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crack_van2005-03-15 06:31 pm
fbf.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-03-15 06:31 pm
Farscape/Firefly Crosses and Naughts by Thea (NC-17)
Fandom: Farscape/Firefly
Paring: Aeryn/Mal
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thassalia
Website: n/a
Why this must be read:
This piece was originally written for the Multiverse 2004: The Many Worlds Space Show Crossover Ficathon on the request of Sabine, to whom I will be forever grateful.
It takes place sometime later in the Firefly universe and at some point (it could be considered AU or post PKWars if you squint) in the Farscape universe. It's about two people who have lost everything. It's about the obsession of hope and the siren song of purpose. It's about second chances and knowing when to quit. It's about pain and loss, joy and love. It's the type of subject matter that Thea is especially deft at handling. Her characters are spot-on in their age, showing growth and change, yet still being familiar enough that I can see the characters I know. It's a stripped down Mal and a rounded out Aeryn. It's a moment in both their lives that (almost) changes everything.
"You abused the hospitality of our fine establishment, you abused my trust, and you had the unmitigated gall to rob me. Me! And you didn't pay for the services of Mirelle. Her kisses ain't free!" Riis pounded his chest like a monkey in an ancient zoo.
"She said she was givin' me a discount," Mal said, grinning bloody teeth at his tormentor.
The gasbag was gonna kill him one way or another, and Mal didn't care to pass his last moments listening to a torment of tautology. He should've been on alert for an opening, scanning the crowd for a way out, but frankly, it'd been a bad couple of years and he was tired of outs.
He was, in fact, just plain tired.
So instead of listening, focused and intent, as Riis recounted his sins to the assembled audience, Mal was spending his last moments pretending his shoulders weren't coming out of his socket and that his knees didn't hurt, thinking about women, and stolen moments. The dark haired mercenary with the grey gaze eyed him disinterestedly, and he decided that even she was welcome to join his mental meanderings. He'd never minded a little thrill between the sheets. Riis didn't often employ women, but the flat menace in the merc's eyes gave Mal a pretty good clue as to what had inspired the verbose warlord. Mal reconsidered her inclusion in his parade, shrugged and decided she'd make a fine complement to the softer sides of femininity he'd been reminiscing about.
Go read and don't forget to feed the author.
Crosses and Naughts
Paring: Aeryn/Mal
Author on LJ:
thassaliaWebsite: n/a
Why this must be read:
This piece was originally written for the Multiverse 2004: The Many Worlds Space Show Crossover Ficathon on the request of Sabine, to whom I will be forever grateful.
It takes place sometime later in the Firefly universe and at some point (it could be considered AU or post PKWars if you squint) in the Farscape universe. It's about two people who have lost everything. It's about the obsession of hope and the siren song of purpose. It's about second chances and knowing when to quit. It's about pain and loss, joy and love. It's the type of subject matter that Thea is especially deft at handling. Her characters are spot-on in their age, showing growth and change, yet still being familiar enough that I can see the characters I know. It's a stripped down Mal and a rounded out Aeryn. It's a moment in both their lives that (almost) changes everything.
"You abused the hospitality of our fine establishment, you abused my trust, and you had the unmitigated gall to rob me. Me! And you didn't pay for the services of Mirelle. Her kisses ain't free!" Riis pounded his chest like a monkey in an ancient zoo.
"She said she was givin' me a discount," Mal said, grinning bloody teeth at his tormentor.
The gasbag was gonna kill him one way or another, and Mal didn't care to pass his last moments listening to a torment of tautology. He should've been on alert for an opening, scanning the crowd for a way out, but frankly, it'd been a bad couple of years and he was tired of outs.
He was, in fact, just plain tired.
So instead of listening, focused and intent, as Riis recounted his sins to the assembled audience, Mal was spending his last moments pretending his shoulders weren't coming out of his socket and that his knees didn't hurt, thinking about women, and stolen moments. The dark haired mercenary with the grey gaze eyed him disinterestedly, and he decided that even she was welcome to join his mental meanderings. He'd never minded a little thrill between the sheets. Riis didn't often employ women, but the flat menace in the merc's eyes gave Mal a pretty good clue as to what had inspired the verbose warlord. Mal reconsidered her inclusion in his parade, shrugged and decided she'd make a fine complement to the softer sides of femininity he'd been reminiscing about.
Go read and don't forget to feed the author.
Crosses and Naughts