“It has?” Her voice is a tentative murmur, as if she’d somehow thought the reply too candid.
“Yeah. Always.” His left leg pops to its own beat beneath the café table as he scrubs at his hairline with nervousness in his fingertips. “Little funny, innit? Considering how we met.”
“I don’t know if I would use that exact descriptor.” Satya eyes him with—bewilderment, he thinks; he can’t quite place the emotion on her face. “It has been a year since the second Crisis was put to an end. We worked together for the better part of two to make that happen. I… I don’t understand. All that time we spent, why—”
Her brow furrows, and she takes a long pause, seeming to think better of her question. She narrows her gaze to the wine glass by her hand. The golden trappings of her Ministry garb glint in the waning sunlight as she thins her mouth in thought; her crystal earrings are glittering shards, her necklace a circle of starlight.
Jamison raps his prosthetic fingers along the table’s rim. His heartbeat snaps like fireworks beneath the red of his dress shirt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come.
With a measured breath, she starts again: “If what you say is true,” she says, quietly, a lone undertone above the café’s chatter, “why did you wait?”
He could say I wasn’t sure, but it would be a lie, because he was.
He could say I was afraid, and it would be the truth, because he was.
“Didn’t seem like the right time,” he says instead, and it isn’t quite either; it is a half, a partial, an incomplete.
“And now is?”
Jamison works his jaws and tries to gather himself. He remembers casual comforts at her side while flames devoured vats of midnight oil. He remembers his too eager encouragements when he would see her on the field, and the glorious thrill he’d get when she would return them in full. He remembers being pressed in close quarters, carrying her through injury, her finger against his mouth in stints of reconnaissance; he remembers the sweet aftermaths of shaky combat highs punctuated by the gentle sounds of her laughter—and it hurts.
All of the things left unsaid threaten to spill from between his ribs. They fizz so horribly underneath. The little words he could never quite choke out beside her seem to well up and vie for escape, an anxious hum lining the length of his throat.
No one had ever told him talking would hurt.
He offers a noncommittal shrug. “Suppose it’s better than another year, yeah?”
Something like a smile treats the side of her mouth. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Right. So, how’ve you been? Minister, eh? Suits you, I’d say. Must be real nice.”
“Wait just one moment.” Satya splays her hand flat upon the table, and she eyes him with a keen sort of scrutiny. “Are you really going to change the subject so quickly? You’ve just told me something very—very important, and now you want to default to idle conversation?”
“Well, at least I know how idle conversation goes. Talk about work, ‘bout the weather, maybe mention the others and how they are if you’ve heard from ‘em. Y’know, the usual.” He doesn’t need to see his face to know his cheeks are flushed. “This is… different.”
“It is quite different,” she agrees. “Not that I wouldn’t want to know what has happened with you in the past year, because I would, but I’d very much like to address your claim first.”
Jamison squirms in his chair. “My claim? D’you really have to make it sound so formal? Not like I’m submitting applications or anything.”
“I would much rather deal with an application of yours than read through yet another set of incorrectly measured plans,” she says.
He does not know how to interpret that. “You calling me better than work?”
The white-gold of her prosthetic hand suppresses a soft snicker. “I think I am.”
His stomach should not somersault at the thought, but it does, and it feels more delightful than it should. Biting at his lip, he searches the cloth-covered tabletop for something interesting to stare at because looking at her makes his pulse skip twice too many. It feels like he should say something, anything; you’re bloody gorgeous comes to mind, but gorgeousdoes not do her justice (it never has), and she deserves more than paltry banalities. He wishes he weren’t drawing this terrible blank—he has heaps of things he wants to say, and yet his thoughts have dispersed and the words attached to them have become disjointed motes captured only in slats of sunshine.
A brief ghost of movement skirts his periphery. Hesitant at first, and then more insistent. “Has it always?”
He glances upward. Her hand, thin and svelte, reaches between the plates and glasses, white polish brushed on perfect nails.
With a dizzying exhilaration locked within his lungs, Jamison allows his left to close the distance. Black polish coats each one of his.
there is NOTHING like the rage of searching for a post you KNOW is on your blog with a highly specific phrase and then not only can this website not find it but tumblr says something fucking stupid like ‘please don’t be mad. please’
has detailed if not meticulous notes on the universe they’ve created, down to the food eaten and language quirks, they use mythos and setting to bring it all together
most of the character’s backstories are already loving laid out, though may not be all connected yet.
Has yet to write a full chapter. (But they’re getting there!)
The Bae
Story is centered around a complex and engaging OC that they’ve spent years developing
said OC has been through A Lot, the love is real, so is the pain
OC may sort of be a loser? ie the story is a character-driven piece where the plot is moved ahead by said character’s bad decisions and questionable habits
The Researcher
akin to the lore-ist but spends more of their time on wikipedia articles jotting down notes and things like how much a watermelon weighs
Everything from knowing Too Much about child-care to how a body decomposes or flapper chest-binding is on the table, their breadth is large and Should Be Feared
takes a long time to start but make the most of their words, from spot-on sci-fi to history to murder, readers will learn something on the way
The Lemon Flavored Factory
alright take it back now y’all, this writer has written enough smut to make a tom cat blush, they can write other things too, and often well, but there will inevitably be bed-rattling at some point (or car or shower)
either unusually creative or just sticks to classics like Aliens Made Them Do It, neither is necessarily bad but there is oddly little in between
their author’s notes tend to be hilarious or at least very self-aware
The Word Vomit Canoe
action oriented writer who spews out the words before they know what is happening, no plans, no outlines, 10k of the first thing that comes to mind, sometimes things like ‘maybe dragons?’ & they go with it
their strengths are productivity, weaknesses are not knowing what the hell is going on
style is marked by fast-paced tone and downright impressive word count
The Muse
their inspiration doesn’t come as often, but they are always listening for her & redy 2 go
update schedule is…sporadic at best, but makes up for it with long chapters and clean editing
Will write 30 pages in a day and then take a few months off, enjoys one-shots but can do longer works
doesn’t have the best sense of time and when they are in The Zone may forget to eat or shower
I 100% need all of my writing followers/mutuals to reblog this with what kind of writer they are.
I’m definitely The Lore-ist and lil Researcher/Muse.
I think I’m a mash of the word vomit canoe and the muse.
@writingonesdreams I am some kind of horrifying mash up of the bae, the researcher and the muse.
for my twin who was copypasta’d into my life via tracing paper and smudgy pencils uwu eris of falkreath, professional shit-stirrer and mage distractor uwu/ @tallmatcha
MEM dear god, I love this so MUCH. What a nice surprise to wake up to. I’m so glad a Xerox machine malfunctioned and made two of us. I’m not getting emotional you’re getting emotional shuT UP—
Edit: Cancelling myself for my dumb caption. If a Xerox machine makes two copies, it’s not malfunctioning
Me, staring at the 300 different plot ideas materializing from the ether as my brain digests this new fandom into which I was yanked, as a black hole yanks in light: it’s too late now but clicking that first episode probably constituted as a bad idea.
Okay, I plan to update tonight but whether I’m successful or not is entirely down to whether or not I clear the mess of a room that I created when I decided to go through my clothes over the weekend and consequently left all over my room ♀️
Scrap that. It’s almost 8pm here and I’ve literally only just sat down to start sorting my room so there is no way I’ll be able to get an update out tonight. Sorry!
![[ from this post ] [ @healsinheelsx ]83. “It’s always been you.“It has?” Her voice is a tentative](https://64.media.tumblr.com/25a212939cd0d09ba4c6ddc5702df177/tumblr_non2cs3k861us3io8o3_540.gif "[ from this post ] [ @healsinheelsx ]83. “It’s always been you.“It has?” Her voice is a tentative")
