#but i gotta write about them first

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[loz-chainsofcorruption]

You know what I don't see talked about enough

Intelligent monsters in the Legend of Zelda

I'm talking the moblin who was writing love letters back and forth with that girl in Wind Waker, aka a moblin with a canon name, Moe, that can fall in love and give gifts and read and write

Batreaux in Skyward Sword, a talking monster that just wants to be human

The moblin disguised as a woman in Minish Cap who asks Link to keep her identity a secret

There's the friendly, talking dodongo in the oracle games

A hinox who bribed for his life in Lorule

King Bulblin in Twilight Princess can talk too

These aren't even all the examples!!

There are so many instances in these games of intelligence beyond just using weapons, making food, forming rudimentary patrol routes or camps, etc.

At least some of these guys can talk, read, write, form connections, have hopes and dreams, and so on. At least some of them, if not all of them, have names. They're not all just mindless "me see, me attack" brutes full of nothing but bloodlust.

And I dunno, I just think people should be talking about that more

[crimeronan]

“Okay, so you were my guard,” Luz says.

"Yeah. Among other things."

“But I don’t, um – I don’t actually need that here. Guarding, I mean. I’m not royalty anymore. And the people here are okay, mostly, except when they suck, and then Vee goes after them anyway. I don't… I’m not sure I can…”

She trails off, less because she’s trying to formulate sentences and more because she can see Hunter’s heart shatter. Even as she does, she checks herself – what does she know about his feelings, really? His face barely crumples. He just closes his eyes for a second, and presses his mouth flat, and swallows. Then he takes a breath and faces her with the exact same calm as before.

She doesn’t know why she’s so certain that’s heartbreak. In anyone else, she’d read it as tiredness or annoyance.

“I’m coming on too strong,” he says, and his voice is just as steady as it always is, no outward signs of distress. “I'm sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Luz says, and means it. “I can tell you’ve had, just, the worst time. And I know this isn't what you hoped for. I just – I don't know what you want with the human world, besides me. Won’t you miss home?”

“You're forgetting I’m not allowed to go home either way right now,” Hunter says, “on account of the atrocities.”

Luz rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a smartass.”

His mouth twitches. He might be trying not to smile.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, “you found me. You did find me. Like you wanted to. And I’m safe here, like you want me to be. So you don't have to… I mean, you did your duty. You did what you were supposed to do. I hereby release you from any further contractual obligations. Okay?”

It’s meant as a reprieve, but Luz immediately knows that she’s chosen the wrong thing to say. Hunter isn’t quite as good at masking this new heartbreak. His fingers spasm, curling around the edge of the couch cushion, gripping like a lifeline. He lets out the kind of breath that someone might if they’d just been shot. His ears flatten, pointing toward the floor, an unconscious reflex that makes him look like a kicked puppy.

When he speaks, his voice cracks. “You don’t want me?”

Luz feels her own expression crumble. Confusion and guilt war for dominance inside her, a stitch between the ribs.

“Here,” Hunter adds, unconvincingly. “You don’t want me here?”

“I don’t want you guarding me here,” Luz says. “All of this stuff, you being so hung up on Vee and my mom… it’s freaking me out. I don't want them to get hurt.”

“I won’t hurt them,” Hunter says immediately. “I wouldn’t hurt them, not if they’re treating you well – I wouldn’t ever do anything you didn’t want me to do, Luz. I swear.”

“See, that. That's freaking me out.”

His brows draw together.

“You’re sitting here locked in a basement on my behalf,” Luz says, “because you volunteered to be locked in a basement.”

“Okay, well. In my defense. There are some very specific extenuating circumstances right now.”

She waves this aside. “You said you’ve been trying to track me down for months.”

“Of course I have. Anyone with sense would have. Belos was-"

“Yeah, I know. But my mama isn’t Belos.”

Hunter stays quiet and still for a solid minute. Luz actually counts the seconds. His only movement is to press a hand to his eyes, like he’s pushing back a headache, or maybe trying not to cry.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Luz adds. “I promise you, I'm really, really trying not to hurt your feelings. But you get it, right? It's just… a lot to process.”

“I get it,” he says, with what might be an attempt at a smile. He folds his hands in his lap, surveying her politely and deferentially, like a corporate executive might respond to a CEO. “I'm sorry I've made things harder for you. I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m really sorry I don't remember.”

“Could be that it's for the best,” Hunter says lightly. “I won't cause your family any trouble, Luz. Promise. It’ll probably be a while until they actually believe that, but in the meantime – you don't need to come down here anymore. I won't pick a fight.”

She has a sudden, overwhelming impulse to fling herself into his arms. Just one more nonsensical reaction, extra proof that something's missing inside her.

“Do you want me to stay away?” she asks.

Once again, Hunter lapses into silence. It's hard to tell whether he’s thinking or just refusing to answer, at least until he counters, “Do you want to remember me?”

“Yes,” Luz says immediately. She doesn't even have to think about it. Without meaning to, she touches her chest, the place that aches every time she reaches out for someone who isn't there. It's been aching since way, way before Hunter stepped onto the Nocedas' porch.

“I want to know,” she explains, “why I miss you so much.”

This, finally, is what makes Hunter break. He buries his face in his hands and lets out a ragged little sob, his shoulders shaking, his breath choked.

Something in Luz wants to wrap her arms around him and snuggle up on the couch and let him cry into her neck. Something in Luz wants to curl up with him under all the blankets in the house and ask him to tell her stories. Something in Luz is suffering physical pain with every elapsed moment in which she doesn’t do that. The desire to hold him edges past want, into need. It hurts.

The rest of her is still loosely gripping a steak knife. And so afraid of sending mixed messages.

“I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?” she says, backing toward the stairs before her instincts can turn traitor. “After I’ve slept. After we’ve both slept. I want – I need you to get some rest tonight. You'll feel better once you do. Okay?”

Hunter grunts in vague acknowledgement. He doesn’t seem interested in discussing his continuing sobs, and Luz is fighting back tears herself, and she doesn't have the strength not to go to him if she cries. So she just climbs the stairs, shutting the door carefully behind her, and she flips the lock closed.

[ganondoodle]

with every thing i learn about what the directors of totk said in interviews it all just gets worse huh?

the thing about the shiekah tech just vanishing and nobody caring enough to look into it was already rough and now i learn they said that -after botw zelda wondered if hyrule as a kingdom was still needed but then totk happens- just sounds like she wondered if hyrule as a kingdom still needed to exist in the way it had been (which would be an interesting change for once and also make sense for her character) and then they took her back into the distant past with the super good guy king of a godly race to teach her the lesson what her place is and that yes, their monarchy needed and good and really given to her by "gods" and what if big evil black man shows up again

i dont have the energy to get into it further but needed to say soemthing about it bc it keeps bothering me :(

[tulikettuun]

Ancient Zora Waterworks OST

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[pencilofawesomeness]

Guys I'm having such a bizarre moment. I didn't expect to win like this, or to have my personal headcanons be confirmed so directly, but I also feel simultaneously robbed because Akutami is reaching into my head /jk

We received so little about Sukuna, but those brief brief brieeef moments of existentialism really caught me and I've thought about him for so long because of it. He was a fantastically terrifying villain, but there was always that dissonance there, between some of his words and actions, that portrayed that aimless longing and hurt and what that meant as a characterization point, and I'm honestly so hyped we turn around and get this in 271:

(scanlation for this panel because I think it gets the sentiment across better)

Followed by

I'm—

Y'all I started my draft for my Sukuna Reincarnation AU months ago and I never expected canon to validate me. They leave it easier and more open-ended, of course, but I'm coming on the record to say I wasn't crazy for my stretch of a character exploration and also I called it.

I won't go into the specifics of my "study Sukuna like a cockroach" notes now I just wanted to come grab the mic and announce that I beat Akutami to it >:D /lh

I'm being a good noodle and not stretching myself thin by starting a new multichap now, but I've had With the Storm in the works since January, and in light of the end of JJK and this lovely little tidbit, I'm tossing a sneak-peak from Chapter 7 because why not:

But maybe it could be. Maybe, just maybe, Uraume could accept this proffered hand and continue to hope.

---

Yet… things were different now. Things changed. Uraume changed, Sukuna changed, and even though they were still themselves, there was a myriad of shifts that piled on their shoulders until something gave way. Maybe a subconscious part of Uraume had braced for that to be a crash, but instead, Sukuna had been nothing but accepting and open. It only made them more nervous about losing him, just as they feared losing Pops. Uraume was not used to wanting, or hoping, but there was a powerful need in their chest that childishly demanded that they should get to keep both their kinder father and this happier Sukuna close, even if that may not be possible.

They nodded, not trusting their words at the moment, and Sukuna relaxed slightly.

“Good. Though that reminds me… You never really answered my first question. What do you want to do? With this life, I mean.”

There was that want again. Uraume felt the pull at their lungs until it was unbearable. They knew what he was asking; the question didn’t hinge on his involvement anymore, just them. Sukuna said he wanted to live peacefully, so what, then, was Uraume’s answer?

As much as they felt like a coward saying this, maybe that was okay. Sukuna felt the same way, after all. “I like this life too…” Uraume answered, and it was very different saying those words aloud. “Pops isn’t a shaman at all, and he’s good company and a good father. If I wasn’t able to find you, or you were not of this world, then… I would stay as his family.”

“That’s good,” Sukuna agreed, lifting yet another anxious weight from their chest. “I get that. Nobody else in my family are shamans either—at least, not really—and they’re all good people. It’s a good life, and even though I would have never expected it… I don’t want to lose it.”

It was amazing how similar they were, then and now. Uraume…really shouldn’t have worried about a lack of understanding. Sukuna didn’t have to say it, but it was clear that their thoughts had wandered down a similar road yet again. Their families, full of normal people living normal lives, were an unexpected treasure; to willingly become a monster, to become a scourge upon the world for whatever reason, would forfeit that. More than that, having people to care about made the desire to spread destruction lessen, rather significantly. Maybe that hurt and rage and bitterness was still there, in between their ribs, but in the ones that were dead and buried—a part of them, but also not quite there anymore, like when a scar ceases to constantly itch and ache and becomes only a mark on functioning skin.

They didn’t have to be monsters anymore. There were calmer, kinder things available to want—available to receive, even.

“This is so weird,” Uraume blurted, staring at their small hands and thinking of the strange miracle their lives turned into.

Sukuna barked a quick laugh before it was muffled into something like a snicker. “I know, right?” He leaned back in a stretch, his face catching the sun and lighting him in something that wasn’t a fire, but equally bright. “It’s not bad though.”

It was weird, to be a child, to be without some far-off goal, to be loved and happy, in the sense that it was absurd and foreign and absolutely unexpected. It was a breath of fresh air after years and years of having frozen lungs. Weird, surprising, but unmistakably good after so long of believing that no such term, deceptively simple, could have ever been applicable.

“Not bad at all,” Uraume agreed, a bright and blooming thing in their chest as their life began to slot into a new place. Still open-ended and perhaps a little terrifying for it, but Pops accepted them, and Sukuna accepted them, so maybe they could truly accept themself now, and whatever that will look like.

[guesst]

ok heres a poll

[sick-bay]

I'm a simple girl - whenever I see a pretty character, I think of how cute they'd look with a fever from illness or injury 🥰

Seriously, though, it's a brainrot... whenever I start a new anime or manga and there's a character I like, I immediately make up scenarios of them sick or hurt lol

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

Was browsing through early BOBF/Mando S3 criticisms on Tumblr and WOW, 93% of S2’s viewership dropped when S3 finished airing for an extremely understandable reason. As someone who got into Dinluke after all the dust settled I can only imagine what it was like becoming invested in Din’s story and being floored by the S2 finale only for it to get totally swerve-balled after a long-anticipated wait. How did you avoid the disappointment and burnout?

Spite is an incredibly powerful motivator, let me tell you.

I'm halfway joking about that, btw. I could say I'm used to disappointment and I also worked really hard not to take things too personally after being disappointed time and again year after year by fandoms I was in. Imo the healthiest attitude is that no show/movie/book/videogames/etc will ever play out the way you want/think it should so take what you can get and trash the rest. By the time I started watching The Mandalorian, I'd been burnt badly by Star Trek AOS, the Sequel Trilogy, the MCU, and the Disney machine, and I had to figure out how to accept that I like what I like, I can't change what I can't change, and I can/will run the fuck off with what I can change, which is making wildly fun and fulfilling transformative shit like fanfics and fanart.

I was actually excited about TBOBF and was utterly betrayed by the executive decision to throw him and Fennec to the side in order to absolutely trash the Season 2 finale of the Mando Show by having Din and Grogu reunite just like that. I guess I got lucky in that I had a long-running fic series that I was heavily invested in and I was not about to let Disney stop me from finishing it. Instead of letting my frustrations kill my interest in the show and fandom, I turned it into motivation to keep telling the story I wanted to tell based on the fallout of Season 2. It also helped that Andor happened.

I quit Season 3 of the Mando Show after the 1st episode and it was the best decision I ever made. I had a really rough time with it and was encouraged to step away if it was giving me too much stress. I'm glad for that. Less time and energy picking about Filoni&Favreau and Disney Lucasfilm's decisions and disappointments, more time and energy spent writing and drawing the dinluke I want to see. The nice thing about Star Wars is that it is an old and vast sandbox. Plenty of room here to build whatever sandcastles and dig however many holes you want while canon goes floundering by.

I think also that it really helped to find spaces to share with people who vibe on the same wavelength, so I'm not alone to my thoughts and spiraling myself out of a fandom I enjoyed (like what happened with TLJ but I shan't go there bc this response is long enough). Those posts about having friends you can shit-talk things with? Valid af. You need outlets to vent your grievances without setting bridges on fire, and it'll help your enjoyment of things in the long run.

I didn't avoid the disappointment but I figured out how to make something of it, so I'm still writing dinluke, I'm still drawing dinluke, I'm still getting giddy over dinluke. I actively choose to do what I want with them, and nothing Disney Lucasfilm puts out is ever going to stop me.

[amischiefofmuses]

[pixlokita]

So I'm absolutely adoring your into the ballpit au and while I'm side eyeing how literally everyone is so easy at taking what's happening the biggest thing that's bothering me is when Henry was talking to Mikebear, he said, "I know you're having trouble speaking," like it's a normal thing that Mike suddenly can't speak properly? Does Mike have moments of select mutism in this verse? Either way loving this comic and can't wait for the next part.

Hiii !! Yes!!! ;v; I actually didn’t think that Henry would assume he was having trouble talking because of that, it was because of the shock but I love the idea so I’m keeping it >>)b

As for everyone dismissing things easily :’v I get that, I’ve been trying to not make it too fast paced but then it takes so much longer to get to the fun parts of the story :’> if it’s about Henry though? he doesn’t want to push the kids to say too much since he can see they aren’t doing too well and he knows not to pressure them to get answers, he’s just being patient ^^

Aaaa and thank you TTwTT💖💖💖 glad you’re enjoying the story so far 👌

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Apollo Ascending series

Greek myth inspired fantasy romance series

Apollo is forced to spend a year with the prince of a neighboring kingdom before ascending to godhood, despite hating everything gods stand for and wanting to stay mortal with his sister

Prince Hyacinth is dealing with taking over his father’s responsibilities, and having to host the unruly almost-god, while his sister tries not to be forced into a role and marriage she doesn’t want, as she’s in love with a stablehand

romance, drama, tragedy, and a war against the gods,

5 POVs, m/m m/f & aroace

[goldenstorm0]

Okay I am gonna talk about my first fountain pen, and my current grail pen that I'm always on the hunt but can never afford.

Both are the Parker 25

If you are new to vintage pens, you almost definitely heard of Parker, either the 51 or the duo fold. Both are excellent pens, I think. I have never used them before, but a lot of people love them. They are on my list of pens I want to get eventually, but they're kinda low. I'm looking for a different type of Parker.

When my grandparents were officially moved out of their house, my family started the long process of going through their stuff. We needed to sell the house so we could take care of them, and eventually pay for funerals. They were hoarders, and there was a lot to sort. A ton of bowling balls, a metric shit ton of yarn, even more trash. And hidden in all of this was a forgotten pen that I eventually found.

I think it was a gift from a bank that my grandma worked at for 20 years, and it was a shitty gift for that amount of work. The 25 was made to be a cheaper pen, made for young adults who may not of had enough money for one of the nicer models, but needed a reliable pen for work. I wouldn't be surprised if it was never used, but I had thrown away the box pretty much immediately and didn't care.

I've seen people describe this pen as robust or space-aged, but I always thought of it as more brutalist. Bare metal, black nib unit, steel nib. It's not a very inviting pen. The nib unit is hard to remove, or at least mine was, and you can't easily switch nibs. Not that you ever need to. It's a workhorse of a pen. Made to be used anywhere and everywhere. It was and still is Not my aesthetic. But I loved it.

It was my only fountain pen for years. I spent a lot of time first figuring out how to write with it, and then fiddling with it to make it write even better. I looked up tutorials on how to hold it, how to take care of it, figuring out how to fix a dry nib or a bent nib, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. I found out the history behind the model, then the brand, and then I started looking into fountain pens in general. It started a new obsession, one that continues to this day.

And then I fucking broke it of course.

I had it in my pocket and it fell nib first. The nib itself was bent, but that was something I could fix. But unit itself snapped off from the threads that screwed the pen together. I couldn't fix that, and I'm pretty sure no one could fix that. I didn't bother looking though. I was 20, no job, living off of my parents and school grants while I went to community college. I couldn't afford to send it to anyone to fix it. If I couldn't do anything, then nothing would be done, because that cost money.

So I saved up and started looking around for a new part. Prices weren't great, something that's crazy annoying for what was originally intended to be a cheap ass pens. Eventually I found a set within my pittance of a budget, it even came with a roller ball (never touched). It was a complete pen, but I took it apart, pried the feed from nib unit, and put in the original still-bent nib in, and put it in the original scratched up body. They looked almost identical, but I wanted My Pen, not a new one.

It doesn't write the same. I don't think I have had a pen that wrote a beautifully as it original did, but that might be nostalgia talking. The nib is still bent. I got my first job soon after (yes I did spend grant money on a pen repair), and I started to buy more pens. Learned the basics of vintage pen repair, fixed up a few lever-fills, fucked up some vintage gold nibs when trying to practice grinding a tuning (never got really good at that). Instead of working on perfecting the one pen, I bought new ones that worked well enough.

But now I have a bit of a holy grail that I am looking for. Because, while the 25 is a cheap ass pen for broke college students, there is a particularly rare color. Same metal body, steel nib, but instead of black, it's bright orange. If the original black was outside my aesthetic, this is on the other side of the planet. I usually am not a fan of orange, and I super hate this specific shade. And I want it. Like, really really badly. I've seen several on sale, and currently don't see any on sale, and I am barred by my old nemesis, money.

And before I get that pen, I want to send my old 25 to a nibmeister. The nib is slightly bent and I don't think I can fix it, and it bothers me like nothing else. I need to do a bit of research first to make sure someone is willing to work on the nib, its pretty nonstandard.

credits:

moreengineering - They have a lot of info on the Parker 25 on their site, plus it's fun to just look around. Used for general information and this ridiculous photo

fuck you I want that how the FUCk

parkerpens - My go-to for everything Parker. You can fit so much info into this site. Used for general information

Pen Collect - They've got a really nice page for id-ing your parker 25. Mine is a mark II

Orange Parker 25 collage - YES I KNOW IT GOES TO A 404. There aren't a lot of good photos of the orange Parker. Its painfully rare

2nd orange Parker picture - Only other photo I could find that I liked. The has already sold and it just redirects you to lighters and pens. And if you try to search for it on their site, you just get wine. I am in... so much pain trying to find this goddamn pen. I hate it but I want it

[minijenn]

Me, writing for Steven in UF:

Me, writing for Dipper in UF:

[orcelito]

Had a moment of listening to music I liked back when I was a teenager (& still like) and having a whole. Realization . That I like myself as I am now sooooo much better than I like teenage me. And I started thinking about Why.

There's a lot to it I'm pretty sure, & most of it centers around the fact that I just... didn't really know who I was as a person. I didn't really have hobbies outside of what I did in school (aka orchestra) and like. Video games + anime. I did creative writing in middle school, but dropped off in high school for... some reason? I still made original characters and played around with them a lot, but it was mostly just in drawing and thinking about them. I never actually *wrote*, and I in fact didn't get back into creative writing at all until I was 23 years old. I was someone who had spent so long hiding behind others and just doing what I was told that I just... didn't have any real direction. I didn't know what I even *wanted*. I thought I knew, but in hindsight, I can confidently say that I didn't. I was just an insecure teen drifting through life and not thinking about things beyond what was immediately in front of me. Which is pretty standard for teenagers I guess, but not all of them. Not at all.

Compared to now, where I have Many hobbies, most notably being writing. As I am now, I am just Intrinsically a writer. And it's weird to remember that I wasn't even really *writing* before 5 years ago (besides text rps, which did a lot for developing my writing skill! But still aren't a replacement for writing individually). As a teen, I wasnt into dnd, I was incredibly out of shape, & I was a lot less aggressive and focused. I was the type to avoid sports!!! I hated them!!!! But as I am now, I Love biking and can easily bike for an hour+ no problem (I remember being a teen and trying to go on just 10 minute bike rides in the summer and just *dying* from it), & I love working out. I wanna be strong!!! I LOVE being strong!!! And I was an absolute mess with things like public speaking & working in groups, vs now where I can do an impromptu presentation no problem & I'm often the unofficial leader in group projects bc im typically the one who does the organizing and allotments of work. A side effect of working as a supervisor and then assistant manager for so long. I have a lot more confidence in my perceptions and judgements, & I have the self-assurance to assert these things. And this is only really the tip of the iceberg with all the differences.

I just feel like an entirely different person, almost. The cores are the same, or at least damn near similar, with the things I want out of life & the sorts of things I enjoy, but it's like. The difference between finding a random rock off the side of the road & then that rock when it's been sanded and carved and decorated to be something individual and unique. You look at them side by side and it's something dull vs something shiny and intricate. The origins can't be ignored and dismissed, & I certainly would never resent younger me for just doing the best with what I knew at the time. But it's just astounding how much difference time and experience will have for growing and developing as a person. Things I consider integral to my personhood weren't even thoughts in my mind back then. We are almost entirely different people.

[altschmerzes]

I’m legally obligated to ask about loneliness into loneliness if you post any time of ask aka FACE SMUSHED AGAINST GLASS.

OF COUUUUUURSE

here's a clip from loneliness into loneliness, the ted lasso fic about dani and jamie both being out injured at the same time, staying together at dani's house, and starting a queerplatonic relationship - figuring out what that means, what they want it to mean, how to navigate something neither of them have a roadmap for.

this is from the night where dani is, to put it succinctly, the big spoon for the first time, bc they started sleeping in the same bed so that jamie could help keep him from rolling onto his bad shoulder. now that he's healed enough to have his shoulder brace off, and has noticed jamie is having troubled sleep the last few nights, dani has offered to hold him tonight and see if that helps him sleep. it's also the first time we get into the thing with one of them putting a hand beneath the other's shirt, direct skin contact, etc, which ends up being. A Thing. this scene could be subtitled 'two people try to have a conversation where nobody says a full sentence the entire time and they both want the same thing that they don't have any language for or idea how to talk about'. it's a bit long, so, under the cut it goes:

When Dani’s hand slips under Jamie’s shirt, pressing against his side just above his hip, the feeling of skin against bare skin is electrifying. He twitches, the muscles under the point of contact giving a small, instinctive spasm. It’s something like a flinch and he feels Dani go still.

“Sorry,” Dani murmurs. He starts to pull away, lifting his hand from Jamie’s side while the rest of his body tenses like he’s getting ready to move. “I should have asked before I-”

“No,” Jamie says. He barely breathes it, really, lower than a whisper. Just as quickly as he’d interrupted Dani’s self-rebuke, he reaches down to grab the retreating hand and keep it there, gripping Dani’s wrist gently but firmly. “No, it’s…” He swallows hard. There’s something strange and uncertain fluttering in his chest, something anxious but hopeful at the same time. “It’s okay. I… It’s fine. I mean, are you… What do you…” What do you want? seems accusatory, What are you looking for with this? just sounds weird. Jamie can’t figure out how to ask, what he’s even trying to ask.

“Nothing. Just this. Just…” Dani’s fingers flex a little where their hands are hovering in an awkward tangle, still caught under the fabric of Jamie’s shirt. “I’m not trying to… Just to… When you helped with my shoulder, it was- was nice. That’s all.” He doesn’t seem to have the words for what he’s trying to say and there’s more hesitation now. His voice sounds embarrassed and it has a nervous edge, and there’s a tension at the grip Jamie has on his wrist like he’s going to pull back again.

“That’s okay,” is what Jamie settles on saying. “I don’t mind. That’s…” He swallows hard, thinking about the press of skin against skin, the warmth of being touched so directly and unflinchingly. The thought of being touched like that, just for the sake of it, the way he had touched Dani when he’d massaged his shoulder after physical therapy, just touch without the expectation of it leading to anything, something more following, is… Well, Dani had been right about that. “That’s nice, actually. I think. That’s- yeah. That’s okay.”

Even after he says it, Jamie waits for a long, still moment before releasing his grip on Dani’s wrist. He hopes he didn’t fuck things up somehow, that his reaction hadn’t made it so that Dani didn’t want to touch him anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more Jamie wants him to do it. His side aches, feeling oddly cold and prickly.

There’s a hovering pause where Dani’s hand stays in place, not quite resting against Jamie but not pulling away either, still there tucked beneath his shirt. There’s barely a centimetre between them and it feels like forever that it stays that way. The longer it goes on for, the more Jamie feels cold and exposed and small, and then everything changes.

Then Dani’s hand moves, settling on Jamie’s side. He leaves it there, his thumb moving in slow strokes over the ridge of bone at the bottom of Jamie’s ribcage. There are callouses on his palm that Jamie can feel, slightly rough against his skin. It’s beyond frightening but he doesn’t want it to stop. The chill is gone, and he feels grounded, anchored to this place and this time, here in this bed. It’s like he’s pinned there, but without the threat that word seems to imply - not pinned. Held. And honestly, Jamie thinks that he might die if it stopped, if that gentle touch was gone and he was left to lay here, cold enough to shiver without it. It doesn’t leave. It stays, pressing a little harder after a while, like the way that Jamie has relaxed and leaned back into Dani’s chest, not flinching again since that first time, has given him permission to settle in too.