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Explosion of fic recs!
RECS. My system is a simple one: if something made me crack up hysterically, tear up/cry, or grin like an idiot, it gets recced. So far, I've only made it through fandoms starting with N, but I'm moving forward with every passing moment! (You may notice that I haven't actually left comments on these stories yet. This is because the general plan is to get through the archive, set up my recs, and then do a HAPPYMASSIVE reread, leaving glee and comments as I go.)
Of the six Mary Poppins stories written for Yuletide this year? Four were for me. *sniggering cheerfully*
Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series
Hercule Poirot's Day Off
There was a short silence. He hadn't been on a case, not that I knew of, anyway. We'd just finished one, a jolly difficult and fiendishly clever one at that. But Poirot had triumphed in the end, as he always did. It was possible that something had come up at the last minute, but surely he would have mentioned it to Miss Lemon, and surely he would have left a message for me. The title is self-explanatory; it's short and sweet, with a wonderful Hastings voice, and the author brings across characterization without any dialogue in a marvelous way.
Arrested Development
Bang! Bang! My Baby Shot Me Down
The brief awkward silence was shattered by a triumphant cry of "Come on!" from the next room as GOB (who had instantly sprung into action, dragging the offensive rug from underneath his gesticulating sister's feet, and was currently on his knees in the bathroom attempting to squeeze the remains of the vodka into the tub) convinced Buster to reluctantly surrender a few juice boxes to what was now destined to become a very large bowl of punch. This is Maeby-fic, and good Maeby-fic at that. I don't want to spoil the surprise of who Maeby meets at Bear-Hunting Camp, but -- trust me. It's a good one.
Domestic Disturbances
This was, of course, not Lindsay's first experiment in animal husbandry. In addition to a short-lived pet-dying operation, as a child she'd had both a rabbit and a large, pampered boa constrictor. One day, the rabbit disappeared, and after the boa constrictor appeared to double in size, her mother had forbidden any further pets in the Bluth home. This had disappointed Buster, as his dream had always been to own a plum-headed parakeet. Michael helps George Michael write a secret admirer letter (guess who it's to). The narrative voice of this is incredible; I can hear Ron Howard reading it.
Arthur Conan Doyle - Sherlock Holmes series
The Only Jealousy of the Brothers Holmes
"What do you think of him, then," Sherlock demanded impatiently, as if it were not a new subject of conversation but the one under consideration from the start, "--my Watson?"
"He is among the bravest of men," Mycroft said, "and he loves you well." Mycroft, Holmes, and Watson. I love a Holmes story told in third-person, as long as the style is still Victorian and it is done with a deft hand, and this certainly is. It's so rare to find any mention of Mycroft, much less a fic with such a portrayal of him.
Black Books
and all your girlfriends are unfulfilled and alienated
This story, like so many others, ends on a balmy Bloomsbury afternoon. Manny has been playing a tape of soft ocean sounds for the mollusks in hopes of inspiring a homesickness within them; the customers are tiptoeing around gleefully, whispering over their selections; and, at the desk, Bernard sleeps peacefully, cigarette pack tucked lovingly in the crook of the arm upon which he rests. Full disclosure -- I love this prompt with the passion of a thousand burning suns and came very close to trying my own hand at it. Bernard, Fran, Manny, and just what happened several years ago that Fran won't let Bernard remember. I laughed out loud multiple times, but there's also a bittersweet feel to it.
A Purpose-Driven Life
"I could produce a shit that would write a better short story than this," Bernard said. "In fact, the thing that lives between Dickens and Dickenson could write better than this."
"No," Manny said from behind the chair, broomstick handle edging slowly upwards towards the aforementioned shelf. "I think it favors the Russian style better." Do not drink anything while reading this. Seriously. Learn from my sad experience. Short, but hysterical: Fran tries to find a Purpose.
Bones
Things About Music
"No, Bones, The Who are not obscure, okay? They've been around since the sixties. Angela!" Startled, Angela glanced up from a sketchpad. Booth snapped his fingers at her, beckoning her closer. "Okay, Angela, tell her that the Who are not obscure."
Angela grinned, dark and deliberate. "Who?"
"The Who," Brennan corrected pedantically, still absorbed in whatever she was seeing in the fragments in her hand. "Apparently having a definite article is very important." Booth, Brennan, an argument, and the best shot I've seen at their dynamic in fic.
The Bourne Identity series (films)
you're the tall kingdom i surround
She has never been afraid of him. She has been afraid for him, when she pressed her torn dress against the slash on his side, blood metallic under her fingernails. When she first heard the doors slamming shut inside him. When he looked at her and said, Today I saw the picture of their daughter and I still pulled the trigger. Bourne, Nicky, and what happened between them before Treadstone came down. I was dying to know what she was referring to in The Bourne Ultimatum, and now I'm convinced it was something like this.
Footsteps Ran Past
He is dripping wet. His clothes are clinging to his skin, and his feet are squishing loudly in his shoes. He has a small caliber gunshot wound to the left shoulder, through and through, below the clavicle and the scapula. Bleeding sluggishly. No signs of internal bleeding. Possible broken rib. He is on 68th Street, facing east. The nearest hospital is two blocks away. He starts moving. Wind shudders over his wet clothes, his wet hair. He glances back. He can't see anyone following him, but that doesn't they aren't there. Why I did not offer Bourne Identity: because I knew I could not write like this. This is exactly what I've always wanted to see in a Bourne story; it brings across the feel of the movie (matter-of-fact, practical, pain, memories of Marie, disjointed between memory and reality; the author got the way that Bourne's brain works in a really amazing, scary way. The details!) in a way I wasn't sure would be possible in fic.
Children of Men (film)
Into that Good Night
"Were you at the protest on October 14th?"
"Of course. Everyone and his brother was there on October 14th, it was incredible, like some kind of world party. Even the Americans came out then."
Julian smirked. "How do you know I'm not Canadian?"
"From the guilty look on your face." Theo and Julian in the winters before it all. This is epic. I just -- I cannot -- I do not have words for how incredible this is. This is the best thing I've read in the archives yet.
Commercials
Life Lessons for Peyton Manning
"Shove something in its mouth, Ben. I don't want to hear it talking unless it's saying, `Tom Brady, Matt Hasselbeck, and Ben Roethlisberger are better than I am.'" VERY, VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. This is this year's 'AHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD WHAT' fic. AHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. Warning: this will not make sense if you are not familiar with American television advertisements, and if you don't know who Peyton Manning (quarterback, Indianapolis Colts, overrated and overexposed) is. There is NFL BDSM and all kinds of other utter insanity involved; I alternately laughed and gasped while reading.
Homicide: Life on the Streets
Up and Away
One night, they got to a crime scene just as Catwoman was fleeing. Munch and Montoya whistled, in unison, then looked at each other. They were going to get along fine. John Munch requests a transfer -- to Gotham.
Hot Fuzz
How to Take Care of a Japanese Peace Lily
In the morning he does push ups and stretches, and the lily looks at him. As ridiculous as he finds the notion that plants enjoy being talked to (no matter how biologically factual), the moment he grabs his keys and is half-way out of the door, he can't help himself.
"I'm going now," he says to nobody, because there is nobody, except the lily. "I'll be back in the evening."
He hates the lily. He loves it. The relationship between Nicholas, Danny, and the Japanese peace lily.
Film Studies
"Mornin', mate," Danny said, which was what he always said, too, and Nick never said nothing about what Danny said in response to what he said, so Danny figured that was Nick saying he could go on saying what he was saying 'til somebody said something about how it wasn't in the vocabulary guidelines to call your chief mate first thing in the morning. And when that happened, Nick'd have something unpleasant to say to the bastard. Danny uses his film knowledge to make a Plan for wooing, and it isn't anywhere near as stupid as I just made it sound. A) This is one of my favorites I've read so far; I laughed til I cried, and B) I think I know who wrote this one. The voices are dead-on and absolutely hysterical.
(Honorable mentions for favorite quote: 4.) !!!!!!CAR CHASE!!!!!! and FUCK FIGS.)
Occupational Hazards
Samuel L. Jackson's busy yapping into an oversized walkie-talkie as Willis guesstimates the weight of water. Irons chews scenery like it's foie gras mashed with diamonds, and then a building blows up.
The whole thing's not entirely lacking in charm. Nicholas, Danny, and Die Hard with a Vengeance. The pay-off for this one is fabulous.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
Just Another Day at Work
Before we start, there's a couple of things you should know about this story. One: yes, it happened during the holidays, but that doesn't mean it's one of those sappy Christmas stories all wrapped up with a bow and happy endings and gingerbread cookies and shit. It's not like that. I mean, could you imagine Perry in one of those stories? Harry, Perry, and a job at Christmastime; Harry's voice is not an easy one to write, and this author got it.
Knocked Up
Do What You Gotta Do (Five Pieces of Advice Ben Completely Ignores) (or the fic that is absolutely pitch perfect)
When Sadie leaves, Pete starts full-out laughing. "Yeah, Merry Christmas, Fatty McJew."
"Fuck you," Ben says.
"Not if I fuck you first."
"Oh yeah?" Ben says, and he untucks his shirt and digs his fingers into his belly flab on both sides. "You want some of my bowl full of jelly?"
Mary Poppins (as a side note -- these were all written for me, all Mary/Bert, and they are beautiful)
A Look Back
"Those children are not the only children in the world, you know," she said sternly. "There are many children that need proper looking after."
"Yes, Mary," Bert said meekly. Still, she did not let go of his hand, which he found encouraging. A lovely bittersweet look at family and the future.
Where the Air Is Clear
"Nah," he said before she opened her mouth, "you've never been one for sticking around."
Mary lowered herself to the steps, and it seemed to Bert that she was taking an awful lot of interest in her square-toed, practical shoes. But it was hard to tell because of the brightness of the marble and the way her dark hair fell against her cheeks. A different look at Bert's future and Mary Poppins' place in it, on a London rooftop with the east wind blowing in. The way that words are strung together in this -- gorgeous.
The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing
He took her hand in his and moved away from her, then pulled her in close to dance with him. They made their way over a small, curved bridge and into a field of daffodils and tulips, waltzing through a sea of color. Mary and Bert in Paris: short and sweet and sad.
What's to Happen All Happened Before
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. But those were the facts; there had been a woman and now there wasn't, and he'd seen her fly up into that cloud or his name was not Bert. The sheer whimsy in this is imaginative and delightful, and the ending is straight out of Mary Poppins. This one tugs the heartstrings.
National Treasure
Roanoke
"So, that's encouraging for this latest mystery that you couldn't possibly ignore. Yes, it was just so tempting. Since, you know, it involves old things, like that gross skeleton we found on the coast. Surrounded by the slimy pieces of wood. At least there's no danger to life and limb..." He jerks and slaps at his neck. "Ow, except for how I just got malaria."
"There's no malaria in the Carolinas, Riley," Ben says, seemingly too distracted to do anything but state facts.
"Fine. Except for how I just got West Nile." Riley, Ben, and another adventure. The Riley voice is terrifyingly pitch-perfect.
Of the six Mary Poppins stories written for Yuletide this year? Four were for me. *sniggering cheerfully*
Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series
Hercule Poirot's Day Off
There was a short silence. He hadn't been on a case, not that I knew of, anyway. We'd just finished one, a jolly difficult and fiendishly clever one at that. But Poirot had triumphed in the end, as he always did. It was possible that something had come up at the last minute, but surely he would have mentioned it to Miss Lemon, and surely he would have left a message for me. The title is self-explanatory; it's short and sweet, with a wonderful Hastings voice, and the author brings across characterization without any dialogue in a marvelous way.
Arrested Development
Bang! Bang! My Baby Shot Me Down
The brief awkward silence was shattered by a triumphant cry of "Come on!" from the next room as GOB (who had instantly sprung into action, dragging the offensive rug from underneath his gesticulating sister's feet, and was currently on his knees in the bathroom attempting to squeeze the remains of the vodka into the tub) convinced Buster to reluctantly surrender a few juice boxes to what was now destined to become a very large bowl of punch. This is Maeby-fic, and good Maeby-fic at that. I don't want to spoil the surprise of who Maeby meets at Bear-Hunting Camp, but -- trust me. It's a good one.
Domestic Disturbances
This was, of course, not Lindsay's first experiment in animal husbandry. In addition to a short-lived pet-dying operation, as a child she'd had both a rabbit and a large, pampered boa constrictor. One day, the rabbit disappeared, and after the boa constrictor appeared to double in size, her mother had forbidden any further pets in the Bluth home. This had disappointed Buster, as his dream had always been to own a plum-headed parakeet. Michael helps George Michael write a secret admirer letter (guess who it's to). The narrative voice of this is incredible; I can hear Ron Howard reading it.
Arthur Conan Doyle - Sherlock Holmes series
The Only Jealousy of the Brothers Holmes
"What do you think of him, then," Sherlock demanded impatiently, as if it were not a new subject of conversation but the one under consideration from the start, "--my Watson?"
"He is among the bravest of men," Mycroft said, "and he loves you well." Mycroft, Holmes, and Watson. I love a Holmes story told in third-person, as long as the style is still Victorian and it is done with a deft hand, and this certainly is. It's so rare to find any mention of Mycroft, much less a fic with such a portrayal of him.
Black Books
and all your girlfriends are unfulfilled and alienated
This story, like so many others, ends on a balmy Bloomsbury afternoon. Manny has been playing a tape of soft ocean sounds for the mollusks in hopes of inspiring a homesickness within them; the customers are tiptoeing around gleefully, whispering over their selections; and, at the desk, Bernard sleeps peacefully, cigarette pack tucked lovingly in the crook of the arm upon which he rests. Full disclosure -- I love this prompt with the passion of a thousand burning suns and came very close to trying my own hand at it. Bernard, Fran, Manny, and just what happened several years ago that Fran won't let Bernard remember. I laughed out loud multiple times, but there's also a bittersweet feel to it.
A Purpose-Driven Life
"I could produce a shit that would write a better short story than this," Bernard said. "In fact, the thing that lives between Dickens and Dickenson could write better than this."
"No," Manny said from behind the chair, broomstick handle edging slowly upwards towards the aforementioned shelf. "I think it favors the Russian style better." Do not drink anything while reading this. Seriously. Learn from my sad experience. Short, but hysterical: Fran tries to find a Purpose.
Bones
Things About Music
"No, Bones, The Who are not obscure, okay? They've been around since the sixties. Angela!" Startled, Angela glanced up from a sketchpad. Booth snapped his fingers at her, beckoning her closer. "Okay, Angela, tell her that the Who are not obscure."
Angela grinned, dark and deliberate. "Who?"
"The Who," Brennan corrected pedantically, still absorbed in whatever she was seeing in the fragments in her hand. "Apparently having a definite article is very important." Booth, Brennan, an argument, and the best shot I've seen at their dynamic in fic.
The Bourne Identity series (films)
you're the tall kingdom i surround
She has never been afraid of him. She has been afraid for him, when she pressed her torn dress against the slash on his side, blood metallic under her fingernails. When she first heard the doors slamming shut inside him. When he looked at her and said, Today I saw the picture of their daughter and I still pulled the trigger. Bourne, Nicky, and what happened between them before Treadstone came down. I was dying to know what she was referring to in The Bourne Ultimatum, and now I'm convinced it was something like this.
Footsteps Ran Past
He is dripping wet. His clothes are clinging to his skin, and his feet are squishing loudly in his shoes. He has a small caliber gunshot wound to the left shoulder, through and through, below the clavicle and the scapula. Bleeding sluggishly. No signs of internal bleeding. Possible broken rib. He is on 68th Street, facing east. The nearest hospital is two blocks away. He starts moving. Wind shudders over his wet clothes, his wet hair. He glances back. He can't see anyone following him, but that doesn't they aren't there. Why I did not offer Bourne Identity: because I knew I could not write like this. This is exactly what I've always wanted to see in a Bourne story; it brings across the feel of the movie (matter-of-fact, practical, pain, memories of Marie, disjointed between memory and reality; the author got the way that Bourne's brain works in a really amazing, scary way. The details!) in a way I wasn't sure would be possible in fic.
Children of Men (film)
Into that Good Night
"Were you at the protest on October 14th?"
"Of course. Everyone and his brother was there on October 14th, it was incredible, like some kind of world party. Even the Americans came out then."
Julian smirked. "How do you know I'm not Canadian?"
"From the guilty look on your face." Theo and Julian in the winters before it all. This is epic. I just -- I cannot -- I do not have words for how incredible this is. This is the best thing I've read in the archives yet.
Commercials
Life Lessons for Peyton Manning
"Shove something in its mouth, Ben. I don't want to hear it talking unless it's saying, `Tom Brady, Matt Hasselbeck, and Ben Roethlisberger are better than I am.'" VERY, VERY NOT SAFE FOR WORK. This is this year's 'AHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD WHAT' fic. AHAHAHAHAHA OH MY GOD WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT. Warning: this will not make sense if you are not familiar with American television advertisements, and if you don't know who Peyton Manning (quarterback, Indianapolis Colts, overrated and overexposed) is. There is NFL BDSM and all kinds of other utter insanity involved; I alternately laughed and gasped while reading.
Homicide: Life on the Streets
Up and Away
One night, they got to a crime scene just as Catwoman was fleeing. Munch and Montoya whistled, in unison, then looked at each other. They were going to get along fine. John Munch requests a transfer -- to Gotham.
Hot Fuzz
How to Take Care of a Japanese Peace Lily
In the morning he does push ups and stretches, and the lily looks at him. As ridiculous as he finds the notion that plants enjoy being talked to (no matter how biologically factual), the moment he grabs his keys and is half-way out of the door, he can't help himself.
"I'm going now," he says to nobody, because there is nobody, except the lily. "I'll be back in the evening."
He hates the lily. He loves it. The relationship between Nicholas, Danny, and the Japanese peace lily.
Film Studies
"Mornin', mate," Danny said, which was what he always said, too, and Nick never said nothing about what Danny said in response to what he said, so Danny figured that was Nick saying he could go on saying what he was saying 'til somebody said something about how it wasn't in the vocabulary guidelines to call your chief mate first thing in the morning. And when that happened, Nick'd have something unpleasant to say to the bastard. Danny uses his film knowledge to make a Plan for wooing, and it isn't anywhere near as stupid as I just made it sound. A) This is one of my favorites I've read so far; I laughed til I cried, and B) I think I know who wrote this one. The voices are dead-on and absolutely hysterical.
(Honorable mentions for favorite quote: 4.) !!!!!!CAR CHASE!!!!!! and FUCK FIGS.)
Occupational Hazards
Samuel L. Jackson's busy yapping into an oversized walkie-talkie as Willis guesstimates the weight of water. Irons chews scenery like it's foie gras mashed with diamonds, and then a building blows up.
The whole thing's not entirely lacking in charm. Nicholas, Danny, and Die Hard with a Vengeance. The pay-off for this one is fabulous.
Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang
Just Another Day at Work
Before we start, there's a couple of things you should know about this story. One: yes, it happened during the holidays, but that doesn't mean it's one of those sappy Christmas stories all wrapped up with a bow and happy endings and gingerbread cookies and shit. It's not like that. I mean, could you imagine Perry in one of those stories? Harry, Perry, and a job at Christmastime; Harry's voice is not an easy one to write, and this author got it.
Knocked Up
Do What You Gotta Do (Five Pieces of Advice Ben Completely Ignores) (or the fic that is absolutely pitch perfect)
When Sadie leaves, Pete starts full-out laughing. "Yeah, Merry Christmas, Fatty McJew."
"Fuck you," Ben says.
"Not if I fuck you first."
"Oh yeah?" Ben says, and he untucks his shirt and digs his fingers into his belly flab on both sides. "You want some of my bowl full of jelly?"
Mary Poppins (as a side note -- these were all written for me, all Mary/Bert, and they are beautiful)
A Look Back
"Those children are not the only children in the world, you know," she said sternly. "There are many children that need proper looking after."
"Yes, Mary," Bert said meekly. Still, she did not let go of his hand, which he found encouraging. A lovely bittersweet look at family and the future.
Where the Air Is Clear
"Nah," he said before she opened her mouth, "you've never been one for sticking around."
Mary lowered herself to the steps, and it seemed to Bert that she was taking an awful lot of interest in her square-toed, practical shoes. But it was hard to tell because of the brightness of the marble and the way her dark hair fell against her cheeks. A different look at Bert's future and Mary Poppins' place in it, on a London rooftop with the east wind blowing in. The way that words are strung together in this -- gorgeous.
The Best Things Happen When You're Dancing
He took her hand in his and moved away from her, then pulled her in close to dance with him. They made their way over a small, curved bridge and into a field of daffodils and tulips, waltzing through a sea of color. Mary and Bert in Paris: short and sweet and sad.
What's to Happen All Happened Before
He blinked and rubbed his eyes. But those were the facts; there had been a woman and now there wasn't, and he'd seen her fly up into that cloud or his name was not Bert. The sheer whimsy in this is imaginative and delightful, and the ending is straight out of Mary Poppins. This one tugs the heartstrings.
National Treasure
Roanoke
"So, that's encouraging for this latest mystery that you couldn't possibly ignore. Yes, it was just so tempting. Since, you know, it involves old things, like that gross skeleton we found on the coast. Surrounded by the slimy pieces of wood. At least there's no danger to life and limb..." He jerks and slaps at his neck. "Ow, except for how I just got malaria."
"There's no malaria in the Carolinas, Riley," Ben says, seemingly too distracted to do anything but state facts.
"Fine. Except for how I just got West Nile." Riley, Ben, and another adventure. The Riley voice is terrifyingly pitch-perfect.
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HEEEEEEEEE me too.
*eyes certain someone who shall remain nameless*
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Don't look at me like that. It's not like I obsessively stalked the Yuletide comm and bookmarked all posts reccing my story so that I could count them each night before bed OH WAIT I DID.
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