Blue Eyes, by Thea (NC-17)
Oct. 23rd, 2008 11:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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het_reccersFandom Category: Farscape
Pairing: Aeryn Sun/John Crichton
Fic Title: Blue Eyes
Author: Thea
Link: http://shriftweb.org/leviathan/archive/7/blueeyes.html
Rating/Warning(s): NC-17, sex, violence, harsh language
Genre: Episode-related, angst, action/adventure, romance
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: What if John Crichton had married the princess during the "The Look at the Princess" trilogy? And what if things still didn't go as planned. Sixteen cycles after John is frozen as a statue, married to royalty he hardly knows, war breaks out across the galaxy and brings violence to the world John is now poised to rule. With it, Captain Aeryn Sun returns, with a kid in tow.
I cannot explain enough about the awesomeness of this fic. It's novella length, with everything you could possibly hope for: plot, wonderful characterization, action, adventure, romance, angst, wonderful OCs, and damn good writing overall. This is the first Farscape fic I have ever read (just got into the fandom now), and I'm pretty sure it's one of the best out there, period. A great look at this universe.
Excerpt:
Aeryn left the soldiers behind to guard the wilted Scarran, and shot John full of battle stimulant, which set him to babbling immediately. He could walk, with her assistance, draped across her body like cheap firesilk, but he was technically ambulatory. And enthusiastic. The stim loosened both his tongue and his wandering hands. He was near incomprehensible, and very, very affectionate. He'd also been talking about infants for the last 300 microts.
"Babies," he burbled after they'd started down the path, following the old woman. His voice was light and happy. "They'd be beautiful. Big eyes and curly hair and pink cheeks and ten fingers and ten toes, because I know you're an alien, but you got the same parts as humans, at least on the outside."
He attempted to leer and simultaneously peer down her shirt, succeeding in neither, but instead stumbled, nearly knocking them off balance into a nearby tree. Aeryn cursed silently, wedged her shoulder more firmly under Crichton's armpit, and tugged his wrist down to her neck to steady him while fending off the low hanging branches that threatened to slap her in the face.
Finally, she bumped him sharply with her hip, and bit out without thinking, "I had a baby, John. And yes, she was beautiful, but she also cried endlessly and vomited and destroyed things. Her nose ran, and she got sick, and she swallowed things when no one was looking and she couldn't tell me what was wrong. She got dropped, hidden and forgotten about and I was a terrible mother and she probably would have died if I hadn't had help, so don't tell me about babies!"
He looked at her, startled at the outburst, and she opened her mouth, equally surprised at what had escaped. Then that slow easy, smile spread over his face. He leaned towards her, nuzzling her neck, his nose and lips caressing the delicate skin there, and then rested his cheek on top of her head. He slid his other arm around her waist, folding her to him and held onto her, his heart thumping against her chest. He smelled like fear and sweat and John. She'd never quite forgotten that scent, even mixed in with the acrid remnants of his torture. So she allowed the embrace for a few microts, fueled by her relief at his survival, then turned in his arms, and securing his wrist again, she marched them forward.
The old woman had a tiny house with a tiny extra bedroom which she showed them in stony silence. Aeryn was frankly surprised the small dwelling was still standing, but it was far enough outside the city to have avoided targeting and the wooded area gave decent cover.
The stim wore off halfway through a meal of foodcubes and fresh bread, John's eyes went glassy with pain and he slumped against the table, out cold. The old woman looked on in some sympathy as Aeryn wrestled John to the bed, but didn't offer to help. When she managed to divest John of boots and gunbelt, Aeryn turned to find their host watching them suspiciously.
She'd brought tea, along with towels and bandages, and she looked at them like she regretted letting them into her home. "Is he bleeding?" she asked. "Don't let him bleed on my sheets!"
"We'll be gone in the morning," Aeryn growled, and then shut the door, blocking them off from the rest of the house.. No one had made it out this far to restore power, so the room was dark, the rest of the house lit by lamps and candles.
That probably explained some of the woman's suspicions. Aeryn sat in the near dark on a straight-backed chair, body aching with weariness, and watched John Crichton sleep by the thin evening light coming in from the window. At some point she must have dozed off herself, because she woke up, back stiff and sore, to find her head cradled in her arms, upper body resting on the high mattress.
John was awake, looking at her, hand propping up his head. She was muzzy and uncomfortable, the events of the day settling into her muscles and bones and tendons, suddenly beyond exhausted.
"Aeryn," he whispered, his voice a caress. "Come here."
She looked at him, not comprehending. He nodded at her, encouragingly.
"Stubborn," he chided gently, a half grin teasing at his lips. "Come here and lay down before you end up stuck like that."
For the life of her, she couldn't think of a reason not to. She stood up, wincing from the pain, and fumblingly toed off her boots before turning around and sitting on the bed. She felt warm hands unknot her hair, and then stretched back her neck as the heavy masses tumbled free. Strong fingers rubbed her scalp, caressed her neck, and then a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her down. She pulled her reluctant limbs onto the bed, scooted back until she was jammed up against John Crichton, and promptly fell asleep.
Pairing: Aeryn Sun/John Crichton
Fic Title: Blue Eyes
Author: Thea
Link: http://shriftweb.org/leviathan/archive/7/blueeyes.html
Rating/Warning(s): NC-17, sex, violence, harsh language
Genre: Episode-related, angst, action/adventure, romance
WIP?: no
Why This Must Be Read: What if John Crichton had married the princess during the "The Look at the Princess" trilogy? And what if things still didn't go as planned. Sixteen cycles after John is frozen as a statue, married to royalty he hardly knows, war breaks out across the galaxy and brings violence to the world John is now poised to rule. With it, Captain Aeryn Sun returns, with a kid in tow.
I cannot explain enough about the awesomeness of this fic. It's novella length, with everything you could possibly hope for: plot, wonderful characterization, action, adventure, romance, angst, wonderful OCs, and damn good writing overall. This is the first Farscape fic I have ever read (just got into the fandom now), and I'm pretty sure it's one of the best out there, period. A great look at this universe.
Excerpt:
Aeryn left the soldiers behind to guard the wilted Scarran, and shot John full of battle stimulant, which set him to babbling immediately. He could walk, with her assistance, draped across her body like cheap firesilk, but he was technically ambulatory. And enthusiastic. The stim loosened both his tongue and his wandering hands. He was near incomprehensible, and very, very affectionate. He'd also been talking about infants for the last 300 microts.
"Babies," he burbled after they'd started down the path, following the old woman. His voice was light and happy. "They'd be beautiful. Big eyes and curly hair and pink cheeks and ten fingers and ten toes, because I know you're an alien, but you got the same parts as humans, at least on the outside."
He attempted to leer and simultaneously peer down her shirt, succeeding in neither, but instead stumbled, nearly knocking them off balance into a nearby tree. Aeryn cursed silently, wedged her shoulder more firmly under Crichton's armpit, and tugged his wrist down to her neck to steady him while fending off the low hanging branches that threatened to slap her in the face.
Finally, she bumped him sharply with her hip, and bit out without thinking, "I had a baby, John. And yes, she was beautiful, but she also cried endlessly and vomited and destroyed things. Her nose ran, and she got sick, and she swallowed things when no one was looking and she couldn't tell me what was wrong. She got dropped, hidden and forgotten about and I was a terrible mother and she probably would have died if I hadn't had help, so don't tell me about babies!"
He looked at her, startled at the outburst, and she opened her mouth, equally surprised at what had escaped. Then that slow easy, smile spread over his face. He leaned towards her, nuzzling her neck, his nose and lips caressing the delicate skin there, and then rested his cheek on top of her head. He slid his other arm around her waist, folding her to him and held onto her, his heart thumping against her chest. He smelled like fear and sweat and John. She'd never quite forgotten that scent, even mixed in with the acrid remnants of his torture. So she allowed the embrace for a few microts, fueled by her relief at his survival, then turned in his arms, and securing his wrist again, she marched them forward.
The old woman had a tiny house with a tiny extra bedroom which she showed them in stony silence. Aeryn was frankly surprised the small dwelling was still standing, but it was far enough outside the city to have avoided targeting and the wooded area gave decent cover.
The stim wore off halfway through a meal of foodcubes and fresh bread, John's eyes went glassy with pain and he slumped against the table, out cold. The old woman looked on in some sympathy as Aeryn wrestled John to the bed, but didn't offer to help. When she managed to divest John of boots and gunbelt, Aeryn turned to find their host watching them suspiciously.
She'd brought tea, along with towels and bandages, and she looked at them like she regretted letting them into her home. "Is he bleeding?" she asked. "Don't let him bleed on my sheets!"
"We'll be gone in the morning," Aeryn growled, and then shut the door, blocking them off from the rest of the house.. No one had made it out this far to restore power, so the room was dark, the rest of the house lit by lamps and candles.
That probably explained some of the woman's suspicions. Aeryn sat in the near dark on a straight-backed chair, body aching with weariness, and watched John Crichton sleep by the thin evening light coming in from the window. At some point she must have dozed off herself, because she woke up, back stiff and sore, to find her head cradled in her arms, upper body resting on the high mattress.
John was awake, looking at her, hand propping up his head. She was muzzy and uncomfortable, the events of the day settling into her muscles and bones and tendons, suddenly beyond exhausted.
"Aeryn," he whispered, his voice a caress. "Come here."
She looked at him, not comprehending. He nodded at her, encouragingly.
"Stubborn," he chided gently, a half grin teasing at his lips. "Come here and lay down before you end up stuck like that."
For the life of her, she couldn't think of a reason not to. She stood up, wincing from the pain, and fumblingly toed off her boots before turning around and sitting on the bed. She felt warm hands unknot her hair, and then stretched back her neck as the heavy masses tumbled free. Strong fingers rubbed her scalp, caressed her neck, and then a hand wrapped around her arm, tugging her down. She pulled her reluctant limbs onto the bed, scooted back until she was jammed up against John Crichton, and promptly fell asleep.
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