Fan Fics: Farscape, Firefly
Took a few more prompts from comment_fic, wee! If you read, keep in mind they're first-draft quick-post things.
Prompt: Farscape, Aeryn Sun, what the frell is making that noise?
There are two sorts of torture.
First, there's the sort that's mainly annoying and often involves an array of sharp things and serums of some sort. This is the kind that always has one of two endings: either you survive, or you don't. What makes it annoying is having to wait to see just how long the other involved held out and the outcome was revealed. To this date, all things concerned, the outcome had always been relatively good for Aeryn.
Then there's the other kind of torture. The kind that doesn't involve sharp things, serums, or anyone else at all. This sort of torture is all in your mind, and what makes it even more unbearable is the whole trying to decide just how in your mind it really is.
"What the frell is making that noise?" She asked as she skulked along the halls, head lowered in concentration.
There it was again, low and pained, coming from somewhere still further down the hall. She'd circled the entire ship several times, and it always sounded like it was just around the next bend. Always near, but never getting nearer.
"Pilot," Aeryn barked into her comm. She was sure Pilot was getting just as fed up with this hunt as she was, but as her only back-up he was stuck with the task. "I need you to rescan the ship."
"Mrs. Chrichton,"
"Sun, now, Pilot. You know that."
"Apologies, Aeryn Sun," he said and meant, "but I've scanned everything for lifeforms twice now and I can assure you there is nothing else."
Aeryn tched, poking her head through Rygel's old room. It was losing its old smell, and though she'd never admit it it was just a little disheartening. Another example of just how much things had changed. "You're sure you've swept everything. Even the exterior?"
"On the last sweep, yes." Pilot reassured.
The sound bellowed out again. It could have either been a vent resonating or a man screaming, but Aeryn wasn't able to settle her mind as to which.
"And nothing." More a statement than a question.
"I can assure you," Pilot said soothingly, "all whom remain on board are yourself, young D'Argo, Chiana, myself, and five dozen droids." Just another reminder of empty the ship was now.
"Do it again," she ordered.
There was a pause on the other side of the comm before Pilot spoke again. "Yes, Commander."
The low hum familiar from the last two scans began to resonate through the halls. Aeryn tuned them out and focused her senses again in hunt of the original noise.
She turned toward the cargo deck-- a place she hadn't checked yet for very good reason-- and, after the slightest hesitation, set her jaw and stepped through the doors.
There's something that happens with torture, whether inflicted by others or yourself. Sometimes you snap.
The cargo deck was just how it looked the day they sealed it off. Too much so. No dust had settled on any of the old equipment, no smell of mold wafted through the air, no sense of passing time was to be found anywhere. More confusing still, his craft sat right in the middle intact like she'd last seen it.
And so was he.
"John?" She furrowed her brows, tilting her head sideways finding it difficult to hold the weight of it.
He turned, confused himself but not for the same reasons she was. "Oh, hey!" He said, a smile both on his face and in his voice. Her heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.
This wasn't fair.
Apparently she hesitated a little too long, her face a little too screwed up to hold back the tears and anguish. John waved a hand in her face. "Hello, Earp to Aeryn."
He was dead. This wasn't possible. She couldn't handle it. She shouldn't have to see him again like this after the last time she saw him he was so completely gone, no last good-bye.
"Your ship," she croaked.
John looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, still mine." He looked back just in time to brace himself as Aeryn threw himself into his arms.
This wasn't fair. "You died," she said through sobs.
"What?" He asked, an uncomfortable chuckle.
"Your ship," she said, "it exploded with you under..." Aeryn couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
John, for the first time in any time he could remember, was at a loss for words. He just let Aeryn cling to him, tears without sound, only an aura of anguish and glee.
Pilots excited voice was muffled in the space between their two bodies pressed together, desperate to alert Aeryn Sun-Chrichton that an impossibly familiar lifeform has just manifested in the cargo deck.
Prompt: Firefly, Mal/author's choice, a wish on a shooting star comes true
To say Mal's surprised is to put it mildly. Surprised is just the base for this boiling concoction of holy-hell; just add a portion of confusion, a dash of horror, a fistful of wǒ bìng le, boil over a secret burning desire and jealousy for several years, and plop naked and wrapped around him with no recollection as to how they got in this position and that's pretty close to how Mal feels.
Though, admittedly, Wash feels mighty nice pressed so close to him like that. Wait, no, bad. Bad thoughts. Wash is very married. Wash is very happily married to Zoe. Wash is and has been so completely off limits it's not even funny. Wash is so now awake and grabbing Mal by his all too twitchy diao.
"Morning, oh Captain my Captain." Wash whispers into Mal's ear, tugging on him down low, his breath tickling Mal's ear almost as much as his mustache.
Wait.
Mal turns over quickly, startling Wash. He stares. "You have a mustache."
Wash blinks. "Not your worst good morning, but still room for improvement."
"When did you get a mustache again?" Mal asks, doing his best not to let his eyes wander over the expanse of all-too-exposed bare chest and stomach. He's only too glad the sheet over the two of them stops respectably where it does.
Wash watches him for a moment before propping himself up on an elbow. "Okay, I'll play. I," he pointed at himself and exagerated every word, "grew my mustache back after I asked you," he tapped Mal's chest, "to grow a beard."
Mal furrowed his eyebrows and patted his face. "I don't have a beard." A hint of panic in his voice. He and Wash watched each other for a moment before Mal braved the question he feared most. "What about Zoe?"
"Nǐ zěn ma lā?" Wash asked, slipping an arm under Mal's and pulling himself closer.
At this point there were two sorts of panic at play within Mal. One sort of panic was the sort that at any moment Zoe would walk into the room and shoot them both on sight. The other was that he'd missed something important, and if he reacted wrong he'd lose everything he'd hoped so long for.
Somehow his momentary indecision to act gave Wash a way in to plant a kiss on his very confused, yet very eager lips. After a moment Wash pulled back, ignoring Mal's face as his mind was still reeling, and said plainly "Let's get some breakfast. We've got a rock to get off of. How we didn't know that meteor shower was coming this way is beyond me, but the locals said it ought to clear out by mid-day today and we can get outta here." He slipped out of bed, offering Mal the view of his naked behind.
This time he didn't hold back his open stare. Wash only chuckled and yanked the blanket off of Mal in naked-retaliation.
Mal would never remember the child-like wish he made at during that nights meteor shower, but he quickly grew accostumed to the strange new reality he'd found himself in. Zoe had Jayne, and he had Wash. Just like he'd always wished for.
Prompt: Farscape, Aeryn Sun, what the frell is making that noise?
There are two sorts of torture.
First, there's the sort that's mainly annoying and often involves an array of sharp things and serums of some sort. This is the kind that always has one of two endings: either you survive, or you don't. What makes it annoying is having to wait to see just how long the other involved held out and the outcome was revealed. To this date, all things concerned, the outcome had always been relatively good for Aeryn.
Then there's the other kind of torture. The kind that doesn't involve sharp things, serums, or anyone else at all. This sort of torture is all in your mind, and what makes it even more unbearable is the whole trying to decide just how in your mind it really is.
"What the frell is making that noise?" She asked as she skulked along the halls, head lowered in concentration.
There it was again, low and pained, coming from somewhere still further down the hall. She'd circled the entire ship several times, and it always sounded like it was just around the next bend. Always near, but never getting nearer.
"Pilot," Aeryn barked into her comm. She was sure Pilot was getting just as fed up with this hunt as she was, but as her only back-up he was stuck with the task. "I need you to rescan the ship."
"Mrs. Chrichton,"
"Sun, now, Pilot. You know that."
"Apologies, Aeryn Sun," he said and meant, "but I've scanned everything for lifeforms twice now and I can assure you there is nothing else."
Aeryn tched, poking her head through Rygel's old room. It was losing its old smell, and though she'd never admit it it was just a little disheartening. Another example of just how much things had changed. "You're sure you've swept everything. Even the exterior?"
"On the last sweep, yes." Pilot reassured.
The sound bellowed out again. It could have either been a vent resonating or a man screaming, but Aeryn wasn't able to settle her mind as to which.
"And nothing." More a statement than a question.
"I can assure you," Pilot said soothingly, "all whom remain on board are yourself, young D'Argo, Chiana, myself, and five dozen droids." Just another reminder of empty the ship was now.
"Do it again," she ordered.
There was a pause on the other side of the comm before Pilot spoke again. "Yes, Commander."
The low hum familiar from the last two scans began to resonate through the halls. Aeryn tuned them out and focused her senses again in hunt of the original noise.
She turned toward the cargo deck-- a place she hadn't checked yet for very good reason-- and, after the slightest hesitation, set her jaw and stepped through the doors.
There's something that happens with torture, whether inflicted by others or yourself. Sometimes you snap.
The cargo deck was just how it looked the day they sealed it off. Too much so. No dust had settled on any of the old equipment, no smell of mold wafted through the air, no sense of passing time was to be found anywhere. More confusing still, his craft sat right in the middle intact like she'd last seen it.
And so was he.
"John?" She furrowed her brows, tilting her head sideways finding it difficult to hold the weight of it.
He turned, confused himself but not for the same reasons she was. "Oh, hey!" He said, a smile both on his face and in his voice. Her heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.
This wasn't fair.
Apparently she hesitated a little too long, her face a little too screwed up to hold back the tears and anguish. John waved a hand in her face. "Hello, Earp to Aeryn."
He was dead. This wasn't possible. She couldn't handle it. She shouldn't have to see him again like this after the last time she saw him he was so completely gone, no last good-bye.
"Your ship," she croaked.
John looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, still mine." He looked back just in time to brace himself as Aeryn threw himself into his arms.
This wasn't fair. "You died," she said through sobs.
"What?" He asked, an uncomfortable chuckle.
"Your ship," she said, "it exploded with you under..." Aeryn couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.
John, for the first time in any time he could remember, was at a loss for words. He just let Aeryn cling to him, tears without sound, only an aura of anguish and glee.
Pilots excited voice was muffled in the space between their two bodies pressed together, desperate to alert Aeryn Sun-Chrichton that an impossibly familiar lifeform has just manifested in the cargo deck.
Prompt: Firefly, Mal/author's choice, a wish on a shooting star comes true
To say Mal's surprised is to put it mildly. Surprised is just the base for this boiling concoction of holy-hell; just add a portion of confusion, a dash of horror, a fistful of wǒ bìng le, boil over a secret burning desire and jealousy for several years, and plop naked and wrapped around him with no recollection as to how they got in this position and that's pretty close to how Mal feels.
Though, admittedly, Wash feels mighty nice pressed so close to him like that. Wait, no, bad. Bad thoughts. Wash is very married. Wash is very happily married to Zoe. Wash is and has been so completely off limits it's not even funny. Wash is so now awake and grabbing Mal by his all too twitchy diao.
"Morning, oh Captain my Captain." Wash whispers into Mal's ear, tugging on him down low, his breath tickling Mal's ear almost as much as his mustache.
Wait.
Mal turns over quickly, startling Wash. He stares. "You have a mustache."
Wash blinks. "Not your worst good morning, but still room for improvement."
"When did you get a mustache again?" Mal asks, doing his best not to let his eyes wander over the expanse of all-too-exposed bare chest and stomach. He's only too glad the sheet over the two of them stops respectably where it does.
Wash watches him for a moment before propping himself up on an elbow. "Okay, I'll play. I," he pointed at himself and exagerated every word, "grew my mustache back after I asked you," he tapped Mal's chest, "to grow a beard."
Mal furrowed his eyebrows and patted his face. "I don't have a beard." A hint of panic in his voice. He and Wash watched each other for a moment before Mal braved the question he feared most. "What about Zoe?"
"Nǐ zěn ma lā?" Wash asked, slipping an arm under Mal's and pulling himself closer.
At this point there were two sorts of panic at play within Mal. One sort of panic was the sort that at any moment Zoe would walk into the room and shoot them both on sight. The other was that he'd missed something important, and if he reacted wrong he'd lose everything he'd hoped so long for.
Somehow his momentary indecision to act gave Wash a way in to plant a kiss on his very confused, yet very eager lips. After a moment Wash pulled back, ignoring Mal's face as his mind was still reeling, and said plainly "Let's get some breakfast. We've got a rock to get off of. How we didn't know that meteor shower was coming this way is beyond me, but the locals said it ought to clear out by mid-day today and we can get outta here." He slipped out of bed, offering Mal the view of his naked behind.
This time he didn't hold back his open stare. Wash only chuckled and yanked the blanket off of Mal in naked-retaliation.
Mal would never remember the child-like wish he made at during that nights meteor shower, but he quickly grew accostumed to the strange new reality he'd found himself in. Zoe had Jayne, and he had Wash. Just like he'd always wished for.