sugarspiceandcursewords replied to your post “ok i’m going to hack my dysfunction and make myself work on this...”
I mean, what story wouldn’t benefit from some Kes Dameron?
As a bonus, your Kes is both awesome and pretty close to original anyway, since his source material is about three lines long.
Right? This is the joy of adopting neglected minor canon characters. All he does in canon is be square-jawed, badass, very slightly sarcastic, and emotionally wide open, which is a great combo but also a pretty free stepping-off point.
galadhir replied to your post “ok i’m going to hack my dysfunction and make myself work on this...”
Seems like a really good idea
So far, it seems to be working out!
harpergetsfannish reblogged your post and added:
One of my friends writes movies. One time he got through writing a rom-com by sticking in a homeless guy who hangs out at the cafe the to-be couple frequents and gives the main characters advice. Except! The homeless guy is really a time traveling alien sent back to make sure these two people get together because one of their decedents makes a major scientific breakthrough that eliminates hunger galaxy wide! Because Doug can only write genre. He has no idea how to write rom-coms.
I love this? I also definitely have this problem. Early in my relationship with Dude, I tried to make him read some of my ongoing epic Fantasy Novel of the time, and he was like, uh I don’t uh, really read the genre... why can’t this dude’s name be Tim... etc., and I was like, OK FINE, I will write a snappy contemporary urban novel! and I got like, four pages in before there were goddamn wizards, ok. So you gotta know your limits. (And no, he Does Not Read anything I write, y’all who have like, supportive moms and shit, just know I’m sick with jealousy, but that’s just how it works sometimes. You can’t always rely on a romantic partner for everything.)
Anyway, I plopped Kes into this setting, and immediately he was like, ok yes I am going to instantly fall in love with the most interesting woman in this place but no I am not going to spend the rest of this story as a grizzled and bereaved widower, so she’s just going to have to not die. He’s instantly transformed himself, with a setting-appropriate name change, into a mysterious, shy badass with heart-eyes visible from space, and I think I can’t manage to kill off Not-Shara offscreen either, i think he’s right, since this isn’t Star Wars moms don’t have to die, so I don’t know where they’re going. You take the rough-framework-of-vague-canon rails off and who knows what’ll happen.
But it did get me to write a fair bit, which is more than I’ve done in like, months, so:
He dismounted from the horse. “I’ll walk,” he said, “if you want to ride.”
Close up, he was tall, she realized-- tall, and broad-shouldered, and those fine features were quite handsome after all. He had a little tiny piece of a beard, carefully-maintained, and his eyes were so dark it was hard to tell iris from pupil. And he was young, the skin around his eyes nearly entirely unlined.
“I don’t mind walking,” she said, “it’s really not far.” She picked up her bag, and he took it and nestled it capably between the cantle of his saddle and the blanket roll attached there. His horse grunted in irritation, jerking it head a little, and he told it affectionately in Andish to cheer up.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve been on this horse so long, I’d rather walk as well. So I suppose my friend here will have a little break,” And he tousled its mane.
The horse nosed at him, perhaps expecting a treat, and shook its mane.
“I’m Maliy,” Maliy said. “What’s your name?”
“Akash,” he said, with a shy smile that showed a brief flash of white teeth. “At your service,” and he inclined his head, putting a hand to his chest.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. He really was attractive, and was dressed in outlandish but practical clothes-- a long, loose robe split from the waist in front and behind, leather trousers, a light woven headscarf wrapped around his head and neck, a heavy belt across his chest diagonally from shoulder to hip with a few small bags strung along it. His saddle was elaborate, as well, with bags here and there, and things attached to it-- gloves folded through a strap by the pommel, a coil of rope over the pommel, a broad-brimmed hat strapped to the blanket roll, and most interestingly, a rifle in a scabbard hanging from the front of the saddle, slid neatly down the front for easy access.
He had a knife in his belt, too-- a big long one, two hand-lengths long in the curved blade, and the handle had a guard; it spanned more than the width of his back, hung diagonally so that he could draw it left-handed.
“So you’re from here?” he said, a little self-consciously.
“I am,” she said. “Born and raised. I went to school in the city, but I couldn’t stay away. Where are you from?”
He smiled, a sad smile that didn’t show any teeth. “Far,” he said, “and no one lives there now. The city, though-- Pliset, or Ruko?”
Maliy blinked. Ruko was more than a week’s travel away over mountains. “Pliset,” she said. “I’ve never been to-- have you been to Ruko?”
“We came from there,” he said, looking a little surprised. “It’s not that far.”
“Is it nice there?” she asked, a little wistfully.
He smiled, still without teeth but more pleasantly this time. “Yes,” he said. “I mean, like most cities that are in good condition. They have nice public fountains and a beautiful central garden.”
“I heard their library is amazing,” Maliy said.
Akash looked down and away. “I didn’t go to the library,” he said. “I’m not-- much of a scholar.”
He hadn’t said where he was from. He might have grown up without a settlement, without a school. Maliy’s heart twisted a little, in pity maybe-- but where had he gotten such good manners? Someone had taught him. “Is the food good there?”
He laughed softly, at that, shooting her a sidelong look. “Yes,” he said. “I was much more concerned with that, you are perceptive. They have a kind of soft bread, there, that they fry in fat until it’s crispy, and you’d think that would be too heavy but somehow it is possible to consume a great deal of it and still want more.”
“What, for breakfast?” Maliy wondered.
“Oh, at all times of day,” Akash said, and his expression was bright with amusement. “It was decadent. I enjoyed that.”
“When I was at school in Pliset,” Maliy said, “there was a little shop, that had these amazing pastries, and they would freeze a kind of custard and serve it with the pastries on hot days.”
“Oh,” Akash said, “that place is still there. I had that. Well, last year anyway. I haven’t been to Pliset since then.” He shot her another look; he didn’t hold eye contact, but tended to mostly keep his gaze indirect. It was endearing, and seemed very shy. “They have that stuff in a few other cities. It’s called something different everywhere, but my cousin Tiu is very good at finding it.”
“Is he now,” Maliy said. Tiu, that was probably the other guard, then. “How many cities have you been to?”
Ahead of them, the ox-cart had paused as the little convoy was clearly in discussion with whoever was manning the gate. The gate wasn’t normally guarded, but people in the settlement would have seen the ox-cart coming and probably come down to speak with it.
“Oh,” Akash said. “I don’t know, I haven’t counted, but I have been all up and down the coast.”
10 notes
·
View notes