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crack_van2006-08-29 03:19 pm
sugargroupie.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2006-08-29 03:19 pm
Come Downstairs and Say Hello by The Hussies & Co. (NC-17)
Fandom: FARSCAPE
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crankygrrl, cretkid, fbf, kernezelda, rubberneck, scapeartist, simplystars, thassalia
Author Website: their respective memories
Why this must be read:
Simply put, this is a hilarious, and not a little disturbing, view into the mind of John Crichton. Set during the season four opener Crichton Kicks, this fic takes what we already know to be true, that John doesn't handle loneliness very well, and expounds in greater Farscapian detail just how deeply into his head John goes for comfort.
Warning: your childhood is in danger here, but I promise you'll enjoy every minute of it.
'John Crichton puked here' was going to be his epitaph.
Long, long ago in a galaxy too fucking far away, John Crichton had sat down in his great-grandpappy's shed and watched the old man, grizzled and gruff and very much set in his ways, make moonshine. Corn, sugar, water, yeast and malt. Basic ingredients, simple chemistry: heat the mash, trap the vapor, let it condense into a new vat. Moonshine.
Sugar and water were easy enough to come by. Even the yeast; Elack was old, but still had some stores left. In fact, had a lot of stores left. Corn and malt, he had to improvise.
Well, maybe it was the improv that did him in.
The first still he'd made crapped out on him. Which was a good thing, overall, as the mash he'd made had grown... things.... rather than ferment. So he had built the six-million-dollar-man still: better, stronger, faster.
He'd forgotten that the first stuff to drip out of the condenser was on the order of 200 proof. It burned on the way down his throat and left a hole in his gut.
And the best part - it numbed the senses, and the little movie pictures playing lather-rinse-repeat in his brain made a little more sense.
Come Downstairs and Say Hello
Pairing: John Crichton/Aeryn Sun
Author on LJ:
crankygrrl, cretkid, fbf, kernezelda, rubberneck, scapeartist, simplystars, thassaliaAuthor Website: their respective memories
Why this must be read:
Simply put, this is a hilarious, and not a little disturbing, view into the mind of John Crichton. Set during the season four opener Crichton Kicks, this fic takes what we already know to be true, that John doesn't handle loneliness very well, and expounds in greater Farscapian detail just how deeply into his head John goes for comfort.
Warning: your childhood is in danger here, but I promise you'll enjoy every minute of it.
'John Crichton puked here' was going to be his epitaph.
Long, long ago in a galaxy too fucking far away, John Crichton had sat down in his great-grandpappy's shed and watched the old man, grizzled and gruff and very much set in his ways, make moonshine. Corn, sugar, water, yeast and malt. Basic ingredients, simple chemistry: heat the mash, trap the vapor, let it condense into a new vat. Moonshine.
Sugar and water were easy enough to come by. Even the yeast; Elack was old, but still had some stores left. In fact, had a lot of stores left. Corn and malt, he had to improvise.
Well, maybe it was the improv that did him in.
The first still he'd made crapped out on him. Which was a good thing, overall, as the mash he'd made had grown... things.... rather than ferment. So he had built the six-million-dollar-man still: better, stronger, faster.
He'd forgotten that the first stuff to drip out of the condenser was on the order of 200 proof. It burned on the way down his throat and left a hole in his gut.
And the best part - it numbed the senses, and the little movie pictures playing lather-rinse-repeat in his brain made a little more sense.
Come Downstairs and Say Hello