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crack_van2010-10-31 09:47 pm
mf_luder_xf) wrote in crack_van2010-10-31 09:47 pm
Entry tags:
A Quotable Thing by Brie (NC-17)
Happy Halloween to everyone! This will be my last rec for CW RPF, though you'll be able to catch me next month, reccing for Supernatural. Hope you enjoyed the stories as much as I did!
Fandom: CW RPF
Pairing: Misha Collins/Michael Rosenbaum
Length: ~33,250
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anyothergirl415
Author Website: Master List
Where do I even start on this fic? To begin with, I didn't think I'd be impressed. Misha talks all in movie quotes? How was the author going to pull that off? And then I started reading and I was...blown away. This was the fic that cemented my Misha/Mike OTPness. A fic premise that seems so cracky to start with becomes a heart wrenching story of Misha's past, Mike and Jensen's friendship, and Misha and Mike's rocky relationship.
It's an AU, but the actors as we know them (as they present themselves to us) are still there. The author takes their characterization to whole new levels, though. Mike comes to understand Misha's unique way of speaking while Misha flourishes and begins to repair himself while dating Mike. Misha's story will break your heart, but the author puts it back together by the end. I also enjoy that, despite the h/c aspect and the larger issues at play, no one is a woobie. It's a beautifully written fic and a beautiful, poignant story that doesn't lack for humor.
Plus, the amount of effort the author went through to get all those perfectly suited quotes to each situation when writing this? They deserve an award just for executing that!
It's several stories making the whole, all linked to each other, but you can also check out the master post. The story is not a WIP, but the author does add new stories every so often.
The first time he saw him it was pretty obvious the man was completely unaware. Mike stood just inside the kitchen and watched the steady sway of hips, left right, left right, swirl dip and one really bad attempt at a moonwalk that he somehow made look fantastic. The music blaring from the black laptop on the creamy counter top was Gym Class Heroes, Mike recognized lines about taking clothes off and having a good time. And this guy – crazy wild dark brown hair sticking up like someone had just held it tight while giving him a thorough fucking, ratty bleach stained jeans slung low enough to reveal sharp juts of hips bones, no shirt covering creamy white skin that was just mostly hairless minus the dark dusting trail of small curls disappearing down his jeans.
Jesus Christ.
This guy was fucking gorgeous.
The music was loud enough that Mike couldn’t hear his breath catch but he could feel it, thick in his chest, causing his blood to quicken and eyes to darken. The song switched, something still upbeat and quick about queen’s and drinking too much and this guy continued to move like the kitchen floor was his own private stage. Mike could tell his eyes were closed and occasionally the music dipped enough to hear the words falling from his lips, the man singing along into a spatula like his life fucking depended on it.
When he spun back to the stove the song faded and changed and the guy’s hips swayed so deliciously you’d think the oven was his lover and he was perfecting his best come get me dance. The spatula disappeared in a large pot and the guy turned his way, locking him with icy blue eyes that pierced straight through Mike’s soul.
Or whatever.
Reduced him to a slack jaw and half hard press against his jeans at least.
Mike flushed at being caught so openly staring, gazing, admiring, (and not at all drooling) and he tried to tear his gaze away but apparently crazy should-be-dancing-with-a-pole guy was just amused. His head tipped back, exposed his Adam’s apple, and his lips parted to release the most pleasant laugh that tumbled down Mike’s spine and settled low in the pit of his stomach.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and dragged his hand up through his hair, scrubbing fingers into the gently curled wisps of sandy brown hair he’d been growing out since randomly shaving his head last year on a bald kick that kind of worked for him for awhile. He kept his gaze locked with the guy’s because looking away was likely an impossibility.
“No dice, solider,” the guy shook his head and turned back to the pan.
Mike was still staring ‘cause of the whole, impossibility of looking away thing and well, what the hell was that supposed to mean? No dice, solider? Really?
Clearing his throat he stepped forward and spoke over the next song, which was quieter, slower, unfamiliar. “Yeah so, I’m Mike.”
“My life is as good as an Abba song, it’s as good as Dancing Queen,” dancing guy explained and nodded and lifted his spoon from the spatula to suck up thick red sauce.
The spoon was offered out to Mike, half full of the sauce and the guy smiled, sweet and serene. Something kick started painfully fast in his heart. “I uh… thanks?” What choice did he have? Really?
Stepping forward his hand lifted and curled around dancing guy’s and he brought the spoon forward. The sauce was sweet and salty, tangy on his tongue, perfect, and Mike moaned. “Jesus Christ that’s good.”
Dancing guy beamed and swayed his hips, making no move to pull his hand away. “I used to fuck guys like you in prison,” he informed, lips twitching in amusement.
Mike? Well, by this point he was a little more than disturbed. Seriously, who the hell was this guy and why did he keep saying these bizarrely random things? “You’re… really weird,” Mike informed, blinking slowly.
The expression on the guy’s face brightened with such intensity that Mike had to physically step back, gut churning as if he’d just been punched. “He’s an angel! He’s an angel straight from heaven!” Dancing guy laughed, long and loud, and dropped the spatula back in the pot before throwing his arms around Mike in a hug that had him stumbling back a step and circling his own arm around him just to keep them upright.
“Misha,” a surprised laugh came from the doorway and the arms withdrew.
Mike turned in a mixture of relief and disappointment – dancing guy, Misha apparently, gave amazingly great hugs, all firm and muscle and heat. “Jensen? This uh, your roommate?”
“That would be him,” Jensen nodded and grinned, shoulders shifting the shirt along his back. “You ready to go?”
It seemed weird that Jensen would just dismiss this, the whole random dancing, half naked guy making sauce and giving out hugs. And talking in random outbursts that seemed to be pulled from nowhere. “Uh… sure…” he slid back, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Misha.”
“Oh, Mike…” Misha breathed and lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a wave before the song shifted and changed and his hips instantly swerved into rhythm with the next song.
As Mike followed Jensen down the hall out the front door he could feel his heart racing, skin still tingling from the smooth slide of Misha’s skin, tongue pleasantly warm from the linger hints of sauce. “So.”
“Misha?” Jensen lifted and eyebrow and laughed, leading them out of the apartment building.
“Yeah, uh, is he…” Mike wanted to supply something, like maybe insane but that seemed too cruel for such a beautiful person, no matter what facts might suggest.
“Well, he’s unique, that’s for sure,” Jensen continued to laugh even when Mike shoved at his side with a curled fist. “He only ever talks using movie quotes.”
“Say what?” Mike turned to him, eyes slightly wide. “Only movie quotes?”
Jensen grinned and nodded. “I don’t know, maybe he’s like, a super genius or something. He just remembers all these movie quotes all the time. And I used to think he just made some of them up but no. We taped him one day and looked every single one up. All from movies, all accurate within ninety nine percent. I’ve never heard him say anything not a movie quote.”
“Oh Mike?” Mike asked because, even though he couldn’t really place any of the movie quotes he heard before, that one seemed most bizarre.
Tugging the passenger door of Mike’s Ford open Jensen’s waved off the words, “easy. Monsters Inc. We watched it last night.”
A Quotable Thing
Fandom: CW RPF
Pairing: Misha Collins/Michael Rosenbaum
Length: ~33,250
Author on LJ:
anyothergirl415 Author Website: Master List
Where do I even start on this fic? To begin with, I didn't think I'd be impressed. Misha talks all in movie quotes? How was the author going to pull that off? And then I started reading and I was...blown away. This was the fic that cemented my Misha/Mike OTPness. A fic premise that seems so cracky to start with becomes a heart wrenching story of Misha's past, Mike and Jensen's friendship, and Misha and Mike's rocky relationship.
It's an AU, but the actors as we know them (as they present themselves to us) are still there. The author takes their characterization to whole new levels, though. Mike comes to understand Misha's unique way of speaking while Misha flourishes and begins to repair himself while dating Mike. Misha's story will break your heart, but the author puts it back together by the end. I also enjoy that, despite the h/c aspect and the larger issues at play, no one is a woobie. It's a beautifully written fic and a beautiful, poignant story that doesn't lack for humor.
Plus, the amount of effort the author went through to get all those perfectly suited quotes to each situation when writing this? They deserve an award just for executing that!
It's several stories making the whole, all linked to each other, but you can also check out the master post. The story is not a WIP, but the author does add new stories every so often.
The first time he saw him it was pretty obvious the man was completely unaware. Mike stood just inside the kitchen and watched the steady sway of hips, left right, left right, swirl dip and one really bad attempt at a moonwalk that he somehow made look fantastic. The music blaring from the black laptop on the creamy counter top was Gym Class Heroes, Mike recognized lines about taking clothes off and having a good time. And this guy – crazy wild dark brown hair sticking up like someone had just held it tight while giving him a thorough fucking, ratty bleach stained jeans slung low enough to reveal sharp juts of hips bones, no shirt covering creamy white skin that was just mostly hairless minus the dark dusting trail of small curls disappearing down his jeans.
Jesus Christ.
This guy was fucking gorgeous.
The music was loud enough that Mike couldn’t hear his breath catch but he could feel it, thick in his chest, causing his blood to quicken and eyes to darken. The song switched, something still upbeat and quick about queen’s and drinking too much and this guy continued to move like the kitchen floor was his own private stage. Mike could tell his eyes were closed and occasionally the music dipped enough to hear the words falling from his lips, the man singing along into a spatula like his life fucking depended on it.
When he spun back to the stove the song faded and changed and the guy’s hips swayed so deliciously you’d think the oven was his lover and he was perfecting his best come get me dance. The spatula disappeared in a large pot and the guy turned his way, locking him with icy blue eyes that pierced straight through Mike’s soul.
Or whatever.
Reduced him to a slack jaw and half hard press against his jeans at least.
Mike flushed at being caught so openly staring, gazing, admiring, (and not at all drooling) and he tried to tear his gaze away but apparently crazy should-be-dancing-with-a-pole guy was just amused. His head tipped back, exposed his Adam’s apple, and his lips parted to release the most pleasant laugh that tumbled down Mike’s spine and settled low in the pit of his stomach.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and dragged his hand up through his hair, scrubbing fingers into the gently curled wisps of sandy brown hair he’d been growing out since randomly shaving his head last year on a bald kick that kind of worked for him for awhile. He kept his gaze locked with the guy’s because looking away was likely an impossibility.
“No dice, solider,” the guy shook his head and turned back to the pan.
Mike was still staring ‘cause of the whole, impossibility of looking away thing and well, what the hell was that supposed to mean? No dice, solider? Really?
Clearing his throat he stepped forward and spoke over the next song, which was quieter, slower, unfamiliar. “Yeah so, I’m Mike.”
“My life is as good as an Abba song, it’s as good as Dancing Queen,” dancing guy explained and nodded and lifted his spoon from the spatula to suck up thick red sauce.
The spoon was offered out to Mike, half full of the sauce and the guy smiled, sweet and serene. Something kick started painfully fast in his heart. “I uh… thanks?” What choice did he have? Really?
Stepping forward his hand lifted and curled around dancing guy’s and he brought the spoon forward. The sauce was sweet and salty, tangy on his tongue, perfect, and Mike moaned. “Jesus Christ that’s good.”
Dancing guy beamed and swayed his hips, making no move to pull his hand away. “I used to fuck guys like you in prison,” he informed, lips twitching in amusement.
Mike? Well, by this point he was a little more than disturbed. Seriously, who the hell was this guy and why did he keep saying these bizarrely random things? “You’re… really weird,” Mike informed, blinking slowly.
The expression on the guy’s face brightened with such intensity that Mike had to physically step back, gut churning as if he’d just been punched. “He’s an angel! He’s an angel straight from heaven!” Dancing guy laughed, long and loud, and dropped the spatula back in the pot before throwing his arms around Mike in a hug that had him stumbling back a step and circling his own arm around him just to keep them upright.
“Misha,” a surprised laugh came from the doorway and the arms withdrew.
Mike turned in a mixture of relief and disappointment – dancing guy, Misha apparently, gave amazingly great hugs, all firm and muscle and heat. “Jensen? This uh, your roommate?”
“That would be him,” Jensen nodded and grinned, shoulders shifting the shirt along his back. “You ready to go?”
It seemed weird that Jensen would just dismiss this, the whole random dancing, half naked guy making sauce and giving out hugs. And talking in random outbursts that seemed to be pulled from nowhere. “Uh… sure…” he slid back, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Misha.”
“Oh, Mike…” Misha breathed and lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a wave before the song shifted and changed and his hips instantly swerved into rhythm with the next song.
As Mike followed Jensen down the hall out the front door he could feel his heart racing, skin still tingling from the smooth slide of Misha’s skin, tongue pleasantly warm from the linger hints of sauce. “So.”
“Misha?” Jensen lifted and eyebrow and laughed, leading them out of the apartment building.
“Yeah, uh, is he…” Mike wanted to supply something, like maybe insane but that seemed too cruel for such a beautiful person, no matter what facts might suggest.
“Well, he’s unique, that’s for sure,” Jensen continued to laugh even when Mike shoved at his side with a curled fist. “He only ever talks using movie quotes.”
“Say what?” Mike turned to him, eyes slightly wide. “Only movie quotes?”
Jensen grinned and nodded. “I don’t know, maybe he’s like, a super genius or something. He just remembers all these movie quotes all the time. And I used to think he just made some of them up but no. We taped him one day and looked every single one up. All from movies, all accurate within ninety nine percent. I’ve never heard him say anything not a movie quote.”
“Oh Mike?” Mike asked because, even though he couldn’t really place any of the movie quotes he heard before, that one seemed most bizarre.
Tugging the passenger door of Mike’s Ford open Jensen’s waved off the words, “easy. Monsters Inc. We watched it last night.”
A Quotable Thing
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