#boy this looks nothing like jamie hes like the hardest for me to draw

[pineappical]

Some angsty Jamie Tartt would be so special to me if u want to draw that. Or just regular Jamie. Love that funky little dude.

i actually waited to answer this ask till i made more progress with this mini comic im trying to get through because i dont feel like taking requests rn, but i am drawing jamie in the comic so ToT;;

[thegayfromrulid]

Frkm 1 allll the way to 99. Also, the next SAO game eugeo lives as a sword and not die (thank GOD)

@2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

Chocolate bars- I will not eat lollipops. 

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

Cotton candy! I actually get super bad headaches from bubblegum.

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

Probably lonely genius...

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

Soda bottles!! I feel so fancy!! And old-timey.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

I guess tomboy even though I’m a boy??

7. earbuds or headphones?

Aren’t these the same thing? I think I prefer over-ear headphones, but I don’t really like either. 

8. movies or tv shows?

Depends on the genre I guess. But as a main rule, live action- movies, animated- TV shows.

9. favorite smell in the summer?

Potato salad.

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

Frankly, I wasn’t good, but I was really good at pissing all the jocks off-

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

I make myself these homemade egg mcmuffins. I enjoy them a lot. I am very picky about breakfast.

12. name of your favorite playlist?

I only have one and it’s very generic: The Gay From Rulid’s Playlist. Yes it’s on Spotify. Yes, it’s 99% anime openings and endings and maybe Bet On It from HSM2. Be ashamed of me. Go on.

13. lanyard or key ring?

Lanyard! Mine is a BNHA one I bought from an artist at Nekocon!

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

Either Sweet Tarts or Nerds. 

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

I usually have one leg tucked up under me and the other stretched out.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

A black and white pair of Skechers. They look like shit. They almost never are replaced by another shoe. Not even in the gross muggy heat.

18. ideal weather?

When it’s just warm enough to wear a t-shirt and sit in the sunshine, but cool enough that I’m not hot, and a little breeze is going. I think of this weather quite often. 

19. sleeping position?

On my belly kinda spread out like a shounen protagonist.

21. obsession from childhood?

J.R.R. Tolkien. Have always been obsessed with him and his works. 

22. role model?

Redundant, but Tolkien again. Linguist and writer. Living my dream. 

23. strange habits?

I unplug things like microwaves, lamps, and TVs when I am done using them. Very little remains plugged in at my place. The modem, the fridge, and the clock. That is it.

24. favorite crystal?

Amethyst. It’s my sister’s middle name. And I especially like the purple ones.

25. first song you remember hearing?

Blue by Eiffel 65. I don’t know why that song sticks out so much in my memory but it’s nostalgic for me. Tiny AJ hyperfixated on this song before anything else ya’ll. 

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

Curl up in the sun on a blanket and nap. 

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

Hot cocoa blanket cuddles. 

28. five songs to describe you?

Uhhhh...I’m not very musically literate. Let’s go with Born This Way (the first person I came out to sent me that song so it feels special!), I’m Free to Be Me by Jamie Grace, Praying by Kesha, Shake It Off by Taylor Swift ( @delicateeuphorias​ would you believe it xD), and right now thinking about someone dear to me who’s been gone See You Again is stuck in my brain.

30. places that you find sacred?

Arboretums or big botanical gardens where I can get lost in the plants for a moment and take in how pretty they all are. And old monuments/big things people of the past built. A lot of things were built by people with no rights/freedom and I think about them and how despite the fact that they had nothing, they made such a lasting impact on our world. 

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

*slips on my Owari no Seraph cosplay* I will kick ass in this sweet ass cape-

33. most used phrase in your phone?

My phone seems to think it’s “Kirito’s ass” and I want it to not think that.

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

O-O-O-O’REILLYYYYYYYYYY’S...Autooo PARTS.

35. average time you fall asleep?

I’m an insomniac it could be 10 pm it could be 3 am who knows I sleep for an hour I’m up again...

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Fucking CAN I HAS CHEEZBURGR cats. 

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

This all boils down to how much I’m packing. Going for a sleepover? Duffel. Going to con? My giant suitcase with room for all the bells and whistles of cosplay.

38. lemonade or tea?

Tea!

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

Oh cruel I looooove lemon. The pie!

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

In high school here- so, aside from me being the resident weirdo (I DID come to school dressed as the TARDIS), my senior class decided to squirt hundreds of bottles of chocolate syrup on the sidewalks. We were an open campus so it’s all in front of our classroom doors- we had no hallways. And then they. They fucking EGGED ALL THE DOORS. The whole campus smelled like...ick.

41. last person you texted?

My father and mother in a group text to cry about customers treating me poorly. 

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

I prefer the jacket pockets because I still haven’t found a way to get men’s pants under the radar of my ever-watchful parents and women’s jeans pockets are SHITTY. Women gotta boycott this shit it is UNACCEPTABLE-

44. favorite scent for soap?

Peppermint...peppermint ^-^ I like to smell like...mint.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Fantasy!

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

Recently I was reminded I live alone and my new favorite sleeping outfit...is...just some boxer shorts. Suck it dysphoria. Manly nightwear.

47. favorite type of cheese?

Pepper jack, Swiss, or ricotta. 

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Strawberry :3

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

I’m gonna sound so gay but when @disasterbikirito​ started laughing about a certain GIF and his laugh was so infectious I couldn’t help but laugh too. 

51. current stresses?

Are you shitting me it’s everything. Every. Single. Thing. I cannot breathe. I am having meltdowns. Someone fucking save me I cannot deal with COVID well.

52. favorite font?

Garamond for writing in my free time, Doulous SIL for all the linguistics IPA symbols my greedy heart desires. 

53. what is the current state of your hands?

Smooth but my fingertips have been gnawed on. I am stressed, okay?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

Gosh, lots of things. But the most important takeaway is that a good boss will genuinely care about you. I miss that man. He was so wonderful and so caring and taught me so much about theater. Technical things and artistic things and historical things. Sometimes I wish I could have made a career out of working under him. 

55. favorite fairy tale?

Beauty and the Beast (AH...AH...I SEE YOU ROLLING YOUR EYES BECAUSE I’M TRANS. I KNOW. I *KNOW*.)

56. favorite tradition?

It’s a family tradition kinda unique to my household. Each year, we draw a name from a hat, and that name comes with a lot of words that describe us and what we liked over that year. We then each take a $20 bill and we go to a little hobby shop with cheap things in it and use that $20 bill to fill a Christmas stocking. We then hang them back up and empty the stocking full of candies and random silly things and have a good laugh and guess who filled whose stocking. 

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

The first one is coming to terms with knowing my dad has a severe illness. It really shook my family up, and it’s terrifying us right now with everything going on, but after a while, I learned that he was smiling, so I could smile, too.

The second one is my mother coming back from her tour in the Middle East on top of the murder of my godmother. Two very stressful things happened at once. My mother got very violent from her PTSD and her best friend died in a horrible way. It was an adjustment for everyone, and it kind of ripped my family to pieces. I can say, though, that my parents are still married and are getting better, and my sister and I are coming back to the family to be more open and healthy.

The third, and maybe some of my followers are aware, was getting rid of my ex-fiance. He was a man who sexually assaulted me repeatedly and I won’t go into details beyond that. It took me 5 years to get rid of him and accept what happened, but I am a much happier person now and while I work through the trauma that caused me, I have the most wonderful partner by my side and if you had told me back then I’d find someone as kind and patient and loving as him, I would have laughed and thought you were insane. 

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

Probably what I put on all my fanfic updates: “I know. I’m an asshole.”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

Some kind of shoujo romance but it’s bi also I want a sword.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

There was nothing more smartass than Alice Synthesis 30 in SAO 18 asking a reporter to open up his head and prove he was human I’m sorry like OOF-

63. five songs that would play in your club?

Get in losers, we’re playing Steppin’ Out by FLOW, Elle me dit by Mika, Blue by Eiffel 65, ADAMAS by LiSA, and Touch Off by UVERworld.

64. favorite website from your childhood?

I was on Webkinz more than I want to admit. 

65. any permanent scars?

Yup. I have one on my toe where I split the skin in half. I tripped. I have three surgical scars from when I had my appendix removed. And...the mystery scar. I was supposedly born with a scar it’s at the part where my foot meets my leg on my left side and you can see how it’s stretched over the years if you run your finger over it. The joke is that the doctor taking out my mom’s appendix scratched me in the womb. 

67. good luck charms?

Not really a charm but I do have a little Kirito keychain I carry everywhere I go that I fiddle with when I’m nervous.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

Artificial bubblegum. Disgustiiiing.

70. left or right handed?

I am right-handed.

71. least favorite pattern?

Zig-zags. 

72. worst subject?

History...I am ashamed. It’s interesting, I just suck at it.

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

Gingerbread and marshmallow. I am a bit picky about mixing foods and flavors, so this was the weirdest I could think up. 

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

Can you hear that? It’s my hysterical laughter. 12 on a scale of 10. I get up there pretty frequently. Thank you, chronic crippling pain. 

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

I...I don’t remember...I don’t even remember...I think I had to be like what...kindergarten? 

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

THIS IS CRUEL I LOVE ALL POTATOS I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH-Au gratin.

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

Aloe!

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

Coffee from a gas station. Mark my words...I will never get grocery store sushi. Ever. Again. My stomach has not forgotten. What a mistake. That was. 

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

So, my driver’s license hasn’t had an updated photo since I was 15 and just had a learner’s so I look like I want to murder a man but my school ID I had just run about a mile in the cold because the bus wasn’t running that day and my face is red and I look like I’m crying...probably the school ID...

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

Jewel tones~~

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

I am from the South and we call ‘em lightnin’ bugs.

82. pc or console?

Errrrr console. I’m not a gamer by any means but there’s way fewer things to press on a console controller. 

84. podcasts or talk radio?

Neither...what...no...neither...they will put me to sleep...I will be out in seconds...the most dangerous things...people talking...and then I’m out...

84. barbie or polly pocket?

Barbie, she’s a LOT easier to dress. Those rubber clothes. SMH.

86. cookies or cupcakes?

Cookies but they gotta be the soft ones.

87. your greatest fear?

Being swallowed in the ocean. By a fish or a whale. I don’t play. Church kid don’t play with big things in the ocean with big mouths.

88. your greatest wish?

To make enough of a difference in someone’s life that they learn to love themself.

89. who would you put before everyone else?

Such a selfish thought...gosh...the mere thought of prioritizing someone troubles me. 

90. luckiest mistake?

Telling a cute guy sending me dog pictures was an excellent flirting technique as he sent me pictures of his puppy. I immediately thought “oh god I’ve fucked up bad” and at present we’re kinda head over heels for one another so maybe just be stupidly blunt once and a while you might find true love. 

91. boxes or bags?

Boxes. My cat didn’t force me to say that. Not at all. Sock, buddy, off the keyboard-

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

Sunlight. I like the sun. The sun is my friend. It is warm and would never betray me.

93. nicknames?

Sister calls me “spoony” when she’s being ridiculous. No, I don’t know what that means. Mama calls me “cakes.” I had friends who called me “Deku” because I’m a crybaby. Had a few people DM me and straight up call me “Eugeo” or “Eug.” AJ is technically a nickname. 

94. favorite season?

Springtime!!!!! It’s...HERE!

95. favorite app on your phone?

I use like three apps...so Discord.

96. desktop background?

It’s. It’s Kirito and Eugeo. What did you expect.

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

Mama’s, dad’s, mine, and my parents’ house number. And does the emergency 911 count (pahahaha). 

(I answered the others in delicateeuphoria’s ask!)

[cottonwren]

A Well Dressed Woman | Part 4

Summary: Off to the races, and old habits die hard.

Jamie sat in her office, washed out from the sleepless night she had experienced before. She was lucky that the races weren’t till the next day, or else she would have possibly have slipped up. Looking over some paperwork, she heard someone knock on her door. Looking up and sliding the confidential papers into her drawer she nodded “Come in,”

One of her most trusted employees came in, closing the door behind him and sitting opposite her after she gave him a curt nod. “Ms. Pine - the shelbys opened the shipment, and Mr Shelby was found drinking until the early hours of the morning in the Garrison. The plan was that they’d sell the products and say the shipment got lost in some confusion. Is my work satisfactory, Ms.?” He asked, looking her in the eye. “Arthur shelby marked him a heartbroken men multiple times through the night, for your interest”

Jamie nodded, “Thank you for your hard work, Samson. Once again you’ve proved an asset to our business. Your family remains under our protection, and your pay remains stable.” She informed him ��You may leave, Samson”

As soon as he left, she drew the blind on the door window and went back to her desk, closing her eyes and running her hands through her hair. Her breath began to tremor, eyes welling. She had no idea why this was hitting her so hard - she knew that Tommy was not to be trusted, she knew. Yet when she was with him it felt like being back with Barret, but somehow it had a different edge to it, and for whatever fucked up reason, that only made her want it more. The taste his sarcasm left in her mouth now had her wanting to vomit.

“Oh, sweetheart” She heard Linn come in, then the door closing, then light footsteps, then there were arms around her shoulders. Her body was taking over now, something she rarely ever let it do, wrecking her heart and making her head pound like the drums from all of the orchestras that they would never go to.

“I’m alright, Linn” Jamie told her, sitting up and wiping her eyes, giving her a smile “I’m fine. Just a bit.. Upset. It’s just business, though, and I’ve got paperwork to get to” She couldn’t let Linn worry about her, no, Linn had her own life to worry about “I’m fine, princess, seriously”

“It wasn’t nothing, though, Jamie. You can’t just block out your emotions, even though you try your hardest to. You can’t” She shook her head, sitting on the desk “Tomorrow, you’re gonna go to the races, show him what he just tried to fool, do the deal with the MP, and you’re gonna live life like you would usually. Then, you’re gonna come home, and you’re gonna have a nice bath, and then I’ll read to you, yeah? It’s not a question, by the way. It’s an order. Anyway, what did Samson say?”

“What we expected - he opened the container, and then Samson said that his brother wouldn’t stop referring to Tommy as a broken hearted man as he wasted himself away in The Garrison for the night. A broken hearted man, Linn. I think I broke his heart” Jamie hummed, leaning back in her chair.

“Which means you had it. And from the fact that you didn’t show this much emotion when you got shot for the first time, he had yours too. Just give it time, and you’ll be snogging and shooting all over the place” Linn grinned, kissing her cheek and then hopping off of the desk “I’ve got to go complete some more boring paperwork, and I’ll write up a receipt for tomorrow. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, come on, Linnie. You know me well enough to know that if anyone’s gonna stand in my way, it’s not gonna be a man, and it’s certainly not going to be Thomas Shelby” Jamie chuckled, waving her off and watching her walk out.

She was not fine at all, but she took comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one. As she thought it through, she realised that they were back on even ground in ways of intent, and even in the result of their actions. Even when she tried to take a step up, they were equals. Not for long, though, Jamie was sure that something was going to change.

That change came when Jamie strode out of the the private box with her briefcase in hand. She strode past the Peaky Blinders with style that really only May Carleton could hope for, pausing at Tommy’s row, having clocked the free space at the end of the row right next to him, and sitting down. Jamie set the briefcase down on the floor next to her feet, then looked over at Tommy only to find he was looking back at her. She wanted to make a remark, wanted to tease him, wanted to talk to him, but as soon as she tried to move her lips they were locked.

Tommy’s eyes were transfixed upon hers, and Arthur got halfway through the first word of his statement when John hit his chest, trying his hardest to whisper, but let’s face it, he was always a little louder than he intended.

“That’s the fucking girl!” John whispered “Just let them work it out, he needs to get laid”

“Your brother is very good at whispering” She commented quietly so that only they could hear. Jamie didn’t comment on the truth that lay between them, but it was obvious enough that they didn’t need to really say anything. Jamie just needed to talk to him, even if it was in jest.

“Shelby trait that I managed to miss out on” Tommy hummed, their faces turning back to the races although anyone with eyes could tell that they weren’t interested anymore. “Didn’t think you liked the races. Goes against your morals, I would have thought”

“I’m here on business, and I thought I’d see what the crack was” Jamie shrugged gently, though it was entirely obvious from the way that she’d stared down the seat from the private box as she dealt with the MP. Oh, how she hated men in suits. Oh, how she hated Tommy Shelby. Oh, how she loved him.

“The same thing for you, aren’t they?” Tommy commented with a smirk, glad he’d managed to catch her on her own words.

“I didn’t expect you to pick up on the word play, well done, Thomas” She smirked, crossing her legs over one another, drawing his eyes to her legs “I’m going to see you soon.”

“If you’re unlucky enough” Tommy teased, looking at her once again “Then again, bad luck seems to follow me around” He hummed, making sure to look her in the eyes as he said it.

“I like to think that I may be the cause of that. See you soon, Thomas” Jamie hummed, walking out of the establishment. She walked away with the strut of a model, knowing that Tommy’s eyes were directly on her.

---

“Boys, how did the races go?” Polly asked once they filed back in, noticing Tommy’s mood was a little brighter than it was the day before. “Well?” She asked, standing up.

“Went well.” Tommy nodded, refusing to say anything more on the subject. If Polly found out that Jamie had been there, there’d be some kind of reaction, which would be more than he wanted to deal with in all honesty. He disappeared into his office, and that meant that the gossiping could truly commence.

“Arthur, John, tell us what fucking happened” Esme told them, knowing that teaming up against them was the best idea.

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist, love” John defended, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek “All that happened was that a woman came and sat down next to Tommy”

“A woman? John, I do not like it when information is withheld from me. Speak up. Arthur!”

“It was that one, you know the one from Cradley? They spoke a bit and then she left”

“They didn’t even fuck? And he’s happy? Oh, fucks sake. Not again” Polly groaned “Unless she gave him cocaine, then we have an issue”

“Pol, he’s happy” John reminded her “He’s never happy. This is a good thing”

“If she makes him this happy, all our plans of taking over the industry for cocaine? Gone. All for a good shag” Polly reminded them, sitting back down “I’ll talk to him”

“Don’t, Pol, he’s happy. We’ve got enough, and if they actually become a thing, yeah, then it becomes Shelby property by default” John explained, a hand on the small of Esme’s back.

“She won’t leave it to any of us, John. It’ll go to her sister. Jamie Pine is a businesswoman,” Polly explained, lighting a cigarette “One that we need to be fucking careful about”

“Not to worry, Pol, I know what I’m doing” Tommy told her, walking through the office “Thank you for attempting to organise my love life, it is not appreciated”

[quietcatastrophe]

To Begin Again- Chapter 6

I’ll keep this brief by simply saying thank you to everyone who has supported the journey of this story. This chapter is a pretty emotional glimpse into Jamie’s past, and I needed to make sure I did him justice. I know I’m the absolute worst about regular updates, but I’m grateful for your patience, and for everyone who has messaged to send encouragement. This chapter it dedicated to you guys! 

Edit: I’m my rush to post yesterday, I forgot to mention my extraordinary beta @mo-nighean-rouge who polishes this tale to a shine for you all. She’s definitely the best, and I’m so grateful to her for coming on this ride with me!

Previously: 1 2 3 4 5

         Jamie’s never been a particularly great traveler—prone to feelings of nausea and vertigo, especially if he’s not the one in the driver’s seat. But there’s something about the train that he’s always found soothing. There’s a steady dependability to the tracks, the course never really changing, and the clip of the scenery as it passes by the large windows makes him feel less trapped. It also reminds him of his childhood, tagging along with his father when he performed inspections. He still remembers the swell of importance he felt when his Da placed a much too large helmet on his head, and a lurid orange ScotsRail safety vest over his shoulders.

But for every happy memory, every fond recollection, there are the shadows of others that are more bittersweet. When he first thought of bringing Claire to Lallybroch, he imagined them making this trip together—sitting maybe a little too close to each other as he regaled her with stories about the Scottish countryside—but he finds himself lost in the spiral of his thoughts. He hasn’t told her much about his past—too concerned with her present, unwilling to drag her down with the demons that he’s mostly left behind. He can tell that she’s observed the change in his mood though, notices the surreptitious glances she sends him when she thinks he’s looking out the window. He’s not hiding from her, exactly, but he’s never been comfortable with his own vulnerability. He sees her reflection in the window, can see the way she wrestles with her own thoughts as they dance across her face. She is without guile—totally unable to hide the things she’s feeling or thinking— and he envies her in a way. He’s lived within the walls of his self-imposed fortress for so long, it’s hard to remember what it’s like to have someone to confide in.

“Are you alright, Jamie? You look a little bit lost.” Her fingers twist together in her lap, and he can’t resist reaching out with his own hand to calm their motion.

“I’m alright, Sassenach. I just get a wee bit melancholy when I think of going home. It’s nothing to trouble yerself over.” He sends her a smile that’s meant to placate, but he can tell it misses the mark. Maybe that fortress is not as strong as it once was.

“Jamie, you don’t have to share anything with me if you don’t wish to, but you don’t need to hide from me either. I wouldn’t be a particularly good friend if I only ever unloaded my burdens on you, and never gave you the opportunity to do the same.” She pauses briefly, her eyes imploring him to trust in her, the way she’s trusted in him. “Besides, you’re not the only one who can be a verra good listener.” She leans closer, bumps her shoulder into his, a teasing smile shining at him. He doesn’t want to add any more stress to her life—doesn’t want her to feel like she needs to be sorry for him. But he’s never been able to open up about his past, hasn’t ever talked about those years to anyone outside of his own family.

Looking into her eyes, he sees nothing but her honest concern for him. It’s not pity—not exactly, anyway— but rather the sense that their tragedies might mirror one another. It is the difference between sympathy and empathy, thinking and knowing. He thought he was better at hiding it, better at keeping it tucked away, but perhaps in this instance he’s found the one person who might truly understand the way he feels. He already knows he can trust Claire, a fact that makes everything else seem a little less scary. Decision made, he tightens his grip on her hands and draws in a fortifying breath.

“I was a verra lucky lad growing up. I had two parents that loved each other fully, and we bairns were never wanting for anything. We werena rich by any means, but our needs were well met. My mamwas an artist, a painter mostly, and her work was well-respected. My dawas an engineer on these rail lines.” He gestures to the car around them, and she smiles softly at him, encouraging him to continue.

“Our troubles didna start until we were a bit older. My Mam, she was in a car accident. It uh..she wasna...It didna take her right away.” He inhales a shaking breath, remembering the day his mother was brought to the hospital. “She was alive, but she never regained consciousness. They said she had a traumatic brain injury, and other internal bleeding.”

He feels his stomach start to turn as he recalls the details of that day. “It wasn’t until they started prepping her for surgery that they found…they realized she was pregnant. It was early on they said, she may not have even known herself. She was 38, but it had been twelve years since I was born, so I dinna even think they thought it was still possible.” He hears the interruption in Claire’s breathing, feels the way she shifts and curls into herself, a subconscious attempt to protect and shield the bairn growing within her.   

He swipes at the tears that have begun to fall, unable to lift his gaze from the laces of his shoes. His hand is displaced as he feels Claire slide closer to him, looping her arm through his, and leaning her head against his shoulder. She squeezes his arm gently, and it’s enough to bring his eyes back to meet hers. They’re flooding with moisture just like his own, but rather than feeling drowned by her tears, he feels buoyed. They’re swimming in the sea of tragedy together. It’s enough to give him the strength to continue.

“My Da...he started to drink after. And no’ just drink like a Scotsman, mind ye. He was drunk from dawn until whenever he finally passed out from too much drink. We were all grown enough to know he had a problem, even when he was still trying to hide it from us,” He pauses to wipe away a few more tears that have escaped. Claire rests steadfastly against his side.

“Eventually, it got so bad that he couldna keep his job. That’s when Murtagh came to stay with us. But the damage was already well done by then. Willie was 18, and getting ready to leave for university in America. He was so ashamed of Da, I dinna think they spoke but in anger those few months. Jenny was 16, and already dating Ian at the time. She all but moved into his house once things got worse, shared a bedroom with Ian’s sister.” He tries to remember to make himself breathe-in through the nose, out from the mouth-repeating in his head.

“They say everyone deals with grief differently. My da dealt with it by drinking until he couldna remember. My brother got as far away from us as he could go. My sister ran away to another family, one that was whole and healthy. And then there was me.” It’s always been the hardest part for him—remembering the sudden isolation, the bitter loneliness—knowing with sudden and cruel certainty that there was nobody in the would he could depend on but himself. He drapes his palms over his bent knees, his knuckles flexing with tension.

“I considered myself a man already at twelve, ye ken? For a while I thought I could manage things when everyone else couldn’t. I thought I could be strong enough for everybody else. But time went on, and I was all alone. I got angry, Sassenach.” He looks to her, finding her eyes swollen with tears, but also smoldering with an anger of their own.

“I was angry at my mam, for leaving us. It was no’ right or fair of me, but things had been fine before she was gone. She left us alone, and we all fell apart without her. I was mad at my brother and sister, for leaving me behind. They had the means to escape and they used them, but I was still a boy, no matter what I thought about it. I was mad at my Da the most though. He couldna take care of himself, let alone mind me. By the time Murtagh came, I was different.” Her expression softens, and from anyone else it would feel too much like pity. But he knows that she truly understands. Knows that she’s also spent too much time alone and angry at everyone that left.

“I canna pretend I was an angel before it all, but after… I shut everyone out. If they were going to abandon me, I’d do the same. I was disobedient and reckless. Just a rude little bugger. Poor Murtagh threatened to skelp me on an almost daily basis, but I didna care.” He remembers these days a little more wistfully as his angry independence days. Making his own choices, taking charge, doing whatever he liked… it was his Peter Pan year.

“But as I got older, things only got worse. I made friends with the wrong crowd, started sneaking out and then just leaving for days at a time. I fancied myself a wee renegade ye see, acted as if I was invincible. I didna think Da even knew most of the times I’d run off. I always expected that I’d get back, and he’d be waiting for me in the dooryard with his arms crossed, ready to knock some sense back into me,” he attempts a weak smile, but feels the corners of his lips turn down instead. “He didna have any sense to spare then, though. Then it was Murtagh waiting for me, threatening to nail my ear to the barn door if I’d run off again, and dragging me by my ear so hard I thought he might actually do it.” He does manage a smile this time, one that she mirrors, thinking of his godfather, and all of the layers he hides beneath his surly exterior.

“It went on like that for a few years. We were existing, but no’ really living. My Da kept drinking himself into oblivion, and I kept running amok. I started high school with a criminal record.” He can’t help but look at her face, the need to see her reaction, to know how she feels, is overwhelming. “I had a wee...trespassing habit. I got more than my fair share of warnings, mind ye, but I didna heed them. I had no care for consequences.” Her gaze is assessing, but she doesn’t pull away from him, as he feared she might.

“For my sixteenth birthday, some of my mates...procured me a motorcycle. I didna ask any questions, but I knew that they didn’t come by it through honest means. I felt freer on that bike than I had ever felt in my life, Sassenach. Like none of my problems could keep up with me, if I just kept pushing the throttle. I could go anywhere I wanted, no one could stop me. Or so I thought, anyway,” he shifts in his seat, angling his knees toward her, bringing them face to face.

“I only had the bike about three weeks before I wrecked it. I loved to ride in the rain, even though it was dangerous. Maybe even because it was dangerous. I’d been running some hills, flying over the crests, making a great muddy mess of things. I’d started making my way home, still going way too fast, of course. I could see the lights from the village as I came down the last bend, but instead of banking the turn, I lost control on the loose gravel.” Her hand comes to rest on his knee, and he slides his palm over hers.

“I was thrown off the bike, and sailed quite a ways through the air before I met the dirt. Next thing I remember is waking up in hospital, stuck on my belly, no’ able to feel much of anything. I had only been wearing a t-shirt to ride, and when I was tossed, I landed on my back and slid across the road. I must’ve passed out from the pain, because I still canna recall being found, or the ride to the hospital. I was alone when I woke the first time, and I was sure I was dead. Everything was so white and still, and I couldna make my body move. When the doctor came in to see me, he told me I was lucky,” he shakes his head, able to see the truth in those words now, but at the time he thought the man was mad.

“I couldna possibly understand how anyone could think me lucky. Sure, I wasna dead, but I think part of me then would have welcomed death. My mind hadna been right for a long time, but then for my body to give out too...I think I almost wished for it.” He’s never said these words aloud before. Never let them breach the darkest corners of his thoughts, and it is both cathartic and terrifying to declare his demons.

“The accident was a wakeup call for all of us. When I woke the next morning, my Da was in the chair next to my bed. It was the first time I’d seen him stone sober in three and a half years. He kept telling me was how sorry he was, and that he was going to get better. That he was going to be our father again. I dinna ken how to believe in him anymore, but it did mean a lot that he was there with me. He was the one to call Willie and Jenny to let them know what had happened. Jenny was at the hospital less than an hour later. Willie came back to Scotland for the first time since leaving for school. We didna remember how to be near each other, how to be a family, but I think we all recognized that maybe we’d been given a second chance.” He hasn’t thought about those first few days in so long, the tentative rebuilding of his family something he prefers to leave soundly in the past. It had been unbearably awkward at first— they felt apprehensive around each other, unsure of how and if they still fit together — and Jamie had been in and out of lucidity due to the pain medication.  

“And now? Have you had that second chance?” She asks, the hope in her voice is unmistakable.

“Aye, Mo Nighean Donn, we have. There are more good memories now than bad ones, which is why I’m so keen on taking ye. I think it’ll do ye some good to be away from all your troubles. And now that I’ve shared with ye all of my darkness, I’d like verra much to show you the light. Just like you’ve shown it to me, Sorcha.

Claire lifts their joined hands to her lips, placing a lingering kiss to the back of his hand. “Thank you. Thank you for telling me.” Her grip tightens, and he wiggles his fingers until they interlace with hers.

“Are ye no’ scared of me then? Of my past? I’d understand if ye dinna want to be friends with someone like me.” his whole body sinks, his eyes downcast, the thought of her walking out of his life hitting him like a fist to the gut.  

“Someone like you? James Fraser, please look at me!” she demands, her palm coming to rest on his cheek. “I can’t think of anyone that I like better than you, Jamie. You’re my best friend. Knowing about your past? It’s just another piece of what formed you in to the brilliant man you are today. If you can accept the baggage that I come with…” the hand not resting on his face moves to her belly. “If you can accept me as I am, knowing all you know about my past, then please know I can do the same for you. Readily, happily. And I’m so honored, really, that you chose me of all people, to share your story with. I’ve never felt...never known anyone like you before, Jamie. I’ve never been able to talk to someone the way I’ve talked to you, or related to someone as easily. I didn’t think I was ever going to be happy again, and then all of a sudden, there you were. I never saw you coming, really. But I’m so glad you did.”

He knows that it’s a risk— maybe too big of a risk— but he can’t seem to stop himself. He can’t seem to connect to his thoughts, reeling as they are, as his lips press gently to hers. He’s so overwhelmed with gratitude for her. To have met someone who understands him, who appreciates him just as he is, even knowing the shadows of his past...it’s more than he’s ever hoped for. He eases back a moment later, the contact brief yet poignant. He can see some of the longing he feels mirrored back to him as their eyes meet. Her brows are still raised just slightly, expressing her surprise at his sudden gesture. But he’s happy to note that she also looks more than a little pleased, the corners of her lips turned up in a coy smile.

“I’m glad I did as well, Sassenach.” She slides closer to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. It’s not close enough, so he brings his arm around her shoulders, tucking her head below his chin. They still have about an hour left before they arrive in Inverness, and he’d like nothing more than to spend that hour holding the woman he loves. And as Claire snuggles further into his chest, he thinks that she’ll be amenable to the idea as well.  

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth

Previous Chapters

 Chapter 8

If you asked her about the worst experience of her life, until seven years ago she’d have described the awful night that her uncle lamb had explained about the death of her parents. Until three days ago it would have been the site overseer in Ardnamurchan telling her she’d been made an orphan all over again when Lamb had passed away. Until ten minutes ago she would have shuddered and recalled that awful moment that she’d touched the stone at the top of Craig na Dun, but all would pale in comparison to this.

The pressure on her chest was so intense that she quite literally couldn’t breathe. She was drowning on dry land, trying to draw in oxygen that wasn’t hers to take, and she knew with absolute certainty that this was how she was going to die. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and bit her bottom lip so hard she could taste blood. She’d made the mistake of attempting to inhale normally at first, and the pain had been so profound that she almost blacked out. So now she was lightheaded and seeing stars as she tired to take small shallow breaths.

Jesus fucking Christ!

It was no wonder that the woman of this era were known as the weaker sex. They were weakened by a profound lack of oxygen, and crushed internal organs: all in the name of beauty.

“There now.” Mrs Fitz smiled as she completed her torture and stepped back to admire her work. “Ye waist is so tiny that I dinna think we’d find one to fit. If is wasn’t fo’ ye breast, ye no need a corset at all.”

One at a time, she peeled her numb fingers from the bedpost and turned to face the beaming matron. Any love she was developing for the older woman was lost with her first painful tug on the laces, and she tried her hardest to smile, rather than going on a murderous rampage.

“Thank you, Mrs Fitz. I couldn’t have managed it alone.” She told her, breathlessly, but truthfully. There was no way on earth that she could have subjected herself to such agony.

“Aye, t’is nay bother lass.” She smiled patting Claires hand. “My, but ye a bonny one, an ye skin! T’is like spun glass.”

Claire blushed under her praise and turned to look at herself in the mirror for the first time. Staring back at her, all wide eyes and flushed skin, was a girl she barely recognised. Most days when she looked in the mirror, she was met with a bleary eyes med student, clad in scrubs and running shoes, with her wild curls barely contained in a haphazard bun.

On days where she made an effort, she’d usually find herself in skinny jeans and flowing tops, or the occasional dress or skirt when the weather was hot. Today however, she looked almost regal, encased as she was in a heavy woollen dress, made up of rich green and blue tartan.

Her waist, as Mrs Fitz has rightly pointed out, had always been tiny, but now it was clenched so tight that she was sure, if he tried, Jamie’s hands could span it easily. Her backside, that she always struggled to get in her jeans, was thankfully disguised by the bum roll and layers of material that covered her lower half. Her breast on the other hand, might be a problem.

“Um..” she glanced at Mrs Fitz in the mirror and gestured self-consciously to her chest. She’d never had a problem with them before, they were neither too small or too large, or they hadn’t seemed to be until now. But the corset had pushed them up so high that she truly feared for her modesty. They were like two huge grapefruits balancing precariously just below her chin.

“I wasna sure ye’d need it, but aye, I’ll find ye a tucker.” She chuckled, as she pulled out the stool and gestured for Claire to take a seat before the dressing table. “Ye hairs as bonny as ye face.”

“Thank you and thank you for helping me, Mrs Fitz, truly. I appreciate it more than you know.” She smiled genuinely as she sat ramrod strait on the stool. One thing was for sure, she’d never have issues with her posture again.

“Nay, lass. T’was the least I could do.” The older woman whispered as she grabbed a brush and gently pulled it though Claires still damp hair. “What ye did to Randell, he…me sisters boy…Young Alick. He’s no but thirteen…an’ he…” She dropped the brush onto the dressing table and hastily pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. It took Claire a moment to put Mrs Fitz words together with Jamie’s from two days earlier, but when she did, her stomach rolled and her hands flew up to cover her mouth.

Oh, dear God!

Sanding as quickly as she could, she approached Mrs Fitz and pulled her into her arms. Her reaction to seeing Randell in the court yard earlier, now made perfect sense. The sick bastard had raped her nephew, and Claire had no idea how Mrs Fitz hadn’t just murdered him there and then. Had it be any member of her family, she’s wasn’t sure she could have restrained herself.

“Oh, Mrs Fitz I’m so sorry.” She whispered, squeezing her as tightly as she could. “Is he hurt very badly? Do you need me to tend to him?”

As the words left her mouth, Joe’s warning came to mind, and the sense of helplessness that hit her was almost overwhelming. Yes, she had the training and the medicine available to help young Alick, and any number of people here at Leoch, yet she could use neither. Not only would she be burned for witchcraft, but her resources were limited and she just couldn’t spare them, no matter how much she wanted too. Joe had given them to her for reasons yet unknown, and for the first time in her life, Claire truly had to be selfish.

“Ye too kind, Claire.” Mrs Fitz murmured as she pulled back and wiped her eyes, “but he’s doin’ better. In body at least. He’s no the same boy though, willna even leave the house, save for when he’s made to.”

“That’s hardly surprising.” She agreed sadly, as she sat back before the mirror, giving Mrs Fitz a moments privacy.

God, she hated herself. Withholding care went against everything she believed in, everything she was taught. Yet, what could she do?

Mrs Fitz thought he was healing, but Claire alone knew that, as his physical wounds healed, there was a real chance that other, unseen, yet more serious complications could be developing. From what Jamie had told her, Randell was a serial rapist, so God alone knows what kind of STI’s he may be carrying. Most could be eradicated with a quick dose of penicillin, but even if she could find a way to discreetly administer it to the lad. What of the next child, or the next, or the next that came down with a life threatening illness?

If she stared now, where would she draw the line?

Despite herself, she couldn’t prevent her eyes from flicking to the place beneath her bed, where she’d hidden her medical bags.

When Mrs Fitz had first left her alone in the bedchamber, with a promise to be back soon with warm water and a change of clothes, Claire had panicked. She’d read enough books, and learned enough about the era from Joe, to correctly assume that the matron intended to help her dress. Having never been naked in front of anyone before, she was mortified by the prospect of barring all to a complete stranger. But beyond that, she was acutely aware of the fact that she was wearing underwear.

Twenty first century underwear.

Her clothing was easily explained away as strange petticoats from London, but she seriously doubted they wore lacy boy-shorts and matching bras. Rushing around, she’d quickly removing her bra and knickers and shoved them haphazardly into her bag, before swallowing two ibroprofen, and searching desperately for a place to hide everything.

It was by pure chance that she’d discovered the loose floorboard beneath the bed. She’d been on her hands and knees, attempting to shove the bags as far back as she could, when she leant on it and it wobbled. The one beside it hadn’t been loose, but she’d managed to work it free enough squeeze her bags inside.

The call to retrieve them and rush to help young Alick was strong, but she had to ignore it. If she gave in, she’d get herself killed, and if she died Joe and his whole family would cease to exist. Feeling the tug of the brush on her hair, she took a shallow breath and turned her eyes back to Mrs Fitz.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” She implored. She had the medical know how, so all she needed to become the great healer Jamie had announced to to be, was the knowledge of available resources.

Tonight she would begin studying the book Joe had sent, and tomorrow she’d go foraging.

With the length of time it had taken to wash, dress and arrange her hair, Claire had no time to rest before she was all but dragged from her room and lead deeper into the bowels of the castle. Callum had sent word via a pretty blonde girl, Laoghaire, that he was awaiting her presence in the dining hall, and all hell broke loose.

Laoghaire took the brunt of it. But with the fuss that Mrs Fitz made, you’d think she was to attend an audience with the king. After barking orders at the young maid, she’d whipped off her own tucker, and swiftly arranged it around the neckline of Claire’s gown, shoved the last of the pins painfully into the nest of curls atop her head, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the room.

Her head was still spinning, and she was fighting for breath by the time they stopped at the top of a wide, open staircase. Mrs Fitz continued her flapping, twisting curls around her fingers, batting imaginary dust off her dress, pinching her cheeks, and it did nothing to stem the riot of butterflies in her stomach.

She was just about to beg her to stop, when a calming hand landed on Mrs Fritz’s arm, stilling her.

“Quit ye fashin’, woman. The poor lass’ rattled enough, aye?” Murtagh huffed as he succeeded in separating the two women, and Claire breathed a small sigh of relief.

The older woman’s nerves were reeking havoc on her own, bringing forth all Jamie’s warnings about the Laird and fuelling her rising panic. She was beginning to wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into, and whether or not she could find her way back to Craig na Dun on her own.

“Ack, Murtagh. Be away wit’ ye man. She’s to go before Himself an…”

“Aye, I ken. An’ I’ll see her there meself.”

Oh thank God!

Jamie had said he was going to eat after he’d spoken to Callum, and she was hoping beyond hope that she’d see him upon entrance to the dinning hall. While that was still the case, she felt a measure of calm from simply knowing she wouldn’t be walking in there alone, and she had to hold herself back from throwing her arms around Murtagh in thanks.

“As ye like.” Mrs Fitz huffed in response, “if ye need out Claire, ye come find me, aye?”

“I will, and thank you again, Mrs Fitz.” She assured her, having no idea where she’d even begin to look for the older woman, but grateful nonetheless.

Mrs Fitz waved her away, and with a dramatic swish of skirts, turned and hurried off down the hallway. Claire took a breath, and turned to look up at Murtagh. She couldn’t help her smile. Though nowhere near as tall as Jamie, he still towered over her, but the sullen, forbidding look she expected to see was absent as he watched Mrs Fitz scurry away.

“She’s got more energy than a toddler on a sugar high.” Claire laughed lightly, as she took over the other woman’s fussing of her skirts. Even with Murtagh presence she was still nervous, and she suddenly had no idea what to do with her hands.

“Aye, an’ God love her for it.” He agreed looking down at her. “She’s a worrier, but she’s right about Mackenzie. Best no keep him waiting.”

“Right.” Claire nodded and with a trembling hand, she took the arm that Murtagh offered her. “Where’s Jamie?”

“He’s about…an’ safe dinna fash.” He assured her with a small smile as he guiding her forward and down the first step into crowded room.

It took a moment, but like the preverbal quiet before the storm, a hush fell over the crowd as Murtagh led her between the two rows of benches and on towards the table at the front. It was risen on a stage of sorts and seated at its centre, on a throne like chair, was whom she’d presumed was Callum Mackenzie.

It was only her medical training, and the near constant afflictions she saw at the hospital, that prevented her reacting when she first laid eyes on him. As she walked slowly by Murtagh side, her mind flirted through an arsenal of ways in which she could maim Jamie Bloody Fraser.

Mrs Fitz and Murtagh were on her shit list too.

Of the few things they’d said to her about Callum Mackenzie, she’d have expected this to be amongst them. Something as simple as don’t stare would have sufficed. Because even from this distance she could see the rare, yet obvious signs of Pycnodysostosis and her heart went out to him.

She could only just make out his disfigured legs beneath the table, but there were other signs of the condition that she could see clearly. She may have missed them if she hadn’t studied Pycnodysostosis as one of the rare conditions she’d needed for her finals. But from hours examining photographs and case reports, she recognised them.

His enlarged forehead, sunken cheeks and protruding nose were amongst those markers, and she wanted to weep for the near constant pain this man must have suffered all his life. That he had survived so long in this era was miraculous, but to hold such a prominent position of power? That alone spoke of the mind that must be at work behind the shrewd eyes that were studying her so closely.

Murtagh stopped just before the table, and after offering the Laird a shallow bow, he gestured to Claire. It was clear that the disrespect he held for Dougal, also extended to his brother and Claire was awed by his bravery, surrounded as they were by Mackenzie men.

“Callum Mackenzie, Mistress Claire Beauchamp, an honoured guest of clan Fraser.” Murtagh announced prompting Claire to drop a polite curtsy. Thanks to Joe, she knew enough about eighteenth century Scottish customs, to understand that Murtagh had just declared her under their protection.

Any slight or injury to her, was a slight to his clan. It gave her a small sense of comfort, and while it still hurt to breathe, the air seemed to draw easier into her lungs.

“MiLaird.”

“Mistress Beauchamp, seems ye’v caused quite a stir.” He announced, loud enough for the gathering to hear. “I’ve heard about ye more than once in the past hours. But ye welcome to Castle Leoch, come sit. Ye’r a guest of clan Mackenzie now, too an I’ll no have ye starve.”

He gestured to one of the empty seat to his left, and with a quick glance at Murtagh, hoping he’d come to her rescue, she released his arm and slowly rounded the table. That Callum hadn’t even acknowledged the other man, hadn’t gone unnoticed and, as he offered her a small reassuring smile then turned to leave, she was left wonder what had gone on between them.

A servant pulled out her chair and she sat carefully, silently cursing the damn corset as it dug into her ribs. Callum was right, she was starving, but while the eighteenth century banquette looked and smelled delicious, between her nerves and her clothing she had no idea how she would eat.

“Wine?” Callum offered, lifting a decanter and hovering it over her glass.

“Yes, please.”

After the last few days she needed a drink almost as much as she needed oxygen, so when her glass was full she lifted it gratefully and offered Callum a small toast before taking a welcoming sip.

Besides introducing her to his wife Letitia and son Hamish, Callum remained mostly silent as they ate. But as one glass of wine turned to two, and two to three, his inquisition started.

“I hear ye from Oxfordshire?” He inquired as she took the first sip of her third glass. Unfortunately for him, wine was a staple part of her diet, and it would take more than two glasses to loosen her tongue. Regardless, she placed it down and turned to offer him a small smile.

“Yes.”

“What brings an English lass all the way to Scotland?”

“Employment. I’m a healer and with no husband, when my uncle passed away, I was left to fend for myself. I go where the work takes me.” She explained, pushing away her half eaten meal.

She may still have her mental faculties in order, and a basic tale to tell, but she had absolutely no idea of the inner working of Jamie’s family. If Callum pushed her she’d stumble. That his father had sent for her was simple enough, but she didn’t even know his name, and she had absolutely no idea who Jenny was.

She felt sick and she clasped her sweaty palms in her lap, trying to hide their shaking.

“An’ where was it takin ye’ this time? Surely its’s no safe for a young lass to be travelling so far alone?” He pushed and while his tone wasn’t unkind, she could sense the sly manipulation Jamie had warned her about just simmering beneath the surface.

He was attempting to corner her, to find the holes in her story and if she wasn’t careful he’d do just that.

“To Lallybroch,” she smiled just stopping herself from reaching for the wine. “But I wasn’t travelling alone. I still retain a man servant and maid. Mr Fraser sent them on with my belongings, once they’ve managed to fix the cart. It lost a wheel.”

“Ah, t’is fortunate that ye crossed paths is it no? Of all the places in all the land…”

Bollocks!

“I wouldna say that.” A deep voice contradicted from beside her, and her head whipped around to see Jamie stood behind the last free chair. “As ye ken, uncle, I was on my way to meet Mistress Beauchamp when I happened upon Douglas party an’ offered to join the search.”

Unable to help herself, she gaped up at him, unsure whether she was more relieved or shocked at his appearance. All she knew in that moment was that he’d been sent to try her, and that she’d never seen a man more beautiful.

She wasn’t the only one that had bathed and redressed apprently. Jamie towered over her clad in full, clean, highlander dress, with his Fraser plaid draped proudly over his shoulder and clasped with a shiny silver broach. His red hair was now tied back in a neat braid, and he’d shaved, the lack of stubble only highlighting his handsome face.

Fuck me!

“Aye, ye did say that.” Callum agreed as Claire gave in and reached for the wine. “Perhaps it was just fortunate that ye came across her when ye did.”

“Aye, for Randell at least.” He laughed, taking the glass from Claire and placing it back on the table. “But if ye’ll excuse us, I’v need of Mistress Beauchamp’s services. Young Willie’s taken a fall.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Claire was already pushing her chairs back, aided by Jamie, and was on her feet in the next second, thanking Callum and saying goodnight.

“What’s happened?” She asked as she followed him out of the dining hall and up the stairs, trying her hardest to keep up with his long strides.

He remained silent as he lead her down one passageway and then the next, until he came to a narrow staircase and gestured for her to go before him. She was winded, and fighting a stitch as she climbed, and was ready to snap when he eventually spoke.

“Nothin’, but he’s a wily bastard, he’ll have ye tripin’ over ye tongue before ye ken what’s he’s about. I wanted to speak with ye before he did, but I didna have a chance.” He explained as he stopped before a door and pushed it open.

Murtagh stood straight and silent outside of it, and she smiled at him, realising that he must have sent Jamie to rescue her. The quiet man was slowly growing on her.

“Murtagh sent for you?” She voiced her throughs as she looked around the small sitting room. It was similar to her bedchamber, but instead of a bed, it had a sofa and two chairs positioned before the fire.

“Aye.”

“I didn’t see you in the dinning hall. Have you eaten?” She asked, turning to face him as he closed and bolted the door.

“I had a bite in the kitchen.”

“Good.”

“I ken it isna right for us to be alone like this, but I thought this better than ye bedchamber, an Murtagh will keep watch.” He apologised clearly concerned for her reputation. If she was honest she hadn’t even given it a thought, with him looking like he did, she was more concerned for her virtue, and she was just glad she hadn’t had any more wine.

She was likely to jump him if she had.

“It’s fine, we need to talk. I just wish you’d said something earlier, and I could have gotten my things from my room. I need to change your bandage.”

“T’is through there, Sassenach.” He laughed lightly, his blue eyes shining, as he pointed to a door in the corner. “Ye lost ye way already?”

“Lost it?” She huffed, striding over to the door, “I never had it to begin with.”

Chapter 9

[tired-college-student-writing]

How do you know when you meet your senpai? pt 2

Summary- Mask had been with the egos for almost a year at this point and has lots of amazing friends that make him super happy and he makes happy in return! But recently his feelings towards a certain ego have shifted a bit, but towards what?

PT 1

PT 2

PT 3

Warning- Mask is an ego I created based off of the Positivity cult, so if you’re uncomfortable with that you might want to stay away.

Anti walked into the Iplier household, shoulders hunched. Meeting days were the fucking worst. Hours upon hours of time wasted as they tried to hash out plans and work for the next two months, failed within a week, did their own things for two months and then they come back here to do it all over again. It was a frustrating cycle that never ended. He let the corners of his mouth twitch as he rounded the corner to see the conference hall in front of him. At least he got to see his friends today, maybe he could even convince a few of them to have a tournament after the meeting devolved to the point Dark would cancel it.

“Anti!” A cheerful voice called from the opposite end of the hallway, making him look up with a smirk as he recognized the voice.

“Hey Smiles, How-” His words chocked, eyes widening as he took in the Iplier ego bounding towards him.

It was undeniably Mask, the pink mustache and wide innocent eyes gave that away, but he wasn’t wearing his normal black tee and jeans today. Instead, he was robbed in a strappy lace pink dress falling down to his knees, a black ribbon tied around his waist in a bow. On his head lay a small circlet of tiny white rosebuds, tied together with silky white ribbons under his black tassels.

Before he could process anything else, Mask had wrapped him in his usual greeting hug. Out of habit, Anti returned it before holding the younger ego out at arm’s length.

Mask blinked down at him with a small smile on his face, allowing Anti to roam his eyes over him. He hadn’t been hallucinating the dress and flower crown then, and Anti had to admit Mask looked pretty good in them, the dress hugging the ego’s torso before fanning out over his hips in an innocently cute manner. Glancing up, more then usual, Anti noticed Mask seemed to be wearing a touch of… makeup? Yeah, there was definitely a bit of blush on his chubby cheeks, and his lips were painted a faint pink. A glance down found his answer to the sudden increase height difference, tiny little black heels with a white ribbon tied around Mask’s ankles.

The Glitch couldn’t help but stare for a second before managing out a nervous laugh.

“G-Geeze, Masky. Ya clean up nice,” He managed out, unsure why exactly seeing his friend like this was making him trip over his words, “What’s the new look for?”

The black-haired man giggled, brushing a stray bit of hair behind his ear… why was anti noticing this? “Yan helped me! He even painted my nails! It was so much fun! Do you like it?” He told Anti, spinning around in an excited circle.

“You, uh… You look very pretty, Smiles,” Anti gulped shaking his head to clear it, “Any particular reason why?”

“Yan said if I want to impress my Senpai I should dress really nice and try to …‘catch his interest’” His eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to recall the exact words. Anti’s mind froze his whole body stiffening.

“Senpai?” He asked after a long second, hoping the bewilderment he was feeling was hidden. Mask just nodded, swaying in place.

“Ah huh!” He confirmed, “Yan said I definitely had a crush which means he’s my senpai!”

Anti’s chest felt tight and a bitter feeling weld up in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he really didn’t like the idea of his innocent smiley boy having ROMANTIC feelings for someone.

“That's… That’s great, Smiles,” He finally said, trying his hardest to keep the smile on his face, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The younger ego waggled a silver tipped finger in Anti’s face, “It’s a secret!”

“I thought you didn’t like secrets,” The words came out harsher then Anti meant them to, but Mask didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t! Secrets make people sad if they don’t know it, but Yan said this secret will only stay one until we know if my senpai likes me or not!”

“Can’t let you be heartbroken if he doesn’t return your feelings, 동생,”

Anti jumped turning to see Yandere had wandered over a small smirk on his lips.

“Hello, Glitch,”

“Sup, Crazy?”

Yan smirked wider at that eyes flashing red for a split second before he turned to his younger brother.

“Come on, Mask. I know you really wanted to tell Blank about finding a senpai,”

“Oh yeah!” Mask yelped, grabbing Yan’s offered arm, “It’s so great that you ca̧re͢ so much for me Yan!”

Neither of egos even blinked as Mask’s voice shattered on the word, eyes flashing black. Anti just nodded at them, not letting his face fall into a scowl until Mask had turned away allowing himself to be led away by Yandere.

He turned as he was tapped on the shoulder to see Jameson with a sly smirk.

“What’d ya want, old timer?” Anti asked blandly, trying to tear his eyes away from where Mask was squealing, wrapping Blank up in a tight hug. He finally did so he could see what the mute man was signing.

“Mask looks good today, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s apparently trying to impress some crush he has,”

Jameson raised an eyebrow at the spatted words, mischief burning in his eyes. “Oh ho! Don’t tell me someone’s jealous now!”

The glitch jerked back, form crackling, “What?! Me? Jealous that Smiles got a crush?”

“I never thought I see the day! You actually do have a heart under all that corroded data you call a body!” Jamie mimed wiping a tear away, causing Anti to glare at him a growl building in his chest.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind, JJ,” He snapped, ignoring the squeeze his heart gave.

“Oh, so you don’t think he looks wonderful in that dress?”

“I never said that,” He mumbled defensively, “Nothing wrong with telling him when he looks nice now is there.”

JJ shrugged, “I guess not, but I would like to point out that if you glared anymore at Blank for standing close to him you might set the boy on fire,”

Anti’s eyes widen as he realized his eyes had been flashing between their conversation and Mask and Black who were talking and standing closer than most, neither really understanding personal space. The pair standing too close was nothing new, so why did the sight feel like a rock in his stomach.

“I…”

“You like Mask,”

Anti stiffened, shaking his head, “No, what are you saying!”

“Oh I’m sure you’re just acting like a territorial hen ready to go pluck the eyes out of anyone that gets too close to him for another reason,” Jamie sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I am not above breaking your hands to get you to shut up,” Anti hissed, heart, beating way too loud in his ears. Jamie just stuck his tongue out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,”

Before Anti could reply, Dark silently walked in, eyes roaming over all of them, a silent command for all of them to take their seats and shut up. Anti’s eyes flashed over to Mask who stopped on his way to his seat to smile up at Dark and greet him, drawing a small fond smile from the demon before he ushered the younger ego onward.

The pit in his stomach grew larger, as he avoided JJ’s mirth-filled eyes. He shook his head. There was no way he was falling for his young best friend was there?

When his hand nearly broke his water glass hearing Wilford’s loud compliments to Mask’s new outfit and the quiet giggles it earned, he felt the sinking horror that it might not be that simple.

But Smiles has a crush already…

No one seemed to know the knowing looks Yan, Bim, Bing and the four Jims were sending Mask and Anti throughout the meeting.

[aizawa-yamada-shinsou]

How do you know when you find your Senpai? pt. 2

Summary- Mask had been with the egos for almost a year at this point and has lots of amazing friends that make him super happy and he makes happy in return! But recently his feelings towards a certain ego have shifted a bit, but towards what?

@immortalpoptart as promised to make up for the Fluff debacle. 

PT 1

Warning- Mask is an ego I created based off of the Positivity cult, so if you’re uncomfortable with that you might want to stay away.

Anti walked into the Iplier household, shoulders hunched. Meeting days were the fucking worst. Hours upon hours of time wasted as they tried to hash out plans and work for the next two months, failed with in a week, did their own things for two months and then they come back here to do it all over again. It was a frustrating cycle that never ended. He let the corners of his mouth twitch as he rounded the corner to see the conference hall in front of him. At least he got to see his friends today, maybe he could even convince a few of them to have a tournament after the meeting devolved to the point Dark would cancel it.

“Anti!” A cheerful voice called from the opposite end of the hallway, making him look up with a smirk as he recognized the voice.

“Hey Smiles, How-” His words chocked, eyes widening as he took in the Iplier ego bounding towards him.

It was undeniably Mask, the pink mustache and wide innocent eyes gave that away, but he wasn’t wearing his normal black tee and jeans today. Instead, he was robbed in a strappy lace pink dress falling down to his knees, a black ribbon tied around his waist in a bow. On his head lay a small circlet of tiny white rosebuds, tied together with silky white ribbons under his black tassels.

Before he could process anything else, Mask had wrapped him in his usual greeting hug. Out of habit, Anti returned it before holding the younger ego out at arm's length.

Mask blinked down at him with a small smile on his face, allowing Anti to roam his eyes over him. He hadn’t been hallucinating the dress and flower crown then, and Anti had to admit Mask looked pretty good in them, the dress hugging the ego’s torso before fanning out over his hips in an innocently cute manner. Glancing up, more then usual, Anti noticed Mask seemed to be wearing a touch of… makeup? Yeah, there was definitely a bit of blush on his chubby cheeks, and his lips were painted a faint pink. A glance down found his answer to the sudden increase height difference, tiny little black heels with a white ribbon tied around Mask’s ankles.

The Glitch couldn’t help but stare for a second before managing out a nervous laugh.

“G-Geeze, Masky. Ya clean up nice,” He managed out, unsure why exactly seeing his friend like this was making him trip over his words, “What’s the new look for?”

The black-haired man giggled, brushing a stray bit of hair behind his ear… why was anti noticing this? “Yan helped me! He even painted my nails! It was so much fun! Do you like it?” He told Anti, spinning around in an excited circle.

“You, uh… You look very pretty, Smiles,” Anti gulped shaking his head to clear it, “ANy particular reason why?”

“Yan said if I want to impress my Senpai I should dress really nice and try to ...‘catch his interest’” His eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to recall the exact words. Anti’s mind froze his whole body stiffening.

“Senpai?” He asked after a long second, hoping the bewilderment he was feeling was hidden. Mask just nodded, swaying in place.

“Ah huh!” He confirmed, “Yan said I definitely had a crush which means he’s my senpai!”

Anti’s chest felt tight and a bitter feeling weld up in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he really didn’t like the idea of his innocent smiley boy having ROMANTIC feelings for someone.

“That's… That’s great, Smiles,” He finally said, trying his hardest to keep the smile on his face, “Who’s the lucky guy?”

The younger ego waggled a silver tipped finger in Anti’s face, “It’s a secret!”

“I thought you didn’t like secrets,” The words came out harsher then Anti meant them to, but Mask didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t! Secrets make people sad if they don’t know it, but Yan said this secret will only stay one until we know if my senpai likes me or not!”

“Can’t let you be heartbroken if he doesn’t return your feelings, 동생,”

Anti jumped turning to see Yandere had wandered over a small smirk on his lips.

“Hello, Glitch,”

“Sup, Crazy?”

Yan smirked wider at that eyes flashing red for a split second before he turned to his younger brother.

“Come on, Mask. I know you really wanted to tell Blank about finding a senpai,”

“Oh yeah!” Mask yelped, grabbing Yan’s offered arm, “It’s so great that you ca̧re͢ so much for me Yan!”

Neither of egos even blinked as Mask’s voice shattered on the word, eyes flashing black. Anti just nodded at them, not letting his face fall into a scowl until Mask had turned away allowing himself to be led away by Yandere.

He turned as he was tapped on the shoulder to see Jameson with a sly smirk.

“What’d ya want, old timer?” Anti asked blandly, trying to tear his eyes away from where Mask was squealing, wrapping Blank up in a tight hug. He finally did so he could see what the mute man was signing.

“Mask looks good today, huh?”

“Yeah, he’s apparently trying to impress some crush he has,”

Jameson raised an eyebrow at the spatted words, mischief burning in his eyes. “Oh ho! Don’t tell me someone’s jealous now!”

The glitch jerked back, form crackling, “What?! Me? Jealous that Smiles got a crush?”

“I never thought I see the day! You actually do have a heart under all that corroded data you call a body!” Jamie mimed wiping a tear away, causing Anti to glare at him a growl building in his chest.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind, JJ,” He snapped, ignoring the squeeze his heart gave.

“Oh, so you don’t think he looks wonderful in that dress?”

“I never said that,” He mumbled defensively, “Nothing wrong with telling him when he looks nice now is there.”

JJ shrugged, “I guess not, but I would like to point out that if you glared anymore at Blank for standing close to him you might set the boy on fire,”

Anti’s eyes widen as he realized his eyes had been flashing between their conversation and Mask and Black who were talking and standing closer than most, neither really understanding personal space. The pair standing too close was nothing new, so why did the sight feel like a rock in his stomach.

“I…”

“You like Mask,”

Anti stiffened, shaking his head, “No, what are you saying!”

“Oh I’m sure you’re just acting like a territorial hen ready to go pluck the eyes out of anyone that gets too close to him for another reason,” Jamie sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I am not above breaking your hands to get you to shut up,” Anti hissed, heart, beating way too loud in his ears. Jamie just stuck his tongue out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,”

Before Anti could reply, Dark silently walked in, eyes roaming over all of them, a silent command for all of them to take their seats and shut up. Anti’s eyes flashed over to Mask who stopped on his way to his seat to smile up at Dark and greet him, drawing a small fond smile from the demon before he ushered the younger ego onward.

The pit in his stomach grew larger, as he avoided JJ’s mirth-filled eyes. He shook his head. There was no way he was falling for his young best friend was there?

When his hand nearly broke his water glass hearing Wilford’s loud compliments to Mask’s new outfit and the quiet giggles it earned, he felt the sinking horror that it might not be that simple.

But Smiles has a crush already...

No one seemed to know the knowing looks Yan, Bim, Bing and the four Jims were sending Mask and Anti throughout the meeting.

[kierongillen]

Writer Notes: The Wicked + The Divine 33

Spoilers, obv.

I suspect this one may ramble. Or it may not. The odd thing is always when things which have been internally discussed forever end up not needing to be discussed in public. For Journey Into Mystery and Young Avengers, I always had the idea of the essay I'd end them with... but when I got there, I shrugged and did a couple of paragraphs which covered the basics.

(There was a grace note in both, in terms of highlighting a motif – Write Your Own Happy Ending and Be A Superhero. Save The World – but that's really minor detail compared to what I presumed I'd be writing.)

Well... I know it's going to be quite long, as I'm going to include the miniature essay on plot twists I lobbed up to respond to a question, just so I can include some WicDiv specific stuff.

So, WicDiv 33. The “Everything you knew is wrong” issue.

Jamie's Cover

Jamie coloured this himself.

There was a lot of discussion over this, in terms of how to resolve the equation that we'd set up. Where to go after the maximalist nature of Dio's 32? I won't mention the other options, as at least some of them may end up being used down the line. One suggestion I quite liked was doing the equivalent of the ABC Look Of Love album...

...which is this scene of posed romance on the cover, and when you flip the album, you see all the lighting and crew. In some ways, that's what this issue does.

But black makes sense on many levels as well. I suspect the idea of the specific bleakness will confound the expectations a little, but the statement of it is very there. We did say this was our Black Parade too.

Worth noting – first cover without a quote on the back. If we were sure the readers wouldn't have looked at the back cover before reading the book, we may have put Lucifer's “Am I the only one who didn't see that coming?” on there. But we couldn't be sure of that, so we didn't.

Russell's Cover

What Russell and Matt are doing over on Thor is state of the art superheroics. I've loved seeing what Russell's done across his time with Jason, and the idea of him doing a cover was just exciting. It's meant to be the full range of the medium, after all. I was surprised Russell went quite as maximalist as he did, but also pleased. I love this kind of operatic movie poster cover, and it screams Imperial Phase, including all the cast of the main arc. Dio's the hardest one to spot – that would be the black eyes over it.

IFC At this stage in the arc, working out what on earth to put in the synopsis is tricky. You have to throw your hands up to some degree.

The tweaks to the bios are the other thing – clearly we've got to set up the information required to comprehend the issue for those who may have forgotten it, without just saying what the thing is. For the very close readers, even the fact it's changed will be a tell. It was another reason we didn't do a preview for this issue, and even if we did, we wouldn't have released that page. Velocity in reading is key here.

With Woden we restate “She had some mysterious hold over him” rather than specifically talking about the Blakes. With Minerva we remind people that she was tortured on Ananke's machine, and then distract with a :(  emoticon.

Page 1

I believe the script for this page and the next is in the trade as “Making Of” material, which is fun. Chrissy tends to choose pages in terms of what's interesting, especially if we have something else to show. In this case, it's my drawing for the design of Woden's Secret Base.

My basic description for this was the Bat Cave, which is a man cave, if you squint. Having an enormous penny in it could have been a giggle. We had to have a few passes to get the lighting right on this – debating the colours on the bars of the cage was also tricky.

In terms of pulling out a detail, the suit of armour missing a head on the right would be a useful one. Balancing the “making sure it's visible” while not leaning too much into “LOOK AT THE HEADLESS SUIT” is Jamie's storytelling problem here.

The main dialogue problem was balancing the level of Cass' response here with her noise at the end of the last issue. Swearing to some degree is fine, but it has to be a specific kind of fffuuuucccckkk last issue. It couldn't be a swear that promised too much.

Page 2

And it's Pink Woden! But he's blue. Lighting, everyone.

Well... There was some debate on the colouring of Pink Woden, in various modes, and various reasons, not least the slight differences in colouring in his previous appearances.

(Issue 14 and issue 21-22, respectively.)

Have I said Pink Woden is my favourite fan name? We use it all the time internally, not least because Mimir is oddly hard to remember. Also, if we get used to saying “Mimir” we may end up saying accidentally in public.

Page 3

I had someone reach out to me wondering whether Cassandra choosing to gender someone by their voice and physical appearance was off. It's something I was thinking of at the time when writing it, and it's not exactly a line I'm happy with. But on balance, I felt it more likely that Cass would say that than Persephone would say anything.

Cass is imperfect in her language in lots of ways. I decided she's more likely to apologise about it down the line and kick herself, which I may end up working in, depending.

(You could also ask “why have anything there?” and that's only answerable in terms of the flow of information and ideas and conversation across the whole scene. Difficult Difficult Lemon Difficult.)

Lovely expression by Persephone in the background of the first panel – in fact, her conflicted expressions throughout. I especially love the reflection of the arriving Woden in the reflection of Mimir's mask in panel 6.

Page 4-5

The challenge here was always choosing where to put the page turns in this issue. What are the big beats. In my original draft the LITTLE WODEN BOY interstitial was actually on page 6, which would change the rhythm in lots of ways – not least in putting the Falling God sequence on a page turn. In the end, we gravitated to this. I'm much happier with it.

(Little Woden Boy works as a creepier punchline at the end as well.)

Anyway, hello! It's David Blake.

I... I maybe should save writing for the reveals all together. In fact, fuck it. Let's drop the ask essay here and we can then talk about the stuff I don't include in it. I'm asked whether you change something when someone guesses something, or how that feels?

****

Oh, god, no. Never change anything if someone’s guessed something. Nothing good lies in that direction.

Why?

Okay, let’s talk – with no specifics – Game of Thrones. If you go into the depths of fandom, Game of Thrones is – to some degree, in some areas – a solved problem. There’s a good selection of fan theories (some of which have come to fruition) which have so much meat on them it was clear they had to happen, or the book would break its structure and become unsatisfying.

These twists are available to anyone who wishes to google for them.

The vast majority of people don’t. So… why change the direction of the story? What’s the point of fucking over the enjoyment of the vast majority of people (i.e. making your story make less sense, as you’re abandoning the already existing thread) for playing gotcha on a tiny fraction of your audience?

(As a quick aside – compare and contrast theorising in a fanbase with actual events in the text that’s being adapted. Clearly, anyone who is watching GoT could have googled the synopsis of the book. Equally, anyone who’s read the books knows the big beats. Does the adaptation change the big beats? If surprise to everyone in your audience is all that mattered, you would. We don’t.)

It’s also worth noting that, while obviously some complain on the nature of the adaptation, most fans of a book generally complain that they wish it was more like the book. In other words, things that surprised them (i.e. differed from their knowledge of the text) were less satisfying. They wanted to see the big dramatic beats, even if they’re stripped of their surprise.

Surprise only matters the first time you read something. For me, any worthwhile piece of literature exists to be reread, and will open up more upon rereading. In other words, knowing the twist should add to the rereading of the book. If it doesn’t, and renders the story less than it was, it’s probably a bad twist – which is one reason why I don’t tend to call them “Plot twists” to myself. I call them reveals. The plot doesn’t contort. It’s merely revealing something in the nature of the world the reader was unaware of.

(As an aside, this means that someone who has guessed successful the direction of the plot is actually effectively skipping to their second read of the book earlier.)

There’s the other side of this as well – not just whether a plot beat has been guessed, but the almost inevitability of a plot beat being guessed. GoT fans have had twenty years to puzzle this out. In that period, a mass communication device emerged which allowed fans to talk to one another and share ideas. This machine would have torn apart any plot.

No one individual needs to guess anything. People can make one step in a chain, and then that step is exposed to thousands of minds. If even one of them can make the intuitive leap to the next step, then it continues. No one person needs to be clever enough to see the whole thing. The internet hivemind is Miss Marple, seeing through the most contorted of machinations.

(In passing, this is one reason why Alternate Reality Games are hard to do, because the mass hive mind will figure almost anything out, almost instantly. Equally in passing, the failure to understand this is another reason why Ready Player One is bad, but that’s irrelevant.)

In other words, the reason why twists are guessable is the same reason they are satisfying. A twist that isn’t foreshadowed sufficiently to give the possibility of being guessed by someone is not a satisfying twist, as it – by definition – came out of nowhere.

To make this specific to my own work. In the case of the biggest and most intricate of my current books, WicDiv, we sell about 18k in monthlies and sell 18k in trades (in the first month of release). That’s our hardcore devoted readership. How many people of them actually read the essays in the WicDiv tags? I’d say 500 at the absolute maximum, and likely a lot less. So for a maximum of 1.3% of our readership, we’d derail a still effective twist for everyone else? No, that would be a bad call.

Especially – and this is key – the people who have chosen to engage with a fandom are aware that they may figure something out. They are trying to figure something out. Why take that pleasure away from them?

In a real way, I think, in long-form narrative, pure plot twists which no one in the world guesses are dead in the Internet age, at least when dealing with any even vaguely popular work of art. You can do them in short-form narratives (like a single novel, a single movie and perhaps a streaming TV show they drop in one go) but for anything where you give a fanbase the chance to think, it’s just not going to happen. A creator should be glad their work is popular enough to have enough fans to figure it out.

Yes, I may have overthought this.

But that’s only half the question.

How do I actually feel when someone guesses something that’s going to happen? Well, this is long enough already. Let’s put the personal stuff beneath a cut…

*

I’d say you sigh “Oh, poop”and shrug.

And then you get over your ass, because you know all the above is true. Writers are often megalomaniacs who think they can control everyone’s response to their work. We don’t. We can’t control everything. We can barely control anything. We really have to let go. I’ve said WicDiv is a device to help me improve as a person, yes? It would include in this area. I have to learn to let it go, and internalise all of the above. If I can make most of my readership have the vague emotional response I’m looking for, I’m winning.

I’ve mostly succeeded at this. I’m certainly better than I was two years ago.

(I’ll probably write more about spoilers and twists and stuff down the line. I’d note that setting up twists that *are* easily guessable by the hardcore is part of the methodology. Having a nice big twist foreshadowed heavily is a good way to hide another twist behind it. “Hey – pay attention to this less subtle sleight of hand while I perform the actual sleight of hand over here.” In which case, there’s less of an Oh Poop response and more of a cackling evil mastermind response.)

The sigh can occasionally be accompanied with a “Hmm. I wouldn’t have posted that” or – more likely – “I wouldn’t have posted that THERE.”

To stress, what follows isn’t about my work per se, but culture generally, and is very much personal. This is stuff which good friends disagree with me on.

As a fan, I never tweet my own fan theories. I only tweet joke ones. Even my crack theories I don’t tweet, as they’re normally so bizarre that if they actually DO happen, I wouldn’t want to take the thrill away from people. Even in person in conversation I make sure we’re going into a deep fan hole before sharing them, aware that they may be true.

In a real way, the more likely I think something is true, the less likely I’ll say it. As this is my job, I tend to see basic structural ways stories are heading way in advance of most people. I’m a composer. I know how music works. You have a vague sense of what way they’ll go.

(One day I’ll write down my crack theory for the end of the previous Game of Thrones season. Maybe after next season, as it’s not impossible that they may end up doing it, though it’s increasingly unlikely.)

If I had a really good theory I’ve gathered evidence for? You can guarantee I’d put it beneath a cut. That’s the stuff which bemuses me. It’s a cousin of posting major spoilers about any piece of culture the day it comes out. The worst is one regular twitter trope – I’m always bemused when people do a “Calling it! XYZ will happen” tweet. Which strikes me a little like standing up in the cinema 20 minutes into a film and shouting out that you’ve guessed the ending. This ties back to the stuff I wrote above about twists being less effective in the modern age, except in a place where you can control the context and conversation. People may message in movies, but they rarely message everyone in the room.

(In passing, as it’s vaguely on topic – you may remember the research from a few years ago saying people who know a twist enjoy the story more than people who don’t know a twist. Even if this is true – and a single study should always get an eyebrow raise – it strikes me as a confusion over what “enjoy” means. All pleasure isn’t equivalent, and you can only have surprise on your first time through a work of art. That’s novelty. You can have that and then gain the “not surprise” experience second time through. If you spoil a work, it means the “novelty” experience is something you will never have. You may enjoy something more if you know the twist but you can always rewatch it to get that pleasure. If you’re spoiled, the individual specific pleasure of that first watch has been stolen.)

But that’s a conversation of social mores. Really, it doesn’t change anything in terms of how we act… and sometimes, I even grin when someone gets a twist in advance. The machine is working as intended. It’s actually kind of worrying if no one is thinking something is up in an area you’ve set up to be iffy. And… the alternative is worse – hell, there’s buried twists and details in Young Avengers that no one’s managed to figure out yet.

Twist ending: oh, no, I was a ghost all along.

****

I'm pretty sure the asker was asking about the Woden/Blake/Jon twist, and I'm primarily talking in terms of balancing the various needs of the group.

The problem with this twist was less making sure that people didn't get it, but making sure that everyone understood its import. If, hypothetically, I didn't want (barely) anyone to get it, we wouldn't have mentioned Jon after we introduced him in issue 6. Problem being, everyone needs to know Jon is a person who is Blake's kid when they hit this beat. My solution was to just reintroduce Jon hard, and resolve it, knowing that most people would just accept that. Then everyone knows who Jon is, so the father/son switch makes sense.

(In other words, far better some people suspect Woden is Blake rather than everyone going “Jon who?” Especially because the real horror of the Woden/Blake reveal is in its details.)

There's the other aspect to it as well – it's the sacrificial decoy aspect that I mentioned above. Even if guessed, it's a big enough twist to distract people. I reveal this at the start of the issue, so people will probably suspect that's enough big reveals for the issue. Yet no.

(See also: issue 11's dual deaths)

In reality, I was much more worried about the relatively small leap from realising Woden Is Blake And Jon Is Pink Woden to Mimir Is A Head.

But more on that later, I suspect.

Anyway! Storytelling!

There is something incredibly instantly disturbing about Blake without the helmet on, right?

Persephone's line was tweaked a bunch. I cut it as far as I could while still existing. It's a tiny moment of Rising Action, immediately squashed.

The switch to green as the cage goes to full power, plus Matt Wilson's wonderful pixel effects.

Love the Tron-eque light-bike trails seguing into flashback...

Page 6-7

The first date is just before Ragnarock 2013, where we first saw Jon on the stage in Laura's Flashback in issue 6.

This is a “Performance” by Jon, so is presented as such, in the same manner of Persephone's performance in issue 20. Jamie's integrated circuitry design is great, and allows us to go to a limited palette. 8 panel, 8-bit glory.

And Jon Blake.

You write and discover the characters. Jon has barely been in the book – he has a couple of lines of dialogue in issue 14, and that's it. I always knew why Ananke rejects him as unsuitable, but specifically how that would be articulated was something I thought I'd discover on the page. Writing a new character this far into the book is the sort of thing which keeps it interesting.

I was worried it would be hard, or shallow, as surely all the relevant little bits of me are already taken with the rest of the cast? Within a couple of sentences of typing, I knew I had completely forgotten one Gillen archetype.

I realised Jon was a heroic take on Lloyd/Mr Logos.

I laughed. Of course. Perfect.

The 11 days later says so much about how intricate the timeline is around here. It's the day before Baal and Sakhmet made their public debut.

The “She's a fucking weirdo/language” panel is a joy.

Yeah, Ananke really does like hanging around in people's gardens.

I specifically called for Ananke to be in an outfit from a previous God-creation sequence...

Page 8-9

...so Jamie could reuse the masks and only draw Jon transforming, and pull an extra page out of the budget.

The most embarrassing bit here is that I wrote this from my memory of Mimir's legends in the early drafts, and only remembered to actually check my notes at lettering. In fact, I'd got a couple of minor details of Mimir wrong.

(Or rather, didn't grasp the complexities of Mimir – it's very hard to get a take on Mimir, because the main myths we have of him are contradictory.)

Page 10-11

Man, I want to go to Mimir's club night.

In my original draft I wrote it as Jon cutting off Ananke's “Mimir” so that the god name wasn't revealed until the last page of this whole section. As in, it would stop people putting the book down, googling “Mimir”, realising “Heads” and then possibly seeing where we were going at the end of the issue.

I decided against it, in that's only going to be a tiny fraction of readers. If people want to break the flow of their reading to look up facts, I can't control that. Even then, I also knew it would be far from certain that just because they realised Mimir is a head, that they'd then realise others could be a head before the end of the comic.

And NOT including Mimir breaks the flow for everyone else, and is a bit cheap. Better than that.

That knife gets around.

Page 12

First panel: I never get bored of modern blur photoshop to show this kind of effect.

PoV shots are something I adore in comics. The six-panel grid gives it lots of space as well.

Honestly, that last panel with Mimir's own reflection is the creepiest thing in the world, and I love it.

Page 13

Yeah, I'm much happier with the interstitial here. Horrible.

(To state the obvious: Pinocchio reference.)

Page 14-15

I just imagine the tension in this room. Ugh.

I originally had a bunch more written for Woden here, but cut it. It was much better in the silent. He may say some of it down the line, but cutting it right to the basics – the particularly creepy basics – seemed key.

We went with a normal gun. Normal guns were at the start of the story, and have sort of disappeared. Once more we return.

Lots to unpick in all this dialogue, so won't give anything else. I'll say the whole exchange about the machine was as finely picked over to imply the meaning as much as anything else in the book – that's the thing about comics. The flowery fancy stuff? That's great and fun. But the real job is the compressing of precise exact detail, especially in a book which is nothing but precise detail.

I was chatting to Jamie about issue 34 earlier, and Jamie said how much he likes drawing Mimir's helmet. Looking at page 15 makes me see it – the second and fourth panels are just excellent in completely different ways.

Page 16-17-18

Jamie chose the steady angle, I believe, with a background drop, and Matt working the colours to show the emotions.

First panel is where the last of the fun drips out of Cassandra's expletives, and we're just left with something that's really just offensive and ugly. If there's any point where the issue reaches the black cover, it'd be this sequence.

I'm glad they've got here though.

Clearly, this is a Jamie masterclass. Pick it apart, learn. delight. Like – penultimate panel on page 16. The pause, the glance aside. Perfect. Look across page 17. There's a mixture of emotion and sheer dullness and boredom and fear, and how it all pushes and pulls again.

(“And I got it” is something else)

I believe I've said WicDiv contains a recapitulation of basically everything I've ever done as a creator. Mainly the Jamie and me stuff, but basically everything. I realised Laura's arc on Imperial Phase is me reprising what I did in Generation Hope – probably one of my least remembered things, which strikes me as fair – it only landed properly as we inched towards the end of the year. The plot was basically “Is Hope Good Or Bad?” when the answer was “Her Dad died a few days before the issue started. She's fucked up.” Only in mainstream death-happy superhero comics would that work as a twist. This was a bit like that – we distance the reader from Persephone and just show the actions and see what you make of it.

“Try to be kind. You have no idea what people are going through.”

That was the stuff I'd had planned from the start, but it only got more specific as I got nearer it and WicDiv became what it was. I've talked about having mixed feelings about WicDiv's success. Laura's arc is it writ large. I hate that the definitive work of my career is this. If my Dad was not dead I would not have written this book. There is a guilt and anger that is hard to articulate directly there, and is the material I was mining for this.

On a boring technical level, we did a lot of work with Cass explicitly saying facts to ensure that no one in the readership thinks Laura is confessing to killing her family. In an issue as twisty as this, I suspect some people would have.

(The second panel on page 17 is another one – tall enough to have a bunch of half ideas.)

And Laura, after making a breakthrough, immediately crumbles to another mistake.

The “Laura” line is a nod to the song, and one of the lines in the original WicDiv document sheet.

Page 19

I was going to tweak Cass' line – in some myths he's a giant – but that she's musing gives her a little freedom to dance around what we know.

You know, I suspect one reason why Mimir was never brought up as an option connected to Woden is that he's one of the very few Norse myths who've never appeared in a Marvel superhero comic. Or at least I don't think he has.

Normally we'd put something as big as the head remove on a page turn, but it's a physically small beat, so not something you will automatically recognise out the corner of your eye when you're reading.

I love Cass' thinking face in the penultimate panel. Thinkythinkythinky.

Two major beats happening on this page, of course – it appears Mimir is a head (or a robot head, perhaps?) and Mimir thinks the machine does nothing.

And then we hard-cut to what we do, but it's worth dwelling on this a little. When thinking of plot structure, I talk about a few ways to disguise twists. Earlier, I mentioned a Big Twist can make people suspect the twists are over. This is something I tend to think of as a revealed move. As in, you create a machine of logic with a missing part. You add the missing part as late as possible, and then immediately move to what has been concealed before the audience is able to process the new information.

Hence two beats and a hard-cut...

Page 20-21-22-23

Anyway – this clearly had to be a page turn. To state the obvious.

Steady angle shot here, to have the awfulness of it there. I suspect if I’d had space I'd have had the last panel on page 19 be a third of a page, so the two removed heads could mirror one another.

As a minor detail, Minerva's running feet in the second panel of 20 are really good.

Minerva's gesture on page 21.2 is a joy. I know that feeling, Mini.

I really wanted Inanna to be talking from off panel on page 21, but that definitely would give the game away. The problem with distinctive fonts...

And 22 is the reveal on the heads. Probably best not to say much more about this, as I suspect any of the design elements will intersect with what happens in issue 34, so I'll talk a bit about it then.

Tara and Inanna's expressions really are wonderful.

Luci's line came surprisingly late. The “Talking Heads” interstitial came early. The only reason I wasn't going to use it here was in case I wanted to use it later. I decided I didn't.

Okay... twists.

In reality, for me, it's a case of once you've decided that this is the plot, the only way to do it is dovetail towards an issue like this. Any of these individual beats provide too much connective tissue to the other ones, meaning all must be revealed or none.

(You could argue about Minerva, I suspect. Maybe.)

It's been strange writing a book like this – when so much is there early on. Seeing who got what and who didn't, and how people reinforced people has been interesting. That the core WicDiv tumblr community has never really suspected Minerva was off is in some way a surprise – though I've had people talk about that directly and personally. Blake/Jon and Minerva-is-Off-In-Some-Way were the two twists I would guard, but their primary importance was in how they led to the Heads.

When Ray Fawkes told me “There's a reason you're doing all the decapitations, right?” circa issue 2, I suspected that I'd overplayed the hand by having a literal talking head in issue 3... but it turned out fine.

“Played the hand” is interesting phrasing, and telling. Writing something as intricate as this is like doing a slow-motion card trick, in public, constantly. It is a form of constant stress. I have been paranoid of fucking it up in stupid ways, and it's impacted every single conversation I've ever had about WicDiv. Like just writing one name when I mean another or something. There was a hilarious panic when I added ‘Killer Queen’ to the playlist, just thinking of it as a quite funny Ananke song... and then realised there was only one character in the cast with a connection to the band Queen, and that was Minerva. Should I take it off the playlist? No, someone may notice that, and it's against my rules anyway. I quickly added a few other things to camouflage it.

As if anyone is watching that closely, y'know?

That's an extreme example, but an entirely characteristic one. I have lost sleep over it. Even a year ago, I wished I could just get to 33 and not worry about it. When 33 dropped, it was simultaneously excellent (the response was basically what we expected) and an anticlimax (The amount of emotional and intellectual effort you put into doing this is not worth it. It could never be worth it.) I've been telling friends that I'll never write a story that operates like this again. Partially that is because I wouldn't want to repeat myself, and partially because – as I said above – I think twists are less effective in long-form serialised work in 2017, but mainly as I don't think I want to do this to myself again. I'll find some other way to torture myself.

(Spangly New Thing certainly abandons the Scorpion's-Tale narrative model in favour of an intricate character clock of woe.)

Actually, talking playlists...  I have prepared something. There's a secondary WicDiv playlist which I've been using since July for songs which speak to the end of year three and the remainder of year four. I didn't want to add these songs to the main playlist in case a particularly determined WicDiv fan worked out issue 33 from them. This says a lot about the high levels of anxiety I've been running on for the last few years on this topic. It would be terrible to blow it in such a dumb way. Now, those reading in issues know secrets the trade readers don't. So it's going to be an interesting few months.

Here's the playlist. Keep it mum. I'll add it to the main list when the trade's out. Don't shoot me for the first track.

You may have seen us trying to prod people to reread WicDiv before 33. This was partially in response to a friend who read 33 before it came out who said – I paraphrase – “I wish I could tell people to reread the series now, because after they read 33, those issues are gone, forever.” She's right – it's a pure ‘everything changes’ issue, and you can't reread the comic earlier, because everything has transmuted beneath your fingers.

Which is by our design, but is still a grim thing to think about. We've destroyed all those issues on the shelves, and replaced them with a new story. On the bright side, we've given you 35 free comics. I suspect this returns to Jamie’s and my twitchiness over comic prices, and trying to make ours better value, every way we can. In this case, we want to make rereading valuable and exciting.

SIGH! This has been a journey, friends. I'm glad I no longer have to think about any of the above. There's huge stuff coming in the final year, but it's got entirely its own character and momentum. The cards we're playing with have fundamentally changed. There's so much stuff to come, but it builds from this.

Oh – I'm sort of regretting mentioning the thing about the third theme in the backmatter, as it's clearly the sort of thing that's going to drive a certain strata of reader to distraction – especially as if there's any number of other themes in the book. The one I was thinking intersects a little with pre-existing major themes, and speaks to the particular spin on them. We'll get to it eventually. Don't worry.

Anyway, to sum it all up, clearly with four talking heads, WicDiv is four times as good as Sandman. That is a FACT.

Christmas Special shortly, the trade collection in January, the 1923 Special in February and we're back with issue 34 in March, with the new arc.

Thanks for reading.