#meandering retrospectives

[adelle-ein]

some oomfs talking about a new starkid musical and i'm like oh, are they still at it? they've probably put out a few new things since i last kept up with them, let's go see what they are :)

anyway it's been Eleven. years since holy musical b@man/avpsy, aka the last of their musicals i watched, and i'm feeling really normal about that

#i went to their first tour....... #my dad took me he was very patient with having a 14 y/o #in retrospect i think he was probably just thrilled i was willing to leave the house #i remember hmb as being genuinely good and stepping away from some of the lower production value issues/meandering monologues/etc #but then i dropped out of school and was just not interested in quirky musicals for teens anymore #txt #(and yes! i did have a gigantic baby lesbian crush on lauren lopez! who among us did not)

[littlejuicebox]

Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

-----

Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fluff #astarion fluff #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 fic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 imagines #astarion imagines #i feel like shadowheart would be my best friend IRL

[cuubism]

unfortunately for my sanity i am thinking about them again [sheltered rich boy dream and feral child hob]

--

In retrospect, it was fitting that the first time Dream met Hob, he was breaking a rule.

It hadn’t been easy. Dream did not like to lie, and wasn’t very good at it besides. And breaking rules made him nervous. Broken rules carried consequences. But he’d needed to get out of the house, just for a moment. To clear his head. And just going for a walk was not a good enough reason to leave the house when he could be doing something more productive. Something better. Make some use of yourself, Dream.

So Dream had crafted a little story of extra studying, extra work, and managed to slip out. Dream did not always tell the truth, could not, but usually he lived in the shadows left by omission. The outward lie was bitter on the back of his tongue.

But he’d been freed. And now he was wandering. He did not often get the chance to wander, untended, unobserved. Making his unsteady way down the winding road leading out of the estate, and then into town, where he’d never really walked before. It was just getting late, almost sunset on a Thursday evening, and the streets were fairly quiet, only a handful of people about. And Dream wandered, not quite knowing what to do with himself but enjoying the quiet in his head.

Possibly meandering about on his own was a bad idea. Possibly he’d be hit by a car or attacked by a madman. He didn’t think he much cared.

And that was when he met Hob. That first dip of his toes into freedom.

He was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the small scattering of pigeons pecking for seeds by the fountain. Dream had always liked birds, but it wasn’t often he had the chance to sit and just watch them. He studied their patterns, mentally tracking the shapes they traversed, their mathematical lines. He should have brought his sketchbook. It would have been nice to work from live subjects, for once.

He was deep in his thoughts, in the calming trickle of the fountain and the repetitive paths of the birds, when another boy about his age plopped down on the bench beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while feeding birds.”

The birds had fluttered up in disarray at the sudden motion, but settled down again quickly. Dream looked at the other boy askance, irritated at his rare peace being interrupted.

“Do you often speak with people who are busy feeding birds?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

“Only when they’re broody and mysterious,” said the boy. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but he must have been college age, like Dream. Dream was still wearing his jacket and trousers, for his own part. Everything about this boy was looser, really, from his longish brown hair, to his jeans and t-shirt. It made Dream feel very uptight in comparison, which was not a fact about himself he needed reinforced. He already knew it. “Do you often feed birds?”

“I am not feeding them,” Dream said. “They are eating what was there.”

“Just spying on them, then,” said the boy teasingly. Dream did not know what to do about being teased with what seemed like lightheartedness rather than mockery, and so didn’t respond.

“Seriously,” said the boy. “Are you okay?”

Then Dream did look at his face properly. He had very kind, very genuine eyes, was the first thing Dream noticed. It was not something he noticed about a lot of people. Perhaps it was not something a lot of people possessed.

Then the boy smiled at him, a soft, kind smile. It transformed his whole face from something merely pleasant to something lovely.

“Is that why you have come over?”

The boy shrugged. “You looked sad and alone. I’ve been sad and alone before, so I don’t think anyone else should.”

Dream bristled. “I am not sad and alone.”

“Just alone, then?”

Dream’s mouth popped open in affront, and then shut. Then he said, “Are you always so familiar and impertinent with strangers?”

“‘Familiar and impertinent,’” echoed the boy, with a laugh. “Sure. Are you always so snooty and aristocratic?”

“Yes,” said Dream, and he laughed louder.

“Honest though.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Hob.”

Dream nearly said, What kind of name is Hob? but swiftly realized the hypocrisy. Gingerly, he took Hob’s hand. “…Dream.”

“What kind of name is Dream?” said Hob, and Dream sighed. “And you really don’t have to shake my hand like a king deigning to touch the peasants. I’m not diseased.”

“I don’t like to touch people,” Dream said, taking his hand back. “Peasant or otherwise.”

“Peasant or otherwise,” Hob echoed. He didn’t seem offended. He was smiling.

“Are you here because you felt I should be taught a lesson? Is that it?”

“Nah. I just get bored easily.” Hob turned to watch the pigeons again, tapping his fingers restlessly against the bench. “I was out and about. You looked interesting. You wanna go for a walk?”

“…Why?” But Dream knew why. He had learned it as he’d wandered the streets, freed for the first time.

Hob shrugged. “Just to do it.”

Dream had stepped out of his comfort zone once today already. He supposed he could do so again. If Hob turned out to be an adolescent serial killer at least the end of his life would hold intrigue. “Very well.”

Hob grinned, so bright it struck some deep, static bell in Dream’s chest and set it ringing. “Come on.”

#dream made one (1) friend and started vibrating at the frequency of a million suns lol #sheltered rich boy dream & feral child hob #snippet #by 'sheltered rich boy dream' i really mean 'dream who was kept in a cage' and by 'feral child hob' i really mean... well that's a spoiler #i'm still in limbo on how i want this fic to go tho. we'll see which way it lands #my writing #dreamling

[sbdskate]

Laws Of Attraction (Part 6) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, mature themes

Word Count: 3,635

A/N: That’s right, I broke the ending into another part which means another chapter is on the way. If you’ve been keeping up, I appreciate you sticking with me through my draughts and generally inconsistent posting schedule. Thank you again for every like, comment, and reblog. Please let me know what you think and enjoy ❤️

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1

The week passed more quickly than you anticipated. You pulled an all-nighter to draft the language you promised. It helped that you couldn’t sleep anyways. You tried to make up for it on the twenty-hour flight from Brazil to Abu Dhabi but again, rest evaded you. It didn’t help that between the travel and the time difference you basically lost a day and a half. You threw yourself deeper into your work as a distraction. You were thankful that there were lots of back and forths of redlines, as expected.

But no matter how busy you kept yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss that had now been tattooed in your mind. You wished it wasn’t good. You wished he had chapped lips and tasted like onions. But it had enveloped you. The way he grabbed you and the feeling of his stubble on your face set off butterflies in your stomach and other places down south. You were pretty sure you saw through space and time and you suddenly had the ability to hear colors.

And even though the kiss was so good, it was made bittersweet by everything that was discussed afterwards. You didn’t miss the warmth leaving his eyes and his obvious disappointment. On one hand, you handled the situation the best way you knew how. You had been very clear in Mexico on the limits of your relationship, that should not have been a surprise to him. Your job was to be professional and you reestablished those boundaries. On the other, you had somehow removed every laugh line from his face. You missed the crinkles around his eyes and the reverberating bravado of his laugh. If there was another way you could have gone about the conversation, it was lost on you. Leaning into the kiss and those feelings surrounding it was legally impossible. He would simply have to pick up his bruised ego and move on, which you were sure wouldn’t be difficult. The thought helped you somewhat – he was still a handsome, charismatic celebrity who could get any girl he wanted. You were one piece of parsley in an endless buffet. Poor little rich boy couldn’t have the one dish he wanted right now, but as soon as the season was over and you went your separate ways, you would be a distant memory he would laugh at in retrospect. Amongst the models, actresses, singers, and influencers he could pick from, he had trauma bonded with his very average and nerdy lawyer during a particularly vulnerable point in his life.

As your thoughts meandered during the course of the long flight, you were appreciative that you would not be on your own this weekend. The partner apparently decided to show up in Abu Dhabi, finally making Daniel a priority knowing that the matter would be closing. You had gotten somewhat frustrated with Joe, that he kept cancelling on meetings last minute leaving you to deal with everything. There were several silver linings, however. First, you hoped it meant he trusted you with the significant responsibility, which again would likely lead to a positive performance review and a hefty bonus. It may even come in handy a few years from now when you would become eligible to make partner yourself. Second, in picking up that responsibility, you had grown a lot professionally in the last few months. Belgium felt like a lifetime ago, in more ways than one. In the last few restless days your mind kept reflecting back to that first race weekend when you were full of nerves, but lately you didn’t quite feel like the same young associate with a chip on her shoulder and something to prove. Third, for better or worse, you grew to know you client in a way you would not have been able to but for the partner’s absence and that transfer of duty. Because you knew him so well now, you were better able to represent him. This was, of course, a double-edged sword. You’d unintentionally gotten to know the driver far better than you intended. Over the course of months, he poked little holes in your armor leaving you open and vulnerable and inching you closer towards that delicate line you dared not cross. The two of you had danced around it for weeks. If you hadn’t crossed it before, kissing certainly pushed the two of you over the edge together. You wondered what he thought about all this, considering he had far less to lose from the predicament. It would probably be awkward the next time you saw each other, but hopefully still respectful and professional if nothing else.

-

Meanwhile, Daniel along with the rest of the grid arrived in Abu Dhabi a day early to have a retirement dinner party for Seb. Seb had been unexpected source of support during this uncertain time in his career. Not all of the drivers had reached out to him when news about his early termination with McLaren broke. Of those that did reach out, some were simply surface level exchanges lacking compassion and depth. Seb, however, had helped him navigate a slew of existential crisis. The least Daniel could do was return that support to his friend. He sat next to Lando and Pierre, the drivers chatting amongst themselves during the meal. Of course there was a general curiosity about his plans for next year, but he playfully remained tight-lipped. The conversation was light, reminiscing and debriefing on some of the post-race debauchery over the course of the season. It was all fun and games until Pierre brought up Halloween in Mexico and his failed attempts at bringing home an instragram influencer and a model that night.

“I think I might be losing my touch. But that was a fun night though, yeah?”

“It was, I’m surprised you remember most of it,” Daniel teased.

“Honestly, me too. That girl dressed as you, she was a good time.” Daniel did his best to remain casual, though his heart skipped at beat at your mention.

“Yeah, y/n is fun when she’s not working.”

“I’ve seen her around the paddock a few times. She’s your lawyer, right?” He took a long drink, not liking the direction the conversation was headed.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe when the season is over I can grab her number.” It was more of a statement than a question. Daniel feigned ignorance at the request and laughed.

“I mean I can give it to you, but she probably wouldn’t be able to help you.”

“How so?” Pierre looked at Daniel, both men visibly confused.

“I mean I’m no lawyer myself, but wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest for her?”

“Oh no dude, I don’t want her services – or, uh legal services I should say,” he said cheekily. Daniel’s ears immediately turned red, his jaw clenched, and hand balled into a fist. He did his best to control his facial muscles to not let on to the fact that Pierre had unknowingly stepped on an emotional landmine. Lando, who had been talking to Zhou across from him, sensed the shift in the driver sitting next to him. He diverted his attention for a moment to try to break the tension before Daniel could say or do something he would regret.

“Pierre, she’s way too smart for you and you’re not her type,” he said casually, earning a laugh from the others including Pierre.

“What are you talking about, I’m everybody’s type,” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah, I think that might be part of the problem,” Lando responded. “Plus, you’re already in a committed relationship with this one,” jabbing his thumb in the direction of Yuki. That side of the table continued to laugh and joke, Daniel included, but he didn’t miss the chance to lock eyes with his teammate to silently convey his thanks for discreetly deflecting the conversation away from the woman that had taken up so much space in his mind. Had he really almost punched his friend at a fancy restaurant during his mentor’s retirement party? He was in deep. Hook, line, and sinker.  

Daniel had bought himself more time extending the signing with Red Bull, but he had no idea what he was doing. You had made it abundantly clear that nothing could happen until after everything was signed. You also hadn’t explicitly said whether you wanted anything to happen afterwards... All he knew, whether or not anything progressed further between the two of you, he just needed to be near you. He needed more time with you, beyond Monday.

The evening continued with heartfelt sentiments exchanged, and Daniel found himself more and more in his feelings especially as the drinks flowed. He thought he recovered from Pierre’s comments at dinner, but then Seb gave a speech to the rest of grid that brought him to the brink of tears. His mentor’s goodbye made him reflect and contemplate his own journey over the year. Though neither driver would be on the grid next season, Daniel was envious that Seb had the opportunity to leave the sport on his own terms compared to the lack of agency he felt with his tenure with McLaren. Feeling unmoored, you showed up out of nowhere to turn his ship around at the eleventh hour. He wasn’t sure what was next for him, but he knew he couldn’t do it without you by his side. Maybe another drink would take his mind off you.

The night continued, one by one the other drivers called it a night. But Daniel stayed until the wee hours of the morning with some of the younger drivers who had higher tolerances. Lando took note of his teammate’s condition who refused to believe he couldn’t keep up. They hadn’t discussed the elephant in the room, but he could put two and two together even if he didn’t have all the details. You might have been discreet, but Daniel was anything but. He noticed how Daniel perked up just a little on the days you had meetings. He noticed the stupid looks you gave each other, each party oblivious to the other. He noticed all the times you went out with the drivers at Daniel’s invitation, which was surely not in your job description. And right now for whatever reason likely involving you, Daniel was miserable, his melancholia exasperated by alcohol.

“Hey mate, I think it’s time to go back to the hotel,” Lando said as he put an arm around Daniel.

“Nooo, but we’re having fun! For Seb!” Daniel slurred as he held up his drink triumphantly.

“We are having fun, but we have to get up really early. Remember?”

Daniel was too tired to fight back. So he pouted as Lando corralled him into the backseat of the car back to the hotel.

-

You rolled into Abu Dhabi at 2am. You were exhausted. You had no shame about rocking under eye patches and a face mask mid-flight to at least hopefully make it look like you’d gotten some type of rest over the last two days. Unfortunately, the dark circles that remained begged to differ.

You were in the middle of checking in when you heard commotion in the lobby behind you. You rolled your eyes at the drunks stumbling in, keeping your head down to avoid any interaction.

“That’s it, almost there mate.” You knew that voice. You slowly turned to find Lando struggling to guide a dazed Daniel towards the elevator. You rubbed your eyes and blinked a few times to make sure you were seeing clearly. That made you wake up.

“Lando? Daniel?”

Both drivers looked your way. You suddenly became very aware and self-conscious of your grungy airport outfit: messy bun, no makeup, and full Enchante sweatsuit Daniel had gifted you after Japan. You couldn’t decipher the look Lando gave you that was equal parts relieved and concerned, but Daniel’s face lit up immediately showing off those darn dimples.

“Y/n!”

“Hi. What are you guys doing?” you asked hesitantly. It was mostly directed at Lando since he still had his wits about him, but Daniel answered anyways.  

“We had to say goodbye to Seb,” he said solemnly. Lando rolled his eyes seeing the immediate look of concern and confusion on your face.

“Jesus Christ. The guy’s retiring, he didn’t die.”

You gave a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I think I’m missing something.”

“The whole grid had a retirement party for Seb, not a funeral as this one might have you believe. It started with dinner but some guys stayed out and well… he’s just been slightly overserved.” You pursed your lips together to keep from laughing. You could tell Lando’s patience had run thin, but despite his annoyance he had made sure Daniel got back safe which you appreciated.

“Well, thank you for taking care of my client.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m fine,” Daniel slurred a few feet away, leaning against a pillar in the opulent lobby – immediately followed by him almost slipping but quickly catching himself. He smiled again, proud and satisfied with his own rescue effort.

“Right…” you drawled. You turned to the concierge who had been patient and stoic as the scene unfolded. You’d been informed that the hotel catered to Westerners, but you were still cautious being in a country that technically followed Sharia law despite the many exceptions for expats and tourists. “My apologies ma’am, is it ok if I help escort my friend to his room for a moment? I can finish checking in afterwards.”

“Of course Miss l/n. I’ll still be here.” Having the green light to accompany the two boys, you and Lando flanked Daniel linking your arms through his to walk him to the elevator.

“I don’t need help,” *hiccup* “I’m a strong, independent woman,” he said, though he did nothing to resist your assistance.

“You are maybe half of those things,” you retorted.

“That’s being generous, I give him zero out of three,” Lando chimed in.

“Oh be nice, you know you can feel those muscles,” you lightly countered as you gave Daniel’s bicep a quick squeeze. You gave him a tired, playful smile and the look he returned you was so full of adoration it felt like your heart was going to burst at the seams. He leaned his head on your shoulder when you stepped in the elevator and you wished you could put the moment on pause to keep him there a while longer.

“You can’t possibly be referring to these chicken wings,” Lando replied. “Do you have your room key?” Lando asked Daniel, breaking your daze. Daniel shuffled for a second, patting his pockets, then nodding in confirmation. “Good, I’m going to bed.” He pressed the floor for himself, then Daniel’s.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lando gave you a knowing smile.

“I already did 90% of the heavy lifting, I’m sure you can handle it from here.” You shot daggers his way, Daniel still between the two of you, blissfully unaware of your quarrel. “See you in seven hours,” he said as he got off the elevator.

You sighed as the elevator doors closed, leaving the two of you alone. Daniel was too drunk to feel awkward about the predicament given how you last left things, a lazy smile still on his face.    

“You called me your friend. To the concierge.”

“I did.”

“I thought I was your client.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He hummed in response. The answer seemed to make him happy. His eyes grazed over you, his smile growing.  

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

“An astute observation.”

“They look good on you.” The elevator doors opened as a blush crept to your face. You guided him into the hallway and ignored his comment.

“Ok, what number are you?”

“This way,” he said, ignoring your question and yanking you to the right. You kept your arm around him to steady his swaying. You could smell the alcohol coming off him, making you wonder about the events leading up to this but whatever it was wasn’t a conversation for today. He finally stopped in front of a door and fumbled with his pockets. You waited to make sure he could get into his room, but after a minute or two you got concerned.

“I can go back to the concierge to get another key-”

“No, no, I got it.” You watched as he fished it out from the depths of his front pocket, then struggled with getting it to work on the fob.

“Here, let me help you.” Your own patience running low, you took the key from his hands and opened the door. You had planned on finishing your check-in when you knew he made it inside, but felt bad leaving him in the condition he was in. You reasoned that it was to help him avoid a hangover in the morning so that he would be as camera ready as possible for press day, but it was a loose excuse.

You cautiously entered his room and turned on some lights. Your jaw dropped for a moment – his room was at least triple the size of every other hotel room you had stayed at over the course of the season, every detail pristine. You held the door open for him as you ogled in the foyer. He pinballed off the door frame to make his way inside, leaning against the wall across from you. He openly took you in, admiring how his merch hung from your body more perfectly than he ever could have imagined. He didn’t turn away when you returned his gaze.

“Come on let’s get you tucked in, you have a long day tomorrow – or in six and a half hours.” You grabbed his arm again and brought him towards the bed, and he happily followed you like a puppy. You were relieved he was at least cooperating. You sat him down. “Ok sir, where do you keep your pajamas?” He gave you a wicked grin.

“I don’t wear any,” he said shamelessly. You pursed your lips, you knew you walked into that one.

“Of course you don’t. Well when I leave you can get undressed. Just sit tight for a sec.” You opened up the bottle of water by the coffee maker and poured it into a glass. “Here, drink this.” He guzzled the water, so you poured him another. “Good job. How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here.” He showed off his pearly whites with a giant smile, closing his eyes as his head flopped back.

Oh my God, you’re so drunk, you said under your breath. “I’m serious, do you feel nauseous at all? Headache?”

“I’m peachy,” he said as he swung his legs back and forth off the bed. He played with his hands in his lap. Seemingly able to entertain himself at least for a minute, you walked into the bathroom to go through his toiletries to find some Advil and maybe some tums for the morning. When you returned, your patient was already taking off his shirt and had started undoing his belt.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there tiger. Why don’t you take two Advil first?”

“I’ll do anything you tell me,” he said before swallowing the pills you handed him. “I’m going to miss you when you leave.” His sudden shift in tone threw you off. You sat down next to him to show your support and solidarity.

“You know you can always call me. It will be like I never left.”

“As a friend?” he asked hopefully. You smiled and put a reassuring hand on his thigh.

“Yes, definitely as a friend.” There was a pause.

“What about as more than a friend?” *hiccup* “Like, afterwards?” You bit your lip, but smiled.

“I think that’s a conversation for another time.”

“You didn’t say no.” You laughed.

“You’re drunk as a skunk and this is the moment you choose to dissect semantics.” He picked up your hand resting on his thigh, bringing it to his lips to kiss without breaking eye contact.

“Enchante.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, but it sure is charming as heck,” you said between laughs. You pulled your hand back and stood up. “On that note, I think you have everything you need so I’m going to head out. You have two more ibuprofen on your nightstand for the morning and two tums in case you get heartburn or an upset stomach. I set your alarm for 8:00 so you can sleep in a little, but still gives you an hour to get ready before you need to head to the paddock. I think it’s ok if you’re fashionably late.” He pouted. “Oh come on now, no need to frown. You get to take off those pants and go to bed. I’m going to go to bed too.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” He gave the best puppy eyes he could. Matched with his bare torso, six pack on full display, and unbuttoned belt and pants, anyone with a weaker constitution would’ve folded immediately. But at this point you were a trained soldier, the end of your internal battle in sight. You did make one concession though.

Maybe it was impulse. Maybe it was the jet lag. Maybe it was the possibility he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning. But in a streak of boldness, you brought your hand to the side of his face, feeling the sharpness of his jawline and the texture of his stubble. You bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Maybe next time,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his.

His eyes were flying saucers when you stood. “Good night, Daniel. Get some rest.”

Despite how tired he was, it was hard for him to fall asleep after that.

Taglist: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233 @thatchickwiththecamera

#daniel ricciardo #f1 #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo x reader #dr3 #dr3 x reader #laws of attraction #f1 x oc #slow burn #danny ric #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #ric3 #red bull daniel #lando norris

[thewildwaffle]

The Gardener - Part 8

Thanks to A_R_K on archiveofourown for this prompt about the uncanny valley.

Part 1&2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

In retrospect, Nipti supposed the situation at hand was inevitable. He’d been taking a break while working on the support beams for some vigbri climbing vines when he noticed the strange ship sitting near the edge of his gardens, right up against the wild tree line. That was odd. When had that landed? It’s not like he was right next to the edge of his lands, but he was certainly close enough that the fact that he hadn’t heard the ship come in was strange. What’s more, when visitors to his gardens came by, they usually landed their ships next to his large workshop. Deciding that the support beams he’d spent the last quarter of the cycle on were going to keep standing and doing their job, Nipti decided he’d go and intercept his latest visitors before they could trample anything. If they’d just landed near the dang workshop like everyone is supposed to, they’d come across the posted rules and instructions that Marley had set up. Then, Nipti could otherwise ignore them unless they specifically needed something from him. Oh well. As much as he enjoyed not interacting with people other than Marley, he enjoyed making sure his gardens were treated with the respect they deserved from guests. It took a while to find the new guests. They’d already wandered a bit from their ship. Nipti looked around their landing area. Nothing seemed to be disturbed. Thank the stars, their ship must have some great landing gear that didn’t create branch-breaking and petal-tearing gusts during descent. Perhaps that was also why Nipti didn’t notice the ship’s approach in the first place. The guests themselves had wandered off and were slowly meandering through the gardens, staying on the walking paths, Nipti appreciatively noticed. There were three of them. Two of them stared silently at him as he approached. The third was crouched over, looking intently at a plant that immediately sent Nipti’s alarm bells off.

“Don’t touch that!” He called out. The crouching guest turned to stare at him silently like its companions. Nipti was going to say that the plant the visitor was about to touch was quite delicate, and depending on their species, could be dangerous, but the words froze in his mouth before he could. Ah. He’d thought something like this would happen eventually. Before him stood three humans. They looked different than Marley. Taller. Paler. Their eyes were set a little deeper in their faces. There was something else that seemed different, but Nipti couldn’t quite pin down what it was. He shook his head. Of course they looked different than Marley! He may not be an expert on humans, but even he knew humans came in all kinds of shapes, sizes, colors, and dispositions. Still, he was worried of what Marley’s reaction might be to other humans arriving at the gardens. Would Marley be standoffish and territorial? Or maybe excited? They’d both been working on Marley’s piece of junk ship whenever they had the time or parts, but with other humans showing up, would Marley decide to go with them? It was something Nipti knew had been a possibility, but one he kept pushing from his mind whenever it came up. Not anymore, he supposed. Whatever Marley decided to do would be their own decision, and Nipti would do his best to be supportive of whatever his friend decided. “Sorry, that plant there might not be dangerous to humans, but as the gardener here, I ask that you not disturb anything while visiting,” he finally broke the silence. The three smiled at him simultaneously. Nipti tried not to shiver. Marley was always mindful of not baring teeth while smiling to not appear predatory or threatening. These three were not so inclined. Nipti wondered if their diet was different than Marley’s, as their teeth appeared to be sharper. “My name’s Garbon Nipti. I noticed you’d just arrived and thought I’d come and see if there’s anything I can do for you. There are maps available near my workshop there if you’re looking to study a specific garden or specimen.” Nipti gestured to the area in question. “We are just perusing,” one of the humans that had been staring unblinkingly at him as he approached said. Their voice was level and somewhat monotonous. Very different than Marley’s bouncing cadences. Nipti waited for a moment for them to introduce themselves as he had, but they remained silent and still. He stood there as long as he could until the uncomfortableness of it all became too much. “Okay, well, if you need anything, I’ll be working nearby.” He would have also mentioned that they could also get help from Marley, but a part of him hoped they didn’t cross paths. His stomach tied itself into knots. He shouldn’t hope that. He knew he shouldn’t, but he was so afraid that if they did, then Marley would leave with them. Nipti frowned and shook his head as he started walking back to the vigbri climbing vines. No. He shouldn’t be so selfish. He’d always known other humans would visit his gardens eventually. Their kind wandered all over the place! “If Marley does want to go,” he said to himself under his breath, “then I need to be supportive. No matter how much… how much I’d miss...”

He was so lost in thought that he nearly ran over Marley. “Woah, hey Nipti!” Marley laughed and acted as if they’d lost balance from the run-in. Nipti was significantly shorter than the human, so he knew it was just an act. Marley stood back up straight and looked Nipti up and down. “You okay? You look like you’re lost.” Nipti nearly scoffed. “Lost? I walk this path several times a day. How could I be lost?” “Lost in thought,” Marley corrected. “Like you’re physically here, trying to run me over and whatnot, but your mind is a million segments away.” “Oh,” was all Nipti could respond. He supposed he had been rather preoccupied thinking about the new guests to the garden. Should he tell Marley? He was starting to second-guess himself now. If he didn’t bring them up and Marley didn’t cross paths with them, maybe his friend might never even know they were here, let alone leave with them? The gardens were big, so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Would that make him a bad friend? Was it his responsibility to tell Marley, just in case? While Nipti struggled with his options, Marley waited patiently with a cheerful smile. That did it. Nipti decided he needed to stick to his original resolve. “Marley, there’s some new guests that just landed by the wild tree line.” Marley’s head tilted a bit. “Why would they land there when I just repainted the landing pad last decacycle? Are they causing trouble? Need me to muscle ‘em outa here?” “Uh, no. No,” Nipti stammered slightly and shook his head. “I… actually, I think you should meet them. They… they’re human. They’re just back there, from where I was coming from.” Marley’s face lit up. “Oh for real? Yeah, I’d love to! I wonder where they’re originally from. It feels like giga-cycles since I’ve seen other humans. Come on, let’s go meet them!” With the “let’s,” Nipti grudgingly followed behind his chipper friend, trying to not let his glumness show and damper the mood. Life, he supposed, would just go back to normal before Marley came. The old workload, the old quiet, the old solitude. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be the same normal. He had gotten much better and bolder at dealing with rude or destructive visitors, having seen and followed Marley’s example. The habit of “jerry-rigging” different contraptions and systems had also rubbed off in some cases when proper solutions weren’t always available. And if Nipti were honest, the solitude would perhaps feel a bit more like… loneliness.

They were getting close to where Nipti had left the new garden guests. They must have wandered a bit down into the Quilb orchard. Nipti reflexively tensed. Those orchards had some very rare specimens, some of which native folklore claimed had mystical properties. Nipti didn’t put much stock into the latter, but he still prized those trees and the flower buds that were about half a decacycle from blooming. “I hope they’re still staying on the paths,” Nipti muttered, mostly to himself. Marley came to a stop at the overlook of the orchard. Nipti stopped as well, scanning the area. He quickly spotted the three figures through the foliage and pointed them out. “There they are.” Marley didn’t move. “Uh,” Nipti was sure his friend had seen them. They were hard to miss. Marley was staring right at them. After a moment, Nipti put a hand on Marley’s arm. “Is something wrong?” Maybe this whole pause and staring thing was some strange human custom. If it was, it looked like it was working. The figures were now starting to move closer and he could see the pale faces with their deep-set eyes staring back up at them.

Before Nipti could even register what was happening, Marley had scooped him up, turned, and ran back the way they had come. Nipti wasn’t that much smaller than a fully grown human, but Marley threw him up over the shoulder and sprinted away like he weighed nothing. Nipti’s arms scrambled on Marley’s back, trying to get leverage to steady himself enough to hold himself up to see just WHAT THE FREWAN WAS GOING ON?! “Marley!” Nipti cried out and nearly got smacked in the head by an overgrown bush as the human in question banked hard on a sharp turn. If Marley heard him in the mad scramble, there was no response given besides heavy breathing and a jostle as Nipti’s weight was readjusted mid-stride. Nipti looked back behind them. The other humans weren’t following, or at least, it didn’t look like they were. He couldn’t see them, but that didn’t mean they weren’t giving chase. But why would they? Why would there be a need to chase? Why was Marley running? Marley only slowed down once they reached a utility shed Only then did it occur to Nipti - humans have a stereotype of being foolhardily brave. Whatever his friend had seen from those other humans had really spooked Marley. The type of adrenaline that comes from being mortally afraid started seeping into the corners of Nipti’s brain. He said nothing more as they ran into the shed and shut the doors. Neither said a word as they bunkered down into the best hiding spots they could manage. Marley took a spot somewhat near the door, under a small window, and would periodically and discreetly peek out to check if they’d been followed. Thankfully, there was yet to be any indication that that was the case.

It felt like an eternity before Nipti finally found his voice again. “Why were we running from those other humans?” Marley kept staring out the window, scanning the area silently for a moment longer. “Those weren’t humans.” “What?” Nipti frowned. Not human? He hadn’t really met other humans besides Marley, but it’s not like they’re super easy to mix up with other species. “Well then, what are they?” Marley’s gaze turned from the window to look back at him, confused and thinking. “I… I don’t know.” “They looked human.” “Yeah,” Marley whispered and said nothing more. They sat watching and listening. The silence was starting to get to Nipti. He felt like he was being hunted, and he needed to do something besides just wait to be found. It was only now that Nipti noticed how the small hairs on Marley’s arms and neck were standing straight up. “Hey, come on, please. What’s going on? Do we need to call for help?” Marley took a shaky breath and nodded. Nipti reached for his pack and had a small moment of terror as he reached in and couldn’t immediately find his comm. After shuffling around some twist ties and a pair of shears, he found it in a side pocket. He quickly messaged the closest neighbor he knew. Thankfully, they messaged back right away that they’d come over. She was a large biet, so hopefully if those humans-that-weren’t-humans were still around, they’d be intimidated away by her muscular bulk and large teeth.

It took a while for the neighbor to arrive, making for a long and tense wait. Even though she was the closest in proximity, Nipti’s gardens were so sprawling, that she was still quite a distance away. Nipti nearly jumped when his comm sounded an alert of an incoming call. “Hello?” Nipti noticed a bit of a tremble in his voice. “Hey Nipti, it’s Glenna,” the biet’s voice sounded a bit tinny on the old comm’s speaker setting. “I’m here. I don’t see anything out of order, at least I don’t think I do. There’s a small ship over here by your main warehouse, but I’m pretty sure it belongs to the family of duibs that I saw meandering around a few mentiks ago. Your gardens are looking great! You’ve expanded a lot since I was here last. Where are you at now?” Nipti took a deep breath. “We’re in a small shed out near the edge of the gardens by the wild tree line. Do you see any ship over there?” “No, there’s nothing out there,” came the response. “Are you okay? You seem a bit shaken up.” “I… I am feeling a bit shaky, yes. Thank you again for coming over. I’ll be over to you soon.” Nipti looked up from the comm device to Marley. Marley looked out the window again then back to Nipti. “They’re gone?” “Apparently. We… we should get out here.” “Yeah.” Nipti had never seen his friend so subdued and skittish. They both walked as if their heads were on swivels as they went together back to the main warehouse.

Despite not wanting to talk too loudly so as to draw attention from any unwelcome, unseen entities, Nipti had to know something. “How did you know they weren’t human? Are you sure they weren’t?” Marley didn’t respond immediately. “I… I’m not sure how I knew, but I just knew. There was something about them that just set me off. It was like they were straight out of the deepest depths of the uncanny valley. Like, they looked almost human, but there was something about them that felt wrong and dangerous.” Marley’s conviction felt strong to Nipti. So they were sure the mystery visitors weren’t human, but he wasn’t sure what the “uncanny valley” was or what that meant. Finally, they started to hear the bright and cheery tones of normal garden visitors. Even though Nipti had always preferred his solitude, he felt a rush of relief at seeing non-”not-human” guests wandering through flower beds and trellises. The relief was even stronger when he finally caught sight of Glenna. Welcoming pleasantries and introductions were polite, but short. Glenna was curious to know more about what was going on. Nipti insisted they go inside for a drink first. Glintsi flower tea for him and Glenna and peppermint for Marley. Recalling the day’s events took only a few minutes. Both Nipti and Glenna shared a particular interest in what Marley had meant by describing the visitors as being “from the uncanny valley.” It wasn’t some geologic location, but a psychological theory that the more something or someone looks human, the cuter humans think they are, up to a point. There was a space somewhere between “almost” and “completely” human that “cuteness” dropped significantly and instead freaked humans out. Usually, it was with robotics and inanimate objects. When it happened with living things, it made the uncanniness so much worse. “Well,” Glenna finished her cup and sat back, “from what I know about humans, you should trust their instincts when they say something is off.” She turned to Marley and smiled. “I know Nipti likes his space and privacy, and I honor that, but I worry about him sometimes. My family and work keep me too busy to really do otherwise anyway. So, I’m glad you’re here. You seem like good company, and with all the visitors coming in and out of the gardens, well, I’m glad he’s not alone.” Marley smiled and agreed.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with more tea and exchanging stories. The sun was nearing the horizon by the time any of them noticed. “Oh, I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late,” Glenna stood up. “I need to get back. I promised my son I’d help him bake some hirtan tarts tonight. If you’d like, I could bring some by tomorrow?” Marley nodded enthusiastically, “Oh yes, thank you. And if you’d like, I could make some dishes I’ve been working on for my little cafe. You can tell me what you think.” “That sounds lovely,” Glenna smiled and started walking toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, Marley. And Nipti, if ever you need help, please don’t be a stranger, you don’t have to do everything all alone, you know.” “That’s what I’m learning,” Nipti returned the smile and bid farewell to Glenna with some additional thanks for coming over.

Nipti waited a few moments once the door was shut before turning back to Marley. “Okay, you’re going to tell me a bit more about the uncanny valley. What the frewan happened in humanity’s past to create a need to know what’s almost-human-but-not-quite?!” Marley blinked and shrugged. “I don’t know.” Nipti waited for more info. Marley looked like they were deep in thought, and needed a bit of time to gather all the thoughts running around their head. “It might have come from hard-wiring in our brains to avoid dead bodies or extreme illnesses? Like, they look human, are human, but something’s obviously wrong and they could be contagious or dangerous. I mean, it’s just a theory, but it does make logical sense to me.” Nipti nodded. It did make sense. “But,” he drawled after a moment of thought, “the visitors today didn’t look like dead bodies. I really thought they were humans. I mean, they looked different than you, but they really looked like they were human?” The unsettled look Marley had earlier that day returned for just a tik. With a shake of the head, Marley stood back up and started gathering up the used tea cups to wash them in the sink. “Listen, I’m not a psychologist, I don’t know why they freaked me out so bad. I don’t know what they were, but I hope I never see them again.” Nipti fully agreed.

#aliens #humans are weird #original writing #writeblr #space orcs #humans and aliens #hfy #haw #short story #humans are space orcs #the gardener #uncanny valley

[writefightandflightclub]

Shadow of a doubt:

Fem!Reader x the Moon Knight System🌙 (Marc Spector 😍, Steven Grant 🥰, Jake Lockley 😘.)

Summary:

Marc was first.

Steven was second.

Khonshu’s never going to love you.

…And you’re wondering if Jake will ever get there at all.

Author’s note: not sure about posting this (bc excuses + caveats) but doing it anyway! 🤡 This is me playing around whilst not working on my main WIPs 🙄 So, please have my questionable headcanons! And my first attempt at Jake!

Author’s note 2: Marc Spector 🥰

Genre: An angsty, meandering relationship retrospective (how reader came to be involved with each of: Marc, Steven, Jake, and how their relationship with each alter differs / developed). Vague character study of sorts (and Jake characterisation is based on less than nothing). Some fluff. Some hurt / comfort. Some smut but it’s not a smut piece and it’s not hugely explicit.

Rating: 18+ ONLY. Adult themes. Minors DNI.

Warnings: angst I guess? Fear of abandonment / rejection themes (and you don’t even need to squint for that one). Canon typical allusions to trauma (not explicit, not a major theme). Sexual themes but largely not explicit and not the core focus. Questionable headcanons. Out of character everyone, maybe? Typos. Unrequited love(?). Alcohol mentions. Food mentions. Some shitty comments about Marc by reader’s friend which are immediately and directly refuted in the text and by reader (and me!); however warning as their ignorance can be taken as ableist (upfront and not a key theme).

GIF from this glorious set by @nowritingonthewall

Marc was first.

First to notice you. First to fall in love. First to be all in.

Your friends told you plainly that they didn’t like him at first. Warned you off him, in fact, with all manner of ignorant assumptions. They said he was closed off. Unreliable. “Shifty”; the guy with the dark past, never looking anyone in the eye for too long. “Rude”, because he didn’t make small talk at parties.

They even said, upon their first occassion meeting him, that he “sucked all the air out of the room”.

You didn’t have a damn clue what they were talking about, however.

When you had first seen Marc, you had felt like you could finally breathe.

Eventually, you got rid of those friends in favour of much better ones; but you kept him.

Marc was a keeper.

You had come to know him. To understand that whilst he may have a closed off face, he has the most open of hearts. That whilst he might not look everyone in the eye, when he looks at you his eyes are full of love. That although he might not always talk small, he says all the big things when he’s alone with you.

All the right things. All the things that matter.

There was that time Marc had turned to you on your mates’ doorstep, and had whispered in a thick Chicagoan accent that he wished Khonshu’s armour could protect him from parties. You had simply kissed him on the cheek and told him - without a second thought - that you would protect him.

“Always. From everything. Fuck that Sesame Street reject, Marc. I’m the only bird you need on your arm tonight.”

He had turned then, with a lopsided smile to twin with yours, and he had told you the biggest thing of all.

“I love you.”

You had waited patiently for his words. You had waited to hear aloud what you had already learned to be true through the language of his hands and his lips and his body. Through his gestures and actions.

It was worth the wait.

He was worth the wait.

You had learned so much about him already.

The big things.

That he was scared, and that he was brave.

His fears and doubts, and the things he still had faith in.

The things he couldn’t trust yet, but wanted to.

And, the small things which seemed huge too.

The way he liked to bury his head in the crook of your neck before he slept, his eyelashes kissing your skin. 

The way he knew the Latin name for almost every flower in Kew Gardens.

The way he became over invested in finding the perfect jacket, doing an excited little bounce when he finally walked out of the changing room in one that felt good - then bought two.

How feeling smoothness beneath his touch - of leaves or a polished stone or your silk nightdress could make the tension melt from his body.

The way he’d looked like you’d just given him the world when you’d surprised him with a bunch of slightly sorry supermarket flowers you hadn’t been able to resist.

The way he had cried, curled around your lap and face buried in your thighs, because he didn’t know - until Steven - and didn’t truly believe - until you - that love could be gentle.

“What is it?” you had asked him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he had replied as his tears fell. “For the first time that I remember. Nothing.”

You had learned all of this about Marc.

And now, you had learned that he was yours.

And so, when he had wordlessly gripped your hand in his - as you stood too agape to say it back - you decided then that you never wanted to let him go.

***

Steven came second.

Came to you more slowly.

Marc’s hands had arrived at you first, before his words had. Before he could trust you to speak his truths to you, and his words had followed later.

There was plenty to talk about.

Marc had told you about Steven.

Had spoken about him like a brother.

Had asked if you wanted to meet him.

You did - of course.

It had gone well.

Steven was as easy to love as Marc was.

“Wow, bloody hell. Marc is a blooming idiot. Why on Earth would he give me the body when he’s here with someone so beautiful? Oh God. Sorry, yeah? I didn’t mean to be creepy or anything. Let’s start again, shall we? Hiya! I’m Steven. Lovely to meet you, finally. Heard a lot about you. From Marc. Obviously.”

By the time you had spoken your first words to him, you had already been smiling, and only partly in relief.

Steven’s words were there from the beginning, yes. Treasures - not hidden in tombs like Marc’s, requiring excavation; but on display for you on plinths and in glass cabinets.

Steven had nothing to hide from you.

Was nothing if not honest.

Steven had little to hide from anyone.

His hands came later - and his lips - but first; his words were abundant.

Steven talked and you listened.

You loved to listen.

You loved to listen when he spoke to the topics he was most knowledgable about. When you asked an offhand question about one of his books or documentaries and he would pause for 15 minutes to give you every detail, his face lit with passion. You loved how intelligent and enthusiastic he was.

You had learned so much from him, and along the way you learned about him too.

You’d learned about his moral code, and how his courage was unwavering in standing up for himself and others.

You’d learned that he liked to keep his hands busy.

That he wore his emotions on his sleeve.

You’d learned how he was lonely, like you.

How he had been for a long time.

It had not been long at all before you had begun to think about it - about kissing Steven too.

“Look. Shortcake. I already know you want to kiss him,” Marc had told you one evening as you had prepared dinner together. His face had been taut, and tension had made your body rigid too as you realised he was wise to your desires.

“A-Are you angry?”

He had smoothed his hand lovingly along your arm. Sometimes it was hard to tell what he was thinking or feeling, when his expression didn’t give much away. “No. I’m not mad, I just… I don’t think he knows. You might have to be a little more obvious.”

After that, you had talked about the possibility with Marc - of having something with Steven. Whether it could work. Whether he might grow jealous. That it wouldn’t mean you loved him any less. How you could never love him less; only more and more.

“Does he… want to do that too? To kiss me?” You hadn’t been sure why your voice was faltering.

“Uh. I’ll take a wild stab that: yeah.” A smile had radiated from the corner’s of Marc’s eyes. “He won’t shut up about you.”

You couldn’t even try to hide the fact that made you feel giddy. A swallow had trailed down your throat. Your hands had grown clammy where they rested against Marc’s forearms. “Is… is Steven here? Now?”

Marc had cast a sidelong glance, looking at his own abstract reflection in the shined saucepan he’d just stacked back on the shelf.

“Oh, buddy, don’t worry,” Marc had reassured his reflection. “You’re getting the body. Just let me do one thing first, huh?”

Marc had crossed to you ever so slowly, deliberately, the softest, most delicate smile gracing his features. He had cupped your face in his warm, sure hands, and had planted the tenderest goodnight kiss on your mouth. Then, he had shuffled forward, his breath against the shell of your ear as he whispered a secret to you. “Suck him off and he’ll lose his shit. Fella’s asked a lotta questions about the mouth stuff.” He had dipped back to your mouth - just in time to kiss the curl of your smile as you had succumbed to a gentle, surprised laugh.

“Alright,” you had smirked. “That could work.”

“Do a good job with it, honey,” Marc had teased.

“Why? Because you’ll be watching?“

He had slipped his tongue hungrily into your mouth. “No. This is all for him. But I want to hear about it later.”

You had rested your palms against his chest, a bedding heat sinking through you, but a less pleasant weight settling on your chest at the thought of Marc no longer fronting. “Come back to me. Okay?”

His smile was as soft and warm as melting butter. “Copy that.”

He had delved to kiss you again, and this time you felt a change. You felt his lips stop moving against yours, his hands dropping limply to his sides. Instead of Marc’s eager tongue, you felt a humming noise tickling your lips - alongside the press of a far more chaste kiss.

“Mmm. Hi, Steven,” you had said, stealing the breath from his mouth.

You had felt his warm lips make the shape of the words against your own. “Hmm. Hiya,” he had said, almost drunkenly.

You had dipped back from him then to find him slightly slack-jawed, his eyes fluttered closed and those long lashes fanned dreamily towards his cheeks. A flushed colour creeping from his neck to his face like blooming roses climbing up and up a trellis.

“You okay, Steven?”

Flowers settled on his cheeks, he had wrapped his arms around your waist, his hands fisting securely into your soft cardigan, idly massaging the textures. “Bloody hell, I think I’m going to keel over or sumfink.” He had opened his eyes, a slow, dazed blink like waking from a good dream. “Sorry about him, yeah? Marc. The mouth stuff, I mean. Obviously… he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, yeah? Just ignore him.”

“He doesn’t?”

Steven’s droopy, happy gaze lingered on your mouth. “Not usually.”

You had grazed your fingers along Steven’s lapel. Actually pouted as your fingers trailed over his chest and stomach, and down to the belt at his waist. “Shall we stop then, Steven? No more mouth stuff?”

“Stop? Oh god, no!” There was a beat. Then, Steven had waved his hands in the air n surrender. “I mean, unless you want to stop, yeah? Coz then obviously we’d stop. I’m not trying to be creepy or-“

You had kissed him again.

Deeper.

He kissed you back, a small moan blooming in the cave of your mouth - flowers in the dark.

When you had pulled away he was all flushed; but still, his words were there, reliable as ever “You’re so perfect. Completely lovely. Proper stunning, you, aren’t you? Feels so nice to kiss you.”

“So are you. So handsome. So… delicious.”

You had sunk to your knees, doe eyes sparking with promise, and Steven’s hands gripping the edge of the counter you now had him backed-up against.

“Bloody nora! You’re gonna have to stop, love, or I’m going to get excited.”

“Steven. That’s the idea.”

You had already known how he would taste when you took him into your mouth, but it still felt like a first time.

He’d looked good like that - his trousers bunched around his ankles and his chin tipped towards the eaves. His tee-shirt half covering his bare bum cheeks - he had Marc to thank for the squats, you had supposed.

And, as Steven enjoyed you and encouraged you, you finally found a way to make him speechless.

Later, after more pepperings of kisses you had merged your bodies once more between the sheets. After, you had curled in bed, bodies curved like crescents against one another’s - slices of the moon.

That’s when his tears had come.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Your brows had knitted together like one of his soft sweaters. You had spun and your palm had found his cheek, a lone tear sluicing over the ridges of your fingers.

“This is perfect and I… I don’t want to give you back.” When Steven’s voice had broken, it had broken you. “I don’t want to leave you, love.”

“Aww, baby. Ssshhh.” You had soothed him, searching Steven’s eyes, even as his gaze was disappeared into your hairline. “What the hell do you mean ‘give me back’?” His eyes had met yours briefly then, brimming with liquid moonlight. “I’m yours too, Steven,” you had said freely, and you had meant it with your whole being. “I’m yours too.”

You were his too.

There was a moment, then, as you watched this reveal bed down into Steven’s features, giving them a rare weight. He wore it heavy, like a mask.

Then, a peace had gradually settled over him as he worked through his thoughts. He had shaken his head softly. Expelled a puff of air as though in disbelief, even if his words came out entirely certain. “I love you.”

He said those words with his whole heart.

Unapologetic; just like he was with everything else.

Steven was a man who knew what he wanted - what felt right - and he stood up for it. Said it out loud.

There had been no doubt in your mind either when you had replied. “I love you too.”

Steven’s eyebrows had jumped back up towards his hairline in shock, like he hadn’t even contemplated you might say it back. “Sacré bleu!”

You had already been smiling, but your nose had crinkled in surprise then.

“It’s French,” he explained.

“I know,” you had purred. “I’ll show you something else French, if you like.” A nervous swallow had trailed down his neck as your hand began to smooth over his chest - bare aside from the glinting Magen David nestled in between his pecs.

His gaze had dropped to your mouth. “Oh you will, will you? Poetry or something, is it?”

You had dipped forward, writing a poem as your tongue dipped into his mouth to lick against his. “Oh! Yep. That’s French,” Steven had mumbled against your lips. His hands had reached for you. “Keep it coming. Mmmph.”

You had wound your arms around him in return and tongued his smile.

You had decided then, that you always wanted to hold on. Always wanted to be reaching for him.

***

Khonshu was never going to love you.

You didn’t really care for the bird, nor he for you. “Think you’re all menacing, do you? I’ve seen episodes of Pingu that are scarier than you, you big monstrosity.”

“I’d rather crawl back into my ushabti that be stuck here talking to you, little worm.”

“Don’t worry,” Steven had reassured, once Khonshu had finished with his tantrum, blinking out of the room. He had settled a few soft pats on to your shoulder. “You’ll like the hippo a lot better. Tawaret’s lovely.”

Your head had whipped towards him. “There’s a hippo?”

Clearly, there was a little more you had to catch-up on.

***

Jake came to you last of all.

You were never sure if he planned to stay.

You’d experienced him first only in the aftermath of him fronting.

Marc, left with one of Jake’s hangovers. The taste of cheap whiskey on his mouth.

Steven, clicking his tongue as he shaved off Jake’s three-day moustache, the alters locked in a constant battle around presentation of facial hair.

One day, you had finally met him in person, and there was no doubt he was a stranger to you as he walked the body into the house.

You had used your key. Had been expecting Marc.

Jake had not been expecting you, it seemed.

His eyes had skimmed over you, his face impassive. “Eres la chica.” You’re the girl.

He had looked at you with something you couldn’t place, and were quite sure you didn’t want to.

He didn’t enter. One foot inside and one foot out of the door.

He had stood there, pensive and still. Had lifted his thumb to skim it along his lower lip, and it was then you had noted the smear of red on the ridges of his knuckles.

You had looked him up and down in return, consciously resisting folding your arms around yourself. “And you’re… Jake.” You hadn’t liked the way he made you feel so nervous. “Nice to meet you.”

With a slight downward sneer of his mouth, Jake had turned on his booted heel and walked right out again.

After that, you didn’t see him for a while. Even Marc and Steven told you he was lying low.

To your surprise, they had also told you that Jake wanted to see you again.

“Hi,” you had greeted cautiously when he had next walked in. He was wearing his trademark flat cap, and carrying a scuffed brown cardboard box against his torso.

This time, you had been expecting him.

“Hola, bizcocho.”

Like last time, Jake had looked you up and down, lips pursing as he sucked on a red lollipop - which you would later learn he loved to do all day while he rode his cab around, the clear, crinkled wrappers and used sticks accumulating in his jacket pockets. His upper lip had drawn back into a curled, gummy smile as he crossed to the desk. “Mira. Kitten. Very cute,” he had explained as he waved you over.

You had heard a bright, tiny mew from inside the box then, as though on cue as Jake had carefully placed it down on the table.

“We foster kittens now.” You had simply stood there and blinked, getting accustomed to his pronounced accent, as you had with Steven. To the way his lips moved and shaped themselves differently to either Steven’s or Marc’s around his words.

Imagining the way he must taste of strawberries.

Getting used to all of it.

Adjusting to Jake and who he was.

Unlike Steven or Marc, Jake’s eye contact was intense and unwavering, and you felt a nervous sweat prickle at the back of your neck.

“Um.” You had gathered yourself. “We do?”

“Not ‘we’ like ‘you and me’.” He had laughed. “We like us.” Jake had gestured towards the nearest shiny surface then, followed by abruptly crunching the lollipop between his teeth.

You had crossed to the box and peered inside, smiling involuntarily as you heard a bright peep, and spotted the tiny little furball.

Mew.

You were too nervous -or possibly captivated by Jake, you would theorise later- for the cuteness of this kitten to dissolve your tension completely; and so, you had turned your attention right back to Jake. “Right. There is no ‘you and me’ us.”

Jake had slanted his body towards to you.

His clothes were different. Tight pinstripe trousers which strained against his ample thighs and hips. A fitted white shirt and waistcoat. His voice was different. His mannerisms. Expressions. Motivations.

Most glaringly of all, he looked at you -technically- with the same eyes as Marc and Steven did, but they were different. You did not see the familiar gloss of love coating them when Jake looked at you. You tried hard not to be alarmed by its sudden absence. To understand it.

Then, Jake had scooped the furball up in his broad hand and had nestled her against his chest. He had extended his other hand out to you with a broad grin. The hand that had - last time - been covered in blood. He held it out almost like it was a peace offering before he’d ever wronged you. “Nice to meet you.”

On autopilot, you had reciprocated, reaching out and feeling the warm slide of his broad hand against your own cool skin as he shook it.

This was a hand that had touched you, held you, and been buried in you; but in a way you’d never felt it before. A hand that you’d touched a thousand times but that, now, sent a heat skittering down your spine like it was the thrill of a stranger’s touch.

Maybe you were warming to each other, you’d thought. Or perhaps that was just you. You had certainly felt like he could have grilled you on his hands with the way his touch made your skin sizzle.

“I have heard a lot about you,” Jake mused. You knew the only two likely culprits. “Watched you sometimes as well.”

When he had said that, you had snatched your hand and your eyes away from him, a heat crawling up your neck.

“You… watch me?”

When you had snatched your hand away from him - as if frightened - Jake had become visibly flustered. He had replaced the kitten efficiently to the box, his grin falling away and his thick brows drawing down over his eyes like shutters. He had crossed to the fridge - to give himself some time to think, perhaps. He had opened the door and unceremoniously pulled out two slabs of meat, slapping them on the chopping board and beginning to season them.

As if compelled, you had followed, though you had refrained from pushing him anywhere he didn’t want to go.

Instead, you had pointed at the meat with your forefinger, a niggle in your brow. “I hope that’s kosher.”

Jake had laughed then, a vibrant, gummy thing. You had drank it in, trying to catalogue the details of him, so you could recognise him later. “Muy linda.”

“What’s cute?”

“You know that Steven is already the Steven in my head, don’t you?”

“Right. Touché.” You couldn’t help but laugh too, ekeing out some of your tension.

A smile had curled Jake’s mouth, and you watched as he poured a dram of whiskey into a glass, throwing it down the hatch before gathering up more ingredients.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No. Just sit. Please,” Jake had insisted, and you had thanked him, planting yourself down as he threw things together in the pan with a flourish and an innate confidence.

And, eventually, in the space you created with your silence, his words had come. “Sometimes… I watch.” The sizzle of the pan was a background to his words, as he tossed ingredients together. “I have to do it, to look after my brothers. I have to keep them safe.”

His expression was somber and closed off, but his eyes had darted briefly over to you then. His eyes were hooded with a suspicion that felt default; familiar. He looked at you briefly as though you were the threat. As though he was thoroughly used to assessing for danger. A gulp had bobbed down your throat. “Keep them safe from… me?”

“No,” Jake shook his head slowly, jaw writhing as he concentrated on plating up the food. “I thought that, when you first came. But now, no.”

He had slid the plate across the small table to you, and had taken his seat opposite. You had thanked him and looked down to the food, realising that he’d prepared it to your requirements. Thank goodness, because you’d forgotten to ask - he had you all in a tiz.

Tentatively, your eyes fixed on Jake the whole time, you scooped up a haphazard forkful of food. “What changed your mind?”

Jake had looked pensive for a moment as his eyes connected with yours. “Because…,” -his mouth lifted into a smile - “…now I know you care about them as much as I do.”

Despite yourself, Jake’s words had inspired a swell of emotion in your chest, and you had reached out to place your hand on top of his then, where it was planted flat on the table. He had looked down at it, but he had not drawn away from you.

Maybe from here, you could take care of him too, you had considered.

With tears twinkling in your eyes and a soft smile, you had finally been able to say it and truly mean it. For the first time, you had felt relaxed around him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jake.”

***

After that point, you had come to learn Jake too.

You had learned how he liked to drive. How he was always working on fixing up some old banger down at a local rental unit. Sometimes, he had taken you to help him after work, asking you to pass him spanners and such as nothing but his bum and legs poked out from beneath the bonnet.

He liked to shoot pool and drink cheap whiskey.

To tenderly settle his flat cap on your head. He always licked his lips whenever he looked at you wearing it, you had begun to notice.

He cooked like a genius.

You had learned that Jake was the protector. The guy who insists it’s “nice to be nice”, but also that sometimes you have to be “cruel to be kind”. The guy who you’d hate to cross but love to be on the right side of.

You had even begun to feel that he looked out for you. That you looked out for each other.

You’d formed a friendship with him, and you had been more than content with that. Content that there was a fondness if not a love nor desire in his eyes for you.

Still, you had been attracted to him, of course - despite your best efforts. And, if Marc had made you feel like you could finally breathe, Jake routinely made you feel like you were running out of air.

Still, you didn’t think he wanted you like that.

That is, not until one night, when you were locked in a sweaty, coital embrace with Marc.

Marc had paused, briefly slowing his thrusts and tearing his mouth away from you with a snatched breath.

“What is it?”

Marc’s shoulders had heaved as he had pushed up on his muscled arms, his sweat-sheened body settled over you like a canopy. Curls cascading over his forehead, and his necklace swaying in the space between you. “Jake’s here,” he had panted, eyes meeting yours with a flash of concern. “He’s… watching.”

At first, it had thrown you.

“What do you want to do?” Marc had enquired urgently, lips dragging down your neck.

He would have stopped, if you wanted it.

Instead though, your eyes had grown hooded, and your voice had become a deep, dark purr. “Don’t stop, Marc. Let him.”

Marc had paused for only a moment, before he had resumed with increased vigour, his eyes somehow lit with an even deeper hunger. “Hnnng. He says… he says to make you cum so he can, hnnng, see how it looks.”

“Do it then. Do it, Marc,” you had encouraged, opening up for him like a night-blooming flower to its moon. And, this time, when you had come undone on Marc and you had looked deeply into his eyes, you could see hints of Jake peering back at you too.

Afterward, you and Marc had come down, breaths ragged, and had fallen back on to the welcoming pillows, limbs tangling together.

Once you were settled, Marc had lolled his head towards you asked a question you weren’t quite ready to face the answer to. “You into him too?”

You had been silent for a long time before you responded. Long enough that Marc may have even believed that you had fallen asleep. Then, your whisper had cut through the dark like a dart.

“Yes.”

It felt sudden and sharp. Somehow, like you had just jammed the knife into your own back.

You had wondered if Marc might pull away from you, but instead, he had scooped you into his arms.

When he did, you had been unable to explain to him why you were crying. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.” Marc had smoothed his hands over you. “He’s a good-looking guy.” Marc’s throaty chuckle had dragged a smile out of you too.

“Is he here now?” you had croaked.

“Not right now, baby. It’s just you and me.”

You had buried your face into Marc’s chest and held him tight.

***

The next time you had seen Jake after that, he was no longer watching.

He was staring.

Staring, with an intensity which had rivalled your own when you had first gotten to know Jake. When he had let your fingers trace with trepidation over the ridges and contours and planes of his face.

“Steven’s eyebrows are higher,” you had whispered, the pad of you sweeping over his brow. You had touched the corner of his mouth next. “Marc’s mouth is more drawn down, and Steven’s more pouty here.” You had traced the shape of his Cupid’s bow.

“What about me?” Jake had asked.

You had swept your finger down the length of his nose. “Your nose crinkles more when you smile. And your lip curls right up.”

You had learned him, but you hadn’t ever thought that he had needed to learn you. Weren’t you always the same? Always consistent?

Well… apparently not.

Jake had stepped up close to you, by the window, and, as you froze with shock, he had traced the pad of his thumb along the ridge of your cheekbone, following a curving path up and around your eye, like he was drawing a moon slice through settled dust. You felt shined where he touched you. New.

A weight had settled on his brow though. “You look different,” Jake had mused, fleeting his tongue along his lower lip.

You had tried to recall whether your clothes were out of the ordinary today. Whether you had done something different with your hair. “Do I?”

“The way you look at us,” Jake had gone on to say, something sorrowful buried deep in his eyes. “You look different. When you look at Marc. Or Steven. Or me.”

Your breath had hitched in your throat, as Jake had slowly traced his thumb along your jaw, his head titling to look at you more keenly. “H-how do I look at you?”

You had watched the lilting curve of his lips as they tipped up into a crescent smile. “Like you don’t love me.” His forefinger and thumb had come to grip your chin, and he had tilted your head in the opposite direction to his. “But like you want me.”

Your breath had stuttered from your mouth. “Jake,” you had suspired. You hadn’t known what he was asking you. Whether he had meant for you to start loving him or to stop wanting him. Maybe neither of those things. Maybe something else.

You didn’t know. All you knew was that he was making your head swim, and the only thing that made sense was when his body pressed up close against yours, and his kiss had sunk you.

He didn’t taste of strawberries at all.

He tasted of cherries.

“Do I scare you, cariño?” he had breathed against your cheek as he came up for air. As he felt your body trembling up against his.

“No, Jake. You don’t scare me.”

You had told him that, only so that he would kiss you again. So that he would not stop. You had told him you weren’t scared of him, but it had been a lie.

He did scare you. Not because of his blood-stained hands, or his reckless abandon. Not because of the way, when he kissed you, your middle opened up.

Not because of that.

But you couldn’t tell him why. Could never.

So, instead, you had let Jake fuck you with reckless abandon. Like a wolf at the mercy of its moon.

Afterwards, Jake had bundled you against his chest, his arm casually slung around you as he propped himself up against the headboard. He had reached into the bedside drawer for a lollipop, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth, and his lips settling around it with a pop.

“Jake?” you whispered uncertainly, against his smooth, bare chest.

“Sí?”

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“No?” he had asked, dipping his chin to get a better look at you, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I… I don’t want you to disappear.” Your fingers had idly skimmed back and forth, over the same spot on his pec.

With a deep sigh, Jake had shifted his position, so that his fingers could hook beneath your chin, gently guiding your gaze towards him. “Then I’ll stay awake all night.” Your eyes had remained downcast, however, your fingers idly tracing the outline of the Magen David chain which pooled in the dip of his chest. “I’ll stay with you.”

“No. You won’t,” you had protested, fighting back some persistent tears.

“Maybe not. But I’ll try, cariño.” Your tears had spilled over on to your cheeks. You couldn’t hold them back. “Hey, what is it? Tell Jake. He’ll protect you, okay?”

“Not always,” you had croaked nonsensically. “Not from everything.”

“Sí. Sí,” Jake has insisted, smoothing his hands over your hair in the name of comfort; but you had known that his promise was a lie. That it was not so; because there was still one glaring reason that you were scared of him.

You were scared, because you loved him; and because you weren’t sure that he could ever love you back.

You must have been a fool, then; since you weren’t sure what else could have possessed you say it. What else could have driven you to lift your eyes up to meet Jake’s in that moment and to reveal all.

Maybe a part of you had seriously thought you would be able to hide it.

Maybe a part of you even believed he might say it back.

That he might truly be able to protect you, like he had tried to promise; even from himself.

Maybe you could have hidden it; except… Jake had learned you. You didn’t even have to say it out loud in the end - I love you - because you made the simple mistake of looking at him with love in your eyes. Love he had learned and could recognise played out on your face. You had looked at him how you looked at Marc. How you looked at Steven.

Marc had come first, and Steven had followed.

Khonshu would never love you.

And Jake?

You hadn’t known if he would ever get there, but you knew all too suddenly now that he was never coming. You had learned him too. Could read the emotions in his eyes.

He looked at you with fondness.

With apology.

He looked at you like he was scared.

He looked at you like he was the threat, and that there was one thing he could not protect you from.

He looked at you with those all too familiar eyes, no longer backlit with the glow of love.

And, that’s when his eyes had rolled back into his head.

That’s when a fog had cast itself like a murky shroud over his face, making him unreadable. That is, until someone else stepped up to front in his place.

By the time you saw the familiar pattern of animated eyebrows jumping up, the tears were already flowing down your cheeks. By the time you heard a soothing, British-accented voice wash over you, you were sobbing.

“Steven.”

“What is it? What’s wrong, love?” He had held you by the shoulders as you sat upright on the bed, your knees curled up to your chest. He had examined your face and body for clues of harm or injury, but found nothing. And so, he had simply shushed you and stroked you, and told you he loved you. Told you that when your words were ready, he would listen. Steven was perfect, but - even with Steven by your side - for a few moments, you had been inconsolable.

You had been so afraid that Jake wouldn’t feel the same. That your confession would push him away. And now, you supposed that you had been right to worry.

He was gone.

He was quick to take his leave of you.

He’d already had one foot out of the door since he met you, hadn’t he?

“You alright, love? A little bit better, eh?” Steven had finally soothed, when your crying had subsided to the occasional sniffle. “Let’s get you some hot chocolate and some tissues, shall we, sweetheart? Get you all sorted.”

“Mmm.” You had nodded.

Steven had tried his best to be reassuring, but he couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes. He couldn’t hide the way he peered intently into the shined saucepans on the shelf above the sink, face contorting as he listened. His jaw writhing with a rare anger - as though he was hearing something which upset him.

You wondered whether he was getting an earful from Jake or Marc, or both, but something was happening that he didn’t look altogether happy about.

Still, for you, Steven had pulled it together, and for once he made an effort to smooth out his face. To hide from you, only in order to take the edge off of his concern.

He had quietly set down the hot chocolate for you - extra marshmallows sprinkled carefully on the top. You had wished you could paint on a smile for him, but his gesture was so sweet that, if anything, it made you ache even more.

He flattened his hands, and smoothed them up and down your thighs, slow and steady. “Do you… do you want Marc, love?” he had asked softly. “He’ll know what to do. Yeah?”

You couldn’t speak, but Steven had understood your answer all too well when a fresh batch of tears spilled over on to your cheeks.

The next hands to reach for you had been the first.

Marc’s.

Through blurred, teary vision, you held your arms out to him, a pathetic sob cracking in your throat. “Heyyy, honey, c’mere,” he soothed, his voice deep and steady as he dragged you into his lap. “Come on.”

Marc was first.

And Marc was with you until the end.

Marc was all in.

“What’s got you so upset, baby? Jake… he… didn’t say it back?”

He knew then?

“I’m so sorry, Marc.”

“Wh-? Why, honey?”

“Because… because what I’m thinking isn’t fair.”

His brows had knitted together in that familiar way. And, Marc had pulled you back from him, his palm hugging your face like the curl of a crescent moon. You felt the warm glow of him bleed into your skin, and nothing but love shining in his eyes for you. “You can tell me.”

You sucked in a deep breath, your bottom lip and chin wobbling uncontrollably as you wrestled with it.

“I just… I feel like if Jake doesn’t…” your shoulders had heaved -partly in frustration with yourself- as you fought a sob, and Marc shushed and soothed you until your words came. “I… feel like it means there’s a part of you that doesn’t love me. That will always be trying to leave, and…” Your sobs were coming thick and fast, between every few words now, but even so Marc stuck with you. There was pain burning in his eyes because you were hurting, and because all of this hurt him too. “And - if - if Jake leaves?” You sucked in an ugly, wet breath, before blurting your last words out into Marc’s shoulder. “If he leaves, he takes everyone I love with him. He takes you.”

You had clung on to Marc as you sobbed, and you had held him like you never wanted to let him go. Like you wanted him for always. Marc was frozen against you for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally mobilised. And, when he did, he seemed oddly calm. Perfectly certain.

“Baby, come here,” Marc had croaked, and you had felt his own tears wetting your shirt as he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You had felt him warm and sturdy around you, gathering you up in his arms and dragging you to him with his hands. Breathing you in. Caressing you. Bundling you towards his chest. Squeezing you tight. “That’s what this is about? Baby. I got you. Come on.”

Marc took a hold of your hands and he stood, gently but determinedly guiding you over to the window. He had led you to it, and wrapped himself around you from behind, his strong arms enclosing you, and both your faces kissed by gentle moonlight as you gazed out over the expanse of chimney stacks and rooftops, the night sky a gentle backdrop to the hubbub of the nocturnal city.

“Look,” Marc had said, settling his hands on top of yours as his arms wound around your middle. He didn’t direct you, but you had known exactly where to look. To the sliver of moon carved out of the bleak sky like a tear through to another world. Tears continued to sluice down your cheeks, but you managed to subdue them. “The moon splits itself into pieces, right?” you had nodded. “Sometimes, it’s a little sliver you have to seek out. Sometimes, a huge bright face. Sometimes, you can’t see it at all. But when it’s each of those things, it’s never any less than whole. Not once. It just comes down to what you can see.”

It was them, he’d meant. Different faces of the one same moon. Never gone from your sky even when things went dark.

Marc had spun you around in the loop of his arms then, so that you could come to face him, his brows drawn down over his eyes, but a well of pale light shining within them as tears shimmied there. With the pad of his thumb, he had swiped your own from your cheek, a watery smile spreading over his face as he took your face in his hands. “I promise you this, baby. I promise you that I love you with everything I have. I promise I’ll protect you. Always. From everything. Okay?”

Overwhelmed with emotion and love, you had drawn Marc close and had kissed him. Kissed the salt tracks from his cheeks. Had kissed his mouth. His eyebrows. His jaw.

You had held him in your arms and you had swayed there together in the moonlight, dancing to silent music.

For a moment too, you had even believed him. Been convinced that you need not be scared - because Marc’s all in. Because Steven is too.

Indeed, as Marc had bundled you up on the couch, and you had sipped the hot chocolate Steven had lovingly made for you, in many ways, you’d felt like the luckiest person in the world.

But, whilst Marc was all in, you knew deep down that Jake was only ever moments away from walking out of that door.

And, if he ever left, you knew that he would take everything you couldn’t bear to let go of with him.

Everything you had wanted to hold on to.

You had told him you loved him, and he didn’t love you back.

Even with Marc in your arms, there were still so many reasons why that scared you.

Still though. You knew you had to hope.

After all; you were all in.

You loved them with everything you had, and you always will.

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #moon boys #moon knight x reader

[whimsyqueen]

Alternative Story Structures/Patterns (a.k.a how to avoid that damn triangle) 

Disclaimer: these are all taken from Jane Alison's Meander, Spiral, Explode under the idea that we should draw more from patterns in nature when structuring works of fiction. Alison is a white woman, and a lot of non-western storytelling (especially utilizing different structures other than the triangle/wave) was pioneered by Authors of Color. I highly recommend you also research types of non-western nonlinear storytelling that Authors of Color have been utilizing and pioneering way before western storytellers even began to think about them. Here's a great article, and here's another one to begin your research there!

I'm gonna start each section with a quote from Meander, Spiral, Explode that I think explains them best, and then extrapolate where I can from there!

Waves

I've already discussed this one! If you wanna know my thoughts and feelings about the wave (a.k.a Evil Triangle That Might Have Some Uses, Maybe) you can check out this post here!

Wavelets

"Once I translated the dramatic arc to a wave, I began to think that energy in narrative might also flow in smaller waves, wavelets. Dispersed patterning, a sense of ripple or oscillation, little ups and downs, might be more true to human experience than a single crashing wave: I'm more likely to feel some tension, a small discovery, a tiny change, a relapse. The same epiphanies every week..."

I love the idea of this, and her comparison to the human experience. I feel like we sort of tried to accomplish this by adding various peaks to the original triangle, but sometimes a narrative can have multiple waves. She talks a lot about how this can show up as patterning in stories as well, moving back and forth between two different energies that could be important to a character, back and forth between motivations. I don't know if that makes any sense, wavelets aren't really my style, but I know they'll resonate with someone, because what are we doing if not trying to connect to the human experience?

Meanders

"A meander begins at one point and moves towards a final one, but with digressive loops. Italo Calvino says that "digression is a strategy for putting off the ending, a multiplying of time within the work, a perpetual evasion or flight. Flight from what? From death of course!" The Meander river in Turkey gave us the word, and speaking of how an actual river flows, Peter Stevens (in Patterns in Nature) says it "winds and turns in a quiet but seemingly desperate manner to avoid the straight schuss to the bottom"... In either case, there's deliberate slowness, a delight in curving this way or that, luxuriating in diversions, carving slow labyrinths of time."

OHHHHH THE MEANDERING NARRATIVE. I do enjoy this one, it isn't my favorite, but it is very very good. I specifically love the part she mentions about the narrative being afraid to reach its end. Sometimes characters meander, they want to experience the slowness, to stop and enjoy the things that are going on around them before moving forward with the plot. If you learn how to use the meander to your advantage, people who have a tendency to under-write could seriously be helped out by trying to do this. Also, sometimes people's minds just wander. Why should a narrative not wander too? A river will always end up spilling out somewhere, after all.

Spirals

"A spiraling narrative could be a helix winding downward– into a character's soul, or deep into the past– or it might wind upward, around and around to a future. Near repetitions, but moving onward. What gives a spiraling narrative a good sense of ending? Good question, for spirals could go on forever."

and also

"I wonder if first-person retrospective narratives– especially obsessive ones– might naturally follow a vortex."

Can you tell which quote gave me my epiphany about Verity and To Make a Fool of Death? Maybe it's mixed in with the radial narrative (right below this!!) but a spiraling narrative is truly a beautiful thing. This one and the radial one are both truly very deeply character focused, which makes me happy. The idea of telling a story based around a character, or just always coming back to the central of the character, is deeply fascinating. At another point in this chapter, she compares the spiral narrative to like the spiraling of a panic attack: you start thinking, and then you think more, and the problem becomes bigger, and you just keep going and then you cannot stop. Whether your spiraling narrative is fast, slow, or somewhere in between (not even gonna go off on a tangent about combining some of the patterns like a meandering spiral), it wanders around but remains true to the central core of what STARTED the panic attack, and will always have come from that true center.

Radials or Explosions

"Unlike in a spiral, the story itself– the incidents we see dramatized– barely moves forward in time. Instead, a reader might have a sense of being drawn again and again to a hot core– or, conversely, of trying to get away from that core. You might already know the end at the start and get many fractured views of things avoiding that moment. You might feel a sense of violent scatteration from a central point. Radials can be centrifugal or centripetal, but linear they are not."

This one might just be my favorite. Her example for it is truly perfect, too. She uses Gabriel García Márquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold to talk about the point of this one. The entire story revolves around the death of this one man, we know he's going to die from the beginning of the story, and everyone else knows it too. We get the reactions of people to the idea of his death, the effect his death has on others, the WHY of his murder, and so on and so forth. The entire story centers around the hot core of the death of the main character, and that is BEAUTIFUL. I don't know what else to say about this kind of narrative outside of that example, because it does exactly what the radial/explosive narrative requires of it. Vignettes that all center around a big, dramatic point. That kind of thing. I love it, I can't get enough.

Networks or Cells

"So, again, any complex narrative will be a little spatial: certainly the spiraling or radial ones we looked at are. I think the idea of spatiality becomes most clear in cellular texts made discrete parts that gain power through patterns of images or ideas rather than sequential incidents." [section removed where she's talking about three examples provided to prove her point] "In all three, no linear chronology makes the parts cohere; instead, you draw the lines."

and also

"Translating to natural patters, I think of Peter Stevens's words about honeycombs or foam: 'chunks of space, miniature rooms, each one different from its neighbors and yet perfectly interlocked with those neighbors'."

I feel like these really speak for themselves. Think like... a short story collection, right, where all of the stories are seemingly unrelated, but you're able to connect the dots in your own mind and realize how these narratives are actually entwined in some truly beautiful ways? This method places a lot of trust on the reader, and I think that's important. As long as you have readers who have an ounce of critical thinking skills, of course. Stories like this are particularly interesting, especially when you as a writer have to decide how to subtly connect them all, or how MUCH you even want them to be connected.

Fractals

"The most fractal works– meaning fractals of fractals– were stream-of-consciousness narratives, although it's not clear whether that style reveals depths of consciousness or the writer's imagination. But fractals forming the shape of a whole narrative are what interest me: Texts that start with a "seed" or blueprint that spawns several more."

and also, in reference to Caryl Phillips' Crossing the River, an example of a Fractal Narrative:

"Instead the book is polyphonic, taking the points of view of four characters and delivering them in different styles: letters, diary entries, mixtures of third person and first. Yet the stories all grow from a single seed..."

I cut off the last one, but to give some context: Phillips' Crossing the River is the point of view of four characters across time periods that are stories that are inherently related to each other, in that they all stem from the same fractured point, but the linear plot lines do not connect. That's why it's so interesting. It kind of reminds me of the butterfly effect, right, but in a narrative sense. One action that someone takes will fracture, splitting across the story and creating so many smaller, new stories that are just as integral and wouldn't have happened without that first fracture. Will it all come together and will the fracture heal and reconnect at the end? Idk, maybe, it can. It's more of an exercise in seeing what happens based off of one simple event.

Additionally...

She has an entire chapter at the end called "Tsunami?" where she talks about David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, which is like... a wave, right, a symmetrical wave, but SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT. Remember in "networks or cells" where I was talking about stories that don't seem to be connected but then there's a beautiful through line that somehow magically connects them all? And then in the wave post, when I talk about symmetry and traveling up the wave and down the wave so that the end reflects the beginning again? Cloud Atlas does all of that and more. I couldn't recommend this book enough. It's impossible to explain. It's perfectly written. I honestly don't even really consider it one of my favorite books, but I know that it has FEW rivals for how actually good it is. And, again, PLEASE DO NOT WATCH THE MOVIE.

If anyone wants extrapolation on any of these specifically, I'd be happy to talk about them in their own individual posts, if you've got something specific you want to know more about!! I mean fuck, I might write more about them later on just because I want to and I have feelings. All I really did here was just kinda explain them. And, once again, I encourage you to seek the perspectives of Authors of Color for this one as well. Countries that aren't North American/European have been doing this way longer than us, and those formats deserve some fucking respect.

I also of course have a few people that have asked to be tagged in my posts like this, and if you'd like to add yourself to this list, please let me know! I'll be posting a bunch of these as I go through grad school, so there's a lot to learn! @approximately20eggs @faeriegutz @moonscribbler @marigoldispeculiar

#writeblr #creative writing #writers #writing life #writing #writing reference #story structure #writing advice #fiction writing #writers of tumblr #novel writing #writing community #writing concept #grad school #studying #novel structure #about the author #my writing #my wips #long post

[shoko-komi]

This special edition of The Komi Report is split into 2 posts. This is Part 1. Click here for Part 2

Hullo!  Welcome to the mildly anticipated 2023 Annual Edition of The Komi report!  What awaits you below the read more mark is the ultimate retrospective on this year in Komi Can't Communicate.  What makes it ultimate?  As far as I'm aware, it's the only one of its kind.  So I win by default. 

I've spent the past week re-reading and ruminating upon the 50 chapters of Komi that came out in 2023, and I've done my very best to boil it all down into the ultimate mega-report!!! It's a long one, so only open it when you're ready for a read!

CONTENTS

1. A Letter from the Editor 

2. 2023 in Review 

3. The Emoi Awards:  (My) Top 5 Chapters of the Year, Most Emoi Moment, Funniest Joke, and Reader’s Choice 

A Letter From the Editor

Dear Reader, 

It's been a long time since I tried to engage in fandom.  People with whom I'm not already acquainted vex, confuse, and frighten me.  So rather than seek out community, I'm inclined to keep to myself and my close inner circle of friends.  You might say that Alice can't... Alice can't com... communi........ 

But I love Komi Can't Communicate so very much.  Getting my little dose of emoi every Wednesday is the best part of my week. So, to extend the fun and keep myself from bursting; I started making reaction posts, called them The Komi Report because I like to play pretend, and here we are now! 

The Komi Report is consistent only so far as it's always unfocused. I get so wrapped up thinking about the things I want to say that I forget to say most of them. I'm scattered, I'm overly harsh, and I'm awkward. However, I amuse myself tremendously. So it's alright in the end. 

I like to imagine this is some big, serious publication with a large readership.  That's far south of true.  But there are a small handful of people who interact with the Report on a regular basis. By my personal standards, that puts me on par with the editor of the New York Times. 

So my hearty thanks to anyone reading this special edition of The Komi Report. I have endeavored, in my silly little way, to stir up a few silly little emotions in your heart. If I succeed at that, then I’m satisfied indeed. 

I wish you happy holidays, and a very happy new year.  

2023 in Review

Alice, 

The Komi Reporter

In my mind I break Komi Can't Communicate down into three major sections based on Komi's three years of high school.  Her first year is the Bronze Age, second is the Golden Age, and third (which is still, of course, ongoing) is the Silver Age.  By this naming scheme I don't mean to imply that one year is better than the other.  Only that each of them represents a distinct period of Komi's narrative and for Tomohito Oda as an artist. Talk to me about that sometime; I'll talk your ear off. 

Here I've attempted to break 2023 down into its major constituents as well.  It's messy, considering the meandering nature of serial fiction like this, but I think I've done a decent job.  How exciting for me. 

‘Kawai’ encompasses both her story arc and chapters wherein she features predominantly.  ‘Kissy Kissy’ and ‘Rumiko’ explain themselves.  ‘Emoi surprise attack’ lumps together Ogiya, Emoyama, Fuki, Yadano, and Michita's story beats because I think they're identical in tone and intent.  And ‘Komi and Hiki Reunite’ gets its own colour because I love Hiki Komorebi.  And I can do whatever I want. 

RIP the younger siblings.  Shosuke, Hitomi, Ai, and Sanjuro-Rokuro appeared only very briefly this year. Fingers crossed they get some good moments in 2024. 

To reflect on 2023 as a whole, I will discuss my general thoughts on each of these segments individually; bar Hiki and the assorted miscellany, for that would require talking too much about individual chapters and would derail everything and plunge us into a lake of fire. 

Kawai

Reddit is a hostile and alien environment to me, but I like to peruse r/komi_san every now and then to see what people are saying.  The Kawai-heavy months were particularly fun, because Ms Rami dominated conversation and polarized the entire subreddit into petty arguments, the likes of which I still chuckle about.  There were Kawai haters, Kawai lovers, Kawai haters who compared her to Yamai, Yamai lovers who tried to turn those comparisons into a positive.  It was chaos. 

(Link)

Me?  I'm a Kawai stan for life.  I'll say it at every opportunity; I love when Komi shows off her passionate side – stubborn as a mule, jealous, competitive, and a little domineering.  The study camp arc brought those parts of her right out.  So, although I didn't find Kawai all that interesting as a character at first, I was enjoying myself. 

An old flame of Tadano's - mentioned for the first time in a passing joke long, long ago - appears unexpectedly.  She's like an evil dimension Komi – down to the way her shining silver hair contrasts with Komi's dark black-purple.  There's no actual risk of her stealing Tadano away, but she undermines Komi's confidence and challenges her openly.  A challenge that's impossible to resist. 

They spar back and forth.  Kawai has the advantage in athleticism and intellect.  But when they come to the final portion of the quiz game, Kawai's self-centered attitude is her downfall yadda yadda etc. etc. 

 Then.... then.... they have that talk on the beach... 

...where she reveals her batshit insane long-term plan to watch over Tadano from afar; become the perfect bride-to-be in secret; then appear when the moment is right, drive away all competition, and sweep him off his feet???  Ice-cold kuudere/yandere bitch queen. Be still, my beating heart 💞.   

But she has the self-awareness to see things clearly – As she talks to Komi she begins to realize how her attitude has steered her wrong.  She sees how Komi and Tadano have something real; how she's been fooling herself all along.  Kawai admits that she was behaving poorly and concedes defeat.  Growth!!! 

I'm going to backflip across the room.  I felt like I had achieved nirvana the first time I read this.

I see in Kawai a girl who's been isolated for so long – stuck in an absurd romantic fantasy as a coping mechanism – that she has no concept of how to engage with people casually.  She was a lonely child, her parents died tragically, and then she was raised by people who didn't know what to do with her. She seeks meaningful connections but has an extreme, intense personality and abides by an overly literal definition of what makes a ‘family’.  Thus, her behavior is overbearing and, at times, inappropriate.  But she means well. 

Also, she's the best new character since Rumiko and she should never change ever.  

One of her lackey's has a big, gay crush on her... 

...and I hope Kawai notices her some day. 

I saw many people who were frustrated with how heavily Kawai featured in the first half of 2023. I for one think we need more of her.  Much, much more of her.  I choose not to address her... interesting relationship with her relatives.  One must turn a blind eye now and then. 

Kissy Kissy

Every romance story faces a serious problem when the lovebirds finally hook up.  How do you retain romantic tension once they're formally together?  Many stories don't.  This is perfectly fine if the story ends at the confession of love, but if the story continues then there needs to be a deeper foundation to the relationship than will-they-won't-they tension (or you can contrive a reason to split them up again).

Komi Can't Communicate has not suffered from loss of romantic tension!!! Wahoo!!!!!

I was stoked back when it became obvious Oda was going to bring Komitano together so soon before the end of the series.  I had no doubt the romance would remain compelling - Komi and Tadano are just plain old nice to see together; whatever they might be doing. 

So to find out they'll be dating for an entire third of the series???  Yes please.  In the english translated tankobon, the love triangle ended in March with the release of volume 23.  So we got Komitano officially dating in print; then a few months later, in the weekly chapters, they kissed for the first time.  What a year!!! 

Tadano is boundlessly patient and thoughtful, and he understands Komi's needs with intuition that crosses the border into mind-reading.  He became her first friend motivated only by an earnest desire to help, and never demonstrated jealousy as she became increasingly independent from him.  He's a pleasant fellow; faithful, gentle, and kind. 

Komi is.... well, she's Shoko Komi 

The build up to it is so sweet.  A festival date with just the two of them~  She's wearing the dress he chose; he's wearing a shirt with buttons on it (a step up for these shonen romance boys). 

Then it goes terribly... and you'd expect these two stress machines to be panicking.  But no, they've grown so much and bonded so deeply.  They laugh it off in the rain and retreat somewhere dry for a smooch or two... 🥰 kyaaaaaa ✿!!!  Emoi!!!  And they're both crazy flustered about kissing... but Komi gets assertive... she's kinda like that asldnalsjdnja 

The romance is alive. And between these moments, I just like seeing them together; no matter what's going on. 

Rumiko

Way back when Rumiko was introduced, she was like a revelation.  Her strong, unique personality and chemistry with the rest of the cast made her an instant series staple.  Introducing a new character for a long and complex love triangle plotline was a tricky proposition, and Oda managed it with a stroke of genius.  Such a stroke of genius that everything before Rumiko's intro feels, in retrospect, like it's missing something.  Which is not to say that pre-Rumiko KCC is bad, or that Rumiko should have entered sooner.  No. Everything about the way she was handled is perfect... 

...up to a certain point.  On a tangential note: if you think Rumitano should have been the outcome of the love triangle (hello!  you know who you are :3) I can't honestly say I disagree.  I don't agree.  But I also don't disagree. 

(Ch. 285)

(I like Rumitano and Komitano equally.  And RumiKomi) But all of this is just lead-up to the matter at hand. 

What's pertinent to this 2023 review is the way Rumiko has been handled post love triangle.  During moments of passion I've blamed it on Wakai monopolizing her time, but that's unfair.  Wakai is just fine.  His will-they-won't-they plot with Rumiko is just fine.  I do enjoy it at times.  What gets on my nerves is how reduced Rumiko feels.  At some point Oda decided she's ‘girl who makes unsightly facial expressions’ and that's so much of what we get of her when we get to see her.  Her personality has been somewhat squashed. 

Couple that with how the focus of her plot with Wakai is primarily on him.  She feels like a side character now, when in the past she was effectively a third protagonist.  It was inevitable that she step down from her peak of prominence as her role as rival-in-love came to an end, but... idk.  She's Komi's best friend (Tadano doesn't count).  She’s the Rumiko Manbagi. 

There are moments where Rumiko's personality still shines.  During her date with Tadano in particular (which was a breath of fresh air).  I also enjoyed her summer festival date with Wakai (Accidentally calling a girl ‘mum’ on the first date?  I'd die).  Those moments are lovely. But feel diluted...

^^ In this moment I felt like her relationship with Wakai might become really interesting akoakjsndnasd 

I said up above that I think KCC is in its Silver Age. Well, there's a major reason why.  The magic isn't lost, but it's faded ever so slightly without the golden lustre of our favourite gyaru's hair...... 

But who knows what'll happen next?  Oda surprises me constantly, and I think that's one of the things I love so much about this series.  Right when he starts to lose me, Oda reels me back in. A comeback for Rumiko could be right around the corner. 

Emoi Surprise Attack

This is the loosest of my categories.  What can I say?  I'm a loose girl.  No... uh... pretend I didn't say that.  It's true, but this isn't the time or place. 

These stories are related insofar as the last few months of 2023 have been a grab-bag of minor characters receiving surprising and heartfelt little stories.  Ogiya, Emoyama, Fuki, and Yadano were joke characters who never seemed destined for serious attention, but every one of them came out swinging and hit a home run... wiht our hearts............... they sent our hearts into the stands.........

Michita is new, and I hope we see her again soon. 

Anything more I have to say about these chapters would require talking about them individually, which is beyond the scope of this section.  So let's do a lightning round: 

Ogiya – PHENOMINAL 

Emoyama  – PHENOMINAL 

Also, Hello Moromi-san.  Is there a woman in your life? Can we be Mrs. And Mrs. Emoyama? 

Fuki – PHENOMINAL 

Yadano – PHENOMINAL 

Michita – PHENOMINAL 

AAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGG!!!!!!!!! (cry of Emoi) 

There you have it. 

----------------------------------

So ends the overview!!  If you're bothered I didn't talk about something in particular, don't worry; the Emoi Awards get more specific.  There's sooooo much that I left out in the pursuit of brevity. 

I want to make a special note of the reveal in Ch. 407 – Interview.  Komi plans to study International Communication in university.  I was anticipating the reveal of her course of study, and I wasn't disappointed.  It could not have been anything else. 

My overall feeling about the series at the moment?  Great!!!!  I complain bitterly at times (I'm a whiny, weeny windbag) and I'm at my harshest when I'm forming first impressions.  But going over 2023 and remembering all the good times brought into perspective how much fun it's been.  It also really put into perspective how much Komi has grown as a person.  She’s so confident now compared to where she started from... 

So... yeah! 

And now the contentious business begins... 

The Emoi Awards

Paam pa du paam!!!!! (that's fanfare) 

Now it's time to get granular.  This is the cream of the crop.  The best of the blessed.  The chapters and moments that had all of us laughing, giggling, chuckling, guffawing, weeping, sobbing, and crying. 

My opinions about Komi Can't Communicate are perfect and definitive, so if you disagree with me about any of this... argue vehemently with me.  I'm not joking.  Don't be mean to me or I'll cry, but do please tell me your opinions! The more you talk to me about Komi, the more powerful I become.  Mweh heh heh heh heh heh 

Here are the categories: 

(My) Top Five Chapters of the Year

(My) Top 5 Chapters of the Year

Most Emoi Moment

Funniest Joke

Reader’s Choice

I did NOT expect this to be so hard.  I had to firmly limit myself to only five choices... and I was tearing my hair out.  This mANGA IS SO GOOD ARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!! 

Listed in order of publication (love has no hierarchy.  Except in kink).

1. Chapter 392 - Kawai is...

Kawai spends the entire study camp being a fierce enemy to Komi, then stays up late and has an emotional heart-to-heart on the beach with her, then runs 20kms all the way home... and by noon the next day she's in Komi's house to propose marriage.  And she's already been to Tadano's to do the same.  Bisexual, polyamorous, and a serious go-getter.  When Kawai wants something, she spares no expense.

My regards to the future prime minister of Japan.  It's a shame Rumiko didn't think of this first.

But seriously, though; I laughed out loud the whole way through this chapter.  I was delighted to no end.  If I ever doubted Tomohito Oda's ability to surprise me, that doubt was erased forever.  Kawai was a good character, in one fell swoop she became legendary.

I love you, Kawai. 

2. Chapter 406 - My Name is Kuro

Maybe I'm biased about Rei Natsukido. Maybe I'm biased because this was the first chapter on which I made a Komi Report. Either way, I'm biased and okay with that. Having Rei and Mira around for a visit all the way from America was so much fun, and we got the return of Komi Can't Communicate's #1 best character – Princess Elizabeth Alexandrine Georgine Jeanne Catherine Christiane. 

I love that Mira acts all cool and distant but can't stop herself from becoming invested. I love how passionate and imaginative Rei is about the game. I love how Komi is just along for the ride and she's having a blast. I love that Komi is playing a boy character. 

(Ch 169 – Playing With Dolls)

And I love their funky plush toys. 

I love you, Rei and Mira. 

3. Chapter 410 - Cicada-rrounded

Hiki Komorebi is yet another S Tier character.  Unrelated to that; her height is so funny to me.  She looks crazy tall next to the other characters - she even has a complex about it - and then you find out she's only 180cm.  Japanese people are short.   

Anyway, 

Cicada-rrounded has this complete twist in the middle where it goes from a heartwarming reunion to a battle for survival against icky bugs.  Komi and Hiki meeting again was built up for so long, and it's a beautiful moment,

and then it gets de-railed immediately in the best and funniest way possible. 

I would go so far as to say this is a perfect chapter of Komi Can't Communicate.  It's equal parts sentiment and comedy, and kills it on both fronts.  If I had to pick a #1 favourite from these 5?  I might maybe possibly be inclined to consider this one. 

I love you, Hiki. Also Akira

4. Chapter 411/412 - A Two Person Summer Festival Stroll/The Second Time

I already gushed about these two in the overview section.  What more is there to say?  Except that it's a little annoying how Tadano remains so timid about romance stuff; but it gives us so many opportunities for assertive Komi to come out, so that's alright. 

Komi is kinda like that... aosjkdoaksdokansdnajiosd.  Get it, girl. 

(Ch. 427 - Cool)

I love you, Komi and Tadano 

(This special edition of The Komi Report continues in Part 2)

#komi can't communicate #komi san wa komyushou desu #komi #komi report #the komi report #komi shoko #shoko komi

[sam-glade]

My Editing Process 

Part 1/3 - Big Picture Stuff

This is what I do to a novel or a novella before showing it to anyone (including beta readers). I’m posting it in hopes that it will help someone, and I’m not expecting it to work for everyone. Take any parts that help you!

Two things up front:

‘Imperfect’ doesn’t mean ‘bad’. Good writing can have imperfections.

The goal is to get the manuscript to a stage where the imperfections won’t be distracting to beta readers.

Baseline

This is my process for novella- or novel-length projects (so around 40-100k words). I don’t write short stories, so I don’t know how applicable it will be. I’m currently editing Gifts of Fate, trying to shave off a couple of thousand words, and I’ll be pulling examples from it.

I’m a pantser and an overwriter who loves checklists. I know that my early drafts include scenes that explore the characters and the setting, but don’t contribute enough to earn their keep – this isn’t applicable to everyone. I also write in 3rd person multi-POV, hence references to switching POV.

In this project, I also aim for a crisp, direct style, with minimally flowery descriptions.

I start this process when my draft is in the following state:

After I’ve replaced all [[foreshadow this]] and similar comments, added all the skipped segments, etc.

After I let the manuscript rest for a couple of months

When the overall plot is highly unlikely to change. I.e. the sequence of events/plot beats is set in stone. I may consider reframing them or rewriting from someone else’s POV, but I won’t change the direction of the story.

Big-picture stuff first

I can’t stress this enough, do this before you get into the nitty gritty line edits. You don’t want to pore over a chapter for hours, only to realise it has to be cut – and all the effort you put into editing will be thrown away.

The goal of this pass is to bring out the best parts of the story, make the focus crystal clear, and make sure everything gels together.

I make a copy of the manuscript and make sure you have the old one stored away. I often refer back to it, to see if I like how a chapter has changed.

The outline

I write a bare-bones outline, no more than a phrase per 2k words – the shorter the better.

The way I do it is to put that as the title of each chapter – chapters for me tend to average just over 2k words. E.g. in GoF, the first few chapter titles are: ‘The Rupture’, ‘The Sword’, ‘The Cutthroat’, ‘The Sergeant’, [redacted], ‘The Windmill’, ‘The Threat’, ‘The Investigation’, ‘The Plan’. Not catchy, but pinpointing the focus of each.

It’s important that each point corresponds to a similarly sized chunk of text, so that I can spot when there are long sections where not much or too much happens – this will highlight issues with pacing.

If I’m not sure what to put in the title, it’s an indication that it might be one of those meandering, unfocused chapters. I gather a list of those, to pay more attention to them.

It also helps me identify the goal of each chapter. This is the part where I’d consider reframing or even rewriting a chapter from someone else’s POV, if the current structure shifts the focus away from what it’s supposed to be about.

Two examples:

In one chapter, I had a regular POV character (Ianim) check in on the protag’s family, and the protag’s sister (Marta) filled him in on how her magical powers had manifested a few days earlier. The intended goal of the chapter: tell the reader about the powers. What it ended up being: by framing it as a conversation between them, the focus was on their dynamic. Solution: rewrite the chapter from Marta’s POV and present the events that led to her powers manifesting as they happened, rather than retrospectively talking about them.

Later on, the protag (Lissan) is on the run and struggling to survive, while feeling that he should be saving the world, not just himself. He gets a stern talking to from an old man. The intended goal of the chapter: Lissan gets over his dilemma, and makes a decision to save himself, then make the world a better place. What it ended up being: the old man’s backstory stole the spotlight Solution: spend more time on the dilemma, especially before the storytime, and less on the backstory – I want to keep it, because it serves a subplot, but I can shorten it by a few sentences. 

Meandering Chapters

With that done, I read over the manuscript one more time, focusing especially on the chapters identified as meandering, and skipping the ones with clear plot beats. I know events like the big fights, first meetings, etc. definitely won’t be cut.

In my case, a lot of these are consecutive chapters composed of 2-3 vignettes, which come up when characters spend a period of time in one place, e.g. taking time to train or make preparations. They’ll be composed of scenes with low-stake actions, some exposition, and some exploration of characters and their dynamics. I want this project to be a fairly fast-paced fantasy adventure, but these slice-of-life scenes slowed down pacing too much. They are usually identified as meandering, since each scene/vignette has its own goal, but they aren’t strung together.

I Marie Kondo the hell out of them. I list what’s the purpose of each scene, and what I lose if I cut them out – this can be a mental exercise. Will cutting each one in turn leave the reader confused? Sometimes, all the reader is losing is an additional bit of characterisation. This is how I discovered I had two chapters showing the same two characters spar, each from one of their POVs, and the only purpose the first one fulfilled was to show that one of the characters didn’t like cold weather. Yep, that got cut.

Then, anything that's set up but doesn't have a pay off UNLESS it's a deliberate red herring. The length of the set up should be proportional to how crucial to the main plot is the pay off.

E.g. I had two conversations where in the first one the protag was told that demons react to the colour red, and in the next one he found a red ribbon to put on his Sword. And that was the last mention of it. The first mention stayed as flavour, the second conversation got cut.

And I know I need the red ribbon there in the second book of the trilogy, but it really can appear closer to when it's needed – i.e. in the second book. In general, I'm weeding out set up for later instalments which are easy to forget.

Repetitive Chapter Structure

I group chapters by structure, especially paying attention to the cases when:

Characters sit around discussing a plan, with the dialogue being a civil discussion all the way through. I know I have a tendency to do exposition through pages of dialogue. I don't want to have more than 2-3 of these across 50 chapters, and I want them spaced out.

A character fills others in on events they don’t know about. This can be either 'you weren't around when this happened to me' or 'this is a legend you (and especially the reader) needs to know, to understand the rest of the story'. I want to make sure there’s at most 1 of these in my novel.

How many of each you want in your manuscript, depends on its length and genre – I’m going for a fantasy adventure with a fair bit of action, so I cut down on the dialogue-heavy or research chapters, in favour of action scenes.

If in either of these categories I have more than what I want, I try to change the setting, or sprinkle in some action – for example, talking while doing shopping or renovating a house. Sometimes, a large chunk of the conversation can be skipped with a 3-5 sentence summary paragraph – and yes, in cases like this exposition might be the lesser of two evils. I also make sure the similar chapters are spaced out, with a change of pacing or setting between them.

This is where I stop tinkering with the story on my own – if I go on further, I don’t have the confidence that my changes are making it any better.

Part 2: Ctrl+F'ing the manuscript

Requested tag: @galactic-mystics-writes

#editing #writing #writing tips #writing advice #novel writing #creative writing #writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #writing resources

[souldagger]

big fan of stories that seem meandering or uneventful at first only to be exposed as a masterful series of inevitable dominoes one after another heading towards tragedy in retrospect. mwah

#never gonna b over the flashback storyline in ancillary justice sorry. #.txt

[kafus]

THE NPCs ARE DRAGGING THIS RICH GUY’S ASS

EVEN SHAUNA IS DRAGGING HIS ASS this is killing me holy shit

as you can see after a lot of meandering i did the whole bit of the game where you find the castle owner’s furfrou next to camphrier and he does a fireworks show for you and gives you the pokeflute to wake up snorlax on the bridge (as an aside, doing that fireworks cutscene again reminded me of how irritated i was when this game came out and i was 13 that the dialogue with shauna changes if you’re a girl to be less romantically leaning. which is funny in retrospect because they don’t do the same thing with lisia’s flirty dialogue in ORAS if you pick may? same gen lmao. i guess way less people ran into that since its optional side content)

also in speaking of the snorlax, i engaged with the battle and was weakening it to catch it and in the process found out it had a sitrus berry, and i really wanted the sitrus berry but i also didn’t want to try catching snorlax in a normal pokeball on more than half HP so i used my new team member Scalpel the espurr to covet that shit

oh yeah and afterwards since i got to the daycare i was finally able to breed down more white flower flabebe to get Chainsaw 2… the first one i caught had a detrimental nature but i didn’t wanna run around for 2 hours looking for another white flower one again, so i waited until now. she’s docile which is neutral but that’s fine w me

oh and! now that i have an oddish with sweet scent from the route right outside the castle, i backtracked and spammed horde battles to get the 5% plusle horde since those always spawn with a single minun, and otherwise plusle basically functions like a version exclusive, so i’m happy to add that to the dex lol

#kiki was here #kiki.txt #kiki plays games #x playthrough

[dinoburger]

I feel a little bit vindicated in my unease towards some of the so called activist groups too after dipping my toes into a few organisations - there's definitely those who are looking for opportunities to sell politics back to you rather than actively invest time to the causes they claim to support

that's not to say you should always be cynical or that you need to find a perfect island of group politics, I found some of the organisations that outwardly seemed meandering and unkempt had stronger overall tactics and insight into local government, as opposed to others that maintain an "active" face but spend a lot of time spinning their wheels without going anywhere.

I find my preferred organisations do reach out to involve other groups too, rather than acting as insular cults of personality.

I think of them as "recruiters", much in the way of religious organisations or bogus charities. They tend to read off a script, seem hard pressed to sell you something (expensive conference tickets or a subscription of some kind) and apart from doing a lot of talking and trying to make their presence known, don't really seem that engaged to whatever issue they claim to represent, as much as a more nebulous idea of an ideology.

In retrospect it feels even more uncomfortable to realise, the uni student who needled me about if being queer impacts my support for the working class was using a tactic we usually see on the far right:

getting someone impassioned by making them argue, then bringing them into the fold as an outlet.

They like to get you talking, but not about any particular next steps, just more broad discussion they can use to sell you on themselves.

That being said, I have the luxury to be choosey because I both have time and access to engage a variety of people. I don't think everyone involved in these recruiter groups means harm, it might be all they have access to, in which case using the space and resources available is more important.

I'm also not going to completely write off the merit of having folks out there willing to do the hard sell to those who haven't been exposed to Marx and socialism and all the rest before.

Personally, I will say that being preached to at length with the intent to drain my wallet, sitting there thinking "isn't there something better we could be doing right now?" as my only exposure, didn't exactly inspire me to become more active or engaged.

This is exactly what is meant by the insistence that your best bet is to look to those most involved, indigenous lead groups for indigenous causes, Arab lead groups for Arab causes, queer lead groups for queer causes and groups that are expansive and diverse for bigger causes - you might actually find people with strong ideas of where we need to push next.

I don't think we should entirely discount anyone willing to step forward and speak out, but we should be wary that something being branded as "activist" doesn't strictly make it so in any situation. It's not a matter of waiting to be told what we need to do but seeking ourselves where we could be most effective.

It makes me a little sad to think these younger people might've felt stuck in the same way, but were convinced to stay with one group and become recruiters rather than exploring their options.

[spacecasehobbit]

I see a lot of positivity posts for fanfiction, these days, but one thing that helps me to remember, sometimes, is that your fanfiction doesn't have to be good.

You're allowed to write fanfiction that is, objectively speaking, Bad Writing.

Fanfiction doesn't have to be good, it doesn't have to change anyone's life, it doesn't have to "fix" canon or do better than the source material that first inspired you.

Whether it's your first time writing, or if you're writing in a second language; whether you're young and still in school, or if you're older but writing was never your strongest subject; whether you've been going through a nasty bout of writer's block, or if it's just been a while since the last time you wrote anything creative just for fun -

It's okay to write fanfiction that just, like, straight-up sucks. Full of grammar and spelling mistakes, riddled with 1-dimensional tropes that have been done a thousand times before, with characters who only barely resemble their canon counterparts. Short fic with plots that meander nonsensically, or a bunch of one-shots that don't quite manage to have a plot at all. Weird sentence structure and paragraph breaks that, in retrospect, don't always make sense. Writing that tries too hard to be Funny or Serious or Good, but misses the mark by a mile.

Write them! Post them!

And when they don't get a lot of hits, when they only get a handful of kudos and a comment or two at best...

Keep writing new stories that make you happy. Write your favorite tropes to death, explore to exhaustion that one single aspect of your favorite character's canon traits that hooked onto something inside you and made you start writing in the first place, and let your plots be as silly or meandering or nonexistent as you want.

And if you keep writing even when your works are objectively kinda terrible, even when they aren't popular, when they don't get a lot of hits or kudos or comments?

I promise, you'll get better.

#hobbit writes about writing #fanfiction advice #writing advice #sometimes the stuff you make won't be good #the first time or the second time or the first dozen times #but the only way to get better is by practicing #and doing more of it anyway

[magicalyaku]

Hey there! I'm back from writing paradise. I admit I might have gotten a little obsessed but that was just because writing is so easy and fun while everything else is always hard. u3u But I basically finished my novel so I have no excuses anymore not to get back into real life. Here's what I read in May! Pretty good month! uAu

Keeper of the Lost Cities 3: Everblaze (Shannon Messenger): The first one in the series I read instead of listening. Was a good choice because I think I missed quite a bit of the first volumes. 8D Also, it's so long. I don't think, me being me, that I would have made it though the audiobook. Don't get me wrong, I like the story. I have a tremendous respect at how it is written, keeping all the plotpoints together, presenting the puzzle pieces little by little, managing the huge cast of people. When I complain next time about a Middle Grade book being too simple and too shallow than this is the kind of book I'm comparing it to. My one problem in this volume was, how the tension never lets down. It's so wound tight all the time, everything is always on the edge of collapsing, including Sophie. It was a little exhausting for me. So I was very glad, there were at least some answers near the end.

The Scottish Boy (Alex de Campi): I went to Scotland at the beginning of May to visit my friend, so what better book to read than this. And what a book. It's the kind of story, where so much happens in the relationship of the protagonists that right after it ends you want to go back to the beginning and read all their first interactions all over again. Hng. It's great. Also Alys, my queen. When she first appeared I was so afraid she'd turn out evil. Because court intrigues and stuff. The ending of this book is all my heart desires. I don't actually like war stories, you know. But after In Memoriam and now this, they sure make good love stories. The drama of for once not knowing where it all goes? Who lives and who doesn't? Damn. I really enjoyed reading this book. The illustrations by Trungles are also verrry nice. uAub

Captive Prince (C.S. Pacat): This was a reread and I read the other two volumes in June, so my thoughts on the series will go there. :)

Wraith, Entity & Presence (Oracle of Senders 3,4 + 3.5) (Mere Joyce): It's so hard to tell my feelings for this series. There's a lot of death and murder, there's choking and burning and failed exorcism and so much danger of death and still it was just so pleasant to read, so charming and nice and laid-back. It's so weird. 8D I liked the cast of characters and the adventure and Cal's and Meander's relationship (the complete lack of gay panic and homophobic surroundings), the classical music references (even though I never looked up a single one). I wish there was a sequel with Cal and Meander as adults. I mean, I realise, it would be difficult to do in a classic novel format because the ghost cases just aren't big enough to last a whole book, but imagine it like a half-hour show oder manga series with a ghost of the week for half the chapter and their happy slice of life for the rest. Hah. Good series.

The Hanged Man & The Hourglass Throne (The Tarot Sequence 2+3) (K.D. Edwards): I didn't think about it while reading but in retrospective this series fits into what I categorise as "wild". There's so much shit happening here. Big and bold. At the end of volume 1 I was still undecided of I like it enough to buy it on paper. These doubts were washed away with the sequels. It's an investment in the beginning, getting into the world and all, but I found it totally worth it. That one big drama at the end of vol3? Yes, totally got me. Like right from the textbook. Make me care, rip me apart. Damn.

The Buried and the Bound (Rochelle Hassan): If someone asked me in a survey about what I want to read and then actually went and made it into a book, this might be the result. This contains only things I like: two suffering (gay) boys, one tough girl (not involved in any romance), which is the best constellation of characters, really. Some magic, some adventure, some drama, different storythreads that weave nicely together in the end. I enjoyed reading it a whole lot and am looking forward to the sequels!

Ander & Santi were here (Jonny Garza Villa): Now this one was difficult. I think it's a good book, I wanted to like it, but. Hear me out. For me, this is split in three parts. The first one is about the illegal immigrants. See, for as long as I remember my dad worked in a … what's it called in English … an housing complex for refugees? Not a camp, but like a dorm. And while illegals and refugees are still a step apart, they're at least somehow adjacent. I lived basically next to them half my life and never cared. When in 2015 there was a huge wave of refugees coming to my country and everyone was freaking out, I just thought "Great, that means my dad will keep his job" (because the dorm was always on the verge of closing down and it would probably been tough for my dad as one of very few black people in a kind of racist small town to find a new job.) So anyway, I thought it was a good thing to finally read an actual story about people in these situations, to learn how to care. So that part was good and insightful. The second part was about the art. I draw manga only, but I do consider myself an artist and I was around when manga became big in my country and the art schools hated it and made us suffer. I have thoughts on art. And I really enjoyed reading about Ander's art and process and thoughts. My favourite part of the book! And then there's part 3, the love story. And I think, because I connected more strongly to the other parts than usual I felt the disconnect here much more than usual! The romance in here is very intense and very physical and my aroace brain didn't compute at all. Complete detachment. Which was kind of a problem, because the romance is a huge part of the book. I really wanted to like it but it didn't work. I did like Ander as a character, though, and their family and friends. And the cover is still so damn pretty!

That's it!

#yaku reads #may wrap up #books #queer books #lgbtq books #queer lit #bookblr #oracle of senders #the scottish boy #the buried and the bound #the tarot sequence #keeper of the lost cities #ander and santi were here

[snoodls]

2023 art retrospective! ✨

I can't believe I'm writing one of these again already; where did this year go??

Looking back on this past year, wow! I can see and feel my confidence with my art growing tremendously. Finally it feels like I'm comfortable with tools and the process. I'm not totally lost when I open a canvas; there's a sense of reassurance that I can do it, and if I can't, I will figure it out along the way. 

Overall, finding time, space, and energy for art proves to be both exceedingly difficult and yet the only thing that I want to do when I get home. I know logically this is mostly because of my job--new office, new boss, new responsibilities, new position--and a few huge life transitions, but when you're someone who makes things who is not making things, it can be rough seas in the brain soup.

I think a major theme for this year was getting back into creative habits. It's an annual tradition at this point to nosedive into an artist's block death spiral. February into March into April...were all lean months for my creativity. Intense job/interpersonal stuff plus news of two of my big art inspirations both suddenly dying...the world hit me hard in these months.

I owe a lot to Lynda Barry's Making Comics for giving me my spark back and for helping to heal a part of me that I didn't realize was so broken and bruised. I remember when I picked the book up around my birthday; the cashier said the book made her cry and I didn't understand. I asked why, and she said "It's just healing." I was skeptical, but now I get it. I've been observing more, giving more credence to my creativity, and being less afraid of making a "bad" drawing.

Now I've been focusing on creating portfolio pieces that I'm proud of and happy to display in my space, as well as finally getting around to my hoard of accumulated characters. I've been picking away at my personal site and uploading much more to toyhouse to keep track of them all.

The last month or so has been completely consumed by making gifts, meeting deadlines, finishing owed art, continuing special projects 👀...so I haven't had much of a presence here. I've been doing lots of traditional art--getting back into acrylic painting and hopefully back into oils soon. I started pine needle basket weaving and have made 2.25 baskets so far! it's a long, tedious, menial process, but it's so satisfying to have something physical (and functional) that you've worked on for hours. I've also been living in my sketchbook the past week--practicing with pens, markers, and practicing itself. I've been conditioned to have the sketchbook be a precious space, and I am trying my best to break out of that. If you want to see some of my traditional sketches and offline stuff, I made a little collage for this year's picks too. ↬ sketchbook 2023

I think for next year I'd like to continue finding better balances--in how I spend my time, how I can spend my time...and to continue pushing myself out of my comfort zone with experiments and messiness. I want to continue being creative in so many more mediums--more film photography and video, hopefully!

In my sketchbook I wrote this meandering paragraph that I want to share: this is a living document--of breath, of movement, not of polished stasis. I reject capitalistic notions of being "industrious" "beautiful" "marketable" "pristine" and on public display at all times. I am not a product to be consumed; neither is my work. I embrace the messy, the incomplete, and the ugly. I refuse to tailor myself to an unseen audience. We thirst for the drafts, the brushstrokes, the incomplete works of the famous. Is this because, in our minds, this makes them more human? Less untouchably great? Or do we see ourselves in the struggles and not in the finished pieces? How charitable is that reading? What I would give to see my inspirations' marker streaks, their 12yo sparkledogs. Framing these byproducts--there's that word again--as art reframes them, reframes myself. To be human is to mark-make, to scribble in the dirt. I hear they reconstruct civilizations from stuff like that.

All my best to you & yours, and happy new year!

art featured: garden ghost | Vagabonds - Aqua Fria River | 6040 elk? | i'll still be around | blue sky | umm hihihi omg hi ...? | porcelain | nothing to remember | Lacquer | river bed-time

#art summary #2023 #year in review #art improvement #artists on tumblr

[smashing-teacups]

Atonement Chapter 42

A/N: Moving toward closure for these two, at long last. I’ve put a tentative chapter total of 45 for now, and we’ll see if it winds up being nice and neat like I’ve planned!  

Previously: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18 , Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27, Ch 28, Ch 29, Ch 30, Ch 31, Ch 32, Ch 33, Ch 34, Ch 35, Ch 36, Ch 37, Ch 38, Ch 39, Ch 40, Ch 41

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: Foundations

In retrospect, perhaps he’d have been wise to choose another mount.

Donas was a magnificent beast — fifteen hundred pounds of pure muscle with the Devil’s own fire at his core. As a teenage lad with something to prove, Jamie had been the first and only idiot stubborn enough to clamber onto the brute’s back. Once he’d managed to get past the gnashing teeth, sharp, rearing hooves, and fifty-odd attempts to throw him off, the pair of them had eventually arrived at a place of mutual (if begrudging) respect.

They’d been inseparable ever since. Donas was his horse. Before he’d left for Boston, Jamie didn’t think they had ever gone a week without at least a short canter around the farm. And while there were half a dozen more placid mounts he might have chosen for his first ride with Claire, it felt important to have a measure of independence from his sister in that moment. The house was Jenny’s; their father had left it to her in his will, and Jamie had no qualms about that. But the estate of Lallybroch belonged to both of them, and he had just as much right to meander about the grounds as she did.

It was the meandering piece that the stallion currently seemed to be taking offense to. After so long without a proper ride, Donas was almost vibrating with energy, tossing his head and champing at the bit. While Claire was doing a braw job of taking it all in stride, Jamie scowled on her behalf.

“Easy, now,” he soothed, reaching down to pat the horse’s neck with one hand even as his other tightened on the reins. “Easy. You’ve precious cargo aboard, aye? Have to be gentle wi’ her.”

Far from appeased, the stallion pinned his ears and gave an impatient buck as they neared the long, flat stretch of land where Jamie usually let him run. With an involuntary mewl, Claire flattened herself against her husband’s back, holding on for dear life. 

“Christ,” he swore under his breath.

“What is it? What’s the matter with him?”

“Stubborn beast,” he grumbled. With a half turn of his head, he asked urgently, “Do you trust me, Claire?”

“You know I do.” She had the grace to sound only mildly alarmed.

Nodding once, Jamie readjusted his grip on the horse with his legs, centering his balance in the saddle. “Then hold on tight, a nighean. The bastard flies like a bat out of hell.”

Keep reading...

#atonement #smashing-teacups #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire