(no subject)
Oct. 28th, 2004 01:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowMy mom and aunt arrived safely. My mother has a walking cast on, and my aunt keeps calling her Igor. Mission Make Thea Crazy is in full swing. I love them, but they're nuttier than yo mama's fruitcake.
Driving down the road in the world's tiniest Ford Taurus, and my aunt's driving. "Dorothy, I'm too hot." "Dorothy, put on the defrost." "She yelled at me in the airport!" "Tell her why Diane." "She yelled at the ticket lady too." "Because she was being stupid!" "Why'd you yell at Auntie?" "Yeah, why, you hurt my feelings."
This - within the first ten minutes of them being here. Fortunately, I love them to death. But dude, seeing your future unfold in front of you, it's just scary sometimes:)
Sh.'s new baby is doing beautifully. And I desperately want to find a tiny black t-shirt for her, putting D'Argo with booty face on one side with the text "Your Daddy", and then her father's face on the other, saying, "My daddy." Hee. Clearly, I have too much time on my hands. Hoo hoo, so not true, but I so should not be spending it thinking of fannish stuff for Miss Sophie who is only three days old:)
And, again, I encourage all of you to go over to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
la_la_la_2004 and write some escapism.
I did.
See:
Total and pure escapist fluff, justified by nothing whatsoever. But it entertained me. Snark, banter, sex and monsters. That was the challenge, right? Also justified by the marvelous actors who fill these roles and their dirty minds, with no intention towards infringement or money made.
Early, early Season 2. R-ish for a few bad words and some discreet fumbling.
Escape Hatch
"You can't be Han Solo."
He rolls his shoulders in the new coat. The leather is supple, but stiff through his reach. Takes some getting used to. It's a new weight and he feels like John Wayne, Wyatt Earp, Johnny Cash. He is the new black. Everyone wants him on their top ten.
"Why not?" He's distracted by the clothes, his and hers. Her pants don't squeak when she walks, girl's way more comfortable in leather than he is, but the pants, and the low riding gun belt emphasize the curve of her hip, the swell of her ass in ways the brushed cotton could only have dreamed about. He knows that he's gonna be punished for his eyes straying, but damn.
They've been on this commerce station for the last 36 arns, shunned and shunted away from the others until new clothing was purchased and supplies were secured. Timeline's right, and they've only got a few more arns of exile left before risk overwhelms need, and it's off to the races again. But the stop was declared a necessity, by virtue of olfactory offense. Even Rygel refused to accompany them, staying on the other side of the commerce station with Zhaan as mother hen. Shopping had become a need, not a luxury, both of them unwilling to try and launder the clothes they'd been wearing.
The station is grimy, closed in and astonishing, Atlantic City and K-Mart and Mos Eisley rolled into one, a buoyant, shimmying hovel hangin' out in mid glaxay.
It's full of shops and bars, and places advertising dubious goings on that Aeryn won't let him go into because the last one featured a stripper with tentacle arms and opposable thumbs and a nice purple cast to her gyrating body, and he about strained his tendons trying to figure out which way was up, and which way would be in, and that was taken to be offensive by the stripper's four-eyed boyfriend who then came after John with a pair of purple ham-sized fists and there'd been running and shooting and hollering and hiding.
And, well, a little action, a little nookie, fast and fierce against the door of their tiny room, and it ended up being a damn good thing that they were there to shop because that was his last pair of decent underwear and the leather chafed like nobody's business when going commando.
It's a new facet, the sex. Her hands, cool and clever and oh god, yeah right there on his body, her skin under his tongue, her thighs around his hips. It's a blitzkrieg, fantastic fucking, a walk in the the park, then bam, instant hard on, catch and fuck and release and then okay, let's go back to what we were doing before. Makes his head spin and his body tremble, and it feels like the really good drugs, full and surreal and hollow after, like he's empty, lit. He wants her all of the time. Even when he also wants to curl fists in her hair, bang her head against the door to shake out her stubbornness, he craves her with hot desperation. He thinks he's losing his mind, and that it's not such a bad way to go.
Now, they're both sheened and shined, sporting new duds that show off both guns and assets, and when Aeryn stops, turns back to him to get an answer to her question, the tight vest plays nice with the long sleeved shirt. He gets a hell of a peek down the buckled vee, a long look at the swell of her pale breasts, and he feels his neurons fry. The shopping gods, hell the I'm not gonna knock you down and have the universe tango on your ass gods had been good to him today, and maybe this is a reward for having his brain yanked out his ears and layed before him in a puddle of goo.
"Wanna maybe grab some lunch?" he asks, swallowing hard, rubbing his thumb over his mouth. "A little picnic in the room?"
She glares, eyes narrowed, sparking, but she holds her bottom lip between her sharp white teeth - he knows how sharp they are, has an imprint on his inner thigh as evidence - and he thinks she could be persuaded, given the right… incentive.
"Tell me," she says, voice low, tongue darting out to moisten her top lip and he feels himself harden, wonders if leather really was such a good choice. "Why I can't be Han Solo?"
He rolls his eyes, zeros in on her body, on the line of skin exposed between her vest and waistband, her dark hair skimming against the white skin of her neck, her collarbone and her mouth and that wicked look. She cocks her head and he presses his claim, stalking forward, watching as she backs up subtley, pace for pace.
"Because," he starts patient and wheedling, "Han Solo's a guy. I'm a guy. You," he sweeps his eyes up and down, "are definitely not… a guy."
She shrugs, takes another sure step backwards. "So. The fact that I'm a soldier, a better shot, a better negotiator, a superior species with superior physiology…"
"You got that right," he says, reaching towards that superior physiology, skimming rough fingers against the skin of her waist.
She shivers, ignores him, "None of that counts for anything?"
"Nope. I'm a guy. And if I'm not Han, I have to be Luke." He fixes her with a serious gaze. "And I do not want to be Luke - loses his hand, finds out Vader's his dad, most definitely does not get the girl on account of the girl's his sister, and you know, some people are okay with that, but dude, I got sisters and that's just wrong."
He's close enough to feel the heat of her breath on his throat as he presses her back against the wall, close enough to suck in his breath as her hand closes around a very sensitive part of his anatomy, as she strokes, and squeezes.
"Fuck," he whispers in her ear, trying to stay on target. "Also, D'Argo could be Chewbaca, and I'd pay good money to see you in a gold bikini, strangling the life outta some mountain-sized monster." She squeezes again and he loses all higher brain function, braces his hand against the wall to get better access to that zipper, and the sweep of her neck.
Her nails are doing sinful things and he nips at her neck, tongue along the line behind her ear, pushing against the wall when it finally registers.
The wall is… furry.
He breaks away, eyes tilted up.
The wall is also… breathing.
Aeryn's grip tightens again, pain this time, not pleasure and he howls as she shoves him back, elbowing him in the stomach as she whirls around. Two guns, two stances and hard and ready for action and then the wall moves, displays glistening teeth and liquid black eyes, emits a mighty ferocious growl.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he sites over her shoulder, heart racing. "Goddamed critters."
She rolls her eyes. He doesn't have to see it to know that's what she's doing.
"Han and Leia my ass, we're way more Butch and Sundance. Don't know why I keep strayin' from the original."
Aeryn slams her shoulder into his chest. "Retreat."
"No shit," he's retreating as fast as he can. "Why'nt tell me that the wall wasn't a wall."
She looks over her shoulder, shrugs. "There are sometimes fuzzy walls."
"Nice," he grimaces, as the critter takes a step forward, revealing an entire passageway behind. John looks around one side of the land mass moving towards them, Aeryn checks the other. They catch each other's eye, and the critter bellows, his grey speckled fur floofing up like a cat in roomful of rocking chairs.
"Really was the wall!!"
Aeryn fires, and the cooridor files with the smell of burnt hair.
"Frell!"
Her gun's on a low setting in deference to the rules of the station, and the shot seems to have done little more than piss the big dude off. The monster swats at the singed patch of fur and rumbles.
"Yup!"
She adjusts the power setting as the critter lumbers forward, roars loud and low. Maybe they'd woken him up from his nap.
"Any advice Sundance, you of the superior physiology and skill and all?"
"Run?"
"Alright, Let's run."
They run, not bothering to look back over their shoulders. The shrieks of other patrons were enough to tell John that large and hairy was following behind.
"Think you pissed him off," he shouted as Aeryn rounded a corner, heading towards the bridge that separated the station halves.
"Me?" she sounded incredulous, and jubilant.
Damn, he hoped they made it across. Combat and conflict were PK aphrodisiacs, and he desperately wanted to know what she'd had planned for earlier. "Had to be you."
They were nearing the entrance to the bridge, boots pounding, leather creaking, coat tails swinging behind him like the climax of a John Woo masterpiece.
"Why me?"
He was panting, trying not to smack himself in the thigh or the chin as he ran with his gun.
"Because," she yelled, feet hitting the galvanized metal of the bridge, fist slamming into the door release. It whooshed open with a hiss and they dashed through. He hit the release on the other side and it slammed back down.
Aeryn stopped, catching her breath, mouth pursed, shaking her head.
"Because," she repeated, voice softer now, amused. "Crichton, it's always you."
Driving down the road in the world's tiniest Ford Taurus, and my aunt's driving. "Dorothy, I'm too hot." "Dorothy, put on the defrost." "She yelled at me in the airport!" "Tell her why Diane." "She yelled at the ticket lady too." "Because she was being stupid!" "Why'd you yell at Auntie?" "Yeah, why, you hurt my feelings."
This - within the first ten minutes of them being here. Fortunately, I love them to death. But dude, seeing your future unfold in front of you, it's just scary sometimes:)
Sh.'s new baby is doing beautifully. And I desperately want to find a tiny black t-shirt for her, putting D'Argo with booty face on one side with the text "Your Daddy", and then her father's face on the other, saying, "My daddy." Hee. Clearly, I have too much time on my hands. Hoo hoo, so not true, but I so should not be spending it thinking of fannish stuff for Miss Sophie who is only three days old:)
And, again, I encourage all of you to go over to
la_la_la_2004 and write some escapism.I did.
See:
Total and pure escapist fluff, justified by nothing whatsoever. But it entertained me. Snark, banter, sex and monsters. That was the challenge, right? Also justified by the marvelous actors who fill these roles and their dirty minds, with no intention towards infringement or money made.
Early, early Season 2. R-ish for a few bad words and some discreet fumbling.
Escape Hatch
"You can't be Han Solo."
He rolls his shoulders in the new coat. The leather is supple, but stiff through his reach. Takes some getting used to. It's a new weight and he feels like John Wayne, Wyatt Earp, Johnny Cash. He is the new black. Everyone wants him on their top ten.
"Why not?" He's distracted by the clothes, his and hers. Her pants don't squeak when she walks, girl's way more comfortable in leather than he is, but the pants, and the low riding gun belt emphasize the curve of her hip, the swell of her ass in ways the brushed cotton could only have dreamed about. He knows that he's gonna be punished for his eyes straying, but damn.
They've been on this commerce station for the last 36 arns, shunned and shunted away from the others until new clothing was purchased and supplies were secured. Timeline's right, and they've only got a few more arns of exile left before risk overwhelms need, and it's off to the races again. But the stop was declared a necessity, by virtue of olfactory offense. Even Rygel refused to accompany them, staying on the other side of the commerce station with Zhaan as mother hen. Shopping had become a need, not a luxury, both of them unwilling to try and launder the clothes they'd been wearing.
The station is grimy, closed in and astonishing, Atlantic City and K-Mart and Mos Eisley rolled into one, a buoyant, shimmying hovel hangin' out in mid glaxay.
It's full of shops and bars, and places advertising dubious goings on that Aeryn won't let him go into because the last one featured a stripper with tentacle arms and opposable thumbs and a nice purple cast to her gyrating body, and he about strained his tendons trying to figure out which way was up, and which way would be in, and that was taken to be offensive by the stripper's four-eyed boyfriend who then came after John with a pair of purple ham-sized fists and there'd been running and shooting and hollering and hiding.
And, well, a little action, a little nookie, fast and fierce against the door of their tiny room, and it ended up being a damn good thing that they were there to shop because that was his last pair of decent underwear and the leather chafed like nobody's business when going commando.
It's a new facet, the sex. Her hands, cool and clever and oh god, yeah right there on his body, her skin under his tongue, her thighs around his hips. It's a blitzkrieg, fantastic fucking, a walk in the the park, then bam, instant hard on, catch and fuck and release and then okay, let's go back to what we were doing before. Makes his head spin and his body tremble, and it feels like the really good drugs, full and surreal and hollow after, like he's empty, lit. He wants her all of the time. Even when he also wants to curl fists in her hair, bang her head against the door to shake out her stubbornness, he craves her with hot desperation. He thinks he's losing his mind, and that it's not such a bad way to go.
Now, they're both sheened and shined, sporting new duds that show off both guns and assets, and when Aeryn stops, turns back to him to get an answer to her question, the tight vest plays nice with the long sleeved shirt. He gets a hell of a peek down the buckled vee, a long look at the swell of her pale breasts, and he feels his neurons fry. The shopping gods, hell the I'm not gonna knock you down and have the universe tango on your ass gods had been good to him today, and maybe this is a reward for having his brain yanked out his ears and layed before him in a puddle of goo.
"Wanna maybe grab some lunch?" he asks, swallowing hard, rubbing his thumb over his mouth. "A little picnic in the room?"
She glares, eyes narrowed, sparking, but she holds her bottom lip between her sharp white teeth - he knows how sharp they are, has an imprint on his inner thigh as evidence - and he thinks she could be persuaded, given the right… incentive.
"Tell me," she says, voice low, tongue darting out to moisten her top lip and he feels himself harden, wonders if leather really was such a good choice. "Why I can't be Han Solo?"
He rolls his eyes, zeros in on her body, on the line of skin exposed between her vest and waistband, her dark hair skimming against the white skin of her neck, her collarbone and her mouth and that wicked look. She cocks her head and he presses his claim, stalking forward, watching as she backs up subtley, pace for pace.
"Because," he starts patient and wheedling, "Han Solo's a guy. I'm a guy. You," he sweeps his eyes up and down, "are definitely not… a guy."
She shrugs, takes another sure step backwards. "So. The fact that I'm a soldier, a better shot, a better negotiator, a superior species with superior physiology…"
"You got that right," he says, reaching towards that superior physiology, skimming rough fingers against the skin of her waist.
She shivers, ignores him, "None of that counts for anything?"
"Nope. I'm a guy. And if I'm not Han, I have to be Luke." He fixes her with a serious gaze. "And I do not want to be Luke - loses his hand, finds out Vader's his dad, most definitely does not get the girl on account of the girl's his sister, and you know, some people are okay with that, but dude, I got sisters and that's just wrong."
He's close enough to feel the heat of her breath on his throat as he presses her back against the wall, close enough to suck in his breath as her hand closes around a very sensitive part of his anatomy, as she strokes, and squeezes.
"Fuck," he whispers in her ear, trying to stay on target. "Also, D'Argo could be Chewbaca, and I'd pay good money to see you in a gold bikini, strangling the life outta some mountain-sized monster." She squeezes again and he loses all higher brain function, braces his hand against the wall to get better access to that zipper, and the sweep of her neck.
Her nails are doing sinful things and he nips at her neck, tongue along the line behind her ear, pushing against the wall when it finally registers.
The wall is… furry.
He breaks away, eyes tilted up.
The wall is also… breathing.
Aeryn's grip tightens again, pain this time, not pleasure and he howls as she shoves him back, elbowing him in the stomach as she whirls around. Two guns, two stances and hard and ready for action and then the wall moves, displays glistening teeth and liquid black eyes, emits a mighty ferocious growl.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters as he sites over her shoulder, heart racing. "Goddamed critters."
She rolls her eyes. He doesn't have to see it to know that's what she's doing.
"Han and Leia my ass, we're way more Butch and Sundance. Don't know why I keep strayin' from the original."
Aeryn slams her shoulder into his chest. "Retreat."
"No shit," he's retreating as fast as he can. "Why'nt tell me that the wall wasn't a wall."
She looks over her shoulder, shrugs. "There are sometimes fuzzy walls."
"Nice," he grimaces, as the critter takes a step forward, revealing an entire passageway behind. John looks around one side of the land mass moving towards them, Aeryn checks the other. They catch each other's eye, and the critter bellows, his grey speckled fur floofing up like a cat in roomful of rocking chairs.
"Really was the wall!!"
Aeryn fires, and the cooridor files with the smell of burnt hair.
"Frell!"
Her gun's on a low setting in deference to the rules of the station, and the shot seems to have done little more than piss the big dude off. The monster swats at the singed patch of fur and rumbles.
"Yup!"
She adjusts the power setting as the critter lumbers forward, roars loud and low. Maybe they'd woken him up from his nap.
"Any advice Sundance, you of the superior physiology and skill and all?"
"Run?"
"Alright, Let's run."
They run, not bothering to look back over their shoulders. The shrieks of other patrons were enough to tell John that large and hairy was following behind.
"Think you pissed him off," he shouted as Aeryn rounded a corner, heading towards the bridge that separated the station halves.
"Me?" she sounded incredulous, and jubilant.
Damn, he hoped they made it across. Combat and conflict were PK aphrodisiacs, and he desperately wanted to know what she'd had planned for earlier. "Had to be you."
They were nearing the entrance to the bridge, boots pounding, leather creaking, coat tails swinging behind him like the climax of a John Woo masterpiece.
"Why me?"
He was panting, trying not to smack himself in the thigh or the chin as he ran with his gun.
"Because," she yelled, feet hitting the galvanized metal of the bridge, fist slamming into the door release. It whooshed open with a hiss and they dashed through. He hit the release on the other side and it slammed back down.
Aeryn stopped, catching her breath, mouth pursed, shaking her head.
"Because," she repeated, voice softer now, amused. "Crichton, it's always you."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 08:31 pm (UTC)Sweet story.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 08:47 pm (UTC)Excellent, giggle-inducing little ficlet. How excited were you when Ben and Claudia made the Trading Card porn canon (and where did that expression come from, anyway)? I do wonder about that, though... wasn't there a point where John says to her, "We've been close, right?" and she looks all uncomfortable and goes, "Just... the once..." meaning AHR... when was that? Well, doesn't matter, in my mind John and Aeryn are having nookie 24/7 (when they aren't running/shooting things), so whatever. I think I've listened to that interview approximately 7000 times.
Anyway, I loved it, especially the "stay on target" line. And oh, the advent of the leather... though I still miss Aeryn's S1 costume at times.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:17 pm (UTC)Trading Card Porn was supposed to literally be that. I wrote a scenario and traded it to FBF and Crankygrrl for their own scenarios. Like Baseball cards. I'll trade up one post BoD fic for a post OOTM fic:)
So glad you enjoyed the fic, in all of it's silliness:)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 08:50 pm (UTC)I love that crackaddled show. *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:25 pm (UTC)In other words:
Yum.
*fans self*
oh yeah. Escapist? wheee!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 09:52 pm (UTC)So, thank you very much for that. Does a little dance, shakes a few tail feathers in joyous response;)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 10:01 pm (UTC)I love that you can just crank these stories out. I always enjoy them. *g*
Thanks for the treat!
Sounds like you have a fun weekend in store with visiting relatives*g*
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 10:19 pm (UTC)And hee - that's why I don't always shoot 'em over to Kansas or Leviathan. Sometimes they're just the little lightening bolt products, and I'm far too fond of them for what they are:)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-28 11:54 pm (UTC)Here is an exceedingly random question for you. Do you know where I can acquire a button press? Or some time on a button press? I need to make a small quantity of buttons before Saturday night.
If you've got any suggestions, thanks! HUGE help!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 09:50 pm (UTC)And dude, so hope you found a button press. I don't actually know where you could have found one. But, if you didn't, for future reference, call any print shop (excluding Kinko's, although I don't know that they don't make buttons), and they should be able to tell you who to contact.
Sorry!!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 12:13 am (UTC)as for the story; this is just so frelling wonderfully *farscape*. you are very good at this you know. and yeah, it is always crichton. when it's not aeryn. heh heh heh. *g*
ps. those two are just. plain. woof.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 09:48 pm (UTC)And relatives survived and adored, and were put on a plane safely this morning:)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 01:33 am (UTC)John and Aeryn, almost unable to function because they are so turned on by each other. Love it.
They really should stick to Butch and Sundance, though.
Your family sounds interesting, which is way better than stuffy.
seva
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 09:47 pm (UTC)So glad you liked the piece:)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 02:13 am (UTC)Love. this. fic! The leather and the sexy snark and the Chewbacca wall! The Great Yeti Chase thru the Market! Wheee!!!
and this line
They were nearing the entrance to the bridge, boots pounding, leather creaking, coat tails swinging behind him like the climax of a John Woo masterpiece.
makes me weak in the knees. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 09:46 pm (UTC)And dude, I may have to rename it The Great Yeti Chase:)
no subject
Date: 2004-10-30 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 09:35 pm (UTC)