatible. Mostly because I'm apparently 12, whereas they seem to be set up to treat actual grown-ups, not incurably low-minded people who are just faking this adulthood thing.

Anyway. Obviously my reaction to this incident is going to be to post some recs. (My other reaction, sadly, is going around the house saying, "One, two, three, BAM!" to Best Beloved. Over and over. I cannot help myself. In my defense, Best Beloved is saying it right back to me. Maturity is thin on the ground at Chez TFV.) What choice do I have? None. But, in an attempt to ascend to greater grown-up-ness, I am not going to make the theme of this set "bending over a desk and taking it up the ass." No. Really. Not.

Instead, I am going with travel. See how grown up I am?

Yeah, I know. I'm fooling no one. On with the set.

The One That Made Me Sniffly About a College Football Play Made by People Who Appear to Be Wearing Gold Lame Headgear. I'm Usually a Bit More Stable Than That.* Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead, by Speranza, aka cesperanza. Stargate: Atlantis, Rodney McKay/John Sheppard.

How can I not have recommended this story already? Oh, right, because I just naturally assumed that everyone with any kind of sense and even a vaguely reliable internet connection had read it already. But it has come to my attention that there is a person out there who has not read it, and I cannot in good conscience rest until I have done my part to rectify that. It would be against the Recommender's Code. (Yes, there is a Recommender's Code of Ethics. The first item is "Don't let recommending make you crazy," but the second is, "If someone, somewhere, has missed out on a good story, it is ALL YOUR FAULT." Recommenders are deeply conflicted people with angst and emo and suchlike coming out our (meaty and suitable for poking with a sharp stick) butts, and never let anyone tell you otherwise.)

So. Vacationing on earth - fun for the whole extra-terrestrial family! Except for how it is totally not fun for anyone currently living in Atlantis, because let's face it, they all left the planet for a reason, and that reason wasn't, "To get some really good stories to tell the kiddos at night as we roast marshmallows over the campfire." And it's not like a year in Atlantis makes you more suitable for life on earth. So this story takes that old theme - the stranger in a once-familiar land - and gives it a lovely, Pegasus Galaxy twist. And adds gay sex. But most of all, it adds a jersey so meaningful that the first time I read this, I seriously started searching the internets for such a shirt. If I'd managed to find one, I'd have bought it, people, and I still want one, and it's only through steadfastly reciting "I have no need for a football shirt" that I have managed to resist the temptation thus far.

Basically, I love this story so much it made me want a souvenir t-shirt. I don't usually want souvenirs from stories. (I don't even usually want souvenirs from trips, although I do have a strange desire to buy unfortunate hats while away from home. I resist this. Hats that seem like a good idea on vacation will be too humiliating even to give to Goodwill when sanity returns.)

And if that doesn't tempt you to read it - Souvenir! T-shirt! - well, I just don't know what to do for you. (But I'll still try to think of something. The third entry in the RCoE is "Never give up, never surrender," and I want to be an ethical recommender. I really do.)

The One That Uses Talking Heads Song Lyrics. Really. And Is Also Brilliant. I Bet You Didn't Think That Was Even Possible. One for the Road, by katallison. Highlander, Duncan MacLeod/Methos. (Um, Highlander fans, if you're out there - does Methos actually have a given name, or a family name, or whichever name Methos isn't? Or was he born before that new-fangled multiple names malarkey?) Warning: Animal harm. If you need to avoid it - well, I never read the segment that mentions a "Deer Crossing" sign, and you don't have to, either.

So. Te recommended this story to me, and she said it strongly influenced her characterization of Methos. I can, um, see why. It basically created mine; I had no conception of Methos as a character before I read this. And now I really, really do. (By the way, if you haven't seen Highlander, no problem. Here's what you need to know to get this story: Methos is immortal! He's really old! MacLeod is also immortal! But not as old! There, now you're set. Everything else you need, Kat will give you. Oh, wait - there's also some funny business with swords. Okay, now you're totally set.) As soon as I read this, I knew this was always going to be the Methos in my head, and not just because Kat is worryingly good at getting into the head of an immortal who has been around since, you know, the dawn of time. (Has anyone checked Kat to make sure she's aging? I'm just saying. I have suspicions, people.) Not even because Kat is so good at writing. (And, now I think of it, isn't that also kind of suspicious? I mean, if she's had several centuries to hone her craft, that would make so much sense.)

No, it's because - okay. We've all read Borges, right? (If you haven't, oh my god, don't tell me. Just go and purchase all his short fiction immediately. If you haven't read Borges, how do you even know for sure that you're alive?) This story makes me think of "Funes el memorioso"/"Funes the Memorious," where Borges writes, "We live by leaving behind." In that story, someone who can't forget essentially can't live, because he can't move on. And I'm not going to sink into literary analysis - really really not, for the Recommenders Code of Ethics part eight states, "Don't get all literary if you can help it, but don't, like, use the word 'rediculous,' either" - but. Well. I'm just saying. The Methos of this story - the Methos in my head, in other words - would totally get Funes, and furthermore he'd probably think Funes had the worst curse man has ever known.

So, what is this story about? Methos on a road trip. And it's got a lot of things I don't generally like in a story: first person, an entirely mental narrative, the thing I warned for up there, certain, um, themes. (And I adore Kat and her writing, but oh how she hits those themes. There's a line in this story about love being a trap, the kind of trap that kills you unless you get out, and the first time I read this, I said, "Oh, Kat." Because she just encapsulated, perfectly, the thing she's said in so many stories, you know?) But it doesn't matter, none of that matters, because this is one of the most right character pieces I've ever read. Just - read it, okay?

The One That Will Give You an Inexplicable Nostalgia for Your Days Running Train Cons and Working on a Chain Gang, Which Is Strange, Given That You Never Actually Did Either. (And Aren't You Glad?) The Buried Treasure Racket, by Dorinda. The Sting, Henry Gondorff/Johnny Hooker.

I expect you've all The Sting. If not, my god, why? What is wrong with you? It's got a caper, con men, and the slashiest on-screen pairing since - well, basically, since ever and ever amen. There's sparkling dialog! There's period clothing! There's con men in love! What else do you need? Okay, Ms. Hard-to-Please, try this: Paul Newman and Robert Redford are in a class by themselves when it comes to not-entirely-subtextual sexual chemistry. And, yes, I'm going to repeat the story, since it is my favorite - Newman's wife once said that if he ever left her, it'd be for Redford. (RPSers, why aren't you already on this? It would do my heart good to know Newman/Redford was out there. In volume. There's newford - thanks, giglet, for pointing that one out - but there should be lots of this stuff, people.)

So. Here is your program for your immediate future:

• If you have already seen The Sting, proceed directly to this story. Read it. Revel in it. (If you decide to print it out so you can roll around in it, know that I understand and am entirely supportive of your lifestyle choice, but I will not sympathize with any paper cuts you might incur; those are just the risks you take when you enjoy great fiction.)
  
  
• If you haven't seen the movie, rent it, borrow it, buy it, steal it from your best friend, whatever. I don't care what you have to do. Watch it. Be slightly stunned at the slash coming off the screen in waves. Then read this story, and make happy squeaking noises as you do. (Entry # 6 in the RCoE: "If you can communicate with dolphins using just the power of your squee, you're doing it right.")

Whichever course you take, I think you'll find that this is the only acceptable sequel that movie could ever have. I mean, I do think there was some kind of actual, filmed sequel to this, yes. I would wager it sucked, because it wasn't this, and this - this is what actually happened after the movie ended. I truly believe that.

elynross got this for Yuletide 2006 - and I think we can all agree she richly deserved it - and my heart just about exploded when I read it. This is one of the stories I've been dreaming of since the day I found out about slash fandom. I can say no more.

The One That Features Maybe the Best Non-Conversation About Incriminating Underwear That I Personally Have Ever Read. And, Wow - I Think Only Sorkin Characters Could Even Have a Non-Conversation About Incriminating Underwear. Scenes from a Route, by Epigone, aka likethesun2. Sports Night, and I consider this gen, but it's labeled as having Casey/Dan undertones, so, really, anything you like.

I am having a Sports Night renaissance. It's official. Admittedly, this is more because suddenly there are, thanks to sn_playbook and csc_memoand the efforts of many crazed Muskrat Jamboreers, Sports Night stories available for me to read and link to than because I've suddenly fallen back in love with Sports Night. Because the thing is, my love for the fandom (and the show) never left. But now I actually have stuff to love, as opposed to just sending Dan and Casey random "Hey, I love you! And I miss you! But you'll always be in my heart! *sniffle*" postcards. (Not that they don't appreciate the postcards. I'm sure they do; in fact, they probably read them out loud to each other and argue over which one of them their mysterious correspondent is stalking. It's just, it's not the most productive fannish outlet, is all.)

And I really love this story. It's delicious, it's gorgeous, and I was completely paralyzed when I attempted to leave feedback for it, because really, "gorgeous" is about as coherent as I can possibly get about this. I just - oh, Dan. Oh, Casey. This story reminds me of how helplessly I love them both.

This story is Dan and Casey before the show - the route they took to get to the show, with all the detours and sideshows and unfortunate incidents with bad map reading and people pulling over to the side of the road to be sick, and, okay, I'm working the trip metaphor too hard. Going to stop now.

Instead, I'll just say that this story is not exactly how I pictured Dan and Casey in the pre-show days. And that doesn't matter at all, because I read this and loved every word of it and believed every sentence. And when someone writes a story that contradicts your personal, irrational, deeply-held-to-the-point-of-insanity convictions about a character's pre-canon history, and you love it even so, then that is a fabulous story. Which is what this is.

You go read it. I'm going to sit here and be incoherent and thrilled and totally in love with Sports Night, okay? You can join me after you're done.

-Football Footnote-

* You can see this play here. You can also see the deeply unfortunate helmets. I suggest you click through for two reasons (or three, if you like to see people with shiny things on their heads):

1. The announcers totally lose it and start shrieking. It's hysterical. Sports reporting apparently does not have "dignity" as a prerequisite.
   
   
2. If you're me, you'll start wondering if all college football is, um, quite that hands-on. You take the handsy-ness, you add the emotion - it all starts to seem kind of - well, slashy. But that could just be me.
   
   I'm betting it's not, though.

Okay, first, a cry for help. A long time ago, some kind person emailed me a list of body swap stories, including "Being Benton Fraser" and a Farscape story with John in Aeryn's body and Aeryn in Rygel's body (possibly based on an episode). Not too long after, that email account did a spectacular flame-out, the kind fandom can only dream of emulating, and took down with it all my neatly-stored emails of that kind. I'm hoping someone out there can help me find a) the Farscape story - there was a root vegetable involved, as I recall - and b) the person who sent me the recs. I've been looking forever, and I officially give up. Anyone? Help? Please?

Second thing, of course, is my list of stories for you. I'd like you to join me today for a Very Special Edition of the Slashy Awards. See, I've been sensing some malaise out there, some disaffection with the world in general. makesmewannadie was particularly plaintive in her cry to be on vacation this week, and I'm getting the sense that a lot of my friends list would also like to be anywhere but where they are. Of course, I can't really help you. I mean, I can't send y'all to Fiji for the fresh mango juice and the friendly goldfish. But I can remind you of fan fiction where the characters do that. So if "shipwrecked and comatose" actually sounds like an excellent deal right about now, this set is for you.

See the Historic World's Largest Toenail in Buttfuck, Nebraska! Adventures in America's Heartland, by pearl_o. due South, Ray Kowalski/Benton Fraser. You know, I love Fraser. I do. But I think we can all agree that he has the potential to be a somewhat challenging companion, particularly in certain kinds of activities. Like, for example, recreational travel. He absolutely would want to stop to read every historic marker on the entire freeway, when all real travelers know that what they all say is: "Something happened here. But you've never heard of it, and we have no intention of telling you about it in any kind of detail, because otherwise you might get some sleep instead of wondering about it all night. And don't even think about googling it; the motels out here don't have wireless, sucker." (I, um. I was betrayed in my youth by a few historic markers. Does it show?) Of course, Ray would not precisely be the world's most pleasant companion either. See, for both of them, it's about the journey; just, for Fraser, it's about the scenery he can take in, but for Ray it's about the vehicle he's traveling in. So I wouldn't advise you to leave home with these guys, but that's fine, because really we all want them to leave home together. And that, my friends - that is very entertaining indeed.

Experience the Glory of Nature and the Majesty of the Elements on an Unplanned and Unwelcome Sabbatical in Panama! Limbo, by julad. The Sentinel, Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg. This came from the ts_ficathons challenge Getting a Sense for Cliches. The challenge stories are fascinating reading, in large part because a lot of writers who were in TS of old participated in the challenge for one last playdate with the boys. It was unexpectedly gripping (...definitely way better than historical markers) to see how style changes and other fandoms and time affected each author's voice and style, and it was even more gripping to see how their relationship with TS and Jim and Blair had changed. Everyone who has been writing a while should head back to a first fandom from time to time. For my entertainment, of course. (What, you thought I was going to tell you it'd make you a better person or something? Yeah. And would you trust me if I did promise that?) This story does a brilliant job of dealing with one of those little weak spots that are part of the ineffable charm of the TS canon, namely that Blair's final solution to the whole accidental-outing-of-Jim problem is not actually one that is going to work for very long. But not to worry; Jim and Blair are up to the job. This story shows us that we have nothing to fear except lawyers and pulpless orange juice. And that Jim and Blair belong together. Really, it makes me want to say something incredibly sentimental, and I would, but I'm afraid I'd sprain something, so no. Just - you know. Read this.

Decipher the Unimaginable Mysteries of the Local Cuisine and Culture in Rural Minnesota! The Empty Well, by Destina Fortunato, aka destina. Stargate: SG-1, Jack O'Neill/Daniel Jackson. Oh, how I love the SG1 team; they're wonderful together. And in this story, they're all very much in their accustomed roles: Jack catching fish, Teal'c efficiently dismembering the fish, Carter pondering the space-time implications of the fish, and Daniel refusing to eat the fish for moral reasons. And then they sustain numerous casualties during the course of a very dangerous children's game. (Very dangerous. I've played that game with the most competitive woman on the earth. It is a game that kills, people, and if there was any sense in the world the people who go on and on about video games would be working to ban this instead.) Seriously, I love these people to death. (And, you know, past it. Several times.) Just as good are Jack and Daniel by themselves, each decrypting heavily encoded messages in their own way. I love this story for the hope it gives me for SG1, including a happy ending in the face of nearly insurmountable odds, and I love it for one of my all-time favorite Jack and Daniel exchanges. (Daniel: "Think outside the box." Jack: "I like the box.") Really, just read this. You won't be sorry. And you won't have to catch any fish to do it, either.

Choose Your Companions Wisely for Your Whirlwind Just-the-Low-Spots Tour of Southern North America! Arizona, Puerto Vallarta, and Mexico City, by seperis. Stargate: Atlantis, John Sheppard/Rodney McKay. And, um. Don't be reading that last one if you like your endings happy, okay? Or, let me put it is this way - if you do read it, and it makes you sad, blame the author, not me. I can only rec what they give me, you know. (The eternal plight of the recommender, it just brings tears to your eyes. So very tragic.) But do read this. Why? Well, how's this: John is an assassin hired to kill Rodney McKay. And then there is sex. (See, and this is why I love the SGA fandom; I can think of several excellent and original stories with that basic plotline. Seriously, at some point soon I will able to assemble a set on almost any theme at all just from SGA. Not that I will. Just knowing that the possibility exists will be enough for me to die happy.) And now I'm kind of up a tree without a chainsaw here. I can either get detailed, which will be all spoil-y, or carry on with the non-specific encouraging praise, which, face it, if those were going to get you to read this, you would have already clicked away from this page, or go for the tragically over-specific praise. ("For a story with such a lot of stomach trouble in it, really, it's amazingly sexy!") I think the wisest option would be d: none of the above. Also known as: shutting up now.

Get Back to Nature, Commune with the Future, and Have Lots of Sex All Over the Great State of Maine! Dirigo, by Speranza, aka cesperanza. Dead Zone, Johnny Smith/Sarah Bannerman/Walt Bannerman. This is a brilliant story, and I think you'll appreciate how brilliant when I tell you I love it even though it took me more than a week to get through the first part. See, the first part, it's not the most comfortable part of the story. It's actually, for me, by far the least comfortable part. And normally authors suck you in and then make you tense, but Speranza pretty much just hits you with it from word one. Or, actually, you know what? It isn't her, really. It's me. Because, see, the dinner party that damn near killed me dead isn't nearly as excruciating as I thought it was going to be. It just took me a while to read the actual words; I was all night-before-school-starts anticipating of the very worst. It isn't as bad as all that. Just, you know, uncomfortable. But so very worth it; trust me here. Doesn't matter if you don't know the characters, doesn't matter if you don't know the show, doesn't matter if you don't like threesomes - read this. You won't be sorry. Although, in all fairness, I have to say that this is not a crew you should trust when they break out the good china; there's another dinner party in here that stopped my reading cold for much of a night. (I had to have a fight with myself. It went like this:

TFV's Paranoia: Oh, god, this has the potential for unbridled disaster. There is only one way this can possibly go, and if she isn't on that track, I'm doomed.
TFV's Confidence: Trust Speranza. She handled the other dinner pretty well, didn't she? You always get worked up over nothing. It'll be fine. Read.
TFV's Paranoia: But if she screws this up at all I will never be able to read her work again. That would be a very bad thing!

Fortunately, at that point my inner drill sergeant showed up and made the point that I was damned well going to finish the story and everyone knew it, so I should suck it up, goddammit. Which I did, and it turned out that everything went the way I needed it to go after all, so my angst was for entertainment purposes only.) But, again: worth it! Wonderful, and so very worth it! Just keep a few tension sheets on hand for the dinner parties, is my advice.

I used to call this category car sex, and I considered it a tribute to my younger, wilder days. And then I realized that there's so much more to getting around than just automobiles. So now it's about all the ways of moving from point A to point B, ideally stopping off to suck some cock somewhere along the way. (And it's, yes, still a tribute to my younger days, because that was my younger days. There's nothing quite as beautiful as leaving your teen years behind, is there?)

Best FF That Taught Me What GTO Stands for, Because I Honestly Did Not Know for the Longest Time, and I'm Ashamed of That, Yes, but This Theme Tends to Bring out the Shameful Confessions, and I'm Starting with Something Easy: Modes, by pearl_o. Due South, gen. Yes, you heard me. Gen. But this is the story that had to start this recs set, because it's all about transportation, and I'm not talking about the Australia thing, either. Is it any surprise that Ray Kowalski's life can be summed up through vehicles - taking this bus, driving this car, getting on that train? Kowalski's in motion, baby. And, even though this is gen, I think you'll like where he ends up. This is one of those stories that leaves me wanting more to the point where I go searching for stories that can serve as unofficial, unintentional, and totally spurious sequels. Which explains the next rec, in a way that will probably piss off both authors. Angering all sides is, after all, an honored fannish tradition.

Best FF That Makes Insomnia Something Sweet and Slashy, Instead of Pathetic and Irritating, Which, Trust Me, Is What It Actually Is: Stay, by Estrella, aka estrella30. Due South, Ray Kowalski/Benton Fraser. Yes, two dS stories today, because I really don't irritate everyone enough with the obsessive Southiness (rhymes with mouthiness, and for a reason, people) as it is. And because I understand that there are people who go into stark raving withdrawal if their due South doesn't end with a Canadian shack, or actually, I understand that there is just one such person. Or, OK, three. But I fear those people, except for the one that is me. So, as a chaser to the excellent genish work of "Modes," we have the excellent and slightly more slashy "Stay." Because, you know, everyone stops moving sooner or later. And I think we all know that Kowalski stops in Canada, with snow and Fraser and sex, and if the sex doesn't exactly happen on the page here, well, I'm sure Estrella would've worked it in somewhere if she possibly could've, and I forgive her. Mostly.

Best FF That Almost Turns LAX into a Place You'd Like to Spend Some Time, as Opposed to the Suspected Portal Straight to Hell by Way of O'Hare That It Actually Is: Leaving on a Jet Plane, by musesfool. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Oz Osbourne/Xander Harris. This one is for everyone who has spent too much time in LAX, which, judging by the last time I went there, is everyone in the world. (And, I suspect, some people from other worlds, planes, and times. I swear there was an Anasazi trying to make a direct connection to Chaco Canyon in line behind me in Terminal One a few years back.) So it's no surprise that Oz and Xander would end up having a drink in one of the appalling non-service bars selling bad overpriced booze for your in-transit convenience; the only surprising thing is that the amazing, excellent, and wonderful kiss in this story isn't interrupted by 18 Sassofovic demons asking for donations to a spurious charity supposedly helping homeless impspawn back in their home dimension. (And the intercom - this is absolutely true - would then announce that giving money to con artists in strange nurse/nun hybrid outfits is totally optional. Because LA is the city of freedom, folks, and you can be cheated however you choose.)

Best FF That Brings Back Poignant Memories That, Embarrassingly Enough, Involve Both River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves: Idaho, by Punk, aka runpunkrun. My Own Private Idaho, Mike Waters/Scott Favor, sort of. Well. This is definitely a kick in the gut from my past; in retrospect, I should've known from my inexplicable fondness for this movie - inexplicable because, you know, I like my endings to be happy, or at least tolerable - that I was destined for slash. And this story is more of the same, more of the killer pain and sadness that hits at the end of this movie. It left me all sniffly and muttering, "Like, I really wanna kiss you, man" in a choked tone of voice. And, my friends, when a movie starring Keanu Reeves makes you sniffly a decade and a half after it was released, you know a) that's a seriously sad movie b) it nailed you right on your then-undiscovered weaknesses or c) you should've stopped with the sex and drugs and angsty sadness a wee bit earlier. Or, in my case, all three.

Best FF That Will Make You Feel Like an Intellectual and a Respected Pillar of the Community Because You Only Read Slash: Junk Novels, by Punk, aka runpunkrun, and Sabine, aka sabine101. Sports Night, Dan Rydell/Casey McCall. And here we have the flip side of Punk; apparently she and Sabine, when united, form some kind of uberhumor goddess, and I for one am totally prepared to worship whatever altar the goddess decrees. I love this story with a passion both intense and strange - strange because there is no sex in it, with the exception of some vague references to het, and I think once you've read the story you'll agree that it's a good thing those references stayed vague. I mean, really, are Punk and Sabine telling the truth here? Do junk novels like this actually exist? Because if they do, well, I don't see how anyone can give us shit about reading quality smut online. At least we don't have mothers having sex with their son's best (underage) friend. Well, not in my fandoms, anyway, and if that happens anywhere in HP, no one tell me about it. A Mrs. Black/James Potter story would kill me, or at least make me return to my unfortunate black-wearing, cemetery-hanging, moody-whining teenage self, and really, death would be better than that.