#it’s also about dune which i’ve yet to reread but also have yet to stop thinking abt and is my favorite book. like ever. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unsettledink · 3 years

Text

Back in the days of LJ, I used to try and do a post at the end of each year, looking back primarily at fandom and fic. I fell out of the habit when everything moved to tumblr, and then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to say since I wasn’t writing or really participating any.

But I always liked the idea of it, because I love to be overly reflective on stuff. And talk about my fic. Any excuse! I shuffled around some of the topics I used back then and added a few I’ve seen around that I liked. It got… long, because I TALK, so I split into two sections.

Your main fandom of the year?

Marvel (MCU) for sure. Primarily with characters from Spider-Man and Iron Man movies.

Your favorite film watched this year?

The Old Guard - I saw a couple trailers and everything about it looked like catnip. ‘It’s probably going to be so dumb, but I don’t even care,’ I thought. And then it was so good. It was so much fun and so much smarter than I expected and I loved each and every character and it just made me happy in so many ways.

Your favorite book read this year?

Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston - I read it twice this year actually. It’s so… cute isn’t the right world. Sweet and hopeful and soft and comforting and intense. I liked every single character which is pretty rare. I cried during the sad parts and then again at the happy ending, like straight up sobbed - both times. I already want to read it again.

Your favorite tv show watched this year?

Schitt’s Creek - I started it on a whim and because a lot of people had said it was good. The episodes were short so it wasn’t a huge time investment. The first season was a little rough, but there were enough funny moments that I hung on, and then… I kept getting fonder and fonder of these idiots as they grew. And THEN… it kept not disappointing me?

You grow to expect certain scripts, twists, jokes, especially in queer story lines. To wait for the bad thing to happen, because it always does. Instead, Schitt’s Creek kept going, ‘hey, here’s the set up for that! Guess what? We’re not doing it. Here’s the happy version instead.’ The relief of having that happen again and again - the last season I’ve watched (I’m sort of saving 6) I cried a bunch but it was always because I was happy.

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

1896 - I’ve been waiting for the new Steam Powered Giraffe album so eagerly for aaaaaages. Finally getting recordings of Zero’s songs! Lying Awake remains my favorite off the album, with Eat Your Heart and Bad Days on the Horizon high up there as well. I’m loving what Zero brings to the band.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

I don’t know if I really did discover that much? I stuck pretty closely to old fandoms and the ones I picked up in 2019. Maybe Zodiac? It was definitely inspiring, and I want to write and read more in it.

Maybe the couple discords I joined? I still really dislike discord and am not on there much, and mostly lurk when I am, but having somewhere vaguely like the comms I remember makes me feel a little less isolated. It’s the potential, that maybe if I said something I might make a friend, or someone might actually want to hear what I say.

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

The Watch - I mean, I knew it was going to be a disaster with every word said during pre production. I wasn’t ever going to be happy with it. And then it came out and was even worse and uglier and … disrespectful not just of the source material but of actual people connected to Terry. I’m beyond disappointed that this is what we got, and it’s probably going to be a long time before we get anything else.

Devil All the Time was terrible, but I didn’t have especially high hopes. It still didn’t manage to meet them. Yikes.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

Maybe MASH? Someone I follow started talking about it and I was reminded all over again of the wonderful fics in that fandom. I went looking and a lot are gone (still on my computer, lol, but not online), but rereading was such a trip. A slightly depressing trip, but still.

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

Hmm. I’ve kind of not had the energy to invest in other fandoms at the moment? When The Witcher was having it’s big moment back in January, I had a feeling I might enjoy it enough to fall headfirst into the fandom, so I avoided watching it. Ikr? I don’t have the time or the energy to actively seek anything out.

Your biggest fan anticipations for the New Year?

SO EXCITED about Winter’s Orbit. I mean, the third Spider-Man movie for sure, with worry. The second Venom movie, ugh yes. I have tentative hopes for Jungle Cruise? Jumanji was stellar and I always enjoy Dwayne. I have both hope and dread for the new Suicide Squad - I did love Birds of Prey, so if it’s along those lines, yay. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard because it should be some fun garbage, my favorite kind. I don’t know how I feel about Dune, but, uh, I’m anticipating it. It seems highly unlikely it will actually happen, but The Wheel of Time TV series.

I want to be excited about Black Widow but it’s hard. It’s not the story I’ve been wanting to see, and I’m angry about Natasha not getting a movie until she’s dead.

You know. If any of it is released for real.

The Good:

I moved to a better place. I got a better paying, better benefits, better environment job that lets me work from home. The house acquired 3-7 more cats depending on the month. I was able to get some serious problems on my car fixed. I have insurance and was able to start on some health stuff. No one I know got sick or died. I wrote a LOT.

The Bad:

Aside from the obvious? Depression hitting extra hard during the winter. Having to put two kittens to sleep. Have my car be hit three times in our parking lot. Being driven INSANE by one of the cats for months while the vets were all closed. Kidney stone. Dealing with several health problems. Stalling for months on Gotcha.

The Indifferent:

Not leaving the house often or easily. Enjoying a new fandom but not doing great at making connections (still real awkward, bud). Raising kittens and saying goodbye. Need new tires. Reading a lot of fic but not a lot of books. Having more pay but more expenses as well (wth insurance??).

2020 fic stats

Number of stories: 39

Number of fandoms: 6? Or 2, if you cluster the others under mcu

Total number of words: 152049

Average word count per story: 4kish

Longest fic: Causality (18k, P/Q)

Shortest fic: Can’t, Won’t (1k, P/Q)

Most comments received: Sieche (49, T/P)

Fandom you wrote the most of: MCU Spider-Man - I only wrote TWO fics that didn’t feature that fandom, wow. And one of those was still MCU.

Fandom you wrote the least of: Zodiac (1!)

Events you participated in: Marvel Trumps Hate, Kinktober, IornspidersGeorg Exchange, Starker Festivals Exchange, MCU Secret Santa, Spiderio Big Bang

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

SO MUCH MORE OMG. I mean, even just counting posted stuff! (I probably wrote a solid 300k of Gotcha this year.) I did not expect or plan on doing Kinktober, so that’s a whole 31 fics right there. I also wasn’t planning on doing any exchanges - I have a History - but then I did three? And beyond that, I did not expect for everything to get so LONG.

Topic you wrote that you would never have predicted in January:

Tony/Quentin. Goddammit @the-me09 They were like hey, they could be interesting! And while I agreed, I had no ideas for them. THEN they had to go and write Just Bodies That Collide and next thing I know, I’ve got ten fics featuring them and two-six series focused on them or Peter/Quentin/Tony. What the fuck.

Leitmotif of the year:

Vulnerability, I think. I had a bunch of things typed up and they all circle back to vulnerability in the end; sex, being seen, being wanted, sharing trauma, asking for help, trying something new. Offering a soft spot in the hopes it won’t be hurt.

Favorite character to write about:

Tony Stark, for sure. There are just a bunch of slightly different takes, and a lot of canon to work with (kind of frustrating too though). And I’m a sucker for emotionally damaged snarky traumatized characters that are viewed poorly both in universe and out.

Favorite kind of fic to write:

This year? Fluff and smut combined. Maybe that’s not the right term really. I keep looking for and writing, even in the angstiest fics, for those soft moments. Sure, maybe it’s a super smutty kink scene, but I want the affection to be obvious. Maybe everyone is consumed by guilt, but I want it to be based in caring too much. Maybe there’s no real love, just sex and even that’s messed up, but I want to find that tiny bit of fondness.

And I want happy endings. Or endings that look like they’re going to be happy, at least, even if there’s all the angst first. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone this year? Who AM I?

Biggest disappointment:

Not finishing the rough draft of Gotcha. I was making such good progress in 2019, from August to December. Even after the move, I basically finished part 6 in January. I fumbled around and fussed with 1 a lot, but that had already been given one draft, really, and I got through half of 4 before I slowed to a stop. I’ve barely gotten anything accomplished on it since June. Bits and pieces here and there, but nothing significant, not like I was doing. I can excuse October, due to 80k invested in Kinktober (yikes!), but aside from that… I’m sad. I’ll finish it eventually, but I really thought I could have the first draft done in a year. I’m sitting at about 480k out of what I’m almost certain will be 700k.

Biggest surprise:

Kinktober! It was kind of spur of the moment, decided just a week in advance. I’ve tried month long or even like, 20-25 day long challenges and I don’t think I’ve ever completed one. I thought there was a good chance I’d do so again, so I gave myself a little help and made my own list of prompts, things I knew I liked and hadn’t done much of yet. And it worked? I actually completed it, what the hell? Despite spending five days travelling near the end! Despite falling behind in getting ahead and writing a bunch of stories the day they were to be posted! Despite apparently forgetting how to do short form!

I, uh, could have done without the spawning of eleven series or sequels or continuations jfc WHY SELF.

Something you learned this year:

Ideas breed ideas. I swear to god, the second I sit down to think through a current idea, I wake up the next morning with three more.

Words need to be restocked. I need to consume new - not rereads, not fic - content every so often to refresh my word bank. It is astonishing how quickly writing goes again after I’ve done so.

I can write so much more than I thought I could. I can do so much more than I thought I could. Yes, I can complete challenges without dropping out early. Yes, I can do exchanges and not regret it. Yes, I can write more than 100k, more than 200k, more and more - and I can write 10k+ easily too. Though I wouldn’t mind if I could once again write less than 10k without feeling like I’ve cut off in the middle.

My time is shrinking, and if I want to write as much, I’m going to have to make the time. I can’t rely on three days off a week, on seven hours of uninterrupted overnight shifts, on hyper focused writing binges that leave everything else around me on fire.

Most memorable comment:

So, so many! I can’t pick one. I’ve been really lucky to get a bunch of really detailed, enthusiastic, analyzing comments across all different fics. One of the types that always sticks with me are the ones like ‘I didn’t think/know I liked this ship/kink/twist, but fuck, apparently I do? You made me, what the hell?’.

What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

So with writing Gotcha but not posting until it’s done, my view of what I’ve written vs anyone else’s is extremely skewed. I’m sitting here thinking, hey I’m 400k in and got another 10k done today, so much writing! While anyone looking at my AO3 account (for most of the year) is like, you’re averaging three months between fics :(

All that to say I want to try and get something posted more frequently while I’m working on Gotcha.

Also, writing for kinktober was really interesting - pushing myself to write every single day, often for that day’s post, forced me to get back into shorter form fic. Which used to be all I did? But it was surprisingly hard to just stop and not write more. So I’d like to challenge myself to write more fics under 10k at least. Maybe even under 5k though that might be asking a lot lol. I might get there with the many continuations of those fics I’d like to do. Does that count?

Goals:

I want to hit 365 fics. :) I’m only 32 away!

Aside from writing -

I’ve really enjoyed the reading record sideblog I started this year. I’ve let it lapse a little the past month or so, but I’d like to keep it going strong.

I’d like to leave a lot more comments. I want to get better about allowing imperfection - I want to write The Best Comment, but in the end? Probably 90% of fic writers are going to be happier with a comment expressing enjoyment in any way over no comment at all.

And not just on fics, but on general posts as well. It’s hard not to feel… weird and stupid and invasive and rude leaving any sort of comment on someone’s post if I don’t know them at least a little. I have godawful rejection sensitive dysphoria and a lot of interactions that ended poorly; I’m really not good at people. But as dumb as it feels to say those things, I know I am thrilled and warmed and happier when there’s a reblog with tags or a note or a comment or an ask or just, any small interaction that shows someone out there notices and cares, at least a little. There’s no reason I can’t at least try to offer that to other people.

I’d like to make/run a couple challenges of my own, later in the year. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and what I could do. I’m really interested in doing something that’s not focused on creators, but the readers; some sort of comment or rec challenge maybe.

I want to find a cheerleader for Gotcha. I’m struggling to keep up my motivation to write it when it’s already in my head, where I can ‘read’ it any time. There’s a line between depending too much on external validation and trying to generate all your validation yourself, and I’m getting to a point where I think I need to ask for help (gasp! The hardest thing EVER).

(Part Two: Pick Some Fics)

#end of year #unsettled rambles

4 notes · View notes

zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Season 9, Mission 7: Scream

Scream and Shout

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh, my calves are killing me.

PETER LYNNE: Yeah, as the dairy farmer said to the... other dairy farmer?

SAM YAO: Yeah, dunes aren't the easiest, are they? It feels like I'm trying to get up a down escalator. Still, we must be near our rendezvous with Mohammed now, mustn't we?

JANINE DE LUCA: That was the message we received via coded transmission from Miss Spens. Mohammed Boujettif, a fixer based in the city of New Agadir, will meet us at coordinates a short distance from here. He'll wait for one hour, no more.

PETER LYNNE: Well, we're still a good day's journey from New Agadir, though. Um, question. Does anyone find it a little suspicious that he wants to meet us so far from the city?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I've been rereading Amelia's info packs about New Agadir. It's supposed to be very hard to get inside the city. Citizens of the Maghreb Protectorate - that's the nearest official government - generally get let in. Everyone else needs friends inside - or favors from - the criminal networks that really run the city. Amelia said the place is like post-apocalypse Ipswich used to be, before the Last Riders razed it. Maybe Mohammed's going to introduce us to some friendly New Agadirans.

PETER LYNNE: Or he's going to rob and kill us, and maybe eat us! I don't know. Listen, sorry. It's just, it's all gone fine for the last few days. You know, camping in the desert. Janine's rain water collectors. Our maps have actually been accurate. And hang on, not been pursued by anything! I mean, it's going to go wrong now, isn't it?

JANINE DE LUCA: In my experience, little goes wrong in quite the way one anticipates. We must get into New Agadir. That is where the Death's Hand mercenaries are expected to be, and that way, we can enter Red Scorpion base. So we must attempt to make contact with Mr. Boujettif.

SAM YAO: Shame Veronica's not here to triangulate our position, really. She's back in my tent, said she wanted to avoid getting more sand in her circuits. Got the compass, Frances?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Yep. Yes. It's uh, that way, towards the tree. The-the one that looks like... the only tree.

JANINE DE LUCA: Very good. Come along, everyone. Run!

PETER LYNNE: Well, here we are at the tree. Got to say, I mean, of course the desert as a whole is beautiful, but in terms of your actual landmarks, it's kind of... a bit weak, maybe?

JANINE DE LUCA: Miss Dempsey, are we still on course?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Sure are. Oh, uh, heading confirmed. We must continue straight on towards the uh... more sand.

PETER LYNNE: See what I mean?

JANINE DE LUCA: There is rather an abundance of sand, but also an abundance of stars. Goodness me, just look at that sky. Perhaps I'll satisfy entry 48b on my bucket list, “Witnessing the entry of a meteor into the earth's atmosphere.”

PETER LYNNE: Yeah, we humans call that a shooting star. Never seen one?

JANINE DE LUCA: Perhaps I never thought to look up.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, well, you should have said. I would have laid one on for you.

SAM YAO: Oh, all the constellations. Never seen them so clearly before. Mum used to point them out to me. There's Orion. There's Cassio-whatsit. And there's the Big Dipper... or is it the Plough? Are they the same thing?

PETER LYNNE: And look over there, it's the Hurry Up Man, tapping his star watch.

[distant scream]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: We should definitely hurry up. What was that?

JANINE DE LUCA: A hyena.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh. Are they very dangerous?

JANINE DE LUCA: In numbers, yes. Provided we leave the area before the pack answers its summons, we'll be fine. Come on. The coordinates aren't far, but progress is slow. We must run as best we can.

JANINE DE LUCA: Are you absolutely sure these are the coordinates?

SAM YAO: Janine, Frances ran Dearg for four years. She can probably read a compass.

JANINE DE LUCA: I... Yes, quite. I'm sorry, Miss Dempsey. I'm merely concerned that the mission be a success. Your navigation has been unimpeachable. I didn't want you to accompany us here, but you haven't yet been a hindrance on our mission.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Oh, uh, thanks. I-I think.

JANINE DE LUCA: It's Mr. Boujettif who has let us down. You were right, Peter. It's hard to imagine why he would bring us out here if not for malevolent purposes. We must be on our guard.

PETER LYNNE: And it's pitch black. Never seen a sky cloud over that quickly. Cold, too. Let's get going now.

JANINE DE LUCA: I concur. We will have to abort the mission, find another way into New Agadir. Miss Dempsey, which direction back to camp? I've got rather turned around.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I uh... hang on. [flashlight rattles] Damn! Torch is on the blink.

PETER LYNNE: And we're much too far from New Agadir to see the city lights.

[distant scream]

SAM YAO: That's not a hyena. Bloody hell, must be Mohammed! Come on, he needs our help. Head for the scream, run!

SAM YAO: The screaming, it stopped. I hope that doesn't mean... which way was it coming from, Five?

[muffled screaming]

PETER LYNNE: There it is. See, I swear that was coming from the other direction a second ago. God, I just wish it wasn't so dark. I can't see a bloody thing.

JANINE DE LUCA: We're close to the source of the scream. I know our instincts are to render aid as swiftly as possible, but we must approach with caution. Fan out. If the threat is still present, we will surround it. [footsteps through sand, muffled nearby screaming] Almost there. Slowly, everyone. Slowly...

[FRANCES DEMPSEY stumbles in the sand and shouts]

SAM YAO: Frances, you all right? Five, can you see her?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I'm okay, Sam. Just tripped over something. [muffled screaming] I... Oh God, the screaming's coming from underneath the sand. It must be Mohammed!

SAM YAO: Dig! Everyone dig! [sand shifts] It's definitely a person. Crap, they feel cold.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: [flashlight rattles and clicks on] Torch is back on.

[flashlight clicks off]

PETER LYNNE: And off again.

JANINE DE LUCA: I found his head. Frances, shine the light by my feet.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Ah, hang on. [flashlight rattles and clicks on] There.

[very nearby scream]

SAM YAO: That's not Mohammed, it's a really decayed zombie. A screaming really decayed zombie. Run! Everybody run!

[zombie screams]

PETER LYNNE: Okay, so running screaming from a zombie, yeah, used to it. Old hand. Running from a screaming zombie, that's new. Oh, and it's so dark, I can't see my own hands. Does anyone know where we're going?

JANINE DE LUCA: Our only objective is to lose our pursuer. We shall just have to do without light.

SAM YAO: What kind of zombie is that, anyway? Why is it screaming?

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Maybe it looked in the mirror. Tends to do it for me.

JANINE DE LUCA: We've not encountered this variation before and should not engage until we learn more about it. Our cure might well prove ineffective against its bite. Keep running!

[zombies scream]

SAM YAO: Oh, to our left, there's another one. There's loads! Oh crap, they've got us surrounded. Hey! Ooh, maybe if we scream, they'll think we're zombies, too.

JANINE DE LUCA: I don't think that will prove effective, Mr. Yao. No doubt they're adept at distinguishing predator from prey. Listen, to the right. The quality of the sound is different, reverberant. A ravine, perhaps. Can you hear that?

PETER LYNNE: Well, I'm not a bat, so no. Uh, not that... I mean, I'm not saying you're a bat, Janine, obviously. Um, just only in terms of the exceptional, impressive hearing. [laughs] And of course, the leathery wings. I mean... Right. Uh, sorry.

JANINE DE LUCA: I suspect my improved hearing is an effect of the nanites. However, you've hit upon the crux of my plan, Peter. It's only an educated guess, but that will have to do. I'll lead you through the gap in the screams and into the ravine. With me, run!

[zombies scream]

JANINE DE LUCA: Yes, it is a ravine. I've found the wall. A river must have run through here long ago.

SAM YAO: Ah, yeah. Would that be attrition, do you think? Or abrasion. Um, what's the other one? Hydraulic something. And that's all I can remember from A-level geography. Except lateral moraines. What even are they?

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Yao.

SAM YAO: Sorry.

PETER LYNNE: Haven't we sort of... trapped ourselves? Uh, you don't know what's at the end of the ravine, or if there even is an end. Just sort of wondering, what are we doing?

JANINE DE LUCA: I suspect the zombies are using echolocation to hunt. The screams bounce off our bodies and alert other zombies in the area to our location.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Ah, I see. So if the echoes are pinging around the ravine, that'd sort of baffle them. That's clever, Janine.

JANINE DE LUCA: The zombies are entering the mouth of the ravine. Listen.

SAM YAO: Ugh, that's horrifying. Is it working?

JANINE DE LUCA: We'll have to trust that it is, but even if they can't pinpoint our location, they will stumble into us eventually. We must push deeper into the ravine. Peter, take the vanguard. Runner Five, draw your sidearm, protect our rear. Run!

[zombies scream]

JANINE DE LUCA: We seem to be losing the screaming zombies. Keep moving through the ravine until we can no longer hear them and then we will try to find a way... Peter, stop!

PETER LYNNE: What? Oh! Ah. Oh. The massive hole in front of me. Um, did you hear the hole, Janine, by any chance?

SAM YAO: Oh, I wonder how deep that... [pebbles clatter into hole and echo in the depths] Very deep.

PETER LYNNE: And the zombies are very close. This isn't good.

JANINE DE LUCA: Runner Five, ready your weapon. [gun clicks] I estimate ten hostiles. It's far too dark to aim. Spread your shots. Fire!

[gunshots]

SAM YAO: Five’s out.

[gun clicks]

JANINE DE LUCA: My weapon is jammed. The zombies are upon us. I... I don't have a plan!

[rifle shots, zombies splatter and stop screaming]

PETER LYNNE: Right, someone's shooting with a rifle. The zombies are down. What is happening?

MOHAMMED BOUJETTIF: Up here, can you see me? The skies have cleared, to give the heavens a better view of your heroics, no doubt. Wait there, I'm coming down.

SAM YAO: Well, good thing I activated my Mysterious Stranger perk.

MOHAMMED BOUJETTIF: What's the saying? “A stranger is a friend you haven't met yet.” Well, now we've met.

PETER LYNNE: There's another saying! “A friend is someone who doesn't lure you into a dark ravine filled with screaming undead!” ... It tends to be quite situational!

JANINE DE LUCA: Mr. Lynne is right. You have put us in danger, mortal danger. I assume you are Mohammed Boujettif?

MOHAMMED BOUJETTIF: Yes, and I'm sorry, truly. Screamers don't usually hunt here this time of year. I myself was forced to flee our rendezvous coordinates.

PETER LYNNE: But why bring us out here in the first place?

MOHAMMED BOUJETTIF: Unfortunately, I'm currently persona non grata in New Agadir. I'm being followed by certain agents. Should we be seen together, you'll become known associates, never to be admitted under any circumstances. If I'm to assist you in entering the city, I'm afraid you'll first have to help resolve the misunderstanding that led to my exile. And I see you are more than up to the task. So quick to figure out the screamer's hunting technique. And look, to the west! A shooting star. The heavens approve.

JANINE DE LUCA: The heavens are indifferent to our activities, but beautiful. Quite beautiful. We will help you, Mr. Boujettif.

MOHAMMED BOUJETTIF: And I will help you. Your prime minister explain the severity of the situation when she contacted me. I would love to know how she came to discover so much about me. An intriguing woman. But she informed me that without your intervention, a malignant fungal entity might swallow my country as it so nearly did yours. So I will help you to assume the identities of this band of assassins and to establish contact with those inside Red Scorpion base. Together, we will penetrate the impregnable fortress, you have my word. And please, call me Mo.

#zombies run #zrs9 #s9m7 #scream #zr transcript #zrs9 spoilers

3 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 5 years

Text

Princess 9

You wake in a cold sweat from what feels like a dreamless sleep. It worries you, a dream you can still feel the fear from but not remember makes your skin crawl.

You scent copper in the air and a flash of your Mother's eyes cloud your vision. You sit up slowly fisting your hair before you realize what this dream means.

And what the pull of power in the sea headed in this direction means. You look over the King's sleeping form and scoff softly as you rise dressing in your black outfit with the white fur.

You head down the hill by the mouth of the market intending to take a sharp left when a voice calls out in the quiet.

"Ah my queen" Reo is up before the sun has a chance to rise above the hills, setting out offerings for the King. He gives you his shadowed back as he rummages through his trunks.

"I am not his wife." More bite in your voice than usual as you think of Katsuki's scarlet eyes.

Thinking of them clouded with emotion when you misted that man.

Fear, disgust.

"I never said you were. You do not need to be wed for me to accept you as one of my sovereigns." His voice is like ointment, "I have something for you. Something I think will please you greatly."

He produces a circlet crown of teeth and pearls, you stare down at the item.

At the teeth and you swallow the small lump in your throat.

"I...." You hesitate as he motions for to bow so he may place it on your head.

"Power and confidence, emotions gifted by your people." Reo adjusts it a final time and when you stay bowed he gives you an odd look.

"Thank you." You bow deeper, having wished to have anything close to a person like Reo in your life before.

You wanted to keep him safe.

You will keep him safe.

Especially from what is coming. Even if it means misting every person you lay eyes on.

You will bloody your hands again and again to keep Reo and what is slowly becoming your people, safe.

He places his wrinkled hand onto your shoulder pulling you from war.

"I should be thanking you. His majesty has matured greatly in the short time you've been here. We hardly saw him before you came." He makes quick work of setting up his stall, "I believe you're going to be late for that meeting."

You rush towards the call of power.

To the pull of familar blood.

Reo is right, you are late as the sun gleams over the figure painting him in a golden light as he comes into view.

Making him seem Godly further fueling your urge to make him fall from his pedistol.

Sink the ship even abandoning him here, maimed and having to fight for his own survival much we you both have done to any other scout sent to threaten the High Kingdom.

But you could also use talking to your advantage.

"Ah my sweet sister! How long has it been?" Ares says cooly as you stand before him.

Having to look up at him, as you always have in life.

But he never seemed to look down on you before. Not until now.

You would be a fucking liar if you said your heart wasn't hurting as you stared into his face, teeth grinding as you think.

But somethings never change as you notice that he does not have a single weapon using his same old tactic of seeming harmless when you two would first make land fall on a nation you were to declare war.

All the while he would lie in wait and use his opponent's own weapons against them. No one lived to tell the tale that he could control any weapon. Most thought he at least had to touch it.

Which is exactly why you brought just yourself.

You were a weapon but one Ares nor your Father could ever wish to control.

"Pity about your pretty face. It's scarring quite badly." He grabs onto your chin gently tilting it this way and that. You jerk away and he smiles.

"Do you know why I began training you?" Ares asks but you do not answer as you stare at him with steeled eyes.

"I did it because I knew your beautiful face was going to be prized and I knew of your, what I thought then, inescapable fate." His eyes linger on the jagged scar, only the middle still struggling to heal, "I couldn't stand the thought of you being wed and some man taking...stealing from you to sire some wretched seed. Taking advantage of your tender heart. I wanted you to be able to fight. To be worthy to choose your own man in Father's eyes. But it seems I've hardened your heart too much."

"You are naive to have ever thought I would have a choice." You snarl and he laughs.

"You seem to have one now. Was I to get an invitation to the wedding?" Ares laughs again as you grit your teeth.

"Before you speak you must see it through my eyes. You are adorned in artic fox fur, dragon's teeth and mother pearls that are reserved only for queens here." He smiles again, fingering a dangling tooth, his eyes never waivering as he continues, "You were smart only to bring the Prince."

Your head snaps to look over your shoulder to see Bakugou Katsuki standing on the tall hill, watching. He makes no move to join the two of you.

"Judging by your expression he came uninvited?" You glare at the blonde as Ares relishes the exchange.

You turn your ire onto your brother, eyes narrowing trying hard not to take his bait.

"Heh. Only my sister would be furious with the man who loves her. Any other woman would be furious had their lover not shown an inkling of worry for them." He brushes a stray strang of hair behind your ear, "You should be thankful that of all the people to tail you it was him. He is one of the few who is confident enough in his quirk to not carry a single blade."

"He doesnt love me. He doesn't even trust me." You grab onto Ares' wrist staring him into his golden eyes, "Enough toying with me."

He is silent for a long moment, reading into your eyes and body language as if he were rereading his favorite book.

"He isnt underestimating you if that's what you think. He clearly has some sort of affinity to you. What other man would watch a woman carve her face in front of thousands and *smile* about it." He removes his wrist from your grip, "Not to mention you've been here for what? Months? I hear you share the same bed but what is more shocking is you two share the same bath. An act more intamite than sex, more deep of a bond than marriage. To leave oneself so vulnerable in front if another in this warrior culture."

"How would you know anything about this fucking place?" You snarl so darkly that Ares' eye brows raise

"I have the same eyes and ears you do. Except you already took out one informant, a little late in the game though." He smiles waving for a figure to come from the dunes behind him, shock paints your features, "But I always had a back up. Did you?"

He shoves the hand maid you two once shared, you two once called friend, to the ground. She is seemingly unharmed until Ares pries her mouth open to reveal shortened flesh cauterized deep in her mouth.

"You..." You stare in horror and she cries, clutching onto the black fabric of your pants leg.

"So how did you kill him? The usual? Drowning him? Making him whither?" Ares goes on. You cannot believe he could be so cruel to what was his lover.

You stopped using her for information on Ares when he confessed to her and he...he maimed her. You let your palm pass over the curative of her skull as you bite back rage, tears.

"Hello? I need to know the details of his demise. I was kind enough to show you what happened to yours." He smiles cruelly and when you cannot meet his eyes he knows. He pulls Asui to her feet by the crook of her arm placing her small frame behind him. You can do nothing to protect her right now.

"Oh, you must have done it *that* way? Turned him to nothing but a pile of clothes and mist. And by the guilt on your face you must have done it in front of," He tilts his head to see your turned away face your eyes ever so slightly go over your shoulder, "someone you love. Must have been the prince then."

Rage pulls your muscles into action as you hold his blood, lifting him from his feet as you near closer.

"Predictable." He laughs, "My hot headed sister like my hot headed Father."

You squeeze tighter as you fight the pull of his blood and the urging of your wrath.

Screaming to be freely wielded outside of this mortal body. You give in just a touch, his eyes bulge as his laugh turns into a gasp.

Still he finds air to taunt.

"When you last commanded my blood I could barely think to breathe. Yet you hold me here with barely any force at all. Why is that?" His voice just above a rasp.

"You better choose the right side of this war brother." A growl so dark that you see his eyes cloud with an emotion you do not see often.

"I believe I already have." He struggles against your grip.

You fight the urge to smile until suddenly something tugs on your conscious in the bushes. Their power no longer shielded by sheer will power.

You hear the familiar sound of a sharpened metal tip singing through the air finding perfect purchase in your always tender calf. Slicing straight through muscled flesh, grazing the back of your fiba.

"PRINCESS!" A roar so raw that it pulls at your stomach and causes Ares's muscles to twitch as you drop him.

"Oh tell me again how he does not have an inkling of care for you." He rubs his throat from the invisible grip.

"You and the fucking legs!" You scream as you lift your right hand to handle the rest of the now rapidly THROWN arrows headed in your direction. But before you can change the direction with the persuasion of moved moisture heated explosions obliterate the arrows.

All but one that was thrown in the opposite direction moments before your arrival, one that Ares had slowed before this moment allowing it to return to it's full momentum. The metal bites deeply into your side with such precision that it flies past boned ribs with ease settling centimeters from puncturing your left lung.

You steel yourself and do not allow the pain to consume your thoughts as you dull your senses. Katsuki rushes to your side with murderous intent ready to RIP them limb from fucking limb with his own striked ire.

But you pull the two men by their blood unknowingly saving them from an early demise.

Bringing them before you in panting breaths that both know are not from exertion or the pain of your wound.

No they know from their boiling blood that you're moments away from making them a mist on the sea air.

"Tell Father that I'm not playing around. I will end this war swiftly and I *will* crown myself High Queen even if I must do it with one foot in the grave." You seethe, power whipping around like water whips, the ocean tearing up the sides of the mountains to answer your call, "Punctuate my promise with the bodies of those who do not survive."

You toss them both over the cliff towards their slowly sinking boat, they both sink deep into the thrashing ocean as Katsuki pulls you to him by your waist.

"I'm fine!" Water whips all around him but he is untouched. You wheeze from the deafening wails of power gushing through your veins, pulling on your bones begging to be used further.

"Says the woman with two arrows protruding from her sunkissed flesh." He bites, pulling you by your forearm damning you for not swallowing your pride for a moment for him to carry you to your shared chambers.

You hobble behind his much too fast pace, spitting blood, once twice as the old stinging feeling of your cheek returns. You growl aloud when you hear voices of Mina and Momo mixed with the laughter of a male.

"You called for them again?" You snap pausing outside of the yurt. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before he looks over his shoulder.

"Yes to see if you needed those two stitches replaced." His eyes blister over the wound and you snarl.

Baring your teeth with such animosity one would think you beast. Still he waits for your approach and when you do not follow he makes way to grab onto your arm.

"You are truly wretched." He hisses as he pulls you past the heavy fabric. The room silences and eyes widen at the blood oozing into the polished hardwood floor in alarmingly fat drops.. Their lingering doe like stares doing nothing but bringing the burning pain of your side and leg to the forefront of your mind.

"Princess!" Kirishima calls, his own wrapped and bruised skin poking at the veil of memories you are already trying to suppress.

You breathe in needles, your patience thinning with every throb around the foreign metal in your body. You hobble to the bath trying so fucking hard to control your rapid breathing from your rising irritation. You wrap small fingers around smooth wood before you pull the first arrow from screaming flesh. Unbothered by the fact that pulling it this way would cause more damage.

You fight hesitation that no one can see as you use deft hands to pull the one from your side, throwing it so hard it buries itself inches into the thick hardwood. No one goes to move as you face in the direction of the village as the flicking your wrist locking onto someone unknown.

Pulling a man from his curtent job to assist you as his broad shoulders come flying into the yurt like a rigid doll thrown carelessly into the play house.

You flick your wrist, fingers dancing and suddenly his movements were fluid as if he were moving on his own. Doing his normal ritual to pull the purest moisture from the air before heating it between his palms.

Had no one seen your hand at work, they would all think he was filling a bath of his own accord. Especially with how gingerly he opens the large glass jars beside the tub, pouring in certain herbs for medical purposes. Everyone in the room blanches feeling their throats tighten with unfamiliar fear, everyone one but a certain hot head.

No, he does not whiten like bone in the sun, his anger colors his cheeks red as a fall apple.

"I'm sure he knows how to use his own fucking quirk!" He snarls darkly in his mother tongue. You hold his burning eyes with your own, guilt fills your throat with each passing second and finally you snap.

You scream your frustration flicking your wrists as you do and sending everyone from the yurt to land at the foot of the market.

Everyone but the ash blonde that your body refuses to control in spite of the power, of your own will, begging you to use him.

To use all of them to get what you want.

You pant heavily, your rage having raised your blood pressure in turn causing a thicker pool of crimson at your feet. It is making you dizzy which is making you angrier. Your rage organ pumping out unnecessarily hot wrath into your thick capable frame causing it to shake.

"Get. Out." You bite, venom soaking every syllable before turning so softly as your eyes prick with welled up ire, "Now."

Katuski notices the change in demeanor quickly, stepping slowly to you, until his hands hovered over your shoulders. Still cautious to touch.

"If you truly wanted me to you would have sent me away as you did with them." His voice is soft for once, his hands finally landing on your shoulders gently, "Let me help you."

When you do not respond he goes for a carved bone knife by the tub to better access your wound and your raw emotions have you snapping again as you think of out stretched gnarled hands.

"THIS IS MY FUCKING FAVORITE ONE!" You yell franticly in his mother tongue and he places the knife down slowly. Careful to avoid sudden movements as he slides the fur of the jumper off of your shoulders a bit before folding it over careful to guide it furthest away from you wound as he slips you out of the black fabric.

"Ki can fix it just as she made it." He reassures you of Reo's wife's skill as he lays it gently over a low arm chair. He notices your crown, fingering the dragons teeth softly before removing it with slow fluid motions. He damned Reo when he saw it placed atop your brilliant crown, the old man knew full well it would have his heart racing to see what Reo, what his people already saw.

A Queen.

He sets it on your side table, careful to straighten the strings of pearls and teeth before returning to his work. He lifts you princess style as he eases you into the bath, undressing himself only after he's settled you. Stepping in with an almost sluggish manner as if any movement of water would disturb you.

"You should heal your wounds while they are submerged. Start with your side." An order that you for once obey, feeling too numb from the rush of fading emotion to notice the worry in his tone. He turns you away from him slowly as nimble fingers unweave your braided hair, disentangling any knots along the way before pouring deliciously hot water over your scalp.

Fat tears fall over red rimmed eyes as he tenderly cares for you, his hand massaging in shampoo while you're reminded of your improbable behavior all the while your brother's words echo in your head.

"Only my sister would be furious with the man who loves her."

"Oh tell me again how he does not have an inkling of care for you."

It is true that he must feel something for you. He had not harmed you, barely touched you in your sleep, he was sure you were clothed and fed. And when you shook the cage of his ire he restrained himself, a feat others had later told you was unheard of. Hell he even saved you from certain death within a few hours of meeting him after such a display of spiteful behavior and what do you do in return of his favor? Your mind flashes images of the times you thought to kill him, how many times did you talk yourself out of using his very own bath water to silence him forever.

You try to swallow the sob that threatens your frame but to no avail, it causes you to shake breaking the dam on your tears once more.

The second time in years you were truly and uselessly crying.

Katsuki takes immediate notice, he gives you a moment and when you continue to cry openly he speaks.

"What plagues your thoughts princess?" His voice is like ointment on your burning cheek.

"Nothing." Your voice comes out normal, having long ago learned to control your pitch and tones.

"Then why are you shaking? It is not a shiver from cold as the bath is steaming and I know it is not a shiver of pleasure." He chuckles darkly at his own joke before rinsing away the conditioner, "Face me if nothing is wrong."

You do not move and he sighs.

"I need to clean your cheek..." He bites back his impatient growl as a broad hand turns you to face him. He watches you swipe at your eyes quickly with angry hands.

"It is okay to show me your tears." He says as he drinks in the sight of you, even in sadness you're breath taking, "I will help carry the burden of them."

"No, it's an ugly display of vulnerability that I wish to never share." You bite back another sob.

"Do you know why my people respect women so much?" He asks and when you cannot offer an answer he continues, "We respect women because they are so in tune with their emotions. Because they are strong enough to allow them to happen, brave enough to show their tears, their rage, their love to another. Women are far from weak, tears are far from weak."

The dam somehow bursts again and your body is rocked with emotion.

Over too many things and possibilities.

Over the blood you will soon have on your hands and true to his word Katsuki takes some of your burden as he pulls you to him, both of you uncaring of the proximity of your naked bodies. He wraps powerful arms around you as his palm glides over your wet hair. Your tears collect in the crook of his spiced neck as the steam begins to die away from the bath. Slowly you return to your normal state and slowly he gathers things to clean your wound. He stops for a moment and stares.

Crimson eyes gliding over a scared bottom lip, he traces it for a moment and you shudder. The scar tingles from the ghost of his calloused skin as he sighs, stare fixated on the wound he reopened. The remorse in his eyes has your own stinging, silence stretches between the two of you as time seems to slow.

"I'm sorry, Mo chuisle." He breathes so softly, breaking the spell, as the pad of his thumb wipes away a stray tear, hand squeezing the rag in his other hand.

"My pulse?" You ask softly, letting your hand slide down his forearm to caress the softened skin of the crook of his elbow.

"That is what you're becoming." He admits as he returns to dabbing at your cheek, "As much as I do not want it to be. You urge my heart to beat, to drum on."

You stare at the man before you, his glistening skin shining in small scars from battles unknown, a man that has been hardened by time and tragic loss yet still he sits before you. As raw and vulnerable as you, softened by nothing other than your own thorny exterior. His blood beats in time with your own, his power thrumming beneath toned muscles calling out to you as yours calls to his. You close the distance between you two again, he gives you his full attention as your scared lips move in perfect motions under his watchful eye.

"Thank you....mo chuisle." You say softly watching his cheeks dust with blush. You lean ever closer, daring to press your lips to his if only for a moment. Katsuki fights every muscle in his body not to hold your mouth to his letting you lean away as his heart yearns for more.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha bakugou #bnha #bnha au #bakugo katuski #katuski bakugou #katsuki bakugo #katuski au #princess

374 notes · View notes

sopheronipepperoni · 7 years

Text

Someone to Lean On

[In which Sara takes up yoga to manage her stress. Liam, in typical fashion, is all in.]

"Oh boy." Sara's breath left her lungs in a whoosh. "I didn't expect it to feel quite like that."

She was curled in a ball on the floor of her cabin, back to surface and knees to chest. Her sunny hair was arrayed around her head in a fuzzy halo. The audio on the asari yoga vid had faded away heartbeats ago; quiet breaths and soft ambient music filled the space.

"Yoga is a mind-body technique which can help reduce stress levels and increase anxiety control. Your job as Pathfinder places a heavy burden on your body; relaxing and stretching your muscles regularly can increase your general wellness." SAM's voice, while it was at a normal volume, was not at odds with the soft atmosphere of the room.

"Well, it's doing something right, because I could stay in this —what is it called? Vanhasaya? —forever." Her eyes were closed; her body felt heavy as she sank into the floor. Completely relaxed.

"I believe that posture is called 'shavasana'."

"Shavasana." Sara rolled the word around on her tongue, tasting its smooth sibilants and easy vowels. She'd need to thank Lexi for the recommendation next time she saw the doctor. "SAM, can you schedule time tomorrow for another session? I'd like to try this again."

"Of course, Pathfinder. I will line up a selection of videos in the queue."

"Great." She sighed, drawing her shoulder blades in, fully sinking down against the floor. "Maybe there's something to this whole 'stress-relief' thing, after all."

Sara had always had a bit of an obsessive personality.

For as long as she could remember, she'd always had this desire to just learn more. Knowing about mechanics wasn't enough; she needed to know the nitty-gritty ins and outs, how to put together and disassemble any drone she could get her hands on, how to create mods from scratch with raw materials.

Even though she wasn't biotic, she'd done a lot of research on eezo and mass effect fields when mom had gotten sick. This event had spurred on a desire to know more about human physiology, and first aid, and pain relief. How to deal with grief, and do it well.

Alien cultures, you say? Sara was in the libraries, on the extranet, up to her elbows in Prothean artifacts and data streams, all for the sake of knowing more. She'd loved being a Recon Specialist.

Some of it was from a desire to achieve; her and Scott had come out of the womb seeking to wring every last drop of life from the universe, no matter what they did. Most of it was just her, though; she was hardwired to breathe in information and think, the way other people took in oxygen or consumed food. Knowledge was her life blood.

Which made signing up for the Initiative a breeze, all things considered. Unknown alien cultures? New worlds to explore? Sign me up, I won't look back. Adventure, here I come. Albeit, some of her panache and zeal for discovery had been tempered by the kett, and everything that had come in the shitstorm since Habitat 7. But still: climbing the dunes on Elaaden; breathing in the strange, earthy scent on Havarl; feeling the hot wind of Eos blow across her face —Heleus was ripe for the picking, and she wanted it all.

So she really wasn't surprised that when she found yoga to be helping with her stress levels, she went all in. Once-a-day sessions turned into separate morning and bedtime routines. Instead of rereading her favorite Milky Way novels, she read up on the history of yoga, on the different schools, on the way it took root amongst asari culture. She even, at one point, asked Cora and Peebee —and Lexi, since she was the one who recommended it, after all— if they had ever seriously practiced before.

Lexi: "Even though I know of its benefits, I've regrettably never devoted time to exploring them myself."

Peebee: "Naw, never got into all that New Age-y shit. Not really me, you know?" (Sara had tried to hold in her snort, with limited success)

Only Cora had any real experience. "Sometimes, when the other huntresses were feeling particularly tight, we'd practice as a group, or as partners."

Sara's brows scrunched. "As partners?"

"Sure. Partner yoga is a great way to really bond with someone. Each party has to carry their own weight, so to speak, to really get the most out of it." She paused, considering. "I didn't really do it all that often, but if you ever wanted to try it, I'd be willing."

Their friendship had improved vastly over the months; Sara recognized it for the platonic offer it was. After a few sessions of deep stretches —following particularly harry missions— another idea sparked in Sara's brain.

What would partner yoga be like with…well, with a partner?

A few weeks later found Sara with her legs up against the window in her cabin, stretched against the wall in a satisfying viparita karani posture. Her initial fervor had cooled into something more sustainable; even though she had already been in shape, she felt more lithe through her muscles, more loose, more body-conscious than before. She felt in control, for once.

The rhythms that approximated the "nightly" sequence on the Tempest were in full swing. Her cabin lights were dimmed. Half of her hair was pulled up, the other half having escaped to curl lightly against her neck. Quiet music filtered from the speakers, and she counted her breaths.

In. Out. In. Out. In—

The doors to her cabin slid open, and a shadow slanted across the floor.

"Hey, Sara—oh, sorry, didn't know you were busy."

She opened her eyes, rolling her neck back until she was looking at Liam, upside down. "Not busy, just relaxing. Come on in."

He sat on the bed, pulling up his omnitool. Since the soccer match on Podromos, they'd taken to spending more of their down time together —or all of it, as Peebee liked to tease— slowly working their way through Liam's massive movie list. Or kissing. There was also lots of that, too. Sara didn't really mind what they were doing, as long as they were together. She wasn't always sure of how much time she'd get with him, with things escalating like they were.

She slowly dropped her legs down to her chest and rolled to the side, savoring the way her back popped as she curled.

"Feeling another 'Blasto' movie? Always a cringe-worthy classic. Or how about—"

"Actually, I have an idea." She sat up, butterflies suddenly flitting around in her stomach. What if he thinks this is dumb? Oh man, potential for embarrassment and rejection! She worried at her bottom lip; Liam stopped flicking through the vids and watched her, noticing her hesitation. "How about trying partner yoga with me?"

She felt her cheeks flush, and she ducked her head slightly, in the way he had come to realize was a self-defense mechanism. It had been easier to spot her insecurities as things with the Kett heated up, and as he got to know her better. In the low-lighting, with her hair slightly frizzy from being against the floor, he thought she looked perfect. "Hell yeah, I'm game."

"What, really? You don't think it's dumb, or anything?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "Sara Ryder, rarely do you ever say or do anything that could be classified as 'dumb'. That's my part of the job, yeah?" He stretched his legs out in front of him, reclining slightly against the bed. "Besides, 'partner yoga'? Sounds like a great idea. Let's do it."

Her breath came out in a soft sound, and for not the first time Liam marveled at how relaxed she was around him, how she wasn't afraid of showing her insecurities and sharing her fears, when it was just them. When she wasn't the Pathfinder. Well, it was his job to support her; he felt damn lucky that things had turned out the way they had.

She patted the floor next to her, pulling up her own omnitool and keying up an asari vid.

"They're not going to do any kinky shit on this, right? Don't really want to see any naked bodies. Except one." He settled in next to her, arms brushing.

She flushed, punching Liam half-heartedly in the arm. "Not that kind of vid, Liam."

He laughed, a quick bark of sound. "Just checking."

The vid popped up on the wallscreen, courtesy of SAM, showing two asari sitting comfortably back to back. "We'll follow the video. Just how flexible are you, Kosta?" She couldn't resist.

"You should be able to answer that one for yourself." He flashed her a cheeky grin before maneuvering to sit back-to-back. "Let me know if I do something that hurts you." He emanated a comfortable warmth against her, and she smiled as she sank into the audio.

The video playing was one for beginners; her and Cora had never gone past the basic postures. She sat up straight, anchored to the floor; Liam's body was firm against her. Elbows locked, fingers rested on knees as they fell into alternating breaths. Then, like the asari on screen, they lifted their hands over their heads in a side stretch. She caught Liam's soft murmur of "Ladies first," before his warm hands encircled her wrists and tugged slightly upward, elongating her stretch. It hurt, but in the good way.

Their inhalations and exhalations mingled with the vid's soft audio; they were the only sounds in the room.

When they reached the back and forward bends, she felt Liam's ribs shake against her as he laughed; she was folded completely to the ground, his body heavy over hers. "I feel like I'm squishing you."

"You haven't yet," was her muffled reply. Then it was time to switch; she slid up and against him, taking a moment to really press her hips to his. She could definitely see the benefits of practicing with a partner, as he exhaled explosively beneath her. Her eyes closed as she relaxed against his back, her fingers extending forward to brush his. With a soft 'pop,' vertebrae in her lower back settled, and she sighed.

The vid played on; they didn't speak, save for requesting less or more pressure be used. For not the first time, Sara was struck by Liam's gentle care with her. Sure, she'd witnessed his obvious compassion for others: he worked tirelessly to get the outposts what they needed, and she knew that same care had surfaced in HUST-1. It even carried over into his combat style, the way he'd throw himself right into the fray to get the fire off of teammates. Off of her.

Being with Liam helped remind her that she was a woman, underneath the title of 'Pathfinder'. He treated her like she was valuable, like she was worth it, their crazy adventures and hijinks all aside. She'd never pictured herself with someone who was so attentive, so kind. Sara hoped that she made him feel the same way he made her feel. All fluttery and goofy and sappy.

She didn't know how she had gotten so lucky.

Hands slid up arms as they faced each other again and reached forward, entering another bend. Her face was starting to feel unreasonably warm; in their wake, his fingers left trails of fire on her skin. As Liam helped her fold forward —legs out wide, feet touching— she savored the feeling of his palms on her shoulder blades. She let out a soft groan as he pressed her deeper into the stretch.

"Too much?"

"Just right." Why was her voice so breathy all of a sudden?

Apparently Liam was noticing the shift in atmosphere, too; when she helped him fold down towards her, he slipped his hands up and over her thighs, his fingers stretching to press teasingly against her lower back. She lightly flinched. How much longer is this vid?

By the time they worked through double downward dog and another round of partner breathing, Sara felt like a soupy, languid mess. Completely relaxed in a deeper way, stretched out, yet also…ahem. Being near Liam always made her feel butterflies, but this?

The room darkened as the vid faded to black. Their elbows were still locked. "Thanks for trying that. What'd you think?"

"Happy to help you relax. We all need someone to lean on."

A beat—then, "You didn't. Were you thinking about that the whole time?"

"Nope. I was thinking about when we'd get to that crazy acrobatic shit people'd always post on the extranet. Next time, right?"

She laughed. "Sure, next time. If you think you can handle it, that is."

He moved around to face her, eyes molten in the light of the stars. His breath fanned against her skin. "Is that a challenge, Sara Ryder?"

She smiled against his skin. "You bet it is, Kosta."

He slid his hand up her arm, repeating the motion from before, cupping her cheek. "Looking forward to it, then." His fingers traced a bright line from her jaw to the back of her neck.

As his mouth met hers and her fingers twined in his hair, Sara decided that partner yoga was a very good idea.

#liam kosta #sara ryder #liam x ryder #mass effect #fanfiction #healthy relationships are the best #rydam #mass effect andromeda

11 notes · View notes

themikithornburg · 7 years

Text

Magic Portals

If you're a member of Goodreads, you know that the site encourages readers and fans to submit questions for authors. The other day I got a question from someone (probably Goodreads itself; my readers and fans are remarkably mum): "If you could travel to any fictional book world, where would you go and what would you do there?" The more I've thought about this, the more I'm stunned. Goodreads' question, with its "if you could," takes for granted that I can't "travel to any fictional book world." When in fact I can. I do it all the time. And so do you, if you're someone who reads fiction. Goodreads should know this! When you're a good reader and have good books to read, you can open a magic portal into other worlds. People have been saying this for centuries. "There is no frigate like a book," wrote Emily Dickinson, "to take us lands away." Your high school English teacher (after telling the class what a frigate was and scowling at the kid who laughed nastily at the word) explained that these lines were a metaphor, a figure of speech meaning that a book was like a ship. But your teacher was wrong. What Dickinson means is absolutely literal. No ship, or for that matter no plane, train, or automobile, can do what a book can. No vehicle can take you very far over your lunch break and bring you back in an hour. Fuel and tickets are expensive. Until space travel gets cheaper and time travel is invented, there are some places you can't go at all. Books, on the other hand, are quick, always available, and free if you have a library card. They can take you to the past, to the future, across the country or across the universe. And this part of the poem is a metaphor only in the sense that you won't be traveling physically. If you're a good reader, and are reading a good book, emotionally and consciously you will be where the book takes you. And most of the time, emotionally and consciously is what counts. I've read books that took me to their world so completely that when I finished them, or stopped reading for the night, I could hardly get back to my own world. Stephen King's books do that to me, and while his world isn't always a comfortable place, it's a fascinating one. I've read books that rescued me, temporarily, from my own uncomfortable places; once, during a hot muggy summer when I was dead broke and working a job I hated, I read all of Jane Austen's novels back to back and lived, for hours at a time, in cool nineteenth-century England among people whose worries were entirely different from mine. I've lived in fictional worlds that were so real to me, emotionally and consciously, that they entered my dreams. The first time I read Frank Herbert's Dune I actually hesitated to go outdoors without wearing a stillsuit to preserve my body's moisture; in my mind, the world of the book and my everyday world were momentarily confused. I've had discussions, sometimes arguments, with the characters in some good books. I've fallen in love with a few of them. What do I mean by "a good book"? In this regard, it's not a moral, nor a literary, nor even an aesthetic judgment; it's purely a practical one. A good book is enticing enough to persuade me to enter its world and then strong enough to keep me there. Also, and importantly, it has to be well enough written on every level of writing, from spelling to plot, to avoid kicking me out of its world with every grammatical error or non-sequitur or sudden, unintended change in point of view. Some readers can ignore a few of these distractions, but some can't, and no one can willingly stay in the world of a book that keeps reminding them every few paragraphs that it's just a collection of words on a page. Of course, not every good book can help every reader work its magic. When I was eleven I tried to read David Copperfield and simply could not get into Dickens' world – the ironies were lost on me, and the unfamiliar vocabulary was too great a distraction. At eleven I was a good reader for some books, but not good enough for that one. I was easily bored, and boredom zapped me back through that magic portal the wrong way. On the other hand, a couple of years ago when I attempted to reread Gone with the Wind, which I'd loved at thirteen or so, I couldn't stay on the other side of the portal. I'm sure for some young or naïve readers it's still a good book, but I stopped being a good reader for it, probably sometime in the late 1950s when I started to know too much about the real world to believe in Margaret Mitchell's fictional one. Her major characters all thought (as Mitchell apparently did) that slavery was a fine institution, and while I could well believe that of selfish, single-minded Scarlett and cynical Rhett (and while it was obvious that "Mammy's" act had everyone fooled, including the author), Ashley Wilkes was the deal-breaker. He was neither stupid nor a hypocrite, but he had to be either or both; he didn't have the luxury of living in the 1930s and lying to himself. Every time he appeared on the scene, then, he pushed me right out of that book's world. The line is blurry between a good book and a not-so-good one, even when you take "good" in this narrow sense. Patrick O'Brien's Aubrey-Maturin novels are so good, for me as a reader, that I've read them – all thousands of pages combined – three times, and I have no trouble getting past the sea-going vocabulary that might stop another reader. But they'd be even better books if the complete Norton edition weren't so badly edited (not edited, in fact, but just scanned and printed) that there's a typo or two on almost every page. It's the author's job, with the help of the editor, to make his or her fictional world as real and distraction-free as possible, and since O'Brien was dead when this edition came out, the publisher has a lot to answer for. For some otherwise good readers, the combination of technical vocabulary and stupid errors will make it a world they can't inhabit. Of course there's also a blurred line between good readers and bad ones, and the line moves, depending not only on the book but on other things, including the reader's time of life or even on the reader's mood. Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it doesn't. There's a novel called Dear Enemy, by Jean Webster, published in 1915, that I've read approximately 200 times (if I lived in the world of Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 I could walk around reciting it), and if I need cheering up I'll reread it again. I can't stay long in Thomas Hardy's novelistic world; I get way too depressed there. And I don't even understand the concept of "a great beach read." If I'm on a beach, I want to be on the beach, not in some other fictional place. (I wonder if anyone ever read Nevil Shute's On the Beach while they were on a beach?) The sad thing, though, is that some bad readers are always bad readers. Technically, they can read – they know the words, they can pronounce and define them, and they know what most of them mean. But the words are only words; they open no portals. When I was a teacher, I sometimes had students like this. They'd graduated from high school and were able to advance through required college courses in their major and minor fields without ever reading a fictional book or story willingly. "I don't like fiction," they'd say, and no wonder. From their reactions, in things they said or wrote, I think reading fiction must have been, to them, the way a mathematics text is to me – something I can mostly understand, if I put my mind to it, but something that doesn't touch me or move me in any way. Black marks on a white page, forgotten as soon as the page is turned. I don't know why this is so, for those people; I don't think it's a lack of imagination, because they seem able to watch movies and television with some pleasure, and you have to have at least a little imagination to do that, although the actors and directors and crews do most of that imagining for you. I suspect it's because they never found that first magic portal, the one that took them "lands away," and so they never knew it was possible, never got the knack of it. Maybe it's too late for them, as young adults or old adults, to learn the trick. I hope not. But why do I hope not? It's just a game, isn't it, this trick of opening a magic door into a fictional world? It's not something we need to do in order to live, and it's not like there aren't millions of people in this world who aren't able to read at all and who get along just as well without it. Yes, some believe that reading certain texts – say, the Bible or the Quran – can make one a better person (a questionable belief, I will venture, having met some of the folks who hold it). But fiction? Isn't reading fiction just a frivolous entertainment, no worse but certainly no better than watching a movie or playing solitaire? Am I a better person for having read Dune or David Copperfield? Will you be any wiser or any more virtuous after you've read that new novel you just brought home from the library? Possibly not. But you'll have travelled, and travel is broadening, as they say. You'll have met new people, including the book's author, and had a glimpse into their minds. You'll have seen, if the book is a good one, how strangers live, or how they once lived, and seeing this will suggest that how people live in your own world isn't the only possible way. You'll encounter problems and ways of addressing them that haven't occurred to you – yet – in this world. Also, when you've spent a little time in another world, you'll notice that the other world is a mirror, whether perfect or flawed, of this one. In that mirror you may get a glimpse of yourself. Priceless, always.

0 notes