Underglass by Siria (G)
Apr. 23rd, 2014 10:38 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
Show: SGA
Rec Category: Ronon Dex
Characters: Ronon Dex, Elizabeth Weir
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Elizabeth Weir
Het/Slash/Gen: Het
Warnings: None.
Author on LJ:
siriaeve
Author's Website: On AO3
Link: underglass
Why this must be read: Siria paint with words. I'm often in awe of the way she expresses herself. This beautiful little gem is no exeption. It's such a wonderful glimpse into Ronon's mind, past and present.
Snippet of fic: He tells her about the quiet tick of the clock in Mikshi's sun-warm kitchen; the murmur from the audio in the corner that she always had tuned to the state weather channel; her square, flour-whitened hands pounding away at dough she would shape into kepa and deven tarts and loaves of wetri bread. He tells her how Mikshi would turn a blind eye to him eating preserves straight from the jar, and spit on a handkerchief to wipe his face with afterwards, declaring that having him to stay was like having a Thernan nomad invade her orderly space. How he would grin up at her, and call her Mikshi-la, and tug on one of her braids; how his aunt's long-suffering sigh and the smile that tugged always at the corner of her mouth was like looking at love's gleam made bearable by everyday wrinkles and a dusting of flour.
Rec Category: Ronon Dex
Characters: Ronon Dex, Elizabeth Weir
Pairing: Ronon Dex/Elizabeth Weir
Het/Slash/Gen: Het
Warnings: None.
Author on LJ:

Author's Website: On AO3
Link: underglass
Why this must be read: Siria paint with words. I'm often in awe of the way she expresses herself. This beautiful little gem is no exeption. It's such a wonderful glimpse into Ronon's mind, past and present.
Snippet of fic: He tells her about the quiet tick of the clock in Mikshi's sun-warm kitchen; the murmur from the audio in the corner that she always had tuned to the state weather channel; her square, flour-whitened hands pounding away at dough she would shape into kepa and deven tarts and loaves of wetri bread. He tells her how Mikshi would turn a blind eye to him eating preserves straight from the jar, and spit on a handkerchief to wipe his face with afterwards, declaring that having him to stay was like having a Thernan nomad invade her orderly space. How he would grin up at her, and call her Mikshi-la, and tug on one of her braids; how his aunt's long-suffering sigh and the smile that tugged always at the corner of her mouth was like looking at love's gleam made bearable by everyday wrinkles and a dusting of flour.