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crack_van2005-12-31 08:01 pm
simplystars.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-12-31 08:01 pm
Saint John of the Uncharted Territories by Marguerite (R)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: gen - spoilers through ep 4.11 Unrealized Reality
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: N/A
Why this must be read:
For the last Farscape rec of the year, I've got one more fic about the future. John Crichton's ability to manipulate wormholes - to rend and reshape the very fabric of spacetime itself - nearly crippled him with the fear of making a mistake.
It must have crossed his mind, though, before (and perhaps even after?) the object lesson of wormhole weapons that reached its climax in Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars. So many things he could go back and fix. So many people he could save...
Or, perhaps, just one.
Cowabunga.
Crichton stands at the lip of the wormhole, strangely unafraid, utterly free, his body shaped like a T, like a cross. Saint John of the Uncharted Territories. He is barefoot; he imagines he has better control that way. It's an interpretive dance, after all. His toes are curled tightly under, and the frilly edges of this newborn wormhole lap at his insteps like the cool waves of the Atlantic.
He's just going to surf until he finds her. He'll will stay on any Moya where Aeryn is alive, he tells himself as he plunges into the vortex. It's smooth, silky-smooth, like Aeryn's hair, like the flesh on the underside of her arm, like her lips, and he lands again on Moya.
Saint John of the Uncharted Territories
Pairing: gen - spoilers through ep 4.11 Unrealized Reality
Author on LJ: unknown
Author Website: N/A
Why this must be read:
For the last Farscape rec of the year, I've got one more fic about the future. John Crichton's ability to manipulate wormholes - to rend and reshape the very fabric of spacetime itself - nearly crippled him with the fear of making a mistake.
It must have crossed his mind, though, before (and perhaps even after?) the object lesson of wormhole weapons that reached its climax in Farscape: The Peacekeeper Wars. So many things he could go back and fix. So many people he could save...
Or, perhaps, just one.
Cowabunga.
Crichton stands at the lip of the wormhole, strangely unafraid, utterly free, his body shaped like a T, like a cross. Saint John of the Uncharted Territories. He is barefoot; he imagines he has better control that way. It's an interpretive dance, after all. His toes are curled tightly under, and the frilly edges of this newborn wormhole lap at his insteps like the cool waves of the Atlantic.
He's just going to surf until he finds her. He'll will stay on any Moya where Aeryn is alive, he tells himself as he plunges into the vortex. It's smooth, silky-smooth, like Aeryn's hair, like the flesh on the underside of her arm, like her lips, and he lands again on Moya.
Saint John of the Uncharted Territories
no subject
no subject
no subject
Author on LJ:
Author Website: Gray Area (http://4dw.net/marguerite/)